Chapter 2 – The Death

It was an extremely gloomy day. The sun refused to cast sunlight on the sky. Instead, tiny droplets or rain showered the ground and all the houses of the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. I hated rain, absolutely hated it. I could not go outside the whole day and play near the lake, my favorite place. Today, I was stuck inside making crafts out of the bits of wire, string, cardboard, paint, beads, and anything else I could find around the house. The first thing I made was a necklace with blue and yellow beads on wire. Mum almost murdered me when I tried to wear the necklace, saying it could pierce my neck with one shot. I had to change the wire and put the beads on string. I didn't like it that way, though. The loosening string didn't look as good as the tight wire.

After a few minutes, I got up from my half-finished project and went to the kitchen where Mum was experimenting with her potions, something she did a lot these days. Since she only worked part time at the hospital, she had plenty of time to explore her passion of potion making and spell casting. Throughout the whole day, all I would hear would be the banging noises of spells and the residues of potions. After the first or second time, it drove me up the wall and I would squeal as I ran through the entire house, going crazy.

"Mum, can't we do something fun? I'm bored!" I whined, entering the kitchen.

"Just a few more minutes, sweetie." She said distractedly, as she poured a steaming blue substance into a flask. She had thick gloves on and a protective bubble surrounding her head.

"You said that two hours ago!" I complained, jumping up and down.

"Okay, but this time I mean it. Just keep your distance, I don't want you getting hurt."

I stomped all the way back to the den where the bits of crafts were sitting on the floor. What could I make that was interesting enough to make me stay rested for at least fifteen minutes? The first thought that came to mind was using cans and string as a type of telephone. I had seen it in a cartoon I watched all the time. The guy had used the cans to listen to his sister gossiping and telling secrets on the phone. I could do the same thing, except listen in on Mum to see if it actually worked.

It took me half an hour until I tied the string properly to the cans so it would work. While walking back to the kitchen, I untangled the string and held both cans in separate hands. I knelt down and put one can near the kitchen door and stepped away with the other can still in my hand. Putting it close to my ear, I listened intently. The sounds of mumbling were transferring to my ear. Mum was reading from a book; I had heard her do it countless times before. She was reading about a spell.

I was amazed at how clear I could hear everything. Smiling, I kept on listening. There was another minute of reading and then heard a deep intake of air.

"Mortilicarpus!" Mum yelled, her voice lingering throughout the house. There was a sudden shot, and an explosion of smoke, shocking my ears and blinding my vision. I screeched the same time Mum did. I dropped the can instantly and sped inside the kitchen to find my mother sprawled on the floor. Her wand was a few feet away from her, as was the spilled blue potion. I towered over Mum's figure and looked at her face. There was complete fear in it. Her face was still, not even the slightest movement of an eyelid. The olive green eyes were wide open in horror as if she had just seen You-Know-Who. I would never forget that face in my entire life.

"Mum?" I slapped her cheek lightly, trying to wake her up. She had just fainted, that's all, or been knocked out. Nobody died from spells such as this.

The next second, I had a glass of water in my hand. I sprinkled some of it on her face and tapped her cheeks again. Nothing…No movement…No sound…

I do not know how I got myself back into the den. My heart had stopped, my hands were shaking, and my feet were trembling. I needed Dad. I desperately needed him. Opening the fireplace and taking a deep breath, I grabbed some Floo powder from the left and yelled out, "Dad's office!"

In no time, she was in Dad's office. There was another man sitting in front of Dad, laughing hysterically. They both stopped short as soon as they saw my face.

"What is it, honey? What are you doing here?" Dad said, looking worried.

"Something's…happened to Mum." I croaked, barely being able to get the words out.

"Excuse me, Donald." Dad said, getting out of his chair.

"Of course."

We both went back to the house and Dad followed me into the kitchen. He stepped over on the other side of Mum's body and looked at her first. I knew he was feeling the same way as I had when is aw her face. Utter shock.

He snapped out of it suddenly and put his two fingers on her bare neck. His expression did not change. He took her arm and pressed his fingers underneath her palm. No response. He looked up at me, more serious than I had ever seen him.

"Dad, what is it?"

He shook his head as he checked her neck again and blew some air into her mouth. A tear escaped his eye and landed on Mum's face. He faced me, "She is dead."

I knew it was true. I knew my mother was dead, but I just could not face this inevitable truth. It was stupid, but I still remembered her promise when I was young. She had promised me she would not die anytime soon. "I'll be here to see you grow, get married yourself, and have kids." I knew it was foolish of me to believe those words now that I am nine years old but I still do. I still keep on thinking she will Apparate in front of me and hug me tightly, assuring me that everything was all right.

He did not verbalize it, but I knew my Dad was extremely worried about me. I had not left my room for more than fifteen minutes in the past two weeks. All I wanted to do was eat chips, chocolate frogs, chicken, pies, and drink anything I could get my hands on. Along with the food came the photo albums of Mum. I would look at them over and over again, never getting bored of looking at them more than twenty times. There were pictures of her and me playing at the lake, fishing and having our weekly picnics. Mum would move her feet through the water or splay my face with it mischievously. Then she would kiss me on the cheek and pick me up and twirl me as fast as she could, making me scream and laugh at the same time.

I could not stop crying. You would think these tears would dry up and run out at some point but they did not. They appeared somehow every time I reminisced or even thought of Mum. It was not fair. She was gone when she had been the perfect person. She had never hurt anyone or lied or cheated, but she still got punished for a small mistake with a spell.

I knew nothing would ever be the same again.