Annalise

Chapter 3

**Annalise's POV**

The Hogwarts express is leaving two days before Christmas. I stand in the Entrance Hall looking out at the snowy grounds and wishing, not for the first time, that I could stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. The prospect of going home is never very appealing, but with the ball it's even less so. All the girls have been talking about are their gowns, hair, make up and boys. I usually feel a little left out from them, but recently it's felt as if I don't even exist anymore.

"Hey."

I turn around and see George there.

"Hey," I say, forcing myself to smile. He sees straight through it and gives me a hug.

"You should just stay," he says, "she'll be fine."

"I can't," I sigh, "you know I can't."

"I know you won't."

I duck my head and he sighs.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I just know how much you wanted to go to the ball."

"It would be nice," I admit. I can see George resisting the urge to try and convince me.

"I think I'm about the only one going home this year," I say, trying to sound light, "it'll be a quiet trip."

"How are you getting home from London?"

"That depends," I say, "if mum is having a good week, she'll pick me up, otherwise I'll take the Knight Bus."

"Just be safe, okay?" he says, "if you need anything, you know you can send mum an owl."

"I know," I nod, "thanks."

"You'd better go," George says, looking passed me, "the carriage is waiting."

"Right," I nod, "Merry Christmas."

The ride to London is cold and lonely. I curl up in a compartment and stare out the window. As we near London the snow disappears slowly. When I get out at Kings Cross, it's all but gone. I walk through the barrier with my fingers crossed. If mum is here then the holidays might be okay. I look around the empty platform, but she's not there. I sigh deeply and walk outside to flag the Knight Bus.

By the time I get home it's pitch black, I'm frozen and starving, and morale is low. I walk up the driveway and see no lights on in the house. I sigh to myself and unlock the door.

"Mum?" I call, dumping my bag just inside the door. The house is icy cold, no fire in the grate. I walk upstairs to mum's bedroom and open the door.

"Mum?" I light one of the candles just inside the door and walk over to her bed, "mum?"

She's asleep. I check that she's actually breathing, then go out. I walk downstairs and flick my wand at the fire grate. I learned years ago that if I used magic, the ministry couldn't tell if it was my mother or me, so I wouldn't get in trouble for it. This is lucky, as I don't know if I could survive without magic.

Once the fire is going I go into the kitchen and look through the cupboards. I find a tin of beans, a moldy loaf of bread, some tea bags and sugar. Beans on toast, it is.

I flick my wand at the bread, getting rid of the mold. It's not fresh, but it's okay to eat. I cut it into thick slices and fish through the draws to find the toasting forks. I pour the beans into a small pot and put them on the fire, resting the toasting forks with bread on them close to the flames. I stir the beans and rotate the toast. Once the beans are done, I flip the toast and put a pot of water on to boil for tea.

The toast finishes as the water boils, so I carefully take everything into the kitchen. I make two cups of tea, plate up the toast on two plates, pour the beans on and take a plate and mug up to my mum. I put them on the table beside her and perch on the side of the bed.

"Mum," I call, shaking her gently, "wake up."

She stirs slowly and half opens her eyes to look at me.

"Annie?" she asks blearily, "you're home."

"Yeah, it's the Christmas holidays," I say, "I brought you up dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Mum says, closing her eyes again.

"Come on, Mum," I coax her, "sit up and eat."

She ignores me and I know from experience that it's no use. I walk downstairs and eat in front of the fire. I sit and stare into the flames until they die down into embers. Once the embers have started to blink out, I drag myself into the kitchen and put the dishes in the sink. I flick my wand at them and they start to clean themselves. I drag my bag upstairs and drop it on my floor. My bed is unmade, but I'm too tired to make it. I fall onto the mattress and close my eyes.

I wake up shivering violently and wet through. I sit up and look at the ceiling. It's leaking again. I get up and drag my bed away from the dripping, then flip the mattress. Dawn is just peaking in through my ratty curtains, but I'm too cold to go back to sleep. I walk down to the bathroom and stoke up the small fire we have in there, for heating water. I put a huge pot of water on to boil, then go back to my room to find some clothes. I grab some old jeans and a jumper, then return to the bathroom. It takes a long time to fill the bath, but once I do, it's a welcome warmth in the chilly air.

I stay in the bath until the water is cool and my fingers are wrinkled. I climb out, dry off and dress as quickly as I can, then set about heating another bath for mum. Once it's hot I go into her room and wake her up. It takes ages to coax her into the bath and it's only lukewarm once she gets in there, but she gets in. I comb out her hair and wash it for her, talking to her softly as I do. I tell her about classes, about the other schools visiting, about the tournament. I don't know if she's listening, but I talk, even if just to fill the silence.

Once her hair is washed, she gets out of the bath and I wrap her dressing gown around her. While she's standing, I pull her into a hug.

"I love you, mum," I say quietly.

"Oh, Annie..."

I hold her for a few more seconds, hoping she'll hug me back, but she doesn't. I step away and she goes back to bed.

I walk into my room and find a puddle on the floor. I forgot the leak. I clear it up and roll up my sleeves. Time to see what I can do about this.

I see Mr and Mrs Weasley coming a couple of miles off, as I perch on the roof trying to re-tile the hole there. As they approach the house I wriggle down the ladder and wipe my hands off on my jeans.

"Hello," I greet them. They always come over on Christmas Eve, it's the best part of Christmas.

"Come in," I say, "I'll put the kettle on."

"How's your mother?" Mrs Weasley asks.

"Not good," I say, glancing up at the ceiling, as if she might hear, "having a bad spell."

We're all quiet for a moment. We know that mum doesn't have bad spells any more. She's always bad, she just has good spells.

"Well, I brought you over some things," Mrs Weasley says, putting piles of containers and platters on the table.

"Thank you," I say sincerely. Mrs Weasley looks over at me sympathetically.

"Come here," she says, pulling me into her arms. I hold her tightly, trying to keep the tears from squeezing out.

"Annalise, dear, if you want to go back to school for the Ball, I can be here with your mother," she says, pulling back to look at me, "Arthur can take you there tomorrow and pick you up the morning after."

"Thanks, but there's no point," I sigh, "I'd be the only one without a partner and I'd have nothing to wear."

"I'm sure we could find something, if you want to go," Mrs Weasley says. I hesitate for a moment. I'd love to go, I really would.

"I can't," I sigh, "what if she wakes up while I'm gone? She'd be so disappointed."

Mrs Weasley's eyes flash.

"I know she's sick," she says firmly, "but you are the child and she is the parent."

"I know, I know," I say, "I just worry about her."

"I know you do," Mrs Weasley says, her voice softening, "now, you let Arthur fix that roof, you and I are going to make this place a little more Christmassy."