Work Text:
Attempted suicide. That’s what her file at Summerbee Psychiatric Institute said.
Bone-headed teenager drinks Draught of Living Death to scare the shit out of her parents, is what it should have said.
Confessing to her scheme hadn’t removed the label on her file. “You’re a threat to yourself, Lucy, and that is why you’ll be staying with us for the next three weeks,” the nice doctor had said.
Draught or no draught, Lucy wasn’t suicidal. She was invisible. No one sat by her in Transfiguration or History of Magic. Easter holiday consisted of everyone fawning over Molly’s new fiance instead of congratulating her, Lucy, on getting top marks on her O.W.L.s. When Hugo, her best-friend-slash-cousin, forgot her birthday, Lucy started brewing.
Ending up at Summerbee wasn’t part of the plan. Neither was meeting Norah.
“Four-oh-two. Here you are, Miss Vane. You’ll be staying with Miss Weasley.”
Gazing up at the doorway, Lucy caught a glimpse of a dark-eyed, dark-haired girl accompanied by a nurse. The girl looked back at Lucy with an expression of wonder that made Lucy feel naked. Blood pulsed in her ears. When the new girl spoke, her words reached Lucy as though from under the Black Lake.
“Huh?” Lucy exhaled.
“I’m a huge fan of the Harpies. Seven women on broomsticks… aesthetically pleasing. Your… aunt? Mom? — well, she was one of the best. Thanks, Helene.” The nurse who had delivered “Miss Vane” smiled fondly, handed over the girl’s luggage, and then left. Lucy and the new girl were alone.
“Judging by the looks of you,” the girl began again, “you’re new here.” She heaved her luggage to the opposite side of the room, the side that had been empty for over a week now—Lucy was beginning to think she’d escape her sentence at Summerbee without having to put up with a roommate—and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Know this—“ the girl said, her voice low, “Summerbee isn’t the worst you can do. Go to your sessions, be nice to the inmates, and you’ll be back at Hogwarts in three weeks’ time.”
Lucy nodded politely.
“My name’s Norah, by the way.”
Norah Vane. Always-talking, always-charming Norah Vane. For the next week of her stay, Lucy tried guessing what Norah’s file said. Bipolar? Manic depressive? The short, simpering girl seemed perfectly sane. She brushed her teeth twice a day, read Quidditch magazines during free time, and offered sound dating advice to the nurses. She was never late to a session and even called her psychiatrist by his first name. Lucy considered asking what she’d done to earn her time, but she couldn't work up the courage.
* * *
On the ninth night of her stay (Lucy’s nineteenth), Norah crawled into Lucy’s bed. Lucy had been half-asleep and probably snoring, and Norah had wordlessly slipped under the blanket and wound her arm around Lucy’s back.
“Pillow talk?” Norah whisper-asked as Lucy attempted to slow her racing heart.
Quietly, she turned to face Norah. “You scared me,” she admitted; Norah snorted in response. Moonlight illuminated the right half of her face and Lucy saw half of a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Rest easy. I’m not a murderer,” she said. Lucy fought the instinct to put a palm against her cheek. She seemed so fragile in that moment—the lunar glow turning her skin to porcelain, her dark eyes beading into glass.
“Sometimes I just want them to stop,” she said, suddenly and without explanation.
“To—to stop?” Lucy echoed, her heart re-accelerating. “You want what to stop?”
Under the blanket, Norah was shaking.
“Voices.” And just like that, Norah crumpled. She pressed her face into Lucy’s chest and wept. Lucy held her and stroked her hair, feeling so pathetic beside this beautiful, haunted girl who smelled like vanilla and earth and who never conceded to brokenness.
* * *
When they awoke the next morning, Norah was back to brushing her teeth twice a day and reading Quidditch magazines in her free time and gossiping—yes, gossiping—with the nurses.
Xenial, Lucy thought as she watched Norah and the nurses from the doorway of room 402. That's it. The nurses are humoring her.
Yellow light filtered into the room as Lucy retreated, melting onto her mattress with a sigh. From the nurses’ station across the hall came Norah’s muffled laughter. Lucy smiled. She closed her eyes.
Zoning out, Lucy found herself aching for Hogwarts. She wanted to learn, to be back at the castle and to fill her brain with history and magic, to sit in Ravenclaw Tower and feel at peace. Summerbee may not be a prison, but it wasn’t a home either. It was a place for sick people. And Lucy wasn’t sick.
* * *
Youth—the under 18’s—had their own wing at Summerbee. “To encourage interaction and peer support,” the nurses would say, as though reading from a manual. Lucy didn’t care about their mission statement; she was just grateful to be among her peers. (She’d had nightmares before coming to Summerbee about sharing a room with an elderly woman who frequently soiled herself, prompted by the teasing of her darling cousins.)
Xiang Suen lived next door. She and Honora Croft, who lived down the hall a ways, became frequent visitors of room 402—or, rather, frequent visitors of Lucy.
While Norah was off wandering the yard, Xiang and Honora would wander in, smuggling Bertie Bott’s and Muggle magazines. Honora boldly claimed Norah’s empty bed while Xiang preferred the foot of Lucy’s bed. Honora boldly discussed her bipolar disorder while Xiang spoke about her anxiety only in vagueries.
Vagueness was Lucy’s choice now, too, considering Honora’s reaction when she’d first let slip her scheme to the pair.
“Unreal,” Honora’d almost shouted. “Draught of the Living Dead? Luce, you could be dead right now. Like, actually dead.”
“That wasn’t my plan.”
“Shit, Luce. Plan or not. You could be dead.”
Ragged breathing—that’s all Lucy remembered from that night; her own, as she lay barely conscious on her bedroom floor, and her mother’s, when she found her. She couldn’t even remember taking the potion or what it had felt like as her muscles turned “syrupy,” like the textbook had said they would. She awoke in a St. Mungo’s room two weeks later and the trainee healers were buzzing around the miracle girl who’d survived the Draught of Death though she remembered almost nothing.
“Quite lucky, she is,” the head Healer told her fawning parents. “‘S a difficult potion to brew. She came close, but the reason she’s awake now is she replaced the Sopophorous bean with the Phaseolus. The Sopophorous is hard to cut, you see—”
“Plan or not,” Honora echoed, bringing Lucy back to the present, “You’re lucky to be alive.”
* * *
On Mondays, the mail from the previous week was delivered. After her first week, when an unexpected stack of letters and packages appeared on her bed, Lucy began to anticipate Mondays. She missed her family, which was also unexpected. So when the third Monday rolled around and Lucy saw the delivery on her bed, she nearly broke out in song before tearing into her bounty.
Nana Molly’s package included a handmade sweater (in case it gets chilly there) and a box of fudge. Her mum had written a long, beautiful letter about the family’s goings-on and how much they missed her (which was signed by her dad, too, though Lucy knew he wasn’t quite so mushy). Even Hugo sent her a card, inside of which were two tickets to the upcoming Quidditch World Cup and a note in sloppy handwriting that said, Sorry for the late present. I was saving up.
Much to her surprise, the last envelope was from Molly and it contained a gold necklace and a note that read, Heard your jailbreak is on Friday. See you then, babe.
“Lucy, you look like you’ve won the House Cup.” Norah entered the room and plopped onto her bed, where a single envelope was waiting for her. She picked it up gently and tucked it into her bedside table, all the while watching Lucy, whose smile carved itself deeper and deeper.
Knocking Nana Molly’s package onto the floor in her haste, Lucy leapt from her bed to Norah’s and handed her the note from Molly. “I’m getting out of here!” she said before Norah could read the note. "I'm going home!"
Joy sparked in Norah’s eyes, but there was sadness, too. Jealousy, perhaps. Or loneliness. It was so slight that Lucy imagined most people wouldn't have noticed, would have seen only the joy.
“I’m happy for you,” she said. “Really. We’ll have to have a going away party.”
Hugging Norah felt like turning to syrup. This must be what it felt like, she thought, The Draught of Living Death. It felt perfect and terrible all at once.
* * *
Going away parties were like funerals. Everyone was celebrating Lucy, but Xiang was crying, and then Lucy was crying, and there were so many goodbyes that Lucy felt like she might actually be dying.
For hours, the inmates and nurses sat in the dining room and reminisced. The kitchen staff served cupcakes and pumpkin juice and Norah persuaded the janitor to let her hang up fairy lights complete with live fairies.
Even Lucy’s psychiatrist came to say goodbye. He patted her warmly on the back and gifted her a book written by a Muggle spiritual leader, whom they had discussed in their sessions. Lucy was attracted to his teachings on mindfulness and the simplicity of breathing in, I know that I am breathing in.
Darkness eventually descended on Summerbee and the nurses hurried everyone back to their rooms. Xiang and Honora gave Lucy rib-crushing hugs and made her promise to write. Then Lucy and Norah were alone again in room 402 as Summerbee settled into sleep, Lucy sitting cross-legged on her mattress while Norah splayed out at her feet.
“Can you do me a favor?” Norah asked, suddenly. “When you get back to Hogwarts, can you tell my brother that I get his letters?”
Before she had stopped to consider the significance of her words, Lucy replied, “You can tell him yourself, when you get out of here.” And Norah just nodded, once, before looking down at her hands.
* * *
As she packed her bags on the morning of her release, Lucy could barely speak. She pretended as though she hadn’t noticed Norah staring at her. She also pretended not to notice when Norah edged off her bed and walked over. But she couldn’t pretend not to notice when Norah kissed her straight on the mouth and said, “Don’t you dare come back. Okay?”