Of Apathy and Ambivalence Abloom
You are weaving daisies together. You did the same thing every summer as a child; split the stem, feed one through. Daisy chain after daisy chain, on the riverbank beside your oddly-shaped house. You’d learned it at the muggle primary school your mother had sent you to before her potions accident, and it made you feel normal. Like any of the other kids.
Now you are older, you can conjure complex flower crowns - thick and colourful, made of any type of flower you can imagine. The sort muggles pay florists a lot of money for when they get married.
At least, you could. Until they’d taken your wand away. It was a risk, they said - you could use it to hurt yourself.
You know they mean well. The healers are there to keep you safe. You know that, and you suppose wands do have a way of becoming whatever you ask of them - a light in the dark, or a blade making ribbons of flesh. Yet you feel sure that all you want it for just now is making flower crowns, and looking at the beauty of something so simple.
You hear your name, and look up to see Tonks smiling down at you. She sits cross-legged on the grass beside you, and you smile, lifting the woven daisy chain and settling it gently on her bubblegum-pink hair. It brings out the tiny pink areas on the petals, and you stare, mesmerised.
“They say you’ve had a better week,” Tonks says gently. “They say you’ve had some orange juice, and made lots of flower crowns.”
You don’t reply, because it has been weeks - months - since you’ve spoken a word to anyone. You know Tonks feels guilty, because she’s still visiting, even though you broke up. You want to tell her that it’s not her fault, because it isn’t; your problems go back a long way before she landed in your life with all the elegance of a crumple-horned snorkack. Her choice to end your relationship was just the catalyst.
In an alternate reality, you tell her that, and her eyes fill with tears of relief, and the daisy chain multiplies and blooms fiercely. But in this reality, if you told her, she’d stop visiting - wouldn’t she? - and you’re certain that without her, you’d fade away.
You drank the orange juice so you’d be conscious for her weekly scheduled visit. You made more daisy chains to ward off the negative thoughts that are multiplying in your mind. You’re not getting better; you’re not living. But for her, you’re staying alive.
She searches your face like she might be able to hear your thoughts, but you know you’re a strong occlumens even without your wand. It’s why the healers haven’t been able to help you yet; they can’t see, and you won’t tell. You doubt that the stalemate you’re in will ever break.
Daisy.
You turn your eyes to the ground, searching for more flowers to thread. With every negative thought, you pull up a new daisy - the flower that means hope. Your room is full of dying daisy chains. Your hair is full of petals. You work constantly, methodically. Tonks doesn’t help, but when she leaves, she leaves wearing five flower crowns. You wonder if she’ll ever understand what they mean.