ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴏʀ ʜᴇʟʟ ⟶ ɢinny ᴡeasley

xix

Jude had spent the last few days lying on the bed in her new room, her mother's newfound pendant slipping through her fingers, as if now that she had something of her family she couldn't get rid of it. Yet she wondered why, because Jude had never been a very familiar person.

Perhaps, she argued in her own head, it was because she hadn't been with family enough. Her father, contrary to what Narcissa had told her a few days ago, had never been in a very good mood, rather the other way around: he usually had a snarl drawn on his lips, and few words were exchanged. During her growth, Jude had not given too much importance to it, thinking that she could be active and talkative for both of them, but as she got older she realized the lack of responsible emotional communication with her father.

She wondered if the same would've happened with her mother. If she would have been affectionate or would have been more like her father. If she would have been proud of her, if she would have smiled at her every time the school year ended, or if she would simply pat her on the shoulder when she came to the manor with Narcissa every June. If she would've encouraged her in her desire to play Quidditch or develop a career in the Ministry, or if she would've told her that it was useless, like William. There were so many "what ifs" in her head that she almost preferred not having heard from her mother.

She didn't want to know anything more because she was convinced that she would have been even worse than her father. About William, Narcissa could speak wonders, but of Carina nothing apart from that she was intelligent and mysterious. She thought that she might have been the one who encouraged her to get the Death Eater mark, or who would have encouraged her to train to become one of them. She had no physical memory of her mother, but Jude couldn't help that it might have been better this way.

She decided that it was better to focus her energy on other things, not waste time on someone who would not return. She took from her backpack a small notebook where she was writing down things related to the prophecy, so it was not too full. She looked at her scribbles and notes, and considered talking about it to Narcissa, and several times to other adults, but she didn't feel able to look at their faces and explain everything that was happening to her. She felt like she should find out for herself, and that's what she planned to do.

However, her patience and ignorance had limits. She was tired of looking at the initials and not knowing who they belonged to, tired of not knowing the content of that damned prophecy: she just wanted to find out what it was saying and why it was precisely she who was connected to it.

Suddenly it all made sense.

If what she was looking for was a prophecy, she knew of at least two people who knew where it might be kept.

She quickly searched the bottom of her backpack for the fake galleon, where she always kept it, and looked at it carefully before sending a message. It was a unique opportunity she had to access that prophecy, she could hold it in her hands and thus find out more. However, she would have to reveal to Hermione and Ginny that there was a prophecy that contained her name, that someone had fervently directed her to seek it out. Oh, and that it had been a woman who had told her.

She thought better not.

Hermione flopped down on the bed after a tiring day. At the Weasleys' the festivities continued even after Christmas's, so they continued to cook and play board games every night. However, it was Molly, Ginny, and herself who did the chores around the house because the rest of the clan, along with Harry, were working the next day. She had to admit that doing it with magic was much faster and more comfortable, but cooking, washing dishes, cleaning the house, disinfesting the gnome garden, and continually setting up and taking down the tent was exhausting.