Having been unwilling to break the silence, Rowan glanced at the time and took a loud step forward announcing her presence. Terry's hazel eyes unwillingly pulled away from Sylvia to meet the midnight-indigo-colored eyes of Rowan. His face is filled with relief and reluctance. Glancing back at Sylvia, "I will be back soon, Sylvia," Terry promised.
Terry grabs his book-bag from the floor, before slinging it over his shoulder. As he draws near to Rowan, he whispers, "She hasn't eaten anything beyond a piece of toast. See if you can't get her to eat anything else." He paused and dropped his voice even lower. "Madam Pomfrey is concerned and has mentioned that she will place Sylvia on a forced meal plan if deemed necessary."
Rowan winces imagining Madam Pomfrey tying Sylvia up to force feed her. Although the intentions would be good, the emotional and mental damage would be worse than the physical cure. It would not be a good option at all.
"I can't make any promises, but I will try," Rowan clapped her hand on Terry's shoulder in promise.
Terry reached up and briefly squeezed Rowan's hand in gratitude, before shaking off her hand and walking away. He had O.W.L.'s to study for, he knew that Severus was waiting for him in the study hall. And if Remus wasn't available, James would also be waiting for him. His friends were trying in their own manner to comfort him. He wasn't alone.
With Terry's footsteps fading away, Rowan approaches Sylvia before taking a seat on the marble bench next to the windowsill, where Sylvia is seated. Rowan doesn't move to immediately engage Sylvia but rather waits for Sylvia to notice her presence. The flaming torches on the wall flicker from the drafty wind sweeping down the hall. The walls of the corridor are decorated with dancing cast by the flickering torches.
Rowan pensively muses on the differences between Sylvia and Bethanie. After Bethanie Fawley returned to Hogwarts, she appeared to be much more visibly at ease. It was as though a heavy-laden burden had been removed from her shoulders. Then again, Rowan understood why Bethanie's parents were both dead.
It is not that Bethanie did not grieve nor care for her parents, but surely the relief that Bethanie was that much greater. Rowan truly understood, she did. And for that reason, she understood the mixed feelings that Bethanie held for her parents.
Furthermore, unlike Rowan, Bethanie's parents were a witch and a wizard. The physical and magical abuse likely was much higher, especially if most if not all abuse could magically be healed away. Even more concerning is that Bethanie had two younger brothers who were left alone with her parents. It was a constant worry that Bethanie held every time she went to Hogwarts.
From what Bethanie had confined in Tiffany and Rowan, (and though Sylvia was present, she wasn't really all there). With the death of Bethanie's parents, their Great-Uncle Adelmar Fawley became their guardian. From her limited time with their new guardian, he was a far cry better than their parents had been. Even more so as Great-Uncle Adelmar had permitted her two younger brothers to write to her as much as they pleased.
It was a wonderful source of relief to Bethanie as their parents had not permitted more than one letter per month to be written between the children. The Fawley couple had claimed that it would only serve to make Bethanie's two younger brothers soft and weak. However, Bethanie was certain that it was simply to hide any proof of abuse.
The almost daily letters from Spurgeon and Esmond made Bethanie practically glow. It certainly caught the attention of the male population and caused Regulus to glower at any boy caught staring far too long than was polite at his betrothed. Furthermore, the daily reports from the house elves put Bethanie even further at ease. Her Great-Uncle Adelmar treated her two younger siblings much better than their parents ever had. He was rather caring and kind in his own quiet way, but more importantly, he had yet to strike her brothers in anger.
That did not mean that Bethanie could fully trust her Great-Uncle Adelmar, but that did mean she trusted him far more than her parents. At least, he permitted her two younger brothers to regularly write to her and treated her two younger brothers much better than their parents ever had. That alone had done wonders in softening her attitude towards her great-uncle.
Personally, Rowan agreed with Bethanie that the Fawley's children's present guardian, Great-Uncle Adelmar was a far better parent than the Fawley parents had been in life. Yet love and grief are complicated thing, especially in such a complicated parent and child relationship. But at least the Fawley children had each other and sometimes that is the best of things.
Rowan's mind goes to a certain poem titled "Do not Stand at My Grave and Weep," it was a poem by many authors. The first was in 1934 by Clare Harner, but much later Mary Elizabeth Fyre claimed it along with several others. The proper credit for the poem cannot be correctly attributed, but the poem truly is superbly crafted, a work of art of its own merit.
"Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep," Rowan recounted the poem out loud.
Sylvia's empty gaze slowly begins to fill with emotions as she slowly turns her head to listen to the poem. As if a dying flower comes back to life, the dam bursts, and the flood water bursts out. Tears begin to drip down Sylvia's face as she begins to finally grieve.
"Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there. I do not die," Rowan reverently spoke the final passage of the poem.
"Who wrote that?" Sylvia sobbed as Rowan pulled out a silk hankie from her pocket and held it out for Sylvia to take. "Thank you," Syliva sniffled loudly blowing her nose, before expectantly glancing up at Rowan awaiting an answer.
"The muggle author is unknown, but the poem is called, 'Do not Stand at My Grave and Weep'." (There are many writers that claim the credit for this poem).
"Muggle, you say?"
"I would hazard to argue that art is muggle's own form of magic," Rowan pointedly arched her brow at Sylvia. "I would argue to say that the greatest musicians and artists have in fact been muggle if not at least muggleborn if not squibs."
"I didn't mean anything by that," Sylvia sniffed wiping her face dry. "The poem is rather beautiful," her voice quivered a bit.
"Yes, it is," Rowan agreed. "I will ask Petunia to send a copy of the poem along with other poems if you would like?"
"Yes, please, I would very much like that," Sylvia firmly answered, before glancing at the dirtied silk hankie in her hand. "Petunia, she is the muggle friend you always write to, Lily's muggle sister?"
"Yes, a childhood friend," Rowan unaffectedly answered, before pausing to deliberately arch her brow at her friend. "Petunia is also Andrew's girlfriend."
"Ah, I had forgotten that," Sylvia flushed in embarrassment.
"It is a simple mistake," Rowan sincerely said. "And besides, you have been rather distant as of late."
Sylvia's face crumbles and her shoulders begin to shake as she begins to sob again. "Shh, it's alright," Rowan reached out to comfort her friend. "It's going to be alright. This much I know."
Sylvia sobs into Rowan's shoulder for some time. She had been numb for so long, stuck in an empty place unable to weep nor cry out her anger. It was simply unfair. Why had her father been so cruelly taken away from her?! He was a good man, so why?!
After some time, Sylvia's sobs finally quell to quiet sniffles. Taking out a new handkerchief, Rowan hands Sylvia another handkerchief. While Sylvia dries her swollen red eyes and blows, Rowan performs a cleaning charm on her robes. They were mostly clean now, but Rowan would be sure to have them washed!
"Sorry," Sylvia nasally apologized, "I got your robes all dirty."
"It's fine, I can use a cleaning charm," Rowan drily admitted.
Sylvia snorts, before wiping her nose clean again. "I didn't mean to cry," she muttered in embarrassment. She didn't even know where the outburst came from, but everything that had been brimming up inside finally burst out. She still felt sad and even angry, but it felt as if a weight had finally been taken off her chest.
A loud rumble caused Rowan to glance at Sylvia barely suppressing a grin. Sylvia flushes in mortification as her stomach rumbles loudly and rather hungrily. She hadn't been eating much before, but she hadn't felt hungry either. That is until now.
Reaching into her robes, Rowan pulls out a neatly wrapped up sandwich. "Take small bites," she instructed. "You haven't been eating much and your stomach may be sensitive to food for a time."
"Thanks," Sylvia guiltily accepted the sandwich and began to eat. She would never admit it, but she devoured it down to the very last crumb of the sandwich. Frankly, the sandwich tasted like the best thing she had ever had.
Seeing Sylvia practically inhaling the sandwich, Rowan's worries finally began to ease. That didn't mean Sylvia's grieving process was over. No, it was far from over, but at least that meant that Sylvia would no longer suppress her emotions.
It is pent-up emotions or rather the act of wallowing in emotions that led into the darkest of places. It's hard to see the sunlight when you're turned away and standing in what feels like a dark cave. Yet it's hard to notice if you are turned away because it doesn't feel like it. Time heals all wounds, it truly does, but at its own pace. We must have patience with ourselves and the healing process even if it feels that we are moving forward at a snail's pace.