The hospital sickened me. I hated the sterile air, it smelled of disinfectant and hospital soap. I hated the blinding white of the walls that hurt my eyes. But most of all, I hated the doctors that poked and prodded me, pricking me with needles whilst being falsely cheerful. This was the last place I wanted to be. Ironically, this hospital was where I had spent most of my fifteen years.

The reason I’ve been in the hospital and why everyone treats me like I’m a fragile china doll that will break at any second is because I have a heart defect. It’s called Hypoplastic left heart syndrome, and it’s congenital. Instead of giving you all that doctor-talk junk, here’s a translation: parts of my heart are too small and too weak to pump blood throughout my body. So that means I can’t run, play sports, or do anything that will stress my heart, because the blood isn’t circulated throughout my body right.

I’m here with my parents today. We’re at St. Mary’s hospital for my monthly checkup. The doctors hope I’ll be getting a new heart, but I’m still on the waiting list. They say I need one soon, because chances of survival without one are slim. I hope I can get a new heart too. One that will work, one that will free me, that will let play soccer, let me run, let me be normal.

“Mr. and Mrs. Clarke,” the kindly looking doctor says, speaking to my parents, “May I speak to you for a moment in private?”

“Of course,” my Mum said, briskly walking out to follow Dr. Rhines. My dad follows her out.

After a few minutes of tense whispering, my Mum and Dad along with Dr. Rhines came back in. My mom had that crease between her eyebrows that told me she was worried. My dad thinned his lips, looking somber. Dr. Rhines said to me in a deep voice, “Beth, we’ve found you a heart. We want to operate right away. The sooner, the better.”

My mom rushed over and embraced me tightly, telling me everything would be okay. My dad offered words of encouragement, but I was still frightened.

A new heart! A part of me representing love and hope was going to be replaced. Without anyone having to tell me, I was already afraid. I knew the risks of a heart transplant. Even I didn’t know if I was to survive. “Please, tell me, who is donating this heart to me?” I asked of Dr. Rhines.

He replied, “There was a young boy, found in the wilderness by a search-and-rescue team. We couldn’t locate his parents. He died of unknown causes, but after administering some tests, we found all his organs healthy and intact. We’ve decided to donate his organs.”

I thought this was a rather odd story, but I thanked the heavens for it. I would get a new heart because of this kind boy.

“If you’ll come this way, we will prep you for surgery as soon as possible. As I mentioned before, the sooner you get the heart, the better it will be for you. Medics are airlifting the heart here. It should arrive very soon,” Dr. Rhines said.

He led me into another room, where I laid down onto a hospital bed. I had changed into a flimsy paper gown and a nurse came in to swab down my body with iodine. Then she laid me down onto an operating table.

Soon after, an anesthesiologist came and injected me with a drug, probably to put me to sleep. I began feeling drowsy.

My parents came in and Dad said, “Don’t you worry sweetheart, we’ll be with you the whole time. We love you.”

Mom and Dad’s kind faces were the last thing I saw before I feel into a deep slumber.

---

It is a curious thing, the unknown. Death is precisely it, as is the afterlife. People are afraid of it, going to extreme measures to evade it. This was exactly where I found myself.

I opened my eyes, or rather I was awake in my subconscious. It was dark. I knew I was probably being operated on. I saw a boy, he was tall, with brown hair and piercing gray eyes, about my age. He approached me, walking over to where I stood.

“Beth,” he said to me, “Don’t be frightened. Things will start…happening. Just believe.”
And he walked away. Just as suddenly as he came, he was gone.

I fell back into sleep, even though my brain was still working furiously. Who was that boy? What was he talking about? Why was he in my head? The gut feeling I had wouldn’t leave me. I knew one thing for sure though. Things were going to start changing, fast.

---
I woke up, drowsy, feeling worse for the wear. I could make out two blurry shapes hovering over me. Blinking once, I saw that they were my parents.

“Sweetie, are you alright?” Mum fretted.

“Doing okay, Beth?” Dad said.

“Yeah, not feeling too good, but I’m okay.” I chose not to tell them about the vision I had been in. It wasn’t anything too important. I saw Dr. Rhines enter the room.

“Hello, Beth. I wanted to let you know your operation went just fine. I also have some very, very good news for you. Andrew’s heart, the one you received was genetically very similar to your own. Usually, your body would reject a foreign object. But in your case, Andrew’s and your hearts are so similar that rejection is not possible. If any, you will be on just one or two medications. You’ll need a while to recuperate, but things will steadily improve, as you’re in very good condition right now. Consider yourself lucky, young lady.” He said.

That was it. The final confirmation that I needed. Suddenly, all the worry and weight and stress I carried melted away. I was going to be okay. My heart was strong, and I could lead a normal life. A barrage of emotions just crashed down on me then. Joy, sadness, but most of all, hope. Joy for my new heart. Sadness for that poor boy that had done me the greatest kindness. And hope, for the future.

---

Okay, so my parents aren’t that great. Most parents aren’t. But this time, they had done something unforgivable. Mother and Father are Purebloods, so I guess that makes me one too. I don’t really get why everyone’s so biased, but I’m not. My parents are a different story. They’re especially traditional. I had never really noticed it as a child, but as I grew up, I began to see little nuances in their actions, such as treating my half-blood friends as a lower class, and refusing to associate with Muggleborns.

So I know this really great girl, named Aurelia. I met her at Hogwarts. We dated during our seventh year, and by graduation we were ready to be married. Aurelia’s parents were fine with it, and when I came to let my Father know, he freaked.

“I forbid you to have relations with this---this girl.” He thundered. “I forbid you to get married to this Mudblood!” This was the first time I had ever seen Father so worked up.

Mother wasn’t as angry, but she was still pretty mad. “Andrew, don’t do this to us. We can find you a fine looking Pureblood bride.”

“Father, Mother, can’t you see? I don’t care about this blood power business. All witches and wizards are equal, and you just have to accept Aurelia.” I said calmly.

I could see the wheels turning in Mother and Father’s head. I should have known that they were planning something. Instead I was put at ease when Father said in a rather strained voice, “Let us make further judgment when we meet this Aurelia of yours.”

---
A few months passed. Things were going well. Mother and Father had finally accepted Aurelia, and even seemed to like her. We were to be married next month, in May.

---
All this changed when I was reading the Daily Prophet. My Great-Uncle Reginald had recently passed and I was scanning the obituaries for his name. I paused for just a second when I saw then name Aurelia O’Flaherty in there. My heart froze. My Aurelia. Gone. How did she get killed? Last I saw her, she was going to visit her Muggle parents in Australia. That was five days ago. I read on.

Aurelia O’Flaherty was a daring, loving and accomplished young lady. She graduated from Hogwarts with high honors and was betrothed to Andrew Simmons; their wedding was set in May. She was last seen in Australia, visiting her parents. The cause of her death was unknown, but law enforcers are taking great measures to find out why Aurelia met her untimely end. She will be remembered by her parents, friends, and her fiancé.

Things were a blur, after that. I felt---dazed. My mind was numb. I just couldn’t believe it at all. My Aurelia was gone forever. I needed some time alone. To think about things. I went to tell Father and Mother that I was going to Ireland for a trip.

I was just about to knock on Father’s study when I heard Mother’s worried voice. Ducking behind the tapestry, I listened.

“How could you do this, Harold? How could you do that to Andrew? I just can’t believe you would hire someone to kill Aurelia. We could have just given it time. Maybe Andrew would fall out of love with her and marry someone better. But what will you do now? If Andrew knew, he would never speak to us again.” She said.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Straining, I struggled to make out their voices.

“Angela, I had no choice! Andrew was about to tarnish our bloodline. We are the last of the Simmons, Angela. I couldn’t just let our line be mixed with such filth! Andrew will grow to accept this in time. I did what I had to do.” Father replied in an icy voice.

My blood rushed in my ears. Anger colored my cheeks a furious crimson. I walked quickly to my room, where I packed my belongings and Apparated away.