Our Bittersweet Goodbye Solo Complete

IRENE HATCHET did not cry. She had never shed a tear since the young age of 7 when she broke her left arm after falling off a playground set. Although she had her arm mended by magic, she had cried until she had no tears left to cry. Clinging on to the arm of her dear friend Ophelia, she had continued to wail even after her arm was healed, the adrenaline rush still going strong an hour after she was released from the hospital. Since then, she promised herself that she would never shed another tear in front of another. Humiliation was one of her greatest fears.

Then why did she find herself, nearly 4 years later, weeping as she kissed her mother goodbye? She knew good and well she would see her again soon; the school year wasn't even that long. And of course, there was the holidays, and she was positive that she would be back home for Christmas. Yet she still couldn't stop the steady stream of tears that rolled down her face. She looked like a fool.

"Are you ready to go?" her mother asked as Irene finally withdrew from the hug. She nodded silently, afraid to open her mouth and have warbled words come tumbling out. Mrs. Hatchet watched her daughter with wary eyes, a sad smile making its way onto her face. "I know you are strong. You always have been." Her mothers turquoise eyes searched Irene's for any sign of confidence. "You are your father's daughter, after all."

Irene looked up at her suddenly, taken aback. She fumbled for her trunk, the smooth leather handle nearly slipping from her grasp. Why did she have to ask for the one with the slippery handle? Irene cleared her throat, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shifting uncomfortably. Any mention of her father caught her off-guard. The memories were too painful, like opening a package that you received from someone now lost to you.

"It's nearly 11," Irene mumbled in attempts to leave this awkward conversation, and to leave her mother behind on the platform. Alone. Couldn't he have stayed a bit longer? Before she went off to school, she wouldn't feel guilt leaving her mother alone for so long? Irene knew it was pointless with all this wishful thinking, but still she had the urge to curse God for taking her father away before it was his time.

The train whistled suddenly as if to enunciate her point, loud and sharp, to the point. Both mother and daughter watched as the doors creaked open and the crowd of students flocked to the entrances, shoving each other aside to clamber on. A Slytherin Prefect shouted angrily at two students wrestling with each other on the ground, an open trunk with many of its contents spilled the source of their fight. The Prefect pulled them apart, fuming, and began to lecture them when the train screamed again.

"I really should go now." Irene turned back to her mother, her figure seeming smaller than before, as if she were trying to hide herself from the coming statement. She looked frail, as if someone approaching could easily knock her over and she would collapse in a heap. Her mother sighed and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," she murmured, holding her daughter's hands in hers, as if trying to hold her back. Irene withdrew her hands, picking up her trunk again and heading for the closest platform door without looking back. If she had, maybe she would have sawn her mother crying. If she did, then she couldn't have left.

She wouldn't have left.

With a heavy heart and an even heavier trunk, she stepped onto the train as the door slid shut behind her, and she could hear the muffled sound of another whistle. She stood still, fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder. Finally, she lifted her chin and headed straight to the back of the train, as far back as she could possibly go. She needed to find an empty compartment. She knew no one else after all, as the 'friends' she would have gone to school with had moved to other countries. New friends, she decided, could be made later, after the Sorting.

Her stomach lurched suddenly as she remembered the Sorting, and she clung onto the frame of a sliding door to steady herself. The most nerve-racking part about being a first-year: Sorting. The annual match and separating of new arrivals at Hogwarts into their designated Houses. Her father had been a Gryffindor, while her mother was a Slytherin. An unlikely match, but they were the most liveliest couple Irene had ever seen.

Finally locating an empty compartment that was far enough back so no one would bother her, Irene wrenched open the door and stepped inside, heaving her trunk over her head to place it on the shelf above her, nearly dropping it on her own head. That done, she shut the door and collapsed into the seat closest to the window, leaning her head against the glass frame. It was a good thing she had chosen a compartment on the opposite side of the platform, or she would have seen her mother desperately peeking through each window, searching for her daughter.

The train clattered to life all of a sudden, the engine sputtered to life as the wheels began to chug along, the entire compartment clattering as the Hogwarts Express picked up speed. Irene bounced her leg up and down, patting her leg nervously as she watched the station fly by outside, placing her hand against the cool window. The train had begun to chug along steadily now, the shaking turning into a dull rumble as the train left the station. Irene settled down, bringing her knees up to her chin, a familiar position she put herself in as a child whenever she was nervous or scared.

Placing her forehead on her knees, she pondered about what would happen once she got there. She had waited for her letter her whole life, and quite impatiently. When she finally got it, she was ecstatic, running around her room and shouting happily, scaring her cat, Marmalade. She smiled sadly as the memory of her orange tabby cat pranced into her mind, much like how Marmalade pranced all over the place. Irene had wanted to take him along for some sort of comfort, but as of late, he was a bit sick, so Irene regrettably decided to take him with her during Christmas. Hopefully, she would have human friends by then.

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A sudden jolt and a crash has startled Irene awake and her eyes flew open. She placed a firm hand against the wall to steady herself before noticing her trunk lying on the ground. She sighed, reaching for its handle, picking it up in one fell swoop. She examined the case for any scratches or cuts. She couldn't stand tiny imperfections. The train had come to a sudden stop, which was odd, since she had expected it to slow down gradually. Brushing the though away, she glanced out the window. It was dark outside, the sky painted a brilliant deep blue fading into royal purple before becoming black along the horizon. She couldn't see the castle from here, so it was most likely on the other side.

Turning, she slid open the compartment door and stepped out, watching other people further down the aisle poking their heads outside and exiting the compartments. She began to walk down the aisle when the doors suddenly hissed and sprung open, and she stopped in front of the closest one to her.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she readied herself for whatever she had to face. Hogwarts was an opportunity, her chance to turn into the greatest witch the world had ever seen. Chin held high and standing tall, she stepped outside and onto the platform.