Jemima’s eyes widened. Could he really mean that? Did he simply not understand her plight, or did he know perfectly well, and was just saying that to be kind?
Well, everything, she could have answered. I am nervous that I will amount to nothing in life, and end up a poor, humiliated, unloved spinster; I am afraid I will be doomed to watch all my friends excel in society and go on to live full, fulfilling, picture-perfect lives and I will be left behind – or will be dragged along to witness their successes, no better than a piece of mud on their shoes. I am afraid I am good at nothing and good-for-nothing – and perhaps I should save myself the struggle and pray for a deathly illness after all, because at least I won’t have to be this anxious all the time when I’m dead.
But then she might find a way to embarrass herself at her own funeral. Fall out of her coffin, or something; that would be like her, wouldn’t it? Maybe she should just burst into tears in this office right now so Dr. Pomfrey didn’t mistake her for a competent human being.
“It is all... a very large adjustment,” Jemima filled in instead, her voice small. She offered a tiny shrug of her shoulders as if to express it was being propelled from the safety of Hogwarts into society at fault, as if all she’d spent those seven years of school doing wasn’t waiting for this very moment. “Is there something – anything I can take?” Some prescription for the nerves: but preferably something that wasn’t shipping her off to the asylum yet.
Well, everything, she could have answered. I am nervous that I will amount to nothing in life, and end up a poor, humiliated, unloved spinster; I am afraid I will be doomed to watch all my friends excel in society and go on to live full, fulfilling, picture-perfect lives and I will be left behind – or will be dragged along to witness their successes, no better than a piece of mud on their shoes. I am afraid I am good at nothing and good-for-nothing – and perhaps I should save myself the struggle and pray for a deathly illness after all, because at least I won’t have to be this anxious all the time when I’m dead.
But then she might find a way to embarrass herself at her own funeral. Fall out of her coffin, or something; that would be like her, wouldn’t it? Maybe she should just burst into tears in this office right now so Dr. Pomfrey didn’t mistake her for a competent human being.
“It is all... a very large adjustment,” Jemima filled in instead, her voice small. She offered a tiny shrug of her shoulders as if to express it was being propelled from the safety of Hogwarts into society at fault, as if all she’d spent those seven years of school doing wasn’t waiting for this very moment. “Is there something – anything I can take?” Some prescription for the nerves: but preferably something that wasn’t shipping her off to the asylum yet.
