Ron’s brows knitted together in confusion. Afraid? Afraid of what? Afraid of the fact that she was voiceless? Or afraid to speak at all? Clearly she could understand signs, which led him to believe that maybe she was mute like he was. Or maybe she just learned it in her spare time for fun. Of course, most people knew what had happened to Ron - at least those that had paid attention to the gossip surrounding what had happened in the Ministry the previous year. When that hex had caught his throat, slashing it open, nearly killing him. If it hadn’t been for quick actions by the Order members that had been there, he would have bled out and died. Unfortunately, his vocal cords couldn’t be repaired. After all, they didn’t even bother bringing them to St. Mungo’s, and as nice as Madam Pomfrey was, she couldn’t repair the damage herself.
Thankfully Hermione hadn’t stopped pestering him for months until he’d managed to pick up enough sign language to function. Between that and the spell to write letters in the air, he’d managed to get by well enough. Adjusting to nonverbal magic had been hard, but he’d proven adept at it now that he had no other option. And so as his brows quirked slightly, he simply shrugged, pointed to the silvery scar across this throat, and brought his hands up to face level. The left made a fist in front of his right cheek, his right hand open with the palm facing towards him held slightly away from shoulder height, before he moved them both up and down slightly in alternating motions - the sign for hex.
Irene's eyes were wide as she studied the scar. He certainly had dodged death--maybe even cheated it. Everyone and everything had heard of the dynamic trio that brought down Voldemort, though it was surreal to think that she'd ever interact with any of them.
It caused her frustration to grow. She was no pureblood wizard--in fact, she came into her powers out of pure luck. If it wasn't for that incident involving fire and a burning warehouse, she would have ended up dead a long time ago.
A letter found its way to her shortly after. Blindly, she followed it in hopes of it not being a cruel lie.
And it wasn't.
But the wizarding world was no less cruel when it came to a lack of coin. It took ages for her to find people that were willing to help her, though they became like a family over time. She worked for them and in turn they paid for her schooling, though now that she was reaching the end of it Irene had no idea of what she wanted to do.
❝ -- ❞ She tried to speak, though nothing came out and she felt her cheeks grow redder and redder.
It was a stupid fear. A stupid, gnawing fear that surely made her look like an idiot.
Finally, she gave up and sighed. Maybe someday she'd get things right. But that day was not today. She pointed at herself then circled a finger around her head--crazy or stupid--did it really matter? It was obvious she had a problem.
