When virtue is lost, benevolence appears. When benevolence is lost, right conduct appears. When right conduct is lost, expedience appears. Expediency is the mere shadow of right and truth; it is the beginning of disorder.
― Lao Tzu
"I have a bad feeling about this, L—"
"Shh!" Eyes, akin to sunlight fluttering through summer leaves, snap to the voice. "What other choices do we have?"
Brown bores into green for a breath. The berated one's shoulders collapse, allowing an indignant huff to escape before looking away towards the market square. "We don't."
A nod is exchanged with him. "But, the market is too quiet. There's not enough people and with how bright it is today, we won't blend into the shadows." The boy quickly spits out, anxiety and worry etched across his young face.
"Gustus,"
The emerald-eyed girl turns fully towards him and crosses her arms. While she stands no taller than five feet, the combination of dark dirt smudged down her face and a fearless glare commands obedience and attention. Intricate braids pulls brown hair from her face; some rebellious strands struggle against their confines, wisping out near her ears. Her lips are set in a firm line, her jaw clenching and unclenching, carefully deciding her next words.
"Without these supplies, our kru will not get survive these coming weeks," Delicate fingers toy with the tattered, burgundy scarf looped around her neck. "We've just finished the last loaf of bread, we have been out of medicine for nearly a month, and the market's largest shipment of the year has just arrived. This is the only time to strike." The girl squares her shoulders and stands straighter. "We will wait until noon; we will succeed." Green eyes turn away and resume scanning the square.
Gustus imperceptivity nods before sitting down on the cobblestoned earth, his back flush with a brick wall.
"Sha, Heda."
She knows this stunt is risky. Success will keep them comfortable for some time, but failure will have her locked up with the key thrown away for an unforeseeable future. The young leader shakes her head vigorously; failure is not an option. Success was the only way for them to survive in their cold world.
Her kru consisted of six children, ranging from seven to eleven years old. She and Gustus were eleven and due to being the eldest, the bulk of responsibilities fell upon their shoulders. It had not always been this way.
A man named Titus had raised the gaggle of them. Titus had explained that the kru had been delivered to him years ago, all too young to remember if they had loved ones or what happened to them, and raised them as if they were his own. So they crammed together, two or three per room in their small flat, located in the worst of Newham. She remembered Titus rambling about his distrust of their public schools and instead homeschooled them. He held the kru to a ridiculously high standard and expected nothing but excellence. However, the phrase 'Work Hard, Play Hard' was a respected ritual for the family. If they finished all of their lessons and kept to Titus' expectations, they were able to go run about as they wished. They learned the streets of Newham better than the vasculature on the backs of their hands. There wasn't a nook or cranny they didn't know: they'd split up into teams and have clan wars, smearing their faces with dirt and fighting with crafted sticks, some days they were fierce warriors, others wizards and witches; they'd play stickball on abandoned streets; play fetch with the alley dogs; and prank some of the local kids. As the years passed, they became a tight knit family; loyal, extremely determined, and would sacrifice anything for one another.
Unfortunately, everything inevitably comes to an end.
She woke up to panicked crying and her gut immediately filled with dread. She whipped the door open to find Gustus flying out of his bedroom, eyes filled with worry. They both barreled down the stairs to find their younger siblings searching frantically. Lincoln and Nyko were searching underneath the couch, ripping pillows off the couch, tears flowing freely down their faces. Aden was on the floor, legs crossed, staring emptily at the wall. Echo was pacing back and forth, hands in her hair. Gustus reached out and grabbed Echo's arm, asking her what in the world was going on, what was wrong. Echo's lips quivered in time with her body, she explained they'd been awake for a few hours now and couldn't find Titus. Titus was gone. Gustus nervously chuckled and said he probably went out to grab some groceries; Echo's head shook back and forth as he said this. She raised a trembling finger and pointed towards the television.
A gruesome crime scene was being filmed live on the local news channel. Reporters were explaining how a local coming home from the bar that night stumbled upon the scene and found the victim eviscerated.
The victim had been identified as Titus Woods. No next of kin.
The eyes of the forest closed as her legs collapsed beneath her; they were alone once again.
She viciously ground her palms into her eyes, forcing the stinging back into the recesses of her mind. For two years, she's found a way to keep them alive; she wasn't giving up now.
She rewrapped her burgundy scarf around her head and turned it into a loose babushka while Gustus slipped his hood over his head. Their clothing was dark and baggy with copious amounts of pockets; they needed everything they could get their hands on. People were flooding the open market from every direction, there was barely any standing room left. It was time.
She steps out of the dark alleyway with her head down, her frame immediately disappearing in the thrush of adults. She slowly sidesteps the crowd, allows them to push her lithe frame around, and zones in on her initial target: the bakery. She grabs the more visually innocuous items: croissants, small loaves, and a bunch of sweet pastries. It's much more difficult to notice a few of those missing versus a few baguettes, she reasons. She makes her way through the deli, grabbing cheeses and some cured meats, then the farmers' market for loose fruits and vegetables, but not before she sees Gustus sneaking off with the supplies he gathered. There is only one stop she has left: the pharmacy.
Fortunately for them, due to these open markets being such a hit with the locals, all sorts of businesses adapted to this format. For instance, the pharmacy brings small supplies out like band aids, anti-bacterials, and other simple over-the-counter drugs to lure in the house-moms who don't want to make multiple trips. Furthermore, they'll crank up the prices compared to their in-house costs and call it a 'convenience charge.'
She snorts. It really just makes our job much easier, especially with all of this foot traffic.
Smirking, she zones in and categorizes what their kru needs and lays out an action plan in her head. First plan of attack were to gather some of those OTCs; ibuprofen is an invaluable medicine for them. The poor living conditions and slight malnutrition has lowered the younger children's immune systems and they become febrile quiet easily. Propelling her body forward, she launches into posit—
THWACK!
She feels her body be shoved backwards after she ran into what felt like a wall. Landing hard on the ground with a hard oomph, elbows painfully scraping across the concrete ground as she skids backwards a bit. She squeezes her eyes shut briefly, forcing back the yelp she wants to emit. Count to five, she tells herself,
One, why did she feel warm?
Two, there was extra pressure on her chest and a pleasant (tropical?) scent.
Three, why does she hear a rush of words?
Four, blueblueblueblue.
Not until she looks up, does she find herself breathless. (She fervently blames it on the stranger practically lounging on her chest)
"..are you okay, because I really didn't see you there and now we are on the ground and your cheeks are super red. Did you break something? I should go find my mom, she's a doctor, but I've totally lost her …" The voice rambles.
On top of her is a girl around her age with eyes born from the sky and hair shining as bright as the sun. Even in this dingy market, the girl illuminates her entire vision. Her blonde hair is dripping down onto her chest, as she looks down, eyes animated and bright. She's wearing dark robes, something unusual in this day and time, with an oxford, her hands buzzing with life. Forest eyes scan this newcomer with awe, her heart thudding against its confines.
What?
Forcibly, she takes a deep breath and tries to center herself. Five. She pushes the sun-drenched girl off and scrambles to her feet. She feels a thick heat travelling across her face and neck and tries to clear her throat to apologize, but is largely unsuccessful. The girl across from her giggles at her antics, stands up, and brushes herself off.
"Are you okay?" Green stick to blue. She feels the blush coming back with a fury.
"I should be asking you that, considering I used you as a cushion!" The blonde shot back, taking a step closer. She put her hands on the other girl's face and frowned. "Are you sure you're okay? You feel sorta warm.."
Instantly, the brunette stepped back and bashfully turned away. "I am fine, thank you. Now if you'll excuse me." She said quickly, desperately trying to hide the newly fueled fire spreading across her face. She turned her body and preparing to run away as quickly as possible from this preposterous situation she's found herself in.
"Wait!" Green eyes shot up, "Don't forget your apple!" a red object flashed in front of her eyes, "the name's Clarke, maybe I'll see you again?" A gentle smile adorns the blonde's face; hopeful.
The girl in the red babushka raises an eyebrow and chews on her lower lip before taking the proffered apple, "Lexa," Azure eyes light up with glee. "May we meet again, Clarke."
With a subtle tilt of her head, Lexa spins on her heel and books it out of the market. Medicine be damned because whatever that girl did to her heart and mind was absolutely incurable; Gustus can come back and get all of it himself.
/
Sweat dripping down the nape of the neck, sun kissing cheeks until they burn as red as the stars of the universe; melting popsicles and drinking out of a hose on full blast; the smell of barbeque coals and chasing fireflies into the depth of the night. Summer is in the air and Lexa hates it.
She fancies the cooling autumn breeze, the gentle caress from the sun, and the color. She could write all day about the sheer immensity in the varying hues and their sharp contrast against the sapphire sky.
But, this? This sticky, infuriating heat, which exhausts a person by the time the Earth's large star, reaches its apex. That very same heat causes her kru to get sloppy and engage with those who do not deserve the attention of a swarm of mosquitos.
This heat is the reason why she's standing in the middle of a schoolyard brawl, chest heaving, and Aden writhing on the ground behind her. Lexa saw a fair amount of blood emanating from his hands; a broken nose, she surmises. A callous chuckle breaks her inner dialogue, causing her to tense and grit her teeth.
Before her stood Emerson and his thugs, a bunch of brats whose parents were high up in the local gang. Emerson and co were in their eighth year at the public school a few blocks parallel to their flat, (and while her kru didn't have Titus anymore, they still abided by his planned lessons, reading everything they could get their hands on) which kept their fraternization to a minimum. Lexa often liked to subtly rub in her advanced intellect when compared to Emerson, who failed his sixth year miserably and barely held onto the skin of his teeth this current year. Things got fairly troublesome during the summer recess. The older gang would go looking for trouble and had a distinctly tuned radar for Lexa and her family.
Lexa, Echo, and Aden were on their way back to the flat after doing some odd delivery jobs for the tailor in their neighborhood. The tailor was an old friend of Titus' and Lexa offered to drop off things to local customers in exchange for money or food once Titus passed (they didn't really want or like having to steal from neighboring communities, it was one of those things that had to be done to survive). They were counting their spoils when Emerson and his gang ambushed them and sucker-punched the most vulnerable at the time, Aden. Payback, Lexa thought for when Gustus tripped Emerson in front of some girls last week. I swear the bloody heat turns them all into blockheads. After a short scuffle, Lexa managed to put some distance between the two opposing sides, allowing for Echo to tend to Aden.
"For being a part of a family who bullies the majority of Newham, I suppose I'm not surprised you're that cowardly to ambush us from some dark alley." Lexa all but growls, tilting her chin up. "I guess you're so desperate for attention, and sick of getting your ass handed to you by us, that's all you could resort to."
Emerson's face quickly resembles a pulsating tomato, "I swear to god, Woods. I'll end you and your riffraff family" Emerson threatens, lunging forward slightly when his friends encourage him from behind.
"Echo, get Aden out of here," Lexa whispers harshly over her shoulder. "I'll deal with these morons."
"But, Lexa—"
"Just go!" Lexa barks.
"Awe, look at big, bad Heda. You really think you can take on all four of us? Where's Gustus? At least, he'd make this somewhat interesting as I beat the bloody shite out of you." Emerson sneered.
Lexa is nonchalantly discarding things from her pockets, untying her scarf from her pants; completely ignoring Emerson's outburst.
"Dammit, Woods!" Lexa is pulling up her hair from her shoulders, "I'm not screwing around." She stuffs her hands into her pockets and glares across the street, and smirks at him. "…YOU BLOODY GIT!" Emerson lets out a strangled cry as he and his crew sprint towards her.
Lexa digs her foot into the ground, preparing herself for the onslaught she'd created. She can feel the anger and anticipation pooling in her chest, her breaths are short and jagged, and her muscles are tightly coiled. She slowly peers up from her eyelashes and sees them running at her in seemingly slow motion; her eyes connect with Emerson's. All at once, a deep sense of hatred and unadulterated rage flows through her veins as she looks at the boy. He is the sole reason for injuring her family over the years. Time after time, causing agony and anxiety within them. All of these emotions are seemingly bursting at the seams of her soul.
Emerson raises his fist and pulls back to strike Lexa in the jaw, mere inches away from her.
"Let go," erupts in her mind.
Lexa screams.
The fist never connects. Instead, the gaggle of fools are comically frozen in space momentarily, before a loud POP is heard, and they slice through the air, landing meters away from Lexa.
Her body is heaving, gasping for oxygen. She hears groans from the tangled heap of bodies. She tenses and realizes she will never get away with this stunt.
Lexa staggers backwards a few steps, grabs her things, and runs. The small brunette only has one thing looping through her mind on repeat the rest of the day:
What the bloody hell was that?
Lexa never tells anyone about the mystifying event. She wracks her brain for any plausible explanation, but comes up short in every scenario. She had nearly resigned to herself that it was a made-up memory to avoid reliving the trauma of being beat up so bad by the goons. Except last Friday, when she passed Lackey Number 3 near the Plaistow station, he scurried off like a wounded animal. (The look of pure horror on his face was in it of itself pure gold) This event restarted her cycle of repeated mapping of possibilities and their outcomes; Lexa was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of a solution.
Over the coming weeks, the family reported Emerson and his lackeys scattered into the shadows to lick their wounds and now she's sure they will never come back for revenge… at least for the remainder of the break.
So naturally, Lexa finds herself on the flat's stoop, lounging out languidly without a care in the world. Cusped within her hands is The Graveyard Book; through the creased pages, messy scrawls, and underlined words, Lexa's love for this novel is materialized. The author details a family's unfortunate end by a murderer. This family had a baby boy, who was unbeknownst to the murderer, who escapes his bedroom and crawls up a hill to the graveyard. The ghosts raise the child and the rest of the book documents the boy's adventures and eventual learning of his family's misfortune.
Lexa always tuts a bit at the supernatural abilities the boy acquired from engaging with his ghost family; it wasn't anything overly useful. For example, he could only become invisible when no one was looking. Isn't the point the opposite? She chided internally. Why not develop less passive skills, which meant something, that could produce some sort of change? Lexa lets out a soft puff of air and closes the book. Regardless of her small annoyances with the character, the novel's words and wisdom strike Lexa. It is a constant reminder of a family she never knew she had lost, but still lost all the same. After all, misery loves company.
There's no reason to linger on things I cannot control, Lexa thinks as she studies the cloudless, blue sky. The color sparks a memory in her mind of the blonde hurricane she met in the market at the end of spring. Lexa wonders what it would be like to have a friend like that; Clarke seemed lovely. At this point in her life, she is ignorant of why the butterflies grow and flutter in the pit of her stomach, of the small smile that adorns her lips, and the constriction of her chest. For now, when she realizes these feelings have manifested, Lexa pushes them down and focuses on a different task. Someday, perhaps.
Luckily today she does not need to search for an undertaking; her distraction comes in the form of a furry bandit. It jumps onto her chest, grasping a few coins in its grubby, black claws, and chirps happily at Lexa.
"Hello, Soncha. How's my little kitty doing today?" Lexa coos while scratching behind his ears.
Except, Sonchageda is anything but a cat, but no one can convince Lexa otherwise. In reality, he is seven kilos of raccoon who will eat anything left unattended, pilfer from anyone who looks at Lexa the wrong way, and has followed Lexa around ever since she found him abandoned in an alleyway last winter. Lexa spent the better half of the winter nursing him back to health, using resources from the local libraries and Google (because Google can never go wrong) while her siblings scoffed.
"Lexa, that is a raccoon, not a cat"
"It's feral, Lex. We can't keep it."
"Cats don't have grimy paws like that, sis!"
"LEXA, GO LOOK UP RACCOONS!"
"Rabies! You're going to kill us all!"
Lexa didn't bat an eye at their incessant pleas to get rid of Soncha. In fact, it forged a greater resolve to make sure he grew up strong enough to survive on his own. The brunette told them if they hurt her cat, that she'd end them all if they dared defy her. With a smile, of course.
When it was warm enough in the spring, she let Soncha out of their flat and began her trek to do some errands for money. She expected that he would never return (she secretly hoped he would). So when she came clambering up the road after a long, laborious day to see the porch empty, she naturally felt crestfallen. That is, until the little bugger jumped onto her shoulders from the roof where he had stationed himself, awaiting her return. Now, every morning they part ways and reunite before night falls upon Newham. Sometimes they come home empty handed, other times they are successful in their endeavors, but regardless of the outcome Lexa is just happy she has her entire family safe. Lexa softly smiles as she strokes Soncha's fur and feels his full weight plop down on her stomach; she closes her eyes.
The sticky heat is still prominent, but today there is a gentle breeze coming off the Thames miles away. Lincoln and Aden are bickering over cheating in a chess match and the sound of someone in the kitchen. She hears some birds squawking above her head, thinking nothing of it. All is good, she thinks.
Lexa feels Soncha perk up, sniffing slightly in the wind, before getting up off her torso. A few moments later, she hears a crinkling and the telltale pitter-pattering of Soncha's footsteps. Lexa pries an eye open and searches for him, eyes readjusting to the harsh, summer light.
She finds him at the edge of the curb, holding a medium sized envelope, curiously sniffing the exterior. Soncha holds it out in front of him, examines it once more, and then begins gnawing on the peripheries. Lexa sighs and rolls her eyes and pushes off the heels of her palms.
"Soncha, drop it. Bad kitty." She chastises, shaking a finger at him on her approach. Soncha merely pauses for a moment with a brief head tilt, but hastily resumes his ministrations. Lexa swore she saw him smirk.
"Give it here, you big dolt." Lexa snatches the envelope out of his hands; heavy and textured she notes. Soncha lets out a small grunt and scampers off looking for something else to terrorize. Returning her attention to the envelope, she gasps:
MS. A WOODS
The smallest bedroom shared with two
16 Grange Road
LONDON
E13 0EW
What kind of sick joke is this? Lexa wonders. No one in this world knew about them, except for each other and a few locals. She flips the letter on its back and finds it pressed closed with a wax seal and en emblem above the flap. A crest encapsulated four creatures: a lion; a serpent; a raven, and a badger. The name "Hogwarts" stood boldly out on a banner above the crest. This is a really intricate joke, I must say. Easily singles out Emerson and his morons.
"Might as well figure out what they cooked up," Lexa scoffs as she rips into the envelope.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Marcus Kane
Dear Ms. Alexandria Woods,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Indra Trikru
Deputy Headmistress
The stationary was heavy and weathered slightly and, sure enough, behind the introductory letter another page was inserted behind it with outlandish materials.
"Tsk. This is some messed up shite." Lexa grumbled as she crumbled up the paper and threw it in Soncha's direction. He jumped with glee, instantly snatching up the parchment, surely to deposit it in one of his many hiding spots.
Lexa stomps up the small steps, braided hair flying as she yanks open the rickity wooden door, and slams it behind her.
"LINCOLN!"
Above on the power lines, four owls gently coo and tilt their heads at the ruckus emanating from the small flat.
Every morning following her discovery of the first letter, Soncha has brought her a new one; sealed and unperturbed. And Lexa, not being one to disappoint, theatrically throws it away in various fashions as the week goes on. Unsurprisingly, one afternoon Lexa finds that Soncha had made a fairly decent looking bed out of all of her letters. At least someone will have some use of them, she ganders.
They follow this routine for some while, passively ignoring the swarm of owls, which have taken constant refuge around their flat and these 'pranks' while throwing death glares at her siblings because, obviously, she can't tell which one did it yet. They're all magnificent liars, she's deduced.
July 27th rolls around and Lexa feels uneasy about the impending July 31st deadline on the letter; she shakes this thought off vigorously. (She will never in a million years give herself false hope, she's learned all too well about that weakness.) Her anxiety is not quelled with the knowledge of one of the largest thunderstorms London has seen all season is rolling in; a bad omen encroaching slowly. As if on queue, a flash of lightning crackles through the darkening sky and seconds later the deep rolling of thunder follows.
If this doesn't cause Lexa to simultaneously break into a deep sweat and sprint, nothing else in this world will.
Her brisk walk abruptly changes into a sprint, Soncha dutifully following behind her. Lexa tries to find as many covered areas as possible; she'd be the accidental death by lightning reported on BBC, she knows it. The rain comes bellowing down in buckets not five minutes later, and now she's drenched to the bone. Lexa picks up Soncha and drives forward, weaving in and out of alleyways, trying to find the best, safest route home. She cuts hard at the next corner, only to nearly run into a tall, sharp-faced woman. Lexa skids to a stop, causing Soncha to flop out of her grip, and land softly at the feet of the woman. The raccoon grumbles a bit at this and looks up when he hears a snigger.
"Well, well… what is this?" The woman spoke, deep and huskily. Lexa peered up at her; the woman's eyes were chestnut and set above cheekbones seemingly carved from marble with dirty blonde hair waving around her tanned face wildly. She had a slight smirk as knelt down to Soncha's level, her dark robes pooling at her feet, and picked him up gently underneath his armpits.
"A raccoon, huh?" The woman with a small chuckle, Soncha stared directly into her eyes, unbothered by the proximity. Lexa scrambled to her feet and got close to the woman, but felt dwarfed in comparison; even while crouching, the woman was taller than Lexa.
"He's a cat, lady. Put him down," Lexa exclaimed, puffing her chest out. The woman let a full-bellied laugh out.
"Feisty, I see. That comes with little surprise. However," The woman dropped Soncha and stood to her full height. "He's a raccoon, dear child. I didn't expect you to be dense in that regard…"
Lexa saw red, "Child?! You're what, like fifteen or sixteen? Not that much older than me! AND HE'S A CAT!" She rushed out with a heaving chest. "Who are you?" Lexa's eyebrows furrow deeper.
"The better question is, do you know who you are, Alexandria Woods?" The taller woman queried with a slight twitch of her eyebrows. "Why have you been ignoring your acceptance letters?"
Letters? Oh—"
"You have been the one sending me those false letters? What do you think I am, a fool? Wizards? Magic? Are you trying to prey upon us? We don't have anything, we are just trying to survive!" Lexa's face at this point is flaming red, her green eyes wide and shining with rage, fists clenched at her side.
A breath is passed as lightning smacks down on the earth in the distance, its thunder rumbling heavily in their chests. Soncha flinches. The woman's face softens slightly and something dawns upon her.
"You don't know, do you?" She asks quietly, Lexa grinds her teeth. "My name is Anya Woods. I am an upcoming Fourth year at Hogwarts." Anya averts her gaze slightly, "You are my cousin, my father's sister's daughter. We only just found you when you used accidental magic a few weeks ago."
Lexa's mind was reeling. She didn't have family. Magic?
"What kind of bullsh—"
"You're a witch, Alexandria." Anya cut her off, jutting her chin up proudly. "You will attend Hogwarts this fall and you will be great. It is in your blood, cousin."
Thunder slammed into her chest, rattling her bones, her very essence. The ground trembled beneath her and the world began to spin. Darkness seeped into the peripheries of Lexa's vision and she felt her knees hit the ground. Lexa succumbed to the blackness; all that remained was silence.