Edited Nov 23, 2014.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K.R. Rowling does, but Ruby is all mine. Cue evil laughter.
Prologue
The Call of Fury
I can still remember the wonder and absolute excitement I felt that day. It was before the carnage, before the desire for revenge saturated my senses, before I understood what it meant to be ripped apart by an agony so bitter, it withers the soul, before I knew about the cursed existence of magic, before the Death Eaters.
May 31, 1980
My eyes widened as they took in the sight. They were filled with a kind of awe and wonder only one who sees the ocean for the first time can display. The sun shone warm and lazy in the California sky as if jubilant at the promise of the beginning of summer. It kissed my lily-white skin with a fiery touch.
There I sat on a beach towel, in a regular one piece lavender swimsuit. The wind whispered sweet nothings as it blew through my shoulder length, auburn hair. In a word, it was absolute paradise. The taste of salt in the air almost intoxicated me. I couldn't drink it in enough. It was as if I had never truly breathed until that moment. The ocean sparkled a deep cerulean blue that dazzled the world. The sky was alive with the squalls of seagulls and it spread out into infinity.
Fervently, I prayed that this was not another medication induced hallucination.
As Ruby Irene Williams—16 year old, book-worm, loner, and comic book geek extraordinaire,—I never felt so overjoyed and thankful of my life as I did then. For the first time in ten years, I was free from the dreaded "C" word, otherwise known as cancer. Suddenly, reality solidified and I knew that there would no longer be any aggressive radiation and chemotherapy treatments. No more losing my hair, losing my composure, losing my mind, or whatever other tortures the doctors threw my way.
I knew what it meant to live and a gratitude erupted within my soul I have not felt since. This I recognized, implicitly, as a golden moment in my life. If I could have frozen time and lived there forever, I would have done so without hesitation. Tears slipped from my ice blue eyes and danced joyfully down my face in reckless abandon. I wondered if it was possible to die from such happiness.
The sight of the ocean meant more than sightseeing to me, some might even dare to call it an obsession (my younger sister Dianna for instance.) Beyond, or in spite of, what jealous idiots may think (cough*Dianna*cough,) it, to me, was a symbol of freedom and quiet strength. Whenever I looked at a painting of the sea, determination flooded my soul and I did not doubt that I would live to lay my eyes on it. Every time I faced the fear of death, every time I needed a reason to fight (but my fatigued body had nothing left to fight with), every time my hands clenched into fists and shook, the knuckles white with the pain of my treatments, I would think about that watery blue haven. Then strength welled up and I had the power to overcome anything.
Of course my dream wasn't just to see the ocean, that was only part of it. It is not just about where you travel that makes the best trips, but who you travel with. I wanted my family with me.
Mom, Denise Williams, gently squeezed my thin hand. She understood how important this had been for me. We looked at the ocean quietly for a few minutes. The silence was broken when a group of surfer boys popped out of nowhere. With a mischievous look I had seldom seen in Mom's eyes, she calmly said the most ridiculous thing, "Rubes see those hot beach boys." I nodded in confusion. She continued," You should let out your inner hormonal teenager and flirt it up."
I nearly choked on a Tic Tac.
Mom had started to pressure me to begin the whole "girly, salivate over boys, stage" but I just didn't see any point to romance. I had already dealt with enough drama with my health problems. Why add love and teenage, relationship angst into the equation? Nope, not gonna happen. "Tranquility" was my chosen catchphrase at this point.
My first response was incredulity. I mean, seriously, I wasn't a normal flirty teenager. The very idea made me snort. Disbelief clouded my face. I couldn't believe my mom said "hot." The word "eww" came to mind, but the thing I loved the most about my mom was that she always knew how to make me laugh. This gave me the perfect opportunity to have one of our famous banter sessions, so I chuckled then said, "You old cougar."
"What did you say?" Mom said as her eyebrow twitched.
"Ahh losing your hearing too. You know first it's the hearing, then, your brain shrivels in senility" I smiled cockily at her. "You Mom are 'old' and a 'woman,' who just happens to be checking out a much younger man. That qualifies as being a 'cougar'."
Mom's face turned an interesting shade of red. "Ruby Irene Williams! I'm not an old cougar nor do I have any eyes for anyone." She huffed and said, "Besides if I'm doing any checking out it is for you! I would have to be blind to not notice a male that good-looking. I'm simply being a thoughtful mother by encouraging you to get some, dating experience."
I scoffed and raised an eyebrow, which was a favorite Vulcan imitation of mine that Mom hated. "Come on mom I mean I think it is obvious that this," I pointed to my skinny bordering of skeletal, plain self "and that," I pointed to the blonde Jr. Model, "is not going to happen." Mom got a sad look in her eye at what she perceived as lack of confidence, so I hurried on, "And besides if you are so interested, go flirt it up yourself and leave me out of it. Not that they would be interested in cougars," I snickered then hurled over with laughter as her face blazed.
In hindsight, I can see that, that was not the wisest course of action to take. Underneath my mother's petite, slender, 5"3 frame, beat the heart of an intensely proud woman. A woman with a known mean streak when properly pissed. In my defense, I think I might have been high on life at this point.
My laughter stopped when I felt an eerie sense of doom. Then, like a horror movie in slow motion, I watched as Mom got up gracefully and walked over to the blond-haired Adonis. I couldn't hear what she said but I could tell she asked for his number and flirted for me! And, horror of horrors, pointed her finger in my direction!
I have a P.T.S.D flash back to elementary when Mom asked some random kids to be my friend. It was "for my own good," at least that was how Mom justified it. Who would have thought they were the most popular kids at the time. It honestly had been the worst year ever. Because of her, I got blacklisted for being so pathetic my mom had to make friends for me. If that counted as pathetic, this was astronomically worse. My face could only be described as murderous mixed with appalled, not a pleasant look. She returned with a crinkled white paper with a phone number on it.
I sputtered and pointed the finger of shame. "How could you flirt with some beach dude? Your old, and you have Dad, and did I mention you're old."
She just laughed and said "First off, I did not 'flirt' I merely pointed out all your good attributes. Secondly, even if I did, just as young lions learn to hunt for meat from their mothers through observation, so too should you learn to flirt from me."
The realization that my mom—a woman twenty years older—was better when she picked up men for me, than I was for myself, paralyzed me. It seemed shame and mortification went by the name of "Ruby."
Mom sighed. "Rubes I want you to enjoy life and some of the best and worst parts of it happen because people are willing to risk themselves and make mistakes. To really live means going outside of our comfort zones. Up until this point all you have focused on is survival, but there is more to life than surviving. I want you to live, to live to flirt, to laugh, to love and, I want you to try to do this with that boy."
Just as young, blonde, and hunky started to make his way over in my direction, he froze as a dark aura suddenly enveloped the beach. Not surprisingly it came from the general direction of my father, who returned with the beach umbrella. My dad William grumbled about the crowds on the beach. He glared at said Adonis until the blond got the picture and took his surf board into safer waters. I couldn't really blame the guy because at 6"3 my dad cut a pretty intimidating figure. Being a Police Officer probably brings up the intimidation factor considerably.
For all his grumps, complaints, and threats towards the boys, I had never seen Dad so relaxed. The stiffness in his body language disappeared. I had a feeling that he was even happier than myself at that time. And even as embarrassing and brazen as my mom could be—and I still haven't forgiven her for picking up a guy for me—I'd been so glad she was there to fight with. Lulled by the sun I couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. It was easy to remember all the times when Mom's words of encouragement and utter confidence lifted me out of my doubts. Or when she joked and made me laugh when all I thought I had left were tears.
Then there was dad. Although a man of few words, I never felt safer than when I was with him. He may have been a giant but there was no man gentler than him. To say he was protective is not enough. He had been my strongest defender. Quietly, he patted my shoulder and I could feel every callus in his work worn hands, it reminded me of the silent comfort he gave me over the years. One time in particular stood out.
When I first lost all my hair at twelve, I went to school after many weeks of absences. Things went alright until lunch. It happened in front of everyone in the cafeteria. Calls of "freak" rang though the air. Worst of all was being laughed at by a boy I liked. I didn't want to face my parents so I stayed in the tree house my father build for me. I was so humiliated and heartbroken. Then, I got it into my mind that I might be an embarrassment to my family and shouldn't show my face in public.
Well, the tree house might not have been the smartest hiding place, but then again dad seemed to have a sixth sense about me when I needed him. So, while he gently held me in his arms, the story stumbled out between sobs. He rubbed circles on my back. When I had quieted down some, I asked him if he was ashamed of me. Before I had even finished the sentence, Dad did something I would not forget.
He grabbed my chin, looked into my eyes, and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was beautiful even without hair. Dad ranted about how it would take an idiot not to see it. He said that I made him proud as a daughter because of how my inner beauty matched my outer beauty. Last of all, he declared that one day I would find someone to love, but that I didn't need a man or a boyfriend to validate my worth.
I believed in him, even though I didn't always believe in myself, because I knew Dad didn't give compliments, only facts. He was my rock.
After all these memories ran through my mind, I couldn't help but feel that I would never deserve the amount of love and support my parents had given to me. I made a promise that deserving of it or not, nothing would stop me from living the rest of my life trying to. At the moment, nothing could bring me down. Unfortunately, if there is one law of the universe that is irrevocable, it is that all good things must come to an end.
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