In my parent's room, underneath the large windows which overlooked our expansive garden, was a dressing table.
It was grand and the dark oak wood had delicate carvings on the legs, which gave it a more feminine look. I loved that dressing table, but what I loved even more was watching my mother sit there every morning, wrapped in her dressing gown and looking into the oval mirror upon the vanity table. At ten years old I would sit in at her feet in wonder as I watched her apply the modest amounts of creams and lotions that she did everyday. She would look at me and smile kindly, holding her hand out to me so that I would stand in front of her.
"I can't wait until I'm old enough to wear make-up," I would sigh longingly, my eyes following her hands as she swept powder over her high cheekbones. "I want to look just like you."
"Clara, dear," she would say, her voice melodious, only showing a hint of her French heritage, as she tickled the tip of my nose with the soft brush, "There's not a single thing about you that would ever need the slightest bit of covering with make-up, my little beauty."
She laughed gently as I scrunched up my nose in disbelief. In my eyes, my mother was the epitome of beauty and grace. Her hair was as dark as the night sky and it flowed in glossy waves down past her shoulders. She had perfect curves, a kind smile and an air of confidence which only heightened her natural beauty.
So I found it difficult to believe my mothers words when I looked into the mirror and all I saw was a rail thin girl with knobbly knees and stringy blonde hair which was constantly tousled. There was only a few similarities between the two of us, and I was eternally thankful to have even these small pieces of myself that reflected my mother. We shared the same wide, doe eyes, a deep shade of green with thick dark lashes, and also identical long straight noses. The rest I had inherited from my father, his childish good looks, a set of dimples and a short stature.
One day in early July when I was eleven, I was watching my mother sitting at the large dressing table. She had her hair over her shoulder and was delicately brushing it as I sat on the window seat, absent mindedly flicking though one of her novels. My father was downstairs cleaning up after breakfast, insisting that my mother and I were to leave the dishes to him.
"Clara? Would you like to know a secret?" my mother asked from her seat. I nodded eagerly and she grinned widely, motioning for me to take a seat on her lap. I climbed up and she began softly pulling her sliver brush through my unruly hair. I spent most days with my mother. We were inseparable, my Dad worked at the ministry Monday through Friday, and my Mum stayed home with me. Playing, taking trips to the local lake, Diagon Alley, wherever we wanted. On the weekends the three of us would go on picnics or go fishing or visit my grandparents. We truly were a perfectly happy family. "Now, if I told you, you wouldn't be able to tell Daddy, I'm going to tell himself myself tonight, could you keep this a secret?"
"Yes Mum, of course!" I squealed, eager to share something as special as a secret with her.
Unable to contain her ever growing grin, she burst with excitement, "You're going to have a little brother or sister!"
My heart swelled and as I looked in the mirror I watched as my mouth stretched into a wide smile that reflected my mothers. I'd always dreamed of having a younger sister to play with. My mother had said brother or sister, but I knew it was going to be a girl. I could feel it. I could teach her to play gobstones, we could go swimming in the lake together, I could do everything with her, she would be my little sister.
"What are you two giggling about?" My father asked as he appeared leaning in the doorway with a curious smile.
"Nothing Daddy!" I smiled as I skipped over to him and he gathered me up and swung me around to sit on his shoulders.
"Nothing huh? Well there's nothing I can't tickle out of you Clara." He warned before his his fingers acted as feathers on my side. I began laughing hysterically, clinging for dear life onto his shoulders.
"Watch out now, Robert, make sure you don't drop her." My mother laughed from where she sat watching, her eyes shining with laughter.
"As if I would ever drop my precious Clara!" My father gasped dramatically as he plopped down upon their large, soft bed, me falling at his side cushioned by the duvet and clambering up on to his knee. "So, what would you like to do today kiddo? The world's your oyster." he asked planting a kiss upon my head.
"Swimming!" I exclaimed, the lake we lived by was my favourite place to go in the summer months.
"Well I'm sure that can be arranged. Diana, are you coming with us love?" My Dad turned to my Mum with what could only be described as complete and utter awe in his eyes. It was the exact same look that she gave him. My parents couldn't of been more in love with one another, and I found myself admiring this daily, even at age eleven.
"Not today, I have a special dinner planned for tonight. I'm going to get that started, you two have a lovely day." She told him with a twinkle in her eye. A twinkle that only I understood.
"But we've only just had breakfast!" My father exclaimed throwing his arms in the air in a joking manner. He took my mother in his arms and gave her a small peck on the lips.
"Have you got your wand on you?" My mother asked, "You shouldn't go out without it. Just in case, you know what it's like out there." My Father picked up his nine inch, oak wand and twirled it through his fingers masterfully.
"I can't wait until I have one." I sighed longingly. My whole life I'd been waiting for the day I got to step into Ollivanders and purchase my first wand. It was the first step on my journey through Hogwarts, the school both my parents had attended. My mother was in Gryffindor, while my father was two years above her and in Ravenclaw.
"It won't be long now sweetheart, as soon as you receive your letter we'll all go together and get everything you need. Okay?" My mother reassured me and I nodded. "Good, now off you pop and get your swimming bag."
"We'll be back before you know it, love. I love you." He kissed my mother once more before taking my hand and just as we were exiting the door I looked over my shoulder just in time to see my mother shoot me a wink, a wide smile still plastered across her features.
- Straying from the Path -
The entire day I was fit to burst. Excitement flooded through me and I was too close to spilling my mother's secret to my dad many times. By the time we were walking home, my hair wet and licking a strawberry ice-cream cone upon my dads shoulders, I was smiling smugly to myself for not saying a word.
As we approached the house at three o'clock in the afternoon my dad popped me off of his shoulders and stood me in front of him, "Right, now remember Clara, you can't tell your Mum about the ice-cream before dinner okay?" I nodded, but he just laughed, "'Atta girl, but we should probably clean half of that cone off of your face first then, eh?"
We walked hand in hand through the large front door into our big, yet modest, four bedroom home. "Diana! That's us home!" My dad announced, tossing my swimming bag into the coat closet. "Diana? Where are you, love?" He furrowed his eyebrows and I followed him as he traipsed into the empty living room and checked their bedroom. "Diana?!" He hurried down the staircase and into the kitchen, my short legs struggling to keep up with his strides. "DIANA!"
When I reached the kitchen a few seconds after my father had, he was nowhere in sight. I was scared now and I could feel tears forming at the corner of my eyes. What was going on? "Daddy? Where are you? Where's Mum?" There was an unnatural feeling in the air, it was heavy and uncomfortable.
What I heard then was a sound I'd never forget. A strangled sob came from the other side of the island counter. Apprehensively, I took small steps to get to the other side, where I saw a sight that turned my stomach. My weeping, hysterical father was lying on the ground hugging my mother. But it wasn't her, she was too still and her creamy skin was waxy. Unmoving.
I promptly doubled over and emptied my stomach of my strawberry ice cream cone.
At age eleven I saw my mothers dead body.
- Straying from the Path -
People always say that whenever terrible things happen to them that their world just stops. That it ceases to exist. It's true, I felt suspended. But only for three seconds. During that three seconds I managed to observe many little details I had missed on entering the kitchen. A lot of the cupboard doors were either off of their hinges or torn off altogether. There were smashed plates on the floor. Small traces of blood laced the counter tops and the floor tiles. The room was in an awful state, obvious signs of a struggle.
But after those three seconds of suspension, everything happened in a blur.
All of a sudden there were men and women in our house, at least twelve. They had their wands out and were looking both sad and angry at the same time. They all wore matching robes and acted very professionally. Some of them even spoke to my father as if they knew him, which was possible if they were from the Ministry of Magic where he worked. I didn't pay much attention to them, I had curled myself into a small ball and hid under the kitchen table. I watched as yet another wizard entered the kitchen. He was tall and his silvery beard was only a little longer than the hair on his head. I recognised him as Professor Dumbledore from one of the chocolate frogs my father had bought me. I didn't hear much. The only words I could make out were 'he is recruiting' and 'wanted you to join his side'. What sides?
I managed to sneak out of the busy kitchen and make my way up to my parents bedroom. I sat at my mothers dressing table and looked into the oval mirror. My eyes were red and puffy and there were tear stains down my cheeks. I had been sitting there for what felt like forever, when someone cleared their throat at the door. It was Dumbledore and my shaking father. The tall, bearded wizard came over and sat across from me.
"Clara Seaver?" he asked kindly, and I nodded sniffing. "I am Professor Dumbledore, I'm head master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I believe you will be joining us next year?" I nodded again. "I'm awfully sorry to hear about your mother Clara."
"What about my sister?" I asked quietly. Dumbledore looked a little taken aback at my question, and my father looked up confusedly. "It was a secret. Mum said I wasn't supposed to tell yet."
And with those few words, I watched as my father crumpled to the ground and let out a strangled cry.
- Straying from the Path -
A few days passed in a complete blur and I had stayed silent. I was trying not to say anything else that would upset my father, who was constantly on edge. It was the day of my mothers funeral and it was over before I knew it. We didn't have much family, Only my father, my maternal grandmother, who lived abroad, and I. But what we lacked in family, my parents more than made up for in friends.
After the funeral, a wake was held at our house. People all dressed in black were crowded round telling stories and fond memories. I had worn my favourite black dress and my blonde hair was semi tame, pulled back and tied with a black ribbon. I'd had to master that art myself because even at eleven o'clock that morning my father had been nursing a glass of amber liquid in his hand and hadn't been able to so much as look at me.
The same glass he currently held at the wake as he played polite with the people in our home.
A few days after the funeral Professor Dumbledore appeared at our front door again. I poked my head round the living room door to catch a glimpse him in our entryway.
"Ahh, Clara. Just who I was looking for." He smiled kindly, his eyes twinkling. My father did not look me in the eye as he went into the coat closet and came out with a small trunk in one hand, the other still holding his drink. Nowadays that glass was a permanent fixture in his hand, his eyes were always bloodshot and his clothes rumpled.
"What's going on?" I asked in a small frightened voice, I looked towards my father, "Daddy?"
"This is for the best, Clara. Please, just go with Professor Dumbledore." he spoke monotonously, his eyes on the floor.
"But, Dad-"
"Just do as I say Clara!" he snapped and my eyes watered. He downed what was remaining of his drink and continued to look away at anything but me.
"That's enough." Dumbledore warned, he reached a hand out to me and smiled kindly. "I'll explain everything once we're outside Clara." he told me.
I walked out through the door, my small hand hand enveloped by his, but I couldn't help glancing back at my father. He didn't notice me though, he was too busy pouring himself another drink.
"Would you take my arm please, Clara?" Dumbledore asked politely, and I did as he said because I knew he was someone I could trust.
Everything went black and I felt as though I was being pushed through a tight tube. All of a sudden I was no longer outside of my own house on the outskirts of London, but outside of a much larger house, with sprawling grounds, many trees and a lake.
Dumbledore walked towards the front door and I followed behind him curiously. When he knocked I found myself partially hiding behind him. Where was I? Why was I here?
A short, motherly lady opened the door in an apron with a wide smile on her face. "Come on in!" she spoke joyfully, her greying hair bouncing as she opened the door wider. Despite her happy demeanour, I still found myself hiding behind Dumbledore. Not that she minded, when she spotted me I saw only a brief flicker of sympathy on her face before she knelt down to my level and gave me a small, genuine smile. "Hello Clara. It's nice to see you, my name is Amelia. Amelia Potter. I was a good friend of your mothers." Now that she'd said it, I did recognise her from the funeral. Also, I'm positive my mother and I had bumped into her in Diagon Alley a few times.
She held a hand out for me to shake and I took it, returning her smile.
"Clara, you're going to be staying here with Amelia and her family for a few days, until your father begins to feel a little better. Is that okay?" Dumbledore asked. I nodded. It had become increasingly difficult to live with my father over the past week and a half. Most of the time he just ignored me, which was the worst part.
Just then a tall man with a round stomach, salt and pepper hair that he'd tried to comb unsuccessfully and a wondrously large moustache came down the staircase.
"This is my husband Charles, but I will introduce you to him after. Why don't you run along into the kitchen over there. I've just baked some lovely gingerbread cookies which I am sure you'll just love." Mrs Potter pointed in the direction of the kitchen and gave me a wink. She was a very warm lady and I already liked her a lot.
Dumbledore, Mr and Mrs Potter all walked through another door into what I was assuming was some sort of office or a living room. Alone in the large entrance, I wandered slowly into the kitchen, following the deliciously inviting smell of freshly baked cookies. When I entered the kitchen however, I found that I was not alone.
At the island counter top, in the middle of the kitchen, perched upon a tall stool was a young boy with messy black hair which was pointing in every direction, chowing down on a cookie whilst pushing his glasses up his nose.
He noticed me out of the corner of his eye before turning fully towards me, looking entirely unperturbed. He grinned widely and held out the plate towards me. "Here, have a cookie, they're amazing." I stepped forwards and took one gingerly before nibbling on it, watching as he chomped through three. "Who are you? I'm James by the way." He said round a mouthful.
"I'm Clara." I told him, laughing as he started on a fourth.
"So are you starting at Hogwarts this year too?" he asked, and when I nodded my head his grin grew even wider. "Cool. Do you know how to play Gobstones?" I nodded silently again, and it must have been the right answer because he wiped his hands of the cookie crumbs, jumped off of his stool and lead me away to his play room where we continued to play for hours on end. Laughing with each other and exchanging strategies.
- Straying from the Path -
I spent a total of six weeks living at Potter House. Mr and Mrs Potter, or Charles and Amelia as they kept on insisting I call them, were exceptionally warm and inviting. Both of them, along with James, made my stay a their home both comfortable and enjoyable. I knew that Mr and Mrs Potter must of told James about my 'situation', as he did walk on eggshells around me for all of four hours before he was back to teasing me about my recent losing streak on our ongoing Gobstones tournament. Mr Potter was full to the brim of hilarious stories which he would recount to James and I over dinner almost every night. James and I would be laughing hysterically, so much that Mrs Potter would roll her eyes and insist we finished our dinner before hilarity could ensue, but even her lips would pull up at the corners.
Mrs Potter without a doubt was one of the kindest, warmest and motherly people I had ever met. Every time I woke up in the middle of the night, she would comfort me as I wept over my mother. She would rub my back and brush her fingers through my hair whilst whispering words of comfort until I fell asleep. During a particularly bad night where I was sobbing uncontrollably, she took my small body onto her knee comfortingly. It was the same night I decided to ask the question that had been on my mind for the past couple of weeks. I was just starting to calm down when I blurted out, "Does my Dad hate me?" I couldn't of got a more compassionate look from anyone else. She reassured me that my father did not hate me. Not at all. He loved me very much and that he was just feeling a bit sad after losing my mother. That he just needed a little time and then he would be back to his old self.
I wanted to believe her words. I really did. But, even at eleven years old, I doubted that my relationship with my father would ever be the same again. He couldn't bear to look at me, or even be in the same house as me.
I could never express how grateful I was to both Mr and Mrs Potter for setting me up in one of their many guest rooms.
On the eighth of August, both James' and I's Hogwarts letter's arrived at Potter House. What should have been the happiest moment of my short life so far, was slightly tinged by the fact that my mother was not there to share it with me. After dwelling on that fact for a couple days, I was pulled out of my sadness by a trip to Diagon Alley, where James and I purchased everything on our lists. The most important of these items being our wands. We spent half an hour in Ollivanders before I skipped out with a great big smile on my face and my very own wand twirling between my fingers. It was ten and a quarter inches, made from cherry wood with a unicorn hair at it's core and I was more than just happy in that moment.
- Straying from the Path -
With only a week left until the start of my first term at Hogwarts, I was told that I would be returning to my father's house. I felt awful for thinking it, but after experiencing the tense, horrible atmosphere in our house after my mother had died, I didn't really want to return. Not after knowing the warm, loving environment of the Potter home. Since her death it was as if my father was not the same person any more. Not even a shadow of the loving, playful Dad he once was.
I promised Mr and Mrs Potter that I would write to them throughout my year at Hogwarts and also that I would visit them during next years summer holidays, Christmas or Easter if possible. I also said goodbye to James, promising to him that I would see him aboard Hogwarts Express.
With my goodbyes finished, Mr Potter apparated me to my front door. I looked up anxiously and he must of noticed because he bent down to my level and gave me a quick, reassuring hug. "Make sure you write Clara, okay? If we don't hear from you in a few weeks we'll tell James to embarrass you in front of all your new friends." he joked.
I laughed softly, before turning towards the door and turning the handle. "Thank you Mr Potter."
"It's Charles dear." he told me for what must have been the hundredth time, before winking and dis-apparating.
I walked into the entryway and closed the door behind me. Silence. Not a sound coming from anywhere in the house. "Dad?" I called out. Nothing. I set down my small trunk and I wandered through the house. I eventually found my father in the living room, passed out on the couch with his amber filled glass, and bottle, at his side. So much for better.
I slowly backed out of the room and tiptoed upstairs. If there was one place I would feel close to my mother, it was definitely in here. I opened the door into my parents room and gasped at the sight that greeted me. Even with the warm August heat outside, the room was absolutely freezing, the large windows were open wide so that a cold wind danced through the curtains. The entire room was painted white and the room looked almost sterile, as if nobody lived there. It didn't even resemble the room of my mother.
What was most noticeable about the room however, was none of these things.
Gone was my mothers dressing table. The dressing table which held so many of my memories of her. The one object in this entire household that was tied so closely to the person I missed dearly. The one place I could go to feel close with my mother again. It was gone.
And it was in that instant in which I realised just how drastically my life had changed since her death. How much I hated this house now. How much things would never be the same again.
- Straying from the Path -
Hey, it's Em! So I've had this on my computer for the last year (Since just before last christmas) and though I should just publish it. I'm not sure where this story is going, but it will probably be slow updates - my main priority is A Moment of Impact (Teen Wolf Stiles/OC if you haven't heard of it)
The story is going to take place during Clara and the other Marauders 7th year, which is where the story picks up next chapter (I have a bit already written)
So thanks for reading, let me know if it's worth continuing in the reviews!