Life and Love and Why
Chapter One: Butterfly Kisses
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My mother loved me.
She was the image of perfection; the perfect mother, the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. My family was close because of her, and nobody could change that. Nothing in the world could tear us apart.
Except when she took her life when I was only eight.
None of us were remotely prepared. She was young – only thirty-two – and seemed as happy as could be. She never complained. But maybe that was her undoing; not letting her emotions free. Maybe she couldn't take being perfect any longer.
We all dealt with it separate ways, my father, sister and I. Dad locked himself in his study for hours at a time; Aster and I looked after each other during the time it took for him to gather himself together. We became independent in the year he let us be. We noticed many things; how hard it was to cook, how much laundry we had, how long it took to clean our entire house.
Something we didn't notice, however, was how aggressive our father was steadily becoming. Towards the time I was to turn nine, he began pointing out little things that were wrong. The railing wasn't polished as brightly as Mum did. Our clothes were too stiff; Mum always put just the right amount of fabric softener in. Mum knew that Dad didn't like gravy on his potatoes.
Finally, the little things became big things. Dad began pointing out all the things that were different about my younger sister and I. Before mother's death, I would have been fine being different. I liked being my own person. Mum used to say I was a sunflower among daisies.
But the way Dad noticed differences hurt. He snapped at me to straighten up and hold my shoulders back, and would point out how Aster held our mother's stately grace. My seven-year-old sibling spoke softly, was calm and collected, as our mother had been. I spoke with an animated air, was energetic and all over the place.
Aster was contrasting colors and shapes. I was all chocolate and caramel. Aster was porcelain skinned, with wide eyes, straight black hair and a sharply angled face. She was like our mother in those respects. I, meanwhile, was nothing like either our parents. My face was round and my eyes were almonds. My skin was olive and my hair waved; milk chocolate flowing across my shoulders. There was only one thing I could proudly state I shared with my mother.
I had her sea foam green eyes. They were light, almost mistaken for blue at a distance when the light wasn't bright. Aster's own were our father's honey brown. And he never pointed out that my eyes were wrong or bad.
It was when I was halfway to my tenth birthday that he began the abuse. Sure, he had long been resorting to the verbal sort. But he finally turned to hitting me, always sure that Aster was asleep or at a friend's house. But I saw her looking around the corner. My cries of pain and pleading sobs were not lost on her innocent ears. She confronted him about the nightly beatings. He explained that it was okay. That I deserved it for being a bad girl.
And she believed him.
God bless her soul. She was nearing eight and had already been convinced that violence was all right.
I don't like to recall these times. Rather, I try to remember the happier times. I have a good memory, and I couldn't force myself to forget Mum if I tried. She used to carry me with her around the house as she worked. And when I got restless, she would let me stumble outside on awkward legs to play in the warm grass. She watched me as I foolishly chased a butterfly through the flowers. She always laughed and tried to explain that if I touched its wings, it wouldn't be able to fly again. But I never listened, and continued to play my childish games.
It was when I would fall and skin a knee or cut a finger that she stopped laughing and swooped me up. She would drop onto the ground and pull me close, whispering words of comfort into my mop of hair. Eventually, I would stop crying and gaze up at her. Our identical eyes would meet and she would smile.
"I love you, Baby," she would sigh, wiping my tears and leaning her forehead gently on mine. I would giggle and grab a lock of her hair with my chubby hands, enjoying our closeness. And always, always, she would flutter her eyelashes against my cheek and laugh softly.
"You're going to be alright, Love," she would whisper, her eyelashes flickering on my skin. "Just don't forget my butterfly kisses."
And I haven't.
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The Marauders were not like every other teenage boy. They were a unique species of man. They intrigued me, however immature and inane they may have appeared at times.
We were not friends. I had no friends, really. Yes, yes, sad, boo hoo. It was my own fault, really, for being so cynical and depressing all the time. I had a certain knack for being sarcastic and stubborn; these combinations turned off most people.
In that sense, the Marauders did not notice me. I studied them from afar; they barely knew I existed. My only remote contact with them was through Lily Evans, the flaming-haired beauty they all loved in one way or another. Evans was… well, she was nice to me. And I was cold to her. You could almost call it a friendship.
The Marauders liked to play tricks. They pranked the Slytherins, mostly, but every once in a while, they'd mess with one of their own just for the hell of it. But their "just-for-fun" pranks were usually on friends, or younger Gryffindors who were too shy for their own good. So when I woke up one morning and found my hair blue – blue, for God's sake – I was quite surprised.
All those years of living with my widowed father had its toll on me. At home, if I were to burst into tears or laugh loudly at something, my dad would backhand me faster than you could say "Quiet!" And quiet I should have been. I was slapped countless times before I learned to hold my emotions in. A psychologist would tell you it's unhealthy. I would tell you it's survival.
So there I stood, staring in the mirror, my now blue curls wild after a dream-filled night. I blinked. And blinked again. And then proceeded to take a shower.
See? No emotion.
Truthfully, I was burning with anger. Hogwarts frowned upon such acts of defiance (actually, only the professors did – Dumbledore, the headmaster, merely grinned). Not that I'm one of those walk-the-line goody two-shoes. I approve of defiance. I prize defiance. But not dying my hair blue.
After scrubbing my hair at least three times, I finally gave up and dressed. I had my makeup done in a minute flat (thank God for naturally dark eyelashes) and was out of the girl's dormitory before my roommates opened their eyes. Before I left, however, I managed to stuff my thick hair into a baseball cap I had charmed to bear the Gryffindor logo.
Take that, Marauders.
"Shit," I muttered. I revoke that thought. Don't take it, Marauders, because you're sitting in the common room right now.
Just act natural, I thought, averting my eyes from their tight-knit group. Act like nothing's the matter.
"Morning, Rhianna," one of them said. I waved nonchalantly and continued on my way, my heart thudding in my chest.
"Why the cap, Moore?" said another. I stopped to glare. It had been the one with glasses that time. James Potter.
"No reason," I replied, and strode quickly out the portrait hole. It swung shut and I breathed a sigh of relief. One incident averted. Countless more to go.
Breakfast went by smoothly. Of course, that could be because all I did was eat a piece of toast, sip some coffee, and then leave before the Marauders could arrive. I meandered slowly to Greenhouse 6, where my first class of the day would be. There was already one person there: Lily Evans.
Her red hair was blowing in the wind, and for this reason she did not notice me. She was too busy trying to get it under control. I was twenty feet from the greenhouse before her emerald eyes found me. A smile graced her lips.
"Hi, Rhianna," she said cheerfully. I grimaced. Sugar and spice and everything nice.
"Evans," I nodded politely, leaning against the greenhouse and attempting to ignore her. Use to my tricks, she spoke anyways.
"You're here early."
"If I'm early, what are you?"
"Earlier." Everyone's a comedian.
"Ha, ha," I muttered, scanning the school's entrance for our classmates. Nope. Breakfast was still in session.
"You've a hair loose," Lily said. My eyes shot to her face, but she wasn't holding back a laugh. She was looking at the entrance matter-of-factly.
"Thanks," I said, stuffing it under the cap. Maybe she knew a charm to hold it all in? Looking at her face again, I erased that thought from my mind. She was looking at me and smiling; a laughing smile.
"Don't laugh at me," I growled, looking back at the entrance.
"I'm not," she replied softly. "I know how immature the Marauders can get. I was just going to say that I know a charm to get rid of it."
People were walking steadily towards us. I looked at her again.
"Want to be partners? Then I can do it while we're working and nobody's looking." The rest of the Gryffindors, along with the Ravenclaws, had reached the greenhouse.
"Right then, Evans. See you in class," I said, and walked into Greenhouse 6. Lily took my answer as a yes and grinned.
"Alright, class, today we're going to be working with Snickle Fruits." I tuned out immediately at those words. Snickle Fruits? Yeah, right. What kind of name is that?
I have this knack to zoning out but still hearing what the teacher is saying. I could daydream during an entire lecture and still be able to tell you the gist of the lesson afterwards. So when the ten percent of my brain listening to the professor picked up on the word 'partners' halfway through the lecture, I straightened slowly. Now, where was Lily?
"Hey there, partner," came a deep voice over my right shoulder. I turned at saw Sirius Black grinning widely, his teeth perfectly white and straight. Annoyingly perfect.
"Uh… sorry to say, but you're—" I saw Lily out of the corner of my eye and looked at her. She was being dragged off by James with an apologetic look on her face.
"—My partner," I finished lamely. The dark-haired boy winked a gray eye and dropped onto a stool beside me. I made sure my hat was covering my hair before pulling on my leather gloves. Sirius didn't move to put his on, so I tapped my fingers impatiently on the table.
"Aren't you going to put on your gloves?" I snapped. Sirius looked at me, amused.
"No. They're just fruits." I scoffed.
"If you say so," I shrugged, and reached for one of the ripe, orange fruits. Sirius pushed my arm away.
"Let a master show you how it's done," he said cheekily, grabbing far too quickly. The fruit emitted a shrill noise and leaked purple juice from every pore on its body. Sirius' tan hand closed around it and a split second later, he yelped loudly and released the fruit.
"Holy shit!" he yelled, hurriedly wiping the acidic juice off of his hand with a towel.
"Should've put on your gloves!" I shrieked with laughter, clutching my ribs. Sirius glared at me, his eyes turning stormy. Gorgeous eyes, really, such a delightfully rare color… What the--? No, his eyes were certainly not gorgeous.
"Oh really?" he sneered. "And you're supposed to take of your hat indoors."
Sirius reached up and snatched at my hat. I gasped loudly, just as something blue flew towards my head and collided with the hat. A tingling sensation covered my scalp as Sirius whipped the hat off, revealing my…
Brown hair. Wait, brown?
I looked at Lily, my mouth hanging open. Her wand was in her left hand, pointed under her right arm and at my head. My eyes met hers and she gave me a quick smile. Regaining my senses, I whirled around on Sirius, sure my own eyes were a wild green. His had lightened considerable. Certainly, definitely not gorgeous eyes.
"Is there a problem, Miss Moore, Mr. Black?" the professor asked, standing in front of us. Sirius searched my gaze. I knew what he was thinking, wondering if I was going to blow the entire prank and rat him out. He was sure of it. It was written across his face.
"No, Professor. I was just having a bad hair day, is all," I said clearly. Hide the emotions. Ignore your feelings. Cover my heart.
"Next time, Miss Moore, just put it in a ponytail to avoid disruptions. And Mr. Black, put on your gloves before you burn a hole in your hand. Continue, please." I forcibly pulled my eyes from Sirius' questioning stare and continued the lesson. Thankfully, my partner agreed that silence was best.
When class had officially ended, I grabbed my bag and hat and nearly ran from the greenhouse. I was just thanking every deity I could think of that I had gotten away when I heard his voice calling my name. I quickened my pace, but alas, my 5'7" frame with its short stride was no match for his six foot one.
"Rhianna! Wait up!" he said, slowing and falling into stride beside me. "Listen, about just now, thanks for not—"
I whirled on my heel and slapped him full across the face. His face was flabbergasted. I'm sure I looked odd, appearing as calm as anything, but having just slapped one of the most popular boys in the school. "That's for being a complete and blistering idiot."
I left him, walking slower this time. I heard Remus Lupin, a pale, sickly-looking boy mention something about karma before I was out of hearing range.
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Dinner is a boisterous event. Friends laugh and joke about the happenings of the day, and plan the events of the approaching weekend. I sat alone at the end of the table, no friends with which to plan.
I occupied myself with my Charms book. I've never been particularly good at Charms. My strong areas are Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Growing up as Muggle born, I have never truly seen the need for Charms.
I was going over a particularly difficult spell when Lily Evans sat across from me, smiling slightly, though her eyes showed concern. I looked up.
"Yes?"
"You looked lonely."
"I wasn't."
"I just felt like talking to you, then. It was marvelous how you slapped Black earlier today," she giggled, her flaming hair falling into her eyes. "I've been wanting to do the same to Potter for years now."
"He had it coming to him," I shrugged, and looked at my book again. A left flick, swirl right, jab up…
"Charms troubles?" Lily asked, leaning forward for a better look. I slammed the book shut.
"No. In fact, watch how good I am," I said, pointing my wand down the table. After making sure nobody but Lily was looking, I muttered a spell. My wand tip flashed and down the table, Sirius' soup blew outwards just as he leaned over to take a bite. It was wonderful. Carrots and broth dripping all down his face.
"Rhianna!" Lily squealed, hiding her laugh behind her hand. I stuffed my want back in my bag and bit my tongue to keep from laughing. To the world, I appeared as if nothing had happened. Lily stood up and left after a while, grinning widely. Not ten seconds had passed before Sirius sat across from me.
I could feel his stormy gaze burning a hole into me, but I refused to look up from my book. Let him sit there, for all I cared. Maybe I could fake that it hadn't been me.
"Moore," he said matter-of-factly.
"Hmm?"
"Look at me." I looked up and choked back a laugh. His shaggy hair was wet where it framed his face, and his long eyelashes were sticky with the broth of the soup.
"Whatever happened to you, Black?" I snickered, covering it with a cough.
"Damn it, Moore, don't act like it wasn't you. Peter saw," he growled, sounding very much like a dog. I peered down the table, where the ratty-looking Pettigrew was staring at me. He shifted his gaze immediately, as I returned mine to Sirius.
"And if it was me?" I asked softly, leaning forward across the table. Sirius leaned forward, too, so that our faces were inches apart. Smells like sandalwood cologne… Stop that, now.
"Then you've begun a war, Moore." He smirked at his own little joke. I rolled my eyes.
"Hilarious. And I'm so scared."
"You should be," Sirius replied, leaning back and standing up. His gray orbs caught my green ones once more, and I felt something in the pit of my stomach.
Oh, shit, what have I done?