In the darkened bedroom, three heads bent close together over a
chessboard. Three quarreling voices rang out softly through the silence of
the room.
"That was an illegal move; you can't move your knight that way!" Aria was complaining, reaching for the battered-looking piece.
The boy in the middle grabbed her hand and cried, "Aria, don't touch it! You'll wreck the game." He nudged his glasses up on his nose and brushed a lock of auburn hair from his eyes, giving both a look of annoying authority. "In wizard chess, you must be very careful not to disrupt the game, because if you do you'll both turn into pixies!"
"Pixies?!" Aria and her brother cried together, Damien in alarm but Aria in delight. "A boy can't become a pixie!" Damien continued, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Bet you made that up, Aven."
Aven shook his head gravely, leaning back a little from the board and settling himself cross-legged on the old rug in his parents' bedroom. "Of course I didn't; it's true. You turn into pixies if you ruin a game of wizard chess. You wouldn't know, of course, because you're still living in the Muggle world." He said this with just the slightest bit of contempt that made both Aria and Damien, despite their annoyed expressions, listen all the closer to his words. It was true that they had not been inside the wizarding world since they were small children; Aven had lived there all his life and it seemed common sense that he would know more than themselves. And he was certainly playing it to his advantage. "But if you don't believe me," the eleven-year old continued, still in tones of clear superiority, "you're welcome to pick up the knight." He grinned at Damien. "You'd make a splendid pixie, you know."
Damien made a face and kept his hands back. "Fine then." He nodded at Aria. "Your turn."
Before she could make a move, a door slammed downstairs. All three heads snapped up; the children looked at each other with wide eyes, then at the chessboard. As one, they grabbed the pieces and stuffed them back into the box, the threat of pixies forgotten in their haste. Aven looked around the room desperately, saw the closet in the back, and grabbed both his cousins. "Come on, we'll hide here!"
"They'll catch us!" Aria hissed back, but she scuttled to the closet with her brother and Aven, and all three shoved themselves inside and cleared away a path in the pile of shoes. "That's my dad's old chess set; he'll kill us!"
"No he won't," Aven shot back, "not if you shut up he won't!"
Aria scowled at him. "Just because you're a boy doesn't give you cause to be rude," she grumbled beneath her breath, but she kept quiet after that, listened closely to the commotion downstairs.
"Aven!" the voice of a woman echoed up the stairs. "Aven, are you here? Where is the sitter, has she gone out again?" There was a long silence, a silence that spanned at least five minutes.
The heavy breathing of the three hiding miscreants seemed to echo in their ears. "What's going on?" Damien whispered finally, shifting slightly and toppling a shoe with a dull thud.
Aven whirled his head around and glared furiously at his cousin. "Don't move!" he warned, then turned back to the crack in the door. "If we get caught in here, it'll be the end of us. That's not my mother, that's Grammy, she'll have a darned fit. Just last week she promised me if she ever caught me anywhere near my mother's old things she would hang me out a window with the laundry!" He winced in the darkness and glanced at the other two. Why had he mentioned his mother? He had not seen her or his father since the beginning of summer, when his grandmother had come to care for him, but he had been told not to say a word of the matter and so it was kept secret.
Aria snorted softly into one of the large overcoats that were tucked into the back of the closet. Aven turned and glared at her, but she grinned back at him. "And you believed her? Your grandmother, hang someone out a window? What tosh!"
"Shhhhhh," Damien hissed, slapping a hand over his sister's mouth. All three turned toward the door, fear and guilt suddenly creeping into their eyes. The door to the bedroom creaked open on its hinges. Footsteps, slow and steady, sounded from across the room. "I hear her," Damien whispered into his sister's ear. "Aven? What do you see, what's the matter. what are you doing?" This last phrase was whispered with startled fear.
Aven had begun to shake, his eyes locked on the crack in the door, his hands twitching. His legs began to uncurl beneath him; his hands pushed at the door, as though to open it. He readied himself to exit, his two cousins crouched behind him in utter bewilderment, then turned and looked back at them. Damien and Aria gasped; the look in his eyes was all that gave away the spell. His eyes were their normal friendly green, but they were opened wide in horror and creases around them shot up the boy's face and across his forehead like sudden cracks would appear in the ground during a massive earthquake. The rest of his face was ashen white and looked as though it was pasted into the blankest expression either of the two transfixed children had ever seen.
With a very low gasp, Aven fell back against the corner of the closet, away from the door. The floor creaked beneath him; outside the closet door, the footsteps froze. All three children held their breath; after a long moment, the creaking continued, somewhere around the chest of drawers that Aria had been leaning against when they were playing.
"There's a. a." Aven's words were swallowed in his fear.
Aria grabbed his wrist; his skin felt cold and clammy under her touch and she grimaced but did not let go. "Aven, what happened? It's okay, we can explain about the chessboard, she won't punish me and Damien if we say it was us."
"It's not just her out there," Aven said after taking a deep breath. His eyes turned on Aria; the girl leaned back at the grave gleam in them and gulped softly. Damien leaned over her shoulder, staring at the closed closet door with riveted intensity. There was faint light spilling underneath it now, as though someone had lit a candle, but none of them had heard a match struck. "There's something. else. A dementor."
Unfortunately, this didn't have quite the effect that young Aven might have hoped; though he had grown up in a family that spoke of Azkaban prison and the revolt of the dementors as easily as one in the Muggle world might speak of countries fighting and politics, his cousins lived in a family where magic was rarely spoken of and not promoted. Aria turned to look at Damien in confusion, but her brother had buried his face in one of the heavy cloaks.
"Damien?" she whispered urgently, unaware that the footsteps had stopped abruptly again. "Damien!" She shook him, but he did not respond; she could hear muffled sobbing coming from the cloak and her brother's shoulders were shaking.
"Dementors. " Aven's voice was very faint from behind her. She turned and looked at him, still confused and even more scared. He was shaking and his skin was so white it seemed to glow in the dim light that came from beneath the closet door. The footsteps outside it were getting closer; Aria could hear them subconsciously, could feel the eminent danger somehow, but she still did not understand. She did not understand what was out there because, for some strange reason, she was not quivering in fear and dread, in loneliness and hurt far greater than she could ever imagine, like her brother and her cousin were. She was not filled with the dark thoughts that were now covering and stamping out their minds. "Dementors. will touch. a person. and kill them." Aven's voice was dying fast; he leaned back into the pile of shoes heavily, his eyes focused desperately on the face of the young girl that watched his own eyes just as frantically. Aven, who had spent his own life overhearing conversations of the dementors and their dreadful powers, knew that they could suck the soul from a person, though he did not know that their Kiss, the Dementor's infamous Kiss, would still leave that same person alive. Even their presence caused such feelings of dread and despair in the humans that were close that they were subdued and could be easily overtaken.
Aven was speaking again; the footsteps were only a few feet away outside the door. Aria glanced at the crack in the door as she listened to her cousin's voice, the only thing she had hope left in, her confused mind still wondering why they didn't just turn themselves in and take whatever lecture or punishment they would receive from Aven's grandmother. "You. must. get out. Dementors. cause bad. feelings. Mother, Father. they gave me. a wand!"
His head jerked up and he reached into his pocket, as though just remembering something that he had forgotten long ago. It had been his father's wand once; it was old and battered, like a lot of the possessions that had belonged to Darwin Sparley. It was six and a half inches, easily buried in the expansive pockets of the oversized pants that Aven always wore. His grandmother had not even noticed it the entire summer that the boy had been living with her, though she had warned him not to do magic and had been very suspicious of his abilities all along the way.
The door of the closet was slammed backward.
Aria screamed. The dark hood of the dementor, the fear-instilling demon that had attacked both her brother and her cousin with its mere presence, now bore down upon her strange resilience, tried to break through the odd wall that she seemed to have against its powers, as it leaned towards her. She covered her face. She could hear laughing, an evil sort of laughing, coming from behind the dementor.
There was a very loud jolt and something slammed into her from behind, knocked her into Damien and out of the path of the dementor. Aven was on his feet, standing just outside the closet; around his legs was draped one of his mother's old nightdresses, and in his hand he held the battered old wand like a prize. Determination lit his eyes up like Christmas lights; he stood solidly, looking squarely at the dementor and ignoring his grandmother laughing in a nasty high-pitched cackle at him from behind it. "Get out of here," he whispered, then shouted, "Get out!" and waved the wand in a wild arc.
Golden sparks shot from the end and the dementor reared backward, as though dazed. Darien gave a cough from behind Aria, then grabbed her shoulder; the girl shrieked and jerked away. "Darien!" she cried.
"What's going on?" he bellowed above the laughter and Aven's yelling.
"Get out of here!" Aven yelled at them as the dementor righted itself and its dark hood turned toward him again. "Get yourselves out of here!"
This was all that their frightened minds needed to hear. The two children, both of them eleven-years old, darted past their cousin and ran for the bedroom door. The grandmother, who was advancing from behind the dementor upon her own grandson, did not notice their escape in her concentration. Aria and Damien, tripping themselves up with the haste of their steps, toppled down the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom. Untangling themselves, they made for the door, broke out, and tore off down the street as fast as their legs would carry them.
"That was an illegal move; you can't move your knight that way!" Aria was complaining, reaching for the battered-looking piece.
The boy in the middle grabbed her hand and cried, "Aria, don't touch it! You'll wreck the game." He nudged his glasses up on his nose and brushed a lock of auburn hair from his eyes, giving both a look of annoying authority. "In wizard chess, you must be very careful not to disrupt the game, because if you do you'll both turn into pixies!"
"Pixies?!" Aria and her brother cried together, Damien in alarm but Aria in delight. "A boy can't become a pixie!" Damien continued, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Bet you made that up, Aven."
Aven shook his head gravely, leaning back a little from the board and settling himself cross-legged on the old rug in his parents' bedroom. "Of course I didn't; it's true. You turn into pixies if you ruin a game of wizard chess. You wouldn't know, of course, because you're still living in the Muggle world." He said this with just the slightest bit of contempt that made both Aria and Damien, despite their annoyed expressions, listen all the closer to his words. It was true that they had not been inside the wizarding world since they were small children; Aven had lived there all his life and it seemed common sense that he would know more than themselves. And he was certainly playing it to his advantage. "But if you don't believe me," the eleven-year old continued, still in tones of clear superiority, "you're welcome to pick up the knight." He grinned at Damien. "You'd make a splendid pixie, you know."
Damien made a face and kept his hands back. "Fine then." He nodded at Aria. "Your turn."
Before she could make a move, a door slammed downstairs. All three heads snapped up; the children looked at each other with wide eyes, then at the chessboard. As one, they grabbed the pieces and stuffed them back into the box, the threat of pixies forgotten in their haste. Aven looked around the room desperately, saw the closet in the back, and grabbed both his cousins. "Come on, we'll hide here!"
"They'll catch us!" Aria hissed back, but she scuttled to the closet with her brother and Aven, and all three shoved themselves inside and cleared away a path in the pile of shoes. "That's my dad's old chess set; he'll kill us!"
"No he won't," Aven shot back, "not if you shut up he won't!"
Aria scowled at him. "Just because you're a boy doesn't give you cause to be rude," she grumbled beneath her breath, but she kept quiet after that, listened closely to the commotion downstairs.
"Aven!" the voice of a woman echoed up the stairs. "Aven, are you here? Where is the sitter, has she gone out again?" There was a long silence, a silence that spanned at least five minutes.
The heavy breathing of the three hiding miscreants seemed to echo in their ears. "What's going on?" Damien whispered finally, shifting slightly and toppling a shoe with a dull thud.
Aven whirled his head around and glared furiously at his cousin. "Don't move!" he warned, then turned back to the crack in the door. "If we get caught in here, it'll be the end of us. That's not my mother, that's Grammy, she'll have a darned fit. Just last week she promised me if she ever caught me anywhere near my mother's old things she would hang me out a window with the laundry!" He winced in the darkness and glanced at the other two. Why had he mentioned his mother? He had not seen her or his father since the beginning of summer, when his grandmother had come to care for him, but he had been told not to say a word of the matter and so it was kept secret.
Aria snorted softly into one of the large overcoats that were tucked into the back of the closet. Aven turned and glared at her, but she grinned back at him. "And you believed her? Your grandmother, hang someone out a window? What tosh!"
"Shhhhhh," Damien hissed, slapping a hand over his sister's mouth. All three turned toward the door, fear and guilt suddenly creeping into their eyes. The door to the bedroom creaked open on its hinges. Footsteps, slow and steady, sounded from across the room. "I hear her," Damien whispered into his sister's ear. "Aven? What do you see, what's the matter. what are you doing?" This last phrase was whispered with startled fear.
Aven had begun to shake, his eyes locked on the crack in the door, his hands twitching. His legs began to uncurl beneath him; his hands pushed at the door, as though to open it. He readied himself to exit, his two cousins crouched behind him in utter bewilderment, then turned and looked back at them. Damien and Aria gasped; the look in his eyes was all that gave away the spell. His eyes were their normal friendly green, but they were opened wide in horror and creases around them shot up the boy's face and across his forehead like sudden cracks would appear in the ground during a massive earthquake. The rest of his face was ashen white and looked as though it was pasted into the blankest expression either of the two transfixed children had ever seen.
With a very low gasp, Aven fell back against the corner of the closet, away from the door. The floor creaked beneath him; outside the closet door, the footsteps froze. All three children held their breath; after a long moment, the creaking continued, somewhere around the chest of drawers that Aria had been leaning against when they were playing.
"There's a. a." Aven's words were swallowed in his fear.
Aria grabbed his wrist; his skin felt cold and clammy under her touch and she grimaced but did not let go. "Aven, what happened? It's okay, we can explain about the chessboard, she won't punish me and Damien if we say it was us."
"It's not just her out there," Aven said after taking a deep breath. His eyes turned on Aria; the girl leaned back at the grave gleam in them and gulped softly. Damien leaned over her shoulder, staring at the closed closet door with riveted intensity. There was faint light spilling underneath it now, as though someone had lit a candle, but none of them had heard a match struck. "There's something. else. A dementor."
Unfortunately, this didn't have quite the effect that young Aven might have hoped; though he had grown up in a family that spoke of Azkaban prison and the revolt of the dementors as easily as one in the Muggle world might speak of countries fighting and politics, his cousins lived in a family where magic was rarely spoken of and not promoted. Aria turned to look at Damien in confusion, but her brother had buried his face in one of the heavy cloaks.
"Damien?" she whispered urgently, unaware that the footsteps had stopped abruptly again. "Damien!" She shook him, but he did not respond; she could hear muffled sobbing coming from the cloak and her brother's shoulders were shaking.
"Dementors. " Aven's voice was very faint from behind her. She turned and looked at him, still confused and even more scared. He was shaking and his skin was so white it seemed to glow in the dim light that came from beneath the closet door. The footsteps outside it were getting closer; Aria could hear them subconsciously, could feel the eminent danger somehow, but she still did not understand. She did not understand what was out there because, for some strange reason, she was not quivering in fear and dread, in loneliness and hurt far greater than she could ever imagine, like her brother and her cousin were. She was not filled with the dark thoughts that were now covering and stamping out their minds. "Dementors. will touch. a person. and kill them." Aven's voice was dying fast; he leaned back into the pile of shoes heavily, his eyes focused desperately on the face of the young girl that watched his own eyes just as frantically. Aven, who had spent his own life overhearing conversations of the dementors and their dreadful powers, knew that they could suck the soul from a person, though he did not know that their Kiss, the Dementor's infamous Kiss, would still leave that same person alive. Even their presence caused such feelings of dread and despair in the humans that were close that they were subdued and could be easily overtaken.
Aven was speaking again; the footsteps were only a few feet away outside the door. Aria glanced at the crack in the door as she listened to her cousin's voice, the only thing she had hope left in, her confused mind still wondering why they didn't just turn themselves in and take whatever lecture or punishment they would receive from Aven's grandmother. "You. must. get out. Dementors. cause bad. feelings. Mother, Father. they gave me. a wand!"
His head jerked up and he reached into his pocket, as though just remembering something that he had forgotten long ago. It had been his father's wand once; it was old and battered, like a lot of the possessions that had belonged to Darwin Sparley. It was six and a half inches, easily buried in the expansive pockets of the oversized pants that Aven always wore. His grandmother had not even noticed it the entire summer that the boy had been living with her, though she had warned him not to do magic and had been very suspicious of his abilities all along the way.
The door of the closet was slammed backward.
Aria screamed. The dark hood of the dementor, the fear-instilling demon that had attacked both her brother and her cousin with its mere presence, now bore down upon her strange resilience, tried to break through the odd wall that she seemed to have against its powers, as it leaned towards her. She covered her face. She could hear laughing, an evil sort of laughing, coming from behind the dementor.
There was a very loud jolt and something slammed into her from behind, knocked her into Damien and out of the path of the dementor. Aven was on his feet, standing just outside the closet; around his legs was draped one of his mother's old nightdresses, and in his hand he held the battered old wand like a prize. Determination lit his eyes up like Christmas lights; he stood solidly, looking squarely at the dementor and ignoring his grandmother laughing in a nasty high-pitched cackle at him from behind it. "Get out of here," he whispered, then shouted, "Get out!" and waved the wand in a wild arc.
Golden sparks shot from the end and the dementor reared backward, as though dazed. Darien gave a cough from behind Aria, then grabbed her shoulder; the girl shrieked and jerked away. "Darien!" she cried.
"What's going on?" he bellowed above the laughter and Aven's yelling.
"Get out of here!" Aven yelled at them as the dementor righted itself and its dark hood turned toward him again. "Get yourselves out of here!"
This was all that their frightened minds needed to hear. The two children, both of them eleven-years old, darted past their cousin and ran for the bedroom door. The grandmother, who was advancing from behind the dementor upon her own grandson, did not notice their escape in her concentration. Aria and Damien, tripping themselves up with the haste of their steps, toppled down the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom. Untangling themselves, they made for the door, broke out, and tore off down the street as fast as their legs would carry them.