Disclaimer:Hogwarts and everything Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. But I can say that part of me will always call Hogwarts my home.
The Rockiest Paths
Chapter1-Preparations
Her eyes stared unfathomably at the crawling spiders in the glass jar, wishing for a way out. She hardly bothered to hide her gloomy feelings anymore, but no one seemed to notice her anyway. Today there was no makeup on her eyes or jewelry that would usually set her apart from the crowd she had grown accustomed to being part of. In a quiet, stuffy house as her father's she felt no reason to bring attention to herself.
"When can I go home and see Mum?" she asked her father blankly. He stood over her as she leaned against the window pane. She could feel the afternoon sun pulsing against her bare skin.
"I thought I already answered that question."
"Not fully I don't think."
"Why would you want to go back? What's in America that isn't here in your home country?" He crossed his arms against his chest, his wand sticking up from the crook of his elbow.
She huffed.
"See, exactly! This is your home. Treat it like it." He uncrossed his arms and pointed with his wand at the jar of spiders. "Again, then."
"Dad, really?" she groaned.
"You're improving so quickly, Mona. Once more so I know the last few times weren't flukes."
She shifted uneasily from the sill and pulled her wand out. It was a light brown wood, a hardy vinewood. The core was of kelpie hair and had a handle that moved along with the curves of her hand. She could remember distinctly the look on Ollivander's face when she picked up the wand five years before. She remembered him saying kelpie hair was generally bad luck.
"You need a firmer grip on your wand before you do anything, young lady," her father interrupted. He twirled his own wand between the spaces in his fingers routinely. It had become such an old ritual now.
With her wand, Mona lifted a single spider out of the jar, setting it onto the table. Her head pounded. She really didn't like doing this, but with her father's piercing eyes bearing down upon her, she steadied her wand and held her tongue.
"Crucio!"
Instead of shuffling around in a circle, the spider flew onto its back and writhed. Its miniscule mouth opened and closed with whispered screams. All eight legs flailed painfully.
"Again, dearest."
"Dad, you said-"
"Again!" he barked sharply.
Her pulse burned loudly in her ears. Just looking at the spider hurt her. The fine point of the wand moved back to the spider. "Crucio!"
By now the other spiders were beginning to scramble aimlessly in the jar, terrified. Seeing their companion of five minutes near death was horrifying. At last, with a shriveled cry the spider's legs curled to its chest and did not move.
Mona's father sighed, almost as if he cared. "That will do for today, love. It's just past noon. I'd say that Trilly has lunch waiting for us. Mona, what is it?" He stepped toward his daughter, using the inch of height he held over her to loom. "Are you upset?"
She was back at the window sill, staring down at her hands. "Why do I have to learn all this? Dad, I don't want to be a bad person." She looked to her father pleadingly.
The chiseled stone grey of his eyes softened. "I'm preparing you dearest. That's all. I'm teaching you how to defend yourself." He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry if I yell at you. I'm trying to help you."
It took Mona years to decipher this riddle. She had never been good at figuring them out in the first place, though. With the dark cloud of Lord Voldemort hanging over the wizarding world, it seemed more like she was being 'prepared' to join him than defend herself, but at the moment she hadn't thought that far ahead. Mona instead nodded in understanding as expected from a dark wizard's daughter.
"They're Muggles. You know my opinion on their type."
"I told you about Francis. He's a wizard."
An eyebrow raised on her father's face. "I've heard nothing of him."
"I should invite him over."
Both eyebrows rose. "Here? Why would I ever let someone I've never met come here? You have your brother; he's good company."
"Mason's always away. I never get to see him anymore," Mona disagreed. "Please, Da. He's polite, and good natured. He won't cause any trouble."
He spun the fabric bookmark around his finger pensively. Mona's father looked to be a polite, good natured man himself. His hair was a deep black, his sideburns speckled with the occasional white. His eyes were always bright with light circles drawn around them. Never had she seen him without his draping charcoal robes or his beautiful wand. Being a wizard was something he obviously prized above all other intangibles.
"Use my owl to ask permission from his family. I won't make any promises yet, though," he added quickly when he saw her face light up so suddenly. He looked sullen from giving in.
"I already did," she beamed. "His aunt has a portkey he can use. Can he come now?"
He slouched in the chair he sat in, bending his thin body, and raised his hands in mock defeat. "Tell Franny to prepare another plate for dinner."
Mona's smile glowed. She knew her father wasn't one for gratitude, so by will she had to restrain herself. "Goraibhmilemaithagat*,Thanks, Da." Where she would have wanted to wrap her father into a hug, she only nodded in recognition. It was just as much emotion as he expected from his second oldest child.
Her fingers twisted addictively to reach the slender ring on her forefinger. She wasn't sure if it was on the proper hand. Allowing her eyes to wander, she tried to remember her mother's hands to see which hand always wore the golden band.
"Mona?"
She pulled out of her daze. It had been years since she had seen her mother. By sheer luck she could still remember the little details about her mum, like her favorite colors and the way she wore her hair. But her mother's voice seemed as distant as the radio broadcaster in the next room. Mona met eyes with the white collared priest across from her.
"Just daydreaming, Francis," she excused herself. "Sorry. You were saying?"
His high forehead creased, his glasses rising onto his relatively straight nose. "This is why I'm worried. This is the first time in months that you've owled me. I didn't know at all where you were." He jabbed his finger forcefully onto the table. "How can you tell me not to worry?"
She felt ashamed that she hadn't been owling her friend as much as she used to and she showed it. He was such a good friend to her; he hardly deserved her sloth behavior. It hardly mattered to her though, and she knew it.
Francis could see that he would have to try persuading her from another angle. He ran a hand across his face, smoothing away the creases. He inwardly asked his creator for patience.
"Mona. Mona, do you remember when I spent the summer at your dad's house?" Francis waited for her to look back at him. When she did, he smiled very softly. "You said that your dad was preparing you for something, right?" He hesitated, not fully sure if this was the moment he had been waiting for.
She bristled. "Yes."
"Do you remember what I said? What I promised?"
"Of course," she nodded, "I wouldn't forget."
The priest's watery eyes shimmered blue. "I'm still your best mate. And I'll always be. It's been over a decade though, Mona. And there isn't You-Know-Who or your dad looming over either." He tried loosening the tension with a sigh. "You've gotta give me a break. Let me know how I can help you."
"But it's not that!" The beginnings of tears shown in the red and green lights. "That isn't it," said thickly.
"What is it then, Mona?" He hated seeing her cry. It made his heart pound in agony and his stomach churn. "Shed a little light for a brother."
With red rimmed eyes and a sob caught in her throat, Mona Cartwell looked to the priest and confessed, "I think I'm in love, Francis."
"Why's your dad always watching me?" A slender young wizard asked quizzically.
"It's his way of testing you, I think," Mona replied, picking at a pear tree branch. On the whole ten acre estate where Mona lived there wasn't a grander place than the orchard. Each year the apple trees were thicker and the pears were always plumper than those of the year before. The trees were almost tall enough now that she could stand up straight when she walked under them. Underneath the foliage she felt safer than inside the house where she was under the watchful eye of her father. To her, the orchard was a reclusive safe haven.
The branch snapped between her fingers. "You wanta play exploding snap again?"
"Nah. We played that all day. Catch." A stray apple flew into the air towards Mona.
"Merlin, Francis!" She caught the apple, but the playful glare she sent him set him into peal of light-hearted chuckles. Mona blushed under her summer freckles. Francis was overall a good looking wizard. He was freshly seventeen, his golden hair sunbleached into a dusty blonde with an oval face that was more sunburnt than tan. Along with his pale blue eyes and grinning face, he was irrevocably a ham for her attention.
They crashed simultaneously into the tall grasses, staring up through the lush leaves and up to the glistening sun. Mona bit into her apple.
"Why'd your dad make such a big deal about me coming over? You live, like, in the middle of nowhere," Francis questioned. His tawny head fell back onto his folded arms, his eyes following every movement of the trees.
"Dad doesn't usually let nonfamily members come over. He's pretty protective of the estate. There are a shitload of defensive spells and Muggle repelling spells around the whole place." She was about to go into more detail, but Francis interrupted.
"Don't swear. It sounds so weird when you do."
She took a fierce bite from her apple. "What's so wrong with me swearing? You and your stupid American accent."
"Stuck up European."
"Hog face."
"Shit brain."
"Elf lover."
"Mudblood," he snickered, tumbling over to avoid her swinging fist. Mona knew that he meant it as a joke and she found no harm in the name. She was a pureblood and had grown up with the mentality that being a Mudblood was the equivalent of a stray dog, something that was obviously below her. Somehow, though, it felt like a blow below the belt.
"Bloody git. That's not even funny."
"Sure it is. You laughed," Francis said with a smile. When she didn't immediately smile back, he became worried. "Hey, you know I was just joshing ya."
"Yeah, I know," Mona nodded back to him, pulling a smile up. She lay back into the grass with a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. "I'm gonna be seventeen in two months."
"It's not as much fun as you'd think it'd be," Francis shrugged. "All I got was a rat's nest of dung bombs and a boot out of the house. Doubt you'd have to really worry about that though with a dad like yours. He's rich."
Mona thought back for a moment on the many stories Francis had told her of his struggling family of seven. Most were squibs, or irish twins. It was hard to tell which were which. All were scrawny and droopy eyed. Francis seemed to be the odd ball of the bunch.
"I don't care how many Galleons Dad has tucked in Gringotts. I hate him." This was the first time that Mona had really been blunt with her best friend. She had suggested before that her relationship with her father was a rocky one, but had never brought it out in the open.
"That sounds kindof harsh," Francis said cautiously. "You hate him? What for?"
"He…" She tried to think of a way to explain it vaguely. "He's making me do something I don't want to do. He won't tell me what, though. Says he's 'preparing me'." Mona tried to lay lower in the grass, knowing Francis's schemes of truth-hunting all too well.
"Preparing you? " He shook his head. "Sounds like a crocka shit to me. What's there to prepare for? You're the smartest witch I know," he complimented, nudging her arm.
Taking no heed for it, she mumbled, "I'm scared to find out." She already had what in mind, but she knew that voicing her theory could be dangerous. Her toes twisted around each other aimlessly.
"Hey," Francis snapped, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. Mona was taken off guard. "Whatever it is you're freaking out about, you know it's not worth it. Everything's fine."
"No it isn't! You-Know-Who's just waiting for his chance to coup Fudge out of office and Death Eaters are everywhere. Everything's on the brink of…insanity! Anarchy! The only reason I even stay here with the git is so I don't get killed or recruited or whatever the fuck they do to you." She shook his hand away and sat up.
After Francis was sure she had finished venting, he sat up. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what? Get upset?"
"Yeah. You bottle it all up til the last possible second, then boom! You just don't get upset, you explode. Sure the Ministry's not looking its best and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is scaring the heebie-jeebies out of people, but come on! We're livin' our dreams, right? Be a little happy?" Francis softened while she wiped tears from her eyes. "Aw, com'on. What's gettin you so upset?"
Mona told him how scared she was. She was scared to leave home. She was scared of what would happen if she didn't. Scared of her father. Scared of Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. "They kill people. Innocent people that haven't even heard that bastard's name."
"What about this whole thing of preparing you? Is that it, too?" He held onto both of her hands. A sort of cool smile glinted on his lips when he saw the look in her eyes. "That's it isn't it?
She sniffled a quiet, "Shut up."
"Mona, stop burying it. Tell me! What's the slimy prat doing? I'll knock his head straight." It was well known back in small town Thimble, Wisconsin that Francis was a boxing champion.
She buried her face in her hands. "I can't Francis. I can't."
It tore at him how sad she was. "A clue? I'll play twenty questions for the rest of the summer." She gave a short laugh at his attempts. "Please? How about Veritaserum? Would that do the trick?" She didn't answer.
"Hey, com'ere." He peeled her hands away from her eyes gently. Her eyes met his. "Hear me out at least. I'm always gonna be your best mate. You can tell me anything. If you wanna tell me five minutes from now or a decade from now, I'm gonna listen. I promise, I promise so sincerely that if you were of age I'd make the Unbreakable Vow right now to you. Alright? Is that enough to bring a smile back?" Francis jeered softly. It was his signature line.
Coyly and bashfully, her smile returned. "Just enough."
"No, it isn't wonderful, because he's not the guy you'd want to fall for." Mona continued wiping her eyes with her sleeve. It was soggy though from the snow outside and did no good. Francis offered his eye glass cleaner. "Thanks."
"Tell me about him. If you like'em he can't be that bad." Relief flooded him hearing this. He had expected the worst, but this wasn't anything compared to what he had thought. Leaning back in the booth's cushions, he relaxed.
"Tall, long black hair, somewhat pallid…Who am I kidding." She was getting frustrated.
"Rate him. One being the worst and ten the best," Francis offered.
Mona stuck her tongue in her cheek, hesitated, then finally said, "Five. And most of that's his character."
"Okay, no help there. What's so bad about him? Should I know him? Have I had a go with him?" Still, at the age of thirty one Francis was pretty handy with his boxing gloves.
"Maybe not had a go, but I'd bet you've heard of him."
"Gimme a name then," Francis said. When she said she'd rather not, he groaned. "You've told me this much already about the guy, you owe me it."
"He was a Death Eater once." Something chilled and fearful wrapped itself around Francis's stomach. A Death Eater? Wasn't she terribly afraid of them? How could she fall in love with one?
"Are you gonna make me guess?" He said, still stunned.
Mona's swollen eyes stared blankly at the back of a man's head, clutching the eye glass cleaner. "Severus," she said very quietly. "Severus Snape." She continued before Francis could say anything. "He's the Potions Master at the school. The Head of the Slytherin House, too."
"Bloody-" He bit his lip before he started swearing. As soon as she said the name, a trigger went off, going back to the Death Eater trials and how Dumbledore had vouched for Snape. "Mona! He's a Death Eater, not a Potions Master. You hate people like him!" Francis whispered as loudly as possible, not wanting to cause a scene.
"He's changed, Francis. He really has."
"I don't buy that pile of dragon dung." He leaned closer, pulling from his pocket a folded Daily Prophet. "Weird things are happening lately, Mona. People are going missing here and there. There are reports of Dark Marks burning. This isn't coincidental." He turned to a page and pointed to it. "Look at the obituary lists."
"You're overreacting, Francis. The Dark Lord is long gone," she said between her teeth.
Francis couldn't see why she had to be so thick headed sometimes, and it frustrated him. "I mean it, I do. My best advice for you is to drop that git before he drags you down with him." He folded the newspaper back into his coat pocket, saying, "If You-Know-Who is really on the comeback then stay clear of his kind. Bad people like him don't change their ways, especially when they get away with it." He looked across to her to make sure she got the message. Her eyes were cast down to the eye glass cleaner in her hands, sad and guilty.
"Come on. Enough of this," he comforted, seeing her downcast look as heartbreak. "Give us a smile." She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and with the other held onto Francis's. His white collar dug into his neck as he swallowed. "Sun's coming out and we still have the rest of the day to ourselves. Now that's enough to bring a smile back, right?" With his aging fingers he gave a squeeze to hers much like he did when they were kids.
Finally, after a whole minute of staring downward, Mona raised her eyes. She gave her best fake smile. "Just enough," she whispered as she squeezed his fingers back.
*The Irish means,'Thank you very much.'
Thank you so much for reading! Please rate and review...Thanks!
