Something Like the Truth
Book One: How to Disappear Completely
Chapter One: Charmingly Fake
My fingers ran along the cool edge of the high quality camera that was presented to me on my tenth birthday. Its vivid red neck band hugged its self securely around my neck like the old friend that it is. Forty five minutes have passed since my flight touched down in London and my right index finger has not left that burnished knob since.
I captured everything I could into my potential canvas of a frame. Sometimes the figures looked up smiling; other times they were too engaged in their everyday tasks to even acknowledge my presence. Despite their lack of enthusiasm, my ecstatic temperament was all but hindered. After all, I was nothing more than your common spectator. Nothing more, nothing less.
Regardless of their mood, their presence was always captured into the moving bounds of my three by three frame. I tipped my hat off to whoever created the marvelous invention of progressing pictures. Brilliant, my mind wondered over the flock of pigeons fleeing before a slightly rusted wheel of a bicycle. A mere flock of pigeons perhaps, but when they flew – oh how lovely to have your wings glide along the edge of the vivacious sky never having to come back down, being free for all eternity!
A certain faint ringing sound was brought to my attention. I felt my eyes open before I glanced over my watch with nothing more than a disdained expression. "Does this have to be now?"
Harry was currently being forced into a bookstore by his friend's mother as she hastily cleaned over him, circling around and then smudging a few spots with her thumb. He always enjoyed her presence considering how he could never remember his own mother. He always imagined that she would be something like Mrs. Weasley, always fussing over his lack of proper posture and rugged hair. He would always be grateful towards her.
The sudden bursts of excitement interrupted their grooming session as a man with golden wavy locks and bright blue eyes that scanned Harry relentlessly descended from a grand staircase towards a prestigious oak table covered in volumes of books. "Harry Potter," a rich yet aloof voice was finally matched towards the characters physical disposition. "I never imagined that you would be here for my book signing, yet here you are." His strained laugh hinted towards Harry that it was nothing more than an imposter. It seemed that his cheery disposition was nothing more than a starving act for attention. Camera men swooned over towards the corner as they took picture after picture of Lockhart shaking Harry's hand with an enchantingly fake smile.
The bursts of lights fuzzed Harry's mind for a moment, blurring the world together. His small smile fell to a frown after making out Lockhart's speech of him oh so generously handing over his entire collection of his most prize works free of charge. However, it was strictly from one hero to another. He was then pushed out of the way as Lockhart spent some quality time back in front of the camera.
Harry stumbled back in front of Mrs. Weasley who caught him on his way down from his few minutes of fame. In a shattering daze, it reminded him of the time he first learned his true identity. He was no longer the mere boy with feral rich locks forced to live as a muggle on Private Drive, no he was much more. He was a wizard. In an instant he went from a nobody living under the stairs of his Aunt and Uncle's home to learning sorcery at Hogwarts as "the boy who lived," a hero amongst every witch and wizard's heart who opposed the cruel nature of the one called Voldemort.
The majority of the line in the book store consisted of girls who were swooning over every Lockhart's "act of kindness." Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley was no exception. "Isn't he wonderful Harry?" She batted her brown eyes at the man with golden hair and pearly teeth. Even Hermione was looking a bit heated from the excitement.
"You have to excuse mom, she fancies him." The two twins known as Fred and George explained as their mother waited eagerly in line for her chance with her hero, occasionally stumbling over others for a peek.
The small sound of a bell bore a strong crisp ring from the entrance but was then drowned out by the excited crowed as it dispersed throughout the room. It rang in Harry's ears causing him to ponder over the idea of a familiar face in the crowd. He took a glimpse towards the door to see a thin, frail girl rubbing her head. She tenderly made her way into the room, choosing to stay absent from the swarm of fans. Her cheek had a thin cut and her hands were bruised. Her shirt and jeans were smudged with dirt as well and her long honey brown hair was ruffled up a bit in a couple of places. It looked as if she had been mugged and the first thing they took was her dignity.
She noticed Harry staring at her and she managed a frail smile. "Sorry, it was my first time using floo powder. Powerful stuff." The girl answered still a bit dazed from her new found experience, something that Harry could relate to. Her accent told the story of a far away place, perhaps America. He was about to begin a session of twenty questions but was interrupted from a snide comment.
"Bet you loved that Potter," a sickly pale boy with light blonde hair on the verge of a snowy white and piercing grey eyes annunciated, producing saliva over the boy with the lightening shaped scar. "Famous Potter, can't even go to a book signing without making the front page."
"Perhaps no one told you, but when you try to annunciate you generally aren't suppose to spit over the other person," the mugged girl answered back slyly, a glint of satisfaction twinkling in her dangerously cobalt eyes. Perhaps she was not as frail as Harry once thought.
The sickly pale boy's insult rang through out my ears and latched itself upon my mind. I couldn't simply let him get away, so I threw a slight insult in his direction to diverse the tension between the two and disperse it. I wasn't expecting much of a protest back, perhaps a snide comment, but not what happened next. No, never what happened next.
The boy, desperately wanting to be a man, held him self proudly as he stretched to his full length, hoping to intimidate his pray. He should have realized that a child is a child no matter its size. "Oh look Potter," cutting sharply across the Ts, fusing them into one, "you've got yourself a girlfriend."
With my attention span, or lack of one, I happened to notice the foul glares that this apparent Harry fellow's friends tossed at the serpent presuming to be all in a day's work.
"Must be a muggle with the way that she dresses. No doubt one from America." I despised the way he annunciated my home land as if it were nothing more than garbage rapped in a plastic coating of propaganda. I understood that it was far from perfection, but please, by all means, direct me to a place that isn't.
My sharp intake of breath and preparation of malicious commentary were cut short from a rather illumined, cold, steal snake. Its mouth was posed permanently open, illustrating its readiness to pounce. It pushed the arrogant boy aside showing its master to be a middle aged man with the same degree of pale skin and platinum blonde hair but to his shoulders. Disregarding their looks, their crooked smile was convincing enough of their biological connection.
"Now, now Draco, play nicely." His cool voice was enough to freeze beer let alone his piercing stare. They seemed to posses the power to look past your flesh exterior down to your veins for "a better sense of judgment."
Looks can be deceiving but with that crooked smile, there was no chance of bluffing. He was up to something and it surly wasn't a tea party. It slowly spread across his face once he caught a glimpse of Harry. "Mr. Potter," he spoke as if the two were acquaintances but one bewildered glance from Harry spoke otherwise. Presenting a stiff arm towards Harry in a poor attempt of shaking hands, he introduced himself. "Luscious Malfoy," his smile recoiled back into a frown once the thought of status entered his mind. Pulling Harry in closer he spoke of a quick forgiveness as he brushed back Harry's bangs with the teeth of his cane. Fearing his own words he spoke the rest in whisper, "Your scare is legend. As of course is the wizard who gave it to you." The sly smirk returned with vengeance.
Harry's startled expression fell to one of dread at the mention of the Dark Lord. Backing away suspiciously, making sure not to sever eye contact, Harry spoke softly despite the rather touchy subject. "Voldemort killed me parents. He was nothing more than a murder." I could feel his confusion sinking in as to why or even how someone could praise let alone worship someone as foul as him. I remembered it as being my own when I first herd of his story. I for one found it hard to believe at first if it weren't for the substantial amount of proof.
Luscious paused to mull the thought over as his smirk was once put back to rest. "You must be very brave," he concluded, "to mention his name." Alas his smirk returned at the thought of Harry perhaps being a fool instead.
"Fear of a name only increase fear of the thing itself," a bitter girl no older than I spoke harshly in defense. Her words alone instantly gave away her position of possessing the intelligence in the group. Her stance was rather timid at fist but with each waking moment she began to stand her ground, holding her books defensively.
Luscious' target now switched as he turned his undivided attention towards the girl with the frizzy brown hair. "Ah yes," he looked back towards his son looking for a nod of approval before revealing his last sentence, "Miss Granger. Yes Draco has told me all about you," He stood before her highly, fully aware of her status and his upper hand. "and your parents," he added in a whisper as she was persuaded to steel a glance at her mother and father awkwardly answering questions from a plump red headed man who seemed at ease and content with his life. I distinctly heard something about a rubber duck but it was not finished before the conversation heated up once more. "Muggles aren't they?" The girl's sharp glare followed by the unwillingness of her lips to move showed she no longer had the will to argue.
One by one, he was making his way down the line. I knew he would soon come to me but I encouraged it. Let's see what skeletons he can make dance in my closet. His attention was diverted towards the other male in the group possessing a thin physic with gangling twigs as arms and fiery red hair. He was doing his best to produce a sneer but coming short by only looking daft. "Let me see," a chuckle was now heard in his tone, "red hair, vacant expression, tatty second hand book," he spoke clutching a small leathered school book from the smaller of the girl's cauldron. "You must be the Weasley's," he confirmed with a sour expression disproving their life style.
I was beginning to grow tired and impatient of his attempt to cut us down. My thoughts of protesting were sadly halted at the sudden appearance of Mr. Weasley I presumed.
"Children," I never knew a world could be laced with such a heavy accent until now, "it's mad in her. Let's go outside." It was an obvious attempt to rescue us from our fatal destruction, yet no matter how courageous it might have been it failed. And now I fear that he may be sucked into our little game as well.
"Weasley senior," Luscious smiled slyly, obviously from already preparing an insult.
"Luscious," the friendly man's face fell from being caught. Neither one looked pleased to see one another. Apparently I had no clue what I was getting myself into.
"Busy time at the ministry Arthur? All those extra raids, I do hope they are paying you over time." His eyes fell back to the tattered book in hand. "But judging by the sate of this, I say not." He held the book between his fingers twisting it in the light, examining it, yet cautious as to not come more than a foot with in contact of it. His face suddenly hardened at the sight of their youngest daughter. "What's the excuse of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"
Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, drawing the cold stare of the rigid man in front of him. "We have a very different idea about what disgraces the name of a wizard, Malfoy."
"Clearly," his harsh tone knew no bounds. "Associating with muggles," his upper lips curled baring his teeth before he replaced the tattered book back to its rightful owner, "and I thought your family could sink no lower." The rest of the conversation did not matter to me nor do I recall how it ended for I was to busy eyeing the girl's cauldron. Perhaps my eyes were deceiving me but I could have sworn that he placed another book with the girl having strikingly brilliant red hair that flowed past her shoulders. Her green eyes looked upon her father in confusion and hopes of an explanation. She must be a first year. I, on the other hand, was not the only one suspicious of Malfoy's confrontation for Harry too eyed her cauldron.
I fazed back noticing that the one known as Draco had to have the last word. "See you at school," he nearly sang as a threat before he walked out close upon the heels of his father. But before he decided to grace us with the absence of his being, he raised his eyebrows raised in a provocative way leaving me in disgust.
"I only have one question," I decided to speak out once understanding that no one else would. "What are muggles?" I asked on a lighter note.
"A general term associated towards average people possessing no magic." Miss Granger explained while rearranging the books held securely in her arms.
"You're from America," the younger Weasley boy stated after inhaling a gulp of air as if he had been holding on to it for good luck with their previous encounter. His mouth, hanging slightly ajar, gave the impression that he was not through, but in the eyes of Miss Granger he was.
"Wonderful observation Ronald," She stated sarcastically with a roll of her amber eyes.
Ron scowled in her direction before continuing, "What I meant to say was that surly you would have muggles where you're from. If not muggles, then what do you call them?"
"Human beings," I stated sarcastically but with a small smile in hopes that he understands that it's all in good fun.
Apparently Mr. Weasley did not receive that memo. "Fascinating," I heard him mumble. "Do you mind elaborating?"