The summer of nineteen ninety-four was different from all others. They didn't go on holiday to Europe, or reverse the brainwashing of highly-trained assassins, or get introduced to another hidden world.
Vali was still adjusting to becoming a werewolf, and it truly was an ordeal. His strength increased with his emotions – and those were volatile. His mood-swings didn't help, and more than once, Vali had to leave the flat suddenly to go burn off steam, stating he 'didn't want Eisa to see that'. James joined him, more often than not, and Loki did too, sometimes, when it was James that was the problem. Each and every time, Orion went – Sirius didn't leave his godsons side, only staying away when he was in the bathroom or changing.
Eisa didn't understand. She thought being a werewolf was 'cool' and 'awesome', too young to see how it hurt Vali. She'd run her hands over his fuzzy head and his scars, ignoring how Vali flinched as she touched the tender silver scar-tissue. Loki tried to keep her away, but she was entering a clingy stage, latching onto her brother despite how he avoided her like the plague, not wanting to accidentally hurt her more than he hurt himself.
Loki had never regretted owning silver cutlery more.
When it was full moon, Vali would take Wolfsbane, a potion that gave him his mind during his transformation, and then Loki would transport them to a remote location within Britain, so he could turn and then spend his night either bounding through field and forest, or curled up in a dry patch to sleep – and whether it was the first or second, Orion would stay with him, no matter what. It was what he became an animagus for, after all.
A bright spot was the fact that they finally got a puppy.
He was an excitable little beast by the name of Admiral – a panting Golden Retriever, with floppy ears that liked to hang around Loki, when Vali wasn't taking him out on walks and run-arounds at the park. Loki found him amusing, though it was quite a hassle to find that Eisa was mildly allergic to his fur, after she complained of itching week in week out, for the entire summer. When they did find out, Loki quickly made it a rule that Admiral wasn't allowed on sofas that didn't have a blanket over them, and that he wasn't allowed in beds or on any other piece of furniture. James groused at how Marcia was allowed, but then Loki reminded him that Marcia was in fact a cat, a wild animal that decided to make her home in theirs, and she couldn't actually control her.
Vali became a little happier after his arrival though, so James didn't argue much further. Loki watched as he trained Admiral to do tricks, watched as he forgot for a while around him…And so she wrote a letter.
Lady Loki
I wholeheartedly agree with your idea. Professor McGonagall too, believes it would be beneficial for him to have a companion. 'Admiral' will be welcome in Hogwarts, and the house-elves have been informed, so that he will be provided with the sufficient dietary requirements for a creature of his species.
I know your son must be going through many other pains and sufferings though, which cannot heal by ignoring them, which is why I had already made arrangements for Remus Lupin to stay on at Hogwarts as a live-in counsellor. Remus has confided that he has been corresponding with Mr Potter, sending letters since their dual departures from Hogwarts.
The Minister of Magic and the Board of Governors have all agreed that the creation of a post for the position of Counsellor has sufficient merit, and while none are aware I have hired Mr Lupin for said post, I am sure that by now Mr Potter has been informed. Remus is currently attending a 'crash-course' so he might fulfil the requirements for his position, but the mind healers of St Mungos have, however, still laid out Clauses and Rules of Discretion. I am informing you that your son will be attending sessions with Remus, but that is as much as you may be told, unless Mr Potter gives consent. I am sure you already respect his privacy, but I still find parents of your calibre who worry tremendously about their child's mental well-being, so this is both my official and unofficial warning, my Lady, for you to not interfere with the discussions between your son and Mr Lupin.
Dearest regards,
Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore,
Headmaster of Hogwarts School W.W.
"Blaise, what's the Triwizard Tournament?" Vali asked as the meal started, the hall immediately becoming a cacophony of noise. Blaise Zabini had been Vali's friend since first year, when they first properly met in Slytherin common room, though it wasn't a friendship like the one Vali had with most others in Hogwarts. Blaise, unlike, for example, Justin – Justin Finch-Fletchley – wasn't someone you could just approach in a corridor or classroom at random. Vali knew that Blaise was not his friend – Blaise didn't have friend. He had allies, and Vali knew he was one. And that was why he trusted him – because Blaise? He stabbed people in the back daily, and never ever had the Italian boy betrayed him.
Calmly spearing a piece of gammon, Blaise explained, "The Triwizard Tournament dates back to the time of the Four Founders. It is infamous for being highly dangerous, and insanely competitive. Many Champions of the three schools that compete – Hogwarts School, Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy – have been assassinated in the past, well before they completed the Three Trials. A noteworthy mention though is the fact that the Goblet of Fire, the Tournaments way of choosing Champions, accepts those of the age thirteen and above, so unless Professor Dumbledore has found a way to stop those with papers that hold a name and school not of their own from placing their papers inside said Goblet, the age-line he will most likely place around the Goblet will be useless."
"Right," Vali muttered, frowning, before glancing down at Admiral beneath the table, who was eating what looked to be roast with sauce on a shiny silver tray. "Is it restricted to humans?"
"No. The Triwizard Tournament of twelve hundred and eighty-three notably included a full-blooded Veela from Durmstrang Institute, and a banshee from Hogwarts School. Also, more than twelve of the previous Champions have been werewolves, if that's what you're trying to get at. With your status as the Boy-Who-Lived, and the amount of Death Eaters running around lately, I can understand your paranoia."
"It's not paranoia if they are out to get you," Vali wisely stated, before digging into his steak, grimacing at both how it was cooked thoroughly and how he even found that disappointing. Digging into the unappetising steak, Vali looked over the table to where Tracey and Daphne sat, chatting quietly. "Daph? Trace?"
"Yep?" Tracey grinned, "Hi, by the way. How was your summer?"
"I got a new dog," he noted mildly.
"We saw," Daphne drawled. "And we will be stealing him in the future."
"I figured," Vali nodded, before tempering himself, "How goes the investigation?" Immediately Daphne's face went blank, and Tracey started digging through her pockets. "I know that everyone put off the attack on the Quidditch World Cup as a drunken escapade-"
"Because in a way it was," Daphne interrupted, sipping her pumpkin juice. "I talked to Draco. His father was among those dressed up. None of them cast that Dark Mark into the sky. They were rioting for fun. The Dark Mark was a reaction from one of their old compatriots – a negative one, if Theodore Nott Senior is to be trusted on these matters. Seeing as Lucius Malfoy seemed to have the same opinion, I would believe it. Crabbe and Goyle said their fathers went into hiding, briefly, before they returned."
Vali furrowed his brow, "So the person who cast the Dark Mark-"
"No-one knows who it is," Tracey shook her head, before handing over a scroll. "But read this. It's a correspondence I intercepted from a house-elf to her old master, asking to return to his service."
Vali unrolled the scroll, hand going up to adjust his glasses at the messy writing, only to brush over his ear due to the lack of frames. Grimacing at the reminder of his new physiology, Vali glanced at Tracey again, inwardly dreading when he would have to get back on a broom for Seeker Training at Quidditch practice. He'd been Slytherin's Seeker since his second year, and he was very good – it was a miracle he hadn't been kicked off the team yet for being a werewolf. It was common knowledge. But Vali was nervous for practice, because if he stayed he'd have to reassess his skills in the air, everything fluctuating with his new depth perception and similar changes.
"The master?" He questioned, pulling himself from his own thoughts.
"Bartemius Crouch Senior, Head of the DIMC, former Head of the DMLE. Once upon a time, before his sons arrest – Barty Crouch Junior – he might have been Minister of Magic. Read it," she reiterated. Vali looked back to the scroll, trying to decipher the childlike scrawl, much similar to Eisa's before she properly learnt her letters.
Master…Bartemius Crouch…Winky would love…to be…to be part of Sir's house- household? Again…Winky has not told Master's…secrets. Secrets safe. A 'Y' scribbled out. The secret is safe. The safe- safety is not…composed? Maybe she meant compromised. The safety is not compromised. Your loyal…servant, Winky.
"Do you see it?" Tracey asked.
"If you mean the butchered language that means she's trying not to talk about someone or something, rather than simply secrets? Got it. What do you think? And why are you showing me this?"
Daphne took the scroll back from him, giving it to Tracey. "Ronald Weasley, his family sans the matriarch, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom were in the Top Box during the Quidditch World Cup. My chameleons managed to find out that there was a house-elf holding a seat for their master, but he never showed. Draco confirmed."
"Okay…so I assume this means it was Winky? Barty Crouch's elf…" Vali served himself some vegetables, knowing the importance of eating his colours even if his werewolf side hated it. "Why did you follow this line of information?"
"I wrote to Sirius Black," Tracey stated.
Vali choked.
"Pardon?" he rasped, after coughing up a baby carrot.
"I wrote to Sirius Black," Tracey repeated. "I questioned him on his allegiance and his knowledge of Death Eaters. It's actually how we have most of the names. He was part of the Order of the Phoenix, the Light-sided anti-Voldemort movement, and he was an Auror to boot. The fact that he had been in Azkaban and knew the names of inmates that I- we, had no idea had been convicted of crimes committed in the name of Voldemort and company, whose families managed to get 'Dark Lord supporter' or 'Dark Lord militant' scrubbed from the records."
"But wait," Vali stopped her, lifting a fork filled with disgustingly healthy veg, "That means he saw something that makes you suspect Crouch."
"His wife." Daphne filled in. "She was dying, and he brought her to Azkaban to see his son, a convicted Death Eater. She reportedly died less than a month after the visit-"
"But," Tracey interrupted excitedly, "Guess what?"
"What?" Vali questioned impatiently.
"Okay, so she goes in, looking like absolute death," Tracey moved her arms dramatically, before spreading them out sharply, "but then, when she's on her way out?" She smirked. "The most healthy human being you'd ever see."
Vali connected the dots quickly.
"Barty Crouch Junior."
Daphne nodded. "Barty Crouch Junior. Winky was found in the possession of a wand, hidden beneath the Dark Mark, and Crouch was supposedly one of those to go into the bushes to find the person that the Aurors had restrained, blind. We figured that Winky accompanied Junior to the Quidditch game, and he managed to get hold of a wand and cast the Mark – from his character profile, it's safe to assume that Crouch Senior wouldn't be so stupid as to let him have a wand, unless he went senile as well as insane when he got his son out of Azkaban."
Vali looked at the two girls. "You are both such amazingly talented witches, I am rendered incapable of understanding how you did this."
"Aww, thanks Val," Tracey grinned, waving him off as Daphne smirked. "It's all real simple, but it takes patience and a lot of effort, in that order."
"You are not a very patient person by nature," Blaise added offhandedly from beside him. Vali gave him the stink-eye, before finishing the last of his vegetables in a rush, wanting to crave treacle tart rather than more steak, but red and bloody. "And Admiral is sniffing my leg. Get him off before I kick him."
"You wouldn't dare!" Tracey gasped, before ducking down under the table, "C'mere boy! C'mon! There's a good boy…" She lifted him up onto her lap, scratching his head as he panted, looking like he was grinning. Daphne cooed, ice persona melting as she was faced with the pup.
Vali rolled his eyes.
"Bye Bran! See you tomorrow!" Loki shook her head at Eisa's shouting, listening to her quick feet as she ran up the staircase, schoolbag jingling from all the keychains attached to the zippers. "Mummy, guess what I did at school today!" She called as she barrelled through the door, slamming it behind her. "Mummy?"
"Kitchen, my lovely," she raised her voice a touch, losing the Medical Journal and setting it under her textbook, not really wanting the young girl to see the very graphic front cover. "What did you do today?"
Eisa dropped her bag onto the ground, climbing up onto the stool beside her, pushing Marcia away as the cat came to meow in her face. "Go 'way, Marcia!" Loki chuckled, before shooing the cat gently. "We did numbers today!"
"Really?"
"Uh-huh," Eisa nodded, "And we did the stuff you taught me ages ago, but down on paper. It was really difficult, 'cause the pencil was so wobbly, but I got all my sums right, and Miss Henri gave me a gold star – look!" She pointed at the golden star sticker on her jumper, already peeling. Loki gasped dramatically, leaning down to peer at it.
"Amazing, qiānjīn." Eisa wrinkled her nose.
"Can't remember what that means."
"It's a term of endearment, like my lovely, or darling, or precious – actually, it is darling," Loki leaned up slightly, kissing her hair fondly. "My little qiānjīn."
Eisa giggled. "Are you proud of me for getting a golden star?"
"Always," Loki nodded vehemently, without pause, "I am always proud of you, Eisa. You're my daughter – how could I not?"
But at that, Eisa looked down, looking shy, "But I'm not, though. You say that, sometimes, and some girls at school ask if my real mummy hated me." Loki froze. "Did my real mummy hate me?" Her lip quivered, and Loki made an aborted move to take her hands, but she refrained, pulling them into her chest, not- not knowing what to do. "Mummy?"
"I…I- I don't know. I don't know…ex- excuse me." She half-fell off her seat in her haste to get away, mind whirling, stumbling and running into seemingly every piece of furniture between her kitchen and bedroom. Once she was inside she shut the door, locking it and stepping back, dazed and gasping. Loki couldn't believe it – how could they say that? Little girls – how could they be so heartless? So cruel?
She looked at the door. And I just left her there. Sad and alone. I'm a terrible mother. But she couldn't push it from her mind, couldn't stabilise herself. She couldn't face Eisa right now, not when she was like this. She's only five! Only five, and in primary school already, a year earlier than most. Not even because she was in the December-February bracket, but because she was too clever. But to be having these issues…why are little girls so naïve? Why did they have to say that to her?
The worst part was that Loki couldn't even answer her question. She didn't know if her real mother hated her or loved her – if she took pride in her or felt ashamed by her, if she cared or disregarded her. Loki didn't know.
But I could.
She could.
If she went to SHIELD.
I can't. I can't though.
She didn't even know why.
When James came home, he expected the normal – for the TV to be on, for Loki to be making some fantastic dinner that she got off a cooking channel or from another family via Elizabeth. He expected Eisa to run up to him and latch onto him, babbling about her day at school, because she loved school so much more than he had, and somehow she managed to enthral him with stories of her day, the way she described it somehow not at all repetitive or boring at all. He expected Orion to pad over to the sofa and scare Marcia out of his dog-bed under the window beside the radiator, and for Marcia to stalk him until dinner, when she would disappear out of the window, until early in the morning when she would yowl at his bedroom window and he would have to get out of bed to let her in.
Today, when he got home, everything was silent. No TV buzzed, no smells were wafting from the kitchen, Orion didn't have to scare Marcia from his bed…James' nerves tingled, and he reached for the knife in his hoodie pocket-
"Daddy?"
James' head swivelled, eyes latching onto the tiny form of Eisa hiding in her toy-box, eyes red and her nose dribbly.
"Eisa?" He stopped reaching for the knife, walking over and throwing his hat to the sofa, opening the box-lid and crouching down in front of her. "What happened, baby-doll?"
Eisa sniffled, "Did my real mummy hate me?" James immediately felt uneasy, looking around for Loki. Where is she?
"Kiddo, where's your mom?"
"In her room," Eisa sniffled again, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, fringe brushing over her eyelids. We have to get her hair cut. "She went in and didn't come back out 'gain after I ask-ed her if my real mummy hated me."
Oh shit. "Eisa, I'm going to go talk to mommy. Do you want to get out of there and watch some cartoons?" Eisa nodded, and James took her out, hugging her tightly before setting her on the floor, switching on the TV and turning the channel to CBeebies.
"No."
"No?" He glanced at her, itching to go see Loki. "What do you want, then?"
"CBBC. Bran watches CBBC now, so I want- I want to watch it too."
James glanced at the TV, before going down one channel, to where he knew CBBC was. It changed, going to what looked to be a show about puppets made of…garden pots, held together by string. Eisa was immediately enthralled, so he called it a win and got up, walking to his and Loki's room.
Breathing in, he knocked quietly, "Lokes?" Less than three seconds later, the door opened, a rock flying into his arms. Automatically his arms came to wrap around her, before he registered her shuttering breaths but the lack of wet-patch on his shirt. "Eisa told me what happened. She's watching TV right now. Are you okay?"
"I feel awful, James," she breathed, "I can't tell her that her mother doesn't hate her, or that she does. I'm the Goddess of Lies, but that doesn't let me know when anyone is lying, let alone myself. I earned that title-"
"Babe, you're getting a bit off-topic," he interrupted, "Now Eisa's in there, scared, wondering why her mom is shutting herself away in her room, and it's not my place to tell her anything at all about her birth mother."
"I don't know a thing," she whispered, "How can I tell her that? And the girls at school, James! Children at her school were asking her that question, like she should know the answer! Should she know the answer? Should I tell her that I took her from the arms of a dead man?"
"Hey- hey," James tugged her away from his chest, meeting her eyes, "That is not your fault. You probably saved her from a fate worse than death, anyway, if Hydra was after her ass. And you don't have to tell her, not yet. You ask her who spoke to her like that, and you talk either directly to their parents, or through their teacher." He hesitated, before slowly speaking. "I was in the system, when I was a kid, sorta. My mom died when I was eight, my dad a year later. I was lucky – the orphanage was nice. It was how I met Steve – he lived next door. I grew up there, and I met a lot of folk who wanted to know where they came from, who wanted to meet their parents. I looked after a girl called Rebecca. She got adopted when I was a teen – she was just a little kid, I was already on my way out, but…she was like my sister. She came back a couple year later looking for me, with her parents, wanting to know what I knew."
"You've never told me this before," Loki said quietly. James shook his head.
"Not told a lot of people. So, she came back, asked me about herself after asking the nuns and finding out shit. I told Becca her origin story – how her ma came to the doors on a rainy night in May, and I answered. Her ma gave her to me, told me her name was Rebecca, and that her pa was dead in the ground and she don't have enough money to care for her, that Rebecca was better off with people who could feed her food every day and keep the cold from chilling her dead. Rebecca thanked me, and we kept in contact – I sent letters to her during the War. My Will said she would get my apartment if Steve didn't go back, and half my savings."
"Have you looked her up?" Loki asked, hand going to his heart, resting there heavily.
"Yeah. She got married, had two kids and a dog – moved out of my place pretty early on, but kept it, renovated it and rented it out. Her grandkid lives there now, fresh out of Law school…anyway, what I'm trying to say is, you don't know anything. That's okay. But there are people who do know, and she should be allowed to know about her parents. You don't know whether they're dead or alive, or if they did like or hate her. And that's what we tell Eisa."
"We were supposed to visit China this summer," Loki muttered, pressing her forehead to his chest, eyes shutting. "But with Vali…"
"We can take her over Winter break instead. Vali can stay at Hogwarts if he wants, or he can come with us. Full moon is the night before he goes home for Break, the night after he gets home, and then another night – that's the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth." He glanced at the clock, "On a side-note, you forgot to take her to swimming and judo class."
Loki groaned, "I did. When she remembers, she's going to be so upset." There were a few seconds of silence, before she glanced up at him. "James, what do you remember about what you found out about Eisa, during your investigation?" James' grip on her tightened, muscles tensing.
"Her name was Daisy Johnson. Mother's name, unknown, father's name, unknown. Mother's occupation, unknown, mother's nationality, Chinese. Father's occupation, general practitioner, father's nationality, American. Daisy Johnson was born on July second, nineteen eighty-eight. They lived in an unnamed village in the Hunan Province, in China. Daisy Johnson was born in said village, with her father delivering her. He sent in her birth certificate and other relevant documents to the closest village with a Government Hall."
"July second…" Loki mused, before squinting, "At the right time of day, she could still be considered to be born on July first, so that's okay…should we tell her what her real name was?"
"No." James shook her head. "Not yet. She's too young to make any sort of mature decision. When she's older – ten, twelve, older even – sit down and talk everything over with her again, but don't tell her what her real name is, now. She's six."
"I know, I know…" Loki sighed, rubbing the inside of her eyes in an attempt to make herself more alert. "I feel terrible though. If I mess up, it could end up being worse than when I found out I was adopted."
"Right, Laufey," James muttered. "You killed him."
"Yeah. I don't want Eisa growing up hating me, if I don't be honest with her now though."
"You're her mother. It's her right to know, but you have the right not to tell her everything. Don't worry about it. I'll be right here." Loki nodded, before taking his hand, grasping it tightly before going through to the living room.
"Eisa?"
Eisa turned the TV off, looking solemn as she stood, brushing dust off her pleated grey school skirt. "Mummy?"
"Sit on the sofa, my darling," she requested, sitting down on the armchair, James letting go of her hand to fold up the blanket on the sofa so Eisa didn't have an allergic reaction to the dog hairs on it, dropping down beside her. Loki felt bare without him behind her, but pushed the feeling away, pulling up walls that she hadn't used consciously in years. "I am going to tell you how I found you, and I would like you to listen, without talking or asking questions. When I am done, only then may you speak. Do you understand, Eisa?"
"Yes Mummy."
"Good."
And so Loki told Eisa her origin story.