In Which Rhian Gets a Pretty Sword
"Uncle Boris, I already have my wand." I piped up. My uncle Boris, a tall, dark would-be-handsome-if-he-didn't-glare-all-the-time man and I were strolling down Diagon Alley, Uncle Boris saying that he had a surprise for me. A surprise? From him? Probably nothing good, and most likely dangerous. But as we neared the old wand shop, my fears were pretty much gone. I was secretly hoping we'd slip into Knockturn Alley and buy some sort of deformed creature that had mysterious powers. But Uncle had sauntered right past it, not even turning his head in that direction for a mere glance. Disappointing.
But why the wand shop? I had gotten my wand quite a few years ago. It was an 11" white oak with a single baby Hungarian dragon's tooth. I haven't met the dragon himself, but I heard that he was still living in the deep mountains of magical Turkey, all grown up of course.
"You know, I got it before I was shipped off to Hogwarts." I say 'shipped off' when I really mean 'kicking and screaming'. I was quite a spoiled child then, 11 years old having had whatever I wished given to me. I lived in a giant mansion surrounded by acres and acres of land that I believed one day would be mine (false thinking, it would really go to my brother, Adrian.). I lived like a princess waiting for her prince to come sweep her off her feet, in the mean time making everyone miserable until she had gotten her wishes fulfilled. Durmstrang was obviously the better choice, so why had they not accepted me? I so wished to go to the prestigious school that there was no living with me. My father, however, put his foot down and my mother wouldn't budge. So I broke a window. And a chair. The dishes, the grandfather clock, my bedposts… oh! and the butler.
They made me stay with two aunts in the Netherlands until it was time for the train. I had to shop for my stuff with the two bats and it was NOT a pleasant experience. I was absolutely determined to make a nuisance of myself that first year. My parents were absolutely fed up with me and gave me two choices. One, go live with my aunts during the breaks and summers, only coming home when I've behaved myself, or two, live with my Uncle Boris (whom I had never met before) under the same conditions. They didn't want me anymore. I realized this so suddenly that I cried, and cried some more when I found that no one wanted to comfort me, I had been such a bitch that I didn't have any friends. I made my decision (I did NOT want to be with the two bats), and my uncle came and picked me up from the train that Christmas. I recognized him from an old photo that my father had sent me by owl. No letter, I guessed that they were glad to get me out of their hair. He was SCARY. He had worn a dark trench coat, muggle sunglasses that glinted, and his aura fairly crackled with dark energy. I had thought myself doomed. He was going to slit my throat like it was butter, bury me in his backyard, and the best part: no one would know or care! I almost peed myself.
However, Uncle Boris took me to the Leaky Cauldron, bought me dinner and a slice of apple pie. I had always loved their apple pie. I warmed up to him quickly, found out that he has his own deadpanned sense of humor, and that his little flat on the edge of the beach was the cutest thing ever, not to mention the paradise in his backyard. Complete with a lake, mountain/forest and a giant oak that stirred the adventurer in me. His vacation villa was where we would be staying for Christmas. I really liked him, so I agreed to go for a jog the next morning, even though I never really liked to exercise. The next morning turned out to be four o'clock in the morning, and the jog being a four-hour sprint. After 5 minutes, I decided that I wasn't going to keep up and tried to turn around. Uncle Boris, however, had different plans. He pulled a large stick out of nowhere and started HITTING me with it, forcing me to keep running along the right path. When we finally stopped, he slapped me on the back and said, "Now see, that wasn't so bad." WASN'T SO BAD? I was scared of him again. He kept up the 'morning jogs' right until Christmas. I got a break to Floo back home for our annual Christmas ball, but by then, I was so sore that I couldn't dance or even move more that putting one foot in front of another for that matter. I begged and begged my parents to let me come home, but they would have none of it. I was back at Uncle's before I had a chance to say 'please' again. They had my presents flown over, all wrapped nicely and neatly placed on my bed. I was furious.
Lets just say that I experienced one of my old temper tantrums. Uncle Boris screamed at me to 'get angrier' and then proceeded to equip me with a long staff that was capped off with bronze at both ends. It had no markings on it, while his (oh yes, his) was covered in strange symbols. I got angrier and attempted to hit my anger out on Uncle Boris. The bastard kept evading me and getting in his own hits, rapping me over the head with his weird staff. It was quite a painful ordeal, and left me sprawled on the floor, heaving and crying. Uncle Boris carried me to my bed and let me sleep until noon. I decided then, lying in bed that I wanted to learn. Learn how to fight like him, to be in control like he was, get stronger so that no one would be able to hurt me again and I'll be damned if he doesn't teach me everything he knows. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into of course, but it's too late now. I asked him over lunch and to my surprise, he agreed. He'd teach me on a few conditions (conditions seemed to haunt me, but his were practical, so it was okay.). One, I couldn't complain that it was too hard or too tough, two, I couldn't talk about my training to anyone, and three, I would never argue with a direct order and do it immediately.
That was four years ago, and here I was, following my Uncle into a stupid wand shop. He trained me hard, and I was now a tall, slightly muscular young woman. I've mastered four different types of martial arts, boxing, and staff wielding. I was hoping that he would teach me to use a sword; he had this wicked looking blade that I had seen slice through steel. Uncle had told me 'later'. It was later, and he still wouldn't mention the topic.
The bell chimed our arrival as he pushed it open and again when he let it fall, shutting the snowy wind out. I exhaled, not knowing when or why I started holding my breath. The shuffling old man came out from his dusty shelves to greet us. A knowing smile crept across his face as his saw us.
"Came for it, didn't you?" Uncle B nodded. What was 'it'? I hated being left out of the loop and the suspense was killing me! It was like reading a muggle mystery novel (when I was lucky enough to get my hands on one). Uncle Boris took me into a little muggle town and into a bookshop, needing to pick up an item for some secret mission that he was on. I browsed the shelves and a lot of the books caught my eye. It started to be a fascination and I am utterly hooked now.
The old man led us into the back of the shop, and then to the back of the back of the shop, and then down a flight of dusty, creepy stairs that creaked under our weight and felt as if they were going to crumble at any moment. He swished his wand and a ball of light floated to the top and middle of an enormous chamber. It looked like one of those old medieval armories, with the dark gray stone and countless upon countless rows of weapons. Spears, swords, armor, helmets, cutlasses, etcetera, etcetera. The two men grinned (as much as Uncle B can grin) at the look of awe on my face. I approached one of the shelves of swords and touched one. The shock wave the sword released sent me straight to the ground. And then they laughed.
"The weapons are like wands, my dear. The right one will choose you." I nodded and pulled myself to my feet. The old man hummed as he walked down the isle of weaponry. He plucked a long staff tipped with 12 inches of pure steel and a little tassel off the rack and handed it to me gently, hand holds first. The thing hummed violently, racking my bones. I handed the thing back to him quickly, and shook my head.
"Why don't I just look for it? I don't think the touching thing is working. Besides, won't it jump out at me?" Uncle B nodded, and the old man voiced his approval.
I skimmed the isles, looking at all the strange weapons. A mace? Nah, that wouldn't fit me. Whips weren't my specialty either. I eyed the tassel thing. It seemed to glare at me. Not that one either. I walked quickly away from it, stopping in front of a small rack of swords tucked into a corner. Four of them shined like the sun, the rubies and emeralds and diamond gleaming from their hilts. The fifth one was a dull, steel sword with a plain hilt, none of the glory its brothers had. It intrigued me. I grasped the hilt and pulled it from its fastenings. I grimaced, waiting for some doom to come upon me. Nothing happened. I opened one eye and then the other, looking down on the ugly sword. It wasn't so ugly anymore. In fact, it fairly shined. The weight was perfect in my hand, the length just right. I gave a few good swings, just to make sure. The blade swung through the air, swishing noises followed, and I almost danced. It was perfect! And it liked me!
I glanced back at Uncle B and he nodded, not surprised. He handed over a bag of coins to the shopkeeper.
"Grab the sheath too." Uncle Boris nodded to the rack again and I saw it's matching sheath. At first glance, it was plain but as I looked closer, it had strange symbols etched into the leather. I sheathed it, and noticed similar etchings in the hilt. Odd.
I scurried out into the cold with my uncle, heading towards the Leaky Cauldron. My mouth started watering; I could taste that apple pie now. Before we got there though, my uncle swung down into Knockturn Alley. YES! Here I come, deformed creature with magical powers! He turned and stopped me, dropping a few coins into my hand.
"Go ahead to the Leaky Cauldron. I want the usual. This will only take a few minutes."
"Then I'll go with you." I insisted.
"Can't. Official Ministry business." I scowled and turned on my heel, half wanting to get out of the cold, half wanting that damn apple pie. I was really curious. Uncle Boris worked in the Containment of Dangerous Beings department of the Ministry after retiring from his Auror position. Basically, if there was some type of magical creature making a nuisance of itself in either the muggle of magical world, Uncle Boris and whoever else was on his team was sent to go and 'contain' it. More often than not by killing it. It required the skills of a hunter, Auror, and a wizard. They called themselves the Breakers, though the purpose eludes me. Couldn't they have easily called themselves the People-Who-Kick-Ass? Or the Guys-Who-Make-Sure-Your-Asses-Are-Safe? But no, it has to be the Breakers. Boring.
He would tell me or not tell me, that's just the way he was. No matter how hard I pressed it. But as far as I know, the Ministry didn't have secret meetings in Knockturn Alley. I pushed open the wall leading to the pub and grabbed two seats at the bar, ordering two slices of hot apple pie and setting my new sword in the scabbard in between my knees, the bottom touching the floor. I supposed I would need a belt to attach it to my waist, but I'm sure it would come later. The smell wafted over to my nose and I didn't think twice about waiting for my uncle. Delicious, oh so delicious! My parents had hardly ever brought me here, and usually refused to give me sweets in the first place. It ruins your figure, as my mother so aptly tells me. But now that I am free from her prying eyes and most of her steel-clawed grip, I was damn sure I was going to get my apple pie. Plus, Uncle Boris will have me run it off later. He was like that.
As I was savoring the rather large piece of heaven, the door from the Muggle Street opened, giving way to a gust of cold wind and a large group of people, most with red hair. The Weasley clan. Don't get me wrong; I have nothing against the people personally, but they do have a relatively hefty brood, and it makes it hard to distinguish them all. I stopped bothering to try and just called them all Weasley. Or Potter, as I've been reminded. The Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived married the youngest blood-traitor Weasley and had millions of children, my father always use to say. Or spat, really. He hated all of them, himself being one of Voldemort's followers. Not a very good one though, he never did get the Dark Mark, nor had he even been invited to a meeting. Lame, I had always thought. If you're going to be evil, be evil. Don't half-ass it and certainly don't be a mere follower. Be the leader, or at least the wizard that the leader came to for advice about ruling the world. But he never listened to me.
There were only three Potter-Weasleys anyway. Lily, Albus-Severus, and James. James. He was… handsome, to put it lightly. Okay, he was down right hot. That boy looked like Adonis in the flesh. Times TWO. He had a wonderfully in shape body, he played Quiddich like, none stop, his hair was a lovely shade of reddish brown that was quite messy, and certainly dashing. His eyes were awesome too. When the light hit them just right, they looked gold, like a lion's. And it fit, because he was obviously a Gryffindor, along with the majority of the rest of his family. He was one year older than me, which means he's a 6th year. I've never actually talked to him, and I don't plan to. He might be really sexy, and smart, but I've never seen him fight. And if he can't fight, then he was a big no for me. Two years ago when lying in my bed, listening to my roommates giggle over a magazine, I heard them ask each other about their perfect guy. Each gave a list of things they wanted in a guy. Rich, handsome, etcetera. I made my own and fighting was at the top. Actually, fighting was the only thing on the list. The others are bonuses.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely caught my uncle sliding into the seat next to me and digging in on his pie.
"Potters?" His voice startled me; usually we like to eat our pies in silence, only speaking every so often. I didn't expect him to jump right in on a conversation. When I looked down to my plate, I found it empty, and almost fell off my chair in shock. Was I so enthralled by Adonis in the flesh and my mysterious dream guy that I missed enjoying my favorite pie? Why was love clouding my thoughts? I shook my head and turned to him, pouting.
"No more pie." He grinned. He was doing that more often now, I wonder if he's gotten a girlfriend.
"That's what happens when you eat it all." He moved his attention elsewhere. To Harry Potter. THE Harry Potter.
"Potter!" My uncle raised a hand so the dark haired man could see him. He smiled and waved, crossing over to where they were and taking a seat beside Uncle Boris.
"Hello there, long time, no see. Have you been well?" Translation: I missed the meeting; can you bring me up to date?
"Yes, actually. Nothing serious has come up, so I've been catching up on my sleep." Translation: Hell no, there is some sort of evil lurking about, giving us loads of trouble. I don't think I'll be getting sleep for a while yet.
"That's good." Translation: Anything the Aurors can help with?
"How is the team holding up?" Translation: We'll see. I'll give you a Floo if we need your assistance.
"Doing just fine." Translation: Good, I'll wait for it.
Harry Potter's oldest son decided to approach just then. His oldest son, James. The hot one. He looked at me funny, like I had something on my face. I glanced over to the napkin holder were I could see my reflection. Nothing. Good thing my face didn't betray the panic I was feeling. I was never really good with people in the first place. After I had gotten over my 'make everyone miserable' stage, people had just come to avoid me, and the only two people who would talk to me were a snobbish princess and a bulky, scary looking guy who had the heart of a teddy bear and the mouth of a mute.
"Dad? Al and I are going to pop over to Quiddich and Things, heard they got a new model out." Quiddich. In its essence, it was a violent sport. I liked it. I've never actually played it except when we were learning about it first year, flying lessons. I threw a quaffle into some Hufflepuff's face and broke her nose. That was about the time my parents had made the deal with me. They didn't allow me to play after that, and I was quite put out.
"Okay, I'll go with you. I love a good broom." His father said, rising. "Boris, it was good talking with you again, we'll have to have you over for dinner one night. Bring your daughter with you too. The more the merrier." He smiled. How kind.
"Niece." I said acidly. Like I said, I'm not very good with people. Especially people I tend to avoid due to my Father's insistent hate for them. "I'm not his daughter. I'm his niece." I smiled right back at him, snarky. What was wrong with me today? Uncle gave me a glare. I read his mind: five laps around the lake! But the great Harry Potter took it in stride and kept on smiling.
"My mistake. See you, Boris." He clapped Uncle on the shoulder and took off with his son and meeting up with the rest of his family and going out into Diagon Alley.
"It would be wise of you to respect your elders." Uncle Boris said icily. "And not act by the foundations from which you were bred." I felt ashamed, my face burned. He was right, of course. My parents told me to hate the Potters, and I did with out knowing it. I've changed! I'm not the spoiled little brat Fakar that everyone knew in 1st year. I am the fighter, the cool, composed girl in the room that could snap your neck in a second, but that wouldn't because it went against her moral code. I'm her. I bent my head.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't do it again." Uncle Boris finished off his pie and stood, fully expecting me to follow his lead. I did, grabbing my new sword and jumping off the stool, dreading the laps I would have to do in the cold.
Uncle B's place was a bit weird. The house faced the ocean, and there was a good chunk of sandy beach to lie out on. In the back, however, there was a large lake, and a forest. It seemed contradictory, but with magic, you apparently can do anything.
It wasn't so bad, really. I put some warming charms on my workout clothes before I left school, incase he had me do this sort of thing, just to torture me. Along with a couple of sticking charms, I was okay to run in the deep snow. With 50 mile per hour winds. And frigid air. Did I mention it was five laps around a really large lake?
The few days before the annual Christmas Ball flew by, with us beginning training in sword fighting (not our actual swords, but ones that had been fashioned after them with wood), a new form of martial arts, and something completely foreign to me: meditation.
"It helps you focus. Your magic will be more powerful, and your art more precise. Clear your mind, relax." We were sitting on the edge of a cliff. How the hell was I suppose to relax? One tremor and I could slip off and fall to my doom, and Uncle B was just sitting there Indian style, hands resting on his knees palms up, his eyes closed. How could he be so calm? I ventured a look over the edge, scooting back another inch when I saw the steep drop. We had hiked a good hour and a half up the hill (I would have called it a mountain) and through some heavy woods before finally coming to a stop at the grassy area. I had assumed it was decent until Uncle Boris said, "Watch your step, you might die." Then, I was a bit nervous.
"Seeing as we are sitting, you shouldn't have a fear of falling to your doom." How does he know! The man could read minds. Damn him.
"I can't read minds. I've just done this thing before with my master." See what I mean? But that got me interested. He had never mentioned his master before, and I was always curious to know how he learned all this stuff.
"Your master? Tell me about him."
"Later, if you meditate well today. Now shut up and clear your mind." It was just like Uncle Boris, blunt and harsh. But it worked. I mimicked his position and closed my eyes. Clear your mind…
Things kept popping up. The training earlier, how many mistakes I had made, the breakfast that morning, reminding myself not to let Uncle cook ever again, the funny sounds of some forest creature scuttling around behind me.
"Focus." Dang it! "Breath in slowly, focus on your breathing, the wind in your ears, and the smell of the grass. Think of everything, and nothing. Think of the present, where you are, how you feel. Feel your heartbeat, listen to it thud in your ears. Clear your mind."
Damn good speech. His words rang true to my ears; I did everything he said, the wind, the present, the heartbeat. I wonder if he wrote that out before.
What seemed like two seconds later, Uncle B tapped me out of my trance. I was startled. When I had closed my eyes, the sun had been high overhead, now it was sinking slowly on the horizon.
"Whoa. Time flies when your mind is blank." Uncle B just nodded and headed back down the hill. We got home just as the sun disappeared. The beach turned cold and I stood there, after he had gone inside, digging my toes in the chilly sand. Meditation was weird. During those seemingly two seconds, there had been many things going on, now that I think back on it. There were the sounds of the forest, my heartbeat thudding in my ears, and then… a voice? Back in the back of my mind, there was a voice, calling my name. But not my name. It was my name, but it wasn't my name. If that made any sense at all. It hadn't said "Rhiannon" or "Rhian" or any of my other nicknames. I couldn't remember the name she had called me (if it was a she), but I knew she was calling me. It was weird.
Uncle B came out and called me inside. I shook out of my reverie and headed into the warm house, my stomach beginning to growl. He never ended up telling me about his master. Disappointing.