Though Eyes of Emerald
Dear Father,
The people in the little town of Godric's Hollow were rather isolated from the rest of the world. For inexplicable reasons, the clock moved just a little bit slower there. Everyone knew everyone. No face in their little village went unrecognized. And anybody could find time to stop by a friend's home to say hello. Mothers cooked a hearty dinner in their tiny household domains each night. Ravenous hard-working fathers and uncles soon arrived, chorusing folksongs, in their saw-covered clothes trudging from the local lumber mill that was two miles east. Wispy old widows, tucked away in their cottages, would watch the men return home; some might think of their deceased husbands who used to do the same. Others mentally collected tomorrow's bit of juicy gossip with their hawk eyes and giraffe-long necks to exchange with far-away friends on the telephone. This was the daily routine. Of course the young teenagers, who relaxed in the tall shady grasses of the meadow, complained noisily of sheer boredom. Nothing new ever happened in tiny Godric's Hollow. Or rather, nothing happened that was exciting to talk about…not since the explosion anyway. But that was years ago and they were too young to remember it.
It's seems like it has been forever since we've talked. I miss you.
Mrs. Balbadder was awakened that night, not by the sound of the church tower's midnight chimes, but the rumble of an engine. She had lived alone for twelve years. No one felt sorry for her. All the sympathy went toward the long-dead
Mr. Balbadder who died of constant hen-pecking. Mrs. Balbadder was terribly old-fashioned and dressed as though it was still the 19th century. She despised pigtails, soiled blouses, and all children. Maybe that was the reason why she never had any.
I'm sorry I can't tell you where we are. Please don't worry because I'm doing just fine. That stubborn husband of mine reluctantly sends his love. I suppose he's still sore about those times you tripped him with your cane…on accident, I'm sure.
"Stop it! Ya hear me! Stop that blasted racket! Heaven's word…I swear if it's those Colby girls marooning about again-,"
The cantankerous woman donned a frilly bathrobe to place over her, even frillier, nightgown. A pair of gigantic thick-rimmed spectacles was placed upon the sharp bridge of her nose. Mrs. Balbadder never cursed. Because doing so was not lady-like and completely inappropriate for a woman of her stature. After all, she was a very, very, very, very, very distant relative of Lord Charles Southdown I on her mother's side. And Mrs. Balbadder made certain that the townspeople knew it.
The engine rumbled louder as the wrinkled lady ground her dentures together fiercely. They appeared as if they would break from the friction. She pulled a white strand of hair from her button-shaped eyes. Then she counted to three. With a howl, Mrs. Balbadder ran through her home and ripped aside the small curtain over her kitchen windowsill. How was a noblewoman expected to get any beauty sleep with all that commotion going on! Straightening the bifocals, Mrs. Balbadder concentrated on finding the current bane of her existence through the nighttime fog.
Those times seem like so long ago. Today, I feel like I'm 40 instead of 21! My headmaster says we've seen too much for our age. But you'll be happy to know, I believe all of these nightmares we're going through will be worth it in the end.
It was a car, and not just any car, but an expensive one. The vehicle was one of those old 1920's Rolls Royce models that had been fixed from the bottom up. Its exterior color was silver that flashed beams of moonlight along with its chrome tires. Mrs. Balbadder couldn't suppress a low whistle. Whoever owned that buggy had some serious quid in their pockets. Perhaps one of her distant noble cousins had come to take her away? She indignantly sniffed. It would be about time!
The blinding headlights blinked before coming to an abrupt stop.
But I'm scared, Daddy. Not just for me, but for my baby boy. There's too much of a danger that Harry could go through his entire life an orphan. Now I finally understand why real parents worry themselves to death. I glimpsed several gray hairs in the mirror this morning. Do you think I could stop by London to get a touch-up?
Almost by magic, a chauffeur dressed head to toe in black slid out from the left side. He was a tall burly man with a rough face, short ponytail, and curly goatee. Beady eyes scanned the area under bushy eyebrows whilst his mouth silently formed words Mrs. Balbadder couldn't understand. For a second, it appeared as if the large man's gaze had settled on her. Then they flickered away after confirming that she wasn't a threat. Mrs. Balbadder's heart sank in disappointment. Obviously these people were either hopeless at recognizing their family members or not looking for her.
The front right passenger door swung open.
Sorry. That was my teenage side talking. Don't think I'll ever get ride of it! There's a bit of mum in me when it comes to certain things. You were right, Daddy, when you said that we're more alike than we think.
Another male stepped out; this one was a bit shorter. Yet what scared Mrs. Balbadder wasn't his gruff appearance. No, it was the dangerous black pistol lodged on his leather belt that made her gulp. Weapons were never brought into Godric's Hollow. There wasn't a need for them because they lived too far away from criminal activity. But these boys, Mrs. Balbadder's countenance shriveled, meant business. Should she call the authorities?
The second man did a quick surveillance check of his own before opening the backseat door on his side. Out came a woman of petite stature. Similar to the men around her, she was decked all in black except stylishly so. She wore a designer full-skirted wrap dress with long sleeves that had French cuffs. A revealing V-neckline was covered up by a white blouse that she wore underneath everything. Mrs. Balbadder saw the woman fumble with the tie that strapped around her small waist futilely. On the brim of her black hat was an attached veil which shrouded her pale face from Mrs. Balbadder's view.
"Best be carevul, ma'm," The second bodyguard spoke with a thick accent. "Vatch your step."
The lady nodded whilst clicking her heels together nervously. "T-t-thank you, I-Ivan." She sounded as if she might burst into tears at any moment. The old woman eavesdropping from her kitchen window frowned in disapproval. How could a girl, who obviously grew up with quite a bit of money, be so miserable?
Could you tell her that I forgive her? Hopefully I'll be able to when all of this is over. But, just in case, I want you to. After all, she taught me how to stand on my own two feet. Though I'm sure it was a blessing in disguise.
"Nikolai, do you have the flowers?"
Ice was so deeply entwined in his voice; it caused the old eavesdropper to tremble. This man must've obviously been the leader, and the lady's husband, because he slid a broad arm around her waist. Every feature on his person was sharp, aristocratic, and cold. Cobalt blue orbs gazed down upon the bodyguards as they attempted to hand him a coat, which he brushed away with an arrogant sneer. The flesh on his bones was pallor but Mrs. Balbadder had a gut instinct that it hadn't always been that way. She watched the gentleman lean on an expensive-looking cane as gusts of wind ruffled his dark brown mane. Indeed, this man was extremely handsome and Mrs. Balbadder caught glimpses of an adoring smile on the other woman's face. But then, a terrible hacking cough escaped the man's throat. The blonde wife placed the rejected coat worriedly around his shoulders. He was handsome, Mrs. Balbadder realized, but sick…very sick. And if the dead look in his eyes spoke anything, it was that he saw no reason to fight his ailment.
"Sir," the first driver's accent was less pronounced, "Do you really vink you have to do this-"
"Don't be ridiculous! Why on earth wouldn't I?"
Mrs. Balbadder shivered again. That Artic tone…it was like that fellow never experienced happiness!
Or had forgotten what it felt like.
"Mr. Evans, I don't vink this is vood for your vealth-,"
The brunette glowered before erupting into another painful fit of coughs. As his wife, presumably Mrs. Evans, patted his back soothingly, Mr. Evans spit on the ground. The old woman didn't need to see the bodyguards' faces to know that the red substance was blood.
"Oh, really? Tell me what else is not good for my health, Ivan," He smiled bitterly. "It seems that I can't do anything or go anywhere without being reminded that I'm dying."
But you were constantly there for me, Daddy. I can't tell you how much I love you for it. I was always your little girl and you were my sarcastic, over-protective superhero. We meant the world to each other. We knew each other better than you know the human body or how I know the West End, which is saying something. Aunt Millie always said I had you wrapped around my little fingers. Sometimes, when I was in trouble, all I needed to do was smile and you would just laugh it off.
"Poppet…please don't speak so negatively-,"
Eyes of the bluest blue closed in patience. "There's no cure for what I have, sweet pea."
"But we still have us!" Mrs. Evans was beginning to sound frantic. Mrs. Balbadder clucked her tongue. It appeared that the younger woman wasn't ready to accept that she would soon be a widow. "We might've lost our children, but, but we can have more-or-or adopt on-,"
Mr. Evans clutched his wife's flailing arms. "We both can't produce children anymore. And you know as well as I do that it wouldn't be the same."
The blonde pitifully leaned against the extravagant car; big salty tears damaged her pretty veil. Yet now, Mrs. Balbadder could see that her eyes were an extremely uncommon shade of mint green. She watched the lady blubber for a few seconds while attempting to speak. A caring Nikolai handed her a blue handkerchief. With a brief thank you, the lady regained some of her lost composure. "W-What a-a-about magic?"
"MAGIC!" The word was growled out by the stoic man. Pure hatred now lined his eyes. "What good has magic done for you, me, or anyone else here?! Absolutely nothing! Because of magic, my oldest daughter refuses to even look me in the eye, much less talk to me!"
His glowing eyes were fierce. His breathing was hard. His face became an unhealthy shade of red. Mr. Evans' companions were now desperately trying to calm him.
"Darling, your blood pressure-,"
"MAGIC IS A CURSE, AN EPIDEMIC! Long ago, it gave up on me and I gave up on it! If I had kept it that way, MY LITTLE GIRL WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN KILLED AND BURIED BEFORE ME!"
Mrs. Balbadder flattened her palms against the sides of her wrinkled head. All this screaming was really too much for her aged ears to handle. The man in front of her cottage was becoming hysterical; tears were now running down his face. It seemed as if his tirade was just so he could lash out his pain at the world. Mrs. Balbadder frowned again. What did this non-sense about magic have to do with anything? Mrs. Evans cried even harder. It appeared as if she agreed with her husband's sentiments. He leaned again on his cane, and Mrs. Balbadder noticed he relied heavily on it. Had it always been that way? Or, had this man been crippled or injured in some accident that might've been foolishly deemed "magical"?
The old woman scoffed impatiently. These rich folks had more money than they did sense! Yes, they'd lost some children, but whom, in their right mind, wanted to look after snotty-nosed brats in the first place?! Mrs. Balbadder closed the kitchen window quietly with a huff. She certainly didn't. And, all this talk about magic! Pugh! Why, in her day, magic didn't even exist! Honestly! Is this what the younger generation was coming to?! Mrs. Balbadder rolled her eyes whilst pulling the curtains.
Magic, indeed!
Daddy, I feel exactly the same way about Harry. He's so adorable and precious. James and I have spoiled him so much. I can't wait for you to see when we try to put him to bed. He refuses to sleep without his favorite plush toy: a stuffed deer named Prongs. Really, I don't understand why James insisted on naming it that. Whenever I ask him, he just snickers and changes the subject. Men! Anyway, Harry has become our life. He's our miracle. We love him so much and want to give him everything. I would die for that little boy in an instant and I don't think that's only my maternal instincts talking. I love being a mother. Funny, huh? Five years ago, I couldn't even imagine myself pouring tea without spilling much less having a child.
Mr. Evans was now rocking back and forth. The strong man that had stepped out of the Rolls Royce was replaced with a miserable grieving man that believed life was no longer worth living. He slowly reached a broad hand, which must've grown weak, into his suit pocket and pulled out a yellowing letter. "S-she wrote me. She told me how much she loved her little boy. Said he was an angel on earth. I-I loved him too. But now, thanks to magic, my grandson has been scattered to the winds and I'll never get to see him!"
"Hush poppet," The blonde wife held onto her husband with an iron grip. "I am hurting too. Nikolai, start the car. I don't think we can do this tonight."
Sometimes I wonder how my life would be if I had taken that internship at the DRCOMC…
"No." The chilling tone had returned; this time it was strict.
"Darling-,"
"No! I want to see my child!"
With surprising strength, he pushed away. Ignoring his wife's pleas to come back, Mr. Evans limped rapidly up the hill. Ivan could only hear his boss's laboring breath or see him trip into the cold mud once. The gigantic man pulled a long wooden instrument out of a hidden pouch.
"Stupefy!"
I suppose I need to wrap this letter up, Daddy. Harry's crying again and I need to help James prepare for Halloween. It's in three days. We're not doing anything too extravagant. At the most, we'll be conjuring faeries and floating pumpkins around the house. It's pretty quiet where I am. I can tell you we're hidden very well and protected by loyal friends. Sirius is coming over tonight. His letter seemed rather urgent so I hope everything's well. But, Daddy, there's no need to worry. Remember my friends at Hogwarts? Sophisticated brats we were! We thought we had everything we wanted before finding out we needed each other to make it. Strange, really. We were each so different. And thinking back, I realize I've learned so much because of them. Things you might not have wanted me to know, Daddy, but I've forgiven you.
A red bolt of light hurled itself forward until it struck the clambering man. It didn't miss. Within seconds, Mr. Evans was rendered unconscious and eerily still.
The green-eyed lady breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ivan. Are you sure he'll be-,"
"Yes, Madame. It was simple stunner." The bearded bodyguard stalked over to the comatose figure and picked him up without effort. He frowned. "Madame, he iz much voo vhin."
Mrs. Evans took a minute to decipher the thick accent. "Is he really? He must be skipping meals again." Whimpering, she grabbed his expensive cane. "I don't know what I can do to make him happy anymore. The disease is getting to his mind. He'll be so furious when he wakes up without seeing-,"
"All ve can do," Nikolai smiled comfortingly "is vope for the best."
I miss Dedushka and Babushka. I try not to get too sad when I think of them. They're happy together in peace and I know they're probably watching over us. You might not believe this, Daddy, but I think that they watch over you especially. You were just as much a son to them as I'm a daughter to you. Slap me for this later, but I believe that they loved you in their own way. After all, hurt people do hurt people.
"I do that everyday since I found out about-," She shook the thought away. "Put my husband inside, Ivan. Start the car while you're at it. It's a long ride. We need to get him home."
As it was opened, Mrs. Evans reached inside the vehicle and brought out a stunning floral bouquet. "Fikolai-,"
"Nikolai."
"Same difference!" Mint green orbs rolled then softened. "I want you to go up there and give these to her. Be back in five minutes."
The foreign man nodded, took the item, and left. Everything was so confusing nowadays in this country. Nikolai walked faster up the hill. It was times like these that he wished he was back in Russia, where the world was cold yet made sense.
My friends were fabulous, weren't they? We stayed up all night laughing, wore fantastic clothes, annoyed the professors, and crashed all the House parties. Sometimes, a prank would be thrown in here and there. I guess James and his friends were the male versions of us…the snobby ignorant prick version. He constantly reminds me that we were little bitches when we wanted to be, but I laugh and reply, "Carpe Diem!" I do feel sorry for the people whose feelings were really hurt though, especially poor Madeline's. All of us were so young back then.
There they were: two small gravestones that were planted amid the rubble of a destroyed cottage. Less than two months in age and already the stones looked worn and beaten. Weeds made their way upward, covering anything in their tangled grasp. A foot-long snake slithered across both graves in triumphant pursuit of a mouse. All was dim, murky, and dismal. This was what was left of Godric's Hallow. Nikolai's smile was grim as the earlier glorified thoughts of this place exited his conscience. He had expected more…extravagance for the memorial of the most famous parents in wizarding history.
One day all of this sorrow will be behind us. I believe this is true whether the prophecy is fulfilled or not, whether we survive or not. Everything will work itself out. Still, I cannot help but feel that my Harry will play a great part in this war.
James Charlus David Potter
October 1st 1959 - October 31st 1981
Loyal Friend
Great Protector
Loving Husband & Father
Your heroic deeds will always be remembered.
Out of respect, Nikolai placed two flowers: a white rose and a pink lily.
Lilyanna Rose Natalya Evans-Potter
May 9th 1959 – October 31st 1981
Beloved Friend
Rebellious Thinker
Devoted Wife & Mother
Your healing smile is forever engraved in our hearts.
On this stone, the man laid the rest of the bouquet of marvelous daffodils, forget-me-nots, and countless pretty pink lilies. The bodyguard grinned as he examined the last flower. Every aspect of it matched the image of the beautiful girl who thrived upon life's adventures. A finger touched one soft petal. Hopefully the child that she loved so much would possess such qualities.
After a minute of pensiveness, bright gold sparkles showered over the stones. The cracks were filled. The weeds died and shriveled into the ground. And the snake was distracted from his chase to be burned by the glowing onslaught. It seemed so much brighter. Nikolai pocketed his wand and left with a tiny nod toward the last gravestone.
"Live long, Grand Sorceress. Your work is done."
I really must get going. There's so much work to do! With luck, I will see you by next fall, Daddy. If I don't, try to remember your loving and grateful daughter.
Forever your flower,
Lily.
October 28, 1981.