MY FAMILY IS SCREWED UP
N.B. One shot. I think. Maybe if the muse comes back… Anyway, it's been in my head for a while. I need it to get OUT. So here it is.
Disclaimer: I own none of the Harry Potter characters. I have one line from the book. Find it if you will :) Plot is COMPLETELY my own though.
A shiver ran through her spine. Pins and needles; little stabs of pain all over her body. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong. She sat up and looked at Flash, who cocked her head at her and returned her stare with one bright fiery eye. Then they both looked out the window. The moon was full and burning in the dark sky. There were little stars. Areida Dumbledore stood up, tall and worried. Her long straight hair illuminated her pale pearly skin, and her huge dark eyes, clouded over with worry. She grabbed a broomstick and her black cloak, fastening the silver clasp over her throat. Suddenly, a flash of fire appeared in the middle of the room and disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. A single red feather drifted down slowly, and Areida caught it gently with her hand.
"Fawkes," she said under her breath, and she opened the window. She turned to look at Flash.
"Are you flying with me or not?" she asked the bird. Flash groomed her feathers one last time and spread her silver grey wings. Girl and bird fell out the window and sped off in the dark cloudless sky.
"This is… not the moment to discuss it," said Lupin, avoiding everybody's eyes as he looked around distractedly. "Dumbledore is dead…"
There was a loud bang that echoed through the castle, and everybody jumped.
"What the hell?" Ron said audibly, and for once, Mrs. Weasley said nothing about his language. She was fixated on her oldest son Bill, but a second crash of the Hospital Wing doors brought her to her feet.
"Who on earth is making that racket!" she demanded, and her voice faltered as she saw the tall girl standing in the doorway, holding a broomstick and with a silver bird on her shoulder. She could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and she was beautiful. Her features were sharp, her eyes huge and her limbs long and slender. She was wearing boots of black dragon hide, a black turtleneck sweater, black jeans held up by a black and silver belt, and a black cloak was billowing out behind her, fastened at her throat with a silver clasp. There was also a long silver chain which had a thick ring hanging off it, and many other silver rings adorned her fingers. Silver hoops dangled from her ears, and a tiny diamond stud glittered at the top of one.
The bird was equally beautiful, with silver and grey plumage. Harry was reminded of a silver Fawkes. This bird had bright purple eyes, tinged with a fiery red. It was standing steadily on the girl's shoulder, and surveyed the room. The girl was doing the same, but focused on Professor McGonagall instantly.
"Professor McGonagall," she said in a quiet voice, lowering her head in respect. Professor McGonagall's hand jumped to her chest in shock.
"Areida… What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised. Everyone had their eye on them. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and Ron looked at her approvingly. Hermione and Ginny were oblivious, and staring at this intruder.
"Fawkes called me," the girl called Areida replied, and she looked around the room for the first time. She saw the Weasleys; Bill lying on the bed, face mangled beyond recognition; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley by his bedside, Fleur sitting on the bed, hand midway to daubing ointment on her fiancée's face; Lupin, Tonks, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville and Harry all standing around, battle worn, scarred and some bleeding.
Areida took this all in and then turned to Professor McGonagall again.
"Aunt Minerva, where is he?" she asked. Harry, Ron, Neville and Hermione all exchanged glances. Aunt Minerva? Who is this girl? Professor McGonagall said nothing, but instead lowered her hand and then extended it to grasp the girl's shoulder.
"Areida, you must be brave," she started. Areida didn't move. One hand was playing with the ring hanging on the chain around her neck. The other was limp by her side, holding her broomstick. A Firebolt, Harry noticed and so did Ron. This girl must be a serious flyer.
"Brave? He didn't," Areida said, blanching, and Professor McGonagall nodded.
"He PROMISED!" she said, anguished, and the rest of them could see her holding back tears. She was choking them down, struggling, and the bird on her shoulder uttered a soft musical cry, which echoed around the room. Harry felt the same familiar feeling of courage and bravery and strength pour into him, just as when Fawkes had done the same, so many years ago in his second year, after the fight with the Basilisk. The girl controlled herself, and she raised a hand to the bird and stroked its soft plumage gently. Then she looked up and looked at Harry.
"You're Harry, right?" she asked softly, and Harry nodded uncertainly. How did she know my name?
"I know everything," she said, a small smile playing on her face, and Harry felt as if she had read his mind, and blushed a little. Ginny's face was blank, but she raised her eyebrows a little.
"Where did you go with him?" Areida asked Harry. Her attention was focused on him now, and Harry felt a little stab of surprise at her question.
"You mean with Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, and she nodded. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you," he said apologetically.
"No Harry, you will tell me," she said firmly, and Harry could tell she meant it. However, he had no reason to back down.
"I can't. Professor Dumbledore, he left this to me," he said equally firmly. Professor McGonagall turned to him.
"Potter, it is of the utmost importance. You must-" Lupin cut Professor McGonagall off.
"Sorry Minerva, but we are all still at a loss to who this girl is. If you please, introduce yourself," he said, looking at Areida. She tossed her hair back and looked at Professor McGonagall, who shrugged.
"There's not point keeping it secret now Areida," she said finally, and she sighed. Areida nodded and turned to face the others.
"Remus Lupin, it's nice to have met you," she said to Lupin, and a startled expression crossed his face.
"How do you know my name?" he asked her slowly. Areida smiled sadly. She was beautiful, and a little proud and also still very young. But she had a maturity beyond her years, and Lupin could see that she was one to be respected.
"My name is Areida Dumbledore. I'm his daughter," she announced, and gasps of surprise echoed around the room. Harry grabbed the nearest bed for support. Dumbledore… Had a DAUGHTER? He swayed on the spot with shock. What other secrets had he been keeping from him?
Areida saw their shock, but most of all she saw Harry.
"No one knows, with the exception of Aunt Minerva of course," she explained gently. "I was meant to be hidden, never seen or exposed, until now of course," she said a little bitterly.
"Now Harry, tell me where my father is," Areida said, and Harry could tell she meant it. He looked at the others for reassurance. Harry wished fervently that he didn't have to be the one to tell her.
"Professor Dumbledore was hit by Snape… The Killing Curse. Avada Kedavra," Harry said. It was gently and quietly spoken, but the words hit her like a fist. Areida shivered all over, and she couldn't take it in.
"It's… Not… Possible," she said, brokenly. Her eyes were searching, moving around so fast that her pupils were almost a blur. She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed with sadness and anger. Areida twitched agitatedly. Then she looked up at Professor McGonagall, who was watching her sympathetically.
"I need to talk to him in private," Areida said to Professor McGonagall, who nodded in agreement.
"You may use his study," she replied and proceeded to lead the way, leaving the others standing, still dazed, in the Hospital Wing. Professor McGonagall waved for Harry to follow, and he collected himself and followed after Areida. They arrived at the stone gargoyle, which slid open without comment at the sight of Professor McGonagall. Up the spiral staircase and they were back in the familiar Headmaster's room. The portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts were all dozing as usual, with Dumbledore's portrait right behind his desk. Areida took this in and felt nauseous; it had not seemed real at all until she saw the painting. This confirmed everything. So it was true. Her father was dead.
Professor McGonagall left them, shutting the door quietly behind her as she headed off to attend to the students. Harry and Areida were alone in the room. He was very much aware that she was older than he was, but she was no taller. She took off her travelling cloak and hung it on the back of a chair. The fire was crackling merrily away in the room and it was all that he could hear. Areida was looking out the window, but suddenly turned back to Harry.
"Did he tell you what you had to do?" she asked, and he was taken aback, surprised.
"How did you know?" he asked, and she shook her head impatiently.
"I'm his daughter. I know. He took precautions Harry. He knew it might be like this." Areida paced around the room. Harry watched her, and then hesitated a little before he asked his next question.
"Why didn't Professor Dumbledore tell anyone he had a daughter?"
Areida stopped pacing, and then sighed. She waved to Harry to take a seat and did so as well.
"I'm not his real daughter," she began. "My mother was killed by my father. I was only a baby, and then Dad, as in Professor Dumbledore to you, took me and raised me. He took me in. He kept me a secret. He kept me safe…" Her voice trailed away and Harry felt a pang of remorse. She was like him. Brought up by others, because of Voldemort's tyranny…
Areida stared off into space, her chin on her entwined fingers. Harry nodded absent mindedly, but there were a thousand more things he needed the answers to.
"But what about school? Stuff like that? And you said you know? What do you mean?" The multitude of questions poured out of him and Areida realised that this was gonna take a while and sat back.
"I see I have a lot of explaining to do," she said. "School? He taught me everything I know. I never went to school at all. I didn't have many friends; they were usually Muggles. I had to stay quiet. People couldn't know that Albus Dumbledore had a daughter; there would be too many questions and inquiries, too many people harassing him about my mother, and ultimately, he told me that it wouldn't be safe. He always knew that Voldemort would come to power again, and he took precautions. He worried about everyone all the time, especially you Harry," Areida said, glancing at him.
"I know all about you," she continued, and Harry looked shocked. "He told me everything. About the Horcruxes, Voldemort, everything. Just in case… Something like this happened. And there was no one to be there for you anymore. That's what I meant. I know." Areida looked at Harry and Harry believed her. Something in her expression was… Sad. And Harry realised what she just said.
"You mentioned… Your father killed your mother?" Harry said hesitantly. Areida looked at him and nodded slightly.
"Yes. Why do you ask?" she replied.
"Well, why did he kill her?" Harry probed. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to," he added hastily, worried that he might offend her. She shook her head instead and looked at the ground.
"My mother… She was an extraordinary witch. She was powerful and from a very respected family. My father… He needed something. They weren't married. He just wanted something from her, but my mother refused, until under torture and threatening to harm her family, she finally gave it to him, with the promise that he wouldn't hurt any of her family. But then, he, well... He raped her. Then she had me. But then one day he came back. He came back, and because she could never, ever join them, he killed her." Areida looked down at her feet, clad in dragon hide and her long hair veiled her face. Harry looked at her a bit more. The quiet crackling of the fire could now be heard audibly.
"If you don't mind me asking… Who was your father?" Harry said, gently. He had a pretty bad impression of the man, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind: her father was definitely a Death Eater. Definitely. Possibly a really gross one. Like Crabbe. Or Goyle. Or one of those.
Areida looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled in the firelight, and Harry saw them clearly for once: deep vibrant pools of amethyst. Deep, dark and drowning. Harry gulped. Did I go too far?
"Do you really want to know?" she asked, and Harry was taken aback. She wasn't angry; in fact, quite the opposite. She sat calmly, almost relaxed. It didn't bother her; she knew what she had to do. She had a purpose. It didn't matter to her how she came to be; just that she knew what she had to do. For her mother. And nothing else mattered until she had done it. Everything was petty. Harry knew she wasn't offended at all. She was just wondering. So he nodded.
Areida sat up straight, and then sighed heavily.
"I'd rather that you didn't freak out or anything when I tell you," she said, and Harry nodded again, grimly.
"Most people hate him you see," Areida explained, getting up and stretching her limbs, stiff after long periods of sitting, and Harry nodded, wishing she'd get on with it.
"He's not very… Popular. In fact, everybody hates him," she continued, walking around to the desk. Harry gave up keeping quiet and waiting for the verdict.
"He can't be as bad as Voldemort," he said, half laughing, half serious. Areida turned so quickly to look at him that she became a dark blur.
"Actually, he can," she said. "Because he is Voldemort."
Harry's mouth dropped open.
N.B. Did I mention I love reviews? Like, really. Love love love them. Thank you :) You may include constructive criticism; I love that stuff. I love lots of things it seems :D Especially you! My awesome readers :P