Somewhere Out There: The Road to Nowhere
As Mick drove his beat up "Betsy" down the one lane roads outside of Deer Creek, I gazed out the window at the empty fields, wet from the spring rains that had fallen just yesterday. Like always, my mind wandered, fingers unconsciously closing and opening the pearl snap of the wallet Felicia had left me. The radio softly played some crooning female on the country station, which I pointedly ignored for lack of interest, as I took in my new surroundings. This was nothing like my native Britain, this America. I missed the soft summer rains and the bakery smells of London…and even more so as I looked across what I considered this barren land.
Most of all, I missed my magic. My wand, broken in the Final Battle, had been cast aside long ago. I hadn't been able to repair it, or even could have, without the help of a wandmaker. Ollivander had died months before the Final Battle, a casualty of the strife between Death Eaters needing stolen wands and the willingness of the black market to sell them. In those days, even the runners of the black market were wary of the power of Voldemort, most going into hiding or ending up dead. One of his foolhardy plans had resulted in the deaths of many of his Death Eaters, but Ollivander and his young apprentice, a sweet, dark-haired Ravenclaw, had also perished in the skirmish. The Minister called it a regrettable loss, one which the Order had frowned upon. Many of the Order believed that the Ministry had become as corrupt as the evil they were trying to prevent, and certainly in the end, had not been far off.
The Ministry did nothing to stop the onslaught of the Death Eaters, killings become more frequent and the hovering Dark Mark on the front page of the Daily Prophet becoming a staple to the Wizarding World. It was around that time when I had stopped my subscription to the Prophet, wanting to ignore death and focus on my studies. When a teacher was taken on their way back from Hogsmeade, the school's gates were closed and no one let in, or out. Hogwarts had become a prison, not of learning, but of fear. Families were suffering, unable to see their children, only able to trust in the power of Hogwarts and its many wards and safeguards. Others were outraged, claiming that the staff was giving their children willingly to Voldemort, Slytherin or not. Still others didn't know what to think, torn between survival and the shred of hope that was getting weaker each passing day.
When the attack on Hogwarts came, it was the final stronghold against Voldemort's power. The Order had been sure of betrayal inside the Ministry, but had nowhere to turn except to its own. A day before the Final Battle, half of the Order disappeared and was nowhere to be found. Molly Weasley and Tonks had simply vanished, Kingsley was nowhere to be found, and Snape had left all of his belongings behind save his wand, Death Eater cloak, and mask. The remaining members of the Order were stunned, Remus and Arthur unable to look for their wives, and the rest were distraught. Maximum security measures were sought at Hogwarts, but we all feared it would never be enough.
Late the next night, the sound of screaming from the bowels of the castle tore us all from our beds, grabbing for our wands and clothes. The Dark Mark hovered over Hogwarts and as Harry, Ron, and I embraced each other for one last moment, I had felt a sickening in my gut that never went away that night. It was the last time I saw either of them alive. My life had been a nightmare after that, one that I didn't want to remember anymore.
My focus came back to the open fields in front of me, the blades of grass moving in the breeze. The bright green grass mixed with reds, oranges, and bright yellows from the flowers near the porch steps of the farmhouses was in contrast with the emotions I felt about the final days of my Wizarding life, for I was all but Muggle now. Without my wand, I was nothing but a crippled wizard, comparable to an elderly individual without his or her cane. It was my lifeline for so many years, and the cruelty of Voldemort stole it from me in his brutal bloodbath.
Certainly, I had grown up Muggle, but I felt sincerely as if I was missing a part of myself, being unable to cast Charms, transfigure items, or brew Potions. It feels like I have lost not only an imaginary arm and leg, but like I have lost a part of my soul and heart by losing my ability to cast magic. Deep down, it was the part of me that never really healed. Pain was all too familiar for my Wizarding past, so I tried not to think about it…or so I thought.
Another cough, this one louder than the last, as I was told, brought me back to attention once more. Mick was looking at me with a pensive expression, his pale white beard a little scraggly in spots, but his bright blue eyes full of life and vigor. With a start, I realized his resemblance to Dumbledore, one of the many fallen, and wondered if he too, this Mick, was also a great man such as the Headmaster. My surprise must have shown on my face, for Mick chuckled lightly and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were very apparent for a few moments. Yes, very like Dumbledore, I thought, almost willing him to offer me a lemon drop to make the world go back in time.
Mick, of course, did not. He merely pointed to the pearl clasp on the wallet and spoke.
"Those are real, you know. That wallet is one of Felicia's only treasures because it's near antique. Passed down the family line, she said, but she never had anyone to pass it to, especially since her husband died and all that before she even got pregnant." At this, he frowned, but looked at me expectantly. "She must really think you're somethin' if she gave you that…guess even a skinny little thing like you can pack some punch." Grinning, he paused for a moment and cryptically stated, "I guess we'll see just how strong ya are when we get to White Pine."
Curiosity overtook me as I asked him, "Where and what exactly is this 'White Pine' that you are talking about?"
Pursing his lips much like Felicia, he paused for a moment before he spoke, seeming to weigh the words in his mind before he spoke them. "White Pine is a town, more like a small city really. One of my grandkids owns a set of apartment buildings there, and Felicia called me earlier, asking if there might be a spot for you. Usually, he would have interviewed ya, but Felicia's an old friend and it was a bit of a…eh…pressing manner for her, if you could say that. My guess is that Felicia thought that money in the wallet might help you start over and make a new life for yourself. My grandson's pretty fair with the rent and I'm sure Felicia gave you enough to get started, but not enough to spoil you."
I was dumbfounded once again that day at the amount of kindness these unknown people showed to me. "Sir, I don't mean to pry, but…why are you helping me? You don't seem to be getting anything out of this deal from Felicia and certainly nothing from me. I'm sure I can support myself on my own. In fact, I don't understand any of this one bit!" I cried, raising my arms up in the air like a screaming child. As soon as my knuckles connected sharply with metal, I realized my mistake and noted that for future reference.
"Ouch," I muttered sheepishly, resting my aching hands back on Felicia's wallet.
"Nell, I can tell you're not from around here." I hung my head and shook it once in an affirmative no. "It doesn't matter either way, seeing as you're a friend of Felicia's, but small town talk gets around. You've been the subject of many dinner table conversations for years." At my gasp, he pressed on. "Your accent is different, you look worn thin and have next to nothing, and did you think showing up on someone's front porch soaking wet and starving was going to go unnoticed? Did you think of that?"
I flinched in my seat, firmly looking away to the empty, barren fields once more as I contemplated my response. "Personally, I don't think I thought it through either way, sir. I never expected my sudden appearance to be anything more than a passing glance. I keep to myself for a reason and I would like it to stay that way," I spat back with a hint of steel in my tone.
"Whether you like it or not, Nell," he stated with the same tone, "you have become a part of the community, albeit a secluded one. Every person in this town, and even White Pine, thinks they have their secrets, but they don't. Neither do you. That's somethin' you'll have to learn to accept. Eventually even this ride to White Pine will be spread around and I'll be approached for some piece of gossip the old town birds don't know about you…"
"Why, that's preposterous! There's nothing they can say. They don't even know me…" I claimed as I trailed off, still staring out the window, now cracked to let in a little bit of a spring breeze.
"It doesn't matter to them. Obviously, I can tell them nothing they already won't know, so they'll leave me alone. I don't care for many of them anyways, but it's a fair warning to you. Even the nicest of souls hides their secrets, Miss Nell Johnson," he stated with emphasis on my name.
As I looked in his bright blue eyes, he reminded me more of Albus, with his ability to see through even the most thorough of disguises. It brought fresh tears to my eyes as I remembered his life, his death, his funeral…I sniffled a bit and tried to blink back the tears, but they poured down my cheeks, relentless in their fiery tracks to add to my embarrassment. A handkerchief was thrust into my hand, little embroidery on the edges of it cross-stitched into flowers. As I wiped my eyes eventually, I noticed his curious look, but he said nothing, merely accepting the handkerchief when I gave it back after I wished I could have Scourgified it first and turned back towards the roads. It was then that I noticed the homes were getting a little closer together, the barren fields gone and replaced with neatly cut grass, children's toys strewn on the lawns, and at least one car in every driveway.
This was as close to London as I was going to get and I was willing to let it last as long as possible. We passed through the center of town, stopping at the streetlights along the way as I took in the city. There were apartments above the storefronts in the center of town, the small windows accompanied by window air conditioners, and the main street stretched for at least a mile or two. I noticed an antique theater still in use, a few sweets stores, a pharmacy, and two general stores in the vicinity of the square itself. Beyond that, closer to the edge of town, I saw the large, looming white gas station. The truck stopped at the light on the corner where it sat, idling noisily as the red light glared at it from up above.
The grime of the small town covered the blaring white of the tanks, making it a little more bearable to the passing cars as the sun glared down on it. With six gas tanks, it was the largest station I'd seen since the big cities, filling up all sort of automobiles from beat-up scrap models of the masses to the shining cars of the super-elite executives. The pavement of the parking lot was void of cracks, pristine black except for the cigarette stubs and candy bar wrappers that littered the edges of the curb. A large computerized sign declared "Cold Soda: 59 cents" in large block red letters as the truck started again with a jump as the light turned green. I turned in my seat to gaze at the store fading away in the distance and sat back straight when it disappeared from sight.
It seemed out of place, a pristine goddess in the middle of hell, and something drew me to it. I felt much like that gas station, the pure coating of white grimed up through the sins and evils of daily life, and pondered it further as we turned a corner to the right. Straight ahead, I saw another sign. "Richmond Apartments," it read, and I resigned myself to look around at what would be my new surroundings.
Mick parked in front of a small home to the side, a sandy brick much like the apartment complex, and motioned for me to come with him. He took my lonely bag out of the back of the pickup, carried it up the steps to the front door, and sat it beside the doormat. Impatiently, he turned with his arms crossed and looked at me pointedly. I quickly walked up to the door and rang the bell, the white-haired man's face graced with an expectant look. After the second ring, the door opened to reveal a man in his upper forties with slightly graying locks and deep-set eyes. He was tall, gazing down at me through the screen before noticing Mick off to my left.
Warmly, he stepped outside and embraced his grandfather. After a few minutes of conversation, he turned to me with that same expectant look as his grandfather had moments ago. I moved forward a bit, squaring myself up to my full height before speaking.
"I'm Miss Johnson and I'm looking to rent an apartment of yours. I've been told you have…fair rates."
"Miss Johnson," the younger man replied with a smirk, "these are the only rates." He laughed richly at my apparent shock. "However, I can tell you for certain they are very fair. Now follow me. Do you want coffee?"
"Tea?" I asked.
"Possibly," he replied. "I'll see what I can do."
I followed him inside, taking in the smell of freshly ground coffee beans and the glint of a metal teapot. There would be tea after all.
A few minutes later, I breathed in the rich scent of what I believed to be Earl Grey. I took a sip and was comforted by the fact that the tea was in fact, Earl Grey. I glanced up, smiling, reminded of drinking tea while Ron and Harry drank their Butterbeers by the fire in the common room. Studying for them was such a chore; but the caffeine in the tea would keep me awake to answer their overflowing slew of questions the night before the exams. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed, yet a frown crossed my face, breaking the memory into shards of shattered glass.
Both Mick and his son, whose name was John, were staring at me, expecting me to explain what caused the sudden change. Instead, I smiled again, scooting closer to the edge of the chair with my tea, setting it on the wooden coaster I was provided. I spread my hands on the table, drawing a breath and collecting myself before I spoke.
"John, I know that hospitality is what you people do around here, but I would like to get down to business, as currently I have no place to live and…" I emphasized, pointing at my faded suitcase, "one meager bag in which my whole life is carried. I have eight hundred dollars, what I figure to be good enough for a month's rent, utilities, food, and what little other supplies I'll need. I still need to find work, a reliable form of transportation, and a good market. I'd like to get started as soon as possible."
I hesitated for a moment, staring down at the pearl clasp of the wallet, opening and closing it a few times before I continued. "Felicia trusts me with all of this, part of her own life, to help me make one of my own. I need to pay her back…not now, but eventually. The sooner I get started, the less I will feel as if I'm taking advantage of someone who is special to me. I owe a debt now, and I plan to pay it," I declared with a triumphant note in my voice.
"That's a good girl, Nell," Mick stated with an affirmative tone. "Felicia would be proud of you."
John pushed some papers towards me, coupled with a pen, and proceeded to explain the process of leasing an apartment. After I had read through the papers, signed them, and asked for two sets of stamped copies, I was presented with a key with the number of my apartment and building inscribed on it. As a group, we left John's office space and went to view and approve the apartment. I walked across the cracked pavement, taking in my new home for the first real look. The sandy brick was older, cracked in some places, but not shabby. The rails on the second floor were a bit rusty, but they were still sturdy and held fast in place. When we reached the right number, 226, the yellowish color of the door stood out a little from the sandy brick, a little bit of the paint chipping in the top right corner. It didn't matter to me, though, and I inserted the key into the lock with a satisfying click.
I pushed the door open to my new home and immediately saw how small it was. The tiny foyer area led directly into the kitchen area which connected with the dining/living area. A small bedroom was off to one side, the bathroom door peeking out into the corner of my eye. After a quick look, I pronounced it fit and perfect, pleasing both the men standing there. I tossed my bag suitcase inside, locked the door, and walked back to the truck to say goodbye to Mick.
John had long since disappeared by the time we both returned to the vehicle. I had a few tears in my eyes as I once again looked at the white-haired, blue-eyed old man, wishing for one moment he was Dumbledore before pulling him into a fierce hug. It surprised him, I think, but all the same, he wrapped his arms around me in a comforting gesture, grasping me tight before letting me go. I stood away from the truck as he climbed in, started the motor of old "Betsy", and he drove off, leaving behind a small cloud of dust in his wake. I waved until I could no longer see the truck, my hand stretched high in the air like some child bidding goodbye to her favorite grandfather.
I turned, holding the lone key in my palm, and gazed down at what little life I now owned. Determined, I set my feet to walk, one foot in front of the other, towards town to find a market and maybe a newspaper. It had been a long time since I'd known anything about any world other than my own. My world was a little too small for me now, the Gryffindor crying out to be set free and let loose the daring, adventurous girl I once was. I smiled a bit, grasping onto the bit of hope I held in my palm before dropping the key into the pearl-clasped wallet that was now my greatest treasure.
I wondered for a moment if they sold the Daily Prophet before I broke into a laugh. They definitely didn't sell the Daily Prophet, or at least, I hoped not.