Arrival in America
I arrived at my destination early one absurdly bright, and annoyingly cheerful morning in answer to an uncannily convenient advertisement, placed in a local newspaper. My nose twitched suspiciously as the whole business reeked of Albus' manipulations, and he had not given me anything concrete that would explain his reasons for sending me here.
For this assignment, I had been dispatched to America, cloyingly nicknamed, "The Melting Pot". This, of course, giving a false impression that all were welcome to her shores. All, that is, but for those of my kind. The signature should have read, "The Melting Pot for Muggles". Wizard-kind was just as outcast, and feared, here, as it was at home.
I had arrived in a rather large city, namely, Bay City. I assumed this simplistic moniker to be as a result of being situated near a small inland bay on the thumb side of the state of Michigan. How utterly mundane. I muttered sarcastically to myself.
The address I was led to, revealed a very large, run-down, manor house on a busy, tree-lined avenue, just as quaintly named as the town, Center Avenue. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and snort. In its heyday, the home had no doubt been beautiful. Now, however, it was in serious need of repair, and restoration. I began assessing its needs as soon as I rang the bell, relieved to hear that it, at least, was functional, despite being a little out of tune.
A tall, older woman, with steel grey hair, sleepy blue eyes, and a hawkish face, answered after the first ring. "May I help you?" She inquired as she stifled a wide yawn. Her voice was rather pleasant, and her visage changed remarkably as a smile graced her face.
"I apologize for the early call, madam." I bowed slightly. "I wish to inquire about the position for a handyman which was posted in the Times. Might it still be available?"
She eyed me critically, from tip to toe, before answering. "The position is still open. Would you care to come in, and discuss it, Mr?"
"Robinson." I supplied without hesitation, my alias well-planned in advance. "Devon Robinson."
"Welcome to the Lighthouse, Mr. Robinson." She said as she ushered me inside. "My name is Alberta Johnson, but you may call me Al if you like."
"Alberta will be fine." I smiled briefly, and inspected my shabby surroundings. She led me down a long, dark corridor, that ran from the front of the manor to the back. The walls were covered in a dark red, tattered, velvet-embossed paper, the woodwork was painted glossy, dark brown. Tarnished brass wall sconces provided dim illumination. It too, in its heyday, must have been grand to see, but now it was merely gaudy, and depressing.
We passed through a battered door that led into a massive kitchen. This room appeared to be a bit more cheerful. The furnishings were worn, but it was apparent that the room had undergone more recent modernization when compared to the deplorable state of the hallway beyond.
"Would you care for some coffee, Mr. Robinson?" She asked, reaching for the carafe as she directed me to take a seat at a small table, near a large window that looked out on an overgrown back garden. My fingers were itching to get out there immediately as I spotted a few weeds that would serve as fresh ingredients for a simple healing salve.
"Coffee would be acceptable." I said, and received a sharp look. "You are welcome to call me Devon, if you wish, and I will take that coffee black." I added hastily.
"You always so formal, Dev?" She asked as she placed a steaming mug before me.
I bristled at the use of the shortened version of my name, even if it was not my real name. I abhor nicknames due to one I was cursed with in the past. "Please, call me Devon. I reiterated. I prefer it."
"You're a stiff one, arent you?" She laughed quietly, and shook her head. "Okay, Devon it is. What brings you to America, Devon?"
"What makes you think that something has brought me here?" I parried warily, always alert to anyone showing suspicion toward me.
"Hmm...like to hold your cards close to your vest, too, I see." Her eyes twinkled merrily as she let it drop. I merely waited, and sipped my coffee. "Do you have any experience with this sort of work?" She asked next, offering a plate of pastries.
"A fair amount." I smiled, refusing the offer with a slight shake of my head. "I have not had my place cave in on me at any rate." I smiled to myself as she visibly relaxed with the change in my demeanour.
"Do you know what we do here, Mr...Devon?" She asked quietly.
"I am not entirely sure." I replied misleadingly, not wanting to appear too well informed. "I am assuming, by the name, that you are some manner of half-way house?"
"The Lighthouse is a shelter for battered women and children, Devon." She replied softly. "You will see all manner of horrors come through these doors. We offer a safe place for these women and children to live, heal, and sort out where to go next. We get medical attention for those who need it. We feed them, clothe them, and give them a clean, comfortable bed to sleep in. The children have tutors that come in here to teach in order to protect them from abusive fathers. We have legal council for the women who need that as well. It is a sad place a lot of the time, but we have our happiness, too. Do you understand?"
"I understand." I nodded as I quietly answered, understanding all too well what these people needed.
"Are you married, Devon?" She asked, watching me carefully, assessing me, and no doubt, judging me.
"No. I have never married." I answered honestly, forcing myself to look directly at her, and give a small, dismissive shrug.
"So, you've no children, then, either." She stated matter-of-factly.
"Only my students." I briefly closed my eyes, and cursed my slip. I was going to have to be more careful. I found her too easy to open up to, and I had already told her too much about myself.
"Students?" She pounced, immediately interested.
I shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide how to handle the slip. I opted for as vaguely honest as I could make it. "Students." I repeated, nodding, and shifting in my seat. "I am a professor in a private boarding school in Scotland. I am spending my summer holidays here in the United States."
"I never would have taken you for a teacher." She admitted in surprise, taking another shrewd, assessing, look at me. "What do you teach, professor?" She smiled, a new gleam of approval in her eyes.
"Well, I suppose you could loosely describe it as Chemistry." I hedged uncertainly, scrambling for the proper Muggle references, and wondering why I did not fit her image of what a teacher should appear to be.
"Loosely describe?" Her eyebrow arched in surprise. "What do you do? Brew all manner of concoctions over a bubbling cauldron all day?"
I choked on my coffee, and when I had quit sputtering, I offered, with a forced laugh, a saving sally. "You have found me out!" She laughed good-naturedly, and changed the subject, and I breathed a small, discomforted, sigh of relief.
"What compensation would you require for this position?" She asked next, and I shifted closer to the table, giving her question careful consideration. I was not in need of anything monetarily, I had brought enough with me to last the summer. Not only that, from what I had observed since I had arrived, there was not any money here anyway. This was a struggling establishment, and knowing that, I made my decision.
"My needs are fairly simple." I leaned my forearms on the table. "I would require private quarters, away from the residents. Two meals a day. Sundays off, and noon to two, every day, for a midday meal. I will see to that myself. I will use that time to attend to my personal business as well. I will work from eight in the morning until noon, and then from two in the afternoon until dinner hour in the evening. I will also give two hours every evening to discuss progress, and any requirements we may have for further projects, when it is needed." I sat back in my chair, and allowed her to think over what I had said.
"And your wage requirements?" She inquired.
"I do not require monetary compensation." I answered bluntly.
"I must pay you something for your work!" She exclaimed incredulously.
"Madam, I do not need money." I retorted sharply. "If you feel you require that I am compensated in this manner, then I wish for my wage to be directly transferred back into this establishment."
"You must be heaven-sent, Mr. Robinson." She whispered softly, her eyes swimming in tears. "For surely, you are an angel."
"I assure you, I am no angel." I scoffed mildly. "But, I will help you to the best of my ability while I am here. I must return for school at the end of August."
"When can you start?" She asked, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her napkin.
"I will start at two this afternoon, if you will show me to my room, and allow me to settle in." I informed her.
"Actually, I can do better than a room, Devon." She flashed a watery smile. "There is a small guest house out back that you are welcome to use. I will tell you that it needs work as well. You are welcome to a room here in the main house until you make your place presentable."
"Thank you, Alberta." I replied quietly, and her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she assessed me once more. "Would you point the way, and I will get to it?"
A short time later, I stood in the middle of the great room of a rather run down guest house. There were broken windowpanes, cracked, and chipped plaster, and no curtains on the windows. The loo, and the kitchenette, were in a deplorable state, and the whole place was dank, and musty smelling. Of all the rooms, the small bedroom was the most presentable in the place. I noted that with a good airing, a thorough cleaning, and a fresh coat of paint, it would be fine. I started there, and by noon, I at least had a place that was very comfortable to sleep in. It would take several evenings to take care of the rest, even if I did slip in a little magical assistance.
I was busily working on the back side of the house early the next morning, when a commotion from the front caught my attention. I brushed my hands on my jeans, and made my way around the side of the house to investigate. I took in the scene, carefully observing what everyone was doing and saying, before I stepped forward, and made my presence known.
A rather large, and extremely ugly man, with a face that reminded me of a Pug, had a firm grip on a thin woman with one hand, and Alberta with the other. Two small children were clinging in terror to their horrified mother. Alberta wore a cool expression, and spoke quietly, but I could tell she was frightened as well.
"Is there a problem here?" I asked, quietly stepping forward, rage burning in my chest as I thought of the brutality in my past, and associated it with this helpless woman and her children. I had instantly drawn everyones attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several residents watching from the front parlour windows.
"There's no problem here." The man belligerently declared, his voice slurred. I jerked my head, and took half a step back as the smell of liquor on his breath assaulted my super-sensitive nose. "My wife and kids were just leaving." He growled, jerking on her so violently that she cried out, and the little boy fell to the ground. His sister bent, and helped him to his feet.
"If there is no problem, then I would ask you to unhand these women at once." I requested mildly enough, but the warning was clear.
He immediately released Alberta's arm, and she stepped closer to me, happy to let me handle the situation. He kept a firm grip on the woman, and I let him go for the time being. Her terrified eyes were pleading with me, but, I needed more time.
I focused my attention on the children, and I was instantly enraged. I kept my expression impassive, but I had already vowed, that if I had the chance, I was going to wreak a little vengeance on their behalf, before this man left our presence.
The little girl, possibly as old as six, was sporting a rather large bruise on the right side of her face. There were traces of dried blood on her chin from a split lip. It was swollen, and inflamed, and the potential for infection was evident. She was crying, and shaking violently. I forced what I hoped was an encouraging smile in her direction, but she was too terrorized to respond.
The little boy was perhaps three, maybe four years old. I quickly assessed his injuries. The blood trickling from his ear was causing the most concern. I hoped that it was only a minor injury. He would need medical attention immediately. The little fellow was so traumatized, he was not even crying. I assumed he was in shock.
"Alberta, take the children inside, and get them something to drink." I ordered quietly, without taking my eyes from the parents. The man looked as if he were about to protest, but I raised my eyebrow, and tilted my head in challenge, and he remained silent. I smiled to myself. 'He's mine.' I thought smugly with immense satisfaction. I was going to enjoy this.
The woman wore a look of immediate relief, and gratitude, no doubt comforted to know that her children were safe from any further harm. I wanted them out of the line of fire. I had a feeling things were about to get ugly, and I mentally prepared myself for the impending physical fight. This monster was the type to resort to brute force. The evidence was clearly visible for all to see on his family members faces, and I was more than ready to take him down.
"Come along, children." Alberta called softly, smiling sympathetically, and holding out her hands to them. "We'll go, and have a nice, cold, glass of lemonade. Would you like that?" The little ones nodded quietly, and looked to their mother, waiting for reassurance from her.
"Go ahead, babies." She smiled encouragingly. "This nice lady will take care of you." With that quiet guarantee, they each took one of Alberta's hands, and she quickly led them into the house. The first step had been passed. The children were out of harm's way. Now for the woman.
"I asked you once, quite politely in fact, to let her go." I said calmly, turning to face them, and nodding in the woman's direction. "I know you understood me perfectly well. I must insist that you release her immediately, sir."
"And what if I don't?" He sneered, jerking on her arm again. She cried out in pain, and I looked more closely at her arm. It was as I suspected, obviously broken. "Are you going to make me?"
"If that is what it will take, then, yes." I stated quietly, turning my attention back to the drunken bastard, and taking up the challenge. "I can...and will...make you." The woman was frantically shaking her head, trying to warn me away from him, but she did not know me. She had no idea that I was fully capable of handling overgrown, drunken brutes like her husband. My father had given me plenty of opportunities to learn how to take care of myself.
My challenge was not taken very seriously by the Pug. "I'll pound your scrawny ass right into the ground!" He laughed derisively, staggering off-balance, and causing the woman to begin crying in pain.
"I do not think you can." I taunted mockingly. I am thin, but at 168 cm. and 14 stone, I can hardly be considered scrawny. Not only that, I train as often as time allows me to, and I am quite capable of taking care of myself in a physical fight.
The woman was in a near-blind panic as she feared for my safety. Her eyes were wide, and her pupils were fully dilated. I assumed that to be reaction to her abuse and pain. She was shaking her head in warning, but the taunt had the desired effect on the man. He was now focused entirely on me, and he had let go of her arm. I jerked my head toward the house, and she raced for the safety of its walls.
He made to grab her as she passed, and I stepped forward, ordering with a low snarl, "Leave her be. You are going to answer to me."
He turned on me, a murderous expression on his face, as he realized he had been goaded into doing what I wanted. With a roar of rage, he lunged at me, reaching for my throat. When I easily side-stepped his advance, slapping his fist away, it only served to enrage him all the more. He came at me like a rampaging hippogriff, throwing his arms around me, and taking me to the ground. As I fought my way to my feet, he caught me squarely in the jaw with a right hook that sent me sprawling again. I felt the bones crunch as they snapped, and I quelled the instant wave of nausea as I staggered to my feet.
I heard someone in the house scream my name in alarm when he came at me again. I vaguely wondered if he might have been right about giving me a pounding as he hit me right in the nose. He punched me a few more times before I managed to duck a left uppercut, sending him off-balance once more, allowing me just enough time to ready my assault. I got in a few solid hits before he knocked me to the ground once again. I came to my feet, staggering back enough to be out of reach, and struggling to catch my breath.
When he came lumbering at me, I was ready for him, and effectively brought him to his knees by giving him a beautifully executed jab, with two fingers to his larynx. He dropped heavily to the ground with a grunt, gasping for breath. I finished him off with a roundhouse punch to his ugly mug that knocked him flat on his back, more due to his inebriation, than my force. I had to admit, if only to myself, that had he been sober, I would have been in serious trouble.
I moved off a few yards to his side, falling to my hands and knees in the grass, struggling to regain my composure as I dispassionately watched the blood drip from my nose. I heard sirens approaching from the distance, and felt an odd mixture of regret and relief. I had been blinded by rage, and would have gladly killed the bastard if it would not have been for the thought of all those little faces, peering out the front windows, bearing witness.
Alberta was by my side in an instant, helping me to stand. "Devon, are you seriously hurt? Do you need a doctor?" She asked, her voice quavering unsteadily, and concern in her deep blue eyes as she wiped blood from my face with a soft cloth.
"I will be fine." I reassured her, feeling my jaw for injuries, and holding the cloth to my bloody, but thankfully, unbroken nose.
"Are you sure you don't need a doctor?" She asked again, rubbing my back comfortingly.
"No, no doctor." I grimaced in pain. "Some ice might be a good idea. This is swelling fast." I immobilized my jaw with my hand. I would fix it as soon as I was alone.
"I'll get you some ice right away." She replied, wrapping her arm around me, and leading me inside. She issued orders for the officer, who had just arrived, to follow us into the house. "I had Cassie watch while I tended to the children. She saw your signal, and called the police." Alberta added quietly as the officer approached.
I had been flashing our hand signal, informing someone to call in an emergency, all the while I had been talking to the abusive husband. We make a ring with our thumb and forefinger, and hold our remaining fingers straight down. Then we flash a forefinger twice...9-1-1. It was something every resident knew, even the smallest of the children. We included it along with the regular lessons that were taught on a daily basis.
My attention re-focused on the moment at hand, and I was uncomfortable with the fact that Alberta was touching me in such a familiar way, but forced myself to tolerate it for the time being. Before the contact could become unbearable for me, she moved away, and sat in the chair opposite me as I gave my report to the policeman who had come into the house with us.
The woman's husband was arrested for being drunk and disorderly, and taken away by the police after everyone was questioned. If further charges were to be brought against him, they would be up to his wife. I was released from charges being brought against me, when it was made obvious that I had acted in self-defence, while trying to get the woman and her children to safety. I was informed that I could press assault charges against him if I chose, and I informed the officers that I would consider it, and let them know.
Alberta went to work, settling the family into their own quarters. A doctor had been called to the house to see to their injuries. I refused care, and Cassie volunteered to take the woman to hospital in order for her arm to be set in a plaster cast. I tried not to roll my eyes at the primitive methods they employed, knowing that I would have been able to set her to rights in a few moments had I the freedom to use my skills. I was relieved to learn that the little chap merely had a small cut that made it appear as if he were bleeding from his ear. The little girl was treated for her injuries, and given medicines to make her more comfortable.
I offered a small pot of the healing salve I had made with the herbs I found growing in the overgrown flowerbeds in back. Alberta's curiosity as to my teaching expertise was satisfied as she smiled, and remarked casually, "Loosely describe, indeed. Devon you're into herbal medicines!" Despite my ability to offer a topical treatment, I wished for the familiarity of my potions, and the freedom to use them. The entire family would be whole, and pain-free, within hours if I were to have the freedom to ply my craft.
Alberta had urged me to take the rest of the afternoon off, but I was nearly finished with repairing some of the trim in the back, and I wanted to take care of that before I quit for the day. First, I went back to my little house, which I had managed to make quite comfortable. I repaired my damaged jaw, but left the swelling, and the bruises, and returned to my work.
The remainder of the day passed quietly, and I retired to my home to read for a while before calling it a day. I was just beginning to doze in my chair when a soft knock sounded on the door. Alberta was standing on my front porch, with a small loaf of what appeared to be a sweet bread of some sort.
"I wanted to say thank you." She smiled, handing me the gift. "I made this tonight. It's banana nut bread. I hope you like it."
"It is one of my favourites." I assured her. "Would you like to come in?"
"I'd love to, if its alright?" She asked, and stepped inside as I gestured for her to enter.
"Would you care for some tea?" I asked, stepping over to the kitchenette, and putting the kettle on. "The real thing, too, I might add." I teased with a grin that faltered when she looked at me strangely for a brief moment.
"I'd love a cup of the real thing." She replied, and added with a laugh, "We do have a lot to learn here about the fine art of brewing tea. The British have one over on us for sure there!"
"So I have come to understand." I remarked dryly, and added in mock outrage, "To think you thought it wise to toss it into the sea! Really!" She laughed, and sat on my sofa, watching me move about the room. "Actually, it is because no one here takes the time." I explained with a nonchalant shrug. "There is more to it than plopping a bag in a cup, and pouring boiling water over it." I shook my head as I sliced some of the freshly baked bread, and placed it on a tray with the other items for tea. I carried the tray over, and sat it on the low table before my chair, and began to show her just how it should be done.
"You know, Dev, you..." She began, and I looked at her sharply in warning. "Devon." She amended, and shook her head wryly. "You would be hard-pressed to find a man here in America that would do something like this, let alone know how!" She indicated the tray of food and tea.
"It is just the way I was raised." I shrugged inelegantly, surprisingly, completely at ease in my new environment. I was able to let down my guard, and allow a little more of my true self to shine through, due to my anonymity. "Actually, my mother was one to stand on formality, and all of the old customs were taught, and strictly abided by in my home. I hope it does not surprise you too much to learn that we Brits, for the most part, plop a bag of Tetley's in a cup, and pour away." I smiled conspiratorially, and winked.
"I never would have guessed." She smiled, and took the cup I offered. "If that is the case, then why go through all of this formality? For my benefit?" She asked after taking a tentative sip.
I took a deep breath, and sighed. "I suppose it gives me pleasure to do something special, take a little extra care, and make an extra effort for a guest or a friend." I took a sip of my tea, and offered her the plate of bread.
She shook her head, refusing the offer, and said, "That's for you. Devon. What you did today was either very gallant or very stupid. I haven't decided yet. But I wanted you to know how much I appreciated your help. I was so worried for those children!"
"Are they settled?" I asked quietly, stifling a sudden yawn.
"Yes, Cassie helped to bathe the children before she went home, and I found them some pyjamas." She smiled. "After a nice hot meal, and a bowl of ice cream, the little ones were more than ready for bed."
"And the woman?" I cursed myself for caring, but I had to be sure they all felt safe.
"She's coping well enough." Alberta watched me quietly. "It's unsettling, isn't it? To see the circumstances under which they come to us. We're that last bastion of hope, and we try to set them on their way, healthy and safe. It doesn't always end up that way. So many of them have a hard time breaking completely away, and actually end up going back."
"Why on Earth would they want to go back?" I exclaimed, disbelievingly. I knew I never regretted leaving home when I had. I am quite sure that my father would have killed me if I had not. I often wondered if my mother had stayed with him simply because she preferred his company to mine, despite his abuse. An indisputable fact of my birth was that I was not wanted or loved by either of my parents. I was an unwelcome burden, and reminded of it, almost daily, my entire childhood.
"It's unnerving, but the reason they go back is because it's familiar, and less frightening than that big unknown world out there." Alberta answered sadly, drawing me out of my dark musings. "We do what we can to keep them free from the abusive lifestyle, but many of them are so beaten down, they no longer have the strength to truly break away."
"That does make a lot of sense." I murmured, almost to myself, remembering my mother, and earning another strange look from Alberta. My mind had slipped back to my own abused childhood, and the struggle I faced when it came time for me to make my break. My mother had never managed it, but I sent up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity had shown me the way to Albus Dumbledore.
"Well, I've taken up enough of your evening." She said, getting to her feet. "Enjoy the bread, Devon. I'll see you in the morning."
"Thank you for the bread. It is delicious." I snapped myself out of my musings, and escorted her to the door. "Goodnight, Alberta. Thank you for the company. I will see you in the morning."
I watched her walk across the lawn, and enter the house. I waited until she had turned off the back porch light before turning off my own lights, and heading off to bed. I lie awake for a long time, thinking over the events of the day, and tried to figure out why Albus wanted me here. I was not finding any reason for it. I had not felt any magical presence at all since I had arrived. I had not felt Voldemort's presence, nor had I been summoned. I could not see where it had anything to do with me. I had battled, and defeated, all of my demons concerning my abused childhood as far as I could tell. None of it made any sense to me, and I hated when things did not make sense!