PART ONE: Crackbrained
"If there are ways to prevent being alive, why not just accept them? But that's silly, that's stupid, and I must remind myself everyday of that. That I must not give in and give up."
AC
The Brimstones could never stand the summer.
For Nina, it was unbearably hot and dry. The Devon countryside lacked everything she sought to be necessary: water, shade, sprawling forests. Everything was tinted yellow and a horrible shade of pea green, and wafts of stale wind would blow dirt and pollen into her eyes. Wasps and spiders would infest the house, and ants would get into the sugar and honey.
For her mother, it meant she had to deal with her daughter. Granted, she was the sort of woman who knew from the time she was a teenager that she never wanted anything to do with children. She never understood the inner workings of children. Rather, she would have been far happier with a successful career and a few cats that she could spoil in her own time, and on her own agenda, rather than another human being she was obligated to raise and care for until it reached adulthood. What had happened was a mistake with an acquaintance of hers during a time in her life when she sought out darkness and rebellion, and she had kept the child inside of her until it was too late to abort it out of spite and her own nativity.
For the first few years, the absence of Nina's biological father wasn't so bad. They lived in Muggle London, hidden away from prying neighbours by the hustle and bustle of the city and safe from accusations and concern from the wizarding community. Muggle school for her daughter provided her with a chance to work odd jobs for the Ministry and find her own sense of salvation in her independence. A shot of whiskey in the morning and a glass or two of sherry every evening left her feeling sane and balanced. Her multiple affairs with handsome men kept her confident and liberated.
But still, she was no mother. She knew what she wanted, and she never asked for a child. She was no more fit to be a parent than You-Know-Who himself.
Things got more complicated when Nina got older, legally. She was being pressed by Muggle authorities to have her child vaccinated, checked up on by dentists and doctors, or more tended to emotionally. Teachers became concerned by her lack of hygiene and proper clothing. They began demanding further investigation into their home and family life. So quietly, in the midst of the night, Ms Brimstone took the two of them and disappeared, leaving not a trace of their being in the apartment.
They fled for Devon and occupied a cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole that was pushed back into a thicket. School was no pressing deal anyway, was it? No, she would tell herself, she'll be going to Hogwarts in a few years anyway. She'll learn everything she'll need to there, won't she?
Nina would often visit the Muggle library down the road and begin borrowing cook books and recipes. Even so, a child was hardly more coordinated than a hastily-enchanted lamp, and meals would tend to end up less than satisfactory or, on one particular occasion, splattered onto the ceiling.
"Mum? Can I... ask you something?"
Ms Brimstone didn't spare Nina a glance, too occupied with the morning Prophet to pay her any mind. "I'm reading."
"Why don't I look like you?"
"I said I'm—Wait," she slapped the newspaper down on the table, casting her a glare. "What the hell are you on about?"
Nina held up an old, torn class photo from the second grade. She pointed to a black-haired girl sitting in the front row. "This is Iris Huang, I remember her because she made fun of the way I smelled one time."
"Yes, well? What's your point?"
"Do you think she looks like me?" She carefully examined the picture. "Because Iris is Chinese, and there's this group of boys who play in the plaza down the street who keep calling me Chinese. And then, your hair is so much lighter than mine. And I thought children were supposed to look like their parents."
Ms Brimstone snorted. "Look, you've got to do a little more research on genes and how babies are made then, haven't you?"
"But can't you tell me why, though?" Nina pressed.
"Are you daft? Look, if you don't resemble me, then you must look like your fucking father then, yeah? Now go on, let me have a few minutes of damn peace. And don't be talking to those kids out there, you hear me?"
"Is father Chinese?"
"I don't know, I never exactly asked him."
"Where is he?"
"The hell if I know, now go. Fucking talk to me again about this and I'll smack you, all right?"
Nina cringed and slunk out of the dining room. Ms Brimstone sighed and glanced at two opened letters that lay sprawled on the table. One, a Hogwarts acceptance letter in brilliant emerald ink addressed to her daughter. The other, a job offer waiting for her in the New York Underground with the American Ministry. She knew deep inside of her that if she were to push all morality aside, that she would travel light-years away from her own flesh and blood for even the smallest, most dubious chance of obtaining that job.