Merry Christmas! I've actually worked at it so that this chapter comes out at the same time that the clock strikes twelve, signifying Christmas day – in Australia, at least. Love this pressie, please, because, quite unfortunately, I'm not giving you a New Year's one, and next year I won't be able to do this. So it's a one-off thing.
I'll tell you now, do not expect an update from now till January 15th at least. I'm going on a cruise to New Zealand and I get to do this kick-arse awesome tour of the Lord of the Rings sites they used for the movies.
Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
Queen Pix
Hi.
I'm Lucy, although I suppose you've already guessed that, what with the blurb and all. But I think I might as well introduce myself to you. After all, that's what any civilised person would do.
[Charlie's laughing at me right now, calling me ridiculous and wondering aloud when I've ever been civilised. Handsome git.]
I suppose you're wondering why I wrote this. Truth be told, I don't really know. A psychiatrist would say that it's to get my mind off bad memories; another might say it's to preserve the good ones. All I know is that I'm writing it – for them.
I remember, in my sixth year at school, that my Dad and Uncle showed me a treasure chest of sorts. To many, the stuff in the chest was worthless, maybe only a little interesting, as it had a detailed account of someone in the first war. But to me, it was more than just a detailed account.
It was my mother's account.
So, I guess you could say I mooched the idea of her, even though I'm not using diary mode, whereas she did for most of it. Dad says she thought that, once the war was over and if they lived, she would write it into a book. That's the idea I mooched off. While I never have kept a diary, I used a different method to record my thoughts – the Black family Pensieve. It's all there, and one day, I'll show it to my kids.
Most of you won't understand much of the setting and people, so I'll try to explain it to you when I can. I might even annoy you by placing mysterious hints in front of your nose. And so comes to the end of my explanation. I have on last thing to say before I start.
I'm Lucy. I love chocolate. I adore drinking pomegranate juice. I paint figurines and pictures for fun. I have two sisters and a brother. I am considered insane. I would do anything for my family.
I'm a survivor and this is my story.
~L*B~
"Luce, Aunt Silvia said you had to get up or she's throwing your chocolate stash in the bin," said a voice near my head. I jumped up immediately, barging past my eleven year old brother, Trenton, and darting out through my open door and down the polished wooden staircase.
"No touching my chocolate stash!" I screeched, bounding into the kitchen eating area and almost knocking into the black chairs of the small table in the middle of the room.
Ok, so maybe it wasn't really a room. Our kitchen was really massive, with cold stone tiles in varying shades of butter brown. A long white kitchen island took up the middle of the actual cooking space, with three somewhat short chandeliers paced evenly above it. The kitchen was set in a square-like "U". The main stoves were on the side closest to the stairs, whereas the cupboards and minor stoves were on the side opposite and the fridge and chopping space in the part that connected the "U". All the table tops were made of white marble. A black table with six black chairs and white cushions was set in between the kitchen and long glass windows.
Two of the six chairs were already occupied by my two little sisters (who were two thirds of a triplet; Trenton made up the other part), Telissa and Terpsichore (only, no one ever calls her that unless they want to die. She prefers Pic). Lissa's godmother, Silvia Fenwick, was cooking bacon and eggs on the stove and her son and one of my best friends, Drew, was looting the fridge.
Silvia is probably the nicest woman on the world, and that's saying something, seeing as I know my Grandmum Isabelle. After my Mum died giving birth to the triplets, the recently widowed Silvia Fenwick was informed that, should anything happen to my parents and should anything happen to I and I Potter (Mum's very close friends and my godparents), we (meaning myself, Trenton, Telissa and Pic) were to go to her and Remus Lupin (my awesome Uncle Moony), which was Mum's last wish. With my father (and note I say father instead of Dad) incarcerated and both Aunt I and Uncle Prongs dead, it was up to her and Uncle Moony. Unfortunately, Uncle Moony has some very pressing … medical issues that prevent him from claiming guardianship of me and my siblings, so Aunt Silvia had to raise both us and Drew, her son. To add to her amazingness, she also held the title of Headmistress of Salem Witches Academy, where she had recently been promoted.
She had long blonde hair that'd been prematurely streaked with grey and a pretty, oval face that had heaps of smile wrinkles at the corner of her turquoise eyes and plump lips. Today she was wearing her jeans and a plain white shirt, along with a pair of black heels. Her face only wore lipstick and mascara.
"Lucy," she scolded in her now thick, American accent, "it's almost nine and the five of you have to catch the Express."
"Sorry, Aunt Silvia," I answered, springing into the kitchen to pilfer myself some cereal. "Won't happen again, I promise." I poured creamy milk into a bowl and shook some cereal flakes into the mix. Then I started to search through the cutlery draw for a small spoon. However, to my great horror, there were only … big spoons. "Drew…" I said gingerly, "… are you on dishwasher?"
Drew stared up at me from his position in the fridge. He looked rather comical: a piece of ham dangled from his mouth and his eyes bugged out wide in question, a Coke bottle held by its neck in his right hand. "Ebligem," he gurgled.
Everyone present in the room giggled madly, apart from Aunt Silvia, who gave her son a look of disgust, and me, who was raging inwardly at his stupidity. How dare he forget to unload the small spoons?
"Mr Fenwick," I demanded in a voice oh-so-similar to a certain Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts (who was, funnily enough, one of the three teachers Drew was terrified of), "why did you not unload the small spoons? Why? Why did you not, hmmm?"
Drew looked quite lost for words. He stared into my face with confusion, probably wondering why I was so obsessed with the small spoons. But he should know! He'd only lived with me for twelve freaking years!
Needless to say, I like little spoons. The reason, however, is a very logical one: when you use a small spoon, you get to enjoy a meal longer because small spoons can only hold so much, whereas if you use a big spoon, you eat it all quicker. See. Infallible logic.
"Um…" trailed off Drew, looking a little overwhelmed. "I, uh, forgot. Sorry, Luce." The look on his face was so priceless, I couldn't help but allow my own laughter to join my little sisters'.
"Drew," I chortled, "for the son of the Salem Witches Academy's Headmistress and a Ravenclaw Auror, you really are quite dumb, aren't you?"
He merely glared at me. Aunt Silvia, trying to prevent a smirk, set a bowl of cereal in front of Pic, who grinned.
Terpsichore "Pic" Black was the youngest and most reckless of my siblings, a definite Gryffindor (even though her Sorting was later on would be later on that night, I had no doubt in my mind that she would be in my House). She was always into causing trouble, causing chaos seemingly etched into every facet of her being. Her stormy-grey eyes always shimmered with mischief, making you feel as if she was going to do something funny at any time, whether it be trying to sneak cookies away but failing miserably or pulling your pants down. I supposed her hair style also reflected her person: it was black, the colour of charred wood, and was always bouncing and tangling all over the place. Her face had that innocent, heart-like shape to it, and her lips were full and pink. She was clothed in a bubblegum blue shirt, jeans and a pair of those old shoes, bright blue Converse I Purcells (honestly, I didn't know why she preferred to wear them. They were mostly around in my Mum's early years).
Sometimes it was hard to remember she was eleven, what with her easy-going attitude that could dissipate in a second if she got pissed off or mopey. She had inherited what Uncle Moony called "Susan's Wrath," which meant she was terrifying if she didn't get what she wanted.
Her triplet sister, Telissa, was a lot more quiet and studious. She was a lot like Uncle Moony, her godfather, in that respect. If it were a choice between sitting down and reading or playing a game of Quidditch, her initial preference would be reading. Her appearance, however, was a lot softer and more shocking than any of us. Her eyes, instead of Pic's stormy-grey, were a bright icy blue, quite alike the eyes of the Headmaster at Hogwarts. Unlike anyone in our little branch of the Black family, Lissa's hair was a rich mahogany and curled around her pale, heart-shaped face. As far as I knew, she got it from our Grandmum Isabelle, who was our Mum's mum.
I mused about this all through the process of taking a small spoon victoriously from the dishwasher. I threw myself into the chair on Pic's right and started munching on my cereal just as my thoughts turned down a dark road, thoughts of my father's mum.
Walburga Black was my paternal grandmother, and a worse, more evil grandmother there never was. I swear, that woman was so horrible that she made a portrait of herself and hung it on the wall of her house with a Permanent Sticking Charm so that she could insult the next owner.
When my siblings and I were little, that horrid woman had tried, and I mean really tried, to take us away from Aunt Silvia. Legally, she had that right, and it was all because of our last name. If our father or Mum were around, she wouldn't have dared try. Unfortunately, they weren't, and so that bit– I mean, horrible woman (Aunt Silvia had gotten me to promise her I wouldn't use swear words, even in my mind) did try. There was some random piece of writing in some random place in random Black history that said something random along the lines of: any pureblood child of Black, in absence of parents, is to go to their nearest Black relative. Luckily, the bit– I mean, horrible woman died before she could get custody.
"I, I don't know what you did to your brother, but he's not come down once since he went to wake you up," announced Aunt Silvia, heading towards the stairs. "I'll go get him, then once he's had breakfast we can go." Then she trumped up the stairs to fetch my brother.
Lissa collected the bowls while Pic crossed her feet on the table, hands behind her head. When Drew tottered over with a massive bucket filled to the brim with popcorn and brandishing his Coke bottle, Pic's hand flew up and she snatched the Fenwick boy's food and drink off him. Drew, mouth open, stared at her for a few seconds before muttering darkly and storming back into the kitchen for something else to eat. Lissa and I exchanged amused looks and Pic poked her tongue out at him, feet still firmly on the table.
"Thank you for the popcorn, Drew," sang Pic sweetly. He turned to her. A blue eye twitched. "It's so yummy," she added. The eye twitched again. "Buttery, salty and hot, just how I like it!"
Drew looked like he could punch her. "My – popcorn," he hissed in a strangled voice.
"He's lost it again," commented Pic with a low whistle. "Boy, I didn't think he'd snap so quickly. The way he goes on about himself, you'd think he was Supreme Ruler of All On This Earth, thus untouchable to the whims of others."
While Pic needn't have said it so bluntly … it's kind of true. Drew had probably the biggest head in this whole house – it was a constant joke between Aunt Silvia and me that if we were able to put Pic and Drew's egos together, even if the whole world banded their egos together no one would beat them. What added to the humour was the fact that it was true. I think Drew got the ego when he went to school, and, even at eleven, girls started to drool over him. While he was, I'll admit, rather nice looking, he wasn't a total knock-over. His hair was blond and short, like the pictures of Benjy, Silvia's husband, I'd seen around the house. Drew's eyes, though, were Silvia's, a dark blue the colour of violets that darkened to black when he was mad and shimmered a light azure when happy. His face was also like his mother's, a sort of rounded oval that was pale and freckle-less.
"Oi," he snapped. "Speak badly of me while I'm here, why don't cha?"
"Ok," shrugged Pic. She turned to Lissa and me with a high beam smile. "Let's all talk about Drew's numerous faults!"
"Yay!" I squealed, doing a fake imitation of Ursula Danville of Hufflepuff, school slut. "That, like, would be, like, totally, like, awesome, and shit."
Drew groaned, noting accurately what I was doing. "Don't remind me of Ursula,' he moaned. 'I couldn't get rid of her for ages."
Ursula had been Drew's girlfriend for about two weeks last school year. All I can say of that encounter is that she amazed me how possessive a slut could be. I mean, she made him a card every day, celebrating things like their twenty-four hour-aversary and shit like that. Possessive? I most definitely think so.
Of course, I'd found it so hilarious, I'd owled the triplets the second I found out about the cute couple. Even Telissa (who I was certain was going to be a Ravenclaw, the quiet cheeky bugger) had been hysterical with giggles over that.
About five food-throwing minutes (Drew threw milk at Pic for stealing his popcorn, and everything just escalated after that) after my imitation of Hufflepuff's resident whore, Aunt Silvia and my little brother and last third of the triplets, Trenton, marched into the kitchen.
One thing that comes to mind when you see Trenton is the thought that he is huge. The kid is taller than me, and I'm almost fifteen! He's eleven! Then again … I am a bit of a midget. But anyway ... Trenton is about 5'11, and is of a lanky build, mostly skin and bones, as Aunt Silvia likes to put it. His face is exactly the opposite of Telissa's – tanned, but with no freckles at all, whereas hers is pale but sprinkled with the little brown dots. As far as I can tell, no one on either sides of our family have leaf green eyes, except him, of course.
One look at Aunt Silvia's face told Pic and Drew that they were in deep sh– I mean, sugar. Yes, sugar. Then again, as Aunt Silvia soon turned around to see Lissa covered in egg, I knew I was in deep sugar too – my hands were, of course, coated with the slimy stuff from when I'd squeezed one too hard (that was when I'd changed my aim from Drew to Lissa).
"What," fumed Aunt Silvia, "have you four been doing?"
Trenton snorted, giving his triplet sisters looks that told them plainly, Deep sugar, dear sisters of mine. Deep sugar.
For once in his existence, I agreed with him.
~L*B~
As I suppose you can all see, we, meaning Pic, Lissa, Trenton, Drew and I, aren't typical people. I mean, the living circumstances themselves would be considered odd. Technically, I own the house, according to Mum and his Will, but as a "minor" I can't legally look after it. So, the honour falls to my godparents, who are, as you most probably know, dead. And so, that bloody honour then falls to the next eldest sibling's godparents. That just so happens to be Aunt Silvia and Uncle Moony.
Then, of course, there would be the fact that we act more like siblings than family friends. Personally, I can't remember a day where Aunt Silvia and Drew haven't been in it.
Actually … that's a lie.
Well … it was mentioned before that my Mum died in childbirth, right?
Yeah, that was a lie too.
You see, I Black did die on the day her triplet children were born. Except, they weren't the reason she was dead. Well, not the whole reason, I suppose. Giving birth in her state and her condition probably didn't help things one bit.
I can't really recall much about the day she died, but I do remember the ones that followed: waking up in the hospital with burns and cuts, Uncle Moony and Aunt Silvia telling me, an almost three-year-old child, that my Mum had gone to "live with the angels", as they put it. Then there was the funeral, the last time I saw my – I mean, him.
I remember being really excited to see him there. I remember how Lydia, Uncle Moony's Mum, gripped baby Pic tighter, Aunt Silvia, my brother in her arms, leading both Lydia and Drew away. I remember Uncle Moony telling me to not mention my brother and sisters. I remember telling him all about nice Dr Samuels and how she made my sores better with her wand.
Mostly, I remember running to him and screaming, "Daddy!"
It makes me feel strangely depressed and wanting to eat chocolate … at least more than usual.
~L*B~
Any older sibling in the whole entire world will tell you that being the eldest really does suck at times. Sure, we've got more privileges and the adults "trust" us more. But honestly, it can be a pain in the butt. Especially when you've got a whiny sister who doesn't want to push her trolley – for example, Terpsichore Black. I could feel her grinning at me from behind, that sparkly grin that either made me laugh or growl.
At the mo', it was growl.
But I wasn't alone in my troublesome duties: Silvia had Trenton's trolley and Drew was busy with both his and Lissa's. Luckily, I found some random spell in one of my Mum's old school books last year, one that shrinks things, so I had my trunk and old cage in my pocket and didn't have to push a trolley.
"Why can't I do that spell like Luce?" complained Drew as he almost crashed into a woman and her daughter boarding a train to Oxford. The woman gave him a dirty look. "Sorry, ma'am, lost control of the trolley." She huffed, jerking her daughter away before throwing him the bird over her shoulder. "Jeez, she's a lovely mother, eh? But you see, this is why I need to do a spell like Luce. So I don't bump into crazy bitches wi –"
"Andrew!" exclaimed Silvia. "Don't ever let me hear you using that language ever again! Do you understand me?"
"– th anger management issues," he continued, ignoring his mother's interruption.
"Hard work encourages building of your character," Silvia said absentmindedly.
"Then why doesn't Lucy do it?" he whined.
"Because she's got character enough for a lifetime," said Pic. She looked over Drew, mock-grimacing. "You, however … will do until you finish pushing Lissa's trolley for the rest of her school life."
I rolled my eyes. Ah, the perks of knowing Pic. Honestly, she's the scariest, most hyper eleven year old I know. I would say that she was the most adventurous and prone to accidents, but that title belonged to three kids at my school that were nicknamed the Golden Trio: Hermione Granger, magical genius; Ron Weasley, comedic dumbarses; and Harry Potter, the Boy Who Ruled … or something like that.
"Here we are, platform nine and three quarters," announced Silvia, smiling. "Drew you go through first so you can drop the trolleys off."
"'K," said Drew, stopping a few feet in front of the barrier. It seemed to be an unspoken order for us all to stop and crowd around him, looking around at the nearby Muggles to see if they were watching. But without further ado, Drew took off, running at the platform in earnest, this time only controlling one trolley.
"Right," said Silvia once Drew had disappeared. "Pic, you next. Then Trenton and Luce, then me and Lis will go."
"But isn't Uncle Moony gonna meet us here?" asked Lis, frowning slightly.
Silvia hesitated before answering with, "The Aurors have been questioning him a bit recently and they wanted to talk to him today… He would be here if he could, Lis, but he has to stay at home while … they're interrogating him."
"Oh," said Lissa, nodding, looking a tad crestfallen. "Right."
I could tell why Lissa was so upset: Uncle Moony was her closest Uncle, even though he wasn't related to us by blood. But I knew why she wouldn't complain either. After all, she too had been questioned about the same thing Uncle Moony was being questioned about – Sirius Black.
It astounded me that they hadn't talked to Uncle Moony yet. I mean, he's his last best friend. If I were in charge, the person to go to after the prisoner escaped and they'd spoken to family would be friends. I would've thought they'd have already grilled him about the subject.
But why would Aunt Silvia lie about it? She wouldn't … unless she knew something she didn't want the rest of us to know…
"Go on, sweetie," Silvia encouraged Pic, shoving her gently in the back. Pic grinned, made a salute with her hand and bounced towards the barrier. Silvia looked at the barrier for a short time before turning back to us. "If she was going for a military salute … she did it with the wrong hand."
Trenton snorted. "That'd be Pic, alright."
"'K, you two go now," said Aunt Silvia, gesturing us for us to go through the obstacle. I nodded, Trenton copying me. I cocked my head at him, and he cocked his back.
And that's when I gave him my twitchy eye.
The one thing that neither my brother nor my sisters can copy is my twitchy eye. It's like … a personal treasure, and the one thing that Uncle Moony really hates me doing. I don't know why.
[I do know it now, though, and I just told Charlie, who is, again, reading over my shoulder. Now he's poking me and saying, "Lucy. Lucy. Luuuuuuucy." Again, handsome git.]
Trenton grinned, then, without warning, took off, scaring the shit out of me. I actually said that aloud, and suddenly Silvia was boxing me around the ears for my 'atrocious language'. Not kidding, she actually said that.
When I followed my brother, the soot from the starting train was so thick that I couldn't see anything. It's not pleasant, not being able to see. Especially when you're commanding Lissa's luggage trolley.
I swear I bumped into someone. And I was right! I did bump into someone, just not someone who was a particularly good person to bump into. It was my pompous arse of a second cousin and his fucked up parents.
Draco Malfoy.
Ok, so we've met on a few occasions. Anyone who doesn't know I'm related to Sirius Black soon does, or at least suspects it, within a few days of me and Draco in the same room. Sometimes, if people are smart, they'll realise in a few minutes – seconds sometimes.
"Watch where you're going, blood traitor spawn," hissed Draco.
I smirked and cooed, "Come now, Draco, that's not anyway to speak to family."
His father gave me a dirty look (his mother did the same, but since it was only a bit more sour than the look that usually graced her face, it wasn't much of a dirty look) and sneered in that truly stunning way only Malfoys seem to know. It's like a taught skill that runs through their blood or something. I'm being serious!
[Real funny, Charlie, ha, ha, shut up!]
"I would prefer it if you didn't talk to my son, girl," he said. His words were spoken with a barely concealed edge to it, like I'd imagined a snake's would be. "After all, we don't want any accidents, do we?"
My eyes narrowed.
"Just so you know, Malfoy, I'm keeping an eye on you. If even the slightest hint reaches me that you're planning something …" I let the sentence trail off. "I have my ways, Malfoy, and you piss me off, I fully intend on using them… Good day to you."
Yeah. Probably shouldn't have told him that, even though it's true.
I turned my trolley away and back into the crowd. It wasn't long before I found Silvia, who was standing with the triplets and completely attacking Pic with a massive hug.
"Promise you'll write," I heard as I came into earshot. "Every day, and don't forget to."
We all rolled our eyes. Again, Silvia boxed one of us around the ears. Care to guess who? Nah, you probably already know.
"Where's Drew?" I asked, looking for him.
Silvia and the others told me that while I was absent, he'd previously said goodbye to his Mum and boarded the train. Soon enough, it was our turn to board it too. As Silvia hugged Trenton closely, one last time, we Black sisters huddled together. Silvia smiled at us, bade us goodbye and helped us onto the train.
Before long, we were speeding away, leaving our surrogate mother behind.
All by herself.
