anthony37: I'm glad the note didn't scare you off! I put it in there to cover my ass. Oh, we'll see their expressions, and their (poor) attempts at reconciliation. It'll be later, though.
Auctor: Oh, Sirius really didn't want Jen to stay there! He acted the way he did because he realized that she had spent nearly nine years taking care of herself, and if she was anything like her parents, telling her "You're coming home right now, young lady!" would have done nothing but make her fight him every step of the way. Instead, he bribed her with a place in Hogwarts, money she doesn't have to sell her body for, and a large library for her to read through, since she had already revealed she was interested in learning enough to teach herself.
Everyone who returned for this second chapter, welcome! From here on out, the story will mostly be from Jen's point of view, though I'll be bringing in others for when an outside perspective is best. You'll also find out how Jen gets around without her sight or any assistance (a hint, magic). Enjoy!
I forgot to mention last chapter, but as an American, most of what I know of Britishisms come from HP fanfiction. Therefore, feel free to correct me if I use a term incorrectly or use the American word.
Disclaimer: Did Harry rely on the Weasley family to be his sole contact with Wizarding Britain? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.
Chapter 2
Grimmauld Place
Yesterday had started off normal enough for the girl affectionately referred to as 'Mama Jen'. She had woken shortly after one as was her habit, a necessity considering she hadn't finished closing up the club until six in the morning. She had fed herself and Loki, and then 'read' one of her books until dusk, when it was time for her to begin preparing Candyland for the night's customers. Once open, she worked at the bar.
All normal, all routine, until a certain Sirius Black came to call.
Jen shook her head as she gathered some of her books from the ground floor room farthest from the club entrance, one she had set up for storage. He was a very odd man, but his thoughts proved his sincerity. She smiled at that thought; 'stay out of other people's heads' was the only ethical rule her tutor, Elsie, had demanded she follow, probably so the old woman could keep her own secrets, but she had never listened. There were just too many useful secrets she could sniff out that way, and no matter what the situation, knowledge was power.
She hefted the books in her arms before walking over to the three piles she had made on the room's table, jerking her head towards it as she moved. Another ten books lifted themselves from their shelves and followed her there. Once they were all settled, she took stock to ensure she had not left anything out.
Her clothing was the first pile. Two shirts, a jacket, her skirt, and a strappy set of heels, along with the third shirt, jeans, and trainers she was currently wearing. I really need more clothes, she thought, not for the first time. The club provided all the kids working there with free room and board, but after paying for utilities and groceries, there wasn't enough profit left for anyone to have a decent wage to purchase personal items. Not even clothes were something they could depend on receiving since the owner took his cut from the gross income. In his mind, why should they have new clothing when they earned money while out of them? Thank goodness for cleaning charms.
The next pile consisted of a bound roll of leather and a pair of books on the rituals of Voodoo, Maji a ak Sprituèl nan Vodou and Kouran Bondye ki gen pouvwa, both of which were nearly impossible to find, especially here in the UK. The only store that would possibly have copies was one Elsie had mentioned resided in Knockturn Alley in London, but she could not recall the name.
She opened the case and felt each item inside: a few vials, some holding magical substances found only in Haiti; nine smooth river stones blessed by a priest of Baron Samedi; her bone ritual dagger; a foot-wide mirror shrunk to the size of a compact; and a currently empty silver flask enchanted to preserve its contents. Now that those everything had been checked, she swiftly tied it closed again. This was all she had to remember Elsie by, and even if she ignored the sentimental value, nothing was replaceable except the mirror and the unused vials.
The last and largest pile was all the books she had obtained locally, if not exactly legally. She had needed the books to study from, but without the money to purchase them, her only recourse was theft. She had considered stealing other things, such as clothes, but taking one book at a time she could hide from prying eyes and law-enforcing hands; new clothes, not so much, and definitely not enough to provide for all the kids.
Her collection had a diverse range of subjects, with books about charms, runes, and potions mixed in with calculus and physics texts. The books about home repair and cooking she should leave behind; she doubted she would need them in the magical side of Britain considering her supposed godfather's tale, and they would be more useful to the others here, especially since the owner was absolutely incapable of anything but spending their hard-earned cash.
"So it's true. You're leaving."
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Jen thought as she focused her attention onto Richard Hutchins, her nominal boss. Though she could not see him, she could still feel him, and just like every time he spoke to her, she noted how easily he fit the stereotype of a man involved in the child sex trade. With a perfectly average height and build, not to mention his bland voice, he was someone who could be easily ignored by all and sundry. She was sure had tried once again to sneak up on her, exactly as he had been doing since she first met him when she was seven. In his favor, the man was quiet enough that he likely would have succeeded if she weren't a witch, and a special one at that.
Jen, unlike all other magical humans, possessed no magical core in her soul. Oh, she had been born with one, but she had experienced tremendous difficulty resonating with and accessing it whenever she tried to cast a spell. Nothing they had done to fix that problem, not even varied rituals meant to increase the amount of available magic by enlarging its entire volume, had been the slightest bit effective. She had eventually grown tired enough of fighting her own soul every time she practiced her magic enough to attempt a dangerous ritual that would sacrifice her core for a direct connection to the world's virtually infinite supply of power, the reserve from which all witches and wizards drew the magic to replenish their cores. Failure would mean death, and the chances of success were so slim that there had never been a recorded survival.
Until her.
Her integration into the global reserve had, among other things, radically altered how her body responded to the energy she channeled. Magic was everywhere, seemingly generated by all matter, and flowed through and around physical objects. Now tied into this greater truth, she was sensitive to these currents and had taught herself to interpret the changes in the flow, all of which were specific to different materials. In this way she used her expanded awareness as a form of sonar, allowing her to identify every object within several yards of her body in all directions. With such an advantage, no one was able to approach her without her feeling them and reaching into their minds for their identities.
"Yes, Richard, I've been given a chance that I never imagined would come. I apparently have a wealthy godfather who was just recently released from prison, and last night he invited me to come live with him. I would be a fool to ignore the opportunity." She flicked her wrist and called a satchel to her. Placing her hand inside, she gently stretched the internal dimensions of the bag until she estimated it would be large enough to hold all her belongings. Wandless magic was incredibly inefficient, but as her output was limited by how much magic she could safely channel at once rather than the volume she could store, the waste was irrelevant. "And forget about drugging me and telling him that I changed my mind and ran off. He can do the same things I can." Well, he likely can't, but what Ricky doesn't know can't hurt him, or me.
He grimaced. "At least when you're gone, I won't have to deal with all your mumbo jumbo. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you wiped those bobbies' minds, but it was still bloody creepy."
"If it would make you feel better, I could make you forget all about me," she said in a teasing lilt. With one final gesture, everything she owned was in the bag and ready to go.
"No, I think I'll just keep my mouth shut about you, and you can do the same about me, okay?" He extended his hand.
Jen laughed. "And what do I get out of this deal?" she asked, but shook his hand anyway. After all, no one could know when they might need a favor from an old contact.
Sirius waited at the door of Candyland at five in the afternoon, just as he and his goddaughter had agreed upon the previous night. Honestly, he would have agreed to anything she requested if it meant getting her to leave this place, but all she asked for was that he give her enough time to wake up and pack.
He sighed. The ease with which she agreed to live with someone who was essentially a stranger was distressing. Watching her last night, she seemed perfectly content with her position in the club; most people who enjoyed what they did would be unwilling to leave everything and try something different. It was only as he tried to sleep that he realized what he was actually seeing. Jen had worked there in some capacity or another for he knew not how long. Was what he had seen not enjoyment, but just familiarity? He very much hoped so. Had she not decided to accompany him, he would be sorely tempted to Obliviate himself to remove the details of her 'job' from his mind's eye. It would have certainly prevented the nightmare he had suffered through the previous night.
Finally, she walked out the door, for the last time if he had anything to say about it. He was surprised, though, at how little she carried; when he had been forced into shopping with his cousins as a boy, they always had dozens of bags for each of them by the end of the trip.
"Did you pack everything you wanted?" he asked. "If there's anything inside you need help with, we can go and get it." So you don't ever have to come back here again.
"Space expansion charms, Sirius. Everything I have is right here." She gave the satchel a quick pat. "I just have someone to collect."
"Some… one?" He glanced around nervously; they had not discussed bringing another person along. Oh Merlin, please don't let her have a kid already. I'm not old enough to be a grand-godfather!
Jen gave a sharp whistle, assuaging some of his fears. That was an action wizards took with their owls, not their children. Since he was expecting an animal of some form, he was only slightly startled when a large raven landed on her shoulder. "And who is this?"
"Sirius, meet my familiar, Loki. Loki, this is my godfather." The newly identified Loki gave him a quick examination, croaked dismissively, and then began preening her hair.
"All right, then. If you're done, let's get out of here." He placed his hands on her upper arms and Apparated them to the foyer of the house. "Welcome to number 12, Grimmauld Place."
The moment they passed through the front door, Jen opened her arms and let the magic of the old house push against her. As it sank deep into her body, she could actually feel the air in her lungs freezing, producing mist as she exhaled. Sirius's gasp confirmed that the sensation was not a trick of her mind. Magic this cold only existed in locations that had withstood generations upon generations of dark magic.
Not that she was uncomfortable. On the contrary, now that she had moved past the shock, the entire house was incredibly alive! Her senses had expanded to cover the entire property, and she could even feel immensely strong barriers – wards, she realized, old wards – framing the boundary of her range. They were interconnected, fitting together like the puzzle box she had held when she first been employed at the brothel. An older boy named Anthony had demonstrated to her how it worked, teaching her to feel how the tiny plates had fit together so intricately. While she was not capable of manipulating the wards like she could that box, she knew she would get quite a show if they were ever activated.
"It's amazing," she finally whispered, still absorbed in comparing how differently the magic danced and swirled here than it did in Avryporth. "When was it built?"
Sirius frowned, and she gleaned from his mind that he was worried about her reaction. She had not taken a step from where they had appeared, and he couldn't identify what was causing such rapture. "I don't know the exact date. Blacks have lived in it for… four hundred years, maybe?"
"I love it. The magic of the house, I can feel it radiating from the walls, bending along the surface of the wards. I have never been anywhere as welcoming as this place!"
Ignoring her godfather's confusion and mental grumblings, she began walking through the hallway, curious about the large spark of magic meandering down the stairwell. She knew what sparks like this were: they were cores, something nearly every magical being had. Even Loki had one after Elsie had… modified… him a touch to give him skills unnatural to the rest of his species. She had never encountered one like this, though.
She and the spark both stopped at the foot of the stairs, and pulling her sonar back from the wide space she had let it cover, her ethereal hands felt a small, wrinkled, but humanoid body. Strange, she thought, I can't look into its mind. What is it? Deciding blunt curiosity was the best recourse, she asked simply, "What are you?"
The being hesitated a moment, and then answered in a gravely voice, "Kreacher is a house-elf." He turned and muttered to himself in a Shakespeare-worthy aside, "The crippled girl is talking to Kreacher, oh what would Mistress say, but the wards cling to her, Kreacher knows not why…"
Sirius marched over to her. "That's enough, Kreacher. Go to the guest bedrooms and start cleaning them. Jen is going to be living here from now on."
Kreacher gave a low bow that was incredibly insincere. "As Master commands, Kreacher will do," he said, then continued in an undertone, "Master was an ungrateful brat when Mistress banished him from the house, and Master only grew to be a bigger disappointment, not fit to lick the slime from his mother's boots—"
"Kreacher," she warned in a warm tone, "it might be a good idea for you to keep a civil tongue in your head. If you don't… well, you just might wake up one morning without it."
Now she had both Sirius's and Kreacher's attention. "Jen, what—?"
"The cripple is bold as Miss Bella, Kreacher goes to prepare the room. It being ready tomorrow…" With that, he arthritically spun around and climbed back up the stairway.
Bemused, she turned to Sirius. "Were we supposed to hear that?"
He shrugged, but she could tell he was still staring at her. "Jen, why did you say that? You wouldn't have followed through on your threat, right?"
She rolled her eyes, not that he could see them, "I knew I wouldn't have to. This house is saturated in dark magic, and for that to happen, there has to be plenty of use of the Dark Arts. I have read that house elves are sensitive to the magic of their houses, so I responded to his behavior the same way a dark witch would, and what do you know? It worked."
He was quiet a moment, then sighed. "Well, Kreacher seems to have a plan for your bedroom, so you can put your things in any of the spare rooms for tonight; I think there's a clean one on the second floor. I need to make some calls, then we'll see what we can put together for dinner."
The simple meal later that evening was pleasant, and though they spoke of nothing of importance that evening, it served to make them more at ease with each other. After Jen transfigured a perch for Loki and settled into bed that night, she could not help but reflect on her new life. Pleasant company, no bills, rich magic all around me; I could get used to this. Find me a lithe little bedwarmer, and I'll be set.
She Apparated into an alley close near the entrance to Grimmauld Place. The Head of her House had summoned her, and so she would comply, no matter how much she would rather be anywhere else this early in the morning. After Sirius had been found innocent and restricted to St. Mungo's, she had created any number of excuses to avoid visiting him; would he hold that against her now that she would have to follow any orders he gave? And her sister, with whom she had not spoken to since their argument over her then-upcoming nuptials, would be there as well. This would not be pleasant for anyone, and again she told herself it was for the best that she ordered her beloved child to stay at home rather than risk bringing him along with her.
It was going to be a bad day no matter what, but last night had only made her dread the reunion even more. Anticipating how stressful today would sure be, she had gone to that one Muggle club in Wales to find some release; she knew that her taste in sexual partners was despised in both worlds, but as long as she was discreet and did not visit too often, she was safe from any repercussions. Upon her arrival, however, she had been unable to find the blind bartender who, even if too old for her now, had been such a sweet lover and was still a wonderful conversationalist, not to mention a dear friend. The rest of the staff could only tell her that the girl in question had moved out that day to places unknown. The loss of her confidante had caused her such turmoil that she had immediately returned to her home, no longer desiring physical pleasure.
She quietly entered the townhouse, avoiding that abominable troll leg and moving slowly to avoid waking Auntie Walburga's portrait. That woman had been a harpy in life, and her portrait was somehow worse. Sirius's message had said to meet in the sitting room, so that was where her feet directed her.
She clamped down on her rising panic when she reached the door, smoothed her robes, and walked into the room. There on one loveseat was her sister with someone who was likely her progeny, on a chair across the coffee table from them was Sirius, and sitting next to him was…
"Jen? What are you doing here?"
Sirius turned his attention first to her, then Jen. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"Of course," Jen replied immediately, walking over to greet her with a kiss on both cheeks. "She was my favorite client."
I did warn you about the preference of one of the main characters. Now the question is, which Black Sister is it? The ambiguity was intentional.
The portrayal of Voodoo used here is the stereotype of "Voodoo magic" from New Orleans and Hollywood, not the religion found primarily in Haiti. Since I am twisting it as I desire, please do not complain if you are knowledgable about it and want me to know I screwed something up; it was either a plot-relevant change or an aspect I chose to ignore (of which there are many). The titles of the two books are in Haitian Creole as provided by Google. Translations are below.
Maji a ak Sprituèl nan Vodou: The Magic and Ritual of Voodoo
Kouran Bondye ki gen pouvwa: The Currents of Power
Silently Watches out.
