Raising Harry
" Do not raise your children the way [your] parents raised you; they were born for a different time."(Ali bin Abi Taleb, 600 AD)
Chapter Three, Part One
"Gifts are dangerous when they are given [too often] but not earned" - ICARUS
#[1]
I felt …floaty. A bit fluttery. Giddy, happy, nervous; a bit like after a long-distance run gone well, that strange high- as I stared, coming back to the present, at the child detritus around me.
The room I was in – primarily the Little One's, when he was ready – was currently in the process of creation. A safe-haven, a clearing, a meadow, for his identity (person). Where he could breathe and just be. Magic, learning, safety, dreams, rest. That was the dharma of this Room and it's guardians; I am magic, but not all guardians are from it: spirituality, faith has its own power, sometimes.
The floor, teak, is covered in fluffy shag-rug and like the walls is a soft blue. Where it's not bordered in white that is. There are wall-length shelves, of differing depths, joining the floor as storage for twin woven baskets, as drawers.
These shelves, to take example of just why this house was to be considered strange, exemplify to an observant – or nosy – onlooker, what about the current owner – to be occupants – was…different.
There is a shelf there just for any incense and for purifying and healing crystals. These crystal clusters can be spotted throughout the abode: they adorn the house, subtly. They hold books for Harry, magic and not, fables, fantasy and soon fact books. Another holds some 'child things,' away from reaching hands but not magic: wipes, creams, powder and nappies for toddlers (he should have learnt by now, but he will); and assortments.
These will also include a photo-album I hope to collect for Harry, of his parents and their family and friends what was good in their lives – friends, family, photographs and paraphernalia- anything we can get ahold of that's theirs, respectfully, appropriate for a child.
The slats bordering the shelves and underneath them, around the crystal arrangements are carved with delicate 'patterns'. Make no mistake, they are runes and sigils. Symbols of faith and power. On another? Is a Stone Guardian; at the door – not telling which-, an Earthen Golem – or Gargoyle, as they are known here as …Amongst others. Though I will say this: I do pity the fool who enters this house with ill-intent.
Now, onto the baskets which hold soft toys, slippers, socks, a woollen hat and an extra blanket. All charmed to keep warmth in and be waterproof.
There is a magical mobile I have begun crafting (as if a lot of the objects in this room were not crafted by mine own hands). It will be filled with magical, non-magical and mythological/plausibly real creatures and beings. Not to be mistaken as 'Beings' (that was an interesting concept to learn in this world; were-creatures, shifters, vampires, fae and the like not being considered equal to humankind). Though I am tempted to include them in a couple storybooks? They will all glow when in the darkness (a little at night) and be of colours vivid as oil paint amongst the Good.
In the light of day, their glow re-charging for protections, never truly dormant, is how it shall maintain the power to work. So far Kurma-ji (कूर्म ) the "World Turtle", will be there, amongst a mother Unicorn with her foal (a most protective and discerning pairing), an Elephant( for they are wise as well as honoured in my faith – reminiscent of Ganesh-ji), Ursa Major and Minor(because it would be cruel to separate a mother from her child – and Harry comes from the House of Black, so recognition is needed there and being in want of protection…well, it's a close enough link as to be probably granted; we're asking nicely), a Fox(they are clever yet playful), an Oliphant (they are mighty and strong), possibly…yes, possibly Jörmungandr (the World Serpent is watchful and of nature, not evil), maybe a monkey of some sort to accompany the Demiguise – and a Whale (again for might but a gentle nature, also of the sea).
Altogether something of each following: space and void, night sky and stars, wildlife, forest/tree, earth, sea, water and green and spirit and faith. Still needs something of sky/air and fire. Ah, a work-in-progress.
Nevertheless, I drew my attention back to the present. I sobered and looked at the small, worn iron beef-eater. One child's toy, slightly dented. But obviously precious. Freely given. It stood, watching me. I felt a flush of wet heat behind my eyes, pressing my fingers around my face, against my mouth. The little tot, Harry, had it on him when he'd been separated from his family. Some family. He'd yet to mention them once – to me or his current babysitters. Telling, that. And them: haven't even reported him missing. I bit my lip. Reworded it sounded no better: a family whom, several hours later, had yet to report him missing. I felt my eyes narrow in suspicion, clearing my blurred vision.
I felt my lips thin press flat. The toy – one of his only, or simply a favourite? Was in bad shape. I bit my lip again – Clearly, I need a stress ball- before sighing. When that did not work, I closed my eyes briefly and took a deep breath in, finding my centre. I like to imagine it as glowing pools cascading, trickling, flowing – some over invisible rock faces, but there's a collected pool in the centre, ripples crossing the surface from time to time. It glows in the black. White rippling light from within sometimes outlines the deep earth, some sort of cave. If I were to look in, two wolves existed – one good, one bad. Sometimes they co-exist, oftentimes they slept curled around each other – the 'good' might be awake, watching. Sometimes we caught gazes. Calm, those eyes are, so beautiful. It transcends the liminal space into me. Rarely, they fight.
Only then did I allow my eyes to snap open and to think again. Well, whatever the reason, I had been awarded a court order for looking after him, being somewhat aware of him and that's what I would do. The strongest point in favour of this ruling, however, was Harry displaying an abnormal willingness and well, familiarity on top of this, with me. He wanted to go with me. I was willing and able, so once the Right Honourable Judge had determined that final part, I was granted full parental thankfully. It made things easier. I think I will keep in touch with the detective, however – updates could be useful.
Gifts are dangerous when they are given but not earned. – Icarus, indeed.
[Extract from a future Chapter:'Free Will']: After the 1st wave, pre-Harry Era.
Do you know how strange it is, to speak in your own voice? The soul is eternal, though[2] they say the spirit lingers, the body withers/though the body ages, the spirit lingers. Sometimes, so do the memories.[3] We speak[4] a certain way.
It is not something -just, or- anyone would know. Unless they had reincarnated. I remembered how to talk. So I talked. Exactly how I would have in my own body. Except, I wasn't in my own body. These were not my vocal chords – or, my old ones.
But…this was also my body. My body – just not my first; I had grown in this one from the womb too; it modulated, subconsciously. [5] An instinct amongst many we are born with – and that, I noticed. It was different than my 'norm'[6]. My new body had to adjust further to meet the perception, expectation – whatever you want to call it- of my mind.
That was going to take some experimenting, I noted.
So it felt almost wrong to hear my own voice.
My body indeterminately mine and not/of questionable possession/autonomy. My mind felt awash with a palpable disconnect. My blurred sight found nothing interesting. I felt distanced, disinterested, from the world. I allowed a self-wrecking, pitying, dramatic sentiment to exist within me for five whole seconds…2, 1.
-The wonder was gone.- And moved on.
But 'it' would be found again. The grief, that was hard -No, no, come now girl. That is far too much of a stolid viewpoint, a narrow, filtered, over-reductionist conclusion to deride from such a potentially lush existence. I could renew my mental – I paused, pondering the correct word for this…wholeness. I just had to work my way up. I would make a reason for my life, and continue on. As I always did. I could help here.
In my past life, I had been a mage.
However, things were different there. From what I can gather, feel, sense, intuit – at least as far as my disciplined mind/behind my eyes can take me, magic systems varied. Nice to know.
The scene reminded me – and I flashbacked to an instance… where …Myself and five others used a protection spell for the sixth, centre ring, whilst the -late- seventh watched on, wretched and wracked with -agonised- sobs at our 'sacrifice' (it was a gamble though…and not in favour of …our continued existence. Or life, even). We did live. We came back. But she hadn't read our letter/note – so she hadn't read to move us over, one position to the other. Silly thing, I couldn't help but recall fondly. So, that's how we came back in the wrong bodies. Figuring that out was difficult. There was a 'cat' (though some called her something else, that time), a "dog" (more literal than you would think), a "lazy 'realist'" (we concurred on this) whom might I point out was high and functioned only high, the liar/illusionist/espionage one(alternating epithets of good or bad depending on mood, place and people) and me- fear based lead'. What? I didn't want – to- think – nope.
But they might not vary that much.
Picking a Place was fun as long as I kept myself energised and full of stomach, before each trip, and after the second 'home visit' to find my 'perfect place', speaking to a more senior member on what I wanted in a letting agent. The man was professional, settled and human. By that I mean he treated me respectfully with regard to the brain in my head and an appropriate demeanour, was happy where he was and so was not one of the ambitious-salesmen types and apologised for my encounters with those who were thus far. It was a productive five minutes and made the rest of the trips much smoother. I sent a thank you note and a hamper.
I had lived in a flat, which was not as difficult as it would be in years time, provided this place truly was parallel, in London. It was a nice flat, even. But it was in no way suitable for a child – they grow, too, so definitely not. A move was needed. Hm, I need a place, I thought – my flat could hold Harry in it if I squeezed of course, but that just was not a feasible long-term plan (besides, the caseworker would visit soon enough)…Plus, that would undoubtedly be a tally point away from me keeping Harry, I acknowledge.
So: new place – it needs to be for Harry too, I thought, warming to the idea more now that that thought had occurred, finally. I started to imagine what we would need.
The house would have our bedrooms, toilet and bathroom and shower, ideally. A kitchen and living room obviously. A dining room or back house (an annex) would be cool – useful. Or room for one, so it can be built. A greenhouse or conservatory as well as keeping up a garden…I wouldn't make the same mistakes many make: we would have a study room so that there was a place to work for both of us.
Oh, I thought quietly. I had already chosen, then: it was to be a house. A flat could have worked - or a studio. But not now, apparently. Okay, then. Thinking suddenly on a magic school and owls and a letter, confused, addled, baffled (the poor dear) – with an overly-complex address; something like 'Mr. H. Potter, The Green Manchurian, Block C, Floor 28, Suite 3, Room –' was just the ticket to crack through that quagmire of craggy-ness I'd swamped in a bit. It would be hilarious…but the clearing up. I shuddered.
And the search began!
I blinked. Placing the tardis blue flask cap-mug away and continued to the next point which was itinerary/a rubric, if you will. Which involves…
-Looking into primary schools – heck, he's what, three? For some hours a week, this year or next he could go to pre-school, kindergarten, or nursery or play groups. I blinked again. I could hold a playgroup. Sometimes. Couldn't I? I grinned. That would be so cute. Thinking back on other kids I'd babysat – it'd be good. Stressy but good. We'd see.
- I'd also need to look into safe areas, with few – no pubs (not whilst he was this young; roudy people sleepless nights make and trouble tempts),
- parks – some with play areas, would be good, others with a lake and trees to climb, wildlife, that sort of thing. Where's my San Fransisco? Where did I put the 'A-Z'? And the 'Yellow Pages' would help with an idea of services in the areas (childcare, things to do, shops) – and I'd be in need of (speaking with, gah) an/the other estate agent, I'd imagine. I'd rent this flat: it's a good site. Good thing I'm a bibliophile.
I sighed and got to work.
There were other thoughts for consideration, whilst I headed for my living space and dove under my settee, that contended for priority/mention to the decent estate agent: good shops, good food shops especially, things to do, decent people, cool places – though, being in London, it will have that already so – and the train continued, undeterred, conditions upon any place must be able to meet for the child and myself.
My brain, sometimes. I face-palmed mentally.
A little while after the Property Talk:
Harry was a quiet child. The Local Authority has given me /awarded me custody, temporarily - or well, until further notice, to be extended unless Harry's guardians were found, or he spoke of them. To go into more detail. So it wasn't decided yet, technically. But, again: for saying so little that said a lot. If, after the grace period - of a year, I was told, they do not speak up or cannot adequately show they have attempted to find him, reasonably, then full permanent (unsupervised) parental ('in loco parentis') custody in the form of guardianship, will be officiated. The Judge had 'done me a right one' – been awfully decent. I was grateful for Harry and myself.
With full parental rights a viable option depending on how well things can go, a short time after, will be awarded, that means. In the meantime, I will be able to act in loco parentis - but it might be that he is taken from me.
Harry hasn't spoken up about who cared for him yet. I think this will bother me for a while yet, but I will have to try not to think about it so much, soon. If that wasn't obvious enough, though, no bolo's or letters or pleas over the TV have been made through any of the normal channels - the police or media, by his previous guardians. Thank you, detective. PC Denning, our local contact ad infinitim, would work to keep eyes and ears open and let me know if anything concerning Harry cropped up. I made note, to pop over for a chat occasionally, and to give tea and some food, or something – for the hard work, it would only be right.
They...didn't seem to have done much guarding. The uncharitable thought halts there because; child or not, adults though they are- I aim to not judge yet. I get to take him home. I am grateful and cautious, nervous but also there is something soft as cotton, fluttering in my chest, warm and so so gentle for this little child. I hope to give him a good home. I hope nothing bad has befallen them.
Elsewhere, an elderly lady, doddering about, meanders across a lawn to another and asks on the children. Mr. Twinkles has missed babysitting his green-eyes recently.
He is playing with plastic, beaten blocks, in primary colours. I gleaned, inside the kid's room in the Child Centre that had just finished testing him. It was old, but comfortable, this place. Thin but patterned carpets, a hospital's clinical-friendly distinct feel to it, with a large round white table centralised in the room with a plexiglass viewing panel. It – the table- was covered in A3 papers, ready for drawings from troubled, happy and quirky children alike: there were pens thick and various in colour in cups at the centre, and pencils for colouring, as well as shading pencils. A couple of small bean bag chairs dotted the space.
The nice lady, garbed in pastel green came to speak with me, with Harry so occupied.
I leaned further against the door jamb before stepping back from the doorway into the corridor
I was spending an awful lot of time in corridors, wasn't I? I amused myself briefly with the thought. Always in the middle of going somewhere. Which was better than being stuck.
The nice lady was coming to speak with - or to- me, which could only help. I was relying on her insight here. At the same time as the thought was in my mind/ with the thought still in my mind, I looked up, from the fun floor, and unintentionally caught her eyes. I smiled, but felt it fade, like a flower without the light withers.
She looked calm, but I had some experience with people. She would be smiling or her eyes would crinkle, or lips would not be slightly downturned like that, not someone like her, in this occupation, I felt with a spike of worry/concern, who obviously - from her office and her manner previous, and the obvious enthusiasm of her co-workers when 'reassuring' me on her character and reliability, earlier their obvious joy- loved her job.
She had something bad to tell me.
Or no, something worrying but not unexpected - she was not shocked blank, but grim a bit. Grim. Hm, it fit. I smoothed the worried look from my face.
She had reached me and obviously, I had not done as good a job as I hoped, because her arm came up and held mine, which was wrapped around my abdomen, clasped it, squeezing gently, before letting go. I felt some fondness flush through me. Such a kind one. I breathed. Slow deep breaths. It would be okay. Eventually, with enough time, it would be okay.
She looked at me, intentionally making eye contact now, and smiled (obviously the good news first), "he's a good child." She comforted. I blinked.
"I know." The small smile fought its way onto my face, and without my conscious okay - I found my eyes unconsciously glanced where he last was. Hmpf. Quite without my permission, mind. He still hadn't noticed. I let the reluctant smile grace my face. I have a long face, which suits misery - funnily enough- though no one had told this to my face before, I thought so myself. That tenderness warmed and gentled my eyes. "He is a good boy," I said, looking back, caught. Might as well own it.
She mirrored my smile, but there was a mischievous look about her, though her eyes were stronger, attempting to get a read.
I shrugged, a little sheepish. No need to play at casual now. "He's sweet." I defended. "But I know he's good." Unspoken was that she had no need to convince or tell me. "And even if he wasn't – right now- he's a child." I let the sentiment show more on my face. There, see what she'd make of that.
Oddly enough, she looked amused. Her face looked a little...elfen to it at that. Good for her, I couldn't help but think; the children would just welcome that face, one of their own, only full grown. I could only imagine the sorts of games they got up to. Her poor, poor co-workers.
We shared that silence together.
It was brief.
Sobering, she continued, "the- Harry, is showing signs of trauma. Not-" At my alarmed look she hastened to reassure, " with the right amount of work, it can be combated. "
My trust withdrawing, she must have seen the disbelief in my face because her platitudes stopped. Thankfully. Frankly, she spoke, " he is showing signs of trauma from before the accident. It's nothing concrete - we don't know how far it goes. How bad or not, it could be. But rather," and here she got a peculiar look on her face, before becoming frustrated slightly, "Harry has an absence of certain behaviours, and is exhibiting several indicators -
which is not a lot, as I said before- but show something has been not well in his home life previous."
"But! He is still young, which makes it easier in some ways a-"
"- and more difficult in others," we both finished. She beamed, relieved.
I nodded. Okay. The little one had some issues to work through. We could do that. My eyes sliced a path from her shins to her face. Now...only to get that information. Eyes narrowing slightly, focusing in on her, I hawk-eyed her, raising my right brow. They're arched, I know the look works well. I needed information.
Seeing my look, and reading it correctly, she continued hurriedly, " I will detail all that I find in my full report for you - "
A good worker too this one, I was right. I smiled, warm and grateful. "Thank you. Could you highlight, take note of, -or tell me, any triggers or important potential things to watch out for or keep from doing?" Had to make sure I get all the trigger bits out of the way. Or learned how to find them, quick. Art would help that, but I wanted the little one to feel safe and cared for: not trapped or alone.
"Yes, he seems to ...like smaller spaces, the complete dark…" And like that, it went.
And like that, it went. We arranged another meetup, coffee, so that I could be filled in more and have any follow-up questions answered.
So – It went this way, yeah?
Harry had fallen asleep in the car on the ride back. He was very much awake now though, Namita thought, laughter tinging her thoughts. The boy was practically vibrating in his seats.
...He was actually vib- bouncing. A little. The cutie. I blinked a little bit too much and scoffed a laugh in my throat at the sight in my rear-view mirror. I then focused, like an adult, and parked my car.
"Harry," I called, soft and happy, "we are here now." I opened his side of the door, and took him out of the baby-seat. Holding him and then his hand once he was on the floor. He clutched my forefinger tightly. My other hand twisting, tight on a corner of his T-rex t-shirt. Which actually fit. I smiled at the little face peering up at me. 'Ye, this will be your home too.' I could not help but to give the silent admission sound, because; that look! Gods above me, give me strength.
Aw, clever boy. He was gauging my reaction, I felt with familiarising fondness. I wonder when he'll start pushing boundaries, like my patience. Hm. Unbuckling him from the booster seat, I picked him up and down, then held a mittened-hand. I walked us up to the door.
We passed the tomatoes, the flowers and little though he knew it - that anyone other than myself would know, for some time, a little herb garden. The brook bubbled softly, gurgled really, to dispense the energies and promote peacefulness.
I paused at the entry-way. I looked down at this little, sweet, curious (in spite of his background experiences so far, no doubt) ball of light and fluffy haired child, smiling. The scent of honeysuckle, lavender and wet grass permeating the air and crouched in front of him. I cradled, half holding his hands.
Harry looked curious despite himself, only somewhat meeting my eyes. Slowly, with my right hand, I raised my hand, I tipped his head up, gently, slowly, from his chin with my first two fingers, before replacing the hold. 'Eyes up, eye contact, Harry, with me,' I reminded softly. He met my eyes. Good boy, I thought. And then said, because, true there. That little face beamed.
"This is going to be your home. I hope that you like it Harry - " At his widened eyes, awestruck, and disbelieving still, oh sweetheart, we had a long way to go, I continued, intoning carefully and gently, but keeping eye contact so he'd know I was serious, I continued. "- If there is anything you would like to change, in your room especially, then let me know, okay, tot?" I finished a little happier - resisting the cheerfull default, trying to maintain a more serious tone, so that hopefully he would believe me: or believe me more quickly.
"Okay!" I chirped, leading him onwards. "Let's go in then."
Only, we got distracted. There was a visitor in our garden.
Harry still held my hand - right this time- as I unlocked the door, tardis blue, slightly behind me. I checked to make sure he was okay. I think he was holding his breath.
We walked in. A high-pitched gasp sounded behind me. Despite myself, my lip twitched on one side.
And it went in this way.
Years passed. Let me tell you how, for they really flew.
This chapter includes: preparing a home, picking a place (moving or not?) – which involves looking into primary schools, safe areas, with no/few pubs, with parks and parks with play areas possibly with a lake and trees to climb, with good shops, good food shops and things to do, decent people, and cool places – though, being London, it will have had that already; it also includes: making connections (either prior and/or just before), ground rules, complications (where trouble is possibly in the works. Keep a weather eye), helping me set up (before complications) and advice of a parent (social, ethics, CT, faith, family).
Trying a new format - gah.
Edit 4: 06 -07/12/17
Edit 5: -09/12/17
[1] Oh, this was a glorious time. Not that it wasn't difficult, it was, especially at first, at that. Even after that. But of a different sort, later. You're looking at this, perhaps with a frown creasing your skin, bisecting your brows: confused, befuddled, bemused - aren't you?
I can't help but laugh... But no, don't take that the wrong way - I laugh with you, understanding your perspective exactly from that. You see, children, they're not static - their characters are...more. So that's how things changed. I almost feel I could write a book on all the experiences we've had so far. Oh, honestly: you'll see.
[2] Listening to Goblin OST - Han Soo Ji- 'Winter is Coming' (this is part of the writing playlist for this story, it fits a lot well).
[3] That was a reference to reincarnation: just so you know.
[4] Hehe- oh, don't mind me…the resonance is just killing me. Do you know how many old souls there are, that forget? How many people actually are reborn with some facsimile, some caricaturised carcass of memories of an old life, the affect those impressions have on a younger mind..? You'll see: read on.
[5] Think of an amnesia victim who still has habits they follow, little mannerisms or a set same vocabulary, even without the memory. Or a similar fixation or fascination of subject once (re-) introduced to it.
[6] My …previous norm?
[==1]A Reminder: I want to write a story where people are challenged, but make good decisions – even though terrible things outside of their control, or sad things, happen. So they deal with it properly – so it's not withoutstruggle. But it's full of goodness. Honest. True.
