THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER

In which Adele finds something about her parents.

From the mirror a girl she knew to be herself was staring back at her. Long and messy dark-chocolate hair hung down her shoulders, a straight nose, pencilled eyebrows and slightly downturned eyes. Grandmother used to say that her eyes were the only thing that made her proud of her. They were the eyes of the Wise and Noble Grey Family, which, as luck would have it, were of an unmistakably deep grey shade.

Adele had been worried about spending the entire summer with her father. She had never spent so much time with him before. In fact, she had never spent any time alone with him at all since she could remember: Grandmother or Poppy the house elf were always there during his rare visits at Grey Manor.

He still lived in the small end-terrace house at number 9 of Woodgrove Close, where Adele was born. The once pristine white plaster was coming down and turning grey while the roof was already half green with moss and a rust drainpipe was hanging loose on one side. Woodgrove Close ended just in front of a thick forest where the kids of the neighbourhood often liked to dear each other to play hide and seek, despite their mothers' explicit prohibitions. The left side wall of n° 9 was completely covered by climbing plants creeping up from the forest ground. It was almost like the vegetation was trying to swallow the entire house. A large tendril crossing the front side of the house, just between the door and the first floor windows, resembled a long leafy finger stretching out from a hand trying to slowly tighten his grasp. For unknown reasons the row of houses on the other side of the street was shorter so that there was no house in front of n° 9, just an empty lot covered in wild grass and a streetlamp that hasn't worked in years and nobody ever minded to repair, so during night hours Mr. Grey's residence was almost invisible. All in all, it wasn't surprising that the inhabitants of Woodgrove Close often tended to forget the existence of n° 9 and his weird and sullen occupant who was almost never to be seen leaving the house. The only thing denoting someone was still living there were the old lace curtains hanging miserably on the windows.

It had been a month since her first arrival there. Most of the other students had left with their parents soon after the train arrival and within the hour she had been the only one left at platform 9 ¾. Sitting on her trunk she read for hours, raising her eyes from the pages every now and then to watch alternatively to the brick-wall that served as an entrance and to the big wrought-iron clock hanging from the ceilings. Long after sunset, when hunger was starting to get unbearable, she finally realized he wasn't going to show up and decided to take the Knight Bus.

She had found him asleep on the sofa, snoring loudly, with a bottle of firewhiskey knocked over at his feet in a stinking puddle.

Pathetic.

Adele opened the water in the sink and started splashing her overheated face. The cool charm her father casted that morning had long faded away and even after sunset the anomalous high temperatures didn't seem to relent.

She had soon found out that living with his drunken and disturbing parent wasn't necessarily as bad as she had initially thought. He was a sullen, quite man, not the chatty type at all and most of the time he seemed to simply ignore her presence. Occasionally he would grunt some thanks for cooking or house-tiding or to inform her he was going out.

That meant Adele was completely free to do whatever she wanted, which was a huge change after years spent with that gaoler of her grandmother. No more etiquette lessons, boring family history lectures and never ending posing sessions with the painter or the tailor for the new set of mantles rigorously embroidered with the coat of arms of House Grey. She could finally stay out lying on the grass with a book of her choice, eating sandwiches and drinking pumpkin juice with a straw like every other normal girl.

Grandmother had died at the end of April, Manor Grey was left to some niece and Adele was sent to live with her father.

The family manor was a dour, gloomy gothic-style great house and Adele didn't miss at all the oppressive atmosphere that reigned there. The only thing she was actually missing was Poppy, her grandmother's house elf. For many years Poppy has been her only companion and, in a strange way - since their respective roles as master and servant had never been put in discussion - the closest thing to a friend she had ever had before going to Hogwarts.

Adele had spent hours observing the little elf while she tended at all her daily tasks and that's how she managed to learn how to cook, sew, wash her clothes and clean the house. Hadn't acquired these skills, she would be lost right now, since her father's house was no mansion and there was no house elf to tend to her. Grandmother would be utterly outraged if she knew her granddaughter was forced to lower herself into washing her own clothes without even the use of magic.

After brushing her teeth she went to the bedroom to change for the night. On one corner stood the old and dusty cradle where she probably slept during her first short period of time in that house. Beside that, the furniture consisted of no more than a single bed, a nightstand, a tiny chest of drawers and a wicker rocking chair buried under a pile of clothes. All her belongings lay randomly inside and around her open trunk beside the bed remarking the fact that she was there only by chance and for a short amount of time: in less than a month she would be back at Hogwarts, her real home with her real family.

Since there was no writing desk, Adele sat down on her bed with ink, quill and parchment to write a letter to Caleb. Since her first year at Hogwarts, Caleb has become her closest friend and they were both making a point to write each other at least once a week every holyday. They never told or promised each other to do so; it was a mute agreement that started by chance and, as time goes by, grew into a habit.

By the time she finished writing, it was almost midnight and sleepiness was about to overcome her. She was hoping to have the chance to see her father before going to sleep and ask him for some money to send the letter and buy some groceries in the morning but he still hadn't come back from his night out.

He usually slept till noon and she didn't want to knock at his door in the morning to wake him up but there was nothing for breakfast either and she had hoped she could eat something in that coffee house downtown. She knew he kept at least some money in his bedroom but never dared to go there. Truth is, she was a little curious to see the only room of the house she wasn't allow to go to.

"If he cares so much for his privacy" she said to herself, "he should at least make sure his daughter isn't starving."

Jumping out of bed, Adele headed with resolution towards the door. The house was dark and silent. She started walking toward the closed door at the end of the corridor, the wood floor creaking under her bare feet at every step. She stopped in front of the bedroom's door and couldn't help but looking behind her shoulders cocking an ear to make sure the house was still empty. Then, with endless caution, she slowly pushed the door open.

The room was cold and fuggy, with a distinctive hint of old alcohol in the air. The furniture was grim and minimal, no knick-knacks on the shelf, no pictures on the wall, just an old lamp and a glass of water on the night stand.

It didn't take long for Adele to find a jar filled with galleons and sickels in the lowest drawer of the large mohagany bureau, next to some old night dresses.

She laid it on the ground, sitting leg crossed in front of it, and started counting the gold and silver coins. When she had what she thought was enough for at least a three day shopping, she closed the jar again and was about to put it back in place when her eyes got caught by something moving in the narrow space between the bureau's leg and the wall.

A painting frame was laying there, covered with a ragged filthy cloth, which had fallen a bit on the up-left corner revealing a single dark brown eye that was unmistakably watching at her. Her heart skipped a beat and for a moment everything around her vanished, everything but that piercing eye staring at her.

Suddenly the old pendulum clock in the corridor began to solemnly chime to signal midnight.

Adele swallowed loudly and leaned on all fours towards the painting, grabbed it and pulled it out causing the ragged cloth to fall down on the floor.

The canvas was ripped by a slash-cut running deeply from bottom-left to up-right and splitting in half the visage of the woman portrayed. Adele flattened the two curled canvas edges with her hands and pulled them back together.

The woman was still staring back at her with a mocking expression. Her chestnut hair was of a shade lighter than Adele's and her face was thinner and sharper. Her French nose and mischievous half smile gave her an arrogant look, and the impression she was hiding some secret she didn't thought you worthy enough to share with.

Adele was sure who she was even if she had never saw her before.

Grandmother never wanted to talk about her mother and forbade Poppy to do it either so she really had no information at all. The only thing she knew was that she left her father when Adele was just an infant and ran away taking with her the fortune Father inherited from his own father leaving him flat broke and disgraced. Apparently Grandmother didn't approve their marriage from the beginning and never forgave him for losing the family's ring and blazon and kept holding this story against him every time he came to Grey Manor to ask for some money.

Adele was looking at her mother's effigy trying to find something to say when her eyes suddenly shifted somewhere behind Adele's shoulders and she announced, amused, "The little thieve has been caught with her hand in the cookie jar".

Adele turned to watch at the door where her father was looking down at her with the most surprised look, holding himself on the jamb, apparently too drunk to stand straight. The room filled with the sharp laugh coming out from the portrait and Adele watched as her father's eyes turned from confused astonishment to uncontrollable fury within seconds.

"You…" his voice was mounting with rage but Adele wasn't exactly sure whether he was talking to her or to the woman in the painting.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong -" she tried.

"SHUT UP! DON'T TAKE ME FOR A FOOL!"

Looking deranged and out of control, he drew his wand out. The blast was brutal. The ripped canvas went crashing to the wall while Adele felt her head hit the wood floor. Another hiss cut the air and a sharp jolt hit her on the hip. Instinctively she raised her arms to cover herself waiting for the third blow but nothing happened. When she opened her eyes they were filled with tears so it took her some moments to realize that she was covered with galleons, sickels and glass fragments of the jar that broke after the swipe.

Her cheek was pulsing violently and half of her face was burning like it caught fire. Her father was still there, motionless like a statue, his arm still raised, holding the wand in his hand. Adele didn't wait a second more than necessary. She got up on her feet and run through the door, past him, faster as she could, with her mother's cruel laugh still ringing in her ears.