Title: Shine of a Ruby
Disclaimer: This story is based on the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling, who is not the same as Sparks, i.e. me
Author: Sparks (the-sparky-scribblings)
Rating: PG-13/Fiction T
Summary: Life is never easy. Especially when your little brother defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in history. And you're also dealing with growing up, singlehandedly raising said younger brother, and trying to keep track of your love life which may or may not exist.
A/N: I have now deleted The Temporary Roommate. That story gave me a lot of trouble. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience.
This chapter is quite late because I've been having writer's block here, but I can guarantee you a very fast update when I reach chapter twenty-something or something-teen, because that chapter was my writer's block therapeutic exercise.
And when I started developing it again, I only had a week to go for my birthday on the 8th of this month. Happy birthday to me :)
Oh, and I did my homework. Emoticons did exist in 1987.
Anyways, to make up for the wait, I have given a lot of important plot stuff in an (compared to other fics) average-sized chapter.
Harry was really lucky, in his sister's opinion. At least he could sleep through the din of the loud dinner party Vernon and Petunia were throwing in the living room of Number 4, Privet Drive. She'd managed to escape her role as bartender exactly three minutes before, when she'd not been able to dodge one of Vernon's pervy paedophilic friends' hands on her body (the man's wife was in the room for heaven's sake, not to mention that she had high standards when it came to one-night stands) and was now pacing the room in a lightweight dressing-gown, stripped right down to her underclothes, in hope that the sleep that had evaded her would return if she walked enough.
Ten minutes passed in this fashion. Then twenty. She finally gave up her desperate search for somnolence at four a.m, when the dinner party finally ended. A pad of paper and a pen lay on her desk, which she'd placed there with the purpose of writing to her godfather, one of the last links to her old, pre-orphaned life, for the first time in seven years.
She propped up pillows around Harry's head to let his sleep be undisturbed, turned the small table lamp on and began to write:
Dear Sirius,
.
.
.
.
.
I don't know what to say, really. Or write. Or whatever. What can you say/write to a person you haven't seen in seven years? Not that I blame you, of course. I just wish you and Dad had listened to me all those years ago.
I suppose I should just start with a recount of what has happened all these years. I'm of age now, by the way. Must be hard to believe for you. Harry, little infant "Pa-foo play!" Harry is seven, has inherited the same crappy eyesight from me and Dad, and looks like a carbon copy of Dad. I myself find that hard to believe. I said (or wrote) that I'd give a recount of my life (and Harry's) but knowing me, I'll probably give a disorganized rant of a novel. Good luck deciphering the rest of my letter :-)
(That is called an emoticon. It's shorthand for smiley face)
I'm writing this at four a.m. My handwriting will be horrible. I just bartendered for some stupid party continuously for seven bloody hours and I am absolutely fucking tired.
But not sleepy. And since I'm now legally allowed to post letters to you in Azkaban, I will exploit this privilege.
Oh, and if you're wondering, the Dursleys' liquor cabinet is absolutely terrible. No rum at all.
Harry's good, just overly skinny because my bitch of an aunt refuses to feed him any food apart from her elephantine (no, let's not insult elephants) son's leftovers. I eat half of Harry's meal size during summer so Harry can have a little extra food off my plate in his tummy.
He's not having a good time at school. Dudley and co. are bullying the other kids into tormenting him. I've offered to help, but he always refuses. He thinks that if I step in, I'll scare the kids and he doesn't want to be a second Dudley who scares people into being friends with him. I feel horrible and inadequate. I'm supposed to take care of him, but the moment I try to tell him anything about magic, Dumbledore's Tongue-Tying curse takes action. I hope it's been attached to my Trace, so I don't have to keep shut anymore. I'm planning to take Harry and do a runner this week. My friend's mum offered to take him in while I'm at school this year so at least he's covered. I'm going to get myself a flat in London, but for a stopgap (and I will need one, 'cause the city's quite crowded), I'll stay at the Leaky Cauldron or a council flat. I do feel horrible, talking about flats and runners and bloody liquor cabinets when you're stuck in that awful place… eighteen-year-olds can sue, can't they?
I'll write more later, promise.
Love,
Your favourite and only goddaughter,
Ruby
The sun was shining brightly by the time Ruby sent the letter. Harry was already downstairs, probably getting ready to make breakfast. She stumbled downstairs and made herself an espresso on autopilot. Harry greeted her from across the kitchen, already cracking eggs into a large bowl with a loaf of bread at the ready.
"Gimme that," she said, grabbing the bowl and scowling. She'd always expressly forbidden Harry from cooking anything during the two months she was home from Hogwarts, or as Aunt Petunia called it, St. Anne's Academy for Girls of Profligate Nature.
Harry shrugged. "You'll mess it up and dear Dudders'll throw a hissy fit."
"Isn't that the bloody point?"
"Um, you used a bad word."
"What, 'bloody'?" she asked, drawing air quotes around the word.
"My teacher put me in quiet time for four hours because Dudley used the word and said I taught it to him…"
"Well, she's a bitch then. And tell ya what, you won't have to go to that shit school anymore. I'm thinking of doing a runner, just you an—" "WHAT! You can't do that! You can't drive! You're only eighteen!"
"Gee, Harry, who said anything about driving? You and me, we're gonna fly. Just swoop out of here, that'll show 'em," she grinned down at the dumbstruck seven-year-old, ruffling his already messy hair. "Fly," he muttered to himself, dazed. "Fly."
She didn't have too many chores that day, since Uncle Vernon — in a surprisingly generous mood probably brought about by her lack of cooking skills — brought a cartload of Chinese takeaway for lunch. The entire day was spent in packing and avoiding Harry's questions. "Wait and watch, kid," she'd reply enigmatically, eyes glittering, smirking widely.
Eight o'clock finally arrived. Time for stage one of her prison break plan.
She'd stuffed her trunk, Harry's clothes, three water bottles and whatever dry food she could pilfer from Aunt Petunia's pantry into a small charmed knapsack, leaving only her broom, the Invisibility Cloak and a map of London and Surrey out of the pack so she could navigate.
"Where's the dinner, girl? My Dudsickle is hungry!" floated Aunt Petunia's voice up to their little room. Little did the woman know, there would be no dinner that night, or ever again, from her niece and nephew. Ruby beckoned to Harry, who sat quietly on the bare bed, and they made their way downstairs. Time for a showdown.
Ruby slipped into the kitchen and stole a knife. The blade would, if they were lucky, remain tucked in her jacket pocket and not need to be withdrawn. Satisfied, she grabbed the bag and strode into the living room
Harry, meanwhile, was doing some sneaking of his own. He knew how much his aunt loved cleanliness and order to the point of being anal, and he began his little prank by swapping the labels on all the bottles of spices on Petunia's spice rack. Next, he doused half of Dudley's junk food in vinegar, and filled the rest of the vinegar in a jug of water. His final trick: smearing mud and food all over to make a frowny tongue-stuck-out face on the counter. He grinned at his handiwork, only wishing he'd be there to see Aunt Petunia's face when she saw the mess.
Ruby stuck her head into the kitchen and her jaw dropped. "Brilliant. Bloody brilliant," she said, staring at the mess which seemingly immobilized her. "Come on, kid. It's time to scoot."
Harry jumped up and followed his sister into the living room. He, too, was eagerly anticipating this moment.
"There you are, girl," snapped Aunt Petunia. She gestured to her son, yelling at the table. "Where is the dinner? My poor Dudderpops is starving."
"No dinner from me today, Petunia, or should I say never?"
"WHAT!" Aunt Petunia started to shriek some unintelligible nonsense when she saw her niece's wand pointed at her, broomstick in hand. Vernon wandered into the room, slightly tipsy, drawn by his wife's screams. His face turned puce when he saw what his niece was holding. "I thought I told you, freak, that I will not tolerate any of this freakish nonsense under our roof! Scaring your poor aunt and cousin like that with your freakishness, after all we've done for you and your brat of a brother, is this your twisted form of gratitude, bitch?"
With this, he lunged for Harry's ankles, but Ruby was quicker. She grabbed the nearest object she could find and brought it down hard on her uncle's forearm, and the howl of pain and crack was enough evidence that his arm was broken.
She grabbed Harry, mounted her broomstick, and shot off to London without a second thought.
Three days after settling down in the Leaky Cauldron room, Ruby decided her second plan was due to be executed. That day, there was a full Wizengamot hearing to prove the innocence of Sirius Black.
The Prophet reporters went wild, snapping photographs and asking constant questions to Ruby, Harry, and a fatigued Sirius after he was set free and his criminal record erased.
"You stink something dreadful," Ruby said to her godfather, wrinkling her nose. "Yeah, s'pose I should be glad, being pureblood, 'cause it means I can't get Muggle contagious diseases like typhoid and cholera."
As soon as they reached the Leaky Cauldron, Ruby had her work cut out shooing away more reporters while Harry discreetly led Sirius up to their room and into the bath.
Sirius emerged four hours later, still looking pale and sunken, but sparkling clean and smelling of soap.
"I've brought dinner," Ruby said, "Tuck in."
Sirius' eating speed started at scarfing down everything put on his plate and slowed to savouring his dessert. "Mmm, I'd almost forgotten what a good cheesecake could do to a person," he sighed, finally abandoning his dinner and reclining in his chair.
"So, Harry, tell me more about yourself. Last time I saw you, kid, you'd fit in your mum's handbag and got me and your dad in trouble, 'cause you'd always parrot our swear words."
Harry smiled shyly, and slowly began to open up to him.
A/N: Bad ending, I know. Not my style at all. But, I wrote the second half in half an hour (I counted) and it's pretty late at night here. Off to bed with Sparks now, and tomorrow's my birthday!