4: I want my Mummy!
Evey's first instinct was to go back inside the telephone booth, ride down into the Ministry Atrium, and hope that when she made the journey back up, she would no longer see this crummy, browbeaten version of London in front of her eyes.
Accidents do happen...didn't someone say the visitors' entrance can turn into a portkey if you're not careful?
The problem was, the phone still looked ancient. It was one of those candlestick telephones you could see at the museum. It made no sense for it to be there.
Accidents, okay, Evey? Accidents, she kept telling herself.
She picked up the receiver with unease and dialled '62442' manually, inserting her finger inside each of the little holes marking the numbers.
She waited, but there was no movement or sign that the floor was going to lower itself.
Then, a crisp female voice announced in her ear,
"We apologize. The Ministry has been closed until further notice. For emergencies, press the following sequence and make your query."
Evey couldn't believe it. It was only moments before that she had left the Ministry, and now it was closing shop.
"How bloody fortunate," she muttered.
She dialled the instructed sequence, hoping to hear an actual person on the other line and not just a disembodied voice.
"Ministry emergency line, how may I be of assistance?" a man's voice chimed in with false cheer. Evey was relieved there was someone breathing on the other end.
"Hi, hello...uh, I'm sorry to bother you, but I think the visitors' entrance is malfunctioning? I rode back up and found myself...in a different spot."
"You mean to say, Miss, that the telephone booth has been moved from its location?"
"I don't actually know, I mean it looks like it's in the same place, but it isn't really. The street is very different–"
"Are you bodily injured, Miss?"
"What? No, but –"
"Have your mental capacities been altered?"
"Well, I'd have no way of knowing that, would I?"
"And are you being escorted by a chaperone?"
Evey frowned. "Excuse me?"
"Do you have a companion with you? I hope you are not travelling alone."
Evey wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Not really the point right now."
"Shall I fetch you an escort? These are troubling times –"
"No! Look, can you help me? I've ended up in a completely different part of London – one I really am not familiar with."
"So you are still in London and are of healthy body and mind. And you do not require a chaperone. Well it pains me to say it, but this is not an emergency, Miss, and as this line is strictly reserved for serious cases..."
"Hang on! This is a very serious case. I'm stranded! And I'm not exaggerating, but this doesn't look like any normal part of London. Everything's so old –"
"Then you do require a chaperone," the male voice concluded triumphantly.
Evey pinched the bridge of her nose. "Forget it."
"Forget what?"
"Can you please tell me when the Ministry will be opening again?"
"We are not at liberty to say, but the Prophet will have weekly reports on the matter. We don't expect this to last for more than a month or two."
"A month or two?! But why?"
"Ah, you must know by now Grindelwald is preparing another attack."
Evey grumbled under her breath. This name again. What had happened in the course of twenty-four hours that suddenly everyone was talking about this new guy and not Voldemort?
"One last thing. Could you please tell me the date?" she asked, holding her breath.
"Oh, certainly, Miss. It's August the 1st, 1944."
Evey's hopes were dashed and spurned once more. "Right...1944."
"Now, if there is nothing else, I do really need to get back to actual emergencies..." he trailed off awkwardly.
Evey put the receiver back in its place and walked out of the booth with Mr. Potts under her arm.
The same shabby, dreary-looking street rolled out in front of her, a reminder that accidents do happen, but that this wasn't one of them.
Okay. Back in 1998, there was an old skyway between the two buildings. Now, if I turn the corner –
The skyway, looking considerably newer and with fewer missing stones, was still in the same place.
Shit! It's the same street, after all.
Evey almost wanted to duck when she saw a young couple walking in her direction. The man was sporting a funny-looking straw hat with a white band around it, a frayed grey militia jacket and shoes that seemed to come from her great aunt's tap-dancing days. The woman was wearing a patterned kerchief over her hair and a long brown coat. Her legs were bare and on her feet were the most ghastly-looking wooden sandals.
They walked fast, but not as if they were bound to arrive somewhere quickly. They both carried paper bags in their arms and seemed protective of their charge.
Evey could tell they were not and could never be 1998 folk. They would have been perfect stand-ins in a war drama, however.
Or maybe you're just buying into this gimmick. Maybe they're shooting a film.
The couple disappeared into an alley, but other scattered packs of people started walking down the street. One or two of them held a child by the hand. They all looked pretty grim and focused. Only one child smiled at her in passing. She realized later he was smiling at Mr. Potts.
Just then, she heard a raucous noise coming from behind. It sounded like the engine of a car. She stepped back on the pavement.
It was just like in the old films. The car had a tall roof and a curled up bonnet. The headlights looked like giant spectacles. The honk, too, was like a battle cry. Only snooty collectors would still own and drive such a thing nowadays.
Nowadays? Am I still in "nowadays"?
As she followed the car with its eyes, she noticed someone inside was throwing leaflets out the window. The people hurried to catch them, the children running and yelling to reach them first.
One wayward leaflet reached her too.
She bent down.
NEW FOOD RATIONS TO BE IMPLEMENTED BEFORE CHRISTMAS! LET YOUR FAMILY AND LOVED ONES KNOW! SUGAR AND BUTTER ARE NOW AVAILABLE IN NEGOTIABLE QUANTITIES!
Evey read on a bit further.
Thanks to our Government's tireless efforts, by December, 1944, we will be looking at an improvement in the Englishman's everyday meal...
It was no point denying it anymore, no matter how much her heart lurched in her chest. She wasn't on the set of any period movie. The Ministry employees weren't pulling her leg. This wasn't a very late or very early April 1st. This was happening. This was real.
This was 1944.
Evey sat by the side of the road for a good half hour, unable to get up and move beyond the telephone booth. She held Mr. Potts tightly in her arms, alternating between crying her eyes out and staring into space like a drug addict. Onlookers hurried past her with curious, but detached glances.
No one stopped to ask her what was wrong or to pat her on the back, because this was London in war time and everyone had their own tragedy or at least small misfortune to occupy their minds with. A young girl crying by the side of the road was no longer an impressionable sight.
Eventually, a policeman did come up to inquire on her state of being, but rather than exhibiting concern for her welfare, he was more interested in maintaining the peace. Evey was the disruption. She had to grudgingly walk away from the booth; her only connection to a familiar world.
She ambled along the road in a daze, not knowing where she was headed, not knowing where she'd stop. The tears were drying up on her cheeks. She wanted her Mum and Dad. She wanted to call them, wanted to hear their voice, wanted them to gather her in their strong arms.
She felt like one of those kids on their first day of school.
"I want my Mummy!" they'd shout at the top of their lungs, kicking and screaming at the teacher.
I want mine too! she moaned in sympathy.
Her Mum was the sensible one. She'd know what to do. And her Dad would be right behind her. They would get her out of this nightmare.
Except they haven't been born yet...minor inconvenience, she thought cynically.
And would they know what to do? Her parents were still Muggles. How would they even begin to deal with time paradoxes? She hadn't even disclosed to them the real reason behind the hearing. Some daughter she was.
Oh, God, what if I never see them again?
Evey ducked quickly into one of the alleys and heaved. Her stomach was rumbling. She bent down and emptied the contents of her breakfast on the dirty ground.
Can't think like that!
But what else was there to contemplate?
Parentless, friendless, time-less.
The only thing she still had was magic. Her wand was safely tucked in the pocket of her skirt. One solitary comfort.
At least I won't die of thirst. Aguamenti should keep me going for a couple of days.
There was also Mr. Potts, who was still firmly in her grasp.
Okay, think of other positive things...come on...
She leaned her forehead against the wet bricks.
Good thing I wore my skirt and blouse, after all. I won't stand out in the crowd too much. It's true I look a lot healthier than most people here and my skin looks brighter. But no one's going to notice or, I don't know, report me for it...Oh, my God, I am actually contemplating life in the 1940s.
There had to be a way out of this hell. She was not going to die here.
Who am I kidding? I'm going to die here.
"Thanks, um, here," Evey muttered, passing the waitress the pound notes from her purse. Her hands were shaking like mad and fresh tears kept springing to her eyes almost against her will.
The waitress, a corpulent but haggard looking woman who wore a sweeping skirt and a dirty apron around her bosom tutted in sympathy or disapproval; she couldn't tell.
"Father, brother or sweetheart, love?" she asked querulously.
"Sorry?"
"Who's the one they got shipped over the Channel?"
Evey at first did not comprehend the question, but looking around the dingy restaurant at the drawn faces of the other diners, especially the women dressed in all black, she realized what the waitress was getting at.
"Oh. Um. Brother," she answered bleakly.
"Knew it. You seem a tad green for a lover, don't you?" she said, nudging her chin at the teddy bear.
Evey held out her hand protectively over its belly.
The waitress chuckled. "No worries, love! No one's going to take your teddy! Not in here anyway. But I'd keep my eye out in the street...Everything's for sale these days."
Evey fingered the mushy and rather unappealing looking rectangle on her plate. It was something called a "bread pudding" and you could tell the bread was stale. This was supposed to be the most nourishing item on the menu. She'd heard about war inflation and its devastating effects. She had to add starvation to the long list of possible ways to die in the 1940s.
Still, she had managed to get herself off the street after an interminable period of wandering around like an orphan. Being inside four walls made her feel safer, if only a little.
Innumerable other problems crowded her already overwhelmed mind.
She was aware her Muggle money would run out pretty soon and forging some of it with magic was something she, unfortunately, had not learned to do.
Why doesn't Hogwarts teach us something like this? It would be more useful than transfiguring a rat into a cup! Well...it would probably be illegal too.
Inflation, again, was going to make her broke even quicker, since a measly meal here cost almost as much as that luxurious lunch she was planning for herself.
Then there was the issue of accommodations. Where in God's name would she sleep that night?
On a bench, in a park, under the stars?
How romantic.
What about her clothes? August was not going to stay relatively warm for long. She'd need something sturdier for the rainy days to come. And what happened when they got dirty beyond the point of wear?
Had she not better Avada Kedavra herself right now and save herself some pain?
Evey put her head on the table.
Why me? What did I do? Oh, right. I apparently colluded with the Dark Lord.
Somewhere between despair and starvation she'd have to start thinking about what had happened.
How she had gotten there. In 19-bloody-44.
For now, she closed her eyes and let one more tear fall into her bread pudding.
After ingesting some stale bread and margarine and drinking some weak coffee that actually tasted like mud, she was ready to analyze her situation with a bit more cold blood.
First, there was the issue of the hearing. It hadn't slipped her notice that her current misfortune had occurred on the exact day of that terrible event. After all, Voldemort had begun ruining her life since the night of the Battle. Why not go one step further and ruin it completely? Someone like him couldn't just die without others suffering the consequences.
Second, Mr. Potts was somehow not a burnt effigy, but a faithful relic of her childhood, sitting right there in her lap. How and why the bear had been found in that corridor was something she could not wrap her head around. Obviously, someone must have left it there. The toy couldn't just apparate on its own.
There were two possibilities; either a freak had replicated her childhood teddy bear to almost microscopic detail, or an even bigger freak had gone into her burning house and rescued it for her.
Why give it to me now? And what does it have to do with, she held her breath, time-travelling?
Her eyes fell over the teddy's proud little head. She touched the synthetic fur with a sense of foreboding. What did innocent Mr. Potts hide behind its plush exterior?
And then, she noticed a red spot under its left ear.
Evey picked it up and pulled back the ear.
She sniffed at the dark red strands. They were caked in blood.
Blood...my blood.
She touched the back of her head, where the wound was still sore. She was willing to bet that the jerk who'd hit her over the head had also had something to do with this. In fact, he or she could have arranged this entire fiasco -
"Think you're funny, do you, Miss?"
Evey looked up startled. The waitress was back at her table and by the looks of her face, she was fuming.
"Sorry?"
Several pound notes were dropped on the table with disgust.
"Those French bastards tried to give me fake notes too and you know what I did? I threw them out on the kerb, I did!"
Evey was about to push back the notes, ready to swear they were real, when she realized – no, they weren't. They all had Queen Elizabeth's face on them. Queen Elizabeth...who was still barely out of childhood at this point.
"Fuck," she blurted out unseemly.
The scandalized waitress and the diners at the nearby tables all stopped to stare. It was probably not very ladylike of someone her age to utter such an expletive.
"You've got a sailor's mouth on you, Miss. Don't be starting any trouble now. All I need from you is a fair pay."
Evey wished the earth could swallow her up. Never in her life had she been placed in such an awful position. She didn't suppose magic could get her out of this fix. Casting Obliviate on an entire restaurant seemed...impractical.
"Look, the money is...authentic and it's probably worth something if you pawn it."
If you pawn it?! Nice going, Eve.
"You want me to do -what? I'm an honest woman, Miss!"
"No, I didn't mean it like that! It's just that um, they're a new kind of print and..." she trailed off in a fit of panic, "...and my brother gave them to me before he left for the war!"
She put her hands over her face and half-pretended to cry in her fists.
Mercifully, she only got thrown out on the street, and not arrested. Her sob story must have earned the waitress' disgusted pity, if not her real compassion.
Evey had been stuck in 1944 for exactly four hours, judging from her wrist watch, and already she had committed a crime.
She was reaching the lowest point of the day, the moment when she'd finally collapse by the side of the road and start screaming, "I want to go home!"
The only money she had left was the galleons. And the only place in London she knew that accepted them was the Leaky Cauldron.
At least she would be spared the life of a vagrant for one night or two, at best. Eventually, that money would disappear too. And then, well, she'd just have to drink some rat poison. Or enlist herself as a nurse in the army. She was pretty sure they needed all the extra help they could get, even if at this point, the war was nearly over.
You had to end up in 1944. Not 1945, when the war would've been over, and not earlier, when you could've done something with it. No. It's just dull, horrible 1944.
Normally, returning to the magical world would have comforted her immensely, but since the Ministry was closed and no one there had managed to help her anyway, she doubted any kind soul at the Leaky Cauldron could provide indefinite shelter or some way to send her back – no, forward in time.
They might believe her story, but a teddy bear? It sounded farfetched, even for the wizarding community. It sounded bloody impossible.
Evey knew what Dem would say right about now.
"You're being so negative that you are actually attracting more trouble your way. You've got to learn to take things as they come. Stop putting up a fight."
But hey, her friend was not currently experiencing the worst torture ever concocted by fate, so excuse me, Demelza, if I want to kick 1944 in the face!
She hadn't realized she'd said that out loud.
The passers-by ogled at her in an unflattering manner, but she sneered and opened the creaky door to the Leaky Cauldron and stepped inside.
Evey blinked. And exhaled.
Not a lot had changed, or was going to change about the Leaky Cauldron in the following years. It still looked like the cosy basement of some senile carpenter who liked to over-decorate; the same dank atmosphere, the same smell of cabbage, the same clusters of moving pictures, the same confusing display of chairs on the ceiling, the same great big hearth, the same wooden stairways leading up to the rooms –
"Welcome, dearie," an elder man addressed her cheerily, giving a small bow. "Would you like something to eat or drink or are you here for a room?"
"Um, both actually."
"Splendid! My name is Tom. Now, how about you come sit with me at the bar, eh?"
Evey was startled by so much kindness after a pretty dismal and traumatizing morning. She didn't realize how forlorn and bedraggled she looked until she excused herself and visited the loo.
"Good God!"
In the span of hours, her cheeks and eyes had sunken in, her hair had become matted to the roots and her skin had borrowed a very strange sallow shine that made her look like a particularly anxious consumption patient. No wonder the inn keeper had been so fatherly.
She splashed some water on her face and rinsed her mouth, but what she really needed was a full meal and a good night's sleep. She hadn't been sleeping well all week what with the stress of the hearing and it showed. But she couldn't begin to think of resting until she figured out what she was going to do in the following days. It may be that after tonight, she'd wake up back in 1998. It may be that she'd be stuck here...indefinitely.
"Stop it!" she shouted at the reflection in the mirror. "You're not thinking straight! You're getting out of here, even if you have to kill someone!"
She hadn't noticed the little girl behind her coming out of a bathroom stall.
"Oh, er, hello there...how are you?"
"What do you mean you're going to kill someone?"
"No! I didn't really mean I'd kill someone. Not physically. It's a saying."
The little girl chewed on her lip pensively.
"Are you fighting in the war?"
"No?"
"Then you're not allowed to kill anyone. My Daddy said so."
"But you're allowed to if you're a soldier?"
"Of course," the little girl replied promptly. "And you must do it swiftly, but with respect. Daddy said that too."
Evey raised an eyebrow. "Well, at least there's respect involved."
"Yes. He said he'd shoot a man through his eye but make his grave afterwards. I hope he gets to do that."
Oookay...40s kids creep me out, officially.
"But isn't your dad a wizard? Why would he need to fight in the war?"
The little girl looked mortally offended.
"Daddy says it's cowardly to stand by and watch the Muggles die! Daddy is right!"
"Okay, okay! Sorry I asked."
"You should fight in the war too!" she suddenly exclaimed.
"Well, I'm a girl and so are you so the most action we'd get is stitching up a wound or putting back a dislocated shoulder."
"Then go do that!" the little girl harrumphed and exited the bathroom in a frenzy.
For the first time that awful day, Evey threw her head back and laughed.
"Just write your name in the notebook, sign, tap your wand here and the room is yours!"
Evey couldn't quite believe she'd get to sleep in a bed that night. The situation was still pretty dire – the galleons only lasted her for three nights and one meal – but it could have been worse. Much worse.
She wrote down "Evelyn" on the dotted line, signed and tapped her wand.
"Ah, I understand why you would not want to write your full name. Dark times, these are. With Grindelwald on the loose again, you're never too safe," the inn keeper, Tom, spoke over her shoulder.
Evey blushed. "I'm sorry – I didn't think it mattered."
"Oh, no, dear, I wouldn't want to impose on your privacy. Here you go," he said, handing her the key.
"Now, does your little friend there also require a room?" he winked cheekily.
Evey looked down at Mr. Potts, whose head was peeking out of her bag.
"After all the trouble he got me in, I think not."
"Enjoy your stay," he offered jovially.
As Evey climbed up the stairs, however, his smile vanished, replaced instead with a frown of concern. These days, more and more anonymous witches and wizards were showing up at the Leaky Cauldron.
When he darted into his office for a quick drink, he found Madora, his assistant-accountant-help (and many other jobs for which she complained she was not paid enough) looking over his books.
"Let me guess," she muttered without looking up. "Another nameless vagabond."
"This one has money, Maddie."
"Yes, yes, they all do, one way or another. But what happens when the Ministry runs us down for protocol, eh? They've been threatening to do inspections. And they have all the incentive they need, now with Grindelwald. We must have full names, real identities."
"Oh, Maddie, the Ministry's closed now, they won't bother us –"
"Really? Or perhaps that's only a ruse so they can catch us off-guard. They'd look for spies and conspirators even under our sink, if they could manage! I wouldn't want our inn to be taken for that kind of place."
"What nonsense! She's just an innocent young girl. She even had a teddy with her."
"Find out her real name and write it down in the books. I've had enough of our lax policy."
Back with another chapter in time for Christmas! Thoughts? Criticism? Please let me know. I hope you don't mind that I kind of delve into this past world and add a bit more detail.
Many thanks to Estelle Lumene, Wise Ocean, Esen (thanks a lot, I'm so glad you like Evey! Also, this chapter should give you an idea how she's settling in, so far), SweetCheeks94, Servolos, Guest (thanks so much!)
Sidenote: The inn keeper is named Tom, like the inn keeper from the present time. I like to think there's a whole legacy of Toms, from father to son, who run the inn, just to piss off Tom Riddle even more.
Happy Christmas!