Chapter 2: More Research
It seemed as though any more research would turn my brain to mush but the fact that one of the only survivors of the fire that killed my parents was the same kid that had looked through my window as if he had just found out there was no Father Christmas was just a little creepy for some reason. I took time out of my incredibly busy schedule (drinking, smoking, and burning things was highly important to me) to drive to the library and use the computers. Karen and John didn't know anything about Muggle stuff but since I grew up in a Muggle orphanage, I knew a lot.
I reread pretty much all the stuff I had read the other day. I typed in 'Sirius Black' in the search engine and scrolled down the page until I found an article entitled 'Sirius Black- Youngest survivor of Queen's Diner fire'.
I read scanned through the small article some on had posted online from the Daily Prophet. It didn't tell me much except that he was seven years old, he lived in 12 Grimmauld Place and that he had ran away as soon as the fire had started.
Why did he run away? I thought. I would have gotten help or stood there, watching the fire destroy the building. Not run away. Then it would seem like I had done something.
Then, the craziest idea entered my mind: maybe this Sirius Black boy had started the fire. It was possible. He could have been a young wizard finding out he had magic powers, or a little boy playing innocently with fire and accidentally burning down a whole restaurant. Or it could have been that I was stupid for thinking that a seven year old boy had done it.
"Quick!" Abe hissed. "Mahoney!"
John grabbed the jar full of mice and stuck it in his coat. We scrambled for the door to our room but we were too late.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. We turned around to face her, innocent looks on our faces. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, peering angrily over her spectacles.
We had been trying to put mice inside the pots so when she opened them to cook dinner, they'd jump out at her. Mrs. Mahoney was scared to death of anything that had four legs.
"I was looking for a lighter. The candles in our room went out," Louis lied. Louis was the best at lying. Sometimes you could never tell if he was serious or not.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you aren't allowed to play with fire?" she demanded.
The boys and I realized, in horror and fascination that there was a small white mouse on top of Mrs. Mahoney's head, looking nervously around for somewhere to go hide. How did it get there?
"Why do you find this funny, boys?" Mahoney snapped.
"Because there is a mouse on your head!" Peter burst into laughter.
Mrs. Mahoney felt the top of her head and screeched, jumping nearly four feet into the air when the tiny mouse jumped off her head and landed on the counter.
All of us were howling with laughter as the mouse scampered away into a dark hiding place.
Mrs. Mahoney was furious. "All of you, in the living room now."
We stopped laughing immediately and walked into the living room. We knew what was coming. We stood with our hands held out in front of us.
Mrs. Mahoney came back with a measuring stick, glaring at us. "Seven times each with the measuring stick. The Lord says to respect your elders. Your behaviour today has not demonstrated such actions."
I was first. She whacked me hard on the hands seven times. I winced each time and when she moved on to John, who was whimpering, I looked at the red rectangular marks and massaged them.
When we were finished, we were sent to bed early with no supper.
"That was even better than putting them in the pots!" Peter whispered excitedly.
"Did you see the look on her face?" John sneered.
"Mahoney is stupid to think we'd be nice to her all the time," I remarked.
"We aren't nice," Rafael agreed. "We're mean boys."
"And one day, you'll be out in the real world and you'll realize that you aren't so mean after all. The world is a cruel place," Abe told us, lying on his back in his bed.
We were quiet after that. Abe was fifteen years old and smarter than all of us, even seventeen year old Louis, and no one ever argued with him because he always won.
"I'll show the world what mean really is," Rafael whispered to John and I when the lights were turned out.
We laughed into our pillows.
I snapped my fingers. A flame appeared between my middle finger and thumb. I watched it glow and flicker every time I blew at it. No matter what, it wouldn't extinguish unless my fingers stopped touching.
Over and over again, I snapped my fingers and then watch the flame disappear into thin air. I wondered if my parents were afraid of fire. I wondered what they would have felt when they saw the bright orange and yellow flames swallowing the building around. I imagined Jillian must have felt the same.