Song rec: "Fish" by Wye Oak
Content warnings for the story: Suicide (referenced); child abuse
July, 1992
A grand church with a tall tower and impressive stained-glass windows stood aside the girls, now eleven. It was their last summer before going to Hogwarts, and they were both excited at the prospect of getting out of the house. To their left was a graveyard predating even the oldest members of Wizardkind. A few Muggles milled about the other side of the building with cameras out. Flora looked round with great suspicion considering that most of their present company was deceased and six feet under tidy beds of flowers. Their family never did end up taking them to go up the tower, so Flora talked Hestia into going by themselves one morning. She led Hestia along the graveyard path with a tight grip on her elbow.
Hestia found the antiquated carvings of skulls and bones upon the headstones extremely cool. Then she looked below her own feet by chance and startled. It appeared she had stepped on a broken gravestone, intermingled with the path's normal slabs. Was this a Muggle custom?
"If you stand on one of these headstones in the path and spin around three times, a ghost'll grab you," Flora whispered with a grin.
"Nuh-uh," said Hestia.
"Try it then," Flora dared.
"You first."
"Fine. Back up."
Flora picked a long headstone, stepped upon it, and started twirling.
"One… two… three!"
Nothing happened.
"All right, all right, now me!" Hestia said with a stroke of newfound bravery.
She picked another headstone cemented in the path and spun atop it.
"One… two… three!"
On the count of three, a very sharp chill ran down her back, and she jumped up with a shriek. She ran sideways round the church and tumbled in the patch of churchyard grass, staining her robes and catching the eyes of many Muggles. She didn't care.
"Did one getcha?" Flora exclaimed. "That's not fair!"
"I — well, I wouldn't say it was a good thing!" Hestia laughed. "You see enough ghosts at the house. Maybe they thought I needed attention!"
"Ha-ha," Flora said sarcastically.
The church's door was open for a motley mix of worshippers and tourists, and when Hestia peeked in to see the stained glass, she could see that just as many images dealt with nautical scenes as they did saints.
"Are we really allowed in there…?" Hestia whispered to her twin.
"Other people are going up the tower to see the top. Why can't we?"
"Well, we're…" Hestia stalled and cupped her hand over Flora's ear, "witches."
"That's nothing to be ashamed of," Flora said haughtily. "We just have to keep quiet about it 'cause they're jealous."
Still, it was busy at the church on this warm summer's day. Everybody wanted pictures of the stained glass and a view of the ocean from the tower. Hestia and Flora decided to wait until a few of the larger groups of tourists left. They crept amongst the graves, which had been battered over time with oceanic air. Some were completely nameless, covered in lichen and weathered away. But the church kept the graveyard tidy and full of perennial flowers. The girls stepped inside the church once the largest crowds dispersed and admired the stained-glass windows. The largest one at the head of the church had a picture of a man being killed.
"Is that what Muggles did to us?" Hestia whispered quieter than ever.
"No, that's a live crucifixion. We were burned alive," Flora whispered back.
"What's the difference?"
"One you suffocate from the strain on your body, and the other you die from being burned," Flora said impatiently.
She read a lot more books than Hestia, usually the kind of books that dealt with dark subject matter. Hestia preferred to read guides to medicinal herbs and gardening books. She didn't own many; she just treated bookshops like they were libraries.
They passed images of Muggles in bright, colourful robes, and another window with striking blue imagery of lighthouses.
"These are beautiful," Hestia remarked, and Flora nodded.
As they made their way around the church, they found a large, black placard written in old lettering. It was a different sort of headstone, one that was in the wall. Maybe the family had been cremated. Maybe this was just a sign. It was hard to tell with Muggles. Hestia's eyes fell to a footnote beneath it. It memorialised the children of a John and Phebe Ditchell:-
Sarah Ditchell Ditchell, who died Octr. 5th. 1771 Aged 1 Year 4 Months.
John, who died May 11th. 1773, Aged 4 Days.
John, who died July 5th. 1774, Aged 6 Weeks.
Sarah, who died Octr. 24th. 1779, Aged 1 Month.
And five Children who alſo died Infants.
"Flora, look," Hestia said, pointing at the sign with discomfort. "These are all babies?"
It was a grim pain to think that the parents had started reusing the names. Five of the nine babies didn't even get names in the first place. Hestia's face twisted into a deep frown. Flora started toward the tower.
"Flora, wait. I don't get it. Why would they all die?" Hestia questioned, thinking, perhaps, more along the lines of a murder mystery than health issues.
"Oh, don't be stupid, Hestia. Anyone can die at any time," Flora said.
Hestia's knowledge of death came from two sources: their mother had died giving birth to them, and old people would die when they got too old.
Anyone can die at any time?
"Even us?" Hestia asked, because she felt perfectly fine.
"Even us," Flora responded. "Let's go up the tower already, okay?"
Flora's just being dramatic, Hestia thought, and she was on to something, because Flora often trended towards the melancholy and macabre. Although Hestia wasn't all sunshine and rainbows herself, she often wished that Flora were more of a conversation partner.
The bell tower was tight and dark, with thin windows on the ascent. The steps were steep and tiring, but the girls stopped and looked out the windows frequently, prolonging their journey.
"You can see the sea now," Flora pointed out once they were high enough. Hestia took her turn putting her nose against the thin window. Grey and orange rooftops stood out against the blue background of the ocean.
They reached the landing of the belfry, which had eight long ropes hanging down to ring the bells. Hestia was sorely tempted to ring one and walked over…
Flora grabbed her shoulder harshly.
"Those ropes are tied like nooses," she said abruptly. "Don't touch them."
"Nooses?" Hestia gasped. "Flora, c'mon, those are just looped so you can hold the rope when you're ringing!"
"Well, you're not allowed to ring anyway unless you work here. Come on, let's go up."
Hestia trudged along behind her sister. Her legs were tired already, but it felt like they were less than halfway up. It didn't look nearly as tall as it felt. After the belfry, the steps got even steeper — dangerously steep.
They reached the top ages later and felt the relief of the wind on their faces. The view was worth the effort. An entire landscape of brown buildings with white window frames stood below them. Colourful, triangular flags mimicking nautical codes were draped in lines across the streets. The hills were dark in the distance, but the huge panorama of the sea was bright blue. Practically all of the promenade and the pier were visible. Hestia and Flora peeked between the fleur designs around the ramparts.
"Feels like we're on top of the world!" Hestia exclaimed, breathless.
"Look how small the Muggles are," Flora peeked. "Even their autos are small."
"And look, the graveyard we were in! It's just a little square!" Hestia pointed out.
This was about as high up as she could get without a broom and as far away as she could be from the cold, lonely ground. But seeing the tiny graves made her think back to her conversation with Flora. This could all be over, randomly. It was the first time Hestia realised life was so fragile. Flora spent her days with a crease pinched between her eyebrows and tautly-pulled lips. But Hestia decided to make the most of everything, even though she didn't exactly like her life.
When the girls arrived home from their trip, they were swept with a familiar, sharp scent of cleaning solution. Obeying the rules, Flora cleaned the soles of both her boots with disinfectant wipes and then removed them, placing them in a basket. Hestia hated doing this every time she came in. Since the shoes were coming off anyway, she didn't see any reason to scrub them with the potion wipes first except to stay out of trouble with Alecto.
In the foyer, there was a handsome winder staircase that had wide curve, so that if Hestia stood still and looked straight up, she could see clear to the attic level's ceiling. Lately, though, she had begun to deeply dislike standing there for some reason. But although she moved closer to the parlour to avoid the feeling, she wasn't allowed in there. Amycus had his heirlooms lined across the fireplace mantel with mathematical precision, each knickknack being equidistant. The parlour was bright, airy, and very, very clean. There wasn't anywhere to sit even if the girls were allowed to hang out in there. All of the furniture was swept under large white covers, looking more like ghosts than the real spirits who apparently skulked about the house.
Flora opened the curtains in the kitchen, letting in light through the garish sailboat windows. Hestia quietly opened the windows, and a light breeze carried more tingly scents of cleaner across the room. The Carrows had never kept a House-elf, but the place was immaculate regardless. Every item was free of dust. Even the walls were washed frequently. In the kitchen, there wasn't a trace of grime or grease on any of the preparation, cooking, or eating surfaces. Several varieties of soap sat in a tiny basket by the sink. A large bottle of lotion read, "for severely chapped hands." The chairs all had tiny bits of cloth on the legs to prevent scuffs on the glossy wood floor. The table was parallel to the bay window, and each chair was lined up perfectly until Flora and Hestia decided to settle there with their morning tea.
Their house was rather spacious, what one might expect of the upper middle class, but it had been inherited by Alecto and Amycus along with long-depleted money which they would further deplete. They had fun buying things they couldn't afford. Sometimes, Hestia and Flora would get needless trinkets, too, but they at least cherished and used their possessions. For Amycus and Alecto, it was more about the buying.
To keep up their spending habits and still be able to put food on the table, the Carrow family was heavily involved in the black market, which had a hub in Knockturn Alley. Now that the girls had their wands, they would soon be expected to learn how to barter, sell, and trade. Hestia was interested in learning about the potions and poisons market. Flora was interested in tomes and grimoires.
"When do you think we'll start doing things in Knockturn?"
It was an unpleasant question that Hestia asked over the very pleasant aroma of her tea.
"Probably next summer after we've had a year of school. We can use magic all throughout the Alley. But they'll have to teach us everything they do, and how they stay out of trouble. Wouldn't want the Ministry to think the cornflour bouncy balls you made are actually lethal weapons."
"I'm not selling my priceless bouncy balls in Knockturn," Hestia smiled.
It was getting to be eleven o'clock, but there wasn't any noise in the house. Dad lived just above the kitchen, down the hall from Flora and Hestia's room, but it didn't sound like he was up and about yet. While the girls and their father were cramped to one-and-a-half levels of living space, Amycus and Alecto had claimed the upper level and the attic of the house for their exclusive use. No one was allowed up there, lest anyone drag germs across Alecto's floors or move Amycus's perfectly-angled belongings.
Having just come from the graveyard, Hestia's mind was on the subject of spooks.
"Hey, d'you think there's ghosts upstairs?" she asked her twin.
"How should I know," Flora said.
"Well, you've been tellin' me stories about our house being haunted for ages, Flora," Hestia said excitedly, recalling the strange chill she felt in then churchyard. "Where are they, then? I never seen a one."
"They're about," Flora said with a shrug, trying to dissolve Hestia's interest. That wasn't working in the slightest.
"Where? Upstairs?"
"No," said Flora. "Look, you probably won't see any. They're—"
She gestured toward her face, "Well, they're not—"
She kept rolling her hand around her face, trying to get the words.
"Visible?" Hestia asked.
"Er, well, no, they can be — But they're —" she gestured both hands across her cheeks. "— Er, real shy."
"Shy! You're fibbing about there being ghosts, then."
"I got no reason to fib."
"Sure you do, to scare me."
"I'm not in the mood, Hestia," Flora said and stared out the window.
"Do you hear the ghost bells from Shipden now… for real?" Hestia asked, not wanting to drop the subject.
"Yes. Now I really do," Flora said.
"I haven't heard 'em yet. But I think lately I been feeling chills and things. Around the house, like."
"That's because your magic is getting stronger. Mine is, too," Flora said.
"Do you feel the weird thing in the foyer, just out there?" Hestia wondered. "That's where I get it the most."
"Yes."
"Well, what is it? What's there? A spook? A hobgoblin?"
Flora clicked her tongue against her now-lukewarm tea.
"It's not a good thing, Hestia. It's just the foyer, so you don't have any reason to stand there forever. Just ignore it."
But the more Flora tried to drop it, the more Hestia's heartbeat picked up. It didn't make sense that their bright, airy house was haunted. Haunted places were supposed to be dark, dirty, and run-down. Hestia pressed and pressed for more information until her twin caved.
"Listen, Hestia, do you know anything about our grandparents?"
"Er… I know Amycus and Alecto hated them," Hestia tried to remember. It wasn't like the family had deep conversations together. At least not ones where Hestia was included.
"Even they had good reason to hate their parents," Flora said. "Take Amycus and Alecto and multiply that by a hundred."
A hundred times worse? That was hard to imagine.
"All right… so…?" Hestia uttered, perhaps not wanting to know as much detail anymore.
"Well, y'know how you can stand at the bottom of the staircase there and look all the way up?" Flora asked.
"Yeah…"
"You can also jump all the way down."
Hestia's stomach did a little jump itself.
"What d'you mean…?
"Our grandparents killed themselves by jumping off the top banister," Flora iced.
"What? That's horrible…" Hestia breathed.
"No, it isn't. They were bad people," said Flora shortly. "Sometimes, they have to jump again. It's pretty loud, but you can just ignore them."
Flora sipped the last of her tea. Hestia sat in shock.
"Th-They have to… jump again…?"
"Look, I only told you this so the sound don't scare you when you first hear it. I nearly wet my bed the first time, and all you did was make fun of me," snapped Flora.
"I — I didn't know why you freaked out all the sudden!" Hestia said apologetically, barely even remembering the event. "I didn't hear it!"
"Clearly," Flora rolled her eyes. "Listen, Hestia, as your magic matures, you'll be more in tune to these things. I hear new things each month now, pretty much. The kitchen's usually quietest."
Hestia was already sitting in the kitchen, but now that she knew all this, she preferred to stay.
"How come you hear more things than me? We're identical."
"I don't know. It's not something to be jealous of."
"Does Dad know about all these ghosts?" Hestia asked.
"He barely reacts to any of them except the jumpers," Flora answered. "Y'know he can only pay attention to like, one thing at a time. And that thing's always you."
"Me? What's that s'posed to mean?"
Flora shrugged with an attitude.
"You hog him. Catch his attention more. I'm too quiet to be able to hold his attention."
"I don't hog him, Flora. Merlin! And Dad loves you, too! You're the one who used to have Amycus and Alecto wrapped round your finger…"
"Once again, that's nothing to be jealous of," Flora spat. "And they don't like me anymore, not since I started sticking up for you."
Hestia was hurt by that remark.
"Well, why don't you quit it then? You can start treating me like shit just like they do and get back on their good side, if that's what you want so bad."
"I don't want another damn ounce of their good side," Flora snarled back.
The girls both heard a creak on the stair and startled. If only the creak had been ghostly instead of human! They had nothing to be afraid of with a ghost.
It was almost noon, but apparently the girls had interrupted Alecto's beauty sleep. Some beauty Alecto is, Hestia thought. The witch came stomping down the staircase with her hair flying everywhere and a dirty scowl wrinkled across her face.
"Where the hell were you?" Alecto shot.
"Right damn here," Hestia said.
If Alecto had been asleep until now, she had no evidence that they'd been out, right?
No. Alecto charmed the girls' shoes out of the basket in the foyer. Their soles were still wet with disinfectant potion. Hestia bubbled with rage. It was Alecto's obnoxious rule that had incriminated the girls; otherwise, their shoes would have been perfectly dry.
"Wanderin' round Muggle places!" Alecto shouted. "It's a wonder you weren't bloody killed or trafficked, Hestia! I'm fed up with you runnin' off when the whole house is asleep! Hold your arse still, you little snot—"
Alecto was reaching for her wand over this. Hestia held her breath and waited to be hexed.
"Lay off her, why don't you‽" Flora snapped. "It was my idea to go since none of you would take us. And it's not like I can go wake you up, is it‽"
"Flora Asrai, you better watch your mouth—" Alecto cautioned angrily.
"Watch yours then, talkin' to my sister that way!" Flora exclaimed. "I just told you it was my idea!"
"Well, you oughtta know better!"
"Wha's goin' on?" Amycus asked sleepily, stepping into the kitchen to get in on the imminent hexing.
"Nothing," Flora said, and she grabbed Hestia's wrist with one hand and a bag of crisps with the other.
The girls ran up the stairs to their room and shut the door. The locks had been taken out of their door, so Flora shoved her bed in front of it from its place against the wall.
Hestia had the window side of the room. She used the window seat as a place to put her potted plants and pictures of her mother, Mabily Blodwyn. Mum was only nineteen when she died bringing them into life. Her hair was a rich amber-brown, and her eyes were light blue. But the girls only had her nose and smile. Mum was pretty enough to make up for the not-so-attractive features of the Carrow family. In Hestia's favourite picture, Mum kissed a young Dad on the cheek, and his face turned red. He had been cuter then. There was a light in his eyes that Hestia had never seen.
Hestia looked out the window and watched the waves crash gently over families having fun with each other on holiday. Flora passed her the bag of crisps, and they crunched their measly breakfast in silence.