CHAPTER FIVE
The Summer of '92
It had been an awful summer.
At first, Michael had been relieved to return home after his terrible summer term, especially after the news of the Azkaban breakout had made its rounds. The train ride alone was enough to make him dread the reactions of the wider Wizarding World, as well as his eventual return to school in September. However, while he had been initially overjoyed to see his parents again, he had quickly seen that this joy was painfully one sided.
Tensions had been running high throughout the Hillard household all summer. Each member of the family seemed to be holding onto years' worth of resentment that had gone carefully ignored but had reared its ugly head after Robert's incarceration.
Mum had always been cautious when it came to anything magical but had put up with it because her son had been born a wizard, despite her husband promising her that such a thing was unlikely to ever happen. After all, a sorcerer born from a squib was unusual enough, but from a squib and a Muggle? It was practically unheard of.
Still, Francine Hillard had dealt with it all gracefully, even taking in her husband's nephew and raising the two wizards as her own. But now her eldest and only biological child having been sent away for a crime she couldn't fathom in a prison that she would never be allowed to visit. Was it any surprise that she took it out on her husband? That she regularly lambasted him for his broken promise?
It was to Michael. He was forced to listen to their half-whispered, half-bellowed arguments when they thought he was asleep almost every night.
Dad was even worse. He had always dealt with his son being a wizard when he was not one rather well, but that was only after he had spent decades far removed from the Wizarding World. It seemed like now that his son had gone to prison, punished by the same world his father had been born into but rejected by, had stirred up old resentments in himself. Unlike Francine, Maurice's arguments were far more nonsensical, as his anger was directed at almost everyone affiliated with the Wizarding World.
Even Michael.
He could feel their resentment in the way they watched him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. He could almost hear the thoughts that were running through their minds:
Why did it have to be my real son? Why couldn't it have been you?
The day that Azkaban had fallen, prisons all around the world were broken into by the Death Eaters that had escaped capture after the Sixth Great Wizarding War and their remaining loyalists. Britain's own prison, Hollow Penitentiary, had not been ignored as hundreds of prisoners had been armed with stolen wands and then let loose into the world for the Aurors and Custodians to waste resources hunting down.
When news of the Hollow Pen's breakout had reached the Hillard household, Mum and Dad had made no effort to hide their joy and for one glorious day it seemed as though things just might return to normal in their family. However, this joy had been short lived, as with each passing day the Hillards grew increasingly worried as Robert had neither returned home nor made any effort to contact them, despite the fact that his name had been on the list of escapees that they Daily Prophet had published.
Michael had silently despaired as life returned to its new normal when his parents had their first argument since Robert's escape.
While the first few weeks of his summer holidays had been terrible, Michael at least had the Falmouth Falcons Quidditch Camp to look forward to. He pretended he was happy that his parents hadn't so much as asked where he had gotten the money to afford such an expensive placement, and his carefully crafted lie about tutoring went unneeded.
Of course, for the only son of Elissa Corner, such a thing as happiness could not be allowed.
Michael had been the first to arrive at the Falmouth Quidditch Stadium bright and early one July morning, eager to begin training alongside his heroes, but he quickly wished he had come late instead. In fact, he quickly wished he had never come at all.
One by one, the other student players arrived, all of them school age and some of them he even recognised from Hogwarts. That was the problem. Everyone present seemed to know at least one other person, so when one girl noticed him standing by himself and awkwardly pretending to examine his old Comet 260 for any defects, she asked her neighbour what team he played for.
It didn't take long for them to learn the most important thing about him.
Having his peers avoid him for the duration of the three-week camp would have been bad enough, but what happened next was even worse.
When the Falmouth Falcons had finally arrived on the pitch at nine on the dot in order to begin training, their manager began to call out the names of the students as though they belonged to real players. This should have been exciting, but Michael had always felt his stomach clench whenever his last name was called out because odds were that someone would have something to say about it.
It wasn't anything different today. What was different, however, was exactly who had a problem with him.
Michael had worshiped Alfie Harper for as long as he could remember. A life-sized post of him was attached to the back of his bedroom door, so it was the first thing he saw every morning and the last thing he saw every night. When he had finally found out about his real parentage, he had deluded himself into believing that he was really Alfie Harper's son, as they both had the same curly blonde hair, and that Elissa Corner had actually kidnapped him. He had told no one but Robert about this, and his older brother had simply said, "If you aren't related to Elissa, then you aren't related to me either."
Michael had stopped believing in his fake parentage right then and there.
However, he still adored Alfie Harper and aspired to one day beat his scoring record. When he had arrived at the stadium, flying on his newly released Nimbus 2001, Michael had been unable to take his eyes off him, so he had a clear view of the way his expression went from mildly disinterested to furious when Michael's last name had been called out.
Michael's stomach had dropped as Harper stomped his way over to the manager and had a furious whispered discussion with him. After a minute, the manager seemed to relent and sent one of his assistants over to Michael.
"Could you come with me, please?" The assistant asked, but it must have been rhetorical, as she immediately turned on her heel and headed towards the exit as though she expected Michael to simply follow.
Ignoring the whispers of the students around him, Michael kept his head down as he followed her out of the stadium, only lifting his head to glance at Alfie Harper one last time. He wished he hadn't. Harper was glaring at him as though he were You-Know-Who himself.
Michael dropped his head back down and remained determinedly stoic as he hurried out of the stadium. It didn't last much past that, and by the time the assistant had shown him the exit, he had tears streaming down his face. Something about having a child cry in front of her made the young woman look at him with sudden pity.
"It's not your fault." She reassured him, reaching out to pat his shoulder. Something about this small kindness made him cry all the harder. "Mr. Harper lost two cousins and a brother in the war." It went unsaid that they had all been killed by Elissa.
Michael had taken the Knight Bus home, excuse for his early return on his lips, but they went unneeded. Neither Mum nor Dad seemed to notice his early morning disappearance. He wondered if they would have even noticed if the camp went ahead and he had been gone for three weeks, because he was starting to think that they wouldn't.
That night Michael lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Aside from tearing down and throwing away all of his Falmouth Falcons memorabilia, his day had gone by without a single activity to distract him from his dark mood.
Earlier in the summer, he had written to both Anthony and Terry, hoping to rekindle their friendship in the wake of the Azkaban breakout, but his letters had gone unanswered. They had both been friendly with him back at Pendle's, but it was clear to see now that they had only tolerated his presence this last year because Harry had made them.
Perhaps it was selfish, but he wrote to Harry that night, not because he had forgiven him, but because he was sick of being alone. If having to nod along and agree with everything the Boy-Who-Lived said and did was the price for companionship, then Michael was willing to pay.
But Harry never wrote back.
Michael was beginning to understand that there was no place in the world for him.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Anthony spent his summer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Despite his aversion to hospitals, he was no stranger to them, as he had spent half his childhood visiting his comatose father. In fact, Anthony believed that was where his aversion to hospitals originated from, but he didn't spend much time thinking about it. However, while he had always made sure to visit his father regularly, especially during school holidays, he was now coming in almost every day.
As a small child, the Commander and Joan had made sure to stay with him while he sat at his father's bedside, but when he got old enough to attend Pendle's he had asked them for time alone. They had both respected his wishes, and from then on, they made sure to visit their old friend whenever his son was not there.
By now, it must have become a terribly familiar sight for the Healers that passed the window, the poor Half-Blood boy, sitting there at a virtual stranger's bedside.
Each time he visited his father he made sure to read the entirety of the newspaper to him, making sure it was Wizarding World News as the Commander had told him it was the only news source his father trusted. He did this in order to keep Andrew Goldstein abreast of the news while he slumbered, as the Healers had assured him that his father was aware of the goings on around him.
It seemed like hell to Anthony, to lay there unmoving, a prisoner in your own body while you were perfectly aware of what was going on around you. Anthony suspected that was why that monster had done it, so that his father could helplessly witness the torture and murder of his wife.
It enraged Anthony to think that Vincent Lancer was free once more.
In order to distract himself from his own anger, Anthony instead focused on telling his father every detail about his first year at Hogwarts. He had always planned on doing this, as he had been told that his father had desired his son to go to his alma mater, and Anthony sought to always be a good son to him.
However, even with his adventure filled year, he had managed to get through it all in just a single day, so he was left without any idea of what to tell him next. He resolved to read fiction books to him, refusing to let a newspaper anywhere near his father, as he didn't want him to know that his wife's murderer was free while he was still powerless to stop him.
Unfortunately, that decision was taken out of his hands.
One early July morning, Anthony had arrived at the hospital to find a couple of Healers examining his father. This wasn't an issue. The fact that they were discussing current events as they did so was.
The second Anthony had heard the word "Azkaban" he felt so angry that he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Breathing deeply, Anthony kept his gaze focused out of the window and away from the two wizards he wanted to attack with his bare hands.
I'm the son of Andrew and Charity Goldstein. I am the son of two good people. Good people do not attack others.
Anthony repeated this in his mind, already familiar with the process he had used for years to control his worst impulses. When the two Healers finally turned to leave the private room, he saw them pause as they hadn't heard him enter. Anthony ignored their clumsy greetings as he firmly closed the door in their faces and hurried to his father's bedside, but when he arrived, he paused, as he didn't know what to say.
Anthony had felt weak and directionless since the Azkaban breakout, as he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He knew he couldn't just move on with his life, and he wished he could say it was only out of anger and a desire for revenge, but now that Vincent Lancer had escaped prison, he felt more scared than he could ever remember being.
That man had taken everything away from him once, and now he was out there, free to do it all over again.
Slowly, Anthony resolved himself to what he had always known he was going to have to do, even though he had no idea how he was supposed to pull it off, but he knew that he would. He had to.
Growing up, Anthony always had a million questions running through his mind while he sat at his father's bedside, things that he had wanted to ask Andrew Goldstein and no one else, but now he had only one thing to say, and it wasn't a question:
"Father. Vincent Lancer escaped Azkaban a couple of weeks ago, but you don't have to worry. I'm going to find him," he promised, reaching forward to tightly grasp his father's arm, "and then I'm going to kill him."
Letting go of his father, Anthony turned and left the room without looking back once.
Unheard by the world around him, Andrew was screaming for his son to stop.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
It had been an awkward summer.
Terry had known things were off to a rocky start when the news of the Azkaban breakout had emerged, but he hadn't expected things to go so downhill, so fast. He had done his best to cheer Anthony up, but his brother simply ignored him after he had come out of his initial state of shock.
Not one to be so easily deterred, Terry had kept trying to play the distraction, his attempts becoming increasingly ridiculous until, finally, Anthony had shouted at him in front of their parents, and half of London's Auror Corps.
"Just stop it!" Anthony's loud voice echoed around the room. "You are such a needy little brat!"
Terry had expected a chastising from the Commander, as his father was always ready to cater to his best friend's only son, but he had been honestly shocked when his mother had been the one to tell him off.
"Give it a rest!" Joan snapped at him, as her husband hurried to check on an upset Anthony. "Just act your age for once. Please!" Terry nodded dully, too shocked to do anything else. His mother was usually the first to encourage his antics, often saying she didn't want a dullard for a son. Now that she had snapped at him, he worried he might have crossed a line.
He was later sent to his room, imprisoned there really, as his parents threatened severe punishments if he left without permission. Apparently, Anthony needed his space, and they didn't trust him to give it him under his own violation.
Terry thought that this was extremely uncalled for. Sure, maybe he crossed a line in letting loose a case of wet-start fireworks in the mission control room, but he had been certain at the time that it would make Anthony laugh. No one had been more surprised than he when it did not.
There was something that no one else had ever understood about Anthony Goldstein, perhaps including the boy himself. He may act like a goody two shoes, but he enjoyed flouting the rules as much as Terry did. He just needed someone to tell him that it was okay, lead the way as it were, and Terry had always been happy to fulfil that role. He saw it as his own unique way to look out for his brother's best interest.
Now, alone in his room, he felt familiar discontentment beginning to stir within him. Terry loved Anthony more than anyone in the world but, to his shame, he had also carried an intense resentment for his brother, one that rose and fell, but never went away. Not entirely.
How could it? Terry knew from their actions alone that both his mother and father would have preferred it if responsible, level-headed Anthony was their blood son. His father especially would have been overjoyed to have him carry the family name.
Terry was the son they ended up with.
Anthony was the son they chose.
Terry wished that he could say that his response to his parent's punishment was a mature one, but he had never been much of a liar. He had decided to give his family the cold shoulder, both entirely ignoring them until they came to apologise.
It wasn't out of the question, as it had happened a few times before. His father would blow up at him because he lacked enough of a sense of humour to appreciate whatever Terry had done, and then his mother would escort him into Terry's room hours later, so they could both apologise to each other under her watchful eye.
Only this time, the apology never came.
It took ten, long and painful days before he accepted that no apology was headed his way. In fact, he wasn't even sure if his family had noticed his long bout of silence. Or worse, they preferred him this way.
As much as he might like to, Terry couldn't blame the Commander for his lack of attention, as he had thrown himself into his work, leading the British effort in capturing the Azkaban escapees and helping the Custodians capture the convicts that were freed from Hollow Pen.
However, his mother's new attitude towards him was quite hurtful. She had taken Anthony into one of the Citadel's many training halls after his brother had returned from St. Mungo's with a changed air about him. Through his spying on them, he knew that she was training Anthony in Martial magic, even though he had never taken an interest in the field before. Terry had left them to it, feeling left out.
While the Commander had always carried a soft spot for his adopted son, Joan had always made time for Terry, and he assumed it was because they were so alike. Now, she too was ignoring him in favour of Anthony.
Feeling too stubborn to break the silence first, Terry was forced into spending the summer with only his own thoughts for company. Not liking the idea of this, he quickly wrote to Harry, but he never wrote back. Terry considered replying to Michael's letter, but he just knew that he would take it as confirmation that he was on his side in his pointless argument against Harry.
Eventually, he found sanctuary from his own boredom with Gran.
Grandma Gemma had always made time for him, never begrudging him for coming over to her cottage without invitation, and she always knew exactly how to keep him occupied. Time always seemed to fly by when he was with her.
Terry enjoyed time with her so much, that he didn't even raise a protest when she asked him to clean out her attic. She needed his help as she couldn't manage too many stairs with her old war wounds. He eagerly leapt at the chance, hoping to come across one of her war trophies.
While he didn't find any, he didn't end up with a bad haul either. There were some obvious things you would expect in any grandmother's attic, like family photo albums, furniture and old children's toys, but there were a few things that caught his interest. A set of shapeshifting keys, a vintage Automaton, stacks of books on various subjects and even the legendary broken pieces of his great-grandmother's wand.
It took a lot of pleading, but after a while Gran agreed he could keep a few things, but only after she tested it to ensure that it was safe.
"It's not that I don't trust you, sweetheart," Gran assured him softly, as she ran her hand down his cheek. "But you remind me too much of your grandfather. He leapt without looking, just as you do."
It wasn't the first time that she had compared him to his father's father, but he always enjoyed it, nonetheless. "Really?" He asked, knowing just what she would say in response.
"Yes, really!" Gran laughed. "You're two peas in a pod!"
From tidbits given out here and there over the years, he had gleaned that his grandfather had died in action when he was still rather young, years before his father had even been old enough to attend Hogwarts. As such, his good sense told him that his grandmother wasn't necessarily paying him a compliment when she compared the two of them.
Terry didn't care though, as he loved being compared to the only Triwizard Champion in the family, the last one Hogwarts had in fact. He had never paid much attention to his good sense anyway.
He smiled up at his grandmother, leaning into her hand which was still cupped against his face. He felt so safe and happy here with here that he almost resented having to return to Hogwarts in a few weeks.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Susan knew it wasn't normal to resent your own birthday.
She knew that most children wished that everyday could be their special day, as it was a day in which all their friends and family would celebrate them, proving their love through their gifts and attention. Most children awaited the day eagerly and felt dejected when it passed.
She had seen it with her own eyes, among many of her friends.
Susan had never experienced that joy for herself, because as soon as she was able to recognise the twenty-seventh of August as her birthday, her father had told her of her responsibility to both him and their family.
So, every year while her father was busy entertaining his friends in the drawing room, Susan was to entertain the children that they had escorted to their family home, The Ossuary. It was demeaning, to be forced to act like a courteous hostess on her own birthday to people she didn't care for, but as Grandmother often reminded her, she was now the woman of the house.
As such, Susan kept a small smile fixed on her face while she kept her guests busy with conversation and food. A part of her wished that she could have invited her own friends, but her father didn't approve of their families as they had little worth in knowing. Besides, if they were permitted to come, she simply would have been forced to wear another carefully crafted mask.
As the sun began to set, she could feel her guests beginning to grow bored, so she resolved herself into showing off the ridiculous hedge maze that her father had recently installed. Her aunt had called it a mockery of the training mazes that Auror Citadels had, as her father had filled it with ostentatious statues honouring their family's history instead of the monsters that the Aurors were so occupied with.
It did little to alleviate their collective boredom, and Susan couldn't blame them, as she was bored too. She didn't allow herself to show it however, as she couldn't afford any reports of childishness to get back to her father. So, she struggled for a few minutes to come up with an activity that would keep everyone entertained, which was difficult as the youngest guest was six and the oldest was fifteen. They didn't have much in common.
Despite her grandmother's warnings running through her head, Susan was unable to hide her relief as one of the mother's come out to call for her son, allowing the departure floodgates to open. One by one, each guest paused to wish Susan a happy birthday before departing with their parents, and she was counting down the seconds until she would be able to drop the insipid little smile that she was forced to wear.
When the last of the guests departed, Susan dropped her smile and staggered over to the nearest chair so she could recover. However, the moment she did so, her grandmother's voice echoed throughout the previously empty entrance chamber.
"Young lady, is that any way to act when one is hosting?" The voice of Agnes Bones echoed throughout the room, causing Susan to sit up sharply. But before she could say a word, a second voice came from behind her grandmother.
"Why make such a fuss?" Aunt Amelia asked. "The girl is alone. Or are you afraid the furniture will begin to spread rumours?" Her tone was mocking, but her eyes were so wide and innocent that it was a wonder that her monocle didn't fall out.
Grandmother turned to face her daughter slowly, as though wishing she would disappear before she could complete her turn. But Amelia Bones wasn't one to run away. Mother and daughter simply stared at one another, each examining the other in contemptuous silence.
Susan swallowed. She knew that Amelia had once been her mother's favourite child, but that had changed before she had even been born, during the war in fact. Agnes had been drawn into Gilbert's way of thinking after losing her eldest child and his entire family in a Death Eater attack, leaving Amelia out in the cold.
Afraid of earning their attention if she moved too quickly, Susan moved slowly as she stood up and made her way to the door. However, years of ingrained manners were not easily ignored, not in her grandmother's presence, so she stopped at the door and said quickly, "Please excuse me. I'm going to see my mother." She ducked out of the room before Agnes could rope her into the ensuing argument.
Susan hurried towards the foyer and ran up the stairs as quickly as her party dress would allow. While using her incapacitated mother as an excuse may be a little crass, it was not untrue. Susan had missed her mother's presence all day long, but she knew better than anyone why she was no longer allowed in public.
Five years ago, during the Ministry's New Year Ball, her mother had found herself at the centre of everybody's attention after an embarrassing incident where she mistook fireworks for spellfire and jinxed the Minister of Magic. Her father was humiliated, and he had prohibited her from any future public events, which, for a woman who no longer worked, was akin to a prison sentence that confined her to The Ossuary.
It wasn't unusual for Susan to hear awful comments from adults, about how her father was such a good man for remaining with a wife who could offer him nothing but grief, and never remarrying. These comments came from mothers vying for advantageous marriages for their daughters, so she knew logically that it was folly to take their words to heart, but she couldn't help it.
Their words were like poison, filling her with anger and hatred that she directed at everyone in the world, or at least, everyone she could get away with. It wouldn't be worth the punishment that she would receive if she were to target someone that her father considered respectable, such as his wealthy and well-connected friends. This didn't include the son that he refused to acknowledge, but she was without her favourite sandbag during the summer holidays.
Reaching her mother's room, Susan paused and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. Her mother had been cognizant this morning, as she had been able to recognise that she would be missing another one of her daughter's birthday parties. So, she had asked Susan to enjoy herself with her friends and to come back to her when she had sent them all home.
Before entering, Susan took a brief moment to fix a wide, happy smile on her face. She didn't have a mirror with her, but she knew that she was the picture of the loving daughter that her mother had always wanted, different from the obedient child that her father and grandmother desired and separate from the powerful and controlling girl she was amongst her friends.
It was just another in a series of interchangeable masks.
Entering the room, the smile immediately dropped from her face when she saw that her mother was no longer cognizant. She felt a wave of embarrassment as he eyes landed upon her mother packing an old school trunk while wearing an ill-fitting Hufflepuff uniform.
Not for the first time, she accepted that her father was right to keep her mother locked away.
Before she could even decide if she wanted to stay and deal with this herself or go and call her grandmother, Sadie Bones slowly turned to face the door, as though afraid her nightmares had caught up with her, but she smiled when she saw that it was only Susan.
"Amelia! You're here!" Her mother exclaimed, hurrying forward to embrace her. "I thought you would miss the train! How are you? How was your summer?"
Susan froze in her mother's embrace. She knew that she shared her Aunt Amelia's colouring, as copper red hair and blue eyes were common traits in the Bones family, but no one had ever mistaken the two before. Despite her chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes, Susan far more resembled her mother, but she knew bad things could happen if she made her mother question a delusion she liked.
"My summer was great. In fact, I met someone over the holidays." Susan said with false cheer, gently guiding her mother back towards her trunk and away from the open door. "I want to introduce the two of you, so why don't I go grab him?"
"Amelia Bones with a boy? That's something I thought I'd never hear." There was something strange in her mother's voice, but Susan didn't want to stay and figure it out. Any second she might realise that she was speaking to her daughter and not the best friend who refused to visit her and seeing the humiliated realisation in her mother's eyes was sometimes worse than the delusions themselves.
Susan ducked out of the room, firmly closing the door behind her. She began to run down the hallway towards the stairs, hoping to find Grandmother still arguing with Aunt Amelia. Mentioning her mother and the word delusion in the same sentence was sure to send her aunt running for the Floo powder and then Grandmother would be free to help.
However, when she reached the entrance chamber, she found it empty of arguing mothers and daughters. Just as she was about to turn away, she saw the fireplace flare to life as someone was about to exit it. She glimpsed the side profile of a familiar figure, which made her duck behind the doorway before he turned to look at her.
Wishing she had her wand but knowing that she wouldn't be able to do much even if she did, she squeezed herself into the nearest cupboard, before Professor Severus Snape swept out of the entrance chamber and headed directly for her father's study.
The second he had his back to her, Susan ran for her room in order to fetch her wand. She didn't know how Snape had gotten through their Floo exit without an invitation, but she pushed it out of her mind for now. Snatching her wand off her desk, she ran back out of her room back towards her father's study.
Just like her mother, Susan was unsure if she actually liked her father, but she knew without a doubt that she loved him, so she didn't hesitate in running back into danger in order to support him against a suspected Death Eater. However, as she neared the study's ajar door, she didn't hear spellfire like she expected.
No, instead she heard a conversation.
"He is most displeased with you," Snape was saying, "I do not understand why, but Cushing has informed me that out of all of us, it was you who could have returned the status quo."
Susan didn't understand what that meant, but as always, her father sounded confident in his own abilities. "I am not worried, my duplicitous friend." Gilbert sounded almost amused. "I have an idea. An idea that would further along one of His goals."
Snape sounded disbelieving. "What would you know of His goals? You have hidden-"
That was all Susan heard as a hand came to rest upon her shoulder. It was a good thing that another had been placed over her mouth, as she couldn't prevent herself from screaming. However, even muffled it was still enough for the conversation in the study to pause, and Grandmother gave her a harsh look as she removed her hand from her mouth and ducked inside the study.
"Gentlemen! Refreshments?" Grandmother asked as she moved confidently into the room, followed by an Automaton carrying a tray. She firmly closed the door behind her.
A minute later, Grandmother left the study and dragged a still frozen Susan behind her as she moved through the house. "What on earth do you think you're doing, girl?"
Susan hurried to explain herself, wary of spending her last week of the holidays locked in her room. "I-I was simply looking for you, Grandmother." She said quickly, but respectfully, as Grandmother was always quick to report any misbehaviour or discourtesy to her father. "Mother is having another episode."
Grandmother's face dropped slightly, into an indefinable expression, as Susan knew it would. While she knew it was wrong for her to use her mother's condition to avoid getting into trouble, it was the only thing that was guaranteed to make Grandmother relent.
Grandmother said nothing else as she swept up the stairs into mother's room with the speed of a much younger woman. She firmly closed the door behind herself, leaving Susan firmly on the outside. Annoyed, but not unfamiliar with this treatment, she began to pace as she waited for Grandmother to work her magic.
After a few minutes, the door opened, and Grandmother stepped out looking tired. Susan hurried forward. "May I see her?" She asked, despite already knowing the answer. Before the last word had even left her mouth, Grandmother was already shaking her head.
"No, she's in no condition for visitors-"
"But-!"
"Excuse me!" Grandmother interrupted her own interruption. "I did not study for five years to become Healer, only to be questioned by a child! Come, off to bed with you." With that, she proceeded to firmly guide Susan back to her own room.
After waiting for her to change into her pyjamas, Grandmother took the time to tuck her in as she often did, and Susan didn't have the heart to tell her to stop. Mortifying as it was, it one of the only times where she was treated like a child in The Ossuary, rather than an adult that could still be ordered around.
Susan knew it was risky, but before Grandmother could leave, she quickly asked, "Why was Snape here?"
Grandmother turned back to face her with a raised eyebrow. "Young lady, your father's business is none of your own."
Susan was stubborn. "He's a Death Eater!" She hissed. "In our home!"
Grandmother sighed, returning to her bedside. "He was acquitted by the High Court-"
"Just barely." Susan muttered.
"-so he is not a criminal in the eyes of the law." She continued as though Susan had not spoken. "You don't have to worry about a thing. Not while I'm here." She reached forward, running her fingers through Susan's hair.
Susan sighed, enjoying the soothing sensation. "You won't always be here."
"For you I will be." Grandmother promised. "I have raised you Susan Bones, and I love you as though you were my own. Nothing will stop me from protecting you."
Author's Note.
Most of the story will be told from Harry's perspective, but I'm not a skilled enough writer to develop all the backgrounds and development of the main characters and seamlessly put it into Harry's perspective. It would end up being awkward with Harry just sitting on the side lines for conversations he's not a part of.
This is the only non-interlude chapter that Harry will be absent from. (In this book anyway).
Putting myself in the mindset of each of the characters was weird, but Anthony was by far the hardest. His position is so similar to Harry's so it's difficult to make it unique. Weirdly, Susan was the easiest, as her overarching character arc was the third one I thought of after Harry's and Eliza Hawthorne's.
Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this departure. Back next chapter with Harry's perspective.
Please Review.