Trigger warning for discussion of miscarriage in this chapter
The inside of Mr Ollivander's wand shop was exactly the way Isahak thought shops should be. Countless narrow boxes were stacked in every nook and cranny, stretching from floor to ceiling. Even the windows were obscured by the endless boxes. The light that managed to shine in around the stacks bent into mystic curvatures, casting the whole space with a mysterious glow. The shop itself reminded the boy of a wand box, with its compact shape and magical surprises hiding in every crevice.
"Oh, Isa," Ammama said as she glanced over the endless stacks. "How does Garrick stand to work in this mess?"
Appachan shrugged. "Garrick is a brilliant wand maker. I'm sure everything here is exactly where he wants it."
"I like this shop," Isahak said, reaching for a box. "Who knows what all is here?"
"Ah, ah!" Garrick Ollivander shuffled out of the back of the shop, clucking his tongue in rebuke. "Patience, Isahak Lal. You must be measured before we match you to your wand. And I will be the one to handle the boxes, if you please."
Isahak's temper rose, as it always did when he was embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mr Ollivander," he said stiffly. "I ought to have known better."
"No harm done. It's an exciting day after all," Mr Ollivander replied. "The day I am finally to be allowed to match a wand to a member of the illustrious Lal family. You are the very first. Although your parents and grandparents have been kind enough to allow me to study their wands. Fascinating process. Truly fascinating. Well. Shall we begin?"
A pair of tape measures darted up from the counter, snaking through the air towards Isahak. He put out his arms for them, trying to be patient as they did their work. It tickled to be measured, and he wanted to swat them away. His throat also hurt from swallowing so hard. Achan should be here, and Isahak wished that Mr Ollivander hadn't spoken of him.
"Meera Lal's wand was Gulmohar and Badavā hair, ten inches, exceptionally springy. And Yakov's was Jacaranda and Byangoma feather, eleven and a half inches, flexible. Quite stunning works of art. Did you keep them, Sara?"
"We did. They are in Yakov's study," Ammama said.
Isahak flinched, his throat uncomfortably tight. The measuring tapes finally floated back to Mr Ollivander, who peered over his wire rimmed glasses at them. He turned to the stacks behind him, and began sorting through them, muttering to himself. Appachan had drifted over to the window, where he stood tracing the details on one of the boxes and staring out into the overcast afternoon. Ammama had her hand on Isahak's shoulder, and she was squeezing it so tightly it pinched.
"What a fine day this is," Ammama was saying. "You're growing up so quickly. It seems like only yesterday Yakov and Meera brought you home from St Mungo's."
If she kept talking like that she was going to kiss him. Isahak was not in the mood to be kissed.
"While I use a variety of woods for the wands I make, I use only three different cores," Mr Ollivander said as he climbed down a ladder balancing several boxes. "Phoenix Feather, Unicorn Hair, and Dragon's Heartstring. All potent, all with their own unique quirks and strengths."
Ammama wrinkled her nose at the mention of Dragons' Heartstrings. "Meera preferred bloodless wand cores. She was such a kind-hearted soul."
Isahak's heart started to beat faster. His hands itched to try the wands, but his body was struggling to breathe.
"Here we are," Mr Ollivander said, bringing a teetering stack of boxes to the counter.
"So many?" Appachan asked, glancing over from the window.
"I wanted to be sure not to miss any possibilities for Yakov and Meera's son," Mr Ollivander replied, opening the first box.
"That is very good of you, Garrick," Ammama said. "We want the perfect wand, don't we, Isahak?"
"Yes, Ammama," Isahak replied, eager to start.
"Let's start with this one. Sycamore and Phoenix Feather. Nine and a quarter inches. Though you'll have to take care to keep it from becoming bored if this is the wand for you," Mr Ollivander said.
"I hate being bored," Isahak said, grasping the wand.
The wood was smooth and brightly colored. He waved it, mimicking the movements he'd watched his father do to send his books back to the shelf when Ammama was tired of them being all over the tables. There was a spark and a fizzle, but nothing beyond that. Isahak frowned. He'd thought it would be easier to use a wand.
"Nothing is happening," he said.
"You must be patient," Mr Ollivander replied. "Hasty searches make for imprudent matches. Try this one. Walnut and Unicorn Hair, ten inches. If you have half of your father's brains, you'd be a fine match for a walnut wand."
"Half his father's brains, indeed," Ammama said. "Isahak is as smart as his father ever was. He reminds me so much of Yakov when he was that age. Always asking questions, questions, questions—and remembering all the answers, too."
Isahak picked up the second wand and waved it the same way. Again, nothing happened. He bit the inside of his cheek as he set the wand back in its box. The room that had seemed so inviting now felt tight and small. Ammama was speaking too quickly, and Appachan kept staring. Suddenly Isahak couldn't stand to have any of them looking at him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ran out of the shop, ignoring Ammama's surprised shout.
"Isahak! Where are you going?" she called after him.
He didn't know where he was going. Anywhere but there. Everything was wrong there. They wouldn't stop talking about Amma or Achan. The wands didn't work for him. Everyone expected him to be the same as his parents—and his parents weren't even there anymore!
Appachan called after him, but Isahak kept running. They would be angry with him for running away, but he didn't care. After the attack they never let him go anywhere alone anymore. It was driving him mad.
He rounded the corner and darted into the narrow alley behind Flourish & Blotts. A loose cobblestone tripped him, and he scraped his knee as he fell on the hard ground. Tears fell from his eyes. He wiped them away angrily, but they would not stop. Defeated, he scooted behind one of the dustbins, laid his head on his knees, and sobbed until he was gasping like a baby.
After a long time, he realized he was not alone in the alley. Appachan squatted down next to him, and handed him a crisp white handkerchief.
"I don't want it," Isahak said, batting the handkerchief aside.
Appachan shrugged and tucked it back into his pocket. "Nothing is right today."
"I don't want a wand! I'm not going to school. I'm not learning magic. I'm not doing any of it! I'm not!"
"Nobody is making you."
"Ammama talks too much about Amma and Achan. Why won't she stop?"
Appachan smiled sadly. "Ammama thinks if she keeps talking, she will talk the sorrow out of herself. Sometimes that is hard on those of us who do not have as many words to say, or as much patience to listen."
Isahak rubbed his eyes with his hands. "I hate all this crying. Only babies cry this much."
Appachan shrugged. "That is what I was told when I was a boy. But one day, I remembered that when Yēśu was grown, He still wept. So I think it must not be a bad thing to do. Perhaps it keeps our hearts from turning to stone."
Isahak fought the tears for a few more painful breaths. Then he leaned against Appachan's shoulder, and let them flow freely. It hurt so much he thought he would never stop crying. He would stay there all night, and Appachan's knees would be too stiff to walk home from squatting for so long. But after the pain was a dull ache, and after that his tears slowed to a trickle, then finally stopped. Appachan offered him the handkerchief again. He wiped his face dry and blew his nose.
"Let's go back home and eat," Appachan said. "Crying makes me hungry."
Isahak was more tired now than hungry, but he took Appachan's hand. They walked in silence together back towards Dosas. As they passed Ollivander's Isahak glanced in the window. Ammama and Mr Ollivander were still inside, and the stacks of wand boxes were still waiting on the counter.
"Appachan," Isahak said slowly, "if you aren't too hungry, could we try again to find my wand? Since we are already here?"
Appachan hugged him tightly. "Yes, I think I can wait. Since we are already here."
The New Moon Potion was in a twelve hour steeping stage, it was Minerva and Filius's night to monitor the halls for wayward students, and Severus was suffering from an acute bout of restlessness. It was the sort of feeling that only attacked him when everything seemed to be running smoothly, in anticipation of the next inevitable disaster. Tonight it was so intense that his very skin started to itch. He was in desperate need of a distraction, and would almost have welcomed a call from either Albus or the Dark Lord.
Around eleven, he gave in to the discomfort and stalked out into the night to visit his lover. It was far too early for Miranda to be in bed. Surely she could be badgered into a round of chess. The night air lightened his spirits almost immediately, as did the endless sound of the sea crashing on the shore below Miranda's cabin when he arrived there a few moments later. He paced at the end of the lane for a time, listening to the soothing, ancient monotony.
The familiar sight of her cabin cabin comforted him as it came into view. The instant he opened the door, however, the pleasant sounds of the nighttime sea were blotted out by the blasted turntable. A scratchy voice shrieked from it, and Miranda bellowed along in a discordant duet.
"One day up near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away…"
Miranda's usually dulcet voice was out of tune tonight as she knelt in the corner by the potions closet, scrubbing the already sparkling walls with a bottle of whiskey and a mostly empty tumbler on the floor next to her. Severus pushed the door quietly shut, and went to the turntable to lower the volume to something approximating acceptable.
"I beg your pardon for interrupting the concert," he said dryly.
She stopped singing in mid-verse, and glanced up, mildly confused. Her cheeks were flushed from the cleaning and, he suspected, from the drink. As her eyes came into focus on him, they narrowed with concern.
"What happened now? I wasn't expecting you," she said.
"So I see." He tugged at the cuff of one sleeve, recalling that other, terrible evening that had begun in a similar fashion. "Nothing has happened. I simply…wanted to see you."
"Oh. Well, it's nice to see you too." She picked up her glass and bottle, and pushed herself to her feet, crossing the room to him with an unsteady gait. "Join me for a drink?"
He had half a mind to comment on the unusual amount of alcohol she'd already imbibed. Deciding it wasn't worth an argument at this juncture, he retrieved a glass and the ice bucket from the bookshelf bar, and sat down at the table with her. She slumped into the chair next to him, and poured them both a measure of whiskey.
"Is there an occasion?" he asked, dropping ice cubes into his glass with the silver tongs.
She raised her glass and clinked it against his, sloshing some of the liquor on the table. "To David Clearwater, a far better soul than either of us can ever hope to be."
Severus could recall only two other occasions in which Miranda had spoken the name of her deceased beloved. The earlier restlessness disappeared, replaced by the comfortably familiar experience of high alert.
"May he rest in peace," was all he said.
She downed half the tumbler in one gulp, and stared off at an unfocused point somewhere on the top of the table. If she were anyone else, he would expect her to burst into tears. But Miranda never cried. Instead she did unpredictable things that set him on edge trying to anticipate them.
"You're jealous of him, aren't you?" she asked, trailing her finger through the slick of alcohol that had spilled on the table.
Tread carefully, Severus. "I am alive. Mr Clearwater is, I regret to say, not. What do I have to be jealous of?"
"Ain't that the motherfucking truth?" she said, and downed the rest of her glass.
"Miranda," he began with the air of one venturing into a viper's den, "are you quite all right?"
"Me? Never better." She pushed the table back to get up, only to swing her leg over his lap and straddle him on his chair. "How are you?"
She was running her fingers through his hair, and while this was an agreeable sensation, something still felt very wrong. "All things considered, I am tolerably well."
"Tolerably well," she repeated in an imitation of his drawl. "I think we can do better than that."
Her lips were on his before he could reply, hot and insistent, demanding he open his mouth to her intrepid tongue. The kiss was more duel than seduction, and he braced his hands on her hips as her fingers clumsily pried at the buttons lining the front of his frock coat.
"Damnit, why are there always so many buttons?" she cursed against his lips.
"To ensure this is actually what you want," he returned warily.
"If I'm not sure by now, what are we even doing together? Oops."
The button she was yanking at gave way so suddenly that she toppled off of his lap. His reflexes enabled him to slow her descent, but she still ended up in a graceless heap at his feet. Before she could mount him again, he plucked her up in his arms and deposited her on the sofa.
"What are you doing?" she slurred.
"Stay where I put you," he ordered, taking on his professor voice. This farce had gone quite far enough.
"You are such a stick in the mud," she retorted.
Without waiting to see if she was going to obey his wishes, Severus went to the potions closet. Thankfully, he found a rack of Sober-Up Potions in the corner of the top shelf. They were nearly out of date, but better than nothing. This volatile and confused Miranda was not one he cared to deal with.
"Drink this," he said, returning to her and pressing the vial into her hand.
She eyed it suspiciously. "If I wanted to be sober, I wouldn't have worked so hard to get drunk."
"I have no intention of bandying insults with you in this state." He grimaced, folding his arms over his chest. "This isn't like you. Take that potion. Then we're going to talk about…whatever it is that's made you want to crawl into a bottle tonight."
"I thought you hated talking," she muttered as she uncorked the vial and choked the pink contents down.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief. "And I seem to recall your insisting that we do more of it."
"The irony! Run through with my own sword. Fuck, I need to piss."
Reassured by the swift onset of this effect of the potion, Severus stepped out of Miranda's way as she hurried to the loo. She knocked into the coffee table on the way, and he hovered after her until she was safely about her business. While she was occupied, he busied himself making tea with sharp, impatient wand flicks that overset the kettle more than once.
By the time she returned from the loo, her eyes were clear. Her countenance was closed, but she at least seemed to have all her wits once again at her disposal. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the sofa, avoiding his gaze.
"I'm thirsty," she said.
"I expect you are," he replied, handing her a large glass of plain water. "Drink it slowly or you'll be heaving it all back up."
He let her take a few swallows in silence, holding his cup of tea to warm his numb fingers. Why Clearwater should be troubling her on this particular evening escaped him, and he dreaded the moment when he would have to speak the other man's name. In the end, she did the bulk of the task for him.
"I thought I was going to be alone tonight," she began, staring into her glass. "I…David died today. Twelve years ago. I'm generally a mess on this day."
Of course. He ought to have deduced that on his own. "I believe you were in Romania last year at this time."
"I was. Palinka doesn't go so well with a head cold."
"I should think not. Do you usually mark the day by attempting to poison yourself with alcohol?"
She smiled mirthlessly. "Not always. One year I celebrated by nearly becoming a vampire."
He had no desire to hear that story either, so he chose what he hoped was the lesser of two evils. "Much as I would like to hear that story, I suspect our time would be better spent discussing the topic at hand."
She laid her head against the back of the sofa and gazed up at the ceiling. "There's not much to say. It was my fault he died. I think I'd be upset either way, but knowing I caused it makes it that much more awful."
Merlin grant him patience. "I realize we have not discussed this in great detail, but I seem to recall it was not you who cast the Killing Curse on him."
"I might not have cast the curse, but I set him up for it. We'd been chasing Carter for months. We'd corner him, and he'd weasel out of the trap, time and time again. When we caught him at home, I insisted we go right in after him. David wanted to wait until Aaron and the other Aurors got there. That was the right thing to do. The smart thing to do. But I wouldn't listen. I told David I was going in with or without him. So we went in together. And he paid for it with his life."
"You have no way of knowing that Clearwater would have survived if you had waited."
"David was always doing stupid things that I wanted to do. Sneaking off school grounds in the middle of winter to climb mountains without telling anyone where we were going. Stealing books from the restricted section to teach ourselves spells way out of our league. Moving out to Kansas to be by my family. His parents practically disowned him for that stunt. They were livid when they found out he'd wanted to be buried in my family's cemetery. Wouldn't say a word to me all through the funeral. Never heard from them again afterwards either."
An inexplicable feeling of dread was building in Severus' stomach, and the teacup in his hand was his only anchor. He forced himself to take a bracing sip before replying.
"Perhaps it was for the best they did not trouble you further," he said carefully.
She went on as though she hadn't heard him. "I was the one who pushed us into fucking too. David wanted to wait until we were married. He was so damned decent. I didn't—I didn't realize I was pregnant until after we'd buried him. My magic started acting strange. Unpredictable. One afternoon I accidentally turned the cows blue and I finally went up to Kansas City to see a Healer. I thought maybe I'd caught one of those weird diseases they scare you about in seventh year. But I was just knocked up."
He wasn't certain he could stand to hear the rest. He dug the nails of one hand into his palm, determined to try, for her sake. "What happened then?"
She took another long drink of water, and set the glass on the floor at her feet. Then she put her face in her hands, as though covering herself made it easier to go on.
"I was so happy. So fucking happy. I always liked children. David and I joked about having a baseball team's worth of them. That wasn't going to happen anymore, but at least I was going to have one. Everything—everything was going fine as far as I could tell. I did my appointments with a local No-Maj midwife. Things are a lot further apart in the US. It's easier to get ahold of a portkey powerful enough to take you across a state now, but then, forget about it. I was young and healthy. It didn't make sense to haul out to Kansas City for every appointment." She let out a rasp before continuing. "But it went bad all at once. I was maybe halfway through and I just—I started bleeding. Before we knew what was happening, I'd blacked out. Finn was the only one home with me at the time. He put me in the truck and took me up to the hospital. But by then it was too late. It was too late before I knew anything was wrong. Isaac was gone."
He had absolutely no idea what to say. Placing a tentative hand on her knee, he muttered, "I'm sorry."
She snatched his hand and held it in a vice-like grip. Her eyes met his, wild with devastation. "Don't you get it? That was all my fault too. And the No-Maj butcher who had to get Isaac's corpse out of my body scarred me up so good that I'll never get another chance. If I'd gone to the Healers in the first place—or if I'd done what David wanted in the first place and waited like the good fucking Catholic I'm supposed to be—none of that would have happened either. I don't even know where Isaac is. They used to say unbaptized babies don't get to go to Heaven, ever. He might be stuck in Limbo, and it's All. My. Fault."
He pulled her to him, stopping her lies with desperate kiss. She returned it with equal fervor, clutching at the front of his frock coat like a drowning woman. As he hauled her onto his lap, he slanted his lips over hers, taking them with a punishing fury—as though he might break apart her guilt with the force of his regard for her.
His heart was hammering in his chest, making the world start to spin, when he realized she was shaking in his arms. The salt of bitter tears reached his tongue and, for once, they were not ones he had shed. He released her mouth, cradling her face in his hands with the same care he used for a vial of priceless phoenix tears. She blinked up at him, her expression a mixture of despair and confusion that pierced his heart.
"I'm crying," she said, stunned.
"So you are," he replied, cajoling her as he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. "I suppose I ought to be grateful to have made it this long without having to deal with tears from you."
"You don't understand. I don't cry. I haven't cried since David died."
Here she gave a great sob, and it was some minutes before she could speak again. Severus stopped trying to keep up with the streaming tears. Instead he held her in his arms, and let her soak the front of his frock coat through. He even caught himself rocking her, humming Rusalka under his breath. When he realized what he was doing, he felt like an absolute fool, but he continued onward. Better to do something foolish, than to let this moment pass doing nothing.
Her tears tapered off gradually. There were times he thought she'd stopped, only for her to shudder and weep anew. When the worst of it was past, he fished a handkerchief out of his pocket for her. She took it gratefully, wiping her face before crumpling it in her fist.
"I got your coat all wet," she said, her voice thick after the outburst.
"It will dry," he replied.
She laid her head on his shoulder, and her breathing slowly returned to normal. He ran his fingers through her hair, unsure if the repetitive motion was more soothing to her or to himself. It seemed important to say the right thing at this juncture, but he had no idea what that right thing might be.
After a long while, he decided to begin with what he judged to be the worst of the matter.
"Do you really believe that your—that Isaac's soul is lost?"
She took a deep, ragged breath. "No. Most of the time I think he's safe with God. It's only when I get really low like this that I doubt."
Good. A rational response. "Would Mr Clear—was David the sort of man to hold a grudge against you for a mistake you made in your youth? Whatever that mistake may have cost him?"
She gave a harsh laugh. "Don't you get it? That what makes it so horrible. I know he wouldn't blame me—that he doesn't blame me. He'd want me to to live my life and be happy. I'd feel less guilty if I didn't know how good he was."
He closed his eyes briefly, weighing his next words carefully. And though it went against every sense of self-preservation he had, he spoke.
"It is a terrible burden. Lily had that sort of goodness in her too."
"I don't understand."
He continued running his fingers through her hair—wishing he hadn't spoken—wishing he'd already told her everything there was to be told.
"During the Dark Lord's first rise to power, there was a prophesy naming, in the oblique and useless way of prophesies, who would bring him to ruin. I overhead the seer and brought the details of her vision to the Dark Lord. It led him to—to Lily's family. To her son. From then, they became his particular targets."
"Fuck."
"Indeed. Like you, I did not cast the spell that murdered them, but I paved the way for it to be done."
She lifted her head, and pressed her lips against his, lingering and bittersweet.
"So you do know," she said when their lips parted.
"Unfortunately."
She was tracing her finger absently over the front of his coat, running it along the trails her tears had taken. "Sinking that knife into Carter's neck was one of the best highs I've ever had. I hope to God you get to do the same to the Dark Lord."
It was startling sometimes how well she understood him. Desperation had driven him to join forces with Albus against the Dark Lord. Guilt had prompted him to make Lily's Cause his own. But it was vengeance that sustained him through the weary years, and the darkest hours of the night.
His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "So do I."
End Notes:
Amma: Mother
Achan: Father
Ammama: Grandmother
Appachan: Grandfather
Yēśu: Jesus
Quoted text from Me and Bobby McGee by Kris Kristofferson, sung by Janis Joplin