Chapter 26
The rest of my winter holiday passed without much incident.
On Boxing Day, Mum took Arnav and I out to shop with Parvati and Padma and their family — even the Wizarding World celebrated the bank holiday and had absurd deals on all sorts of commercial products, reminding me that this was basically the British version of Black Friday — and provided further distractions. I'm not sure why we were grouping up with the Patils, but I think it was because Mum and the twins' mother wanted to do their shopping together while they chatted about… well, whatever they wanted to talk about, I really didn't care.
Of course, I spent much of my time that day getting whisked hither and thither by the girls, much like when they dragged me shopping in India over the summer, and was just in no mood to deal with Dumbeldore's… challenge, I suppose, once I got back home. I am not a big fan of shopping, but getting caught up in their enthusiasm for the deals offered and the sheer commercialism of the holiday was just emotionally exhausting.
If not for the impossibility and impracticality of the notion, I would have suspected it was a plot or manipulation by Dumbledore to keep me distracted from the texts I had been sent. But this was not the world of a poorly-written fanfiction wherein the professor acts completely out of character for no other reason than to provide additional drama or angst.
At least, I hoped not! I hadn't seen any indication of that yet, and I prayed to all the gods who would listen and to my anonymous Benefactor who made me a Jumper that it wouldn't be so.
I had invested too much into ingratiating myself to Dumbledore's good graces that if he turned out to be secretly evil, I would probably snap and turn into a dark wizard simply out of spite… which would be all part of his dastardly plan, no doubt, but who knew how that would really turn out.
Good thing all signs pointed towards canonical Dumbldore. Sure, he wasn't perfect, but he was a damn sight better than having no support whatsoever.
But… I don't think I really minded the shopping that day. I got bored, sure; shopping is a tedious chore most of the time. If I wasn't browsing through books that held my interest or looking through toys and knick-knacks for things that would be fun to mess around with, I would always try to finish my shopping as quickly as possible in my first life. And yet, when the twins dragged me around on Boxing Day, it didn't feel as much like a chore to be finished with haste. Sure, it was Boxing Day and the deals offered made everything hectic. Everyone was rushing everywhere to capitalize on the discounts and deals offered by clever marketing departments to advertise and sell their various wares. I normally found such situations painfully stressful, but either my Essences rendered me immune to that stress now, or the company was somehow making it tolerable.
Still not sure which answer I like better, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to decide.
The only annoyance was that the twins — Parvati especially — were not impressed with my choice of Christmas gift and informed me that I was to make it up to them by buying them proper presents under their supervision. I had no idea why they felt that way: I certainly liked Chocolate Frogs and other candies, and it wasn't like the two of them didn't like to indulge in sweets every now and then as well.
A box of candies should have been a fine present — it was what I got my other housemates and friends. Apparently, telling them this made them even more annoyed and insistent that I get them proper presents because I clearly didn't understand pre-teen girls. That was my take, anyways, as they refused to explain themselves, stating it should have been obvious when it clearly wasn't.
In the face of such "logic", I defaulted to the wisdom of my two fathers: when a lady is unhappy, just do whatever they say and don't make excuses or you'll matter worse. For Dad, the "lady" was always Mum (in both lifetimes), but he always made it sound like it was general advice for dealing with ladies in general lest she get annoyed with him. It felt both misogynistic and reverse-sexist in equal parts, but damn if it didn't work when done right.
I think the trick was to appease their anger without letting on that you were doing just that. With deftness and some distraction, if you could make them feel happier without being obvious about it, I found that Mum always seemed to overlook prior transgressions… until you did something wrong in the future and she brought it up all over again. Only problem: I don't really know how to do that with the twins, considering that any attempt to appease them by finding 'more thoughtful' presents would be super-obvious with them right there.
Honestly, what were they expecting? For me to go out and spend lavish amounts of money on individual presents for each of my friends and acquaintances? As far as they knew, I was still recovering from that "splashed, faulty Forgetfulness Potion" and I probably just "forgot" to get them personalized presents for Christmas. In truth, I just had been more caught up on trying to enjoy myself for the few days I had until Dumbledore's assigned texts had arrived. Even throughout the outing we had, my mind still wandered to what I remembered from skimming the texts, thinking about the subjects I briefly saw being pondered and the diagrams scrawled on the pages and scrolls.
Note to self: see if I can visit one of the bookshops in Diagon Alley sometime this holiday so I can get reference books. Dumbledore provided me with a wealth of knowledge with those texts, with his own annotations and notes on top of that, but I suspected they might not be enough.
Where was I? Oh, yes—complaining. The worst part of shopping on Boxing Day with the Patil twins was that I had to buy them personalized gifts with them right there. Normally, gift giving doesn't incur much judgement from the recipient if you're giving a friend a gift for Christmas, not unless you royally screw it up. Even if it's a mediocre gift, they'll still be kinda thankful for the thought put into it (probably).
But when the recipient is right there, watching you shop and pick out a gift, their judgement is instantaneous. A bad gift would get an immediate response the moment I picked it, and I was in no mood to gamble like that. If I linger too long looking at one thing, they may assume I'll pick that as their present.
Maybe I'm just overthinking this and making a bigger deal out of this than it really was? It had barely been half an hour with me following the twins around as they shopped, trying my best to read between the lines on what they were actually interested in getting as a present. The mixed messages, however, were making that harder than it needed to be. My annoyance at Boxing Day shopping in general and the enormous crowds which flocked through the stores this day may have been blowing things out of proportion. So perhaps I really was making mountains out of molehills, and projecting my own feelings onto the twins to deflect from pondering my own foibles.
...Or maybe I was just being deliberately obtuse because I knew that this matter could have been avoided when Mum dragged us shopping for last-minute gifts for everyone my second day back from Hogwarts if I had just bothered to put in more effort buying more personalized gifts for my friends, rather than just giving them candy.
But I hadn't bothered back then, and now I was being punished for it. Or was I punishing myself by being annoyed at the situation? It was hard to tell.
As we wandered the Muggle department store, I finally got lucky and found something that caught my eye and which wasn't being swarmed by the loads of Boxing Day shoppers at the store. We had been passing by a small jewelry kiosk and I noticed a rack where pretty, silver alphabet-letters hung from similar necklaces. I noticed it because there was the "K" that matched my name, but there was also a pair of "P" necklaces there. No one seemed to be paying it much attention, and their price was well within my allowance for this shopping trip.
For silver, it was ridiculously cheap, only a few quid each. Sterling silver pendant of a letter on a black thread. Or perhaps some other alloy of silver, or perhaps they were merely plated. Nevertheless, they were cheap and eye-catching. That made them perfect.
I also vaguely recalled that the twins had similar necklaces in canon (my memories of minor details like that was foggy, to be honest), but I don't believe I have ever seen them wearing anything like that here. Perhaps this is where they would have gotten the necklaces in the original canon? If so, then maybe I could take advantage of that.
Ignoring the kiosk for a while, I waited until the girls had gone to look at dresses and decided to excuse myself from the general embarrassment that was watching them clothes-shop. Given how I was awfully independent for a pre-teen, Mum let me off with a sigh as the twins giggled at my somewhat-exaggerated dismay at needing to be around so many dresses in the shop. That allowed me to circle around the store to where that kiosk was and snag some of those necklaces to surprise them later. I hoped that making it a bit of a surprise would alleviate the whole "you got your friends candy for Christmas, and it was thoughtless of you to do that" thing.
Problem: there was now a clerk at the kiosk that hadn't been there before, and that meant I couldn't just grab it from the kiosk to plop into the basket Mum was using to cart around her purchases. Especially since I was a pre-teen boy, and without my parents to lend me some credibility.
And people wonder why I find it annoying to shop when everyone asks whether my Mum or Dad were around because 12-year-olds (nearly 13!) aren't normally interested in the kinds of things I want to buy.
Case in point: I walked up to the salesclerk and asked, "How much for two of those necklaces, with the letters on 'em? Is there a discount if I buy more than one?"
The salesclerk gave me a look, scanning me top to bottom then back up again. His eyes noted the leather shoes, the pressed shirt and jumper, and the fact that my trousers had the crease of freshly-pressed ironing on them (Smokey was very particular about that). I looked like a boy who came from money and didn't have much idea what it was worth. "No, the price is 15 pounds each."
I could certainly pay that, but I wasn't an idiot. I pointed at the text on the rack itself, reminding the clerk, "Sign says 10 quid, doesn't it? Why's it 15 now?"
"Then it's 10 quid, good on you for knowing to read," the salesclerk said quickly, stiffening at his own blunder being pointed out. Guessing that the mix-up might not have been out of malice, I stifled the urge to snort derisively at the patronizing tone. I could empathize with the position of an overworked clerk having to deal with the rush of Boxing Day shopping forgetting the exact price of things, but part of me suspected the bloke was always a bit rude to children. "Discount for the holidays, I reckon. My mistake. Any take your fancy?"
I shook my head. "No, but they'd be good gifts. Any chance you know what kinda silver that is? It ain't sterling, I can tell." Noting that wasn't a magical skill, simply common sense. Silver pendants at that price couldn't be an alloy of significant purity, no matter how small and simple the necklaces were. Even for a Boxing Day sale, 10 quid was cheap.
"No, boy, I don't." the clerk said shirtly, annoyed by the questions. "Are you going to buy it or not? Or do you need your Mum or Da' here?"
"No, I've got 20 quid." Occlumency was useful sometimes for concealing the irritation I felt at the insinuation that I needed my parents for something as simple as paying a man the listed price for his goods. It wasn't like I could just barter for them in this large department store, no matter how much I felt like arguing with the bloke.
I pulled out a small wallet and drew out 20 pounds while being careful not to show how much was actually in it. Dad had a policy of ensuring that we always had a small sum of Muggle money with us every time we were in the Muggle world, and that we were knowledgeable in its use. It came in handy quite often, to be honest, but that might have been because it also ensured we had something in case of emergencies where using magic would be inconvenient.
"Which ones d'you want?"
"The 'P' pendants. Two of 'em."
"Lemme guess, a birthday gift?" the clerk asked.
"No, that's not for months. But the twins were peeved I was a bit… thoughtless with my Christmas presents and figure this'll satisfy them. Birds, am I right?" I groused half-heartedly.
The clerk chuckled. "Have you ever tried flowers and chocolates?"
"Chocolate Frogs are what got me into this mess…" I mumbled under my breath.
"Come again?"
"It's nothing," I waved off the momentary confusion. Did not mean to make that slip, but I don't think the clerk heard me properly. Even then, I doubt he would make the connection to "magical candy" from that alone.
The clerk gave me a tiny plastic bag and a few pennies — a classic marketing tactic; the cost was a few pennies short of 10 quid to make it seem cheaper than it was, so I was owed some change — as I handed him the two notes. "There you are, lad. Hope these birds you're shopping for like 'em."
"Thank you, sir. I hope so as well."
And with that I slipped off, ducking through the crowds as I headed back for Mum, Arnav and the Patils.
As it turned out, they had noticed I was missing in the crowds and were just about to go looking for me when I showed up again.
"Where did you pop off to now?" Parvati asked, exasperatedly.
"Shopping? I don't know about you, but being surrounded by dresses is positively boring, so I went and browsed through things that actually interest me." I said.
The twins' father chuckled. "Give it a few years, you'll change your tune," he said, to which both Mum and his wife gave him a dry look. I don't think I was supposed to understand that, but given I had been through puberty once before, I did understand and had to reign in my expression from cringing at the thought of going through that hell of emotions again.
"I don't get it." Arnav mumbled from where he was toddling along in Mum's footsteps.
I patted his head reassuringly and lied. "Don't worry, I don't get it either, Arnav."
That just made all the adults laugh while Parvati and Padma rolled their eyes. It also meant I changed my mind about giving them the new present right this moment — too embarrassing to do it now. The girls would gush about it, the parents would make unnecessary comments, Arnav would demand a present of his own…
Well, I could endure Parvati and Padma's annoyance with me for a while longer. I could give them the necklaces some other day.
~o0o~
I'm not sure what possessed me to insist on going to the cinema that afternoon. We had finished up in the Muggle department stores before heading to Diagon Alley where we spent most of the rest of the day. But when Arnav started to get hungry and fussy, we went out for lunch.
Arnav was a bit picky these days, but he liked Indian food well enough in this weather, so we settled his stomach at a cozy little Indian restaurant in Southall that was run by some immigrants from Jaipur. As it turned out, the solid food was just what he needed after that bit of Side-Along Apparition. The Patils decided to join us as well, turning a small family lunch into a somewhat larger affair, though most of the discussion hinged around what we were doing at Hogwarts.
It took some well-timed stern looks at Parvati and Padma and slight nudges on their feet under the table to ensure they didn't talk about the affairs of the Dueling Club nor how I got detention and had a "Forgetfulness Potion" accident. Directing the conversation back to what we were learning at Hogwarts was a far simpler affair, considering all three of us were bright students who were doing well in our classes — you wouldn't think it from the description of Parvati in the books and in the films, but she was actually quite studious when she put her mind to it. Padma wasn't in Ravenclaw because she was smarter than her sister, but because Parvati simply never felt like applying the brilliance she shared with her sister towards academic excellence in the same way Padma did.
Arnav was just happy to play with his food, despite Mum's chiding, to the amusement of all.
After lunch, it was decided that we would walk around Muggle Southall for a while to let the food digest before the adults sent us home and they went off the Diagon Alley to continue shopping. It was while we were walking down the streets that we passed by a cinema and I saw a title being played that surprised me: Aladdin.
I had forgotten that Disney had released Aladdin in late 1992, and it appeared that it was still going strong in the theaters. Seeing it on the billboard, I knew that I just had to rewatch it. Sure, it was a Muggle film, but it was Aladdin! It was one of the greatest Disney cartoons of my first childhood, and I just had to see it.
Mum and the adult Patils were reluctant. They'd never heard of it, and Muggle cinema wasn't really a thing they were all too familiar with. Sure, they had heard of cartoons, but the idea of paying a few pounds for tickets to a Muggle cinema to watch a cartoon (even if it was a musical) didn't sound like a good use of time.
So I convinced Arnav instead. Mentioning that it was a musical about a boy with a magical lamp and a flying carpet had him hooked. He still remembered the flying carpet we had flown on last summer on our trip to India, and he wanted to do it again. Seeing a story made by Muggles about a magic carpet had him hooked. And with Arnav on board, the capitulation of the adults was settled.
Mr. Patil got us all tickets and we filed into a packed cinema hall to find our seats and watch the film. Arnav had some complaints about not getting the popcorn in bags we saw other patrons purchasing, but Mum put her foot down about that as we'd just had lunch.
Even with a whole life spent living in the wizarding world, surrounded by actual magic, there was something altogether enchanting about watching Aladdin in the theater. I remembered the story well, having seen it several times in my first life. The story was timeless, the music was mesmerizing, and I couldn't help but fall in love with the characters all over again. I loved this film, and seeing it again brought back so many memories of when I had seen it before, though it had only come out a month prior.
There were some things you just couldn't see the same way, twice, though. Genie's dialogue and jokes hit me harder than they used to — in my first life, it was just the character making references to the modern world that no one else in the film understood (though the Muggles certainly did). For me, it was a reminder of being unstuck in time: the things I knew to be true, and all those jokes and references I could have made in my first life would have made absolutely no sense to the new friends I had made in this one. Those references would have been to things happening decades in the future in the Muggle world, and no one would understand what I was talking about if I said them. All it would make me do is look mad… but Genie made that work for him.
It was also strange to see how my family and the Patils reacted to how the Muggles portrayed magic in the film. Iago the talking parrot got some confusion, as even magical parrots in the wizarding world were nowhere near as clever as Iago. The Genie also stood out for no direct analogue existed in the magical world — the only "genies" we had were magical creatures that had none of the power nor personality that Genie had in the film. The closest you could find to a character like the Genie were the House Elves, who possessed magical powers and were bound in service to wizards, though the way they worked was nothing like Genie from Disney's Aladdin.
In fact, in the wizarding world, all allusions to the powers of the djinn in the mythology of the Middle East and Africa were generally attributed to the mysticism of ancient witches and wizards pretending to be fantastical spirits in order to protect their true identities or to simply look more impressive than they really were. "Djinn" were just a ruse for the magical world to veil the truth about magic to the Muggles in those areas, and magical mis-information campaigns since the 18th century continued to perpetuate that myth in order to further protect the Statute of Secrecy.
But Jafar was… well, he was a perfect caricature for a dark wizard of times long gone. Seeing him wield his serpent-staff as its eyes glowed red and he put the Sultan under his spell… The sharp gasps from Mum and the twins' parents was audible. The outrage and terror of seeing such an enchantment being used in a Muggle cartoon as the spell-of-choice for the only true wizard in the film was palpable. It only then occurred to me that what Jafar used so freely in the film was virtually identical to the Imperius Curse.
I remember shivering at the realization that despite how strange the magic of Disney was on the silver screen in comparison to the magics I learned at Hogwarts, the perils of dark magic were one and the same. That subtle, clever trick of the mind that allowed the dark wizard to subjugate a Muggle Sultan and rule the kingdom through the unwitting patsy… it was all too similar to the methods used by dark wizards our parents and grandparents had grown up with. Grindelwald had used the Imperius on Muggles in a similar fashion, I recalled. Voldemort had wielded it with impunity on other magicals as well.
The gripping terror of Jafar's malice, further heightened once he had control of the Genie… I hadn't quite realized how hard it would hit us now that I had experiences of growing up in the magical world. I could see Padma and Parvati fretting about Jafar's malice and Jasmine's brave attempts at manipulating the powerful sorcerer on the screen as well, both knowing full well that the cartoon princess was but a Muggle faced with trying to outwit a dark lord was a fool's errand.
Only Arnav appeared to be unaffected, his excitement more akin to the Muggle children's in the audience. The ignorance of youth was bliss, it seemed.
When the film was over and we filed out of the theater with the rest of the crowd of Muggles, there was this strange sense of reminiscence to my thoughts. I compared my new memory of the story to what I recalled from the before-times, when I was just another Muggle and the world of magic was little more than a fantasy. The magic of the lamp was all the more intriguing as a Muggle child, and the majesty of Agrabah was all the more fantastical.
Now that I was a wizard who had flown on a genuine magic carpet and could perform acts of sorcery myself, the mystique of the story was different. Rather than appear to be a flawed reproduction about what I knew to be true about magic, it filled me with more questions. Replicating the feats of the genie were impossible, sure, but the smaller pieces of magic? The transformations, breathing fire, levitations, divinations and alchemy… Replicating those arts did not feel impossible.
Trick was to avoid falling into the usual traps of Disney villainy — it would be poor form to end up like Jafar in my pursuit of magical knowledge and powers.
"So, who was your favorite, Arnav?" I asked as my little brother started stomping along the snow that built up at the edges of the sidewalks.
"Favorite?" he asked.
"Your favorite character in the film." I clarified. "I liked the Genie best — he may have been strange, but he was funny."
"I still don't understand half of the things the one did," Padma muttered under breath, shaking her head. "Honestly, everything about that blue spirit made no sense. Only those three rules of his made any sense…"
"Don't be daft, Padma. It's not supposed to be sensible. It's a fairy tale for children written by Muggles. It's not like they know what magic is really like." Parvati pointed out.
"Still funny," I rolled my eyes. "So, favorite character?"
Arnav pondered the question long and hard… for about five seconds before loudly answering, "Aladdin!"
"The street-rat, eh?" I laughed. "I would have thought you would like Abu the monkey best! You're both mischievous, little trouble-makers!"
"Hey!" Arnav pouted, kicking snow in my direction.
"Arnav!" Mum snapped, giving the toddler a stern look. "What did we say about good manners?"
Arnav huffed. "Only good boys play with good toys…" he mumbled. I winced in memory of the very same lesson from when I was a child.
"It's alright, Mum," I tried to say, but my voice trailed off when she gave me the same look.
"Honestly, you two…" she muttered. "I expected better behavior from you both."
Chastised, I hung back as Mum went off to chide Arnav for veering too close to the curb as he stomped around. This brought me closer to the twins who flanked me, sniggering quietly at my hunched shoulders and the flush in my cheeks at being told off and not from the cold.
I rolled my eyes and tried to put it off. "So, what about you two?"
"What about us? We're both good, well-mannered girls, don't you know?" said Parvati, putting on airs.
"Unlike you, we are not delinquents." Padma sniffed with faux-haughtiness.
"What are you on about?"
Parvati gave me a smirk. "How many times have you gotten into trouble lately?"
My eye twitched imperceptibly. "Shut up about that, would you? As far as my family knows, I'm the best behaved student at Hogwarts, and I'd like to keep it that way." I hissed quietly.
"Or what?" Parvati's eyebrow arched imperiously.
I thought for a moment. "I could tell Sunil-uncle and Radha-auntie about who really knocked over the ridiculous-looking statue in your yard three years ago?"
The twins shared a look between themselves. "Mum's the word, then?" "That's right, the word is mum."
Stifling a snort of laughter at that interplay, I shrugged it off. "So, who was your favorite, then?"
"Jasmine," Padma answered easily.
"Honestly? Same here!" giggled Parvati. I rolled my eyes — I should have expected that answer.
"She was just so brave, standing up to that dark wizard like that…" Padma explained.
"Really? I thought she was just awfully clever about tricking Jafar like she did," frowned Parvati. "If it wasn't for that villain seeing Aladdin in the reflection of her crown…"
Well, that was interesting. "Funny that you both like her for different reasons. Padma liked her for being brave, like a Gryffindor, but Parvati liked her for being clever, like a Ravenclaw… Did you get your Houses switched up?" I japed.
"Well, that's - I, err, well, there's nothing saying we have to be just like our Houses, do we?" Parvati defended hotly.
"Right, there's nothing saying a Ravenclaw can't value bravery." Padma agreed.
"And you, of all people, should know that Gryffindors can be clever," pointed out the twin.
I just gave them both a grin. "Sure, I just thought it was interesting you liked Jasmine for traits you see in each other. Perhaps she simply reminded Padma of your bravery, Parvati. And you, Parvati, were reminded of Padma's cleverness. And that's why you liked her. You saw a bit of yourself in her, and a part of your sister as well."
The twins flushed scarlet in unison at having their opinions dissected and pointed out so clearly. I skipped ahead, smirking, "So, if Jasmine reminds you of each other… who do I remind you of, eh?"
Padma wrinkled her nose. "That parrot — err, what's his name, again?"
"What, Iago?" I bristled. "I remind you of Iago?"
"You can both be very snippy about your humor, don't you think? Dry and acidic. Pretends to be harmless, but is actually quite cunning. Always quick with the critiques…"
"Regardless, the parrot?! Even if I must be an animal, you could have at least picked Rajah the tiger or Abu the monkey… but the parrot?!"
"I don't know, Padma, I always thought he was a bit more like Al-" Parvati cut herself off, seeing something in Padma's expression that I clearly missed because she immediately changed tact. "Oh, yes, you are clearly most like the parrot, Yagoo."
"Iago," I corrected her absently, still flabbergasted at this betrayal. Even though I knew they were joking, my mind struggled to wrap itself around the concept that I could be most akin to Iago the parrot.
The bloody bird didn't even get his redemption arc until the next movie! And the television series! And the final film in the trilogy! He was just the villainous stooge in this one!
More insultingly, Iago was a bloody parrot! Compare me to the monkey, I could handle that. It was insulting, but being likened to Abu wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. And I did like Iago as a character, so I couldn't deny that his personality and character background were interesting. But he was still a parrot — despite no longer suffering the same fear of birds I had in my first life, a great part of me still felt queasy at the notion of being most akin to one.
"Well, if you think I'm a parrot, then perhaps I'll simply call the both of you Polly for the rest of the day."
Parvati snorted. "You wouldn't. Not even Professor Binns gets our names that wrong."
"I'm sorry, what was that, Polly?" I said, leaning towards her mockingly, smiling with a pleasantly saccharine innocence.
"No, really. Must you?" guffawed Padma.
"Come again, Polly?" I leaned towards the other twin, smirking. "We fine, feathered folk are hard of hearing sometimes, don't you know?"
"Are you sure you're not just feather-brained?" teased Parvati, giggling. "Come off it, we were only joking."
I gave them a grin, utterly unrepentant. That just made them giggle even more.
"What's all this then?" Sunil-uncle finally noticed us again, hurrying up from where he and his wife had been lagging behind. "Laughing about the film, were you? I thought it was a hoot. Muggles! What'll they come up with next?"
"Yes Papa, Aladdin was quite enjoyable." Padma said, laughter fading into easy bemusement with her father around.
"Did you have a favorite character from the film, Papa?" asked Parvati.
Mr. Patil hummed thoughtfully, pondering that for a good while. "The Sultan," he finally answered.
"Wasn't he a doddering fool? Jafar manipulated him easily, and he was utterly helpless to do anything." I frowned. Like many other tertiary characters in the film, the Sultan's character only truly shone in the spin-offs.
"Yes, but he was compassionate and loved his people. And even more importantly, he had a bright, beautiful daughter than he loved with all his heart." Sunil Patil leaned in, arms on Padma and Parvati's shoulders as he brought them in for a brief, partial embrace. "And I thank heaven each and every day that I have been blessed with two such radiant daughters."
"Papa!" the twins protested, both flushing with embarrassment.
That shut them up for a bit while Sunil-uncle laughed goodnaturedly at their embarrassment. The traditional fussing of parents over their children continued from there until we were all laughing about it and having a generally good time. I gave Mum a hug when I had the chance as our small band pressed onward towards more shopping.
~o0o~
Since it was stretching into the late afternoon and light was beginning to fade from the already-cloudy skies, Mum and the twins' parents decided it was best they dropped us off at my house so that the adults could continue with the rest of the day. Dad was still at work, despite the holiday, on account of some time-sensitive matter he had to attend to (we got no further information than that), but Smokey could watch over us. Besides, we were "responsible" children… Only Arnav really needed the minding.
So it was that in the late afternoon and early evening that I found myself and the twins sitting on the couches by our sitting room fireplace, sipping on mugs of hot cocoa provided by Smokey's capable brewing. Arnav had his cocoa in a child-proofed sippy-cup, as Dad wasn't one to splurge on magical solutions for problems like simple spills when the Muggles had cheaper fixes we could buy.
Despite the fact that he worked in the Department of Mysteries and none of his work had a thing to do with Muggles (as far as I knew, anyways), Dad had this strange fascination with Muggles. It wasn't to the level of Arthur Weasley's from canon, as my father was strangely knowledgeable about Muggle societies and cultures in ways that Mr. Weasley was not, but it was at his insistence that I learn something about them by pretending to be one as a child. Part of me questioned the logic of sending a pure-blood child to a Muggle primary considering that any show of accidental magic would be a potential violation of the Statute of Secrecy… but after days like today, I could see the benefit.
Even ignoring the fact that I am a Jumper with the memories of a 21st century American Muggle, I have at least some inkling of how to behave among Muggles. I know how to dress like one, how to act like I don't have magic, and have some understanding of their technology and societies. Would I ever blend in perfectly? No, but I knew the basics and the experience of having to keep my magic under control as a child were critical to my existing control.
Fear of my parent's disappointment should I break the Statute had been ingrained from toddler-hood and helped fuel my desire to keep myself under control while attending the local primary. I recall flashes of memory as a child in this world, confused by age and my youth at the time, before I awakened to the truth of my previous life and my nature as a Jumper. In it, I was a few months younger than Arnav is now, taken out to play with Muggle children. It wasn't the local park, but somewhere else. Somewhere distant… and for a time, all was well. Until some ignorant toddler thought I was dirty because my skin was different than hers, and told me I had to take a bath.
Looking back, it must have been youthful innocence, nothing intentionally malicious, but I had reacted poorly. Childhood stubbornness led to neither of us backing down, which drew in other children, who took the girl's side. They were mostly all white. I was not. It was the early 80s in England, and children can be cruel without meaning to.
But I was a child myself and emotions ran hot at that age. I remember being angry at their hurtful words, but also feeling confused and ashamed of myself for appearing to look "dirty". I had wanted friends, and found only teasing. I hadn't understood it. It made no sense.
I lashed out. Magically, I mean. Nothing major, but still an outburst of accidental magic. I remember their shrill voices screeching in surprise as they were flung away by an invisible force, and rain suddenly began to pour from what should have been clear skies, to wash away dirt and grime that was never there.
Mum had dealt with the situation from there, taking me away, making excuses with the other parents, while Dad just watched. His wand was in his hand, but kept out of sight at his side, just in case an Obliviation was in order. They had the same expression, I recalled, though Mum concealed it better.
That air of disappointment at my outburst… I remember it haunting me.
That day, they had sat me on the couch, hugging me close, as they explained why magic had to be kept a secret. That magic was wonderful, but the Muggles… they just wouldn't understand it. They would do bad things with it. How if Muggles knew magic was real… they would hurt those who had it. Maybe not with sticks and stones… but words hurt. And Kenneth the toddler had learned that lesson well. I learned to keep my magic a secret from the Muggles who would hurt me and mine.
I grew up in a house of magic. It was in my blood, pure and strong, full of wizards along both lines. It was in my upbringing, as I lived in a wizard's home where many of the appliances were enchanted, while a house-elf kept it all in order in between serving as my nanny. My parents raised me to be a wizard, for that is what I am and will always be, and that I would one day learn at school how to use magic properly… but until then, I had to keep myself under control. Because outbursts like that… that would be breaking the rules. And if I get caught, I could get into trouble — either with the Muggles, or with the Ministry.
But what really struck home for me as a child in those memories… it was the idea that I would get in trouble with my parents. Or that they would suffer some troubles because of my mistakes.
It was a hard lesson to learn. Even harder considering that once I was older they enrolled me in the local primary. My parents had the resources to ensure I was schooled at home, to hire tutors to ensure my education wasn't lacking in the slightest. But they instead sent me to a Muggle primary where I was surrounded by Muggle children. I didn't understand them. None of them understood me. And even then… I couldn't let them find out that I was magical.
Accidents still happened. I remember doing my best, but a child's best isn't always enough. Things happened, but Mum or Dad or someone else was always around to show up afterwards and fix things. For the most part though… I remember everything somehow clicking together in my head eventually. It might have been on a trip to India, walking through the Maya Bazaar with Mum and her father, or it might have been while day-dreaming in class, waiting for the other children to finish their own sheets of sums. Took me ages to realize it, but afterwards, keeping my magical outbursts from showing up around Muggles while allowing myself to be magical in the comfort of my home was easy.
That control over magical expression from this world's memories was foundational to my intuitive ability to practice magic, but now I wondered if it was simply this reality forming some kind of historical explanation for my Wandless Magic perk. Afterall, my Occlumency perk had been explained as an inherited trait, so perhaps that time spent around the Muggles in primary combined with my parents' guidance and support was what presented the "in-world explanation" for my Wandless Magic perk. Even now, I could tell that a natural talent for Occlumency had likely helped me at several key junctures when it came to ensuring my emotions did not swell to extremes and result in magical outbursts early on.
It made me wonder how much of my life in this world, the history of myself and my family, had been shaped by the Perks I was granted in this Jump on the JumpChain.
Then I realized that Arnav was around the same age that I was when my parents began doing this. Just like I had, Arnav was beginning to display signs of accidental magic at home and when we went traveling to India. We had gone out into the Muggle world on one of the busiest commercial holidays to shop, and Mum had been paying special attention to Arnav all day. She had not allowed her to leave his side while we were out among the throngs of Muggles, and she had been careful to keep watch of what he was doing even in the cinema.
I wondered whether they would one day ensure my brother learned the same lesson that I had learned, then enroll him in a Muggle primary school until it was time for Hogwarts.
I tried not to think about the implications of that.
Thankfully, I had friends around to distract me from my sullen thoughts. Parvati and Padma got bored of my brooding on the couches while they distracted Arnav and decided to drag me into various games until our parents returned and we celebrated Boxing Day with a dinner of leftovers (as was the tradition, apparently).
But when the Patils left and I was alone with my thoughts that night, they kept me awake.
~o0o~
A few days later, the terror that was "family drama" struck the house.
I hadn't been aware of what happened until afterwards, as I had shut myself in my room to read through Dumbledore's assigned texts. My parents believed I was working through the books I had received for Christmas, which wasn't un-true, but rather lacking in nuance on what those books were and why I had shut myself away to read them.
Anyways, the trouble arose from a fundamental misunderstanding on the part of a toddler.
Somehow, Arnav got it into his head that Smokey was a djinn of some kind. "Just like Genie, from Aladdin!" he had defended himself.
And since Genie from the film had wanted to be free, Arnav decided that Smokey must want to be free as well.
Thankfully, Arnav had no idea how house-elves were actually freed and thought that saying the same words from the film would work. "I wish you were free, Smokey," did not free the house-elf, but it did hurt the elf's feelings. Badly.
Apparently, the situation had escalated quite rapidly when Arnav repeatedly insisted on trying to free Smokey despite the elf's protests and now Smokey was in quite the state. I'm not sure what exactly the elf's initial reaction was to a toddler's stubborn ignorance, but the matter had eventually erupted into a fierce row that ended in Smokey apparating away in hysterics.
Hours later, I could hear the elf bawling loudly from the attic amidst Mum's frantic attempts to stop the elf from doing anything… drastic, which was awfully concerning. She kept insisting that no one wanted to free Smokey and that Arnav simply made a mistake and didn't understand why what he did was a bad thing.
When Dad got home and found out about the incident, Arnav got a stern talking to. I'm not sure what was said, but the toddler was thoroughly chastised afterwards. Smokey took a day to calm down, and Arnav was made to say sorry for upsetting the elf like that.
I… wasn't sure how to feel about all of it. Too many conflicting opinions telling me that this was both right and wrong, but the truth was at some uncomfortable juncture somewhere in between. There were no good answers here, and that sat in an uncomfortable pit within me.
I did my best to put it out of mind for now.
Needless to say, the festive mood for the holidays was ruined after that. Now everything was awfully awkward around the house and I couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts to get away from it all.
~o0o~
A/N: I struggled with writer's block for most of this chapter. I had ideas on what kind of scenes I wanted, but had trouble finding the words for them. Not sure if it all flowed properly here, but it's mostly character moments and some slice-of-life. Next chapter: Hogwarts again!