XXIII. GRANNY'S HOMEMADE STRAWBERRY JELLY
"at best, you're the untamed hero; at worst, you offend people wherever you go"
- 墨香铜臭, 魔道祖师 [mo dao zu shi]
I sat down heavily on my Batman & Joker bedspread, running my fingers through my dripping wet red hair and staring blankly down at my toes as I scrunched them in my red shag carpet(a colour I totally didn't pick out because of Doctor Who and the grass on Gallifrey-okay, that's definitely what happened, I don't know why I'm trying to seem cooler than I actually am when I have a Batman & Joker bedspread, several stuffed animals on my bed, and am wearing a Star Trek: The Next Generation t-shirt-Alistair and I are in the middle of a summer-long marathon now that all of season five's finally out, and we're already making plans for season six-that I got for my twelfth birthday from the mega geek himself and, under that, a second shirt with pink and white striped sleeves that I've rolled up to my elbows and paired with a plaid midi skirt with a yellow/blue/pink colourway).
The cherry blossom pink walls of my bedroom had recently been touched up, so most of my things were still in boxes waiting to be set back up, but my Chewbacca(one night only! Back to Kashyyyk! Live from the Western Forest!)poster was once again on the back of my door-and, on the other side, my Phantom of the Opera poster, a wooden sign with the words 'NO STUPID PEOPLE BEYOND THIS POINT' in bright red hanging above it. Nosferatu was chillin' over my bed, while the rest of my posters-much like my books-were waiting for me to get motivated(or for Dakota to get fed up).
The walnut headboard of my double bed was covered with stickers of varying levels of sparkliness(from Cap's shield to Joker's manic grin to the Vulcan salute to Darth Vader's helmet to Tigger and Piglet to classic rock band logos to arcade games from Ms Pac-Man and Super Mario Bros to Space Invaders-there's an arcade a few blocks from here that Alistair takes me to whenever he feels like having his ass kicked at Dragon's Lair; Alistair isn't into sports, but he gets really competitive when we play video games and we have these fun competitions all the time that Dakota isn't allowed to compete in anymore, because she's insane); and, on my ceiling, I had a whole sky of glow-in-the-dark stars(Alistair put them up for me when I first moved in-and went reaaally overboard).
On the dark wood(and also sticker-covered, much like the rest of my furniture)desk beside my bed(my window's above it, the purple curtains-they have these cute little pom-poms at the top-open and overlooking the Morrissey's backyard)sat several books(both magical and not; I have entire boxes of books waiting to fill the tall, twin black bookshelves across from my bed, and that's not even including my Hogwarts trunk); my Quidditch bookmarks; my Beater's Bat; a few cassette tapes; and an ugly frame with a photo of me Dakota and Alistair that looked like it'd been painted by an unsupervised toddler-I was ten, decorated with yellow glitter glue, craft pom poms and gems, deranged-looking googly eyes, and orange feathers(I made it back in Muggle school art class; Dakota tried to compliment it and ended with, "It's very...glittery, honey" and Alistair told me it had 'character'; I used to take pride in making the most godawful things imaginable all the while pretending I was 'trying very hard' just so Dakota would have to display them around the house and pretend they weren't absolutely hideous).
My wardrobe and dresser are directly across from my desk, with my wardrobe stationed beside the door and my dresser to its right, and my Nimbus is propped up against the wall between them(I used to have an arched floor-length mirror there, but I got rid of it almost immediately after I got back to the Morrissey's).
"You okay?"
I looked up quickly, startled.
Dakota was leaning against my doorframe watching me worriedly-for how long, I couldn't tell you.
"Super," I lied, smiling fakely.
Seeing right through me, she sighed and made her way over, taking a seat on the bed beside me-and, to my surprise, leaning over to pull my light grey swivel chair closer so she could plug her hairdryer(I hadn't even noticed she was holding it, which says a lot about my state of mind)into the power strip sitting on it.
"Come here, sweetie," she urged gently.
I wordlessly shuffled around, my back to her.
She flipped the switch, turning the hairdryer on, and started to dry random sections of my thick, mid-back length hair.
"So," she said calmly, "how are you really?"
For a minute, I didn't respond, just listening to the mechanic whur and feeling the heat on my skin and Dakota's combing fingers.
"Not fantastic?" I grimaced down at my hands, playing with my fingers. "I know Harry didn't have a choice-and it's not like they really know anything-but..."
"But this isn't how you wanted them to find out," she finished knowingly, "and you were completely blindsided, and you don't know what you're going to say."
"Exactly. It's all because of the stupid Dursleys-and, well, Dobby,I guess, but he meant well-and at least he gave me my mail back..."
In the open cage on my drawers, Illyuis let out the owl version of a scoff.
-okay, I should probably explain what on earth we're talking about, right?
Let's rewind a few weeks to the end of June, just after I got back.
After being enlightened on the Philosopher's Stone and how I'd spent the last ten or so months, I barely talked Dakota down from pulling me out of Hogwarts-but, that didn't stop her from writing Dumbledore a scathing letter full of expletives and threats she would 100% follow through on if further provoked.
And, when my showdown with Quirrell made me relapse for the first time in almost a year, she sent him another letter that I'm pretty sure was just a string of actually super creative, I was impressed profanity-laced insults.
And, when Ms Dodds even suggested I go back on my meds to help me cope, she attempted to send the headmaster several more, let's be honest, death threats before Alistair managed to get her to chill out(not to say he was exactly pleased himself with how everything was handled, far from it; he just put it on the back burner so he could focus on making sure I was okay and keeping Mt. Dakota from further implosion).
The fact that he didn't answer any of her letters just pissed her off even more, and had her mentally digging six-foot-deep holes in the backyard-but, as it turns out, that wasn't Dumbledore's fault(and, considering the content of those letters, it was a good thing he didn't get any of them, and that Dakota had time to calm down before writing to the headmaster about how she felt he mishandled everything-while still handing him his ass; not that he would've held anything she wrote against her, all things considered).
It wasn't like it was that big of a relapse-it was nothing compared to other ones I've had(and, if anything, how I handled everything just showed how far I'd come)-but it fed a lot of fuel to Dumbledore's funeral pyre and undermined my entire argument that I was fine and that it wasn't that big of a deal that I murdered someone, and sorta almost died(and they weren't notified, which put both Dakota and Alistair up in arms), and that thing with Trudy the mountain troll, and the vicious three-headed dog(that was casually glamping on the third floor, minus the outside part...oh my god, was Fluffy being inside all the time really inhumane? Did they ever take him out for walks? I mean, he's not very inconspicuous, is he?-no wonder he was so grumpy-), and the Forbidden Forest, and Quirrell/Voldemort...
Instead of putting me back on my meds, or chaining me to Ms Dodds' couch, Alistair and Dakota planned an abrupt trip to Alistair's mother's in Scotland.
I missed seeing her at Christmas(which she understood when they explained the Harry of it all), and it was a nice break from-existence.
The only downside was the fact that I wouldn't be back until early August, which meant I'd miss spending July 31st with Harry-but, considering I don't even like celebrating my birthday, I wasn't really that bothered. The same couldn't be said for Harry, which is the only reason I agreed to do something when I got back. He'd been bummed all summer because, while screwing with Dudley(he says random gibberish words whenever he bothers him, sending the blonde screaming for Petunia)was no doubt a brilliant way to pass the time-and payback for a lifetime of bullying but, to be fair, Dudley treats Harry the way his parents encourage him to treat him, nobody had been owling him and he felt forgotten.
Considering I didn't get any owls either, I called bullshit.
Especially because, a week or two into the summer, we slowly realised that we weren't getting any of the letters that we sent to each other either(which is why we'd been communicating over the phone instead).
Plus, Illyius had been all ruffled and frustrated for weeks(which, I now know, is because he'd been having a month-long bitch-fight with a house-elf-but I'll get to that).
So, I spent half of July on Ms Dodds' couch(and shoving all my skeletons back into their closets, ready for when I saw Harry next), and the other half being fussed over by Granny-who kept trying to plan me a surprise party, and was annoyed when Alistair and Dakota continuously thwarted her, explaining over and over that I have this thing about conventional holidays(although, if she ever wants to celebrate Dia De Los Muertos or Samhain, I'd totally be into that-also, Chinese New Year-✧*̥˚fireworks*̥˚✧!-).
Suffice to say; the multi-layered cake at my 'surprise' party was delicious.
I played a lot of soccer in the yard with 'Uncle' Bram(who, amazingly, is a mortician-but, sadly, isn't pale, brooding, or a vampire)and 'Aunt' Kenna(she's the youngest Morrissey girl, but not the youngest overall; it goes: Lorna-the career-driven shark defence attorney/painter/ceramist, Tavish-the tattoo artist/Sudoku King that lives in a flat with his partner, Gavin, Bram-the mortician/gardener that plants flowers all around his house because, after the shit he sees in the morgue, he likes coming home to something beautiful, Alistair-the high school biology teacher/mad scientist, Kenna-the pastry chef/amateur photographer, and then Graham-the stay-at-home dad/woodworker; his wife, 'Aunt' Flora, is a doctor, and almost always on call)-and, sometimes, my 'cousins'(who are all either a lot younger than me or a lot older).
It was fun, but a bit of a downer considering I had to quit my Soccer team.
With Hogwarts, I'm only in Ipswich two months out of the year(not including the Christmas break), so there wasn't much of a point-especially now I'm on the Slytherin Quidditch team, my new emotional catharsis.
But hey, at least I don't have to walk all the way to and from practice anymore-or wear those godawful uniforms.
I looked like a muddy/sweaty human pumpkin(according to Dakota, I was a "cute pumpkin"-but that was just her bias talking).
Ms Dodds suggested I take up a hobby I can do outside of the Hogwarts Soccer League I'd joined-something more creative and relaxing that doesn't end with me breaking someone's nose(but not journaling, I suck at that, or reading, because apparently I already have an "unhealthy relationship with escapism", and I don't have the attention span or the patience for knitting, colouring in, doing puzzles, or origami...I thought about taking up an instrument but, for some reason, Dakota won't let me play the electric guitar, the pipe organ-like in Phantom of the Opera, the violin, or the drums; something about our neighbour's already "hating us enough as it was"-and, when I asked if I could learn martial arts, I accidentally karate chopped a lamp and broke it, so jury's still out there-). We, er, haven't come up with anything yet.
When I wasn't doing that, I was pouring over the telepathy book Professor Snape gave me(usually late at night and under the covers so no one could catch me reading it).
(I like the sound of telepathy more than 'Legilimency'; it makes me feel like some kind of badass mutant like Professor X or Jean Grey and not...yeah...so I've taken to using it instead-hopefully, Professor Snape won't mind).
It expanded a lot more on what the Potions Master was saying and helped me understand what I am, and what I'm capable of, a bit better; which is a good thing, because understanding it made it less scary. The idea of anybody finding out, beyond Professor Snape and Dumbledore, still made me feel like I'm drowning above water...but the concept/existence of the telepathy itself was less terrifying-which is something.
Although, it is super-duper disturbing unwillingly interpreting what people are thinking and knowing that that's what I'm doing-you would be amazed, and disgusted, by some of the things that go through people's heads when they think no one's listening(behind those pretty masks everybody wears, whether they'd admit it or not). Hopefully, when Professor Snape's introduction course to Telepathy for Dummies starts in a few weeks, it'll get easier-because, right now, it was just noise, all the time, and it made it harder for me to cope with the reoccurring nightmares, and the anxiety attacks, and-everything.
(Professor Snape was right about my emotions making it harder for me to control my telepathy-with Harry, and the Dursleys, and Hogwarts, and Christmas, and everything my emotions were haywire and my telepathy reacted in kind).
That brings us to July 30th, the day before my twelfth birthday.
Granny was in the kitchen(not for my birthday, but for totally unrelated reasons that had Uncle Bram 'distracting me' and Dakota and Alistair trying and failing to reason with the stubborn woman as she blithely went about, singing along to the radio, not baking in preparation for tomorrow, and ignoring her exasperated son and daughter-in-law).
I, on the other hand, was running around the front yard with Uncle Bram in my the Turtles quarter-sleeve Happy Together band shirt, shorts, and cleats.
Two plastic goals had been set up on either side of the yard.
Uncle Bram is tall and lanky like Alistair, but his hair is greyer(and, from what I've seen in the pictures all over Granny's house, more light brown than blonde). He also has rough stubble on his face and while he and Alistair both have the same warm brown eyes as their mum, Alistair's have lighter flecks in his.
"-Potter swerves around the opposition-" I jokingly commentated, kicking my soccer ball around Uncle Bram who clumsily attempted to block me, "she darts down the field-she shoots-" I kicked the ball, and it flew into the goal, "and she scores!"
"Dammit! Ach, well-" Uncle Bram huffed, "guid shot, Jewel."
"You know," I said dryly as I collected the ball, holding it beneath my arm, "if you didn't start off the game losing on purpose, you wouldn't be getting your ass kicked up and down your mother's front yard by an eleven-year-old girl."
"Yoo'll be twelve th'morra," Uncle Bram countered, slightly embarrassed. "An' yoo've bin playin' football fur ages-an' aam old-I dornt have th' energy tae keep runnin' up an' doon th' yard anymair-"
"And you suck."
"-an' I suc-oi!" he looked kinda offended, "ah thooght ah was daein' ah guid-"
I shook my head in the negative, and he deflated.
"I have to go to the loo," I told him, throwing him the soccer ball, "why don't you practise a bit so, when I get back, you'll suck less?"
"Is it me, or have yeh got sassier since las' ah saw yoo?" Uncle Bram said, looking more amused than anything else(and silently wondering to himself how I went from being all withdrawn and quiet to-me).
I grinned impishly before turning on my heel and making my way inside.
From down the hall, I could hear Dakota Alistair and Granny's voices coming from the kitchen, and the radio playing the Proclaimers I'm Gonna Be(500 miles)-but, as I turned to make my way upstairs, found myself more interested in the house-elf sitting on the fourth step and staring up at me with huge green eyes.
"-and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles, to fall down at your door-"
It was tiny, like under four feet tiny, and had a pencil-like nose and long, pointy bat-like ears. Its eyes were big and round, like a tennis ball, and, unlike the ones at Hogwarts(who all have these toga-like uniforms stamped with the school crest), it was dressed in an old pillowcase with rips for its arms and legs.
"When I'm working, yes, I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you, and when the money comes in for the work I do, I'll pass almost every penny on to you, when I come home(when I come home), oh, I know I'm gonna be-"
"Jewel Potter!" the elf squeaked, staring up at me in awe, "So long has Dobby wanted to meet-"
"Shh!" I shushed him frantically, lurching forward to cover the startled creature's mouth. "You can't-what?-just-"
I blew my fringe out of my face, staring down at "Dobby" in astonishment.
"Everyone here's a Muggle," I hissed, looking around, "and only two of them know about magic-we have to-look, come on-quick-"
I removed my hands, ushering the elf up.
Dobby clumsily stumbled to his feet, and I hurried him upstairs before someone saw us.
Or, more specifically, saw the house-elf wearing the pillowcase.
"But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles, to fall down at your door-da lat da(da lat da), da lat da(da lat da), da-da-da dun-diddle un-diddle un-diddle uh da-da-"
Catching sight of the closest door-which turned out to be the bathroom, ironically-I shoved Dobby inside and slammed it behind us.
"Okay-" I twisted my rubber bands anxiously, pacing up and down as Dobby took a seat on the rim of the bathtub, "not to sound rude, but what the hell are you doing in my grandmother's house, mate? My oblivious to the magical world, Muggle grandmother?"
Dobby shook his head then, all of a sudden-
"Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"
He repeatedly banged it against the tiled wall beside him.
"Holy-" I rushed over, grabbing the elf to stop him from knocking himself out. "Why are you-Don't do that! Merlin!"
"Dobby is sorry-" the tiny elf had gone slightly cross-eyed, "Dobby did not mean to upset Jewel Potter-"
"Whoa," I said, wide-eyed. "Look, mate, it's cool-you didn't know-just try to keep it down, and don't-do that-" I looked at the wall before turning back to Dobby disbelievingly, "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?-"
I tried to check his head, only for the elf to burst into tears.
"Oh, shit! Hey, hey-don't cry, it's okay-" I shushed awkwardly, shooting a panicked look at the door and feeling so very out of my depth.
"I-is Dobby okay?" Dobby sobbed, "d-did Dobby hurt himself? Never has Dobby been shown such concern before!"
"It's-"
I stopped short, staring at Dobby in realisation.
He was crying...because no one had ever had the common decency to ask if he was okay before, or shown him any measure of concern.
Something about that hit really close to home for me, and my face softened.
"Dobby..." I sat down on the bathtub beside him, rubbing his back gently, "it's okay. Really." I waited a moment until the elf had pulled himself together a bit, before softly asking, "now, what's going on?"
I would've asked if he'd just come to meet me, but I knew there was something else to his appearance-something bad.
"Dobby has come to tell you, miss...it is difficult, miss...Dobby wonders where to begin..."
"Just take a deep breath," I said bracingly, biting back the urge to hurry him along, knowing Uncle Bram was waiting for me, "and don't think too hard. Thinking has a catch-22 way of making things harder than they have to be."
Dobby nodded shakily, swallowing.
"Dobby has come to protect Jewel Potter, to warn her, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later-"
"Wait, what? Back it up-" I stared at the elf in shock, "what was that about shutting your ears in an oven door? Why would you-?"
"Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, miss. If Dobby's family ever knew, miss-"
"Your family?"
"The wizarding family Dobby serves, miss," he explained. "As a house-elf, Dobby is bound to serve one house and one family forever..."
"Wait, seriously?" My eyebrows shot up, "the house-elves at Hogwarts never mentioned that...that's pretty...wow...okay, but wouldn't this family of yours notice if you started shutting your ears into their oven door-?"
"Dobby doubts it, miss. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, miss. They lets Dobby get on with it, miss. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments..."
I had to take a minute, my throat tight.
"Bloody hell, Dobby-" I shook my head, rubbing my face. "And they don't know you're here?"
The elf shuddered.
"Oh, no, miss, no..."
"But you just stick around and let them-?"
"A house-elf must be set free, miss. And the family will never set Dobby free...Dobby will serve the family until he dies, miss..."
"Dobby..." I looked down at the elf, at a loss. "Look," I cleared my throat, briefly squeezing my eyes shut, "I get it-I really...and I know you probably feel helpless, and that you were conditioned to-but this isn't-you have to know that this is not okay. That they have no right to-that none of this-none of this is your fault. And I don't give a damn what house-elf law or magic keeps you in that house, you can't just-"
Dobby was goggle-eyed by my reaction.
I cleared my throat roughly.
"Dobby, there is nothing you could do that justifies you hurting yourself because some assholes told you to. And just because you can't quit, doesn't mean you can't just leave-I could owl Dumbledore, get you a job at Hogwarts-"
I was cut off again with another bout of sobs.
"Jewel Potter is offering to get Dobby a job at Hogwarts...to owl Albus Dumbledore himself to help Dobby...Dobby has heard of yours and your brother's greatness, miss, but of your goodness, your compassion, Dobby never knew..."
My face heated up.
"What? Uh-well, I mean-it's nothing, really, I was just-"
"Jewel Potter is humble and modest."
The elf looked at me reverently.
"I'm really not," I assured him dryly, rubbing my warm neck. "Look, how about you give me your warning, and then we'll grab Illyius from the guest room down the hall and we'll owl Dumbledore together, alright?"
More tearful wails of gratitude.
When I failed to get a word in edgewise, I gave up, patting his back awkwardly and waiting for him to calm down enough to speak.
"So," I said finally, "what's your warning?"
Dobby took a deep breath to steel himself.
"Jewel Potter and Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."
I stared at him blankly for a minute.
"Uh...okaaay...? Um, quick thing-why? And what does this have to do with Harry?"
"Jewel Potter and Harry Potter must stay where they are safe," the terrified-looking elf stressed, his small body trembling all over."They is too great, too good, to lose. If Jewel Potter and Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger. There is a plot, miss. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. Dobby has known it for months, miss. Jewel Potter and Harry Potter must not put themselves in peril. They is too important, miss!"
"...Riiiight," I replied slowly. "And this plot...who's behind it?"
Making a funny choking noise, the house-elf frantically banged his head against the bathroom wall again, and I quickly pulled him away.
"Okay! Message received! Stop with the-wall-"
Dobby stopped trying to give himself brain damage, and I sighed.
"Here, let's try this-" I looked at him intently, "Dobby...don't hurt yourself...just think...who is plotting to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts?"
Dobby shook his head rapidly, head tilting alarmingly towards the edge of the bathtub-but, in that split second, someone crossed his mind; a someone that had my breath catching in my throat, and my eyes widening.
"-Voldemort?"
The elf clapped his hands over his ears, moaning, "Ah, speak not the name, miss! Speak not the name!"
"Sorry, sorry-damn, Dobby-"
"Not-not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, miss-"
Dobby looked at me pointedly with widened eyes.
He was obviously trying to give me a hint, but I was getting a lot of mixed signals.
It was confusing, and left me wondering what I'd done wrong-because I could've sworn he'd thought about Voldemort-or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named"-but he specifically said it wasn't Voldemort and it felt like the truth-
"Okay, it's not Vol-That-Murderous-Dick-Everybody's-Too-Chicken-To-Name-" I almost rolled my eyes, but restrained myself, "and you can't tell me who it is, or what they're doing, without trying to knock yourself out-awesome. But whatever's going on, Hogwarts still has Dumbledore, and even Vol-he was too scared to act with him around. And, I mean, what could possibly go wrong at Hogwarts that could be worse than last year? After Quirrell, Dumbledore's gonna be loads more vigilant in his screening process, so he won't just let anyone waltz in off the street and call themselves a professor-"
"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, miss. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, miss-" the elf's voice became an urgent whisper, "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't...powers no decent wizard..."
Before I could stop him(or had the chance to give trying to pick up anything useful in his chaotic/jumpy thoughts another go), Dobby had sprung to his feet, rushed across the room, seized a nearby bottle of shampoo, and-
"Dobby!"
I tripped over myself, wrestling the shampoo away from the elf-who was beating himself with it and yelping loudly-and hurling it into the bathtub.
"For Merlin's sake! Quit trying to knock yourself out or I'll wrap you up in bubble wrap and hang you off the hook on the back of the guest room door! Look-" I huffed, pulling my hair loose and putting my purple scrunchie on my wrist so I could run my fingers through it in frustration, "I get there's some big bad going down at Hogwarts this year, but I can't just not show up-there's no way Harry would willingly stay at the Dursley's, and I need to be there to keep him from dying doing stupid shit-if it wasn't for me and Hermione, that kid would've gotten himself murdered at least ten times just last year alone-"
"Jewel Potter would risk her life for a brother who ignores her?" the elf interjected slyly, "A brother who doesn't even care enough to respond to her letters?"
"What's that supposed to-wait-"
I looked at the elf sharply.
"How do you know I haven't been getting Harry's letters?" I asked slowly, wary.
Dobby shuffled nervously in place.
My eyes narrowed.
"Dobby..."
"Jewel Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best-"
"Dobby, I am trying very hard not to murder you-" I stated, pinching the bridge of my nose, "so less waffling, more confessing."
"Jewel Potter mustn't be angry...Dobby hoped...if Jewel Potter and Harry Potter thought their friends had forgotten them-"
"Wait, you're stealing Harry's mail too?" I exclaimed. "If you've been spying on us-which is super creepy by the way, please don't do that-you must've seen how horrible it is for him at the Dursley's-and not getting letters from Ron and Hermione would've been bad enough, but thinking his own sister forgot him? What the hell, Dobby?!"
Stepping nimbly out of reach, Dobby stuck his hand into his pillowcase and pulled out a thick stack of envelopes.
"Dobby has Jewel Potter's mail here, miss-"
"And Harry's?"
I looked at him sternly, hands on my hips.
Dobby blinked up at me anxiously but, surprisingly, stood his ground.
"Harry Potter will have them, miss, and Jewel Potter will have hers, too, if they gives Dobby their words that they will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, miss, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, miss!"
"Last year," I said strongly, "I took on Voldemort-" Dobby squealed and covered his ears, "and a professor he was using as a host and won; I can protect myself, and my brother, and I get that you're trying to do the right thing by warning us but making us think our friends forgot us-which brought up some really screwed-up feelings for both of us-isn't the way to do that!"
"Jewel Potter-"
"'Mustn't go back to Hogwarts?' Well, guess what? I'm going. And I'm gonna figure out what this 'plot' of yours is, and I'm gonna stop it. I stopped needing to be protected a long time ago, Dobby-if anything, you should be warning the suicidal moron stupid enough to threaten my brother."
"Then Jewel Potter leaves Dobby no choice," Dobby said sadly.
"Then-wait, what?"
Dobby shot past me, pulling open the bathroom door and sprinting out into the hall.
"Shit!-Dobby!" I hissed, racing after him.
As I chased the surprisingly fast elf down the stairs, I could hear the opening tune of Walking On Broken Glass by Annie Lennox coming from the kitchen.
"Walking on walking on broken glass, walking on walking on broken glass-"
"Dobby! Get back here!" I whisper-shouted.
"You were the sweetest thing that I ever knew, but I don't care for sugar honey if I can't have you, since you abandoned me, my whole life has crashed-"
I stopped short in horror when I saw the elf slip through the kitchen door.
Muttering a series of swears, I darted after him.
"Won't you pick the pieces up, 'cause it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass-"
Not wanting to just burst in like a crazy person and draw even more attention to Dobby(who clearly hadn't been spotted yet, judging by the lack of shrieks), I only opened the door enough that I could peer around it to scope out the situation.
"Walking on walking on broken glass, walking on walking on broken glass-"
Dakota was by the stove of the sunny-yellow kitchen next to Granny; an elderly woman(who's surprisingly spry for her age, as much of a relentless optimist as Alistair-and the most violent pacifist I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and honestly one of the kindest and most hard-working and understanding souls you'll ever encounter; she's a retired teacher, and loves the fact that Alistair followed in her footsteps-even if they do butt heads over her religious beliefs and Alistair's more scientific belief system; she taught art, and she's very free-spirited-she even used to go to anti-war and women's rights protests and rallies during the 60s and 70s-she's shown me pictures-and had purple hair-and, at the time, she was a single mother raising four kids and teaching full-time-)with laugh lines, warm brown eyes, and short grey hair in a pixie cut with her fringe dyed a soft peachy colour.
(Dakota has three inches on Granny's five-foot-seven-inch frame, with Alistair having at least two more on his Amazonian of a wife).
"The sun's still shining in the big blue sky, but it don't mean nothing to me, oh let the rain come down, let the wind blow through me-"
Alistair was leaning against the counter by the sink.
And, behind him-
A glass bowl filled with pink liquid(from the looks of it, its jelly mix waiting to go in the fridge for tomorrow)slowly rose behind my adoptive father, sloshing around alarmingly as it floated higher and higher above his head.
"I'm living in an empty room, with all the windows smashed, and I've got so little left to lose, that it feels just like I'm walking on broken glass-"
Dobby was crouched by the fridge near the door.
Thankfully, the music was loud enough to cover any noise we were making.
"Dobby, I swear to Cthulhu-!"
"Jewel Potter must say she's not going back to school-"
"-walking on walking on broken glass-"
"Say it, miss-"
I clenched my jaw.
Dobby looked at me tragically.
"Then Dobby must do it, miss, for Jewel Potter's own good."
"Dobby!"
The glass bowl tipped.
-dousing my adoptive father in pink liquid.
A crack like a whip, and Dobby was gone.
To my relief, not only did Alistair manage to catch the bowl before it could drop out of the air and smash over his head, but he spotted Dobby from the corner of his eye seconds before the jelly tipped over him, spotted me, and acted accordingly.
In other words, before Dakota and Granny could freak, he announced that he'd poured the jelly over his own head as an experiment.
"You poured a bowl of unmade strawberry jelly over your own head as an experi-" Dakota made to deadpan but, catching sight of me staring at Alistair with wide eyes, realised this was something magic-related and stopped short.
She looked at me, like, 'what did you do?'
I rose my arms, like, 'why do you always assume it was me?'
She rose a pointed eyebrow, and I pulled a face.
"What-is-wrong-with-yoo?" Granny scolded, smacking Alistair repeatedly with a tea towel. "That jelly was fur-" she spotted me, "after-"
"Ow! Mum, c'mon-"
"That's Alistair fur yoo," Uncle Bram suddenly teased over my shoulder, and I jumped about a foot in the air, "he's always bin a bit funay in th' head."
"Oh! Oh my god!" I put a hand over my slightly racing heart, craning my neck up at the taller man incredulously. "Why would you do that?"
"Sorry, lass," Uncle Bram said, but he was laughing, which kinda undermined his apology. "Ah didnae mean tae frighten yeh. Ah was jus' comin' tae see where yoo'd gotten aff tae. Yoo were takin' so long, ah wis worried yoo'd fallen in."
I punched his arm playfully.
Granny ordered Alistair to clean up the mess(and aggressively handed him her car keys so he could run down to the shops afterwards to get what she needed to remake the jelly)-but, just when he'd grabbed the tea towel his mum had attacked him with to mop his face, an owl flew right through the kitchen window.
Like mother like son, Granny chased it with a spatula.
In the ensuing chaos, Dakota sneakily snatched up the letter it'd dropped on the floor and tucked it into her back pocket.
By the time the owl flew back out the window, the kitchen was a mess, there were jelly and feathers everywhere, and Granny looked like she wanted to commit a homicide but, much to her chagrin, her belief system generally frowns upon that sort of thing.
She did seem to find it satisfying having her forty-something-year-old "eejit" son play Cinderella while she danced around fixing everything the owl upended.
At the first opportunity, Dakota and I went upstairs to "clean ourselves up"(even though Alistair's the one that got a bowl of unmade jelly poured over his head)-and, once she'd dragged me back into the bathroom, Dakota demanded to know what on earth just happened. After giving her a quick rundown of my confusing interaction with Dobby the house-elf, she pulled out the letter the owl dropped off-and it wasn't pretty.
Dear Miss Potter,
We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at fifteen minutes past three this afternoon.
As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).
We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offence under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.
Enjoy your holidays!
Yours sincerely,
𝓜𝓪𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓪 𝓗𝓸𝓹𝓴𝓲𝓻𝓴
IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE
Ministry of Magic
As it turns out, Dobby had this all pretty well planned out.
He'd steal all of mine and Harry's letters, make us feel forgotten so we wouldn't even want to go back, and then he'd show up and give us his warning. And, if we still refuse to not go back to Hogwarts?
Well, he'd just get us expelled, then-"for our own good".
While totally exasperated, I couldn't help but be slightly impressed by his underhanded methods(either way, it was hard to be as pissed off as I'd usually be if anybody else had pulled something like this, knowing what the well-intentioned elf was risking from his 'family' just coming here-but that didn't mean Dobby wasn't going to get a bloody earful the next time he pops up trying to "protect me" and, judging by what I did get a clear reading on from him during our conversation, he definitely will).
Dakota wanted to contact the Ministry of Magic so this wouldn't go on my record but, in the end, I convinced her not to.
Protecting the house-elf that spied on me and tried to get me expelled(and is aiming to do the same thing to my twin), and tipped strawberry jelly on my adoptive father in front of my Muggle adoptive grandmother, is probably the most Hufflepuff thing I've ever done-but, with his family...if they somehow find out because I owled the Ministry to save my own ass, and they make him hurt himself, or hurt him, that would be on me-and I couldn't...I couldn't bring myself to be the reason that Dobby got 'punished'.
And if that means I have a new blemish on my record?
Wouldn't be the first, won't be the last.
The problem is; the Dursleys aren't the Morrisseys, and Harry will 100% pigheadedly refuse to not go back to Hogwarts, and if Dobby pulls the same crap on Privet Drive that he did here...I mean, Vernon hears the words "flying broomsticks" and pops a blood vessel! Imagine what he'd do if a house-elf popped in for tea?
It definitely put a damper on my 'surprise' party the next day, as if I didn't already have a complicated enough relationship with the day, but I stuck it out for Granny's sake(she's been trying to throw me a birthday party for two years, it was going to happen eventually; I figured I might as well suck it up to make her happy).
Despite the late hour, the first thing I did when I got back to Ipswich was call Harry.
We hadn't been in contact at all thanks to Dobby(although, I did soften a little when I found my mail on the pillow of my guest bed after dinner-his version of a peace offering, I figured, or maybe an apology for trying to get me kicked out of school; I read through the worried letters from Ron and Hermione and my Slytherin friends and even Fred and George, wincing heavily knowing Pansy Daphne and Tracey were going to have my head come September for dropping out of contact-whether it was my fault or not).
And, you know, Vernon and Petunia would've gone ballistic if Harry wracked up phone bills calling Scotland just so he could talk to me.
Vernon answered but, when I tried to ask to talk to Harry, he shouted something about him being "GROUNDED!" that made my ears ring and hung up.
I tried again in the morning but got the same furious response from Petunia.
It wasn't until, ironically, Dudley picked up later that same day that I got anywhere.
"Dudley, wait-don't hang up-please-"
Surprisingly, Dudley stayed on the line.
"What do you want?" he said rudely, seemingly more confident with me on the other side of the phone where I couldn't give him a snout to match his tail(which he doesn't have anymore, apparently-Vernon and Petunia having taken him to a plastic surgeon a few days before Harry and I left for Hogwarts).
"Look-" I fiddled anxiously with the curly phone cord, "I know you and Harry don't get along, and that you barely know me, but I'm kind of freaking out here. I haven't heard from Harry for over two weeks, and every time I call your parents go off about how he's 'grounded' and hang up. Whatever they think Harry did, it wasn't him-"
"No, I'm pretty sure it was him," Dudley said. "He did-" he lowered his voice, "the M-word."
"Mudblood?" I was briefly bewildered, before it hit me, "Oh! Magic-"
"Shut up!" Dudley hissed.
"You know," I drawled, "I get you had a traumatic experience and all, but you can't be scared of mag-the 'M-word'-" my eyes rolled heavily, "forever. Sure, it can be scary, but it can also be really amazing. The only thing letting your fear control you is doing is making you shit-scared of Harry-who's a hobbit, and about as intimidating as a Cabbage Patch Kid."
Dudley snorted loudly at that.
There was a pause.
Then-
"Harry's in his room. Dad's locked him in-because he did m-magic during this big, important work dinner party he'd been planning for weeks and smashed mum's pudding in the kitchen. Then an owl came in through the dining room window and ruined his business deal-Mr Mason's wife is scared of birds-she ran out the house screaming her head off-" Dudley sniggered a bit at that, "and Harry got this warning about using magic at home, and we found out he's not meant to-dad said he was never going back to that school of yours-and that if he tried to magic himself out, they'd expel him anyway-"
"Shit," I groaned, rubbing my face with my free hand.
"...If you want, I can tell Harry something for you through the door, or whatever. You know-" he added quickly, "if it'll make you stop calling-it's annoying-"
I took a second to respond, surprised by how helpful Dudley was being-but, then again, poking fun at Harry probably put me a bit on his good side.
-also, he kinda owes me one for leaving him sandwiches and chocolate in that serial killer's shack last year.
"Just-tell him it's going to be okay, and that I'll figure it out like I always do-and-and that, whatever happens, I won't leave without him."
"...You'd really stay if he does?"
Dudley sounded confused.
"He's my brother," I said simply, shrugging. "I'd do anything for him. Anyway, I should go, but...seriously, Dudley, thank you. I owe you one."
"Yeah, whatever-"
Dudley hung up.
I wanted to go get Harry immediately, and so did Dakota and Alistair when I told them he'd been locked in his room-but the Dursleys are his guardians, and the Morrisseys had no legal right to barge into their house, take Harry, and leave(and, with magic involved, they were wary about going to the Muggle authorities-but, also, had no clue how to go about contacting the Ministry). And, unlike last year, the Dursleys didn't seem eager to give Harry up so much as determined to lock him in his room forever and torture him with the knowledge that he'd never go back to Hogwarts, or see me or Ron and Hermione, ever again.
-wow. Just...wow.
Before we could come up with a plan(Dakota rang up to have a go at them, leading to an hour-long epic screaming match that ended when Vernon and Petunia noticed the ruckus they were making; after they rudely hung up, Alistair spammed them with calls just to be petty-and because, until they let us come get Harry, he refused to give them a second of peace-Vernon answered once to shout at him to stop calling, and he said, "Nope," and hung up before calling again-I think they might've unplugged their phone-), Dudley shockingly called to give me the heads up that, that night, Harry had escaped in a flying car-Vernon tried to drag him back through his bedroom window by his foot, but he pulled free-
"I can't remember the last time I saw my dad so angry-and when Harry's letters flooded the kitchen last year, he pulled half his moustache off-"
"Wait, but where the hell did Harry get a flying car?!" I exclaimed.
"So it wasn't you?" Dudley said, "I mean, you did say you'd get him out-"
"I'm flattered but, as we've already established, underaged witches and wizards aren't legally allowed to do magic out of school. And to my recollection, nobody Harry or I know just casually has a flying car on hand. I mean, I could've easily orchestrated his escape, but I hadn't gotten that far into planning yet-hang on-"
A light bulb went off.
"Did you get a look at whoever was driving the car?"
"Kind of-they looked like teenagers-and there was another boy that looked our age in the back-and they all had-"
"-red hair and freckles?" I finished dryly. "And let me guess, the lanky one in the back had blue eyes, and the two in the front were identical twins?"
"...How did you-?"
"Ron, Fred and George-" I laughed, shaking my head disbelievingly, "they're mates of ours-"
Suddenly, I sobered.
"Ron, Fred and George...oh..."
I slowly slid down the wall, my grip on the phone tightening almost painfully.
"'Oh?' What does oh mean? Jewel?"
"Oh means..." I roughly ran my fingers through my hair, completely bowled over and lost, "oh means three of my closest friends now know that I don't live with you, and I have no idea what Harry's told them, and I'm kind of having a nervous breakdown over here..."
"They don't know?"
"No one does," I said numbly. "At Hogwarts, our stupid scars make us famous. The last thing I wanted was the entire castle going on about me being a foster kid-and-and I went through a lot of shit in foster care, and I couldn't-god..."
I started tugging at the roots of my hair.
There was a sudden silence on the other side of the phone.
"Maybe Harry didn't say anything-" Dudley offered awkwardly, not seeming to know what to say.
"The others wouldn't of left without me-Harry had no choice but to tell them that we don't live together, and that's bad enough-shit, I can't-"
An invisible force was pressing down on my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut, gulping down several deep breaths.
My hands were shaking.
(if you've ever had a panic attack, it's one of the worst feelings in the world; it's intense, not to mention terrifying-you just lose all sense of control, and you can't breathe, and that just makes you panic even more-sometimes, I just find myself sobbing uncontrollably, and I can't-I just-and then, even when it's over, there's that rush of shame, especially if you were in public and people saw...the first time I ever had one, I thought I was going to die; it isn't something you can get 'used' to, and the social stigma around it, and mental health in general, doesn't help-and they can just come out of nowhere, and pretty much anything can trigger it, and that lack of control-shit, it just really sucks-).
"...Jewel?" Dudley said uncertainly, listening to me hyperventilating.
"Jewel!" Alistair's voice broke through my spiralling, "god, Bones-"
"I...I can't...bre-breathe...I'm tr-trying, but I-I...-"
"I know, I know-" he comforted, kneeling down.
Hearing Dudley through the phone, he carefully undid my death grip on it and put it to his ear, all the while gripping my hand reassuringly.
"Hello? Dudley? Yeah, Jewel will have to call you back-she'll be fine, she just-" he wavered, "she needs a moment-okay, bye-"
Moving slowly, not wanting to startle me and make it worse, Alistair wrapped his arms around me, rubbing my back soothingly.
I buried my head in his chest.
"It's okay, kid. I've got you. Just breathe."
A few days later, Harry owled me-and, when I actually got his letter, I was relieved to know Dobby was no longer policing our mail(which means Dakota can finally threaten Dumbledore-who probably thinks he got off scot-free, and I can finally get back to my Slytherin friends and do some major damage control).
But, then again, Harry didn't send Hedwig, and I got that owl from the Ministry of Magic, so maybe Dobby just missed this one?
Instead of his snowy white owl, Harry borrowed the Weasley's owl; an ancient great grey owl(it looked more like a moulting feather duster, but sure)with poor eyesight, and zero depth perception, that flew into the side of the Morrissey's house...then ended up going through the bathroom window and landing in the toilet...while Alistair was in the shower...he screamed like a little girl, it was amazing...
Apparently, his name's Errol.
Errol spent a few days recuperating in Illyius's cage-and, when I realised Illyius was being a little bully and picking on the visually impaired feather duster for his own amusement, I decided to chance owling Daphne.
Illyius seemed hell-bent on making sure this letter ended up where it was supposed to go.
(Dobby stealing my mail explained a lot about my owl's behaviour ever since summer started-and his attitude whenever anyone mentions the elf's name; in all seriousness, if Dobby had tried to nick that one, I wouldn't need to worry about him bothering me and Harry anymore-because Illyius would have bitten his entire head off-).
I was right; the Dursleys forced Harry's hand, and he had to tell the twins and Ron that I don't live with him(and, in that, Mr and Mrs Weasley-and Ginny-and Percy who all wondered why Harry arrived at the Burrow but I didn't).
He didn't tell them anything else, he rushed to promise me, obviously feeling guilty as hell-he just said that if I wanted them to know, they'd know(any resentment I might've felt went away when I read that; there was no perfect response but, somehow, he'd come up with one that almost made me smile).
He also filled me in on Dobby from his side of things(Ron told him I got a warning from the Ministry too, so he already knew the elf had stopped by; Ron's dad is head of the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, so when the Potter twins both got separate official warnings for using magic in front of Muggles within hours of each other, he obviously heard about it-Tracey's mum works for the Ministry, and so does Pansy's dad, and I'm sure Malfoy's dad found out and told him, so I'm definitely not looking forward to the Hogwarts Express-); the twins and Ron liberating him using their dad's flying light blue Ford Anglia(which is able to fly thanks to magic and Mr Weasley-who wrote the laws and put in loopholes so he could tinker with Muggle stuff, being fascinated by it all; like how, as long as he isn't intending to fly the car, the fact that it can fly is totally fine-...I love this man so much-); how he's staying at "the Burrow"(which is what the Weasleys call their house for some reason?)until summer ends; and concluded the letter by inviting me to Diagon Alley with him and the Weasley's.
Mr Weasley could pick me up, he hopefully added, or Dakota and Alistair could drop me off on Charing Cross-whatever was easier for me.
He missed me, and we'd barely spoken or seen each other all summer, and I...I missed him too. A lot. Like, a surprising amount.
(around the same time, I got my Hogwarts letter, which included a list of new books I'd need; weirdly, after The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 by Miranda Goshawk, every other book was by some bloke named 'Gilderoy Lockhart' and, judging by the titles, likely all for Defence Against the Dark Arts-Break with a Banshee, Gilderoy Lockhart-Gadding with Ghouls, Gilderoy Lockhart-Holiday with Hags, Gilderoy Lockhart-43 Travels with Trolls, Gilderoy Lockhart-Voyages with Vampires, Gilderoy Lockhart-Wanderings with Werewolves, Gilderoy Lockhart-Year with the Yeti, Gilderoy bloody Lockhart...I mean, damn, someone's a fan).
In the end, after talking it over with Alistair and Dakota, I sent Errol back, agreeing to have Mr Weasley pick me up.
He was going to temporarily connect our fireplace to the 'Floo Network', whatever that meant(even Harry didn't know, but he figured he'd just ask Ron later), but Harry explained that we don't have a fireplace so Mr Weasley told him to tell me that he'd Apparate here on the 19th, grab me, then Disapparate back to the Burrow(whatever that meant; I'm assuming it's a travelling spell or something, but I have no idea).
(Daphne also got back to me a few days ago, something Illyius has been particularly smug about, so I, at long last, sent Dakota's revised ass-kicking letter to Glinda the Good Witch and owled Pansy Hermione Hagrid and Tracey; according to Harry, Hermione's going to be meeting us in Diagon Alley too, which is this whole other thing, because she'll no doubt find out about me and Harry not living together, and-).
So, that brings us back to right now, and honestly...I still have zero clue what I'm gonna do, and Mr Weasley should be here any minute.
"So, how are you really?"
"Not fantastic? I know Harry didn't have a choice-and it's not like they really know anything-but..."
"But this isn't how you wanted them to find out, and you were completely blindsided, and you don't know what you're going to say."
"Exactly. It's all because of the stupid Dursleys-and, well, Dobby, I guess, but he meant well-and at least he gave me my mail back..."
From his cage, Illyius let out a scoff.
"Are you going to be okay today?" Dakota asked me worriedly, combing her fingers through my hair.
"Honestly?" I grimaced again, "I have no idea."
"You don't have to tell them anything you don't want to," she said seriously. "Alistair and I, we-we know how hard this is for you, so if there's anything we can do...we just want you to be happy, and to feel safe-"
"I-" glancing over my shoulder, I stopped short.
Turning back around, I snapped a blue rubber band, hard.
"I know," I mumbled finally, throat tight. "I do feel happy and safe here. Really. I had a...setback, but it was a small one, and my panic attack from the other week-that was a freak thing that had nothing to do with...that-"
Sensing that this topic of conversation wasn't exactly making today any easier, to my relief, Dakota decided to leave it at that.
"So," she said, trying and failing to not sound like a concerned mum, "you must be excited to go back to Diagon Alley-I know you said you wanted to check out that prank shop your friends Fred and George told you about-Gabbo and-"
"Gambol and Japes-"
"-that's the one-and Quality Quidditch Supplies-"
We talked about Diagon Alley, avoiding the heavy stuff, until she finished with my hair, turning off the hairdryer and putting it on my swivel chair.
Combing her fingers through my messy curls one last time, she pressed a kiss to the top of my head before getting up.
"I know, hows about-"
Grabbing my new jewellery/music box(which is already full of bobby pins, hair clips/ties/combs, scrunchies, and jewellery from stud earrings and plastic rings-including several mood rings-to my infinity bracelet from Pansy to a bunch of tangled up necklaces ranging from holographic peace signs and weird aliens to R2-D2 and a T-65 X-wing starfighter, among other bits and pieces; it was one of my birthday presents from Granny-it plays Fly Me To The Moon, and it gives me mad Emerald City vibes, and I love it)from my dresser, she pulled out a pink plastic butterfly hair clip.
She snapped it at me playfully.
Somehow, I was smiling, if only slightly.
"Alright-butterfly me, you know you want to," I teased, pretending to be put out.
Sitting back down with my music box, and a smile of her own, Dakota put rainbow butterfly clips all over my hair(I love them, but they're a bitch to keep in your hair-especially when you have a nervous tick where you constantly/unconsciously run your fingers through it, and I was too scared I'd lose them to wear them too often).
After she was done, I slipped on a pair of sparkly purple flats.
"There." Dakota looked at me affectionately, adjusting one of the colourful clips, "Beautiful."
"You have to say that-you're my mum," I said obviously, but my face felt warm.
Dakota looked suddenly teary-eyed.
"Just because I'm your mum-" she smiled tenderly, brushing some of my hair back, "doesn't mean it isn't true-"
All of a sudden, there was a faint *pop* from downstairs and a scream.
Something shattered.
Sharing an alarmed look, we scrambled off my bed and raced down the staircase...only to stop dead at the bottom at the sight that greeted us.
Standing in the living room, Alistair looked fairly traumatised-and had seemingly dumped hot coffee all over himself-and was gawking, wide-eyed, at-
"Ah, sorry about that-I didn't mean to startle you-here, let me-"
With a wave of the sheepish-looking man's wand, the shattered cup on the floor magically fixed itself, and the spilt coffee vanished from both the carpet and Alistair's clothes.
Alistair stared at the repaired cup blankly.
Then, spotting us by the stairs-
"Oh, hello!" the redheaded wizard greeted brightly, holding out a hand, "I'm Arthur Weasley. You must be Jewel-very pleased to meet you-Fred, George and Ron have told me so much about you-and Harry, of course-"
Thanks for all the reviews!*̥˚✧
I've seen other authors on here respond like this, so I figured I'd give it a try:
Guest: Jewel wasn't angrier at Dumbledore for leaving her and Harry in "Durzkaban" because she didn't really realise he was the one that fully dropped her off on their doorstep, note and all. She also had a lot to process at the time. Subconsciously, that's a bit why she has her reservations about him; because he left them with the Dursleys, and the Dursleys dumped her and abused her brother. They will have more of a talk confronting that issue at some point in the future. Jewel can also kind of sense that Dumbledore is more of a "for the good of the many"/big picture type person (Jewel is the complete opposite; she can see the big picture, but she only focuses on the good of a select few and would abandon the many in a heartbeat if it kept them safe and happy), and that he knows more than he says and plays puppet master behind the scenes, so while liking him and enjoying their interactions she won't ever really let down her guard with him (unlike Harry, who blindly trusts and idolises him).
Kukuhimanpr: The Morrisseys would take Harry from the Dursleys if they A) knew how bad it really was and B) had the authority/ability. But there's a reason Dumbledore never stepped in; Harry's life depended on spending a month a year with Petunia Dursley. The ends don't justify the means in my opinion, but that protection saved his life in first year-which would've just made Dumbledore feel like he'd done the right thing. And, again, Harry never tells anyone. Even Jewel only knows a fraction from being in his head, meeting them, and Harry's remarks about them; if she had more comprehension of the situation (beyond them being neglectful assholes who turned their son into a spoilt twat and a bully; half the reason she's reached out to Dudley is to spite his parents), this story would've ended in Act 1-because she'd of landed herself in Azkaban. If Jewel and the Morrisseys could, they'd kidnap him, and the Dursleys would let them-but that's why Harry has the Weasleys.
As for the Sorting Hat, it sees everything, which means it can also see that Jewel has not really dealt with any of her trauma. She locked it all away in her head, and plugs the leaks when they spring, but she's a mess, really. There's no denying that. So, it was basically saying; I know you're in denial, you know you're in denial, and if you don't deal with it you'll self-destruct. So, get your shit together, dude.
Guest: yeah, Snape didn't take points in that first Potions class because he saw Jewel on that stool, and all he could see was Lily when she'd defend him to James Potter and the Marauders. He just wanted to get tf out of that situation.
Guest: Ron and Jewel were always going to be friends, but I knew there had to be tension there at first. They might be 'family goals' to Harry, but the Weasleys aren't perfect and they're all Gryffindors and that comes with certain prejudices in the opposite direction (the weight people put on school houses, and the generalisations of who you are because you're in a certain house-i.e, Ravenclaws are smart, Hufflepuff's are pushovers, Gryffindors are heroes, Slytherins are villains-is super toxic). He needed a bit of time to adjust, but Fred and George still being friendly to Jewel and what she did with Snape was a turning point for him. And their friendship, like his and Harry's with Hermione, was definitely forged in fire. You can't go through shit like they did in first year without feeling some kind of bond.
Guest: Without her telepathy, even Jewel wouldn't of really suspected Quirrell, so on some level she gets why Harry Ron and Hermione said what they said. They still deserved to get yelled at for it, though. They should have listened to her/been more open to her opinions, but they're all very stubborn in their own ways and by that point Hermione wouldn't of budged because she thought she witnessed Snape trying to hex Harry with her own eyes. They handled it poorly, but eleven-year-olds aren't really known for their maturity in handling things.
Notwritten: Thanks so much! I hope you keep smiling too. :)
Bimurace: I'm really glad you like it so far! I try my best to balance the more serious moments and the more jokey moments, but Jewel tends to be pretty tactless anyway and she's a lot like Fred and George; she can't help trying to lighten the mood. I've tried really hard to flesh her out as a character so she's both a talented and capable witch, but also flawed/human. Especially while she gradually works through years of buried trauma, and starts talking about what she's been through and opening up to the people she cares about.
Solti: I'll do my best to keep the updates coming. I'm a bit of a perfectionist about editing, and I'm doing an online Diploma course/need to balance personal stuff, so updates might be a bit slow at times but I'll try not to keep you waiting too long. :)
Guest: I'm happy you're enjoying my story! Yeah, it is hard to strike that balance in writing an OC growing up but not making them seem out of character for their ages. With Jewel though, she was forced to grow up really fast and basically take care of herself so, in a lot of ways, she's pretty mature for her age (and her telepathy also exposes her to a lot of adult crap, which doesn't help). She's like a thirty-year-old cynic in a pre-teen's body. Her age shines through in her more childish moments, but also because she feels like she can really let go and have fun now with the worst punishment she can get being scrubbing trophies with Filch on a Saturday night. Hogwarts is her chance to reinvent herself and act her age (if younger, sometimes), and she's definitely taking advantage.
Draco and Jewel have a bit of a complicated relationship; because they are friends, but Jewel has to maintain a more antagonistic stance because of Harry Ron and Hermione's own hatred of him (they barely understand why she likes Snape). It helps that they love riling each other up, so they're always bickering. Jewel also has her own hang-ups over liking somebody like Draco Malfoy, and he doesn't help matters by going out of his way to make Harry's life difficult. But Jewel also needs someone (and I love Harry, but look at Cho Chang; he can't offer Jewel emotional support in the way she needs it at the moment-he might want to be that person, and know these things about her, but he'd be totally rubbish at it in reality; he'd just be all awkward and uncomfortable, and it'd only make Jewel downplay things/feel worse or brush it all off and 'lighten the mood'), and Draco does too. With Crabbe and Goyle being more lackeys than friends, there's not a lot of people he has that he can really connect to and let his guard down around; something he and Jewel have in common.