I. HOCUS POCUS
"everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it"
- david wallace foster
Feeling an oncoming stitch as I trudged back to the Morrissey's from soccer practice, my face twisted and I massaged my side. My knees, arms, hands and legs were caked in mud and my cleats were making a persisting clack against the sidewalk. Then there was the sweat I was positively saturated with-which isn't surprising considering the long sleeves of my outrageously orange uniform, the humidity, and the fact that I've been running up and down the field all afternoon(on top of the long trek back to the Morrissey's that made me deeply regret ever suggesting walking today).
Sweat and mud.
If I was any vainer I'd pitch a fit.
Luckily for the world around me, most of my girlier impulses had been beaten into submission ages ago(around the time I started playing soccer and walking back to the Morrissey's all muddy and sweaty to make it easier on them with their jobs and adult-y responsibilities and whatnot). I've gotten pretty used to walking back from practice caked in sweat and mud and mud and sweat and-more often than not-blood, scrapes, and bruises. It's how it's been ever since Ms Dodds, my therapist, suggested I play sport recreationally to help me work through my issues a couple of months ago.
I hate going to see Ms Dodds with her patronizing voice, lime green spiral notebooks with that sleek black pen that's clicks seemed to have their own dramatic, dooming echo(I'm in therapy, the last thing I need is to feel like I'm being judged by a bloody inanimate object-I've never been so tempted to nick something just so I could drop it in a toilet-), poofy hair, and beaky nose(not to mention she doesn't help me in any capacity)-but it keeps the Morrisseys, and the authorities, happy.
(even if my 'improvement', in my opinion, has nothing to do with that harpy and everything to do with my best mates; repression and denial).
Every inch of my body was aching.
I am dreading next week-when the clock strikes midnight and eleven-year-old me is booted into the new age group.
Bigger kids, a bigger challenge, and a lot more mud.
And sweat.
And mud and sweat.
In all honesty, I love soccer-and, as it turns out, I'm sporty.
Trust me, it was a bigger surprise for me than anyone.
Catching sight of the familiar street sign announcing that I was finally turning onto Bramford Lane, I couldn't help but speed up despite my exhaustion.
Daydreaming about piping hot showers and my inviting, snuggly bed gave me a new burst of energy. I swear could almost taste the cookies Dakota promised to bake for me if I put down my newest obsession-R.L. Stine's Fear Street books-and left to practice crumbling in my mouth from four houses away.
Looking both ways, I quickly darted across the street, tightening my ponytail as I went with a slightly manic grin plastered across my face.
Slowing down as I turned into the Morrissey's driveway, I dragged my tired body onto the porch of the ivory with french grey trimmings two-story house, stopping in front of the charcoal black front door and digging through my shorts for my house key.
It took me a second to sift through the pocket lint and lolly wrappers(I almost forgot my key on the way out of the house, grabbed it last minute, forgot my bag, and had to shove it right down to the bottom of my pocket and hope for the best; not my smartestdecision ever, but my coach was nice enough to hold onto it for me)-but, finally, I pulled out the square-ish bright red key. Letting out a relieved breath(if I lose another house key, I doubt I'll be given a fourth...sixth...seventh...), I shoved my key into the lock and twisted.
The cylinder turned with a satisfying click.
Without pausing or untying my laces, I kicked my cleats off and pushed open the door, abandoning them on the welcome mat(if I track mud through the house again Dakota will slaughter me with extreme prejudice).
"Alistair! Dakota!" I hollered as I pushed up my sleeves, kicking the door shut behind me, "I'm back from practice!"
"We're in the kitchen, honey!" a woman's voice answered from the other room.
Hearing how strained she sounded, I wavered unsurely in place for a beat before shrugging it off and sauntering through the living room.
I was careful to not bump into any furniture, knowing I'd die young if I ruined it with my muddy/sweaty self-and consciously fought the urge to flop onto the couch.
Dakota, probably, wouldn't actually murder me, I think, but she'd end up obsessively scrubbing the couch for days and, if the mud stains don't come out, she'll spend an arm and a leg on a replacement.
I don't want to be the cause of that...again.
"I'm gonna need ten CCs of comfort sweets-" I continued, ignoring the weird vibe rippling out from the kitchen, "and, if I don't come running out the shower when they're ready, I've drow-"
I skidded to an abrupt stop as I entered the kitchen, right hand instinctively shooting out to catch the doorframe to prevent me from slipping on my socks and tripping headfirst into the room.
Dakota-an Amazonian, tanned brunette-and Alistair-a 6ft-something wiry blonde with strands of silvery-grey peppered throughout his hair, his lips forced into an unnatural and worrying line-Morrissey stood side by side against the far counter by the stove, their near-matching expressions showing varying degrees of stress, fading shock, anxiety, concern, and...anger?
And, at the rectangular dark mahogany table in the middle of our ocean blue-tiled kitchen across from them, sat the wackiestlooking bloke I'd ever seen in my life.
Dressed in light blue robes-and not the kind you'd come out of the bathroom wearing(in fact, they looked more like some kind of obscure fashion statement-or D&D/fantasy cosplay-than something to warm you up while enjoying your morning brew),the elderly man looked like he was on his last leg, his hair almost as long as his beard(which could confidently be tucked into his belt)and snowy white. Even so, his light blue eyes twinkled with a surprising depth of life and knowledge behind the half-moon spectacles that shielded them.
Despite the unwelcoming vibes oozing from Dakota and Alistair's direction, he appeared perfectly comfortable where he was-a feat unto itself, considering they're two of the most welcoming individuals in the known universe.
I don't think it's anything the man did, exactly, that set them off-it was more what he told them.
I'm not sure why I was so sure of that but, glancing at Dakota and Alistair, I just...knew.
I've always been good at reading people. I look at them, and I just understand them. I can't really explain it. But, lately, it's been...different. Harder to ignore. More-in your face. And it's only been getting worse. It makes it hard to focus, especially when there's a lot of people around-when I find myself absorbed in reading them and picking them apart like some kind of amateur Sherlock Holmes or something. It makes me kinda...spacey, I guess? I've gotten good at hiding it(I even wear colourful rubber bands on my wrists so I can snap myself when I zone out), but I slip up more often than I'd like.
And you know what the most disturbing part of all of this was?
At first glance, I couldn't read the man at the table at all.
He was just...blank.
I had to put in genuine effort just to get a sense of him, something I rarely have to do(usually, it just happens-but, with the man at the table, I actually had to purposely focus on him).
I mean, some people are harder to get a read on than others, but I've never met someone I couldn't read to some extent without trying-and that definitely unnerved me.
"Who the bloody-"
Catching the preemptive look Dakota shot me, I stopped myself in the nick of time.
Clearing my throat, I swallowed the rude remark I'd been about to make and shook myself off, reflexively reaching up to run my fingers through my hair only to remember it was in a ponytail at the last second(it's a nervous habit of mine that drives Dakota insane-not that she has room to talk; she insists she's just 'tidy', but Alistair and I both know she's borderline OCD).
Pulling back awkwardly, I settled for rubbing my neck.
"Dakota?" my voice oozed forced politeness, "what's going on?"
Alistair snorted-loudly.
Weirdly, his reaction made my suddenly tense shoulders relax slightly.
The unwelcomed man at the table smiled kindly.
"Hello, Jewel," he greeted amiably before a hesitating Dakota could open her mouth, hopping to his feet and holding out a hand for me to shake. "I'm Albus Dumbledore."
I stared blankly at his hand which, to me, suddenly looked more like a viper swaying its head to-and-fro as it prepared to strike.
"Jewel-but you know that, apparently..." I trailed away, unable to completely stomp out the sarcasm in my voice as I cautiously shook his outstretched hand.
He didn't look ruffled by my attitude, or even phased at all.
It was weird, the way he was looking at me.
There was a disarming sparkle in his eyes but, behind that, something very old, sharp, and intelligent.
For the first time in my life, I felt like he was reading me and not the other way around.
It made me feel uncomfortable and I felt a small pang of guilt thinking about how I probably made other people feel when I stared at them the same way-like I could see inside their heads and dissect their innermost thoughts(not that I can help it).
"As comfortable as I am right now-and you lot seem just dandy-" I didn't bother to stifle the sarcasm this time, "do you mind, maybe, explaining what the bloody hell's goin' on?"
Instead of scolding me-or shooting me another look warning me to behave, Dakota just sighed and sat down heavily at the table.
Pod person? Clone? Alien invader? I considered, tilting my head to the side as I glanced at her around the wacko still beaming away in front of me like he didn't have a care in the world.
I didn't need my weird 'reading people quirk' to know that wasn't true.
"Jewel, sit down," she said gently looking concerned, apprehensive, and anxious.
I blinked at her, my lips quirking up sarcastically.
"Sure thing, whom-ever-you-are-I hope you know, when Dakota gets home-"
Dakota looked at me sternly and I shut up, smirk dropping and stomach clenching as the seriousness of the situation slowly dawned on me.
Feeling increasingly uneasy, I cautiously walked over to the table and lowered myself onto the chair across from the immaculately dressed woman-a sharp contrast to my muddied, soccer-uniform wearing self, my messy ponytail keeping my thick, untidy red hair out of my face.
The cosplaying wackadoodle-Albus Dumbledore-seemed to sober to the situation himself as he returned to his own seat at the head of the table to my left while Alistair remained leaning against the counter.
His expression was as serious as a heart attack, and unnatural-looking on a face that was usually so relaxed and friendly.
"So...who died?" I wondered carelessly, linking my fingers on the tabletop.
Dakota looked scandalized, eyes widening comically.
If the air wasn't so heavy in here it would've been hilarious.
"Jewel Euphemia-!"
Aaand she's back...that didn't take long.
Satisfied that I'd lightened the mood, I widened my own eyes innocently and bit back a smirk.
Dakota rubbed the bridge of her nose and shook her head in exasperation.
"You can't just go around asking-" she shook her head again and, with a sigh reeking of resignation, gestured a hand towards a faintly amused-looking Dumbledore. "Never mind. Mr Dumbledore has something to-well-"
Worry and nausea visibly fought for dominance as her face fell.
I frowned in rising apprehension.
Whatever this is, whyever wacko's here...it's really bad, isn't it? I realised.
"Dakota...are you okay?" I asked slowly, softening my tone.
Shocking me almost as much as the wacko to my left and Alistair's serious expression, Dakota reached over and took my hands with tears in her eyes.
I hate it when people cry, especially Dakota Morrissey.
Dread sank like an anchor in my stomach.
"Yes, yes, of course, sweetie-would you...?"
She turned to Dumbledore who nodded, his friendly smile long gone, overtaken by the same grimness that blanketed the kitchen and everyone in it.
Rather than the obituary I half expected him to produce, he pulled out a thick yellow-ish envelope from the inside of his robes and held it out to me.
I barely looked at it before turning to my guardians, eyebrow cocked.
"You know, there are easier ways to get me to clean my room," I informed them dryly in a weak attempt to make everything feel less heavy and sombre.
Dakota let out a whoosh of teary-eyed laughter and squeezed my hands.
"No, sweetie, it's-just-just read it," she said, voice still audibly strained, as she squeezed my fingers once or twice more before reluctantly letting go.
Alistair swiftly replaced me as her support pillar, moving to his distressed wife's side and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Dakota shakily reached up to grip his hand tightly.
"If you wanted to scare the hell out of me," I stated sardonically even as I carefully accepted the surprisingly heavy envelope, "you could've just chased me up the stairs with a chainsaw."
Alistair let out another snort, this one softer.
They just looked so...sad.
Not just sad, scared.
Of a bloody letter?
No, that's not it, not exactly-but something was worrying the hell out of them and, if I'm reading all of this correctly, it has something, or more likely everything, to do with me, this letter, and the bearded stranger beside me.
Oh well done Captain Motherfreakin' Obvious-want a gold star?
Clucking my tongue, I glanced down at the yellow-ish envelope in my hands-and, as I read the emerald-inked words penned on the back, my jaw loosened.
Miss J. Potter
The second-largest bedroom to the left of the hall,
Bramford Lane,
Ipswich,
Suffolk
"I take it back," I mused seriously, "creepy stalker letter beats Alistair with a chainsaw."
Dakota pinched the bridge of her nose.
She does that a lot around me.
By the time I'm out of school, her fingerprints will be permanently imprinted on her nose.
"Go on," Dumbledore urged expectantly.
Pursing my lips slightly, I turned the letter over.
My eyebrows pulled together.
The envelope was sealed with a beautiful purple wax seal-and, imprinted in the wax, was a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large 'H'.
I considered bringing up the lack of stamps-and the fact that the wax seal looked like something the wacko picked up at a Renaissance fair-but, seeing how intensely the Morrisseys and said wacko were staring at me, just shot the lot of them a shit-eating grin and slid a finger beneath the seal, cracking it open.
I didn't even notice that, as I opened my letter, I'd been absentmindedly singing The Letter by The Box Tops under my breath(I mean, it was that or Please Mr Postman by The Beatles-I made a choice).
"Give me a ticket for an aeroplane, ain't got time to take a fast train, lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home, 'cause my baby just wrote me a letter-"
Dakota and Alistair watched me fondly.
I could almost hear Alistair thinking, "that's my girl".
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with humour.
"-I don't care how much money I gotta spend, got to get back to my baby again, lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home, 'cause my baby just wrote me a letter, well, she wrote me a letter, said she couldn't live without me no more, listen, mister, can't you see I got to get back, to my baby once more?"
Admiring my jagged handiwork for a moment, I flipped the envelope upside down and shook it wildly until two pages of parchment fell out.
"Anyway, yeah gimme a ticket for an aeroplane, ain't got time to take a fast train, lonely days are gone, I'm a-goin' home, 'cause my baby just wrote me a letter-"
Dakota covered her eyes but, despite herself, I knew she was amused.
Picking up the first letter, I discarded the envelope(still carelessly humming to myself underneath my breath). Before reading it, I shot Dakota and Alister a look that clearly stated that-whatever the creepy-as-hell-oh-my-god-why-did-they-point-out-which-room-is-mine?!(and, side note, how the bloody hell do these people know where I sleep?! Shit, after this, I'm moving rooms)letter said-I still thought they were pod people sent to enslave the human race, as you do.
I didn't see their expressions but, as I turned away, Alistair hastily hid a chuckle behind a bad fake cough.
My humming abruptly stopped.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus-
"You're a headmaster? Of a real school with real students on earth?" I blurted before I could stop myself, my mind not yet registering the whole witchcraft and wizardry portion of the title.
My face burned when I realised I'd just insulted him to his face.
Great job, dumbass-why don't you go around Ipswich calling people fat while you're at it!
To my relief-and confusion, instead of being rightfully insulted, the nutter laughed.
Dakota dropped her head into her arms.
Alistair stared at me in disbelief.
"Uh-sorry-" I coughed awkwardly.
"It's quite alright, Jewel," Dumbledore reassured amusedly. "Yes, I just so happen to be Hogwarts' headmaster. I used to teach there, actually, many years ago. For a time, before being promoted to my post, I was even the Transfiguration's Professor-and, long before that, I taught Defence Against the Dark Arts."
He smiled in reminiscence.
I turned to Dakota and Alistair, silently asking where the hell they'd found this nut job.
"Jewel-" Dakota's voice dropped in warning, which was almost reassuring in its familiarity.
I pulled a face at the tense woman before turning back to the letter.
Headmaster, Blah, Blah, Blah
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock-
Skipping through that field of crazy...I mused with a quiet hum, eyebrows rising higher at Supreme Mugwump which, somehow, made even less sense than being a Transfiguration's Professor.
Dear Miss Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find
enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins September 1st. We await your owl by no later
than July 31st.
Yours Sincerely,
𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓪 𝓜𝓬𝓖𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓵
𝓓𝓮𝓹𝓾𝓽𝔂 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
I re-read the letter several times before I finally managed to snap my mouth shut.
July 31st...hey, that's my eleventh bir-you know what, let's re-focus on the fact that this mental case just handed me an acceptance letter to Hocus Pocus Academy. The parchment fell through my fingers but I didn't take my eyes away from it-even as I blindly grabbed the second page and skimmed through it to see it was a list of bizarro school equipment ranging from 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander' to '1 cauldron(Pewter, Standard size 2)'.
"Are you two getting back at me for tracking mud in the house?" I deadpanned, "because, technically, it's Ms Dodd's fault-so, really, you should sic Beardo the Magnificent on her."
Alistar choked on a laugh.
Dakota shot me another stern look telling me to start taking this more seriously.
So, apparently, the aliens that have taken over my beloved guardians are mad.
Lovely.
"We aren't messing with you, kid," Alistar promised once he'd caught his breath, his familiar easy grin momentarily replacing his unnaturally serious expression.
Something in my chest relaxed, seeing that grin.
"You're a witch," he finished with a flourish.
Okay, I spoke too soon-my bad.
Dakota elbowed Alistair in the ribs and, when he made to complain, practically growled at him.
Alistair's mouth snapped shut and he winced.
"Alistair!" she hissed, "you can't just-she needs to be eased into this-you can't just go around blurting-!"
Alistair rubbed his neck sheepishly.
"Sorry, darling," he mumbled.
A hysterical bubble rising in my throat, I desperately looked between the bickering married couple and Dumbledore, the acclaimed wizard, who was watching me closely.
And, looking at them, I found myself unable to just write this off as a joke.
Because it wasn't a joke.
Not to them.
They're really serious about this, I realised faintly.
A chill crawled up my neck and my body unconsciously stiffened.
"I'm a...witch?" I repeated slowly.
At my question, Dakota instantly stopped scolding her husband.
I could feel their eyes, boring holes into the side of my face, but I didn't look away from Dumbledore-gauging his reaction and searching for that one tick that would tell me that he was just some homeless stranger that wandered into the Morrissey's house in the hopes of screwing with us for a laugh.
He didn't even blink.
"Yes, Jewel," he confirmed gently. "You're a witch."
My brain stuttered.
"But that's not..."
I trailed off, but Dumbledore seemed to understand what I was getting at.
It was pretty obvious.
"And whys that? The universe is full of endless possibilities," he reasoned steadily, "some of which, at first, might seem impossible. I could pull out my wand and prove to you that magic is real right now, very easily, but, instead, I'll ask you this; isn't it possible that there's more to the world than what you can see and touch? If you can't see something, does it make it any less real than the things you can? You can't see love, or loyalty...does that make such things any less real?"
Wow, nutter got real on me.
"Mate, I'm ten," I retorted obviously. "There's no way I know everything about the world, or what's possibly in it or not-but, if I was a witch, I think I'd've noticed something."
Dumbledore seemed somewhat amused but pleased by my response.
"Haven't you ever done something," he countered simply, "something unexplainable, something that made no sense at the time but seemed to happen as if by...magic?"
I was tempted to retort that I was sane but, instead, found myself seriously thinking about his question.
My chest got tight, and my eyes widened.
If I'm a witch-not to say I'm completely on the bandwagon just yet(the tiny cynic that chills out in the back of my head, downing whisky sours from a rocks glass with a permanent sceptical/untrusting scowl, was scoffing and calling bullshit), that would explain...everything. All the unbelievable, freaky, crazy shit that's always just sort of gone on whenever I'm around. Things that had me shuffled through foster houses like a deck of cards at a casino(or, more fittingly, a magic show...sorry, couldn't resist-god, Alistair's made me into such a dork-)because that's just what people do to things they can't explain-they either try to understand them, or they get rid of them.
You can imagine which one of those I got the most growing up.
--and then there's the Lydia incident.
Seeing my face change, Dumbledore simply smiled and leant back in his seat.
I'm a witch.
A witch.
A magical being.
Magic's-real-and-I'm-a-witch-and-I-think-I've-been-affected-by-the-crazy-but-strangely-enough-it-feels-kind-of-right-which-is-weird-as-hell!
Then, as all of those realisations hit me, one after another, something else was shaken loose.
Growing up, I used to lay awake, straining to remember something, anything, from before but I was so young when it happened that I couldn't.
The only thing that I ever remembered, the only thing that stuck with me, was this blinding green light. It always made my chest feel tight, and my scar sting-but it was a good kind of sting. It was real. Like a long-forgotten memory.
Was that...magic?
When the green light faded-like when you stare at the sun for too long and have to blink spots away, I forced myself to refocus on Dumbledore.
"-Holy shit. Holy shit. I'm not saying I believe you," I breathed as I stared at the bearded 'wizard'? with an undoubtedly stupid look on my face(I've spent my entire life epically failing to "be normal", so excuse me if my comprehension of life is a bit shot at finding out that there's a chance that I am-just, you know, a different kind of normal-and that there's people like me out there-that I'm not al...-and nevermind the fact that magic is apparently real now-?!), hands moving to push against the surface of the table so I could arch out of my chair, "but, seriously-tell me everything."
Dumbledore's smile was both kind and oddly pitying as his blue eyes locked onto my green; wise old wizard clashing against mind-blown newfound witch.
Witch...bloody hell...
"You belong to a world of magic, Jewel," he said slowly. "Just like your parents-and your twin brother, Harry. He's a wizard."
Dumbledore paused, watching me carefully as I recoiled back.
My face fell and I just...froze.
'Just like your parents-and your twin brother, Harry'.
I didn't even think...
Still reeling from the magic bomb, and the fact that I have it, I didn't even think about my biological parents-and, the second he said it, the second the words twin brother left his lips...
It was like my brain short-circuited.
The letter sitting in my file, the letter that was with me when I was found abandoned in a hospital waiting room when I was one, didn't mention them beyond a brief/blunt, "she's an orphan, there's no other family that wants her, don't bother looking".
It was just my name, my date of birth, and the harsh reality that I was all alone with no one and nothing.
"I have a twin brother?" I almost whispered, stunned-the kind of stunned that's reeling and leaves your mind blank as it struggles to comprehend what was happening.
My parents were magic and I have a brother.
A twin brother.
Dumbledore's lips fell into a hard line.
I could still feel Dakota and Alistair staring at me-but until I understood what was happening, what this wizard was telling me, I couldn't bring myself to look at them.
"Where-" my voice broke and I harshly cleared it, forcibly making myself sit straighter, "where is he?"
There was a pregnant pause.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Dakota's eyes fill with angry tears.
"Jewel..." her voice cracked too but it was harder and more unforgiving than I'd ever heard it, "he's-he's with your aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley."
If I thought the Harry development was a hard pill to swallow, finding out that I have family beyond my dead parents-
God, I think I'm gonna be sick.
"Wh-what?"
I finally looked at my adoptive parents, lost and hurt and confused.
Dakota's angry expression fell.
"Oh...oh sweetheart...I am so sorry..." she breathed looking as lost as I felt, "we had no idea you have an aunt and uncle, or a brother, and as far as I know neither does the agency-the letter-"
Alistair's smile was long gone, he and Dakota sharing a pained look on my behalf.
"I have an aunt and uncle?" I demanded as I turned back to Dumbledore to make it clear that question was for him, my voice coming out thicker than I'd meant it to as the wild vortex of mashed-up emotions I was feeling caught in my throat.
Dumbledore's blue eyes darkened, the twinkle in them snuffed out.
"Ten years ago, the magical world was in the midst of a war," he explained grimly and, apparently hearing this for the second time this afternoon(Alistair and Dakota probably demanded Dumbledore explain everything before letting him anywhere near me), Alistair moved from his place beside his wife and walked over to the cupboard, his knuckles white. "To protect you and Harry, your parents, Lily and James, went into hiding shortly after your birth."
Lily and James.
Suddenly, my eyebrows furrowed.
"Protect us? From what? Who would want to hurt-?"
-my family.
I didn't finish my sentence but, once again, Dumbledore seemed to fill in the blanks of what I didn't say.
The way his face softened contradicted the hard glint in his eyes.
I wanted him to cut to the chase but, the moment he said your parents, it was like...
Shit, this is so messed up.
"His name was Lord Voldemort," he revealed sounding as grim as he looked. "Most people refer to him as You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-or, by his followers, the Dark Lord. People were, and still are, terrified to speak his name."
I looked at him curiously.
"But you aren't?"
"Fear of a name," he explained rather profoundly, "only increases fear of the thing itself. You should always use the proper name for things, Jewel."
I nodded slowly in understanding.
Before I could think up a response, thousands of questions swirling violently around my brain like the tornado that swept Dorothy off to Oz, a glass clinked against the tabletop and broke me out of my thoughts.
I looked down in surprise at the chocolate milk Alistair had placed in front of me and, smiling/grimacing at him weakly, downed half of it in two gulps.
It was refreshingly cool and the chocolate soothed my ragged emotions-if only slightly-and eased some of the knots in my stomach.
"So," I cleared my throat, struggling to keep my composure, "this Voldemort bloke decided to wage a war and my...parents took me and my-and Harry into hiding. That still doesn't explain why they had to-or what some psycho Dark wizard would want from us in the first place."
To my relief my voice, while thick, didn't crack or shake-even as the back of my throat began to ache and my eyes stung with suppressed tears.
Dumbledore was clearly thinking over his next words very carefully-why he felt he had to, was another question.
Whatever it was, I could tell it was bad.
And yet another round of applause for Captain Bloomin' Obvious! I thought viciously.
"Beyond speculation, nobody knows why Voldemort targeted your family. A popular theory is that he had been attempting to recruit your parents and they turned him down. I have my own theories, of course, but all anyone really knows for sure is that that night Voldemort came to your home in Godric's Hollow and-"
"-killed them," I finished harshly.
"Jewel..." Dakota said carefully.
"No," I cut her off sharply, gripping my chocolate milk glass so tightly that I was almost surprised it didn't shatter. "No, Dakota. Voldemort killed-he orphaned me and-and Harry-he-"
Dakota looked like she had the weight of the world on her back.
I wanted to do something to make her feel better, crack a joke and lighten the mood like I usually do, but this wasn't the time and I finally understood that.
Turning back to Dumbledore, I swiped away a couple of angry tears and narrowed my burning green eyes as emotions I could barely understand violently battered against my ribcage.
"What happened?" I almost snarled.
The pity in the way he looked at me was grating.
"After he killed your parents," he continued, "Voldemort attempted to use the Killing Curse, one of three highly illegal curses in our world, on you and Harry. Considering you are both still with us, we can only assume that something went wrong. It isn't a question of power-because many powerful witches and wizards have fallen to that curse. That's one of the more fascinating aspects of the mystery surrounding you and your brother. You survived where no one else ever has and, instead, Voldemort was the one who didn't walk away from your encounter and the war was ended. Even so, you and Harry did not leave that house unscathed. Being touched by such a dark and destructive power scarred you. For Harry, a lightning bolt on his forehead. For you, the crescent moon-shaped mark on your neck."
My right hand trailed up the left side of my neck, fingers brushing over the scar.
It was the size of the bottom of a cupcake liner and speckled with mud.
"No one knew where it came from," I admitted softly, taking in a shaky breath, "I've never been able to remember-it's just always...been there."
A flash of green light.
"Because of what happened that night," Dumbledore added, "you and your brother are famous in our world. The Boy and Girl that defeated Lord Voldemort, and Lived. It's one of the reasons why I felt it best you live in the Muggle world. To grow up away from all that."
"We're famous?" I sputtered, somehow finding that even more incredible than the whole 'survived an unsurvivable murder curse' thing. "Wait-what the hell is a Muggle?"
"Muggle," he patiently clarified, "is the word most commonly used by our kind to refer to non-magic people. There are Muggleborns, people from Muggle families born with magic. Your mother was one. Then there are Purebloods, people from pure wizard families, and Halfbloods, people with a lineage of both. You and your brother are Halfbloods."
"So, wait-because Harry and I aren't dead, we're famous?" I questioned in disbelief.
"Because you and your brother mysteriously defeated Lord Voldemort at the age of one," Dumbledore gently corrected, "ending the war and his tyranny, and are the first people in all of history to ever survive that terrible curse...yes, the two of you are famous."
I nodded slowly, taking that in, before gesturing for him to continue-to explain how the hell Harry and I ended up being separated after all of that and why I'm here and he's with our aunt and uncle(who, judging by what Dumbledore said about us "growing up away from all that"-probably to keep us from getting big heads, are both Muggles).
"After you were discovered in the ruins of your home," he went on carefully, "you and Harry were brought to your aunt and uncle's house and left on their doorstep with a letter explaining what had happened-"
Dumbledore stopped, letting the gut-wrenching silence ring out as what he was telling me sank in.
Harry and I were left with our aunt and uncle...and they dropped me off in that waiting room with a letter making sure I'd never come back to them-but kept him.
They abandoned me to be put through the foster system...but kept my brother.
Memories flashed through my head, causing my breathing to pick up.
Feeling my chest tighten painfully, I hastily grabbed my glass and gulped down the rest of my chocolate milk, forcing myself to relax even as I felt a familiar spark of panic fight to rise to the surface.
The last thing I need right now is to have a panic attack, especially when I've been doing so well lately.
Bile rose in my throat and, swallowing thickly, I dropped the glass back onto the table with a clatter and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
"Jewel-oh, Jewel..." Dakota breathed.
She and Alistair, I didn't doubt, knew exactly where my mind went in that moment.
Where it always went.
"Jewel, you're okay now, sweetheart-it's okay," Dakota reassured in a croaky voice.
A hand suddenly dropped onto my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly, and I jerked up in surprise to see Alistair looking down at me in concern.
"Why would they-?"
I couldn't bring myself to say the words out loud but, to my relief, I didn't have to.
"Had I known, you would never have been separated from your brother," Dumbledore assured me, a hint of an unforgiving storm in his eyes. "By the time I discovered what your aunt and uncle did, the damage had been done. I would have brought you back, I should have brought you back...but I knew, if I had, they would only give you away again."
Unable to help it, a small voice in my head weakly wondered...why didn't they want me? Did I do something wrong? Is there something wrong with me?
My head spun, somehow managing to make me feel even worse.
Outloud, I hoarsely spat, "But why? What did I ever do to them? I was a baby!"
Dumbledore sighed heavily, sadness, old anger, and, confusingly enough, guilt and regret flaring in his light blue eyes as he silently regarded me.
I wondered what I must look like to him.
-as if being a foster kid from nowhere didn't already get me enough pity.
"That, I'm afraid, is a very complicated question-with a simple, and unfair, answer," he said, looking me steadily in the eye. "You reminded your aunt too much of your mother, her sister, even at such a young age and she couldn't handle that. They had a complicated relationship, Lily and Petunia, and you look so much like her that she...she couldn't bear to look at you. I believe that, among other reasons, is why your aunt and uncle decided to do what they did. It wasn't okay, or warranted, but it happened-and I cannot express how much I regret not being able to stop it, or how very sorry I am both to you and to Harry."
I stared hard at the tabletop as I took that in, my heart pounding in my ears.
"I...I look like..." was all I managed to stammer out.
"Sweetheart-"
Dakota reached for my hands again only for me to instinctively flinch back.
She looked hurt.
"I-I need to have a shower-" I announced abruptly, pulling away from Alistair as I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor, "I'm-I'm all-"
I looked down at the mud on my clothes in a daze, out of it and emotionally shot.
"Jewel-" Dakota attempted again.
Not wanting to hear it right now, not after the information/emotional overload I'd just been dealt, I just turned around and left.
꧖ꦿꦸ⊰ ⊱꧖ꦿꦸ
I don't know how long I sat under the shower's spray, hugging my legs and staring blankly at the far wall, before Dakota finally managed to convince me to come back downstairs.
The system...it wasn't-great, for me.
I know there are success stories, it probably wouldn't exist if there weren't, but not all of the places I lived in were exactly reputable and I never stayed anywhere for very long(the houses and foster parents when I was younger were nice enough but, the older I got, the more hit and miss everything became, mostly miss, as my caseworker(s) struggled to find someone willing to take me with my track record, which isn't exactly pretty).
Still, of all the places I stayed in before I found the Morrisseys, my last placement was...it was really bad.
Shit, I see a therapist because of what I went through.
And it's all because of Petunia and Vernon Dursley.
My aunt and uncle.
They kept my brother, and they abandoned me-for what? Looking like my mum? What kind of an excuse is that for abandoning a one-year-old? How is that justification for what they put me through? And how the hell am I supposed to forget that? Supposed to deal with that?
I've always felt kind of empty, like there was something missing-is that because of Harry?
I know how close twins can be(there's a whole stereotype about it), and we were ripped apart by those-
Does he feel kind of empty, too?
Does he even know about me?
All this time, I thought I was all alone, that my family were all dead, so I never really felt that abandonment as keenly as the other foster kids I've stayed with.
Now, I did.
(okay, so maybe a part of me hates them for dying on me, and feels abandoned, but that's still different because, as far as I knew, they were in a car accident-according to that stupid blooming letter my 'aunt and uncle' wrote when they dumped me-so it's not like it was their fault or they chose to leave me; even knowing the truth, there was an irrational part of my brain that refused to not be angry about the shitty circumstances and at them, even if I'd never admit it out loud to anyone).
And if I didn't feel as numb and in shock as I did because of everything else Dumbledore dumped on me-the discovery of magic, of what I am, of what really happened to my parents(who were murdered), Harry-I probably would've self-destructed.
As I towelled off in my bedroom, changing into a pair of comfy black sweatpants and a pale yellow Pink Floyd band shirt, I could hear Dakota and Alistair arguing with Dumbledore downstairs-predominantly, Dakota.
I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was more than likely being caused by the charged emotional atmosphere...and how I reacted to what our unwelcome house guest revealed.
I just felt...exhausted.
Emotionally and physically.
My entire body was aching, my head hurt, and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed, pull the comforter over my head, and pretend none of this was happening-slam the door, barricade it with my wardrobe, and never come out.
I can handle psychopathic murderous Dark wizards, I can handle dead parents(I already knew they were dead so it's not like this afternoon's made them any deader, you know?), I can get used to the idea of being famous and a witch, but the way I felt when I found out about the Dursleys...Harry...I don't know why what they did felt just as bad as what Voldemort did, why I was putting their actions on the same level, but-it felt that bad to me. It felt awful to me. It felt like...too much.
It was all just too much.
After I'd passably gotten ahold of myself, I reluctantly went back downstairs.
The moment I walked into the kitchen, the arguing stopped.
You could hear a pin drop.
Without a word, I silently walked back to my seat, sat down, and turned to Dumbledore.
And, after looking at me carefully for a few minutes, he continued on to explain the finer points of the surreal story that I could hardly believe to be true.
First of all, he clarified that Alistair and Dakota are both Muggles-and that, until he arrived on their doorstep, they had no idea magic existed, much less that I had any living family beyond the parents whose names I didn't even know. I figured he made a point to make that clear to me for their sake, just in case I was under the impression they'd spent the past almost two years lying to me(it was a strange kind of relief, knowing they were as lost and overwhelmed by all this as I am).
After making sure I understood that, Dumbledore returned to the subject of the knock-off supervillain that murdered my parents and how some people believe that he isn't really dead. That he was just weakened to the point that he couldn't carry on. I could tell he was one of those people(which was comforting, really-I mean, who doesn't like hearing that a powerful Dark wizard you accidentally super killed as a baby, who was trying to kill you and your brother, might be out there plotting his revenge?).
And, as if I wasn't turned around enough, I apparently shouldn't even have my scar.
One curse. One curse, and Voldemort was gone. Dumbledore thinks that I was too close to Harry. His scar is on his forehead and mine is on my neck, so it would make sense. The spell would've, and should've, wiped us both out in one fell swoop. Instead, it rebounded, and now Voldemort is maybe dead and I have a scar on my neck, two dead parents, an uppity therapist, an aunt and uncle I can't think about without wanting to hit something, and a twin brother I couldn't pick out of a line-up.
As if I didn't have enough to process right now, Dumbledore went on to explain that, if Harry doesn't respond to his Hogwarts letters soon(for some reason, they hadn't heard back from him yet-Dumbledore suspects Petunia and Vernon might be behind that, not that he said as much out loud, or had to), he would be sending Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, to pick him up and take him to a place called 'Diagon Alley' to buy his school equipment...and, if I wanted to go with him, Hagrid would be more than happy to pick me up on his way to collect Harry.
Alistair and Dakota assured me that it was my decision, no pressure.
-I think I might've said yes.
Shit.
By the time Dumbledore was getting ready to take his leave, the sun was low in the sky and everyone, even the wizard himself, felt emotionally drained.
I struggled to hide how relieved I was that he was leaving.
It's not that I don't like Dumbledore, not at all(he reminds me of Professor X-that, or how I imagine Gandalf from the Lord of the Rings books), but I don't think I could deal with finding out any more earth-shattering, world-changing information today.
"I have to return to the castle-" There's a castle?! "I hope to see you there on September 1st."
Dumbledore held out his hand once more for me to shake and I awkwardly took it, deciding not to question the castle bit.
One more fun fact and my head will implode all over the pretty blue kitchen tiles.
"I'll be there," I told him with a poor attempt at a smile, taking a deep breath. "This is-a lot to digest," I added honestly, "and I know you probably feel bad for dumping everything on me like that...but don't. I'm glad you told me. I don't like being kept in the dark-and it's better that I found all of this out now, today, than if I'd turned up at Hogwarts and had it sprung on me."
Dumbledore looked surprised but pleased by my reasoning.
"That's very mature of you, Jewel," he said.
"'Mature?' Our Jewel?" Alister blurted incredulously to Dakota.
Dakota glared at him and he cleared his throat awkwardly, wisely shutting up.
Any other time, I would've laughed.
"Good luck, Jewel," Dumbledore murmured with a kind smile, the twinkle returning to his eyes.
I couldn't help but return his smile, if weakly.
You know, until he pulled out a fancy-looking stick and, with a cheerful, "Toodle-pip!" and a *pop*, vanished into thin air and destroyed any chance I had at burying all of this under a thick layer of denial(well, that, and confirming that wizard or not he's off his bloody rocker-and, you know, magic is real).
I stared at the spot Dumbledore had been standing with my mouth hanging open for a good minute before looking up at my guardians, wordlessly asking them if I was losing my mind and that didn't really just happen.
One look at them, and I knew I wasn't.
"Jewel...sweetheart, I..." Dakota breathed, looking at me speechlessly as she struggled to find the right words to say-as if the 'right words' could even exist after everything I'd been told over the past few hours. "I know this is a lot to take in-I'm still-I still can't-but Alistair and I...we love you, so much, and we just-we're here for you, you know that, right? We don't want you to hold in how you're feeling, we want to-I want to-"
Dakota looked at Alistair hopelessly, but he looked just as lost as she did.
Wanting to both comfort the emotionally wobbly woman and shut her up, I swiftly crossed the room without a word and wrapped my arms around her middle.
"Jewel..." she choked out, hugging me back protectively. "Jewel, I am so sorry."
I just squeezed my eyes shut and, feeling a few stray tears escape down my face, buried my head in the safety of her arms.
