Author's Note: Hey guys. Thanks so much for the positive reviews; I really appreciate them. And, please, keep them coming! I know that this story has been dragging a bit in the last couple chapters, but I assure you that it will be getting better. Also, I was in the mood for an ego boost (hehehe) and I re-read my reviews of Making Shade (which you should go read…now!) and I just wanted to say thanks a lot for all of the great reviews of that story. I'm glad that you enjoyed it, now if you would only review Emily's story! LOL, but seriously…review!
I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to review!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. is the intellectual property of JK Rowling. The song quoted in this chapter is Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls. No infringement is intended.
Chapter V: Of Bodyguards, Braids, Bathrooms and Brawls
Emily…The most horrible thing about Hogwarts, if there is such a thing, is that there is no room for me to bring my paintings or canvases. They don't fit in my trunk, and I don't have room to carry them. Mum and Dad can't send them to me, because no owls can carry a canvas all the way to Scotland. But what can you do?
September first is usually my favourite day of the year, minus Christmas and my birthday, of course. Today, however, I wasn't feeling so optimistic. I would have to leave Mum and Dad's protection, and I wasn't ready. I had shut out all of the memories, but phantom images never ceased to follow me around.
By the time that we had packed and gone back to the house three times for Landon's Head Boy badge, Jack had to use the bathroom…again, and I forgot my homework (Mum was more ready to retrieve mine than Landon's. This made me momentarily happy).
We didn't even take Dad's Porsche to King's Cross-. Instead, the Ministry sent along a big black Suburban with Ministry flags on the bonnet. It wasn't very subtle. It was quite all right, though, when we arrived at King's Cross. We didn't have to push our own trolleys, and people stopped and stared at us once on the platform. They parted to let us walk through. Landon was looking quite embarrassed, Mum and Dad were trying to ignore it, Jack was sucking on his thumb like he did when he was nervous (he was the shy one of the family), and I decided that while people were staring, I'd might as well make the best of it. I was waving and greeting people like the Queen of the World. I got some rather nasty looks from Slytherins, but everyone else thought that I was quite funny.
I suppose that I'm what you would call popular. I don't pay attention to popularity, really. I'm just nice to people, that's all. My popularity is somewhat hollow, though. People like me because I'm good at Quidditch. People liked Landon and Mum because they're smart. People like Uncle Harry because he's famous. People like Rachel because she's gorgeous. Of course, I do have my true friends. They're not hard to spot- they stick around during the tough times. I don't understand why so many people crave popularity. Speaking on behalf of the 'popular' people, the 'unpopular' are the ones who made us so popular, anyway, just because of a skill, body, or something completely out of control. I'd rather have a group of close friends that I could trust than a lot of friends who only liked me because I was Emily Weasley, Quidditch Player. Quality, not quantity. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whether the glass is half empty of half full, I had both of those friends. I had my tight circle- Rachel, Meghan, Kyle and Tom- and then those that I didn't especially know to talk with for a long period of time, but enough to say 'hi, how ya doing' should I happen to see them on Diagon Alley.
Once our bags were on the train, the security detail that had followed us checked the compartments that Landon and I would be in from top to bottom. One of them would even be riding on the train with us. I thought that it was a bit…overkill, but it's policy. Never mind that Mum has the power to change the policy, or anything.
I walked back out to the platform where Artemis was looking surly that Mum and Dad were talking with Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, and Uncle Fred and Aunt Angelina. Apparently, it was a security breach or something.
As much as I love Hogwarts, I think that Platform 9¾ excites me even more. The hustle and bustle atmosphere in the air is enough to give the most out of shape person an adrenaline rush. The feeling of love and happiness is enough to make even the hardest of hearts warm to a nice glow. The anticipation, mingled with the sent of fresh books, newly washed and pressed robes, owls and cats, perfume, sweat and steam brings back a fresh wave of nostalgia every time one walks through the barrier. As I struggled to follow Gaston, who was the boulder of a bodyguard that had been given the task of accompanying me, a cat scampered in front of my feet, friends met up for the first time since June, a trunk fell on someone's toe, a sixth year couple kissed hello, a mother said a tearful goodbye to her first year son, and parents shook hands with their old school chums. Platform 9¾ has heard more 'hellos' and 'goodbyes' than a Beatles song, more tears than a funeral, more joy than a maternity ward, and more anxiety than Mum's library. The platform personifies the cliché if these walls could talk.
Mum teared up as usual when I hugged her goodbye. Jack looked as if he couldn't care any less no matter how hard he tried, and Landon appeared as if he couldn't wait to be alone with Fiona. Dad was nowhere to be found. The train whistle blew, and I hugged Mum one last time before running to jump on. I hadn't seen Dad and that upset me. I wanted to see him before Christmas, and I had to make sure that he was all right. Mum didn't appear to be concerned about it, and Artemis wasn't in a frenzy, either. Apparently, they knew something that I didn't. Ah, the story of my life.
I jumped on the train just in the nick of time, and was face to face with Gaston, the human rock. This would be a long train ride, for he insisted on following me around everywhere. I wondered if I would be able to do anything without this big lump following me around. I found my compartment, and my friends were already there. I took my seat next to Rachel, and Gaston stood at the door, surveying the room. Everyone glanced at him warily.
"Who's big brother?" Tom asked.
"This is Gaston," I said. "He just stands there; ignore him."
"Did you guys hear about Hagrid?" Rachel asked.
"No, what happened?" No one was as fond as Hagrid as we were.
"He's retiring this year."
"About time," I said. True, I loved Hagrid, but he was pretty old. His job, though he loved it, was putting a lot of strain on him. "I wonder who's taking his place?" I was in his Care of Magical Creatures class, as was Kyle (we were working on converting Will from Divination to Care of Magical Creatures. Rachel and Meghan had roped him in already. It's a cult, I tell you.), and we enjoyed it very much
The train rocked back and forth for the remainder of our trip. It was pretty monotonous, I thought. I mean, why spend four hours looking out the window only to see sheep, trees, cows and grass? It gets old. Will found it captivating though, and spent every moment staring at the scenery. Meghan and Rachel did the same; only their scenery wasn't exactly sheep, trees, cows and grass. No, their scenery was a dishy new boy with a potpourri accent that even I had to admit was rather dashing.
But Rachel and Meghan were fighting over flirting rights. Unless I wanted my hair pulled out and my face scratched in a catfight, I thought it best to let them at it and do something really useful. Sleep.
* * *
I woke up panting in a cold sweat. Everyone in the compartment was staring at me apprehensively.
"Emily?" Rachel asked, resting her hand on my shoulder. I flinched at the contact. "Emily, are you all right?"
"I need a walk," I said, getting up as fast as I could. Gaston had left the compartment, and was standing outside, protecting the door. The moment I opened hit, he moved to let me through, but then advanced to follow me.
"Please, Gaston," I asked him. "Please, it's the Hogwarts Express. What's going to happen to me when there are teachers up in the front of the train? Please, I just need to be alone for a second."
"I'm sorry. My orders are to follow you," he said.
Fine, then. I walked to the restrooms at the rear of the train, Gaston in tow. Let's just see him follow me into the girls' bathroom, I thought. What self-respecting male would voluntarily walk into a girls' bathroom? I vaguely remembered stories of Dad and Uncle Harry, but brushed them away. I needed to be alone and think. Just as I'd suspected, Gaston waited outside. Had he come in, I swear I would have hexed him.
I checked to make sure that no one was in the stalls and bolted the door behind me. Quickly I turned the sink on, leaning on it for support. The cold water that lapped over my face felt like a slap, but I was grateful for it. Anything to know that I was still alive. The water mingled with my tears, so one was not distinguishable from the other. Turning off the sink, I shakily stood up, wiping tears and water from my eyes. I took a look at my face in the mirror. My large blue eyes were swollen and red from crying, my cheeks were puffy, and the tips of my ears were red. I was paler than usual. I ducked back down, drying my face with a towel. When I straightened up again, there was another face beside mine in the mirror. I nearly screamed as I turned around, and realized that no one was there. But those grey eyes were so real and clear, as if I could have touched them.
I was falling apart. I hadn't forgotten, as I'd tried to convince myself. Rather, as I'd lied to myself. I'd pushed the memories far from my mind, but I still hadn't forgotten them. They were still raw. The truth was, I didn't think that I'd ever truly forget them. I'd just have to learn to deal with them and teach myself how to control them.
At that moment in time, I lost it. I realized that I had lost my innocence in that moment when I had chosen to open the door rather than walk away. A simple action had ruined my life, or so I thought. I would never get rid of these memories. They'd plague me forever, just because I had been headstrong and reckless. A fresh wave of tears came upon me as I slid down the wall. I laid my forehead on my knees as my shoulders were racked with sobs.
Someone knocked on the door and bid me to hurry up.
I knew that the Ministry would talk to me, even more than Mum and Dad had tried. But they wouldn't understand. I don't think that anyone could fully understand what I was feeling right then. There would be no comfort for me. They would pick my brain apart until there was nothing left but the haunting memories of a happy life that I used to have and a dead man. I didn't want pity. Pity was the worst emotion that anyone can express to another human being. Pity shows condescension. And I hate condescension.
I cried even harder. I could never go back.
I was reminded of lyrics to a Muggle song that I had never quite understood before. They all made sense to me now, and the painful realization that this song could have been written about me made me want to laugh at the irony and cry harder all at once.
And you can't fight the tears that ain't comingOr that moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
And you bleed just to know you're alive.
And I don't want the world to see me,
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand.
When everything's made to be broken,
I just want you to know who I am.
I hadn't seen Dad on the platform. It worried me. I wondered if this dream had been brought on by that anxiety or subconscious suspicion that Dad had fallen prey to this killer. Maybe it had. I had heard once that dreams were always brought on by a reason- something you want, something you're afraid of, or something that you're afraid to want. Professor Patil, the Divination Professor, would have told me quite plainly that it was because of the position of Jupiter and Pluto in correlation with the birthday of those born in November and the lunar positioning on the first of the month that brought on the dreams. Of course, if I told Rachel or Meghan, they'd be the first to say "Oooooh" and suggest that it was an omen of sort, and beg me for permission to read my tealeaves until I relented, just so they'd shut up. I didn't need that.
Someone knocked again. "Would you hurry up in there, please?"
This dry imagery made me snort a laugh, but the tears were still there. I wanted Mum and Dad. They'd rock me to sleep and tell me that everything would be all right. They'd stay by my side in case I woke up with a bad dream. They'd hold me while I cried, and they'd tell me stories about when they were in school that would captivate me. I did not want to be sitting in a bathroom with a big scary man outside and a line forming because I selfishly barricaded myself inside. I would have no comfort, and no release. I'd have to deal with this my own way, and on my own time.
I stood up, relieved that the tears had subsided. Bugger, I didn't have my wand with me. I wet a towel, and wet my already moist face, hoping to remove the redness. My freckles stood out more, though. Oh well, I had always rather liked the freckles that had been sprinkled across the bridge of my nose and dotted my cheeks. My hair was more frizzy than usual; I assumed that it was from the dampness in the bathroom. All in all, nothing was horribly wrong with me. Physically, anyway. Psychologically…well, I didn't want to think about that.
I unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway. Gaston was still standing guard, only not so conspicuously. There was a line of seven or eight girls, all holding their school robes in their arms or really fidgety. I didn't look any of them in the eye, mainly because they were shooting death glares at me.
"Emily?" someone called my name. Gaston was walking ahead of me, and hadn't stopped when I did. All the same, so I let him keep walking as I turned around. "Emily, are you all right?" Charlotte, my brother Landon's best friend got out of line for the bathroom and came to my side.
"I-I…"
"Come here," Charlotte said, pulling me into an empty compartment. She slid the door closed as I sat down on one of the seats. I didn't mind an interrogation with Charlotte. I'd always liked her, because the first time I'd met her, when I was eight years old and Landon brought her home for Christmas, she'd came into my room at night to talk to me about Landon and James. Landon wasn't especially nice to her, and it was really getting her down. I didn't know what she thought that I could do for her. After all, I was only eight years old at the time. I think that that may have been one of the reasons why I'd been drawn to her. She hadn't been condescending or maternal at all. She'd treated me as an equal. She still did. She sent me owls and talked to me when she came over to visit Landon; she was generally interested in my life, and I'd come to rely on her like a big sister. "Now, what's wrong? Might this have anything to do with the night of the ball?"
"Has Landon said anything to you?"
"You really shouldn't answer a question with a question, you know. It's bad form," she said. I looked up at her, ready to smack her upside the head, but she was smiling at me. Here, she'd already managed to figure out why I was upset, lighten the mood, and get me to calm down and rationalize things. "Now what's going on?"
"Promise not to tell?"
"Emily," Charlotte said. She seemed to be thinking about something, and I knew what she would say. Char was the most responsible person that I knew (besides Mum) and she would most likely answer in the way that I suspected. She shook her head. "I can't promise that."
Maybe I should take Divination.
"Then I can't tell you," I said, standing up. She grabbed my arm before I could make it out of the compartment.
"Your hair is a mess."
"So fix it."
"Sit down and tell me what's wrong. I want to help you."
"Are you going to tell?"
She thought for a moment, as she had before, but this time nodded her head in the universal 'yes' gesture. "Promise. Now sit down and let me brush your hair." Charlotte is one of those people who isn't overly concerned about appearances, but isn't above carrying a comb, lip-gloss and a compact in her purse. I also trust her unconditionally, so I spilled everything, pausing only to say 'ow' when she hit a tangle. Surprisingly enough, she understood.
"It's just that…I want to be rid of it. I don't want them to know, because then it will never go away. I'll never forget it as it is, I don't want constant reminders of it, I don't want to rehash it at some judge's whim, I…I just want to feel safe again."
"So you haven't told your parents?"
"Are you kidding me? That's like…jumping from the fire to the frying pan!"
"You mean from the frying pan into the fire?"
"Whatever."
"Stop moving, I'm trying to get this braid straight."
"So you won't tell, then?"
"I swore, didn't I? I wish I could help you out, Emily. I don't know what to say. But if you ever need to talk…well, you know. Don't hesitate and all that."
"I won't."
"You looked like you needed to get something off of your chest. Even though I don't have any advice to offer you, I'd like to think that just listening helped. So if you ever just need someone to listen…"
"Right." She did help. More than she realized. I didn't want false reassurance that it would all be all right, I just wanted someone to listen and I found that confidante in Charlotte. She said that once, she and Landon had a conversation about me. Usually, you don't tell someone that, but she told me that Landon had said that even thought I was a pain, life certainly would be boring without me-of course, we were both much younger then, and I didn't think that I was a pain now. In fact, I think that he rather enjoys my company now- and that he wouldn't trade me for the world. That's not really something that you'd hear Landon say, but he did. Charlotte responded by asking if she could keep me, since she'd always wanted a little sister. Needless to say, hearing all of this certainly gave my ego a boost.
"Anything else going on? Quidditch, school," she smiled mischievously, "Boys?"
"No," I said. I was sick of everyone talking to me about boys. I mean, Dad practically had a coronary when I mentioned that I was inviting Kyle over to practice Quidditch once. Of course, when I told Rachel about this, she started getting all guinea pig on me, squealing left and right. I ask you; can't you be friends with someone without having a hot and steamy affair in her world? She has definitely read too many cheap romance novels. I think that her image of reality has been distorted by mass media and their precognitive depiction of romance.
"All right," she said. "You know, I started dating James in the fourth year."
"Really?" Did I care about this? I'd rather stick my head down Moaning Myrtle's toilet while listening to Luciano Pavarotti singing in the background, having Mum read to me from Hogwarts: Yet Another Revised History, Rachel and Meghan each reading one of my palms and Professor Snape yelling at me for something that certainly wasn't my fault (was it ever?).
She nodded and grinned. "Mm-hmm. They brought back the Yule Ball-you'll go this year, of course- and he finally worked up the courage to ask me. Of course, we'd been skirting around the idea of dating since our second year. I'd toyed with the idea for so long that I was so glad that he finally asked me."
I wondered what Landon thought about all of this. I love Fiona, and I do think that James and Charlotte make a really sweet couple, but I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't entertained the idea of Charlotte Bronte as my sister-in-law. They'd have four redheaded children, running around and spurting out useless information that no one really cared about, only humoured them because they looked so cute while doing it- spitting when the hit s's, because they'd recently lost their two front teeth, freckles glowing, big blue-green eyes, and just the right height. Not tall and thin like Landon and I, but somewhere in between. I'd always thought, and I know that Mum and Dad did as well, because I'd heard this conversation through kitchen doors many times, that Landon and Charlotte would be adorable as a couple. Mum and Dad's conversation had been talking about our future. They were setting trust funds away for us three kids, and were debating whether to use Landon's for his university education or save it until he got married. It then rolled around to who he would marry, and if it would be anyone that they knew. Of course, they loved Fiona as well. She'd become almost a permanent part of our family since she and Landon had been dating the past two years. But I knew that they'd always pictured Landon with Charlotte as well. It would fit, as they were so much like Mum and Dad in the way that they got together (or would have, if they ever got together). They'd be perfect for each other (It was well known to me that Charlotte was certainly not the neatest person in the world, while Landon was freakishly organized. Their little idiosyncrasies balanced each other out which made them perfect), in my opinion, it was just a matter of if, and when, those two would figure it out.
The train lurched and came to a halt. I fell off my seat while Charlotte was still braiding my hair. Needless to say, that was pretty painful and I never let anyone do my hair on the train again. We opened the door to the compartment, and found a few unfortunate people who were standing or walking to be on the floor in what appeared to be very painful positions. I let out a snort of laughter, but with a look from Charlotte, I fell silent. When we saw a huge man tearing down the car, wand at the ready, I knew that I was in trouble.
"Miss Weasley," he said, gasping when he saw me. People were sticking their heads out of compartments and watching what was going on. This was so humiliating. "Miss Weasley, please do not do that again. You are my charge only until the end of the day. Please, will you follow decorum?" Whatever the hell that meant. It was then that he saw Charlotte. He grabbed her arm and sandwiched her against the wall.
"What are you doing?" I shouted, launching myself at him in manner of David and Goliath. I was pounding on his huge back with fists that were minuscule in comparison to his gargantuan body. "Let her go!"
"Who are you!" he shouted at Charlotte. Before giving her time to answer, he shouted again, "What do you want with her! Well, out with it!" His wand was dangerously close to touching the tip of her pointy (although attractive) nose. He was just about to ask her what her grandmother's aunt's landlord's cat's previous owner's second cousin's mother's maiden name was when Professors made their way down the hallway. Someone ripped me off of Gaston's back, and somehow managed to pull Charlotte out of his over zealous grasp. I was still fighting (by means of kicking, screaming and punching the air) while someone's arms were clasped firmly around my middle. My flailing was futile, but that didn't bother me.
"Emily Grace Weasley, would you bloody calm down!" a voice said to me. I quickly stopped and turned around to look into the face of my father.
"Dad?"