A/N: This is a prologue to a story I've been working on about a survivor of Voldemort's first reign of terror. Survival and redemption are central themes to the story but this part is very, very, very sad.
**If you don't like reading sad stories, you should not read any further.**
Stockholm
Prologue
July 31, 1980 Cambridge, U.K.
Emmett Haze stood in the middle of the sun-washed kitchen holding his newborn daughter close to his chest. The usually peaceful kitchen air was filled with the cries emanating from the wailing infant. He held her bottle out in front of her, put his thumb on the nipple and shook it vigorously hoping to get her attention but each time he tried to put the nipple into her mouth, she stubbornly refused it.
"Come on, honey," he pleaded as he rocked her gently in an attempt to ease her crying. He licked a drop of formula from his fingers. "Mmm, mmm... yummy yummy," he said trying not to cringe at the taste of the bland, powdery substance. The baby's sobs showed no sign of stopping. He sighed in frustration. "I know it's not the same as your mum, but you'll like it just the same. I promise."
The clicking sounds of a large plastic tire announced the arrival of a four-year old, fair-haired boy who rode into the kitchen on his plastic, red, Playskool tricycle. He road exactly three circles around his father's feet before he stopped to stare up at him. "She's loud," he said simply.
"She's hungry," Emmett explained.
The boy, whose name was Michael, wrinkled his nose in annoyance. "Why doesn't she eat?"
Emmett frowned, unsure how to respond. He had an idea of why the child wasn't eating but he wasn't sure he understood it enough to explain it to someone else, let alone a four year old boy. He also didn't know how to explain it in a way that would not appear to place the blame solely on his mother. Long before he'd ever thought about having children, Emmett had made a vow to himself that he would always be honest with his children but now he found himself looking for gray areas in which he could justify telling his son a half-truth. "I don't know," he answered, rationalizing that technically it was the truth.
Michael's bright blue eyes stared up at the wailing, fleshy pink blob wrapped in the pale pink terry blanket. His eyes suddenly went wide with excitement as if he had just figured out a great mystery. "Maybe she'd like her milk better if we put some chocolate in it?"
His father was too tired to laugh, so he just smiled. "No, Michael. We're not going to give her chocolate milk. It's not good for her." Seeing the small child's face fall, he quickly added. "But thank you for the suggestion."
Michael nodded and drove his tricycle out of the kitchen into the living room, all thoughts of his crying sister forgotten.
Emmett could not so easily forget about the tiny, wrinkled baby in his arms. She had made it quite clear that she was not interested in a bottle, even though she hadn't eaten all morning. It was painfully obvious what she wanted. She wanted her mother.
Emmett cradled his daughter even closer to his chest and made his way to the stairs and slowly walked up to the master bedroom. She was there sprawled on the bed, just as he had left her, still clad in her nightclothes. Her tangled mop of blond hair told him that she hadn't showered.
She lay still on the bed, staring blankly at the television in the armoire. "...and then whisk your fresh herbs into a half a cup of olive oil..." the Naked Chef advised her as he chopped basil and thyme.
Emmett stood in the doorway, still holding the crying infant, waiting for her to acknowledge him but she continued to stare at the television as if she couldn't hear the sudden onslaught of wailing that had just entered the room.
"Anna?" Emmett said softly but firmly.
Without looking at him, she answered blankly. "Yes?" Her blue eyes which were normally bright and full of life now appeared dull and gray.
Watching her intently, Emmett sat on the edge of the bed. Under the guise of allowing him room to sit down, she tucked her legs up underneath her, effectively curling herself into a ball. She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth slightly.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, gently placing a hand on her forearm.
She involuntarily winced at his touch and seemed to regret it immediately. "I ... I still have a headache."
He rocked his wimpering daughter in an attempt to quiet her. "Did you take some aspirin?"
"Yes," she said irritably.
"It didn't help?"
"No."
Emmett sighed. She had been like this since she had returned from the hospital seven days earlier. The pregnancy had not been an easy one. He had tried to make it easier on her by taking some time off his work at the University to care for the children as well as doing the housework but she remained irritable. Every suggestion he made seemed to annoy her. But it had been almost a week. Something had to change. He took a breath as if to strengthen his resolve and decided it was time for drastic measures. "Maybe you should see a medi-witch."
This got her attention. She stared at him incredulously. "You want me to go a medi-witch?"
"Yes," he cried exasperated. "Please! Do something other than laying around, watching garbage on television. I don't see how you can watch the idiot box all day when you supposedly have such a horrible headache."
Tears filled her eyes in response to his outburst. She buried her face in her pillow. "You don't understand," she mumbled between her sobs.
He reached over to her and carressed her robed thigh. "Honey," he said in a soothing voice. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried about you. You're not yourself."
"I know, I know..." she said through her tears. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just want to be alone. Okay?" Her words were more of a plea.
Emmett looked down at the whimpering infant in his arm. She was quieter now only because she had worn herself out by crying all morning. "Anna," he said looking at his wife intently. "We need you."
She rubbed at her eyes with the edge of the pillowcase, affectively avoiding eye contact. When her eyes finally met his, she tried to force a reassuring smile. "You're doing fine, Emmett. You can handle it without m-"
"Meaghan's hungry," he blurted out.
For the first time since he had entered the room, she looked at the bundle in his arm. It took some effort on her part. Emmett was alarmed to see no sign of motherly affection on her face. "So... feed her," she said dully.
Emmett glared at his wife in an attempt to convey that the situation was becoming serious. "She doesn't want formula, Anna. She wants you." Anna buried her face in the pillow again letting the smooth cotton sheets soak up her tears.
A man less patient than Emmett would have been exceptionally weary of the crying by now. His wife had cried more tears this week than his newborn infant daughter and four-year old son put together. He couldn't understand what was wrong with her. He gave her a gentle squeeze with his free hand. "Honey?" he said softly. "Are you upset because of the howler?" Unable to get an answer, he continued. "Because, I talked to the Ministry again this morning. They're very, very busy but they've assured me that they'll find the person who sent it. I have complete trust in them. I don't think we have anything to worry about."
Anna's face lifted slightly from her pillow. "Do you really think so?" she said skeptically.
Emmett shared her skepticism but didn't let it show. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Everything will be just fine." Her spirits seemed to lift just slightly. Emmett wished he could convince himself as easily. "Is that what's been troubling you, love?"
She was perplexed and Emmett could see that she was unsure herself. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe. I just feel so... down all the time. I feel horrible about it. I know Meaghan needs me but..." Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes again. The baby watched her with glistening green eyes. Her mouth was open; ready for that elusive nipple. Anna's face scrunched up as tears spilled from her eyes. "I'm a horrible mother," she wailed.
"No, you're not!" Emmett said emphatically. "You're a wonderful mother! I think you're just worried about her safety. I think that howler upset you more than you'll admit."
Hearing the sincerity in his voice seemed to cheer her up considerably. "Maybe you're right," she said.
She lifted herself upright and put her hand on his. They sat quietly, looking into each others' eyes, holding hands tightly, savoring the moment and how they could communicate their love for each other without saying a word.
After a moment, Emmett spoke. "I think that if you let her feed off you, it might help you as well."
The pink, wrinkled face seem to brighten up at these words, as if the infant understood what was about to happen. "I think she heard you," said Anna regarding her daughter with a warm smile.
Emmett smiled. "I wouldn't doubt it. You know, I think she's going to be a right fine witch. I bet she'll even be in Hufflepuff, like you were."
Still watching her daughter, Anna's face began to show concern. Thinking it was something he had said, Emmett changed his approach. "But I'll love her no matter what she turns out to be," he said sincerely. "It doesn't matter to me. She'll be as beautiful as you. It won't matter if she's a witch or a Muggle."
Anna only seemed to get more upset. She pulled her hand from his and leaned away from him.
Seeing his gains disappearing before his eyes, Emmett became desperate. He held his daughter in both hands and offered her to his wife. "Why don't you just try feeding her, Anna. You're really swollen. I think it'll be good for you both."
The innocent baby looked at her with longing and seemed to reach towards her. But a look of revulsion came across Anna's face and she began to back up even further on the bed. Horrified, Emmett brought the baby back to his chest. "Anna? What is wrong with you?"
Looking equally horrified with herself, Anna rolled over to the opposite side of the bed muttering apologies. She reached towards the armoire and dug into the drawers until she found what she was looking for. Amidst all the Muggle-type jeans and jumpers was a single black witch's robe. She threw it over herself and grabbed a pair of brown loafers.
Emmett stood up, cradled the now whimpering infant in his arms and watched her in shock. "What are you doing?"
She looked up at him, eyes full of shame. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't do this. I have to go."
"Go? Where're you going?" he demanded.
She concentrated on putting on her shoes to avoid eye contact. "I have to get out of her. I'm so sorry, my darling. I don't know what's wrong with me. I just know that I have to get out of here. Right now."
Before he could say a word, she had dug out her wand from underneath many pairs of socks in the cabinet and apparated away.
*****************
Anna wandered the streets of the lower magical section of Cambridge aimlessly, not knowing what she was looking for. The few witches and wizards on the streets rushed past her without a second glance but the M.L.E.S. agents eyed her suspiciously.
The wizarding world was currently in a state of turmoil because of the rise of a dark wizard who was so terrible, most were too afraid to speak his name. Anna had been able to ignore the unflattering stares and rude comments that were becoming more and more frequent with the rise of the Dark Lord but the howlers were impossible to ignore. Bright green howlers delivered by eagle owls that screeched epithets about "dirty mudbloods contaminating the magical purity". Howlers that exploded a spray of rusty tacks and nails. Howlers that released poisonous fumes. Howlers that sprayed jets of fire in all directions.
Deciding that they'd had enough, Emmett had moved his family to a small Muggle community on the outskirts of Cambridge in 1977. Thankfully, the howlers had not followed them. They lived there peacefully until the day after Anna had come home from the Muggle hospital with Meaghan. That day had brought the worst howler yet.
Anna had been extremely upset about it but it was not the reason for her current state of depression. She hadn't felt like herself since before the howler arrived. The threatening letter only served to exacerbate her bad mood further.
A short, hunch-backed wizard stopped in front of her to stare shamelessly and Anna felt herself momentarily seized with panic. Why was he staring? Did he know that she was married to a Muggle?
She didn't used to worry about other witches and wizards knowing about Emmett. It had only become dangerous in the last few years. More and more magical types had begun to openly express their hostility towards Muggles. Many witches and wizards believed there should be a law against mixed marriages. The number of unsolved murders, especially amongst Muggleborns, had risen exponentially since the time she had gotten married to Emmett. And it seemed that reports of a death card, or "Dark Mark", as she had heard it called, were showing up in the papers at least once a month.
She looked down at her appearance and it was suddenly all too obvious why the hunch-backed wizard had been staring. Her robe had gaped open and anyone could see that she was wearing pajamas underneath. Muggle pajamas, at that.
She quickly drew her robe together and made her way down an alley, away from the crowd. Half-running, she went left, then right, then left again down various alleyways until she was completely lost.
Stopping to catch her breath, she looked to the sign on the door she had stopped at.
M.W. since 1939.
Anna stared at the door in disbelief as the voice of her husband came back to her. "Maybe you should check with a medi-witch."
Of course, it had been a good idea and she knew it was no accident that she had wound up there. The power of magic never ceased to amaze her. She swept through the door into the tiny, musty clinic.
The medi-witch who greeted her was quite old. Anna guessed she couldn't have been a day younger than 90.
"Hello, my dear," she said in a creaky voice. "Do sit down and tell me what the trouble is."
Anna sat on a cot with crisp white sheets. It was a small clinic with only four beds and it appeared that for the moment, Anna was the only patient.
The old witch watched her expectantly.
Anna hesitated. How was she going to tell her what she had been feeling? She had been extremely depressed and irritable. She'd had no desire to do anything but lay in bed. But the worst was how she felt about her baby. Her brand new, beautiful baby girl who was only seven days old. For some inexplicable reason, she couldn't bring herself to touch her. The thought of breast feeding her made her want to wretch. The disgust she felt towards her daughter was only surpassed by the disgust she felt for herself. How was she to admit these things? The wise old witch would surely know what a horrible mother she was.
As if sensing her dilemma, the old medi-witch raised an eyebrow in a knowing way. "It's okay, my dear. You can tell me. I've heard it all before."
Anna was comforted by her warm smile and sparkling eyes. She began to talk. She confessed her feelings of depression and revulsion. How she had fits of rage when she felt she could have smashed every dish in the house. She confessed about not wanting to hold her daughter, much less feed her. She told the medi-witch of her own self-loathing and how she knew what a horrible mother she was. Anna found her confession very cathartic and the more she shared, the better she felt about it. But no matter how much she confessed, the weight of depression and self-doubt did not lift.
When she was done, she lifted her teary eyes in desperation to the medi-witch. To her surprise, the witch was smiling. "My dear," she said sweetly. "Is this all that's troubling you? I thought you were going to have a tough one for me."
Anna was shocked that she would treat such an obviously distressed patient with such levity. "I beg your pardon?" she sputtered.
Madame Welby let out a laugh. "Goodness me, this is a very common problem indeed. I have a primrose potion already brewed in back that will fix you right up." Slowly but fluidly, she rose from her chair and headed to the back of her clinic. Anna watched her unable to believe what she had heard. It was a common problem that could be solved with a simple potion? Could the solution be as simple as that?
The old witch returned with a large bottle and a goblet. She sat down and poured some of the yellowish liquid into the goblet.
"Madame," Anna ventured. "You said this was a common problem?"
"Oh yes," she said without a trace of concern. "You have... Well, the muggles call it post-partum depression. You have heard of it?"
Anna stared at her trying to figure out why she gave the Muggle term for it. "Uh... yes. I have heard of it. I don't really know much about it, though."
"Yes, well, as I said, it is very common. I have some brochures that you can take with you. Now, drink this straight up."
Anna took the goblet and feeling optimistic for the first time in a week, swallowed it in one gulp. The effects were instantaneous. The depression that had consumed her mind seemed to vanish immediately. The weight she had felt on her shoulders lifted. The feelings of irritability were gone and immediately replaced by feelings of love. Love for her daughter and shame and sadness that she had let a whole week go by without touching her. All in the matter of a moment, Anna knew that the one thing she wanted to do more than anything right now was to hold her baby girl close to her. She had been so tiny, so helpless. Meaghan needed her. She needed her mum to take care of her, to feed her. For the first time, Anna felt an overwhelming desire to hold her baby close.
She jumped up from the bed, ready to apparate immediately.
"Ahem," the old witch cleared her throat loudly. "That'll be twelve sickles and four knuts please. And you don't want to forget your potion. Take a goblet-full each morning."
Anna pulled some money out of her pocket and gave it to the old medi-witch. "Thank you."
Madame Welby smiled and quickly turned her attention to the money in her hand, carefully counting out the coins to ensure she had received her full fee.
Anna grabbed the potion and apparrated away with a "pop".
***********
The Haze house was settled in the middle of a rural Muggle village on the outskirts of Cambridge. Emmett and Anna had bought the house in 1977 when it had become clear to them that they were not wanted in the Wizarding community. They had agreed to live their lives as Muggles with occassional forays into the magical world when it became necessary. On those occassions when Anna wanted to apparate, she chose a particular apparation spot which was a small clearing underneath a large willow tree on the edge of their property. It was sufficiently hidden so that their Muggle neighbors would not be privy to any sudden appearances.
It was just after noon when Anna apparated to her appointed spot. She ran out from underneath the willow tree towards the house. Towards her baby whom she could already picture scooping up in her arms and feeling her warm baby skin against her own. She imagined hearing her soft coos and her light green eyes filled with wonder and anticipation.
These thoughts filled her head as she ran through the back yard towards the porch. But as she emerged from underneath the elm trees in her back yard, she froze at the site that awaited her.
A thick green smoke was hovering above the house, close to the chimney. She could barely make out the outline of a skull with a long slithering snake coming out of its mouth. It hung in the air like a vulture and Anna's heart filled with dread at the sight of it.
She sprinted towards the door, heart pounding madly. The door flew open by itself as she rushed through it into the kitchen where she stopped dead in her tracks. There on the floor was her son Michael. He had been riding his tricycle which was overturned next to him. He lay on the floor, blue eyes stared at her blankly.
Covering her mouth, unable to breath, she sank to the floor. The cold, empty eyes continued to stare off into nothingness. He was dead.
"No!" she cried. The sound of her own voice seemed surreal and inexplicably loud. She looked out into the hallway which seemed deathly quiet and the thought occurred to her that perhaps whoever did this was still in the house.
Fighting back the misery that now consumed her, she pulled her wand out of her pocket and struggled to stand up. Holding her wand out in front of her, she slowly made her way through the hall towards the front room. She tried to push away all thoughts of her son lying dead on the kitchen floor next to his favorite red tricycle. She concentrated on her daughter and her husband. She thought of the last time she saw them. Emmett had held her close to his chest. He was very protective. He would have protected her with his life. She so wanted to turn the corner into the front room and see him standing there, holding a crying Meaghan in his arms. She would take Meaghan from him and feed her and the infant would stop crying.
But she heard no crying. The house was completely still. There was not a sound. Not even a distant bird chirping.
She stumbled into the front room to find it empty. The front door was gone and there were scorch marks around the frame. The anxiety became too much for her. "Emmett!" she screamed as she held her wand out defensively. She heard nothing. "Emmett!" she screamed again but got nothing but silence in response.
She ran to the stairs and sprinted up towards the bedrooms. Nothing else seemed out of order. The pictures were hung on the walls perfectly straight. The beds were all made up, even her own. She knew Emmett had made the beds. He had been making up the beds all week.
She didn't find him until she went into the nursery. He was lying on the floor, face frozen in terror. Empty gray-blue eyes stared up at the ceiling. He was dead.
Behind him was the basinette. Anna gripped the bureau for support and peared inside to see the tiny infant. She was perfectly still and silent. Anna reached inside and pulled out the blanket-wrapped bundle. Snug inside the pink terrycloth blanket was a silent and stiff seven day old baby girl. Her eyes were closed and her hands were locked in a permanent grip with the blanket.
Anna held the baby to her chest and stroked her cold cheek. She had a few tiny whisps of dark hair which seemed to be the only part of her that still had life. She cradled the baby gently in her arms and buried her face in the soft pink blanket. "I'm home, darling," she spoke softly. "Mama's home."
A/N: Now, if you don't totally hate me for writing such a sad story, I'd really appreciate if you'd take a moment to leave a review. I apologize for any mistakes - I tried very hard not to make any but this hasn't been beta-ed and my spell-check is not working. That's my excuse anyway. :)
If you hadn't been able to guess from my clues, Anna's path eventually runs across Harry's and the rest of the story is thankfully much happier.
Thanks for reading!