Disclaimer: All people and places belong to J. K. Rowling.
Life Had Just Begun
By Terra
Chapter Nine: What Will Be
Work had been rather uneventful since the discovery of my father's pieces in my desk. I continued work on magical misuse and abuse barely skipping a beat. From time to time, people would stop by and express their condolences but by January, these visits had ceased. Lily continued her work from home and presumably sent me sandwiches.
I was working on an ordinance against a dotty old woman (I knew this woman. Trust me, she was dotty) who had committed her fourth count of illegal Apparition when one of my co-workers, a man named Ernie Booth, came in.
"Didn't you hear?" He asked.
"Hear what?" I answered, not looking up.
"There's a Ministry-wide meeting. Apparently the Aurors have to alert us about something."
I turned around. "All the Ministry has to go? I thought it was just for the Magical Law Enforcement!"
"They just informed us a few minutes ago. They don't have enough owls to tell the whole Ministry so they told us to go around and deliver the message."
I groaned. "Is it now?"
"Yes," Ernie replied, nodding.
I got up and walked to the Meeting Hall with Ernie. When we had walked a distance, Ernie asked quietly, "Did you hear what happened to Arthur Weasley?"
"His baby couldn't've been born yet, it's due in two months."
Ernie shook his head. "Imperius."
"Imperius?" I repeated, astonished, "How? Who?"
"He doesn't know. He managed to break it just in time. An Auror, that Moody guy…"
"Alastor Moody?"
"That's him. He was standing by and he could tell that he was struggling against some force. Lucky he was there or Weasley would be in Azkaban right now."
"What was he being told to do?"
"Poison the water supply. He had the poison in his hand and everything, one hall down from the water pump. We'd all be dead."
"Merlin!" I exclaimed softly, "good thing he broke it. He couldn't tell who was controlling him?"
Ernie sighed, "You know how Imperius works. Once you break it, you can't recall what the voice sounds like."
"Damn lucky Moody was passing by."
"Once in a lifetime chance."
We frowned at the thought of being controlled and unable to fight. There is virtually no way to prove that one has been under the Imperius. The only way is for someone to witness you struggling against the curse while you are still under its grip. The Aurors told us that "it's all in the eyes. Watch the eyes". But once the curse the broken, there is no hope except to pray that someone will believe you.
"I hear that they're trying to make a deal with the dementors," Ernie said suddenly.
"How does one bargain with a soul-sucking demon?" I asked, half laughing.
"This is just what I've heard but I hear that the Minister wants to give them Azkaban in return for leaving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
"Azkaban? The prison?"
Ernie nodded. "The dementors can feed off the prisoners then. It also keeps them away from the general populace. Even before all this, there were people getting Kissed. If they are all in one place, no more Kisses."
"Except the prisoners."
"Who deserve it if you ask me. Besides, people have been clamoring for years to make Azkaban more humane. I mean, it's just in their heads, isn't it? It's not like they'll be put on the rack or placed under rocks anymore. So, even if you're innocent, you're not getting physically injured."
"I guess that makes sense. It's just a mental thing, after all," I replied, after a moment's thought.
"But that's just a rumor. It probably won't happen."
The Meeting Hall could reasonably fit the entire Wizarding population if the need required. It had stadium seating and a high ceiling. In front of the room was a blank white wall, used to project objects so the entire audience could see. A long table was in front of the large wall and lights shone down from the ceiling above. Every row was marked with a placard for each department and I stepped up to sit in the Improper Use of Magic row with my co-workers.
There was a buzz of noise, each asking his neighbour why every department had to see this… whatever it was.
The Minister of Magic stepped up to the podium and coughed weakly. The noise slowly died down until there was silence. Minister Garder was a tiny balding man with thin whiskers on his cheeks. He was very old and some even thought he was senile. He was decent Minister and tried all his three terms to maintain peace in the Wizarding World. His pacifist ways, however, in the common day in this struggle were useless. For years, he had ignored the threat of Lord Voldemort and now there was very little anyone could feasibly do. Very little, but not nothing.
"The Aurors and the Department of Muggle Affairs have made an astonishing discovery. I have called you here," he gasped breathlessly, "to inform you of this information. Here to explain the situation is Alastor Moody."
The Minister hobbled away from the podium as Moody swept over towards it like a raven. I knew that Moody and Garder were around the same age, Moody being slightly older, but Moody was not a frail and weezy old man. He glared at the entire room with a piercing eye. It felt as though he knew every misdeed we had committed simply by looking.
He boomed, "I'm sure you are all aware of the Cruciatus Curse. It is a form of torture. Prolonged exposure may cause madness. Further exposure may cause death. It is one of the Unforgivable Curses. But…" he glared at the room again and smiled a sarcastic grin, "I'm sure you are already aware of that. Using this curse sends the wizard or witch to Azkaban. Sometimes, a victim can identify the attacker if the exposure was not too long for them to lose their minds. This has caused problems for the Dark Forces. They don't like getting caught. So, they thought of a better way." He snapped his fingers and a member from the Muggle Affairs Department carried a box to the table. "Promineo." On the white wall was the image of what appeared to be an ornate music box. "We discovered this object a few weeks ago. It is called 'Chorda Caedes Box'. It looks like an average Muggle music box. Except it has no key to wind. It looks harmless, a simple plaything to be enjoyed. But it's not!" He bellowed. He shook his head and growled, "It's not. To a pureblood, this is indeed harmless. But to anyone with Muggle parents, even just one Muggle parent, it is a deadly object. The box is delivered to the home. The victim looks at the box and assumes that it is from a relative or a friend. The person takes the box inside and opens it. There's nothing inside and no music plays. Or so they think!" Moody glared at the occupants of the seats. A few whimpered. "Opening the box activates it. The victim will then look for the key to wind up for music to play. While the victim looks for the non-existent key, cords will be conjured and come out of the box. The cords will grab the person's wrists, cutting them and breaking the bones. Then it begins to Crucio them and electrocute them. Next, more cords will be conjured; these will attack the legs. The cords will add more power to the Crucio and add to the electrocution as well as slice the legs. It will also shatter the bones in the legs and slowly and painfully kill the nerves throughout the entire body, starting with the legs and moving up. The final stage will conjure another cord. This will go for the neck. First, needles stab into the throat, paralyzing the vocal chords and burning the throat. Then, the cords will wrap around the throat and strangle the victim. Finally, it will break the neck, killing them if they are not already dead. The cords will continue to Crucio and electrocute until it runs out of power."
The audience was stunned into silence. No one breathed. Moody placed photos on the table and projected them on the wall. He pointed at one in the far top left corner. "This is a victim of the Box. This was a Muggle woman named Jane Parker, aged 37. Thankfully, her children were not home when the Box was delivered but they were the ones who discovered her body." The picture to which he was referring didn't look like a person, just a blacken lump on a green carpet. Moody pointed a picture to the right of it. "Another victim. A Muggle man, aged 45, named Henry White." Again, Mr. White was a lump of black flesh on a wooden floor. Moody pointed to another picture. "Here is the daughter of Mr. White, Jennifer. She was eight years old." Another picture. "Frances Lane, a Muggle-born witch, aged 32." Another picture. "George Habel, aged 54, his mother was a Muggle." Another picture. "This is his Muggle mother." Another picture. "Mr. and Mrs. Theobald. Their daughter currently attends Hogwarts. They were both Muggle, their daughter is twelve." Moody showed dozens of pictures of bloodied, charred victims. Muggles, Half-Muggle-borns, Muggle-borns, wizards, witches, children, and adults. One picture was of a tiny five-year-old boy whose father was Muggle and his mother was a Pureblood.
"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked at the sickened crowd. "Always be on guard! Right now they have no way of harming purebloods with this but wait a few months and they'll figure it out. We are trying to find a way to disarm the Boxes but as far as we have discovered, once it's activated, that's it. The best option is to run or have someone else destroy the Box but that might be too late! Remember, just touching it activates the device, you don't necessarily have to open it! If you know Muggle-borns, tell them immediately not to touch any strange music boxes they are given. If you are Muggle-born yourself, be wary of anything delivered to you without a return address and without prior notice. Don't be fooled into thinking it's for your birthday or some occasion like that, they use that to their advantage! If you know Muggles, warn them about this. If they are not aware of magic, then lie. Say it's a bomb from a radical liberal group trying to overthrow the government, I don't care! Just warn them. Have constant vigilance!"
The meeting was over. We staggered back to work. I made a note to myself to inform Lily as soon as I popped in.
*** ***
Fate was not kind to me. Had I been a second earlier, it could have been prevented but I wasn't a second earlier. I popped into the hall and called out to Lily to ask where she was. "In the sitting room!" She called back.
"But what is it?" I hear Sirius ask.
"It's a music box. My parents must've sent it," Lily explained. I bolted towards the room but I knew I was too late. Lily had the box open and was peering inside. "Funny, it should play. Where's the key?"
"Lily," I gasped breathlessly in fear, "who sent you that?" I already knew the answer.
"I'm not sure. I found it on the doorstep. Why?"
"Lily, please put the music box down."
Lily gave me a funny look. "Why? Are you afraid of music boxes? Why are you shaking?"
"Lily, I don't like bossing you around but I mean it, put that down," I stressed the last three words.
"Why?"
"We were just informed today that there is a device being sent to Muggles and anyone with Muggle parentage to kill them. You're holding one," I answered with forced calm. I couldn't breathe.
Lily dropped the Box like it was a snake and leapt back but the first round of cords had already been conjured and were snaking out towards her. She screamed and Sirius flipped over the couch in haste to get away.
"Sirius!" I ordered, "take Lily somewhere. The farther, the better. Owl me later with where you two are. Go! Quickly! Now!"
Sirius nodded and took Lily by the arm. The cords were slithering across our carpet towards her and she screamed again. Sirius flew open the door and pushed her outside. He quickly jumped out and slammed the door behind him. Minutes later, I heard the roar of his motorcycle fading into the distance.
The next task was to destroy this Dark object. I pointed my wand at the flailing cord. "Impedimenta!" It continued to thrash in my sitting room. "Finite Incantatum!" The cords did not cease to live. I began to breathe heavily. The cords weren't attacking me but if I didn't destroy them, Lily's life would constantly be in danger. Then it hit me! The cords aren't the source of the spell, the Box is!
I ran over to the actual Box. The second round of cords were emerging and I stepped out of their way as they searched for the Muggle-born that had activated it. I aimed my wand at the Box itself. "Impedimenta!" The cords did not go still. "Finite Incantatum!" Nothing. I tried every charm I thought would work, even the Jelly-Legs Jinx, twice on both the Box and the cords. Nothing. Nothing worked. The Dark object continued to possess power. Every spell I cast at it was simply absorbed into the finish.
Screaming in frustration, I ran upstairs and threw out my At-Home Quidditch set and took out a bat. I was never a Beater but I had no other choice. Gripping the bat tightly in my hand, I charged downstairs to my cord-infested first floor and with a mighty war cry, I jumped over the couch and struck the Box. Again and again, I beat the pseudo-music box with all my strength. In self-defense, the Box shocked me but I did not yield. The stronger the shock, the harder I hit it. Over and over, not stopping even when my arms were about to fall off. I just keep hitting it and hitting it, my teeth clenched and sweat dripping down my entire body like rain.
Finally, the Box no longer shocked me and the cords stopped moving. It was dead. I had killed it. I sat back on my heels, my right hand gripped around the bat, my whole body shaking. I stared at the Box that could have killed my wife and my unborn child with her. It was in pieces all over the floor. The cords were golden and looked like long Chinese finger traps. I felt dizzy and disoriented.
When I gathered my wits, I called the Ministry to report my house receiving a Chorda Caedes Box. Within moments, the entire Auror force and a large percentage of the Muggle Affair personnel were outside my door. Weakly, I let them in and they swarmed the sitting room. I sat on the bench in hall, still breathing hard.
An Auror I could not identify yelled sarcastically, "Thanks a lot for smashing the bloody thing to bits! It's not like we need to study it or anything!"
"It's not like it gave me a choice!" I hollered back.
"Why didn't you tell your wife not to touch it?"
"Because she already had when I got home! It was too late!" I getting a little cross now that my strength was returning. I'm not trained to deal with the Dark Arts on a daily basis.
Longbottom, who was examining the Box as well, asked, "Did you manually smash this?"
I held up the heavy bat. "No, I'm just holding this Quidditch bat for fun."
"Why didn't you use Eruo?"
"Because I didn't want to blow up my house!"
"The exterior of the Box is too strong and it absorbs spells. Eruo is the only spell strong enough to maintain strength after absorption and destroy the Box," Longbottom explained calmly.
"Couldn't you have said that at the meeting today?!" I demanded.
"Didn't you try every spell?"
"All except that one because Eruo is used to blow up condemned buildings! How was I to know that it would work?"
"Common sense," Longbottom responded.
A post owl flew in with a message. I quickly plucked the bird out of flight and tore off the message. I sent the owl back as I read: "Dear James: We're at Elliot Turner's house in Quesera. Come when everything's okay. Love, Lily." After a few minutes of explaining how the Box was activated, the Ministry personnel left and, after deciding that Apparating would be risky since I didn't know the area well, Flooed myself to Quesera Floo and Transport Checking Point Station.
It wasn't until I had arrived at the station that I realized that couldn't remember for the life of me what Elliot's address was.
*** ***
I remember my first visit to Quesera distinctly. It was the summer after second year and we had all decided to a tour of everyone's houses. We picked Sirius' place first because Clarissa would get upset if she didn't see him right after term had ended. Sirius had sent a post to all of us saying to come to the Checking Point Station at one o'clock and he'd take us to his house.
We met at my house first and Flooed to the Station at one o'clock sharp. I had never been anywhere besides my home, other purebloods' homes, Wizarding London, Hogwarts, and doctor's office so this was a completely new experience for me. When we arrived, Sirius wasn't there so we took in the surroundings. It was an open-air station with two walls and a ceiling. On one wall was the fireplace where one exited and entered Quesera, the other was a glass booth with a very bored teenaged girl with too much make-up and long pointy painted nails inside. The station was dirty with litter rolling on the ground near the waste bins. There was graffiti all over the grimy brick walls. To occupy time, I read the messages on the walls.
"Look at this one, under the sign," I said, pointing to the area below the sign reading: Welcome to Quesera. " 'This is Recluse Proper' Oh, here's some more. 'Welcome to Hell. Don't Look For Help, There Is None Here'. Cheery place this."
"Where is Sirius?" Remus demanded wearily.
I went to another message nearby. " 'Down With Establishment' 'Long Live LSD' 'Murder All The...'" I gasped in shock, "Remus! Peter! They use the f-word! And the b-word!"
"In one sentence?" Peter asked, walking over to my area. I pointed to the message in question. "Someone really doesn't like purebloods around here."
"This place is creeping me out," Remus interrupted, "did Sirius say one?"
"Yeah, he said one," Peter answered, taking out his letter. He scanned it quickly and nodded. "Yup, one, he says right here."
"Then where is he?" I asked while looking at a drawing that either was a face or a... never mind. I forced my eyes to focus on the letter.
We waited ten minutes more, reading the spray painted cryptic messages on the walls. Finally, we looked at each other and raised our eyebrows.
"Let's go ask someone where he lives. Maybe something came up suddenly," Remus suggested.
We left the station and wandered aimlessly through the dirty streets of Quesera. The houses sagged and the doors frowned sorrowfully at the houses across the street with similar expressions. Half the houses hadn't been painted in ages and the paint leapt off the sidings in large dirty curls, gathering in the weed-infested lawns around the houses. There was litter in the street and in the yards. Broken furniture, toys, cars on cement blocks without wheels or doors, and other refuse covered the lawns. We traveled through alleys between blocks of flats. The trashcans were overflowing with empty liquor bottles and empty cigarette packets along with rotten food. Children without shoes scurried like rats in the shadows, stealing the decaying food from waste bins. Vomit and human waste ran into the sewer or gathered in puddles in the ditches and potholes or around trashcans. There was graffiti on these walls too. These were similar to the ones at the station but there were some slightly more disturbing ones like "I hope no one minds my baby being here". We passed some dirty sleeping men, clutching their bottles or half-eaten sandwiches while wrapped in a blanket. One we even accidentally tripped over and found him to be dead. As we left him behind us, I saw out of the corner of my eye an urchin slink towards and begin raiding his pockets. High overhead, people chattered to the residents in the neighbouring buildings through open windows, babies cries drifted down, and radios blared all sorts of stations, the melodies clashing in disharmonious ways. Laundry was hung on lines and fluttered in the stagnant breeze in the alley.
We passed the high rises and entered again streets with more sad houses. We walked by a tiny stream connected to a large stone waste pipe. Its dirty brown water rippled in the sun and for a split second, looked inviting. In the distance, we saw the hazy shape of the steel factory, its smoke stacks spewing out columns of smoke into the air.
Finally, we came across a pathetic playground. There were three sets of chain swings, a jungle gym, pull-up bars, a long rusted metal slide, a crusty sandbox, and a rickety merry-go-round. However, most of the children were around or sitting in the large tree at the front. The ages were varied, from ten to sixteen in clumps, joking and chattering like a hive of bees. We looked at each other and silently agreed that Remus, being the tallest and oldest-looking, should speak.
"Do anyone of you know where Sirius Black is?" Remus demanded. The chatter stopped and all the ruffians glared at us. A boy on the ground asked a girl near him, "Are they askin' 'bout Prince?"
"I think so. D'you mean Prince?" she asked us.
We stared at each other. Remus replied, "Who's Prince?"
"Yeah," a boy around our age in the tree sneered, "I think you mean Prince. You all his friends?" We nodded. "Well, bully for you. We got a bunch of Hogwarts students, the elite of the elite." Most of the audience sniggered. "We're much honored by your presence," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Remus growled in his throat and took a breath. "Do you know where he is?"
"Well, ever since he's gone to your fancy-arse school, he ain't got the time for us. No, we don't know where the Latronis is."
"Stupid stuck-up Hogwarts brats..." someone muttered.
"I think I know where he is," a small voice piped up.
"Little Finger! Shut your trap!" the boy in the tree snapped at a small girl, who shook with fear.
"You do?" Remus asked, "Where?"
"I can show you," the small girl replied. An older hefty girl, about our age, snorted. "Don't get all riled up, Jenna, he's mine."
"I'm not getting 'riled up', Cashlin," Jenna stuttered back, blushing, "they're lost. I want to help them."
"So what? Listen to your big sister. Proper Finger knows what's best for you," the boy in the tree said in mock sympathy. "Helping them won't get your letter here, Little Finger. Sucking up won't help your case one bit."
"Besides," Cashlin drawled, "I don't think these Hogwarts boys will want to hang around with a baby all day." The group laughed and Jenna hung her head.
"Hey!" Remus barked, "we don't care! If she knows, she knows and we want to find him!"
"Why don't you three stay with us?" a girl with all-too-revealing outfit in which none of the pieces matched sighed, "We'll have fun." Several girls giggled while a few older ones rolled their eyes.
Jenna stepped out from the crowd with her chin up and said, "I'll bring you to where Prince might be."
As we walked away from the crowd, a few of the tree dwellers screamed, "Brown-noser!" and "Why don't you lick their shoes while you're at it?!" as her sister ordered her to "stay away from my man, kid!"
Jenna, or Little Finger as she insisted to be called, was a skinny child with blonde hair with pink highlights. It was cut unevenly and the colour wasn't spread equally throughout the strands. She wore a simple dusty peach slip dress which was slightly too big and kept slipping off her shoulders.
"So," I asked once we had escaped from the taunting, "how old are you?"
"Eleven," she answered. She had a tiny sort of voice and she kept looking at her ripped sandals.
"Oh. So, you should be getting your letter soon."
"I don't know," she shrugged which caused both sleeves to slip off. Pushing them up, she continued, "My family are Squibs. I don't care either way."
"Um," Peter attempted, "who did your hair? It's very... uh, original."
"My sister, Cashlin. She wants to be a hair dresser when she's older. Doll hair doesn't grow back."
"How old is she?"
"Thirteen. Prince's age."
"Why do they call you 'Little Finger'?" Remus asked.
"Because my big sister is 'Proper Finger'. It's a joke. The little finger is called the pinkie and my sister has been dying my hair pink for as long as I remember so it's a joke around that," she answered, attempting a weak smile.
"Is Sirius your sister's boyfriend?" I asked. "I mean, he's never mentioned her."
"I don't know. My sister wants him but he doesn't want her. It's in her head, really."
"Why is he called 'Prince'?" Remus asked.
She stopped and looked up at us. Life flashed behind those sad, down-trodden eyes and she smiled. "Because he is a prince. He's not like us. He's pureblood. He goes to Hogwarts. He defends the weak. He's strong but he's not fire-starter. He's a good person. A wonderful person." Her voice was full of something close to worship and devotion. Her entire body was filled with it. Then the moment was gone and the light went out. She stared at the ground again and moved forward.
After a minute's silence, Remus asked, "What was that term they used back there?"
"What term?" she replied dully.
"It began with 'L'."
"Latronis?"
My tutoring came back to me. "Latronis," I repeated, "that's Latin for 'mercenary', isn't it?"
"Maybe," she shrugged. The sleeves fell again and she pushed them up. We waited for her to continue but she just walked forward with her head down.
"Um, why did they call him that?" I prompted when she failed to speak.
"It's because he went to Hogwarts. He's disconnected with the usual gangs here. He's a drifter, not belonging to any one crowd. If something comes up, he can join in to help out but he's not an official member of anything. He's a freelance, I guess."
"Does he help out often?" Peter asked.
"A Cultellus is always needed for something or other."
"Cultellus," I stated, "Latin meaning 'a little knife'."
She nodded. "It's the term for someone skilled at using a knife. He's very good. They often call him for a Sanguis Emano ritual. That's a blood letting ritual. Gang stuff, you know. Don't worry about it. It's not your world now, is it?" Her smile was bitter, far too bitter for an eleven-year-old girl. A shiver went down my spine.
We were entering the outskirts of downtown Quesera. There was a strip of dingy and questionable looking stores. In the alley between one part of the strip and another was Sirius, bent over with a Muggle camera, taking a picture.
Little Finger blushed and cleared her throat. "Uh-uh-uh... Prince?"
"Yup?" he answered, examining his camera.
"Your-your-your friends a-a-are here."
His head snapped towards us. We scowled at him almost on cue. "You shouldn't be here yet," he said, bemused.
"We came at one," Remus answered tensely.
"I said two."
"You said one."
"I said two."
"You said one," Peter responded, holding out the letter, clearly reading the correct time.
"Oh," Sirius finally replied, "I guess I must've. Did you wait long?"
"We walked all over the town looking for your house!" I growled.
"Little Finger helped us," Remus added.
"Hey, Little Finger," Sirius greeted brightly, "thanks a lot. Can't have these three wandering around lost now, can I?"
"No problem," she answered quietly, digging her toe into the path. He got up and took another glance at his subject. It was an indecently dressed woman with too much make-up and general unhealthy appearance. Her legs were far apart, almost in a split, and her eyes were glassy.
"Fuzzy?" Little Finger asked.
"She's dead," Sirius replied, "I didn't realize until I took the picture."
"It probably wasn't long ago," she concluded. "Probably just sat down and was... gone."
Sirius grunted. "Shame."
It was disturbing to see two kids be so calm about a dead body. The three of us were stunned by their behavior. "Was she..." I started uneasily, "a friend of yours?"
"Not really," Sirius said bluntly, "she was just one of the street walkers around here. I don't think she's even got a home so..."
"Nothing to really be done, is there?" Little Finger finished. She shrugged (her sleeves staying on for a change of pace) and said, "I'm gonna tell Mr. Thames about this. This is his storefront, after all." She walked up the stairs of the drug store the same time that Arthur Weasley walked out the door, carrying a plastic bag of his purchases.
"Hello, Little Finger," he called.
"Hi, Mongoose," she answered as she walked into the door.
"Hey, Mongoose," Sirius greeted with a short wave.
"Hello, Prince, James, Remus, Peter," Arthur said with a smile and curt nod to each of us in turn. Turning his attention back to Sirius, he remarked, "Weird calling you Prince when I usually call you Sirius at school."
"Well, we're not at Hogwarts now, are we? How's life?" Sirius asked.
"Oh, Molly is coming to visit tomorrow so I had to get some things," he answered, holding up the bag as evidence.
"Are you going to be Head Boy this year?" I asked. "Everyone said it's between you and Caracalla Malfoy."
He shrugged. "I can't really say but I sure hope I get to be Head Boy. Well, I gotta run. I hope I see you all later. Stay out of trouble!" Waving, he briskly began to walk home.
Little Finger left the store when we were about to leave. Before heading to Sirius' home, he paused and patted her on the head and thanked her again for bringing us to him. She looked a touch insulted as she blushed but she merely stammered in response. As a final gesture, he ruffled her hair and told her that she was such a sweet little kid.
"Sirius," I remarked later as we walked to the slightly better part of town where he lived, "don't you think that you were being a tad rude to Little Finger back there?"
"How so?"
"Well, you patted her on the head and called her a little kid."
"Your point?"
"It's a bit demeaning," I replied pointedly.
"Aw, come on. She's not insulted. I'm having fun with her. She knows that."
I sighed and decided for the sake of my sanity to drop the subject.
Halfway home, Sirius remembered that his aunt would not be home so we took a detour to where she worked, a record store called Spins. It was in downtown so it looked pretty shabby. The door was dirt-speckled glass with the red "Open" sign a little lop-sided. Sirius opened the door and a little bell jingled above our heads. The inside was far from shabby or pathetic. Music by some Muggle group I had never heard before blared in the room. Someone had painted the walls silver and pasted on large black circles with grooves on them. There were rows upon rows of these strange circles by groups I had never heard of in my life. Near the door was the cracked, golden wood desk with a register and a simple calculator along with bags and pieces of paper stuck up on the wall behind it everywhere there wasn't a black circle advertising musical bands at somesuch place at this or that time. Slightly to the desk's left was an entrance blocked by a bead curtain with a sign above it reading: "For Special Customers: No Admittance Without A Member Of Staff".
Clarissa Tapp was manning the store and she grinned at us when we entered. Clarissa had been only eighteen when her sister had died and Sirius was put under her care. This made her, at this point, a fresh twenty-five years old. I had never before managed a good look at her. At the Platform, my parents would pull me away as soon as I stepped off the train, fearing I'd die if I was unassisted for one second. Her eyes were brown as well as her wavy hair. She didn't wear make-up or paint her nails and she had no jewelry on. She wore a slowly greying button-down black shirt with a grey floral skirt. Her eyes sort of frightened me. I had been told of Clarissa's handicap but it was still so strange to me. They looked sort of child-like and dazed, unlike most adults' eyes I knew. She just kept smiling at us as we scattered throughout the store. I stayed near the door, afraid to go in completely. I felt really out of place.
"What'cha doing, Sirius?" she asked as he leaned against the counter.
"I didn't really want to go home without you, so I thought we'd come and bug you a bit until you're done," he answered, doing push-ups against the table.
"Well, that's nice," she replied, laughing. "Would you like to go upstairs a bit?"
"I forgot my player," he responded. "And my money while we're on this subject."
"Don't you ever browse? I'll be here for another half-hour. Go up and have fun."
"Hey," he asked the three of us, "want to go look at some real music or what?"
"You mean, you got more than Muggle stuff?" Peter asked, holding up a record with a group called "Yardbirds".
"Upstairs, they do," Sirius explained, pointing to the beaded curtain. "Don't worry, she doesn't need to come along. It's to keep troublesome Muggles out."
"Sure, let's go," Remus said, replacing a circle back on the rack. Sirius strode up the stairs with Peter and Remus. I just felt like resting my legs so I yelled up, "I'll stick down here a bit." The others hollered their assent and continued to stomp up the stairs.
I sat down on the floor beside the table, facing the records. The song ended and it was silent for a moment. I heard Clarissa shuffle around behind the desk. I glanced around. The store had an industrial-model Player. Players, in case you don't know, were used before Muzaks. Muggles never had them but they were ugly boxes that were sold in many colours that played music from little gems, which were colour-coded by genre, called Hits. It was hidden behind a cupboard along with a different sort of device. It was flat with a flat circle on it with a sort of stick. On it was one of those black circle things.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing before I remembered that pointing is rude.
"A record player," she answered. "Neat, huh?"
So, that's what those things are called, I thought. "Is it Muggle?"
She nodded. "Muggles expect Muggle music and Muggle music are on records so we have a record player."
"How does it work?"
"Don't know. But it spins around and I like that."
She took off the record and placed it in a sleeve labeled "Cream" and replaced it on a rack in the cupboard. She took out another sleeve labeled "Kinks", removed the record inside and put that on the record player. She slid the stick over the record and set it on the outermost groove. It crackled through the speakers and music began to play.
I sat back down on my original spot, facing the records. The music played in the room. Muggle music isn't that bad, I reflected.
"Why are you so glum?" she asked finally.
I spun around to stare up into her face. "Glum?"
"You look sad."
"Do I?" She nodded. The song changed to another one. She smirked and commented, "You don't talk much, do you?"
I shrugged. "I have nothing interesting to say."
"Says who?"
"What kind of question is that?" I demanded. "Can't I just sit still?"
"Do you want to sit still? Or do you want to play?" I blinked blankly at her. I had no idea how to respond. "Do you behave like this at home?"
I stood up sharply. I had no idea I was being rude. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."
"I wasn't scolding you. I simply was asking if you spend a lot of time sitting rather than playing."
"Well..." I responded, nervously, "I study other subjects at home. Read books and essays. Brush up on French and German as well as Latin. I guess I do spend a lot of time to myself during the holidays."
She cocked her head to one side. "You're very serious."
"I guess so."
"You're thirteen, right?"
"Yes, madam."
She smiled and gave a short burst of chuckle. "That's new. I've never been called 'madam' before."
"Miss Tapp, then?"
"Clarissa is fine." She sighed and continued, "My sister always used to tell me that Roger, Sirius' father, liked to study a lot. He tried to cram all this new knowledge into his head all at once. So did my sister. Do you know what?"
"What?"
"After all that learning, all those books, all those facts, they still couldn't figure out who they were."
"Who they were? They were Mr. and Mrs. Black, weren't they?"
She shook her head. "Those are names, that's not who they were. How can you know what you want if you don't even know who you are?" She placed a hand on my cheek and said quietly, "You're very smart. Sirius told me so. You're a little like them, very brainy. But, I want you to study yourself once in awhile. Find out what James Potter means to you. It won't take an afternoon of studying and you won't find it any book. It's just going to be you just looking for you. One of these days, far off, you're going to be asked who you are and you better have an answer."
I struggled for words. How was I supposed to find myself? Why did matter as long as I knew everything else? "I don't understand what you're asking me to do."
"Don't force it. Don't try to analyze this. Just let it come." She patted my cheek and smiled, ordering, "Now, go play."
*** ***
I was still lost in the cold January dreariness in Quesera. I had been wandering around aimlessly, much like that first visit all those years ago. Clarissa was gone now, I remembered, and that made me feel sad. Clarissa had always been this unstoppable force that no one, not even mad scientists, could topple. It was weird to think of her in past tense.
It was high time to ask for directions as much as I loathed to admit it. Wandering around lost was a bad idea in Quesera but admitting to it was even worse. I had to choose my guide carefully. I didn't really feel up to warding off a mugger or a drug dealer. I was in a residential area. The houses here never change except to look a little older, a little less loved.
I saw a little girl in a second-hand red coat with red mittens and an orange scarf and hat with black ski pants tucked into large snow boots. To my surprise, she looked fairly clean but it was obvious that she did not always get three square meals every day. Her brown hair was done in two messy plaits behind her head. She was staring at a rock on the grass but she seemed to be using only her right eye to stare at it. She seemed harmless enough.
I walked towards her and she turned her face towards me. I realized immediately why she was using only her right eye. Her left eye was hidden behind an eye patch with sterile gauze underneath, pressing against the eye. From the looks of the eye patch, it had issued by a doctor, not found in a thrown-away pirate dress-up kit. The right eye was brown and staring intently at me.
I crouched to be eye-level with her and asked, "Do you know where Elliot Turner lives?" The girl blinked in response but said nothing. "Elliot Turner?" She stared blankly back and blinked again. "Elliot?" Blink. "Mr. Turner?" Blink. "The werewolf?" She held out her gloved hand. I grasped it and she pulled me along.
Yes, Elliot Turner, Sirius' childhood neighbour, was a werewolf. Sirius didn't know until he was ten, when he sneaked into his house on a full moon to return a book. He barely got out alive. He didn't even tell us until we had found out for ourselves. During that first trip, he came over to ask Clarissa if he could "borrow Sirius". Naturally, the rest of us were curious of what Sirius was needed for so we followed them. Remus identified the problem at once: silver. Someone had placed a silver platter on Elliot's stoop. Presence of silver can make a werewolf feel ill and, if close enough and big enough, can make them throw up. Touching silver burns a werewolf's skin; luckily the scars heal fast. For years, Sirius had been continuously cleaning up silver from hoodlums wanting a laugh and selling it to the local pawn shop. Apparently, Elliot had spurned a local woman's attention and in frustration, he told her what he was as an excuse of why they couldn't date. She was a huge gossip and pretty soon, everyone in Quesera knew that Elliot Turner was the werewolf. Clarissa, however, never cared about his condition and helped out when kids would try to make his life miserable. Consequently, Clarissa was the only one of our guardians to know that Remus was a werewolf because she accidentally served silverware rather than steelware in order to impress us, her guests. Once she found out, she scolded Sirius for "embarrassing Remus" and asked him how he thought Elliot would feel if he had been in his place. I thought about Elliot being known as "the werewolf" a lot and it always made me upset. I would hate for Remus to just be "the werewolf" to some ignorant morons who can't see a decent person when they see one. That wasn't what he was in the end.
The little eye-patch girl led me through the streets and the pathetic houses until I reached a place I finally recognized. This was it. To my left was Clarissa's house, or at least, it had been. It was a young couple's house now. I made a mental note to ask Sirius what their name was. There seemed to be no one home. I couldn't even see any curtains or furniture from the window. How odd. Across the street on our side was Elliot's house. It was like every other house in Quesera but it looked a little more cared for. Elliot was a clean-freak and obsessed with organization.
I thought the girl would drop my hand once we reached the house and run away from the "scary werewolf who eats children" or whatever nonsense they were spreading nowadays but she pulled me up to the stoop and opened the door, hopping inside.
"She must be back," I heard Elliot say. A chair scraped across the floor and he entered the narrow hall. Elliot was taller than I was. His impoverished lifestyle left him a little bony but he certainly wasn't starving to death. His brown hair was going grey, making him look ten years older than his thirty-seven years. Eye-patch girl ran up to him and clutched his pant leg, pointing at me.
He crouched to her level and to my amazement made weird hand signals to her while saying slowly, "Who is the man?" She shrugged and turned to go into the hall but he held her back. He gestured again as he spoke, "What did we talk about?" She shrugged. "You do not let strangers in. They wait outside." She began to gesture madly but she didn't speak in English, it came out as a number of grunts, whines, and groans. He held her hands and said firmly, "Stop." He let go of her hands and gestured quickly while saying, "Stop. Do not let strangers in the house again. They wait." The girl sighed and turned to go again but Elliot held her back and removed her hat. Catching the hint, the girl removed her mittens, her boots, her scarf, her coat, and finally her ski pants. All her winter gear gone, I could see she was wearing purple leggings and a blue jumper with a white turtleneck shirt underneath. Elliot nodded at her and she left.
As Elliot put the clothes back into his closet by the door, I asked, "Who is that?"
"A girl I adopted a few months ago." Seeing my confused expression, he elaborated, "Her parents were killed. They couldn't identify them or her so they couldn't find any relatives that she may have. She was in hospital for a month but no one stepped forward. So, since no one else seemed to know of her existence, I adopted her."
"Just like that?"
"They weren't thrilled at the prospect since I'm 'afflicted' but no one else wanted her and I did. I very nearly didn't get her at all but the staff decided that as long as I made every assurance that I wouldn't harm her, there was no reason that I couldn't. Oh, there were a few that venomously opposed the decision but the majority ruled. Of course," he added softly, "if someone does step forward and proves that they are related, I have to hand her over. And if I do harm her, I get sent to the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."
"Did she take to you well?"
He shook his head. "Not really. The first couple of months, she kept running away. But, as it got colder, she ran away less frequently. She hasn't run off for over two months now. Now..." he looked to the hallway where Lily and Sirius' conversation could be heard. "I think she's starting to take a liking to me. She's starting to like it here."
"I think that's excellent," I replied. "What's her name anyway?"
"Clarissa."
"What?" My heart stopped beating for an instant.
"Well, to be honest, that's just what I call her. As I said before, they couldn't identify her..."
"Why not? Doesn't she know her own name?"
"James," he answered, "haven't you figured it out? She's deaf. She can't hear. If she had a name, she never once heard it spoken to her. How would she know?"
"She's deaf? How do you communicate with her?"
"Well, at first, I just pointed and made up hand signals to bring across ideas. But, now, I take sign classes and so does she. So, that's how we communicate. I've also been teaching her how to read so I can finger spell as well. It's hard but I think it's worth it."
"When do you work?"
"During the day. She takes sign classes all day or stays at Lawrence's house. Then I take her home, we eat, and after that we take another sign class depending on what day it is. Once she masters sign, she can start speech courses."
"Speech?" He nodded. "Wow. This has to be stressful for you."
"It has its rewards. I have help. Most of her clothes are donated by Lawrence. His daughters have already outgrown those clothes and she needs them unlike the youngest, who won't need them for awhile yet."
It never once occurred to me that children need clothes. This information brought a whole new light to the parenting world. Clothes. Food. Toys. Beds. All this stuff cost money. "Oh my God. I only got seven months to prepare," I moaned.
Elliot laughed. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's not that bad. Besides, I had only one day to prepare for Clarissa. It was a nightmare. You have time, you'll do fine. Come in, Sirius and Lily are going to wonder where I ran off to."
We walked through the narrow hallway to the kitchen. The kitchen had a dingy table with only two chairs, which Lily and Sirius were sitting in. The cupboard doors were a faded olive color and the beige countertops were wiped off as best as possible. Elliot, during his youth, had not been allowed to go to Hogwarts so he still had to rely on Muggle tools. This meant he had a small olive Muggle fridge and gas oven. The floor was simply concrete and undecorated in any way. It was half the size of our kitchen and he didn't have a separate dining room (we do, but we're too lazy to actually use it daily).
Currently, Clarissa was sitting in Sirius' lap, drinking milk from a plastic tumbler. Lily and Sirius were slowly devouring a cracked plate of shortbread biscuits as they chatted. Upon seeing me, Lily got up and ran over to me to hug me. I hugged her tightly back as Elliot skipped deftly out of the way. It was good to hold her after having to deal with the Chorda Caedes box.
"Hello, James. Hi, Sirius. How are you doing? I'm great, you? I'm peachy," Sirius interrupted using his natural voice and his impersonation of mine.
"You're not cute enough to hug," Lily replied, "I'm special."
Sirius made a face and placed his chin on Clarissa's head. "That's okay. Clarissa loves me, don't you?"
Clarissa didn't seem to agree. She wriggled out and went over to Elliot who was cleaning off Clarissa's tumbler and smiled at him. He handed her the wet tumbler and a towel and she dried it. Once this was done, she held it up. Elliot held up his fist and pointed his thumb up while saying, "Good." Clarissa set the tumbler on the countertop and placed her right hand in front her left hand and moved her right hand forward. Quickly, she brought her fists to her chest, stuck the thumb and little finger on both out and moved one up and one down and then reversed it. Elliot said, "Oh." He went to the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. He touched his index finger to his chin and thrust it forward and then touched all his fingers to his chin and thrust them out while saying, "Say please." Clarissa quickly repeated the last sign and he poured the milk into the tumbler. Clarissa then repeated the same gesture and took her drink and sat down in the empty chair.
"Uh, why did she say please twice?" Lily asked.
" 'Please' and 'Thank you' are the same sign." He shrugged. "I didn't invent the signs."
Since five people made the tiny kitchen rather cramped, we moved into the sitting room. The carpet was a light brown and of the most cheapest quality poverty can buy. The fireplace was undecorated and bland brick. There was a fire roaring in it and two vases and some pictures were the only things on the mantle. The vases obviously contained Floo Powder and Communication Powder. There were a couple of pictures of people I didn't recognize, presumably Lawrence's family, and one of Clarissa Tapp sitting on the swing out in his tiny backyard. The two couches were paisley-coloured and a few large claw marks ran along the material, showing the stuffing. The walls of the entire houses bore marks and missing chunks as well. All the windows and doors had numerous powerful locks as well. Sirius only managed to break in because he picked the lock of the first collection of locks. These locks are now gone. The house was air-tight during the full moon. Elliot had no where to go when he transformed.
Sirius, Lily, and I sat on one couch while Elliot and Clarissa sat opposite us. It was now six o'clock.
Clarissa reminded me of the house across the street. "Say, Sirius, what's the family that bought the house again?"
Sirius went pale. "The Garners?"
"Yeah, them. How are they, Elliot?"
There was a long pause in which Sirius and Elliot seemed to do silent battle to decide who was to speak first. Finally, Sirius sighed and answered, "They're dead."
"Dead?" Lily repeated in shock. "They just bought the house!"
"They lasted a week," Elliot explained.
"How? What happened?" I asked.
"Death Eaters."
"My God..." Lily murmured. "Is she...?"
"No," Elliot answered, "she is not their daughter. They had no children. The hospital checked and their family did not claim Clarissa." Elliot stroked Clarissa's hair and she smiled up at him. "Kind of nice that's she's deaf right now. I doubt she'd like to hear this story again. I was coming home from work when I saw the Dark Mark over the house. However, I heard screaming, like that a small child. The door was busted down and I found her," he nodded to Clarissa.
"Why was she screaming?" Lily asked as I inquired, "Why was she in the house in the first place?"
"One at a time! Now, from what I could gather, Clarissa was the daughter of two homeless people. They were in the house as well as the Garners, dead. You two might not know this but homeless people usually stick to one place, the area around the house may have been their 'home' so to speak. Clarissa's parents may have seen the Death Eaters break and enter and saw the green flash. For reasons unknown, they entered the house, maybe to help the couple or maybe to rob them, I don't know. The Death Eaters most likely saw them and cast Avadra Kedvra on them as well."
"How come Clarissa was alive?" Lily interrupted.
"We're not sure why they did not kill her with the Curse. Instead..."
"Wait, why are you saying 'they'? How do you know if there was more than one?" I asked.
"Clarissa has told me that there were two men. That's the most I've been able to pry out of her. She doesn't like to discuss it. Anyway, instead of using that curse, they used Conjunctivitis Curse. It causes irritation to the eyes. In humans, it causes the retina to burn and the blood vessels in the eye to explode." Lily and I winced. Elliot continued, "Luckily, they only hit one eye but she will be blind in that eye forever. It's pretty disgusting to look at right now but it will heal after some time. That's what the eye-patch is for. The gauze is catch any blood and prevent infection. Actually, the doctors told me that the curse is actually recommended for the defeat of a dragon. It hurts them greatly since the eyes are their weakest point but it's not permanent. It's fairly simple, a third-year Hogwarts student could do it." He coughed nervously and added, "Well, good to know in case you ever have to fight a dragon."
"Oh, yeah, Elliot," Sirius replied sarcastically, "happens to me all the time."
"Well, you never know. Anyway, I found her with her eye shot out and took her to hospital. There is also evidence that someone slammed her head against the wall repeatedly. There was a great deal of blood; she could have easily died in that house."
"Is that how she became deaf?" I asked.
"The doctors believe that she was born deaf. If she had become deaf, she would have noticed. She would have been pulling at her ears, shaking her head, stuff like that. She would have had some idea of words and sounds, she would have tried speaking. Clarissa made no sign that she could ever hear. She definitely noticed the loss of her eye. She panicked when she would close her right eye and not see with only her left eye open or when her range of sight was obviously cut in half. Being blind was new, being deaf wasn't."
"What happened to her parents?" Lily questioned.
"Buried in St. Mungo's cemetery. They are just numbers with death dates. 385 and 386."
"Wow," Lily replied sadly, "to be known as only a number and death date and nothing else."
"Will she call you 'Daddy'?" I wondered.
Elliot shook his head. "She'll call me 'Elliot'. I'm not going to pretend to be her real father. Besides, if her family does show up someday, it'll be easier."
"You have absolutely no faith, you do?" Sirius demanded.
"No, I guess not. I'm used to disappointment."
Lily looked up at the clock and announced, "Seven. We should get home."
"Yeah, it's late. Is it her bedtime?" I asked.
"Pretty soon. It's passed time for dinner as well." He pushed himself up and patted her back to indicate that she should get up. "Hungry?" he asked as his fist made a circle on his stomach. Clarissa got up and nodded vigorously. Sirius and Lily went to the door to ride on his motorcycle and I followed. Clarissa stopped and waved goodbye as Elliot translated, waving as well.
I Apparated home and twenty minutes later, I heard the roar of Sirius' bike nearing our house as I finished preparing dinner. Lily rushed in and yelled, "Please say you made dinner! I'm starving."
"I did," I responded as Sirius bustled in. I heard him say, "Note to self: Bring coats along when running from evil cursed boxes."
"Nice warm house again," Lily sang and then added quickly, "Where's the box?"
"At the Ministry. I destroyed it." I explained in further detail what I had learned that day at the meeting and how I finally eliminated the box itself. Lily gasped in horror as I explained the effects of touching the box.
"How could I have so stupid?" she finally replied. "I was just looking at that box all over. I could have been killed."
We started to eat when Sirius replied, "Elliot never told you why he chose the name Clarissa, did he?"
"Wasn't it because he found her in her old house?" Lily responded.
"No," Sirius answered, shaking his head, "when he was visiting her, he toyed with the idea of taking her in. They were about to send her to a children's home since no family members came up."
"So?"
"He heard Aunt Clarissa's voice, telling him to do it. It was like she was standing right there but there was no one there. That day, he asked. He feels that Little Clarissa should live on in Aunt Clarissa's memory."
A shiver ran down my spine. Lily replied, "She does look like your Clarissa, doesn't she?"
"I think so. Elliot thought it was stupid to go around telling people that. He only told me because he thought I'd care and believe him."
"Do you?"
"I don't know. But, I do like the idea of Clarissa somehow living on through others. Make me feel she was important somehow."
"She was important," I said quietly.
Sirius stared out the window and Lily and I looked at each other. There was nothing we could say to make it better. We nearly leapt out of our skins when Sirius commented, "God, there are a lot of kids like her."
"What makes you say that?" I asked.
"In Quesera, there are so many orphans, so many abandoned children. They all live on the street, in the alleys, in condemned buildings. Dozens of them. It's beginning to spread to the rest of the Wizarding world. So many orphans, so many lost children." We didn't know how to respond to that. Sirius was still looking at the window, seeing a life we couldn't imagine. He continued, "Those kids grow up someday, you know. They grow up into teenagers and adults. Those little orphans are going to reach a point when they wonder who those parents were. Even if the entire world could give them all the facts and stories related to them, they'll never, ever know. And that, my friends, is the real tragedy of all this."
To Be Continued...
Author's Notes: I didn't mean it to be this long! It just kept getting bigger and bigger! For some odd reason, the really scary and/or horrifying parts (Moody, the attack of the box, description of Quesera) were much easier to write than the cute stuff (Big Clarissa, Little Clarissa). The scene where James talks with Aunt Clarissa is based on a song by Jewel called "Do You Want to Play?" It really describes Clarissa and James. Anyway, it's kind of funny, Little Clarissa reminds me strongly of Chloe from Caitlyn's "Lessons For Life". She's not inspired by her at all, I thought up Clarissa before reading the fic or working on the unofficial sequel. I have to admit, there are similarities and it makes me laugh anyway. She's like Chloe gone horribly wrong and raised by Remus in the ghetto! The idea of dementors being thought as humane and introduced to eliminate torture in Azkaban is stolen from Catherine's "My Time In Azkaban" that is on sugarquill.net which is a very good fic that you should read at all costs. I thought it was a wonderful theory so I used it, my apologies to Catherine. In case you didn't know "Quesera" means "what will be" from the phrase "quesera, sera" which means "what will be, will be". That is why the chapter is called that. "Chorda Caedes" means "string (as in catgut, musical string)" and "cutting down, killing, slaughter", in case you're wondering. I'd like to thank www.britishsignlanguage.com for providing signs for certain words because I barely know American Sign Language, much less British Sign Language.
Oh, at the time of writing, the release of Book Five has just been announced! I'm so happy but it gives me a deadline. I have to finish this before it comes out! Let's see if I can do it! I'd really love a review or an e-mail at destinyplot@lycos.com! Tell me what you think of my story! Ask questions! Flame me! Recommend fics to me! I don't care, just tell me someone is reading! See ya later!