Disclaimer: All people and places belong to J. K. Rowling

Life Had Just Begun

By Terra

Chapter Twenty-four: Unsung Heroes

In January, I went to visit my mother with Harry at the estate. It was freezing, windy day but luckily, I didn't have to deal with it. I Flooed us to the large fireplace in the Receiving Hall. Flooing with Harry is a pain, literally. The huge baby carriage presses against my legs, threatening to break them in half in each trip. Lily says that I'm just overreacting but I digress.

I walked Harry across the smooth wooden floors of the large mansion into the sitting room where my mother sat nursing a cup of tea. "Mother, hello."

"Why, hello, James. And you've brought my grandson with you." She smiled.

I nodded as I unbuckled numerous belts and straps in order to release Harry. "I thought it would be a good change of pace." I handed him over to my mother, who cradled him in her arms.

"He looks more and more like you," she commented then frowned. "Is there some sort of magic blocker on this outfit?"

I squirmed. "No," I admitted. "So, it's not just our imagination."

Our biggest worry at this time was Harry's lack of magical ability. Most babies have what the baby books referred to as a "hum". Muggles can't sense it but Wizarding folk can. This "hum" is caused by the building magical energy developing inside their bodies. This energy can sometimes react to other vessels of magic, such as Animagi when they are transformed. In an effort to see whether or not we were feeling the hum and just not knowing it, Lily and I had Sirius and Peter transform and made Harry touch them. If he had the energy, they all should have felt a magical spark, much like what Muggles call "static electricity". But no matter how Harry rubbed them or pulled on their fur, nothing happened. Even I served as a test subject and yet nothing occurred except Harry being extremely entertained by all these grown-up men turning into cuddly animals and back again. The books assured us that not having the "hum" was not a definite sign of being a Squib because about ten percent of cases who did not have the "hum" turned out to be perfectly normal wizards and witches. Of course, that also means that ninety percent did turn into Squibs. We just kept telling each other that someone has to be that ten percent, right? However, it was still disconcerting to have people hold him and then give him that fish-eye look.

My mother gave me a worried glance. I could tell what was running through her mind. An old wives tale goes that if a pureblood marries a Muggle-born and has children, they'll all be Squibs in order to punish them to breaking the code.

"The books say that it isn't a sure sign of Squibness," I said quickly.

"I didn't say anything. Well, he's nearly six months, isn't he? He'll show the first signs soon enough."

"Of course," I answered more confidently than I felt.

"Oh," my mother said suddenly, "I found that book you wanted. The Moon Skipper one? I'll have one of the elves send it down." She called out, "Elf!"

A House Elf suddenly appeared at her side. "Mistress?"

"Please fetch the children's book in Master James' old bedchambers."

"Right away, Mistress." With a crack, he was gone. A few moments later, he returned, book in hand. "Mistress, here is the book Mistress requested."

"Thank you." My mother took the book gently and the House Elf bowed at her and me and with another crack, he was gone. She handed the book to me. It was very old, the cover faded from age and sun. I flipped through it absently, glancing at the glossy illustrations before putting it in the baby carriage.

"I'm sure Harry will enjoy it," I commented. "Thank you for finding it."

"No trouble. I really should clean in there and give you all your baby things for Harry to have. Along with some of your father's things..." she added sadly.

"No, you keep them."

"Just a few bits and pieces your father might have wanted you to have."

I shook my head. "It's alright."

We sat in silence as Harry wriggled on the floor. My mother cast the Heat Blocking charm on the fire grate in case Harry decided to investigate that. Mother sipped her tea as I glanced at the photographs on the wall. "We need some pictures of Harry to hang up here," I commented.

"Hm. I haven't changed them in so long that I had forgotten that it is possible to take new ones."

I looked again at the picture of me with the toy broomstick. "Who runs the company now that Father's gone and I'm not taking it over?"

"Oh, a man named Henderson. A very good man, your father trusted him dearly."

"Did Father always work at the Quidditch Supply factory?"

"Yes. When he left Hogwarts, he went straight to work there with his father, as his father did before him and his father before him. Of course," she added, setting down her tea, "they didn't make Quidditch supplies at the time. It was during the war, you understand. They made high-powered war brooms instead of simple Quidditch brooms, bombs instead of Bludgers and Quaffles, bullets for Muggles instead of Golden Snitches." My mother got up and stared at the crackling fire, hugging herself. She spoke softly, "I remember the day that the workers set aside the war molds and put back the equipment for making Quidditch supplies. Your father invited me to come watch. Many people did. We all cheered when the last bit was taken away. That day, we announced our engagement."

"Why didn't you get married before?" I asked.

"He felt it wasn't right. He wanted to fight but his father wouldn't let him. One night, he sneaked out to enlist but neither the Wizarding army nor the Muggle army would take him. First and foremost because he worked at a factory and they couldn't afford to lose workers that made war supplies. Second, he was too short and too light. They told him he'd die in basic training. He always felt guilty about that, not fighting while other men died. He didn't feel like he should continue his life when other men could not. He felt it wasn't fair. That was your father. He was a very... honorable man. A true Gryffindor." She laughed. "Of course, I am a true Ravenclaw. I told him that he should be delighted that he could not fight because then he could not die or become injured."

"I never knew that. I mean, I knew that Father never fought but I never knew the reason why."

"That is why." My mother continued to stare into the flames. She opened and closed her mouth many times, starting to say something and then stopping just as quickly. Finally, she said, "Would you like to know how I fell in love with your father?"

That caught me by surprise. I wasn't expecting that to fly out of her mouth. "Sure. How did you?"

"It's a very long and hard story for me to tell. I've never told anyone, not even my parents, your grandparents, James. But besides the people who were there at the time, no one knows the story I am about to tell you."

"Go on," I practically whispered. My parents didn't seem the type to hold deep dark secrets, hidden for about forty years.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Alright. It was around 1940, your father and I were fifteen years old. The war against the Muggle Hitler and the Dark Wizard Grindelwald had been going on for a year then. The blitz began in that same year. England and Scotland suffered heavy attacks. Wizards and Muggles alike had to carry around gas mask everywhere and the bombings were frightful. The Minister became very concerned over our, Wizarding children, safety. There was nothing to done for the Muggle-borns since Muggle law governed them once outside of school. The people demanded action to be taken and so they created Tectum Bunkers."

I sucked in a breath. The Tectum Bunkers are considered one of the worst mistakes of modern Wizarding history. Intended as protection for Wizarding children, it denied access to those who truly needed protection: Muggle-borns. Only the very wealthy could even afford to send their children there. Once there, it was the "closest thing to Hell". Years later, it came out that children were abused and tortured by their deranged guards. They had no outside contact for months at a time, there was very little light, and the children were never allowed to step outside (they Flooed straight to Hogsmeade). They were completely at the mercy of their guards. Now, I had known all this from having learned it in History of Magic ages ago. Although I knew all that, it never once clicked that my parents had been alive during that time. "Did you... were you sent there?"

"Yes. Along with many others, I spent the summers of the war within the bunkers."

"But... the bunkers... horrible things happened there..."

My mother answered, "The bunkers were very bleak and dark, as the books tell you. I shared a bunker with two other girls, as did everyone. The girls were a year older than me and were very dear friends to each other. Their names were Vevina Glenda and Amaranta Owena. None of my friends could afford to go to the bunkers so I was alone for all my summers. The girls were beautiful, I remember, like spokewitches for beauty products. They were both blonde and their hair flowed down their backs in waves. My black hair just hung limp and lifeless. I was never considered pretty by any standards. The guards would joke to each other about my plainness."

"Mother..." I said in an attempt to soothe her.

"In comparison to the other girls there, I was rather plain. Even my own sisters were of a far greater mold than I. Anyway, every night at ten o'clock, it was lights out. There was a guard assigned to our wing." She shivered. "His name was Orson Ferrol."

"I've never heard of him."

"That's because he was arrested and sent to prison for petty burglary and then afterwards drank himself to death before you were born. That was after the war of course. He was our guard during the time in the bunkers." She clutched herself tighter and shut her eyes as if trying not to see something in the fire. "He'd walk down the corridor, his shoes clicking against the rock floor. He would go into every room, one by one. Finally, he'd enter our room... I was nearest the door and he'd always walk right by me, going sometimes to Vevina first, sometimes to Amaranta first." She barely breathed out, "I can still hear them whimpering in their beds."

I stared at my mother in shock. "Mother... you can't be saying..." I couldn't even bring myself to utter such a notion. I knew that such things happened, I had read about it and Professor Binns had lectured on it but it was so distant, so cut and dry when I learned about it in class. It was just another pointless detail buried in along with other meaningless trivia I had to know and then quickly forgot. Never once did I think about how those girls had names. Never in all my days did I realize that my mother was a victim of such... unspeakable things.

My mother ignored me and continued on, breathlessly, "When he was satisfied with one, he would move on to the other. I always buried myself under the covers in a vain attempt to blot it out, pretend it wasn't happening. I would lie there, frozen stiff, unable to scream or breathe or do anything except lie there and hear it happen. Every single night. When he was finished with my bunkmates, he'd come over to me and sit on my bed. He would lead in close so I could hear him through the covers." She reached a shaking hand to her right ear. "I can still feel his hot breath. He'd say, 'Would you like me to do that to you?' I wouldn't say anything. He would say, 'Well, I won't. Do you want to know why?' He'd always pause, as if I was supposed to answer. Maybe I was but I never had a voice. He would answer, 'Because you are so ugly, you are not even worth my time. Remember that, Abby Skyla. No man will ever want you, not even if he was desperate.' Then he'd laugh and leave."

The words flew out of my mouth as if the thought had started in my tongue rather than my skull. "That's sick." My mother didn't answer. "Did anyone ever do anything? Was there any punishment?"

"As in?"

"Something! Surely he was called in for war crimes!"

My mother shook her head. "No, he was never arrested for what he did. Neither were any of the other men who did the same."

"Mother!" I cried. "Why did you never say? Why didn't you bring this up and sent him to court?"

"What good would that have done, James? He still did it. Does it matter whether or not he went to prison for it? In the long run, would that make any difference?"

"It's not right," I countered. "It's not right for a monster like him to just go free. There is no excuse for what he did, Mother. None."

"Well, he's dead now so it would be pointless to dredge that up again." My mother shook herself to compose herself and continued on, "Anyway, as I said, the guards would joke about their exploits to each other. They often talked around the boys there. One day, when I was sixteen, in 1941, we were leaving the dining hall. Boys and girls were segregated and we ate at the same times. We rose at the same time and we all left at the same time, girls going in one direction, boys in the other, in perfect queues. One day, as I said, your father 'accidentally' knocked into me. He left a crumpled note in my fist, with the message, 'Read it when you're alone'."

"Did you?" I asked.

My mother nodded. "Yes, later that day, I went to the toilet and read it there." She paused and her eyes were shining with emotion. "It was beautiful. It was a love letter from him to me. He had been trying to catch my eye since the end of fourth year but I had never noticed him before. He sat next to me in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy but I was so involved with schoolwork that I had just never noticed the Gryffindor sitting next to me. Anyway, when he had heard the guards joking about my looks, he felt the need to confess his feelings on the subject. It was very... passionate." I stifled a chuckle. I had a hard time imagining my father composing a work of romantic thought. He always seemed to be... in control. "I read it over and over. I carried it everywhere, clutched it in bed when Orson came in. I kissed it when he would mock me. It was the strength I needed. I knew that his words couldn't hurt me when Harold Potter believed that I was special."

"What did you do? Did you write back?"

"Oh, I didn't dare. I was terrified that the guards would hurt me. They wanted the boys and girls separated at all costs. Even writing that note was huge risk for your father. However, I did try to make eyes with him across the room during meals." She sighed. I let out a tiny laugh. The image of my reserved mother batting her eyelashes at my father was just too much. "Well, I was young once, James," she argued, smiling. "Three days later, he bumped into me again and deposited another note into my hand. Then another two days after that. Then the next day and he would give me a note every day. Mostly, it was like a one-sided dialogue. He told me about his family, his interests, his friends, his likes and dislikes, what he thought about. But he never failed to say what he thought of me."

"Did you write back then?"

"No," she admitted, "he told me not to. He didn't mind getting in trouble but it wasn't worth getting me in trouble as well. He said my happy face at mealtimes was enough."

"Did you two ever have a conversation? Face to face?"

"Well," my mother said devilishly, "here's where your father truly won my heart. As I told you, the guards were... you know. All the boys knew about it and it made them furious. Especially since the guards in questions joked about their exploits with the pretty ones and mocked the plainer girls. One day, in early July, your father wrote me a note saying to meet him at 9:30 PM in the intersection between the boys' and girls' section and to bring my nightgown. It was very risky, since we weren't allowed to be same area besides during mealtimes."

"Did you go?" I asked, suddenly enthralled.

"Yes. My heart was beating so fast. I had no idea what he wanted. When I arrived, he was waiting for me anxiously. That was the first time I had ever heard him speak to me. I can still hear him now." She paused, obviously savoring the memory. Then, she continued, "He had with him his pajamas. He told me to change into his pajamas and let him wear my nightgown. I asked him why he wanted to do something so foolish. He had to tell me quickly because time was running out."

"What did he want?"

"The boys had enough with this abuse of their female comrades and they wanted to take action. In one room, a boy was switching places with a girl in every wing where the guards hurt them. For my wing, Harold was replacing me." My mother began speaking faster and more excited as if she was now unable to stop telling the story. "We changed quickly, not looking at each other of course. He told me where his room was and I told him where mine was and then, before I ran off, he grabbed me and kissed me." My mother smiled slyly. "My first kiss. I nearly fell down from shock and he looked like he could barely believe he just did that but we managed to regain our senses. I rushed to the room. Seconds before lights out, I leapt into the room." My mother laughed. "I was terrified at first. There were two big men sitting on one bed, playing cards and I suddenly felt very vulnerable. They stopped playing when I came in and asked if I was Abigail Skyla. I answered that I was. Then Liam Arlen, who would later be your godfather as you know, said there was no need to be frightened and Elvin Gareth invited me to come play with them if I wanted in that laughing voice of his." She shook her head, chuckling. "They acted like they had always known me and I was just one of the group. They were all Gryffindors; Harold had been fortunate enough to have his best friends in his room as well. They were so kind to me. When the lights went out, they played by a little lantern that Liam owned and they told me all sorts of things, especially how your father mooned over me to, I quote, 'the point of us wanting to kick him to get him to quit it'. They also said that I wasn't as hideous as the guards made me out to be, that I was rather comely, although, they admitted, that I wasn't their type. But I was your father's type, so who cares, right?"

I was getting anxious. "But, Mother, what happened with Father?"

"Oh, right. Well, we were all frightened for your father because we didn't know what would happen. Your father's friends tried chatting me up to calm my nerves. About ten minutes after lights out, we heard shrieking and loud shouting. Your father had leapt out of my bed when Orson had walked past it and attacked him as well as the other boys in the other wings." My mother laughed. "Oh, there was chaos! Barely anyone knew what was going on. Finally, the situation was resolved and the supposed ringleaders identified. Whether all the boys punished were or not, I'll never know. All I know is that your father was regarded as a fire-starter and was sentenced to solitary confinement for two whole weeks."

"You're joking!"

"No." My mother smiled in an empty-headed way. "But I was head over heels in love your father by then. Nothing could stop me from loving your father. Well, I found out that one of the younger boys delivered his food three times a day. Guess who it was?"

"Who?"

"A six-year-old named Roger Black."

"Truly?"

"Yes." She quirked her mouth in a mischievous way. "So, I found this little boy and gave him a note I had written to your father to deliver with his food. Now, this was quite against the rules. Your father was to have no outside communication and I would have been severely punished if I had ever been found out. Oh, the Black family was furious at me, exploiting their youngest sibling like that, and at him, for agreeing to help with such a scandal."

"Did you write everyday?"

"Three times a day. One note for every meal. Vevina and Amaranta thought I was mad and I was. But I couldn't control myself. I didn't even care if I was caught, it didn't matter anymore. I would do it all over again in a second."

"They let him out eventually, right?"

"Of course. They tried to make his life miserable afterwards but we managed to write anyway. At Hogwarts, it was slightly easier. Once we were old enough to leave the bunkers, we could see each other more often." My mother looked up at the ceiling. "Your father may have never fought in a war or won a duel or anything that most would consider heroic but I know that your father is my hero. Now and forever. I don't care what others say, no one else compares."

I tried to see my father as my mother would have seen him. At age sixteen, dressed in a girl's nightgown, fighting with a depraved guard. Suddenly, my heart swelled with pride. My mother was right: my father never fought in a war, won any medals, or even mentioned in the paper but my father stood up for the dignity of my mother and those other girls without any hope of reward and not even receiving one after all. All other heroes that I had been taught to worship paled in comparison.

"Mother?" I said softly.

"Yes, James?"

"You are very lucky."

"I am?"

"Yes. I would have loved to see Father do that."

My mother smiled. "I wish you could have been there." She sighed and glanced down at Harry, who was entertaining himself with kicking his feet into the air. "Are you bored, dear?" she asked him.

"It's getting late," I admitted sadly. "We should go."

"Of course. Lily wants her boys back someday," my mother joked. I picked Harry up. He yelped at me for the interruption in his wriggling time. I held him out to my mother who took him for a hug and kiss and then I placed him in the carriage, which he disliked extremely.

"Goodbye, Mother," I said and then added to Harry, "Say bye-bye to Grandmother. Bye-bye..." Harry seemed more interested in shoving his hand down his mouth than waving goodbye so I left it at that.

*** ***

At Harry's bedtime, I decided to try out reading to him from Travels of the Moon Skipper just for old times' sake. I had always extremely enjoyed it. Other children always complained that it was too long, too boring, and the ending was rotten, but I could hear it again and again. For awhile, I had wondered why I enjoyed it when others did not.

It had been years since I had last heard the story. The book has a handwritten note from Liam inside, saying "May you travel farther and faster, little one. Love from your godfather, Liam" addressed to me. It was one of the few presents I received for my birth since many assumed I would be dead before I turned six at the latest so there was little point in bothering.

Harry lay in his crib passively as I sat down in the rocking chair nearby to begin to read. If Harry had been older, it would have been too long for one sitting but since I was reading more to myself than him, I continued long after Harry had drifted off.

The story is of a typical young wizard named Bade who discovers one day that he can walk on moonbeams. By walking over moonbeams, he can cross great distances and even travel to distant stars (forgetting that whole "vacuum of space would kill him" thing, of course). He somehow discovers that an evil tyrant in some kingdom nearby had actually usurped the throne from the real king, who has since died. Shock of all shocks, his mother's previous husband (who is dead too. How convenient) was the next in line after the real king and his older brother, Kato, is the heir. So, the brothers travel to get the throne back and along the way Bade falls in love with a warrior-type woman named Sulwyn. So, they win and they find out that Kato is not the heir but rather Bade is because Kato is actually the nephew of Bade's mother but his parents died soon after his birth and she just adopted him during her marriage to the next in line man. However, Bade realizes that Kato is a much wiser man than he is and would make a better king so his only duty as king is to resign and crown Kato as his successor. Bade then returns home to marry Sulwynn and live a rather normal life from there after.

Of course, the reason for everyone hating it is clear. Everyone wants Bade to become king and become all-powerful; that's the way that most fairy tales go. But I guess I had a little piece of my parents in me. Bade played his part in restoring the throne to the rightful owner. It wasn't about becoming powerful or getting rich; it was about liberating a people and providing them a fair and kind ruler. Even though Bade is the next in line, he knows that he isn't the right man for the job. After all the work he does, he picks a regular life. I guess that always appealed to me; a cozy little end for the hero. I suppose Bade reminds me of my father now. Choosing a simple, little life instead of a glamorous and gaudy one.

I just hope that my son will say that I'm a hero.

To Be Continued...

Author's Notes: AAA! Only five more days until the fifth book and I'm no where near done! This week is going to be solid writing now! Anyway, I felt a little nervous about adding that whole thing with the bunkers but it wouldn't leave me alone so in it went. I hope I didn't offend anyone. Rape is wrong, people. Nothing justifies it. Anyway, the idea of the bunkers was inspired by the fic "Darkness Dying" by Iniga (she mentions the "safehouses" in Chapter 3), especially the aspect of little light and not being allowed outside. That fic is actually really fascinating. "Tectum" is Latin for "protection, hiding, shelter". Check it out on ff.net. Special thanks for the people at the Sugarquill for helping with World War II trivia (I didn't even know about the gas masks! Fascinating stuff) so I could provide better background for Mrs. Potter's story. Yikes! It's 3:35 AM now! I need to head to bed! Please review this! I want to know what you think! You can compare and contrast "Darkness Dying" and my fic, it might be fun! Press the button or e-mail at destinyplot@lycos.com! See ya later!