Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J.K. Rowling. I do not
own New Mexico. It belongs to the United States of America, and I would
imagine the people of New Mexico. Since I live in North Carolina, I have no
claim. The picture, Peter Hurd's "Eve of St. John, that this story is
loosely based upon, belongs to Peter Hurd. It should be known that I cannot
draw, paint, etc. I do own Adela, Uncle Maverick, Aunt Zoraida, and Rohan
the horse.
AN: I got the idea for writing this story from an assignment from my
Expository Writing Class. Don't know if fanfiction was what my professor
had in mind when he made the assignment to write a descriptive story based
on one of three paintings. Then again, wouldn't basing a story on a
painting be a fanfiction as well. If my Prof. is reading this, all I have
to say is, I don't care if this is what you had in mind, and besides you
are an asshole. And since I'm writing under a pen name, you can't prove who
it is. Oops, I'm going to have to turn this in. Oh well. It's my work; I
can post it if I want.
If you read all of that, I'm sorry. Hopefully the story is better than my
babbling, then again, so is everything else.
If you are interested in seeing the picture that this story is based e-mail
me, the address is Bazile2oo3@hotmail.com, or ask in a review. FF.net won't
let me put in the link.
And one more note, this story will be eventually SS/HG, if that pairing
bothers you, grosses you out, or for some unknown reason you think that
SB/HG is a good idea, you will probably want to turn back now. Otherwise,
on with the show.
Playing With Fire
Adela was concentrating on the flame she was holding. With her hand she was making shadow pictures on the side of her house. She anxiously looked around, hoping that her mother would not look out the window. She had already gotten in trouble for playing with fire once that week. She would be dead, well figuratively speaking, if she was caught again.
"Adela," an accented voice rang out into the night. "Come in. It's getting late."
"Coming, Mom." Hastily she blew out the candle. The smoke blew away in wispy, gray clouds into the midsummer sunset.
She went in the back door, and attempted to sneak up the stairs to her room to hide the candle from her mother's prying eyes.
"Adela," her mother's voice rang out when she was halfway up the stairs.
"Ma'am?" Adela turned around and attempted to hide the candle behind her back.
"I know that you were playing in the fire again."
"Mom, I can explain."
"Adela, I don't want to hear it, nor do I care. I told you two days ago to quit playing with the candles. You are going to set something on fire if you're not careful. I would prefer if the house was not burnt down, and Uncle Maverick would more than likely prefer that you don't burn down the entire ranch."
"Mom, I was only making shadow pictures on the side of the house. I wasn't lighting the grass or the house on fire. I just like to watch the flames. They're pretty."
"Adela, I do not care. I know that you won't set anything on fire on purpose, but it could still happen. We'll talk about this later. Go upstairs and change your clothes. Uncle Maverick is back, and we are going over to have dinner with him and Aunt Zoraida. You can't go over there in that faded tank top and cut off shorts."
"I saw him ride up on Rohan. He was headed towards the stable. What do you want me to wear? You don't want me to wear a dress do you?" Adela wrinkled her nose up in disgust at the idea of having to wear dressy clothes.
"No, you don't have to wear a dress. I just want you to look neat. Clean jeans and one of the shirts that we got last weekend will do. Now go. It's 8:30 and I said that we'd be over at nine." Hermione, Adela's mother, shooed her up the stairs.
Upstairs Adela quickly pulled out a pair of clean jeans from her closet and the bright red blouse that Hermione had bought her last week. She slipped her feet back into the white Ked tennis shoes that she had been wearing earlier and ran a brush through her long, dark hair. She glanced at the clock by her bed. It read 8:45. Hermione would be waiting, ready to go downstairs. She flicked off the overhead light, and ran back downstairs.
"Mom, I'm ready. Is this okay?"
Hermione smiled down at her daughter. "Yes that's fine. Come on. Out you go." Hermione shooed her only daughter out the door ahead of her and then turned and locked the door.
Later that evening, after returning from dinner, and sending Adela to bed, Hermione sat on her couch, sipping tea and looking out towards the mountains in the distance. She sighed. It would be twelve years since she had left home. Escaping from the war that had practically destroyed her home. Her two best friends had been killed fighting. An enemy soldier had left Adela as a present for Hermione. At the encouragement of her parents Hermione had left home, and moved in with her father's younger brother Maverick and his wife Zoraida. She had lived with them for a few years while attending school. And then, after she had started teaching at the local elementary school, she had moved into her own home on the ranch with the then four year old Adela.
Hermione sat her mug down on the low, wooden coffee table that sat in front of the sofa, and picked up a letter that had arrived earlier in the day. Hermione,
It's been a long time. If I'm correct, twelve years next month. Since you
are actually reading this, I imagine that you are wondering why I have
written. Well, child, it is time that you came home. You have been gone much too long. The war is over. We need you here. I have been in contact
with your parents. You might be interested in knowing that they are in
agreement with me. They have also informed me that you have a daughter. Adela, I believe. A beautiful name. My only request is that you contemplate returning home. If not for your sake, at least for your daughter's. Allow her to get to know her homeland and her heritage. It is her birthright. If I do not receive a response from you in the next week or so, I will write again. I look forward to hearing from you again Hermione and I sincerely
hope that we will meet again in the near future.
Yours sincerely, A.D.
Hermione shook her head. She didn't know what to do.
She looked outside. It was early. The sun was already starting to appear in the horizon casting a slight purplish tint on the distant mountains. How could she leave this natural beauty that was New Mexico? Then again when she had been Adela's age she had been all over Europe, to Australia, to the Caribbean, and to several places in the United States. Adela had never left New Mexico. Maybe it was time to go home, just for a visit. They could see her parents. It would be good to let Adela visit with her grandparents in their own territory instead of the once of year that they visited in New Mexico, and to let her see her homeland.
Hermione stood up and stretched. She needed to go to sleep. Adela would be up soon. She would think about the letter in the morning, well slightly later in the morning, as it was already close to five a.m. She put her mug of now cold tea in the sink and slowly headed up the stairs to sleep.
Playing With Fire
Adela was concentrating on the flame she was holding. With her hand she was making shadow pictures on the side of her house. She anxiously looked around, hoping that her mother would not look out the window. She had already gotten in trouble for playing with fire once that week. She would be dead, well figuratively speaking, if she was caught again.
"Adela," an accented voice rang out into the night. "Come in. It's getting late."
"Coming, Mom." Hastily she blew out the candle. The smoke blew away in wispy, gray clouds into the midsummer sunset.
She went in the back door, and attempted to sneak up the stairs to her room to hide the candle from her mother's prying eyes.
"Adela," her mother's voice rang out when she was halfway up the stairs.
"Ma'am?" Adela turned around and attempted to hide the candle behind her back.
"I know that you were playing in the fire again."
"Mom, I can explain."
"Adela, I don't want to hear it, nor do I care. I told you two days ago to quit playing with the candles. You are going to set something on fire if you're not careful. I would prefer if the house was not burnt down, and Uncle Maverick would more than likely prefer that you don't burn down the entire ranch."
"Mom, I was only making shadow pictures on the side of the house. I wasn't lighting the grass or the house on fire. I just like to watch the flames. They're pretty."
"Adela, I do not care. I know that you won't set anything on fire on purpose, but it could still happen. We'll talk about this later. Go upstairs and change your clothes. Uncle Maverick is back, and we are going over to have dinner with him and Aunt Zoraida. You can't go over there in that faded tank top and cut off shorts."
"I saw him ride up on Rohan. He was headed towards the stable. What do you want me to wear? You don't want me to wear a dress do you?" Adela wrinkled her nose up in disgust at the idea of having to wear dressy clothes.
"No, you don't have to wear a dress. I just want you to look neat. Clean jeans and one of the shirts that we got last weekend will do. Now go. It's 8:30 and I said that we'd be over at nine." Hermione, Adela's mother, shooed her up the stairs.
Upstairs Adela quickly pulled out a pair of clean jeans from her closet and the bright red blouse that Hermione had bought her last week. She slipped her feet back into the white Ked tennis shoes that she had been wearing earlier and ran a brush through her long, dark hair. She glanced at the clock by her bed. It read 8:45. Hermione would be waiting, ready to go downstairs. She flicked off the overhead light, and ran back downstairs.
"Mom, I'm ready. Is this okay?"
Hermione smiled down at her daughter. "Yes that's fine. Come on. Out you go." Hermione shooed her only daughter out the door ahead of her and then turned and locked the door.
Later that evening, after returning from dinner, and sending Adela to bed, Hermione sat on her couch, sipping tea and looking out towards the mountains in the distance. She sighed. It would be twelve years since she had left home. Escaping from the war that had practically destroyed her home. Her two best friends had been killed fighting. An enemy soldier had left Adela as a present for Hermione. At the encouragement of her parents Hermione had left home, and moved in with her father's younger brother Maverick and his wife Zoraida. She had lived with them for a few years while attending school. And then, after she had started teaching at the local elementary school, she had moved into her own home on the ranch with the then four year old Adela.
Hermione sat her mug down on the low, wooden coffee table that sat in front of the sofa, and picked up a letter that had arrived earlier in the day. Hermione,
It's been a long time. If I'm correct, twelve years next month. Since you
are actually reading this, I imagine that you are wondering why I have
written. Well, child, it is time that you came home. You have been gone much too long. The war is over. We need you here. I have been in contact
with your parents. You might be interested in knowing that they are in
agreement with me. They have also informed me that you have a daughter. Adela, I believe. A beautiful name. My only request is that you contemplate returning home. If not for your sake, at least for your daughter's. Allow her to get to know her homeland and her heritage. It is her birthright. If I do not receive a response from you in the next week or so, I will write again. I look forward to hearing from you again Hermione and I sincerely
hope that we will meet again in the near future.
Yours sincerely, A.D.
Hermione shook her head. She didn't know what to do.
She looked outside. It was early. The sun was already starting to appear in the horizon casting a slight purplish tint on the distant mountains. How could she leave this natural beauty that was New Mexico? Then again when she had been Adela's age she had been all over Europe, to Australia, to the Caribbean, and to several places in the United States. Adela had never left New Mexico. Maybe it was time to go home, just for a visit. They could see her parents. It would be good to let Adela visit with her grandparents in their own territory instead of the once of year that they visited in New Mexico, and to let her see her homeland.
Hermione stood up and stretched. She needed to go to sleep. Adela would be up soon. She would think about the letter in the morning, well slightly later in the morning, as it was already close to five a.m. She put her mug of now cold tea in the sink and slowly headed up the stairs to sleep.