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There was a tentative knock on the small bedroom door. Hearing no answer, the door was pushed open by a woman who closely resembled a giraffe. "Harry?" she called softly, tiptoeing across the dim room with her pink flowered slippers. Seeing the still form on the bed, she crept closer. "Are you awake?" The room was stuffy and thick with the smell that comes only from someone who has not moved out of their bed for a very long time. Although the room, with the air vents blocked and the window remaining closed, was humid and warm, the woman drew her pale peach robe closer around her chest and shivered. "Was that you?"
Petunia had awakened early this morning from a scream that had disappeared as quickly as it had started. She had rubbed her eyes wearily and turned towards her husband, but he only snorted and grumbled in his sleep. Harry often awoke the whole family in the middle of the night with his dreams. Petunia was torn between fear of and for both Harry and Vernon. Harry's terrifying nightmares had brought out a new surge of violence on Vernon's part as his sleep slowly became less and less frequent. At times, it was only the threats of Harry freaky friends which kept Vernon from throwing the boy out in the street altogether. "Next time that freak wakes me up at three in the morning I'll beat the nightmares out of him!" he had promised grumpily last night. She sat down next to the boy, who was shaking, a soft sheen of sweat on his skin. She put her dry hand on his sticky forehead and peered down at him. Glossy, unfocused eyes looked back at her. His lips moved silently, as if in prayer.
"Harry? These dreams. . .do they have to do with. . .You Know Who coming back?" He continued to stare at her, not seeing. "You can't - you have to stop this. You don't leave your room, you don't eat anything. Do you want us to get in trouble? Please, tell me how to help you."
"Why should you care about me?" he whispered, his eyes finally fixing on her thin frame.
Her eyes were suddenly hard. "Harry, we've done everything we could for you, but it hasn't been enough. I dislike you, I admit that, but I don't. . .want you to die."
"Dumbledore told you about the prophecy," he accused her.
After a brief hesitation she nodded and affirmed, "Yes, he told me the night he brought you to us. I took a blood oath to save your life and I'll never turn back on it."
"Because you can't." He emitted a harsh laugh and rolled over to face the wall. "Am I that horrible a person? That the only reason I'm allowed to be alive is because of some stupid prophecy? Maybe I'll make everyone happy and just drop dead."
"Harry. . ." But she didn't know what to say, so she stood and left, closing the door softly behind her. Her thoughts churned with images of Lily: Lily the perfect child, Lily the witch, Lily the little brat. Whenever she looked into Harry's eyes it was as if Lily was looking back through them at her. Lily had been sympathetic towards Petunia, she had even tried to tutor her, but it was no use. Lily had been born with all the magic while the small amount of Petunia's had shriveled up and died. She remembered when Lily got her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, how happy their parents were. Did they think she didn't see their glances to their elder daughter, their eyes questioning why she had not received a letter herself? Well, Lily was in Hell now where she belonged, and Petunia was going to be damned if she let Harry drag the entire family down with him.
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Misa was the first person up in the Bingham household. When Harriet had been home, before she started traipsing halfway around the globe, Misa had been her incessant annoyance. Being a light sleeper who preferred to awaken sometime _after_ dawn, she didn't appreciate her younger sister's early morning romps. Even though Harriet had left three years ago when she was eighteen, Misa automatically tiptoed to her closet to pull out a pair of running shorts and sports bra. She was often greeted with many inappropriate comments and gestures from the male occupants of vehicles which passed her, but it was her favorite way to run. Harriet often complained of Misa's running garb ("For God's sake, why can't you put on a shirt when you run?"), but then again there wasn't much she didn't complain about. Harriet's favorite pastime was to argue about anything and everything, from how much garlic Misa put into the spaghetti sauce to the state of the fur on their neighbor's cat. Without Trenton, who had been the peacemaker of the three siblings, the two sisters had often been reduced to screaming (or fists on Misa's part if she was enraged sufficiently).
It was 5:30 a.m. when Misa carried her shoes and socks outside to put on as she stretched. She stretched her quads extra carefully, as they had cramped up completely the last time she did repeats on the track. After leaning against the front gate to stretch her calves she took off at a decent jog down the sleepy street. When she was in the weight room she liked to listen to what her sister jokingly called her "Angry Death Music" in which a variety of noises resembling terrified screaming and cats being skinned alive became a musical art form, but when she ran in the morning she preferred the peaceful silence of the world waking. As she was new to the neighborhood there was plenty of opportunity to explore. It wasn't quite as much fun as playing a good game of soccer - whoops, football now - but she could find ways to make her long runs interesting. She ran south, where a neighbor said a small park had a running trail. Her neighbor had meant it would be a fun park to drive to, but Misa felt she learned best by traveling the distance herself. Forty minutes later she found it and set out exploring. There was a small pond around which a bare asphalt trail ran, but she instead took a meandering route through the patches of trees. It was boring really, full of mostly empty grass with some playground equipment and benches occasionally breaking the monotony. She longed for the cool shade of Audubon Park back in New Orleans, not these baby trees which did little to avert the sunlight.
It was when she came to the end of the park that she saw him. He was sitting on the ground, reading a newspaper which had arbitrarily been tossed at, and missed, a trash can. As soon as he realized he had caught her attention he looked up expectantly and wagged his tail, a slight whine at the back of his throat. He started slowly towards her where she stood rooted to the ground.
"Go away!" she commanded. "Go home dog! Get away from me! Whatever it is you want I'm not the person to come whining to." She pulled off a shoe, her Asics GT-2080, and hurled it at the massive black dog which advanced on her like some kind of prophetic Grim. "Go away!" she screamed. "I can't help you!" Whatever it was would only grow stronger if she helped it, and the last thing she wanted to do was grant access to this dimension to a being who wasn't even supposed to be here. That the spirit meant her no harm didn't give it the right to feed off of her like some kind of netherworld leech [A/N: for more on leeches read Ian Irvine's The View From the Mirror series to encounter a particularly pretty Void Leech]. She had the ability to destroy it completely but those were powers best left unreleased until she was called. "What do you want? Tell me so you can leave me alone!" Now that it stood right in front of her Misa could see something shiny dangling from his mouth. It inclined his head towards her, offering it to her, his tail wagging feebly. Once she took it, the metal unnaturally cold in her hand, he walked behind a bush and disappeared.
Misa examined the necklace he had given her - it was a small silver chain with a heart shaped pendant. She rubbed her fingers over the smooth pendant and flipped it over to look at the engraving on the back. It said: From SMS To CMR - My Heart Is Yours Forever. Who were these people and what did it have to do with her? Did the dog creature really expect her to hunt down every single person in the world with those initials? One even fit her mom's: Colleen Maigraith Rynch. It could be anybody's. Not having anything else to do with it, she slipped it around her neck.
It was almost two hours later by the time Misa got home (although she did have to take a detour to a gas station's restroom for some rather urgent business). She went into the kitchen and starting cooking her parents their breakfast. It was tradition that Misa cooked breakfast, as she was the best cook and woke at the crack of dawn anyway. She decided to make omelets today, but she didn't know if she would be able to stomach them herself so she only made two. She put ham and bacon in her father's and loaded her mother's with three different kinds of cheeses and chopped green peppers.
"Hmm, why does everything you cook smell so good?" her mother asked as she came down the stairs into the kitchen dressed in her slip.
"Have a meeting today, mom?" Her mother was a author and illustrator of children's books who worked in a used bookstore in the afternoons and the library on the weekends and some evenings.
"Yes, but your father-"
"What about me?" He stuck his nose over the skillet and sighed. "Have I died and gone to heaven or is Misa cooking omelets?"
"Just for you dad."
They sat down together to eat, Misa taking a banana and piece of toast.
"Misa darling, I know you aren't always fond of going out, but the Carlsons invited us over for dinner tonight. Would you mind terribly going?"
"Yes, I mind. You know I hate eating with other people. I hate social gatherings. They make me sick. You were going to let me cook gumbo tonight, you promised. The food here sucks - am I supposed to lie to them that I actually like their cooking?"
Her mother's jaw tightened. "Well, I see - the princess doesn't want to go. That's fine, that's just fine. We'll stay home because our daughter dearest does not wish to pretend for once that she's a normal human being!"
"What? What is this? What are you jumping on me for? I said I didn't want to go, but I'll go if you really want me to."
"No, that's fine. We'll stay home and you can cook your gumbo."
"You two can still go, I just don't want to."
"You don't want to! You don't want to do anything! Ever since we moved here it's been nothing from you but 'There's no place to run here' or 'I hate the food here' or 'This place is so stupid'."
"Do you think I wanted to move here? You two are the ones who moved, not me! It's your stupid little fantasy world, thinking everything's magically going to be perfect now that we're in London - its your world and I just live in it."
"Do you think the world centers around you young lady? Your father's job-"
"Dad's job?! What about my job? What about leaving New Orleans unprotected from creatures seeking a dimension like ours? You think it will be any better here?"
"The protection of New Orleans is not up to you!"
Misa looked at her dad for help, but he didn't give her any. "I agree with your mother. It's time for you to start acting your age-"
"Acting my age! What have I ever done that's so horrible? I get up on time. I stay healthy and workout. I read in my spare time. I clean the dishes. I cook your food. I don't smoke. I don't drink. Sometimes I stay out late, but I never go to parties. I've never-"
"Those are things you are _supposed_ to do anyway! Do you want brownie points? Do you realize that normal teenagers do all this and more?"
"Fine!" Misa stood and banged her fist on the table. "What do you want from me? Tell me, what do you want me to do?"
"Your attitude needs adjusting, for one thing," her dad warned.
"Do you even realize what you're doing?," her mom said sharply. "Do you have any idea how emotionally manipulative you're being? Every time we try to do anything with this family you always - Oh, Misa, it's always something isn't it? First it's that Kip you're always bringing home, and then leaving in the middle of the night, and getting arrested time and time again - and now you're starting it again when we have a chance to start over on a clean slate. You just never let up, do you? You have to have everything go the way you want it?"
"What are you talking about? How am I manipulating you? Why should you not go to the Carlson's just because I don't want to? I'm not interfering with your life!"
"You always have to get your way, don't you? You have to play your little mind games."
"What are you talking about?!"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about Artemis Rynch," she said quietly.
"No I don't!" Her mother continued to glare at her. "Fine, I'm sorry for being such a spoilt, bratty daughter. Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll get run over by a car." She stormed out of the room, infuriated at her mother's words. Sure she did have a knack for getting in trouble, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it wasn't her fault. She didn't go out asking to be weird - and she _was_ weird, so her parents should just accept her for who she was. She felt like crying. What did her mother mean anyway? It was true that when Misa decided something the family always choose with her. How was she being so manipulative? Just because she sulked and sighed when they did something she didn't like? Why should that hurt them so much?
She paced around the living room several minutes, waiting for her rage to cool before attacking the piano. These fights with her parents were commonplace - today it was with her mother, tomorrow her father would be enraged at some other completely incomprehensible thing. She usually followed a fight by running, but since she had already done that she put a pillow down on the piano bench and sat before it. It was a beautiful piano that had mercifully come with the house. If Misa believed in God she would have said it was from Heaven itself. It was a gorgeous white Yamaha baby grand that had sat in the corner of the living room on the hardwood floors almost as long as Misa had been alive. After being tuned to concert pitch it was every pianist's dream - at least every pianist who, like Misa, had grown up playing a clangy upright. She launched immediately into the third movement of Beethoven's Opus 110 Sonata, playing through the entire ariosas and fugas until the triumphant end. In New Orleans she had been in a local band for a short while, but she was temperamental and after a couple of fist-fights with the other members, the last one leaving one member with a broken arm, she had to call it quits. Sometimes she stuck to being the accompanist for community theater performances, if she could stand it, but usually she just played on her own. She had just started on a Bach French Suite when she heard her mother come into the room and stand behind her.
"I'm sorry about what I said honey, I didn't mean it. I know this move has been especially hard on you, leaving Kip and - and your teacher. Why don't we stay home tonight, just the family, and you can have your gumbo. What do you say?"
Without stopping the Courante she answered back. "No, I'm sorry for being so rude. I don't care if you guys eat out, really I don't. I'll even go with you if you want, but I won't lie to you and say I want to go. I don't care about the gumbo. We don't have the ingredients anyway."
"It doesn't matter. You're more important to us than the neighbors, you know that. I can pick up some stuff on the way home tonight - we can have sausage and chicken gumbo. Is that alright? Just as long as I don't have to stand there and make the roux. It takes forever!"
"As if you would be the one cooking it anyway," Misa snorted in return. Her heard her mom turn to leave as she was starting on the Sarabande. "Mom? Is it okay if I go workout at the gym today?"
"Why don't you change out of those sweaty clothes before you go?"
"And get another pair of clothes all sweaty? That would be stupid. So, can I go?"
"I don't know, we still need to finish painting upstairs-"
"Can I go?"
"And the roses need to be planted-"
"Can I go?"
"And someone has to clean out the gutters - I don't think they've been cleaned in ages!"
"Can I go?"
She heard her mother sigh, ironically coinciding with a deceptive cadence. "Of course you can go," she answered, her voice laden with defeat. "Just don't stay too long. And don't go down any streets you're not familiar with."
"I know mom."
"And don't forget to drink enough-"
"I KNOW!"
Her mother sniffed and left to dress for work. Misa kept on playing to piano, switching to Christian Sinding's Rustle of Spring where she missed many notes but continued to play at an accelerated tempo anyway from the thrill the beautiful sound of the piece gave her. Her dad entered once - she felt his eyes on her back, but he left without talking to her, apparently not wanting to strain whatever tenuous agreement had been reached between mother and daughter.
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One. Two. Three. Four. Huff, huff. Five. Six. Huff, scrunch up nose, stick out tongue. Seven. Contort face with effort while gasping for air. Eight!
Misa managed to put the bar back up above her without dropping it on her chest, which she had embarrassingly done the first time she came to this gym. Even more humiliating was that she couldn't lift it off of herself and had to yell until the buff guys doing squats in the corner adjacent to hers finally came to her rescue. She hated for anyone to help her while she was doing weights, especially bench press. It was her pleasure in high school to be able to out-lift almost half of the guy's cross country team. Granted they were scrawny little twerps and most of them had been in eighth or ninth grade, but still it was something.
This time she was smart and started out with only twenty-five on each side of the standard forty-five pound bar. Twenty-five was a watershed number because that was when she could cast aside the ten and five pound weights and take the first of "the big ones". "The big ones" were the big bulky weights - you know the ones, those thick ones that 'everybody else' uses, but not you. Yes me, she thought happily. Each set she moved up five pounds. She was at 110 lbs now and if she could add ten to each side she could use the forty-five pounders, another watershed, and use the really huge weights! Unfortunately, it sounded a lot easier than it was. It gave her little pleasure to be able to lift more than the house wives around her, who mostly used dumbbells and rarely condescended to lift the real weights. (A/N: Sorry, not being mean to housewives, it's Misa's view, not necessarily mine)
She stretched out her arms and walked over to the pull-up bar. At one point she could do ten pull-ups in a row, but now she was fairly out of shape and could only manage four or five. It was imperative that she stay in shape. Her life could very well depend on it. She was trying for a sixth one, her arms shaking and threatening to collapse as she slowly and painfully drew the bar closer and closer to her chin when she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Go on Misa, you can do it," a voice said calmly in her ear. She somehow kept on going and then the bar was finally below her chin and she had made it. She let go quickly and dropped down the ground and turned around to hug her only friend Kip.
Kip, much to her parent's dismay, was over ten years older than her and quite a looker. Their connection, their magic, was stronger than any other tie Misa had ever seen. They were apprentices together under the same witch in New Orleans, although Kip was by far the more advanced of the two. Misa buried her head in his shoulder, her face smothered with his wavy blond hair. He picked her up off her feet when he hugged her, as always. There were few people Misa could bother to talk with, and Kip was definitely at the top of her list. She wished that all her classmates could be as mature and friendly as Kip, not the catty, shallow girls that frequently roamed the halls of whatever school she happened to be in at the moment. And the school administration blamed _her_ for getting in all of those brawls.
"What are you doing here Kip? You don't come to London everyday."
"She wants you to go to Hogwarts."
"That old witch." She meant it as an insult, but the description was accurate. Her old teacher would decide to spring something as ludicrous as a suggestion to simply go to Hogwarts, as if any American witch who moved to Britain could simply waltz in the Hogwart's castle. "What makes her think they'd accept me?"
"She sent an egret to them, applying for you. She said your American Wizarding Standards can be converted to the O.W.L.s here."
"They'll never admit me, with my record. Wouldn't they find out what I was?"
"Probably. Listen, this school has a fantastic reputation. If you can get it, trust me you can go places."
"I don't want to go anywhere! I want to go home to Mardi Gras and two- hundred percent humidity and below sea level elevation. I hate it here."
"No you don't. You miss me, but besides that you're fine. Don't pretend you actually cared about that school of yours."
"It was nice. Our Cross Country team rocked. And the soccer was pretty good too, but we lost the-"
"You know what I mean. You never gave a crap about school, only about your magic. Well, now you have another chance to learn what you really love - magic!"
"But I'll miss English and Literature and French and -"
"Listen, there are. . .things going on around here that you don't want to get involved with. If certain people find out who you are they'll want to use you. We can't control where your parents move, but you can at least assure yourself the highest security. I have a friend who knows people at Hogwarts, I can get you in touch with-"
"No! And what connections does Charlie Weasley have with Hogwarts?"
"Well. . .I could try-" he stuttered sheepishly.
"No, keep out of this. I'll get in on my own merit."
Kip grinned. "What if you don't get in?"
"Oh, I'll get in. Nobody refuses the all-mighty. . . - hey, wait a second, wasn't I just saying I didn't want to go? How did you do that?"
"Reverse psychology."
"You evil bastard."
He jumped up to reach the pull-up bar and did twelve in quick succession. Dropping back down again he asked, "So you'll at least try?"
She sighed. "If I have to. . ."
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(A/N:
-Harriet is named so in honor of a great author, Donna Tart whose main protagonist is named so in The Little Friend [although her first book, The Secret History, is by far the greater of the two and should be read by everybody!].
-Asics GT-2080 are very good shoes and I highly recommend them for running mid-long distances, unless you have to go over rocks.
-"Angry Death Music" comes to you compliments of my good friend CastleRock, who is a terrific writer and fun running buddy.
-The last name Bingham is taken from John Bingham, who writes articles for Runner's World and is a great inspiration to runners everywhere who know him fondly as "The Penguin".
-All piano pieces listed are real pieces of music by the composers stated, some of them I've played, most of them I've only listened to with hopeless yearning. . .
-Yeah, just incase you didn't catch it, Artemis = Misa; she just took the end and added an 'a'. Didn't want kids in school to make fun of her. Artemis, incase you don't know, is a Greek Goddess [Apollo's twin], the virgin huntress and all that.
-Btw, if you couldn't tell I'm trying to work on my dialogue, which doesn't come very easily to me. Please give me any helpful critique that you can!)
There was a tentative knock on the small bedroom door. Hearing no answer, the door was pushed open by a woman who closely resembled a giraffe. "Harry?" she called softly, tiptoeing across the dim room with her pink flowered slippers. Seeing the still form on the bed, she crept closer. "Are you awake?" The room was stuffy and thick with the smell that comes only from someone who has not moved out of their bed for a very long time. Although the room, with the air vents blocked and the window remaining closed, was humid and warm, the woman drew her pale peach robe closer around her chest and shivered. "Was that you?"
Petunia had awakened early this morning from a scream that had disappeared as quickly as it had started. She had rubbed her eyes wearily and turned towards her husband, but he only snorted and grumbled in his sleep. Harry often awoke the whole family in the middle of the night with his dreams. Petunia was torn between fear of and for both Harry and Vernon. Harry's terrifying nightmares had brought out a new surge of violence on Vernon's part as his sleep slowly became less and less frequent. At times, it was only the threats of Harry freaky friends which kept Vernon from throwing the boy out in the street altogether. "Next time that freak wakes me up at three in the morning I'll beat the nightmares out of him!" he had promised grumpily last night. She sat down next to the boy, who was shaking, a soft sheen of sweat on his skin. She put her dry hand on his sticky forehead and peered down at him. Glossy, unfocused eyes looked back at her. His lips moved silently, as if in prayer.
"Harry? These dreams. . .do they have to do with. . .You Know Who coming back?" He continued to stare at her, not seeing. "You can't - you have to stop this. You don't leave your room, you don't eat anything. Do you want us to get in trouble? Please, tell me how to help you."
"Why should you care about me?" he whispered, his eyes finally fixing on her thin frame.
Her eyes were suddenly hard. "Harry, we've done everything we could for you, but it hasn't been enough. I dislike you, I admit that, but I don't. . .want you to die."
"Dumbledore told you about the prophecy," he accused her.
After a brief hesitation she nodded and affirmed, "Yes, he told me the night he brought you to us. I took a blood oath to save your life and I'll never turn back on it."
"Because you can't." He emitted a harsh laugh and rolled over to face the wall. "Am I that horrible a person? That the only reason I'm allowed to be alive is because of some stupid prophecy? Maybe I'll make everyone happy and just drop dead."
"Harry. . ." But she didn't know what to say, so she stood and left, closing the door softly behind her. Her thoughts churned with images of Lily: Lily the perfect child, Lily the witch, Lily the little brat. Whenever she looked into Harry's eyes it was as if Lily was looking back through them at her. Lily had been sympathetic towards Petunia, she had even tried to tutor her, but it was no use. Lily had been born with all the magic while the small amount of Petunia's had shriveled up and died. She remembered when Lily got her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, how happy their parents were. Did they think she didn't see their glances to their elder daughter, their eyes questioning why she had not received a letter herself? Well, Lily was in Hell now where she belonged, and Petunia was going to be damned if she let Harry drag the entire family down with him.
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Misa was the first person up in the Bingham household. When Harriet had been home, before she started traipsing halfway around the globe, Misa had been her incessant annoyance. Being a light sleeper who preferred to awaken sometime _after_ dawn, she didn't appreciate her younger sister's early morning romps. Even though Harriet had left three years ago when she was eighteen, Misa automatically tiptoed to her closet to pull out a pair of running shorts and sports bra. She was often greeted with many inappropriate comments and gestures from the male occupants of vehicles which passed her, but it was her favorite way to run. Harriet often complained of Misa's running garb ("For God's sake, why can't you put on a shirt when you run?"), but then again there wasn't much she didn't complain about. Harriet's favorite pastime was to argue about anything and everything, from how much garlic Misa put into the spaghetti sauce to the state of the fur on their neighbor's cat. Without Trenton, who had been the peacemaker of the three siblings, the two sisters had often been reduced to screaming (or fists on Misa's part if she was enraged sufficiently).
It was 5:30 a.m. when Misa carried her shoes and socks outside to put on as she stretched. She stretched her quads extra carefully, as they had cramped up completely the last time she did repeats on the track. After leaning against the front gate to stretch her calves she took off at a decent jog down the sleepy street. When she was in the weight room she liked to listen to what her sister jokingly called her "Angry Death Music" in which a variety of noises resembling terrified screaming and cats being skinned alive became a musical art form, but when she ran in the morning she preferred the peaceful silence of the world waking. As she was new to the neighborhood there was plenty of opportunity to explore. It wasn't quite as much fun as playing a good game of soccer - whoops, football now - but she could find ways to make her long runs interesting. She ran south, where a neighbor said a small park had a running trail. Her neighbor had meant it would be a fun park to drive to, but Misa felt she learned best by traveling the distance herself. Forty minutes later she found it and set out exploring. There was a small pond around which a bare asphalt trail ran, but she instead took a meandering route through the patches of trees. It was boring really, full of mostly empty grass with some playground equipment and benches occasionally breaking the monotony. She longed for the cool shade of Audubon Park back in New Orleans, not these baby trees which did little to avert the sunlight.
It was when she came to the end of the park that she saw him. He was sitting on the ground, reading a newspaper which had arbitrarily been tossed at, and missed, a trash can. As soon as he realized he had caught her attention he looked up expectantly and wagged his tail, a slight whine at the back of his throat. He started slowly towards her where she stood rooted to the ground.
"Go away!" she commanded. "Go home dog! Get away from me! Whatever it is you want I'm not the person to come whining to." She pulled off a shoe, her Asics GT-2080, and hurled it at the massive black dog which advanced on her like some kind of prophetic Grim. "Go away!" she screamed. "I can't help you!" Whatever it was would only grow stronger if she helped it, and the last thing she wanted to do was grant access to this dimension to a being who wasn't even supposed to be here. That the spirit meant her no harm didn't give it the right to feed off of her like some kind of netherworld leech [A/N: for more on leeches read Ian Irvine's The View From the Mirror series to encounter a particularly pretty Void Leech]. She had the ability to destroy it completely but those were powers best left unreleased until she was called. "What do you want? Tell me so you can leave me alone!" Now that it stood right in front of her Misa could see something shiny dangling from his mouth. It inclined his head towards her, offering it to her, his tail wagging feebly. Once she took it, the metal unnaturally cold in her hand, he walked behind a bush and disappeared.
Misa examined the necklace he had given her - it was a small silver chain with a heart shaped pendant. She rubbed her fingers over the smooth pendant and flipped it over to look at the engraving on the back. It said: From SMS To CMR - My Heart Is Yours Forever. Who were these people and what did it have to do with her? Did the dog creature really expect her to hunt down every single person in the world with those initials? One even fit her mom's: Colleen Maigraith Rynch. It could be anybody's. Not having anything else to do with it, she slipped it around her neck.
It was almost two hours later by the time Misa got home (although she did have to take a detour to a gas station's restroom for some rather urgent business). She went into the kitchen and starting cooking her parents their breakfast. It was tradition that Misa cooked breakfast, as she was the best cook and woke at the crack of dawn anyway. She decided to make omelets today, but she didn't know if she would be able to stomach them herself so she only made two. She put ham and bacon in her father's and loaded her mother's with three different kinds of cheeses and chopped green peppers.
"Hmm, why does everything you cook smell so good?" her mother asked as she came down the stairs into the kitchen dressed in her slip.
"Have a meeting today, mom?" Her mother was a author and illustrator of children's books who worked in a used bookstore in the afternoons and the library on the weekends and some evenings.
"Yes, but your father-"
"What about me?" He stuck his nose over the skillet and sighed. "Have I died and gone to heaven or is Misa cooking omelets?"
"Just for you dad."
They sat down together to eat, Misa taking a banana and piece of toast.
"Misa darling, I know you aren't always fond of going out, but the Carlsons invited us over for dinner tonight. Would you mind terribly going?"
"Yes, I mind. You know I hate eating with other people. I hate social gatherings. They make me sick. You were going to let me cook gumbo tonight, you promised. The food here sucks - am I supposed to lie to them that I actually like their cooking?"
Her mother's jaw tightened. "Well, I see - the princess doesn't want to go. That's fine, that's just fine. We'll stay home because our daughter dearest does not wish to pretend for once that she's a normal human being!"
"What? What is this? What are you jumping on me for? I said I didn't want to go, but I'll go if you really want me to."
"No, that's fine. We'll stay home and you can cook your gumbo."
"You two can still go, I just don't want to."
"You don't want to! You don't want to do anything! Ever since we moved here it's been nothing from you but 'There's no place to run here' or 'I hate the food here' or 'This place is so stupid'."
"Do you think I wanted to move here? You two are the ones who moved, not me! It's your stupid little fantasy world, thinking everything's magically going to be perfect now that we're in London - its your world and I just live in it."
"Do you think the world centers around you young lady? Your father's job-"
"Dad's job?! What about my job? What about leaving New Orleans unprotected from creatures seeking a dimension like ours? You think it will be any better here?"
"The protection of New Orleans is not up to you!"
Misa looked at her dad for help, but he didn't give her any. "I agree with your mother. It's time for you to start acting your age-"
"Acting my age! What have I ever done that's so horrible? I get up on time. I stay healthy and workout. I read in my spare time. I clean the dishes. I cook your food. I don't smoke. I don't drink. Sometimes I stay out late, but I never go to parties. I've never-"
"Those are things you are _supposed_ to do anyway! Do you want brownie points? Do you realize that normal teenagers do all this and more?"
"Fine!" Misa stood and banged her fist on the table. "What do you want from me? Tell me, what do you want me to do?"
"Your attitude needs adjusting, for one thing," her dad warned.
"Do you even realize what you're doing?," her mom said sharply. "Do you have any idea how emotionally manipulative you're being? Every time we try to do anything with this family you always - Oh, Misa, it's always something isn't it? First it's that Kip you're always bringing home, and then leaving in the middle of the night, and getting arrested time and time again - and now you're starting it again when we have a chance to start over on a clean slate. You just never let up, do you? You have to have everything go the way you want it?"
"What are you talking about? How am I manipulating you? Why should you not go to the Carlson's just because I don't want to? I'm not interfering with your life!"
"You always have to get your way, don't you? You have to play your little mind games."
"What are you talking about?!"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about Artemis Rynch," she said quietly.
"No I don't!" Her mother continued to glare at her. "Fine, I'm sorry for being such a spoilt, bratty daughter. Maybe you'll get lucky and I'll get run over by a car." She stormed out of the room, infuriated at her mother's words. Sure she did have a knack for getting in trouble, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but it wasn't her fault. She didn't go out asking to be weird - and she _was_ weird, so her parents should just accept her for who she was. She felt like crying. What did her mother mean anyway? It was true that when Misa decided something the family always choose with her. How was she being so manipulative? Just because she sulked and sighed when they did something she didn't like? Why should that hurt them so much?
She paced around the living room several minutes, waiting for her rage to cool before attacking the piano. These fights with her parents were commonplace - today it was with her mother, tomorrow her father would be enraged at some other completely incomprehensible thing. She usually followed a fight by running, but since she had already done that she put a pillow down on the piano bench and sat before it. It was a beautiful piano that had mercifully come with the house. If Misa believed in God she would have said it was from Heaven itself. It was a gorgeous white Yamaha baby grand that had sat in the corner of the living room on the hardwood floors almost as long as Misa had been alive. After being tuned to concert pitch it was every pianist's dream - at least every pianist who, like Misa, had grown up playing a clangy upright. She launched immediately into the third movement of Beethoven's Opus 110 Sonata, playing through the entire ariosas and fugas until the triumphant end. In New Orleans she had been in a local band for a short while, but she was temperamental and after a couple of fist-fights with the other members, the last one leaving one member with a broken arm, she had to call it quits. Sometimes she stuck to being the accompanist for community theater performances, if she could stand it, but usually she just played on her own. She had just started on a Bach French Suite when she heard her mother come into the room and stand behind her.
"I'm sorry about what I said honey, I didn't mean it. I know this move has been especially hard on you, leaving Kip and - and your teacher. Why don't we stay home tonight, just the family, and you can have your gumbo. What do you say?"
Without stopping the Courante she answered back. "No, I'm sorry for being so rude. I don't care if you guys eat out, really I don't. I'll even go with you if you want, but I won't lie to you and say I want to go. I don't care about the gumbo. We don't have the ingredients anyway."
"It doesn't matter. You're more important to us than the neighbors, you know that. I can pick up some stuff on the way home tonight - we can have sausage and chicken gumbo. Is that alright? Just as long as I don't have to stand there and make the roux. It takes forever!"
"As if you would be the one cooking it anyway," Misa snorted in return. Her heard her mom turn to leave as she was starting on the Sarabande. "Mom? Is it okay if I go workout at the gym today?"
"Why don't you change out of those sweaty clothes before you go?"
"And get another pair of clothes all sweaty? That would be stupid. So, can I go?"
"I don't know, we still need to finish painting upstairs-"
"Can I go?"
"And the roses need to be planted-"
"Can I go?"
"And someone has to clean out the gutters - I don't think they've been cleaned in ages!"
"Can I go?"
She heard her mother sigh, ironically coinciding with a deceptive cadence. "Of course you can go," she answered, her voice laden with defeat. "Just don't stay too long. And don't go down any streets you're not familiar with."
"I know mom."
"And don't forget to drink enough-"
"I KNOW!"
Her mother sniffed and left to dress for work. Misa kept on playing to piano, switching to Christian Sinding's Rustle of Spring where she missed many notes but continued to play at an accelerated tempo anyway from the thrill the beautiful sound of the piece gave her. Her dad entered once - she felt his eyes on her back, but he left without talking to her, apparently not wanting to strain whatever tenuous agreement had been reached between mother and daughter.
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One. Two. Three. Four. Huff, huff. Five. Six. Huff, scrunch up nose, stick out tongue. Seven. Contort face with effort while gasping for air. Eight!
Misa managed to put the bar back up above her without dropping it on her chest, which she had embarrassingly done the first time she came to this gym. Even more humiliating was that she couldn't lift it off of herself and had to yell until the buff guys doing squats in the corner adjacent to hers finally came to her rescue. She hated for anyone to help her while she was doing weights, especially bench press. It was her pleasure in high school to be able to out-lift almost half of the guy's cross country team. Granted they were scrawny little twerps and most of them had been in eighth or ninth grade, but still it was something.
This time she was smart and started out with only twenty-five on each side of the standard forty-five pound bar. Twenty-five was a watershed number because that was when she could cast aside the ten and five pound weights and take the first of "the big ones". "The big ones" were the big bulky weights - you know the ones, those thick ones that 'everybody else' uses, but not you. Yes me, she thought happily. Each set she moved up five pounds. She was at 110 lbs now and if she could add ten to each side she could use the forty-five pounders, another watershed, and use the really huge weights! Unfortunately, it sounded a lot easier than it was. It gave her little pleasure to be able to lift more than the house wives around her, who mostly used dumbbells and rarely condescended to lift the real weights. (A/N: Sorry, not being mean to housewives, it's Misa's view, not necessarily mine)
She stretched out her arms and walked over to the pull-up bar. At one point she could do ten pull-ups in a row, but now she was fairly out of shape and could only manage four or five. It was imperative that she stay in shape. Her life could very well depend on it. She was trying for a sixth one, her arms shaking and threatening to collapse as she slowly and painfully drew the bar closer and closer to her chin when she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Go on Misa, you can do it," a voice said calmly in her ear. She somehow kept on going and then the bar was finally below her chin and she had made it. She let go quickly and dropped down the ground and turned around to hug her only friend Kip.
Kip, much to her parent's dismay, was over ten years older than her and quite a looker. Their connection, their magic, was stronger than any other tie Misa had ever seen. They were apprentices together under the same witch in New Orleans, although Kip was by far the more advanced of the two. Misa buried her head in his shoulder, her face smothered with his wavy blond hair. He picked her up off her feet when he hugged her, as always. There were few people Misa could bother to talk with, and Kip was definitely at the top of her list. She wished that all her classmates could be as mature and friendly as Kip, not the catty, shallow girls that frequently roamed the halls of whatever school she happened to be in at the moment. And the school administration blamed _her_ for getting in all of those brawls.
"What are you doing here Kip? You don't come to London everyday."
"She wants you to go to Hogwarts."
"That old witch." She meant it as an insult, but the description was accurate. Her old teacher would decide to spring something as ludicrous as a suggestion to simply go to Hogwarts, as if any American witch who moved to Britain could simply waltz in the Hogwart's castle. "What makes her think they'd accept me?"
"She sent an egret to them, applying for you. She said your American Wizarding Standards can be converted to the O.W.L.s here."
"They'll never admit me, with my record. Wouldn't they find out what I was?"
"Probably. Listen, this school has a fantastic reputation. If you can get it, trust me you can go places."
"I don't want to go anywhere! I want to go home to Mardi Gras and two- hundred percent humidity and below sea level elevation. I hate it here."
"No you don't. You miss me, but besides that you're fine. Don't pretend you actually cared about that school of yours."
"It was nice. Our Cross Country team rocked. And the soccer was pretty good too, but we lost the-"
"You know what I mean. You never gave a crap about school, only about your magic. Well, now you have another chance to learn what you really love - magic!"
"But I'll miss English and Literature and French and -"
"Listen, there are. . .things going on around here that you don't want to get involved with. If certain people find out who you are they'll want to use you. We can't control where your parents move, but you can at least assure yourself the highest security. I have a friend who knows people at Hogwarts, I can get you in touch with-"
"No! And what connections does Charlie Weasley have with Hogwarts?"
"Well. . .I could try-" he stuttered sheepishly.
"No, keep out of this. I'll get in on my own merit."
Kip grinned. "What if you don't get in?"
"Oh, I'll get in. Nobody refuses the all-mighty. . . - hey, wait a second, wasn't I just saying I didn't want to go? How did you do that?"
"Reverse psychology."
"You evil bastard."
He jumped up to reach the pull-up bar and did twelve in quick succession. Dropping back down again he asked, "So you'll at least try?"
She sighed. "If I have to. . ."
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(A/N:
-Harriet is named so in honor of a great author, Donna Tart whose main protagonist is named so in The Little Friend [although her first book, The Secret History, is by far the greater of the two and should be read by everybody!].
-Asics GT-2080 are very good shoes and I highly recommend them for running mid-long distances, unless you have to go over rocks.
-"Angry Death Music" comes to you compliments of my good friend CastleRock, who is a terrific writer and fun running buddy.
-The last name Bingham is taken from John Bingham, who writes articles for Runner's World and is a great inspiration to runners everywhere who know him fondly as "The Penguin".
-All piano pieces listed are real pieces of music by the composers stated, some of them I've played, most of them I've only listened to with hopeless yearning. . .
-Yeah, just incase you didn't catch it, Artemis = Misa; she just took the end and added an 'a'. Didn't want kids in school to make fun of her. Artemis, incase you don't know, is a Greek Goddess [Apollo's twin], the virgin huntress and all that.
-Btw, if you couldn't tell I'm trying to work on my dialogue, which doesn't come very easily to me. Please give me any helpful critique that you can!)