Chapter 9: An Unexpected Vision
On the drive to his parents' house, and then back to the apartment complex, Phillip's mind worked overtime. When Jake walked through the door around one o'clock in the morning, he was waiting for him on the sofa, irate from hours of picturing his friend with Isabelle. For his part, Jake wasn't especially interested in conversation, and unsuccessfully tried to disappear down the hallway.
"Oh, yeah, go ahead and hide. I saw you tonight, and I know full well who you were with, you little chicken shit," Phillip seethed. Jake stopped dead in his tracks, clenched his fists and turned around, wild-eyed.
"You're one to talk, taking advantage of a drunk woman," he accused from the living room doorway. "Funny, she blames herself for the whole thing. But, if you actually knew Isabelle, you'd know that's the kind of girl she is."
Phillip jumped up, and punched his best friend squarely in the jaw, knocking him to the floor. "Don't judge me, especially since you don't know her. Not the way I do."
"How do you know?" Jake asked snidely, clutching the side of his face, watching Phillip's anger boil over. Within a second, the two men were throwing punches at each other with a savage fury.
"I swear, that if you've touched her, I'll--"
"You'll what?" Jake challenged, dying to throw his little rendezvous with Isabelle on Halloween in his face. The only thing keeping him from doing so was his promise to keep that particular incident quiet. "What's she to you, other than a piece of tail?"
Phillip shoved him so hard that Jake's upper body caved in part of the wall. "Do you even know who she is? Huh?"
"Enlighten me, oh great one," Jake spat, extracting himself from the jagged drywall. His friend's fists fell to his side, and his shoulders slumped slightly.
"Isabelle Evans."
"That girl is not Isabelle Evans!" he roared, charging Phillip and punching him in the gut. "You're insane."
"Am I? Am I?" he screamed back, knocking Jake to the ground again. "Tell you what. You're the spy; prove me wrong. You prove me wrong, and I'll admit I'm crazy and check into Eastern State voluntarily."
Jake appeared to consider his challenge. Despite his anger, he truly was concerned for his best friend, and perhaps a stay at the local mental hospital would do him some good. "Fine. Give me until Christmas Day. I'll have solid proof that she's not Isabelle Evans. But only on the condition that you stay away from her until then."
"What, so you can hook up with her? I don't think so," Phillip snapped. Jake dropped his own fists and looked him in the eye.
"Isabelle and I are just friends. But, I'm not going to have you hurt her by accusing her of being someone she isn't. That's not healthy for anyone. Come on, I've known you since I was three. Letting a chick mess up our friendship is trifling. Even if she is hot."
"Extremely hot." Phillip couldn't help a small smirk. "Speaking of hot, do you know who Thomas is with right now?"
"Probably some random girl he picked up at the drag race." He looked unconcerned.
"With the name Sarah Lindsay Parker." His smirk grew at the horrified look on Jake's face.
"What!?!?!" he bellowed, clenching his fists again. "I'll kill him. Just wait until he gets home. I'll kill him. Want to help, seeing as how we're in the fighting mood tonight?"
"Absolutely." Phillip grinned.
-----
True to his word, Phillip reluctantly stayed away from Isabelle. But, he did bug Brittany with so many questions that the teenager avoided her oldest brother like the plague. Brittany didn't know who was worse – Thomas about Sarah Lindsay, or Phillip about Isabelle. Between the two, she wanted to lock herself in her room for the next few years with a stack of nice books and ignore the world.
November slowly passed. When Mr. Parker discovered that Severus didn't have a job, and also that he spent his evenings tutoring Isabelle, Mr. Parker hired the wizard to tutor his daughter, as well. So, Sarah Lindsay practically moved in with Severus and Isabelle.
Although her relationship with her father was improving, if she lived with him, she couldn't go to school at Jamestown High anymore. But, life with her mother and her various boyfriends was pretty unbearable, so, she spent most nights studying with Isabelle and slept on the sofa. After two weeks, all of Sarah Lindsay's belongings were so intermingled with Isabelle's that the two girls couldn't tell their things apart. Both girls enjoyed the arrangement so much that Severus didn't say a word against it.
When Thomas discovered that "his" girl lived down the hall, he and Jake began visiting nightly around dinner. And, Brittany used any excuse to see Jake, so she began studying over Isabelle's apartment, too. All in all, it was a very festive place to be.
The only problem was that Isabelle wasn't recovering from her concussion like she should be. She got massive migraines daily, and sometimes saw large black spots at odd times. The time she spent unconscious left her so weak that she stopped going to dance lessons and sat on the sidelines at cheerleading practice.
Severus became so concerned that he prepared an incredibly strong strengthening potion around the end of November, and fervently hoped that it would work. He'd used it before with Regina, and it always seemed to help her. So, he crossed his fingers as Isabelle downed the lemon yellow goo. Shortly afterwards, she headed to bed.
Isabelle woke up in a strange room that she'd never seen before. The enormous room seemed to be underground, because there were no windows, and the air smelled slightly damp, like a wine cellar. The walls and ceiling were slate grey, and made of roughly hewn stone. The only light in the room came from a massive fireplace, which illuminated a massive snake carved on the mantel. Tall, high-backed chairs surrounded the fireplace, and various tables were scattered throughout the room.
Where am I? Isabelle wondered, walking around.
The snake reminded her vaguely of the one on the crest of the Slytherin house at Hogwarts. She now cursed herself for never venturing into the other house's dorms, although Bill and Charlie sometimes did.
A young girl's bitter cries from a corner of the room reached her ears, and concerned, Isabelle walked towards the corner. Light footsteps from the opposite end of the room caused the girl to stifle her cries, but the footsteps grew closer until an older teenager of about Isabelle's age stood over the girl. He stepped into the firelight, and knelt to the girl's level.
"Go away," the girl sobbed. "This is the worst day of my entire life."
Instead of leaving, the teenage boy smiled indulgently, sat down, and stretched out his legs. Isabelle blinked rapidly – this man was beyond attractive. He looked like a funny cross of Phillip, with loose blonde curls and blue eyes, and Jake, with his build and smile. But, his mannerisms reminded her of someone else entirely. Intrigued, she leaned closer.
Who is he? she puzzled.
"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that," he drawled in a hybrid Southern/Scottish accent that was really cute. At least, Isabelle thought so, being a sucker for a good accent herself. "Now why is today the worst day of your life?"
The girl scooted further into the shadow, so that Isabelle couldn't see her whatsoever. "Be-because I got sorted into Slytherin, that's why! My life is over – I'll be disowned."
The teenager's smile broadened, and he put his hands behind his head. Just like Sirius does when he's settling in for a long talk, Isabelle noted. How odd is that? Incredibly bizarre, she answered to herself.
"What's wrong with being a Slytherin?" he asked lightly, trying to cheer the girl up.
"Everything," she bawled. "Papa will be so disappointed, and Mom will cry. And everyone else--"
"Will be incredibly proud of you, just like your parents will be," he finished, reaching into the shadow to give her a hug.
Papa? She says it exactly like Gracie does, Isabelle thought in amazement. The French way, not the funny American pronunciation that sounds like "paw-paw". Is this my Gracie – a Slytherin? And if so, is "Papa" Sirius, or does she call her foster father Papa as well? Does this mean that Sirius is freed? The mere idea caused Isabelle's face to light up with joy.
But, her face fell just as quickly. For any of this to be real, she would have to be in the middle of a true vision. And, Mummy P told her repeatedly throughout her childhood that she'd probably never have a true vision, because her Discerner skills would get in the way. So, she wondered if this was a vision or a dream? Either way, she leaned closer to hear every word of the conversation.
"I'm scared to be at school," the girl exclaimed, dissolving into incoherent mutterings that Isabelle couldn't understand. "What if I don't like it there? What if I'm lonely? Everyone I know is a Gryffindor."
"Holy stars!" Isabelle clasped both hands over her mouth. The pair looked and sounded like a blast from the past; this was a near verbatim repeat of the conversation she had with Sirius the night before she went to Hogwarts for the first time.
"You know me, and I'm a Slytherin," he pointed out. The girl only bawled louder.
"The only reason you'd even give me the time of day is because Papa would ask you to. You're the best Quiddich player and the most popular boy in the whole school. And you're a Prefect, and most people say that you're going to be Head Boy next year."
"I'd guess so," the teenager snorted. "I'm older than half the seventh years, so I reckon I should be pretty good at my studies. And, I'd spend time with you just because you're fun to be around, not because your parents asked me to."
"Really?" the girl asked hopefully, her tears stopping for the first time.
"Of course I will. I can't let my best girl be lonely, now can I? Besides, we Slytherins have to stick together," the young man said seriously. "Can't let those boring Gryffindor prats get the best of us, now can we?"
"Oh, Stephen, you always know how to make me feel better," she said happily, throwing herself at him and hugging him tightly.
Isabelle smiled, the scene reminding her of herself and Sirius when she was younger. No matter how awful she felt, Sirius always knew the right thing to say, too. She wondered who this Stephen was, and who the girl was, for that matter. If this is Gracie, how did she know a wizard growing up? Did Severus place her with Muggles who knew wizards for her to play with?
"Stephen?" the girl asked hesitantly, with her head still buried in his chest.
"What?"
"Why do you bother with me, anyway? When you have Abbie, and all of your other mates."
"Well," he began, his eyes suddenly far away, "when you were little, you reminded me of my sister. Horrid pain, but very pretty and smart. That's probably why she was a git; everybody loved her."
"You think I'm pretty?" she interrupted, in a small voice.
Isabelle laughed out loud; the girl reminded her a little too much of herself. For the first time since Halloween, she tried to read their minds, with no luck. Apparently being a Discerner didn't extend to dreams or visions, whichever this was.
"Course I think you're pretty. And the Slytherin robes will match your eyes, so you'll be the prettiest girl in the entire school. Just you wait. Then, I'll be forced to beat up any guy who looks at you," Stephen said, with an edge to his tone that reminded Isabelle of James.
"Why would you want to do that? I'm going to grow up sometime; I'm not a little girl, you know," she protested vehemently.
"Don't be in too big of a hurry to grow up," he replied. A stricken look crossed his face, as he sadly stared at the roaring flames. "Hey, are you in the mood for an ice cream sundae? Might make you feel better…"
The girl sat up and put her hands on her hips indignantly. "Didn't I just tell you that I'm not a little girl? I'm not easily placated with sundaes or treats, like when I was younger."
"Spitfire," he said approvingly, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Trust me, I wasn't trying to 'placate' you; I'm hungry. Didn't you wonder why I'm out of my dorm after hours?"
"I thought maybe you were snogging some girl," she said quietly, but mischievously. The teenager laughed and shook his head amusedly.
"That's beside the point. So, are you interested or not?" he asked again.
"No, I'm in training, remember? If I'm going to win a gold metal in a few years--"
Stephen sighed. "All right, all right. I get the point. Always fencing with you. Do you do anything else other than fence your life away?"
"What's the use of having dreams that you know will never come true?" she bitterly spat with a vengeance that made Isabelle's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.
Such a young girl to be so bitter, she thought, wondering what on earth could make an eleven-year-old so jaded – and so wise. Isabelle herself had spent the better part of her lifetime wanting dreams that she couldn't have. If this is Gracie, and Isabelle knew this child had Black blood in her for sure, then she fervently hoped this Stephen wouldn't be a heartbreaker like Sirius was. That this girl wouldn't be as foolish as herself.
"Like what?" the teenager inquired. "What could you possibly want that you can't have?"
The girl turned to face the fire, still mostly in shadow, and said so quietly that Isabelle could barely hear her, "You."
"Oh, Gracie! No! Don't do this," Isabelle begged, dropping to her knees.
Freaked out, Sarah Lindsay ran into Isabelle's bedroom, flipped on the light, and rushed to her bed, where the teenager was frantically tossing and turning. She tried to hold Isabelle's hand and wake her up gently, but she sat up in the middle of the bed and began screaming bloody murder.
"No!" Isabelle screeched at the top of her lungs. "Gracie, you're better than I am! You're better than all of us. Don't do this! Gracie, no! He's not worth throwing your life or your future away!"
Who's Gracie? Sarah Lindsay puzzled. And who is "he", for that matter? She calmly put an arm around her friend and guided Isabelle back to a reclining position on her pillows while she waked up.
"What's going on?" Severus said anxiously, hovering in the doorway, as was his custom.
"I don't know," Sarah Lindsay answered. "I was asleep, and all of a sudden I heard Isabelle screaming. Something about a Gracie being better than her. Do you know what she's talking about?"
"Sort of," he answered honestly, crossing the room and shaking Isabelle to make sure that she was fully awake.
The two's eyes met, and an unspoken understanding passed between them to discuss this later when they were alone. Severus had a partial idea of what could've happened. Often, when Regina took that particular medication, she would have a vision. But, he attributed it to being the daughter of the most famous Seer of their day; he thought that not being from Seer ancestry, Isabelle could take the strengthening potion safely.
Apparently not, he thought, wanting to kick himself for taking such a risk. He knew the potion was dangerous, but hoped the benefits would outweigh the potential damage. Now, he had a traumatized, confused teenager on his hands, who still seemed as weak as before. Good job, Snape, he cursed himself.
"Can I get you something?" Sarah Lindsay asked, rubbing her hands together concernedly. "Maybe some hot tea?"
"Irish Breakfast would be lovely," Isabelle replied gratefully, rubbing her eyes exhaustedly. Happy to have something to do, Sarah Lindsay jumped up and ran towards the kitchen; she loved being helpful, especially when someone was sick or hurting for any reason.
"So," Severus said guiltily, "had a vision, huh?"
Isabelle's eyes flew open, and focused on him in amazement. "How'd you know? You mean that was a real vision?"
He shrugged, staring at his hands. "I don't know. Reg – an old friend who used to take the same potion – used to have authentic visions. But, I'm not sure about what you saw. What did you See, anyway?"
"Gracie was eleven, and she was Sorted into Slytherin."
"Black's kid, a Slytherin?" Severus chortled, nearly doubling over with laughter. "That's priceless. Imagine how much that would piss him off. Pity he won't know about it."
Isabelle's temper flared. No one insulted Sirius, even someone with good reason, like Severus. "You don't know that! Sirius could be freed by then; you never know. And for your information, his deadbeat father was a Slytherin, the same year as Voldie even. So, Gracie would come by it honestly."
"Still funny. Wonder what her mother would say to that?" he said without realizing that Isabelle knew his little secret. She smiled, trying to formulate a perfect answer. But, before she could say anything, Sarah Lindsay returned with a steaming mug of tea.
"I hope it's all right. I'm not used to making hot tea," she apologized. Isabelle took a small sip.
"It's fabulous," she said, much to the other girl's relief.
"Are you ok? Please tell me you're well enough to come to Thanksgiving dinner," Sarah Lindsay begged.
Groaning, Isabelle pulled the duvet cover over her head. She'd completely forgotten that Americans celebrate Thanksgiving today, a silly holiday in her opinion. For years, Jake and his father had eaten dinner with the Spence family. This year, Sarah Lindsay was to join them and twisted Isabelle's arm until she agreed to tag along with Severus.
Isabelle faked a really convincing cough. "I think I'm," cough, "coming down with," cough, "something."
"Yeah, right. Come on, please come with me?" Sarah Lindsay pleaded. "I've never been to a real, family sit-down Thanksgiving dinner before, and I'm really nervous. I don't even know what to wear."
"Thomas would be happy with a burlap sack. Don't worry about it," she replied from underneath the duvet.
"Is this about Phillip?"
"Oh, yeah. He's a Spence, isn't he?" she said innocently. Sarah Lindsay pried the cover away from Isabelle's face, as Severus tried not to laugh. He'd never seen such a tenacious teenager.
That girl has pluck, he thought approvingly, glad that Isabelle had a good group of mates.
"Uh-huh. You can't avoid him forever," Sarah Lindsay pointed out. "You know he asks about you."
Isabelle sat straight up, flabbergasted. "He does? What does he say?"
"Nothing bad," she said mysteriously, walking out of the bedroom.
Severus decided that the Sorting Hat would surely Sort Sarah Lindsay Parker as a Slytherin. Curious, Isabelle jumped up and bounded after her friend, catching up with her as she began folding up the hideaway bed in the living room.
"What does Phillip say about me?" she asked anxiously.
"That you're--" she paused dramatically.
"Yes?" She wrung her hands nervously.
Sarah Lindsay furrowed her brow. "Darn it, I forgot."
"You prat!" Isabelle smacked her with a pillow. "You bloody prat! See if I come with you this afternoon."
With that, she turned on her heel, marched back to her bedroom, and slammed the door. Severus and Sarah Lindsay both laughed; Isabelle could be such a drama queen sometimes.
-----
At exactly two o'clock in the afternoon, Isabelle found herself standing on the Spences' front stoop, with Sarah Lindsay on one side and Severus on the other to prevent her from bolting. Both tightened their grip on her arms when Phillip answered the door. His eyes met Isabelle's, and he stood there for a minute without saying anything. Brittany came to the door, reached past her brother, and opened the screen door to let the guests in.
"Hey!" she said excitedly. "Come on in. You can just toss your coats on the back of the sofa. Phillip, you've already met Sarah Lindsay, and this is Isabelle."
She knew that her friend was trying to smooth things over, but Isabelle couldn't deny the truth. "We've met. This is my brother Severus, who is just dropping me off. He has a hot date."
Severus couldn't believe she said that. "Well, with that, I'll say hello to your parents, Brittany, and be on my way."
"Right this way," Brittany said, leading Severus to the kitchen, with Sarah Lindsay in tow, leaving Isabelle and Phillip staring at each other wearily in the living room.
Not really knowing what to say, Isabelle chose to take her time to slowly remove her cloak, painstakingly place it on the armchair, and absorb her surroundings. The Spence home was a large rancher, sprawled over one and a half stories. The front door opened into a semi-formal, spotless living room which didn't look as if it was used much. The furniture showed surprisingly little wear, considering that two teenage boys grew up there.
She thought the house cozy, having herself lived her entire life until recently in one of the largest estates in all of Great Britain. However, Phillip took her silence as a criticism of his family's socioeconomic status. While his father was well respected in the community, the Spence family was far from wealthy, especially in comparison to what Isabelle was used to. He felt self-conscious, an unusual emotion for him.
"Uh, Isabelle," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "about the party at the beginning of the year."
"Don't. It was my fault, and we both know it," she interrupted him, unable to meet his eyes. She saw him shake his head no through her peripheral vision, which made her feel a little better, although she didn't really know why.
"No, I think we're equally to blame. And I'm really sorry about the way things turned out; trust me, I never expected for my psycho ex-girlfriend to show up. I did try to find you..." his voice trailed off.
"I know. I didn't exactly want to be found," she admitted, grinding her toe into the linoleum square in front of the door. Phillip cast a furtive glance in the direction of the back of the house, and lowered his voice.
"Look, I respect that you don't want anything to do with me. But, if you ever feel differently about it – that is, I'd like to get to know you better. Even as a friend. I really care about you, Isabelle. No matter what, please don't not come around because of me." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You're really important to my sister. I'd do anything for Brittany. If the only way you can be friends with her is for me to stay away, just say the word and I'll never bother you again. Is, uh, is that what you want?"
Isabelle's eyes clouded over. Honestly, she had no idea what she really, truly wanted. The one thing she did know is that there's really no way to avoid Phillip Spence, and that he's not the demon that she mentally made him out to be. So, she considered her options very carefully before replying with the single word, "No."
He fought a grin, and felt about twenty pounds lighter. "So, what do you want?"
"I don't know," she sighed, rubbing her eyes with weary fingers. "Everything happened so fast with us, and I'm not the type of girl who does that sort of thing. I mean, I barely know you, and we...anyway, I think I should take some more time off from dating."
"More time?" he asked before stopping himself. She nodded.
"I'm not exactly a saint, and I was moving a little – ok, a lot – fast for someone my age a couple of years ago. My sister talked me into slowing down, taking time to figure myself out. And by the time I was ready to try dating again, some bad stuff happened, so I wasn't in any shape for a relationship, then you happened, and--"
Phillip boldly put his hands on her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "Hey, I understand. I meant what I said earlier about wanting to be friends, nothing more. Well, that's a lie, but I'll live with nothing more. No pressure, I swear."
"You swear on what?" She raised an eyebrow.
"I swear on my Trans Am that I'll only ask you out once a week, and maybe flirt with you every other minute instead of constantly. Love potions only a few times a month, possibly subliminal messages every now and then. Hey!" he protested, as she playfully shoved him.
"You insufferable prat," she huffed. "I was serious, and you're swearing on a car."
Now it was Phillip's turn to be injured. "It's not just a car, thank you very much. It's a limited edition 1977 Pontiac Trans Am, not that I expect you to know the difference between a Trans Am and a Buick."
Isabelle casually raised an eyebrow. "You're probably right. I am just a girl, after all. But, considering that the engine put in the 1977 Trans Am is quite similar to the one General Motors designed for the Buick, forgive my confusion."
"No, forgive me." His eyes were crystalline blue saucers. "I assumed, you being foreign and all, that you wouldn't know anything about our way of life. And, you know, the girl thing."
"Never assume with me, Mr. Spence. Since we're 'just friends' and everything, here's a little Isabelle trivia. I love foreign cars, especially anything by GM, although I confess a certain fondness to the Corvette. I can't stand domestics, especially Aston Martins. Another thing I can't stand is a man who thinks that girls are mechanically challenged, because I am not."
With that, she breezed by him and tossed her hair triumphantly. However, her victory was short lived because she had no idea where to go to find her friends. Isabelle turned back around slowly, and rather enjoyed the stunned look on Phillip's face. He was partially in awe of her knowledge of cars, and partially amused that she called American vehicles "foreign".
"So, where'd everyone disappear to?" she asked evenly, trying not to notice how cute he was, in a preppy soccer boy sort of way.
"This way, my lady."
He affected a deep bow, before leading her into a small dining room off the right side of the living room. The table was festively set, with a beautiful centerpiece of deep brown taper candles surrounded by a ring of bright harvest leaves. They walked around the table and through an open door at the back of the room, which led into a bright, sunny kitchen.
Isabelle did a double take. Sarah Lindsay was standing on her head in the middle of the floor with Thomas hovering nearby with a stopwatch. Oblivious to the oddity of the situation, or perhaps immune, Brittany was reading a book at the kitchen table, pausing every few seconds to turn a page.
"I'm surrounded by crazy people," Phillip muttered, crossing the room.
He charmed the oven light on, and peered inside to check the turkey. Distracted by Sarah Lindsay's gymnastics, it took a minute for Isabelle to realize that he was cooking. Intrigued, she intently watched him, unknowing that everyone else was staring at Isabelle watching Phillip cook because they knew the pair's history. Or part of it, anyway. For his part, Phillip showboated when he could, desperately trying to impress Isabelle.
"Um, how do you know how to cook?" Isabelle asked hesitatingly.
"Yeah, Phillip, how'd you learn to cook?" Thomas repeated snidely, leaning on the kitchen counter. Phillip turned around and gave his younger brother a dirty look.
"Well, Isabelle," he emphasized the last word, "like my other siblings, I went to Spotswood my whole life. That is, until ninth grade and I decided to transfer to Jamestown because I could play soccer there."
"Why do you play football instead of Quidditch?" Isabelle interrupted him with a puzzled frown. All wizarding children played Quidditch. It was like a rule, or something.
Phillip was thrilled with the attention she was paying him, and was all too eager to answer. So far, today was turning out even better than he planned. "I used to play when I was a kid, but then I got a really bad injury when I was about five or so. Anyway, Mom wouldn't let me fly after that; said I was too reckless. So, she signed me up for Muggle soccer instead, I loved it, and the rest is history."
"You should see him play," Sarah Lindsay said, her face completely red from being in a handstand for so long. "He was All-State all four years of high school. We used to call him poetry in motion."
"I'm not as good as all that," Phillip drawled embarrassingly.
"Who's we?" Thomas grumped, put out that his new girlfriend used to drool over his brother. The petite blonde gave him a reassuring stare from the floor before answering.
"The cheerleading squad. Can we help it if Spence men are irresistible? You are quite a fine looking pair, although I think that one over there's a bit too much of a brooder for my taste. I dunno...some girls do find that mysterious brooding thing sexy..." She winked at Isabelle, who childishly stuck out her tongue in response. "As for me, I like to have fun."
"I'm fun," Phillip protested, his face falling into his classic wounded pout while Thomas grinned from ear to ear. Never before had any girl preferred him to his older brother.
"Sure you are," Brittany called out in a patronizing tone of voice.
"He is fun," Isabelle defended him, remembering the Christmas party in London during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Too late, she realized that the other people assumed she meant their rendevous earlier in the fall. So, she quickly changed the subject. "You never did say how you learned to cook."