Disclaimer: the characters don't belong to me, they belong to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 13 Bumblebee
'Are you alright?' the woman asked her. Spica could now see her bubblegum pink hair. It was a sickening site for her eyes.
'Yes' they replied, not really paying attention to the people, paying more attention to the energies emanating from the ground.
'Well, you're not supposed to...' she said in a tone that bothered them both.
'What?' they both turned glaring at her.
'Well, your parents just died, murdered to be exact, and you have nothing better to do than talk about how messy your room was.' she sounded scared, as though supremely worried for them both.
'Look bubble head, it's not our fault we're not hysterical, understood?' Charon's tone contradicted her sentence, but her eyes and posture were not threatening...yet.
'Nymphadora, I'll take on from here.' A deep voice from behind them boomed.
Both the girls turned to face the man. He was a tall man, very old, if one could believe the white beard and hair. He looked at them over the top of his half moon spectacles. His eyes were blue and the fire gave them an odd twinkle. He looked ancient yet he did not seem senile.
'Suppose you're Bumblebee, or what ever your name is.' Spice was getting bored of all these people intruding in her life and thoughts. This wizard was actually trying Legilimency on her. Fool, she scoffed. He actually thought he could penetrate her mind.
'I am Albus Dumbledore.' He gave her half a smile, though his eyes did not change their expression. For several seconds the man kept gazing in Charon's eyes. She knew what he was doing. He was using Legilimency, trying to read her mind. But it was practically impossible to read her. Not even the most skilled wizard could understand how her mind worked.
'Miss Grey, I have come here to take you and your sister to a safer place.' His expression was grave, showing how concerned he was. Although the girls were asking themselves if the cause wasn't the proximity between their house and that of the Dursleys, the house in which Harry Potter lived.
'Hard to believe there's a place safer than this.' She muttered under her breath, but followed the old mage nevertheless.
The man picked up a bottle from the damp grass and uttered a spell on it. 'Take this, I'll be there in a moment, wait for me.'
Both sisters touched it together, knowing it was a portkey. They weren't overly accustomed to them, as it wasn't the way most American witches travel. It was pretty rough, but not nearly as rough as using a floo, at least from the reports they'd received.
After the dizziness passed away and they were able to open their eyes, they were amazed at their surroundings. It was a large circular office, with portraits of sleeping wizards, with heads lolling back and forth. It was full of delicate silver instruments, puffing and whirring on spindle-legged tables. Near the door a magnificent red and gold bird, the size of a turkey, stood on its perch eying the two girls.
'Wow, a phoenix, this is wicked.' Spica said. She then started talking to it in a melodious language that if she would have tried to understand she was sure she could.
While her sister kept inspecting Dumbledore's office, often questioning one of the pictures that seemed to have wakened up from all the commotion, Charon took seat near the window where she could look out and see the Quidditch pitch in the light of the moon. It was the waxing moon that held her attention. It had a blood red hallo around it, a true sign of tragedy.
She curled up tighter, bringing her feet under hers. It wasn't because of cold, although she had to admit it was a lot chillier here than in Surrey. She sat there gazing at the grounds. She was sure this had to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had read so much about this place in Hogwarts, a History that she could not mistake it for anything else. A long, long time ago her ancestors had learned here, some of them had even taught here.
A noise from behind made her turn around. Her sister had somehow smashed one of the strange silvery contraptions decorating the office. She wasn't sure if it was out of clumsiness or on purpose. Charon did not have time to ponder on this as one of the pictures on the wall caught her attention. One of the figures was distinctly familiar to her. Phineas Nigelus. She had seen the same picture of his adorning the walls of her aunt's house.
So she was right. This confirmation did not change her state in any way. She still had to remind herself that this was real. She had dreamed of this day so many times that she could not distinguish now between what was happening and what she knew from her dreams. She had grown used to her prophetic dreams. She had, after all, grown up with them. It was just that usually the tragedies she witnessed were distant things that had nothing to do with her. But this time, as she kept repeating this to herself, mom would not come to her in the morning and tell her it had been just a dream. Although both of them had the gift they still did not like to address them as being more than dreams.
She had known of this. Her mother had known all along they were coming after her and she had done nothing to stop them. So why did she have to feel so guilty for not doing something. She could not do something, Charon reminded herself. She was not allowed to do anything. It had all been a prophecy and one could not reveal the future, one could not change it. The future was there for it to happen and no matter what Spica would say, there was no one with the power to change what has been written for people. Charon's eyes closed. It was late and all the commotion had tired her. She would love nothing more than to curl up in her bed. Then it hit her. She did not have a bed anymore. She did not have a house anymore. And the worst of it, she did not have parents anymore.
She could not understand why it seemed almost as a surprise to her.
Charon looked again at her sister who was still talking to the phoenix. Talking didn't quite describe it, it more like they were singing a duet. Spica was taking it all a lot better than she was. She knew they were not supposed to feel anything and yet she could not stop herself. For probably the first time in her life she wished she could cry like everybody else. For a second she wished she was human. But she wasn't, she was a witch, and not in the normal way like all Hogwarts students thought about themselves, but in the I'm-curse-to-have-a-heart-of-stone, no ability to love and incapable of crying or blushing for the matter.
A.N. I got this idea from a movie I saw some time ago. Witches could not cry, or blush, they were practically incapable of feeling extreme emotions, and they could also have cats and could command them to do things like spying on people by humming to them.
Thank you for your reviews, I appreciate them greatly. And thanks for all your support guys. (well more like girls, but never mind.)
Chapter 13 Bumblebee
'Are you alright?' the woman asked her. Spica could now see her bubblegum pink hair. It was a sickening site for her eyes.
'Yes' they replied, not really paying attention to the people, paying more attention to the energies emanating from the ground.
'Well, you're not supposed to...' she said in a tone that bothered them both.
'What?' they both turned glaring at her.
'Well, your parents just died, murdered to be exact, and you have nothing better to do than talk about how messy your room was.' she sounded scared, as though supremely worried for them both.
'Look bubble head, it's not our fault we're not hysterical, understood?' Charon's tone contradicted her sentence, but her eyes and posture were not threatening...yet.
'Nymphadora, I'll take on from here.' A deep voice from behind them boomed.
Both the girls turned to face the man. He was a tall man, very old, if one could believe the white beard and hair. He looked at them over the top of his half moon spectacles. His eyes were blue and the fire gave them an odd twinkle. He looked ancient yet he did not seem senile.
'Suppose you're Bumblebee, or what ever your name is.' Spice was getting bored of all these people intruding in her life and thoughts. This wizard was actually trying Legilimency on her. Fool, she scoffed. He actually thought he could penetrate her mind.
'I am Albus Dumbledore.' He gave her half a smile, though his eyes did not change their expression. For several seconds the man kept gazing in Charon's eyes. She knew what he was doing. He was using Legilimency, trying to read her mind. But it was practically impossible to read her. Not even the most skilled wizard could understand how her mind worked.
'Miss Grey, I have come here to take you and your sister to a safer place.' His expression was grave, showing how concerned he was. Although the girls were asking themselves if the cause wasn't the proximity between their house and that of the Dursleys, the house in which Harry Potter lived.
'Hard to believe there's a place safer than this.' She muttered under her breath, but followed the old mage nevertheless.
The man picked up a bottle from the damp grass and uttered a spell on it. 'Take this, I'll be there in a moment, wait for me.'
Both sisters touched it together, knowing it was a portkey. They weren't overly accustomed to them, as it wasn't the way most American witches travel. It was pretty rough, but not nearly as rough as using a floo, at least from the reports they'd received.
After the dizziness passed away and they were able to open their eyes, they were amazed at their surroundings. It was a large circular office, with portraits of sleeping wizards, with heads lolling back and forth. It was full of delicate silver instruments, puffing and whirring on spindle-legged tables. Near the door a magnificent red and gold bird, the size of a turkey, stood on its perch eying the two girls.
'Wow, a phoenix, this is wicked.' Spica said. She then started talking to it in a melodious language that if she would have tried to understand she was sure she could.
While her sister kept inspecting Dumbledore's office, often questioning one of the pictures that seemed to have wakened up from all the commotion, Charon took seat near the window where she could look out and see the Quidditch pitch in the light of the moon. It was the waxing moon that held her attention. It had a blood red hallo around it, a true sign of tragedy.
She curled up tighter, bringing her feet under hers. It wasn't because of cold, although she had to admit it was a lot chillier here than in Surrey. She sat there gazing at the grounds. She was sure this had to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had read so much about this place in Hogwarts, a History that she could not mistake it for anything else. A long, long time ago her ancestors had learned here, some of them had even taught here.
A noise from behind made her turn around. Her sister had somehow smashed one of the strange silvery contraptions decorating the office. She wasn't sure if it was out of clumsiness or on purpose. Charon did not have time to ponder on this as one of the pictures on the wall caught her attention. One of the figures was distinctly familiar to her. Phineas Nigelus. She had seen the same picture of his adorning the walls of her aunt's house.
So she was right. This confirmation did not change her state in any way. She still had to remind herself that this was real. She had dreamed of this day so many times that she could not distinguish now between what was happening and what she knew from her dreams. She had grown used to her prophetic dreams. She had, after all, grown up with them. It was just that usually the tragedies she witnessed were distant things that had nothing to do with her. But this time, as she kept repeating this to herself, mom would not come to her in the morning and tell her it had been just a dream. Although both of them had the gift they still did not like to address them as being more than dreams.
She had known of this. Her mother had known all along they were coming after her and she had done nothing to stop them. So why did she have to feel so guilty for not doing something. She could not do something, Charon reminded herself. She was not allowed to do anything. It had all been a prophecy and one could not reveal the future, one could not change it. The future was there for it to happen and no matter what Spica would say, there was no one with the power to change what has been written for people. Charon's eyes closed. It was late and all the commotion had tired her. She would love nothing more than to curl up in her bed. Then it hit her. She did not have a bed anymore. She did not have a house anymore. And the worst of it, she did not have parents anymore.
She could not understand why it seemed almost as a surprise to her.
Charon looked again at her sister who was still talking to the phoenix. Talking didn't quite describe it, it more like they were singing a duet. Spica was taking it all a lot better than she was. She knew they were not supposed to feel anything and yet she could not stop herself. For probably the first time in her life she wished she could cry like everybody else. For a second she wished she was human. But she wasn't, she was a witch, and not in the normal way like all Hogwarts students thought about themselves, but in the I'm-curse-to-have-a-heart-of-stone, no ability to love and incapable of crying or blushing for the matter.
A.N. I got this idea from a movie I saw some time ago. Witches could not cry, or blush, they were practically incapable of feeling extreme emotions, and they could also have cats and could command them to do things like spying on people by humming to them.
Thank you for your reviews, I appreciate them greatly. And thanks for all your support guys. (well more like girls, but never mind.)
