Lost and Found

It was a few months later that Dumbledore was finally able to catch Sakhmet and make her agree to meet her father. When asked why she didn't want to meet Sirius, she answered, "You see, Luke Skywalker didn't have a father either. He grew up to be a great guy, but when he finally did meet his dad, it turned out to be Darth Vader, the majorly icky big bad guy. And then Darth Vader cut off his arm." Although Albus Dumbledore didn't quite understand this, not being very well acquainted with Muggle television, he understood her point slightly.

And as she stood in the entranceway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Sakhmet couldn't help but feel that she had been right. After wondering what kind of druggy would live in a dump like that, she turned her attention to the portrait that had begun welcoming its granddaughter to her home.

"-And I certainly hope you won't be as much of a failure as that father of yours. He's a complete imbecile, the fruit of my womb that rotted."

After looking over the old woman in the portrait, Sakhmet decided that she'd probably like her father more than his mother did, although she doubted that would be much of an accomplishment. But just to make the old woman happy . . .

"YO POPS!" The woman in the portrait stared open-mouthed at her. The girl winked and grinned before continuing. "YOU DEAD OR SOMETHING!"

"My fondest wish," muttered the mother of the man in question.

At that a man's head appeared in a doorway up the stairs. The head was followed by a body that slowly walked down the stairs before staring in silence at the floor.

"Hello, I'm Sakhmet." She hadn't expected a Kodak moment. She hadn't even expected him to show up. But she had hoped that at least he wouldn't be a chicken. "I was just having a lovely conversation with your mother."

"Was that where you learned to yell like that?" the man asked, raising his head from the floor.

"No, I'm thirteen. I've known how to yell for most of my life."

"So I guess it's hereditary."

Sakhmet made a face at her father. "You don't look much like me. Think the old fart made it up?"

"The 'old fart'," said Albus Dumbledore from behind her, "would prefer it if his facts were not questioned."

"Does he always talk about himself in the third person?" Sakhmet asked her father.

"No, he usually doesn't mention himself at all," he answered with a smile. "I think he prefers to deal with other people's problems."

"So he's nosy too? And I thought that there weren't wizard social workers."

The old man chuckled. "And you also thought you'd hate each other."

At that father and daughter looked at each other. "So who's mom?"

"Well, you see-"

"You don't know."

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly or not at all?"

"Well, you see-"

Sakhmet didn't see. Nor did she care to. At that particular moment, her actions were caused partially by the old man's point and partially by the fact that her dad was probably a playboy. Not even the psychiatrists I have consulted in the writing of these events are quite sure what was going through her head at that particular moment. What we do know is that Sakhmet walked up to her father and kicked him in the knee before marching out the door and down the street where she turned left and continued walking.