Chapter 16

Summer

Hogwarts shrank out of sight, and Perce was left to stare at the emptiness of the bright sky. The Hogwarts Express poured out smoke as it journeyed on, smoothly in the still morning air. He allowed his mind to slip out of his control and slither through the memories of the entire year that had passed. True, most of it had revolved around the grand Hogwarts library, but on no occasion could he forget the fantastic feasts or the vast grounds, or even the lessons — his unpopular opinion. His mind wandered... What would his mother have said? What letters would he have received if she was alive?

He stopped the train of thought there. All year long he was determined not to dwell on the past. What could he do, cry? It was a vicious cycle. He had decided that he would work only on what was to be done. Grief was a waste of time. The future, and magic — this was where his interests lay. If there was something he could do, then, and only then, was it worth attention...

He believed that it had been a year full of magic... He smiled inwardly at the silly pun. It seemed extremely ridiculous to still be used, yet he reserved it for conversations with himself. Magic always caused his mind to drool with desperation. Ambition sprouted its wings in his heart, and a sense of immense energy filled him. Fame and power, like the great Albus Dumbledore... It was enough to make any true Slytherin jump with eagerness. Yet, of course, there were some other people. He glanced around to see Subash and sighed softly. Perce thought he lacked ambition. But he was a good friend. A great friend. He was, above all, trustworthy.

He could sense that the time had arrived when the suggestion to play Exploding Snap would rise from someone's lips. And he was proven right two minutes later. Inwardly grinning, he allowed himself to be engaged in the game. And he won easily, owing to his comparatively speedy reflexes. He was thankful for not having to deal with a chess set and the annoying pieces. It was a game he was most clumsy at. Subash had dropped into fits of laughter during the first game he had played with Perce, when the latter was being bullied by the pieces, leaving him confused and making blunders.

Always, as one begins to satisfy oneself in a moment of joy, time exercises its nasty habit and decides to speed up. Subash gave an exclamation of annoyance as the train began to slow down, announcing their arrival at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, just as the group was about to begin another game. Perce was especially annoyed.

"We've arrived. It was the best round yet!"

"Best, surely, since you were winning again? I should've taken out my chess set..." said Subash.

He received a scowl. Roger chuckled, rising from his seat.

Like any child, Perce felt joy bubbling when he saw his father waiting on the platform, talking to another wizard. He grinned widely to himself, and helped his luggage descend from the racks. This involved some stepping-on-feet and cursing, since everyone attempted to do it at the same time.

"Have a good summer," Subash said to Susane, who smiled and waved, leaving the compartment after bidding the other two farewells.

"Bye," said Perce. He smiled at both of them. "I'll write to you about the books I find."

Roger and Subash grimaced. Just then, Drake was passing by their compartment, engaged in a conversation with Jake Elladore. They neither spoke to nor looked at them. Deftly, Perce distracted Subash by motioning them out.

As they alighted from the Hogwarts Express, warm smiles and quick 'bye's were exchanged between them. Then, Perce turned to see his father's smiling face. It always brought the sense of comfort, seeing the familiar brown hair, brilliant blue eyes, and the warm smile.

"Hello," he said. "And how are you?"

"Hi, dad."

And he shared a pleasant hug.

Before he could respond to his question, however, he gasped in surprise, as he felt he was being squeezed into a narrow tube, which insisted on pushing his eyes and eardrums deeper and his chest narrower. It was an outright unpleasant experience, and Perce held on to his father for dear life.

"Why — would you — do that!" He said, punching his father during the gaps of his speech, where he gasped for air. Mr. Jordan chuckled.

"Oh come on, the last time I did that was three years ago. Don't mind so much now. I missed you," he said.

Perce awkwardly looked at his father. The ideal situation was where the little boy would express how deeply he had missed his father, which would have led to a state of great emotion. It may have also included a small motivational speech, where the older, experienced man would explain how he would not always be there, and how his son must learn to be independent, and not be trapped in a lot of emotions, and so on. Perce's fertile imagination also showed him the possibility of tears being shed, and, as an irregular addition, the little elf playing a melancholy note behind them. This abrupt declaration without any emotion left him unable to respond.

He rolled his eyes.

"I would've said the same before you Disapparated without warning me."

"Master is back?" said a small, joyful voice.

"Yes, Toby, and Master is very hungry. Can Master have something to eat?"

Slightly perplexed by this adoption of an elf's language, Toby bowed, and left, deciding wrongly that it wasn't mockery.

"So, little Slytherin," said Mr. Jordan, relaxing on an armchair.

"Yes, large Ravenclaw?" retorted Perce, levitating his trunk up the stairs.

Mr. Jordan gave an indignant glance.

"I'm not large —"

Perce sighed and went upstairs to his room. He would talk to his father later. A warm feeling of nostalgia overtook him as he entered his room. The image of the snake, magically imprinted on the wall, rose and fell, as though in a greeting, and he was surrounded by the soothing green-coloured walls.

"Welcome back!" he muttered.

He heard the door open, and the little elf entered, carrying a large tray. He relieved Toby of the burden, and dismissed him. And then he sat down, ready to attack his meal, enjoying the luxuries of home...

Perce Jordan had spent a relaxed, nonchalant summer. Though not with as much satisfaction as in the Hogwarts library, he spent, naturally, hours in the library of Number Nine, Gardiners Lane, Crays Hill — better known as the Jordans' Mansion. He had reminded his father multiple times of the nature of the Hogwarts library, comparing it ruthlessly with this "pile of mediocre works". He had received a flick of Mr. Jordan's wand, preventing him from speaking for the following two hours. Justin Jordan, after all a Ravenclaw, prided himself on his collection of books. Nobody insults a Ravenclaw's taste in books, he had meant to say.

Tarfen Filster had greeted Perce all the more joyfully, presenting him with a set of Wizarding Chess. Inwardly blanching, he had thanked the elderly wizard graciously.

The incidents of the school year had been narrated again for the benefit of Mr. Filster, as Perce had already described the event to his father. Mr. Filster had looked a shade thoughtful, if not downright suspicious. Perce had been forced to believe that the older wizard had probably a vast imagination, having seen the most iconic cases of his time. Though the ex-Auror had an extremely friendly nature, Perce was inclined to think that Mr. Filster may find even his own teeth suspicious if they bit his tongue.

As the days had passed, Perce had begun loathing the chess set more. Mr. Jordan had seemed to be very well equipped with tactics in the game, and had always seemed in the best spirits while carefully persuading the 'little Slytherin' to play with him. He decided that the proceedings of these games he would never share with Subash or Roger in his letters. It had been Perce's turn to have a laugh when a piece had, by some mysterious way, been concealed in Mr. Jordan's morning soup. The result had been the near toppling of the entire bowl of soup.

On one Sunday, Perce had announced that he fancied a walk down the lane, and it had been made mandatory that Mr. Jordan should follow. With a deep sigh, yet with a faint twinkle in his eyes, his father had picked up his wand, and had assumed a Muggle look. With a finely ironed coat, polished shoes, the perfect hat and a mock cigar, for the finishing touch, he had stepped out. Perce had frowned at this ridiculous appearance.

"Must you really —"

"Yes, I must." His father had smiled. "This is a Muggle area, and I enjoy my position here, let me be."

Perce had given an exasperated sigh. Muttering something like 'Muggles', he had walked out towards the gate. Just as they had stepped out of the mansion's entrance, the young wizard had let out a groan. Mr. Jordan had frowned then looked around. He had chuckled softly.

"Dear Minnie."

"For Merlin's sake..." Perce had muttered. He had been quickly motioned to remain silent.

"Justin! Dear Justin!" Minalda Carl had said. "I thought you'd've grown fat during the year! Son away an' all that!" And she had cackled at her own humour. Perce, however, had found that what she had said had no logic.

"We should be healthy after all, Minnie. What've you been up to lately?"

"I should be askin' that to you, old horse! But you keep your secrets, doncha?"

Mr. Jordan had merely chuckled, and asked her whether she was heading anywhere in particular.

"Now you wanna get rid of me, do ya? Do' worry, I'll be o' my way. Good luck, son!" She had said, giving a rough ruffle to Perce's hair, and she had walked past them.

Mr. Jordan had given a deep sigh, and motioned Perce to walk ahead. The latter had first straightened his hair, then gave his father a look of indignation, and had walked on. Father and son had engaged in conversation regarding many aspects — the Ministry, laws (since that was what Mr. Jordan primarily dealt with), and Hogwarts (which had been bound to come up, owing to Perce). As they had been walking, many of Mr. Jordan's acquaintances had crossed their path, exchanging warm greetings. Perce had noticed the figure of Charles, one of the boys in the neighbourhood. Charles had given the two of them suspicious looks. Then he seemed to have recognised somebody, and the next moment he had been gone, running like a blind ostrich.

Mr. Jordan had frowned, and looked at Perce, who had an identical frown. The both of them had burst into laughter a minute later, walking in a Brownian fashion. It had taken a lot of time for the two wizards to calm down. Perce had been reminded by his father of the time when he had discovered Charles in a bush, trying to spy on him. And he had told him always to first check for Muggles around — with the simple 'homenum revelio'.

It had been then that they had unknowingly arrived at the cottage of the Filsters. Perce had had a wide smile, and he had managed to convince his father to spend the evening there. He had been right when he had said that Mrs. Filster would be delighted.

Other than that particular day, and a few others, the routine had been simple. Mr. Jordan would head to the Ministry, Disapparating after walking a certain distance to give the impression of a travel. And the entire day Perce would either spend in the library, with his wand at his side, or at the Filsters' cottage, learning about the many pursuits of the once great Auror.

Frequently, Perce had been receiving letters. Subash, he learnt, had convinced his parents to buy a new broomstick. Perce had wrinkled his nose, thinking of the amount of books one could buy with that money. He had often thought about Jake, and how he might be doing. He had received not a single letter from him.

Roger had made a trip to Sweden. Perce had raised his eyebrows in surprise when he had seen the photo of his friend with two other people (whom he had assumed to be Roger's parents), smiling and waving, and standing in front of a breathtaking scene. That small photo in itself had pure white mountains, studded with the dark green of trees, and a perfectly still lake.

But just then, summer was coming to an end.

"Percy!" called Justin Jordan on a Saturday evening.

"Don't you call me that!" came a muffled but outraged voice from the upper floor.

Mr. Jordan chuckled. "Come down here."

It took a few lazy minutes for Perce, who was on the verge of rolling his eyes, to present himself.

"We've an invitation for a small gathering at William's place — you know William?"

Perce replied in the negative.

"Oh, William is an old friend of mine. We used to be really close, but well, we haven't spoken much since your mother died. Anyway, he's hosting tomorrow. And I'd like you to come with me. He works at the Department of Mysteries."

Perce whistled. "Cool, I'm coming," he said, and turned around abruptly.

"We leave in the morning tomorrow!" his father said, smiling in spite of himself.

Perce went upstairs to his room, and opened a drawer. In the drawer, was an assortment of the most random objects. A small, hollow, coloured wooden pipe, adorned with holes, lay next to a little red box. At one end was a row of glass phials, each one differing from the other in colour; a disc with odd, swirling spots; a colourful glove that looked out of place. During the entire summer he hadn't thought about his mother once, except in a stray thought. Somehow the careless way his father had mentioned her didn't allow him to feel easy. He took out the wooden pipe, and brought it to his lips, and blew slowly. A soft, beautiful and melancholy music erupted out of it.

It was an invention of his mother's — based on a Muggle instrument, a flute. It would produce music related to the emotions of the bearer. Perce placed it back. It was irrational, the sadness, whenever he thought about Meta Jordan. Probably it wasn't — she had the rare force of personality, the motivation which she radiated, and a relentless determination. Even though he was at the tender age of five, he could grasp every word she had said to him. And none of those were meaningless. They had come from a person of vision, focus, and inspiration.

He had grown up without a mother. And Meta was no ordinary witch — the effect she had on Perce was seen even after all these years, and would always be seen. His immense ambition and energy was the proof.

He let out a groan of irritation. There was no point. She was dead, gone. And nobody would understand what she meant to him. Especially after the Ministry —

There was a knock on the door. And the door opened. Mr. Jordan entered, with a smile. Perce knew the reason behind the smile, and he smiled back. His father muttered a soft 'Good night', and closed the door again