East of the Border
(Frozen heart)
When mother fell too deeply into the darkness, after giving up Alice, I had to raise myself. I was aware that my grades in school were the only things keeping my afloat. I worked relentlessly on them. My hours became divided between studying at home and lingering in the library. I kept in contact with Remus. He became my one beacon of support and friendship.
Each time he visited, he told me of his friends. He told me how they could turn into animals to keep him company. How one chose to be a dog just to give him comfort. At these times I hid my jealousy and bitterness well. I didn't want to steal his good fortune. Life was hard, I thought. That's how it was supposed to be.
We fell apart when I went to college. I wanted to become a doctor, a veterinarian. I even received a scholarship from the United States. I didn't accept. It would involve traveling on a plane during one of my bad days. I declined, sadly. I put my mother into a psychiatric ward. She was tended to. Everything seemed bittersweet. I worked through college, lived, and I wept when the letter from Remus told me of the wizard war I had all but forgotten.
Yes, as odd as it is, save for once a month I forgot I had been born to magic blood. I became immersed into the regular world, the world of medicine. Dominique slipped into the back of my mind, staying the stubborn wizard. Mother didn't contact me. I think she doesn't know who I am, or who she is for that matter.
Each letter I received woke me from my dream. Each full moon I slunk into a nightmare. Then everything returned to normal.
I treated animals I had some vague connection with. Remus told me of you and Harry. I made myself a living. I didn't marry. I didn't look for Alice, never again.
Once I did try to. I went out during my first year of college. I drove around town. I found a building that I thought for certain was Alice's. I knocked on the door. A woman who didn't speak English and had the build of cardboard kicked me out. That was the end of that.
I let go of my past. I became antisocial. I knew only the animals I tended. Their owners were shadows I sometimes interacted with.
I made enough to make this house and to hire a host of unfortunates. In hope of a better life for someone else, so they don't have to go through what I did.
And now I'm here.
Hermione stared at him in confusion. That wasn't the whole story. The finality of his tone and the shadow passing over his gaze didn't mend the gap that had opened up in his life.
Arthur noticed. "Let me take you to one of my smaller libraries. I relented showing you before because I knew you would devour it all."
Hermione flushed. "I probably read all that's in there." She muttered.
Arthur did not reply.
He led her back through the winding road. The man who had tended the garden was now gone. The servant who eyed him, too, was gone. Hermione and Arthur exchanged looks. Arthur shook his head.
"The gardner has a lover elsewhere."
"Oh."
They went into a different room on the opposite side of the house. Arthur's heels clicked against the floor. In the kitchen a single, plump cook bustled. Her rosy face turned to him, smiling. Arthur nodded at her.
"Will you stay for dinner?" he asked Hermione loudly.
"No, I couldn't." Hermione retorted quickly, her eyes wide.
Arthur shook his head at the cook who appeared dismayed, but returned to her cooking. As they walked, Hermione realized that the house seemed much bigger than it really was. It was an average town home, save for the rather large garden. She figured that Arthur's presence and the two maids, gardener, cook, and manservant gave it a flare that inflated the walls, making them bigger on the inside.
The room at the end of the hall was devoid of everything but shelves and shelves of books. Next to the shelves there were piles, mountains of them. Every language Hermione knew was spilled on the papers. Stacks of handwritten notes flourished in one corner. Encyclopedias were lined in another. Medical books, for both human and animal, took up a majority of one of the mahogany shelves. Hermione felt her jaw drop and her heart beat quicken.
She recognized a few of the titles in the fiction title. Most she didn't know. She saw books she had heard of, muggle and wizard alike, and she saw books that she had never laid eyes on. She saw a book titled Anno Domine and Mine Too. By a Quibbling Writer Man — the actual pen name the writer used. She saw a tattered copy of a book called Elixir of Werewolves and Why Their Teeth Hold Celestial Bewilderment. What book caught her eyes most was a hefty, leather-bound volume sitting on top of a pile of similarly clothed books.
Its pages leaked out of one corner. For the most part, it was intact. The title said How I Found the Time I Once Lost.
She looked at Arthur imploringly. She didn't know why she wanted it, she simply did. Its cover drew her fingers closer. Already her thumb and forefinger were clamped around the binding.
"Take it if you want." Arthur said. "I'll give you time to explore this library soon enough."
She tucked it under her arm like a mouse might tuck a piece of food into its cheeks for safekeeping. "Thank you," She whispered excitedly.
Arthur took a new volume, the one she had found his name in not so long ago, and bade her to exit the room. She obliged reluctantly, gripping the book in her arms.
"Where did you find all these books?" She asked, breathless.
"I collected them. Remus sent me some. Some were in Dominique's collection, some in mother's. And a good many were presents. But what money I don't spend on living and maintaing this home goes into collecting literature. I adore writing." A wistful smile appeared.
Hermione already itched to crack this one open and read it. She peeked at the first page and consumed the first line, "The greatest misfortune that ever befell me was the inability to understand how deeply I can hurt another, but a great understanding of my own tortures." She hungered for more. Arthur was quiet. Her gaze flicked towards him, then on to one of the latter pages. There were over a thousand in the book total.
"'You could say that.'
"'I could.' I replied, unconscious of the creeping shadows covering his cheeks and the room around him. I wondered if you could eat darkness. I was a strange, creepy child I realized. The memories flushed back into my head—"
"Sit down. I will need a moment. Let me reread this." Arthur interrupted her. She shut the book and sat down on the soft beige couch. She set the book next to her. He chose the armchair, flipping the book open. He read through it, sighing and giving her time to read through a few pages.
Notable figure No. 5: Image 78 [Arthur read] involves the young man Arthur Kirkland in his prime. Here he is depicted in his non-werewolf form. He lives outside of magical London and trains to be a veterinarian. He does not show any signs of possessing lasting magic. For a reason, left a controversial mystery, he was not accepted into Hogwarts school of wizardry. When the headmaster there is questioned, he denies having rejected the young man and insists that he was blocked by powerful magic.
Previous Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, is quoted having said: "I remember once hearing rumors about him. It was well known that he was a wizard and that he had contact with one of the students here. His mother was a top student in Slytherin and is known for having been disowned by her family. A tragedy, whenever blood denies blood over trite matters . . . Otherwise, I don't see why he wasn't accepted. His recent feat shows that he has more than enough magic going around! Although, he is wrapped in mystery."
The feat Dumbledore references is the duel between twenty-two year old Kirkland, attended muggle university for medicine, and another notable werewolf named Finnegan Rust. Rust sported a thick red scar across his face and lacked most of his lower jaw. He was described by his sister, Amelia Rust, as "a stranger I sat with at dinner. His voice was watery and disgusting to hear. I don't worry much about appearances, but his personality was truly that of a wolf! He became such a danger that he was expelled from a wizarding school in Hungary."
Rust was reported to have had a violent temper and, by muggle psychologists, as a sociopath. He had nearly killed a student in his old school by dashing his head with "a claw he size of a rock" (the student in question described). Rust was attacked by his father, also a werewolf, at the age of six.
Kirkland, contrariwise, was said to have been born with it. An incident at his conception caused this. And, with a dose of powerful magic, he one the duel.
Onlookers all agree that Rust had assumed he had the upper hand. He wanted to fight Kirkland because Rust claimed that Kirkland had charmed his fiancée away. Kirkland is not married at the present (he remains living at the address located on page 1202 in the index). The fight had no purpose. But Kirkland did not refuse. Rust was eager to show off the wild ability he had to shift certain parts of his body back into he werewolf. How he did this is a grotesque, ancient spell that no one has been able to relocate.
Little did Rust know that Kirkland had another trick as well. One several hundred time more potent. Kirkland and Rust dueled and Kirkland "turned into a wolf! Right before my very eyes. I would have thought it was a magic trick, but we all know Kirkland's a bloody squib. Poor Finn, he didn't know how to react and in a moment he was trumped." One of Finnegan's closest friends tells us. He had a cut on his back and on his cheek, but otherwise he was fine. Kirkland showed a remarkable ability to manage his abilities.
After this he vanished for a year and he claims to have no memory of this when questioned. No explanation has yet been given…
"And now you came to uncover the mystery?" Arthur asked, snapping Hermione out of her reverie.
She shut the book, tucking its ribbon on to her page. She blinked at him in confusion, gathering her bearings. She saw the red book in his arms and nodded, straightening her stature.
"Yes." She said. "I thought that perhaps you could uncover a secret that wizards are missing. Maybe we could get rid of werewolves once and for all, with what you know. They could become powerful tools."
Arthur scowled. "You sound just like the minister." Just like that the calm sea turned into a rolling mass of gray and shards of pelting rain. Hermione shrunk. "He came up to me, told me those lies, and begged me to tell him what I knew. How I did it. Why. Where did I go?"
"I'm sorry," Hermione said quickly, her eyes tearing up.
"Damn him." Arthur shook his head. "I can't stand those pretentious bastards."
His eyes lingered on the grandfather clock in the corner. Its brass pendulum swung, its tear-drop end marly meeting the wooden edges. The song it gave was slow, ticking away time. Arthur shut his eyes and listened to it, soothing his rage. Hermione didn't dare speak or move. She was afraid she would ignite another flame. Her toes curled in her shoe, her fingers around her knees.
Finally, Arthur gave a long sigh. He turned to Hermione.
"Look at me hand."
She looked down.
His palm faced her. The creased, calloused, scarred, broken skin looked ancient. His nails were yellow. He must have smoked when he was younger. The tips of his thumb and forefinger were a silvery color. She regarded it, hoping to scrape up an answer and put together a viable response. She couldn't. So she looked on.
The scars sunk deeper into his palm, slowly. Leathery pads appeared instead of flesh. He rotated his arm, showing the bush of curled, gray fur growing around his wrist and down his knuckles. The rest of his arm remained human. Hermione gasped.
She looked at his pained eyes, which were tinged with yellow.
"Don't hurt yourself." She whispered.
His eyebrows rose. The yellow drained from his eyes and the fur shrunk, dried, and fell off in a climb on the floor. The leathery pads crumpled like dry skin, meeting the fur on the wooden floor. He would let the maid get rid of it.
"All my magic, it went here." He said simply.
Hermione nodded.
"I'm sorry for enraging you." She said.
"Don't be." His eyes tipped towards her. She saw something there. Something she couldn't quite name. "The truth is, Miss Granger, they don't really care about us. Minorities are minorities for a reason. Unimportant. Not just werewolves, but muggle-born, those with differently colored skin, those with different backgrounds. I've met boys in that school I went to, crazy smart and so kind hearted. What happened to them?"
Hermione curled her lower lip in. "They got what they deserved; peace?"
"Oh, Miss Granger, the world isn't that fair. They got kicked out. They didn't even bother applying to better colleges or schools because they wouldn't be let in. One look at their broken faces, scars, backgrounds, and they dropped them. For whatever reason."
"But you got in!" Hermione protested.
"I was lucky." Arthur said bitterly.
"But—But—why weren't you allowed into Hogwarts?" She continued, her eyes flaming. "The should have! Let me publish your story, tell me how you do it. Tell me so I can help the world. Tell me so I can rid the world of its poison and prejudice. Let me help! Oh if you weren't so vague."
Arthur huffed. "Get out of my house."
Hermione didn't move.
"I want to help."
"Leave!" Arthur jabbed his finger at the door.
"Why? So you can suffer?"
"You can't change the damn world." He snapped, his cheeks flushed. His eyes turned yellow again. Long claws crept where human nails should be. "YOU THINK YOU CAN WRITE A FEW WORDS AND FIX ALL THE WORLD'S PROBLEMS AND INJUSTICES? YOU WRETCHEDLY STUPID GIRL. GET OUT OF MY DAMN HOUSE!" He bellowed.
"No!" Hermione shouted back. "I'll find your sister for you!"
"Like hell you will." Arthur spat. "Leave my house now or I will never allow you entrance again. Get those silly ideas out of your head, girl. Leave me alone. I am unwell. Do you need me to make it any more clear?"
Hermione's guile fell away. Her shoulders slumped.
"Fine. But I'll come back." She stood, leaving the book behind, and traipsed out of the house. She flicked her wand. Her quill and paper flew to her hands. She took it and left the house, tears burning, and leaving behind an eery silence.
Arthur glowered at her wake.
"Stupid girl. Why did you give me hope?"
Two weeks later, Arthur was dead. Hermione received word of it through the mail. She found the parchment sitting on her windowsill, an ancient owl at the foot of it. She petted its head, taking the note, and offered it a treat. It nipped at her finger and flew away before she could. Beneath it was a package bound in thin yellow paper.
She opened the letter. At once, tears began to fall. Once she finished reading it, she regretted having so little time to find his sister. She had dug through all of magical London for the name Alice Kirkland, and came up dry. Another mystery.
The letter was a will. Arthur had given her all the contents of his library and full permission to use his life in her book. With the letter came a small, compact envelope. She chose to open the envelope first, her heart thudding.
The envelope contained leaves of money. It was the same one Arthur told his maid to bring. She wanted to give it back, to give up everything, just so she could apologize to him. She wiped her eyes, setting it aside. She reluctantly moved to the final package. She wanted to open this one the least, because she already knew what it contained.
She was right.
The leather-bound novel she had left was there. She set that aside and read the letter, consuming his last words, and feeling sad, though no more tears came. The time for weeping was now over. She even giggled once or twice, finding peace at last.
I did not die of natural causes. I did not choose to, either. I know you are reading my posthumous letter with a bitter heart. For that I apologize. The wolf inside me was eating away at my spirit for so long. Perhaps if you look over the story once more you will find out why it is such. You'll pinpoint the exact spots where my lupine teeth shone and when I was dehumanized.
I give you the money because you are struggling and I am not. I do not hope to undo my regrets by paying your rent for you, or giving you a better life, or perhaps finally giving you enough money to buy the education to deserve, dear smart young lady. I do not hope to efface the wounds my words have inflicted on you. I cannot do any of that. I am half a man.
What I do hope is to lessen some of the suffering. Truly good men do not pen their deeds and boast about them. I am not a good man. I am evil, through and through, from my blood to my scars. Do not thank me for my generosity. Blame me for my cruelty, damn me for my negligence. Spit on my name for being unable to find my sister, for tearing up my past and walking away from it as if it was worthless. It was not. Now that they, if you choose to publish your book, have been stapled into mankind's collection of knowledge, print, I can no longer deny my heritage.
I now go to join those we have lost, who never were lost. I am going to become found. I am saying goodbye, Hermione Granger.
Sincerely and always yours, Arthur Kirkland.
P. S.
I never meant what I said about your inability to change the world. I'm sorry for my rage.
P. S. S.
Please don't write that Remus and I were secret lovers. My denying it does not make it true. That other author wanted to do the same thing. I threatened her with a broken spoon and half a paperclip.
P. S. S. - final
Take some time to look into magic, what it truly is. Stop taking it for granted. There is my final answer.