Here's the next one; I don't own HP
Ch. 35: How Deep is the Rabbit Hole?
-A/R-
It was hard to breathe. She simply could not get over that fact. It was hot, too. Really hot, as if an oversized blanket was over her, pressing her down, crushing her lungs and throat until it hurt just to even consider taking a quick breath of air. That's why she had stood up. That's why she had to pace the room, back and forth, casting a long and lonely shadow on the wall.
But the walking helped. A lot. She even forgot that she was stark naked in front of him. Yet it seemed that the faster she walked from one end of the room to the other, she could keep talking. And the more she spoke, the faster she could get through it. If she could just keep her steadfast pacing, she could make it to the end without any upset. Just make it through the end, survive it. Easy. Simple. Emotionless.
So when she finally reached the end of It, when she had finished the final sentence and taken a deep, shuddering breath, there was nothing for her to do. Nothing to do but stop pacing and stare into the dying fire. It crackled and spat a few merry, glowing embers up through the chimney, casting light into a darkness so complete it was hard to believe it ever went anywhere. Hell, the fire even seemed to be smiling as it slowly and effortlessly died. Smiling. Or laughing. Or both. But the fire didn't hold time. Hold it. No, keep it was better.
There was no way for her to tell how long she had even talked. She just knew that she had relived it, had again watched it all, had again felt the choking heat of warm blood, had again been transfixed by how the moonlight played on that pale hand with the bone sticking aggravatingly out. It felt like she had suddenly sat down in a dark theatre to watch a morbid play. She had seen it so many times she could recite the lines. And every time she watched it, she always thought it would turn out differently, with a better ending, or have a slight joke…just a little laugh for her since no one else was laughing. But, then again, no one else was in the theatre. And that was depressing as well.
Why hadn't she just turned back, just turned back and, and maybe she could have, who knows, done something right for once, not just run away, but actually, oh god, who knows, who knows? She should've, for chrissake she could have, but no, she had to have her way, she had to be stubborn, she had to be a spoiled idiot, she just couldn't get it, could she? And she was still here! Still right here, and the world went by as if nothing had really happened. And she had disappeared from everything, and nobody would tell her anything, she had to find it out for herself what she had become, had to figure out how to deal with it, how to handle it, how to smile through her teeth when all she wanted to do was scream so loud the whole world would fall bloody silent and nothing would ever really matter except that it had happened because she let it happen, because they were dead and for some stupid reason God had let her live, and she didn't know why. So who could tell her it was God's will if it was really her fault and not some ridiculous plan of His? So fuck God, she had decided, because if stuff like that happened then He wasn't good at all, didn't exist at all, because who could ever let a little girl see something like that and live?
"And I'm still here!!" she half-yelled, wanting desperately to scream while a part of her realized with horror that she had been speaking aloud. "I'm still here, and I shouldn't be at all! I should've stayed, oh God, I should've just stayed and maybe someone else would've lived instead, and I wouldn't have to go on and wonder why people looked at me when they knew, wouldn't have to leave my home or anything like that."
She staggered and fell against the wall and slid down in a heap on the floor, staring at It between her feet. And all It could do was stare back at her and smile Its awful smile, as if to say I'm still here, you're still here, we'll be here forever. Her teeth her chattering, but she felt so hot that she was actually sweating, her face an inferno of unwanted heat.
But the cool fingertips she felt on her cheeks soothed her beyond anything, and she sank forward into the strong chest in front of her, feeling as if she would sink forever into the darkness she found there before her hunched shoulders quivered and her lungs gave way and her throat released and her eyes and mouth opened up so she could finally catch one large swallow of sweet air mixed with a bit of sorrow and a side of cooked cynicism. She had never drank in her life, but her brain felt so light, and was spinning so much, she knew it just had to be drunk because she could feel a headache brush the back of her head in full force. And there was a brief part of her that wondered whether or not she was going crazy, because that would be a wonderful explanation and a bit of a relief.
"Aya," a strong, deep, scratchy voice whispered in her ear.
Aya opened her eyes to pink-hued skin and a toned chest with firelight enshrouding its outline. She blinked a few times and closed her mouth firmly and was at last herself again. Only, there was something missing. Something inside that had gone away for good, or at least for the moment.
And quite suddenly, she found she really could move her own fingers and childishly placed a pale hand on his arm, dragged it down with her mechanical fingers, grasped the hand that came into her vision, and held on as a child would grasp a blanket when something has creaked frightfully on the stairs one dark night.
She wanted to say something – anything would suffice – but the fact that she couldn't was only slightly distracting. Aya found incredible solace in just being, numb though she was at the moment. She just wanted to sit there and think about nothing.
But she wanted an excuse, too. An excuse to be angry, to be upset, to want to rip something apart. For all she cared, she could have changed right then and there just for the chance to forget herself entirely and go off and break something just for the sake of destruction.
And the longer she sat there, the more she wanted him to say something. Even her name.
But for the life of him, Remus found that the English language had abandoned him whole-heartedly. Months of wondering and concern were now replaced with numbing shock, a sense of anguished rage, and an unwavering sense of wanting to protect her. However, his limbs dully said otherwise. Aya was the one holding his hand, not the other way around. Even the way they were stationed suggested the girl folding into the guy of her own accord, and not the guy sheltering the girl. So all he could do was whisper her name groggily, as if his stone of a body was at last melting into actual flesh.
He stirred, his naked back welcoming even the tendrils of heat coming from the fire. Her whole body felt humid, as if she had stepped out of the shower and had only briefly toweled herself. But he was afraid of her getting cold, so he held her tightly, protectively, as if she would drift away if he let go.
So he sat there, drew his free hand to her hair, letting his rump balance them both, and gently glided his fingertips across her forehead to her exposed ear, driving any tendrils of her soft hair from her face.
"Aya," he said again, noting with approval his stronger use of voice. An apology on her behalf wouldn't suffice. He knew her too well for her to accept it or find any comfort in it. 'Sorry' was just a side comment someone would give when he had nothing else to say. It suggested lack of thought or concern, or both. So he closed his eyes again and let his fingers glide carefully down her face to dry her cheeks.
He heard her swallow and felt her entire body stir, as if she were waking from a dream. Kindly, patiently, he waited for her to move, and complied when she did. He watched her carefully as she let go of his hand, drew away from his chest, and lean her back against the wall once more. She drew her knees to her chest, her eyes almost vacant as she rested her chin on her knees.
Then she looked at him, a broken look from her past, one she had held for so many years it was hard for her to remember when exactly she had obtained it…certainly long after It had happened. Long after Elisia Centaria had waved farewell to her daughter with a bloodied and bony hand.
She started, and Remus saw with puzzled amazement the storm return to her grey eyes. They alighted, not with happiness, but with the empowering touch of realization. She had said the names of the dead. Again. This time without a pain in her chest. She rolled them over in her mind.
Elisia.
Duncan.
Becky.
…Sieg.
Mum, Bro-Bro, Sissy, Dad.
All at once, she raised her head, let her legs fall back to the floor, and stared at Remus gently. She was remembering what happened afterward, too. But it was not the recollection of someone telling her in a hospital wing. Rather, it was true, self-imposed memory of experience.
"Oh, my God," she suddenly breathed, startling Remus. "Dumbledore…he found me. I held on to the log, and it got caught in a shrubbery by the water's edge…and Dumbledore found me. I remember. He picked me up and wrapped me in his own cloak he used to wear for outings…and then we Apparated together to a hospital. I didn't pass out…they put me to sleep with some potion…and then I woke up, and…and…oh, my God…McGonagall was there. In the hospital. Sitting on the edge of my bed reading the Prophet. And I remember asking where I was, and she went right out and told me that something awful had happened, that I was in the hospital…nearly everything but what had transpired in the woods. Then I went back to sleep, and I remember waking up in the middle of the night because this warm purring thing was next to me…it was a cat. No, no…that must've been McGonagall again because the hospital doesn't allow animals. It must have. And then I woke up again and there was a nurse putting a bandage over my ankle and I remember asking her what it was. She said go back to sleep, but I kept telling her this huge dog bit me because I had no real idea what a werewolf really was…so the nurse went and fetched McGonagall and Dumbledore, and it was McGonagall who told me what it was. She said I would feel really ill tomorrow, but I kept telling her I felt ill now because I still didn't understand what a werewolf was. And Dumbledore just stood there with his hands at his sides and said very quietly that I would have to be very brave for tomorrow night. But I had no idea what was going on…I wouldn't even believe them when they said I had been asleep for nearly an entire month, in and out. And then the next day came, and a nurse got me out of bed late in the afternoon and Apparated me to some woods, and then started to walk away and I remember just screaming at her to stay because I was afraid the dogs would come back, and I needed to go find my little sister, but she said to be quiet and Disapparated right in front of me. And I remember her taking my clothes with her, too. And then the full moon came out and I must've blacked out completely because the next thing I remember was waking up in a hospital bed and wondering why my arm was bandaged and why my whole body was aching and why I had a horrible dream of running past trees. And then some Ministry officials came with the Umbridges, and Dumbledore was there again, only he looked beside himself…I had never seen him so angry before. The Umbridges kept brandishing a piece of paper and yelling at Dumbledore, and I started crying, so he put his arm on my shoulder and said everything would be alright. But it wasn't, because as soon as I was better the Umbridges were back and I was suddenly on the train with them eyeing me all the time as if I would suddenly reach over and bite them. And then we were walking down the path to Llitesat, and that's where the nightmares really started."
Aya sucked in air through her teeth, her eyes narrowed. "They never even told me my family was dead, Remus," she said quietly. "The Umbridges forbade Dumbledore from telling me, threatened to tear down my house. I found out through the other orphans because one day someone said 'orphan' to me, and I stupidly asked what that was. So he told me…God, what was his name? Patrik…Percy…Par…Park…Parker! Ten years old. Blonde hair. Yes, his name was Parker. He didn't hate me like the others, but he didn't like me either. But he was never dishonest with me, either. So when I found out what that was, I went and asked Naiya about it." She looked at Remus. "She was our librarian. And she gave me a letter from Dumbledore…a letter he had written the day he lost custody of me, telling me all that I had feared was true, because he must have known that I would still believe that they had somehow survived. I was five years old, Remus."
Aya blinked several times until Remus moved himself forward, placed an arm on her shoulder, and held her gaze. There were tears brimming in his eyes, tears that threatened to spill over once he blinked. Then he drew her close and said simply, "I don't know what to say, Aya." A part of him cringed at his lack of eloquence, but he chose to be honest rather than try to say something of great value that would probably fail completely. So he held her and waited patiently for her to stop shaking, to quiet down, to breathe normally, to let it all go until there was nothing left of it inside. Nothing left but a hollow shell of a memory that she would be able to look back on without being afraid. She wasn't a little girl anymore; she wasn't going to be afraid…wasn't going to wish for death in any form.
"Do you still wish," Remus finally said when her crying had subsided, "that you weren't here?" It was not unkind, not bitter. He was afraid of what she might say, but he knew that he had to know to understand. When she didn't answer after a long moment, he went on in a low voice. "Think back…not to Llitesat, not to what happened…but just…think back, to here, to how you felt when you got here. What did you feel?"
Aya swallowed, thinking as she took a deep, much needed breath. "Anticipation," she whispered. "Everything…was suddenly behind me. And then…happiness. Yes. I was happy. I am happy. To be here…like I could start again and be better at it. To have a group to share things with." She paused for a moment, thinking. "To have you."
"And now that it's out," he said consolingly, "I know it may not seem like much now, but…do you feel any better, any different?"
There was a long moment of silence that stretched out and enveloped them. The fire slowly fizzled and went out, leaving them in evaporating light.
Aya closed her eyes to the warmth of his skin, the gentle beat of his heart, the rhythmic flow of air through his lungs. Her mind rolled over her arrival to Hogwart's: the letter she had received from Dumbledore, wanting to further her education under the best school in the country – he had threatened to adopt, she remembered with a smile, a statement that drove Amelia's pudgy sausages of fingers to her mother's necklace in protection. Then Aya remembered how quickly Amelia had nearly drop-kicked her out of the orphanage, nearly dragged her – though Aya had been more than willing – to London (her first, yet rather short, visit), and had nearly thrown her out the carriage window onto the street, leaving her to find the train station herself, which wasn't much of a problem since Aya was just happy to see something other than ivy-covered old walls and sneering faces.
Then she remembered her first time through platform 9 ¾, then the gleaming Hogwarts train…the families waving farewell to their children as Aya managed to carefully push her way through them, lugging her shabby piece of luggage onto the train and nearly crashing into someone's owl.
She remembered having her own, deserted cabin at the back of the train, and watching with wonder the English countryside…even her book was cast to the side so she could stare out the window. And then the long slide to a halt, the train whistling away in the night air….she quietly pushed her way through the hustle and bustle of other students in their mad, uproarious dash to the exits….and then she had bumped into someone, had muttered a quiet sorry, had glanced at him only once, had felt a blush growing on her cheeks – he's cute, she remembered thinking – before she was shoved to the side and out the train, moving to the outskirts to catch her breath, her bare feet freezing in the night air before a group of students formed around her and said their own sweet halloos.
Her new family. Her first crush…her first love.
Was it dysfunctional? Add two werewolves, an overbearing yet lovable redhead, a mouse, and two immature factors that would probably turn the simplest task of doing homework into a fiasco, and that's the kind of tight-knitted, chaotic family one would get.
Was it an explosion waiting to happen? Sure, if you added the fact that every one of them could use a wand.
"Yes," she suddenly whispered, a small smile forming on her lips.
The words melted him. Remus grinned rather foolishly, not in triumph, but just in relief, as if a bad storm had passed over their heads and the only damage had been a broken windowpane that left a bit of refreshing air in the house.
So now it was out, and no one need ever know what had transpired….save, of course, for a room filled with old hags who wouldn't know a witness from a brick wall.
Remus leaned back on his hands, watching Aya adjust her position and wipe her eyes as he rolled over in his mind the trial to come. The Ministry of Magic! All the way there, he thought. "I'm coming with you," he said rather firmly.
She blinked and looked at him, puzzled. "You'll…what?' she whispered.
"To the Ministry…the trial," he replied, then thought better. "Unless you don't want me to come…then that would be okay…I mean, Dumbledore's going with you, so I guess you'll be safe and-"
"Please come," she almost pleaded, but her eyes were shining. "It would make everything…less uncomfortable."
Remus grinned, then broke into a giggle before lunging forward, snaking one arm around her back and the other under her knees, and lifting her up almost without effort. Aya laughed and pleaded for release, but he only chuckled and twirled her around for a bit before letting her go. "Now I'm dizzy," he muttered.
"You're dizzy?" she countered, but didn't press on…only kissed him and reached for her undergarments and jeans.
"Where are you off to, Miss Centaria?" Remus teased.
"To bed, silly," she replied. "I'm exhausted." She shivered, fighting off the urge to clatter her teeth together. "Why is it that the cold penetrates the castle so well?" she muttered.
"Poor ventilation, too many windows," Remus answered as he slipped on his jeans. "Now, what was it? 1,344 windows, Sirius said? What?" His eyes narrowed against Aya's questioning eyebrow. "I've been here for six years and hanging around with guys like Sirius…what would you expect? I'm a Marauder, for chrissake. Remember Moony?"
"Clever name," she answered as she moved to the doorway.
"It is so clever! Hey, come on! Wait up!"
-A/R-
Life seemed to go on much as it had before: the two grew sick, the full moon came, and the Shack once again opened its termite-ridden doors. Then the moon melted into the horizon, and Hogwarts opened its ancient doors in the pale dew of morning.
There were a few steamy moments, of course, and perhaps one or two rows, but the friends and their respectable romantic couples endured. A few days melted into a week and a bit more before the outside world came rushing rather unannounced. The trial loomed closer and closer until Aya's departure became visible on tomorrow's sunrise, before the other students could awaken from much-needed slumber.
As the Marauders and their respective female counterparts made their way to the last class of the day, a rather small, willowy man with glasses approached rather quickly, cutting off the group's passage in an impressive feat for so tiny a man.
"Hallo," said Sirius, torn between annoyance and the desire to postpone the doom of class for as long as possible. "Whatch'oo want?"
"R.R. Twiggle, at your service mister…?" Twiggle said in a surprisingly deep voice.
"Black…Sirius Black," Padfoot replied with something between a grin and a devilish challenge cascading across his lips.
" 'Allo, mister Black! And who're yer friends?" Twiggle replied.
"Why do you wanna know?" James asked.
"Quick story, Prophet business. I understand yer a…mister Potter?" Twiggle asked.
"Yeah…James Potter," Prongs answered, a little confused.
The little man moved down the line, his hand partially extended. "Let's see if my sources are correct…Lily Evans, is it? They told me you were pretty!" He turned to Peter and frowned. "No one told me about you."
"Er…I'm Peter Pett-"
"You're one of the prefects…Lupin, was it?" Twiggle asked, turning to Remus. Wormtail closed his mouth and shuffled his feet.
"How do you know all this stuff?" Moony asked.
Twiggle chuckled. "Never you mind, dear boy!" His eyes alighted on the last in the line. "Ah ha! Don't suppose any of me other competition's found you just yet! Hogwarts is a tricky place to get into! Last time I tried to Apparate here, ended up just south of Oxford! Haha! And speaking of Oxford, that's the place where your parents were murdered, yeah? With your brother and sister? Do you remember any of it, Miss Centaria?" He drew out a quill and paper, licked a finger, and flipped to a fresh page, quill at the ready.
Aya's face paled, then her eyes turned from a storm-grey to an icy sleet. "That's none of your business, sir," she said coldly. Remus was reaching for his wand.
"Aw, come on, lass," Twiggle pressed with a grin. "Just a bit of a quote, you know? Just between us, eh? Come on, what was it like, eh? Starin' death in the face like that, bloody family in pieces all over the place?" He waved his notebook under her nose. "Come on! How'd you get outta that hellhole?"
Aya's hand was so quick, not even James could follow it. Her wand whipped to his oversized cheek so quickly it seemed as if it had just grown from his skin. She pressed the tip into his oily skin, ignoring Twiggle's protests. "I'm going to give you five seconds, Mr. Twiggle," she said very quietly, "to get out of my sight. And if I ever see you dragging your sorry arse around here again, you'll find my fist in your mouth. Do we understand each other?"
"Now, come off it, Miss C-"
"One."
"It's my job, you know!"
"Two."
The man's legs were so short, it was quite a shock to see that they could actually carry a body so quickly across the cold and somewhat slippery grass. Yet Twiggle managed it without much effort; his legs were right where his balls ought to have been.
In the mud.
"Je-esus Christ!" Sirius swore. "Where the bloody hell did that come from?!"
"That," Aya answered, sheathing her wand, "comes from a long line of fighters and god-awful cramps."
James had his hands placed firmly on top of his head; Lily was gaping open-mouthed at the spot where Twiggle had been; Sirius was muttering to himself and pointing at Aya; Peter was dumbfounded; and Remus had a look on his face that was either approval or shock (it could have been both for all he cared).
"I wouldn't even mind the bastard coming back," Remus said with a grin, "just to see you do something like that again!"
Aya shrugged. "Aren't we late for class?"
The others could only groan.
-A/R-
When the sun rose the next morning, Remus found it something short of amazing that he could actually function at so ungodly an hour. He arose from his lonesome bed, dressed quickly in dawn's rose-colored fingers, and dragged his packed suitcase from under his bed. Moving as quietly as he could, he maneuvered himself out the door and to the common room, where – not to his surprise – Aya was already waiting, a book in hand, a tattered suitcase at her feet. She stood when she heard his suitcase unceremoniously clunk its way down the stairs, put her book safely in her suitcase, and turned to him with a broken smile.
"Are you ready?" she asked very quietly.
"I'm not going to ask what time you got up this morning," Remus replied, trying to lighten the mood. "It'll probably just make me upset."
Her smile warmed, but only slightly, like the wind dying quietly on an icy morning. Remus was unsure of what to say to her, so he merely adjusted his hold on his suitcase and nodded towards the portal. "Shall we go?" he asked.
"Sure," she answered nonchalantly, following his nod. He was right behind her when she climbed her way rather awkwardly through the portal, her suitcase proving a rather unreasonable problem. He pushed his way after her and slipped out of the frame of the painting before it closed on him. Then, with a quick look to each other, the two made their way down the moving staircase to the entrance hall, where Dumbledore awaited them, looking grave yet still smiling, his own suitcase apparently out of action.
"Fawkes accidentally set fire to it earlier this morning," Dumbledore said, answering their questioning glances. "One can never tell with a phoenix. He must have detested that suitcase as much as I." He smiled. "Shall we?"
"You're sure it's alright that I come along, Professor?" Remus asked as he trotted behind the headmaster, Aya slightly behind the boy.
"Of course, Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore replied warmly. "But try not to get lost in London."
"Yes, sir."
The morning air was crisp and bone cold. It cut through clothes and tore right through the skin. But it was good for walking, good for pushing sleep from the eyes, good for determination. Aya firmly placed one foot in front of the other as she and the others made their way down to the gates, where a carriage awaited.
As the gates swung open, Dumbledore stepped forward, saying, "Mind the thestrals…they are not exactly morning creatures."
Remus cocked his head to one side, utterly confused. He looked about as Aya climbed into the carriage after Dumbledore, searching for whatever it was the Headmaster had mentioned. Then he sighed, shook his head, and was about to climb in as well when the carriage jolted. Inside, Dumbledore, seated on the left towards the front, turned and rapped on the carriage wall behind him. Remus shut the door as Dumbledore turned and the carriage rattled forward. Poor Remus would probably have flown forward into Dumbledore's lap had Aya not grabbed his shirt at the last moment.
"As I said," Dumbledore explained once the carriage was well on its way and Remus has settled back into his seat next to Aya. "Thestrals are rather peevish in the mornings."
"Thestrals, sir?" Remus asked.
"Ah, forgive me," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. "They are the creatures that pull this carriage. Invisible to those who have never seen death before."
Remus stole a glance at Aya, but she was staring absent-mindedly out the window. "I don't suppose they have wings, sir?"
"Leathery ones," Dumbledore answered.
"I see," was all Remus said.
-A/R-
Once you actually got past the fact that this was the Headmaster seated before you, and that he was actually condescending to a long train ride to London when he could easily have Apparated there himself, Remus found Dumbledore's presence rather…amiable. He was a wonderful conversationalist, and even managed to make Aya smile, which was a tremendous feat at the moment since not even Remus could manage it. Of course, Dumbledore had all of Remus' reverence and respect, but there was a certain air about the man that demanded something that seemed so easy to give. Remus couldn't quite put his finger on it for the entire train ride. He mentioned it to Aya as they got off the train and moved into the Muggle portion of the train station. Amidst the stares they received from the Muggles – Dumbledore had never been keen on wearing anything other than robes – Aya whispered, "He's always been 'Grampa' to me, so I have a different view of him…kind, not fearsomely competent as a wizard. His feats demand respect, but his demeanor merely draws in loyalty, like a sponge. He can't help it. People just can't help but be loyal to him. He makes people feel safe."
A momentary gleam passed through her eyes as the three passed on to the streets of London.
It was frightfully cold once they got outside. Cold, and full of a clamor of noise. Not the rowdy hustle and bustle of an American city, but rather the noise of an entire nation going about its business in a manner that it had had for centuries. London was old, and it knew it and kept that fact about itself with pride. Its slow passage through time was gradual, not impatient. Amidst its ancient architecture and modern structures, from the Tower of London to the London Eye, London retained a calm resilience to brevity and decay. Its history fueled it; its traditions refined it. Like the Thames that flowed past Big Ben and under the London Bridge, the city was slow yet incredibly fast-paced. Its people rushed past the three making their way down the street, but it was done at a pace just short of impatience and a trifle beyond stale. There was determination in every Londoner's eye, and a respect that resonated so deeply in the city that not even the peal of Big Ben could outlast it. Perhaps that was what happened to a city dweller once walking past the majesty of Westminster Abbey without a glance and walking down to the tube just across the street became daily routine.
Their hotel was a Muggle one, but was often used by Ministry officials. Aya noticed a man sitting down to tea in the lounge nod politely to Dumbledore, then squint at her as if he were trying to read something rather far away. She also noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand and wondered if Twiggle had published something ridiculous about her. Aya decided she would find out for herself.
"Here for two rooms, please," Dumbledore said to the young woman at the concierge. "A four-night stay. Should be under Smith?"
"Ah, yes," the young woman said with a smile. "Two rooms."
"My nephew is here along with my niece," Dumbledore continued. "It was rather last minute that he would come along, which gave me no time at all to call...you wouldn't happen to have an extra third room available, would you?"
"Let me see," the young woman replied sweetly as her fingers glided almost supernaturally fast over the keyboard. She frowned. "Mm…I'm afraid not…there seems to be a convention nearby…we're absolutely full after you, sir."
Dumbledore frowned and stole a glance at Remus and Aya, both of whom were trying very hard to pretend that they were not there, standing next to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "I see…very well then," the Professor said after a time. "We'll take it."
"Okay, then, Mr. Smith…if you would just sign here," the young woman answered, sliding a piece of paper across the desk.
"I also believe there's a Mr. Irwin here to see me?" Dumbledore said as he bent forward to sign with the fountain pen the young woman had provided. Aya started, but said nothing.
"Yes," the young woman replied. "Mr. Irwin called in to apologize for his tardiness and will meet you in the coffee shop on the street corner just across the tube entrance."
"Thank you," Dumbledore answered, handing her the paper and stepping back. He turned to his students. "Well, Jeremy, Lizzie, why don't we meet back here this evening for a good meal, say…seven thirty? I'll knock on your room…feel free to explore, but don't get lost."
"Er…yes, Uncle," Remus replied, blinking rather rapidly. He grasped Aya's hand. "Um…come along, er…"
"Lizzie," Aya whispered. "Right behind you, Jeremy. See you at seven thirty, Uncle."
-A/R-
"His nephew?" Remus said again from the bathroom. "I'm to be his nephew while I'm here?"
"It could have been worse…you could have been his grandson," Aya replied, closing her book and adjusting her position on the windowsill. She leaned against the windowpane and sighed heavily.
"Well, yeah, but still," the boy answered over the flushing toilet. He zipped up his jeans and washed his hands in the sink. "This is Dumbledore we're talking about…the Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin God knows how many times, Headmaster of Hogwarts – our Headmaster, just to remind you – and probably the greatest wizard of the century." He leaned against the doorframe leading into the bathroom and watched as she resumed her reading. "And for the next how many days I'm supposed to be his nephew."
"Would you rather have been, say, Professor McGonagall's nephew?" Aya asked as she turned a page to her book.
"Heaven's, no," Remus replied as he flung himself on the queen-sized bed. He raised his head so that he could rest it on his hands. "Can you imagine me trying to remember that without flinching and probably giving the slip to someone by calling her Professor?"
Aya shrugged. "I guess I wouldn't push it past you," she replied, closing her book as she stood and stretched.
Remus, frowning, was about to say something when the door knocked. He moved to get it, but she waved him off and went to open the door. A maid stood at the door with a bundle of newspapers under her arm. She thrust it into Aya's arms. "It's cuz of the convention and whatnot," the maid muttered, giving Aya a wink. "S'for your people." Then she turned quickly and marched down the hall.
Aya closed the door and turned, staring down at the bundle in her arms.
"Who was it?" Remus asked from the bed.
"Hmm…? Dunno," she replied as she sat down on the bed, rummaging through the papers. "But my guess is she's not a Muggle," she said as she drew out a copy of today's Daily Prophet. She glanced at the first page. "Oh, no."
"What?" Remus asked, sliding next to her. "Oh…oh. Where'd they get a picture of you?" He sounded angry as he read the headline aloud. "The Secrets of the Centaria Murders Begin to Unfold, Young Aya Left Angry in Their Wake. I wouldn't say you were angry per say, but…"
"Rem…could you just let me read?" Aya asked not unkindly. Her eyes were scanning the page rapidly, drinking a snapshot of her in school robes making her way to class. It looked like it had been taken from afar. "That cheeky bastard," she muttered as she read.
By R.R. Twiggle
Nearly thirteen years after the wake of her family's murder, Aya Centaria still holds the horrific nightmare clearly in her mind. Her eyes were glistening with the angry tears of a confused teen as I approached her delicately on the subject.
Born Aya Elisia Centaria on March 15th, 1960, the soon to be seventeen year old has grown, despite the beauty she inherited from her mother, into quite a passionate individual. I understood completely the harsh words she relayed to me when I asked her the names of her parents. She stands a mere five foot, seven inches, but her slightly hunched appearance diminishes her to about five foot four. Her impassable nature is only countered by her rather ineptitude at conversation, no doubt an aftereffect of the horrific escapade she endured as a child-
Aya threw the rest across the room and fell back on the bed with a loud, angry groan. She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, then said aloud, "Do I hunch?"
"What?" Remus asked as he lay down next to her.
"Do I hunch?" she repeated.
"I'm an honest guy…so no," Remus replied. "Why?"
"Am I really inept at conversation?" she asked, pushing herself up by her arm. "And I am not angry and impassable, right?"
"Well, you can be a bit…moody sometimes," Remus replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But it's pretty reasonable. Besides," he continued, leaning forward to kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear, "it's kinda arousing when you're upset."
She returned his kiss, then stared him in the eyes. "Remus, I'm serious."
"You think that whatever that Twiggle wrote about you is true?" Remus asked incredulously. "Sweetheart, the bastard met you for a minute."
"I know, but-"
"Don't worry over a load of piss," he replied, kissing her again.
"Mmm…but, but what if that's really me?" she asked, pushing away for a bit.
Remus groaned and stared at the ceiling.
"I'm trying to have a moment with you," he complained, throwing an arm over his eyes.
"He said I'm pretty like my mother," Aya went on, completely oblivious. "But how did he manage to measure me? I always thought I was five foot eight. Oh, crap….I really do hunch!" She groaned and slammed her face into the mattress. "I'm a horrible person, Rem!!"
"It's not fair," Remus whined through a mouthful of arm. "It's just not fair."
"Excuse me?!" Aya retorted, pushing her face up off the mattress so that she could sit up. "You're worried about moments when your girlfriend is facing gossip from the entire wizarding community? I mean, it's not supposed to bug me, and I know I'm not supposed to get all upset over something so lame, but-"
"Aya," Remus replied with a sigh, sitting up and facing her.
"What?" she snapped.
"Shut it," he said before he collided his lips with hers. "Calm down," he said through a mouthful of lips. "You're starting to worry me with all this anxiety you're building up."
"I know, but-"
"Aya."
She closed her eyes. "Sorry," she whispered, and fell back on the mattress.
Why did she have to be like that sometimes?
He couldn't help but wonder it…but despite his little outburst, he couldn't help but feel pleased. Finally, after all this time, he could see deep inside her. Like she suddenly could just open her eyes like she was now and he could figure out everything that was going on through her mind. Well, maybe not everything, but something rather close to it. Mm…but then again, sometimes it was just so obvious.
Remus stared at her half-lidded eyes and grinned despite himself.
Obvious. Like right now.
"Heh, did I tell you today that you're pretty?" Remus asked, slipping his shirt over his head and helping her with hers.
"Don't be an idiot," Aya giggled. "And don't be coy. It's unbecoming."
"Is it?" he asked, pushing her arms back, leaning close so he could gently nibble her ear.
She shivered, squeezing her eyes shut. There were some things in life that were too bittersweet for thought. He was teasing her for some reason. That much she knew, and she was going to-
Aya shivered again. "That isn't fair," she managed to gasp out. She turned to him with a smile, slipped on top of him, and gently ran a finger up his chest.
Some things in life were too bittersweet for words. But what was easy, childish, secretive? What was pleasure, if it existed at all? And what was love? A feeling? A rush of emotions?
Pain, fear, pulsing aches, agony, sheer magnitude, undeniable rushing, something filling you right up to where your eyes closed tightly and you yell something just because you can. Or maybe you can't, and whatever has escaped your throat isn't human, but something primeval. Base. Beastlike. Not a snarl, not a groan. A moan can't even measure it. Just a moment of jargon, a moment to save your own life or maybe – if you're lucky – someone else's.
And then-
Chaos.
Meeting.
Agony.
And.
Order.
Now disorder.
Now order.
Not order.
Rhythm.
Agonizing rhythm, beating, pulsing, screaming, wanting, lacking, growing, passing, leaping, rising. More, more, more.
Not less.
And you can't even breathe. You wouldn't be able to care.
That's what they would always think…if they could summon the will the think at all. Naked and desolate and alone but together at night and in the morning and the afternoon and the evening and the sunset and the sunrise. And the human moments and those other moments and no moments at all. Moments just to exist. Just to be. As you are. And it doesn't matter whether you're living or breathing or dying or slipping away. You just need to be there, because you knowit'strueandnothingstopsyouandeverythingcontrolsyouandyouwannabewholeyes?
Yes. You have to be. Have to be here and now and rushing and falling and beating and laughing and crying and living and dying and you don't wanna stop because if you do then the world would end and-
There was a knock at the door.
Unceremoniously, still trapped together, Aya and Remus fell off the bed. Aya screamed. His face pressed against the floor in an awkward position, Remus still managed to yell, "Can we EVER finish?!"
Aya sat up with a heavy, breathless groan. She sighed, patted Remus rather awkwardly on the back, and stood to answer the third knock. "I'm coming!" Aya called. Remus muttered It's just not fair grimly to himself, still trying to dislodge his foot from the sheets.
She stumbled her way to the door and opened it a crack.
"Sorry to bother you again, Miss," said the maid. Aya sighed deeply, hoping she wasn't too sweaty. The maid produced a small, baglike purse that jingled as it was manifested. "I forgot to give this to you before…it's from the Headmaster." As Aya dropped the contents into her hands, the maid continued: "He knew you'd probably forget to convert everything, and London being so big with Muggles, he thought this would do for the next four days."
"What are these?" Aya asked, rolling the things over in her palm.
"English pounds and notes and such," the maid replied. "Muggle money."
"Oh."
"They say the conversion is almost one to one…though I think it's one and one-half to one, benefits to the Muggles, I'm afraid," the maid continued. "Honestly, that's where squibs make their money, being Converters…"
"Er…thank you," Aya replied, shifting the money back into the sack. "Er…"
Aya glanced at the coin in her palm. The maid was watching her with an amused expression. "That's a pound, Miss," she said after a long pause.
"It's…good enough, right…?"
"I use both."
"So…a pound…"
"Will do just fine," the maid answered, extending her hand.
"Right," Aya said, placing the coin in the maid's hand. "Thank you."
"And Miss?"
"Yes?"
"Try to be a bit quieter next time…the rest of the staff thinks you're related, and your Headmaster will be next door, if you don't mind my saying."
Aya turned a deep shade of red. "Oh…Er…right…"
The maid nodded, turned, and walked down the hallway. Aya shut the door, turned, walked briskly to the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and screamed.
-A/R-
"So why are we out in the cold?" Remus asked again as he walked beside Aya, his shoulders shrugged to battle the freezing temperature.
"I want to see London for real," Aya replied, grinning at him.
"Why?"
"It's a beautiful city," she answered.
"That's why you're heading for the Thames," Remus replied glumly.
"No, we're headed for the Tower of London," Aya replied.
"Tourist."
"I'm in London, Remus," she retorted. "Last time I was in London, I was inside a carriage across from the woman who would have loved to dump me in the river in chains. Now am I entitled to a good time with you, or not?"
"Fair enough," he replied. "Can we eat somewhere, though? Some pub, or something? I'm hungry."
"The guy on the tube said the Tower was closing at five today," Aya replied. "It is almost three. Let me see Anne Boleyn's death site, the chapel, the Bloody Tower, and maybe an armory, and then we'll go eat."
"I've already seen it, so I'll just-"
"No."
"But-"
"Rem…please?"
"Stupid lower lip thing."
-A/R-
"You don't think Anne Boleyn was a witch, do you?" Aya asked from across the table.
Remus downed the last of his potatoes. "Sure she was…sent a cardinal to death just because she hated him, or something like that…wait, maybe a bishop? Oh well…she killed a guy, so yeah."
"No, a witch, Rem," Aya answered.
"Doubt it," he replied through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. "Then again, who's to know, eh?"
Aya glanced at the map again. "We should see Westminster Abbey next…or maybe Parliament…or maybe the London Bridge…oh! No! Let's go see the Globe! Can we go do that?"
"Aya, eat something, would you?"
"I'm not hungry…we're supposed to meet Dumbledore for dinner," she replied.
"You haven't eaten all day."
"I'm not up to it."
"You've got to be starving."
"I'm just not," she replied.
Remus frowned. "You're worried about tonight, aren't you? You know you might not see him at all tonight. It takes a long time to get a prisoner from Azkaban to the Ministry, and then they have to set him up for the meeting."
"I'll be fine," she replied automatically. "I'm fine."
Remus narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare shut down on me, Aya."
"I'm not shutting down, or whatever," she replied. "I just want time to sort it all out."
"Do you know what you're gonna say?"
She shrugged as the waitress came by with the bill. Grabbing it, Aya opened it up, her brow still furrowed, as she attempted to figure out what it all meant. "Okay…that looks like…fifteen point 45. Okay, so the fifteen must be pounds. What the bloody hell is the stuff after the point?"
"Pence, actually," Remus replied. "Fifteen pounds and forty-five pence."
She handed the bill to him. "I'm glad you know how to do it."
"It's my job," he replied as he shifted through the sack for the money. He glanced up at her, but she was gazing out the window, her chin in her hand, and a distant gleam in her storm-grey eyes. He frowned. "So you know what you're gonna say?"
Aya shrugged.
Remus drummed his fingers on the table. "Well," he said, sliding the money into the bill and shutting it firmly. "I think a flower and a nice stroll along the Thames will do nicely. The Globe can wait, I should think."
"Maybe we'll go by that way…I want to see that little stairway that they say Dickens used in Oliver Twist, right by that harbor that leads to the Globe."
"That's super far from here."
"We can try it, before it gets dark and we have to meet Dumbledore."
-A/R-
"And bullocks to the rest, I said," Remus was saying as he strolled down the street to the hotel.
"You didn't really?" Aya asked with a giggle as the two strolled up the stairs, heads down and together against the cold.
"You tend to get a little arrogant as a fifth year," Remus answered as he pulled open the door. He straightened and bowed. "Milady?"
Aya giggled. "Thank you, sir."
"Tis a pleasure. Anyway, the fourth year just stared back at me with that Zonko's thing in her hand and just handed it over, and I was all…oh, hello there, Prof-"
"Uncle," Aya said sweetly, nudging Remus in the ribs. He coughed. "Sorry we're a tad late."
No matter where he was, Remus always thought that the Headmaster seemed to tower over everything and bend down to people to hear them. But it was comforting, like a tall tree on a hot summer's day.
"Not a problem," Dumbledore replied with a smile. His half-moon spectacles caught the light radiating from the ceiling light, but his eyes were heavily lidded and dull. He watched Aya for a long moment, then looked to the lounge with a sigh. "I'm afraid our dear Mr. Irwin would like a word with you, Lizzie." Aya's face paled. "Jeremy," Dumbledore motioned to Remus, "if you would accompany me to the rooms. I believe a few scarves and hats are in order."
"This isn't the guy from before, is it?" Remus asked, more to Aya than to Dumbledore. But Aya was staring avidly at the carpet. "It can't be time already."
"Jeremy, if you would get that scarf your mother gave me, and a pair of Lily's mittens, I would very much appreciate it," Aya said rather quietly. She looked up and forced a smile. "I'll see you both in a few minutes." She turned and walked briskly to the lounge, where a man in a dark suit stood to greet her.
Remus felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into the eyes of a very old, very tired man. He looked to Aya again, then caught Dumbledore's attention and felt a reddish glow form on his cheeks. The Headmaster's eyes narrowed, then suddenly gleamed like pale morning light creeping into a dark room. He nodded to the boy and gently eased him towards the stairs.
-A/R-
"Glad to see you well," Irwin said cheerily as he sat down. Aya obliged his waving hand, choosing to sit in the chair directly opposite the man. She clutched the chair's wooden arms, finding little comfort in the soft leather beneath her legs and rump. "I hope you are enjoying London in-"
"I am," Aya replied curtly. "I highly doubt he is."
"Sarkus is ready and waiting," Irwin replied, ignoring her comment. He smiled at her from across the table, and quite suddenly leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "You will meet him in the floor above the Department of Mysteries exactly one hour from now. Besides one of our human guards from Azkaban, you will be alone."
"That's a breach in protocol," Aya answered. "I'm underage. A guardian is to accompany me."
Irwin sighed, looking to the lone candle that separated them. It flickered in the lightly blowing heater above them, threatening to flicker into oblivion by fate's hands alone. "You will see him alone."
"Why?" Aya asked, betraying a tremble in her voice. Irwin didn't answer at first, his eyes gleaming with the light of the candle in front of him; those dark eyes of his could never gleam of their own accord. They had been as such since childhood, or perhaps slightly before manhood. Probably the effect of a poor choice in a girl…or maybe even a boy. Aya bit her lip; her hands were trembling so terribly that she put them in her lap so that they could grip each other. At least then she would know when to stop.
Irwin opened his mouth long before the words rolled off his tongue. He finally glanced up at her, and the light faded from his eyes. "I am under the jurisdiction of this Ministry and its government. I am disinclined to relay any such information concerning this matter to you."
Aya narrowed her eyes, shocked beyond recollection. Then she leaned forward, eyeing a fellow patron seated at the table next to them, and said very quietly, almost in a whisper, "How deep does the rabbit hole go, Mr. Irwin?"
Irwin's chuckle was deep, methodical, and pure. His smile could have crossed deserts without a scratch. "It's always odd, talking to the kids," he said with a laugh. "They always take on the air of mystery of their parents. C'est l'air d'une personne qui n'est pas ici avec tout le monde, as we say it." His brow furrowed forward on his head. "But nothing prepares you for the Centarias. You were always masterminds at deception, invisibility. It was an art. Cloaks? You invented them, for bloody chrissake. Always seemed to have some code." He watched Aya's puzzled expression with amusement. "You have no idea who they are, do you?" His chuckle this time was hollow. "Your father…now there was a bloke with sense. A real child at heart, and a good man. Liked his fantasy tales, though. Rabbit holes and tea parties and stoned swords and unclaimed royalty. It was bloody nonsense to me, a way for him to talk to the Ministry."
"You knew my father?"
"He was the best in the field. The best. It was scary," Irwin continued. "Of course I knew him. How could I not? I knew him a good long while. Well before you were born. Schoolmates, along with your mother. But we lost touch after he started going up in the Ministry about…oh, going on twenty-five years ago. He did a lot for the Ministry."
Aya leaned back in her chair, one hand over her lips. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't," Irwin replied. "Orders."
"This is big, isn't it?" Aya pressed. "This isn't some murder trial. This is something else, isn't it? Why else would you mention an acquittal?"
Irwin glanced up, well beyond the girl's head. He stood. "Your escort, I believe…boyfriend?"
Aya turned in her seat as Remus approached, her scarf and mittens in one hand. Remus eyed Irwin reproachfully. "Everything alright?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Irwin's face.
"Yes," Aya replied as she stood. Irwin walked towards Dumbledore, slipping his coat and gloves on. As Remus turned to go, Aya grabbed his elbow. "Something's going on," she whispered. "That man knew my parents and was told by the Ministry not to tell me."
"No way," Remus whispered, watching Irwin now with interest and distaste, like one would view a rather ghastly car crash. "Is that why he mentioned an acquittal?"
"Dunno," Aya whispered a reply. "Wait a sec…how did you know that?"
"You told me."
Aya thought for a moment. "Oh, that's right. Over breakfast."
"I'm not as thick-headed as I seem, Miss Centaria," Remus said with a grin.
-A/R-
It was colder and damper than outside. Darker, too. Even with the statue and the lights and the bloody weird elevator thing, it was still…
Eerie.
And it was night, too.
Remus shivered and rubbed Aya's shoulders.
The place also seemed to creak and groan on its own. It felt as if the whole place was in an uncomfortable position and was trying at an agonizing rate to shift position. Unfortunately, it was failing miserably.
The long hallway was even darker despite the torches. It clung to the senses like a medieval dungeon at night. Add a few cells with bars and bone-white hands sticking out through the bars, trying to make a grab at passersby, and it would have heightened the atmosphere.
Irwin's shiny, black, pointed shoes clicked on the stone floor as the four traversed down the long hallway to a rather dull, grey-colored door that rose into the darkness of the high ceiling above them. Remus swallowed.
"Well," Irwin said as he turned, his voice a penetration into the darkness. "We shall be going into a waiting room. The prisoner is in the room adjacent to that. Dumbledore, you, the boy, and I will wait there. Miss Centaria will accompany an Azkaban guard into the next room."
"You can't let her go in with a dementor!" Remus suddenly roared. "On her own?! Are you mad?! And why aren't Dumbledore and I…er, Dumbledore going?!"
Irwin ignored him and rapped his wand on the door. The door swung inwards to a painfully bright room. "As you can see," Irwin said once their eyes had adjusted and the door had shut behind him. "That is not a dementor. Aya, would you please?"
Aya glanced at Remus, her storm-grey eyes trying to say something before she marched forward and followed the tall, rather pasty-looking guard through the door into an equally bright room.
Remus swore under his breath – he was, after all, in the presence of the Headmaster – and started to pace.
-A/R-
Well, there you have it, folks. 24 pages of HOAW. I sincerely hoped you enjoyed it so far. Stay tuned for the next one!