Alas, for I do not own the beautiful work of art that is Harry Potter.
For the rest of the party, I was basically serving Petunia and Vernon's obnoxious friends. At the end of the party, when everyone had gone home and the sun was setting, I went out to the garden and lied down in the soft, green grass. I looked up to the brilliant colors in the sky, the quietness seeping in. I took in the fresh summer air and wished that it was always like this. Always quiet, always peaceful, always beautiful. I closed my eyes and relaxed.
I heard movement in front of me, but I resisted the urge to move and look at who it was. They lied down next to me.
"Hi." Harry said. I opened my eyes
"Hey." I said. We stayed in silence for some time. Finally, I broke the silence, "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Yeah. I like the orange." I smiled.
"This is kind of like the happy moments in life. They're beautiful, but they don't last long. Soon the sun will set to darkness." I thought of my father, of the Death Eaters. I felt Harry shudder beside me.
"But don't worry, Harry," I said, my voice soft, "The sun always rises again, and the sunset always comes."
I got up and brushed off my jeans. I helped Harry up and led him inside as it got dark. Petunia gave Harry a small loaf of bread, and gave me a bowl of tomato soup with some cucumbers on the side. I secretly gave Harry my cucumbers and half of my soup.
After I had put Harry and Dudley to sleep, I slipped in my own bed and sighed as I relaxed every muscle in my body and sank into a dream involving tongues, Muggles, extremely large bowler hats and people with red hair.
The next morning, I got up, and after a measly portion of cereal, I went outside to water the garden and avoid the scorching hot sun later in the day, and found a cat sitting on the brick wall outside the house. Had this cat been any other cat, say one that did not have markings around the eyes that exactly matched my old transfiguration teacher, I maybe would have gone over to the creature and petted it. But this cat was not any other cat. It was Professor McGonagall's animagus form, and I was in for either an earful, or some more very disapproving looks.
I got both. Lucky me. I followed Cat-McGonagall down our usual alley, and first got the disapproving looks. After a while of me looking down shamefully and her glaring, I said, "Professor, I made a mistake, and I'm really, really, super sorry, and all I can do is ask for forgiveness."
Then came the earful. "Young lady. Not very often does one have an opportunity like this, and you may have just completely ruined it for yourself. It's luck that you had the common sense to call the authorities and have them handle the situation. I will have you know that if you had been at Hogwarts when this occurred, you could have just been completely expelled. I am not sure I can trust you with such a big responsibility as being an animagus, and it's unlikely that the Ministry will even allow such a thing with this kind of offence on your record." She said this all in one breath, only pausing now to give me more disapproving glances. I found myself unable to look her in the eyes. I had disappointed my biggest mentor. This woman who had given me a place on the Quidditch team, even though I was a Slytherin, even though I could have lost Gryffindor the house cup, I had let down the woman who had helped me in my struggle in Herbology, the subject I had the most trouble with. How had this happened? How could Professor McGonagall look so crestfallen because of something I had done?
"How can I make it up to you?" I muttered.
"Please don't make mistakes like this again." She turned on her heels and disapparated. I went back to the house, watered the garden, only half thinking about it. I made breakfast, still in zombie mode. Then I watched the kids. I snuck Harry food. I chastised Dudley. I kept my nose clean. And so the summer dragged on. Nothing terribly exciting happened. Professor McGonagall still came weekly as promised, but she seemed cold. Distant. She delivered the newspaper and left just as quickly as she came. The one time she actually spoke with me was approving Mrs. Dursley's offer for real money and half days during the school days. Spending the summer at a home where I was hardly loved, fed measly meals, and watched over younger children was no different from how I had spent my other summers. Again, I found myself really, really, wanting school to start again. Not for myself, but for Harry and Dudley, so I could have half a day off.
But the more I thought about the half days, having a place of my own, and living off Muggle money, the more I became weary. I had never lived by myself. Always with Dad and Mum, in our little cottage, or at Hogwarts, sitting in the deep green armchair that was rumored was Salazar Slytherin's himself. Nobody could ever prove this rumor, but it was fun to fantasize. When I wasn't at Hogwarts or our cottage, I was at the blasted orphanage.
I knew Dad had a place in London, and a considerable amount of gold to his name, so I didn't think finding a place would be hard. But still, living alone. Sleeping nights without other people nearby was a new concept. I would be fine. I always had.
I wish I could say something exciting happened. I learned why nobody wanted to be a nanny. It was either tediously boring, or you had squabbling children on your back.
It was in September when the meet-the-teacher day was. I feared for the teacher that had Dudley. But I had been chosen to meet the poor person who had teach that fat lump. And also meet the teacher who taught Harry.
The day came faster than I had expected. Five o'clock came faster than expected, and after frantically eating a hasty snack that would serve as dinner, I hopped in the steel contraption that Muggles called a car. Mrs. Dursley had to do a grocery run, so Harry, Dudley, and I a ride to the school. I had to learn how to drive this insane vehicle. It couldn't be that much harder than riding a broom, right?
"I'll be back at six thirty. Wait here." And she was off, leaving me and the kids at the front door of the primary school they were enrolled in. Many other kids and their parents were streaming into the school. Seeing all these people, I was surprised Mrs. Dursley had passed up this chance to gossip. Our little group of three followed the mass of people stampeding into the building and went to the little rickety table where two volunteers were sitting, handing out papers. We got in line, Dudley talking to some friends of his, and Harry trying not to be seen. The people sitting at the table handed me papers, which looked like a jumble of numbers and names and places which were impossible to interpret. "This one is for Dudley, and this is for Harry." They shoved the papers into my hands and shooed me along. This great mass of people seemed to know exactly what they were doing. But I was determined to get this right. For Harry. So using my Slytherin determination, I looked at the first paper. At the top it said, Harry J. Potter, Mr. Schulenborg. The rest of the paper detailed his classes, including something called 'Social Studies'. That sounded tortuous. Dudley's paper had similarly confounding subjects, like 'Science'. Muggles, so very strange.
"Alright. This is a primary school, not Hogwarts. Can't be to hard to navigate. Let's do this. Harry, the number for your teacher's classroom seems to be closer. That-a-way." I registered Dudley's whining about him not being first, and how Mummy always took him to his teacher first.
The door to Mr. Shoulenborg's room was open, and a tall man in his late 20s, wearing dorky glasses and a plaid shirt. He beamed at us and shook my hand firmly. "Hello, its nice to meet you! My name is Mr. Schulenburg, and yours?"
"Angel Custos," I stammered, shocked by his friendly greeting, something I hadn't had for a while. He ushered Harry into his classroom and showed him around. Dudley pouted by my side, crossing his arms indignantly. Until a boy with what could only be described as a rat's face sauntered into the class. Dudley suddenly took on a more arrogant expression and strutted as much as his chubby legs would allow over to the boy. Rat-Face caught sight of Harry, and his eyes, which could very well have been red, narrowed.
Harry must have seen Rat-Face as well, because suddenly he lost interest in Mr. Shoulenborg's exuberant explanation of King George III and the Revolutionary War. I knew how awful Dudley bullied Harry at home, and something told me that he was no nicer at school. And now he had his lackey at his side. I swooped down next to Harry and told Mr. Schulenborg, and said, "I'm sorry, but we have other teachers to visit. Harry will see you at the beginning of the school year." He nodded and I took Harry by the shoulder, and called Dudley. He scowled at me, but followed anyways. Rat-Face followed, and I overheard some of their conversation as they pushed each other playfully around the hallway.
"I can't wait," Dudley said.
"I know! The look on his face is going to be priceless."
"Piers, do you think we should add some… spice?" They giggled. Harry seemed to internally crumble, folding into himself into a black hole, the poor kid. Piers looked like the kind of person who held the victim's arms behind their back while Dudley punched them. "I'll get the shirt," Dudley said, "you get the itching powder. Get it to me by the first day of school, it's the best opportunity. Everyone will remember." More giggling. I didn't think they knew I could here them, but their conversation of malevolentness was cut off by an old woman who looked as though she haddn't smiled in centuries. Her name tag read: Mrs. DeVos.
"Are you," she pushed up her cat eye glasses that were attached to a chain around her neck. "Dudley Dursley?" She peered at Dudley, and he said, "Yeah whatever, that's me." Clearly he was unafraid of this old woman with white hair pulled into a tight bun. "Good." She grabbed his arm and practically dragged him to a table, showing a surprising amount of stretch for a woman of her age. Piers cackled, as Mrs. DeVos said, "This is where you will be sitting at the start of school. I hope you're all caught up on geometry, because that's what we'll be starting with." She started giving off completely different vibes than that of a first impression, her no-nonsense attitude showing. She was not going to stand for Dudley antics. Speaking of which, the boy looked shell shocked at being dragged across the room, then lectured in all the things they would be learning. I started grinning, thinking of a professor I had at Hogwarts, with a tight bun and thin lips pressed tight, who reminded me quite a lot of this primary school teacher. "Young lady, what are you smiling about?" Her attention snapped to me, and I replied, "You remind me of a professor I had at school. My favorite teacher." Her thin lips curled into what could have been called a smile, and then she continued lecturing about maths and shapes and learning.
I had no intentions of prying Dudley away from this… intriguing character, put Harry tugged on my sleeve and said, "Last year they said the art teach was retiring. I want to see who's teaching this year. Can we go see?"
"Yeah, alright. Dudley! Let's go see the art teacher!" He pulled himself away from the old woman, who pushed up her glasses and nodded at me. "Harry, lead the way." I expected him to march out ahead, but he mostly tried very hard not to be seen in his over sized clothes. He had destroyed Lord Voldemort, yet he couldn't even walk the halls of his Muggle school without cowering behind me.
We walked into the art room, where several kids and parents were milling around, looking at the colorful works of art on the walls and descriptions of fancy art vocabulary hanging from the ceiling, yet no teacher seemed to stand out. Then a young woman in a smock covered in paint walked out from a closet carrying a crate of paint brushes, looking over her shoulder and talking to a student behind her. "-I got my college degree and got hired here," she was saying. I looked closer at her short dusty brown hair, delicate features, and purposeful strides and recognized the new art teacher.
"Mallory?" I asked. She turned around at the sound of her name, and recognition flashing across her face, smiled broadly, by far her best feature. Mallory had been a year ahead of me at Hogwarts, and every aspiring Slytherin's dream. She didn't let anybody tell her what to do, which included instructing her not to drop out of school to live as a Muggle. Why she wanted to give up a job at the Ministry, something she could have secured easily, was beyond me, but she had her mind set. Whatever opposers said, she had a dream, and no teacher was ever going to take that away. So a year before she was set to take her N.E.W.T.'s, she dropped out. And here she was, happy with her new, very non-wizard job.
"Angel! Man, it's so good to see you!" She dropped her cart of paint brushes and wrapped her arms around me, something I had not expected, but wasn't going to object to. After giving me a firm squeeze, she turned to Harry, gasping slightly. "Oh. My. Gosh. Is this? Is he? Angel, please tell me this isn't-"
"The very same."
"Harry Potter," she breathed. "I am going to have Harry Potter in my art class." Leaning back on the balls of her feet, she took him in, standing by my side, clearly confused as to why he was given the attention. Dudley seemed to be wondering this to, becuase he announced loudly, "I'm Dudley Dursley."
"Yeah, cool," Mallory said, barely giving him a glance.
Dudley was not pleased. "I was our last art teacher's favorite student."
"I'm not your last art teacher. I'm Miss Knox. Pleased to meet you, Mister Potter." She held out her hand, and Harry took, looking very, very, befuddled. "Dudley." Mallory nodded at Dudley and shook his hand, then put her arms around both of their shoulders and said, "I'll show you two boys around the best room in the school. Come on! This is the color wheel, and over here is the free draw station, this tray is for colored pencils, and this over here-" she went around the room, showing off every nook and cranny.
It felt good to see a familiar face again. And knowing Harry was in safe hands took a huge weight off my chest. After she had finished explaining every speck of dust in the room, she walked over to me, posture perfect, head held high. Harry and Dudley were drawing over at the free draw station, so Mallory was free to talk. "Angel Custos, why did you just bring the boy who lived into my classroom?"
"Long story short, I'm sorta kinda his nanny."
"Did you not get the memo I was trying to avoid wizards?"
"But you were happy to see him," I pointed out.
"You to would be happy if the boy who took out You-Know-Who when he was just one walked into your classroom. That was the whole reason I tried to escape magic. Because it does horrible things to a person, the power can drive you mad. I didn't want to end up like him."
"Careful Mallory, that's some Ravenclaw wisdom right there. Wouldn't want to be driving away from Slytherin now would we?"
"Oh, shut up," she said, but smiled and shoved me playfully. "What about that other boy? Dudley. He seems awful."
"Oh he is." I sighed. "You have no idea. It's all I can do not to jinx him into a pig."
"Do you still practice magic?"
"A little bit. I try not to, living in a house full of Muggles. It's just too risky to pull out my wand."
A ringing came from the desk in the corner of her room, and she pulled on the receiver and put it to here ear and said, "Mallory Knox, art room, how may I help you?" She sounded so formal, very different from the causal Mallory I had heard just seconds before. "Alright. Thank you, yes, I'll be right there." She put the phone down. "Sorry Angel, front office needs me." She pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something down, then handed the slip to me. "That's my phone number. If you need anything, especially a night off, call me." She ran out of the room, radiating energy and power. I remembered being a first year and looking up to her, thinking that she was the kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up.
We met back up with Mrs. Dursley at six thirty, ate dinner, and went to bed. Or most people did. As it had become ritual, I snuck down to Harry's cupboard. He was waiting for me when I got there, his brain bouncing with questions. "How did Miss Knox know my name?"
"I'm sure she just had it on her roster." I handed Harry a waffle to distract him, but my efforts were in vain.
"She seemed very excited to see me, but I had never met her." He chewed his waffle thoughtfully.
"She could see what a bright student you are." Already halfway done with his waffle, I handed him another.
"It still doesn't make sense. But you knew her. Is she a friend of yours?"
"Yes. We lived in the same dorm for a while. She dropped out of school to follow her dreams. Very focused on her goals, that girl is."
"Hmm. I liked Mr. Schulenburg. He seemed nice."
"I'm sure he'll be great. School starts in a week. You better get your rest." I found myself really wanting to avoid conversation about school, because that meant I couldn't keep my eyes on Harry his every waking moment. I had grown very protective of him, less because he had taken down evil, and more because I got to know him better as a person. I hoped I would still know him when he was at Hogwarts, learning magic and doing great things.
"Hey." He grabbed my wrist as I attempted to slip away from the cupboard. "Why are you avoiding talking to me about school?" He looked at me with those green eyes that you couldn't help but look into. I shrugged. "I don't know. But it's time for bed. I'll see you in the morning." I wriggled from his grasp and ninja crept up to my room, where I had dreams about saving young Harry from Lord Voldemort, Mallory at my side. I couldn't tell if it was a wish or a warning.
Soon, Harry and Dudley's first day of school came. Petunia dressed up Dudley like a prince, combing his blonde hair to perfection and buttoning his fat stomach in a jacket that looked like it wanted to pop. Harry was given one of Dudley's old shirts, it was green and had a plaid pattern. It had numerous stains of Merlin knows what and a hole in the sleeve. Fuming, I buttoned it up for Harry, who was fumbling with the buttons.
I ran my fingers gently through Harry's hair, trying to get his messy hair into submission. I failed. I tried again, with water this time. I failed again. I used gel. Same result. I didn't get a comb, because Petunia would be very cross.
As I was wrestling with Harry's hair, he gripped my hand before I could run my gel-covered fingers in his hair again. He looked at me with his green eyes and said, "Nothing ever works. It's always like this."
I put my hand down and said, "Well then, I guess you have some interesting hair there, Hairy."
I chuckled at my joke, and Harry looked at me like I was mad. I soon stopped laughing and said, "If that little brat does anything to you, Harry, anything at all-"
"Don't worry, Angel, I'm used to it. He does this all the time." he said. He turned to leave and I said, "Aren't you going to take your backpack?"
"Oh yeah." Harry turned and opened the cupboard, and climbed in. After a few seconds of rummaging, he came back with a few books strapped together with a belt.
"Bye." he said, and turned away. Petunia got the car keys and kissed Dursley on the cheek. She opened the door, and as Harry was approaching, Dudley shoved Harry out of the way and ran outside to the car, laughing. Petunia looked at Harry in disgust and told him to hurry up. Harry got up and miserably went out. Petunia slammed the door behind her.
"Bye." I whispered, fury building inside me. One day, I would make the Dursleys wish they never existed. One day I would make them pay.
Is malevolentness a word? I'm not sure. Tell us your thoughts below. Like, comment, and subscribe. And use the Oxford Comma.