Disclaimer: I still own nothing. It's a sad world we live in :(
Chapter 2, Coachwoman
(5,000 words)
He and Dudley were sitting on a park bench at the playground not far away from the burning house. It was Dudley who had ordered they leaved the garden before the house exploded. He was somewhat doubtful that would actually happen, but then he thought of glimpses he'd gotten of action movies on the television and kept quiet.
Tears and snot was still running freely down his cousin's face. He thought Dudley might pass out from dehydration if he didn't stop bawling soon.
He wasn't crying like a baby. In fact, he had the weird urge to smile, but didn't since smiling was something you did when you were happy and he was sure he didn't feel happy. It was another type of feeling, like relief but still different.
While Dudley shook from sobs at his side, he took his time to look at his surroundings. The sky was cloudy and rain hung in the air, but to him it was quite beautiful. October weather always had been quite dramatic. The swings on the playground were dirty with sand and bird crap, swinging calmly in the wind. An orange slide that looked like it had once been red had cracks running through it like veins. To him, it was interesting to watch when they sat there.
A pop sounded behind them, making them both jump in surprise. Dudley twisted around on his seat while he was non-lazy enough to stand and turn.
There was a man standing on the other side of the bench. He took in his appearance with great fascination. He was the first ever not fat man that he'd ever seen outside of the television, although he wasn't bulky like the men in movies either. He was somewhere in between, with blond hair hinting on red tones and green eyes.
He had green eyes, too, but they didn't look like this man's. His were clearer and the stranger in front of him had more dull shades of murky green.
The robes the man wore were green as well, but they didn't fit very well. He'd seen robes a few times before on Dudley, but the Dursleys preferred to wear muggle clothes as they lived in a supposedly muggle area of Britain. However, he supposed Uncle Vernon wouldn't look that good in robes. Especially not now that he was dead.
"Finally!" exclaimed Dudley, sounding both relieved and impatient. "I've been waiting for ages."
They had been waiting for this man? Was he from the fire department? If so, then they needed to update their uniforms. He couldn't see how anyone would be able to tame a fire with those long flimsy robes without getting caught in the flames. They were very impractical. But then again, he guessed fire could be taken down with magic.
The man smiled at them. No, scratch that, he smiled at Dudley. He couldn't be smiling at them both; no one ever smiled at him with any real happiness.
"I can imagine", said the man. His voice was deep and a little raspy. "There are Aurors down at your house working to extinguish the fire. We feared when we couldn't find you that you had been in the house with your parents-"
"My parents? Are they still alive?" interrupted Dudley.
The man gave him an apologizing smile. "I am truly sorry, Mr Dursley. Our spells registered a body in the hallway and another one on the second floor. We could do nothing to save them."
Dudley broke down crying again and curled up as best he could on the bench and ignored the official looking man. He watched his cousin, feeling almost sympathetic. Almost.
The man turned to him and spoke, "Thank you for taking care of your friend while we were busy. Would you like to come with him to the Ministry and keep him company until we've found him a place to stay?"
He nodded slowly. Then, a smile broke out on his lips when he thought of visiting the famous Ministry of Magic. He'd heard Uncle Vernon talking about it many times, and he'd seen it mentioned on headlines in the Daily Prophet lying on the kitchen table each morning. Things seemed terribly exciting over there.
"Yes, sir, I'd like that", he replied politely. He knew how to act around strangers a little, since he'd listened from his locked cupboard many times as Uncle Vernon had business people over for dinner. It was one good thing that the now dead man had taught him.
"Good, good. Oh, yes, I should introduce myself", he said with a goofy smile. "Atticus Cutcliffe, Administrative Registration Department, at your service. And please call me Atticus." He bowed quickly, mostly turned towards Dudley even though it wasn't him he was speaking to. "Now, we should get you and your friend out of this place. It's much too muggle and the weather promises colds. Here, I'll apparate us there."
He stepped around the bench and came standing with both arms reaching out; one to Dudley and one to himself.
When none of them reacted - he didn't understand what to do and Dudley was too busy bawling on the bench - Atticus shook his arms expectantly. He got the clue and grabbed the one extended to him. A poke in the ribs was all his cousin needed to grumpily stand, eyes red and nose running. As soon as Atticus had them both in a secure grip, he twisted on the spot and there was a loud crack.
The playground was empty once more.
~/Nine\\~
His body was being squished through a tube. He couldn't breathe; his lungs were pressed together and his ribs were on the brink of breaking. For a horrible moment, he thought he was about to die. In the next, he was on solid ground, stumbling to the floor as the world around him spun like crazy.
"Good gracious, you're a sensitive one, aren't you?" said a voice somewhere outside his line of vision. Hands gripped his upper arms and he was hauled to his feet.
"Thank you, sir", he mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of his dizzy head. He didn't feel quite like throwing up, but it was a close call.
Atticus, he noticed when looking up, was the one who had helped him stand. The man was standing as tall as before, seemingly not affected by the apparition at all. Dudley would be the same, he assumed, if the boy hadn't been crying his eyes out still.
He couldn't really blame him. Dudley had just lost both his parents after all.
"Cutcliffe! You found him at last."
He diverted his eyes from Dudley to take in the newcomer. By doing this, he also caught sight of their surroundings. He became fixated.
It was a simple office; creamy brown walls; bookshelves full of binders; a broad desk decorated by trinclest and neatly stacked piles of paper. Boring to most, however to someone who had never seen further than the identical neighbor houses it was like a whole new world. It was the first time he saw that shade of brown on the floor; the first time he saw that painting; that door; that lamp. And the smell! The Dursleys' house always smelled the same, and the garden depended on the weather, but the office smelled of new paper and dust and ash. He supposed the last one was because of the fireplace to their right.
This was also the first time he saw a real woman except for a few occasional faces through the window and Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge. Behind the desk sat a short, stern-looking little lady with curly white hair and rectangular glasses. He thought she looked rather old, but she didn't have many wrinkles. Perhaps it was just the hair?
"Indeed, Madame Taberna. You'll be glad to hear that Mr Dursley here was found unharmed and safe just a few yards from the scene", said Atticus, patting Dudley's shoulder. His cousin had managed to pull himself together a bit at the sight of Madame Taberna.
"Yes, I heard. Very unfortunate, it is. Such a fine family; you must be taking this hard", noted Madame Taberna, not looking very sorry although he was sure she was very emotional on the inside… perhaps. "What of the residence? Have you determined the source of the fire?"
"There seems to have been some problem with the electricity by the staircase. Muggle technology, most likely. The house will have to be demolished and rebuilt, seeing as the damage is too great. While the property still belongs to the Dursley family, young Mr Dursley will not be able to claim it before he's seventeen. I'm afraid we have to find somewhere else for him to live in the meantime", informed Atticus.
Dudley whined miserably.
Madame Taberna nodded solemnly. "Marge Dursley is having one of our men over at this very moment. Other living relatives will be looked up during the time it will take before Ms Dursley gives us an answer. Mr Dursley here will need access to the family vault to replace his destroyed belongings." She looked Dudley over. Her eyes seemed to bore into him. "Was your wand inside the house?"
Dudley met her gaze with wide eyes, shaking his head. "I have it in my pocket. I was doing my homework when the fire started." He pulled out his wand to show it.
He knew that wasn't the truth. Dudley had been sitting on his fat behind in front of the television when the fire started. He played with the thought of exposing the lie for a moment, but let it go. Uncle Vernon may be gone, but no one would listen to a squib anyway.
"Good", said Madame Taberna with a tight smile. "Cutcliffe, will you show Mr Dursley and… I'm sorry, I don't think we've been introduced yet."
He froze. The important woman behind the desk was looking at him now. What was he supposed to do?
"I'm- er, I mean, I came here with Dudley", he stuttered nervously. The gaze he was given was so piercing it felt like she could see right through him. Maybe it was some kind of powerful magic he had never felt before. He didn't like it at all.
"Don't bother, Madame. He's just a worthless squib", Dudley told her, spitting out the last word. He said nothing and waited for Madame Taberna to nod thoughtfully. He saw how her nose wrinkled almost unnoticeably when she heard what he was and felt his heart fall. Would they throw him out?
"I see", she muttered disapprovingly. "He is with you, however?"
"I guess."
"Then Atticus may show you and you acquaintance to the lobby. You will be contacted as soon as we have further information on the situation."
Dudley's face turned alarmingly red all of a sudden and he spluttered loudly.
"The lobby?! You can't be serious! I demand to speak to the Minister, this moment!" he shouted, taking a threatening step closer to Madame Taberna, who didn't seem intimidated at all. Rather, she looked impatient.
"The Minister is a busy man, Mr Dursley. I must say he doesn't involve himself in business as small as this. Now, please, follow Mr Cutcliffe to the lobby", she ordered sourly.
With his now shocked-to-silence cousin and Atticus in the lead, they left Madame Taberna's office and walked quietly down a corridor. There were doors on either side, probably more offices, but barely anyone else was out in the hallway. He wondered if the whole Ministry of Magic was this calm or if it was something unique for this department. He could imagine there wasn't really much excitement here, being the Administrative Registration Department. The sound of it was a bit boring, he thought.
After a few turns and more walks through corridors, they arrived at a nice looking lobby. Simple chair and some sofas stood lined up along the wall, others around small tables here and there. He decided, when seeing the pictures of flying rugs on the opposite wall, that it looked comfy enough.
Atticus left them with a polite farewell, assuring them that they'd have everything fixed and done in a matter of hours. He didn't wait for an answer.
When the man was gone, Dudley huffed irritably and went to sit down heavily in one of the couches. He followed and took a seat in the chair across from his cousin.
For long seconds, there was a blissful silence hanging in the air…
Until Dudley opened his mouth and started whining again.
"I can't believe this!" he cried, pouting unattractively. "Doesn't she know who I am? Stupid hag!"
He didn't say anything; just watched as Dudley trashed around screaming on the poor unsuspecting sofa. The oversized boy punched and clawed the pillows, throwing himself back and forth. He'd get a headache if he continued doing that. Dudley would blame the pain on him, he knew.
It was another thirty five minutes, according to the plain clock on the wall, before Dudley finally tired of raging around and stilled, breathing so hard it looked as if he'd just run a marathon.
"I'll have Auntie sue them", Dudley muttered as darkly as a sweaty, red-faced, sixteen-year-old could. "Just wait till she hears about this."
He nodded absentmindedly, feeling rather relaxed in the otherwise empty lobby. The chair wasn't that comfortable, and the paintings kept repeating what they did over and over again, and he was a little bored, but it was a good kind of easy boredom.
He couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him when Dudley was sent to live with Aunt Marge. Would he be left at an orphanage, like the Dursleys had threatened to do? Despair filled him at the thought. Uncle Vernon had told him how bad the orphanage was; that the children were hung with barbed wire by their toes from the ceiling if they were bad. Just imagine what they would do to a squib like him!
He gave an uncomfortable shudder. He'd rather run away and be a criminal, like Aunt Petunia had said all runaways became in the end. Surely that was better than losing your toes?
A throat cleared in the doorway, where Atticus had appeared together with another man. This one was much taller and had short brown hair and normal, unoriginal features. It was not a face that would be easy to remember. He hoped he wouldn't have to.
Dudley flew to his feet. "You're done? When will Auntie come and get me?"
Atticus held up his hands in front of him to quiet down the demanding teenager. He looked tense, as if he was waiting for something bad to happen.
"Now, Mr Dursley, I must ask you to calm down. I suggest you follow Mr Potter's example", said Atticus sternly. He sounded like Madame Taberna looked.
The tall man, who he guessed must be this Mr Potter that Atticus mentioned, looked between him and his cousin. He gave Dudley a pointed look, effectively making the boy sit down and cross his arms stubbornly. The tall man's eye twitched a little; probably the effort of not rolling his eyes.
"Well?" said Dudley impatiently after a short silence. "Why are you here?"
Atticus took a deep breath, held it for an odd moment, and then started to explain, "When we found out you were safe, we immediately sent one of our men to discuss your future with Marge Dursley, now the temporary Head of Dursley House. Ms Dursley was devastated to hear about the fire and has taken on the role as Head of House graciously; however she informed us she would be too busy to take on any children in her household and asked us to apologize for her."
"WHAT?" The scream was so loud he thought his eardrums would burst from the onslaught. Dudley was on his feet again, breathing heavily through his mouth and clenched hands shaking at his sides. "But she has to take me in! There's no one else I can go to, she's breaking the law by refusing me! This must be a mistake. Auntie Marge loves me. I'm her bestest nephew!"
That might've been because he was her only nephew, but he wasn't about to interrupt.
"Quite right, though this law only works in case the underage wizard or witch has no other option of living arrangements", Atticus said calmly.
Dudley snivelled and tilted his head back slightly so it looked as if he was looking down at the two men. "And are there?"
The supposed Mr Potter spoke in Atticus' place. "As a matter of fact, there is one alternative. While our man was dealing with you Aunt, our Head of Department was contacted with an offer of taking you in."
He stopped speaking, as if that was enough to say according to him. Dudley, however, did not think so. Neither did he appear to like the tall man in the least and ignored him by turning his attention to Atticus.
"Who was it, then? I want an answer now, before I go take care of things myself. It seems to be the only way to get things done around here."
Atticus smiled at him and said softly, "Now, now, let's sit down and handle this like men, shall we? It won't take too long, I assure you."
Dudley huffed, but didn't argue. The two men sat down, Atticus in the sofa next to Dudley and Mr Potter on the chair closest to the exit. Atticus took no time in diving into business once more.
"Mr Dursley, we would like to know if you would be interested in accepting a room and tutoring at Chrestomanci Castle. Lord Malfoy was most insistent you agree as soon as possible."
The room fell in complete silence once he was done speaking. Atticus sat waiting expectantly, Mr Potter the Tall looked bored, Dudley wasn't really breathing, and he must've heard wrong, because did the ministry official across from him just say Chrestomanci Castle? Dudley was going there?
Mr Potter sighed and drawled, "Well, child? What will it be?"
Dudley gasped, "Yes! Do you think I'm stupid? Of course I will accept." He was smiling widely when he realized he was probably acting a bit childishly and straightened, saying haughtily, "After all, it's the least I deserve."
"Very well", said Atticus with a short nod. "Lord Malfoy informed us the arrangements for your journey are ready whenever you feel like leaving. Would you like to pay a visit to Diagon Alley before-"
"No, I want to go now. Just lead the way." Dudley held his head up, showing off parts of his nose that were not very flattering. He stood from the couch and made his way to the door.
"Hold on, Mr Dursley", called Atticus and stood as well. He turned to Dudley, which meant he had his back to the two other people in the room.
Dudley stopped in the doorway, turning around and tapping his foot in a narky manner. He raised both eyebrows; he obviously couldn't raise just one at a time. It didn't look particularly impressive.
"While we worked on your case, we took some time to look through your family records. Remember Madame Taberna said we would?" He waited for Dudley to nod. "Yes, well, it appears you are quite closely related to Mr Potter. He'll accompany you to the castle, owing to the fact that you are his one living relative left."
He looked at Mr Potter in the chair beside him calculatingly. The man was still very, very, tall and not at all as big around the waist as most of the Dursleys were. Well, all of them, now that Aunt Petunia was gone. Then again, perhaps they were related on her side. No part of Petunia Dursley's family had ever come to Privet Drive as far as he was informed.
Still, Mr Potter looked nothing like either Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia in any aspect except for his normal looks. The Dursleys always were picky about being 'normal'.
Dudley sneered, "Fine. Come on squib, I won't stand here waiting for you all day."
And he had no choice but to follow. Not that he'd complain. Finally, there was something happening in his life.
~/Nine\\~
To say he was confused was like saying Vernon Dursley was just a bit overweight. No, he was royally perplexed.
First, he and Dudley had been led by Atticus Cutcliffe and Mr Potter through even more corridors, all the way back to Madame Taberna's office. They hadn't met a soul on the way there and the chair behind the desk had no stern little lady sitting in it. She was elsewhere doing important thing, apparently.
Then had followed his first-ever floo travel through the fireplace to the right, as he'd remembered from earlier.
He had not liked it. Actually, he had quite right out Hated it with a capital H and sworn to himself never to get anywhere near a fireplace or floo powder in the next upcoming billion years.
He'd stumbled out, and fallen, on the dirty floor of an almost deserted tavern. Judging by the state of the floor, he could see why there weren't many people visiting. It was a pity, though, because he could see what promises the small place had once Atticus had helped him up for the second time in one day.
The rest of their small party stepped out gracefully and Atticus explained to him and Dudley that the pub was called The Dying Dragon and was one of many taverns in the small wizarding community known as Bravenbeck. It was the closest town to Chrestomanci Castle, he said.
Without further notice, they exited the tavern, leaving behind a disappointed bartender who must've been hoping for customers.
Outside, the sun was shining. The warmth against his skin quickly took away his sulky mood from the floo travel and he momentarily closed his eyes to enjoy it. His enjoyment didn't last long as the other three started walking off without him. He ran to catch up and found them around a corner standing by a carriage.
It looked exactly like Dudley had said it would. Painted in a soft blue and made in wood, there were elegant patterns and swirls carved into the sides and a black door and wheels. Two equally dark horses stood ready in front of it, high and bulging with muscles. They were a little intimidating, but he thought they were more intriguing than frightened. Most of all they were just big.
When he focused on his company, he saw Atticus was addressing a wild looking woman with black bushy hair and wide, almost crazed eyes. She looked like she'd just escaped from a mental hospital and took the first job she could get. The cylinder hat on her head, which looked very comical on her, told him that she most certainly was the coachman.
"Uh huh", she grunted to whatever Atticus had said and took the paper he offered her. He guessed it was some sort of proof they were who they appeared to be and had permission to go with her. She skimmed over the content with her eyes, too quickly to really read any of the words, and said, "Seems real enough. Potter's here as well?"
"Everyone that should be here are here", confirmed Atticus. "I expect you are ready to take them?"
"Yes, yes, just put them in the back. Don't see why it has to take so long." The woman waved her hand in a wide, graceless gesture to show her agitation.
Atticus eyed her disapprovingly before sighing and taking back the paper from her waving hand and tucked it inside a pocket on his robe.
"That's all settled, then", he said in a loud voice as if to address them all. He turned to him, Dudley, and Mr Potter and smiled. "Have a nice stay, Mr Dursley, Mr Potter, and let's hope the ride there doesn't turn risky." He glanced discretely up at the female coachman.
"Thank you", said Dudley dismissively.
This time around, Mr Potter did roll his eyes and he and Atticus turned and disappeared around the corner the four of them had just come from.
Wait, why did Mr Potter leave with Atticus? He was supposed to come with Dudley to the castle!
But before he could call out for the two men to stop, Dudley had gripped his arm and was dragging him towards the carriage.
"Dudley, something is wrong. We must go get Atticus and-"
"Just shut up, squib, and get up on the carriage", spat his cousin and released him in order to climb in through the black door and slam it shut behind him.
He didn't understand at all. Didn't Dudley want Mr Potter to come with him?
"What are you standing there and staring for, boy? He told you to get up", called the coachman from her position on top of the wagon. He goggled at her for a moment, then gave up and admitted that maybe he truly was as stupid as Uncle Vernon had said, because his mind couldn't comprehend what was going on. He climbed up the side of the blue carriage and sat down beside the woman.
She smelled faintly of hay and alcohol and was dressed in a black ripped dress with a tight fitting corset. It was a wonder she wasn't choking.
Carefully, he edge closer to the side of the bench as they started going to get a little farther away from her. She didn't seem to notice, or just didn't care.
They traveled through the town silently. The Dying Dragon must've been in the outcast part of Bravenbeck, because it didn't take long for them to leave the small wizarding community behind and continue on small country road flanked by poppy fields on both sides. The carriage rocked in a calming rhythm and he was soon drowsy because of that and the heat.
He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of horseshoes against gravel road and the occasional neighing of the two mares. He'd be asleep if it wasn't for the uncomfortable bench he was sitting on.
About to attempt sleep anyway, he started when the wild looking woman spoke, "So, you're a squib, are you? How does it feel?"
He glanced at her suspiciously. He didn't know what it was, except for her appearance, of course, but he felt wary around her. It was different from how he'd felt when he'd been with the officials in the Ministry. This woman unsettled him somehow.
"I don't know. How does it feel to be a coachman?" he asked somewhat rudely. He hadn't meant to make it sound like that, really, but it had just come out that way.
"Coachman?!" shrieked the woman, offended, glaring at him like she was planning his murder. "Do I happen to look like a wizard to you? I'll tell you that every part of this body is as female as it'll ever get! I'm a coachwoman, young sir, and I don't take well to insults like that."
A faint blush spread across his cheeks. He felt terribly ashamed all of a sudden.
"I'm very sorry. I didn't know coachwomen were a thing. Please don't take offense, miss…?" he trailed off, hopeful that he'd succeeded in taking her mind off his clumsy comment.
She studied him from the corner of her eye and he waited nervously for her to decide if he was worth it or not. Apparently he was, because she snorted and looked away over the fields and said, "The name's Bellatrix Lestrange. Call me Bella, though; I'm not too fond of my husband."
He gave her a wavery smile, not sure himself if it was true or not.
"Okay. I'm me", he introduced himself politely. He held out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Bellatrix the Coachwoman gave him an odd look, but took his hand, only a little hesitantly, and gave it a quick shake.
"The pleasure's all yours, squib."
Although the last word was meant as an insult, he thought it didn't sound quite as sour as it had before. Maybe it was just his imagination.
~/Nine\\~
Bellatrix didn't say a word for the rest of the journey and that was just fine with him. For a good while, he even forgot that Dudley was sitting in the same carriage as he. He was a bit displeased when he remembered his cousin, but then he told himself that they were heading to Chrestomanci Castle and he felt giddiness bubbling in his chest again.
The carriage was rolling on a narrow road in an old forest by the time the sun started to set. He took the opportunity to admire the high trees and wild plants that he'd never seen in Aunt Petunia's garden. Where that garden had been plain and boring and 'perfect', this forest was untamed and full of life. There were barely any flowers, but the greens and browns were colourful in their own ways.
Then the forest ended, just like that, and he looked around, at a loss. That had been very abrupt and he wanted to see more trees.
But then he saw the castle and all thoughts of trees and moss disappeared in a heartbeat.
He couldn't believe his eyes.