Chapter 6: Something
I sat up on the bed the next morning with a terrible, pulsating headache and kneaded my temples. I felt positively and completely awful.
There was no gap in memory, no period of forgetfulness, of blissful ignorance and confusion about whether last night was a dream or why I was in some strange, unfamiliar room. I opened my eyes to my surroundings and became painfully aware of the reality as I registered them. I missed my father. I missed my sister. And I felt an overwhelming love and disdain for them both. I felt angry and worried and frustrated because of them. There was this horrible pang in my chest because of them, and it felt like I had just gone down a drop on a roller coaster, as like I had plummeted so far so quickly that I had left something vital behind.
I flipped over and submerged my head under a pillow. Squeezing my eyelids shut, I tried to burrow into the moth-eaten bedcovers and just disappear. I felt horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. This choking sensation grasped at my heart and I wanted to cry, to just release all my frustration and distress, but somehow I just couldn't. I sighed heavily, consumed by my thoughts.
Where was I going to go from here?
I threw the question away with a sneer. I didn't even know where I was at the moment.
I fidgeted and turned to face the ceiling. All I knew was that this place was occupied by the Order. What was this "Order"? And what exactly had happened last night? There was no logical explanation for, say, a house popping out of nowhere. Or the concept of Apparition. Or the wolf that had sprung from the stick I'd waved. And, anyway, what did little (well, not anymore I admitted) Harry Potter from my old primary school have to do with them? My headache responded with an especially painful thump.
I lay in the bed for a long while, allowing my despair to wash over me, rage through me, and deflate slightly. Deflate, not disappear. But I couldn't just stay here all day and mope. Answers were what Mrs. Figg had promised me. I didn't know exactly what I'd do once I learned exactly what was behind all the strange happenings. But it was a start. An action. Something.
A sharp, scratching noise came from the door and my eyes shot towards it. A cat?I wondered hopefully. I hoped it was a cat. I'd had a cat for a while as a kid, and holding it and petting it had always helped to relieve some of my anger and frustration.I hoped it was a nice cat, that it wouldn't scratch me to death if I pet it.
Anyway, at least the thought gave me the motivation to get up and get going with the day; I crawled out of bed and decided to get dressed as long as I was up. The scratching became more persistent and grating. I hurried over to my backpack. The zipper stuck and I yanked it hard, pulling out some clothes.
The backpack stirred up thoughts of last night. Come to think of it, where would I have been if I hadn't run into Harry and been attacked by dementors? I looked at the meager amount of belongings in the backpack and I couldn't help but feel relieved to be here, not out on the streets, not with my dad.
Scriiiiiiiitch.
I went to the door and unbolted it.
"Honestly," I muttered, swinging it open. "You're going to claw through the do-"
I stopped. It wasn't a cat. It was a man. Only, he didn't look human. For one, he was short, shorter than any man I had ever seen. He looked very old, and his wrinkled skin was completely bald, covered by nothing but a dirty, tattered loincloth. His ears were pointed and extremely large compared to his head; his nose was long and snout-like. He glared up at me with huge, round, critical eyes. I gawked at him.
"Kreacher was told to check upon the young Miss," he said gruffly with a stiff bow. Straightening up, he muttered to himself "Filthy, unclean blood that she is. Oh, if my poor Mistress only knew…"
"Excuse me?" I said indignantly. "What exactly is wrong with my blood?"
"Why, Kreacher said nothing about blood. The young Miss must be daydreaming," he said, bowing again. He gnashed his teeth and added in a quieter but quite audible voice "Nasty, disgusting slime. Oh, if my poor, poor Mistress only knew, she would be outraged at what they are doing to this house. Oh, if she only kne-"
He stopped short as a tall man emerged from down the hallway and Kreacher bowed ridiculously low, so much so that his long, snout-like nose practically scraped the floor.
"I told you to check on her, not insult her, Kreacher." The man's tone had a pointed quality, laced with a tinge of hatred and an air of authority.
I stood in the doorway, not sure what to make of him, as Kreacher bowed (for the umpteenth time) and retreated, mumbling apologies and profanities.
I studied the man. His dark, shaggy hair fell into his eyes, and, with his free hand, he swept it out of his face. From the other hand dangled a plastic bag, full of what seemed to be dead rats.
"Sorry about that," he said apologetically. "Kreacher can be quite…" His nose crinkled. "Intolerable at times."
I shrugged. Insults to my blood didn't exactly get me all riled up…I had yet to understand what Kreacher had actually meant and the meaning of blood in the Wizarding World. The putrid scent of dead rats wafted toward me, and I covered my nostrils.
The man laughed, a hoarse but calming sound. "I was just carrying these up to Buckbeak…He likes to have a little snack in the mornings." He winked at me. "Molly said that you would have some questions. If you want, I could answer some."
He started walking again, humming softly to himself, and I hesitated for only a second before my curiosity got the better of me and I joined him at his side.
The man introduced himself as Sirius Black. Evidently Mrs. Weasley had caught on to the fact that I was new to the Wizarding World. And with such intelligent and eloquently-phrased statements as "Then the giant, white, smoky wolf…thing came out of the stick" that had come out of my mouth last night, I'm sure it took a stunning amount of intellect to figure out. At any rate, she had told Sirius about last night's occurrences and now here he was, giving me a basic introduction to the magical world.
Magical creatures were the first subject he broached. Sirius started with the ones I had already encountered. The dementors of last night were the happiness-eating creatures that guarded Azkaban, the wizard jail, where he had once stayed. They were awful, horrifying creatures, he told me, that could suck out one's soul with a Kiss. I shuddered, remembering how close I had been to one just hours ago. Next, was Kreacher, who, as Sirius frankly pointed out, was an old house elf and not a demented midget with gigantic ears as I had originally thought.
We stopped in front of a door, from which came a series of scuffs and snorts. This was his old mum's room, Sirius muttered contemptuously, but now it was home to Buckbeak the hippogriff. My eyes round, I inhaled sharply, intrigued and curious now, recognizing the name from mythology. Sirius hesitated, squinting at me and pondering the risks, then nodded to himself and conceded.
"All right," he said, grinning at my excited expression. He gave me a quick warning to bow, maintain eye contact, and let the creature have the first movement before he swung open the door, revealing the stunning beast, half-bird, half-horse, waiting for its scrumptious morning snack of lifeless rats.
It had been early morning when we went in, but hours later, we still sat in the dusty, old room, exchanging questions and answers.
After a successful introduction to Buckbeak, Sirius had begun to expand his explanation of the Wizarding World. It had taken a long time to grip everything that he said. The concept of magic went against the straight, defined world I had been used to, where there was a logical explanation for worldly events. But, I had to come to grips with it eventually; that itself didn't take long for me to accept. It was either that I had A) popped into the hidden world of magic or that I had B) gone completely crazy, imagining all of yesterday's strange events. I had always held a good deal of confidence in my own sanity so I chose option A.
What took the longest was trying to comprehend the Wizarding World. Sirius told me only the "bare essentials" of it, yet it seemed so expansive and complex to me, and he had to repeat certain facts multiple times. Sometimes, I nodded. Sometimes, I argued. Sometimes, I just sat back, completely confused. At long last, I repeated everything that I had retained from his explanations as Sirius stroked Buckbeak's beak gently with his forefinger.
Hogwarts was a school for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Albus Dumbledore, a highly regarded and important member of the Order, was headmaster there.
The Ministry of Magic was the law enforcement. Harry and I had broken some statute against underage magic use.
Magical creatures…existed. Unicorns, dragons, sea monsters, and many more…they were all real.
The list went on and on. There were many, many other things that Sirius told me about, a majority of which I committed to memory and some of which went in one ear and out the other. The topics which Sirius discussed the most urgency and which stuck most strongly in my mind, though, were those about Lord Voldemort or (He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) , Harry Potter, and the Order of the Phoenix.
It was late morning and Sirius and I had settled into silence. I had no more questions I needed (or wanted) to ask and Sirius had no more answers he needed or wanted to provide. Sirius ran his calloused hands through Buckbeak's glossy feathers, smiling softly as Buckbeak nudged him approvingly. And I sat, thinking, cross-legged on the hard, unforgiving floor, my face resting on my hand, looking as dust particles floated through the damp air, catching the light and then fading into the shadows.
Author's Note: I have a very important announcement, which I'll be publishing as the next chapter very soon, that I would like all of my readers to see.