Disclaimer: No tyrant as merciless as pain - Stephen King
11. No Tyrant as Merciless as Pain
The first day of Hogwarts was by far the hardest. The night was spent sleeping peacefully after a quick meeting with Dumbledore and then once I woke up everything sunk in.
Bill was dead. I wouldn't wake up to make him breakfast, lunch or dinner anymore. No more anticipating his arrival through the Floo. No more manning his shop and having surprise visits from him. I won't ever hear his deafening snores again. He wouldn't ever drink another drop of firewhiskey after a particularly arduous day. He was with Nanny Anne; where he belonged. Where he longed to be since her death six years ago, leaving their vacant armchairs side-by-side, just as they had been throughout their years. The tears I shed only lasted that day. Since then I only felt a sharp stab in my chest where I'm sure my heart was close to breaking. What else was there left for it to carry on beating for?
There is no tyrant as merciless as pain.
The second day was easier. My dorm was shared with house elves, hidden behind an enchanted cupboard in the kitchen. Whenever the devious students opened it, it would reveal dusty and chipped plates, cobwebs inhabiting the corner with a spider or two. Dumbledore flourished his wand and I was able to enter the dorm with the other house elves. They kept me company, teaching me the wonders of Hogwarts meals and helping me adjust to the difference.
Then came the studying.
The hallways were silent apart from the raging October winds outside the castle walls as I turned the familiar corners I had become somewhat acquainted to. No, scratch that – I would've surely found myself on the opposite side of the castle (maybe even deep in the Forbidden Forest) if it were not for my guide, the infamous Filch, murmuring soothingly to his cat, keeping an eye out for any out of bed students. Many nights I could hear those out of bed students carping on about the caretaker and his infuriating cat, Mrs Norris. The duo never bothered me much, perhaps on account of another squib working in the magic filled castle. Not that he offered me much assistance either, grumbling under his breath but loud enough for me to hear. Never anything nice of course.
We paused on the rotating staircase, me gripping onto the banister until my knuckles ached, then carried on. Even after two weeks of scouring the floors of the castle at night I was not used to the moving stairs.
The wary- eyed Filch ("Oh, my dear, if only that man would stop getting in more of these insufferable…kids…wasting my time…foolish…OI, back in bed you!") was my guide for many of my nightly strolls through the castle and its grounds. The feeling of being in Hogwarts after curfew was incomparable to anything I'd ever felt. I was somewhat comforted by the snoozing portraits and the stars blinking down at me and reflecting off the Black Lake. This was where I was meant to be, I kept telling myself. Where I was prepped to attend since birth.
There was always some doubt niggling in the back of my head.
My father's parting words echoed in my mind even after all these years whenever I thought of leaving the confines of the kitchen during the day ("Stupid squib! You don't belong here! You're a disgrace to magic folk!"), keeping me away from the mockery from others like him, the bigots, as Nanny Anne called them. Bill had a much more colourful word for them. I allowed my hope of re-emerging with the magical world to take me away from my friends, my home, from the place I was sure I wouldn't be judged and ridiculed for what I was, like Filch. Poor Filch. His crabbiness and permanent scowl would not be so prominent were it not for the students cruel derision, uncaring of whether he heard them or not. In fact, they probably wanted him to hear. After all, a squib among wizards was dishonourable, even to the most sympathetic purebloods.
I brought this on myself; the fear. So easy it would have been to say no, to stay in Devon in the otherwise empty house. But I feared the thought of being on my own in the house filled with only dust and memories. Yes, I had the Brimble's and the Pike's to look out for me, much like the times Mrs Brimble had done whenever Bill done a runner, but they had their own families, their own routines. And I had mine. Had.
The gentle tick tock tick tock of the giant pendulum reverberated through the hallways on the way to Dumbledore's office. I rested my frantic mind and focused on the mumblings of Filch for the remainder of the journey.
"Good evening, Ella. I hope you had a pleasant day," Dumbledore greeted with his usual twinkly, granddad-like eyes as soon as I entered his office. It never ceased to amaze me, seeing all his trinkets and magical knick-knacks, whizzing and flying and buzzing. His expanse of wall used as a library always called to me. What wonders and secrets gathered from over hundreds of years lied within this spherical room?
"Yes, I did, thank you sir," I smiled, sitting down on the chair before his desk, vaguely hearing Filch's groans of protest fading in the distance.
"Good." His beard twisted up: his version of a slight smirk. I was sure this man was a mind reader. "How are your classes? I hear you are progressing rather well."
Lie. Big fat fat massive lie. Catching up on five years of the Hogwarts curriculum was maddening, even at only two weeks of studying. The house elves in the kitchens gladly took over my duties (not that they let me lift a finger much of the time anyways) to ensure me time for homework and studying. Some even helped me when they could.
"They're ok. Got a lot more to learn," I answered.
"Much praise comes from Professor Flitwick and Professor Binns on your theory work and remembering material," he complimented with the tiniest wink. "Anyway, this was not my reason to call for you this evening." He paused. "How are you?"
"Ok, I guess. Bit cold." For emphasis I rubbed my arm over my thick jumper. The office was definitely warmer than the windy hallways but nowhere near as stuffy as the kitchen.
He dropped his head ever so lightly to peer over his spectacles. "You are not feeling forlorn or regretful of your decision to leave your home?"
Yes, I am regretting it, sir. I want to go home. I want Zoe and Nate. I want Bill. I'm scared. I shoved the thoughts to the back of my mind, cursing myself for giving up so easily and sounding like my nine year old whiny self. "It does get a bit lonely down in the kitchens."
"My offer still stands, Ella. If you wish to return home, by all means, do not be afraid to say so."
His words were so common to me now, his gaze still sharp. "No, I want to stay."
Dumbledore nodded. "If you wish me to accompany you to the Great Hall during breakfast…"
"I'm not ready for that," I said honestly. How could I just waltz into a room full of witches and wizards and expect to be accepted when squibs are snubbed from the very society?
"Ella, perhaps you may wish to be introduced along with the arrival of our foreign visitors?"
"What visitors?"
He smiled crookedly. "Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, schools for wizards and witches in France and Bulgaria, will be arriving in mere days to participate in the Triwizard Tournament."
Ah, yes. I remember now. He had mentioned this on my first night when he was going over the school rules. He said it as a fleeting comment at the time but it was obviously something big. Always one for dramatics.
"I'll think about it."
"Be quick, only two days to go. Now then, are you having much trouble with any specific subject?"
"Well, I guess transfiguration is a bit daunting. The theory doesn't make much sense if I have nothing to base it on. I mean, Professor McGonagall does give a demonstration but she doesn't do it often and so I don't get a real sense of…what's happening and what's involved. Magically speaking."
"I see. I shall discuss other methods with Minerva and hopefully she will aid you further. Anything else?"
I said no. He greeted me goodnight but then called me back as I reached the door. "And, dear, the house elves will be teaching you the art of the other schools' foreign culinary delicacies. I do hope you enjoy treating your taste buds, I'm sure living with Bill all those years has you accustomed to pies and chips."
The sharp pain accompanied with the memory Bill stabbed my chest.
The next week passed by in a similar fashion to my first two weeks. I woke up early to prepare breakfast with the house elves, completed homework and studied some more, helped with lunch, more studying, got to know the other house elves and what their previous lives before Hogwarts were like, helped with dinner, and then went on a midnight stroll through the castle and grounds.
The day before the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students I told Dumbledore I would be remaining unknown, for a while at least. I couldn't bear the jeering that was sure to follow ("Look! Another stupid, useless squib! What's she doin' 'ere?"). And then the night of the Goblet of Fire came. Harry Potter's name still rung in my head. The eerie silence that followed. And then the hecklings. I couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the poor boy, orphaned into a muggle family away from magic. I felt I could empathise with him on some level.
A month passed in much the same way. And before I knew it, November was close to ending.
The afternoon was filled with sounds of roaring dragons. Dragons: the first task. I bit my lip nervously as another roar echoed through the kitchen. Many of the house elves carried on without a flinch but others jumped and dropped what they were holding, fixing it in seconds with a click of their fingers. Poor Harry, only fourteen and having to fend off a massive fire breathing dragon. At least, I think it was fire breathing.
"Is Miss not attending the first task?" a little voice squeaked.
I turned away from my potions book to see Bonnie the house elf. I smiled down at her overly large eyes and floppy ears. She reminded me of a bunny – an old, dirty, ugly bunny. "No, Bonnie. I have to study," I said.
"But Miss doesn't need to work on potions! Miss is very good. Triwizard tournament is very special occasion," Bonnie tried explaining.
"You're right." I closed my book and stood up. Bonnie looked up at me with a grin. "I should go and work on charms instead." Her grin was gone.
I exchanged my books and returned to a bench in the kitchen. I wasn't sure which house it fed but it didn't make much difference to me, I wasn't sorted. Dumbledore had explained to me that as a squib, the Sorting Hat wouldn't group me in a house. After all, they were founded by wizards and witches with magical ability.
Another roar. And then a loud booming voice announcing the competitors.
I focused my attention on my textbook. The crowd yelling and cheering every few seconds kept distracting me. What on earth was happening out there? My curiosity was raging against my doubt. No one would see me, they'd all be too focused on the task. I bit my lip, balancing the pros and cons – well, there was only one con and a million pros.
"Bonnie!" I called across the kitchen. She appeared next to me with a pop.
"Yes, Miss Ella."
"Would you mind taking me out to the Quidditch pitch please? Just for a minute, I want to see what's happening," I asked.
"Oh! Yes, Miss Ella! Of course," she shrieked too loudly. Bonnie grabbed my hand and all of a sudden I felt a pressure in my stomach, the kind you get when you're trying to squeeze through a tiny hole. It reminded me of being born, funnily enough. Is that how babies felt? The feeling lasted no more than a second and then I was back on my feet, swaying in the blurry outdoors.
"Bonnie is sorry, Miss! Bonnie didn't mean to make Miss Ella sick," the house elf cried, holding my leg to steady me and pinching herself with her other out of habit.
I couldn't reply in fear of being sick. My organs were swimming inside of me, jolting my stomach and the soup I ate for lunch.
And then my vision steadied, my ears focused on the noise, and I was watching a dragon stalk a boy.
We were high up, behind a crowd of people but elevated so I could see over them. Poor Bonnie was too short to see anything over my knee. The crowd gasped as the boy fled from the dragon, its fire smacking against a large rock. His glasses were crooked on his face, his pitch black hair unruly. He ran from his safety and just missed another lick of fire. Soot marked his face and clothes. His face held boyish features. Only an idiot wouldn't recognise this boy: Harry Potter.
My hands covered my mouth at another close attack. No one paid any attention to the noises garbled in my throat. Good thing as well, I wasn't making much of an attempt to hide myself from the students.
Harry held his wand out and started yelling. I couldn't hear him over the cries of the students, but in no time at all everyone was pointing and looking in the distance. I squinted my eyes against the glare of the sun and then gasped along with everyone else as a broomstick zoomed in front of Harry.
The crowd whooped and hollered even louder as Harry soared up high and around the stands, the vicious dragon hot on his tails. I stood mesmerised at seeing him fly so expertly, darting away from the deadly fire and claws. For a second I could even hear someone cheering on the bloody dragon. He flew around the castle away from our eyes. Without the distraction of Harry against the dragon I noticed just how cold it was; I was shivering in my plain brown trousers and red jumper. Everyone around me was wearing thick robes, scarfs, hats and gloves.
Before I could dwell on my numb fingers any longer Harry soared back into eyesight, looking even more dishevelled than before. He swooped down into the pitch again. And then it was over as soon as he held up a large golden egg. The entire stadium erupted into cheers, jumping and hugging and kissing.
I jumped up with little yelps of my own, grabbed Bonnie's hands and danced around in a circle with her. I was bent down so low I was sure to have an ache for the rest of the day. We laughed together until the booming voice announced the end of the first task and began counting the scores for each of the four contestants.
"Bonnie, I think she would go now before anyone sees us," I said, bending down behind the excited students to whisper in her ear.
She nodded. "Does Miss want to close her eyes?" she whispered back. I closed my eyes and felt the tugging in my stomach once again. The sounds from the stadium left a buzzing in my ears when I opened my eyes to see us back in the kitchen. I sighed and flopped down on a bench, waiting for my stomach to ease back to normal.
"That was amazing!" I laughed, thinking back on what I had just witnessed. "A real dragon! It was huge! Oh, and Harry was fantastic! Bonnie, thank you, that was brilliant," I said to the house elf, leaned down and kissed her head. She stuttered over her words before bowing down and running off. Another house elf strolled past mixing a bowl. "Fizzy!" I called out.
The house elf turned around. "Yes, Miss Ella? Is something the matter? Is Miss needing-"
I flung her bowl onto a nearby table, spilling over some of its contents and grabbed her hands. Giggling, I swung her around in a dance, her feet high up off the floor. Fizzy was the happiest of the house elves so I knew she would have no issue – or at least much less of an issue – with dancing with a human during her duty. We danced and laughed much to the displeasure of some of the other elves. Being at Hogwarts was wonderful and all the magic I witnessed was always a pleasure. But the dragon just made it all the more real. I was in the wizarding world after all those years! And Harry flying! Actually flying! Away from a fire breathing dragon, the kind that I grew up reading about.
"Oi! Hurry it up already, would ya?"
"I would if this git moved faster."
"Don't rush me! These gloves are-"
"Don't go blaming those bloody gloves again."
"Someone's coming! Move it!"
"I'll do it you tosser. You go 'round the corner and keep watch. And look after those Honeydukes sweets!"
The house elves bustled around the kitchen with more energy, seeming unperturbed by the conversation just outside of the entrance to the kitchen. I had heard many students come in here before but it was always at night when I was out for a stroll or safely in the dorm behind the enchanted cupboard.
Fizzy wriggled out of my arms and dropped to the floor, grabbed her bowl and scarpered off to a corner.
The entrance opened, the portrait of the fruit bowl swinging in, the giggling pear quiet and excited. A tall figure entered the room, surrounded instantly by many of the house elves ("What is sir needing today, sir?"). Slowly, I backed away from the small group to the direction of the cupboard. It wasn't very far, only a few more steps and I'd be hidden away in the sanctuary of my dorm…
The boy looked up. My movements stalled. A sharp intake of breath. His eyes found mine without any effort at all, as if sensing my odd presence amongst the tiny house elves. His bright blue eyes. His eyes surrounded by pale freckly skin. His long red hair framing his pale freckly skin.
Not once since I had met George Weasley had he been stunned into silence.
"George," I breathed out, my voice barely audible. He was here, in Hogwarts. Hogwarts was his 'going away for the boring month's school'. Hogwarts: the school for witches and wizards. George…wizard…
He stayed silent, his red brows furrowed, either in disbelief or confusion. He didn't look any different to how he was in the summer, he'd only lost his light tan and his sunburn. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to dance, to weep. He was here! He was here all along.
"What're you standing in the way for? Move it, the champion needs his food" a voice came from behind him. George was shoved forward and my eyes left his.
"Ella?"
Confusion. That's what this feeling was. I was confused. No, I was more than confused; I was completely baffled. And shocked.
George was pushed by…George. Two Georges.
My eyes flickered between the two. Both Georges had exactly the same expression: surprised and bewildered.
"Ella?" It was George Two.
I rubbed my eyes. It was the weather – it must have been. It was colder outside than I realised and I was seeing things now. I was sick. That was all. There was only one George.
My vision was incredibly fuzzy and four Georges appeared standing on the wall. First on the right, then the left wall. Then they wobbled upside down.
"Whoa! Easy there, little one." Hands gripped my shoulders and pushed me down onto a bench. Two Georges were right in my face while the other two stood back. My head swayed some more. And then it was two Georges again.
"George." The George kneeling in front of me smiled and rubbed my arms.
"I'm here, Ella. It's me. What are you doing here?"
The other George stood quietly.
"But…what…?"
"George," the other George spoke, "What's going on?"
George sighed and stood up before sitting on the bench beside me.
"Fred, this here's Ella," George introduced. "Ella, this is Fred."
Fred. Fred Weasley. George's favourite brother and best friend, was his twin. All the pieces, everything right in front of me clicked into place. I didn't know how to feel. I was angry from not being told; happy that I was with George and finally meeting Fred; betrayed for not being trusted enough.
The anger pushed forward ahead of all my other emotions. The joy of having seen the famous Harry Potter against a menacing beast vanished. I couldn't believe he kept this big a secret from me! What was he thinking?
"Fred," I deadpanned. "Fred your brother."
He smiled. "Well obviously. He does look a bit like me doesn't he? But more ugly. I'm the attractive one as you can see," he joked, nudging my shoulder with his own. "What are you doing here? I've never seen you here before."
"How could you not tell me?" I snapped.
George looked at me worriedly with a frown. "I'm sorry, Ella, I couldn't tell you about this, you should know. I swear I wanted to!"
"I'm not talking about you being a wizard." I knew the secrecy rules about informing muggles of the wizarding world so I couldn't blame him for not telling me that, how was he to know that I wasn't a muggle? "You never told me you had a twin."
George was lost for words. He looked between me and Fred, jumbled noises escaping his mouth.
"George," Fred said, opening his mouth for the second time. His voice sounded identical to George's. I tried looking for clues to tell the two apart discreetly, but from what I could see they were exactly alike. "What's going on? You know her."
The twins watched each other for a moment, Fred's arms crossed, standing tall and stubborn. George sighed. "Fred, this is Ella. She's from Ottery."
Fred nodded once, accepting his brother's terse response as if he was told an incredibly complex mystery and was seconds away from realising the answer. He would have looked calm if it wasn't for his hardened jaw. Without another word, Fred took the food offered to him by some house elves and left the kitchen. George watched his brother go.
"Ella, I didn't mean to not tell you, I just...I couldn't…it never…"
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. All those years of us walking through the town, playing in the park, lying in my garden, all those times he had spoken about Fred's new adventure, Fred's new girlfriend, Fred's newest joke, Fred, Fred, Fred, and he had not once mentioned or even implied them being twin. We were friends, best friends, and he couldn't trust me something so important. How long was he going to keep it a secret for? Was he ever going to tell me?
George eyed the door, debating whether or not to follow his brother or stay. He chewed on his upper lip, then deflated and patted the seat next to him, only talking when I sat down. "You don't know what it feels like, being a twin. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's absolutely amazing having a partner in crime from before you were born, always knowing everything about you, knowing your mood and how to react to it. It's always been us, FredAndGeorge. Mum can't even tell us apart half the time," George scoffed, shaking his head lightly with a small smile. He was hunched over, leaning his arms on his thighs and rubbing his hands together. "But no one ever saw me for just George, y'know? Without Fred. Everyone just treated us as the same. And we are mostly.
"But it's the little differences that set us apart that no one cares to notice. Like, how I like less sugar in my tea, prefer marmalade on my toast instead of jam or butter, that I can't stand frogs, and I'm bloody older. Fred's got this weird thing where he lives by the colour red. He lives and breathes red. You know he has more red underwear than any other colour? And he'll rather go commando if all his red undies are dirty instead of wearing his others. He loves red food, as well. I'm not that picky. I have a bit more sympathy than him. I'm the one who told him not to transfigure Ron's teddy into a spider!" He heaved in a breath, his rant getting the best of him. He stopped rubbing his hands and averted his gaze from the ground to me. "And you were the first. And it felt nice, I guess, knowing who I was. As George. Because that's who I am. Not Fred'n'George. Just George."
He was George - my George, sitting there, so sincere and confused on his outburst yet so sure of himself. He looked guilty, as if his words betrayed his companionship with his brother. Instead of wanting to hit him – the feeling was still there, just not as intense – I wanted to hug him, assure him it was alright. I was still hurt and betrayed. It wouldn't go away anytime soon, but I couldn't be mad at him when he looked like that; like an abused puppy, torn between his twin and me. His explanation was so honest and heartfelt. I couldn't bear to make him feel worse just when we've come back together. So I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my head on his shoulder.
"Thank you, for sharing that. I'm sorry for being a cow," I mumbled. George sat up straight and wound his arms around me, resting his chin on my head. "But you should have said something. You know I wouldn't have treated you two the same."
"Oi, I was nine when we met, cut me some slack. Besides, you never told me about this," he gestured to the Hogwarts kitchen. "I gave you enough hints just in case and you never bothered to let one slip."
"You were an idiot. Still are actually," I grinned, squeezing him harder.
"Cheeky." He pinched my rib.
"You know, I've always wanted to meet Fred. You always used to gush about him, how he was so cool and brilliant and fun," I smiled, remembering all the stories I heard and clung on to, retaining it in my memory forever.
"Why, little Ella sounds like she was jealous. Of my brother!"
"I was," I admitted. "I wasn't expecting this. I don't know what to do! How do I act around him? Will he like me?"
George laughed. "Stop worrying! You're alright to me so you'll be good with him, you daft git."
"Well, sorry, I thought you enjoyed being differentiated. Not the same person, as I recall."
We sat holding each other, silently astounded at the circumstances. The silence didn't last long. "So what are you doing here? I swear, I know almost everyone and not once have I seen you."
I didn't want to say it. It still hurt. There is no tyrant as merciless as pain. "Come down here later and I'll tell you. I heard you have a party with a certain champion."
We let go of each other. George stood up with handfuls of bottles from the table. "You'd better. I'll make sure to come around midnight."
He didn't leave straight away, but sighed and looked to the portrait. "He's around the corner. Reckon he'll want a word before we get back to the common room. I've got quite a bit of explaining to do."
"And Fred," I called behind him, watching him walk out the kitchen. "Bring Fred with you."
I nodded and watched him walk away. "And Fred. Bring Fred with you."