Well isn't this a quick update! I've been busting my arse to get this down. My head's been all over the place and I have to say special thanks to Chaparrita for grinning and bearing through my crap and helping me with the final touches. You're brilliant. I know I promised more Frella...but there'll be plenty to come.
Thanks also to all the follows/favourites/reviews. Thank you to Guest for your review - my favourite compliment has to be people enjoying the different take on my fanfiction.
Also - any Final Fantasy fans who read this and want to cry with me over the remake of 7?! I can't wait!
I'm curious guys, when you imagine Ella, do you have a certain celebrity or another fictional character in mind? I'd love to hear what you guys imagine her to look like! Or who she most closely resembles. I found someone recently who I think fits her description most but I want to see what you lot think first before I say.
As always, enjoy!
34. The Sweetness of Bubblegum
Looking out the kitchen window into the garden I noticed the grass was overgrown and dead, no longer a luscious green but a desiccated yellow. Jimmy's grave was hidden amongst the dominating weeds; shrubs completely dwarfed the border at the edges of the garden; insects feasting on the leaves of rotten fruits and vegetables. Squirrels no longer even frequented the tall trees at the back, perhaps sensing the demise of the land. No longer able to tend to the garden, I watched it decay before my eyes, the shrivelling of organic life.
I saw this, but didn't dwell on it. Tired eyes flew around the shadows oppressing the once heavenly garden, waiting for the movement I knew was there. The wind would blow, I would hold my breath, but nothing would charge out. There was something – someone – out there. I knew it. Why else had Moody stared out for so long? Not to inspect the garden, I was sure; he didn't seem the type to enjoy his spare time in wellies and gloves delicately arranging the composition of hydrangeas and chrysanthemums.
The time was somewhere between two and three in the morning. My harried sleep disturbed yet again, I ambled down to the kitchen, the only thing that kept my senses alert.
Ever since I was young there had only been a select few recurring nightmares, all so similar to one another that it was hard to distinguish between them. And yet, since Dumbledore's intrusion into my mind, I woke up from a new one every night. I couldn't make sense of any of it and he had not visited again to answer the hundreds of queries I had.
It was pointless trying to prevent sleep. As much as I did try, slumber eventually pulled me under with calm whispers and comfort that abandoned me in life. Light fluttering in the tree caught my attention; I exhaled the air I had held when a fox jumped up on the back fence and trotted away.
Tonight's nightmare had been fuzzy, a similar scene to the blond man in bed, but this time he was standing in a suit, marching in front of a line of his peers, men and women in dark robes, the woman with a mane of curls. Once again he had looked straight at me, whispered to me from across the room…
"It's alright, princess, this is good for you. Just open your pretty pink lips."
And like before, his curse was silenced, as if blocked out by a bubble, but instead of waking up before it hit me, I felt it.
A shudder wracked through me, the vivid sensations printed so clearly in my mind. My hands flew to my abdomen, soothing the phantom stabs and fire. I sighed deeply and sipped on some coffee, no longer hot and steaming. After a final glance through the window, I retreated to the living room, hoping for some hours of peace before work.
I sat, staring at the blank TV screen, remembering the first time I introduced it to Fred. He had been sitting down on the sofa, eyes following my every movement as I pushed the button to turn it on and then grabbed the remote, altering the volume and switching between channels. His grin didn't falter, but he didn't exclaim in awe and fascination as George had done previously.
"Why aren't you excited?" I had asked.
"Oh, you didn't know! I'm sorry," he'd apologised, ears a slight pink.
"Didn't know what?"
"I've seen a television before," he had admitted, pulling me down to sit beside him. "At Lina's. We watched that show…what was it called…Bottom! That's it. Right brilliant."
As much as I was disappointed that all my anticipation of introducing him to everything muggle was futile, in the moment I had been more shocked over his correct pronunciation. He had been aware of all muggle objects in my house. The telephone, the electric appliances, the sockets, he knew them all and looked at me like a parent amusing a child pointing at soaring birds as I dragged him around my house. Of course, he still showed some interest at the exact science to which they performed without magic, things I couldn't answer which left me feeling awkward and foolish. And then it hit me who exactly had showed him, had seen his initial excitement and grinned at his childlike curiosity.
My reflection was visible in the television. Hair scruffy around my head. Eyes drooping and dark. Hunched forward, forearms resting on knees, the very posture of stress. So tired. I sunk into the back of the sofa.
A week had passed. A week with no Fred holding me, kissing me, warming me, keeping me safe. No letter, no visit, no word, nothing. I couldn't even go to him. He lived so close…but where? I didn't know; I had yet to see the Burrow. He had been absent since before my first Order mission with Mrs Figg. Returning home galvanised I was unable sleep, but the incident with the suicidal bird had me fearing a late night walk, so I had settled for walking around the house over and over again until I collapsed.
The need for Fred was stifling, and I hated the helpless feeling that consumed me whenever I thought of wanting him like a weak damsel unable to control her emotions and silly fear.
My head shot up as footsteps were heard, and I was no longer on the pistachio-green sofa surrounded by off lavender walls and the faint smell of vanilla and musk, rather, I was in a bed, curled up on my side in a large, dark room. It was cold, or I thought it was; I was shivering, hands clutching the red blanket over my nose. Click, click, click, the footsteps were nearing fast, my heart thumping in synchronisation. Click, click...The intricate handle on the door turned; it was pushed open, and the outline of a man appeared.
Click…click…his feet were slower in their approach to my bed, careful. Head tilted to the side, the moonlight illuminated the smirk on his face, the red rimmed eyes and tousled blond hair. He stood in front of me, leering down. His right hand held a wand which he waved, and the door slammed shut, the sound of a lock following. I gulped down a whimper. From his left hand dropped a glass bottle, slight sloshing as it rolled. He crouched, eyes level to mine. I didn't even try to hide. Eyes stared ahead of me, gazing through him at the bookcase I knew was behind him, holding numerous volumes of glorious fairy tales where my mind flew away.
His hand hovered over my face, and the cry escaped. White, slightly crooked teeth shone.
"Shh, love," he crooned, fingers stroking my skin. "Shh, I'm here."
I sniffled, and he wiped away the moisture from under my nose with a thumb. The harsh stench from his mouth burned my eyes, the smell of a gruelling day at work, of another failure which he would rectify in a way that he was reassured always prospered. It was a dark smell, malty. Tainted gold. It stung.
Then the blanket began to slide off my body.
"It's alright, baby," he whispered, pressing his lips to my forehead.
I knew what happened next. I didn't know how I knew, but I knew, like remembering snippets of a long forgotten dream. The soft blanket pooled around my ankles, displaying the bottom of my nightdress. Another kiss on my cheek, and his hand edged it up. With the loss of the blanket, my fingers gripped onto the pillow under my head. I couldn't shut my eyes, and stared ahead at the spines of books, finding no comfort in the delightful worlds I was so distanced from. I was no princess, regardless of what this man said, how he worshipped me as in the dead of night. Princesses had luxury, an adoring family, and above all love. Love.
Was this love?
My nightdress now above my stomach, his hand danced over the exposed skin of my abdomen, lower down to my thighs. He pinched my skin; I yelped.
"Shh, quiet, princess. You need to behave," he admonished, rubbing his fingers over my red skin. From the corner of my eye I saw him raise his wand. "I love you."
The tip of the wand was hot on my skin. A whispered incantation, and the heat grew agonisingly hot like liquid fire dripping down to my bones. I bit my lip to stop the cries from taking over, tears soaking my face and dampening the pillow. The wand dug deeper into my thigh. Slowly, it drug down, taking with it the hot wax seeping through me. Hot, hot pain. Pain and fire so bad it prickled through my blood, touching every inch of me from head to toes. Stabs from a thousand poisoned needles. A sob choked through my bloody lips, "Please!" I whispered desperately, gasping, "Please, stop."
And the wand was gone, but the fire was still red hot in my veins. He soothed the burn on my leg with his lips and tongue, then brought his face up to mine, smoothing my hair back.
"You did well, princess, you were so, so good. I love you. My little soldier. My witch.
"Daddy loves you."
My leg jerked as I arched off the sofa, one I immediately noted was pistachio-green. Sweat saturated my body, beads dotting my face and neck. My face fell into my hands.
It was just another nightmare, I told myself. Just a nightmare.
Seeing as the sun was up and I was due at work shortly, I decided to get started with the day.
Two owls were pecking on the kitchen window when I entered, and I was thankful they weren't flying to their death. Opening the window, I noticed one held two letters. Thinking it was from Fred and George, I grabbed them first as the birds flew out, dissatisfied with the lack of treats, but they were stamped in wax with the Hogwarts crest. Looking at the other letter I recognised Oliver's large handwriting.
Pushing my anger towards the twins away, I tore open the first letter from Dumbledore, and a grin lifted my face at seeing my results. Two O's! I was not surprised to see the capitalised letter beside Care of Magical Creatures, but the shock from seeing it next to Potions had me letting out surprised hollow laughs. The rest were decent, E's and an A, and even the little P adjacent to Ancient Runes couldn't ruin the mood. A small slip of parchment behind the results sheet was a personal note of congratulations from Dumbledore.
Moving on to his next letter, which was much heavier, I was surprised to see galleons and sickles sitting in a tiny midnight blue pouch.
Dear, Ella Wood,
Once again, I must congratulate you on your hard work for passing your third year exams in one year. This is a great accomplishment to which I am sure you will be most proud of, as are all your professors.
Due to the complicated ending of the last term at Hogwarts, you were not paid your wages for your work carried out, and I have therefore enclosed them to you. You may convert them into muggle currency if you so wish at Gringotts in Diagon Alley, however I most advise you to invest in some school robes of your own; Mr Weasley's seem slightly large. As well as a uniform, you will also need to purchase some school books for your next school year. These will be available in Flourish and Blotts, also in Diagon Alley.
The books in question will be for your OWLs which you will be entered to take in your next year, levelling you with the fifth years. However, you will only be eligible to enrol if you pass few exams before the Christmas holidays. More information will be available once you return to school.
Now, Ella, I understand your state of confusion after my visit, but I assure you not to worry. You are under great protection. No harm will come to you this summer, so please, do not fret.
Enjoy the remainder of your holidays, I'm sure it will only get better.
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
PS. Bubblegum is one of life's greatest confectionaries, particularly the pink ones.
For the first time in over a week I felt light. After a little jig and squeal on the spot at going over my grades again, I moved on to Oliver's short letter, eyes flying over the usual 'how are you's and 'Quidditch is still marvellous', distracting me from the thought of not being able to share my grades with anyone until they came to visit. How unlikely.
At work Mrs Brimble ran the counter as I waited for the kettle to boil. The small window above the sink allowed a distorted view of my forlorn garden. The day had dragged on and I was sure I was on my sixth mug of tea. I had asked Mrs Brimble and Zoe if they had cared for another, but they declined, and even in my weary state I saw them share a glance.
The kettle clicked off and I poured the water over the teabag, stirring it until it darkened; removed the teabag and splashed in some milk. I gulped it down, hardly feeling the burn trickle down my sore throat.
Few customers were in the shop, one fingering through the various newspapers, another, a child, searching through the freezer at the different ice creams, and the final one waiting for Mrs Brimble to find the requested cigarettes. I strolled over to the quiet end of the shop and organised the bottles and cans of drinks on the refrigerated shelves. It was a fairly monotonous job requiring little energy and thinking. I must have begun to doze off as my arms moved them around routinely and I jumped when a hand rested on my shoulder.
"Ella, are you alright?" Mrs Brimble asked with a frown.
Blinking several times to clear my vision of the blurring haze, I nodded, and to ensure her, I plastered a smile on my face. It didn't work. She frowned deeper.
"Maybe you should go home, get some rest. We can handle the shop until closing time."
"No, it's fine, I'm fine, I can stay and help."
But she was shaking her head and patting my wild hair down.
"Ella."
I knew I wouldn't be able to argue with her; her stance was firm.
"Can I go home, too?" Zoe called from elsewhere in the emptying shop.
"You be quiet, missy," Mrs Brimble replied, never moving her eyes.
She grumbled and cursed, stomping around like a bratty child.
"Are you sure?" I asked, already anticipating a nice, long walk around town.
"I can handle my daughter, as difficult as she is," she smiled.
"Thank you," I said.
Zoe was behind the counter, having taken her mother's place when she moved. I said my goodbye to her, and she asked if I was alright, and when I nodded, she smirked.
"Bunking off early to see Fred, are you?"
"If only," I said.
"I'll come and see you later, have a little sleep over. Sound good?"
"You still have the spare key?"
"Of course," she said, dangling keys and keychains from her finger.
I waved one last time before leaving the shop, hoping Zoe's presence would hold the nightmares away for at least one night.
Instead of turning right to go home next door, I began walking left, through the market until I reached the pebbled residential streets lined with Victorian style houses. I had often walked down these hilly roads on my way home from school. The houses were all so beautiful, decorated with the brightest of flowers throughout summers and garlands in the winter. They made my flat house look plain, and I had often wondered why we didn't live in such a place at that age of naivety.
I carried on, allowing the engines of cars and the summer heat to envelop me, the sound of security. I was safe where there was life. Sounds, feelings, smell; the senses cocooned me. It was why I so feared being home alone in the dark, the shell void of life but mine. And even then, what kind of a life was mine?
Soon I came upon the bridge overlooking River Ottery and realised I had been walking for quite a while. Pink and orange painted the sky. Leaning against the railing I wondered if it was the same sky Fred was looking at. Then I laughed. Fred didn't do simple, boring gestures such as looking up at the sky. He could fly on a broomstick and be one with the sky, Heaven's eye to the world. He could breathe in the clouds; I wondered, were they as sweet as they looked, like tufts of sugar in the endless abyss above? Salute the stars and the illuminating king of the sky. Lost to the simple calamities of earth.
I wanted that, I thought with a pull at my heart. It was the life I had been denied by some awful twist of fate. And now what was I? Some…abnormal freak.
Pink and orange melted away to purple, and then came blue, the darkest imaginable. I turned and walked back home.
The streets were safe at night, the ones I frequented. But I felt anything but safe, looking over my shoulder as I rounded every corner. There was nothing there; there never was. I stumbled as I walked into something.
"Easy there, girl," he said, hands gripping my arms, steadying me. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"What are you doing here?" I asked, squirming away from Stephen. He let go.
"Can't I be out for an evening stroll? I see you had the same idea." He put his hands in his pockets, and I realised he looked less intimidating in such a relaxed posture, even though his grey eyes shone. No, Stephen Casey never looked anything but intimidating.
"I'm on my way home."
"Here, let me walk you. Who knows what could happen to such a pretty girl out at this time of night."
I jerked away from his hand as it neared me. "I'll be fine."
"Now, I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you go on your own, now."
He was following me. I could hear his feet. They were slow, keeping their distance, and I was reminded of a cat stalking its prey before springing. He was probably looking at my behind, I realised, and pulled my top down as much as I could. Gentleman. I thought back to my previous encounters with him, internally scoffing.
It was when I reached the market did his footsteps merge with the few others making their way home. I hurried to the door and opened the door, fumbling with the key for only seconds before I managed to squeeze in and slam it shut.
As was my usual routine, I switched on the lights as I went from room to room before returning to the front door. Pressing my ear against the wood, I heard nothing directly outside.
"Shower," I murmured to myself, and jumped up the stairs two at a time.
Halfway through my shower I heard knocking.
"Zoe?" I yelled, leaning out the bathroom door as it was the only way she would be able to hear me over the running water.
"Mhm," she hummed.
"Come in, door's locked. Still got your key?"
She didn't respond, but the lock twisted and I went to finish my shower, knowing she would entertain herself until I went down.
What I wasn't expecting was a pounding on the bathroom door and what sounded to be running on the stairs.
"Zoe?" I called out, turning the water off and wrapping a towel around myself.
She didn't reply. There was a scuffle from the hallway, and a light glowed from under the door. The door burst open, and I saw pink. Bubblegum pink.
"Shit! Shush! No – sorry, please, be quiet – Ella – Ella!" the woman with ludicrously bright pink hair exclaimed, holding her hands up as if it would quiet my screaming.
"Who are you?" I asked, backing away as I noticed a wand in her hand. "Where's Zoe?"
She turned her head to what I was looking at and pushed her hand with the wand further to the side. "I won't hurt you, I'm here on Dumbledore's orders and if we don't hurry we're both fucked."
Hearing Dumbledore's name pacified me somewhat, but still my gaze flickered between her face and wand.
"Hurry for what? Who are you?"
"Oh," she fumbled around in her pocket, handing me a rumpled slip of parchment, throwing a glance over her shoulder, "Read that."
Written on the parchment was an address:
12 Grimmauld Place
"Auror Tonks, at your service," she said, holding out her free hand. I shook it cautiously. "And you're Ella. Don't worry, I've been informed about your issue."
"What issue?"
"Oh," her mouth opened and closed and she ruffled her hair, words blundering over one another.
"What issue?" I repeated.
"Look, there's no time, really. I'll explain – or someone will when we get to that address."
"Where is this?"
"In London, come on."
"Wait!" she ran out the bathroom and turned left, straight into my bedroom. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," she answered, throwing everything she laid her hands on into a bag, including old underwear that I had outgrown years ago but still had lying around for some reason. It was then I realised I was wearing only a towel.
"I – I need to change, get some clothes on."
"No time!" Tonks said, pulling me by the hand when I made to go to my wardrobe, my bag slung over her dainty shoulder.
"What do you mean no time? I can't go to London in a bloody towel!"
"London has clothes and you look hot in a towel, now hold on, and close your eyes if you need to."
There was a noise from the hallway, one I couldn't quite make out over the blood in my ears.
"What was that? Zoe? Zoe!" Fingers gripping tighter onto my towel I tried to peer out but Tonks' hand was tight around my own and she yanked me back.
"Oi! That's not your friend, she was never here. What did I just say – come on, Ella."
She didn't wait for me to close my eyes after all, or for me find stable footing, as I saw the scene spiral before my eyes and I was sucked into a tiny tube; my organs squeezed and pushed against each other, a tightening in my chest as my sight went black, and then it was over as sweet, sweet air rushed into my lungs and I toppled onto my knees, finding grass beneath my palms.
"Alright, you'll probably be a bit quea –"
Her sentence went unfinished as I retched on the ground, my stomach forcing out the multiple cups of teas and little nibbles of food I had consumed. Once my stomach had emptied, Tonks helped me up on shaky legs and then to my utter embarrassment lifted my towel to cover me completely.
"Nothing I haven't seen before, don't worry," she said, turning towards the rows of houses that was definitely not in Devon.
"You apparated us to London," I noted.
"Yep. You read the parchment, right?"
I nodded. Just then the houses shifted, and like a very large balloon – or rather a bouncy castle seemed to be a better description – a house seemed to inflate between two of the houses, eleven and thirteen. Tonks skipped ahead, and very quietly tapped on the battered door with her wand. The windows were filthy and covered in a grime of some sort; the doorknocker a silver twisted serpent that screamed Slytherin. She set fire to the parchment with her wand-tip and dropped it as the fire burned it to her fingertips.
"Welcome to Grimmauld Place," Tonks whispered, eyebrows waggling. From behind the door I could hear several metallic clicks and the rattling of a chain. Slowly, the door creaked open.
"Why are we here?" I asked just as quietly, fidgeting at standing in an open place where anybody could see in just a towel. It didn't matter how at ease Tonks was, walking in London in only a towel was not a normal occurrence for me.
She took a step inside, still facing me, and said, "Where else would I be ordered to bring you but to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?"
Stepping over the threshold where the only light came from poorly lit gas lamps along the walls and on the chandelier, the smell of damp and mould invaded my nose so much that I had to take a step back. The peeling wallpapers were covered in dirt and dust; I tucked myself more into body, afraid to touch anything in fear of infecting myself with something.
Chairs scraping could be heard from down below along with a chorus of, "Tonks is here!"
Before I could ask where I could go and put some clothes on, Tonks, still walking backwards, tripped over an umbrella stand that resembled a disfigured fat, hairy leg of some kind.
"Are you alright?" I asked, rushing forward to help her up.
Another voice screeched out, like the scratching of nails against a chalkboard, screaming profanities and curses. The voices from below all groaned; feet rushed up steps and a door opened, revealing several irritated faces storming towards the angry woman in the portrait.
"An arse whooping Auror whose job states that she has to be stealthy and yet she always manages to trip on the blasted troll leg," someone muttered, and I recognised the voice as Ron's. Which meant Weasleys.
Two pops sounded behind me, and with all the people entering the hallway, I sunk further into myself and bowed my head to the ground, hoping to escape their notice; my body flushed in shock as I moved back into the shadows. I prayed no one looked, but the hallway was narrow, so it was only a matter of time. I didn't want to see them when they finally found me attempting to merge into the wall.
"Well, hello, there," a voice behind me drawled, freezing me on the spot. I knew that voice.
"What a lovely surprise we have here," an identical voice sang.
"You must be Tonks' friend."
"My, how lovely to meet you."
"And we most certainly don't mind the outfit."
"Not one bit."
I whirled around, coming face to face with two annoyingly cute smirks that I had missed. I had imagined seeing them again, thinking perhaps it would be a run in back in Ottery St. Catchpole. Assuming my building frustration would finally boil over, I thought I would stand firm in staring them down, demanding why they didn't bother writing or visiting. Not even a little check up when they knew something was wrong, dangerous. But to my surprise both anger and joy swept through me, and I found my happiness to be the heavier emotion as I leapt into Fred's arms, locking my arms around his neck and burying my face into his chest, all but forgetting that I was clad in only a towel.
"Ella?!" he said, squeezing me into him; he must not have noticed me from the back, and therefore would have been flirting with some random witch. It should have made me annoyed, but it was Fred. Fred whose arms never failed in making me feel warm and safe. Fred with the cheesy jokes and dirty innuendos.
Fred...with short hair.
"Hello," I laughed into his shirt, "I missed you."
"Of course you would," he pressed a kiss on my temple, then over my eye and down until he reached the corner of my mouth. I had to lift my face to kiss him properly, closing my eyes to fully enjoy the softness of his lips. Oh God, how I missed those lips.
We parted and I ran my fingers through his short strands. "Your hair," I whimpered quietly so no one would hear as my eyes watered; everyone was occupied in trying to silence the shrill shrieks. "What the fuck?"
Fred chuckled. "We told you mum was after us."
"But...it was so beautiful!"
"And it's not now?" he teased, throwing his head back just like he used to, but no hair flew around him. I wanted to cry.
"You'll grow it back?" I asked, burying my face into him again, inhaling deeply.
"For you, anything." A kiss, and then, "What the hell are you doing here? What happened?"
"I have no clue."
"Well shit, don't you look good in a towel," said George, grinning, eliciting a chuckle from me.
"George Weasley!" I heard Mrs Weasley yell; I could picture her stern frown, fists on hips and intimidating in her wonderfully mismatched clothes. "Put your eyes somewhere decent before I give them to Severus to pickle in a jar and display in his dungeons."
"They're on the towel! That's decent."
"Oi – dick, move your eyes up," Fred ordered, slapping his twin, and I had the strangest idea that I was stretching too high, the towel following and showing far too much of my legs. Fred lowered his hands to the bottom of the towel and aided in covering me some more.
"Fred Weasley! Watch your language before your tongue goes with George's eyes. Hands! Up – move them!"
"Muuuuum, you can't tell me off in front of my girlfriend," Fred whined.
"Oh, shut up, Fred. Ella, dear, do turn around, let me see if you're alright."
I smiled up at him once more although I was sure it resembled more of a pained grimace before turning in his arms, one wrapped around my shoulder and the other around my waist, thumbs rubbing, cheek pressed against my own, and I was delighted to feel a light scruff scratching my skin. My eyes bulged at the crowd of people standing and staring, all amused at my attire and dripping hair. Tonks was grinning, and winked when I caught her eye, obviously immune to the awkwardness thick in the air.
A man with long black hair leant against the wall in front of the curtains that now covered the once screaming portrait, and beside him another man with dirty blond hair and a face covered in bruises and scars. They were the closest to me other than the twins and Molly.
"Another guest," the dark haired man said, arms crossed, "But by far the best entrance. Welcome to my home! Sirius Black, falsely convicted mass murderer and escapee from Azkaban prison."
"But don't let that intimidate you," said the man with the scars, "He's just an overgrown puppy, really. I'm Remus Lupin."