Silence. It'd probably be rather uncomfortable silence, had I any sense for that left after all those years in the orphanage.
I'm sitting at the still empty dining room table and Yorick, maybe in his mid-twenties, is on two opposite sofas with Great-Grandma Tilda, while Polly and Harper are in the kitchen and William is still tending to the garage with Edwin.
No one wanted my help.
I was told to just sit down.
But given my current company, I would rather have peeled an entire potato field or swept the backyard with a toothbrush than stare at the Christmas tree next to the table with Yorick in thoughtful silence.
The Sullivans' house is on the Westwood's edge. It's not particularly small, nor particularly large, neither modern nor worn. Just very normal. And there is something in me that is genuinely and incomprehensibly excited about that.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" I soon ask Yorick – who's much too obviously staring at me.
I could continue to read his mind, but he hardly thinks. It's like a tiring continuous loop of hunger resentment and annoyance that Harper apparently takes a liking to me – but not to him.
"Everything's fine," he soon replies. "Are you serious about her?"
"Come again?" I ask and groan inwardly, glancing somewhat indecisively at Great-Grandma Tilda.
"Are you serious about Harper?" he repeats, then he seems to catch up. "Oh, I see – you wish to act like a saint in front of the family, huh?" Yorick waves it off. "Tilda doesn't remember a word, we can talk openly. So?"
"Whatever's on your mind," I finally say wanly, "don't worry about it."
"I'm sure he's taking good care of her," Tilda – mentally very much present – adds, smiling at me. "A handsome young man Harper has brought home, don't you think, Yorick?"
He sighs sullenly, then he looks at me again. "How did you two meet, anyway? At your oh-so-elite school, of course … But how do I have to picture that?"
"Not at all." Skeptically, he looks at me, so I explain, "You don't have to picture it at all."
Disgruntled, he crosses his arms over his chest. "But if I want to?"
"We were fighting over a salt shaker."
He looks at me in surprise, then he proceeds to stare bitterly out the living room window. "You're pulling my leg …"
"I wouldn't bother to," I aptly assure him.
His eyes narrow. "What, you fight over trifles and then, years later, you celebrate Christmas together?"
"It seems so, yes."
"Mh." He finally nods. "Strange way to get to know each other."
"Many roads lead to Rome," Tilda retorts, making me smirk at once.
"You Brits are funny if you ask me," Yorick grumbles.
"I don't recall asking, but anyway – excuse me," I say, already getting up, "I'll head to the kitchen."
"The kitchen?" Yorick laughs stupidly and puts his feet up on the sofa table. "That's like a frontier for me – only women belong there, in my opinion …"
"Well, you see ..." I smile mirthlessly. "I don't think much of boundaries."
I close the door of the large living room behind me with Tilda's quiet laughter in my back. And just as I'm about to give vent to all my pent-up annoyance at this moron with a moan, I run into Harper's arms.
"Did you have a nice chat?"
"Could you imagine?" I retort. "Your cousin thinks me to be sinister."
She grins at me. "How can you say that with such certainty?"
"My senses are practically those of an Übermensch."
"I get it, Nietzsche." Her mouth curves into a smile. "You've been practicing Legilimency for a while now, haven't you?"
"I've always been good at reading minds. But it gives it more structure, yes."
"How often did you read me?"
"A bit at first," I admit. "But I have to say it got progressively harder each time."
"Had a feeling about you …"
"A feeling?"
"I felt caught quite frequently." She shrugs. "But I took care of it – seems like I knew how to help myself."
"Occlumency? Already back then as a third year?"
She just winks, then says, "Dinner's almost ready, will you call for my Dad and Edwin? We'll bring our luggage up later. I'm hoping you'll just be allowed to sleep in my room, but –"
"No way, Harper," I whisper, "even after talking to your cousin I don't have an overly urgent death wish."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your father's a hunter."
She giggles. "Are you afraid of the shotguns on the walls? What do you have a wand for?"
I give a dismissive wave of my hand and move on to gather the family around the table, and by the time everyone is coming together, Christmas Eve can begin.
"That smells like heaven, Polly," Edwin enthuses as he takes a seat at the end table across from William, groaning likely due to the pain each step must cause him.
Harper is sitting in the midst of Yorick and myself, Polly takes a seat with Tilda across from us.
"Don't burn your tongues," Harper warns us, "the sauce is really hot."
"Let's wait a bit, I wanted to say a few words anyway," William announces. "Oh no – no speech, don't look at me all expectantly. I just want to welcome Tom into our family – Tom, it's good to have you here. Harper really likes you, you know?" She smiles a bit caught at these words right before William continues. "And you see, friends of Harper's are friends of the family. So please make yourself at home, my boy."
This is strangely … kind. So unexpectedly warm and sincere.
"Thank you, sir, I ... appreciate that."
William merrily nods, then he says, "And of course, it's also a great pleasure to have a piece of America here for the holidays. Grandma Tilda, Edwin …" He hesitates and forces himself to smile, "Yorick … We're glad you're here. It may be a chaotic table, with people of completely different talents and backgrounds, and yet … Christmas Eve unites us this year. Let us hope for better times and the avoidance of war, and let us be confident in the future. Merry Christmas!"
These wishes are being repeated by all, then Polly mumbles, "A beautiful speech, darling."
"It wasn't really a speech," William protests again.
She smiles, rolling her eyes, just like Harper. "Whatever you say … Now enjoy! Will you give me your plates?"
Polly is about to get up, but Edwin and Yorick have long since drawn their wands to pass the food.
"I love magic," Harper gushes as a full plate flies to her side. "This looks fantastic, Mom."
Polly rubs her hands together as she, too, receives her food in front of her. "I hope it tastes that way, too."
It does, so much so that for a while, aside from the soft crackle of the fireplace and the candles scattered around the room, all that can be heard is cutlery and contented sighs. At least until those present finally begin to talk about the last weeks and months.
I listen quietly and wonder if this is what everyone calls family. Mutual interest in trifles. Pleasure in little things that aren't even directly related to oneself. I wonder if that is what they call love.
At least until I hear voices again.
I can smell your blood!
Perplexed, I look up, but no one around the table speaks.
You've never been here before …
It's similar to Hogwarts. A voice coming from nowhere that no one can hear – but me.
Unconcerned, as if nothing had happened, the others continue their thoughts, while I have to ask myself time and again what may be imagination, and what reality.
Who are you?
No, it's not similar, it is exactly like in Hogwarts.
Only here, this voice sounds like it's coming from a smaller body. Much smaller.
I gulp, seriously doubting my sanity.
"What did you name your owl after all?" Edwin leans toward Harper, still trying his hardest not to chat with Yorick.
"Jeannie," Harper replies. "Like Jean Harlow."
"That obscene actress?"
"Your great uncle is an old man," William jokes, "don't scare him like that!"
"I liked that Lady," Tilda opens up. "So pretty and daring!"
"Speaking of youth," Polly begins, looking at us first, then at her husband. "Darling, did you get the attic ready?"
"Of course, for Tom," he replies, winking at me. "You better do what the Sullivan women say …"
"He gets the attic?" Yorick asks, his jaw dropping. "What about me?"
"You get the garage," Edwin informs him with utmost satisfaction.
"Well, thanks a ton." Yorick rolls his eyes and pouts, and given the idea of spending the night in a cold garage, I truly can't blame him.
Everyone gets what they deserve …
Again I look around, perplexed, but no one's speaking.
Indecisively, Polly pauses. "Is everything all right?"
"Oh, sure," I quickly say, "everything's fine, I just thought I …"
"Yeah?" Yorick stares at me, quite hungry for sensation.
"I've just never tasted more delicious venison."
William grins immediately. "The meat is excellent, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir, indeed." I smile vaguely, then I ask, "And speaking of Jeannie and venison – are there … any other animals around, possibly? Pets, I mean?"
"Yes!" Harper nods right away.
Strange certainty wells up inside me.
"Want to guess what it is?" she asks, already putting down her silverware.
I bite my lips, then I'm almost sure. "A snake."
She beams at me in surprise. "How did you know that?"
I swallow and for a moment I'm unable to say anything.
I had fervently hoped to be wrong.
Because now, all indications are that I'm not losing my mind. That the voice from the walls actually exists. Even at Hogwarts …
But it sounds different there.
Bigger. Significantly bigger …
If this quiet, weak voice here belongs to a snake, what does the snake look like that speaks to me in a loud, strong one?
What does the snake look like that keeps following me around Hogwarts, claiming to be waiting for me? What kind of creature speaks of us having a common duty to fulfill?
Come to me! I am waiting for you!
Weren't those her words?
Peculiar fascination and thirst for knowledge inevitably mix with it, but right now, above all, a paralyzing shiver is in my bones …
I hope you like and enjoy the story so far – feel free to let me know your thoughts :)