A/N: Thanks to you guys who reviewed! funvince, tabitoo, RickyElRey (dual reviewing, eh? You rock!), shawnpickett (I promise you'll find out Arnie's deal eventually :) And thanks to the anonymous reviewer.
As always, many thanks to Liss for the beta!
Chapter Ten - But Things Have Changed
Isn't it strange how the loss of the anticipation of something can ache even more than the loss of the
something itself? Even if you do get what you were anticipating, after receiving it, you go through a kind of
withdrawal that might take upwards of weeks to overcome.
And if you don't even get what you were anticipating in the first place - the ache lies just beneath the surface, deceptively dormant because absolutely anything can make it rear its head without a hint or a warning.
For Emerson, this time it was the sight of that t-shirt she'd gotten in Dallas that had made that now familiar all-encompassing agony stab through her being. Why drink and drive when you can smoke and fly? asked the t-shirt.
She'd thought it was cool, thinking it kinda funny that it was being sold in a Muggle store where they obviously thought there was only one meaning to the word "fly". Obviously "fly" in that sentence was as in "airplane", right? Or, to be extreme, perhaps as in the feeling of being "high", were one to partake of more illicit smoking materials. Certainly it had nothing to do with broomsticks! Really, what nonsense!
Em folded the top and placed it back in her trunk with a sad smile. Mum didn't like this shirt. She thought it "promoted aberrant behavior", was how she'd phrased it and had had a long and candid discussion with Em about substance abuse and what a persistent, wide-reaching problem it was in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Not that she had even the slightest interest in getting involved in any of that stuff, and she'd told her mother that.
But today, the t-shirt reminded her that she would not be doing any flying any time soon. At the very least, not with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. That opportunity had flown away, pardon the pun, and wasn't going to be coming back for a while.
'And whose fault is that?' hissed a small voice in the back of her head.
Whose fault was it? Sometimes she thought it was all Smiley's fault for sending her those damn letters and clippings, for contaminating her mind. Sometimes she thought it was her parents' fault for not being completely honest with her, for glossing over the nastier details of her existence so that when she did find them out, they came as a massive shock. Sometimes she even thought it was Julia Thomas's fault for being such a bleeding heart and not trying to preserve her own life.
The vast majority of the time, however, Emerson knew it was her own fault. It was her fault for continuing to open the envelopes when there was every sign that the contents weren't ever going to change in tone. It was her fault for forgetting the sacrifice that Julia had made. It was her fault for being so self-centered, for thinking she had any right to want something like that.
It was her own fault for hoping, for anticipating something so much that with its untimely demise, she was left frequently crying herself to sleep out of sheer disappointment.
Oh, how she wished she had listened to Lyna! She wished she had left that clipping till after the tryouts. That way, she would've been safely on the team and there'd've been no way it could have prevented her from fulfilling her dream then. The most she could've done in that case would be to try to resign and there wasn't a chance that Kal Durham, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, would've let her.
But no, she'd just had to "get it out of the way". Stupid!
'There you go, thinking only about yourself again. You had no right to be on the team, anyway. So it's just as well that you read it before the tryouts,' another voice piped up.
And with that thought came guilt. She felt guilty for wishing that she'd done things differently. She felt that she deserved what had happened, yet at the same time she wished that what happened hadn't. She felt so disappointed and the next second, her disappointment turned to guilt for feeling disappointed.
God, she was so confused!
And it didn't help that everyone was on her case for missing the tryouts. Marissa and Marc had practically ambushed her at dinner that night, demanding to know where she'd been and-
"How in the name of heaven could you have missed the tryouts, Em?! Did you get temporary amnesia or something or what? I'm completely bamboozled here. Help me understand!" Marissa had exclaimed over and over again, gazing at Emerson as if she were some bewildering multiple-hex victim with eyes on her forehead and teeth in her nose.
"I already told you. I changed my mind," Em muttered to her plate, keeping her head down so the older girl - and the rest of the Gryffindor table that was eagerly listening to the conversation - couldn't see the tears shining in her eyes. The reality had only just began to sink in that her opportunity was really and truly gone. She would not get another chance to try out for at least two years when Marissa would leave Hogwarts, hence vacating a Chaser spot. And then, the odds would be less favorable that she would get on the team, what with there would be only one available spot instead of two like there was this time.
But why the hell did they have to keep rubbing it in that her chance was gone? Why did they have to keep telling her how much she'd been looking forward to it? Did they think she'd forgotten that? Didn't they know that her disappointment was at least ten times worse than whatever kind of letdown they were experiencing?
Marc sat down beside her and leaned forward, trying to peer into her eyes. "You keep saying you changed your mind. Okay. But why did you?"
Because I'm an ungrateful, murdering, self-centered brat and thus undeserving, that's why.
Such self-negativity was still so alien to Emerson that she had sprung up from the table and turned the anger she felt at herself onto the people who were trying to pry into her business. "I already told you! I just changed my mind! Stop ganging up on me!"
She had stormed blindly out of the Great Hall, managing to hold back her sobs until she'd reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, who had sympathetically swung open after Em repeatedly tried and failed to choke out the password.
"It's alright, dearie. I know what you're trying to say," the Fat Lady had said gently. "Go on up and do what you need to do. We all need a good cry every now and then."
"T-Thanks," Em sobbed.
And she'd done just that until sleep overtook her.
But the morning hadn't brought any relief from the interrogations. Emerson wished she hadn't been so vocal before about her intense desire to be on the Gryffindor team. Because now, even people from other houses were stopping her in the corridors to badger her about it. They'd taken to asking Carolyna too, but thankfully Lyna hadn't said anything to anyone. Yet. Em didn't think her friend really understood what had happened, anyway, which made her situation all the more precarious.
To make matters worse, the next letter that arrived from Smiley was definitely one for the record books in terms of nastiness. Somehow, Smiley had thought the eulogy clipping wouldn't affect her and had tried to "make up" for that by being particularly mean. Em had, for the first time, read the letter without Lyna and had been so hurt by the vicious words that she'd skipped lunch and cried in the empty Charms classroom until the bell rang signaling the next lesson. When asked where she'd been and why she wasn't at lunch, she'd lied and said she hadn't been hungry. Though come to think of it, that hadn't really been a lie; food was pretty much beginning to lose its appeal these days. Just try eating when you have an ever-expanding lump of misery lodged in your throat.
Tomorrow, it would be a week since her dream was bludgeoned to death and she knew not to expect relief any time soon. Because today after lessons, she would be going home to spend the weekend with her family. It was her Mum's and little sister's birthdays this weekend and, instead of forward to this, Emerson was now dreading it. If people who knew her casually could be so curious and persistent, how would she possibly survive the questions of those who knew her best?
'But they don't really know you, did they?' asked the hissing voice that had taken up residence in her head. 'They don't know what a-'
"SHUT UP!" she burst out, letting the lid of her trunk slam shut. The noise startled her out of her haze and, chest heaving, she stared down at the wand she was gripping tightly in her hand.
Her wand? When had she picked it up, anyway? Emerson let it drop onto her bed and covered her face with her hands, breathing rapidly. Bloody hell, she was losing her mind. She had shouted at herself, for Christ's sake. Was this what people meant when they said someone was "touched in the head"?
"Emerson?"
She looked up quickly and blinked in surprise. The strangeness factor of the day had just jumped up another notch. Olivia Weasley was standing in the doorway, looking down at her with a concerned expression, her vivid red hair gathered haphazardly away from her face. Olivia was the eldest child of Uncle George and Aunt Nina and was a fifth year like Brandon Wood. She was in Gryffindor too, of course, but Em rarely interacted with her; Olivia definitely marched to the beat of her own drummer, to put it mildly. She had a brother, Rory, who was a third year and who was really shy but had the most amazing singing voice.
"Hi, Olivia," Em said uncertainly. "What's up?"
Olivia leaned her left hand against the door, her brown eyes darting wildly about the room before settling back on Em. "Are you all right? I thought I heard you shouting at someone?"
"Um, no. You must've-" Em began, then stopped as a bubble of shame welled up and popped inside her. She'd been about to say that Olivia must have imagined it. That fitted in perfectly with Olivia's personality anyway, didn't it? She believed the weirdest things, she smoked Muggle cigarettes and it was common knowledge that she never wore a bra. It wouldn't be hard to tell her that she'd just been hearing things.
Except that that would've been an incredibly mean thing to do - not unlike something Jerrianne Youngleer would instigate without batting an eye and derive great enjoyment from. And it would be a lie, besides. Em felt bad enough about herself without sinking to the level of the classmate she most detested.
"Actually, I was talking to myself," she amended with a blush. "I guess I got a bit carried away."
The other girl smiled. "That's all right. I talk to myself all the time. Sometimes thinking out loud makes it easier to figure things out, y'know?"
"Er, yeah, I guess. Sorry if I bothered you."
"You didn't. I was just heading outside for a quick fag," Olivia said, holding up the packet of smokes. She sighed. "I wish I didn't need them so much, actually."
Emerson was startled by the admission. She'd always thought Olivia seemed content with herself and didn't care what anybody thought of her. Kind of like Aunt Luna. "Really? Why don't you just stop smoking them, then?"
Olivia fixed her with a look of pity. "Merlin, you're so naive. It's adorable, though, in retrospect. Makes me wish I could go back to when I was that innocent." She stepped back from the door and turned to leave. "But don't worry about it. Everybody has their quirks, right? I sure as heck have mine."
And she was gone, leaving Emerson staring at the doorway in bewilderment. What did Olivia mean she was naive?
And innocent?
"Yeah, right," Em muttered. "If you only knew, Olivia. If you only knew."
She went back to packing her trunk, trying to think of ways to stave off the inevitable maelstrom of inquiries that she would face once she got home that evening. She couldn't possibly tell them the reason for her abrupt decision, could she? What if they pried the information about Smiley out of her and Smiley somehow found out and hurt Ben, Budget or Vina to punish her?
The thought made her freeze in horror, so that she quickly gave up that line of thinking and forced herself to focus instead on the fact that she would be with her family again. Think of how great it would be to see them, to see little Davina's face when she opened the present that Em had gotten her!
There was no reason for them to discover the darker aspects of her soul, of her existence. There was no need for them to know that their safety likely hinged on her keeping her mouth shut. She could do this. She had to. And she would do whatever it took to keep them safe. Even if it meant carrying this burden all alone.
Because, anyway, she had no one to blame but herself.
******
"Wotcher, Harry! You're early," Fred Weasley said brightly by way of greeting as Harry stepped inside the noisy chaos that was the largest store of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The store was located in a prime spot in Diagon Alley and somehow, Harry had never quite gotten used to this craziness, even though he had always been more or less involved with the company.
The twins had done very well for themselves, indeed. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes (or 3W as it was commonly called) was a major player in the tricks, pranks and jokes business and there were typically at least a half-dozen store openings a year all around the world. Needless to say, the twins and their investors were not in any danger of financial ruin from this angle any time soon and as the very first investor in the company, Harry was included in that statement. He was a silent partner on the board of directors for 3W but that was the extent of his involvement these days.
Except as a customer, of course. Today, he was here to pick up some party favors for Hermione's and Davina's birthday celebration, as well as some other business to attend to.
"Your order is being put together as we speak," Fred continued, letting Harry into his office, which was cluttered with noisy, colorful prototypes of future products. Despite all the people they had working for them, Fred and George were still the chief designers of all the 3W merchandise. The dual wells of creativity, apparently, hadn't yet run dry. "George is personally seeing to it. Only the best for Sir Potter, right?"
Harry snorted as he took a seat. "Yeah, yeah. But I'm picking up Em here too, remember?"
"Oh, that's right. I forgot. What time does her Portkey get in?"
"She should be here in about ten minutes," Harry answered after consulting his watch. He'd thought this would be a good place to have her arrive so that she could help him pick out some other things or if she needed to buy a present.
Fred leaned forward, a frown on his freckly face. Harry noticed that there was a rather cartoonish white stripe down the middle of the other man's bright hair, surely a temporary souvenir from one of his and George's crazy experiments. "Speaking of Emerson, though, what do you think about her not trying out for the Quidditch team?"
"What?" Harry said sharply, sitting up straighter. "Where'd you hear that?"
"From my twins. What, you didn't know?" Fred asked, gaping at Harry.
Harry stared, confusion surging through his mind. No, he hadn't known. He and Hermione had sent Em a "Good Luck!" owl, also signed by Ben, Luke and Davina, on the day of the tryouts and she'd sent a thank you note in response. They had thought it surprising that Emerson hadn't written to tell them about the tryouts but he'd just figured she was waiting till she came home. That way she could give the whole animated play-by-play without any constraints.
But now Fred was saying she hadn't tried out at all?
"No, I didn't know," he said finally with a deep frown. "Are you sure about this?"
"Positive. I was shocked too when I heard, that's why it stuck. Hasn't she been wanting to do this practically since she could walk? Think she got stage fright?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I'll be sure to have a talk with her, though." He leaned back in his chair, looking troubled. Why hadn't Em tried out for the team? Why hadn't she owled them about it? What could possibly keep her from doing something she'd been wanting to do for ages?
So occupied was he with these thoughts that it took him a few seconds to register that someone was tapping his shoulder. Glancing up, he saw the object of his confusion looking down at him with a smile dancing about her mouth.
"Earth to Dad! Earth to Dad!"
He smiled as he stood up to hug her. "Hey. Did you just get here?"
"Yeah." Emerson pointed at the Portkey on Fred's desk, a full bottle of Butterbeer. "Think this is still safe to drink, Uncle Fred?"
Fred chuckled. "I don't see why not. Hey, Emerson? You okay? Everything all right?"
Harry watched his daughter intently, looking to see her reaction to those questions. She merely looked puzzled, however. "Sure. Why?"
Fred glanced quickly at Harry, who shook his head the tiniest bit. He didn't want to broach the subject here. He needed to talk to Hermione about this first, see what his wife thought about this strange development.
"Just you going back for your second year and all," Fred supplied effortlessly. "How has it been so far?"
Em shrugged. "Oh, it's fine. It's fine."
"Good. That's good. Well, let's go see if that slow-as-molasses brother of mine has finished putting together your order, Harry. It should be done by now."
"Hey! Watch who you're calling 'slow'," interjected a voice from the doorway. George came into the room carrying a large and loudly decorated box, which he presented to Harry with aplomb. "There ya go. It should have everything you wanted... and I added some extra stuff."
Harry fixed him with a look of suspicion. "If you've put anything in there that causes my wife to get mad at me, Weasley, you're going to pay."
"Ah, you wound me, Harry!" George cried dramatically, clutching his chest. "You truly wound me! But I won't hold it against you. I'm a professional. Here, let me shrink the box so you can get it home easier."
After pocketing the now walnut-sized box, Harry picked up his daughter's bag and thanked the twins. "See you lot tomorrow, then. Two o'clock, all right?"
"Aye, aye Captain!" the twins chorused, complete with salute, making Emerson giggle.
Even now that they were in their forties, Fred and George Weasley had hardly changed from their schoolboy alter-egos.
Frankly, Harry didn't know how Angelina and Nina, respectively, managed to keep their husbands in line.
They browsed the shelves for a few more minutes, before deciding that there wasn't anything else they wanted. Harry took out his wand and tapped Emerson's bag, turning it into a quick Portkey. He looked down at his daughter. "Ready?"
"Yeah," she said, placing her hand on the bag too.
Perhaps he'd imagined the fleeting look of apprehension in her green eyes. Why on earth would his daughter be worried about going home, anyway?
The strange thought was pushed out of his head by the familiar tug behind his navel as the Portkey activated and by the time they arrived on the large and lush hand-woven rug in Ballynore's foyer, to be immediately and loudly pounced upon by Luke and Davina, Harry had forgotten that he'd ever thought it at all.
*********
Late the next night, after all the party guests had left and the house was cleaner and quieter once again, Harry sat in the living room looking over some documents from work. Hermione was doing the same thing and Emerson was lying on the carpet reading a book. Ben, Luke and Davina had all been put to bed, worn out from the exertions of the day.
The day had been busy and loud, crammed with all the people they considered extended family, as they celebrated Hermione's thirty-eighth birthday and Davina's second. Davina had been born the day after Hermione's birthday two years ago, a belated but oh-so-welcome gift. Sometimes Harry couldn't even recall how he and Hermione could possibly have decided not to have any more children after Luke. Because with Davina here now, that decision had obviously been erroneous.
Harry knew that his wife agreed that this was one case where they were both delighted to have been wrong.
He looked over at his other daughter, who seemed to be staring at a page of her book without really reading. At the very least, her eyes were not moving. Which suddenly reminded Harry of something. With all the things going on that day, he hadn't had a chance to talk to Emerson about what Fred had told him. Hermione had been just as perplexed as he was when he mentioned it to her and they'd both agreed that they should hear what their daughter had to say before going any further. They'd also decided that it would probably be best if only one of them questioned her, just so she didn't feel ganged up on.
As if she sensed his gaze, Em looked over at him and he was surprised to see the steely look on her face, as if she was bracing herself for something. Before he'd had a chance to ponder it, however, she closed her book and got up from the floor.
"I think I'm gonna go to bed now," she announced, tossing her long hair over her shoulder.
"Already?" Harry asked. It wasn't quite ten o'clock and usually Em had to be threatened with all manner of horror for her to even go to bed before eleven. She was a night owl of the highest order.
"Yeah," she said rather more defensively than Harry thought the situation warranted.
Hermione looked concerned. "Are you all right, Em?"
"What? Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just tired."
Quickly coming to a decision, Harry stood up and laid aside the parchments he was scrutinizing. "I'd like to have a quick word with you, though, before you go."
Emerson frowned. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?"
Harry was tempted to say yes but something about her voice made all the questions begin nagging at him even more insistently than ever before. "I'm afraid it can't. Let's go into my office."
His daughter sighed impatiently and stormed away ahead of him without another word. Harry and Hermione exchanged looks of surprise. This was not like Emerson at all. What was going on?
His sense of apprehension increasing, Harry entered his office and closed the door behind him. "Have a seat."
"No, thanks. I'd rather stand," she answered irritably.
"Okay," he said as he sat down on the couch in the corner. "Is everything all right?"
Emerson threw up her hands. "Why does everybody keep asking me that?!"
"Who's 'everybody'?" Harry asked, leaning forward.
"You, Mum, Uncle Ron, Uncle Fred. Is something supposed to be going on with me?" she raged, her face turning red.
"I don't know. Is there?"
"NO, DAD!" Em snapped. "I'm fine!"
"I'm not liking your tone, Emerson. Do not speak to me that way. Regardless of how upset you might be, I am still your father," Harry said sternly, yet striving to keep his voice low and calm. No use antagonizing her further, though his mind was racing trying to figure out why his daughter was so angry with him.
"As if I could ever forget that," she muttered under her breath, but Harry heard her and for a moment was at a loss for words. Was that why she was so upset - because she was his child? A chilling sense of anxiety swept over him. This was something he'd worried about ever since Emerson was a baby and the world-at-large had found out about her. He didn't want his children to suffer just because he was their father. What did Emerson mean by that?
But, shaking his head, he decided to let it go for now. He needed to get back to the matter at hand. "The reason I'm concerned, Emerson, is I heard you hadn't tried out for the Quidditch team. What happened? You've been wanting to do that for as long as I can remember."
Em shrugged. "I changed my mind."
But Harry noticed she avoided his eyes as she said it. "But why?" he persisted. "What happened to make you change your mind about something like that?"
Her head snapped up and Harry caught a flash of something like fear in the green eyes so like his. The next second, however, his daughter spoke and there was no way the fire in her eyes now could be mistaken for anything but fury. "Why does there have to be a reason? What, now I'm not allowed to just change my mind?"
"Of course you are," Harry said quickly, taken aback by the venom being flung at him by his firstborn. "But you know you can tell me anything, Emerson, right? Or your Mum?"
She looked away, blinking rapidly and it was a moment before she looked up again. "Was there anything else?"
'Yes there is,' Harry thought, gazing at his child who was so obviously troubled about something. 'What's going on? Why are you so angry at me? What are you hiding? Where did my happy little girl go?'
But instead he shook his head. He didn't want to push her. He knew her and she would come to him or Hermione when she was ready. "No, that's it. Good night."
She stared at him for a full minute, her expression unreadable before she turned and left the room without another word. Harry slumped back against the couch, ripped his glasses off and covered his eyes with his hand. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions: shock, fear, confusion, worry.
What the heck was that? Was this what all the parents of teenagers had warned him was impending? Was this secrecy, this volatility what he had to look forward to, not only with Emerson but with his other children too? Merlin, he was honestly shocked more than anything else.
And then, through the haze, another feeling emerged. Deep in his heart an ache began as he came to a realization so seemingly trivial but which nevertheless made everything else appear ten times worse: she hadn't said 'Good night' back.