A/N: Thanks so much to all the reviewers of the last chapter! Finally, this one is here. I meant to post it before now, but went out of town for Thanksgiving. Hope everybody who celebrates it had a good one! And here y'all go... please, please, please review!
Many thanks to Liss for the beta. You rock, girl!
Chapter Twenty-One - Breakdown
Hermione had been right about them getting back to Ballynore before dinnertime. Barely an hour after they'd arrived
at Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione, now with Emerson, Portkeyed into the elegant foyer of their home.
Without a word to them, Emerson picked up her bag and headed for the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked.
She stopped and turned to look at him insolently. "To my room. Where did you think I was going?"
Not for the first time that day, Harry felt a surge of irritation, but before he could speak, Hermione had laid a hand on his arm. "Go ahead," she said softly. "We'll call you down when dinner is ready."
Emerson turned away and continued towards the stairs without another word. As soon as she disappeared from sight, Harry spun around and glared at his wife. "What was that?"
She sighed. "Harry, this is going to be hard enough without the two of you getting into a power contest. What does it matter if she goes to her room now? We won't be talking to her until after dinner, right?"
She was right, but of course he wasn't going to tell her that. So instead, he shrugged out of his cloak and headed to his office. Closing the door behind him, he leaned his head back against it, feeling lost and overwhelmed.
Nothing he had ever done, nothing he had ever endured had prepared him for this feeling of helplessness, of despair. At Hogwarts, he and Hermione had had a long talk with Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore's portrait. For some reason, Dumbledore thought that all this had something to do with the circumstances of Emerson's birth.
Which made absolutely no sense to Harry. Why on earth would that be changing their daughter so drastically? They had always been honest with her about those things and they'd never treated her any differently from their other kids. Emerson was their beloved firstborn, always had been, always would be. Besides, Emerson knew she could talk to them about anything, didn't she? Hadn't they always been open and communicative with her? Why had she shut them out so effectively?
Her teachers had reiterated the concerns of Professor McGonagall. Snape, in particular, told of Em's open hostility these days. Apparently, he'd had to give her detention just yesterday because of that, and Harry had gotten the chance to witness for himself what Snape was talking about.
As they had expected, the students had stared and whispered non-stop when he and Hermione had entered their classroom, which made it easy to note that Emerson hadn't so much as glanced at them once. Harry had just begun to ponder that when he'd looked over at his daughter, just in time to see her features twist in fury.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" he'd distinctly heard Emerson snap at a dark-haired classmate, who flushed and quickly looked away.
Harry had been, at first, shocked, then angry. What kind of language was that to be using in a roomful of people? Hadn't he, hadn't Hermione, raised her better than that? He'd stared in disbelief and perhaps his annoyance had been clearly displayed as well, because Em had quickly dropped her eyes when she'd seen him looking.
And she hadn't said a word to them until that snarkiness in the foyer just now.
Still leaning against his door, Harry took his glasses off and laid his hand over his eyes. Emerson's behavior was beginning to really irritate him, while Hermione tried to play devil's advocate and remind him that they still didn't know why Em was acting the way she was.
One thing he did know, however, was that they had waited too long to get to the bottom of this. But tonight, the buck stopped here. He just hoped it wasn't too late.
"God help us," he murmured quietly.
*****
Hermione set down the pan of steaming lasagna with a flick of her wand, to the cheers of the boys at the table (and yes, that included Harry). She smiled as she took her seat but the smile died when she saw her eldest daughter's face.
Emerson didn't so much as bat an eye when Harry placed a good-sized chunk of the aromatic pasta on her plate. Which was very strange, because Em was usually rabid about lasagna and any other time would be reaching for seconds before most of them had finished their first servings.
Hermione sighed. Em's love for this food had been part of the reason why she'd decided to make lasagna for dinner. She'd thought this might cheer her daughter up even a little, but apparently not. She caught Harry's eye and saw his mouth tighten. She knew he was as anxious as she felt.
Something wasn't right with Em and hadn't been for a long time. At first, Hermione had thought it was just normal, just part of growing up, of entering puberty. Mood swings and irritability were normal for young girls, and at first, that was what it had looked like with Em. Hermione had been almost sure it would pass without too much incident.
But she had always gotten that vague, underlying sense of unease whenever she'd thought about it, Hermione realized. And now, there was no doubt that whatever it was that was affecting Em was much more profound than mere hormonal upsurges. Emerson wasn't so much having mood swings as personality restructuring. This angry, violent girl was not the Emerson they'd always known and adored.
But both she and Harry were fiercely proud of their daughter's independence and maturity, even as they knew that their relationship was strong enough that Em could and would come to them if she needed help. Or so they'd thought. Because even though whatever she was going through seemed to be more than she could handle now, Emerson still showed not the slightest inclination to seek their assistance.
Hermione glanced at Em again. She was playing with her food, moving it around her plate and only taking tiny bites.
"Emerson, isn't this good!" Luke somehow managed to say with his mouth full.
"Chew first and swallow before you talk, Luke," Hermione reminded him, her eyes not leaving Emerson's face. The young girl had looked over at her brother when he spoke, stared at him for a few seconds as if she'd never seen him before, then turned back to her plate.
Luke frowned, clearly puzzled by her lack of response. He had, along with Ben and Vina, been ecstatic upon discovering that Em was home, but his happiness had been met with a cold indifference from his big sister. "Em, isn't this good?" he repeated, gazing expectantly at her, waiting for her to whip out the fake Italian accent that she always used to answer that question.
It was their own little lasagna ritual and she was supposed to say, "Seemplee deeleecious, Budgeet! Seemplee deeleecious!" And they would all laugh. So why wasn't she answering? Why wasn't she even eating?
Luke seemed to sense the tension creeping around the table but he didn't understand what it was. All he knew was that his sister- "Why aren't you eating, Emerson? Isn't the 'sagna good?" he asked, a note of pleading in his voice now.
At last, Em looked up and her green eyes were blazing. "Shut up, Budget!" she snapped. "God, you can be such a pain in the arse!"
Stunned, Luke's green eyes, identical to hers, widened and his bottom lip trembled. His head drooped to his chest and Hermione heard him begin to cry. Nobody moved for a few seconds, then Davina burst into tears too, unable to bear the negativity looming over their gathering.
More worried than angry, Hermione glanced over at Harry and knew at once, that he was feeling the other way around. If he were to open his mouth-
"Emerson, go to your room. Right now!" she said sharply, before her husband could combust.
Their daughter stood up and stormed away. Ben was staring at his plate, his fork frozen in the act of spearing a bite of pasta. His hair stuck out in the back exactly as Harry's did, as her husband stood and picked up Davina.
"It's okay," she heard him telling the little girl, even as she hurried to comfort Luke.
Poor Budget clung to his mother, stung more by his sister's harsh tone than by her words. "Why is Em mad at me, Mummy? Why doesn't she love me anymore? I still love her," he sobbed.
Hermione's heart ached. "Of course she still loves you, Luke. She's just upset about something. It's not you she's mad at."
Luke raised his head to look at her. "Who is she mad at?"
She kissed his sweaty forehead and wiped his cheeks. "I don't know. But I know it's not you. Come on, let's finish dinner, okay?"
Luke shook his head. "I don't feel like eating 'sagna anymore," he whispered, tears spilling out of his eyes again.
Neither did she, Hermione realized. Instead, she and Harry made hot chocolate and once all the kids had solemnly finished their mugs, they all went upstairs. They performed their nightly rituals, she and Harry tucking them in, kissing them good night, telling them they loved them. But Hermione knew that tonight, at least one of them would cry himself to sleep, nursing a wounded heart.
*****
About half an hour later, Harry and Hermione sat together on the couch in his office. Emerson's behavior at dinner had brought something home to them that they had both somewhat been denying to themselves: this was not just between the three of them anymore. Now everyone in the household had been affected and quite frankly, Harry knew this had gone on far too long.
The achingly familiar dredges of guilt were beginning to creep up on him when the door of the office creaked open and he looked up.
"You wanted to see me?" Em asked. Her expression was stony but Harry caught the slight tremor in her voice, so he knew she wasn't feeling as sassy as she appeared. Her eyes seemed to be slightly red around the rims, as well, as if she'd been crying.
"Yes. Come in, close the door and have a seat," he said softly.
She did the first two things but leaned back against the door.
"Have a seat," he repeated.
His daughter crossed her arms defiantly against her chest. "No, thanks. I'd rath-"
"Sit down, Emerson!" Harry said sharply, his patience stretched thin.
She finally obeyed and sat across from them, glaring daggers at him. Hermione squeezed his hand, then rubbed it, non-verbally telling him to calm down. Closing his eyes, Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to get himself under control.
Upon opening his eyes, he looked into their mirror images that were, at the moment, filled with so much anger and loathing that it took all he had not to turn away. Sending up a small prayer for guidance, he leaned forward slightly. "I don't need to tell you how appalling your behavior tonight was. It is obvious that something is going on with you, but that gives you no right to take it out on your brothers and sister like you did. I am expecting you to have apologized to each of them by this time tomorrow. Is that clear?"
Emerson nodded to her knees and Harry let out a breath. Now for the hard part...
"Now, Emerson-" he paused until she looked up. "What is going on?"
She didn't answer but neither did she look away, even as her eyes filled up and overflowed.
"Emerson, talk to us! We want to help you," Hermione pleaded, leaning forward too now.
Their daughter squirmed and flicked her hair agitatedly from her face. "I don't need your help. Why can't you lot give me a chance to do this on my own?"
"To do what?" Harry asked.
"And we have," Hermione added. "We have given you a chance, Em. But things have been deteriorating, not improving. Your grades, your behavior at school, here! This has gone on long enough!"
"And we're not leaving this room until you tell us what's wrong," Harry said firmly. He hated that they had to be strong-arming her like this and he hoped to God that it didn't backfire on them. But in the end, if they managed to get to the bottom of this- in that case, the ends wholly justified the means.
Emerson's fists were clenched and she was perched rigidly on the edge of her chair, biting her bottom lip as if trying to hold herself together. As if she were facing an onslaught of something and her very survival hinged on how white with tension her knuckles could be. "I can't," she choked out, sounding as if each of those two words had cost her chunks of herself.
Hermione slipped off the couch to kneel beside their daughter's chair. "Can't or won't?"
Em broke into heart wrenching sobs. "I c-can't, Mum! I want to tell you so badly but-"
"But what?" Harry asked, kneeling beside her too. "Why not? We are your parents. We need to know. We want to know."
She was trembling now, as if from either fear or extreme cold. Since the room was pleasantly warm, that only left- But what could possibly have frightened his brave, independent daughter so much as to have her quaking like this?
"I feel so guilty already! I couldn't bear it if anything else- if anybody else-" she broke off. "Please, just leave me alone!"
Tears were streaming down Hermione's cheeks now. "We can't, Em. We love you too much."
And that was the straw that broke the camel's back and Emerson was suddenly sobbing so hard, Harry thought she would choke.
"Mum! Oh, Daddy!" she cried, launching herself at them and they held her, crouching in a heap on his office floor, terrified and bewildered.
It took him awhile to realize that his cheeks were wet too, but whose tears were they? His heart was writhing from his daughter's pain and fear, even as his head flooded with the whys and wherefores. What was she guilty about? What had caused all this?
But Emerson was still crying uncontrollably and whatever sounds she made were incoherent. Harry and Hermione could only hold her and whisper that they loved her so much, no matter what, as their tears watered the long tresses of her tortured head.
After close to ten minutes, she seemed to have calmed down enough to shakily wipe her eyes. Harry and Hermione helped her up and they sat on the couch with her between them, holding her hands as if she were a little girl again and they were all about to cross the street.
"Okay?" Hermione asked gently, reaching up with her free hand to move Em's hair out of her face.
Em nodded, although fresh tears leaked from her eyes. She seemed not to notice them. "I'm so sorry for how I've been acting," she choked. "I know I've been a world-class bit- brat for a while now. I'm so sorry! But it was the only way I could think of to do it!"
Harry's brow furrowed. "To do what?"
"To make you lot hate me," Emerson cried, beginning to sob again.
Harry and Hermione exchanged perplexed looks over her head. What the- whatever he'd been expecting her to say, that certainly had not been it.
"Why would you want to make us hate you?" his wife asked, sounding as confounded as Harry felt.
Emerson gripped their hands tighter. "It was the only way I could think of to keep you safe. If I could make you hate me, maybe you wouldn't want to question me anymore. Cause I couldn't answer your questions honestly without putting you all in danger."
Harry's heart pounded in alarm. This seemed to be gearing up to be worse than anything his doomsday imagination had conjured up. Surely if, for instance, she had been assaulted somehow, God forbid, she would want to be with her family, not cut off from them?
"Why did you feel you had to protect us? Has somebody been threatening you?" Hermione was asking.
Their daughter shuddered. "No, but they were threatening to hurt Ben, Budget and Vina. They said if I told you, they would hurt them!"
Harry's mind went numb with fury. "Who are they?"
"I don't know," she replied, shaking her head. "They only send letters and clippings but I've never recognized the handwriting and they've never even signed with a name. Just a smiley face. I don't even know if it's a man or a woman. For some reason, I've always thought it was a woman, though."
No name but a smiley face? Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. Both of them had had their own run-ins with minor celebrity hounds, received the few odd letters, but neither of them recognized this modus operandi.
"It was stupid of me not to tell you, now that I really think about it. Because if anyone could relate to how it feels, it'd be you," Emerson continued, glancing at them through swollen eyes.
"How what feels?"
Em's bottom lip trembled and when she spoke, her voice was so tiny, Harry had to strain to hear her. "How it feels to have killed someone."
"What?!" Hermione yelped. "Emerson, why would you think something like that? Of course you haven't killed anyone!"
"Yes, I have!" Em cried, bursting into tears again. "I killed Julia! It's my fault that she's dead!"
Oh, Merlin, no. This was what she was guilty about? Oh, God, no wonder she was so messed up! Oh, God. But-
"Emerson, why would you think that?" Harry begged desperately, his heart clenching within him. "We've always been honest with you about Julia and what happened with her. She was ill. Everybody has told you the truth, us, her parents, her friends. You've read the letter that Julia herself wrote for you. Why would you all of a sudden believe such a horrible and untrue thing about yourself?"
Emerson was sobbing again and Hermione held her hand, looking horrified.
"They sent- they s-sent a copy of J-Julia's medical p-papers," Em sobbed, barely able to speak in her distress. "-and her doc-ct-tor wrote in it that he'd re-recommended that she- she terminate the- that she terminate m-me. He said he was quite p-positive she would have lived if she'd taken his advice."
Harry's stomach heaved with anger and he felt sick. What kind of foul, evil- Now was not the time, however, to get angry. There would be a time for it later. His daughter needed him - oh, why had they waited so long- and he still had so many questions.
"Oh, baby," he said, hugging her to him. "Julia chose to keep you alive. It was her choice to make and she made it. It was the cancer that caused her death, not you. You know that; you know that, Emerson."
He felt her tears soaking his shirt and suddenly had the odd thought to make sure she drank lots of fluids tomorrow. All this crying...
"If she hadn't been pregnant with me, she wouldn't have had to choose," Em whispered, her voice heavy with pain. "Then she would've been free to take her medicine and she wouldn't have died."
"We don't know that," Hermione said gently, her voice breaking with emotion. "You didn't ask for her to be pregnant with you."
And although he knew Hermione would never have meant that last statement to have such a result, Harry felt a stab of guilt. This was at least partially his fault. He should have been more careful. He should have cast a charm every single time.
But if you had, then there likely wouldn't be an Emerson. Would you have been better off without her in your life?
No, he wouldn't. He had once come upon a quote that summed it up perfectly: The decision to have a child is to accept that your heart will forever walk outside of your body.
And while he hadn't "decided" to have Emerson - she had been a surprise, she had been a gift - he knew that from the moment he'd known that she was his, that quote was true for him. Harry closed his eyes at that thought, tears squeezing from under the lids as he held his daughter. When he and Hermione had first married, he'd given the two women in his life matching diamond-and-emerald bracelets. On his wife's, the note read, "To Hermione: the best thing that ever happened to me." On his daughter's, he'd written, "To Emerson: the best thing I ever accomplished."
And she was. At that time, she'd been the best. Now she was one of the four best things, and he loved them all equally. But who would he be today if he had not been blessed with that little baby, abandoned at his doorstep? Where would he be without this beautiful and now-wounded young girl that he had tried so hard to protect, but whose innocence was forever shattered in at least one way?
"I love you so much," he whispered, smoothing her tangled hair.
Hermione put her arms around the both of them and for a long moment, they cried together again. When they finally broke apart, both of them looked as drained as Harry felt. Emerson's eyes were swollen and her face was blotchy and tear-stained.
His wife sniffled. "When did you start getting these letters?"
"I got the first one the day after we got back to school last September. I thought it was a note from you, but once I opened it-" her voice trailed off.
A wave of nauseous grief washed over Harry. September. It was now the first week of January, so his daughter had been carrying around this burden, all alone, for four months. No wonder her behavior had changed so drastically!
And yet, she had lasted this long; she was strong, this girl, his Moppet...
"I'm sorry we waited so long to do this," he said softly, feeling sorrow and guilt warring for dominance inside him. "You never should have had to deal with this alone."
Hermione nodded, her eyes filling up again. "I'm so sorry, Em."
Their daughter sniffled and nodded too, giving them a tiny, watery smile. "It's okay."
No, it's not okay. I am her father and I left her alone to deal with that all by herself? No, it's certainly not okay. "You said something about a clipping? In the first letter," he said wearily, trying to focus on something other than his burgeoning guilt.
She nodded again. "Newspaper and magazine clippings, but sometimes other things, like the medical chart."
Hermione closed her eyes briefly as if gathering herself then opened them. "Where are they now?"
"Upstairs. I kept all of them. I'm not sure why, but I just couldn't throw them away."
"I'm glad you didn't. Because they'll be useful in finding the scum who's been doing this." Harry's hand trembled as he laid it gently on her cheek. "I promise you, I will find them. Even if it takes a hundred years, we will find them and make them pay for hurting you. For these lies, for everything."
She nodded, tears shining in her eyes and they all hugged again for a long moment.
Hermione stood up slowly. "I'm going to get you some Sleeping Draught. Go on up to bed and I'll be right there, okay?"
"Okay," Em said, then she and Harry left the office and climbed the stairs slowly to her room. Emerson went to her trunk and came back with what looked like an ordinary, girly shoebox and handed it to her father. "They're all here. To open it, use Alohomora, then Colloportus and Alohomora again, in that order. I didn't want anyone to find it, but if they did, I figured they wouldn't think to use a locking charm to open it," she explained with the faintest ghost of a smile that vanished almost as soon as it appeared.
His clever girl. Harry hugged her fiercely again. "I'll wait here while you get changed."
She nodded, grabbed her pyjamas and went into her bathroom. He heard the water running, just as Hermione came in carrying a tall glass of Sleeping Draught. The two of them sat without a word, numb from what they'd just learned, as they waited. When Em came out, they tucked her in, hugged her tight, told her they loved her, so much, and gave her the potion.
Harry felt tears rolling down his cheeks again as he watched his daughter fall into what was probably the most peaceful sleep in months, and from the sniffle beside him, he knew Hermione was thinking the same thing.
Clutching the shoebox, he took his wife's hand and led her from the room. By tacit agreement, they returned to the rooms of their other children, in turn, tearfully kissing each one. Harry's heart ached at the thought that somebody out there could want to hurt these innocent, rosy-cheeked children, just because of who they were a part of.
When they at last reached their room, they undressed and climbed into bed, still without a word. Harry held Hermione while she cried, his own emotions simmering within him and rendering him dry-eyed, for the time being.
Finally, physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted, they clung together and fell into restless sleep, preparing for the war that had been brought to their doorstep.