Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Our Past Deeds
Prologue
Sometimes we can get away with what we have done. For the time being. Sooner or later we will have to pay the price for our past deeds.
?Blocked
It was just about ten o'clock in the evening and the warm September day was slowly coming to an end. The small girl opened the only window, letting some fresh air into the room. Then, she pulled a chair in front of the window, climbed onto it, and just sat there, sniffing the clean air, admiring the sparkles in the starry sky.
"One of those stars is Mum," she thought to herself and several teardrops appeared in her clean grey eyes. Loudly sniffing, she wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her rather worn, pink sweatshirt. She actually never knew her Mum. Her father would never answer this question, no matter how many times she asked. The only thing her father was willing to tell her was that she had died while giving birth to her. She didn't even know her name!
A freight train pulled out of Paddington, fifty seven wagons, each loaded with a forty-feet container. The train slowly gained speed, and, as it passed by the building, shook it as if an earthquake was being formed under London. The impeccably clean glass in the window rattled, the table shook, and a glass fell off it, breaking into myriad tiny particles.
The girl shuddered and instinctively stopped her ears with her hands, so that the sounds couldn't find its way under her skin and firmly closed her eyes. She was afraid of loud noises. She would wake up in the night if a dog was barking somewhere, two-three streets away; later she would have nightmares about dogs chasing her and biting her to death.
As the train passed, the noises died, until the only ones remaining were the yelling and drunken singing, coming in from the pub on the ground floor. How many evenings, nights had she spent like this, waiting that her father would come home, they would eat dinner and after dinner he would kiss her goodnight. Normally her father's breath was laced with Firewhiskey fumes, but she didn't mind. She loved her father and as far as she could tell, he loved her as well.
Tonight, her father was unusually late, and the rumbling of her stomach was clearly giving away the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Pouring herself some water into the only remaining glass, the girl drank it, then curled up on the chair and resumed her staring out of the window. She didn't even recognize when sleep, hungry and lonely sleep consumed her.
It wasn't long before she woke, however, as the yelling and chanting from downstairs became louder. Her father still hadn't returned, but her stomach started rumbling again, so the girl decided it was time to find to eat something. Climbing off the chair, she went up to the table, opened the drawer and produced her wallet. Her own wallet! What a pride and joy was shining at her pretty face when her father gave it to her as a birthday present, three months ago, with five whole Galleons in it! It was much more money than she'd ever seen before, and it was all hers. Yet, she took good care of her money and she was glad to find two whole Galleons and a couple of Sickles and Knuts inside. Her small hand clasped around a golden coin - a whole treasure, four lollipops or eight Chocolate Frogs with the latest collector cards - and, slipping into her trainers, she left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.
The squeaking stairs led her from the fourth floor - the guest floor - to the third, where Tom, the old innkeeper lived, then to the second, passing by the apartment of the current owner and her family, and finally to the ground floor, by now completely filled with witches, wizards and other creatures, all on a different level of alcohol-inducted bliss. The senses of the small girl clearly distinguished sweat, cigar smoke, stale whisky, and also another, rather sweet, sticky, spicy smell she couldn't place and, shrugging, she decided she didn't even want to know what this smell was.
Carefully, she entered the crowd to find out if her father was there. Avoiding a small group of drunken dancers and two goblins who were just about to enter a fist fight after some heated discussions on a loan which should have been paid back a year ago, she maneuvered herself between the guests, with the ease of a snake.
There he was, her father. Sitting at a dirty table in his once expensive, tailor-made by the best London wizarding dressmaker, now stained, torn cloak, with ten empty glasses in front of him, silently listening to his tablemates' fairytales about young witches they'd conquered in their Hogwarts years, impeccably performed Wronski Feints and new charms they'd invented, was his father. Still in his thirties, once a very handsome young man with steel grey eyes, a heir of a rich Pureblood family, he was now resembling an old, broken man, his hair completely grey, the once vivid eyes bloodshot and sunken.
Tugging on his sleeve, the girl shyly called at him. "Dad? Dad, I'm hungry." There was no answer, so she tried again. "Dad, I'm hungry! Buy me something to eat, please!"
The man still didn't pay attention to her; as if in a haze, he raised an empty glass and through his tearstained eyes looked at the barman. "The same, if you would."
The barman, a well-sized young man about his age, wiped his hands off his towel and shook his head. "I think, Sir, you've had enough for tonight. Your daughter, however, could do with some food."
"Mind your own freaking business and give me my Firewhiskey!" bellowed the man and the frightened girl had to stop her ears again.
"Hannah, come here, please," Neville called her wife. The attractive young woman, with long, dirty-blond hair, put her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.
"Take this girl upstairs and give her something to eat. Her father's determined to drink himself to death and the poor thing looks like she hasn't eaten anything this month. A bath would be also fine," the barman whispered into his wife's ears. At first, anger flashed through the woman's face as her husband pointed at the girl's father. Then, comprehension dawned in her eyes.
"This why I fell in love with you, Neville," she purred, kissing him soundly on the lips. With dancing steps, she went up to the man, and placed a glass in front of him.
"Your last shot for tonight, Mister. And it would do good to you to remember that any more yelling and I will hex your manhood onto the middle of your forehead. Are we clear?" Clearing away the empty glasses with a flick of her wand, she flashed a genuine smile at the startled girl and extended her hand. "Come on, let's eat something."
Half an hour later, a thoroughly bathed, combed and fed girl, with a huge grin on her sweet face, was tiptoeing happily down the stairs. She was holding a huge package in her hand, charmed so that she could easily carry it.
The Longbottoms Flooed some friends and very soon a healthy pile of girl clothes was assembled. Clean, crisply ironed and neatly folded, the clothes were packaged. Together with the clothes came five large sandwiches with a Preserving Charm applied on them, a few plates of chocolate and - unseen by the girl - ten golden Galleons in a purple, heart-shaped purse, made of fine silk. At first, the girl didn't want to accept anything, but Hannah explained her that they'd always wanted to have a little girl like her but she couldn't have children due to an accident. So, she reluctantly agreed, saying she'd accept the clothes if she was allowed to pay for them, and handed over her Galleon. Hannah burst out in tears - silently swearing a wizard's oath she'd hex that bastard of a father into next century - but, smiling at the girl through her tears, accepted the Galleon and gave the girl four Sickles and six Knuts change. The girl being, at most, five or six years old, didn't know what money really was worth and happily accepted the coins.
When Hannah waved good-bye to the girl, she kissed her brown curls and asked "What's your name, sweetheart? At least tell me your name!"
Happily smiling, the girl obliged. "My name is Ginevra, Mrs. Longbottom. Thank you for... you know... for everything." Completely missing the startled look on the young woman's face, she waved her goodbye and went into the crowd to see of her father was already done with his drink.
The man - no more glasses in front of him except that last one - was blankly staring into the air, completely oblivious to everybody and everything around him. Still, feeling the tugging on his sleeve, he recognised his daughter and lovingly caressed her hair for a short while. "Let's go get some sleep, sweetie," he said in a hoarse voice and, supporting himself with his hands against the table, stood up. Reaching into his pocket, he counted down six Galleons and threw the coins on the table.
Holding each other's hands, they made their way towards the stairs. Hardly had the man made two unsteady steps, however, when his body started twitching and convulsing and with a loud thump he fell unconscious on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.
"Dad! DAD!" The heart-breaking cry of the small girl caused all conversation stop. The following eruption of uncontrolled, spontaneous, pure magic shattered all windows and blew away all bottles and glasses from the tables, counters and cupboards. Then, the small girl just sat there, in the growing pool of blood of her dying father, loudly crying out her pain to the big, cold, inhuman, indifferent world.
"One of those stars is Mum," she thought to herself and several teardrops appeared in her clean grey eyes. Loudly sniffing, she wiped her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her rather worn, pink sweatshirt. She actually never knew her Mum. Her father would never answer this question, no matter how many times she asked. The only thing her father was willing to tell her was that she had died while giving birth to her. She didn't even know her name!
A freight train pulled out of Paddington, fifty seven wagons, each loaded with a forty-feet container. The train slowly gained speed, and, as it passed by the building, shook it as if an earthquake was being formed under London. The impeccably clean glass in the window rattled, the table shook, and a glass fell off it, breaking into myriad tiny particles.
The girl shuddered and instinctively stopped her ears with her hands, so that the sounds couldn't find its way under her skin and firmly closed her eyes. She was afraid of loud noises. She would wake up in the night if a dog was barking somewhere, two-three streets away; later she would have nightmares about dogs chasing her and biting her to death.
As the train passed, the noises died, until the only ones remaining were the yelling and drunken singing, coming in from the pub on the ground floor. How many evenings, nights had she spent like this, waiting that her father would come home, they would eat dinner and after dinner he would kiss her goodnight. Normally her father's breath was laced with Firewhiskey fumes, but she didn't mind. She loved her father and as far as she could tell, he loved her as well.
Tonight, her father was unusually late, and the rumbling of her stomach was clearly giving away the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Pouring herself some water into the only remaining glass, the girl drank it, then curled up on the chair and resumed her staring out of the window. She didn't even recognize when sleep, hungry and lonely sleep consumed her.
It wasn't long before she woke, however, as the yelling and chanting from downstairs became louder. Her father still hadn't returned, but her stomach started rumbling again, so the girl decided it was time to find to eat something. Climbing off the chair, she went up to the table, opened the drawer and produced her wallet. Her own wallet! What a pride and joy was shining at her pretty face when her father gave it to her as a birthday present, three months ago, with five whole Galleons in it! It was much more money than she'd ever seen before, and it was all hers. Yet, she took good care of her money and she was glad to find two whole Galleons and a couple of Sickles and Knuts inside. Her small hand clasped around a golden coin - a whole treasure, four lollipops or eight Chocolate Frogs with the latest collector cards - and, slipping into her trainers, she left the room, carefully closing the door behind her.
The squeaking stairs led her from the fourth floor - the guest floor - to the third, where Tom, the old innkeeper lived, then to the second, passing by the apartment of the current owner and her family, and finally to the ground floor, by now completely filled with witches, wizards and other creatures, all on a different level of alcohol-inducted bliss. The senses of the small girl clearly distinguished sweat, cigar smoke, stale whisky, and also another, rather sweet, sticky, spicy smell she couldn't place and, shrugging, she decided she didn't even want to know what this smell was.
Carefully, she entered the crowd to find out if her father was there. Avoiding a small group of drunken dancers and two goblins who were just about to enter a fist fight after some heated discussions on a loan which should have been paid back a year ago, she maneuvered herself between the guests, with the ease of a snake.
There he was, her father. Sitting at a dirty table in his once expensive, tailor-made by the best London wizarding dressmaker, now stained, torn cloak, with ten empty glasses in front of him, silently listening to his tablemates' fairytales about young witches they'd conquered in their Hogwarts years, impeccably performed Wronski Feints and new charms they'd invented, was his father. Still in his thirties, once a very handsome young man with steel grey eyes, a heir of a rich Pureblood family, he was now resembling an old, broken man, his hair completely grey, the once vivid eyes bloodshot and sunken.
Tugging on his sleeve, the girl shyly called at him. "Dad? Dad, I'm hungry." There was no answer, so she tried again. "Dad, I'm hungry! Buy me something to eat, please!"
The man still didn't pay attention to her; as if in a haze, he raised an empty glass and through his tearstained eyes looked at the barman. "The same, if you would."
The barman, a well-sized young man about his age, wiped his hands off his towel and shook his head. "I think, Sir, you've had enough for tonight. Your daughter, however, could do with some food."
"Mind your own freaking business and give me my Firewhiskey!" bellowed the man and the frightened girl had to stop her ears again.
"Hannah, come here, please," Neville called her wife. The attractive young woman, with long, dirty-blond hair, put her hand on his shoulder and smiled at him.
"Take this girl upstairs and give her something to eat. Her father's determined to drink himself to death and the poor thing looks like she hasn't eaten anything this month. A bath would be also fine," the barman whispered into his wife's ears. At first, anger flashed through the woman's face as her husband pointed at the girl's father. Then, comprehension dawned in her eyes.
"This why I fell in love with you, Neville," she purred, kissing him soundly on the lips. With dancing steps, she went up to the man, and placed a glass in front of him.
"Your last shot for tonight, Mister. And it would do good to you to remember that any more yelling and I will hex your manhood onto the middle of your forehead. Are we clear?" Clearing away the empty glasses with a flick of her wand, she flashed a genuine smile at the startled girl and extended her hand. "Come on, let's eat something."
Half an hour later, a thoroughly bathed, combed and fed girl, with a huge grin on her sweet face, was tiptoeing happily down the stairs. She was holding a huge package in her hand, charmed so that she could easily carry it.
The Longbottoms Flooed some friends and very soon a healthy pile of girl clothes was assembled. Clean, crisply ironed and neatly folded, the clothes were packaged. Together with the clothes came five large sandwiches with a Preserving Charm applied on them, a few plates of chocolate and - unseen by the girl - ten golden Galleons in a purple, heart-shaped purse, made of fine silk. At first, the girl didn't want to accept anything, but Hannah explained her that they'd always wanted to have a little girl like her but she couldn't have children due to an accident. So, she reluctantly agreed, saying she'd accept the clothes if she was allowed to pay for them, and handed over her Galleon. Hannah burst out in tears - silently swearing a wizard's oath she'd hex that bastard of a father into next century - but, smiling at the girl through her tears, accepted the Galleon and gave the girl four Sickles and six Knuts change. The girl being, at most, five or six years old, didn't know what money really was worth and happily accepted the coins.
When Hannah waved good-bye to the girl, she kissed her brown curls and asked "What's your name, sweetheart? At least tell me your name!"
Happily smiling, the girl obliged. "My name is Ginevra, Mrs. Longbottom. Thank you for... you know... for everything." Completely missing the startled look on the young woman's face, she waved her goodbye and went into the crowd to see of her father was already done with his drink.
The man - no more glasses in front of him except that last one - was blankly staring into the air, completely oblivious to everybody and everything around him. Still, feeling the tugging on his sleeve, he recognised his daughter and lovingly caressed her hair for a short while. "Let's go get some sleep, sweetie," he said in a hoarse voice and, supporting himself with his hands against the table, stood up. Reaching into his pocket, he counted down six Galleons and threw the coins on the table.
Holding each other's hands, they made their way towards the stairs. Hardly had the man made two unsteady steps, however, when his body started twitching and convulsing and with a loud thump he fell unconscious on the floor, blood pouring from his mouth and nose.
"Dad! DAD!" The heart-breaking cry of the small girl caused all conversation stop. The following eruption of uncontrolled, spontaneous, pure magic shattered all windows and blew away all bottles and glasses from the tables, counters and cupboards. Then, the small girl just sat there, in the growing pool of blood of her dying father, loudly crying out her pain to the big, cold, inhuman, indifferent world.
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