An Exciting Life by Pondering

Chapter One: A Day Like Any Other

As the sun rose over the rooftops of London, Vicky Hotham was curled on her sofa, pretending to watch a morning news program. She stirred her coffee and tried to set it down in front of her. Not being fully awake yet, she missed the table and the mug hit the floor. The coffee quickly seeped into the carpet, leaving a stain, which Vicky knew would be hell to get out—but she would have to try, she supposed, once she had a little bit more caffeine in her. Drowsily, she rose to make herself a cup of coffee, hoping that the vicious cycle would not continue.

When the kettle finished boiling, she turned it off at the power point and poured the water in. She stirred it again and lifted it to her lips—maybe a nice good swig now would be enough to get her back to the sofa without tripping over her own feet.

The day was starting and Vicky knew that the paperboy would be coming around any moment now. Then she heard a dull noise, which could only be that of a roll of paper hitting the front window—she wondered if the paperboy aimed at it on purpose. Sighing, she managed to set her cup of coffee correctly on the table, put her slippers on and stepped out the front door to retrieve her paper.

Vicky had never been much of a paper reading person. It had always been her husband that had read the paper, but seeing as he was now fully out of her life she had assumed the role for herself. There weren’t usually that many interesting articles in the paper, but one yesterday had caught her eye. There had been a mysterious murder near the Prime Minister’s residence a few days ago, and the police had no idea who the perpetrator was or what their motives were. There was a lot of public interest in the case—apparently the public was feeling very unsafe at the moment, especially with the bridge collapse and the freak natural disasters. Now, they had ‘mysterious murders’ to add to the list.

She took another sip of coffee and glided off to the toaster, still feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie. After managing to untie the impossible knot in the bag of bread, she popped two slices into the toaster. She buttered the toast and went back to the table to read her paper.

It was slightly morbid, she noted, to be reading about a murder case as she ate breakfast. Death was not something someone wanted to be reminded about first thing in the morning, but after a few seconds, she found that she really didn’t care.

She munched her breakfast as she read the latest article. How strange—apparently every entrance to the house had been locked, but there was no sign of forced entry. Unless the offender had come down the chimney in a Father Christmas-like fashion, it had to be magic.

Magic.

She wondered if it could be magic. She knew that magic did exist, even if Father Christmas did not. After all, she had seen it performed with her own eyes. When she was nine years old, a man named Albus Dumbledore had come to her house to whisk her brother Chris off to a school of sorcery.

Of course, she couldn’t tell anyone that she thought the murder of this Emmeline Vance woman had been a product of magic. She might as well announce that she was going to hide out in her garden during Easter, hoping to capture the chocolate-delivering Easter Bunny.

Her brother used to send her three letters a week during his first term at the school—Hogwarts—but after that, the amount gradually reduced until his seventh year, when she received none at all. He had told her stories of unicorns, of games played on flying broomsticks, of the four houses—her brother had been a ‘Slytherin’, whatever that was. Most importantly, her brother had told her how wizards and witches hid themselves among the non-magical population, or ‘Muggles’ as they called them. Now Vicky could not help but say magic was the reason for everything strange or inexplicable she had heard of in her life, from the existence of flying saucers to the whereabouts of the Loch Ness Monster.

She wondered if she should send a letter to her brother. She hadn’t heard from him in ages; she had no idea how he was doing now. The problem was, she had no way of procuring an owl to carry the letter, so that idea was debunked.

Vicky opened the window and poked her head out. It felt oddly cool for summer and there was a strange mist hanging in the horizon. As she stared at it, she felt more miserable and upset. She shook her head to clear it; she didn’t need pessimistic thoughts this morning. She scanned the sky, looking at the dreary clouds, fat with the promise of rain. She sighed, why couldn’t summer be warm and cheery? Not like last summer, with the drought, but somewhere in between where it was pleasantly tolerable all season.

It looked like today would be a day like any other. In other words: dreadfully boring. She would go down to the supermarket as she was running out of necessary foodstuffs. Then she would make a large dinner for tomorrow night, when her son Ben would be coming over with his new girlfriend. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. She could only hope that this girlfriend had more table manners than the last one and was proficient in the use of a knife and fork.

The television announcer was now shouting something about some celebrity’s sordid love affair. Vicky grimaced and wondered if she should wash her hair before she went to the shops, or after she returned. Or maybe she could get another haircut? She shunted this idea out of her mind—her hair was already short enough. If she wanted it any shorter, she’d have to go to a barber. The very fact that she was spending this time thinking about what do with her time rather than rushing madly about trying to get everything done must mean that life had become very boring indeed.

An Exciting Life by Pondering

Through the Dining Room Window

Vicky set up three places at the dining room table, nervously waiting the arrival of her son and his new girlfriend. She has spent almost the whole day cooking, and she had made more food than three people could possibly be expected to consume in one evening. She was going to be eating leftovers for a week.

There was a soft knock and Vicky’s head snapped up. That would be him. She gingerly placed a knife next to a fork and went to answer the front door. The part of the day that had not been passed in the kitchen had been spent cleaning the house from ceiling to floor: she was eager to make a good first impression.

“Hi, Mum,” greeted Ben when Vicky opened the door. She looked him up and down—her son never seemed to stop growing. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend—Eleanor, this is my mum.”

Eleanor was a pretty girl with feathery blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Vicky, however, did not like the haughty look on Eleanor’s face as she looked around the hallway. Stiffly, she held out her hand. Cautiously, Vicky grasped it in what was a poor attempt at a handshake. “Charmed,” Eleanor sniffed.

Resisting the desire to wipe her hand against her skirt, she asked, “Would you like to eat dinner?” Her eyes were purposely fixed on Ben’s face: she had absolutely no desire to even look at Eleanor.

However, it was Eleanor who answered. “Yes, we shall.” She pulled on Ben’s arm and they followed Vicky into the dining room.

“Oh, these curtains are so quaint,” Eleanor muttered as they walked past the window. She rubbed the heavy material between forefinger and thumb.

Vicky grimaced. “Please don’t touch it—I’ve spent ages cleaning it, thanks.”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. “Are you somehow insinuating that I am dirty?” she asked threateningly.

Ben came to the rescue before Vicky could make some biting reply. “Wow, Mum, is this your lasagna? It looks great!”

Eleanor sniffed again, and Vicky toyed with the idea of throwing a box of tissues at her head. Why did her son have such horrible taste in women?

“Where is the entrée?” Eleanor asked, staring up and down the table. “I was looking forward to some crab soup.”

“Oh, Ellie honey, don’t worry, I’ll make you some soup for dinner tomorrow—it’ll be okay, I promise,” Ben said soothingly.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to, you know,” Vicky said cuttingly as she settled in her chair with a copy of the newspaper.

Eleanor lifted her eyebrows. “And would you eat all this food by yourself? I think not.” She sat down smartly in the chair next to Vicky’s. She picked up her fork and picked up a bit of lasagna: eating it straight from the serving platter.

Vicky’s eyes bugged. However annoying and condensing Eleanor was, she did seem like the sort of person who would at least have respectable table manners. Internally fuming, Vicky fought to keep her voice calm. “Would you please use a plate?”

Eleanor paused in her chewing, some lasagna still hanging out of her mouth. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know that you cared for the proper procedures.”

That was it. Vicky slammed the paper onto the tabletop. “Ben, I hope you like dinner. I know lasagna is your favourite,” she muttered. Obstinately, she ignored the lovely meal she had made and opened the paper to the article about Emmeline Vance.

Seeming to have run out of comments, Eleanor and Ben quietly piled their dinner onto their plates. They chewed in silence, not even speaking to each other. Ben finished his food first and let out a huge, satisfied yawn. Eleanor wrinkled her nose in disgust, but put on a saccharine look and started patting Ben’s belly. “Are you full, darling?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah.” Ben pushed his plate back on the table and slumped back in his chair. Vicky tried to ignore them as much as she could, but couldn’t resist sending them furtive glances over her paper.

“What are you reading?” Eleanor asked, pretty blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Vicky sighed. The sooner she wouldn’t have to put up with this girl, the better. She just hoped that Ben would realise how utterly wrong this girl was for him. “About the Emmeline Vance murder case,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“Oh, that,” Eleanor said snootily as she rubbed her dainty chin with a napkin. “She was a rather strange woman, wasn’t she?”

“Hmm?” Vicky said, unsure whether she wanted to know whatever Eleanor had to say.

“Well, haven’t you read the things that have been said about her in the papers?”

“Yes,” Vicky said through gritted teeth. “That is what I was just doing.”

“Well, wouldn’t you have to admit that some of her behaviour is just plain…strange? I mean—no one knew anything about her, not even her next-door neighbours. She was a very quiet person, kept mainly to herself. What sort of enemies could she have possibly amassed that would have caused her to gain such horrible enemies? She was probably involved with the black market or something,” Eleanor added thoughtfully.

Vicky sighed. “Or maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“What, her own house at night-time?” Eleanor shrugged. “Oh well, I don’t know why the media is making such a big deal out of it anyway, it’s not like the Vance woman ever contributed anything to society, her death isn’t a big loss—“

Vicky’s fingers tightened around her rolled up paper. “Get out of my house,” she grunted, “right now.”

Eleanor harrumphed and got up gracefully from her chair. “As if I would want to stay here any longer. Let’s go, Ben,” she said, pulling on her boyfriend’s arm.

“Er,” Ben muttered, glancing between his girlfriend and his mother. “Um…yes. We will be going. Thanks for the dinner, Mum, sorry we couldn’t stay longer.” He bent over the table to give his mother a quick peck on the cheek. “Bye, now,” he said, as Eleanor pulled on his arm again. “Love you.”

Suddenly, Eleanor let out a tremendous shriek. “What—what is that…thing?” she screamed, pointing out the window.

Her heart leaping in her chest, Vicky walked apprehensively towards the window, hoping that whatever it wasn’t anything hideously nasty.

At first, she didn’t see anything. Then she saw it, gliding closer and closer to the window. She ran over to it and opened it so that it did not collide with the glass. She didn’t know why Eleanor had been screaming. It was nothing scary, such as a decapitated head or even an overly large huntsmen spider.

It was an owl.

An Exciting Life by Pondering

Chapter 3: A Place to Hide

The owl fluttered into the room quickly, an envelope clutched in its beak. Vicky raised a hand out to reach it, but the owl duly ignored it and landed with a thump on the dining room table, letting out a small hoot.

As if she were in a trance, Vicky moved slowly towards it, wondering what her brother wanted with her, and why he was contacting her now, after all these years of not acknowledging her existence. However, she had more pressing issues to deal with. Eleanor let out another loud shriek, pointing at the clucking owl on the table.

“That’s absolutely disgusting!” Eleanor screamed, her entire body shaking. “What kind of insane woman lets birds into her house? They’re filthy, unclean and just…” she trailed off, shivering. “Do you know what?” she asked, turning to face her boyfriend, “I don’t want to associate with people like you. Don’t ever talk to me again, you horrible, horrible person.” She departed from the house with her nose haughtily in the air, not even throwing a backward glance at the room she left behind.

Ben followed her exit, a sad hollow look in his eyes. Vicky wrapped an arm around her son’s shoulders. “I wish it hadn’t gone this way,” Ben said sadly.

Vicky decided that at the moment her son needed sympathy and not a long lecture, so she gave him an extra large hug. “But, seriously, where are you meeting these girls? What happened to your last girlfriend…what was her name again? Clara? Claire? I certainly liked her better than Eleanor.”

“Her name was Clarity,” Ben mumbled. “I found out she was seeing someone else behind my back,” he said, his eyes hardening.

“Oh.” Vicky suddenly realised how insensitive she was being. But she found it rather difficult at times to squash her more inquisitive nature, and even though her son was now an adult, she still felt like everything he did was still her business.

“It’s okay,” Ben muttered, his tone of voice indicating quite the opposite. “I think I should go.” He peeked out the open window. “Damn!” he yelled, jumping back in surprise. “I forgot she had the car keys!”

Vicky’s eyes narrowed. “You gave her the car keys? What were you thinking! How long have you known this girl, a week? Two? I thought you had much more common sense than that, I know I should have never bought you that car for your birthday…”

“I’ve known her for three years!” Ben yelled back. He didn’t get angry easily, but when he did there was a lot of unreleased frustration to be let out. “She was one of my closest friends! I did everything for her!”

“You know, that sounds awfully like she was using you,” Vicky noted.

Ben’s eyes darkened. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going home.”

“How?”

“I’ll walk home,” Ben said, shrugging.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you that walking home at night is a bad idea?” Vicky asked skeptically, now more concerned than angry.

“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself,” he said bitterly. “If I get murdered, I’ll ring you.” With that, he slammed the door and left the house. Vicky found herself starting at the door for minutes, hoping that her son returned home safely.

An indignant hoot brought her to reality. She looked at the tawny owl, which was nipping the remains of the lasagna. “Shoo,” she said, waving her arms at it. “Let me see the letter you have there.”

The envelope was made of parchment and she marveled at it. It had been years since she had seen one like this. In almost undistinguishable writing that could only be her brother’s, it was simply addressed to Victoria Hotham.

Feeling entirely uneasy about the whole thing, as if her life was going to become overly complicated, she slipped the letter out and begun reading.

Dear Victoria,

I know I haven’t spoken to you in a long time, and I am very sorry that we drifted apart the way we have. You will probably think that I am horrible person for imposing on you like this, but I must make you aware to the fact that the wizarding world is at war. I need somewhere to stay as I am trying to stay away from this war as much as I possibly can, and have decided that your house is the perfect spot to hide. Do not bother replying, I do not want the owl tracked. Please send her away, lest she eat all your dinner. Tawny absolutely loves pasta dishes, but I am told that they are not good for owls.

I will arrive at your house an hour after the owl arrives. Do not worry; I will know when it does. I know that you are currently living alone, so room is not a problem.

Love,

Your brother,
Chris.

Internally fuming, Vicky crumpled up the piece of parchment in her hand and threw it against the wall. Was it possible that just a few days ago she had been complaining that her life was too boring? Now her son needed a new car and her long-lost brother needed a place to hideout and wasn’t going to give her any choice in the matter.

Right at that moment, there was a knock at the door. Vicky checked the time. It had been an hour, and that must be her brother waiting on the front doorstep. Well, she’d be damned if she’d actually let him into the house. But, she couldn’t help but wonder what he could possibly be up to after all these years. Knowing that she would soon probably regret her actions, she opened the front door.

There stood Chris, looking a little aged and more pitifully pathetic than she had ever seen him before.

“I’m so, so sorry for imposing on you like this, Victoria, but I really need a place to stay. I know I’ve done some horrible things…”

“Like not being there for your sister when she needed support the most?” Vicky asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chris tugged at his collar, looking more than a little flustered. “Yeah. Like that.”

“Well,” Vicky said, leading her brother into the dining room, “we might as well have some dinner as we discuss our arrangements. She took him over to the left over lasagna and gave him a generous portion. “So, tell me more about why you need to hide out at my house, and I might consider it.”

Chris’s voice sounded pleading. “They’re after me,” he mumbled.

“Who are ‘they’? Why are they after you?”

Chris’s eyes roamed the room, until they fell on the opened pages of the newspaper, resting on a chair. “The same people who murdered Emmeline Vance,” he replied, his eyes hardening.

Vicky’s eyes widened. “You knew Emmeline Vance?” she gasped.

“Of course. She’s a witch.”