We left London two days later, heading back home for Hastings. The ride was tense. Both Mum and I feared the place that we were drawing closer and closer to. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dad was there, waiting for us. What would he do? Had he changed? Would he except us, or throw us out? After I’d skimmed over most of my school books, I picked up some borrowed ones from Melinda. I clutched one of them to me when I noticed we were getting close. This one was an account of a war of magic almost seven hundred years back. An evil warlock from Portugal had nearly obliterated all magic. I had gotten about half way through it; I was a fast reader. Trying to draw my mind away from what might or might not await us back in Hastings, I opened my book to page 106.
‘O, beware!’ cried the Seer. ‘He is coming, and will destroy all unless the Protector can save her sacred people. Beware, yonder he comes! Thy children and thy children’s children shall suffer for all Eternity if the Protector fails. She must not fail, for all depends on her strength and the peace she doth bring…’ But the Seer fell to the ground, for an arrow had pierced her heart. She died, cometh the sickly dawn, and the war raged all around. Her last word was Protector…
… has attacked several wizarding forces camped in Northern Greece; all will feel his wrath. There is no escape, no refuge for wizards and Muggles alike. Still, the Protector has not been found. Who is she? Where will she emerge…
…found naught but sorrow here, where the loon cries for peace and the demons cry for death…
…Protector at loss, she cannot be found, and the dark powers are approaching the last of the noble forces…
…one man has set out to find the Protector. If he should not find her, he shall perish in his own home when the Spell is complete…
…some hope for the arrival of doom, if it should mean the end of suffering, but they know not the consequences…
…magic must not die, for it shall if the Protector is not found…
… Protector, save us! Magic…
…loss, terrible sorrows…
…Protector… Magic… losses… hope… suffering… terrible… cometh of doom… unfortunate… forever… eternity… helpless… death… fear…
…Protector…
My eyes shut and I fell fast asleep on page 138.
Mum shook me gently awake. It was early afternoon, and we were a block away from the house. Seemingly, she had not stopped the ride directly in front of our house, but a bit farther down the street. I gathered my things. Mum pulled my box of robes out of the back of the car. She looked around, and then at me. Worry was all over her face. “Let’s leave our things here,” she said quietly. “We’ll come back for them.” She nodded to me and I took a deep breath. I grabbed her hand and we set off towards the house.
Time seemed to speed up, for a moment later we were at the front door. Mum shook her head and walked to the side door, which was next to the driveway. She carefully put in the key, and turned it. My stomach dropped when I saw Dad’s car, resting peacefully in the driveway. An invisible hand seemed to close around my throat, blocking all air. I couldn’t breathe. Mum squeezed my hand, and slowly pushed the door open.
The house seemed deathly quiet at first. Then, I heard the dull sound of a television in a room near the front of our house. Mum stepped inside. I reluctantly followed her. We stood in a small hallway, with stairs on our right and a door to the kitchen on our left. Mum shut the door behind us. At the far end of the hall, an open door revealed our familiar living room. I could see part of the television screen; a news report of bad weather brewing was being stated matter-of-factly by a man in a clean suit. He pointed here, and ran his hand back and forth there. I watched, afraid to speak. Mum took a step towards the room and stopped. She needed my support, I knew, but I was not brave enough to face Dad like Mum was. Feeling awful for abandoning her when she needed me most, I let go of her hand and shrank back against the wall. She looked at me, but seemed to understand. I fled into the kitchen as she set off, head held high, marching off to face the greatest evil known to me at that moment.
I sat shakily in a chair by the table and rested my elbows on its surface. For a moment, I looked at the quickly graying sky outside the window. A storm was coming; I could feel it. Then, I put my head in my hands and clutched the wavy hair near my scalp just above my forehead. I was frightened. Every one of Mum’s footsteps seemed to break the almost-silence. My heart went out with her. If only I had gone, too…
The footsteps stopped, and a moment later the television was turned off. The sound of Dad scuffling to get to his feet rattled my bones. I wanted to run away, and not hear what I knew was coming.
To my surprise, he did not yell. He only spoke in a deadly voice, though it was as soft as could be. I stood, letting my arms fall to my sides. I took one step towards the hall door, listening. I took a few more steps, until I was just at the border between the kitchen and hall. Mum stood like me, framed in a doorway.
“I’ve had enough,” Dad was saying. “I don’t want any of this. And, right now, I don’t want to speak to you.”
“But you must!” Mum burst out, cutting him off. She clenched her fists behind her back. “We need to talk about it, or the problem will never be fixed.”
“No,” he said forcefully. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t give a damn if the problem is never solved. You and Susan can both go to hell for all I care.” That awful hand closed up my throat once more. I couldn’t decide: which was worse, his yelling, or what he was doing right now?
“Eric, please…” Mum said, her voice wavering. She was losing the battle, and she knew it.
“Maybe someday, but I can’t take this right now. I’m leaving. Don’t expect me to come back any time soon,” Dad added. Mum stepped aside suddenly as he strode past her, heading for the door to the driveway. I leapt back. As he walked past, he glanced at me for a split second, then looked away. I nearly collapsed. There had been hatred, a loathing so strong that it might explode, all of it buried in those eyes.
The door slammed shut. And, for the second time, I heard my father drive away from us. This time, it was for eternity, like the suffering in the book I had been reading. I didn’t want to suffer for eternity. My dad had hurt me permanently, and I couldn’t even bring myself to call him Dad or Father anymore. Sure, he was my father, but from then on, he was just Eric. An acquaintance. It was too late for him to be Dad ever again. Eric.
The sound of his car faded, and he was gone. Eric was gone.
“Mum?” I whispered. Mum hadn’t moved since Eric had brushed past her. “Mum?” I repeated, almost whimpering.
“Susan?” she choked. My heart skipped a beat. Her voice was broken. I heard her take a few steps into the living room. The couch made a soft shh as she collapsed onto it. I walked heavily out of the kitchen, using the walls for support. Moments later, I fell onto the couch beside her. “It’s… going to be okay,” she sniffed. I buried my face in her hair, trying to let her usual comforting force seep into me. She felt cold, as if she had been standing out in the snow for hours on end. This was wrong. Mum wasn’t supposed to be unhappy, ever.
“What will we do?” I sobbed, feeling the tears explode on my cheeks.
“We won’t stay here,” she said, pulling me up so that I sat next to her, leaning on her as she held me.
I desperately wanted to ask her why Eric couldn’t”or wouldn’t”understand, but I could not voice the words.
After a silent dinner, we brought our things inside. “All you need now is a trunk,” Mum said, trying to be cheerful. I didn’t say anything.
Mum led me upstairs to a trapdoor in the ceiling of her bedroom. I couldn’t help noticing that the bed was unmade and the dresser open, with clothes spewed all over the room. I looked away, then up at the door. A ladder was hanging down. Mum went up first, then I followed. The attic was a dark and dusty place, with old boxes. Mum pushed some bags marked “Mary” over to one side, revealing an old chest. It had metal framing on a smooth leather surface. She ran her hand lovingly over it.
“This was my school trunk,” she said, smiling at me. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were off in another world where memories came flooding back. I let her remember and looked more closely at the trunk. It was a fine trunk, and still in good condition. It needed a good dusting, but it would easily do the job. It was well made, and had a metal latch on the front. I wanted to rub my fingers over that latch. It would shine and I could admire it. Mum came back to the attic and inhaled deeply. “I want you to have my trunk,” she said.
I turned to her. “It’s a wonderful trunk,” I said, letting myself forget about the afternoon. Mum gave me a little hug.
“I’m going down. You can stay a bit, if you want,” she said. She climbed gingerly down the ladder.
Now that I was alone I took a good look around. On this side of the attic, several bags and boxes marked “Mary” were within my reach. I pulled one over to me and unfolded the cardboard flaps. Inside, piles of photos and papers lay, waiting to be viewed. I picked up a photo. It wasn’t moving. It was of Mum and Eric on the day he proposed. Eric was kissing Mum’s cheek. Mum was holding up her hand, which sported a pretty ring. They both looked immensely happy. Eric looked like a nice man, only a year younger than Mum. That was thirteen years ago, I reminded myself. People change. Eric had, and come to think of it, so had Mum.
I put the photo down and picked up another. This one was of Mum and Melinda grinning outside a little house. I hadn’t seen it before, but written on the back was Our House. It must have been back when Mum lived with Melinda. Still, it had been taken with a Muggle camera. I set it down with the one of the engagement ring and thrust my hand deep into the box, pushing aside everything on top and reaching for the very bottom. When my hand hit cardboard, I felt around for the nearest photo. I carefully pulled it out to examine.
To my satisfaction, the photo was a moving one. It showed a young girl with a woman, probably her mother. The girl held a little toy that resembled a broomstick. I laughed. Toy broomsticks? It must have been fun. I studied the girl. Auburn hair. Fair skin. A few freckles. She looked just like me. But it couldn’t be me, because that woman looked unfamiliar. Her nose resembled mine, but other than that… And then the idea struck me. How obvious it was! The woman was my grandmother, and the girl my mother, at age six or seven, most likely. I’d seen pictures of myself at that age, and we looked almost like twins. Only I was a little smaller than Mum. That must come from Eric’s side.
I set the other pictures back into the box, folded the flaps, and pushed it away. Clutching the moving photo of Mum smiling and looking up at my grandmother and waving, I descended the ladder.