i.
Sometimes, in the fall, when the leaves are changing from green to brown, you think you can remember your parents. It is never for more than a moment – a glimpse of a woman’s smile, a memory of a man’s laugh – but you cling to the flashes as tightly as you can.
At the same time, it is a terrible and wonderful thing. For one moment, you feel as though you had parents who loved you, parents who were living and breathing and smiling, and that makes you almost sure you were happy once upon a time. But then, when you realise all you have of your parents is the sound of fading laughter and a brief smile, you are left with nothing but a horrible feeling of emptiness.
You are left with the fact you have been living in a wizarding orphanage for the past seven years of your life. You are left with the fact you have no one, save for a matron who still calls you Janie instead of Julia. You are left with the fact your parents had to give you up a few days before your fourth birthday. You are left with the fact when you were turned over to Blackwood Orphanage, you lost your childhood and your chance at happiness.
And yet, and still, you cling to the flashes of your life before now, even when it feels as though you are simply holding onto nothing.
ii.
Sometimes, in the winter, when the snow is dusting the ground white, you think you can recall the house you used to live in. It had green shutters and a white door, and an oak tree in front where you once sat with your mother.
You think your room was a blue colour, the same shade as your father’s eyes. You think you had an owl that was brown, and a stair that creaked every time you stepped on it.
And when the snow comes down in sheets and the world freezes over, you make up what you can’t remember. Everything about your house is full of magic and colour and life. You decide your mother kept a bookcase filled with spell books and your father sat in his armchair by the fire and told you stories about Hogwarts. You paint the walls of your living room cream and add neat rows of peonies and tulips to your front yard.
You make it so you don’t have to remember for a second that you really live with broken dreams and a little bit of hope that feels more damning than anything else.
iii.
Sometimes, in the spring, when the flowers are trying to push their way through the frost, you think you can understand why your parents left you here.
You had a visitor once, a Miss Emmeline Vance, when you were seven. She smiled when she saw you, and said you looked just like Marlene. You knew that was your mother – the matron had told you her name – but you never knew you had the same green eyes or the same brown hair. You also never knew you smiled like your father.
Miss Emmeline sat down and told you she had come to talk about your parents. She said she had wanted to do this for a while, but she thought it would be too hard to see you. She told you Marlene had been her best friend, and your father had been a great man.
Her voice shook almost unnoticeably when she told you there was a war going on outside the orphanage, and that your parents had been fighting in it – they all had, she said. She explained in a soft voice how your mother and father had been very talented, and the dark side had been trying to kill them since before you were born. She said your parents were so afraid you would be hurt, they sent you here, where the Death Eaters couldn’t find you. She told you she had promised Marlene she would find you once it was safe and tell you it wasn’t because they didn’t love you.
You asked, curious, if your parents would ever come back for you. Miss Emmeline looked at you sadly and told you no, your parents had been killed a year after they had sent you here.
Even now, you don’t really understand who these Death Eaters were, but sometimes you think you know how hard it would have been to give up a child. You think you understand they did it to keep you safe, not because you cried too loudly and or didn’t eat your vegetables.
And even though you understand your parents didn’t want to make such a horrible decision, you still hate every minute in the orphanage. You hate how you spend every single birthday, Christmas, and night wishing Miss Emmeline was wrong, that your parents are really on their way to find you.
And mostly, more than anything else, you hate how even though your parents didn’t want to leave you, they still did.
iv.
Sometimes, in the summer, when the sun’s rays stretch over the orphanage, you think you can imagine what life would have been like outside of Blackwood.
You imagine you would have played outside whenever and wherever you wanted. You imagine you would have already started preparing to go to Hogwarts when you turned eleven next spring, that you would have taken a trip into Diagon Alley.
You figure you would have gone swimming with your parents and maybe you would have had a little sister who could have come, too. You like to think the town where you would have lived would have been full of other girls and boys your age, and that some of them would have gone to Hogwarts with you. You imagine you all would have played school, and you would have always been in Ravenclaw, where there would have been bookcases full of things to read.
As you watch the world warm up, you imagine and imagine, and sometimes you manage to convince yourself you have a chance at living in a place like the one you dream up. But it’s never for more than a second or two before you are back to grasping at nothing once again.
v.
Once, in the fall, when the leaves are once again changing from green to brown, you have another visitor. It is a young woman, maybe twenty-eight, with pretty auburn hair and dimples that show when she smiles. She is kind with a nice sense of humour and you instantly like her. You also know this is really because she laughs like your mother does in your memories.
Her name is Anna Goldstein, you learn, and the first time she comes, she doesn’t stay very long. You think she won’t come back, and are surprised when she returns later in the week with her husband Jacob. You like him, too, and find out he has a younger brother who is only a few years older than you.
Anna and Jacob continue to come visit you, and you try not to think about what that could mean. You have been in this orphanage for seven years, which is long enough to know visits don’t mean anything. You know there is an “a” word none of the other children will say, because it hurts too much to hope and hope, only to remember why all the older kids tell you dreams have no place at Blackwood.
And yet, sometimes, when you aren’t careful, you find yourself letting in a spark of hope that maybe, for once, these visits do mean something.
vi.
Once, in the winter, when the snow returns to dust the ground white once more, the matron comes to speak with you. You don’t believe her when she tells you Anna and Jacob want to adopt you. You don’t believe her when she tells you to pack your things in a duffel bag. You don’t believe her when she tells you the last time you will ever have to set foot in this orphanage is this Thursday.
The matron repeats what she said and then brings you to her office where Anna and Jacob are waiting. They tell you yes, they do want to adopt you, and you finally believe this isn’t a joke or a dream. They ask if you’d like to be adopted, and all you can do is nod and smile and feel happier than you ever have before in this orphanage.
After they leave, you count down the minutes until Thursday and spend your time imagining what life will be like at your new house. You are still allowed to be Julia McKinnon, you know, but you think your parents wouldn’t mind if you were Julia Goldstein, too. Maybe you can eventually call Anna and Jacob Mum and Dad.
You think that would probably be okay, too.
vii.
On Wednesday night, you pack your things into a duffel bag. You pack your doll and your favourite book and some clothing, but there isn’t much else. As you zip up the bag, you find you don’t mind that you don’t have too much – you’d rather not have things to remind you of the orphanage.
On Thursday morning, you panic for a moment, and wonder if Anna and Jacob aren’t coming after all. Maybe you aren’t the kind of girl they’re looking for; maybe they’ve decided you aren’t good enough for them. After all, who wants a scrawny almost-eleven-year-old with too many freckles and brown hair that refuses to be anything but unruly? But sure enough, they come right at one, and you say goodbye to the matron who finally remembers your name.
You say goodbye to the orphanage that has been all you’ve known for so long now, and you say goodbye to the thought that you can never be truly happy. You leave with Anna and Jacob and arrive at their home after a car ride that feels much longer than just twenty minutes.
You smile to yourself when you find the house you arrive at has green shutters and a white door. There isn’t a big tree in the front yard, but there are pretty flowers planted in neat rows, which is more than enough for you.
And as Anna and Jacob welcome you home, you decide you finally have something to hold onto.
Hold Onto Nothing by solemnlyswear_x
Story Notes:
Thanks to fg_weasley and Colores for being wonderful betas and lovely people in general. :) Title from the song “Pretty Good Year” by Tori Amos.