THE CHOSEN ONE'S CHOSEN GIRL - BOOK 1
chapter sixteen !
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HARRY and I were silent for the rest of our Hogsmeade trip, when I'd finally found enough courage to leave the bathroom. I knew we were both feeling incredibly nauseous and beyond confused for the rest of the day. We shouldn't have heard that, we shouldn't have. But we did, and my brain was now just overloaded with information I never knew. My moth er was one of Sirius Black's best friends, and she was deaf like Ron had suspected. Why... Why hadn't Dad told me? Surely it was important enough for me, her own daughter, to know that. And if he had hidden that from me, what else had he failed to tell me?
"Odessa, are you okay?" Hermione asked that night softly as we watched the other girls pack to go home for Christmas.
I swallowed and turned my attention towards her. Her big brown eyes were wide with earnestness and concern, and I could've smiled if I wasn't in such a foul mood. My eyes flittered briefly to the photograph Hagrid had given me, gazing at Mum laughing and running off, and I shook my head, watching as Hermione's shoulders slumped.
"I feel like everything I know about her is just... Lies." I croaked. "Like I don't even know her."
She stayed silent but stood up from her bed to sit beside me, to which I immediately laid my head on her shoulder. I saw her smile gently and let the corners of my lips tilt up too. I was glad I had her here with me right now. I needed a friend right now, even if it felt like I wanted to be alone.
"You need to talk to him, Dessa," she whispered, and I stared ahead silently. "Ask him why he's keeping everything about her from you."
I swallowed again. I knew I needed to. But it just wasn't that easy.
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IT wasn't stealing. Technically. Okay, yes, I did sneak into Dad's sleeping quarters while he was in his office, marking essays, and I did dig through his belongings. But I was just borrowing one of his favourite photos that he hadn't put up for one of his Christmas presents, as well as the picture of all three of us because I bought him a new frame for it. As for the photo he had hidden away, I'd taken it from his cupboard just after the full moon in November and consulted Dean into helping me create a new painting based on it. I knew it was incredibly selfish, but he immediately agreed to my idea, and we spent the next two weekends and one more Saturday working on it. I wasn't the best artist, so Dean had suggested that he'd draw it and help me paint the colour and, by the time we finished, it looked amazing. I couldn't wait to give it to him.
Some people made biscuits and gingerbread houses on Christmas Eve. But Dad and I didn't. We always made biscuits and cakes and all sorts of baked goods at home, so we continued a tradition Dad had said Mum's family had and made ice cream on Christmas Eve. We always made ice cream on Christmas and our birthdays (and sometimes if we were just bored one day), and it was always so much better than any other ice cream we'd have. And that was what we were doing now. Laughing and singing corny Christmas carols as we made up the mixture for the ice cream and I smiled when a familiar Muggle Christmas song came on Dad's radio.
"Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock." I sang, bobbing my head and starting to dance, as I poured the hot chocolate mixture we'd made into the cream. "Jingle bells swing, and jingle bells ring."
Dad chuckled and watched me in amusement as I set the saucepan down and began to dance more vigorously, swaying my hips and mixing the mixture to the rhythm. The strands of my hair that fell out of my bun flew into my face as I bounced around and watched Dad finish up the mixture, but I didn't care. Christmas was one of my favourite times of the year. The village back home was always so festive and excited to celebrate that it was just ingrained into my system. Cheesy Christmas carols, both Wizarding and Muggle, were one of my favourite parts of Christmas and I remembered always dragging my dad to the village square to listen to the carolers. We'd get hot chocolate from Mr Johnson, and Officer Day's wife, Miriam, would always give me a peppermint candy cane or bake Dad and me a chocolate Yule Log and just watch the people sing as I gazed around at the thousands of colourful lights and the twenty-foot-tall Christmas tree that adorned the village. If I was honest, I was rather sad about not being home for Christmas, even if I was spending it with my friends. Christmas was such a huge event where we'd all celebrate together, and we felt like a community. Even Dad said so. I missed it.
But I couldn't think about that now.
"Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock. Jingle bell chime in jingle bell time." I continued, pulling my hairband out from the bun and still bouncing around. "Dancin' and prancin' in Jingle Bell Square. In the frosty air."
Dad laughed and shook his head as he started to pour the liquid into the ice cream container, making me smile. Christmas also meant that Dad was happy, and I always loved it when he was happy. Of course I did. Even if the full moon was on Christmas (which it thankfully wasn't this year), he had this massive smile on his face every year that not even lycanthropy pain could faze. Christmas was a special time for us.
Of course, this meant that I hadn't wanted to ruin this. Despite my desperate desire to know everything that I found out about Mum and Sirius Black, I didn't have it in me to ask Dad about it. There just had to be a reason he hadn't told me everything, and Black having killed all of those Muggles when I was a baby was a pretty good reason. But I couldn't bring myself to ask him anything about it. He just looked so happy that day and I didn't want to see his smile disappear. Needless to say, Hermione was exasperated with me now.
After finishing a few more different mixtures to put in the freezer with the first batch of ice cream, Dad and I had continued to go through with some of our other traditions, and one of them was from Dad's family. On Christmas Eve, we were always allowed to open one present before we'd go to bed for the night, mainly as a way to calm down some of the excitement of Christmas morning. Grandad Lyall, Dad's father, had started this because, despite being a baby werewolf, Christmas made Dad an excitable child, and it was hard to contain him on Christmas Eve. Grandad said Grandma Hope had thought that his plan would backfire, but it did actually work. By allowing Dad to open just one present of his choice (within reason) on Christmas Eve, he was less excited the next morning, giving my grandparents a few more hours in bed before he'd timidly wake them up. And, well... It stuck. So, there we were, sitting in front of the Christmas tree and grinning at each other as we held wrapped parcels for each other. I'd decided to give him the new frame with the last photo of Mum tonight. It just seemed like the best choice, and I knew he'd be excited about it. That old frame was definitely not worthy enough for such a photo.
"Open yours first, Dad," I said with a small smile, holding out the ghastly-wrapped frame.
He took it from me and set my present aside to open his as I hugged my knees, resting my chin on them. I watched, still smiling, as he carefully ripped the paper off and chuckled when the frame fell into his hand.
"I was wondering where this photograph was. It's beautiful, Odessa. I love it."
I smiled wider as he kissed my head, murmuring a statement of gratitude for his present, and gently placed the glass frame on the coffee table instead of the mantlepiece where it was previously before passing me my own present. I smiled and looked down at it as I unwrapped it, tears immediately springing into my eyes and a wet chuckle escaping my lips. Dad and I had the same intentions when it came to our Christmas presents this year. On top of a beautifully decorated notebook was a small wooden frame that consisted of a moving photo of Mum and me when I must have been nine months old. We were both smiling so wide, and our heads were against each other's for a second before she kissed my head, and I turned to look at her, roughly grabbing her face and slamming my drool-covered lips onto hers. She was laughing and cuddling me tight to her, and I saw a tear fall onto the glass of the frame. I giggled and wiped my face as I looked up at Dad's anxious face, laughing again.
"I love it, Daddy," I whispered, and he visibly relaxed, smiling softly, as I looked down at the photo again. "She was so beautiful."
He only smiled wider, and any words about accusing him of withholding information about her vanished from my lips. I couldn't do that to him. I didn't particularly appreciate that he'd hidden it from me, of course I didn't. But I loved his happiness so much, and I didn't want to be the one to make it disappear, especially it being so close to the full moon, which was four days away. So, clearing my throat, I turned back to the framed photo and raised my eyebrows at the notebook. Wordlessly, I opened it and started to read the first page.
For my beautiful daughter, Odessa, when she makes it on her own at Hogwarts. Thank you for being my light in such a dark time, baby girl, and I can't wait to watch you grow.
Our journey begins on Lily's 11th birthday on 30th January 1971. It was the day Lily, Sev, and I had all been waiting for since Lily had discovered her magic. She was going to get her acceptance letter to Hogwarts that day and, ever since Sev and I had received our own letters only weeks before, we couldn't be more excited. Even Sev had his fingers crossed, just in case. As part of her birthday celebrations, both sets of our parents allowed us to have a sleepover as it was a Friday night the night before, and Lily and I spent all night talking about Hogwarts. We talked about everything, but I particularly remember our conversation about the Houses we'd be in. We had this conversation all of the time with Sev, and Sev and I would always agree that Lily could fit into any House and, even today, she could. Gryffindor was perfect for her, though. She's a firecracker, as much as she refuses to admit, and always has been. (If little Harry ever inherits that part of her, we're all going to be in trouble.)
"Mum wrote this for me?" I asked as my voice cracked and looked up, Dad nodding.
He let out a chuckle. "She actually started it two hours after you were born. She always wanted to be a writer, so this was probably her only chance."
I smiled and held both the notebook and frame close to my chest. "Thank you so much, Dad. But... Why are you only just giving me her stuff? I've known what happened for six years now. Why did you wait?"
He gave a sad smile.
"You deserve to know her properly now we're in her favourite place," he stated, and the questions were on the tip of my tongue when he continued. "Come on, and it's time for bed."
Deflating slightly, I nodded and held the book and frame as I followed him to the bedroom and sat on the spare bed on the other side of the room, which Dad had suggested on having before that particularly bad full moon, watching him potter about. Resting the frame on my side table, I reached up to plait my hair and tied it at the bottom when I finally heard soft snores from Dad. Staring over at him, I sighed and grabbed Mum's book as I laid down, going back to the page where I'd stopped reading.
So, the morning of Lily's birthday was like any other. Mr Evans called her 'princess' and swung her around the kitchen (and me immediately after), Mrs Evans kissed her head delicately and wished her a Happy Birthday with her lips still hovering over her daughter's hair, and Petunia gave her the tightest hug that would lift her little sister off of her feet and make her giggle as if she hadn't called Lily a freak several times the day before. Mr Evans cooked up a storm in a buffet-style breakfast like he'd usually do on birthdays, and Lily and I piled our plates until they were a foot high with stacks of waffles and pancakes drowning in honey, whipped cream and chocolate chips, and we watched Sleeping Beauty on the main TV with her family. The day had been fun. Lily and I met Sev at a café in Spinner's End near his house and, over Viennese Swirls and cake, he asked us if there was any sign of the letter. We told him that there wasn't any yet, but we'd let him know as soon as we could when it'd come. We'd played at our usual park in Cokeworth for about an hour before he had to get home, and then when we got back to her house, Mrs Evans was passing Professor McGonagall a cup of tea.
Though Dad was a Hufflepuff and had Professor Sprout as his Head of House and Mum was a Ravenclaw with a different professor before Professor Flitwick as her Head of House, both of my parents loved Professor McGonagall. She was their favourite teacher at Hogwarts, and they'd maintained contact with her over the years to the point where we'd often have her over for dinner. So I'd already gone through the terrifying ordeal of meeting the witch when I was a baby, she was almost a sixth aunt to me and my siblings, but Lily, upon seeing the older professor in her very Muggle living room, tensed up beside me. I just greeted Minerva with a broad smile and introduced Lily to her.
From that moment on, it was the start of the rest of our lives, and we never knew.
I sniffed with tears in my eyes as I closed the book again and held it close to my chest, gently grasping my necklace and running my thumb over the pendant. I just needed to hear her voice more than I usually did. Finding out more about her made me miss her even more, if that was possible.
"Hello, darling! Mummy here, I love you so much, baby girl, wherever we are. You're beautiful, and don't let anyone else tell you otherwise."
"Hey there, sweetheart. Wherever we are, whatever we're doing, just know that we will always be with you no matter what."
"You can't get rid of us that easily, princess. We love you so much, and we'll always keep you safe. But I think we can all agree that I love you the most."
I wiped my face then stopped. Wait a minute.
Could it be possible that Sirius Black was the third voice?