Promise Keeper

“Modesty the Mad! Modesty the Mad! Be careful, be careful, the witches might come back!”

The sing-song taunt rose as she collected the laundry hanging out to dry. She grabbed a sheet off the line roughly and huffed to herself. She wouldn’t give them the delight of seeing they got to her. She wouldn’t even turn around and acknowledge them. When she first arrived at the orphanage, she had been only eight and foolishly told everyone about her brother and the monster, and her belief in magic and witches. Had she known she would be setting herself up for a life of taunts from the other children and creating a reputation as a troublemaker in the eyes of the sisters, she would have kept her mouth shut.

The other children picked up very fast the sisters had a short temper with Modesty. Thus, they egged her on and made her react, knowing the sisters would blame and punish her without question. When she was younger, she stupidly gave in to the provocations and was forced to face the consequences. Her reputation within the orphanage got worse and worse until she decided to just ignore them, shut up about magic, and behave herself. Now the sisters were at least tolerable towards her, although the other children never ceased to try and provoke her. That's why they came up with this miserable song in the first place.

She gathered the laundry into her basket and began to walk back towards the building. Seeing no reaction, the children moved on to the next part of the chant.

“I don’t fear witches, I don’t fear them at all! Because if I had to say so, my brother beats them all!”

This. This was the line she hated the most. She could stand being called mad and having her beliefs made fun of, but hearing the cruel things they said about Credence always ruffled her feathers. They were all aware of the circumstances that led her to the orphanage. Or, at least, the version the police had told them. So everyone thought her brother was a crazy madman who got away with killing his adoptive mother and sister. Even the sisters viewed him with scorn, so Modesty's constant defense of him did not help her win their favor.

This is usually where she would give in and let them make her angry in the past. She’d scream at them about how they knew nothing, they’d taunt her some more, then she’d lunged at them. Sometimes she would hit them, sometimes she wouldn’t, but either way, it sealed her fate. The sisters would arrive and drag her off to be locked in the closet.

But she was fourteen now. No more was she the angry and naïve eight-year-old who had just lost everything and was prepared to fight the world. She knew better than that. More specifically, she knew how the world worked now. She knew it was best to just keep quiet, keep her head down, and do as she was told. Avoid trouble as much as one can, and things will go by smoothly. She only had four more years before she would be leaving here anyway. Once she was 18, she planned on seeking work in the old area she lived in with the Barebones. She heard there was a new factory opening there, so surely she’d be able to get a job. Then she’d be able to make money and take care of herself. Better yet, no one would know her past. No one would call her Modesty the Mad or taunt her about Credence.

She could wait in peace for him to return. Whenever it may be.

She went inside, but as she walked through the threshold, she heard a loud crash behind her. She turned and saw only a few feet away from her was Julian—one of the older and more troublesome orphans—who had just knocked over one of the plant holders kept by the door. He was holding a rock that had been sitting on the ground next to the walkway, and—shooting her a devilish grin—through it a bit away behind him.

Her heart sank.

She knew exactly what was happening.

“What is going on here?” Sister Margret bellowed, appearing out of thin air behind Modesty.

Modesty turned to face her, opening her mouth to say something, but before she could, Julian cut her off.

“It was Modesty again, Sister,” he pointed at her, “We were just trying to help her with the laundry, but she kept ignoring us. I figured it be nice to help anyway, so I went to go grab some of the clothes from her when she suddenly picked up a rock and hurled it at me! It missed my face by inches! But it took out your planter, Sister.”

Lies. It was all lies. Julian was the King of Lies. He enjoyed watching Modesty be punished more than the rest. Before she had arrived, he had been at the bottom of the pecking order in the orphanage, so when everyone’s attention shifted to Modesty, he became all too eager to keep it there.

It was all lies, yet there was nothing she could do. The other children were already nodding enthusiastically and agreeing with Julian, and she knew that speaking up would only anger Sister Margret further.

“Is that so?” the sister’s sharp eyes turned on Modesty, who now had her head downcast, staring at the laundry basket in her hand. Sister Margret let out a stern and annoyed sigh. “Every time I think you’re starting to improve and might become a beneficial member of society, Miss Modesty, you prove me wrong. Julian, take the laundry.”

Julian swaggered over and took the basket from her hands, shooting her a sly smile that only she could see. Modesty felt rage boil within her. If she was already going to get in trouble, then there was nothing holding her back now. So as her hands came to her sides, she balled up her fists.

And punched Julian across the face.

He went flying to the side and landed on the ground with a thud, laundry flying everywhere. The children behind him screamed. Modesty could see blood on her knuckles, and she knew it was his. She smirked to herself.

Then she felt her shoulder be yanked back, and she was forced to face Sister Margret. A quick sting spread across her face. Sister Margret had slapped her.

“Such vile behavior!” she screeched, “No decent child of God would behave in such a way! You are a disgrace, Modesty Barebone! Though not surprising, considering the filth you come from.”

She then grabbed Modesty’s arm roughly and began dragging her deeper inside the building. She didn’t struggle. She knew it was pointless to do so. She allowed the woman to drag her like a sack of meat through the hallways, hearing children snicker as they caught sight of her. She refused to put her head down this time, though. There were certain times when submission was best. Now was not one of them. She was strong and didn’t regret what she did, and wanted them to know it.

Finally, they arrived at the far side of the building, where there was a run-down door. It stood out among the other, more well-taken care of doors. It was believed that the door used to lead to an attached outhouse before the building got indoor plumbing. As a result, the room beyond the door was hardly insulated, dripping wet with moisture and vile to be in. The Sisters had no purpose for the room, it was too disgusting to store anything in and they didn’t have the money to fix it nor could they get rid of it themselves. They just barely managed to keep the mold growing inside from spreading to the rest of the building but there was hardly any other use for it since it was fit for any living thing to reside there. So, for the majority of the time it lay empty and useless.

Unless someone needed punishing.

And that someone was usually Modesty.

Sister Margret harshly opened the door and flung Modesty roughly inside. She slipped on some slimy substance on the ground and tumbled face-first into a mushy puddle.

“Do not expect any dinner tonight, wretch!” was the last thing the sister said before she slammed the door closed, locking it. Modesty stared at the closed door for a moment, not getting up. All she could hear was the drip, drip, drip of one of the many leaks in the room. Otherwise, it was silent. Normally, you could hear sounds of the outside world through the thin walls, but at this time of the day the activity died down, so there was nothing to be heard now.

She eventually picked herself off the ground and shuffled against the moldy wall. Her dress was covered in muck now. She fingered it and sighed. This was one of her favorite dresses, and it would take forever to get the mud out of it. She had only worn it because she had a feeling today would be good. That owl had put her in a good mood this morning, but now it seemed to be all for nothing.

She lifted her fingers to her face and gingerly touched her cheek. It stung, but nothing too bad.

There had only been a few times that Mary Lou Barebone had struck Modesty.

Most of the time, she managed to fly under the radar and avoid detection from her adoptive mother, but once, when she was freshly adopted, she was caught pretending to be flying on a broom. Her mother had not exploded in anger. No, that’s not what Mary Lou was like. She was calm and cool, with an eerie sense of danger surrounding her. She told Modesty in a calm voice to put the broom down and follow her upstairs. Although Modesty had seen her beating Credence, up until that point she thought such punishments were exclusive to him. She had never seen her sister getting beaten and she herself had never been beaten.

Turns out, she just hadn't done something bad enough to warrant being beaten yet.

Before going upstairs, her mother asked her to take off one of her boots. Modesty was confused, but there was something that frightened her about Mary Lou at that moment, so she complied. Mary Lou then motioned for Modesty to go up first, and so she did. She shot a look at the dining table as she went up, where she noticed Chastity sitting tensely. Her face looked terrified as if she was watching a scene that she knew the ending of, and she didn’t like the ending. Not even during the many beatings of Credence did she show this much fear. Her face made Modesty stop short on the stairs.

“Modesty,” her mother almost cooed behind her, “Go upstairs. Now.”

Modesty had no choice, so she did.

She had never felt such pain in her life.

It’s one thing to be beaten so relentlessly, but somehow being beaten with her own boot made it hurt even more. What scared her the most was the look on Mary Lou’s face. It was blank of any emotions except a strange look of disappointment. As if she had done something to deserve this. Other than that, her face looked serene. Modesty couldn’t understand how someone could remain so unfazed when inflicting such violence.

She remembers how the sole of the boot made contact with her skin again and again. Mary Lou didn’t leave a single area of her body unmarked. Sometimes she hit the same area so many times her skin would break and she would feel blood trickle across her flesh. Other places were merely bruised, but they were horrible dark purple bruises. Not even her face was spared. She remembers how the right side of her face was swollen for a week after this.

She doesn’t remember how long her mother beat her. It felt like hours. All she knows is that when she was done, she stood there—straight and proper, like an aristocrat—and told Modesty to get up and go to her room. Modesty could hardly stand, much less walk, but she could tell from the look in Mary Lou’s eyes that if she didn’t do as the woman said, she would get beaten again. So, she weakly made herself stand and stumbled down the hall towards her room. As she limped to the door and began to open it, she heard Mary Lou behind her.

“Modesty,” she said softly, “I hope you understand that there will be no dinner for you tonight.”

Modesty managed to weakly nod, then walked into her room, closing the door behind her. Her room used to feel like a sanctuary. When things got rough with her mother or she couldn’t bear to watch her brother’s suffering anymore, she would retreat into her room and sit on the bed. Then, she’d feel as if the rest of the world washed away, and she was safe.

But now she didn’t feel that way anymore.

She was keenly aware of the fact there was no lock on the door—Mary Lou didn’t allow that—and every area in the room felt too exposed. Her mother could walk in at any moment and decide to start beating her again. She needed a safe place to hide. There was the closet, but that was too obvious, plus it wasn’t so big that she could hide herself very well in it. Her eyes lingered on her bed. She could huddle under the covers, but if her mother came in and saw that, she would accuse Modesty of behaving like a child, and she hated that. No, that was too risky. Still, she couldn’t remove her eyes from the bed. It took a moment for the idea to process in her brain.

Under the bed. Yes, that was safe. She would be out of sight and Mary Lou wouldn’t think at first to look under the bed. Perhaps she could hide from her mother for a while there. Still in pain, she managed to limp to the bed and knelt down. She slid under the bed and pushed herself against the wall, trying to get as far away from the rest of the house as she could. After a few heart-pounding minutes, her breath stilled and her heart slowed down. She didn’t hear anyone coming, so she felt safe. So, she managed to curl up into a ball slightly and quietly cried.

The sun had set by the time she finally heard some noise. She presumed dinner had already been served and cleaned up because she heard three sets of footsteps come up the stairs. She began to tremble, but thankfully, all of them walked past her door without stopping. She breathed a sigh of relief and listened as they all prepared for bed. Eventually, all the noises stopped, and only then did Modesty feel completely safe. Maybe she would sneak down and get some food now? But she doubted that she would be able to walk. However, she felt she could at least sleep in ease now that she knew Mary Lou was asleep and wouldn’t be coming back for her.

Her heart stopped when she heard a floorboard creak. It was soft, as if someone was tiptoeing trying to not make much noise. That alone was enough to prove it wasn’t Mary Lou, but her heart still pounded with fear. She silently prayed that whoever it was would keep walking past her door, but much to her horror, she heard them stop right outside. Silence followed. It lasted so long that Modesty wondered if she had imagined everything to begin with, but then she heard it.

The doorknob was turning gently.

She felt as if she would cry again. The moon illuminated the room enough for her to see and she watched in terror as the door opened soundlessly, and slippered feet stepped in. They closed the door softly behind them and began tentatively approaching the bed.

“Modesty?” the voice whispered. “Modesty?”

The feet stopped a few inches away from her bed, but they made no motion towards it. Instead, she saw them bend their knees and crouch on the ground. A hand reached and moved her bed skirt, exposing Modesty, but allowing her to see the pale face peering at hers.

Credence.

“Modesty?” he laid down on the floor next to the bed, staring at her with worry in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Modesty couldn’t say a word, but tears welled up in her eyes and she began to cry again. Credence hesitantly reached out his hand and placed it on hers. She accepted it and intertwined their fingers. Between her tears, she could see Credence's face. He looked awkward, as if he wasn’t used to seeing people cry, but tried to comfort her nevertheless. “Chastity…” he said quietly, “She told me what happened. She was worried about you, but you know her, she’ll never disobey mother.”

Modesty whimpered in response.

Credence cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb against her hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you. The first time is always the worst, but if you’re like Chastity, the first will be the last.”

Unlike me.

The words hung unsaid in the air, but Modesty understood.

“Credence,” she whispered in between tears. “Could you stay with me please?”

She knew doing so would risk him getting punished, and now having a bit more understanding of what he went through, she would understand if he refused. His face blanched as the thought occurred to him, but only for a second. Because then his eyes met hers, and his features softened.

“Okay.”

So he stayed. Despite all the risks, he stayed all night. He lay on the floor outside her bed, giving her space but never letting go of her hand. She fell asleep with the comfort of knowing he was there. The next morning, when she woke up, he was gone. But the fact he had been there despite facing possible punishment made her resolve strengthen. So, she got up and was prepared to face the day head-on. This would become a routine for her—resolving her strength to get through the day. She got better at hiding things from her mother and was able to have a taste of freedom and rebellion without suffering the consequences.

Credence was not so lucky.

Half the time he didn’t even do anything, yet he still got beaten.

Until her first beating, Modesty had never really made any progress with Credence. She felt drawn to him and tried to get close to him, but he resisted. That night when he comforted her was the first time he ever allowed her to get close to him.

But it certainly wasn’t the last time.

Modesty started taking it upon herself to sneak into Credence’s room to comfort him after a beating. He was awkward about it at first, but as time went on, he warmed to her. They eventually would become closer to each other than anyone else.

Still, she couldn’t stand up for him.

She noticed after their first encounter that Credence would willingly take the blame for many things she did, and between that and the normal beatings he received, he was getting beat almost every second of the day. She felt awful. She wanted to scream at Mary Lou, she wanted to stand up for her brother, but every time she tried, she would remember the pain and terror she felt when Mary Lou beat her, and the words would choke up in her throat.

So all she could do was sneak into his room at night and hug him. The two would tell stories as a way to escape from reality, and one day, maybe just one day, Modesty hoped it would come true and they would find themselves far away from all things Barebone

Her eyes shot open and she heard a horn blare. She whipped around, unsure of what was happening. Then she remembered: she was being punished and was locked in the closet. She shivered and could see her breathe in the air. It was cold, colder than it had been before. She crawled over to a crack in the wall and peered out. It seemed to be later in the day now since there was more activity, but it wasn’t overly sunny. She couldn’t tell if that was because of the time of the day or because the grey sky was now releasing snow.

Snow. Dear God, she hoped she wouldn’t be locked in here much longer. She would definitely get sick if she stayed in her while it was snowing. She curled herself into a ball. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep. It both made her happy and sad to dream of Credence. It always stirred up mixed emotions in her, and sometimes she wondered whether it would be better if she dreamed of nothing at all.

She stared into space for a moment before she heard a flutter of movement in the hallway outside the door. She lifted her head when she heard it. It was unusual. It almost sounded frantic. She heard heavy footsteps approaching—no, running—towards her. For a second, she remembered Mary Lou, and she felt her blood run cold. She froze, unable to move, as the footsteps stopped right outside, and began to place the key in the lock. A few seconds later, the door unlocked and swung open. There stood a very frazzled Sister Sophia.

Modesty sighed in relief. Although she knew it wasn’t Mary Lou, her heart still felt terror and tricked her sometimes. Years of living with the woman would not just go away overnight. Two more sisters appeared over Sister Sophia’s shoulders. They all looked panicked. Before she could even ask what happened, Sister Sophia yanked Modesty’s arm and placed a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet now. Just do as we say, and don’t. Make. A. Sound.” The other sisters frantically held her too as they ushered her down the hall. They took her the way she came but turned her towards the stairs. As they approached the stairs, Modesty could hear some noises in the main room a few feet away. The main room was the fanciest and nicest room in the orphanage, meant to entertain guests. That must be what’s happening now, although she hadn’t heard they were supposed to receive guests.

The three sisters pretty much carried her upstairs, and Modesty's confusion only grew as things continued. She was ushered into the bathroom, where several other sisters had already heated water and placed it in a tub.

“Get out of those clothes. Now.” Sister Sophia said curtly. “Strip immediately and go in the bathtub. We shall bath you.”

Modesty gawked at them. Bathing wasn’t a rare thing in the orphanage, but it certainly wasn't to this extent. The water was warmed only a little—not to this extent, where she could see steam coming off it—and often multiple children bathed at once on their own, no sister helped. Plus they usually only had one measly bar of soap, now she could see several brand new bars—all smelling divine—and were those…hair products? She could hardly believe what she was seeing.

A light smack was felt on the back of her head. “Don’t just stand there,” Sophia snarled, “Get moving. We don’t have all day.”

Modesty didn’t understand what was happening, much less what the rush was, but she understood something important was happening. Perhaps that owl had been a good omen after all?

She got into the bath, ignoring the sting of the hot water as it touched her skin, and tried to relax, but it was hard. The sisters were all fluttering about this way and that way, washing her roughly and yanking her every which way. They seemed intent on cleaning every inch of her body—whether she liked it or not.

After cleaning her body to their satisfaction, they towel dried her—using actual towels, usually, they used run-down blankets!—and began rubbing pretty scented lotion on her body and brushing her hair. “You brushed your teeth today right,” Sophia asked. Modesty only nodded, to which Sophia gave a satisfied grunt. As they did what she could only describe as pampering her, another sister rushed in carrying a dress, stockings, and boots. All of them were brand new and of fantastic quality. The last time she had seen clothes these nice were back when she lived with Mary Lou. Of course, she had brought them with her, but either she had outgrown them by this point or the other children had stolen them from her.

They quickly changed her into the new clothes, and Modesty marveled at how they felt against her skin. She hadn’t felt clothes this clean and soft in a long time. The sister began braiding her hair and then pulled it up into a bun. It reminded her of the hairstyle Chastity used to do for her every morning. She hadn’t worn it like that in a while. The sisters then began to apply light makeup to the slightly red spot on her face from where Sister Margret had slapped her. Whatever was happening, they needed Modesty to look her best—no signs of any sort of mistreatment. Her hair was still wet, but no longer dripping thanks to hairstyle, and after tying her boots and dabbing any remaining wetness from her, the sisters spritz her with a little perfume.

“She’s ready,” one said resolutely. Sister Sophia put her arms on Modesty’s shoulders, gentler than she had ever been in all of her time at the orphanage, and led Modesty out of the bathroom.

“Now, understand this, Miss Modesty,” she whispered as they walked towards the stairs. “Do not speak unless told so, do not say anything bad about the orphanage or us sisters, do not speak about your past, and under no circumstances are you to talk about magic or any of your other delusions.” She spat out this last one as if she was saying something disgusting. They got to the top of the stairs and began to descend. Her grip tightened slightly on Modesty’s shoulders. “Just keep your head down and behave, understand me?” she said as they reached the bottom.

Modesty didn’t even acknowledge her. Her thoughts were too frantic. They were approaching the main room now, and she had no idea what was in store for her. The French doors were closed, but as they got closer, Modesty could hear voices. She recognized one as Sister Margret, but the other one—a male—she didn’t recognize. They stopped right outside the closed door and Sister Sophia knocked on it.

“Oh!” Sister Margret exclaimed from the other side, “That must be her! She’s done getting ready. Thank you for your patience.”

She heard the sister’s footsteps approach the door, and before she could even blink, they swung open. Sister Margret had a painfully cheerful grin plastered on her face. “Modesty, my dear, there you are.” She reached out her hands to her in mock comfort and gave her a hug that was awkward for both of them, even if they tried to pretend otherwise.

She released Modesty and, stretching her arm around her and placing her hand on her shoulder, turned around as if to present something to Modesty. “Modesty, I have someone very important for you to meet.”

Now that she had moved out of the way, Modesty could now see the guest sitting on one of the cushioned chairs.

He was wearing a nice suit, nicer than anything she had ever seen before. She reasoned he must have a lot of money, which explained why the sisters were making such a fuss about him. His face said quite the opposite, though. It was a dark brown and the shaggy type of curly as if he tried to brush it but couldn’t reign it in. He had a scruffy-looking face with a rather disheveled beard and light blue eyes. It was his eyes in particular that struck her. They were a stormy type of blue and appeared so tired. What had happened to him?

“Modesty,” Sister Margret broke through Modesty’s thoughts, “This is Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore. He is a relative of yours.”

A tidal wave striking down the Statue of Liberty would have shocked her less.

She looked at Sister Margret. “A relative?”

“Yes, isn’t that wonderful?” Sister Margret was trying to sound so cheerful that her voice strained. “He says he’s your mother’s brother, and he’s been looking for you for quite a time.”

“But…my mother’s brother is-”

“Dead?” the man cut her off, and Modesty turned to look at him. He had an English accent, but it didn’t sound posh like his outfit suggested. It instead sounded cruder. “Yes, I’m sure that’s what she told you, and I don’t blame her, because she probably thought it was true. You are aware that when we were immigrating to the city, our family’s boat was caught in a storm?”

Modesty nodded. She may have been young the last time she saw her mother and the woman’s face may be long gone from her memories, but she remembered this fact. Her entire family had died in the sinking, and because of that, her mother was terrified of water for the rest of her life.

“Well, she and I got separated in the sinking. I managed to survive but was sent quite a far distance away in the opposite direction, so I don’t blame anyone for believing I was dead. I was picked up by a British merchant ship, who told me that everyone—including my sister—had died. Seeing how I had nothing, one of the men on the ship took me on as his apprentice. That’s where I was until a few years ago when I finally discovered my sister survived.”

He looked down at himself. “You might have noticed, but I managed to acquire quite a bit of money, so I immediately went to America and spared no resource trying to find her.” He quieted for a second, and an intense emotion spread across his face. “But by the time I got there…it was too late. Your father was already dead and she was dying. Her final words to me were to find the children she had been forced to sell back in New York. So that became my mission, though I have only been successful in finding you. I believe it’s because you’re the only one who stayed in the area.”

He was lying. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she felt it right away. Who was this man? Why was he here? Why was he lying for her? What did he want with her? Something bad? She looked at him again as Sister Margret began some small talk to make up for the lack of response from Modesty. She had always been good at reading people. That was her specialty, and it had never once let her down. Yet her brain was at odds with this talent now. Her instincts were telling her that he meant no harm, but why else would he be here, lying about his connection to her?

“I am so flattered that you are willing to make such a donation to our orphanage,” Sister Margret cooed. Modesty’s attention snapped back to the moment.

“It’s the least I can do,” the man smiled a small smile at her. “Since you took such good care of my niece.”

“Oh, you praise us too much, sir. She was a wayward soul, of course, we would do all we could for her. Though I do worry….she has a history of behavioral issues—through no fault of her own, though, it’s due to her tragic circumstances—and I would hate for a man of such a status as yourself to take a hit reputation-wise because of her.”

Modesty didn’t know what Sister Margret was saying. It was as if she was trying to prevent Modesty from leaving, but she knew better than anyone that Sister Margret couldn’t wait to see her go. To her, Modesty was nothing but a troublemaker, and she’d be hand to wash her hands of her. But one look at the sister and Modesty knew better. She was trying to appeal to the man—make herself look saintly, so worried about the environment the kids were going to and the people who take them in—no doubt so he would feel so touched and donate more money. She could barely stop herself from scoffing out loud.

She was shocked to realize that before realizing the sister’s true intentions, she had been nervous. Yes, she didn’t know what this man was up to. Yes, he was suspicious, but her instincts were telling her he was okay, and she would take him over this hellhole any day. No matter what future awaited her.

The next hour passed remarkably quickly. He apparently had proof that proved he was Modesty’s relative, but she didn’t see it since he had shown it to Sister Margret before she arrived. Not that it mattered whether Modesty could confirm its validity or not, no doubt Sister Margret would have believed whatever it was no matter what, whether it was clearly fake or not. Modesty barely spoke the entire time, and the two adults hardly seemed to notice, though the man shot glances at her every once in a while. She couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t seeing her, though. Rather, it felt like he was looking at someone else.

By the end of the hour, the adoption had been set and done. Modesty stuff—a mere suitcase—was packed and brought down by one of the sisters. The donation was made, and Sister Margret might have well died on the spot and seen God for herself with how happy she was. The other sisters gave her a brand new coat and hat, along with mittens and a scarf, and wrapped her up in it. Sister Margret gathered all the other children, who pretended with mock joy and sadness to see Modesty go. It was an incredibly awkward affair. Even Mr. Aberforth seemed uncomfortable, though Sister Margret was too high on cloud nine to notice.

The only thing that made the experience worthwhile was seeing Julian amongst the crowd. He looked both resentful and terrified at the same time. Modesty smiled brightly, not just because she was getting out of there, but because she was overjoyed to imagine what would happen to him now that she was gone.

Mr. Aberforth tapped on her shoulder and motioned towards the door. Modesty picked up her suitcase and followed him. She noticed he had a suitcase too.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to call you a taxi, sir?” one of the sisters asked as they stepped outside.

Mr. Aberforth merely shook his head, “No need. I’ll call one once we reach the main road. Thank you, though, and thank you for everything!” He waved again and then turned, with Modesty following behind him.

They walked down the street towards the main one, with Mr. Aberforth in the front and Modesty following behind him. They were silent.

Modesty eventually willed all her courage and cleared her throat. “So, you’re my uncle.”

“Yes.” He didn’t even turn around to answer her.

“That’s strange, though, because my mom said you two were close, even before the shipwreck.”

“Well, you know how siblings are. But going through such an ordeal as we did certainly-”

“I didn’t finish” she cut him off. “She said they weren’t close because he was always embarrassing her. Because he was an albino.”

The man stopped in his tracks. Modesty smirked. She walked forward, catching up with him and standing in front of him. They were face to face now.

“Which leads me to wonder: who are you?”

The man simply stared at her. After a moment of silence, he huffed an angry and annoyed breath. “An albino?” Really?” he muttered to himself. “You think they would have thought to tell me that?”

“He wasn’t,” she said quickly, unable to hide her smirk.

The man looked at her in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“My uncle wasn’t an albino. I made that up,” she watched as realization spread across the man’s face. She smiled even wider, “But obviously you didn’t know that, which leads me to repeat my question: Who? Are? You?”

The man stared at her in annoyance, and that made her giddy. She had never managed to outsmart an adult before, though Credence and Chastity used to lament over the fact that one day she definitely would.

After a tense silence, the man sighed. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed out a breath, visible in the air. Modesty had forgotten it was snowing.

“To be fair, my name is Aberforth Dumbledore. That much was true,” he said, finally making eye contact with her, “But everything else was a lie, including the relative part. In actuality… I was sent by your brother. Credence.”