Chapter 3
her first year at the mckinnon household past in a frenzied blur of crawling never ending days and rush of months, until a full year had past since her arrival. it had been dotted by celebrations, birthdays and christmas, easter and new years, occasion in which she used as landmarks to navigate the passage of time that flowed around her. she could not remember the date she had been born on, only that it had fallen may, so the mckinnons gave her a new one.
her first twelfth of may with the family had been celebrated by an array of presents littering the edge of her bed, patterned and shining striped paper wrapped tightly around their oddly shaped edges, some lumpy and decorated with marlene and danny’s uneven scrawl, others neatly concealed and tagged by margret or felix’s neat print. cards similarly adorned the oak side table, wishes of a happy birthday and celebrating her descent into her twelfth year of life. the day of her new twelfth birthday has seen her awaken before the sun, the only other sounds greeting her during the pale blue of early morning being the brief chitter of birdsong that pierced through the still air, breeze not yet warmed by the suns embrace and chilled as it ghosted over her exposed skin from the ajar bedroom window.
there was a stillness that clung to the house, an utter silence that wrapped around it as if this particular moment when hazel took her first conscious breath as a year older was frozen in time, a moment undisturbed by the existence of others. a moment just for her. when she had first saw the assembly of wrapped objects at the end of her plush bed she had simply stared, unable to process what she was seeing for a moment. there had been a time long ago where she had received presents every year around this summer month, large beautifully wrapped presents carefully wrapped by her mothers loving hands and placed on her bed by her fathers caring fingers, yet now, sitting on her bed at six ashburn drive before sunrise, she could not remember a single thing that has been in those beautifully wrapped boxes. this was the first time in two- no, three years now, that she had received a present, let alone an array of them.
slowly, she positioned herself to a sitting position from where she lay, scooting down the length of the mattress and flipping the plush duvet cover off her frame as she reached the pile of presents. she reached out to the nearest one, gripping it between both hands and bringing it to rest upon her lap. it was wrapped in a thick gold paper, margrets pretty scrawl stamped upon one side of it. the only noise within the slumbering household was from the gentle tearing of the wrapping paper as she used small fingers to pry it apart. there, nestled in between the paper sat a thick, beautifully knitted woollen blanket. unfolding it, she stretched it out to fully examine it, the material feather soft and warm beneath her touch. fully spread out, she could make out the patterns adorning it, and felt something tug tight within her chest.
the top of the blanket started in a thick pearl wool, the colour slowly staining darker as it spread down the blanket, from white to pale blue, finally bleeding into deep indigo at the bottom of the blanket. in the middle of the blanket, where the material was a soft robins egg blue sat small figures woven into the wool. the blue part had depicted small wooden boats, thin brown thread used to detail their wooden helms and tall sail masts, tiny figures dotting their prows. these boats dotted the surface of the blue wool, and below in the part that was deep blue where arrays of white and pink thread, woven together to assemble slumbering sea monsters and large grasping tentacles, unfurling and reaching up to the unsuspecting boats above. the white wooled sky held tiny black woven birds that hazel traced a shaking finger over. she recognised the image the blanket was depicting immediately, a scene from her favourite tale that margret would read out to hazel during nights curled up together on the cushioned couch before the fire or mornings huddled in her bed with margret perched on the side of the mattress.
it was a scene from sinbad, an old muggle book that the mckinnons owned and hazel quickly became to love, the pages crinkled from margrets constant re-reading of it to the girl. the blanket was a work of art, the stitching done with meticulous precision, looking for all the world as if her favourite passage from the tale of the pirate had been ripped from the books worn pages and spilled onto the soft wool. she had noticed margret sticking and knitting away for the past few months, yet had not knows that this was what she had been so carefully creating. something for her. looking down at it, she felt something heavy clogging her throat, a pressure that threatened to steal her breath and bringing moisture to her eyes. blinking rapidly, she gathered the soft wooden blanket and wrapped it around her, burrowing into its warmth.
it took her a long time to open the rest of her presents.
the rest of the day passed rapidly, interspersed by hours stretched out on the checkered red and white picnic blanket the mckinnons had brought to the sea side, the warm touch of the sun rays dusting her face and soft sand underneath her fingers easing her muscles and brining a calm serenity to her bones. her drifting off was pierced by the laughs of danny and marlene as they races through the surf, the soft chatter of margret and felix as they placed out the edible spread around her lulling her to sleep.
dinner had been spent back in the house, her stomach already filled from the picnic earlier and from her snacking on chocolate frogs throughout the day, marlene having gifted her an obscene amount of the gold wrapped delicacies as her own birthday gift. sitting now around the worn kitchen table, plates cleared and massive cake now taking up the space, twelve colourful candles poking out of its chocolate icing, she took a deep breath, preparing to blow out the tiny flames before her. she was to make a wish, but looking at the four flushed, smiling faces around her, stomach full and body wrapped in the blue wooden blanket she had clung to the entire day, she could not think of a single thing to wish for.
as the months fell into the full descent of summer, hazel slowly began to heal. her appetite was the first thing she regained. sometime between the slow transition into late spring, frost detangling itself from the grass’s tips, budding primroses and daffodils pushing themselves through the moisture logged soil and days stretched into bright evenings and shorter twilight hours hazel found her sense of taste reappear, as if her taste buds had slowly been awakened from a month’s long slumber. enough so that she started looking forward to margrets cooking, helping herself to daily increasing portions of vegetable clogged stews, creamy pot roasts and blanched vegetables, whatever marvellous creation appeared on the worn wooded table each evening. the mckinnons had a house elf, a small wizened creature by the name of dolly, yet margret was often seen side by side with the small creature preparing suppers, flour specked sleeves pushed up to her elbows, hands kneading, chopping or stewing the meal before her, the scent of fresh crushed garlic and growing herbs clinging to her skin at all hours.
it had been a slow progress, a shift so incremental hazel had no hope of pin pointing when exactly it had occurred, but as her taste slowly began appearing so did her hunger, until eight months after she had come into the family her malnourished frame had been replaced with one of peak youth, muscles strong and skin glowing, nails no longer chapped and hair silky instead of the brittle lacklustre sheen it had been. those initial eight months had also seen her regain her speech, thanks to the mind healers that she attended thrice a week with the help of margrets apparition, and if otherwise occupied, felix, her husband and father to marlene and danny.
it had been slow at the beginning, words clogging her throat and dripping from her lips in short single responses, haltingly and in large intervals, requiring a dredge of energy that she did not fully possess yet. the trickle of time slowly replenished this energy, day by day, until speaking was no longer an enormous feat but simply a movement as simply as breathing, words tumbling out if her mouth like running water and shaped in the slight northern irish accent she had been born and raised with. she was still selective when she spoke, never using more words than she needed in the first year she spent at the household, but her ability was still there.
she still had bad days, days where she could not dredge the effort to speak from within her, days in which all she could do was bury herself within the woollen blankets upon her bed, cocooning herself from the rest of existence, eyes heavy lidded yet unable to reach the empty escape of sleep that seemed to constantly evade her within these periods.
days in which her lips would only crack open to allow the slightness trickle of water behind their barricade, days in which she could not find the strength the rise her leaden limbs from her place of rest. whenever these periods would creep upon her, seeping the strength and light from her flesh and wrapping her within a layer of numbness that margret would always be close by. a gentle press of a hand against hers, soft fingers brushing the tangles that crowned her scalp, a soft lilting voice that sang softly in the never-ending twilight hours that dragged by, heels kicking in and latching onto the deep inky sky with clawed hands, reluctant to pass it over into the suns beginning embrace. within this infinite time of moonless hours and dark stained horizon where sleep would simply not appear, margret would perch herself upon hazels bed, reading out novels in a content low whisper, voice changing for each character that appeared on the ink-stained pages. if not reading she was singing, voice soothing and clear, serenading hazel in tunes she had never heard before, or simply knitting in silence, her constant presence a balm against hazels exhausted mind.
her scars still persisted, both inside and within, but they became easier to manage. the scars within by the mind healers she consistently visited, and those that marred her skin by a concealing spell margret had taught herself, applying it once a day to hazels wrist which held the worst of her wounds, the spell blurring over the thick ruined skin and blurring it to the point of near invisibility. now, during the peak of july, whenever she caught a glimpse of herself with one if the many mirrors that adorned the bathroom walls or in a reflective surface she passed, she could hardly recognise the face that peered out back at her. she had not felt undiluted sunlight on her skin in the two years she had spent before she had come into the care of the mckinnons and now with unrestricted access she began to shape into a past version of herself she forgot had existed, the sun deepening her previously sickly colour to its natural golden tan, streaking her chestnut hair with wisps of lighter brown, and dredging up an smattering of freckles that dusted her cheeks and nose. gone was the sickly, starving girl that had arrived at the household eight months ago, hollow eyed and empty. in her place stood a girl of five-foot, golden skin aglow and eyes, if not a little dull, far brighter then how they had been when she first arrived.
she was getting better, but it was a slow progress.
she still did not smile, nor did she laugh, but everything else was becoming easier.
she still did not smile, nor did she laugh but there were certain moments, sitting at the table with margret and felix as his booming voice shared tales of his encounters that day, moments curled up with margret on the couch reading, instances of being gathered in the garden and watching danny show of his new techniques on his broom she felt like maybe, just maybe she could.
it was in these days in which she thought that if she had forgotten the movements of how to, perhaps she could learn them again.
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her second year at the mckinnons house saw her first smile in three years.
surprisingly, it was dredged up not by margret or marlene, the two mckinnons hazel was closest to at the time, but by felix during one of the many long nights spent in the garage. it was january, marlene and danny having just returned back to hogwarts after the end of christmas break, and hazel had found herself plunged into a new routine of sorts, one that saw her accompanying the father of the household in helping him repair one of his many projects he tinkered with at all hours he wasn’t occupied with his position in the ministry or spent alongside his wife and children. felix, as it turned out, had a passion for mechanics, one that manifested in the creation of small magical robotics, projects that would see him spend hours holed up in the dusty garage that veered off from the main house, the concrete floor littered with cardboard boxes and small metal parts scattered around the space, a singular glowing lightbulb filling the small space in a warm glow.
here, the man would tinker with whatever project occupied his hands at the time, ranging from small devices that could capture and release lumos light without the presence of a wand, projects he would bring to the ministry once completed to be used in whatever way they saw fit, to more personal projects such as the metal dog he had completed a week before. it had been one of his best works to date, a small metal dog he had fashioned from old cogs and bent sheets of titanium into a surprisingly realistic dalmatian, paired with glowing orange glass bead eyes and felt tongue. he had gifted it to danny for his birthday, the thirteen-year-old boy ecstatic with his new pet, and had spent the last few days before returning to hogwarts teaching it how to sit and roll over, the small robotic creatures cogs creaking as it attempted to copy the movements. it was during one of the many nights he had been working on constructing the robot that hazel had found herself accompanying the man, sitting beside him on the smooth concrete floor or cross legged on one of the many wooden boxes that littered the space, handing him various tools he requested or simply listening to his low voice as he recounted stories from his work, or just of the whirring and clatter as he carefully bonded metal and magic together.
her visits had started early as such- visits, in where she would bring him endless cups of tea made by margret for her husband or snacks which she would hand the girl with an exasperated smile or affectionate eye roll, always teasing the oil smeared man whenever he emerged from the garage with clothes rumpled and face dirt smeared that he spent more time in the garage then in the actual home. although her words sounded firm, they were betrayed with the affectionate tone she spoke them in, and the kiss she placed on his dirt painted cheek each time he emerged. he would always respond with a laugh, kissing her back, warm smiles coating both of their lips. hazel knew for all of margrets mock nagging that her husband’s tinkering and creativity was one of the many things she loved about him, evident through the countless cups of tea she sent his way during his time crafting, and the fact she never complained once when some of the dirt on his face would rub onto hers, only scoffing slightly as he would bring even dirtier fingers up in attempts to wipe it off her soft cheeks, only succeeding in smearing more of it on and leaving her laughing.
the first few times hazel had been content in simply passing the distracted man the cups of tea, felix always taking the time to tear his eyes away from the objects before him to greet her with a smile and a thanks before she retreated from the garage and back into the house. the more she went in though, the more her fascination was peaked at the scattering of metal objects around the man, curious in his attempts to weald magic through them and his seeming never ending patience as he slowly weaved the pieces together. she found herself lingering for longer and longer periods of time, until one night she had not left. she had started as she had been doing for the past two weeks, simply brining the working man a cup of freshly brewed tea and hovering as she watched him work, however this time she did not leave, choosing instead to silently sit down on one of the wooden boxes to his left and observe him in his tinkering. he had not commented, simply asking her after half an hour or so to pass him a wrench, and after he pointed out what it was, she had obliged.
they sat there in comfortable silence until he had finished up, both of them rising and retreating out of the garage, felix flicking the light off behind them and shutting the door. the next night had been the same, although this time he had filled the silence with an encounter he had had the previous day during working alongside the ministry of magical creatures in tracking down unpack of rogue vampires. she had found that she liked hearing him talk, and occasionally peppered his tale with questions as he worked, again handing him the tools he requested when asked. he had in return asked her about her own day, specifically on how she was finding one of the books she had begun reading, a novel he had bought her for christmas.
it was an irish folklore tail depicting three young children wandering to a land of eternal youth on a white stallion and she explained what she had read to him so far as he began the process of smelting the ore. this cycle repeated until margret had begun bringing them each a cup of tea herself, while man and girl sat in the small dust clogged garage and chatted, the smell of motor oil and burnt magic heavy in the air.
since creating the dog for danny, felix had set his sights on creating similar metal robots for marlene and hazel, and was in the late stages of creating hazels own metallic creature. it had been well into the night, tiredness weighing heavily on her eyelids when he had sat up, dusting off his fingers on his rumpled jeans and clearing his throat, drawing her attention to him.
she had grown close to him over the past few weeks she had spent each night cooped up in the garage with him, eased by his friendly chatter and surprised how much she enjoyed telling him of her own novels she had completed or of her day in general. similarly, she had grown accustomed to his subtle tells, the loud sigh through his nostrils he would make when something inevitably went wrong in his fiddling, the softer one he would make when he was contemplating an emerging idea. the twitch in his shoulders when his back ached from constantly leaning over his projects, the frown she had associated with him needing a wrench or the tilt go his head when he needed a hammer or screw driver, all of which she would hand him to his surprise and gratitude at her wordless understanding of his needs. the way he cleared his throat when he wanted her attention.
now, she turned her head to face him, looking at his kind eyes and then down at the small wire boned robot sitting between his crossed legs. it was the foundations of the same looking dog he had created for danny, just without the completion of its outer shell and certain parts. still, it clearly resembled the dog it had been crafted after, beaded glass eyes dull and metal scaled tail hanging limp.
‘he still has a bit to go, but i think i got the basics down. he should be responsive already, the magics welded with his interior quite nicely. would you like to give him a go?’
she nodded, eyes wide as she took in the small robot before him. he nodded once, bringing his wand down, muttering a spell silently under his lips as he brought the tip of the wand to the metal head. she tensed at the sight of it and the magic flowing out of it. after her first year here, she had gotten better at handling the sight of magic- it was inevitable, of course, being housed with a family of magic welders that she would be regularly exposed to it. they were aware of her aversion to it at the beginning of her stay and had made great efforts to keep all things magical away from her sight, yet it was impossible to keep it completely concealed when so much of their existence depended on it. through the regular visits to the mind healers and their meticulous work with her she had gotten better at being around it, going from flinching away and panicking from the sight of it to simply tensing whenever in contact with it. now, her uncomfort at the magic before her was interrupted as the creature’s glass eyes glowed with a warm orange hue, its metal joints creaking as it rose up on its metal legs.
she sucked in a breath, enamoured with the small robot before her as it shook its head, something clinking within its skull at the movement, and brought its glowing gaze around the room. it settled on hazel, and it took a few hesitant steps towards her, metal groaning as it plodded in her direction. still as a statue, she watched with big eyes as it neared, pausing before bringing its half-formed jaw to rest upon her knee, metal touch cool against her skin.
‘he likes you.’ felix smiled at her, ruddy cheeks stained with smears of motor oil and blue eyes bright. without realising it she felt her lips tug upwards in response, eyes drifting back to the small metal head that was resting its chip upon her knee, fingers reaching out to trail over its titanium snout. looking back up, she was met with blue eyes filled with such an overpowering expression of joy and sadness that she blinked, before realising what had garnered such a response. she was smiling, the feeling strange and unfamiliar on her lips. for the first time in years, she was smiling. she felt slightly exposes in that moment, as if caught doing something she shouldn’t, and shifted slightly.
he didn’t question her however, or say anything. he simply smiled back at her, wordlessly handing her cup of tea she had completely forgotten about, swallowing down a mouthful of the now cold liquid as she brought her attention back down to the dog before her, a comfortable silence stretching around them.
she was still smiling as she climbed into bed that night, dreams filled of cups of tea, a dusty room filled with boxes and motor oil, and a small metal dog with glowing orange. that had been a good night. and when the bad nights came, when the nightmares visited as they frequently did during those early years living with the new family- her new family, she would curl up tight beneath her thick navy knitted blanket, limbs furled together as she repeated her truths. the truths that she had built up around her, the unshakeable facts that nestled within her bones, that were whispered into the darkness of the night when unconsciousness held nothing but nightmares and shadow-stained memories that lingered in her mind. the truths that she would whisper into the darkness of her room, a prayer witnesses only by the silent observation of the moon and stars beyond her bedroom window. they were facts, whispered into the inky dark, irreputable truths. promises. and a reminder.
her name was hazel. her parents were dead. she was not. she was living with the mckinnon family at number six ashburn road, a family of witches and wizards. she had been adopted when she was elven year old. she was twelve years old now, the same age as marlene, the youngest, and two years younger than danny, the oldest. the man who had rescued her was named dumbledor, who ran hogwarts, a school for all british students who possessed magic. a school she was unable to attend, as she did not possess any. magic hurt, and scarred. she hated it, and under no circumstance, was she to come in contact with any, unless she could help it.
not anymore.