Pandora's Box

July 9, 1975 

It’s warm today. Pandora is out planting Professor Sprout’s flowers in the garden. She rakes the soil, before creating four inch deep rows, one for each flower. Then she sprinkles the little seeds, watching them blend into the deep brown camouflage of the dirt. She covers them, and as a final step, pours water over soil.

Muggle gardening is therapeutic for her. Bringing new life into the world. 

She tried to convince Felix to join her today, but he refused. Deciding to watch his favorite anthill instead. That’s where he is now. Blond hair shining in the sun, jeans, and t-shirt covered in dirt. Pandora makes a mental note to cast a scourgify on him before he goes inside. 

He’s laying belly down in the damp grass nose inches away from the hill. There are hundreds of tiny black ants, climbing in and out. Some are carrying clumps of dirt, or crumbs. 

Felix never hurts them, he just likes to observe. The love of insects is a shared trait between the Rosier siblings. All of them love bugs. Felix’s favorite is always ants, while Pandora’s is the Karthros beetle, and Evan’s was the praying mantis. 

“Are they doing anything interesting today?”

“Nope. Just living life.” Feilix doesn’t take his eyes off the hill. “Do you ever wish you were an ant?”

“Not particularly.”

“Well I want to be an ant one day.” 

Pandora smiles to herself watching her little brother enjoy the day. He has a decent childhood, and she's grateful for that. So many of her peers had to grow up too fast, it’s a tragedy. Childhood is the greatest gift of all, and not everyone receives it.

Speaking of peers, a large nobel owl swoops down infront her. Landing with a graceful thud. It drops an envelope at Pandora’s feet, before flying away with a squawk. 

“Who sent you mail?”

Flipping the letter over, she immediately recognizes the beautiful script of Regulus Black. 

“A friend”

She drops to a seat in the grass, very carefully opening the envelope. She reads the letter slowly, saving every moment. Pandora rarely gets mail.

Dear Pandora, my summer has been rather bland so far. Sirius is being his usual reckless self, and my parents are the same as always. I’ve been reading a lot, mostly muggle poetry. I’ve recently discovered a poet called Edgar Allen Poe. I like his poems because he doesn’t sugar coat things. He just lets them be. I’m not sure if you care about literature at all, let alone muggle authors, but I thought I’d tell you. Reading makes the summers less lonely.

 I hope your summer is going okay. Please tell me how you are. 

P.S. Don’t tell anyone else about the muggle poetry stuff. My parents will kill me if they find out. 

-Regulus Black

Pandora feels her chest tighten up as finishes reading. Nobody talks to her about little things like reading. It feels like people always have to have a reason to talk to her. Whether it’s about school, or homework, or Evan or Mirthroot. There’s always a reason. But this letter is just because. Pandora can’t find some deeper purpose to it. 

Regulus wrote to her Pandora Rosier, just to tell her about his muggle literature. What did she do to deserve this knowledge? This little glimpse into his mind. Why did he tell her? He didn’t have to do that. 

What if she told his parents? Pandora has the power to cause him pain, to share one of his secrets. He’s  given her this power. Does he trust her? Why would he do that? 

I don’t deserve this.

Despite her confusion, she rushes inside to write back. Regulus showed her part of himself, so she’ll do the same in return. 

Hi Regulus, I’ve never really enjoyed reading much. I prefer pictures, though I've never read anything by a muggle before. Is it much different from wizard literature? It probably is, considering the difference between wizard art and muggle art. Have you ever heard of Vincent Van Goah? He’s a muggle artist who paints in little brush strokes. I love his art because it kind of feels like my dreams. A combination of different colors and feelings, creating a bigger story. My favorite is “Wheatfield Under Thunderclouds”. It's very peaceful despite the storm. I wish I could jump into the canvas and rest for a while. One day I want to see it in person. 

Muggle art is my favorite because it doesn’t change. It remains frozen exactly as the artist created it. The art work doesn’t move or speak, it’s still and quiet as the world moves around it. 

Anyways enough about paintings, where do you acquire these muggle poems? Is there any way I could get a hold of some Edgar Allen Poe? My parents are taking Felix Evan and I to London next week for a family portrait, and it’ll be my only opportunity to visit a muggle for a while. Perhaps I'll read some muggle books. My summer’s been decent so far. I’ve been gardening to keep busy. Felix sits outside with me most days. I think he's happy, but I can’t tell sometimes. It was nice to hear from you.

-Sincerely Pandora Rosier

***

July 13 1975

Dear Pandora, I get my poetry from my cousin Andromeda. She sends me a new book every few months, but she has to be discreet about it because of my parents.When we’re back at Hogwarts I can lend some to you if you’re interested. Maybe we could do a swap, I could give you some poems and you could give me some pictures? I don't know anything about Van Gogh, but you make him seem interesting. 

Have you done any of the reading for history of magic? I’ve read further than required and delved into the first emergencies of magic. It’s peculiar. There isn’t much documentation about how wizards emerged. It only says “Magical and non magical beings stem from the same archetype. In the beginning there was no real separation between the two.” It’s funny. No one knows where magic comes from. It just exists. I can’t stop thinking about it. I have this theory that magic exists within every being, and some just refuse to let it show. 

For me, I’ve always known I was a wizard. It’s a part of me, as much as my blood and thoughts. But maybe it’s different for muggles, because they’ve never been told magic is a gift. Maybe they all hide the magical parts of themselves subconsciously until they forget they have the gift at all.. 

Sorry, I know I sound insane. But no one will listen to me. I tried Barty Evan and Dorcas already. They shut me down. But I have a feeling you’ll listen. 

If you wanted to tell me about your paintings that would be nice. It would help distract me from being at home. My parents are angry this summer. They’ve been on Sirisus’s tail about being a “blood traitor” though they’ve only punished him a few times so far. It’s not been too bad. He doesn’t let me help clean himself up anymore. I wish he would, he’s rubbish as applying bandages, and never cleans wounds good enough. 

He’s been avoiding me. It gives me this eerie feeling. You probably understand. Good luck with your photos. I hope your parents aren’t too bothersome. 

Best Regards

-Regulus Black

This letter is a lot to unpack. Pandora reads it over and over again trying to understand what’s going on. Regulus is never open like this. He’s just dumped a load of information on her, and she’s not sure what to do with it. 

• Regulus Blacks thinks everyone could be a wizard

• Regulus Black wants to see paintings

• No one listens to Regulus Black’s theories

• Regulus Black’s parents are evil

Pandora feels funny. She’s spent years trying to get closer to people. Emmaline, Barty, Dorcas, Regulus. Evan. She tried so hard to know them, but it felt like she kept getting pushed away. It made her so upset, she spent a while hating herself for it. It caused so much pain. But she made it through. She got over it, let the hurt fade. 

 And now Regulus is coming to her. He’s letting her in. And what’s she supposed to do? This is what she wanted. So why does it sting? 

Part of Pandora wants to run, to shut him out. Let the hurt she felt years ago take over. She heads for the trash, planning to throw away the letter. 

Willing herself to crumple the paper and throw it in. The rubbish bin lid creaks as it opens.

She can’t do it. 

Her hand trembles over the bin. Tears wetting her eyes, until she drops to the floor defeated. 

She stares at Regulus' perfect handwriting, feeling a twinge in her chest. She wishes she didn’t, but deep down Pandora is burning. She needs to know who Regulus is. And inexplicably she wants him to know her too.

***

July 19, 1975

London is loud and smelly. There are people everywhere, and Pandora can’t shake the shrinking feeling that consumes her in crowds. 

She holds Felix’s hand, scared to lose him amongst the people. She’s vaguely aware of Evan trailing behind her. He’s in a bad mood today. Maybe it was two hours they spent at a posh shop in Diagon Alley getting their yearly family portrait. 

Since the start of his internship he’s become more reclusive, disappearing off to his room during his one day off, remaining quiet when he returns home in the evening. He hasn’t said more than a few words to her all summer. Sometimes she cries over it. Sometimes she looks into the night sky, begging for some foreign force to reunite them. It never happens. They only seem to move farther apart. Like magnets facing the wrong direction. 

Her parents come to a stop abruptly in the middle of the pavement.

“We have some quick business to attend to in this shop. Don’t move.” And with that they enter a little muggle antique shop leaving the Rosier children alone. 

Despite the suffocating feeling of people around her, Pandora remembers Regulus, and his poems. It’s strange because she’s never been a reckless child. Always trying to stay out of trouble, and avoid conflict. But today, she has a mission, and there just so happens to be a used bookstore across the street. 

Books and Bargains Used Book Emporium

Passing Felix’s hand off to a confused Evan, “I’ll be right back”

“What?”

Pandora doesn’t waste any time explaining, and makes a b-line for the store, nearly getting hit by a bicycle in the process. 

Once pulls open the door, the scent of old parchment fills her nose. There are tall shelfs full of books, and books. It’s calmer inside the store, and for a moment Pandora understands why Regulus loves the library so much. 

Reading the little signs “Young Adult”, “Nonfiction”, “Classics”, and right next to it is “Poetry”. She scans the spines looking for signs of books containing works from Edgar Allen Poe. She’s never been in a muggle book store before, so it’s a bit difficult. She finds a whole book made up of Emily Dickinson poems, whoever that is. And see’s another of Robert Frost. None contain the name Edgar. 

She’s about to panic and run out the store when she comes across an absolute unit of book called “Norton Anthropology of Poetry” squinting her eyes Pandora reads a short note about the book saying it contains a collection of masterful poems. It may not have Edgar Allen Poe, but it’s something. 

It’s silly that she risks so much, just to get a tiny glimpse into Regulus’s mind, but for some incomprehensible reason she has too. She doesn’t have a choice, her mind’s made its decision. It’s a similar feeling to the Karthros Beatles eyes. This strange wanting sensation that settles deep within her. 

Pandora is nervous as she places the large book upon the cashier’s counter. She’s never paid for anything with muggle money before. She doesn’t have any real money, but last year at Hogwarts Emmaline gave her an enchanted piece of parchment that had been transfigured into a muggle dollar. Pandora was about to throw it away, when she decided it may come in handy one day.  

Today’s that day. The woman working doesn't seem so scary. She’s young, probably mid twenties. She has brown skin and her hair is tied up with a scarf. It’s made of blue and green silk. Her face is quite beautiful, she has a small scar over right eyelid. 

“This all?” The woman asks Pandora, eyeing her up and down. Pandora is suddenly very aware that she looks silly in her formal skirt and freshly ironed blouse. Plus she is wearing a hideous pendant necklace. If only she had a cool outfit.

“Yes.” placing the fake bill on the counter Pandora waits. Watching the woman collect her change. 

“Keep it.” Pandora tells her. Deciding she really needs to get out of here before her parents come back. 

Grabbing the book she turns for the door, hearing the woman's lightened tone behind her. 

“Have a nice day love!”

She goes warm for some reason. 

Thinking about the interaction as she crosses the street, putting the new book into her enchanted handbag. 

“Have a nice day love.”

The truth is Pandora isn’t truly loved by anyone. She’s no one's favorite. Her own parents dislike her. The only person who’s ever told Pandora he loved her never says it anymore. 

She’s learned to accept it. Weeping over a lack of affection gets you nowhere. Pandora knows this from experience. 

Back in first year she would dream of some imaginary person every night. Someone who would stay with her after a nightmare. Someone who would smile at her from across the room. Someone who would keep her secrets. They loved her. This imaginary person. But one night they left. She had a particularly bad dream about an angry thunder storm. And after that they were gone. 

After that Pandora grew up. Now she’s learned to accept it. No one loves her, it's okay. Her life is no different because of it. 

She’s zoning out as she meets an angry Evan.

“Where the fuck did you go?”

“Bookstore”

“The bookstore? Do you realize how much trouble you could have gotten into?”

 Felix has come to hide behind Pandora as Evan raises his voice.

“You’re an idiot. Seriously Pandora what were you thin-” Evan goes quiet.

Abraxas and Anesidora Rosier approach them. Her mother holding a new brown paper bag, and her father tucking a piece of parchment into his pocket. 

Abraxus eyes Pandora and Evan his face skewing into something cruel. 

“Is there something you wish to tell me about?” There is a threat in his tone.

“No sir.” Evan responds as Pandora goes quiet. Training her eyes on the ground until they make it home.