Muggles
The town of Portree was a small, quiet place, located rather distantly from most of what one would consider civilization and surrounded by lush, welcoming hills, the community was little more than a few pastel-colored buildings built around the tranquil waters of the lake as the sun shone invitingly over the crystalline surface, the locals were tightly-knit and close yet strangely and contrary to what one would expect for such a distant, isolated and small place, open and welcoming to foreigners, yet there was a sense of strange unease around the place, as if it could banish at any moment, the area held a small sense of addiction and many of the newcomers wondered how could such a place not have been overrun by the ever growing industrialization of society or the growing population.
The one answer that most could think of and perhaps the only logical thought, far from the superstition or conjectures about the ignorance of the locals was that the people in it simply refused to change.
Many of the buildings, outnumbering even the residences being neat and decorated inns and hotels, the visitors that stayed often found themselves lured closer by the warm, soft scents of the area, of freshly baked bread loafs, salt and vinegar baked potatoes and freshly caught fish. It didn't matter how briefly a person remained Portree, they could not resist the feeling, the scents and sight. Thing was…if they ended up becoming addicted, they couldn't ground their roots; there wasn't any place to settle. No one stays in Portree, because no one leaves.
In the bitting, early morning, before the mist from the night had dispersed and before the sun had risen into the horizon, the town looked abandoned, as if the locals had never even been there, a ghost town, no sound, nothing but an eternal, pure and gentle silence, but one particular day, a violent squawk shattered the slence their quiet sky when the bakery's front door violently swung open. The sound is echoed by the jingle of the shop bell.
Granny Bat, whom the bakery had been named after, christened with the name "Grand Granny Bat's Bakery", a short, chubby lady hurried to catch the door, but before she could grab the bronze handle, it it slammed against the side of the building, causing the glass window to rattle. Hthe woman’s silver curls bounced when she flinched under the loud crash, a cloud of white powder poofed out from her apron and stained her face. She slowly rose her gaze and her eyes widdening, by some strange miracle, the window hadn’t shattered
After a few moments of silence, the woman brushed aside the situation and stepped outside and into the street, It didn't take long before she spotted a figure in the distance, she knew it well, "Aurora!" She called and she froze in place.
Granny knew the young woman well. She always arrived just moments before the bakery opened, but today she had arrived two hours early. It was strange, to be sure, but Granny happily rushed to stop her, and when Aurora came closer, the elderly baker spotted the guilt lurking behind her void stare and she smirk. Aurora certainly was a strange girl.
She had first spotted Aurora seven months ago – or maybe it has been eight months, or possibly a year, her mind was faulty at best when it came to remembering things not related to cooking and baking – and at the sight of her, the elderly woman had rushed outside.
The girl looked sick, with a pale, weak complexion, her deep blue veins underneath her pasty skin and dirty hari, no doubt she had not eaten in days. Knowing she needed to be feed, Granny had returned to she shop after she beckoned her to wait, bringing the girl a muffin, two scones, and a creamy, puffed Italian roll.
Aurora was almost as short as Granny, and she walked at a slow, hunched pace. Her shoulders were broad and her hands so large to grasp the , but they are sharp and scrawny, and make her fingers look like clawed talons. Despite the healthy glow of her unruly red hair, her skin is deathly pale and makes her dark freckles look like a speckled disease. Her ice-blue eyes are big and striking, but are balconied by deep, dark circles. Her nose is long and sharp, her lips are thin and pale, and her bony face hangs atop a stretched skinny neck – she looked inhuman. Granny once decided Aurora resembled a vulture, or possibly a buzzard – some type of bird. And every morning when Granny woke up, she half expected to find Aurora’s scrawny body lying dead on the pathway. Her worry only got worse when she found out that, despite Aurora's size, she wasn't a young child.
So, she had given the girl food, and Aurora seemed confused – alien even – but she hesitantly accepted the gift and left. The next day, the girl showed up to pay for it. When Granny tried to explain that Aurora gave her too much money, the girl's face flushed. Apparently, she was new to Scotland and its Scottish pound. When Granny politely asked Aurora where she was from, the girl sputtered for a second and then left.
But Granny didn't want Aurora to pay for the food, so she began dumping more pastries on Aurora every morning. After refusing to let Aurora pay enough times, the girl finally gave up. Instead, Aurora often brought Granny and her employees lunch. When she did this for the first time, Granny's face sparkled with gratitude, but she felt understandably confused. She wondered, if Aurora had money and food, why was she so unhealthy?
There were good days, when Granny didn't see Aurora dragging her feet so slowly and the deep caverns beneath her eyes were shallow caves or only puddles, but it never lasted. Aurora would then disappear and eventually reappear with the same frail body. Again, Granny would stuff her hands with baked goods. That's all she could do.
"You're early. Couldn't stay away, yeah?" She chuckled, her Scottish accent thicker than the icing on her cupcakes. Aurora couldn't understand Granny very well at first – apparently she was terrible at learning languages and accents – but she eventually got used to it.
Aurora gave a small smile. Granny has realized that Aurora rarely smiles – perhaps it took too much energy? But the girl's voice was powerful; it was quiet, but it carried an unexpected strength that startled Granny when she first heard it. Oddly, it reminded her of a deep buzzard screech. "A friend is coming to visit in a bit." Aurora explained. Granny never asked Aurora where she was from again, but she suspected the lass was from somewhere around France. It was the closest Granny could place her lispy accent. "I wanted to get him some pastries..." Aurora said and trailed off when she spotted the "closed" sign. Granny chuckled again.
"Is a 'him', is it?" Granny teased goodheartedly, "Must be a right-good man to catch your eye?" Seeing the girl's face scrunch with disgust, Granny knew her implications were wrong, but she only laughed. "Only teasing ya lass." She assured and motioned for Aurora to come inside. Albeit hesitantly, Aurora did as told and started, "Do you have any lemon cakes or lemon cupcakes?"
It was a whole hour later when Aurora left with a single bag of goodies in her hand; it was packed with bread, pastries, and an "on the house" container of lemon drops, which she spotted on the front counter. She waved goodbye, turned in her step, and made her way down the brick path. Her dress shoes clacked pleasantly against the surface and danced alongside the harbour chimes. She adjusted the paper bag in her hand and studied the delicious collection again. She smiled; she could already see his twinkling eyes when she gives him the lemony treats. She moved the bag to her other hand. It wasn't too heavy, but it will surely begin to hurt her fingers after a while.
It was peaceful.
She looked up when an elderly gentleman greeted her from his porch. He didn't expect a reply and continued to his neighbour's house, but she nodded anyway. His neighbour was an old married lady, but the whole town knew that they were intimately involved. Her husband didn't seem to care – rumor is, he gets off on it. Aurora watched him go inside before moving her eyes back onto the path. He usually visited Martha later in the day, but Aurora supposed she couldn't be the only person who woke up earlier this morning. She smiled again and changed onto a new path.
It was peaceful.
The narrow walkway wasn't marked, but it was littered with dozens of deep footprints. Her shoes crunched as she pushed herself up the hill. She turned again and her shoes fell silent on the leveled dirt. A lady greeted Aurora on the new path and the lady's dog wagged his tail at the sight of her. He was as enthusiastic as ever. Aurora and the lady didn't exchange words – the lady doesn't speak English – but she happily waited while Aurora crouched down to fluff the pup's ears. She gave the boy a piece of her fresh Italian roll, gave the lady a small nod, and they went along their way.
It was peaceful.
The path perfectly highlighted the side of the lake and disappeared far into the horizon. Aurora walked in idle strides and watched the rippling water beside her. She's seen the ocean before, but this water was different; it was a deep, enchanting emerald – it looked like a jewel itself had melted into the landscape. The skies have been clear for the last two weeks, so the water lays low, but its beauty thrived. The fields were still a lush green, and the trees still tower healthy. Aurora moved her gaze into the skies and flinched under the bright sun. There was not a single cloud to be seen – the mist was gone – and it left a bad taste in her mouth. Aurora had an ominous feeling, and her feelings were almost always correct, but she simply enjoyed a deep lung-stretching breath and sighed.
It was peaceful.
She lowered her gaze and kept strutting forward. She walked, and she walked. It took a good hour before the path petered out and her shoes began crunching against grass. Her pants swept the floor and darkened from the lingering dew – maybe it hasn't been too dry after all. She strode for another long minute before she reached the familiar cabin. Its square structure swayed with the wind and its wood matched the red poppies which encircled it. Unlike her pants, the small flowers looked water-deprived and withered. Aurora stopped to massage one of the petals – dry.
The porch creaked when she walked up to put the bag down. She rolled up the sleeves of her black blouse and grabbed the can in the corner, and she began watering her flowers. The building was small, and it didn't take long before she was done. She put the can back in its place, pulled her sleeves back over her scars, picked up the bag, and continued inside.
It was peaceful.
The cabin didn't contain much. There was a bed in one corner, a stove and base cabinet in the other, and a small, scratched table in the center. In the scratches, Aurora has been able to see one dog, two stars, and a smiling apple. Aurora hasn't bothered trying to figure out what the writings meant.
There were only two chairs at the table – the rest were stacked against the wall – and she hung the bag on one chair while she placed the bread in her breadbox. She placed the cupcakes on a plate in the middle of the table and set the bag of lemon drops next to it. She smiled again – he would want to eat them before lunch. Resisting the urge to get lost in thought, she quickly went back to the cabinet. She pulled peanut butter and jam from the drawer and started spreading it on some week-old buns. She'll eat the roll tomorrow.
When she was finished, she cut the buns in half – he likes them in half for some unknown reason – and grabbed another plate. The buns were awkwardly spread and a few crumbs were sticking out from the sides, but Aurora didn't notice. She placed the plate of buns on the table.
Not even a second later, Aurora heard the pop outside and smiled when his familiar knock reverberated through her house. Aurora felt another ominous weight in her chest, but simply shook it off and moved over to open the door. It's been close to a year since Aurora last saw Dumbledore, since it would have defeated the purpose of her assignment if she was visited by a wizard every ten minutes. But the swill of admiration in her chest was as powerful as ever. Dumbledore towered over Aurora's small figure. Unlike her tired eyes, his blue eyes twinkled over his glasses with unmatched mirth. His silk, silver robe sparkled in the sunlight, and his hat glowed. Aurora noted that his long grey beard looked a bit less groomed than usual but was tied under his chin with the golden ribbon she gave him last year. Even when she compares Dumbledore to the exaggerated depictions of wizards in muggle folklore, he looked extravagantly magical.
Quickly, the mundanity of the last year struck Aurora and she couldn't resist capturing the wizard in a tight hug. "Dumbledore." She greeted and she felt his arms wrap around her. His grip was tight enough that she knew he missed her too.
She only had a moment to glimpse the familiar, unsightly scar that peeked out from beneath his sleeve.
"Tea?" Aurora asked an hour later.
The cupcakes were long gone, and enough of the lemon drops were missing that Aurora has had her fill of watching Dumbledore's excitement. He was currently munching on some of the bread, albeit slowly. She probably put too much jam on it again. She overcompensated for all the times they had to smack their lips from too much peanut butter. "Please," Dumbledore nodded cheerily and put the bread down – it was a good excuse to do so.
She put the kettle on, put the tea bags in, and took her seat opposite the old wizard. And that's where she sat while the clock on the wall ticked incessantly. She tapped the table along with it – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, twenty, thirty, fif- CRASH
Aurora slammed her hand down on the table with an annoyed growl and Dumbledore jumped. "Enough already!" She snapped, crossed her arms across her flat chest, "Why are you here?" She could see an amused twinkle in Dumbledore's eye from her sudden outburst, but if there was an urge to laugh, he must have resisted it when he saw her sneer. Aurora wasn't stupid; she was told to live in the muggle world, alone, for two years. It's barely been one. And the sudden hesitance on Dumbledore's face confirmed her suspicion about something being wrong. There was that ominous feeling again.
Finally, Dumbledore sighed and picked the bun back up to study it. For a moment, Aurora thought he just wanted to criticize her cooking. "Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban." He began slowly and bowed his head to watch Aurora's reaction over his glasses. As expected, despite fidgeting at his name, she looked confused about what it had to do with her. "The ministry is worried about him coming after you," He finished and went back to inspecting the bun.
At the mention of the ministry, Aurora's skin itched. Her relationship with them has been dodgy at best, so if they were worried about her, there must really be something wrong. Still, she took an angry bite out of her own bun to keep herself from saying that they could take a long walk off of a short peer for all she cared. Dumbledore knew Aurora's opinion on the ministry; he didn't need to hear her say it again. But Aurora only chewed the bun for a second before she placed the bread back in the plate, stood, and dumped her cooking in the trash. She spat her bite into the trash, too – gross. She was right: too much jam. "And what exactly would they have me do?" Aurora finally broke the silence, her voice careful and low.
"They've... 'requested' that you return to Hogwarts." He answered just as carefully. She spun around to him, but before she could bark whatever she wanted to bark, he raised a hand to stop her. "You won't be kept in your room again," He assured, "You'll attend. It's sooner than I had planned, but it will be good for you, Aurora."
So he says, but Aurora's brows furrowed. He couldn't be serious. She moved back to the table and leaned over her chair to inspect the old wizard closely. The doubt was written all over her face, but still she started to ask, "But I am--"
"I know," He nodded and gave her an assuring smile, "I have discussed it with the ministry and you will start as a fifth year."
She still didn't look convinced.
"Don't make a fuss and no one will realize." Dumbledore chuckled and got up to place a hand on her shoulder. He was always extra careful when touching the girl, since it felt like she could break. Of course, it only managed to annoy Aurora. "Aurora..." He bowed down to level his eyes with hers, "This is for the best, and I will be right there if you need me."
"The year already started." She tried again.
"You've been sick." He reminded her and opened his mouth to say something else but stopped himself. He knew he had been too late when he saw her face scrunch, so he sighed and continued, "The auror in charge of your protection has been informed of your illness." As predicted, his hand was quickly shoved aside, and she threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Dumbledore!" She groaned and grabbed his last bun roughly, tossing it into the bin, "An auror!?" Aurora couldn't believe him; this had "bad idea" written all over it. Asking an auror to look after her was like asking for the world to implode. The ominous feeling was growing. "An illness – that is all the auror will be told." She heard him explain, and she did her best to ignore the ring of amusement underlying his words. She roughly dropped the plate into the sink. "Uh-huh," Aurora mocked, "And who exactly will this auror be?" The responding, mischievous glint in Dumbledore's eyes caused dread to weigh heavy in her stomach.
"Alastor Moody."
Okay, bad feeling officially confirmed.
The kettle screamed on the stove and muffled Aurora's outcry, but the wizard could read her lips all-too well, "Dumbledore!" He had to bite back a laugh.