Home Away From Home
One of these mornings, you're going to wake up singing
Then you're going to spread your wings and take to the sky
But 'til that morning, ain't nothing, nothing going to harm you
With your mommy and daddy there standing by
“Summertime” by The Zombies, 1965
Peppered around Great Britain, hundreds of young wizards and witches tossed and turned in their sheets. Pumping with adrenaline for the coming days. Some of the young ones silently wept with uncertainty, others buzzed with anticipation.
(The McKinnons)
Friday 3rd September 1976
Marlene loved her city in the way that it was her home. Hogwarts had that effect sometimes, it made you miss whatever it was you left behind no matter how bad it was. At Hogwarts, she’d lose her accent and after five years of barely using it, she was starting to forget her German. Marlene and her sister spoke to each other in German as much as possible at home, especially when they were young. It was like their own secret language that their Mam could never understand. At first, she was excited about going home, but after months of not sleeping, listening to the baby crying, Mammie and Sinead arguing and she was ready to go back. Kristian was 7 months old by the end of the summer. Her Ma never even knew she was pregnant. The baby came while Marlene was away at school. She’d wanted to go home but her family insisted that her OWL year was more important. Her sister never seemed much bothered by the baby but Marlene was infatuated from the first time she held him. She didn’t know if she wanted children herself, all the sleepless nights and the nappy changing was a fucking nightmare, but he was dead cute. Giggling laughs and toothless gums.
Her older sister, Sinead, held her tight for a long time when she arrived home for the summer. They felt like passing ships in the night, they’d barely seen each other the whole time Marlene had been home. Sinead went out with her friends every night and slept all day. Most mornings she’d come in around 4 or 5 am flopping into Marlene’s bed. She always claimed she was too drunk to tell but Marlene knew she just liked to sleep in Marlene’s bed, despite the fact you couldn’t even turn over with the two of them in there, “Marl zieh rüber würdest du”. Marlene had never had a room to herself her whole life. She always complained but, she always thought that empty space was a waste of space.
In Derry, Marlene was saying goodbye to her parents. She would drive to Larne and then get the ferry to Cairnryan, finally getting a couple of trains and buses to London to stay in the leaky cauldron for the final weekend of summer. She would side-along apparate to Kings Cross.
“You’ve got to let go, mam” Marlene whispered in her mother’s ear. Paul Mckinnon, her father made his goodbyes simple, he just waved. He was never really one for affection and he certainly didn't like theatrics. They just weren’t that close.
Her mother didn’t let go but instead inhaled a deep breath against her daughter’s head. She smelled like rosemary. “I still t’ink you girls ought to stay in a muggle hotel”. Her mother tucked Marlene’s head under her chin despite Marlene having a foot on her.
“The room is already booked and Remus is waiting for me” Marlene stated, gently removing her mother's arms. And unfurling the hug.
Her mother's expression changed. “Marlene McKinnon, you never told me this friend you were waiting for was a lad.”
“You wouldn’t have let me go if I told you,” she laughed.
“Well, as long as he's a nice lad and I suppose two people looking after you is better than the one”, she smiled, “My god, it takes two just to keep you out of trouble”.
“Don’t worry mam, I’ll look after the wean” Sinead piped in.
“Yes, I’m sure you will” Ciara, their mother said, completely devoid of sincerity. Their relationship had become more strained since Sinead came back from uni. The two could barely make eye contact.
“Lass uns jetzt gehen,” Sinead called out from her muggle boyfriend's car.
Ciara sighed in frustration. “I wish you two would speak English when I’m in the room”. Sinead began beeping the horn. “I’m gonna wring your neck girlie” she whispered under her breath.
“Have you got everyt’ing love? Your bag, your coat, your case”. She was talking to Marlene again now. Marlene nodded along with her mother's list. “Okay, I’ll see you at Christmas my dear. Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.”
Marlene smiled. Her mum never spoke Irish anymore, mostly because she barely remembered any. The only ones who could really speak it were her Granda and her Nan. But her Granda was dead; her Nan was still alive, but her mind was gone.
(The Lupins)
Friday 3rd September 1976
Remus lived in a small town in south Wales. It was quiet and completely cut off from the wizarding world.
Rich was Remus’ oldest friend from back home. He’d grown up on the same council estate and their fathers had been friends, before Richard’s ran off and Remus’ died. Richard was a few years older than Remus but he seemed ten times his age. Over the summer, Richard and his friends had absorbed Remus into their little band of terrors. They taught him everything about life: he learned to steal, to inhale smoke, to convert a try, how to roll properly, and best of all, he fingered a girl.
Richard’s mum was rarely on the estate. After all the other boys went home, Richard and Remus got pissed and high watching Scooby-doo nearly every night; it was glorious. “You look like shaggy y’ know”, Richard stated, releasing a mouthful of smoke. “It’s the hair”, he stretched an arm around his companion and ruffled his dusty blonde hair. “Need’s a trim.”
Remus wriggled from his arm, “Wouldn’t want to end up a skin ’ead like you.” Rich had changed a lot since Remus had last seen him. His dad disappeared sometime while Remus was away at Hogwarts. Since then, Richard has become ‘rich’, not ‘dick’. His shoulders had broadened twice over and he’d grown at least 3 inches. He was now much wider than Remus but still a fair few inches shorter than the younger boy. He’d started working full-time in a pub. The most jarring thing was still the shaved head.
“This look gets me birds,” Rich laughed.
“I shagged Karen Ellis, I’ll have you know,” Remus retorted.
“Did you fuck!” he cackled, growing more hysterical.
“I did,” this response from Remus was a little too quick.
“Liars go to hell y’ know.” Another plume of smoke billowed from the older boy's mouth.
“Maybe not a shag but-”, Remus smiled. Rich, nearly crying now with laughter. “Shove off dicky”, this made no difference whatsoever, “get bent.”
When the older boy finally calmed down, he made a B line to the television in the corner, switching it off. “Got some shrapnel, goin’ the shop, comin'?” They’d really tried to make the day last but to no prevail, they had to part ways.
“Nah, mam’s waiting for ‘er tea,” Remus shrugged. Rich frowned. “I’ll be back soon, Christmas,” Remus assured.
“I’ll miss you mate”, Rich nodded, as the two headed to the door.
They had to split after a few roads. Remus to the right, Rich to the left. “Christmas, lad. Promise.” Remus bellowed.“Ay by the way, where’s me parting gift?”. Rich just walked way into the night, laughing. He was always laughing. The wizarding world was growing darker, but here in the muggle world, everyone was still always laughing.
Remus rushed home, eyes red and stinking of weed. Beans on toast for tea. Remus didn’t have time for anything else. It was now the night before his departure. His favourite part of every night was to come in and tell his mam about his day. She would repeat her questions and never remember the relevant people's names, but that didn’t matter. He tried his very hardest to stay awake. To watch his mother. To watch: the rise and fall of her chest, the glint of her striking silvering hair in the moonlight, the way her eyelashes fluttered as she stirred.
He tried his very hardest not to miss a single moment he had left, but he drew a sharp breath when the rising sun’s glare was cast into his eyes, he quickly realised his failure. His mam was still peacefully asleep tucked into her pink floral duvet and crocheted blankets. He kissed his mam’s prematurely creased forehead and bade her a silent goodbye, careful not to wake her.
(The Macdonalds)
Sunday 5th September 1976
Somewhere in London, in a dingy but decently sized flat, Mary was tired.
It was 10 pm. There was still the baby to bathe. And her little brothers her chasing her sister around the front room. Her mother had gone to the corner shop for milk half an hour ago and she wouldn’t come back for at least another. Ronnie, her second oldest brother, was reading a magazine in his room. With the room closed. He had his own room. He always had everything he wanted. Her parents had argued that she was never really home when they’d given her room to her little sister. She had no space to herself anymore. Mary hated being home. All the kids and the mess. As soon as she came home, all the work was loaded onto her. Mary was one of 7 children living in the London flat. There were: John, Ronnie, Mary, Georgie, Jacob, Joanna and Sam. John and Ronnie always had their own rooms. Mary shifted the baby up her hip, Sam was getting so heavy.
Mary missed her friends. They brought the light to life.
Then thud. Then crying, a lot of crying. “Fucksake Georgie, you’re meant to look after your sister! I can’t deal with shit right now. Go to bed, take him with you.” Mary shouted in her little brother's face. He looked like he was about to cry. She wanted to cry. Georgie and Jacob went to their room. No argument, but Jacob did slam the door. Mary slumped against the back of the sofa and stroked her little sister's head. “Please stop crying Jo, you’re upsetting the baby.” Joanna still cried but now it was spaced between rattling breaths and pathetic sniffs. “You’re alright. You’re alright.” She whispered, half talking to herself. Mary put Sam to bed, unbathed, and Mary slept in Jo’s with her. Jo was only 4 and still small enough to curl up next to her sister.
(The Evans’)
Sunday 5th September 1976
“Give it back Petunia”, Lily growled, pouncing on her little sister.
“Get off me” she wined. Lily pushed her sister's face down into the duvet and plucked the photograph from her sister's skinny fingers. Not anxious to give up the photo, Petunia had ripped off the corner she was holding on to. Bitch.
“I’m going to kill you” Lily simply stated before diving back into the vicious fight. This had been going on for about half an hour. Petunia had snatched a picture of last year's quidditch team. James Potter was pictured on the left-hand side, front row next to Sirius Black. Sirius now had a great tear right across his face. James’ face was still in Petunia’s fingers.
“MUM! MUM! LILY’S HITTING ME!” Petunia Bellowed into Lily’s ear. Mrs Evans continued with her knitting downstairs while Mr Evans watched the television. Since the start of the holidays, the two sisters had been at odds. One had stolen the others' clothes, the other spent too long in the bathroom, she had broken her trinket, and she dropped her perfume. Quite frankly, they were sick of the arguing. But tomorrow, Lily would be going back to school and order would return to the household. Petunia, of course, would not be attending the send-off.
Upstairs, Petunia was now crying the way siblings do. Each tear dripping with insincerity and attention-seeking moans spilt out of her mouth. Mr Evans trod up the stairs and began shouting at both of them. He gripped Lily by the arm and roughly tugged her back into her room. He slammed the door of Petunia’s room so hard the walls shook. Then downstairs again.
That night Lily, stood up quietly packing her trunk, careful not to wake her mother and father when a familiar corner slid under the door. James was still grinning in the photo; his broom on one side and half of his brother on the other. She taped it back together but that corner no longer moved. The magic was gone.
In the morning, she forgot to thank her sister.
(The Pettigrews)
Sunday 5th September 1976
“Peter!”
The small boy sat on the edge of his bed listening to his mother call him down, over, and over, and “Peter!”. He stared at the bedroom wall, he saw things in the blank space. He could hear his name again. Footsteps now trudging up the stairs. Trudging. His father's steps. Peter ran into the en-suite and turned on the shower. He locked the door behind him and leaned against it letting the steam billow from behind the shower curtain.
Tomorrow, he will be on his way back to Hogwarts. Back to James and Sirius and Remus and Mary and Lily and Marlene. Back to the antics of Gryffindor Tower, where he felt wanted. At least when he was there beside James and Sirius, he was a part of something. He became someone. Someone to remember.
(The Potters)
Sunday 5th September 1976
Down one lane after another, after another after another, the manor hid nestled between great oak trees. The path seemed as though it could go for miles before you even met the gates. Two lions rearing up, with their mouths agape exposing individual teeth, stood on either side of the 8-foot fence post. Thick twisted iron bars stood between the property and the onlookers. A gold-plated plaque positioned clearly in the centre of the gates stated ‘POTTER HOUSE’. The house itself stood at a grand height with three floors. Creeping ivy grew up the brickwork and enormous white windows allowed all the light in. There were fruit trees and magnificent gardens, tended to by Mrs Potter. They had two extensively manicured greenhouses and blossoming flowers bordering the main house. Everything looked set exactly and yet somehow lived in. There was no stale air or absence of life. The ancestral family home now belonged to well-known potioneer Fleamont Potter and his wife Euphemia, their son James Potter and his brother Sirius Black.
This was the last night James would sleep in his own bed for three months. In his own house. With his parents down the hallway. Hogwarts felt natural to James but this would always be his home. At least he’d go to Hogwarts with Sirius.
Over the summer, the Potter manor became Sirius’ home, after running away from home. He loved James’ he really did but it was so incredibly different from home. He didn’t miss: the eccentric dinners, the ridiculous clothes, Kreacher the kiss up house-elf, the paintings that were always lecturing him or the fear of making a sound when his father held meetings with his friends in the drawing room. He hated the masks they wore. Sirius lay awake, wide eyes staring at the canopy above him. He hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since he left. Still having nightmares. The day Sirius left caused a tsunami in his glassy brotherhood. All the knowing glances and half smiles, all the sneaking into each other's beds and comfortable silence gone. Regulus hated him.
“Good morning master potter”, Millie, the house-elf smiled. As she whisked open the curtains, exposing all the sunlight, “Mrs potter invites you for tea this morning.” Before he could agree, she was gone, too rushed to chat with all of the morning’s preparations.
He slipped out of bed anxious to dress in his new robes. He walked the hallways feeling every footfall and hearing the dull bend in the wood. James drearily wandered down the grand staircase, large paintings staggered across the landing. He gazed at all the faces. Not just looking at the old family portraits clad in armour, but seeing them. Really seeing them and feeling as though he belonged there on the wall. A fellow Potter. Encapsulated forever a hero in a painting. Sometimes he’d talk to the painting as a child and imagine they could talk back. He made up stories of their lives. Now he wished they could really talk, but it’s just canvas and a forgotten memory.
In the kitchen, the cook had begun breakfast. James could smell the toast wading downstairs. “Good morning Miss Francis”, James called out as he crossed through the kitchen doorframe.
“Good morning James”, she chirped. Ms Francis was an older lady who’d been close to his mother from a young age. Ms. Francis never had any children of her own but she liked to think of James as one, even if her only way to express love was through making sure he had a stomach full of biscuits and trifles and sticky toffee pudding and treacle tart. Despite his mother telling him he’d 'had enough’. If he asked, Ms Francis could never deny him a treat. Every Sunday she made him his very own dish of bread and butter pudding, using the scraps of stale bread.
Outside, Mrs Potter sat in a garden chair, Sirius on her left and Mr Potter opposite her. She had light, grey hair tied up on her head. Her smile was kind and full of joy, she always smelled like vanilla. She always wore airy dresses and, she felt like summer all year long.
She smiled at him sweetly.