Banish Misfortune

Otherwise

/

"Say your prayers, you sonofabitch," whispered the boy through his artfully touseled (not tusseled) black hair. The figure on the ground could only quiver with the thought that soon she would be in hell, forever haunted by this child's face. The boy's lips curled over mostly straight, mostly white teeth.

"This is the end."

"I know."

"No. You don't. But you will." He pointed the polished stick at the figure on the ground, squinting to better aim it point blank. On the chest, slightly to the right. Right through the heart. He whispered something and a blast of light exploded from the wand. It bucked back, taking the boy with it, pulling on the sinews in his arms, but all the figure could see was the light, traveling so slowly, so gently, sliding like glass and then-

"I hope you choke."

Sliding and adieu.

/

"I'm dead now. Not. Nothing. Just dead." His eyes blear. He sees the face in the words. On the edge. In the cage. He wishes. He was dead. "Just a child. Just a child, gran."

He cries and descends. Into hell. The devil's way in.

He is the boy. He is the figure. He is death.

/

this is the end

until tomorrow

or next year at latest

goodnight

gotosleep

hARry laughed bitterly_

"AH, teh bitTeR LAUgh," noted Draco.

"lOVE," said Harry fLATly. His voice held NO INTONation.

No DIsc. fUnnctionn

------

wolfsobane n.

1. Any of several poisonous perennial herbs of the genus Aconitum, especially A. lycoctonum, having broad, rounded leaves, elongate racemes, and purple-lilac flowers.

2. See monkshood.

monksohood n.

1. A slender, erect, poisonous perennial herb (Aconitum napellus) native to northern Europe, having violet flowers and whose dried leaves and roots yield aconite. Also called wolfsbane.

2. See aconite.

acooonite n.

1. Any of various, usually poisonous perennial herbs of the genus Aconitum, having tuberous roots, palmately lobed leaves, blue or white flowers with large hoodlike upper sepals, and an aggregate of follicles.

2. The dried poisonous roots of these plants, used as a source of drugs. Also called monkshood.

[French aconit, from Latin aconitum, from Greek akoniton.]

wolfsobane n.

1. Any of several poisonous perennial herbs of the genus Aconitum, especially A. lycoctonum, having broad, rounded leaves, elongate racemes, and purple-lilac flowers.

2. See monkshood.

monksohood n.

1. A slender, erect, poiSONous perennial herb (Aconitum napellus) native to northern Europe, having violet flowers and whose drId leaves and roots yield aconite. Also called wolfsbane.

2. See aconite.

wolfsobane n.

1. Any of several poisonous perennial herbs of the genus Aconitum, especially A. lycoctonum, having broad, rounded leaves, eLongate racemes, and purple-lilyac flowers.

2. See monkshood.

acooonite n.

1. Any of various, usually poisonous perennial herbs of the genus Aconitum, having tuberous roots, pALMately lobed leaves, blue or white flowers with large hoodlike upper sepals, and an aggregate of fOllYcles.

2. The dried poisonous roots of these plants, used as a source of drugs. Also called monkshood.

[French aconit, from Latin aconitum, from Greek akoniton.]

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wolfsobane

-

I wake, and at first I think it was all a dream.

But no, I'm on a sofa that smells like formula. I have no headache, and that is strange. My stomach does not hurt, and that is strange too. I know what I want, but it's gone, so I think instead of second best. I pull my legs up into mountains and then push down my heels. My head and back slide over the armrest. I feel my spine grinding and smile. I stretch, touch the ground, and groan.

I am up, and the second best calls to me. I open the cupboards, but nothing is there. There are glasses, long stems and delicate bowls, some shorter, more imposing, but nothing else. I remember, clever Bill. Head boy. He knows better. He doesn't trust me. He shouldn't.

I check the clock and see most places will be closed. I find my coat anyway, but suddenly the tea has run through me and I have to piss. I go upstairs for the bathroom. It is a small house, but good. I go, but then I hear a noise. Do they notice me?

But no, it is the other room, the door ajar, his loneliness creeping around the door. I step in, and suddenly he's in my arms. He smells like formula too and sighs. My coat smells like vomit, I notice. Good boy. Good boy.

My back hits the wall and I slide, slide down. Sliding.

On the floor, it is cold, but he is warm. I hold him softly and he sleeps and I sleeps.

-

She gasped, and he ran in behind her, razor in hand, dripping with foam.

"What did, what did he do!"

"Fleur-"

"No! I don't care! I don't care if he is your brother! What if he hurt him?"

"He wouldn't, Fleur."

"You said your mother said he is a drunk. You let a drunk stay in our house? You let him hold our child? What if he is hurt?"

"He's fine, Fleur. They both are, see? They're just sleeping."

"Why is he here? I thought he was downstairs!"

"Calm down. Calm down." He put his empty hand on her shoulder. "He couldn't sleep, I guess, and came up here. I don't think he knows what he's doing anymore."

"All the more reason to leave him with our child!" she snarled. "I remember him from Hogwarts that year. The two of them, they were awful. And you leave him with our child?"

"He doesn't know what to do anymore. They were always so close, and now...."

"I know. Believe me, I know. But he's not safe."

"He wouldn't hurt Aubrey. I know he wouldn't."

She turned. "You called him Aubrey?"

"George did. Yesterday. Aubrey Ebenezer."

"But I thought-"

"I know. But that's what George calls him now, and it is better than nothing."

"Aubrey Ebenezer is a ridiculous name."

"I think that's why he liked it. Besides, no worse than Bilius."

"I will not let our child be named that."

"That's fine. But that's what he's calling him."

"Your brother, he is mad. Why should I care what he calls the baby?"

"Because at least he's calling him something."

She sighed. "Fine, fine. I don't care. Get ready for work, and I'll get the baby."

"Leave him. Just for a moment."

"But-"

"I think it's the first peace he's had in a while, Fleur. Just a minute more won't hurt."

"Fine."

"And Fleur-"

"Yes?"

"I think he should be godfather."

-

He was eleven, but already he had the marks of being tall like his father. Thinned veela blood made his structure more delicate, but still his outline was his father's. His hair was red too, but when the sun hit it just right there would be a glimmer of blond within it. He was pale and thin and walked alongside a man who was much the same and yet very different.

The man was still young, but oddly so. His face was clean shaven, but even at this early hour there was a ginger shadow creeping across it. His eyes were brown and tired, laugh lines crashed against deep shadows beneath. He was gaunt, skin stretched across a once robust, muscular body. He looked like the dead clinging onto life.

Three months alone had wrought such a change. Three months? No, eleven years. Now flecks of grey marred the coarse ginger hair sticking up without reason.

But he smiled, and the boy smiled too. Today was a good day. Today was wand day.

The boy stared up at the store front. Mum and dad had wanted to come but couldn't. Uncle would take him instead. Uncle smiled at him. They crossed the threshold.

Welcome, said the wandman. Starting at Hogwarts?

Uncle nodded and nudged him in the back. Go on.

He tried one wand, then another. Third time's the charm, said Uncle. He was right. The wand tingled and erupted with sparks. Good one, Aub.

You must be proud, said the wandman. A fine boy.

He is, said Uncle, but his heart fell and he saw. He was not Uncle's fine boy. He was mum and dad's. Uncle had no boy. Uncle was alone.

They left the store and Aub thought, I have four father's brothers, one father's sister, and one mother's sister, but only Uncle is alone. But there was another father's brother. He is dead. I never met him, but he looked like Uncle.

Uncle was godfather too. Sometimes Uncle would disappear and come back tired and sick and smelling funny. But dad always let him come and so did mum. He always came. He lived in a small flat. He made money, but how? No matter.

Uncle would die soon. Really die this time. He knew it and Aub saw it in his face. He would die and he would be happy. Uncle was never happy long now. Uncle wasn't ever happy long. Gran cried over Uncle. He had seen her. But if Uncle died, she couldn't cry anymore.

Uncle took Aub home and made him lunch and waited until dad came home. A fine boy, said the wandman. Then Uncle left for his home that wasn't.

Uncle wrote a note, It's all for Aub, and signed it. Then he took his wand and pointed to his heart. It stopped and Aub was gone and Uncle woke.

-

"What?"

"George-"

"Fleur, oh, sorry. I didn't mean....He was crying, and I held him, but then I fell asleep too."

"It is all right."

"No. I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I could have dropped him."

"But you didn't. He is fine. He really seems to like you."

"Where's Bill? Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm so pathetic. I shouldn't have stayed."

"No. I am glad. We never get to see you. You are always gone now. It was good for you to come. It was good for you to see Aubrey."

"Is that his name now?"

"Yes. I wasn't serious with Michel. Aubrey is fine. My mother will be furious, but...."

"I'm so sorry, Fleur. I know you don't like me much."

"No. Don't be silly. It is fine."

"I didn't mean to-"

"It is fine."

"George, are you awake?" called Bill from the bathroom.

"Yeah." He groaned and stood. "I'm up."

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Funny dream, but I'm fine." He rubbed his face in his hands, massaging the jaw for a moment, feeling the ginger bristle along it. Then he slapped his cheeks and smiled weakly. "Hey, Bill?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow your razor when you're done?"

Bill smiled into the mirror. "Sure. Clean it when you're through though."

"Thanks. I won't stay long. I should go home and...and change." He turned back to Fleur. "Really, I'm sorry to have barged in on you like this."

"It is fine. Really. You can come back when you want as well. You are a good brother, and Bill loves you."

"I'm sorry, Fleur." He frowned for a moment but then smiled again, rubbing the fluff along the baby's head. "He's a fine boy, Fleur, a fine boy."

"George," she began slowly, softening the 'g's with her foreign tongue, "I want you to be godfather."

-

His wizarding wireless crackled with static for a moment before settling. He stumbled through the stations as he always did but then settled on one where electronic twitchings were hidden behind a thrumming pair of drum and guitar. It must be the muggle hour on WW4. It was a novelty really, the muggle hour. The disc jockey, Thelonius Nast, would spend hours, so he claimed, digging up strange muggle music to awe his wizarding audiences with. It was popular, but only for the commentary. The songs were abysmal, further fueling magical perceptions of muggles as boorish fools. He sighed. He hated the muggle hour, and so did Gran. But this song was different, eerie. Did Nast find it as disturbing as he did? He could wait til the end and see, but he didn't want to really. It was haunting, this song, like a dream he couldn't shake, like the dream.

"Either way you turn," wailed the distorted voice, "I'll be there." He sounded almost drunk, this muggle. His words slurred and tumbled into each other. "Open up your skull, I'll be there. Climbing up the walls...." He shuddered and reached for the switch but found he couldn't. "It's always best when the light is off. It's always better on the outside." The words blurred further, becoming unintelligible, but then, "Fifteen blows to your mind...."

Electronic trumpets screeched. He had to hit the switch, turn the radio, his mind, off. The pain, the wailing. The switch was stuck. He pounded it and then there was silence.

He counted things he couldn't count. Seventeen. No kisses outside relatives.

No...mixing. A child. No girlfriend. No lover. No job. No prospects. Birthday in two months but already of age. Can't apparate. Can use magic. Likes plants. (What the hell?) Toad dead. In the ground. Mum not. Dad not. But as good as. No dreams. No hopes. Friends- where are they? Leaves school soon and then what? Everyone's out, common room empty. Insomniac. Amnesiac. Aphrodisiac.

Fifteen galleons. Could borrow Harry's map. Go out. A night on the town. Would be good, no?

"Aren't you coming, Neville? It's the final," asked a straggler.

"Oh. Yeah. Be down in a minute. Go down without me."

"Okay. See you there."

"Yeah."