Goodbye Sky Harbor

Chapter Five: Familiar Unfamiliarity

The sky had shed all its color by the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾ much later that evening, as clouds masked the stars and moon making for an unusually dark night. The platform was considerably less crowded this year, as it appeared only about seven other students had come home for the holidays.

Holly was the last one to head through the barrier into King's Cross Station and she immediately found herself gazing around the packed train station in despair, her face searching the crowds of Muggles for some indication of what she should do now. It had worked out, of course, that Holly had forgotten to send an owl to her family asking for someone to get her from the station. So now she was left with the arduous task of dragging her trunk, her overstuffed tote bag, and the wicker basket containing her tomcat, who was currently yowling at the top of his lungs, to the nearest Wizard-populated area so that she could find a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. Of course, this meant heading to Diagon Alley, and considering the weight of her trunk, Holly was not looking forward to the trek. Finding a baggage cart, Holly was able to wheel her things to the outside of the station where, after returning the cart, she promptly perched on the edge of her trunk and kicked at the ground a bit. She went on like this for a good ten minutes, but upon realizing this was getting her no closer to finding a way home, she stood up and stretched a bit, stifling a yawn. Holly watched with interest as an old man wearing robes of midnight blue hobbled to the curb. It always amused her to see members of the wizarding community who didn't give the faintest hoot about Muggle security and, thus, didn't bother to mask their identity. The old man looked right, then left as though he were about to cross the street, but instead threw up his left hand. With a resounding BANG a rather hideous-looking purple, triple-decker bus appeared in front of him. Holly stared for a second before mentally reprimanding herself. The Knight Bus, a simple solution to this whole problem and she hadn't even considered it. She dragged her things over to the curb with some difficulty.

"Bantry, Ireland," she panted as she deposited a number of sickles into the conductor's ready hands. He helped Holly store her things before she collapsed onto one of the beds on the bottom level, near the front. She was just in time as the bus took off with another deafening BANG and was hurtling down a pot-holed and rather narrow city street.

"I'm Stan Shunpike, by the by, and I'll be your conductor for the night. Ernie Prang, the driver," the old man sitting at the wheel nodded at this, "shouldn't be too long of a wait, only about three people or so ahead of you in the queue," the conductor, apparently named Stan, supplied. He didn't look much older than Holly, 19, 20 at most, she decided. Settling cross-legged on her bed, she pulled out the book she had started to read on the train.

"'Choo readin'?" Stan questioned, his Cockney accent unmistakable.

"I Capture the Castle. Muggle book," Holly supplied, flipping through to find the point she'd left off at before becoming engrossed in the book.

"'Eadin' 'ome for Christmas?" he spoke up again. Tearing her eyes from the page, Holly studied his questioning face. He looked bored, Holly thought, like he'd rather be the one getting off the bus than letting people on. She put down the book and gave him a smile.

"Yeah, school's just let out for the holidays."

"'ogwarts?" he asked, nodding at the battered Ravenclaw insignia on the side of her trunk, "Never went there meself," he continued in a conversational manner, "went to school in Whitechapel, public education an' all. Dropped out before me sixth year to take a job, though," Stan seemed unabashed at supplying this information.

"My cousin Jem went to Whitechapel," she nodded, tactfully leaving out the bit about Jem getting kicked out of Hogwarts first.

"'Choo say your name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Hocks. Holly Hocks, I mean," she grimaced as she fumbled over the words. But Stan took no notice.

"Jem Hocks, eh? I knew 'im. Never too popular with the kids, 'e wasn't. Lot of rumors 'bout his family circulatin' at the time. At the Ministry now, ain't 'e? You plannin' on workin' there too?" Holly frowned; it had been her family's influence that had gotten Jem that job. One he hardly deserved.

"No, I want to be a journalist," Holly said, still frowning. "What were those rumors about?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Somethin' 'bout his aunt and uncle 'avin' been in with You-Know-Who, family being all into the Dark Arts, those sorts of things," Stan peered out the window carelessly. Holly almost laughed at the casual manner in which he spoke; Stan hardly seemed to realize that by default of Jem being her cousin, this was actually her family he was talking about.

"Well, 'ere we are, just outside Bantry," Stan said as the bus skidded to a shuttering stop. "I'll be lookin' for your name in the papers soon, as the author of the articles, I mean," Stan said with a wink after he pulled her trunk off the bus. And with another BANG the Knight Bus was gone.

Holly heaved a huge sigh of relief as she gazed at the large Hocks mansion. Fumbling with the clasp of her bag, she shoved around its contents impatiently, her fist eventually closing around the cold brass of her housekey. Picking up the wicker basket that held her cat, she left her trunk at the bottom of the front steps. Letting herself into the house, she was immediately bombarded with voices and noises coming from every direction. Obviously, no one in the house had any consideration for how late at night it was. Smiling to herself, Holly headed down the corridor in front of her to the very end, where she stuck her head through a doorway on the left.

"Hullo Tilly," she grinned at the house elf who was busy chopping onions. "Where's Chris?"

"Mr. Christopher is in the front parlor," the elf smiled back. "And it pleases Tilly to see the young mistress home," but Holly was already halfway out the door at that point.

"CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS, HELP ME BRING IN MY TRUNK!!!" Holly yelled, running past the door of the parlor and back out the front door. Moments later, her tow-headed American cousin emerged from the door, but his smile she thought so permanent was missing and his welcome was void of the energy that usually accompanied their greetings.

"What's up?" Holly asked, the grin falling promptly from her face.

"Aunt Aggie's in one of her moods," Chris replied gloomily, kicking at the stone steps. "She's been terrorizing all of us for days," he said with a grimace.

"Oh, you can't be wishing you were back in Boston already?" she teased, but he didn't smile.

"It's not funny, Holly. You should hear some of the things she's said to Eamon about..." he faltered, "well, he'll tell you I'm sure. Let's get your trunk inside, I'm freezing," Chris finished. Holly didn't argue because she was quite cold herself, but all relief of being home had quickly drained from her body.

The mansion had been left to her father, Aidan, upon the death of Old Hindley Hocks. But Aidan had died, too, and the estate had passed on to Aggie who, as she had no children of her own and no plans for any, would then pass it on to Eamon. However, it seemed Aunt Aggie had no plans of bequeathing the mansion to her nephew anytime soon and so, she reigned supreme for the time being.

But as the heavy oak door closed behind Chris and her and enveloped the two in the noise of innumerable voices, Holly couldn't help but think nothing could damper her spirits. There was something decidedly comfortable about the chaotic atmosphere of the Hocks household.

"There's a letter for you on the dresser in your room. It arrived just a little bit ago so I guess whoever sent it knew you'd be here," Chris supplied as they reached the door to Holly's room. "So how's the missing past thing going? I haven't heard anything since you last wrote, did you find out anything yet about your parents'..." Chris shifted his feet uncomfortably and coughed, "about, about their death?" he finished.

"You know, I think it's a block," Holly observed.

"What's a block?" Chris asked, falling backwards onto the bed, hands folded behind his head.

"The missing memory thing," Holly said with a hint of exasperation, "I catch bits of it now and again, they're all jumbled and don't make sense but that at least means that part of my memory can't really have been removed like I first thought. Just blocked," Holly explained. Chris propped himself up on his elbows and knitted his eyebrows in thought.

"Holly, it takes powerful magic to disable a memory block like that and who's to say it would even be a good idea to do so? I mean, what if there's something really awful being repressed, something that could totally change who you are, change your entire perception," Chris paused, catching the dirty look Holly was sending him, "I just mean, is it really safe to meddle with all this?" Chris asked earnestly.

"I think I'm making myself sick with all of it, to be honest," Holly sighed.

"You look it, you're getting scrawnier all the time," he poked her ribs, "that can't be healthy." Holly frowned and swatted at him with a pillow. A silence then settled on the two and Holly pulled absentmindedly at a loose thread on the bedspread.

"Eamon wondering where I am?" she asked with a bit of a grimace.

"What do you think? He put himself in a right fit about you taking the Knight Bus in the first place, and then you arrived later than expected. But Aunt Aggie wouldn't hear of anyone coming to get you and since I s'pose you wouldn't hear of it either, it all works out then, doesn't it?"

"S'pose it does," Holly said, pulling herself off the bed, "Well, better see to that darling brother of mine."

Chris said something about a game of pool with their cousins Allister and Jem in the billiards room and strolled out, hands in his pockets. Holly threw a glance around the room and paused to examine the envelope on her dresser. Months of watching him copy her Astronomy homework had trained her to recognize his handwriting and so there was no doubt this letter was from George.

Biting her lip to keep herself from smiling too much, Holly slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal. She read:

It's only been a few hours since you've left and in a few more, you'll have arrived home to the family I know you couldn't wait to see. I can't say I'm happy to have seen you gone, I'm not quite sure I'll be able to get through the homework Sinistra assigned over break on my own (only joking). After all, how am I going to get through the holiday without at least one biting quip about the length of my hair (even though I know you wouldn't change it for the world)?

There's a nightingale singing outside somewhere below my window and I can't help but wonder what it's doing so out of place, in Scotland and in the middle of winter. Though, I suppose, with all the mishaps with magic that go on here, there's no reason not to assume it's a product of some spell gone wrong. But I think it reminded me of you, because I wasn't looking for it, but its song pleasantly surprised me all the same.

I'll be thinking of you (and that kiss).

Holly blushed furiously at the last line, though she knew that he probably wrote it with the intention of causing her that exact reaction. The fact that he hadn't signed it made her feel content, as though it was just part of one of their conversations, that it was spoken in passing and not in parting. She reread the letter again, noting that the jabs seemed only half-hearted and some parts seemed almost unfinished, having left much unsaid. But they'd only known each other beyond copying homework for a week, saying anything more would make it all seem cheap, like it didn't mean half as much as Holly was hoping it would, in time.

Holly had never fancied herself a romantic, but she was starting to think maybe she'd misjudged the capacity of her emotions.

Shaking her head with a bit of a grin, Holly set the letter back down and wandered back down the corridor, entering into the large library, situated just a few doors down from her own room.

"Found your way home, did you?" A voice spoke up from a large armchair next to the fire. A man of 22 rose from the chair, his black hair falling carelessly across his freckled face and casting his green eyes into shadow. "I was beginning to hope you'd died in some unfortunate train accident," he explained, enveloping Holly in a hug.

"Very funny, Eamon. Though I s'pose that'd work out nicely for you, having the whole inheritance to yourself and all?" she quipped.

"Would work out even better if Aunt Aggie mysteriously disappeared one tragic day while running errands," Eamon said darkly.

"Ah, yes, Chris said something about her being a real terror lately?"

"The usual about how worthless our parents were, but yet still failing to supply any useful information about their deaths."

"Bit morbid, aren't you? Obsessing over the death of your parents?" Holly grinned.

"You do the same, don't you? Anyway, who wouldn't obsess when it seems something horrible and fascinating happened to them?"

"You're both sick, you know that?" A voice spoke up from the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe, stood the lank figure of Terence Higgs. "Found something that might interest you," he handed Eamon a newspaper cutout and pulled Holly into a single-armed hug, "Just got in last night," he supplied at Holly's questioning look, "but I've been helping your brother with this cause all autumn. You know, an obsession with the lives of your dead parents, rather than their actual deaths, might be slightly healthier."

"Healthier, but hardly interesting," Eamon grinned, "anyway, listen to this: a group of Death Eaters rumored to be running headquarters from the southeast area of Ireland...Ministry confirms to have evidence to support this claim, but has not given any further detail...blah, blah, blah, inhabitants in this area should be on the lookout for suspicious behavior... nothing more of interest. When's this from, Terry?"

"January of 1980, so you think it fits into this whole story?"

"Stan--I mean, the conductor on the Knight Bus, said something about people at Whitechapel thinking Jem's aunt and uncle were Death Eaters. I figured he meant Aidan and Fey, but didn't see the significance in that," Holly said, confused.

"You call your parents by their first names?" Terence looked taken aback.

"Well, I never really knew them, did I?" Holly shot back.

"It's still weird," Terence said, shooting her a disgusted look, "and why, may I ask, is people thinking your parents were Death Eaters not significant?"

"Well, people tend to think anyone out of Slytherin house is evil, don't they?" Eamon grinned. "No surprise they think we're in the thick with the Dark Arts. But none of our family really is... except for maybe Great Uncle Declan, but he always was a bit batty."

"So remind me again why you had me search all of the Daily Prophet records for mentions of Death Eaters in Ireland?" Terence asked, scratching his chin.

"I've got a sneaking suspicion our parents were spies for someone on the other side, and so they would appear to be Death Eaters to the public eye in that case, wouldn't they?" Eamon grinned, but the smile fell from his face within moments as the sound of someone shuffling up the stairs became audible, "Holly, go to bed. You don't want to have to deal with her tonight." Holly grimaced at the thought of Aunt Aggie finding her still awake; she'd surely get a thrill out of criticizing every aspect of Holly. Slipping quietly through a door behind an old mirror in the corner of the library, she made her way through a thin passageway and reentered her room through a door in the back of the dresser. Thoroughly exhausted, Holly didn't bother to change and instead, curled up under her comforter and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.

When Holly awoke, dawn's pink fingers were reaching across the sullen sky and igniting the colorless snow outside. She'd been asleep since the early afternoon of the previous day and was now feeling more exhausted than before and in possession of a bad headache, to boot. Holly watched the patches of sunlight on her floor shift and move across the hardwood. Sitting up, she stretched and nearly toppled out of bed. Getting unsteadily to her feet, she walked over to her trunk, flipping the latch and lifting the heavy lid. She began to pull out the items she'd thrown on top of the piles of clothes and books, things that had been gathering dust in her dorm room that she had decided were best brought home. Picking up a number of parchment sheets she had swiped from her desk in a last-minute rush, her hand froze as a wilted rose slid out from somewhere within the pile, dragging with it a heavily-folded note.

The rose awakened a thousand memories, all shifting and fighting for attention in Holly's mind. But it reminded her most of all of what she already knew the note read, words she had memorized in trying to understand their meaning.

I am finally seeing that I was the one worth leaving.

-Marcus

The note had never been discarded or locked away, as had many of the other artifacts of her and Marcus' relationship had as it had been one that had drawn the most blood, but then again, he'd probably intended that. Most of their relationship had centered around them purposefully trying to hurt each other, though neither ever really admitted that the reason they could cause so much hurt to each other was because they actually cared about one another quite a bit. So they went back and forth: Marcus cheating on Holly once or twice; Holly making Marcus jealous as much as possible; the two constantly lying to one another, all in all a rather disastrous course of events. And then it had ended, on a rather rough note, and Marcus had the last word, of course. The benefit of which, had just come clear to Holly.

The Flint's always had a bit of that pureblood mania about them, enough for Holly to suspect that through Marcus, she might just be able to find something out about her parents being possible Death Eaters. Whether Marcus wanted to indulge the information, however, would be another story.