Esprit D'Elle

The room was crowded, but I was all alone. No one would talk to me. I was being ignored, and I didn’t like it. I wouldn’t stand for it.

I stood up for the sofa and walked over to the beautiful, black grand piano. It was a favorite of mine. Always had been since my husband and I had moved into our home. I placed my long fingers over the hard, ivory keys and played a chord. Confident in my ability to play, I opened the music book to one of my favorite songs. I was very fond of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony.

The people around me stepped back in surprise. I was ignored, as you may or may not remember. I was ignored in my own home.

I didn’t look at anyone as I played. I was too busy concentrating on the music. It relaxed me in a way real life didn’t. I was at peace for one once in my life.

The music ended, much to my disappointment. If only the music could go on and on. I looked up only to see Harry with Ginny hanging on his arm talking to Ron and a few others.

How dare she! How dare Ginny come into our happy life and think that she can be Harry’s! He’s my husband and she’s knows that. I loath that woman with every fiber of my being. I would take care of her.

I left the piano, not that anyone cared. I grabbed a drink from the buffet table. It was a glass of red wine, sure to stain Ginny’s yellow gown. I walked over to her and spilled the wine down the front of her dress. It stained immediately.

Ginny gasped with horror. Ron and Harry watched, bewildered. I turned around and left the crowded room before I did anything drastic.

I walked to the door, out onto the porch. The summer breeze struck me as sat down on the step, but skirt fanned out along my slender legs. I loved my gown, yet cursed it. It was heavy. And in the summer it was an inferno contraption. The skirt was full, poofed out by many petticoats. The pattern on it was my favorite feature. The deep blue, with white swirls made the skirt. The sleeves were long and poofed out, in white, as was the shirt. My shoes were black boots, laced up.

My children were out playing. Anna and Michael were their names. Anna was the eldest by 3 years. She was 11, soon to receive her letter to Hogwarts. Harry and I had decided to send them to Hogwarts, though we live in the southern part of the U.S. I suppose I should describe were we live. It’s a plantation home, rich with history. I should know, but we’ll get into that later. The home used to belong to wealthy slave owners. Most of the decorations in it are original. That’s why I fell in love with this house ten years ago. It was the perfect place for us to raise our first children whom I was pregnant with at the time. It was also perfect to spend our millions on. Harry and I were both successful, each rich by doing our on things. Harry in his broomstick company, I in my writing and spell-making.

I curse this house. I curse my love of this house. I wish we had never bought it. But, even I wish too much. It’ll never get me anywhere.

There’s Lavender. Lavender Weasley with her youngest daughter, born just a few months ago, named Hermione, after myself. I’ll never understand why she did this, but she did. The other Weasley children run by now, playing among Anna and Michael. I long to talk with Lavender, but as I said before, I am being ignored.

I think it’s okay for me to return to the party which Ginny decided to have for Harry because he’s been depressed lately.

When I return to the hall, I find Oliver Wood talking to Harry.

“I’m so sorry about---”

“Thank you.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t care to talk about it.” Harry nodded to Oliver and walked away.

“You can’t ask him about,” Ron said, walking over.

“Why not?” Oliver asked.

“He won’t talk about. It hurts too much.”

“They were close.”

“Yes, he was crushed when it happened.”

“Poor man,” Oliver said, shaking his head. “So young, too. What a shame. How did it happen, anyway?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Ron said honestly.

“I would’ve thought he would’ve told you.”

“So did I.”

I turned back out of the hall, not wanting to hear more. It hurt. I walked over to the parlor, my skirts swishing. The parlor was hardly visited by Harry or I. Anna and Michael spent their time studying there, but no more than that. They sensed tension in the air.

The room was decorated with green sofas, with antique wood edges. The paneling on the walls was a French style popular at the time the house was built. The fireplace was beautiful, with the marble mantel. It was easily one of my favorite rooms, which is why I never went there.

The pictures by the fireplace showed happy times, when we were all together. Those times didn’t exist anymore. Harry kept to his work now more than ever since it happened. Anna and Michael were watched by a sitter, or Ginny. She had been making her appearance more and more and I didn’t like it.

Ginny and I were the best of friends. She was the girl I could tell anything to. She told me all her secrets too. Especially her crush on Harry. I was very aware of that. She wasn’t the only one, though. I myself adored him, but would never say anything to him or her. Then Harry told me how he felt. That he liked me a lot and that he wanted me to be his girlfriend. He asked me if I would. Of course I would! Ginny found out. She wasn’t happy, but pretended to support it. She was jealous, I knew. I knew all too well.

Two years after school had ended for us, Harry and I got married. Ginny hated me after that. She had been sure that we would break up, leaving room for her. But when she found out that I was pregnant with Anna, she loathed me. I was having Harry Potter’s child, and that made me enemy number one.

I heard something. Ginny. Ginny talking to Harry, obviously begging him for something.

“Harry, I need to go change my dress.”

“Why don’t you just use magic to fix the stain?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have my wand.”

“You can change your dress, but leave Hermione’s dresses and clothes alone,” he said, sternly. If there was one thing he was picking about was who touched my things. He knew Ginny would just love to get her hands on them. I knew that. I’ve known that for years now.

Not that they would fit her. My dresses were all custom made to fit by body alone. Ginny and I aren’t even the same size. She shorter than I am by four inches. She barely has a chest, and those dresses were made to fit a woman with a chest. And believe me, I’ve got one. Those dresses were made to fit a curvy figured woman, which Ginny is not. She’s a board. Even from chest to waist to hips. She’s been jealous of me since she realized that she wasn’t going to get anything like that like I have.

“Fine,” I heard Ginny say and she stomped off.

I shook my head.

*************

I found Harry sitting on the porch, alone. I sat down beside him. I watched him, as I always did when I was near him. He was so beautiful, with his untidy raven hair and those emerald green eyes, worth more to me than life itself. I cringed. Maybe not. I can’t use that saying. He meant more to me than....than...than all the knowledge on heaven or earth. There, much better.

He used to be so vibrant. So alive. When he smiled, his whole face lit up and glowed. He doesn’t smile anymore. He just mopes there, depressed. He often sits out on the porch steps, as if waiting for someone to come home. I knew who he was waiting for. If only....

Sitting beside him, I think of the times when we were happy. The four of us used to take picnics near the lake. I remember one time clearly. I shoved Harry into the lake after he splashed me. Then Anna jumped in after him. He caught her and let her go so she could swim around. Michael jumped in after her. I sat on the rock near the edge. Harry swam over and asked me to come in.

“No, Harry, I have a meeting later. I don’t need to smell like lake for it.”

He wouldn’t give up, though. “Come on. Just a little dip.”

I refused and he pulled me in. I screamed and the children laughed. That day was the first time Harry had kissed me in front of Anna and Michael. And it wasn’t a little kiss either. It was the kind of kisses he gave me when we were young and in Hogwarts.

“Dad, I’ve been looking for you all over,” Anna said, coming out of the house.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“Nothing. I just wanted to find you. Are you thinking about Mom?” Anna was so innocent. She had no idea what had happened.

“Yeah, pumpkin. I’m thinking about Mom.” He put his head on his hands and looked out into space.

“You need to....” She was going to say something, but changed her mind. She knew that it was best if she let it alone. “I’m going back in.”

Harry never responded.

I curse this house. I curse it all. I wish that I had never seen it. I wish that we had never decided to live here. I wish we were all at home in London. Never here. Never ever.

But wishes don’t get us anywhere. I have wished too many times to think of them coming true. They never do.

If we had never moved here, we would be happy. We would all be together. We’d never have to hear Michael cry at night. I hear his tears at night when he thinks all are asleep. I walk into his room and watch him cry, my heart filling with pain because I know that I can’t stop him. We would never have to fear that Anna would never talk again. She didn’t talk much now. She was so smart, but she didn’t talk much. She spoke, but she was more quiet than any other girl I’d ever met. We wouldn’t have to see Harry break down and sob. We wouldn’t need to see him, a grown man, broken and hurt. I wanted to see his smile. I wanted to see him smile because he was happy.

And you know what? Because of the past, because of my foolishness, and because of this house, we live in despair. And you know what else?

I’m dead.

************

Foolishness. That’s my problem. I let my curiosity get the better of me and look what I got for it!

When we moved into the house I was struck with curiosity about the past. I wanted to know what the owners had been like. I wanted to know how to decorate the house so that it would look as much like it did in the 1800s. Of course, I never said I thing about it to Harry. We had a family, after all.

One year ago, when Anna was ten and Michael was seven, I told Harry about my dream of seeing the past of our home. He didn’t like the idea, but he knew that he couldn’t stop me from going, so he relented. I got my hands on a time turner.

The day I left, I made Harry promise not to tell the children where I was going. They were at school at the time. He took my hand in his and told me to be careful. I laughed and promised I would. But I couldn’t keep that promise to him.

I magicked myself the beautiful dress that I wear right now. That I’m doomed to wear for the rest of my existence.

I twisted the time turner back and back and back. My wrist became sore with the movements. Until finally, I disappeared from his view and appeared in the southern states in 1863. It was hot and dry. The dust swirled around me as carriages pulled by horses ran to and fro around my home.

I saw a man beating a pregnant black woman and ran to push him away from her. I had forgotten that this was forbidden. The man shoved me away and I hit the dirt hard. I got up, though. I ran back to him and tried to pull him away from the woman. Thank goodness Harry thought it best if I at least learn to lift weights. I was able to pull him away. I dropped onto my knees and held myself above the woman, shielding her from the man.

I could feel him trying to pull me off of her, but I made myself heavier than I truly am and I gripped the ground hard. The man hit me and smacked me. The blood was drenching my dress and was rolling down my back. I heard some voices and yelling and sound of someone falling to the ground before I was fully unconscious.

I awoke to an old African American woman presses a wet cloth to my forehead. My breath was heavy and I felt as though I was losing life.

“Miss,” the old woman said kindly, “Are you feeling all right?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything. It hurt too much.

“Miss, we thank you saving my granddaughter’s life and the life of her baby.” The pregnant woman stepped forward, nodding her thanks.

A man came forward and pulled the old woman back. “Is she gonna live?”

“I don’ know, Solomon. I don’t know. It don’t look like she will,” the old woman said gravely. “If she makes it through the night, she probably will.”

But I didn’t.

I died that night, so long ago, from my wounds. I lost too much blood and in this time they didn’t know of modern medicine.

I have lived in this house for so long. I died here and shall remain here for the rest of my existence. Over one hundred and fifty years. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know. I don’t know what happened while I was alive. All I know is that was the little bit of time that I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here for that time because I was alive. It’s hard to explain, so don’t ask me about it.

Just because Harry and I had perfect lives didn’t mean we weren’t tormented by Lord Voldemort. In fact, Harry and I thought we had gotten him. But I know better. Harry doesn’t know. I don’t think he does.

We were terrorized by him before we were married so we fled to America. Voldemort left the U.S. alone mostly. He wanted control of Europe before he bothered with the rest of the world.

There are rumors that he’s coming back to kill Harry, Anna, and Michael. I can only pray that those are false.