Bloodlines

Chapter 2 – Expositions

                "Got earwax, huh?" Veruca said, looking at the bean Harry still had sitting in his hand, half melted from spit. Harry quickly plonked the gooey bean onto the table, staring at her in stunned disbelief. There was a moment of awkwardness between them as Veruca cleaned it up with a flick of her wand. She handled it expertly, Harry noticed, as he’d barely seen it move before she had it ready and armed. Then, with a sigh, she sat down on the chair across from him. "I think I owe you an explanation."

                "Might be nice." Harry said, slightly annoyed at the ruse.

                "Right," she said, then sighed. "Okay. So yeah, I’m a witch," she started. "The second I laid eyes on the Dursleys, I knew they probably shouldn’t know. I didn’t mean to lie to you, or omit truths, or what have you… I didn’t even know you lived there, Harry. I’d heard you lived with Muggles, but…"

                "Wait." Harry said, then moaned. "I’m famous in Canada?"

                "You’re famous everywhere there are wizards. That’s the nice thing about the wizarding community – we overcome the racial barriers. Well," she said, making a face, "SOME of them." Harry thought to all his friends. He had never even thought of them all as an interracial group – it had never come into play. They all had their own personalities and histories, of course, and they respected each and every one. But, for example, Dean Thomas wasn’t the black guy in Harry’s room – he was the creative artistic guy with a solid best friend in Seamus Finnigan and a penchant for football. He’d never realized it before, but it seemed magic was something of a unifying force. But something didn’t seem right in that statement. Magic wasn’t unified in and of itself, even.

                "Some of them?" Harry said, already knowing the answer.

                "I’m half-blood myself… I was unlucky enough to come across some of the more bigoted kind of wizard in my life. You see, my mother was pure-blood, descended from a long line of power. Both my grandmother and grandfather had extremely racist views about Muggle-borns and Mudbloods." Harry still seethed at the sound of that word. He had never before thought of it as racism, but it did make sense. This was wizard racism. It made the concept even more cancerous to think of it like that. "My mother never agreed with them, quite honestly. She made quite a few Muggle-born friends at Micadia."

                "Micadia?" Harry said, curious.

                "It’s the Canadian wizarding school. Inside one of the larger Rocky mountains. It’s quite beautiful, actually… the rooms are inside crystal caverns. When you pass your Apparition test, you should go see it. Anyway… my mother met my father through her Muggle-born friends. He already knew of wizards, because of his friends, and he loved them all the same. He is… he’s wonderful." She smiled. "My mother loved him instantly. They had a spectacular relationship together, and he proposed and she accepted, blah blah blah, love-cakes." Harry chuckled. Veruca rolled her eyes, but they seemed to Harry to sparkle with love as she thought of her parents. "She took him to meet her parents. My grandmother wanted to love him, she tried to… but my grandfather, not so much. They had a huge screaming row, and my mother left them forever. He disowned her weeks later – just before my mother found out she was pregnant with me. I only ever met him once… he terrified me, so full of hatred. I was just a baby. It was right before he left my grandmother for good." She sighed. "My mother and father still live in Canada. I was accepted to Micadia right out of Muggle elementary school, and when I finished, I did go to that Muggle university program for a year. I’d never actually been in a castle before, weirdly." Harry grinned.

                "That’s why you mentioned it. That was your joke!"

                "Indeed. You got it, even if you didn’t get all of it then."

                "You’re quite good at pretending to be Muggle." Harry mused.

                "Well, I was brought up as both. My parents were so proud when I was accepted to Micadia – my grandfather had sworn to my mother that I would be a squib, because of my Muggle blood – he should talk. He was halfblood."

                "Was?"

                "He died, I think. When I was a baby. Just after his visit, I guess. Something." She shook her head bitterly. "I don’t care. I don’t care." Harry decided not to push it.

                "So your dad’s in advertising?" Harry said, again looking around him at the surprisingly decorated house. Veruca nodded, apparently grateful for the topic change. "Does he pay for all this? I mean, there’s no way – no offense – that you could afford this place without help." Veruca thought about this.

                "Well, yes and no. He does pay my rent right now, I’m repaying him by doing his extensive paperwork and meetings here until he finds time to come over to England… but I’m not without help." She smiled. "There’s…"

                At that moment, a fire flared up beyond the hearth. Harry jumped up with a brief yell, then another one when he noticed the two heads poking out of it. Veruca, on the other hand, grinned with great enthusiasm, moved to the couch facing the fire, next to Harry, and pulled him down again. "Hey guys, how’s the job hunt going?"

                The two heads in the fireplace were both girls. One, a slim-looking girl with short-cut brown hair, wore a scarf wrapped around her head in a sort of Romanian turban. Harry thought back to Professor Quirrel in his first year, then shook his head to clear the image. The other girl, with a roundish face and bright pink hair, was talking immediately.

                "Not too badly… Chyron got an interview at Flourish and Blotts, not to mention that Florean Fortescue really seems to like her. Me, not so much." She looked down at what Harry assumed were the location of her feet. Veruca had grabbed the fishbowl of Every Flavour Beans and was lazily throwing beans at them, as Chyron opened her mouth and tried to catch them.

                "Come on, Glory, I’m sure she liked you fine." she said, chewing thoughtfully on a bean. "Just because you said her hot fudge looked and tasted like Polyjuice Potion…" Chyron then spit out the bean. "Horseradish. Trying to kill me, Veruca?"

                "Not my fault it looks the same as coconut." Veruca said, smirking. She turned to Harry. "Harry, these are my housemates. Chyron and Glorielle. I met them at Micadia."

                "Who’s that?" Glorielle said, craning her neck out of the flames. "Got a boyfriend suddenly?" Harry blushed and Veruca rolled her eyes.

                "Show some respect, Glory. This," she said, pointing at Harry, "is Harry. He lives next door." Both Chyron and Glorielle looked panicked.

                "Veruca! Seriously! Inviting a Muggle to watch this?" Chyron said, a worried tone pervading her voice. Veruca, yet again, rolled her eyes.

                "I’m not stupid, Chy. Harry, tell them your full name." Harry paused, then moved towards the fire and stuck his hand out to Chyron.

                "Hi. Harry James Potter. Nice to meet you." Glorielle and Chyron exchanged looks and they disappeared from the fireplace immediately. Harry couldn’t help feeling hurt. "That was kind of rude."

                "Don’t worry, they’ll be here any…" Before Veruca could finish her sentence, the two girls Apparated into the living room. Immediately, Glorielle grasped Harry’s hand and shook it vigorously.

                "Seriously? For real? Harry Potter?" She made a vague squeaking noise. Chyron rolled her eyes, but no one could ignore the look of absolute admiration in them as she took his hand from Glorielle and greeted him warmly.

                "Well, it’s… this is going to need some explanation. Veruca?" she said.

                "Yeah, it’s the weirdest thing. You know those neighbors of ours?"

                "The guy with no neck?"

                "Yeah, him." Veruca said. Harry sniggered, and let them continue.

                "Well, just so happens – and isn’t this a kick in the ass – they’re the Muggles."

                "The Muggles?"

                "The Muggles he lives with. His aunt and uncle – come ON, you both remember this, I know you do." Veruca looked amused and exasperated at once. Harry was reminded strongly of Hermione. Glorielle shook her head.

                "Sorry, Vers. I blocked out that entire class. History of Magic?" she said, then lolled her head on her shoulders, pretending to snore. Veruca poked her in the side and she squealed. Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

                "Was your professor a ghost?" he said, and they all shook their heads. "Then I’ve got you all beat for boredom. He didn’t even notice when he DIED, he’s so mundane." Then he paused. "I’m in your History of Magic curriculum?"

                "Like I said, famous everywhere there are wizards." Veruca smiled, then picked up another bean from the bowl and flicked it at Chyron. It hit her on the forehead. The four of them collapsed on the floor in fits of laughter. They barely heard the doorbell ring, but the laughter died quickly when it rang again, obnoxiously stabbed over and over. Veruca got up and tapped the peephole with her wand. Immediately, an image grew from it, a three dimensional image of a fat, blond boy of Harry’s age. Both Harry and Veruca groaned.

                "Dudley." Veruca said. "One of the Muggles. His cousin."

                "He’s a nightmare. And he’s sort of, well… terrified of wizards." Harry added, looking nervously at the robes that Glorielle and Chyron were wearing. Immediately and without question, they shed them. Chyron’s deep magenta robe fell off to reveal a casual green tank top that looked as though she’d sewn herself, and faded, paint-splattered jeans. Glorielle wore a black T-shirt with "Fairy Princess" scrawled across in red letters, like it had been painted on by bloodstained fingers, and a pair of cargo pants, under her deep blue robes. They kicked them under the couch, tossing their wands under there with them. Veruca stuck hers in a vase filled with lilies by the door, straightened her hair and shot a look back to her two friends. They nodded, and as Harry moved to join her, she opened the door. Dudley waddled in.

                "Hello, Ms. Cavalier," he said, blushing. He took almost no notice of Harry. Veruca assumed her fakest, most exaggerated smile and ushered him into the foyer.

                "Like I said before, call me Veruca. What can I do for you?" she said, grinning. Dudley turned pink. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

                "Now who’s this?" Glory said, coming out of the living room and smiling exuberantly. Dudley’s eyes widened when he saw her. His face reddened to match the colour of her hair. Glory shook Dudley’s hand. "You’re Dudley? Great to meet you. Veruca’s told us ALL about you." She looked up at Veruca, who stared back at her in distress. "She thinks you’re a lovely boy. How old are you?"

                "S-sixteen." He said. Harry rolled his eyes at his cousin’s ineptitude with women. "Seventeen… two weeks… big party… come, will you? If you would." Dudley stammered. Glory nodded, a massive grin on her face.

                "Oh, without a doubt. I know Veruca wouldn’t miss it for the world." Veruca mouthed "Stop it!" to Glory, her eyes filled with panic. Glory only stared back at her with amusement. Chyron had come into the foyer and was standing with Harry now, and Dudley’s eyes narrowed as he finally acknowledged him.

                "Oh. Mum wants you home. She says to stop annoying poor Veruca, and that you’re a lazy little boy who we should never have taken in." He turned to Glory. "Of course you agree. I’m sorry that he was bothering you so – Mum says that he doesn’t know his place, and that he should apologize profusely." All three girls exchanged looks of disgust. Dudley didn’t notice. It was astonishing how official-sounding and eloquent he became on the topic of Harry’s "inferiority". "Which of course he will."

                "Of course." Chyron said, rolling her eyes. Harry suppressed a snicker.

                "Without a doubt." Glory added.

                "Now, Harry, I think you’ve bothered us enough for one day." Veruca said, looking at him and sharing the silent joke. Harry nodded, fighting not to grin.

                "I’m terribly, terribly sorry for having taken up so much of your time with my annoying ways," he said. Chyron swallowed a bark of laughter at the triumphant look of superiority on Dudley’s face.

                "Well, you can make it up to us by coming over tomorrow and cleaning the entire house." Veruca said. Harry blanched for a moment before he caught the sparkle in her eye, and nodded.

                "It’s only fair," he said. Dudley beamed.

                "Go home now," he said gruffly, and Harry turned to leave. As he did, he heard Veruca continue to talk to Dudley.

                "Now, Dud, [Harry snickered at the nickname] before you head home, why not come into the living room? Have a jellybean!"

                The door shut behind him and Harry grinned. He silently wished Dudley would find the much-famed vomit-flavoured one as he crossed the fence and re-entered the painfully ordinary house at Number Four.