Chapter 1 : Avery
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DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to JKR and is of her creation.
A Liar in His Own Right
The car is swallowed in the night air, disappearing as quickly as it came. Inside, her hands hold the wheel tightly, gripping with such strength that her knuckles are a pale, ghostly white. He almost fancies that he can see them glowing in the dark, like an illuminated wand, like a unicorn.
She breathes in heavily, glancing sideways at him. He betrays no emotion, and she turns back around. Behind them, there is movement, and she flinches. She does not say a word, but her body language betrays everything—her lost hope, her confusion, her fear. She is like a fox in the headlights, frozen and alone.
He orders her to put her foot down. Without hesitation, she does, and soon they are moving so fast, they are nothing more than a white streak in the night.
A cry resonates behind them.
The landscape around them thickens in its density, and Avery puts the images together piece-by-piece in his mind. More trees, rocky landscape. Soon, the road will turn to dirt, the indication that he has moved too far.
Outside the motor vehicle, the scenery betrays nothing. Briefly, it is illuminated by a light from inside the car—a quick flash of green—before the white streak finally disappears into the forest. It hurtles across the rocky side-surface of the tar, before colliding without pause into the nearest tree.
There is a sickening crack, then just silence.
He steps out swiftly, merely glancing at the dead woman beside him. Yes, Avery thinks, this is definitely where The Lord wanted her. With that, he slams the door shut, making to apparate.
However, something stops him. A movement in the back of the car, and the strangled cry of a two-month old child. He pauses, watching through the dark with strained eyes as the little girl kicks and screams, crying for its dead mother.
It was July 8. He remembers the date distinctly, because it was the day after his seventeenth birthday. He remembers it distinctly, because it was the day his father had trapped him in his room. He remembers it distinctly, because it was the last day he had held her tiny hand.
She was turning two. It was an age of a child he could look at in complete wonder and never get bored. It fascinated him how much of a sponge children actually were, where everything he did was mimicked in a series of hand movements and dislocated speech. Where “Bye, bye” was the sweetest “Dye, dye” he had ever heard, and the feeling of her little fingers wrapping around his own when she wanted to sleep was incomparable to the softest touch of any girl he knew.
He never left his sister’s side, from the day she was born. He made sure that she built a routine—she would wake up at five, he would feed her bottle, they would go outside to watch the horses run around the yard, and then he would have her nap at 10 am. Then repeat, until the very end of the day, the last time he would touch her as he laid her tiny body in her cot. He would give her the teddy bears and toy Hippogriffs, and then remain there to make sure she was well asleep before he left—to make sure that his mother didn’t pay her a visit.
His returns Hogwarts were agonising. He was torn away from her for lengths at a time, not knowing how she was or if she was okay. Because of this, he began to regularly write to his House-Elf, Elisabeth, asking how Aleiah was. Asking if his mother was kept away from her and seeing if the babe was still in her routine.
Sometimes, he would get so distracted by Elisabeth’s replies, that he would loose attention. He was constantly in trouble, starting fights and teasing the Gryffindor’s without thought, where what he said and did reached to the point where the teachers could not even take it anymore.
Fortunately, though, he was an exceptional liar, thanks to his mother. He weaselled his way out of detentions and punishments, giving him the freedom to stay in contact with his home and still relatively focus on his OWLs.
Whenever he finally arrived home, it was truly the most amazing experience for him. He would be picked up by his uncle, and bought to the Manor. He would watch at the beginning of every holiday, as his sister changed from just a babe, to a toddler who recognised him and missed him while he was away. He would bend down at the door, and admire how she stumbled over with her newfound feet, throwing herself into his arms and dragging him to her toy chest immediately.
If there was anything less amazing, he did not know it. He told no one of how much he loved and adored his little sister, he told no one of this weakness. Her name never passed his lips, even to his mother. He was protecting her, protecting him—he was a liar in his own right, fighting for the baby that could change everything. Fighting for the childhood his mother never gave him.
The sun had risen slowly with a purpose, the morning after his birthday. He had awoken early, taking Aleiah outside with him to watch the rising morn. Elisabeth was by his side, silent and waiting for orders.
She had learnt a new word. Trees. She repeated it with wide, blue eyes, her little smile spreading excitedly across her face when she realised she was saying is properly. Trees, trees, trees. Over and over, she would never get tired of her voice.
Her movement and repetition made it hard to focus on anything, as it always did. He lost himself in the magic of her, disengaging himself from the real world.
That was why he did not feel Elisabeth tugging his sleeve—her urgent notions for him to move.
He watched in horror as his mother suddenly swooped down, taking Aleiah into her arms. The babe immediately started to scream, kicking and crying. She looked at him with her big eyes, stretching her arms out for him to take her into himself. He made to move.
His mother was in tears then, startling him. She talked about how Aleiah was a mistake; a memory of a man she did love. She talked about some story that went in one ear, and out the other, and she talked about how it was time to have their proper family back again.
He shouted at her that there was never a proper family. He shouted at her that she had no idea what Aleiah could do. He pleaded for her to understand how beautiful she was, and how she was changing everything for them—for the better.
He lied how at how she—his mother—could be a part of them. Him, her, and Aleiah.
The woman would not listen though. Switching the babe from one hip to the other, she continued about how she was missing their time together, believing each lie she fed herself and him. She believed that she had been around him his whole life, she believed that he liked that he was her son.
She was such a good liar, he realised, that she was beginning to believe herself.
Taking another step forward to take Aleiah off his mother, he felt a hand snake around his arm in order to stop him. Turning abruptly, he stared in shock.
He had not seen him in nearly fifteen years, yet, here he was, standing beside him as if he owned the manor once again. As if not a year had passed.
It was because Aleiah was not his own. It was because Aleiah reminded him that his mother had lived with someone else once, after he had so boldly left them. And here he was, crawling back to his mum, where she believed and ‘understood’ everything he fed her.
It is true, his mother started shouting, over the cries of the baby. We cannot be the family we used to with her.
Like a flash, his wand was out, pointed directly at his mother. His dad bought him back into his heavy body, though, grabbing his wand off him and snapping it in half. He began screaming and crying, trying to say something, anything that could save her as he was dragged away.
Aleiah had quietened, staring at her brother’s retreating figure. She raised her tiny fist, and started to wave. “Dye, dye.”
His scream resonated through the whole house, cutting the silence and sending shivers down all inhabitants’ spines. He wondered, as he was thrown into his room, if his mother then second-guessed her actions. He wondered if she realised she was a monster, a fiend.
He wondered if she realised anything at all.
His door remained locked until the afternoon of the next day. He ignored his hunger and thirst, watching as the lock slid, and the door clicked open, revealing the shadow of his mother.
He ran past her, pushing her out of the way. She shouted at him to stop, she screamed that it was done. He refused to listen.
Every nook, every cranny, he searched. His father’s laughed followed him into every room, but he ignored it. He was on a mission that would not end.
Avery never found his sister, Aleiah. It was said, that even during the rein of the Dark Lord—where he was an avid follower—he was still searching his house, looking for his tiny sibling. He had killed everyone in his family, yet he still was not content—he knew she was out there, waiting for him to find her again.
Waiting for him take her little hand and tuck her into bed.
He reaches into the car. The child’s restraints are a complicated mess he cannot possibly understand. In the end, he decides to burn them.
Illuminating his wand, he burns the thread carefully, aware of not to harm her.
Once she is out, he calms the child, until her screaming subsides. She has reduced herself to hiccups, gripping hold of him tightly and sobbing occasionally.
Looking in the car, his finds the woman’s handbag. With his wand and a lot of thought, he creates a Portkey, one of which he uses immediately.
She has a name now. Her mother may be dead, but she is accepted by his wife, who takes the babe into her own arms upon their arrival.
And Avery smiles. He has found his Aleiah again.
Authors Note: I’ve written some pretty sad stories but I think this one takes the cake ): Sorry about the quality, I’m trying to overcome writers block. Please review and thank you for reading!
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