~*~*~*~
“Who told you that heroes have to be brave?”
Imogene Lang said that to me when I was fifteen, and it’s been in my head ever since”like a scrap of a song you hear once, pouring from the windows of a passing car, but never again. I remember how the words touched me, how I grabbed for them with hands that had been desperately searching for something, anything, to grab. Her simple question, shattering the directives of everything I’d been raised to believe, seemed to glow; to shine like glass; golden as brandy.
Because I have never been a hero, or even needed one. Neither a safe place nor a girl who needed saving. When people ask for Harry Potter’s autograph, the best they’ll say to me is, Got a quill I can borrow, love?
(Hello. I’m Kata. We also accept Katarine or Kat, but call me Katty and you will surely die. I like card tricks and shopping; I have an off-and-on relationship with both red lipstick and vegetarianism; and my hair is so unmanageable that if it does not try to kill me at least once every week, I grow suspicious that it may be planning something much more sinister. Nice to meet you. I know that random mention of Harry Potter in the above paragraph may have surprised some of you”that’s entirely understandable. There I was, rambling on about heroes and spouting numerous prose-y similes, when zippitypow! Harry bloody Potter! If my little anecdote didn’t spark your interest, heaven knows that that name did. Well. Just to be clear, this isn’t a story about Harry Potter. On the list of ‘important people in this story’ Harry ranks in at number twenty-seven. I know. I have made such a list”for the record, I’m number three. But, to the point: if you’re looking for a story about a plucky, bespectacled young lad with “moral fiber” a scar that looks like Zorro screwed up his signature, then go somewhere else. This is the last time I’ll ever use the phrase ‘moral fiber’, unless I’m describing, 1. A breakfast cereal, 2. A really cool name for a band, or 3. Abraham Lincoln. Just thought I ought to clear that up. End of parenthetical rant.)
What you’re about to hear is only the first part of the very long, very complicated saga that is my life. Be warned, I will unabashedly bear all”you will see me break down, break apart, break bones, break hearts, be broken, and break through this hideous stigma that you need to be fearless to be important. I have so many fears, some rational (heights) and some not (owls), and I’m not ashamed of them. Fear is the root of everything I ever did”it is the blade of exquisite pain; the perfume of accidents and lost causes.
Seven years of Katarine Potter. Seven years that, now, seem to have passed with all the speed and intensity of a flashbulb”a burst of love, loss, sibling rivalry, pranks, Unforgivable Curses, high-top trainers, and a whole lot of accidental courage.
So, who told you that heroes have to be brave?
They lied.
~*~*~*~
There are a lot of ways I could begin my story. I could tell you about myself, for one, but that wouldn’t be much fun for you, and you’d just find it all out eventually anyway. Maybe I could talk about why I’ve chosen to give you my story, when I’m not mentioned anywhere else… But the reasons are obvious. Everyone wants their story told. Everyone wants to be written.
Yeah, there are a lot of things I could say here, but none of them will really express who I am, or the person I became after all this happened to me. So, after a long time of thinking, I’ve come up with a way to state my beginning.
I am Kata. This is where my story starts.
***
I run down the long, polished platform, watching the train race into the open distance , leaving me behind, frantically and running. I try to scream, but my throat is dry like desert rocks. I don’t even know what I’d say if I could scream…
Don’t go…
The oak boards of the platform fold onto themselves, sliding aside. My feet struggle to find a stable place to stand, but there is none. I fall through, finally able to scream as I plummet. I expect the blackness to go on forever, but instead, there is a new color. Purple. An ocean of bright, bubbly purple water surrounds me. But I don’t feel wet.
I see an old man with a strange lavender cape float past.
“Is this real?” I ask, my voice clear despite the water I can’t feel.
He laughs, a pleasant sound that still fills my insides with dread. “Of course not,” he chortles. “This is all a dream.”
I’m then jolted back to reality.
Stupid reality.
"Kata? Kata Potter?” I’m not sure where the voice is coming from. Where did all the purple go? “Would you like to tell us all why you're asleep?" Mr. Mendota's soft voice roused me. . Slowly, I lifted my head from the fake wood of my school desk and glanced around. Twenty-one faces stared openly back.
"Crap," I muttered. I'd fallen asleep again. I'd also been caught... again. So, there wasn't much else to say. Crap.
"What was that?” Mr. Mendota asked, leaning in as if to hear me better. Snickers and giggles echoed in the open classroom. I paused briefly to glare at the kids around me, and then turned my attention back to Mr. Mendota. He stood above me in a manner that would have made a three-year-old pee in her pants, and maybe some ten-year-olds. But, albeit unknowingly, I'd faced worse. Besides, Mr. Mendota really wasn’t that intimidating. Sure, he was tall, but he also had a strangely innocent face and neatly parted brown hair. His pants are creased . I find it very difficult to be afraid of a guy who irons his pants.
"I said, I was up all night saving puppies from evil princesses, Mr. Mendota," I lied sweetly, with a sickening smile to match. His eyes narrowed at the sarcasm in my voice. The effort was wasted, though, because mostly it just made me want to burst out laughing. Instead, I shook a stray wave of brilliant red hair out of my face and matched his glare evenly. He gave up, turned around, and rubbed his temples.
Mr. Mendota rubs his temples a lot when he's around me. I don't know why.
"Kata, this is the third time this month I've caught you sleeping in my class," he announced warily.
"Very good!” I chirped back. I don't like people who think they're above me just because they have a "diploma" or "haven't been threatened with expulsion multiple times”. It annoys me. Especially now…
"You aren't doing yourself any favors by slacking off," he warned, sitting down at his desk and eyeing the class.
"And you aren't doing yourself any favors by making an example of me in front of the class, because you know that it has no effect whatsoever," I snapped. "Just go on teaching whatever it is you were teaching, and I'll pretend to care.” I meant it as an honest suggestion, but by the way his eyes narrowed, I could tell he took it some other way.
So did the others, I kid you not; there was an audible intake of breath from the class. Melanie, the blonde girl who sits next to me, looked at me with wide eyes, like I'd just committed a capital offense .
Mr. Mendota was quiet for a long time. He placed his elbows on the desk, folded his hands neatly, and rested his chin on top of them. Some people can always tell when something big and potentially bad is coming, and I definitely can. The look Mr. Mendota gave the class radiated potential badness.
Or, you know. I could just be a paranoid ten-year-old who would rather be asleep right now.
He stayed in that position for at least five minutes, just sitting there and calmly staring at us. My classmates fidgeted, wondering what was going to happen. I just sat there, looking around the room and whistling softly under my breath. However, I was thinking just as much as Mr. Mendota was.
I thought about why I was here in the first place. Not like divine creation, or anything, but why I was still in Little Whinging. I should be somewhere much better than here, proving that I can do impossible things. But there are all these rules that I don't understand, about how I have to be a certain age, and crap like that.
I’m sort of going crazy here, and sometimes I don't know why. Sure, I miss my brother, but that is a very small part of this. A bigger part is that I was left behind. People thought, oh, she'll be fine, what's the worst that could happen in a small town like that? And I guess, on some level, they're right. Nothing terrible has happened yet. Nothing but feeling a little alone.
Which never killed anyone, probably.
Mr. Mendota stood up slowly from his desk, straightening his plaid tie and pivoting to face his eager students, and me. He crossed the room, still moving at turtle speed, and opened the big doors of the supply cupboard. Reaching in, he ran a long finger down the row of shelves, before finding what he was looking for. Carefully, he slid a cardboard box from the cupboard and carried it back to his desk. He set it down, and steadily and unhurriedly turned to us.
A devilish grin spread across his face, and suddenly his movements were very quick and choppy, instead of slow and flowing. He snatched the foam eraser from his polished desk and wiped it three times over the blackboard, erasing our lesson about grammar.
Mr. Mendota spun wildly around on one toe, stopping when he was directly in front of his sort of freaked out class, and me. His eyes were wide, shining brilliantly . There was a sort of insane look about his expression.
"Forget everything I've ever taught you about English or grammar!" he shouted, waving the eraser around. “Quickly, do it now!"
They looked at each other, totally confused.
I, however, was fascinated; I leaned forward, with a curious expression replacing my usual indifferent one. Let's watch, boys and girls. I'm interested to see where this is going...
"I don't see anyone doing what I'm asking!" Mr. Mendota announced loudly, glaring at us. Now his excited eyes glinted to the point of madness. Cool. "Close your eyes -- forget all of it!"
A couple of people looked terrified and shot nervous glances toward the door like trapped mice. Some hesitantly closed their eyes, uncertain frowns puckering their lips. With one last glance at the others, I shut my eyes too.
Let's see, forget everything I learned in this room…
That was quick.
I opened my eyes again, to find Melanie looking at me, scared out of her mind. I turned to gaze back, and saw my wide, round green eyes reflected in her dull hazel ones. Her brows nettled together, and she bit her lip hard.
"Are you done?” Mr. Mendota shouted, slightly slurring his words together. He hopped back and forth, from one foot to the other, gangly arms flapping at his sides. His smile stretched the sides of his face, and he looked absolutely insane.
But I live on insanity.
There was a dull murmur from the class. Sherrie Parker had taken out her sweater and was hiding under it, doing some sort of deep breathing exercises. It’s so much fun to watch people as they’re forced to deviate from their normal routines. It totally throws them off.
“I said, are you done? ” Mr. Mendota hollered, and Sherrie twitched wildly in her seat. Mr. Mendota was breathing hard too, but it wasn’t from fear.
He got ready to speak, taking a deep lungful of air and grinning
“Next year, you will all break apart,” Mr. Mendota began. “Some of you will stay in town, go to the upper school. Some of you will go away. In my class, I want to prepare you for the world. This is where you make a decision to learn. I want to see what you can do. What Alec can do. ” He gestured to the boy with the pudding-bowl haircut who enjoys sticking me with a pencil and hissing, Poke a Potter. “What Winnie can do.” Mr. Mendota waved a hand to Winnie, with her six little ringlet curls and eager mud-brown eyes. “What… er, Sherrie can do.”
Sherrie twitched under her sweater, the metals legs of her chair scraping against the tiled floor as she shook.
His eyes, behind silver-rimmed rectangular glasses, traveled slowly across the classroom to rest on me. Though he didn’t say anything, I could see the sentence forming in his mind. What Kata can do.
What can Kata do?
The question echoed in my mind, ricocheting again and again against the walls of my brain. Everybody in my life was looking for answers. Including me. But it seemed like I was the only one who wasn’t getting them.
“The assignment,” Mr. M continued, pacing slowly back and forth in front of his desk, “is entitled ‘Twenty Things That Make the World Go ‘Round’.”
I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He stopped pacing, and sat on the edge of his desk, smirking at us.
“Whatever. I’ll bite,” I grumbled. “How does the stupid assignment work?”
“That, Miss Potter, is entirely up to you,” Mr. Mendota announced giddily. “All I want you to do is answer this question: what are the twenty things that make your world go ‘round?”
Now, here’s the thing about me. People think I’m really blunt, and rude, but I’m actually the opposite; I never do or say what I really feel. For instance, this assignment thingy sounded pretty interesting to me. I’m a firm believer in the ‘no rules’ concept.
But about a month ago, I closed up. So instead of asking for more information, I rolled my eyes. It was the other kids who asked.
“But how do we do it then?”
“You mean, like, gravity and stuff?”
“Should we make a list?”
Mr. Mendota shrugged, with this big huge smile still on his face. I scowled, and this time I meant it. I don’t like turning in normal work. How was I supposed to do this?
While Mr. Mendota fielded questions from a couple of girls who were worried that their grade was going to take some sort of downward plummet thanks to the lack of instruction here, I watched the clock. I sort of like the clock here. It doesn’t look like the clock most other teachers have, with a perfectly round body and little black hands. Mr. Mendota’s clock is silver and doesn’t really have a shape. It’s more of a blob . And the numbers are all different colors, and instead of a plain “12”, it says “2x6”.
Only three more minutes until I was free. Well, maybe free was the wrong word. I was out of one torture and into another. I never felt free in Little Whinging anymore. I used to. Despite my… guardians, I was pretty happy. I’d made this place my home, loving the small town feel and the quirks that some people hated. It was the perfect place for someone like me.
But now I hated it, because it represented everything I couldn’t have. I couldn’t go to school, or at least not the school I wanted. I couldn’t see my brother. And I couldn’t trust anyone.
Not the best arrangement in the world, but it’s not like I’m sticking around for long.
The sharp noise of the bell ringing pulled me from my thoughts. I stood, grabbing my black canvas messenger bag and pulling on my tattered jean jacket before the bell had finished ringing. There wasn’t much out on my desk, except for a kelly green notebook that is basically the most valuable thing I own. I stuffed it in the bag, making for the door, while my classmates still packed their bags and talked animatedly.
“After class, Kata,” Mr. Mendota murmured when I was close enough to hear.
I glowered at the wall while the other kids filed out in a straight line. Mr. Mendota gave everyone a notebook from the box. Maybe we did have to make a list, then, if it involved paper. Or maybe he was trying to fool us, and we were supposed to bring in a box of the twenty things we needed.
Or maybe there wasn’t any hint at all. Maybe we really were supposed to do the whole thing by ourselves.
After the room was cleared except for Mr. Mendota and me, he sighed and turned to me. I shifted my gaze from the off-white wall to him.
He eyed me in a strange way, like he was trying to memorize my features. He stared at my face for a long time, and I met his eyes evenly. He fixed on mine, too, like if he looked hard enough, he would see my soul.
I wondered briefly what my soul would look like.
“Kata,” Mr. Mendota began. He didn’t say my name like he was talking to me. He said it like he was labeling something, in a scientific manner. “Kata.”
This time he said it like he was addressing me. I didn’t say anything back.
“Kata, what’s going on?” he asked. His voice was weirdly intense as he stared at me.
“Well, the economy’s not doing so hot, and-”
He cut me off. “I know that one. I mean, what’s going on with you.”
I didn’t actually say anything to that either.
“I’m worried about you.” He uncrossed his arms, stretching one hand halfway out to me in a kind gesture. I moved away on instinct.
“Why?” I snorted. “I’m fine.”
He gave me a speculative look. “Really? You’re fine? Kata, you’re falling asleep on your desk, your grades aren’t great, and you won’t talk to anyone! When you were absent last week, I called your aunt, and she didn’t even know you hadn’t left the house! Something about a rope outside your window!”
She knows about that? Darn it.
I shrugged. “She doesn’t talk to me either,” I announced, a little defensively.
“Why?” he pressed ardently. “What’s going on? Is there something at home, or what? You aren’t happy, Kata. I see you, hiding out under the slide at recess, not talking to the others, not even making eye contact!”
“Maybe I’m shy,” I suggested, rolling my eyes.
Mr. Mendota gave an exasperated groan. “Oh, yes, you’re dreadfully shy, telling me off in front of everyone else. That’s not it, Kata. There must be something. Something at home, or with you’re brother, or something. I saw you in previous years, Kata. You’re a brilliant, friendly person.”
I wondered if I had a twin walking around. Maybe I’d had friends before, but I wouldn’t call myself friendly.
“Mr. Mendota,” I spoke very slowly and clearly, enunciating every word, “every single thing is fine. Just fine. I am a perfectly normal person with no problems. My home life is fantastic, I have friends, and I am happy. Okay?”
I truly amaze myself sometimes. It all sounded genuine. If I were watching from another room, I would be totally convinced that whoever was saying this meant all of it. But Lying is just something I have to do, and do well.
Mr. Mendota sighed and rubbed his temples again. “Fine. Don’t talk. Just so you know…”
He reached into the box on his desk and pulled out a green notebook, holding it out to me. “Twenty Things That Make the World Go ‘Round. Maybe you’ll find them, maybe you won’t. But you will find something. Be careful… you might even find yourself.”
I snorted and took the notebook. “Maybe I’m not looking.”
Then I strode briskly from the room, shaking my head. Find myself. How on earth does a person find themselves? Sounds like a fortune cookie. People know who they are; they just try to hide it sometimes, but they always know where. ‘Maybe you’ll allow yourself to be found’, would be better.
I’d had a confrontation like that almost every day. People apparently noticed you simply because you weren’t there to be noticed.
I sighed as I walked through the open doors of the school outside. Kids were everywhere in the courtyard. Jump ropes struck the pavement with rhythmic slapping noises. Balls bounced with rubbery sounds and everywhere people were talking.
I hitched my bag higher up on my shoulder and began the walk through the yard. The upper school is right next to the lower school, and everyday when the final bells rings, kids from kindergarten to high school pour out the doors. There’s hopscotch and kickball on the lower school’s side, and picnic benches and gossip and tonsil hockey on the upper school’s side. There is a definite line.
Just like I do every day, I walked down the center of it, not stepping onto either side. High School student ignored me, and elementary school kids ignored me. The perfect system.
But today I heard my name, called out in a trilling little voice from the lower school’s side.
“Kata!”
Slowly, I turned to see Winnie, the girl with the six tight ringlet curls, and a bunch of her friends. They had a jump rope, but none of them were paying attention to it anymore as I met Winnie’s gaze. She beckoned for me to come over.
“Hey!” she chirped, waving a hand. Winnie looked right at my face, but her friends examined me from top to bottom. I was a bug under a microscope. The kind of microscope that lights up, too, adding uncomfortable heat to the pressure of being looked at. Stared at. Gawked at.
“Hello.” My voice was monotonous, low and even. Winnie grinned at the sound of it. She looked like she was about to say something else, but a girl with a high blonde ponytail and white flip-flops broke in.
“Nice outfit.” The girl smirked . Her name was Tonya, or Tammie, or something. I glared, but tried to remember what I was wearing without looking down at it. I remembered putting on red shorts, and out of the corner of my eye I could see that my long-sleeved shirt was periwinkle blue.
“Yeah,” a skinny brunette with a big nose commented. “Nice shoes. I haven’t seen a pair like that in a while.”
I knew what shoes I was wearing, the same shoes I wore everyday. Scuffed, purple Converse high-tops. They were covered in two years worth of dirt and graffiti. In fact, the toe of the left shoe still said ‘Jilly BFF’ in red ink. I could see Jilly hiding out in the back, avoiding my eyes. Her long, curly blonde hair was pulled back in a white-gold poof, and she was dressed from head to pointy toe in pink glitter.
“Anyway,” Winnie continued, her mouth slightly pursed in frustration with her friends for insulting me. “Twenty Things. What a weird assignment.”
“One word for it,” I muttered. I didn’t want to agree with Winnie.
“What’s your necklace mean?” Tonya/Tammie asked loudly, pointing to the silver chain around my neck. A smooth, pale pink stone dangled from it.
“It was given to me by an old hobo when I was six, I answered coolly without missing a beat. Then I turned back to Winnie. “You were saying?”
She looked a little taken aback by my explanation of the necklace, but shook her head and went on, “I was just wondering what… what happened, I mean, I haven’t seen you brother around. Where is… what happened?”
I was prepared for this, but that didn’t mean I liked it any more than the first time someone asked me. Because everyone wondered. Every nosy neighbor , every bold schoolmate had asked me.
I cleared my throat and gave my practiced answer. Trust nobody, I remembered. Keep the secret.
“He got a scholarship to a school in Scotland,” I replied evenly.
And with that, I turned and resumed walking toward the bike rack right down the borderline.
Humph. Scholarship. Harry didn’t need a scholarship. He was a wizard.
Which makes me a witch.
Twenty Things That Make the World Go 'Round by eva_writes
Story Notes:
Hey! I've never written a full length fic before, but Kata's been in my head fot so long, and she's dying to have her story told. This is not a typical "Harry has a sister" fic, and if you read it, the reasons why wil become evident. I hope you enjoy this... a big thank you to Azhure, my beta! And, of course, I do not own Harry Potter, the color green, or string cheese.
Chapter Notes: This is chapter one in Twenty Things That Make the World Go 'Round! I hope you enjoy this, and remember to review!
Chapter Endnotes: Oooo.. not exactly a cliffhanger, but admit it, you want to know what Kata has to say about magic. I'll give you a bit of it now... there are parts of it she hates, and some of them don't have to do with being left behind. Remember to review!
-Eva