My feet gave way as soon as we landed, and I stumbled to the hard, stone floor. That was the longest Portkey journey I had ever taken; I guessed the laws of travel were the same everywhere: the longer the distance, the more time it takes and the more disoriented people become.
Beside me, my parents seemed absolutely oblivious the consequences of long-distance travel by Portkey. Both of them looked rather amused as they saw me on the ground.
“No time for a nap, Tash,” Dad said, loudly enough for only me to hear, and winked. He stretched out his hand towards me. Grumbling, I took his hand and pulled myself up to my feet. Looking around, I saw that I was in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by around two dozen people. Great, I thought irritably as I fixed my clothes and hair. I just had to embarrass myself in a room full of people.
“Where are we?” I asked, taking in my surroundings. The room didn’t seem unlike the one we had been in previously. The only difference was that there were no windows, and the sources of light were torches that were held in brackets. Fireplaces lined the walls, warm fires cackling in the grates. There were people everywhere, but this time, they all seemed to leave the room instead of standing in long lines. Occasionally the fires in the grates would turn emerald and a person would stumble out. People also Apparated in with loud cracks either alone or in couples, or, like us, arrived in groups via Portkeys.
“This,” Dad said, looking around proudly, “is the Ministry of Magic, London. We’re back in England.”
For some reason, I felt… really glad to be back here. I was the one who’d been the most reluctant to go through with the trip, but here I was, grinning like an idiot. The moment my feet stepped down, I felt an odd connection to this place, and I felt like I really was home.
Mum smiled at my expression. “I thought you weren’t happy with this.”
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “It looks like I changed my mind without knowing it myself.”
The journey out of the Ministry wasn’t very eventful. We showed our documents to the customs-wizards, who also waved their wand around my trunk to see if there was anything inside. It glowed bright white and suddenly became transparent, showing everything inside. Once they were satisfied that I wasn’t carrying anything dangerous, they waved Probity-probes over us. Finally, when they were sure that we weren’t impostors, they let us pass.
Once we left the room, we found ourselves in a corridor lined with heavy oak doors. The walls were made of panelled, dark wood that shone from the sunlight streaming in through the windows. (“They’re not real windows, by the way; we’re underground,” Dad told me, much to my surprise.) The floor was also polished, dark wood, contrasting with the white ceiling overhead. People jostled past us, some of them carrying large boxes full of what looked like run-of-the-mill, used up items like drink-cans: Portkeys, I assumed. At the end of the long corridor was what looked like an elevator. Beside it, in gold letters superimposed on a black, metal plate, were the words LEVEL FIVE, Department of International Magical Cooperation.
After waiting there a few seconds, the elevator glided up from the lower floors, and the golden grilles slid open automatically, making lots of annoying, jangling noises. Inside were a couple of people: a tall, dark-skinned wizard wearing exquisite, black robes, and a young, bespectacled witch who was holding a stack of parchment. The light above us flickered slightly as a cluster of pink paper-planes flew in after us. I didn’t bother asking Dad what it was, for they were probably memos or files of some sort.
As we ascended, a cool, female voice was announcing the name of the departments as we stopped at them one by one. The dark-skinned wizard and the young witch left at Level Seven, which, according to the woman’s voice, was the Department of Magical Games and Sports. At every level, people and memos alike crowded into the elevator, so by the time we arrived at the last floor I was squashed against the back wall of the elevator. Grumbling, I shuffled out of the elevator after everyone else. Looking around me, I found that there were around two-dozen other similar elevators. And everyone had to take the same one as us, I thought irritably.
“Where are we now?” I asked Mum as we made our way into a much larger room.
“The Atrium, sweetheart,” she replied.
We were walking across a huge, splendid hallway with similar polished, dark wood floors like the corridor we were in below. The roof, on the other hand, was royal blue, compared to the white ceiling of the department we had been in. Golden symbols set against the ceiling moved about; it looked a lot like the notice-board we used to have in the Entrance Hall back in Eduvene. The panelled, dark wood walls had gilded fireplaces set against them, and people appeared in a swirl of green flames every few seconds.
At the centre of the hall was a golden fountain. However, there was no decoration on top. Instead, there was a large pillar, on which was engraved thousands of tiny names. I walked up to it to get a better look. At the top of the pillar was emblazoned the words, “Martyrs of the War”, and the smaller, etched words seemed to be names of people.
My parents came up to me. “These are all the people who died in the war,” Mum said softly. “The names of those murdered by the Death Eaters, or by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself.”
“So many?” I whispered with a sickening feeling at the base of my stomach.
“They killed everyone, starting from men and women to children, wizards to Muggles,” Dad said bitterly. “He stopped at no one, though he did hesitate to spill magical blood. Anyway,” he said, looking at his watch, trying to shift the topic. “We better get going.”
Tearing my eyes away from the pillar, I followed my parents towards the fireplaces.
Shortly, however, my attention was drawn once more by a small crowd near the dark, polished wooden front doors. Flashes of light and puffs of smoke erupted from cameras; many reporters seemed to be gathered around someone. It was a dark-skinned wizard clad in navy-blue robes, and he had an air of authority about him.
“Minister Shacklebolt, what about the fugitive Death Eaters?” a skinny, red-haired reporter was saying. “It has been a month now, how long will it be before they are caught?”
“The Aurors are working on it day and night,” the Minister replied in a deep, soothing voice. “We already have a lead on Travers and Avery, and I can assure you, it will not be long before someone is caught.” I could see why this guy was the Minister; he spoke in a really convincing and solid voice.
“What about the Dementors?” A dimply witch was asking.
“They are being rounded up as we speak...”
I had no time to hear, however, for Mum ushered me towards the fireplace. Dad seemed to have left already.
“Say ‘Number sixteen, Brytlee Place’, loudly and clearly,” she instructed me. She took my trunk from me, telling me that she would bring it along.
I stepped into the fireplace hesitantly and took a pinch of Floo powder from an urn on the mantelpiece. I hated travelling by Floo. Screwing my eyes shut, I dropped the powder into the fireplace, and immediately, green flames started to lick up my robes, billowing smoke upwards. Coughing and spluttering, I stammered, “Number sixteen, Bry-brytlee P-place!”
I tucked my arms inward as close as possible as I whizzed upwards. I peeked and saw a flurry of rooms through other grates. I kept on spinning like this for a few seconds, until finally, to my relief, I came to a halt. Staggering out, I saw Dad waiting for me.
“Why Floo?” I asked, annoyed. Dad just grinned at me. Behind me, I heard Mum arrive with a soft whoosh.
I looked around me and wrinkled my nose in disgust. The place was a mess. The ceiling was covered with cobwebs, and the floor was coated with a thick inch of dust and grime. All the furniture was covered with white sheets, but they were covered with so much dust that the original colour was gone. The paint was peeling off from the walls. Dark and damp, the house didn’t really seem brightly lit, like its name suggested.
Mum looked around in revulsion. “What in the name of Merlin...”
“What do you expect? It was boarded up for the last sixteen years, its bound to be a little grimy,” Dad said.
This place would need a lot of cleaning to do, I thought wryly.
Mum seemed to be thinking along the same lines, too, for she took out her wand and hastily muttered, “Tergeo”. The thick coating of grime and dust vanished, exposing the wooden floorboards beneath. Next she flicked her wand, causing the white clothes covering the furniture to vanish. The sofas and tables were very old and, as Bri would say, totally out of style. They looked as if someone had gone two centuries back using a Time-Turner and had brought these back.
“You couldn’t have gotten these cleaned up before we got here?” Mum rounded on Dad, her hands on her hips, a fiery expression on her face.
Dad looked bewildered. “How was I supposed to do that?”
Mum shook her head in annoyance. She hated it when the house was dirty and grimy.
For the next two hours, we trolled around the whole house, trying to get everything in order. It turned out we were in the living room in the ground floor. The house was bigger than the one we had in Australia, which was good for me. Besides the living room, the ground floor consisted of a dining room, a kitchen and a small veranda. There was a door in the kitchen that led to a huge garden at the back, and the moment I stepped out, I saw the most gorgeous scenery.
For miles, there was nothing but trees and hills that were a million shades of green. Our house, it seemed, was perched on top of a hill, and looking down from the edge I could see multiple fields and lakes. From the outside, the house looked brilliant. Made of dark stone, it was covered with ivy and flowers that reached up the windows, which were lined with white wood. There was a small, cobbled path that snaked away from the front door towards the base of the hill. The garden outside was huge, full of trees and flowers that had outgrown themselves all over the place due to lack of proper care. While I was in there, I thought I had caught a glimpse of something that had a head shaped like a potato: a goblin, I assumed. The moment it saw me, it dived into the bushes behind it.
Nonetheless, the view looked absolutely lovely.
Grinning to myself, I thought, What a wonderful place to practise Quidditch.
After a while, my parents had to pull me back into the house. In the corridor leading from the front door to the other rooms, there was a wooden, curved staircase that led to the upper floors, where there were three bedrooms: My parents’, mine, and a guestroom. My room, I thought, was rather small, though it did have a small balcony overlooking the hills.
The bedrooms were large and spacious, and my parents had a beautiful Victorian-style king-sized bed with had flowy white hangings. They were, however, torn, and so were the bed-sheets. The dark-wood dressing table and cupboard were full of termites, covered with a whitish layer of who-knows what, and the curtains seemed to be buzzing with doxies. The carpets emitted a thick puff of dust whenever we stepped on them. My room was not in a much better condition, either. In fact, it was worse, because I could hear lots of banging and clanking from the pipes overhead.
Mum had had enough. With a determined look on her face, she conjured an apron and a bunch of cleaning sprays and pesticides and handed one over to me and to Dad, who looked bemused. As far as I know, Dad had never cleaned anything in his life. When he opened his mouth to protest, Mum shut him up with a glare that could easily rival that of a Basilisk.
Having left with no choice, we started doing the chores Mum handed out. I was supposed to be cleaning the floors with a floor-cleaner while Dad polished the wood. Grinning to myself, I threw down the cleaning supplies and took out my wand the moment Mum left. I pointed it to the floor and muttered, “Evanesco.” The dust vanished, leaving behind a squeaky clean wooden floor. I glanced at Dad, who winked at me, pointing his own wand at the wood. Relieved, I went over to the other room.
A whole hour later, everything seemed to be fixed. Every single surface gleamed, and the furniture looked brand new, though they were still “out of style”. The curtains were no longer torn and buzzing, for Mum had removed all the doxies (you could tell there were many, because she had bruises and doxy-bites all over her arms and had needed Dad’s help to get rid of them) and had fixed the curtains in a jiffy. New wallpapers had been put up, so the walls looked much brighter and colourful, especially the living room, which was a welcoming, pale yellow colour that reminded me of the sun. Even the granite countertops of the kitchen gleamed brilliantly, and so did the brass pots and pans. Exhausted, I plopped down on a chair surrounding the small table in the kitchen.
“Phew,” I sighed, wiping the sweat off my forehead.
Dad sat down beside me and conjured bottles of Firewhiskey and Butterbeer. He took a bottle of Firewhiskey for himself and handed another to Mum. As I reached for one, he slapped my hand away, saying, “You get the Butterbeer.”
Annoyed, I took the Butterbeer. Dad honestly had no idea what we did in the common room after Ginosus won a Quidditch match...
Once I was done chugging down the whole bottle, I shuffled over to my room and plopped down on the bed. The new room had light blue walls, which had silver marks on it. The bed had blue and deep blue shaded covers, and the curtains were coloured silver. The furniture was now painted silver too. There was a carpet now, dyed deep blue. Even the doors were painted silver.
It just lacks pictures. I thought to myself. I waved my wand and lots of pictures and posters appeared on the wall, all of them moving. There were pictures of Briallen and I, pictures of our family during vacations, posters of my favourite Quidditch team (Sydney Strikers), and of my very own house team. “Better now,” I said, grinning to myself. Without another word, I drifted off to sleep.
It was finally dinnertime when I came downstairs again. There was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen “ Mum was cooking her famous shepherd’s pie. I walked into the dining room, which was a large and spacious room with a big dining table and a mini-bar. The off-white wallpaper looked gorgeous with the dark-wood furniture. There was no wall between the kitchen and the dining room; the only thing between them was the mini-bar.
“Hey, Dad,” I said. Dad was sitting at the head of the table, reading a newspaper titled the Daily Prophet. I felt a pang of sadness as I realized I would no longer be able to solve the re-shuffling crossword in the Australian paper; the Sorcerer’s Daily.
“Good evening, Tash,” he answered, scanning a page before turning to another.
“What’re you reading?” I asked, sitting down and resting my elbows on top of the table.
“Sports,” Dad replied absent-mindedly. “The Cannons are still at the bottom of the League, but Puddlemere United are doing good…” he muttered to himself.
“Can I see?” I asked, reaching for the paper, but Dad snatched it away, saying, “No, you get it after me. I need to see the standings. I’ve missed these so much…”
Giving up, I called, “How long will it take, Mum?”
Right on cue, she came in, carrying a dish of pie. “Here I am,” she said, setting the plate on the table. “Put that away, dear,” she told Dad.
“But Cassie, the“”
“No, dear, you will not read the paper while you eat.”
“Fine,” grumbled Dad, folding the paper and setting it aside. I sniggered.
After the delicious dinner was over and I was about to go back to my room, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” I said. Scarpering down the stairs, I opened the front door. There stood my best friend, wearing an annoyed expression on her face.
“Bri!” I squealed, hugging her tightly. “You “ what “ how did “ I missed you!”
“Get off, you brat,” she said, looking at me with mingled joy and annoyance. “You’re ruining my dress! Why are you always so late at opening the bloody door? It’s been around five minutes!”
Grinning, I stepped aside to let her in. “How did you get here?” I asked, closing the door.
“I Apparated,” she said smugly. I had forgotten; Bri had turned seventeen a week before leaving Eduvene, so she’d passed the Apparition test.
“But how did you know the address?”
“That’s none of your business,” she replied shortly.
Rolling my eyes, I took her upstairs to my room and closed the door. My parents wouldn’t mind; it was just Bri.
“Nice,” she said, looking around my room. She did wrinkle her nose when she saw the Quidditch posters, though. “It’s better than my house,” she said, sighing. She conjured up two bottles of Firewhiskey and took one.
“Why?” I asked, surprised, taking the other.
“Well, for one thing, it’s like a bloody manor. It’s… a mini castle, Tash. Chatsworth House, it’s called, but its so not a house. How are we supposed to live there? It’s very old fashioned, worse than Eduvene used to be… imagine, it’s just the four of us: Mother, Father, Nate and I, and we have to live there... alone.” Nate was Briallen’s eleven-year-old brother; he was going to start Edu “ I mean, Hogwarts with us this year.
“You can come live here with me,” I prompted, taking a swig from my bottle. “It’ll be fun!”
Bri laughed. “Right. I’ll only live with you if the world comes to an end and I have bloody nowhere to go.”
I chuckled, because I knew Bri really didn’t mean that.
Suddenly, an idea came to my head. “You know what?” I said. “I know what can cheer you up.”
“What?” she asked, frowning.
“A party!”
Bri looked at me in surprise, one eyebrow raised. “A… party?”
“Yeah, we can invite lots of people over, not only family, but anyone Dad knows. We’ll get to see if anyone our age gets to go to Hogwarts with us, and we can try to be friends, you know,” I said hastily, seeing Bri’s eyebrow going higher and higher until it was almost hidden by her fringe of blonde hair. That was a lame idea, I thought.
To my surprise, Bri cracked a smile. “Not bad,” she said, taking a sip of Firewhiskey.
I grinned. I can’t wait for her to meet Revlyn, I thought cheekily, thinking about my Quidditch-loving, crazy cousin with a wit to match Bri’s. The party would be very interesting…
The Hidden Truth by majestic_ginny
Chapter Notes: Sorry for the delay, guys! My school started, and grade 12 is already a pain. To compensate, I bring a much longer chapter than the last! Also, million thanks to my awesome beta, Emily (emck) who did an awesome job of betaing this story.
Chatsworth House is a real building in England. If you have seen Pride and Prejudice (the one with Keira Knightley) it's Mr Darcy's house in Pemberley. Again, thanks to Emily for suggesting this place.
I neither own Harry Potter or Chatsworth House, by the way. If I did, I'd have been super rich and I'd live in Chatsworth all the time.