Never Let Go

Lessons with Professor Snape proved to be infinitely more grueling than Emilia had anticipated they could possibly be. She’d thought that after the first few days she’d get into the swing of things, grow accustomed to his particular brand of instruction, but that wasn’t so. Snape was a man that demanded perfection, and when she failed to meet his standards, as she often did, he reproached her in a manner that left her confidence shaken and made her want to throw her wand at that stupid crooked nose of his. She hated the way he sneered at her, that odious look of contempt that was fixed on his face during their lessons. He looked at her as if she was just mucking about! As if she were Crabbe or Goyle during lessons. She wanted to scream at him that she was trying, that she was doing her absolute best. And she was! Emilia was pushing herself further than she’d ever possibly thought she could, but that wasn’t enough for him.

Snape didn’t want her to be as good as she could be. He wanted her to be as good as Bellatrix. No. Better. He wanted her to be better than Bellatrix, than Lucius, so that if she were ever to do battle with either of them, she would come out the victor. Emilia couldn’t just be a remarkable witch for her age. She had to be remarkable for a witch or wizard in general. Her talents had to rival those of the most skilled Death Eaters, because if she was going to be responsible for ensuring the success of Harry, then there was no doubt in Snape’s mind that at one point or another, she would have to use a killing curse to defend Harry or brew a potion to help his injuries heal. It was her duty to be exceptional, and Snape had no problem with being the driving force that would push her towards fulfilling her duty, even when she was on the verge of tears and she started cursing at him at the top of her lungs.

In the last few days, he’d had a slew of profanity thrown at him. He’d considered giving her detention or sending her to Dumbledore, but whenever he was readying himself to do that, he looked into her eyes and saw her mother staring back at him. He saw sweet Adelaide, the young woman that tried to patch up his friendship with Lily after they’d had their nasty falling out. And when he remembered Emilia’s mother, the friendly hand that she’d extended to him, he couldn’t get her in trouble with Dumbledore. He’d simply tell the wild haired youth that enough was enough, and demand that she get in position to start dueling again.

Emilia would always hesitate for a second, her anger getting the best of her, but eventually she would clamor back into the position where she was to stand during duels and they’d start all over again. There were times when she got a few good shots in on him. Once, she’d send him hurling towards a bookcase, but her victorious moments were rare. And with every session that passed in which her injuries increased and his remained as nothing more than a scratch here, a scratch there, her frustration grew. The prophecy had to be wrong or if not wrong then Dumbledore and Snape and the rest of them had gotten the wrong child. From what she imagined, a golden lion ought to be this ferocious creature to whom any spell comes easily and who can brew any draught or potion with great ease. A golden lion shouldn’t be struggling to master advanced spells and potions like Emilia was. It took days for her to properly master a spell, hours to get a potion brewed correctly, and all the while, she could only think about how naïve she’d been in thinking that being a member of the Order would be a walk in the park.

How she wished she could go back and tell herself that it wouldn’t be easy, that she should’ve asked her grandparents to get her a private tutor while she was in America so that she could have been more advanced and prepared for what Snape had in store for her, but there was not changing the past. She had to make due with what she had, and so she worked hard, she devoted herself to her lessons, and on weekends, she woke early to go out for long runs. If she was working hard to prepare her dueling skills then she also had to be physically fit. She had to be able to run long distances with minor discomfort, to move around without growing to tired and resort to fist fighting if it was absolutely necessary, not that she believed Death Eaters would be very keen on fighting like muggles, but if they for some reason had to fight with their hands, then she wanted to be ready for it.

As a result of the stress and exercising, Emilia lost a bit of weight. It wasn’t a noticeable amount, only enough for her pants to fit a bit looser and for her to employ the services of a belt. She tried to eat more to keep herself at her usual weight, but when she was stressed out, she wasn’t good at keeping food down. That was how she’d been ever since she was a child. She’d get stressed and lose her appetite or she’d get stressed and the nerves would make her throw up. It was annoying and it left her hungry most of the time, but whenever there was a window when she felt at ease, she’d stuff her face until her hunger was satiated. She wished that she would’ve had some pot to smoke, that would’ve given her, her appetite back and calmed her nerves, but ever since she found out about the prophecy, she quit smoking. She couldn’t risk being stoned in case something serious happened. She had to have a clear head so that she’d be able to make rational decisions. The last thing she wanted was to get someone killed because she’d been high.

It was insane to her how much her life had changed since she’d returned to England. She was now in the middle of the war, an important piece and she was still struggling to wrap her mind around it. In the days following her being informed of the prophecy, she’d written to her grandparents, asking if they’d please drop by for a visit, to have a chat and talk things through. Her letter went without response for two weeks. Her grandparents were busy, having gone off on business to America where her grandfather was called in as a reliable source regarding the state that England was in, but when they returned, they gladly responded by stating that they would indeed pay her visit. And after they sent that letter out, they wrote another to Dumbledore, inquiring if there was anyway that they’d be granted access to the castle for a meeting with their granddaughter.

Dumbledore was hesitant about whether or not it would look right to allow the Renner’s into Hogwarts. He thought that maybe the action would lead to Death Eaters thinking the elderly couple was conspiring against them, and turn them into targets, but he eventually cast those thoughts aside. There was nothing more natural than for their granddaughter to seek them out while her life was undergoing such a drastic change, and after asking Snape to yell at her in front of her peers and state that he would have a personal meeting with her grandparents to tell them of the vile creature they’d raised, Dumbledore felt comfortable enough with extending an invitation to Hogwarts and sent Tonks to fetch them from their home. Security at Hogwarts was at an all time high, which meant that no one that wasn’t a student, Hogwarts employee, or Ministry appointed Auror, was allowed to be there. That was why Tonks had to escort them onto the premises and would be the one that would escort them out.

When Tonks arrived at the Renner Cottage, she was immediately bombarded by inquiries from Rosalind. Rosalind was terribly worried about Emilia. She hated not having her at home and the fact that she was a Slytherin only added to her unease. Emilia was a true Gryffindor, she deserved to be in the house where her parents had dwelled, but for her safety, she was in the snakes den, surrounded by people whose parents had fought against hers.

Tonks answered her questions as best she could, though that didn’t mean they were very detailed replies. Tonks didn’t spend much time with Emilia; the curly haired youth was always running around from place to another, never really letting herself be seen much outside classes and meals. So all Tonks knew was what she overheard from students, particularly Ron and Harry whom seemed to discuss her with great frequency.

Upon arriving at the castle, Tonks escorted the elderly couple up to the Headmaster’s office where the meeting would take place. It was safest place in the entire castle and given the delicate nature of what was surely to be discussed, secrecy and safety, were of the upmost importance.

Emilia waited anxiously in the office, her feet dangling back and forth as her darted from the clock in the far side of the room to the desk where Dumbledore sat. They’d given a go at small talk, inquired as to how the other’s day was going and if they were enjoying the weather, but soon her will to be good company vanished and her nerves got the better of her. She had so many questions to ask, some of which involved her parents, others which were strictly related to her person. And when they walked into the room, abandoning the final step of the stairs, she took off in a sprint towards them.

“Nan!” she exclaimed excitedly, wrapping her arms tightly around the plump witch as she placed affectionate kisses on her wrinkled face. “Grandpa!” she cried, giving him the same treatment as her grandmother. “I'm so glad you’re here. I’ve been going crazy with everything that’s happening. I’ve been – ah, it doesn’t matter. You guys are here now. And that’s all I wanted. I just wanted to see you now that I know.”

“We never wanted you to know, love.” Thomas tenderly rubbed her back. “This wasn’t the future we wanted for you.”

Rosalind stepped behind her husband and stared intently into Emilia’s eyes. “We wanted to keep you safe, not toss you out into the middle of this squabble, but it wasn’t right of us to keep all this from you. We know that now.”

“It’s alright.” Emilia sniffled as she pulled away. “I get why you guys didn’t tell me. You were sworn to secrecy.”

“That shouldn’t have been enough to stop us,” argued Rosalind, softly. “We should’ve asked Dumbledore to let us tell you. To keep such a secret hidden for so many years is unpardonable.”

“Now that’s just not true,” a halfhearted smile was mustered by Emilia. “Not that you guys need my forgiving, but if you did, I do. I forgive you. You guys weren’t at the liberty to tell me, and I get it. Didn’t get it at first, but now I do.”

Rosalind cupped her cheek. “We wish we could’ve been here when you found out. You must have been so scared, dear.”

“I think it was better that you weren’t here.”

“How so?” asked Rosalind.

“I may have kicked some stuff over and started cursing,” mumbled Emilia, her cheeks reddening.
Rosalind looked over to Dumbledore. “Is that true?”

“Ah, yes, yes it is. Emilia demonstrated her very colorful vocabulary. Though there’s no need to scold her about it. Was a natural response, it was, very natural.” Dumbledore stepped towards them. “I will take my leave now; give the privacy which you so desperately require to speak of this delicate subject. There is a pot of tea on that far table, as well as a few scones that the house elves were kind enough to make. Thomas, Rosalind, Miss Renner,” he bowed his politely and then walked down the stairs, leaving the family to discuss amongst themselves.

“So . . . you cursed?” asked Rosalind.

Emilia nodded. “It’s not like I could help it. One moment I was just Emilia and then all of a sudden they told me that I was a golden lion and I just – I couldn’t process it. I still haven’t fully processed everything that that means. It feels like . . . ah, never mind.”

“Go on love, tell us,” urged Thomas, gently.

“I don’t know it just – it felt like, well not felt like, that’d mean that I don’t feel that way anymore and I do! I feel like it’s my fault that my parents died, like if they had a normal kid, one that was just gonna be a face in the crowd, they’d be alive. And not only my parents, but my aunts and uncles that died when Voldemort was looking for me. It’s my fault they’re all dead.”

“Don’t you ever say those horrid words again!” interjected Thomas, forcefully. “I will not have you blaming yourself for their deaths. There is only person to blame and we all know very well that it’s Voldemort.”

“But he wouldn’t have wanted them dead if it hadn’t been for me.” Emilia said in a low voice. “I was the reason he went looking for them. If only I’d been different. If only the future had something different in store for me.”

“Millie, dear, no one can escape their fate.” Rosalind spoke, taking her granddaughters hand in hers. “You were born to be remarkable, and have been so all your life. Now it’s just time to be a different sort of remarkable, that’s all, but you’ll manage.”

“I know I have to manage, but I'm not so sure I will.” Emilia confessed. “It’s daunting. You know? How am I supposed to ensure Harry’s victory when I can’t even ensure that I’ll get to bed at a reasonable hour or eat all my vegetables? It’s just too much and I know that this, being in the thick of it, was what I dreamt of. I wanted to be in the Order like my mom and dad, but now that I'm here, now that I'm a part of it, I'm not sure that I want it. And I feel guilty for not wanting to do what I'm supposed to do.” Her nostrils flared. “What would my parents think of me if they knew?”

“Your parents would be proud.” Rosalind reassured.

“Of me not wanting to do what I have to do?” asked a confused Emilia.

“No, dear,” Rosalind gave her hand a soft squeeze. “They’d be proud that even though you’re not particularly keen on doing it, you’re still putting yourself out there to do what you must.”

Emilia stared at her grandmother with curious eyes. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, dear,” she let out a soft sigh. “Your parents would be proud of the young woman you’ve become and of how hard you’re working. Professor Snape’s told us that you’ve had lessons with him since you were informed of the prophecy, and he says you’re doing quite well.”

“No, there’s no way that’s true. He’s always telling me that I’ve got my head up my ass.” Emilia protested.

“Language!” bellowed Rosalind.

“He tells me I’ve got my head up my bum,” repeated Emilia. “Says with the way I duel, I'm gonna get myself killed.”

“He’s simply being hard on you, is all.” Thomas interjected. “He can’t be singing you praises if he wants you to push yourself further.”

“I don’t know. He’s always glaring.” Emilia commented.

“That’s just the way he looks.” He said. “Remember seeing him with your mum and Lily at the train station, was always glaring and looking cross.”

“He was friends with mom?” she asked, curiously.

Thomas nodded. “During their early years at Hogwarts, they were quite close friends. Then there was a spat between him and Lilly. That strained your mum’s relationship with him. And then he became a Death Eater, so that friendship came to an end there. It was always odd to see him with those two. They were quite the beauties and then there was him, but he was friends with Lily since they were children, so I happen to think that he was particularly fond of her.”

“Thomas, don’t be spreading rumors.” Rosalind scolded. “Don’t listen to your granddad. He’s just getting carried away with his thoughts is all, and besides, we’re not meant to be discussing that. We’re meant to be discussing the prophecy. Millie wants to know about that, not about who her professor might or might not have fancied when he was schoolboy.”

“Mark my words, he fancied her.” Thomas grumbled.

“And I fancied Lewis Vital when I was a schoolgirl, but I ended up marrying you. So who fancied who back then doesn’t matter in the least,” she declared. “Millie, dear, what is it you wanted to ask? I daresay you must speak up or else your granddad will start gossiping about things that have no relevance.”

“I wanted to know if mom and dad ever mentioned anything special about me, an ability or something, because I’ve been thinking that if I'm going to be – not going to be, if I'm the golden lion then there has to be an ability that’ll set me apart, something that’ll help me do what I have to do. And I’ve been trying to figure out what it is, but haven’t had any luck so I was wondering if maybe you had an idea.”

“Emilia, dear, I wish I had a response to give, but if memory serves me correct, your parents never mentioned anything in particular that was odd or special, about you. That is to say, they never mentioned anything apart from the prophecy that set you apart from other children.”

“Are you sure, though?” asked Emilia, hopefully. I mean, maybe they mentioned something in passing.”

“To us, they never mentioned such a thing.” Rosalind stated. “Perhaps they did to Lily or James, maybe one of their friends or Dumbledore, but to us, they did not. I think that if there was a rare ability in your person, they would have kept it from us to keep us ignorant in case we were to find ourselves in the wrong hands.”

“So you don’t know anything,” she mumbled to herself, displeased with her grandparent’s ignorance.

“No, dear, we do not.” Rosalind wished she knew of a way to aid her granddaughter, but she was at a complete loss. “But you do not require a rare ability to aid you in fulfilling your destiny.”

Emilia shot her a confused look.

“What I mean to say is that you are very much capable of doing anything you set your mind to. Remember wrestling? Do you remember how hard it was in the beginning, how in pain you were and how much you swore you would quit and turn your back on the sport?”

“I remember.” Emilia replied.

“But you didn’t quit. Did you? You stuck it out. Got those nasty bruises and scars, and just kept going. You refused to be defeated and in the end, at internationals, you took second place.” Rosalind’s chest swelled with pride. “You can do anything you set your mind to love. That’s why I know that when this is all over with, you’ll have done exactly what you ought to have done. And you’ll do it with style.”

“You have more faith in me than you should.” Emilia muttered.

“For one so cheerful it is truly amazing how negative you can be when it comes to yourself, but that’s alright, for I will have faith in you, and I will make you have faith in yourself.” Rosalind gave Emilia’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Now what else would you like to discuss, my dear?”

They spent the next few hours discussing the past, what had happened when her parents had been alive and in the immediate aftermath of her mother’s death. They gave her details that were previously withheld from her, deciding that it was time she knew the story its entirety. There were moments when the young witch burst into tears, moment when she grow so frustrated and annoyed that she began pacing about the room, refusing to hear her grandparent’s words, and there were moments when she sat perfectly still, calmly soaking in the information which they bestowed upon her. It was odd for them to speak to her as an equal instead of a granddaughter.

She was used to them censoring information, only giving her that which was absolutely necessary, but everything was now on the table for her to see. The family secrets which had long been concealed from her and the other grandchildren were now known to her. She knew of the rogue Renner, a daughter of theirs, that had joined the Death Eaters and had died by the hand of Dominic, she knew of how they had narrowly escaped being abducted by Voldemort himself, she was now aware of how sought after she’d been, of just how truly valuable her life was, and as she listened to their stories, she swore to herself that the sacrifices her family made in order to ensure her survival would not be in vain.

Eventually it came time for Rosalind and Thomas to return to their cottage. They’d stayed longer than they’d expected to. The sun was beginning to set and it wasn’t safe to be out after sunset. That was when most of the fighting happened. Rosalind went through her usual emotional rollercoaster. She first had a bright smile on her face, kept saying how happy she was to have been able to see Emilia after being apart for so long, then the tears came, the tears were followed by loud sobbing, and she had to be pried off and told to calm herself down. Thomas wasn’t one for hysterics. His eyes remained dry throughout their farewells and when he pulled away from the strong embrace that he’s just shared with his granddaughter, he stared down at her, his wrinkled face looking intently upon her chubby cheeked one.

“We said that you do not have a rare ability, but I believe we may have erred in making such a statement.”

“What do you mean, grandpa?”

“I mean that you, while not having a rare magical ability, have something which in my opinion is far more important. You, my darling Millie, have a tenderness of heart unlike any. Despite what you have endured, what you have seen, there is an ever fixed smile on your face, a genuine desire to do right and bring happiness to those whom you love best. It is, I believe, your heart which sets you apart from any of us, so please, give it a listen. It may at times lead you astray, but I have confidence that it is your heart which will be your greatest asset on the dark times ahead.”