Never Let Go

Standing at the doorstep, I realized that I had forgotten to stuff the keys into my pocket, the night before. I cursed inwardly, knowing very well that the cottage had been magically enchanted so that no one could break in by force or by magic. It was an enchantment that my grandfather had invented during the last days of the First Wizarding War.

An enchantment that had saved the lives of he and my grandmother when the Lestrange’s had shown up at their doorstep, but as glad as I was that the enchantment worked, I couldn’t help but be a bit annoyed that I was completely locked out of the house and that I would have to holler at the top of my lungs in order to capture their attention.

The peculiar behavior that was exhibited on my part, as I stood in front of the door, didn’t go unnoticed by the three teenagers that stood behind me. I could clearly hear Harry asking Ron what was going on, I could hear Ron telling him that he didn’t know and I heard Hermione ask if this was the right cottage.

“Emi, you alright?” asked Ron after a rather long silence.

“Yes,” I answered. “I just forgot my keys.”

“Why don’t you just break in?” said Ron. “We can open a window and you can slip in. It’s easy. I do it all the time.”

“There’s an enchantment on the house. Nothing can be opened from the outside, only the inside.” I began to pace around the front, staring up at the windows in an attempt to remember which one belonged to my grandparent’s.

“Why don’t you just ring the bill?” asked Hermione.

“It’s broken, someone’s supposed to come fix it tomorrow afternoon.” I replied.

“What are you going to do then?” Ron stepped alongside me.

I turned to look at him. “I'm going to throw rocks at every window until I find the right one.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to just peer into the downstairs windows? Maybe they’re in the kitchen,” stated Hermione.

“Its 6:40 in the morning, they may be old, but even they don’t wake up this early in the morning. Ah!” I exclaimed when my eyes landed on their window.

“What happened?” Ron shot me a questioning look.

“I found their window.” I told him as I scanned the ground for rocks.

On the ground lay a collection of rocks, some were small enough to throw a window without breaking, others were a bit larger but I figured that since the glass was enchanted, it wouldn’t break and if it did, well, then my grandparents were going to have to fix the window as well as improve their enchantment.

I picked the rocks up off the ground, holding them tightly in my hands as I took several steps back; the entire time staring up at the window. When I felt comfortable enough to throw a rock, I breathed in deeply, grabbed one of the smaller rocks from the pile and threw it with all the strength I had. A loud resounding crack broke the early morning silence but there was no actually breaking of glass.

Instead the window was thrown open and my grandfather stuck his head through, his brow furrowed in an angry manner. It was the same look he got whenever someone tried to order him around and I knew that he was going to scream, so before he parted his lips to let out a stream of expletives, I made my presence known.

“Grandpa!” my eyes closed as I bellowed.

“Millie?” was his response. “What are you doing out there this early?”

“We woke up really early so I figured that I should come over to help set up for lunch.”

“Lunch isn’t for at least five hours,” he rubbed his tired eyes.

“Thom, what’s going on?” spoke my grandmother as she emerged, her hair a wild mess. “Emilia Rose Renner, what on earth are you doing?”

“Trying to be let in,” I answered.

“Don’t you have your keys?” she asked.

“Left them in the room,” I told her.

“Oh Millie, how many times do we have to tell you to take your key everywhere? What if we weren’t here and something happened to you because you couldn’t get inside?”

“Calm down Rose, Millie’s fine,” reassured Thomas.

“This time but what about next time?” her brow cocked.

“There won’t be a next time.” I assured.

“There better not be or else . . .”

“Nana, can you scold me later when we don’t have company?” I interjected.

“Company?” her eyes widened at the sight of my companions. “EMILIA! Why didn’t you tell us you brought company? Thomas. Thomas! Go let them in! Hurry up now!”

There was a bit more screaming, some soft cursing and in two minutes time, my grandfather emerged in the entryway, his short hair a complete mess as he pulled on his sweater vest over his forest green polo.

“Hello children how are you? I do hope that the little shouting match hasn’t scared you. I promise we’re not mad, well, Millie’s a bit mad, but me, not so much,” Thomas winked playfully.

I laughed lightly. “That’s not true! Madness is genetic and since Nana isn’t mad, then I'm afraid I inherited it from you.”

“Are you sure you didn’t inherit it from the others?” my grandfather referred to my mother’s family as the others.

They had never been a part of my life. They had disowned my mother the day that she married a blood traitor, because according to them, it didn’t matter that my father was a wealthy pureblood, all that mattered was that he believed muggles and muggle borns were our equals and that. . . that was something they could not accept so they disowned her.

“If I was mad like them, I’d have my nose so stuck up that . . .” I trailed off.

“Emilia! Manners!” he bellowed.

“What?” I smiled sheepishly. “It’s not like I was going to say anything that wasn’t true.”

“That still doesn’t justify obscene language and you should know better than to talk like that, now, be a dear and introduce me to your friends.”

“Grandpa this is Ronald Weasley,” I motioned to Ron.

“Very funny, Emilia,” he scrunched his nose at me.

“I'm a riot,” I cleared my throat. “Grandpa this is Hermione Granger and this is Harry, damn it, Ron, you didn’t tell me what Harry’s last name was.”

“It’s Potter, Harry Potter,” spoke Ron, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“Harry Potter,” my grandfather’s eyes widened. “It is a true honor to meet you, Mr. Potter and it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger. Please do come in. My wife is putting a pot of tea on the stove. We’ll be having breakfast shortly and we would be honored if you were to join us.”

“Molly already fed us,” I told him.

“Another breakfast won’t hurt. You’re all growing children, now come in and make yourselves at home,” his smile widened and I knew that they wouldn’t be able to say no to my grandfather, he was to adorable of an old man to say no to.

My grandfather turned to walk inside the house and I turned to them. “Sorry about that, you guys don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright; I’ve missed your Nan’s cooking.” Ron turned to Harry. “You’ll love it, Harry. Her Nan makes the best food.”

“Better than your mum’s?” asked Harry.

“Not better,” I interjected. “The pair is in a draw when it comes to their cooking abilities, but come inside. I’d like to avoid a scolding for not having ushered you in properly.”

“Your Nan is just like my mum,” muttered Ron.

“That’s why they’re best friends,” I shut the door behind us. “Welcome to Renner Cottage. It’s not as clean as it ought to be but it’s alright.”

“Good morning dears!” exclaimed my grandmother as she made her way down the stairs.

“Morning Nan,” I placed my backpack on the ground. “Before you say anything else, let me introduce you, this is Hermione Granger and this is Harry Potter, Ron’s friends from Hogwarts.”

“Harry,” her voice held such tenderness that I was certain that everyone’s heart melted. “Our Adelaide was best friends with Lily.”

Harry shot her a questioning look.

“Adelaide was my daughter in law, Emilia’s mother,” a sad smile tugged at my Nan’s lips. “They were the absolute best of friends. Wherever one went, the other went. Very dear girls with such tragic ends . . .” her eyes welled, they always did whenever she spoke of my mother or father. “Would you like to see a picture of them, Harry? I have some from the wedding.”

Harry’s eyes widened at her words, “W-wedding pictures?”

“Yes, dear, Adelaide had a scrapbook for her and Lily. I have it if you want to see it.”

“Yes please,” whispered Harry, his voice cracking.

“Millie, darling, go get the scrapbook,” she ordered softly.

I did as I was told, marching up the stairs to get the scrapbook that I always lugged around with me. I had been taken aback by Harry’s voice and expression. If I didn’t know any better I would’ve guessed that he had never seen his parents wedding pictures but I knew that couldn’t have been so. He was bound to have seen them from someone.

“Here you go,” I handed the large scrapbook to him. “The wedding pictures aren’t until the very end. In the beginning it’s them when they started Hogwarts.”

“They were friends since their first year?” there was a hint of surprise in Harry’s words.

I nodded. “Yeah, they were friends the entire time.”

Harry took a seat on a nearby couch where he immersed himself in the scrapbook. Hermione took a seat beside him. Ron remained at my side. He stared at the ground, something he did whenever he felt insecure and I immediately knew that he was worrying about the effects that my mother’s friendship with Harry’s mother would have on ours.

Ron had always been insecure.

It was one of his worst qualities. It was the one quality about him that I wish I could change. I wish I could make him see just how remarkable he was but he could never focus on his own accomplishments and good qualities. He could just focus on those of others and on his shortcomings.

“Want to see something rad?” I asked, hoping that it would take his mind off things.

“Rad?” he shot me a questioning look.

“Yeah, rad. You can’t honestly tell me that you don’t know what rad means.”

“I don’t,” Ron chuckled lightly. “It sounds like a bloody word that Yanks use and I'm not fluent in Yank.”

“It’s because you’re not as cultured as I am,” I teased.

“Cultured, so that’s what they’re calling it nowadays.”

“You’re a little prat, you know that?”

“ME? A prat?” he placed his hand on his chest, feigning offense, “Never!”

“Whatever Ron, whatever,” I fought back my urge to laugh.

“So what does rad mean?” asked Ron again.

“It’s a shortened way of saying radical,” I explained. “But it’s really just a way of saying that something is mindblowingly amazing.”

“Yanks are so bloody strange.”

“They’re not stranger than you. So do you want to see something rad or not?”

“Obviously I do.”

“Alright, let me go find it.”

I ran up the stairs, rushing to my bedroom where a rather massive scrapbook was safely tucked away underneath my bed. The scrapbook was pulled out, dusted off with my right hand and as soon as I deemed it presentable, I made my way back down to the living room.

“Merlin’s beard!” exclaimed Ron. “Do we have a scrapbook?”

“Yeah but not really, it’s just my scrapbook in general. Have everything in here and, well, the early years are pretty much just you and me.”

Ron took the scrapbook into his hold, taking a seat on the nearby couch.

I sat beside him. “It’s a work in progress. Not as nice the one’s my mum made, but then again, I don’t have the patience that people say she had.”

“Looks nice to me,” Ron turned the pages. “I remember this! Wasn’t this from the day that your grandparents took us to Disneyworld and we got lost?”

“Yeah,” that had been a particularly frightful occasion.

I had always been obsessed with Peter Pan and when I saw a person dressed as Peter Pan, I took it upon my nine year old self, to stalk him and since Ron had never been among so many muggles, he was forced into going with me. What proceeded was a disastrous two hours in which we somehow ended up in the set of an attraction. We ended up being detained by security.

All in all it was disastrous, but that was how our outings ended.

We could never have a normal time and I honestly don’t understand why my grandparents kept taking us places or why Molly and Arthur let Ron go out with us. I guess they figured that running amuck was something that we would eventually grow out of; it didn’t happen when we were young and I had reason to believe that it still hadn’t happened.

“Are these your friends from America?” asked Ron when he reached more recent pictures.

“Most of them, yeah,” as I stared at the pictures I couldn’t help but miss them.

Some of them had been really amazing people that I had spent some of the best days of my life with. They were silly, they were serious, but they were always real and authentic. I hoped that I would one day be able to see them again, but there was one that I longed to see more than others.

“Who’s this bloke?” asked Ron.

My eyes darted to the book, widening ever so slightly when I saw who Ron was referring to. It was Lazlo, Lazlo Evan Stamos, a former flame.

“That’s Laz,” I answered, keeping my voice strong.

“Your bird?” inquired Ron.

“Just a friend,” I corrected. “What about you, Ron? Do you have a bird?”

Ron shook his head.

A few minutes later my grandmother announced that breakfast had been served. All four of us walked towards the kitchen, taken seats at the table which had been set by my grandfather. Breakfast was delicious. Ron was right when he said that my grandmother had a way with food, she truly did.

They stayed for a few more minutes after breakfast ended, but they eventually left the house, politely declining the invitation to lunch that had been extended to them. When they left we began to set up the tables in the back and when the outdoor area was finished we began carrying things out there.

By the time that the clock struck 11:30, the cottage was ready for the onslaught of family members that was set to arrive. I sat on the porch outback, my legs up on the white rail that surrounded the house, as I waited for my family to arrive.

The first to arrive was my uncle Hugh and his wife Ava who was carrying their newborn daughter in her arms while she told their other two children to stop fighting. The next to arrive was my aunt Bronwyn, her husband Ryan and their five children. A few minutes after them, my uncle Byron and his husband Eric arrived. Their four year old was clutching to both their hands.

The last to arrive was my uncle Luke, he was always the last to arrive and he always looked like he never wanted to be there. He was a recluse by nature, hated going into public and the only person whose company he could truly stomach, was that of my father’s, which made it so that he favored me more than others. Although he favored me, he didn’t spend much time with me, he’d only stop to sit whenever I smiled, told me that it made him feel like my dad was there with him.

When everyone had arrived I made my way to my group of cousins.

Out of all my cousins, my favorite – by far – was Chey Donovan.

Chey was the daughter of my aunt Bronwyn and her Irish husband Ryan. She was the oldest of their five children, the only cousin of mine that was my age and we were very similar. We were both obsessed with the 1960’s and classic rock. That was one of the reasons we got along so well.

“How’s being back?” asked Chey when lunch had ended.

“It’s weird,” I told her. “It’s weird to be back and to see how everything has changed, yet remained the same.”

“What do you mean?” Chey nestled against the tree trunk.

“I don’t know how to explain it, but everything’s the same yet different. It’s just weird, but a good weird, an enjoyable sort of weird.”

“Well, you’ve never been to Hogwarts so that’ll be new and exciting. Hopefully you get sorted into Gryffindor, that way we can dorm together and have late night jam sessions with Jade! She’s really excited for you to start school. She thinks you’ll make a fine addition to our group.”

Chey was referring to her best friend, Jade Asher, a fellow sixth year Gryffindor who was a bit of a bitch but had a heart of gold. I had met Jade on several occasions, mostly during the summer when we’d both be at Chey’s house, and I really liked her.

“Hopefully I get into Gryffindor. I’d hate to be anywhere else.”

“Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw aren’t so bad; Slytherin’s the one that’s shit.”

“I would sooner drop out of school than become a Slytherin.” I hated Slytherin.

Was it unfair to judge an entire house based on the stories that I had heard? Yes. I knew it was unfair but I hated Slytherin. I hated that it had housed that half of the family, the half that lacked basic human decency.

“How do you think it’s going to be with him around?” Chey didn’t need to say his name.
I knew she was referring to my estranged cousin.

“I honestly don’t know, but I hope he stays away.”

“I still don’t understand how your mom was so sweet when she came from that family,” Chey had no real memories of my mother, of her own, but she thought highly of her.

“She was an exception.” I stood up. “Want to go grab a smoke?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Did you quit?” I tilted my head.

“You’re stupid if you think I quit. It’s just, we can’t smoke anywhere they can smell it and it’s not safe to be wandering the countryside when we’re not allowed to use magic.”

“It can’t be that dangerous here. I mean, this is the fucking countryside.”

“Just because it’s the countryside that doesn’t make it safe . . . there’s no safety without a wand nowadays and even then, it’s a battle.”