Dark Come Soon

Now that Ramona had agreed to sit through the Quidditch practice with her, Alexandra felt loads more comfortable with the idea. Before Ramona had agreed, she’d been dreading being alone with Harry and Ron. She dreaded it so much that she was actually beginning to make up excuses to get her out of watching them.

She wasn’t trying to get out of hanging out with them, because they gave her the creeps or anything like that. They were nice guys. That much she could vouch for, but the problem was that she didn’t know anything concrete about them. All she knew about them was what Ramona had told her, and that was that they were both stand up guys that were in Gryffindor.

Other than that, she didn’t know a damn thing.

She didn’t know anything about their passions or pursuits. She didn’t know what moved them and making tedious small talk would’ve been an endeavor that Alexandra would have surely failed at. Another teenager would’ve been able to talk about random things with them. Alexandra wasn’t the sort that could do that.

A few years back she would’ve excelled at it, but now small talk was the enemy. It was a foe whose primary aim was to reveal just how awkward Alexandra could be, but thankfully, Ramona was going to be there. And if Ramona was there, conversation would flow smoothly and Alexandra wouldn’t feel like an awkward hot mess.

That made Alexandra feel a hell of a lot better, so much so that she was practically skipping up the steps to the hospital wing. She was excited to tell her dad what had gone on in the morning with Sybill, and also what was going to happen in the afternoon. Andrés was going to be thrilled to know that Alexandra finally called Sybill her mother. He would be even happier to hear that she had accepted an invitation to hang out from Harry and Ron.

When she entered the hospital wing, she spotted her father sitting at his desk in a far corner of the room. She immediately bolted towards him, doing her best to avoid the hospital beds because if she knocked one over, Madam Pomfrey was going to give her a sound telling off. That had happened once during the summer and she was in no mood to have it happen again.

“Dad!” she exclaimed when she reached him. “You’re not gonna believe the morning I’ve had.”

Andrés smiled warmly from behind his desk. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gotten into our potions cabinet. Are we going to have to install an Alexandra repellant?” he joked

“Come on dad, we both know I'm not one for potions. No drama in it. It’s like having coffee or tea and getting a bit crazy afterwards.”

“And you label that as not having drama?”

Alexandra nodded. “It should be spectacle all the way through, not just in the results.”

“Aye Alexandra,” he left his chair. “You and your ideas,” he sighed.

“They’re lovely. Aren’t they?” she beamed.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it,” he laughed. “So what has you smiling so much? Finally finish your painting?”

“I’d be stuffing my face full of cake if I’d finished my painting.”

“Then what happened?”

“Take a seat and I’ll tell you.”

“I have to take a seat for this?” he asked. “Nothing good ever comes from taking a seat. Did you break something or hurt someone?”

Alexandra shook her head. “Only thing I’ve broken in weeks is my pencil. And as for hurting someone, well, I cut myself shaving yesterday so that was pretty painful.” She scratched the back of her neck. “I'm such a horrible teenager. I feel like I should be doing stupid things so you can ground me. Sorry for not being very reckless.”

“It’s alright. I'm glad you’d rather paint than do the things I was doing when I was your age.”

“Thought you said nana was exaggerating over how bad you behaved,” Alexandra pointed out.

“She was, you know your Nana, she adds to add poquito sabor (a little flavor) to her stories.”

“Then how bad were you?” she pulled up a chair.

“I wasn’t necessarily bad,” he stated. “I was simply enjoying myself. I was young, it was the seventies and that’s all there is to it.” Andrés let out a content little sigh. “What a time to have been a kid.”

“You do know I know what the seventies were like, right?”

“All you know are the documentaries of Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd that we’ve watched. And I may have been a cool kid back in the day, but even at my best I was no Robert Plant.”

“But I bet you tried to be him,” Alexandra teased.

“Every guy my age tried to be like him, he was our icon and your Nana gave me a few good nalgadas (spankings) for acting the way I did. But enough of an old man’s reminiscing, what did you want to tell me?”

“Oh. I, uh, sort of called Sybill, mom today.”

Andrés’ eyes widened in disbelief, “Y-you called her mom?”

“Mhm,” she twiddled her thumbs together.

“Why?” he blurted out. “Only a few days ago, you were going on about how you would never be able to see her as your mother and now . . . now you do. What happened?”

“I saw myself in her.” Alexandra explained. “Turns out that we have a lot of the same faults and I guess knowing that helped me accept her because I couldn’t deny that I'm her kid anymore. I mean if she were different. If she weren’t going through the same things that I'm going through, odds are I wouldn’t feel comfortable labeling her my mom, but we’re suffering from the same thing. We have the same fears and I get why we had to leave her when we were younger. I get that now and I'm not angry at her for not being able to be a mom, because most days I can’t even be a good daughter.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” she lowered her gaze. “Half the time, I'm a downer. And don’t try to say I'm not, because I know I am. I get into these moods where I can’t eat right or sleep or even talk to you. And I hate when that happens, because you’ve had to be both mom and dad for me. You’ve always put me before anything else and I feel that now that I'm a teenager I'm supposed to be less of a hassle on you, but I'm not.”

“Listen to me, Alex, you’re not a hassle. You’re not a burden. You’re nothing like that. You’re my daughter and you’re going through a tough time. This isn’t easy for you. Your entire life changed and yes, sometimes you’re a little moody and sometimes you don’t joke around with me, but that’s fine. So don’t feel bad about it and don’t think that you’re not a good daughter, because you are.”

“Mean that?”

Andrés kissed her temple, “Of course. But tell me, how’d your mom take it?”

“She started crying and got real emotional.” Alexandra shuffled on her seat. “Didn’t expect that from her, I mean it seems like a bit much.”

“That’s the only way she could’ve reacted. If I were her, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Dad . . .” she groaned.

“It’s the truth. For a parent there’s nothing more beautiful than heaving your kid refer to you affectionately. And I know that you might think calling someone more or dad isn’t a huge deal, but for parents it is.” He began to lightly chuckle. “I remember the first time you said dad. I got so happy that I started doing this weird laugh that was infused with tears and then we ended up going to the stores to buy you some toys.”

“So you think Sybill’s going to get me some toys? Because if she is, I think I’ll tell her that I want paints instead.”

Andrés threw a small stack of parchment at her.

“Only joking,” Alexandra muttered. “No need for violence.”

“Throwing paper at someone isn’t violence. You should’ve seen what your abuelito (grandfather) used to do to me. He’d get the belt, put it in some water to soak and then he’d get to work.”

“That’s because you used to drink and take shady ladies home.” Alexandra reminded.

“Shady ladies, really?” the term was so old fashioned that he had to restrain himself from laughing.

“I can call them what Nana calls them, but I'm pretty sure you’d ground me for it.”

Andrés knew very well, what word his mother used in reference to the woman he’d taken to bed in his youth. It was puta, a word that in Spanish means whore and sounds particularly vulgar and offensive. That word wasn’t one he wanted his daughter using and as such, he didn’t press her to say it.

“But that’s not the only thing that’s happened!” Alexandra added.

“What else?” he asked.

“Harry and Ron invited me to watch them during their Quidditch practice. And believe it or not, I accepted the offer. Ramona’s gonna go so I'm not by myself.”

“Are you trying to get me to buy you something?” Andrés blurted out.

Alexandra shot him a perplexed look. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you trying to get me to buy you something?” he repeated. “Because calling Sybill mom and going out of your way to hang out with two new people, is oddly suspicious to me. So what are you aiming for Alexandra? You still want one of those muggle computers?”

“Course I want a computer, but I'm not doing because of that.”

“Then why?”

Alexandra let out a sigh. “Because I don’t want to end up like mom,” she mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want to end up like mom,” she repeated more clearly. “Because I know if I stay the way I am, I'm bound to end up like her so I'm trying to put myself out there. I know things aren’t gonna be what they were before this all started, but I figure it’s worth a try.”

Andrés stared at her in silence. “You sure you’re alright?” he inquired after quite some time. “Let me check if you’re running a fever or –”

“I'm okay,” Alexandra interjected. “But if you’re set on thinking that I'm doing this, because I want something, then you should bring some Mexican Coca Cola from LA.”

Andrés leant back in his chair. “I’ll try to pick some up either today or tomorrow.”

“Thanks dad,” she stood up. “Think I’ll get going now, they told me to meet them at one and it’s a half past noon. I’ll come back after dinner so we can watch Braveheart.”

“Alright, make sure to behave yourself and stay safe.”

“Will do!” she pecked his cheek and bolted out the door.

Alexandra left the hospital wing with a smile that was so large, it was threatening to completely take over her face. She felt better than she had in weeks and the fact that her dad was going to pick up a case of her favorite soda only served to sweeten her day. Things were looking up for her. Life was finally going to get straightened out. She knew it was going to be a challenge, but she was up for it. She wanted to be better and to be happier.

“Put a candle in the window, ‘cause I feel I’ve got to move. Though I'm going, going, I’ll be coming home soon, ‘long as I can see the light . . .” Alexandra sang softly to herself as she neared the halfway mark on the stairs.

The song was a favorite of hers, it was a classic rock song written by Creedence Clearwater Revival and the lyrics were taking on a new meaning for her. She had nearly finished singing the song when a familiar sensation began coursing through her being. The sensation always crept up on her, it started faint, barely detectable and then without warning it would crash upon her, rendering her unconscious.

That was exactly what happened.

Alexandra fell unconscious, her mind shutting off as she made her way down the stairs and the absence of a working mind caused her frame to be sent tumbling forwards. Her body violently collided against each and every step, but as her body struck the concrete, not a single pained cry left her lips.

Instead, she loudly proclaimed that which her inner eye had seen. Her words were loud, her voice unwavering. The fact that her body was taking a brutal beating didn’t matter in the least bit. For her body was separate from the voice that stemmed from the most ancient and powerful of magic.

At around the same time that Alexandra was tumbling down the stairs, Albus Dumbledore was making his way up them. He had promised Poppy that he would take tea with her that afternoon and being a man of his word, he had left his office at a quarter after twelve and was now making his way to meet his dearest friend.

His mind was consumed with thoughts of Voldemort and Harry Potter, the usual for the elderly wizard. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to hear the booming voice that was speaking in the distance, he was so engrossed that his ears didn’t detect the rumbling that was growing ever closer to him, but then the body came into view and his brilliant blue eyes were fixated upon the bloodied frame.

Quickly, he pulled out his wand and uttered a spell that stopped her from falling any further. Although her body was no longer in motion, her lips were still moving and even though her voice had died down to a barely audible whisper, his ears still caught every word.

“. . . and the only one he ever feared shall die at the hands of a most trusted friend . . . their sacrifices shall not be in vain . . .”