Baby-Sitter's Club: Shelter
Title - Shelter
Fandom - Baby-Sitters Club/Harry Potter
Author - isabelquinn
Word count - 7,112
Rating - PG
Summary - Tabitha Porter keeps herself busy, waiting for her houseguests to arrive.
Link to table - link.
A/N - Probably the main thing you should know about this fic is that it's a Harry Potter crossover. Haha. Karen was right, you guys!
I don’t think I’ve ever done this much research for a fic before. It was fun though! So much minutiae from two different universes, so fun to play with! I hope it’s as much fun to read as it was to write :)
Heaps of thanks to ozqueen and lucida for their beta efforts! I’d reward you with bottles of felix felicis if it was a real thing.
Usual disclaimers, I don't own Harry Potter or the Baby-Sitters club, etc etc.
*****
The sun was a dull grey in color, inching its way over the horizon like a snail. The first dim rays cast a glow across Tabitha Porter’s brick pathway as she returned to her front garden. Her movements were brisk and her hair, more frazzled than usual, was falling across her eyes. The front gate closed with a harsh screech that seemed to reverberate through Tabitha’s very bones. She winced, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She knew her paranoia wasn’t entirely logical, but it also wasn’t entirely illogical. There was nothing to fear in small-town Connecticut. But she had always been one to expect the worst and, in her opinion, it was only a matter of time before there was something to fear. He would eventually come to the United States.
She shuddered, painfully aware of the potential danger in which her decision was placing her neighbors. The guilt of this had settled in her stomach like a large stone. Even her long and dreary night, casting shield charm after shield charm over all the houses in a one mile radius, had done nothing to chip away at it.
She entered her dim foyer, relieved to be back inside. She quickly made a cup of tea the muggle way - a habit she’d had for years - and eased herself into a floral-patterned chair. She tucked a crocheted blanket across her knees and warmed her hands against the porcelain cup. She was facing a long day of waiting. Watson Brewer had invited her to Emily Michelle’s seventh birthday party this afternoon, but she’d made some excuse to avoid it. She couldn’t leave the house; not today. She knew vaguely when they were arriving, but what if something went wrong? No. It was better to stay put.
With a sigh, she settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. She felt too anxious to rest properly, but it was worth a try.
---
If a child hasn’t exhibited signs of magic by their seventh birthday, they most likely do not possess magical ability.
It is a fact that everyone knows, though few remember when or from whom they first heard it. It's only ever discussed in a clinical setting, or in the hushed whispers of gossip. For most people, it's not a truth that affects them in any way. Squibs are rare. Most people haven’t even met one. They’re always someone’s sister’s best friend’s Quodpot coach’s neighbor’s nephew. They’re distant. They’re objects of study, of morbid fascination and pity.
Wilfred had turned seven on a crisp October day. During the year leading up to this birthday, Tabitha could sense her mother's nervousness. She remembered the various accidental spells she herself had cast as a small child, like the time she was six and turned her eyebrows green. Or the time she was four and angry about being sent to her room. The scorch marks were still streaked across her door. But throughout Wilfred’s entire life he had done nothing at all magical. And by the time he woke up on his seventh birthday it could no longer be ignored or explained.
Wilfred was a squib.
---
“Scourgify,” murmured Tabitha, jabbing her wand towards the sink. Fresh soap suds appeared, but the surface was unchanged. The sink was already spotless. The entire bathroom was immaculate: the mirror was free of dust, a new cake of lavender soap sat in a clean dish, and the blue floor tiles gleamed as brightly as they had sixty years earlier. The room was also thoroughly non-magical. This was quite unusual for the third floor, as it was generally used to store Tabitha’s various wizarding possessions. But these particular guests would be living on the third floor. She didn’t think muggle houseguests would appreciate a bathroom full of fanged geraniums.
The entire third floor was similarly prepared. The rooms were small, but they were clean. More importantly, they were protected. All the windows had had their heavy curtains locked shut, blocking any light from shining out. Every possible entry-point was fitted with an imperturbable charm and, of course, a shield charm. Lastly, a sneakoscope balanced quietly atop a small table. Completely clearing the rooms of magical items was impossible. Protection was necessary. Besides, the guests included a witch and a wizard. She couldn’t possibly give them a place to stay that was stripped of everything magic.
Shelves were stacked with a broad range of books - everything from Jane Eyre to Flesh Eating Trees of the World. Heavy trunks were full of things to do, a messy collection of muggle and wizarding pastimes. Knitting needles, wool, paints, and an old set of gobstones were bursting from the trunk in the smallest room. The visitors would be stuck inside for a long time. The least she could do was give them things to help pass the hours.
She had done all she could to prepare the third floor. The rooms had been dusted and organized. Five beds had been freshly made. And the entire floor was shrouded by protective charms. With a last sweeping glance, she turned towards the stairs and began to climb down.
---
Tabitha jumped the last step, landing with a bang that echoed throughout the second floor.
“Mom,” she demanded, “why am I lugging all your cauldrons up to the third floor? Don’t we need them downstairs?”
Drusilla Russell was standing in front of the linen closet, smudges of dust across her nose.
“Locomotor towels,” she sighed, sliding the pile into place on the topmost shelf.
“Mom!”
Drusilla glanced down at her daughter. “Tabby, we’ve talked about this. We live in a muggle town now. Things like cauldrons and spellbooks have to stay on the third floor, so muggles won’t see them when they visit.”
Tabitha folded her arms across her chest. “Amelia Green lives in a muggle town, and her family has bouncing bulbs in their front garden. And their doorknocker roars like a real dragon! And -”
“The Greens’ entire property is hidden,” interrupted Drusilla. "They’re not part of the muggle community.”
Tabitha eyed the linen closet, the contents of which were rearranging themselves into spectrum order. “Neither are we.”
Tabitha's voice was low, and unmistakably firm. Drusilla lowered her wand, and affectionately tucked a stray black curl behind her daughter’s ear.
“This’ll take some getting used to. I know.”
Tabitha sank to her knees, eyes downcast.
“I don’t want to live like a muggle,” she muttered.
“We aren’t going to live like muggles.” Drusilla sat down carefully on the hardwood floor. “We’ll still see all our friends. You’re still going to school at the Witches Institute. And we’re still using magic around the house.”
“We?” asked Tabitha hopefully.
“Me. Nice try.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Thirteen is old enough to do magic out of school.”
“The law disagrees. And so do I.” Drusilla glanced nervously at the window before turning back to her oldest child. “We can still be part of our world while living in Stoneybrook. It won’t be quite the same, but we still belong to it. Wilfred can't belong to the muggle world unless he's in a muggle town. He needs to be here.”
“Why do we need to be here?” asked Tabitha sullenly. “We don’t need to belong to the muggle world.”
In that instant, the air seemed to change. Tabitha could almost feel it crackling around her. Without even looking at her mother’s face, she knew she had pushed her too far.
“Wilfred belongs to us, and we belong to him. We're family.” Drusilla stood up again, giving her wand a brusque wave. The piles of sheets began to move again, arranging themselves into tidy rows. “We’re not going to send him away.”
---
Tabitha stepped onto her front porch at exactly 8 o’clock. She held her shawl tightly across her chest, protecting herself from the morning chill. The days were becoming progressively cooler. Tabitha usually liked this sort of in-between weather, but this year it seemed almost ominous.
“Good morning, Tabitha!” greeted a jovial voice.
Tabitha smiled at her neighbor as she descended the porch stairs. “Hello, Watson. How’s Emily doing this morning?”
Watson laughed, putting aside his secateurs as he stretched his back.
“Bouncing off the walls. She’s been dying to start decorating since the crack of dawn. Actually, she’s been dying to start decorating since about Tuesday.” He began to gather the branches he’d cut from his rosebushes, keeping his gloves on to avoid being pricked. “Are you feeling better?”
“Oh, much better,” she answered vaguely. “I’m sorry about not coming this afternoon. You know my headaches, and with so many children…”
Watson grinned. “I understand completely. This place is a madhouse even without fifteen sugar-crazed seven-year-olds.”
Tabitha pulled her shawl tighter, partly to trap more warmth, and partly to better conceal the wand hidden up her sleeve.
“Your roses looked beautiful this year, Watson,” she said, nodding towards the row of bushes. He looked thoughtful, eyeing his remaining flowers.
“Thank you. I was quite satisfied with them. The color on the pink ones was lovely.” He gave Tabitha a sheepish grin. “But I’ve never managed to get my roses to grow as spectacularly as yours. How do you do it?”
Tabitha gave a small shrug, and pulled her shawl even tighter.
“Just lucky, I suppose.”
Watson had finished gathering the pruned branches. There weren't many to throw away - he had a busy day ahead, and he didn’t have much time for gardening this morning.
“Well, I should head inside. Lots to do today.”
“Of course. Say happy birthday to Emily for me.”
“Will do. Bye, Tabitha,” he said, raising his free hand.
“Bye, Watson.”
Tabitha crouched down in her herb garden while Watson returned to his home, brushing the black soil from his jeans as he walked.
---
Tabitha stepped neatly out of the third-floor fireplace, dusting the soot from her skirt.
“I’m ho-ome!” she called.
Her announcement was answered with rapid footsteps, jumping lightly up the stairs. When Wilfred burst into the room, he was clutching a white handkerchief and a muggle coin.
“Hey, Tab,” he greeted brightly. “Look what I can do!”
He placed the coin on his open palm. He gently lowered the handkerchief over his hand, paused briefly, and snatched it away. The coin was gone.
Tabitha blinked. Her sisterly impulse was to be dismissive of her little brother. After all, she’d been vanishing objects for years now. But… he was only ten. And a squib.
“How’d you do that?” she frowned.
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” replied Wilfred loftily. Almost immediately after saying this, he broke into a grin. “Want me to teach you?”
“Sure, after dinner.”
Wilfred clattered downstairs. Tabitha followed, making her way to the kitchen. Her mother was stirring something at the stove. The curtains were open, so this was clearly magic-free cooking.
“I’m home!” she said brightly.
Drusilla looked up and gave her daughter a beaming smile.
“Hello, Tabby! How was your week?”
“It was alright.” She stood next to her mother, peering into the saucepan. “I was dreading having to start using non-verbal spells, but they’re not as bad as I expected. It’s nice to be home, though. This smells really good!”
“It does, doesn’t it? Beth Ackman gave me the recipe.” Drusilla paused, frowning, and took her daughter’s wrist.
“Is that a burn?”
“We were harvesting fire seeds in herbology yesterday,” she answered dismissively. “It was my own fault, I got too cocky.”
Drusilla rolled her eyes. “Please be more careful with deadly plants. I don’t know how you can be so cavalier around fire seed bushes and venomous tentacula, and then run screaming from a mouse.”
“Mice are disgusting!” protested Tabitha. “All they do is carry disease. Fire seeds and tentacula are actually useful.”
Drusilla handed her daughter a knife and three carrots.
“Your father used to say that exact same thing.”
“Well, he was right. We should get a cat.” Tabitha expertly chopped the carrots, still enjoying the pleasant smell wafting throughout the kitchen.
“By the way, when did Wilfred start vanishing small objects?”
Drusilla chuckled. “It’s a muggle magic trick. It’s a simple concept, but it’s very hard to do well. Much harder than actually vanishing a coin, to be honest.”
Tabitha finished chopping and gazed throughtfully out the window. After a few moments, she turned to her mother.
“Do you need my help?”
“I suppose not. Why?”
“I want Wilfred to teach me his vanishing trick.”
Drusilla laughed. “Good luck!”
---
Tabitha stretched her back. It was aching slightly, but not as much as she would have expected after such a long night. Still, she decided to move from the herb garden to the window boxes. The boxes were bursting with fragrant lavender and, what was more, she could stand upright while she tended them. She had had enough of crouching over a garden bed for one morning.
Tabitha had been keeping gardens healthy, or teaching others to do the same, for most of her life. She couldn’t grow anything obviously magical in her front garden, but muggle plants were perfectly useful. Even the ornamental ones had a certain charm to them. Tabitha eyed her roses with a smile. They really had been beautiful this year.
She tugged at her gardening gloves, making sure they were secure. The lavender in the window boxes needed a good layer of mulch before the weather grew any colder.
---
The scent of lavender wafted gently through the air. Picking bunches for the staffroom had been Lorna Sullivan's idea, and Tabitha loved it. The light aroma made her feel calm, even when she had just taught twenty freshmen girls how to repot mandrake seedlings.
However, all the lavender in the world could not keep her calm around Celia Sloane.
"… biologically, there's little difference to speak of," said Celia, pushing her glasses up her nose. "The first lesson at the sophomore level includes various terms and definitions. It is easier for the students, and factually accurate, to include them in the broad definition of the subject."
Celia's assistant nodded eagerly, flicking through the clean pages of the new book. Muggles in the North American Context was the latest textbook for the Study of Muggles course, and Celia hadn’t stopped critiquing it since she first cracked the spine.
"That's true Celia, very true. Will you change it when you teach the course?"
Celia nodded thoughtfully, stroking her chin with the spotted feather of her quill.
"Yes, I believe I will. I’ll just add a sentence to the textbook’s definition. Can you fit a sentence into the margin for me, Abigail?"
Celia dictated several variations of her new sentence, altering the phrases and word order until she was satisfied. Celia's attention to detail was meticulous, and this process took a full ten minutes. Abigail read aloud the final result, combining the textbook’s definition with Celia’s addition:
"Muggles are defined as the non-magical human population. The term ‘muggle’ includes non-magical humans born of magical parentage, commonly referred to as squibs."
Celia gave a curt nod. "Much better."
Tabitha glanced over her shoulder, unable to remain silent any longer.
"What about the Statute of Secrecy?"
Celia blinked, surprised by the new member of the conversation.
"The Statute of Secrecy? What does that have to do with anything?"
Tabitha continued to grade papers, keeping her face as blank as possible. Celia would be delighted if she detected any traces of anger.
"It's one of the major differences between muggles and squibs. Squibs are from wizarding families. They know about magic and they know about our world. We're not in hiding from them."
Celia gathered the piles of syllabus notes strewn across her desk.
“That may be true, Tabitha, but it’s irrelevant. It doesn’t change the fact that squibs are fundamentally non-magical and are, in essence, muggles.”
“It’s not irrelevant,” replied Tabitha coolly. “Muggles and squibs experience life completely differently to each other. And it’s because they have a different level of exposure to the wizarding world. It’s terrible for squibs, they spend their childhood getting to know our world and then learn that they’ll never truly be part of it.”
“I agree that squibs’ knowledge of our world is problematic. The custom of sending squibs to muggle boarding schools isn't quite enough. Many researchers are currently investigating solutions to that very question.”
“What about memory charms?” Abigail piped up. “Maybe a team of Obliviators could specialize in making squibs forget what they know.”
Incredulity flooded through Tabitha. “Memory charms?” she gasped. "Obliviators? Are you seriously suggesting we should force amnesia on seven-year-old children and make them forget their entire lives? Their families?"
Celia's face was infuriatingly condescending. "Actually, Tabitha, that very idea has been discussed at length by -"
"Stop!" Tabitha gripped the end of the table, her knuckles turning deadly white. "Stop! What is wrong with you? Just think about what you’re saying, even if only for half a second!”
Tabitha didn’t realize she’d been shouting until the silence fell over the staffroom. Everyone had stopped mid-task to stare. Even the janitor was staring at her, and she usually ignored staff and students.
“Sorry,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks turn bright pink.
Tabitha slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her. The hallways were silent. It was Friday afternoon, and most students spent the weekends at home. Tabitha had begun to walk towards the greenhouses, planning to calm herself down with some pruning, when she heard the door open.
The janitor was walking hesitantly towards Tabitha, an expression of curiosity etched across her sharp features.
“Yes?” asked Tabitha, bewildered at this turn of events. This janitor - was Isabella her name? - had been working at the school for about two years. Tabitha had never seen her pay the slightest attention to anybody. She had repeatedly ignored various teachers’ attempts at being friendly, and everybody had stopped trying. But now she was staring directly into Tabitha face.
“I’ve never heard a witch talk about squibs like that,” she said. Tabitha was surprised to hear a British accent. With that realization, she was also suddenly aware that she'd never even heard this woman speak.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” she answered, frowning. “But the things Abigail and Celia were saying…it's hard not to take them personally.”
The janitor narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“My brother’s a squib.”
The janitor looked utterly unsurprised to hear this. She remained quiet, and there was something unmistakably comfortable in her silence. Tabitha was rather taken aback - she was used to this revelation leading to a barrage of questions, punctuated with awkward pauses and syrup-like sympathy.
“I’m Tabitha, by the way. Tabitha Russell.”
The janitor smiled. “Arabella Figg.”
---
Tabitha sat in her chair, drinking her second cup of tea for the day. She kept the cup in her hands again, partly for the warmth and partly because the coffee table was too cluttered. Tabitha wasn't the tidiest person, but her coffee table was rarely this messy. Usually, it only held a Tiffany lamp and a large wooden box.
The Tiffany lamp had been her mother's. Wilfred had given it to her as a Christmas present one year. It was the first year he'd had enough income to be excessively generous and Drusilla had loved it. It became a centerpiece of her conversation when discussing muggles with witches or wizards. "Look at this lamp," she'd say. "Muggles can make such beautiful things without our help. They don't need our condescension."
The wooden box had been Tabitha's for as long as she could remember. She'd been told it was a gift from her grandparents on the day she was born. She didn't remember her grandparents, and she wished she could have thanked them for the box. The four sides were intricately carved with a seasonal scene, and a small girl laughing and playing. Tabitha liked to rotate it so the side facing her chair corresponded with the time of year. Right now, the little girl was falling into a pile of leaves - leaves that were whittled in minute detail, their edges curling away from the sides of the box.
Letters and cards lived in that box; ones that were particularly treasured. Tabitha never threw out correspondence, but these ones were special enough to be kept close. There were some of Reuben's letters, sent before they'd been married. The card Arabella had given for their wedding was in there, as was the beautiful note she'd sent when Lillian was born. A few postcards from Wilfred, some comfortingly mundane notes Reuben had left around the house…
She didn't look through the box very often. The items inside were too special to be read repeatedly, and she usually saved them for just the right moments.
Tightly gripping her cup, she had another sip of tea.
---
The tea was hotter than she usually drank it. Tabitha blew gently on the surface before taking her first sip, wondering if it was worth adding milk.
"You mean, you grew up in a muggle town? Without being hidden?"
Tabitha nodded, passing a plate of oatmeal cookies across the desk to Arabella. "We moved to Stoneybrook when I was thirteen. Wilfred was well past his seventh birthday by then, so it was pretty clear he was a squib."
"And you all moved into a muggle house together? Really?"
Tabitha shrugged. "I didn't want to move, but it wasn't so bad. It made no difference for Mom and me. Our fireplace was always open, so our wizarding friends were welcome to drop by. I still came here for school. But we were also part of the muggle world, with Wilfred."
Arabella stirred her tea in silence.
"That's so unusual," she said, after some moments had passed. "I've never heard of any families doing that for squibs. What does Wilfred do now?"
Tabitha grinned. "He's about to finish at the muggle high school. He's become remarkably good at muggle magic tricks, he earns money by doing shows for children's birthdays."
"But he lives happily as a muggle?"
"He seems happy." Tabitha took another sip. "He sent me a letter about a week ago, and he's still making decisions about next year. He's been really excited about finishing school."
Arabella blinked. She looked dazed.
"Do you understand just how unusual that is? Most squibs that live in the muggle world are completely cut off from their families. Or they're like me, spending their lives doing demeaning jobs, like cleaning up after wizarding children." With a sigh, she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Really, America is no different to the rest of the world in dealing with squibs."
"Why did you move here?" asked Tabitha, with a curious tilt of her head.
Arabella rolled her eyes. "I was hoping it would be different. It really isn't. If anything, I feel even more of an outsider in this country."
Tabitha wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't think of anything that didn't sound trite. She couldn't imagine what it must be like, to feel caught between two worlds, not fully belonging to either. She suspected that Wilfred still felt it, despite their mother's exceptional effort to help him.
"I'd like to go home, but I don't know if I can," frowned Arabella. "It all depends on this muggle war that's going on."
"What are you going to do if you move home?"
Arabella pushed her cardigan sleeves up past her elbows. "I have ideas. You know how Lorna Sullivan is starting that breeding program for kneazle cats? With the Zoology seniors helping?"
Tabitha nodded. Lorna had been trying to start this program for years.
"She asked me to help. The students aren't always around, and she could do with an extra pair of hands. If I learn the ropes, maybe I could try a similar thing back home. You don't need to know magic to breed cats."
Tabitha gave a wry smile. "If you do that, I'll be your first customer. I could always do with a good mouse hunter."
---
The first floor curtains were all closed. Tabitha wandered from room to room, casting hover charms on increasingly heavy objects.
In theory, she was doing this to sharpen her mind, to hone her ability to concentrate and cast more complex spells. In reality, she was at the end of her rope. She was listless and nervous and completely unable to concentrate on anything for more than ten minutes. She needed to do something inane. Watching her furniture float in the dark might be just the thing.
With a swish and a flick of her wand, Tabitha lifted her refrigerator gently into the air.
---
Lillian had claimed the darkest bedroom. It was the only one in the house that faced north.
She and Lillian had been living in the McLelland Road house for four months now. Lillian had spent the bulk of those months hidden away behind that closed door. Tabitha couldn't blame her. Even today, all she felt like doing was crawling into bed and never coming out. But she couldn't - no matter how awful this year had been they still had to eat. They still had to deal with the general duties of being alive.
Though if she didn't have a grieving fifteen-year-old to care for, Tabitha knew her drive to do basic jobs like eating would be utterly nonexistent.
The first funeral had been in January. Tabitha hadn't used any warming spells on her coat. It had seemed appropriate, standing in the cemetery and feeling the icy wind try to bite through the layers of clothing. Her mother would have told her she was being ridiculous, but Tabitha would have responded defiantly. I will grieve for you however I see fit, she'd have said. She missed her. She missed her more than a eulogy could ever properly say, and if shivering helped then she would be cold for the rest of her life.
The second funeral had been in April, and everything about it had been wrong. The incongruity of it all nearly killed her. Warm, fresh breezes. Clear skies and budding flowers. Everything that stereotypically defined spring, that usually made her feel warm and light. The day was so comfortable. But her husband was dead. Her husband was dead. It didn't make sense, nothing about it made the slightest amount of sense.
Arabella hadn't been able to come to either funeral. Europe was sinking deeper and deeper beneath this dark cloud, beneath this horrifying war. It ripped Tabitha apart, knowing her friend was in England, in the eye of this storm. Out of necessity, their communication was extremely scarce. Arabella had done all she could to get Tabitha through this year, but the last thing Tabitha wanted was for her friend to put herself in unnecessary danger. She'd had more than enough losses to cope with.
New Year's Eve was supposed to be a time of hope. No matter how terrible the last twelve months had been, Tabitha guiltily felt that she should be inclined towards optimism. She was supposed to use this night to put the past behind her, to look at the as-yet unsullied 1976 as a fresh start.
But Tabitha had never been one for baseless optimism. All she could see darkness and emptiness. She could see those storm clouds, thick and menacing over Europe. And spreading, always spreading. She bit back a sob, praying that the people she had left would still be alive to see 1977.
---
The curtains were open again, and afternoon sunlight filtered into the kitchen. The room was stocked with far more food than usual, especially with basic ingredients. Tabitha was using up leftovers, leaving the fresh food for her visitors. She'd made a casserole late last night, ready for when they arrived today. She had no idea how frequently they were eating, but they had a teenage boy among them. No matter how recent their previous meal had been, they'd definitely be hungry.
Today, her lunch was Thursday's minestrone soup and an almost stale bread roll. Minestrone soup had been one of her mother's specialties, and Tabitha made it frequently. But no matter how many times she tried, she never managed to get it exactly right. Drusilla's recipe made a very thick soup, and she'd always been especially generous with tomatoes and oregano. The soup Tabitha made was delicious, but it was missing something. She'd tried various alterations to the recipe over the years, but she'd never figured out what it was.
Tabitha turned on the faucet and began to rinse her soup bowl.
---
Tabitha never particularly loved Halloween. She'd put the effort in for Lillian when she was little, but there was no longer any need. These days, if neighborhood kids came by, she gave them apples. This was partly to avoid the nuisance of throwing out a largely untouched bowl of candy, and partly because she enjoyed having a good supply of apples for the first week of November. Sometimes she liked to fool herself into thinking she was caring for the kids' collective health, but that wasn't really true. She just liked fruit.
She was at the kitchen sink, washing an apple, when the phone rang. She clicked her tongue in vague annoyance, drying her hands on a nearby tea towel before answering.
"Hello?"
"Tabitha?"
Tabitha felt a sharp jolt in the pit of her stomach.
"Bella?" She hadn't heard this voice since the early 70s. Arabella only dared communicate through the muggle post, and even those letters were, by necessity, scarce. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"It's… it's over. It's all over."
Tabitha was still too thrown to absorb what she was saying. "What do you mean, it's over? What happened?"
"You Know Who. He's gone."
Silence. Gone? He was gone?
"He's… how?"
"He cast a killing curse on a baby boy. It didn't work, it rebounded. I don't know, it doesn't make any sense, but Sturgis and Dedalus both told me the same story and all these things are happening… He's gone. It's over, Tab."
Tabitha barely knew what to think. It was all a hazy mess of horror and relief. Horror that he'd tried to kill a baby. Relief that it was over. Both emotions strongly filtered through a distinct sense of disbelief and confusion.
"But… it's really… how can it be over?"
Arabella laughed, and the sound of it made the news begin to seem more real. Tabitha hadn't heard her friend's laugh in so long. "I've spent today saying that exact thing. But it's true, You Know Who has vanished. It's over, it's really over!"
Tabitha was still dazed. The news was only sixty seconds old to her, and she needed time for it to sink in. She knew that joy would come, unbridled joy that the storm on the horizon wasn't coming. Joy that it was over. But for now, she could only focus on the immediate. She had her friend back.
---
Extra blankets. There were going to be five guests staying in the house, and the weather was getting progressively cooler. She needed more blankets.
She had gone to the attic to rummage through some boxes, prompted by a vague memory of cleaning out the linen closet and dumping the excess in the attic. But she was distracted the second she passed the east window. The window looked out over the neighboring properties, and she had a clear view of the aftermath of Emily’s birthday party.
The Thomas Brewer yard had been lavishly decorated. A large table sat by the house, draped with a bright red plastic tablecloth and littered with paper plates. Andrew was carefully scouting the lawn, filling trash bags with a range of birthday party debris. Kristy was waving her hands like a traffic cop, directing Karen and Emily who were tugging at the edges of an enormous banner. The words Happy Birthday Emily sparkled with every movement and every flash of sunlight as it was untied from the porch rails.
It took Tabitha a few moments to find David Michael. She eventually spotted him in a tree, untying streamers and balloons and passing them down to Hannah Papadakis, who was holding an open trash bag.
The banner fell, landing in a crumpled bundle by the porch. Tabitha watched Karen pick it up and, laughing, fasten it to Emily’s shirt like a cape. A fresh surge of guilt jolted through Tabitha’s stomach. She watched the cheerful group, shadows long and sharp from the setting sun, unaware of the terrible danger in which their neighbor had placed them.
---
Sunlight shone brightly on the Brewers' front yard, and it almost seemed to emit a faint glow. The spring afternoon smelled fresh, and buds were scattered across the garden like confetti. Tabitha walked up the path in a black dress that swirled around her ankles. She didn't match her surroundings, but the bouquet of tulips in her arms fit perfectly. The blossoms were a mixture of yellow and pink, and tied with a white ribbon that had accompanied Arabella's most recent Christmas present.
"Tabitha!" Watson's eyes shone, despite his tired and disheveled appearance. "Have you come to meet her?"
"Yes, if it's a good time." She smoothed the ribbon nervously, remembering how exhausted she and Reuben had been when Lillian was a newborn. She didn't want to be one of those guests who couldn't take a hint.
"No, it's a perfect time! Come in, come in!"
Watson eagerly ushered her in. She smiled, grateful for his enthusiastic greeting. It was a welcome counter to the awkwardness she felt. She hadn’t been inside the Brewers’ house in years. Even though they were her next-door neighbors, she felt quite distanced from them. She preferred to keep to herself these days. She and Watson only spoke across the fence, and she occasionally exchanged polite greetings with Lisa.
"I picked these this morning," she said, holding out the bouquet of tulips. "They seemed right for a little girl."
Watson beamed. “They’re gorgeous, Tabitha. And they’ve bloomed so early! Honestly, I’ve never figured out your knack for growing flowers. How do you do it?”
Tabitha knew these questions were never purely rhetorical, but today was different. Watson was on far too much of a high to be excessively curious about her gardening techniques. She gave a vague answer, watching him fill a vase with water and carefully arrange the tulips.
“She’s in her room, with her mother.” Watson took visible delight in the words ‘her mother’. His air was similar to that of a newlywed going out of his way to say ‘my wife’. Tabitha followed him up the stairs to a white door, slightly ajar, decorated with pink letters that spelled ‘KAREN’.
Tabitha stood at a respectful distance while Watson announced her arrival with a whisper. When she entered the room, Lisa was sitting in a white rocking chair, a bundle of yellow blankets in her arms. A small face, framed by blonde fuzz, was poking out of the top. Watson stroked the impossibly tiny fist that was gripping Lisa’s index finger.
“Congratulations, both of you.”
“Thank you,” smiled Lisa. “Has your daughter had her baby yet?”
“Yes, a month ago. A girl. Drusilla.”
Lisa smoothed Karen’s hair. “Perhaps they’ll be playmates one day. When Drusilla comes to visit you.”
Tabitha smiled. “I’d like that.”
Watson did not seem to be listening. His grin broadened as Karen stirred in her sleep.
“Isn’t she magical?” he sighed, lightly touching her small nose.
Tabitha smothered a chuckle at Watson’s choice of words.
“She’s beautiful, Watson.”
---
Light glowed from the Tiffany lamp. The inside of the house was dark - the sun had just barely begun to sink below the horizon when she'd sprung to her feet, systematically moving through the house and closing each set of curtains. She had an inkling that this wasn't entirely necessary - much like being ready for the plumber at 8:50 when he's due to arrive between 9:00 and 4:00. Nevertheless, she was ready. Darkness had barely fallen, but she was ready.
The messenger had come last night. Tabitha had been told they would contact her one day before their arrival, but she hadn't known what exactly to expect. She certainly hadn't counted on a dazzlingly silver Alaskan Malamute bounding through her living room window.
"We're coming tomorrow," it had said. "After nightfall. We'll apparate directly into the house. Please be ready."
With a final shimmer, it had vanished. No trace of it was left behind. Tabitha's living room had looked jarringly normal at this moment, as though a shining silver dog hadn't just spoken to her in a woman's voice.
As the shock slowly subsided, the substance of the message had begun to sink in. This was when she'd decided to spend the night casting shield charms over the neighborhood. Had that really been only one day ago? Tabitha shook her head. It felt as though an eternity had passed since then.
She gazed at the thick fabric of her curtains, wondering about the silver messenger. The dog had looked like the result of a Patronus Charm, but how had it spoken? Tabitha had never heard of such a thing, let alone seen it.
With an exhausted sigh, she sat back in her floral-patterned chair and waited.
---
Tabitha sat in her chair, feet resting on the matching ottoman, working solidly on Drusilla's ninth birthday present. Her hands were busy with wooden knitting needles, slowly forming a cozy-looking hat. Beside her, in mid-air, a crochet hook wove red wool into flowers. Needless to say, the living room curtains were drawn.
She was idly listening to CWW, tuning out the interview that was a thinly-disguised commercial for Dragon Trainer recruitment. She had just finished her fourteenth row when it was finally over.
"That was Randall McKee of the North American Dragon Trainers Association, thanks for coming in! We'll begin an hour of non-stop music in just a few minutes, after the news. You're listening to the Connecticut Wizarding Wireless, here's Lucy Tate with the latest headlines."
Tabitha paused, listening to Lucy Tate rattle through the midday news. None of the headlines were of any interest to her, and she was just about to begin knitting again when her when one particular story caught her attention.
"The International Confederation of Wizards has voted to remove Albus Dumbledore from the position of Supreme Mugwump. The Confederation ruled that his increasing age and frailty has rendered him incapable of the job. Lastly, the Hartford Hurricanes lost to the…"
Tabitha frowned. This was the second time today she'd heard that news about Albus Dumbledore, and it didn't make any more sense now than it had in the morning. Arabella talked about Dumbledore all the time, and this news just didn't match up with all the things she said about him.
After a moment's thought, Tabitha reached for the phone. It was only 5pm for Arabella, and she'd been meaning to call her soon anyway.
Arabella answered on the second ring. Her voice was softer than usual, and seemed rather tense. "Hello?"
"Hi Bella, it's me."
There was a pause. Tabitha nervously wound a loose strand of hair around her index finger. This wasn't usual. Arabella was always pleased to hear from her, even if she was too busy to talk.
"Have you got my letter yet?"
"Letter? No, I haven't got anything. I'm sorry, is this a bad time to call?"
Arabella sighed. "Something like that. Look, I can't really talk right now. Write back when you get my letter, will you? I've explained as much as I can."
"…Alright. I will. Bye, Bella."
"Bye, Tab."
Perplexed, Tabitha hung up the phone. She glanced out the window, partly to check for the mailman and partly to distract herself from the dread that was beginning to gnaw at her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened - something life-changing.
She sat down and began to knit, waiting for the bad news to arrive.
---
Tabitha spent the evening repeatedly drifting into an uneasy sleep, only to jolt awake at the slightest noise.
When they actually arrived, she was mid-dream. Hazy images were floating through her mind. Images of Wilfred picking shining-silver tulips, of Arabella vanishing coins under a handkerchief, of Emily chasing a cat through the Salem Witches Institute greenhouses…
A distinct crack from her front hall pulled her out of the dream. In one quick movement, she snatched up her wand from the coffee table and moved swiftly towards the hall where, finally, her guests had arrived.
The party consisted of a witch, a wizard, and three muggles. The two groups were easy to distinguish. The muggles - a middle-aged couple with a son about Kristy Thomas's age - were collapsed on the floor, clutching at their throats and gasping for air. The witch and wizard both looked dreadfully tired, and were attempting to help the muggles stand up.
"I can't… ruddy well… breathe," stammered the muggle man. His small eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, and Tabitha couldn't tell if his face was contorted in anger or in fear. His wife wasn't coping much better. Like her husband, she stubbornly remained on the floor, her horse-like face a bright shade of red. Their son, however, was struggling to his feet.
"That's the way, Dudley," squeaked the wizard, a tiny man wearing a purple top hat. "You're getting better at shaking off the side-effects! Help me with your father, now."
Tabitha wasn't quite sure what to do. Should she help the muggle couple to their feet? Or should she frantically shoo them all to the safety of the third floor? Before she could think for too long, the black-haired witch met her gaze.
"You're Tabitha Porter?" The witch spoke in the same voice Tabitha heard the night before, coming out of the silver Alaskan Malamute. She was brusque, but not rudely so. She had the purposeful air of someone with a critically important job.
"Yes, I am."
"I'm Hestia Jones." Hestia gave the muggle couple a sideways glance. "Where do you want us to go?"
"Your shelter's on the third floor," she answered, inclining her head towards the staircase. "You should get up there as quickly as possible."
"Right." Hestia gave her a tired smile. "Thank you for doing this."
Tabitha returned the smile. "Anything to help."
She went ahead of the group, leading them to the third floor. The muggle man's voice floated behind her, grumbling about American air quality and the state of his jacket.
Fandom - Baby-Sitters Club/Harry Potter
Author - isabelquinn
Word count - 7,112
Rating - PG
Summary - Tabitha Porter keeps herself busy, waiting for her houseguests to arrive.
Link to table - link.
A/N - Probably the main thing you should know about this fic is that it's a Harry Potter crossover. Haha. Karen was right, you guys!
I don’t think I’ve ever done this much research for a fic before. It was fun though! So much minutiae from two different universes, so fun to play with! I hope it’s as much fun to read as it was to write :)
Heaps of thanks to ozqueen and lucida for their beta efforts! I’d reward you with bottles of felix felicis if it was a real thing.
Usual disclaimers, I don't own Harry Potter or the Baby-Sitters club, etc etc.
*****
The sun was a dull grey in color, inching its way over the horizon like a snail. The first dim rays cast a glow across Tabitha Porter’s brick pathway as she returned to her front garden. Her movements were brisk and her hair, more frazzled than usual, was falling across her eyes. The front gate closed with a harsh screech that seemed to reverberate through Tabitha’s very bones. She winced, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She knew her paranoia wasn’t entirely logical, but it also wasn’t entirely illogical. There was nothing to fear in small-town Connecticut. But she had always been one to expect the worst and, in her opinion, it was only a matter of time before there was something to fear. He would eventually come to the United States.
She shuddered, painfully aware of the potential danger in which her decision was placing her neighbors. The guilt of this had settled in her stomach like a large stone. Even her long and dreary night, casting shield charm after shield charm over all the houses in a one mile radius, had done nothing to chip away at it.
She entered her dim foyer, relieved to be back inside. She quickly made a cup of tea the muggle way - a habit she’d had for years - and eased herself into a floral-patterned chair. She tucked a crocheted blanket across her knees and warmed her hands against the porcelain cup. She was facing a long day of waiting. Watson Brewer had invited her to Emily Michelle’s seventh birthday party this afternoon, but she’d made some excuse to avoid it. She couldn’t leave the house; not today. She knew vaguely when they were arriving, but what if something went wrong? No. It was better to stay put.
With a sigh, she settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. She felt too anxious to rest properly, but it was worth a try.
---
If a child hasn’t exhibited signs of magic by their seventh birthday, they most likely do not possess magical ability.
It is a fact that everyone knows, though few remember when or from whom they first heard it. It's only ever discussed in a clinical setting, or in the hushed whispers of gossip. For most people, it's not a truth that affects them in any way. Squibs are rare. Most people haven’t even met one. They’re always someone’s sister’s best friend’s Quodpot coach’s neighbor’s nephew. They’re distant. They’re objects of study, of morbid fascination and pity.
Wilfred had turned seven on a crisp October day. During the year leading up to this birthday, Tabitha could sense her mother's nervousness. She remembered the various accidental spells she herself had cast as a small child, like the time she was six and turned her eyebrows green. Or the time she was four and angry about being sent to her room. The scorch marks were still streaked across her door. But throughout Wilfred’s entire life he had done nothing at all magical. And by the time he woke up on his seventh birthday it could no longer be ignored or explained.
Wilfred was a squib.
---
“Scourgify,” murmured Tabitha, jabbing her wand towards the sink. Fresh soap suds appeared, but the surface was unchanged. The sink was already spotless. The entire bathroom was immaculate: the mirror was free of dust, a new cake of lavender soap sat in a clean dish, and the blue floor tiles gleamed as brightly as they had sixty years earlier. The room was also thoroughly non-magical. This was quite unusual for the third floor, as it was generally used to store Tabitha’s various wizarding possessions. But these particular guests would be living on the third floor. She didn’t think muggle houseguests would appreciate a bathroom full of fanged geraniums.
The entire third floor was similarly prepared. The rooms were small, but they were clean. More importantly, they were protected. All the windows had had their heavy curtains locked shut, blocking any light from shining out. Every possible entry-point was fitted with an imperturbable charm and, of course, a shield charm. Lastly, a sneakoscope balanced quietly atop a small table. Completely clearing the rooms of magical items was impossible. Protection was necessary. Besides, the guests included a witch and a wizard. She couldn’t possibly give them a place to stay that was stripped of everything magic.
Shelves were stacked with a broad range of books - everything from Jane Eyre to Flesh Eating Trees of the World. Heavy trunks were full of things to do, a messy collection of muggle and wizarding pastimes. Knitting needles, wool, paints, and an old set of gobstones were bursting from the trunk in the smallest room. The visitors would be stuck inside for a long time. The least she could do was give them things to help pass the hours.
She had done all she could to prepare the third floor. The rooms had been dusted and organized. Five beds had been freshly made. And the entire floor was shrouded by protective charms. With a last sweeping glance, she turned towards the stairs and began to climb down.
---
Tabitha jumped the last step, landing with a bang that echoed throughout the second floor.
“Mom,” she demanded, “why am I lugging all your cauldrons up to the third floor? Don’t we need them downstairs?”
Drusilla Russell was standing in front of the linen closet, smudges of dust across her nose.
“Locomotor towels,” she sighed, sliding the pile into place on the topmost shelf.
“Mom!”
Drusilla glanced down at her daughter. “Tabby, we’ve talked about this. We live in a muggle town now. Things like cauldrons and spellbooks have to stay on the third floor, so muggles won’t see them when they visit.”
Tabitha folded her arms across her chest. “Amelia Green lives in a muggle town, and her family has bouncing bulbs in their front garden. And their doorknocker roars like a real dragon! And -”
“The Greens’ entire property is hidden,” interrupted Drusilla. "They’re not part of the muggle community.”
Tabitha eyed the linen closet, the contents of which were rearranging themselves into spectrum order. “Neither are we.”
Tabitha's voice was low, and unmistakably firm. Drusilla lowered her wand, and affectionately tucked a stray black curl behind her daughter’s ear.
“This’ll take some getting used to. I know.”
Tabitha sank to her knees, eyes downcast.
“I don’t want to live like a muggle,” she muttered.
“We aren’t going to live like muggles.” Drusilla sat down carefully on the hardwood floor. “We’ll still see all our friends. You’re still going to school at the Witches Institute. And we’re still using magic around the house.”
“We?” asked Tabitha hopefully.
“Me. Nice try.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Thirteen is old enough to do magic out of school.”
“The law disagrees. And so do I.” Drusilla glanced nervously at the window before turning back to her oldest child. “We can still be part of our world while living in Stoneybrook. It won’t be quite the same, but we still belong to it. Wilfred can't belong to the muggle world unless he's in a muggle town. He needs to be here.”
“Why do we need to be here?” asked Tabitha sullenly. “We don’t need to belong to the muggle world.”
In that instant, the air seemed to change. Tabitha could almost feel it crackling around her. Without even looking at her mother’s face, she knew she had pushed her too far.
“Wilfred belongs to us, and we belong to him. We're family.” Drusilla stood up again, giving her wand a brusque wave. The piles of sheets began to move again, arranging themselves into tidy rows. “We’re not going to send him away.”
---
Tabitha stepped onto her front porch at exactly 8 o’clock. She held her shawl tightly across her chest, protecting herself from the morning chill. The days were becoming progressively cooler. Tabitha usually liked this sort of in-between weather, but this year it seemed almost ominous.
“Good morning, Tabitha!” greeted a jovial voice.
Tabitha smiled at her neighbor as she descended the porch stairs. “Hello, Watson. How’s Emily doing this morning?”
Watson laughed, putting aside his secateurs as he stretched his back.
“Bouncing off the walls. She’s been dying to start decorating since the crack of dawn. Actually, she’s been dying to start decorating since about Tuesday.” He began to gather the branches he’d cut from his rosebushes, keeping his gloves on to avoid being pricked. “Are you feeling better?”
“Oh, much better,” she answered vaguely. “I’m sorry about not coming this afternoon. You know my headaches, and with so many children…”
Watson grinned. “I understand completely. This place is a madhouse even without fifteen sugar-crazed seven-year-olds.”
Tabitha pulled her shawl tighter, partly to trap more warmth, and partly to better conceal the wand hidden up her sleeve.
“Your roses looked beautiful this year, Watson,” she said, nodding towards the row of bushes. He looked thoughtful, eyeing his remaining flowers.
“Thank you. I was quite satisfied with them. The color on the pink ones was lovely.” He gave Tabitha a sheepish grin. “But I’ve never managed to get my roses to grow as spectacularly as yours. How do you do it?”
Tabitha gave a small shrug, and pulled her shawl even tighter.
“Just lucky, I suppose.”
Watson had finished gathering the pruned branches. There weren't many to throw away - he had a busy day ahead, and he didn’t have much time for gardening this morning.
“Well, I should head inside. Lots to do today.”
“Of course. Say happy birthday to Emily for me.”
“Will do. Bye, Tabitha,” he said, raising his free hand.
“Bye, Watson.”
Tabitha crouched down in her herb garden while Watson returned to his home, brushing the black soil from his jeans as he walked.
---
Tabitha stepped neatly out of the third-floor fireplace, dusting the soot from her skirt.
“I’m ho-ome!” she called.
Her announcement was answered with rapid footsteps, jumping lightly up the stairs. When Wilfred burst into the room, he was clutching a white handkerchief and a muggle coin.
“Hey, Tab,” he greeted brightly. “Look what I can do!”
He placed the coin on his open palm. He gently lowered the handkerchief over his hand, paused briefly, and snatched it away. The coin was gone.
Tabitha blinked. Her sisterly impulse was to be dismissive of her little brother. After all, she’d been vanishing objects for years now. But… he was only ten. And a squib.
“How’d you do that?” she frowned.
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” replied Wilfred loftily. Almost immediately after saying this, he broke into a grin. “Want me to teach you?”
“Sure, after dinner.”
Wilfred clattered downstairs. Tabitha followed, making her way to the kitchen. Her mother was stirring something at the stove. The curtains were open, so this was clearly magic-free cooking.
“I’m home!” she said brightly.
Drusilla looked up and gave her daughter a beaming smile.
“Hello, Tabby! How was your week?”
“It was alright.” She stood next to her mother, peering into the saucepan. “I was dreading having to start using non-verbal spells, but they’re not as bad as I expected. It’s nice to be home, though. This smells really good!”
“It does, doesn’t it? Beth Ackman gave me the recipe.” Drusilla paused, frowning, and took her daughter’s wrist.
“Is that a burn?”
“We were harvesting fire seeds in herbology yesterday,” she answered dismissively. “It was my own fault, I got too cocky.”
Drusilla rolled her eyes. “Please be more careful with deadly plants. I don’t know how you can be so cavalier around fire seed bushes and venomous tentacula, and then run screaming from a mouse.”
“Mice are disgusting!” protested Tabitha. “All they do is carry disease. Fire seeds and tentacula are actually useful.”
Drusilla handed her daughter a knife and three carrots.
“Your father used to say that exact same thing.”
“Well, he was right. We should get a cat.” Tabitha expertly chopped the carrots, still enjoying the pleasant smell wafting throughout the kitchen.
“By the way, when did Wilfred start vanishing small objects?”
Drusilla chuckled. “It’s a muggle magic trick. It’s a simple concept, but it’s very hard to do well. Much harder than actually vanishing a coin, to be honest.”
Tabitha finished chopping and gazed throughtfully out the window. After a few moments, she turned to her mother.
“Do you need my help?”
“I suppose not. Why?”
“I want Wilfred to teach me his vanishing trick.”
Drusilla laughed. “Good luck!”
---
Tabitha stretched her back. It was aching slightly, but not as much as she would have expected after such a long night. Still, she decided to move from the herb garden to the window boxes. The boxes were bursting with fragrant lavender and, what was more, she could stand upright while she tended them. She had had enough of crouching over a garden bed for one morning.
Tabitha had been keeping gardens healthy, or teaching others to do the same, for most of her life. She couldn’t grow anything obviously magical in her front garden, but muggle plants were perfectly useful. Even the ornamental ones had a certain charm to them. Tabitha eyed her roses with a smile. They really had been beautiful this year.
She tugged at her gardening gloves, making sure they were secure. The lavender in the window boxes needed a good layer of mulch before the weather grew any colder.
---
The scent of lavender wafted gently through the air. Picking bunches for the staffroom had been Lorna Sullivan's idea, and Tabitha loved it. The light aroma made her feel calm, even when she had just taught twenty freshmen girls how to repot mandrake seedlings.
However, all the lavender in the world could not keep her calm around Celia Sloane.
"… biologically, there's little difference to speak of," said Celia, pushing her glasses up her nose. "The first lesson at the sophomore level includes various terms and definitions. It is easier for the students, and factually accurate, to include them in the broad definition of the subject."
Celia's assistant nodded eagerly, flicking through the clean pages of the new book. Muggles in the North American Context was the latest textbook for the Study of Muggles course, and Celia hadn’t stopped critiquing it since she first cracked the spine.
"That's true Celia, very true. Will you change it when you teach the course?"
Celia nodded thoughtfully, stroking her chin with the spotted feather of her quill.
"Yes, I believe I will. I’ll just add a sentence to the textbook’s definition. Can you fit a sentence into the margin for me, Abigail?"
Celia dictated several variations of her new sentence, altering the phrases and word order until she was satisfied. Celia's attention to detail was meticulous, and this process took a full ten minutes. Abigail read aloud the final result, combining the textbook’s definition with Celia’s addition:
"Muggles are defined as the non-magical human population. The term ‘muggle’ includes non-magical humans born of magical parentage, commonly referred to as squibs."
Celia gave a curt nod. "Much better."
Tabitha glanced over her shoulder, unable to remain silent any longer.
"What about the Statute of Secrecy?"
Celia blinked, surprised by the new member of the conversation.
"The Statute of Secrecy? What does that have to do with anything?"
Tabitha continued to grade papers, keeping her face as blank as possible. Celia would be delighted if she detected any traces of anger.
"It's one of the major differences between muggles and squibs. Squibs are from wizarding families. They know about magic and they know about our world. We're not in hiding from them."
Celia gathered the piles of syllabus notes strewn across her desk.
“That may be true, Tabitha, but it’s irrelevant. It doesn’t change the fact that squibs are fundamentally non-magical and are, in essence, muggles.”
“It’s not irrelevant,” replied Tabitha coolly. “Muggles and squibs experience life completely differently to each other. And it’s because they have a different level of exposure to the wizarding world. It’s terrible for squibs, they spend their childhood getting to know our world and then learn that they’ll never truly be part of it.”
“I agree that squibs’ knowledge of our world is problematic. The custom of sending squibs to muggle boarding schools isn't quite enough. Many researchers are currently investigating solutions to that very question.”
“What about memory charms?” Abigail piped up. “Maybe a team of Obliviators could specialize in making squibs forget what they know.”
Incredulity flooded through Tabitha. “Memory charms?” she gasped. "Obliviators? Are you seriously suggesting we should force amnesia on seven-year-old children and make them forget their entire lives? Their families?"
Celia's face was infuriatingly condescending. "Actually, Tabitha, that very idea has been discussed at length by -"
"Stop!" Tabitha gripped the end of the table, her knuckles turning deadly white. "Stop! What is wrong with you? Just think about what you’re saying, even if only for half a second!”
Tabitha didn’t realize she’d been shouting until the silence fell over the staffroom. Everyone had stopped mid-task to stare. Even the janitor was staring at her, and she usually ignored staff and students.
“Sorry,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks turn bright pink.
Tabitha slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind her. The hallways were silent. It was Friday afternoon, and most students spent the weekends at home. Tabitha had begun to walk towards the greenhouses, planning to calm herself down with some pruning, when she heard the door open.
The janitor was walking hesitantly towards Tabitha, an expression of curiosity etched across her sharp features.
“Yes?” asked Tabitha, bewildered at this turn of events. This janitor - was Isabella her name? - had been working at the school for about two years. Tabitha had never seen her pay the slightest attention to anybody. She had repeatedly ignored various teachers’ attempts at being friendly, and everybody had stopped trying. But now she was staring directly into Tabitha face.
“I’ve never heard a witch talk about squibs like that,” she said. Tabitha was surprised to hear a British accent. With that realization, she was also suddenly aware that she'd never even heard this woman speak.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” she answered, frowning. “But the things Abigail and Celia were saying…it's hard not to take them personally.”
The janitor narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“My brother’s a squib.”
The janitor looked utterly unsurprised to hear this. She remained quiet, and there was something unmistakably comfortable in her silence. Tabitha was rather taken aback - she was used to this revelation leading to a barrage of questions, punctuated with awkward pauses and syrup-like sympathy.
“I’m Tabitha, by the way. Tabitha Russell.”
The janitor smiled. “Arabella Figg.”
---
Tabitha sat in her chair, drinking her second cup of tea for the day. She kept the cup in her hands again, partly for the warmth and partly because the coffee table was too cluttered. Tabitha wasn't the tidiest person, but her coffee table was rarely this messy. Usually, it only held a Tiffany lamp and a large wooden box.
The Tiffany lamp had been her mother's. Wilfred had given it to her as a Christmas present one year. It was the first year he'd had enough income to be excessively generous and Drusilla had loved it. It became a centerpiece of her conversation when discussing muggles with witches or wizards. "Look at this lamp," she'd say. "Muggles can make such beautiful things without our help. They don't need our condescension."
The wooden box had been Tabitha's for as long as she could remember. She'd been told it was a gift from her grandparents on the day she was born. She didn't remember her grandparents, and she wished she could have thanked them for the box. The four sides were intricately carved with a seasonal scene, and a small girl laughing and playing. Tabitha liked to rotate it so the side facing her chair corresponded with the time of year. Right now, the little girl was falling into a pile of leaves - leaves that were whittled in minute detail, their edges curling away from the sides of the box.
Letters and cards lived in that box; ones that were particularly treasured. Tabitha never threw out correspondence, but these ones were special enough to be kept close. There were some of Reuben's letters, sent before they'd been married. The card Arabella had given for their wedding was in there, as was the beautiful note she'd sent when Lillian was born. A few postcards from Wilfred, some comfortingly mundane notes Reuben had left around the house…
She didn't look through the box very often. The items inside were too special to be read repeatedly, and she usually saved them for just the right moments.
Tightly gripping her cup, she had another sip of tea.
---
The tea was hotter than she usually drank it. Tabitha blew gently on the surface before taking her first sip, wondering if it was worth adding milk.
"You mean, you grew up in a muggle town? Without being hidden?"
Tabitha nodded, passing a plate of oatmeal cookies across the desk to Arabella. "We moved to Stoneybrook when I was thirteen. Wilfred was well past his seventh birthday by then, so it was pretty clear he was a squib."
"And you all moved into a muggle house together? Really?"
Tabitha shrugged. "I didn't want to move, but it wasn't so bad. It made no difference for Mom and me. Our fireplace was always open, so our wizarding friends were welcome to drop by. I still came here for school. But we were also part of the muggle world, with Wilfred."
Arabella stirred her tea in silence.
"That's so unusual," she said, after some moments had passed. "I've never heard of any families doing that for squibs. What does Wilfred do now?"
Tabitha grinned. "He's about to finish at the muggle high school. He's become remarkably good at muggle magic tricks, he earns money by doing shows for children's birthdays."
"But he lives happily as a muggle?"
"He seems happy." Tabitha took another sip. "He sent me a letter about a week ago, and he's still making decisions about next year. He's been really excited about finishing school."
Arabella blinked. She looked dazed.
"Do you understand just how unusual that is? Most squibs that live in the muggle world are completely cut off from their families. Or they're like me, spending their lives doing demeaning jobs, like cleaning up after wizarding children." With a sigh, she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Really, America is no different to the rest of the world in dealing with squibs."
"Why did you move here?" asked Tabitha, with a curious tilt of her head.
Arabella rolled her eyes. "I was hoping it would be different. It really isn't. If anything, I feel even more of an outsider in this country."
Tabitha wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't think of anything that didn't sound trite. She couldn't imagine what it must be like, to feel caught between two worlds, not fully belonging to either. She suspected that Wilfred still felt it, despite their mother's exceptional effort to help him.
"I'd like to go home, but I don't know if I can," frowned Arabella. "It all depends on this muggle war that's going on."
"What are you going to do if you move home?"
Arabella pushed her cardigan sleeves up past her elbows. "I have ideas. You know how Lorna Sullivan is starting that breeding program for kneazle cats? With the Zoology seniors helping?"
Tabitha nodded. Lorna had been trying to start this program for years.
"She asked me to help. The students aren't always around, and she could do with an extra pair of hands. If I learn the ropes, maybe I could try a similar thing back home. You don't need to know magic to breed cats."
Tabitha gave a wry smile. "If you do that, I'll be your first customer. I could always do with a good mouse hunter."
---
The first floor curtains were all closed. Tabitha wandered from room to room, casting hover charms on increasingly heavy objects.
In theory, she was doing this to sharpen her mind, to hone her ability to concentrate and cast more complex spells. In reality, she was at the end of her rope. She was listless and nervous and completely unable to concentrate on anything for more than ten minutes. She needed to do something inane. Watching her furniture float in the dark might be just the thing.
With a swish and a flick of her wand, Tabitha lifted her refrigerator gently into the air.
---
Lillian had claimed the darkest bedroom. It was the only one in the house that faced north.
She and Lillian had been living in the McLelland Road house for four months now. Lillian had spent the bulk of those months hidden away behind that closed door. Tabitha couldn't blame her. Even today, all she felt like doing was crawling into bed and never coming out. But she couldn't - no matter how awful this year had been they still had to eat. They still had to deal with the general duties of being alive.
Though if she didn't have a grieving fifteen-year-old to care for, Tabitha knew her drive to do basic jobs like eating would be utterly nonexistent.
The first funeral had been in January. Tabitha hadn't used any warming spells on her coat. It had seemed appropriate, standing in the cemetery and feeling the icy wind try to bite through the layers of clothing. Her mother would have told her she was being ridiculous, but Tabitha would have responded defiantly. I will grieve for you however I see fit, she'd have said. She missed her. She missed her more than a eulogy could ever properly say, and if shivering helped then she would be cold for the rest of her life.
The second funeral had been in April, and everything about it had been wrong. The incongruity of it all nearly killed her. Warm, fresh breezes. Clear skies and budding flowers. Everything that stereotypically defined spring, that usually made her feel warm and light. The day was so comfortable. But her husband was dead. Her husband was dead. It didn't make sense, nothing about it made the slightest amount of sense.
Arabella hadn't been able to come to either funeral. Europe was sinking deeper and deeper beneath this dark cloud, beneath this horrifying war. It ripped Tabitha apart, knowing her friend was in England, in the eye of this storm. Out of necessity, their communication was extremely scarce. Arabella had done all she could to get Tabitha through this year, but the last thing Tabitha wanted was for her friend to put herself in unnecessary danger. She'd had more than enough losses to cope with.
New Year's Eve was supposed to be a time of hope. No matter how terrible the last twelve months had been, Tabitha guiltily felt that she should be inclined towards optimism. She was supposed to use this night to put the past behind her, to look at the as-yet unsullied 1976 as a fresh start.
But Tabitha had never been one for baseless optimism. All she could see darkness and emptiness. She could see those storm clouds, thick and menacing over Europe. And spreading, always spreading. She bit back a sob, praying that the people she had left would still be alive to see 1977.
---
The curtains were open again, and afternoon sunlight filtered into the kitchen. The room was stocked with far more food than usual, especially with basic ingredients. Tabitha was using up leftovers, leaving the fresh food for her visitors. She'd made a casserole late last night, ready for when they arrived today. She had no idea how frequently they were eating, but they had a teenage boy among them. No matter how recent their previous meal had been, they'd definitely be hungry.
Today, her lunch was Thursday's minestrone soup and an almost stale bread roll. Minestrone soup had been one of her mother's specialties, and Tabitha made it frequently. But no matter how many times she tried, she never managed to get it exactly right. Drusilla's recipe made a very thick soup, and she'd always been especially generous with tomatoes and oregano. The soup Tabitha made was delicious, but it was missing something. She'd tried various alterations to the recipe over the years, but she'd never figured out what it was.
Tabitha turned on the faucet and began to rinse her soup bowl.
---
Tabitha never particularly loved Halloween. She'd put the effort in for Lillian when she was little, but there was no longer any need. These days, if neighborhood kids came by, she gave them apples. This was partly to avoid the nuisance of throwing out a largely untouched bowl of candy, and partly because she enjoyed having a good supply of apples for the first week of November. Sometimes she liked to fool herself into thinking she was caring for the kids' collective health, but that wasn't really true. She just liked fruit.
She was at the kitchen sink, washing an apple, when the phone rang. She clicked her tongue in vague annoyance, drying her hands on a nearby tea towel before answering.
"Hello?"
"Tabitha?"
Tabitha felt a sharp jolt in the pit of her stomach.
"Bella?" She hadn't heard this voice since the early 70s. Arabella only dared communicate through the muggle post, and even those letters were, by necessity, scarce. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
"It's… it's over. It's all over."
Tabitha was still too thrown to absorb what she was saying. "What do you mean, it's over? What happened?"
"You Know Who. He's gone."
Silence. Gone? He was gone?
"He's… how?"
"He cast a killing curse on a baby boy. It didn't work, it rebounded. I don't know, it doesn't make any sense, but Sturgis and Dedalus both told me the same story and all these things are happening… He's gone. It's over, Tab."
Tabitha barely knew what to think. It was all a hazy mess of horror and relief. Horror that he'd tried to kill a baby. Relief that it was over. Both emotions strongly filtered through a distinct sense of disbelief and confusion.
"But… it's really… how can it be over?"
Arabella laughed, and the sound of it made the news begin to seem more real. Tabitha hadn't heard her friend's laugh in so long. "I've spent today saying that exact thing. But it's true, You Know Who has vanished. It's over, it's really over!"
Tabitha was still dazed. The news was only sixty seconds old to her, and she needed time for it to sink in. She knew that joy would come, unbridled joy that the storm on the horizon wasn't coming. Joy that it was over. But for now, she could only focus on the immediate. She had her friend back.
---
Extra blankets. There were going to be five guests staying in the house, and the weather was getting progressively cooler. She needed more blankets.
She had gone to the attic to rummage through some boxes, prompted by a vague memory of cleaning out the linen closet and dumping the excess in the attic. But she was distracted the second she passed the east window. The window looked out over the neighboring properties, and she had a clear view of the aftermath of Emily’s birthday party.
The Thomas Brewer yard had been lavishly decorated. A large table sat by the house, draped with a bright red plastic tablecloth and littered with paper plates. Andrew was carefully scouting the lawn, filling trash bags with a range of birthday party debris. Kristy was waving her hands like a traffic cop, directing Karen and Emily who were tugging at the edges of an enormous banner. The words Happy Birthday Emily sparkled with every movement and every flash of sunlight as it was untied from the porch rails.
It took Tabitha a few moments to find David Michael. She eventually spotted him in a tree, untying streamers and balloons and passing them down to Hannah Papadakis, who was holding an open trash bag.
The banner fell, landing in a crumpled bundle by the porch. Tabitha watched Karen pick it up and, laughing, fasten it to Emily’s shirt like a cape. A fresh surge of guilt jolted through Tabitha’s stomach. She watched the cheerful group, shadows long and sharp from the setting sun, unaware of the terrible danger in which their neighbor had placed them.
---
Sunlight shone brightly on the Brewers' front yard, and it almost seemed to emit a faint glow. The spring afternoon smelled fresh, and buds were scattered across the garden like confetti. Tabitha walked up the path in a black dress that swirled around her ankles. She didn't match her surroundings, but the bouquet of tulips in her arms fit perfectly. The blossoms were a mixture of yellow and pink, and tied with a white ribbon that had accompanied Arabella's most recent Christmas present.
"Tabitha!" Watson's eyes shone, despite his tired and disheveled appearance. "Have you come to meet her?"
"Yes, if it's a good time." She smoothed the ribbon nervously, remembering how exhausted she and Reuben had been when Lillian was a newborn. She didn't want to be one of those guests who couldn't take a hint.
"No, it's a perfect time! Come in, come in!"
Watson eagerly ushered her in. She smiled, grateful for his enthusiastic greeting. It was a welcome counter to the awkwardness she felt. She hadn’t been inside the Brewers’ house in years. Even though they were her next-door neighbors, she felt quite distanced from them. She preferred to keep to herself these days. She and Watson only spoke across the fence, and she occasionally exchanged polite greetings with Lisa.
"I picked these this morning," she said, holding out the bouquet of tulips. "They seemed right for a little girl."
Watson beamed. “They’re gorgeous, Tabitha. And they’ve bloomed so early! Honestly, I’ve never figured out your knack for growing flowers. How do you do it?”
Tabitha knew these questions were never purely rhetorical, but today was different. Watson was on far too much of a high to be excessively curious about her gardening techniques. She gave a vague answer, watching him fill a vase with water and carefully arrange the tulips.
“She’s in her room, with her mother.” Watson took visible delight in the words ‘her mother’. His air was similar to that of a newlywed going out of his way to say ‘my wife’. Tabitha followed him up the stairs to a white door, slightly ajar, decorated with pink letters that spelled ‘KAREN’.
Tabitha stood at a respectful distance while Watson announced her arrival with a whisper. When she entered the room, Lisa was sitting in a white rocking chair, a bundle of yellow blankets in her arms. A small face, framed by blonde fuzz, was poking out of the top. Watson stroked the impossibly tiny fist that was gripping Lisa’s index finger.
“Congratulations, both of you.”
“Thank you,” smiled Lisa. “Has your daughter had her baby yet?”
“Yes, a month ago. A girl. Drusilla.”
Lisa smoothed Karen’s hair. “Perhaps they’ll be playmates one day. When Drusilla comes to visit you.”
Tabitha smiled. “I’d like that.”
Watson did not seem to be listening. His grin broadened as Karen stirred in her sleep.
“Isn’t she magical?” he sighed, lightly touching her small nose.
Tabitha smothered a chuckle at Watson’s choice of words.
“She’s beautiful, Watson.”
---
Light glowed from the Tiffany lamp. The inside of the house was dark - the sun had just barely begun to sink below the horizon when she'd sprung to her feet, systematically moving through the house and closing each set of curtains. She had an inkling that this wasn't entirely necessary - much like being ready for the plumber at 8:50 when he's due to arrive between 9:00 and 4:00. Nevertheless, she was ready. Darkness had barely fallen, but she was ready.
The messenger had come last night. Tabitha had been told they would contact her one day before their arrival, but she hadn't known what exactly to expect. She certainly hadn't counted on a dazzlingly silver Alaskan Malamute bounding through her living room window.
"We're coming tomorrow," it had said. "After nightfall. We'll apparate directly into the house. Please be ready."
With a final shimmer, it had vanished. No trace of it was left behind. Tabitha's living room had looked jarringly normal at this moment, as though a shining silver dog hadn't just spoken to her in a woman's voice.
As the shock slowly subsided, the substance of the message had begun to sink in. This was when she'd decided to spend the night casting shield charms over the neighborhood. Had that really been only one day ago? Tabitha shook her head. It felt as though an eternity had passed since then.
She gazed at the thick fabric of her curtains, wondering about the silver messenger. The dog had looked like the result of a Patronus Charm, but how had it spoken? Tabitha had never heard of such a thing, let alone seen it.
With an exhausted sigh, she sat back in her floral-patterned chair and waited.
---
Tabitha sat in her chair, feet resting on the matching ottoman, working solidly on Drusilla's ninth birthday present. Her hands were busy with wooden knitting needles, slowly forming a cozy-looking hat. Beside her, in mid-air, a crochet hook wove red wool into flowers. Needless to say, the living room curtains were drawn.
She was idly listening to CWW, tuning out the interview that was a thinly-disguised commercial for Dragon Trainer recruitment. She had just finished her fourteenth row when it was finally over.
"That was Randall McKee of the North American Dragon Trainers Association, thanks for coming in! We'll begin an hour of non-stop music in just a few minutes, after the news. You're listening to the Connecticut Wizarding Wireless, here's Lucy Tate with the latest headlines."
Tabitha paused, listening to Lucy Tate rattle through the midday news. None of the headlines were of any interest to her, and she was just about to begin knitting again when her when one particular story caught her attention.
"The International Confederation of Wizards has voted to remove Albus Dumbledore from the position of Supreme Mugwump. The Confederation ruled that his increasing age and frailty has rendered him incapable of the job. Lastly, the Hartford Hurricanes lost to the…"
Tabitha frowned. This was the second time today she'd heard that news about Albus Dumbledore, and it didn't make any more sense now than it had in the morning. Arabella talked about Dumbledore all the time, and this news just didn't match up with all the things she said about him.
After a moment's thought, Tabitha reached for the phone. It was only 5pm for Arabella, and she'd been meaning to call her soon anyway.
Arabella answered on the second ring. Her voice was softer than usual, and seemed rather tense. "Hello?"
"Hi Bella, it's me."
There was a pause. Tabitha nervously wound a loose strand of hair around her index finger. This wasn't usual. Arabella was always pleased to hear from her, even if she was too busy to talk.
"Have you got my letter yet?"
"Letter? No, I haven't got anything. I'm sorry, is this a bad time to call?"
Arabella sighed. "Something like that. Look, I can't really talk right now. Write back when you get my letter, will you? I've explained as much as I can."
"…Alright. I will. Bye, Bella."
"Bye, Tab."
Perplexed, Tabitha hung up the phone. She glanced out the window, partly to check for the mailman and partly to distract herself from the dread that was beginning to gnaw at her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened - something life-changing.
She sat down and began to knit, waiting for the bad news to arrive.
---
Tabitha spent the evening repeatedly drifting into an uneasy sleep, only to jolt awake at the slightest noise.
When they actually arrived, she was mid-dream. Hazy images were floating through her mind. Images of Wilfred picking shining-silver tulips, of Arabella vanishing coins under a handkerchief, of Emily chasing a cat through the Salem Witches Institute greenhouses…
A distinct crack from her front hall pulled her out of the dream. In one quick movement, she snatched up her wand from the coffee table and moved swiftly towards the hall where, finally, her guests had arrived.
The party consisted of a witch, a wizard, and three muggles. The two groups were easy to distinguish. The muggles - a middle-aged couple with a son about Kristy Thomas's age - were collapsed on the floor, clutching at their throats and gasping for air. The witch and wizard both looked dreadfully tired, and were attempting to help the muggles stand up.
"I can't… ruddy well… breathe," stammered the muggle man. His small eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, and Tabitha couldn't tell if his face was contorted in anger or in fear. His wife wasn't coping much better. Like her husband, she stubbornly remained on the floor, her horse-like face a bright shade of red. Their son, however, was struggling to his feet.
"That's the way, Dudley," squeaked the wizard, a tiny man wearing a purple top hat. "You're getting better at shaking off the side-effects! Help me with your father, now."
Tabitha wasn't quite sure what to do. Should she help the muggle couple to their feet? Or should she frantically shoo them all to the safety of the third floor? Before she could think for too long, the black-haired witch met her gaze.
"You're Tabitha Porter?" The witch spoke in the same voice Tabitha heard the night before, coming out of the silver Alaskan Malamute. She was brusque, but not rudely so. She had the purposeful air of someone with a critically important job.
"Yes, I am."
"I'm Hestia Jones." Hestia gave the muggle couple a sideways glance. "Where do you want us to go?"
"Your shelter's on the third floor," she answered, inclining her head towards the staircase. "You should get up there as quickly as possible."
"Right." Hestia gave her a tired smile. "Thank you for doing this."
Tabitha returned the smile. "Anything to help."
She went ahead of the group, leading them to the third floor. The muggle man's voice floated behind her, grumbling about American air quality and the state of his jacket.