Clarissa's Story (HP Fanfic)

         Doll-y, doll-y. The cherubic face of a young girl stared up at the blonde-tressed doll sitting upon the mantelpiece, its petticoated legs crossed one over the other below bright blue eyes that were cemented into a smile. Tiny fingers stretched out from arms raised up high, the little girl's body straining on tiptoe. Doll-y. A piercing scream split the darkness outside, explosions ripped through the air. Lights reflected off of the porcelain angels lining the mantelpiece. She paid these potential distractions no mind. Her sole desire was the doll, to cradle it in her arms, to feed it and to give it all the love it must surely crave for in its lonely existence. No one is here. Mummy and Daddy must be sleeping. I want doll-y. A loud crash of breaking glass tore through her thoughts. She didn't like the noise from outside. If only she could get the doll and run her to her bed, then she'll be safe. She whispered urgently and the quaking doll suddenly lurched forward and came tumbling down off of the shelf towards her waiting fingers, fingers that missed the catch. Even so, euphoric joy filled her heart. Bending down, she picked it up off of the floor and turned it over. "Doll-" she happily began to say, yet just at that moment, the room began to spin. She involuntarily closed her eyes and felt herself falling into a swirling tunnel of darkness, an oppressive force that pulled at her center and made her lose all sense of where she was and what she was doing just a second ago. Daddy! Mummy! She tried to call out, but she couldn't get her voice to work. Dizziness overtook her and she succumbed to the onslaught of oblivion. In a matter of seconds, which seemed to her like hours, the unexpected voyage finally ended with her landing hard on her back on solid ground with such a fierceness that it knocked the breath out of her and caused her to lay there for a good minute or two before she unsteadily inhaled and clambered to her feet, clutching the doll tightly to her chest. The place was in total darkness save for some small dots of light ahead and one larger one that was pointed directly at her and steadily approaching. She stood there and stared at it, terrified.

Earlier that evening….

         “But I wannit!” She let out a sob and rubbed her runny nose on her sleeve, her eyes filled with tears for what she felt was rightfully hers. When she had come out into the living room and discovered the doll in a white lacy gown, she naturally assumed that it was from Santa and that he had come by early to drop off a gift for her to play with while she was being forced to wait to open the others. “NO, Missy,” a blond-haired man in his mid-thirties who was sitting in the armchair lightly reprimanded her. He had come out from the kitchen after their heavy meal and sat down in the hopes of making this evening a joyous one for his daughter regardless of the circumstances. He and his wife had heard the news. There was talk about Death Eaters committing a raid in their neighborhood this very evening, the night before Christmas. It was as if they had chosen this holiday to make an additional statement against anything that was good and right in this world. But he wouldn’t let his daughter suffer for it. They took all of the precautions they could make, including adapting the doll for a means of escape, and now all they could do was to sit and wait. Perhaps the rumors were false and there would be no raid, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. While his wife was busy cleaning the dishes in the kitchen, he beckoned his daughter over to where he was sitting. She walked towards him and stood before him, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. “Sit,” he told her, pointing down to the floor. She obeyed his command, but not without erasing her stubborn frown. He leaned forward in his chair with his forearms resting upon his knees and his fingers intertwined, speaking to the little girl sitting at his feet. "It's better safe than...?"
         This one she knew! Her frown instantly changed to a grin. "…dead!" she enthusiastically exclaimed, bouncing up on her knees in excitement. She always loved this game where he would give her a partial sentence and let her fill in the rest. From what she could see, he liked this game just as much as she did because he would always follow up with his own answers. She just happened to like hers better.
         He shook his head. "Sorry," he patiently corrected her. A hint of a smile appeared upon his face, but he tried not to let it show. He didn’t know where she got her ideas half the time, although in a child her age, it was rather adorable. The next-door neighbors would often chuckle when they heard her, sitting out on their lawn chairs and listening to her go on and on about her philosophies on why birds always waited to poop until they were right above your head or why old people would die if they moved around too much.
         His apology threw her off guard.  "’Bout what?" she asked, confused. She didn't think he did anything wrong. Did he choose the wrong sentence for her to finish? He didn't come up with his own answer, so he must have asked the wrong one.
         He ignored her response and went on, speaking very slowly. "Grab a bull by its...?" He paused, waiting for her to complete the sentence.
         Her face scrunched up into an expression of deep concentration. This has to do with a part of the bull's body, she assumed. But what makes a bull different from other animals? It could be the tail or the nose or the foot. Her eyes grew a little bit wider when she came upon the realization. "Daddy, I can't say that!" she exclaimed, sounding shocked. "You told me not to say pee pee!" She couldn't understand why anyone would want to grab a bull by its pee pee anyway.
         He inwardly rolled his eyes at himself. He shouldn't have picked that one. "Horns," he gave her the correct answer. "Honey, never grab a bull by its penis, okay? That's not a smart thing to do. And please, stop thinking about boy's pee pees. There's more to life than those, okay?" Merlin's beard, he's going to have to get her out of that habit!
         "Okay!" she energetically agreed, talking as if she could get her mind off of them in a moment's notice. She rolled forward onto her hands and did a clumsy somersault as she waited for the next one.
         "Alright, one more and Mummy will get you ready for bed," he advised her. "It's my way or the...?"
         "MY way!" The shout almost hurt his ears and he could see that she had jumped to her feet, very sure that she had hit the jackpot.
         "I'm sorry, Missy, but it's HIGH way. I like your answer though. Tell you what.." he leaned out, scooped her up and sat her on his lap, "I'll let you have your way as soon as we're sure that you're making the correct choices, alright?" He looked down at her and raised his eyebrows, expecting a response from her even though he was being facetious.
         Her face told it all. "Yayyyy!" she held her fists up in the air for victory and a broad smile swept over her face. She couldn't wait to get started on making the right choices! But first, she had to go nighty night.
         Just then her mother walked in. Although she was neatly dressed and her voice held an even keel, her husband could catch the edge of nervousness in her speech. "Devon, the neighbors are at the door. They want to speak with you," she informed him in a hushed tone, placing her hand on her shoulder and bending over to speak lowly in his ear. She then turned to Melissa with a smile. "Come on, darling, it's time for bed." She reached out a hand and let Melissa grab hold of it as she slid off of her father's lap. Turning around, Melissa let her father give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Good night, Missy," he said before getting up out of his chair, "sweet dreams. And...don't let the bed bugs..?"
         "Give you itchy pants!" she filled in the rest and giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, "G'night, Daddy!" She waved at him as she started to be led out of the room. He didn't say anything but looked after her retreating figure with a mixture of love, concern and sadness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

         "Mummy, how come Santa never comes over when we're awake?" Melissa asked. She was flying her stuffed teddy bear over her head like an airplane after taking her bath and getting tucked into bed. Her mother sat at her side, pulling the covers up to her chin, and she beamed down at her, amused. "It's not that he does that on purpose," she informed her daughter. "He has to check the list to see who was naughty and who was nice, and that takes him a while. By the time he gets around to our house, we're already in bed." Melissa wasn't satisfied with that answer. Frowning, she complained, "But I'm good every year. He doesn't hafta check the list when he knows he's gonna give me presents." As it is with every child her age, her mind glossed over all of the punishments she earned over the course of a year, the plenteous episodes of defiance and stubbornness that she displayed towards her parents. Rachel shook her head. "He has to check it every year. Just because you were good last year doesn't mean that you will be again this year. A child can always change." Melissa shook her head emphatically back at her. "I won't! I'll always stay good so I can keep getting presents!" Her mother laughed at that and said, "Ok, then you're guaranteed to get presents each year. Now, go to sleep or else Santa will know that you're being naughty." She winked at the girl and bent down to give her a kiss. Melissa's little arms wrapped around her mother's neck as she gave her an eager kiss in return. "G'night, Mummy. I'll be reeeal quiet so Santa will think I'm asleep!" she whispered before the lights were turned out. As soon as her mother left, she rolled over on her side and sighed, bored to tears. Finally, she opted to sing in order to keep herself entertained. Her tiny voice gradually lulled herself to sleep, only to be awakened again a few hours later by a woman's high screeching voice. Half awake, she crawled out of bed to see what was the cause.

A few minutes later....

         Twigs crunched under the man's feet as he steadily walked towards the spot where he had seen the disturbance in the sky and had heard the clumsy thud of someone hitting the ground. He tried to make his pace quick – he had to hurry – and yet he couldn't make it appear as if anything were out of the ordinary. The Muggles would wonder why he was standing out there at a dead-end street in front of a strip off woods long after dark, doing nothing but staring up at the sky. Even he could admit that it was strange, but out of all the possible locations to mark as a rendezvous point, this seemed like the best prospect. There were only a few houses on this street and the person porting in could land far enough behind the trees that he wouldn't be seen immediately. He had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. The local members of the Order were put on alert almost a week now, and he was designated to keep watch over this landing area in case anyone from Colchester would be using a portkey. He had perused the list earlier of all the portkeys and their owners, a list that the owners voluntarily gave. If anyone from over there made one at the last minute, he would have to establish his or her identity through questioning. Moving closer, he could make out the shape of a little girl. It appeared that she was alone. He waved the flashlight around to see if there was anyone else and couldn't find another living soul. This was looking grim, he though. Her parents must have instructed her not to touch the portkey unless something unforeseen happened to them, or else they could have levitated it to her in a last second attempt to save her. Whatever was the case, they couldn't have touched it or else they would be here with her. He reached the place where she was standing and knelt down to see her face, making sure not to aim the light into her eyes. He didn't speak right away. He stared at her and then looked down at the doll and then back up into her face. "Melissa Dumbledore?" he finally came out with the name of who he believed her to be. She said nothing. Sighing slowly in regret, he next assured her. "Your parents told me to meet you and to take you to somewhere safe. I promise you that you'll be okay. Come with me, alright?" He stood up and held out his hand for her, hoping that tonight of all nights, she wouldn't adhere to the "don't talk to strangers" rule. She seemed to waver for a bit, struggling with the contradiction between not going along with strangers and not having anywhere else to go. Then he felt her hand slide into his, and she took one step towards him, a sign that she was putting her trust in him to extricate her from this predicament.

The next morning....

         "It's settled then? We erase her memory and put her with foster parents who will raise her to believe that she is one of their own?" A gruff-looking man with wiry gray hair and a handlebar moustache surveyed the rest of the group sitting at the table. They had among them some disputers who argued that she should be allowed to retain her memory, that she had a right to grow up knowing who she was, but the majority of them believed that this wasn't the point. It wasn't that SHE should or shouldn't know, it was that if the OTHERS knew, they would go after her. And she was simply much too young to be trusted with keeping her identity a secret. "It won't harm her," Ingatis Peibkajf, the man who found her the night before, assured them. "she's only four and a half year old. About half of that holds any memory for her, and what kind of memories would they be? Playing tea with her dollies and getting kisses from her parents who were killed? She's a lot better off starting over with a couple who will pose as her natural parents and who will give her all of the love and support she needs." This was enough to persuade some of those who had yet to take the same stance. Thus, outside of a few dissenters, the plan was voted into action without further argument.
         "Now the question is, who will take her in?" Mugfer Slagrump sat back in his chair and lit a cigar, his moustache quivering as he took in a few puffs. Heads turned this way and that, unsure of who out of them would be either willing or suitable. Then a hand was raised. "We will," a man's voice cut through the silence. They all turned to view a young bespectacled gentleman with sandy brown hair and his wife, a dark-haired woman with the clearest complexion they had ever seen, sitting beside him. She smiled nervously at them while her husband continued, a little uneasy at being put under a spotlight. "We don't have any kids and...well.." he looked at her to make sure it was okay and then turned back to face the head of the table, "we figured that we wouldn't mind having a daughter. We would treat her just as well as if she were one of our own." Everyone there couldn't agree more. Drayson and Jarmine Gressling, under the guise of Calvin and Patricia Clandestine, were the nicest people they knew. They were clever, yes, and quite powerful, but their natural goodness could never be hidden even if they tried. If anyone could get the little girl to form an attachment to a new set of parents, it would be them. Seeing as how no one else in the room was stepping forward, Slagrump declared, "Anyone against the Gresslings taking in this child, speak now or forever hold your peace!" No one would dare go against this perfect arrangement, so this too was voted into action, and the Gresslings hugged each other, thrilled to finally have the child that they couldn't have been naturally blessed with.

         "Come on, Clarissa, it's okay," Patricia Clandestine tried to soothe the girl by handing her a box wrapped in a shiny red and green plaid-patterned paper topped with a matching red bow. To celebrate the arrival of their new addition to the family, they thought they would hold Christmas that evening despite the fact that gifts would normally have been opened that morning. Clarissa sat on the sofa, not moving or changing her expression from a glower. Before her treatment, she was shy and fearful. After the treatment, she was confused, yet this confusion took on a life through anger almost, a sense that there was something wrong. She didn't know these people. Why were they saying they were her Mommy and Daddy? She stared at the present but didn't take it. Patricia glanced at her husband worriedly and then tried another tactic. "Alright, then I'll open it for you," she said cheerfully. Her fingers began to tear through the paper and rip it apart, and then when she got down to the box, she opened up the lid and placed it next to her on the floor. There were tufts of tissue paper sticking up out of the box. "Ooh, look what's in here," Patricia lured Clarissa into looking down at it when she placed the box on her lap. From in between the folds of tissue paper, she could see a cluster of gauzy white lace peeking out. The little girl, curious to see more, hesitantly reached in to pull out a blond-tressed doll, her kindly face gazing back at her as if they were old friends. From where Patricia was sitting, it was the first time she saw a smile creep up around the corners of Clarissa's mouth, and then she saw her break out into a full-fledged laughter and hug the doll closely to her chest. Patricia and Calvin looked at each other, each of them silently agreeing that they made the right choice in removing the spells from the doll and giving it to Clarissa as a gift. It was one relic from her childhood that she could remember her parents by even if she couldn't really remember her past. It was either that or return the doll to Albus, and everyone agreed that a man his age would have no use for it.  And so the Clandestines began a new life, one in which Clarissa adapted to her new environment, albeit with some difficulty, and one in which the parents faced sufficient challenges to keep them occupied for life.

~The end~