Family

Queen dances into my ears as the shop's door shuts behind me. Stepping out onto Diagon Alley, my head begins pounding as if a club was beating it over and over. A bottomless pit forms in my stomach like I haven't eaten in months. My fangs start to feel uncomfortable, just itching to be sunken into a warm neck. My head pounds as my eyes switch to see their veins.

I stop myself from plunging into the crowd as I slowly inhale through my nose and out through my mouth. That's it, nice and steady. I start to increase the volume to distract myself. It's been a while since I've had an attack that powerful. Finally, having my hunger under control, I realize I'm collapsed on the side of the street packed with people. I must look so weird. Panic jolts through me as I put my hand on my mouth to feel my mask still there.

Dusting myself off, I join the crowd as I can feel eyes stabbing me with their gaze. Everyone's probably watching. They must have noticed my freak-out. The thought would have driven me into a panic attack if I wasn't so drained from fighting off hunger. Maneuvering myself through the crowded street, I make my way into Flourish and Blotts.

"Excuse me. Do you know where Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary is," A girl asks me as I enter, stumbling over the shop's name. The girl seemed to be my age, yet her height was the same as that Hermione girl. Then again, who isn't taller than me? The question startles me as I jump a little.

A valley girl-type outfit hung off her slim figure, which matched her delicate facial features. Her beautifully straight golden brown hair runs down to her lower back. The color of her eyes contrasted perfectly with her slightly dark skin, hinting at Southern American descent. Golden eyes glowed at me with a sense of warmth yet a mild panic.

Getting over the shock of being asked a question, I reach into my pocket only to find my notepad gone. Panic returns as I try to make gestures to show that I can't speak. Her brow wrinkles as she stares at me even more intensely. The stare causes me to completely freeze. My mind turns blank as all conscious thought leaves it. My body starts to carry me forward without realizing it as I push past the girl and continue into the store.

"Hey!" the girl turns to yell at me, hair turning a red tint, only for an angel to appear.

"Do you need some help?" Zach asks the girl, moving in between the girl and me.

"Yes, thank you! I need to get to Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary," the girl tells him, forgetting her anger, as the red tint disappears.

"Three shops down on the right side," Zach answers with a salesman's smile.

"Thank you!" the girl yells, clearly unaware that we're in a bookstore, as she runs out of the store with her eyes turning even brighter gold.

"You seriously need to get better at talking to people," Zach taunts, moving behind the counter. I turn my music off and take out my headphones. I'm so glad Father raised me with muggle stuff. I wouldn't know how to live without pens, notepads, music players, and muggle clothes.

*Not all of us can be social butterflies, Zechariah,* I joke back, in sign, using his full name to annoy him.

"Well, if you're like that, then you'll never make friends at Hogwarts," Zach tells me jokingly but with an underlying tone of concern. Zach stands around four eight, typical for a 12-year-old. His dancing blue eyes contrasted with his short, tidy black hair beautifully. His faded red shirt, blue jeans, and brown glasses give him the perfect look of someone working at a bookstore.

*Shame you won't be there,* I glumly reply as Zach grabs a cart full of books and heads down a row of shelves.

"I know! I keep asking my parents to be at Hogwarts instead, but you know what they say? 'You're a Morisan Zach. Our family has been going to Durmstrang for generations. Us living in Britain now, and your wanting to go with your friend isn't going to change that!'" Zach rants as he puts the new books on the shelves.

*Well, it is a part of your family history,* I respond as I help put books up, wanting to do something.

"If I wanted to connect to my family history, I would visit. Hogwarts is a much better school."

"Zach! Quit talking to your friend and handle the register," the manager yells, bringing our conversation to a halt.

"Sorry AC, gotta work," Zach apologizes as he scampered off, using his nickname for me and leaving me to browse the shelves. AC's short for albino cat, referencing the excuse I give everyone about my hair and eyes. Ironically, it's also the thing that muggles use to cool off. Golden rays shine through the store's windows as my arms struggle to lift the stack of books onto the counter.

"Buying out the store again, I see," Zach mocks, making a light blush appear on my face hidden behind my mask and the stack of books 15 tall.

*I like reading ok,* I meekly sign to Zach as he picks up The Standard Book of Spells, grade three.

"You do realize that this is for third years, right?" Zach teases, knowing perfectly well that I already bought the last two.

"Hey! Don't scare off my highest paying customer," the manager jokingly lectures as he shrinks them down for me. Waving goodbye, I grab the bag of books and leave the store.

Knowing Father, he's probably still open with an empty stomach. I should grab some food for him. It's not like I need human nutrition; I just like the taste of it. My thoughts wander in response to my growling stomach as I swim through the crowd and towards the Leaky Cauldron. The dim light of Ollivanders wakes me from my thoughts as a pit forms in my stomach, not out of hunger. What happened?

Rushing through the crowd, I burst through the unlocked door to find... nothing, just the empty wand shop. Piles of wand boxes are scattered throughout but in their usual way. Still brimming with panic, I dash up the staircases and into the loft. The loft stands quiet, frighteningly so. Scouring the room, my eyes land upon Father, sitting in the armchair with a bottle of Firewisky in one hand and a picture in the other.

My worried eyes scan his stoic face, warmly illuminated by the fire. Unusual glossy eyes stare into the photo. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in," Father says, looking at me with the same glossy eyes. My worry only deepens at his words. He always hears the bell.

"Shame you picked the morning shift today; Harry Potter came in for a wand," his shaky chuckle hangs in the air as he punctures the silence with a swig of Firewisky. "Funnily enough, he bought that wand I've been trying to sell," his words ring in my head like the sound of a freight train.

Shaky legs move towards me as his body falls into me, dropping us to the floor in front of the flickering fireplace. Sniffles come from him as I hold him tightly. I pick up the photo of Father's wife and son from the floor. They sat in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, smiling and laughing.

*It's not your fault,* I sign to him as I finally take the glass he's been nursing.

"How can't it be? I sold the wand that killed them! I sold the wand that killed them all! Every muggle, every muggle-born, every 'blood traitor' that died; All of them, every blood spilled in the war!" he yelled in pain, moving back into my arms. I could only stroke his back as his tears wet my shoulder.

I can't do anything: not say anything, not shush his worries, not tell him in a voice thick with German that everything's not on him; all because of the rune on my body put there by the very people, the very family that took his. I don't deserve to be here, don't deserve the freedom that he gave me. Don't I remind him of the people who took his family? How can I even call him Father when my blood took the boy that used to call him Dad?