Underwater Tears Solo FIN Reopened

He didn't tell the League about his goldfish at home. That about a month ago—Wednesday, April 21; a date seared in his memory—he had gotten a letter from his parents, reading:

Sad to say, the last fish is gone, buried in the backyard with the others.

A mere sentence acknowledging those who had shared their home for a decade, passed over and forgotten, now a vacant space where the 50 gallon tank once sat in the entrance hallway of the Vance residence, replaced with candles and picture frames and other table ornaments. Unless someone mentioned it – his Muggle friends Elmer and Cody, Abe and Kiki, those who frequented his house and noticed the hollowed absence – Andrew wouldn't bring it up, and even then, brush it off as if it were nothing. Just a twinge of melancholy he'd allow those sappy emotions to show in public, nothing like the pang of grief he felt in his bedroom alone; in still, quiet thoughts to himself, drifting off to sleep.

He couldn't blame his family for not bothering to remember their names. His father had the most sensitive heart of all of them, in caring for the goldfish most precious to Andrew during the school term. Still, they were only fish, and his father did not go above and beyond to enrich their lives as Andrew thoroughly had. It was this passive disregard for lower lifeforms, viewing them as brainless and dispensable, that ticked Andrew with annoyance. But to reason with anyone—the majority—who could not grasp otherwise, would simply be a waste of breath. Some people were just born with an enhanced sense of empathy for animals, and it took an exceptional, almost spiritual kind to bond with those one could not derive physical gratification from. Pets without the 'pet'. Look, but do not touch.

They were his first childhood pets, aside from the praying mantises and other insects he'd capture from the garden. His parents weren't exactly animals lovers, opening up to the idea mainly for their children's sake, as part of the "growing up" phase. He and his sister Stacy had inherited that empathetic gene from their aunt Cynthia, wishing they had been born into their cousins' farm life. How he and his siblings had tried pining their parents for a dog, but anything other than an "easy" goldfish or an independent cat was off the table. Not even a cat, at the time his 4-year old self had worn down his parents into considering the former. Duchess and Princess wouldn't come into the picture until four years later, and even they had been free gifts somewhat forcibly shoved upon them (with Andrew and his siblings' coaxing) from Aunt Cynthia, for his parents wouldn't have gone out of their way to buy a cat, unless if a stray showed up on their doorstep. You have plenty of animals at Aunt Cynthia's farm to play with. And the neighbors' dogs, his parents reasoned. At least they were aware of the responsibilities that came with pet ownership, though underestimating the toddler Andrew's grasp of the subject as they tried to dissuade him from getting the rest of the family entangled in the joint effort involved in caring for a pet. You can have your own when you're older, they told him. "Older" meant "grownup", when he could afford a pet on his own time and money. A million years away, in his moping 4-year old mind.

Still, he persisted, bartering his birthday and Christmas gifts in exchange for a pet goldfish, whom his parents expected would die in a few months anyway, in the questionable hands of a 4-year old. He would only get one shot at this, he feared, and so Andrew took his role as caregiver seriously, to his parents' surprise as the fantails grew from quarter-sized to 7-inch long giants in the course of ten years. Perhaps a blue thumb, keeping fish alive, rather than a green one. He soaked up information from staff in the local pet store, and soon computers as he researched goldfish care, upgrading the tank and incorporating a varied diet: peas, bloodworms, crickets, grapes, lettuce. Half of it was common sense and came naturally to him, putting himself in their gills. He'd like to think it was magic then, conveying a sixth sense connection to their wants and needs. Unlike other young children buzzing for the latest excitement that would grant them immediate satisfaction, he didn't see his goldfish as toys, to grow bored of after a few weeks. If only his parents knew how long goldfish could actually live for. Part of the guilt that gnawed at him, questioning whether he had done enough to give them their fullest life.

There were three. One for him and each of his siblings, figuratively. Sparky—he claimed as his—for the orange color like fire sparks. Dixie—Stacy's—after the book, Because of Winn-Dixie. Ruby—Kyle's—for the bright red splotches. They were his babies, and parents ought to have no favorites, but Sparky stuck out from the herd as a kindred spirit, the one Andrew grew most attached to. He didn't need the internet to know that goldfish could recognize the hand that fed them, memorize human faces. They knew him, and he knew them, their various personalities and quirks, and something about Sparky forged a special connection between the two, whether it was Andrew's imagination or how much was it magic or nature at play. Sparky was always at the forefront to greet him when he entered the front door, following him whenever he passed by, butting in front of the others for attention during feedings and chasing Andrew's fingers around during play sessions. Sparky was practically a dog, loyal and affectionate, trapped inside of a fish's body. If reincarnation existed for all souls, be it in this world or the afterlife, Andrew wished that Sparky would be reborn as one. Otherwise, if heaven didn't have goldfish, he wasn't going.


Anxiety dreams still plagued him of them dying from neglect. Even while they were alive, when he was at Hogwarts. Half of his letters consisted of his worries, reminding his family to do this and that for the fish, checking in on how they were doing. If only Hogwarts allowed, he would've brought his goldfish to school; enchant a hamster ball of water to roll around like Minon from Megamind. He had built a solid routine with Hillstone Primary next door, stressing over every daytrip and vacation, worried his goldfish would die on the weekend without him, that he'd return to a smashed tank or bodies floating at the top of the water. He hadn't left them for more than a few weeks at a time, let alone months at Hogwarts. He didn't trust his family to give them near the amount of TLC he had poured his whole heart into. And in a way, blamed his goldfishes' death on the interference of magic in his life. Did his family feed them well enough? Did they clean the tank properly? If Hogwarts never happened, and he had been the one taking care of them all this time, would they still be alive?

Dixie, then Ruby, then Sparky was the last to go. Ten years, not so bad for fancies. But at a time when he was struggling through school pressures and the Curse afflicting him, it was another blow to his depressed system. Too much change and loss, in the midst of fear, for him to cope with all at once. He wished Fate had allowed him to say goodbye, for they had all passed while he was away at school. Dixie and Ruby after Christmas break, Sparky after Easter. Whether it was old age or loneliness, if the loss of one had downed the others, or some fragile care imbalance, Andrew did not know. Perhaps it was Fate's way of being kind, not having his emotions around to weird out his family, but still, he wished he could've been there to witness the backyard burial, and not be all paranoid about whether they had tossed them in the trash, going so far as to try and exhume the carcasses just to prove they weren't lying to him. Whatever gave him peace of mind, they supposed.

He felt bad about Sparky being alone and wanted to give him another companion, but knew it would be a never-ending cycle. He was still in Hogwarts and he didn't want to extend his family's burden of adding more fish to the tank for them to take care of, as begrudgingly as they already were, and it pained him that Sparky had died alone. If only Sparky had a companion to make him happier, he might've lived longer. But all that was in the past, now. He had given his fish their best life, as best as he knew how. Sparky wouldn't have held that against him.

He crossed over to the betta aisle. Standing out from the rainbow of flashy males and exotic variants-- Half Suns, Round Tails, Dumbo Ears-- a drab female caught his eye. A greenish-brown hue that reminded him of a Selkie and the murky waters of the Black Lake, and that alone tugged a string of sympathy. A horse is only as good as its color, Stacy once quoted, and the same applied to the rest of animal and humankind, marketed and vied for appearances, not personality. Though perhaps the opposite rang true for him, having a biased preference for the mundane aesthetic, the unwanted. In this case, facing a similar predicament as he had with Penelope, at the crossroads of fate and destiny.

After all, if he didn't take her in, who would?

Sitting across from Stacy at an outdoor table, cups of frozen yogurt in hand, the siblings waited and soon spotted their parents and little brother approaching from the stream of passersby. "Hey mum, dad." Andrew held up a water-filled plastic bag, displaying the new member of the family. "Look what I got."

Store policy, one had to be at least 16 to buy a pet. That was when 17-year old Stacy came into play. Everything would be coming out of his own pocket though, Andrew assured. His little side allowance, helping out his grandparents with the garden business, would more than cover the supplies needed to look after his meager betta.

"They don't live very long," he explained to his parents. "4-5 years max. I think she's a year already, so…she'll be gone before I go to college." His grin faltered on a hopeful note, smiling sadly.

College. A big "if", drawing a grim reminder to the ticking timebomb beneath Andrew's left sleeve. The dreadful truth was that no one knew how long he would be around, if the Curse would one day snuff out his life unexpectedly. Andrew had accepted his fate, the consequence of his own recklessness and stupidity, determined to attend classes and live as normally as possible, despite his parents' insistence that he rest and study at home, where they could keep a closer eye on him and his condition. The same excuse others would use to keep him at Hogwarts. Having a steady supply of "cure" on hand was a bit trickier abroad, living in a highly concentrated Muggle area. Nothing would keep him away from his family. If he was bound for an early grave, he'd rather meet the Grim Reaper in the warm comforts of home than the cold confines of school.

Gone was the carefree youth, that starry-eyed thirst for magic that once propelled his first year success. If only he had stayed in his dorm bed, that one fateful night. Hogwarts had become a prison. A hospital. A terminal ward. He was not alone in body or ailment, but in spirit, he failed to connect with anyone on his minority level. A normal Muggle-born from a healthy supportive family, sailing smoothly through his Muggle life until he stepped foot into Hogwarts, where the bullying, drama and trauma began. Coupled with the pressure of not one, but two workloads of school. Only a few involved with the mail knew of the Muggle classwork being shipped to him, math and science on top of Transfiguration and Potions. It was exhausting, struggling to keep on top of both. Eventually, one world would have to give, to preserve his mental health. Until then, he must grin and bear it all, for now.

Fool me twice, shame on me. If he survived this, he wouldn't risk it all a second time.

"I can leave her with the Bakers, if they don't mind. I'll have to ask 'em." He recalled an older couple on his street who had babysat him and his siblings a few times when they were younger. Unless if the Bakers no longer had their tank of guppies, since the last time he visited their house last week. "They have fish, so no need to worry about taking care of her, when I'm gone."

"Hire someone?" Mrs. Vance tsked in disbelief. "Come on, you two help your brother, now. It's just a little thing." Andrew blinked in surprise, exchanging awkward glances with Stacy and Kyle who were at the receiving end of their mother's reprimand over the tiny betta. He saw straight through his parents' sympathy, eager to dote upon their ailing son. In fact they had been willing to get him new goldfish to replace the ones who had died. Money was no object if it helped ease Andrew's pain to distract from his condition, if not make his last days comfortable.

"It's fine, mum, I can pay the Bakers for it. Garden check," he reminded. It didn't sit well with him to let his family take care of his pets out of pity. Hopefully his backup plan would lessen the burden of responsibility for them. An exercise of independency, though he doubted his parents would let him follow through with it. Either they'd coax his siblings into looking after his new pet or they'd chip in the payment for the Bakers to look after it.

"I just can't go without a fish, you see," he said meekly. He thought the fish phase of childhood had ended and wasn't expecting to get a new one until he was on his own and out of the house. He felt a little guilty for bringing his family into it once more, overexaggerated in the anxious mind of a fourteen-year old, trying to be as self-sufficient as possible.

"Of course, yes, get as many as you like," his mother prompted. Only because she was confident Andrew wouldn’t do anything unreasonable.

"Nah, I'm fine with one," he chuckled at his mother's bluff. It was tempting. A betta sorority was certainly possible in the old 50 gallon they had stowed in the basement. But he wouldn't take advantage of his parents' hospitality. Gathering up the shopping bags, the Vances headed to the bus stop. A sunny afternoon with the promise of picnics, sleepovers, theme parks, mall hopping, sports centers, Aunt Cynthia's farm, Stacy's equestrian shows and Kyle's birthday in the upcoming weeks of summer break, catching up with cousins, old Muggle friends, and the church family who saved his seat in the band. Finally, he could brush up on his trumpet skills. This was home. His heart swelled so full with anticipation he thought it would burst!

"Thank you for letting me have my fish." He smiled at his father—nearly eye-level—who wrapped an arm around him, careful to avoid brushing against where the Curse was especially tender. At Death's doorstep, through all the hardships magic had put them through, it brought his family closer together. No matter how cheesy it sounded, Andrew would voice his gratitude, stressed more often as of late, not taking family for granted.

"Thank you for being thankful." Matching gray blues brimmed with warmth. The boy was growing into his father's looks, his voice, his walk. Even his mother flubbed their names on occasion, mistaking one for the other at the right angle. His father's embrace, baring love and pride in one small comment, was a blanket of security to melt all of Andrew's fears in that moment, swallowing back tears of gushiness that sent his chest all aflutter. He had everything he needed, right here. Everything would be all right. Past and future faded away, and all that mattered was the present. Nothing more, nothing less did his parents expect of him but to do good and enjoy life's simple pleasures. A little fish was hardly a price to pay for memories that would last a lifetime. "I'm glad it makes you happy."

"Did you name it?" Kyle asked.

"She," Andrew corrected lightly. "It's a female. And no, not yet."

Returning home, he headed straight for the basement, unboxing the old 10 gallon aquarium that his once-little goldfish had grown out of. Two flights of stairs later, he set up the tank on his bedroom desk, letting the betta acclimate to her new environment as he trotted back down the steps to help his family fix up dinner. Even if it was frozen store-bought, his uncultured tastebuds watered no less at the sight and smell of one of his favorite comfort foods. Pizza, hot out of the oven. It was while munching on a slice of cheese-tomato heaven that one of its toppings struck a lightbulb in his head.

Small, dark, greenish. Cute yet classy. Olive. Seemed a perfect fit for his new little friend.

Finally it was time for the release. Andrew held his breath, barely a hand's width between his nose and the transparent wall as he watched Olive inspect her new home. He prayed he had cleaned and cycled everything properly, scanning for the slightest sign of lethargy that would indicate water poisoning. After a long moment, he relaxed, smile curling with elation of success. Olive seemed to be gaining more energy by the minute as she explored the vast space. Her new home was a mansion and a yard in comparison to her old cubicle at the pet store. Fins perked up, color and sheen of her scales bouncing back to life, tiny "hands" abuzz as she pressed her nose against the acrylic and stared back at the giant, the two of them studying each other's faces.

He hoped she liked her new furniture. Not that Olive could be picky over what she never had. Someday, he wished to test out his green thumb with aquascaping, but for now, the old plastic décor and gravel recycled from his goldfish tank would have to do. He opted for earthy and natural. Not the most eye-fetching and aesthetically "clean" arrangement, but certainly the most cozy and comfortable for Olive to blend in with the greens, browns and grays of her new environment, peeking between curtains of tall plants pooling at the surface. A few castle-like ruins and cave structures for extra hidey holes, complemented the Black Lake vibe, recalling the selkie village. One of the mysteries that attracted him to water. Ponds, rivers, the ocean. The portal between worlds, whole ecosystems lying below the surface. Man could tame land, but they could not tame the sea that would inevitably swallow the earth. Having friends in low places might come in handy for the end of the world someday.

After all, what was humanity, floating about aimlessly in a globe, a fragile planet, oblivious to the universe and higher planes beyond their comprehension. Sticking a food pellet to his fingertip, Andrew hovered the morsel above the water for Olive to hop up and snatch. This tiny creature, dependent on him for survival, as all humanity was at the mercy of a higher power, be it deities or chaos forces of nature. A god's eye view, watching over mere specks in the cosmos, was what shaped his awareness and philosophy of the world, as a child with his goldfish. How fragile life was. How small and insignificant people were. Who could be watching them outside of their atmosphere, thinking they were worthless? His father looked to the stars. Him, the ocean. Opposite ends of the Blue. The sea was a mysterious universe all its own. It seemed pointless that humanity should turn to space when they knew so little about their own planet. At least the ocean was a more tangible universe to explore. Fish lived in a separate world all their own. Bonds that transcended different mediums, like his attachment to Sparky, took a special kind of empathy. One built around reverence and respect… Appreciation from a distance… Quiet observation…

Silence and reflection.

He and Olive would not be parted by walls and a flight of stairs. It was a new thrill, having an aquarium in his bedroom. A live television he'd never grow tired of staring at.

Someday, he'd have a big pond with goldfish. Or koi. Or both. With a little rowboat he could paddle across. Landscaped all pretty, like one of those Japanese gardens. It was the only dream he could see as feasible, not knowing which career path he'd take, where his future house would be. Was it too much to hope? If he wasn't dead by that time…

Evening drew near, caving his whole world bleak.


Please, just go away. He grimaced at his ill arm, blinking through tears of desperation.


A light tap at the door, a few hours later… Reclining in bed, Andrew glanced up from his laptop to see his father who, after checking the doors and windows, finished the nightly rounds with a visit to the children's rooms before retiring to his own. "Good night, sleep tight," Mr. Vance would start, joined in by each child to finish the nursery rhyme that was the bedtime ritual since they were toddlers. "Don't let the bedbugs bite. If they do, hit 'em with a shoe." His tone was a gentle reminder as he poked his head into Andrew's room, smiling briefly in Olive's direction. "Don't stay up too late," he whispered.

"Night, Dad," Andrew peeped. "Olive says 'night', too."

"Night, Olive. Sleep tight, you two." Softly, the door clicked shut.

Energy drained from his last brain cell, Andrew stood up and set the laptop on his desk, flicked off the light switch, then climbed back into bed. Heavy eyelids closed while his conscience lingered in the dark, drifting in a sea of calm and peace, tuned to the positive. He had done a good deed today. Olive would be safe with him. A sense of normalcy, filling a hole in his heart, as the hum of the aquarium lulled him to sleep. For a moment, whisking him back to the Slytherin dungeons, echoes of the Lake droning outside his bedroom window.