Half a Creek Solo

Thursday, 01 July 2021
Prince/Creek home, Whitehaven

Her father had always been the easygoing one of her parents. The one who had encouraged Dee to explore, get into trouble, whose admonishments for talking back at teachers had been delivered with a secretive wink behind her mother's back. Alexandra was the voice of reason, doing her best to teach her daughter that some boundaries were necessary, that other people and their feelings were important, and, let's be honest, the only reason Dealla had grown up to be thirteen years old. There was just one topic in which their roles seemed oddly reversed: The normally boisterous Jonathan growing closed off and cautious, his free laughter dying down, while Alexandra, although always with her cool practicality, told him not to look for demons where there weren't any to find.

Dealla had only gotten a short reply to the request she had sent them in June, nervous and awkwardly phrased, penned in her mother's sober writing: We'll talk about this when you're home.

They hadn't mentioned it right away when they had come to pick her up from the train station, the reunion underlined with smiles and laughter, embraces and good-natured teasing. But her father had been oddly quiet, and they longer they went without addressing it, the more nervous and restless Dealla had become, until she'd felt like she might burst out of her skin.

It wasn't until that evening, however, when they were seated around the dinner table, that it finally became too much to hold in. "So..." she said, drawing out the syllable, her gaze directed down at her food. "About my letter?"

Across the table, her father stilled, his fork setting down on the plate with a click. There was an audible pause before her mother spoke. "Dealla, we were wondering... Why do you want to visit Rosalie and Hayden? You never wanted to meet them before."

When Dee raised her eyes from her food, it wasn't to look at Alexandra, however. Instead she looked towards Jonathan. He hadn't moved, but he was looking at her, and Dealla wondered whether she was imagining the accusation in his eyes. He'd taken her grandparents' rejection of her mother much harder than Alexandra had, she knew that, resenting them even when her mother wouldn't. When Alexandra had sat down with her, years ago, to explain why they didn't have contact with her grandparents, Jon had told her that they were better off without them. His anger at them was what had shaped Dee's own opinion, her convictions. The convictions that had started wavering over the past year. Did this feel like a betrayal to him?

The silence stretched across the table, filling the short distance between them until it felt much wider than it was. Dealla felt her lip trembling slightly, found herself unable to hold her father's gaze, and looked away. "I don't know." Her voice was smaller than it should be, uncertain. But it was true; she didn't know, couldn't explain why she couldn't just feel certain the way she had before. Why she had to meet them to find out herself.

Saturday, 24 July 2021
In front of Creek Manor, London

The large, iron gates were daunting, even more so since Dealla was alone. Her parents had brought her here - both of them - and Alexandra had wanted to walk her to the door, but Jonathan had rejected the idea. Had refused to meet his parents, or let Alexandra meet them. He wouldn't give them the opportunity to spit more of their poison at them, he had said. For their goodbye, her mother had given her a hug, and her father had ruffled her hair, but he hadn't looked at her. It left Dee with a pit in her stomach as she'd watched them walk away. Jonathan hadn't turned around.

Looking back up at the spire-topped gate, Dealla finally gave herself a mental shove, and raised her hand to push at the cold metal. It wouldn't budge, so she pushed harder, then tried pulling instead, but to no avail. Slightly perplexed, she let her hands sink, then looked down the street to one side as if looking for help. At least this mystery lessened the dread in her stomach. Her grandparents were expecting her, weren't they?

There was no one in sight, and she hadn't heard any signal or alarm, but a moment later, the gates swung inwards, revealing a path winding up to the front door. White gravel, like something from a different century, when people were riding horses rather than driving cars. Of course, her grandparents wouldn't own a car. Muggle transportation was likely beneath them, and these gates were probably never used. The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she stepped onto the path, dragging her trunk with her, then turned around to see them swing shut again. It was hard not to feel a little trapped.

They hadn't come to greet her, she thought as she headed towards the building, wincing at how loud her steps were in the silence.

Tuesday, 27 July 2021
Garden of Creek Manor, London

Her grandparents' garden had many great trees for climbing. Old ones, trunks so thick they would need two people to reach around, they branches spreading high and wide, only the thinnest ones swaying in the breeze. Dee was sitting on such a branch, three meters above the ground, back against the trunk. Her feet were idly dangling and she had her Transfiguration textbook open across her lap, although she hadn't read a word in quite a while, lost in thought instead.

She'd say that the past three days hadn't been what she'd expected, except she hadn't known what to expect at all. From her father's tales, she'd thought there would be... condescension, disdain for her Muggle blood, coldness and impossible expectations.

Instead what she'd found was more like what her letters had promised. Her grandparents were doing their best to make her feel welcome, they'd had a room ready for her, and asked about her favourite foods to have them prepared. When she'd mentioned her like for green tea, she'd had three different teas offered to her the next morning. Rosalie especially was unexpectedly warm, had greeted her with a hug and expressed her regret that it had taken them 13 years to meet her. Hayden was more awkward, more stiff, but they were both trying. Rosalie was already making plans to have Dealla spend Christmas with them in London, although Dee had not yet expressed any decision on whether she'd want to. The thought of how her father would react had her stomach twisting.

There also hadn't been any of the answers she'd come for. No explanation for why they had never tried to meet her, beyond the claim in their very first letter that her parents had prevented it. Couldn't they have come to Whitehaven, if they had really wanted to meet her? Clearly, they'd known where she was. But she hadn't brought it up, and neither had she asked about what had happened between them and her parents, and now the week she had was almost half gone already. But there was still years of resentment bubbling inside of her, not easily vanquished just by her favourite dishes and a hug.

"Dealla!" her grandmother's voice called, and Dee winced. She hadn't been able to convince them to call her Dee yet, although she wasn't going to stop trying anytime soon.

With a sigh, she closed the book, then nimbly climbed down from the tree before hurrying over to the patio out back. She should ask them all her questions, the hesitation was unlike her, but... truthfully, she didn't want to destroy the happy illusion of the past few days.

"Don't run, Dealla," Rosalie said when Dee got close, without even looking up from the letter she was writing, the tone in her voice commanding enough that the girl automatically slowed down to a walk, before frowning. Why shouldn't she run? She liked running, too impatient for a slow walk across the grass.

Her grandmother finished her letter with a practiced signature, then set it to the side, carefully wiping her quill free of ink. Dee knew by now that it was her grandmother who had written the letters she had received over the past year and a half, her elegant cursive familiar. Rosalie Creek was an elegant woman, from her neatly styled, dark brown hair and simple but expensive robes to the way she carried herself. There was something intimidating about her that only fled when she turned towards Dee, smiling warmly.

"We're planning to take you to Diagon Alley soon," she explained. "So you can get your school things before you go to that... summer camp event, although I still don't quite understand why you don't stay with us for longer instead. We can also buy you anything else you've always wanted, how does that sound?"

Dee frowned, the words for some reason not sitting right with her. Summer camp was something she'd been looking forward to, spending free time with her friends on the Hogwarts grounds. There was also the duelling event where she was one of the referees, she had explained that to her grandparents, but since it wasn't part of the yearly championship, they didn't seem to be taking it seriously. "You don't have to bribe me." The words slipped out before she could stop them, a bit of resentment breaking through. It was similar to what she'd felt at the expensive gifts they'd sent, perhaps well-meant but entirely misdirected, far from suiting her tastes.

Rosalie stopped short, looking at her with an unreadable expression on her face. "Dealla, don't be rude. It's not a bribe, we just want you to be happy."

The admonishment sent blood rushing to her face, turning her cheeks pink with a mix of embarrassment and anger, but she refused to back down, the emotion finally giving her the courage to ask what had been weighing on her. "Why didn't you ever try to contact me before?"

Again, her grandmother paused, then she sighed, taking another sheet of parchment and re-opening her ink jar. She wasn't looking at Dee when she replied, although her voice sounded vaguely pained, making her actions seem less dismissive than they otherwise might have. "We told you, your parents wouldn't let us. Jonathan and that mu... Muggle-born made very clear that they would never let us get near you."

Dee stood, clutching her book in her hands, her knuckles white. "I don't believe you," she said. "And that mudblood is my mother."

Thursday, 29 July 2021, Breakfast
Creek Manor, London

"I'm sure with good strategy, we can beat them this year," Dee said, biting into a toast topped generously with strawberry jam. "I'm a little worried about who will sign up, I hope Phaedra, Delilah, and Celynne will join again, we could use them."

Rosalie's smile was indulgent, and she swallowed her much more dainty bite of toast fully before replying. "I'm sure you'll do a great job, dear. We were so proud to hear that you were appointed captain for your team, and then prefect for your House soon after."

"We should get you a flying tutor," Hayden said from behind his newspaper, the picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet showing the Minister for Magic giving a speech. Only the top of her grandfather's face was visible.

Dee straightened up, letting her toast sink. "I don't like flying," she repeated what she'd told them in her first letter, months ago.

"Nonsense," he replied, not looking up. "Every good witch should know how to fly. We got you a broom already."

She set down the toast, crossing her arms in front of her chest stubbornly. "I don't like flying."

Rosalie sighed.

Sunday, 01 August 2021
Platform 9 3⁄4, King's Cross, London

Mixed feelings were curling in Dee's stomach when she stepped onto the platform. The week had passed quickly, but if anything, she felt even more confused and upset than before. Two more attempts had been made to get her grandmother's side of the story, and both had been deflected skillfully. She didn't know what to make of it. Should she be angry that they were keeping things from her? Or take it as a sign that they didn't want to badmouth her parents?

There had been some other small hiccups, like discordant twangs in an otherwise harmonious melody. An offhand comment about her lost duels, the odd mention that they expected her to be top of her class this year. The flying tutor hadn't come up again, but Hayden had expressed that he looked forward to seeing her improvement next year. They had clashed, more than once, Dee's temper flaring at the oddest of things.

Yet, overall, the week had been pleasant. Rosalie had handled her temper with an even patience that had reminded her, oddly, of her mother. She'd even come into Dee's room one night, apologising for the mistakes they had made during the day. It wasn't easy for them, either, to realise how much they'd missed with her, she'd explained. That they had a granddaughter now, especially one as strong-minded as her.

But still, no answers, and Dee's frustration was a constant companion, even though she could not say who it was directed at.

"Here," Rosalie said, handing her a pouch. It was heavy, and jingled softly when Dee automatically accepted it.

More bribes, said her mind. "Thank you," she said out loud.

Her grandmother smiled, then bent down to pull her into a tight hug. "It was lovely meeting you, Dealla." Dealla, still. "I hope you will consider spending Christmas with us."

"Do your best this year," her grandfather said. "You are a half a Creek, after all."