11 Aug 2018, 15:54
Secrets Won't Stay Hidden Forever
july 2nd, 2018
10:04 am
10:04 am
“maybe secrets are only told when you’re trying to protect the real truth from coming out.”
PUNCTUALITY, to most people, was an important quality. It was even more important to the Bishops, who sneered upon those who were even a minute late. Their entire schedule was always planned to the dot, with no room for mistakes. This trait was passed down through the Bishop line, although it must have skipped Rhea. She was the only Bishop that, to date, was usually late. Be it to breakfast, to classes, to meet someone - she was never early or on time. It must have been a quality she inherited from her maternal side, the Winchesters. That side never cared much for punctuality - in fact, they were usually late, too entranced by the work they were doing.
When Rhea was at Hogwarts, she was always running everywhere. Out of her dorm, to breakfast, to classes, etc. Punctuality was not something she knew, nor was it something she craved to know. Instead, she preferred to simply run things her own way, showing up to places whenever she wanted. A motto of hers that she used as an excuse usually was: “I am never late, everyone else is simply early.” Rhea had no idea where she’d heard it from, but from the moment she’d heard it, the quote had become her best friend.
However, now that she was back at the Bishop Manor, punctuality would be something ingrained into her mind. More by her father than her mother, although the trait was starting to wear off on the Winchester-born. Rhea would have to wake up at a certain time, be out of bed, appear at breakfast, finish her errands by a certain time, and etc. There would be no room for mistakes, not while she was living in the huge mansion. It was a fact that Rhea detested, but there was nothing she could do about it.
Her day would always start exactly at 10:04 in the morning. The tradition of waking up at that exact time starting a long time ago, about the time where the first Bishop attended Hogwarts. The reason was unknown why, but the Bishops had large respect for traditions - and anyone who broke them was disrespectful and deserved to be shunned. Thus, Rhea found herself being awoken at exactly 10:04 by the house elf that was assigned to her by the name of Queenie. The chance to sleep in was a nice change to her usual waking up of 6:30, a change she welcomed.
Yawning, Rhea rolled out of bed and turned to look around at Queenie. The house elf had been with Rhea since the beginning; she had witnessed Rhea growing up, her first bout of magic - Queenie was the house elf that was there when Rhea’s hair had turned red. Due to that, the two had a very close relationship. Rhea couldn’t be mean to the old elf like her father wanted her to; rather, she followed the way her grandfather treated elves - with respect. Although her father did not approve of her treatment of the creatures, he couldn’t do anything about it. There seemed to be a lot of ‘couldn’t do anything about it’ in the family, wasn’t there?
“Master Bishop said for Ms Bishop to meet him and Mistress Bishop in the Barnaby Parlor in 12 minutes,” Queenie stated, looking up into the redhead’s eyes. Rhea rolled her eyes but nodded, preparing to get dressed. Her father took being punctual too far, scheduling everything to be at a weirdly specific time and giving everyone a weirdly specific amount of time to get ready. Rhea found it all very peculiar, but she couldn’t exactly fight against her parents. The Bishop heiress had no choice but to follow her father’s wishes and hope that he wouldn’t scold her.
Except then she remembered. This was her first full day with her parents since she’d returned from Hogwarts and still they did not her secret. Only Aida knew, because Rhea had caved and sent her nanny an owl informing her of her Sorting halfway through the school year. As if on instinct, Rhea asked Queenie to bring Aida up to her room, but then Queenie reminded her of the harsh truth. Aida had been fired just a little bit after she had received Rhea’s owl. Rhea had known this, having received the harsh owl from her parents informing her of the news, but she couldn’t believe it was real. Rhea was about to just nod and continue dressing up when she remembered that it was Aida who had escorted to the Bishop Manor yesterday. How could she have done that if she’d been fired?
The question slipped out of her mouth before she could think of the consequences, but it seemed that nothing bad was being hidden when Queenie answered, “Miss Habib only works on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.” Rhea tilted her head and was about to ask why, but Queenie beat her to it. “That is because Miss Habib’s sister moved in, and Miss Habib has to take care of Miss Habib’s sister’s baby!”
For a moment, the redheaded girl was speechless. What was she supposed to say? No words left her mouth; her mouth kept opening and closing to no avail. Aida had a sister? Or better yet, Aida had a niece? Why had her ex-nanny not told her anything? Did she not trust Rhea, or something of the like? Not knowing what to say, Rhea simply nodded and picked up the blouse she was supposed to wear. It was one of those grandma blouses, the one where they buttoned up and had a collar and all that. Some could pull those kinds of shirts off, but not Rhea. Scrunching her nose up and throwing back onto her bed, Rhea walked over to her closet and looked through her limited amount of clothes. Most of her things were still packed up; the only thing Rhea had unpacked was her second, smaller suitcase with her dressy clothes. Thinking it the right occasion to wear something fancy in order to impress her parents and try to soften them up (although the chances of that working were most likely slim to none. Still, it never hurt to try).
She picked out a light blue skirt, one that fell to a little above her knees. The shirt she picked out was supposed to be a crop top, although because she wore it with a high waist skirt, it simply looked like a tank top. It was a white shirt, with a flower design on it - the flowers looked like roses, and they were blue. The darker blue pattern on the shirt complimented the light blue of the skirt; Rhea liked the way the outfit looked and put it on. She looked at Queenie and smiled, giving a little twirl.
“Is it good?” the redhead asked, the smile not leaving her face. Queenie cast a glance at the abandoned blouse and looked as if she was about to say something, but didn’t.
“Queenie thinks you look amazing, Miss,” the old elf smiled back, and scrambled onto the bed. “Would Miss Bishop like Queenie to do her hair?”
Rhea clapped and sat down, her back leaning against the side of her bed. “You know you can just call me Rhea, Queenie,” the young girl said, making sure not to move. Queenie didn’t say anything for a bit, simply beginning to plait Rhea’s hair into a Dutch braid. It was Rhea’s favorite way to style her hair, and Queenie knew that.
“It was the way Queenie was raised, Miss,” the elf replied, shrugging. “It is rude for Queenie not to refer to Queenie's masters by their proper titles.”
Rhea sighed and shook her head, understanding that there would be no way to change Queenie’s mind. Her mindset was set on being a certain way, and Rhea knew from experience how hard it was to change someone like that’s mind. Besides, she didn’t really mind the title she was constantly being called - it just boosted her self esteem.
And right now, Rhea had more important things to think of. For example, how her parents would react once they found out the truth. Would they yell at her, scream, flip out and punish her excessively? Or would they simply accept the fact and support her with her endeavors?
Obviously, the latter was simply a wish.
Closing her eyes, Rhea tried to envision the expression on her parents’ faces when she told them. Her father would attempt to keep his expression neutral, his features still - but Rhea would be able to see the anger hidden behind his eyes; the way his lips pressed together so hard they almost looked white. Her mother would be more open in her expression. Morgan’s eyes would be wide open, her mouth wide open. She would bring up her hands to her mouth and an audible gasp would emit from her mouth.
And then all hell would unleash.
With a start, Rhea opened her eyes once more and started to shake. Queenie had finished braiding the redhead's mane while she had spaced out, and so Rhea collapsed onto the bed and curled up into a ball. Sobs threatened to come up but Rhea suppressed them, trying to calm herself down. Queenie started to fuss around the little girl, climbing onto the bed next to her and hugging Rhea. The old elf had no idea what to do; she’d never had to deal with a situation like this - but she knew of those who had.
Pure bloods, for some odd reason, always thought it the best to not express their emotions. Instead, they preferred to shove everything deep down, in hopes of everything going away eventually. But even over the hundreds of years, purebloods had never realized that emotions don’t stay hidden forever. At some point in each and everyone’s life, the emotions would resurface and explode. Every bit of anger, sadness, disgust, and jealousy would bubble out and completely drain the person of all their energy. The ending result was never pretty.
Thus, Queenie simply hugged Rhea and gave the redhead the emotional support she craved. If Aida was here now, she would be comforting the little girl with her poetic words, her Arabic accent calming Rhea even further. Aida would be empathetic towards Rhea; she would understand what the girl was going through and assure that everything would be okay. But Queenie did not know how to do any of that; she’d never been prepared on how to deal with this sort of thing - so she simply hugged Rhea.
And sometimes, a hug was all it took.
Once Rhea felt the warm embrace of the elf around her, she turned around and hugged Queenie back. Her sobbing began to die down, so eventually, it was just her breathing heavily. All the while, Queenie was cooing into her ear, whispering soothing words and telling her it was all going to be okay - to which Rhea would shake her head and continue to breath heavily. Finally, Queenie could contain herself no more and decided to ask Rhea what was the matter, even though she knew there was a possibility of making the situation worse.
“Miss Bishop, what is the matter?” Rhea ignored the question, burrowing her face deeper into Queenie’s skinny shoulder. The position the girl found herself in was uncomfortable, but in her eyes, it was better discomfort than telling Queenie. “Miss Bi… Miss R-R-Rhea? What is wrong? Queenie is worried about you.” Upon hearing her name leave the elf’s lips, Rhea looked up. Her eyes were covered in a sheen of tears, tears that wanted to spill but were not allowed to. Sniffling, Rhea rubbed her nose and took a deep breath.
“Queenie, I did a terrible, terrible thing,” the redhead said, unable to meet the elf’s eyes. Queenie decided not to push, realizing that Rhea would speak in her own time. “I… I lied to my parents. I told them that I was sorted into Slytherin, when really, I was sorted into… into Gryffindor! Oh, Queenie, how am I supposed to face them? I know I have to tell them, but I just can’t make myself! Tell me, please, what do I do?”
Rhea seemed to be in a state of frenzy; her breathing, while it started to slow down, now began to pick up once more. Queenie noticed this and shook her head, her big ears flopping up and down. The old elf’s heart clenched when she saw her mistress in this much pain, all because of her parents. Weren’t parents supposed to love their children? Support them no matter what, instead of treating them as simply an object to enhance their own state and reputation?
“You should not worry so much, Miss R-Rhea,” Queenie stated, still not used to calling Rhea by her first name. It seemed to be the only way to garner enough of the girl’s attention, and to make her believe the words that were coming out Queenie’s mouth. “Queenie will make you a grand big cake to calm you down when Master Bishop - Queenie means if! Queenie means if!” Eyes wide, Queenie started to hit her head against the blankets. She had just made things worse! Here she was, supposed to calm Rhea down, and she had done the opposite! “Queenie is sorry, so sorry, so so-”
Rhea interrupted the wisened elf by pulling her up into her arms and squeezing her into a hug. She pushed her own worries aside and focused on calming the elf, the elf who had tried so so hard to calm her down when she was in need. (And, although Rhea was not completely alright, she had much improved. Her breathing had slowed down to a normal rate, and she did not feel the need to burst into sobs at any given moment - that was good, right?) “It’s quite alright, Queenie, I don’t mind. You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? Let’s just getto the parlor.”
Queenie looked up at her young mistress with wide, doe eyes that were covered in tears. She nodded and scrambled off the bed, falling due to her shortness and the height from the bed to the ground. “Yes miss, if you say so. Queenie will go and make the cake with other elves after bringing you to the parlor.”
Rhea softly smiled and nodded. “That sounds great, Queenie.” She took the elf’s hand and together, the two apparated straight into the middle of the living room, where Rhea’s parents were already awaiting. Rhea’s head spun, still not used to apparating, and she brushed off any wrinkles in her skirt before facing her parents. Queenie had already apparated away, to the kitchen. A cake would await Rhea after the meeting with her parents, in hopes of making the young girl feel better.
The Bishop parents were a force to be reckoned with. The aura they emanated was one of intimidation - it could be seen in the way they stood, walked, ate, even breathed. They even scared their own daughter, sometimes, who prided herself on her ability to not get scared. Maybe that was why Rhea had such a negative reaction when she finally realized that she would have to tell them the truth.
Or maybe it was because she knew what they were capable of.
Her father, Aaron, was a well-known and respected man. His work in the Ministry garnered respect for him, not to mention his wealth and family name. Rhea never did know what he did, be it because she never asked or because he never indulged her in speaking about his job. In Aaron’s eyes, as long as his daughter that he was powerful and brought in a lot of money into the household, that was all she needed to know. He didn’t see the need for spending time with her outside of lecturing her about the importance of gaining respect and become rich; he did not believe in playing Quidditch with his daughter or explaining some difficult concept to her that she was having a hard time grasping. No, he only viewed her as an employee, someone that could always be bettered. What she did was never enough for him.
Her mother, Morgan, was much the same way. Although her parents had raised her with much different views than those of a stereotypical pure blood family, their efforts were in vain. Once Morgan met Aaron, her views completely changed and she went on a Muggle-hating spree. Her parents, to say the least, were disappointed in her, and from then on, favored her siblings rather than her. Morgan, much like her husband, did not like to spend time with her daughter. She only explained to her fashion - what top went with what bottom, how to do her hair properly, etc - and only once in a while did she truly get to know her little girl. Actually, before Rhea was seven years old and the couple had started attending various dinner parties all the time, Morgan actually played dolls and dress up with her daughter. But that was in the past, and Rhea had learned not to expect that from her mother anymore.
Now, as the red headed girl stood in front of her parents, she looked straight into each of their eyes. Maybe if she put on a show of confidence, they would not notice just how nervous she was. She rearranged her features to make sure that not a sliver of emotion was seen (and hoped that all traces of any tears had long since disappeared) before taking a seat in a chair across from them. Secretly, she hoped that they would call her over to sit between them, before showering her with kisses and hugs, asking about her friends and adventures and what had happened over the year. But of course, that would never happen, and Rhea was left with parents that she treated like business partners.
The three of them sat in silence for a while, just staring at each other. Rhea could see that her parents had questions they wanted to ask her - but perhaps they did not know how to phrase their thoughts. Well, Rhea would save them the effort of having to do so. Best to get it over with now, rather than having to live with it later, no?
“Mother, father, I have something of some importance to inform you of,” Rhea began, her tone monotone, and her words unlike those that a normal twelve year old would use. Rather than leaning forward in interest, or scrunching their eyebrows in wonder or worry, her parents simply waved for her to continue. Rhea bit her lip and faltered, not knowing how to spring the new onto them. Should she just outright tell them the truth, or should she lead them into drawing a conclusion.
It seemed her thinking was taking too long, for her father raised an eyebrow and pushed her, “Well?” Rhea drew her focus onto him, making direct eye contact. She should not be scared. She was a Gryffindor for a reason - because she was brave! And although her parents may not be, Rhea was proud to call herself a Gryffindor. There was nothing to be ashamed of here.
“I was sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin.”
Silence.
Rhea wanted to look away; she wanted to return back to her room and curl into a ball once more. The ball would protect from the reality of the word; nothing bad could come to her when she was all curled up. But she couldn’t leave, for fear of showing the real extent of her terror and hesitation to her parents. Instead, Rhea squared her shoulders and stared right into her father’s eyes. Her heart was almost beating itself out of her chest, her stomach was twisting and turning as if it were on a rollercoaster, but still Rhea did not falter. Her gaze remained on her father, and she watched his expression twist and turn in that of which she had previously imagined. An expression of contained infuriation. She could not even bear to look at her mother, for despite whatever Rhea told herself, she still cared about what her mother thought. Not so much her father, for he had long proven that he could not give a rat’s ass about his daughter; but Morgan did drop her heartless pure blood mother facade every once in a while.
Aaron, on his part, did not start to bellow once he heard the news. In fact, what he did could be classified as worse. He crept forwards, like a lion stalking up to its prey, until he stood right in front of Rhea. Due to the height difference, he found himself looking down at her, eyes narrowed into slits. “What... did you just say to me?”
Rhea’s skin crawled at her father’s tone. She had never, in her entire twelve years old life, seen him this angry. But she did not drop her eyes, or ask to be excused. She held her ground and replied in a voice that sounded far more mature than it should for someone of her age, “I am a Gryffindor.”
At her words, Aaron’s features contorted into the first display of proper emotion Rhea had seen from him in her entire life. His mouth seemingly twisted into a snarl - the lion was preparing to keep onto its prey and tear it apart. But Rhea wouldn’t just submit. She had decided that she would fight back, for she was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were brave. They did not go down with a fight, and Rhea was proud to be a Gryffindor.
“What do you mean, you are a Gryffindor?! Like hell you are!” her father screamed, his voice climbing higher and higher. His eyes were wide, a crazed look could vaguely be seen in them. “You are a Bishop! Bishops are not Gryffindors, they are Slytherin! Next you’ll be telling me you made a Mudblood friend.”
Rosie crossed through Rhea’s mind for a moment, but the redhead did not bring her up for fear of what her father could do to her friend. He was a man with many connections and a lot of power; if he wanted to ruin Rosie’s life he easily could. Rhea pushed her friend to the side for a moment and crossed her arms, staring dead into her father’s eyes. “Am I not a Bishop, then?”
Aaron scoffed and turned to look at his wife, who was sitting down in an embroidered armchair with her head in her palms. He shook his head, knowing Morgan would be no help until she got herself together, and turned to look at Rhea once more. He seemed to calm down, and when he spoke, his tone was monotone with only a hint of the anger that was found in it before. “You may be a Bishop, but you are not my daughter.”
This was not something that Rhea had expected. She inhaled sharply, and her confident facade dropped. No matter how much she tried to get herself back together, his words had affected her and she could not retain her composure. Before Rhea could retort something half-heartedly, Morgan stood up and crossed over to where her husband and daughter were standing. “That is not something you say. She is our daughter no matter what, do you understand?” Morgan’s voice was cold, so cold it sent chills down Rhea’s back. This voice was not something Rhea had heard or seen before, and it scared her.
Maybe her mother could still act like it once in a while.
Aaron swiveled around to stare at his wife, his eyes widening. “Did you not hear what she said? She’s a Gry-” He was interrupted by his wife, who grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.
“I don’t give a damn if she’s a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, a Gryffindor, or a Squib - she is our daughter, either way, and you will treat her as such.” Aaron shook his head, seeming as if Morgan’s words went in one ear and flew out the other. He was not hearing what she was saying, dead set on his own thoughts. If one was not sorted into Slytherin, they were not worthy of the Bishop title. Rhea, of course, did not believe in this - this was the 21st century, not the 18th, which seemed to be the century her father was living in. His ideals were the same as those of their ancestors, which made absolutely no sense. Times had changed - so traditions had to be changed as well.
Rhea sat down in a chair and brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her thin arms around them. She settled her chin in the empty space between her knees and looked up as her parents argued. Finally, she could take it no longer and decided to butt in. She did not care about her inevitable punishment anymore, only on trying to make her father see other people’s point of views.
“Father, there are a few children of influential families who were sorted into Gryffindor as well,” she stated, standing up and walking to stand next to her mother. Morgan cast a look at Rhea and attempted a smile. For most, this was nothing, but to Rhea, it was as if the Earth had tilted on its axis. A smile was more than Rhea had received in the past four years, and to that, Rhea was grateful. “You remember the Fawley girl that I sent an owl to you a few months prior about? And the offspring of the Avery family, Max. They were both sorted into Gryffindor, as well as Dorian Gray. Are they not all highly important families?”
That seemed to shut Aaron up for a while. He simply stared at Rhea, and the girl could see the gears turning in his head. Had she managed to make some progress, convince her father that her sorting was not as disastrous as he was making it out to be? It seemed so, until-
“Really? Are you certain we can believe you, after you lied to us about your sorting for the entire school year?” Aaron questioned. Rhea scrunched her eyebrows in confusion, not knowing what he was talking about. She had always assumed he thought she was sorted into Slytherin; yes, she had sent an owl in the beginning of the school year informing them of the false results of her sorting, but she did not think they had opened that letter. “We received an owl, from you, in your own bloody handwriting, telling us you were sorted into Slytherin.”
Well, shit.
Now Rhea was scared. Lying was not usually something her father cared a lot about - although he did care if someone was lying to him. Only then did he see need to punish the offender severely, and in this case, the offender was Rhea. Was she doomed for all eternity? Yes. Did she care? Yes. Did she show just how utterly terrified she was? Absolutely not, or else her father would eat her up.
“I apologize for that, I did not know you would receive that,” Rhea attempted to defend herself, her voice lacking any emotion. The best thing to do in this scenario, at least in her eyes, was to apologize and agree with everything her father said. She had learned from watching him interact with employees and various others that it was useless to try to convince him otherwise when he was dead set on his own opinion. “It is my fault and I am responsible.”
Aaron nodded in agreement and at that point, seemed to have completely calmed down. “Go to your room. You and I shall continue this conversation later. I have some business to take care of.”
Rhea attempted to protest but one look from her father silence. It was a look filled with malice and barely concealed anger; one push and the anger would bubble out and cause him to explode. For her own safety, and probably the safety of everyone else in the house, Rhea followed his order and begrudgingly made her way back to her room.
Just like Queenie had promised, there was a cake awaiting on Rhea’s desk. A red velvet cake, with dulce de leche filling. There was no plate or knife, only a fork and Rhea smiled when she figured out why. Queenie knew that Rhea would prefer to simply eat from the plate itself, without all the necessities of cutting up the cake and whatnot.
Bringing the plate over to her bed, Rhea sat down cross-legged, adjusting her skirt properly over her knees. She placed the plate in her lap and took the first bite out of the cake, enjoying the sweetness as it exploded over her taste buds. Bite after bite Rhea ate, her thrusts into the cake getting angrier and angrier as she thought about how irrational her father was. So she was sorted into Gryffindor, so what? It wasn’t like she had went ahead and gotten a tattoo or a piercing, was it?
And then as she started to think about his sharp words, her thrusts started to slow down. The fork almost slipped out of her fingers as Rhea’s eyes started to dampen, a single tear running down her cheek. She sniffed and pushed the tears back, focusing on just eating the cake. She wasn’t allowed to cry, not for such a stupid reason. Her father had already been the cause of so many tears, he wasn't worth any more. For Pete’s sake, she was going to be thirteen soon! There was no way she could keep crying over every single hurtful word that came out her father’s mouth for the rest of her life. Sooner or later, she would have to simply let his words wash over her head, without them affecting her.
Getting rid of the fork, Rhea started to dig into the cake with her hands. The red of the cake stained her hands, and coupled with the raspberry sauce, it looked as if Rhea had murdered someone. Not hinting at anything, though. Rhea was much too focused on gulping down the cake, though, to focus on how dirty she was being. If she kept eating and only focusing on the cake, then she wouldn’t have to think about her father. She wouldn’t have to think about what he would do when he found out she was friends with Rosie, a Muggle-born. Although her father knew of her being a prefect, she had never specified that it was for Gryffindor - thus, he always thought that she was a prefect for Slytherin. It didn’t matter though, because whatever Rhea would say, Aaron wouldn’t care. He was dead set on believing that Rhea was a disgrace to the family, and that he would never treat her the same.
Well, at least she had her cake with her.
“maybe secrets are only told when you’re trying to protect the real truth from coming out.”
the trouble is, if you don't risk anything -- you risk more.
♕ℛ ♕
STAMINA: 4; EVASION: 10; STRENGTH: 8; WISDOM: 6; ARCANE POWER: 5; ACCURACY: 12