The Summer Everything Changed Clarke's Lore Private

July 2-2025

The next morning, Clarke headed downstairs. She planned to ask her parents if she could spend the day at Tripp’s. But when she reached the bottom stair, she heard muffled voices. Peeking into the kitchen, she saw her parents and Tripp huddled around the table, talking urgently. They stopped when Clarke came in, though. She could see them rushing to pack up the papers they had strewn across the table.

"Good morning, Clarke," Tripp smiled at her, though he was clearly distracted, helping to put away the papers.

"What are you doing here so early, Tripp?" Clarke asked. She watched as they cleaned up the papers, wondering what they were about and why it was such a secret she wasn’t allowed to see.

"Oh, you know, I wanted to see you. Guess you didn't want to see me," he replied with a shrug.

"Sorry," she replied sheepishly. She walked around the table to hug him. She knew he didn’t mean it—he’d always been that way, never letting her go, no matter how thoughtless she could be.

Meanwhile, Clarke's parents had gotten up from the table. "Well, I better head off to work,” her dad said. “What about you, honey?"

"Yeah, I was just about to get changed. See you tonight, you two," Clarke's mom planted a kiss on her daughter's head as she headed out of the kitchen.

"See you," Tripp replied. Clarke just nodded to them, looking longingly at her dad's back. Once they were out of the house. Clarke turned to Tripp. "Can I stay over at your house for a week?" She asked.

Tripp looked mock thoughtfully at her, then laughed. "Of course, stay here for the day and you can come by at night. I was planning to have supper here, though. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good!"

Clarke went back up to her room to find something to do. Walking down the hallway, she noticed the family pictures on the wall. One photo caught her eye—Tripp, barely older than a toddler, stood beside their much younger parents. It was before Clarke was born and, like all wizarding photos, it was moving. In Clarke's opinion, Tripp looked like a crazy maniac, waving his arms wildly about. She smiled. Classic Tripp. Clarke moved her eyes to the next photo. Clarke was in this one. Her brown hair looked odd next to her family's blond. Her mom had said once that both of Clarke's dad's parents had brown hair so she supposed that's where Clarke got her brown hair from.

Evening of July 2-2025

Just as they all sat down to eat that night, there was a knock on the door. "Now who could that be?" Clarke's dad grumbled, standing back up. Her mom watched out of the dining room, her eyes fixed on the front door just down the hall. Dad opened the door. "Good evening, sir. How can I help you?" He paused, noticing the state of the man's appearance. Clarke's mom walked over and stood beside her husband. There was obvious disdain in her face, though the man didn't look particularly roughened or injured. The next thing Clarke noticed was that this was the man from the station. Strange that just the evening after the odd interaction, she would see him at her own house. Clarke stood up as well and walked to the doorway of the dining room and Tripp followed her and put his hand on her shoulder.

"I want my daughter back."

"What do you mean you want your daughter back? We have no one but our two children," Clarke's dad replied to the man's demand.

"You know who I mean, Clarke." At this, Clarke stiffened, a frown forming on her face.

"Where is she?" he demanded, peering around Mrs. Remmington and into the hallway. Clarke's mom and dad gave each other a look and her dad looked back at Tripp. Tripp tightened his grip on Clarke slightly. "You stole my daughter and I want her back. You stole eleven years that I could have spent with her. You can't just take her away from me! If you won't let her come home, I won't hesitate to do this to you," he warned as he pulled out his wand.

Clarke's parents also took out their wands and stood, ready for a fight.

"Expelliarmus," the man said pointing his wand at Mr. Remmington's own wand. It flew out of his hand and skidded across the polished floor.

"Ha, you just made the wrong move. I'm not the one with the wand expertise, my wife is. And now you made her mad." Just as he said that, Mrs. Remmington pointed her wand at the man and tried to curse him but he deflected it with his own spell. Moving farther into the house, they continued duelling. Clarke was getting scared. She tried to run out of the front door, away from the fighting, but Tripp caught her around the waist and held her fast. Clarke struggled for a moment but his grip was firm and he wasn't letting go. What had once been a reassuring hold now felt like a trap, cold and unyielding. Tripp’s usual warmth was gone, replaced with a determination Clarke couldn’t quite place.

The adults kept hurling insults after one another as well as spells. Clarke tried—but failed—to catch what the intruder was shouting about that fateful day, making Mr. Remmington panic and try to defend himself in front of his wife. What was going on? In one moment, her life had been tipped on its side, sending her sprawling.

"Tripp, please," Clarke moaned.

"No, you have to stay here, I don't want you running off. You're safer here."

"That doesn't make sense," she asked, starting to cry. Tripp didn't reply, he only tightened his arms around her. She fell to the ground and he wrestled to keep her upright. She broke down and it was all Tripp could do to hold on to her. He took out his wand just for a precaution. He didn't want the intruder to get too close to Clarke.

"Why, in all the children in all the world, did you have to take mine," the man shouted as curses flew across the length of the kitchen. They advanced into the living room where vases of flowers shattered with every passing curse. His voice, raw with emotion, continued shouting, "you ruined my family's lives!"

Finally, a shot to the stomach caused him to stop his ranting. He stumbled backwards still glaring at the other two adults.

"I'm going to call the Ministry if you don't leave now," Mr. Remmington threatened.

"Just give me my girl," the man pleaded. "You don't know how much pain you have caused me, not to mention my other children, not being able to get to know her and not letting her live where she belongs! Look at what you have done to her," he said motioning toward where Tripp and Clarke sat; Clarke still in obvious agony at the whole situation. The man's composure almost broke seeing Clarke in so much pain. He hated that she had to go through this. "You killed my wife!"

At this, Mrs. Remmington looked, startled, at her husband. "You killed a woman?" Mr. Remmington shook his head. He stared at the man in their house, waiting for his next move.

By this time, they had reached the front hall again. And with one last blast, Mr. Remmington shot this strange man out of the house and locked the door. Mrs. Remmington rushed over to where Clarke lay. She had been hit by one of her dad's spells which had just missed the man. There was a swelling bulge climbing up her arm. Her mom quickly turned it back to normal, it was one of her specialties. Then, she motioned her husband into a corner. Clarke barely heard their whispers.

"Memory Charm...erase her memory…" Her mom whispered, urgently. But, her dad shook his head.

"Best...her know...stay away from him," he replied. They argued back and forth for a moment. Clarke's mom finally agreed. She turned back to Clarke. But her dad spoke first.

"Clarke, let's go into the living room to talk about what happened," he suggested, "clear some things up." Tripp helped her into the living room chair, but quickly left, while her parents settled themselves into the couch across from her. Tripp started casting Reparo spells at everything that had been broken in the duel.

"Clarke," Mr. Remmington started, "that man wasn't right in his head. All that gibberish about you being his daughter was false."

She wanted to believe them but there were too many things telling her that her parents were lying. The man sounded as if he had lived through the story he had been trying to tell her parents.

"You believe us don't you? We are your parents, we love you," Her mom pleaded—she still didn't want to believe her husband had killed a woman. Clarke’s mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle not fitting. She knew something was terribly wrong, but it was too big—too overwhelming—to confront all at once. Instead, she nodded and asked to be excused.

"Of course, this must have been really difficult and confusing," her dad replied, reassuringly. "Go on up to bed and we can talk more about it in the morning."

Tired, she planned to sleep for a long time, but as she crawled into bed, without changing her clothes, her mind kept spinning. Numbly, she remembered how Tripp had been so cold to her. It scared her because he had always been the one to reassure her, not hold her down. She had never seen him like that before. She tried to convince herself that it was just because he was scared that the man would take her. But what if the man was right? What if she really had been taken as a baby? Clarke pushed these thoughts away. She belonged to the Remmingtons. She had to. How dare a random stranger try to come into their house and twist her life into some wild tale. And yet…deep down, the doubt wouldn't go away.

July 3-2025

The next morning, before the sun rose, Clarke woke up. She heard the sound of pots and pans clanging together and the thudding of something undistinguishable in the office down the hall from her bedroom. Clarke sat up and pulled the covers off herself. Tiptoeing down the hallway, she peeked into her dad's office. She could see him pulling boxes down from the cabinet quickly and stacking them against the wall.

Clarke leaned against the door frame, watching his confident movements. She stood silently for a moment watching him, wondering if she should speak. She risked it and said, "what are you doing, dad?"

Clarke's dad tensed, having not realized she was there. "Your mom and I have decided to move. We think it is the best choice considering that the man we met last night poses a great danger to you and it won't be safe if you go outside since he could be lurking anywhere around here to take you."

Her chest tightened and the air in the hallway suddenly seemed too thin to breathe in. Questions popped up in her head. Where would they go? Would she be going back to Hogwarts? What about Tripp? Would he be staying here in Dublin? She didn't know how she felt about leaving. Her whole life had been lived in this house. She wanted to argue with him, convince him this was a bad idea. But she was also a little bit excited. What would their new home be like? Would it be big? What kind of room would she have?

Clarke's dad noticed her thought process and before she could reply, her dad stopped her with his hand in the air, "go back to your room and start packing your things. We will be leaving in a few hours."

So, Clarke headed to her room after having been given a few empty cardboard boxes. As she surveyed the room, Clarke chose to pack her clothes first, then her books, and finally, her miscellaneous things. She packed the heaviest books on the bottom, making sure to slip her old diaries in there so no one would be tempted to rifle through them. She found her notebook where she wrote all her story ideas in. She wanted to pause and continue the story she had started, then thought better of it, they were leaving in a few hours and she still didn't have her whole room packed up yet. Packing faster, Clarke finished filling the last box she was given.

She went downstairs for a break and to grab breakfast before getting another box to fill the last miscellaneous things with. Bacon and eggs were already prepared and waiting. Her mom had left the kitchen to pack up the living room.

It hadn't taken long for everything to be packed up—but too long in her dad's opinion—due to the fact that both Clarke's parents used their wands for most of it. Clarke still didn't know where they were going. In the rush of things, she hadn't even gotten the chance to look outside.

"Are we ready? I've hired some of those muggle moving trucks and they will meet us at our new home once we pack everything up in them. We'll be disapparating as soon as they leave. Oh, look, here they are now. Clarke, come help your mom and I bring the boxes out to the trucks."

Clarke and her father went into the office to gather a few boxes while her mom went into the kitchen to grab some from there. When they got back to the front door, the moving truck was no where in sight. Clarke's dad stepped out onto the front porch and scanned the street for them. Then he turned back towards the house, Clarke standing beside him. His wife stood in the doorway.

"I don't know where they went! They were here just a minute ago," he said to her. "What are you making that face for?"

"She's making that face because of us. Put your hands in the air and slowly turn around," an unfamiliar voice called out to Clarke's dad. Spinning around, he saw a dozen Ministry workers standing with their wands out, pointed at Mr. Remmington.

"I said slowly. Put your hands in the air."

"What is this nonesense? What have we done?" Mr. Remmington demanded. He was playing dumb.

"Sir, I need to take you to the Ministry, and you too, Mrs. Remmington," the man said peering around Clarke's dad to talk to her.

"But—but...what?" Mrs. Remmington stammered. Clarke was looking back and forth from her parents to the Ministry workers, confusion written all over her face. Her palms were sweating and she was worried she would lose her grip on the box she was holding. "What about Clarke?" her mom continued.

"Don't worry about her, ma'am. She will be coming with us as well. Come child, our cars are just on behind these hedges," he motioned to the other Ministry workers to help Clarke's parents along. Both parents were trying to apparate themselves away, but it seemed that they were failing. The Ministry worker, who was obviously in charge, chuckled, "you don't believe we didn't think about that did you? We weren't going to take any chances."

With disgruntled looks, both parents complied and went along to the cars. Clarke was familiar with the sight of blue, yellow, and white checkered police cars but she had never expected to be in one herself. She was told to be seated in the second car while her parents were in the first one. A gruff looking man sat in the front obviously not used to driving a car. Apparition was much more efficient. After a few minutes of waiting for things to be sorted outside of the car, the man started the car and they left to go to the Ministry building. They got out of the cars and entered through the usual way and into the building where the Ministry employees worked.

While the Remmington parents were being led away to an interrogation room

Clarke was lead into a small room. Clarke only saw a grey table with two chairs on either side of it. The walls were white and not so comforting. Clarke was told to take a seat in one of the chairs and then she was left alone.

In about ten minutes the door opened again. It was the boss of the group who came to her house. As he settled himself down in the chair across the table from her, he spoke, "I'm Rufus Bight, head of Law Enforcement at the Ministry." He held out his hand for Clarke to shake it. Hesitatingly she took his hand and shook it. "I'll make sure you are well taken care of during this whole procedure. The first thing I need to ask you: what is your name?" Clarke was confused by this question. Didn't he already know who she was?

She answered him anyway, "my name is Clarke Remmington."

"Have you known any other family? Maybe sometimes you remembered something that doesn't make sense with your life? Like remembering a family who didn't look like the Remmingtons?" He inquired.

"No."

"Think back to when you were just a baby. Think hard," he persisted.

Clarke frowned. What was happening? Why were her parents being taken in for questioning? She didn't answer this man's question right away, hoping he would give her an explanation for all this. But, Mr. Bight didn't say anything else. He was fiddling with a ring on his finger and Clarke guessed that he was married. She wondered who he left home every day to come to this job to earn enough money for. Did they find him so infuriating as she did? Did he keep prying when they didn't know something as well?

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, she really wanted to get some of her questions answered, so she asked them, "why...why are my parents being questioned?"

"Ah, yes. I suspected you would ask that question. The thing is, the Remmingtons' aren't your real parents. They took you when you were just a baby and have raised you without our knowledge for the past eleven years. Well, that's what the information we collected tells us. Right now the Remmingtons are being questioned. Once we finish the DNA tests and such, this whole thing will be cleared up. Your father created a big mess for us to clean up by coming to your house when he wasn't supposed to."

This made Clarke's mind figuratively stagger. She couldn't believe it. They were her parents, sure they were. They loved her. They had given her a home and let her go to school. She wanted to yell at this man. He had no right to tell her these things. He had no right to lie to her like that.

"I know this is hard to believe. Do you have any other questions?"

"If they aren't my parents, who are?" Clarke asked, disbelief written all over her face and a little harshness lining her voice.

"You will be able to meet your real parents soon enough. Before that can happen though, we need to do some tests, like I said. We will need to go to the hospital to do that though. I need to hand you over to Ms. Montgomery who will take care of this part, I have to sort out all the paperwork." He then proceeded to stand up and walk out the door. He waited, looking expectantly back at Clarke. But, she didn't move. Her heart rate had just gone up quickly. She frowned and squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe this was all just a bad dream and she would wake up now. She opened her eyes again but Mr. Bight was still standing by the door, looking pityingly at her. Clarke's hands started tingling like they did whenever she was anxious. Tears threatened to fall burst from her eyes but she refused to let them. They're wrong, they have to be. They got false information. This man that they believe is my father, is a liar.

Mr. Bight walked back into the room and around the table. He knelt down beside Clarke's chair. "Clarke, I am so sorry this has to happen, I really am. Sitting in this room won't help anything, though. Who knows, maybe the tests will prove that you really are part of the Remmington family," he said soothingly. "Come, let's go."

This time, Clarke didn't refuse. She had a new mission. Prove to these silly people that she belonged to the Remmingtons. They left the white room together.

Out in the foyer a woman spoke, "you must be Clarke." She went to stand beside Mr. Bight. The woman had a very high pitched voice that made you think of a mouse squeaking. Or, that's what Clarke thought about. She wore very high heels and a lot of makeup. Her clothes were full of colourful shapes in all different sizes. " I'm Emmaline Montgomery and I'll be taking you to the hospital for your tests. You may have heard of me, I passed the bill for a bigger cafe in this place than the one they had before. The thing sold the most disgusting coffee that I couldn't stand. I finally decided that if I was going to drink something every day to keep me awake, I was going to make sure that it tasted good."

Clarke rolled her eyes. No way this woman worked at the Ministry. She looked like a walking abstract painting of all things! She had never heard of a Montgomery working here from all the times her dad had complained about work. She thought that this would be a lady he talked about at least once or twice. If she didn't like the coffee, why couldn't she have just made her own at home? Thankfully, Ms. Montgomery wasn't expecting a reply to whether Clarke had heard of her. Behind her, Mr. Bight was rolling his eyes and smiled at Clarke.

Ms. Montgomery started walking in the direction of where they were supposed to be. Mr. Bight winked at Clarke and also turned away, but in the other direction. Clarke had to run to catch up with Ms. Montgomery. She wasn't particularly fond of this woman, but she had no other choice. She still had to convince these people where she belonged.

After finishing up the tests, which took a few hours due to the casual mood of the nurses on staff, Ms. Montgomery and Clarke sat in the hard waiting room chairs, to do what the chairs where meant for—waiting. Ms. Montgomery picked up a magazine and kept the commentary on it coming. Clarke tried to block out her voice. Even the other wizards and witches in the waiting room kept looking up and giving each other annoyed looks.

Clarke had to endure half an hour of it before the nurse finally came into the waiting room with the results. As she walked over to them, Ms. Montgomery stopped talking and looked up. Some of the other wizards and witches looked up as well with the absence of her voice. They looked interestedly at Clarke's small party of people.

In a soft and comforting voice, the nurse looked at Clarke and spoke, "this is going to be hard to hear. The results came back and indeed you are not the Remmingtons biological child. You are the child of a family called the Olverins." She stood back to let that sink in.

Clarke just stared at the ground. She had been wrong. Mr. Bight was right. She wanted to punch something.

"Alright, we better get back to the Ministry so you can meet your family," Ms. Montgomery said, matter-of-factly. No, I don't want to see them, I want to go home, go to Tripp's house, like I was supposed to! "Come Clarke."

Clarke stood up and left the hospital with Ms. Montgomery. While she was an observer, Clarke didn't notice anything on their way back to the Ministry.

July 3-2025

Clarke stepped nervously into a room much like the one she had been in when she first arrived at the Ministry. At the far side of the room, sat Mr. Olverin, and his two children, a girl and a boy. Clarke thought the girl wasn't much older than her, maybe a year older. The boy looked like he would be in his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Mr. Olverin stood up quickly and almost ran towards Clarke. He had shaved and cut his hair, so unlike at the station, he looked much clean. He hugged her tight and Clarke's face scrunched up. This man felt strange. Though he was clean, she didn't like him touching her.

"Clarke, you are so beautiful. Your mother's eyes, oh my! Come, this is Shawn and this is Reese," he said, pointing to each of the teenagers in turn.

Shawn said hello and Reese grabbed Clarke's hands. "It's so nice to meet you again, Clarke. It's been a long time since I held you when you were just a baby. I was only two years old myself. We are going to make so many memories together, I can't wait, can you?"

Clarke just shook her head staring around at these people who called themselves her family. She wanted to crawl into a hole and wait for them to leave. She didn’t like them, not one bit. They weren't Tripp and they weren't the Remmingtons.

Mr. Bight came into the room after giving them time for a reunion. He shook Mr. Olverin's hand and nodded to Clarke and the others. Clarke didn't nod back, but turned away so she didn't have to look at him. "We have just a few things to sort out here first, Julien," he said brightly to Mr. Olverin. "Then we can get you guys on your way. First of all, you need to attend the trial for the Remmingtons on the 17th of August, that was the soonest we could get them in. Secondly, Clarke will need some post-circumstance therapy, if you want to call it that. All it is for is to make sure Clarke is alright from this event, that she can come to terms with what happened." At this, he glanced at Clarke to see her reaction. She made no indication that she had heard what he had said. Reese had been trying to explain the layout of their house to her, but had given up when she realized she missed a room and Clarke didn't seem to be listening.

"She is scheduled for every Thursday each week for the next few months. The proper authorities will be sending you more information on these things though," Mr. Bight continued.

After another fifteen minutes of sorting out the rest of the details, it was time to go. It had been planned that the Olverin family would be leaving by Floo Powder. Their fireplace had been connected to the Ministry for a while now and it was the easiest way. They traipsed to the big foyer and chose a fireplace. Reese offered to go with Clarke, so they went first and then came their dad and Shawn.

They entered the dark living room of the Olverin house. Reese quickly turned on the light so they could see. Clarke slowly spun around on the spot staring at the room before her. It was a quaint house. Clarke couldn't say it wasn't homey. It was quite a bit older than the Remmingtons house. It had a very rustic Italian feel to it, the small, cold tiles, the patterned rugs, the various paintings and clay bowls.

"Come, I'll show your our room!" Reese exclaimed bouncing around Clarke. So, Clarke followed her up the narrow stairs that went up from the hallway outside of the living room. A door creaked open at the end of the second floor's hall and Clarke looked inside. Two beds had been set up, both in the corners connected to the same wall that was directly opposite the doorway.

Reese bounded in, plopping herself on the messy bed. "That one is yours," she said pointing to the other bed.

Clarke sat on it while she surveyed the small room. It was made mostly of Reese's clothes on the floor. Clarke could not stand a messy room. Something would have to be done. "What about all my things?"

"Oh…I don't know. We'll have to ask dad. He probably has a plan to bring it all over." Just then, she bounced back off the bed and skipped through the door. Clarke's shoulders sagged. Could she just stop moving for one second? Heaving herself off the bed, feeling a hundred years old, Clarke followed Reese out the door and back down the stairs. She found Reese in the kitchen this time already talking to her dad.

"…and Clarke was wondering when we were going to get her things from the stinking Remmingtons' place." Clarke froze. Those words cut deeper than any knife. Those 'stinking Remmingtons' had raised her through her eleven years, didn't that count for something? She stared down at the uneven Italian styled tiles in the kitchen. They had jagged edges and some were coming loose as Clarke slid her feet over them.

"Don't worry Clarke, I've asked a few friends at the Ministry to grab them for you." Then, Clarke's dad sighed. "I still can't believe how much you've grown. We need to celebrate. Come sit at the counter, I think we have some leftover cupcakes the neighbour sent over." He went into the fridge to grab them while Clarke gingerly sat down on a stool, hoping that nothing else today would break except her heart.

Clarke glanced around the kitchen at various nicknacks that littered the place. Some were hung up, some were just leaning against the walls on top of the counters. Most of them looked old.

Her dad spoke again, noticing Clarke's eyes wandering over the things. "Your mother's. She collected antiques. I couldn't bear to take them down. It was always her passion to visit Italy someday. Along with this Italian styled house, I gave her my word that I would take her. For years she kept collecting these things, and with them, she wouldn't let me forget my promise. We were going to go a few years after you were born, when you were grown up enough to enjoy it—Alistar Remmington ruined that for us."

"This is perfect, just how it's supposed to be. Well…almost. I wish your mom was here," their dad continued. "This is where you are meant to be, Clarke, forget about the Remmingtons, you are going to start a new life here." Clarke could tell he was harbouring some anger against the Remmingtons for taking her.

Reese nodded in agreement.

Clarke didn't agree. Maybe life with the Remmingtons wasn't perfect, but it was still hers. She had still lived with them, made memories with them—her childhood had been shaped by them, so why did the Olverins act like that part doesn't matter—like she was now supposed to start over, start fresh, and forget everything she had ever known? This made Clarke wonder who she was supposed to be. Was living with the Remmingtons just a bump in the road to becoming who the Olverins wanted her to be? She liked who she had been turning out to be, her life was good, it was enjoyable. Now…it was a mess.

Tears threatened to leak out of her eyes for the countless time that day. Excusing herself by mumbling that she needed to use the washroom, she slid off the stool and away from the kitchen. She didn't even know where the washroom was, and that made everything hurt worse. She could have walked blindfolded from anywhere in her old house to the washroom. It didn't matter, she didn't really need the washroom, she had just needed to leave the joyfulness of her family that was both imposing and infuriating.

Clarke wandered up the stairs and into the room she now shared with Reese. Not caring about the clothes on the floor, Clarke fell into her bed and hid under the covers, hoping Reese wouldn't be up soon. She tried to fall asleep and after a while, the thoughts subsided in her mind and she was able to.

July 4-2025

The next morning, Clarke got up late. For a moment, she wondered where she was, then the past two days all came flooding back. The Ministry, the DNA tests. The unfamiliar family.

She heard a loud commotion downstairs. Straining to hear, Clarke couldn't make out what it was at first but once she started down the stairs, she could hear a noisy ruffling of feathers coming from the kitchen.

She peeked around the corner to find her dad leaping around the counter, trying, in vain, to catch a small, but fast, owl. She could tell that it had a small letter attached to its leg, but couldn't read who exactly it was for because it kept moving. Her dad was the most likely one to receive mail, or maybe one of her siblings would have gotten something from their friends from school, but they were no where in sight.

With one final leap, Clarke's dad caught the owl and struggled with it a moment longer before successfully detaching the letter from its leg. He went to the open window and let go of the owl into the warm morning sky. Then he sat down at the counter. Only then did he notice Clarke standing in the doorway.

"Good morning! This one's for you," he said holding up the letter. "Why don't you open it now?"

Clarke slowly strode to the counter and took the letter from her dad. As she opened it, he kept talking. "How was your sleep? I bet all the activity yesterday really took a toll on you." For a moment Clarke thought he understood and she lifted her head up a little bit, then he continued. "I would be tired too, learning about my family and being angry to the Remmingtons for keeping me when they had no right to." Her shoulders slumped, he still didn't understand. She could explain it to him, but she didn't have the guts; he seemed so happy and she didn't want to ruin it by making him feel like he wasn't enough for her. Would he even understand? Would he understand how Clarke wasn't exactly happy to be reunited with him? Of course he wouldn't. This was the best thing that could ever happen to him, while, for Clarke, she felt like her whole life was being ripped away from her and she was being given a new story that she didn't think she wanted to read.

Clarke pulled out the letter paper from the envelope and unfolded it.

Dear Clarke Olverin,

We are writing to inform you of the details for your first therapy session. It is as follows:

Where: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Floor 3, Mental Magic Ward, Room 18
When: 2:30 pm, Saturday, July 5, 2025
How: A portkey will be placed near your house for you to travel. Enter through the hospital entry and get signed in at the desk. You will arrive at the Mental Magic Ward floor where you will wait for further instructions.

Warm Regards,
Thaddeus Orwin
Chief Coordinator, Mental Magic Division
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

When Clarke finished the letter, she didn't look up. "Just a letter about therapy," she said quietly.

"Oh, yes! Mr. Bight told me about this. What does it say?" he asked, looking over her shoulder. "Tomorrow? Alright, I guess you and I will be taking a small trip there. By portkey, of course, we can't walk. I don't know why they didn't refer us to a place in Dublin, I guess they have specialists in London." Her dad rambled.

Clarke gave him a weak smile. Only the best to try and fix her so she isn't a problem anymore.

Her dad saw her small smile and misunderstood it, "that's the spirit! You'll be in good hands and I'll always be nearby if you need anything. Well, I better head outside to see how your siblings are getting along with the weeding. I asked for a day off of work since you had just arrived and I thought to put those two to work. I think Reese will be excited to see that you are awake. She wanted to wake you up, but I knew you needed to sleep." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze. She flinched.

He walked outside, but Clarke didn't follow him. Instead, she crumbled the letter still in her hands and made her way back upstairs. She resolved to at least get dressed, if nothing else. Nothing had come yet from her old house so she didn't have any choice but to wear something of Reese's. A pair of shorts and a unicorn shirt had been given to her. Clarke doubted that Reese had any other clothes except ones with unicorns and happy things on them. Just then, that wasn't what Clarke needed. Such a false representation of what she was feeling.

The feeling of being so misunderstood hit her so hard that she started shaking. She suddenly couldn't feel her legs and crumpled to the floor. She felt like screaming. The pain she felt was more than anything she had ever felt before. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. Each breathe caught in her throat, producing very little air. Try as she might, she couldn't make herself get rid of the panicky feeling.

Clarke rocked back and forth on the floor for a little while. Finally, the thoughts in her mind subsided and she was able to stand up again. A little shaky yet, she slowly hobbled to her bed. She had nothing. No fluffy blanket to curl up in, no book to get lost in. Nothing to ease the pain. She found herself wandering down the stairs and through the back door.

Reese heard the door open and looked up. "Clarke! Good morning! I've been waiting for forever for you to wake up! Do you want to go to town today? I can show you all the best muggle places."

"Maybe another time, I still don't have my clothes and things." She decided that all she wanted to do was to crawl back into bed and sleep.

"Speaking of which! That shirt looks great on you! Who knew you could totally rock the unicorn style?" She replied. Just another poke at an already angry bear. Clarke tried not to yell at her.

From where her dad was digging up the dirt for a new bush, he called, "don't worry, Clarke, your things should be coming around lunchtime." Clarke nodded, eager to get into her familiar style of clothes.

July 4-2025

A knock came from the door just as they were clearing away their lunch dishes. Mr. Olverin rushed to get the door.

A tall and thin man stood in the doorway, carrying a box.

"Gregor, I didn't know you would be coming!" Mr. Olverin exclaimed. He put his arm around the man's shoulder in a half hug. They had been friends in their whole career at Hogwarts and they haven't lost their friendship since.

"Just bringing your daughter's things from the Remmingtons. I have more boxes in the car," Gregor replied with a thick Norwegian accent.

"Let me help you," and turning to Shawn in the kitchen, he motioned for him to follow them to the car to help as well.

As soon as all the boxes were put in Clarke and Reese's shared room, Clarke went up there to start unpacking. Reese followed her, undoubtedly curious about Clarke's possessions.

Scanning the boxes, Clarke found the one she wanted. Clarke pulled the box to her bedside and opened it. While other boxes held her winter clothes, this one held her summer clothes.

"I left a spot for you in the closet and a few drawers in the dresser," Reese told her.

"Thanks," Clarke's replied. Pulling out her shirts, she found a gray, baggy one to change into from the ugly unicorn shirt. She set her shirt on the bed and put the other ones in the middle drawer of the dresser.

Reese walked to the dresser drawer and flipped through the shirts. Then she turned to Clarke. "You don't have any crops in here?" She asked incredulously.

Clarke made a face that Reese couldn't see. "No, the Remmingtons didn't let me, they aren't modest."

"What do they care about being modest? They take you away from us, but they don't think it's fine to wear a certain kind of shirt? That's pretty messed up. Don't you hate them after all this? I do." Reese's voice grew louder as she spoke.

Clarke frowned. No, she didn't hate them. It was very reasonable that they wouldn't want their daughter walking around, showing off her body like it was something to goggle at Reese had a point, but Clarke believed they only wanted the best for her.

Clarke took out her shorts and set them beside her stack of shirts, after taking out a pair of them to wear.

She didn't understand it. She wondered if she would ever hate the Remmingtons like her family wanted her to.

She was offered a crop shirt from Reese, but she refused. She wasn't ready to disregard all that she had learned at the Remmingtons.

Reese shrugged and left the room. Clarke changed into her own clothes and immediately felt better. A familiar smell and texture on her skin made her feel a little more normal.

She decided to leave her boxes of decorations packed away and in the closet because she didn't think she would use them. Her books, she stored next to her clothes in the drawer; the shelf space in the room was filled with Reese's things. The rest she would leave in the boxes and take out when she wanted it. Partly, because there was no room in the closet and, partly, because she didn't care for Reese to judge her about her other belongings.

July 5-2025

"Good afternoon, what is your purpose?" The secretary asked, looking at Mr. Olverin over the front desk of the hospital.

"We are here for therapy," he replied. He asked it like a question, wanting direction for where to go.

"Alright, just go up the elevator to level two and turn left out of the elevator where you will find the Mental Magic Ward. Someone will be there to help you find where you need to be. Next!"

Mr. Olverin led Clarke to the elevator which they boarded and exited onto the second floor. Soft music was playing in the background and the walls were painted a soft yellow. There was a sweet flowery and fruity smell mingling in the air. It certainly didn't feel like a hospital ward. That was the point, wasn't it? To make this a place of peace and welcoming? No one would get any better if it had white washed walls and the medical smell that every other ward had. Clarke mused upon this as she walked down the hallway with her father.

A blond haired woman in pink scrub pants approached them, "good afternoon, you must be Julien and Clarke Olverin. If you will just follow me, I can get you seated in the waiting room. It will only be a few minutes till Healer Thorne will be ready for you."

They only walked a short way down the hall when they came to the waiting room which had glass so they could see inside on the left side of the hallway. Clarke could see round tables with chairs stationed around them. Games and puzzles were placed in the middle of each table.

The two of them sat down in a chair near the glass. Clarke wondered what it would be like in the Healer's office. Would she be treated by oils and perfumes and a mystic Healer like in the books? She didn't want that. The anxiety started to build up again as it had so many times in the past few days.

"Clarke Olverin?" A sweet voice called. Clarke stood up and her dad gave her arm a squeeze and a smile. Clarke flinched, still not liking him touching her.

Clarke looked up and found herself staring at a woman not much taller than herself. She wore a simple blue shirt with jeans. She also wore white authentic Vans shoes. She didn't particularly stand out, with concern to her clothes, but her smile looked genuine. "Good afternoon, Clarke. How was your trip here? I trust you used a portkey?" Clarke nodded. "Much easier on the stomach than side apparating," she agreed. "We just have a few turns to make and then we'll be at my office."

"Here we go." The Healer motioned Clarke into a room. Clarke looked around the room. Two comfortable looking chairs, a small coffee table, a dark oak desk, and a few paintings of various pink and purple scenery. There was only one magical perfume jar on the desk, but it didn't look like it was meant for anything else other than to make the room smell of lavender. Clarke was relieved at this.

The Healer spoke again. "Here, Clarke, we will sit in these chairs." Clarke sat down in one and found that it indeed was as comfortable as it looked. She watched as the Healer picked up a folder and sat down.

"I am Healer Elara Thorne, but you can just call me Elara. I like to start by telling my patients a little about myself. I am not married and have no desire to be; I prefer to be dedicated to my patients. I am the fourth of seven siblings. Growing up was chaotic at every level, let me tell you! I went to Hogwarts just like yourself and was sorted into Hufflepuff. I didn't always live in London, in fact, I was born in the U.S. to an English family and my family moved back to London before I was three years old. Once I finished school at Hogwarts, I moved on to the very best medical school where I learned about mental magic and knew right away that I wanted to help people who are struggling. I want you to know that nothing you say will go unnoticed. I will make sure you get the help you need. Okay?

"Now, what about you? You just finished your first year at Hogwarts didn't you?" Clarke nodded. "How was that experience, did you meet some new friends?"

"Yeah, I met some guys. One lives in Belfast, Northern Ireland and the other lives here in London." Clarke said.

"Oh, that's so cool. Have you kept in contact with them?"

"No, not since summer started."

"You've had much going on so I wouldn't expect that you would. What was your relationship with them like?"

"I guess we were good friends. We were going to go flying one day, but I fell and thankfully Charles was there to call for help."

"Did you hurt yourself bad?"

"I was in the hospital wing for a week, I had a concussion."

"Oh dear! How was the schoolwork itself? Did you find it difficult?" the Elara asked.

"At the beginning it wasn't too tricky, but then as we got into the school year, it got harder. My favourite subject was Transfiguration because of the spells we learned. Tripp used to tease me that he could do spells and I couldn't." Clarke froze. She hadn't meant to say it. She looked at Healer Thorne to see her reaction, but found nothing other than an curious smile.

"Were you and Tripp quite close?" she asked. Clarke nodded, but didn't look at the healer, not wanting to say anything else. Elara knew there was something behind Clarke's short answer about Tripp, but didn't press it. She would wait for a better time. She moved on to Clarke's hobbies instead. "What do you like to do in your free time?"

Thankful Elara wasn't going to talk more about Tripp, she answered, "I read a lot, mostly novels, some non-fiction. I also write stories." She put her guard up now, afraid to spill more about her family, or rather, her not real family.

"Oh, really? And what kind of stories do you like to write about?"

"Just…random stuff, stories, I guess." Not wanting to expound, she didn't continue. She felt awkward telling a stranger about her stories when she had told no one else about them. They were her secrets, something only she knew, a part of her life where others couldn't pry into like they had with her family.

"What about your family history? What was your relationship with the Remmingtons before summer break started? Do you want to start with your mom?" Elara asked.

Clarke thought for a moment. "I guess I had a pretty good relationship with her. I mean, she treated me like her daughter and I treated her like my mother. I loved her." She sounded surprised. "Never once did I question her love for me! Was it all fake though?"

"She treated you well. That is so hard. To have someone like that in your life and find out that she isn't your mother. I don't think it was fake. A love like that can never be faked. No matter how hard someone tries." She paused. "What about your father? What was your relationship with him like?"

"I don't know if he loved me. I was never good enough for his love." She looked down at her hands. "He was impatient and always busy with work. Mom, er, Mrs. Remmington tried to get us to bond, but he never relaxed around me. I don't know why—he was fine around Tripp." Clarke frowned.

"Hmm. Do you think it was possible that he felt really guilty after taking you from the Olverins and that's why he could never bond with you like he did with Tripp?" Elara suggested. She noticed how Clarke had still called Mrs. Remmington her mom. She wanted to approach that, but decided to wait till later, like she did when talking about Tripp, when Clarke would be more open to talk about it.

"I guess."

"You mentioned that Tripp used to tease you. What was your relationship with him?"

"I loved him, too." Clarke said matter-of-factly.

"Do you want to tell me about him?" Elara asked.

"No."

"Do you want to leave it her then for today? We can come back next Saturday."

"Sure, whatever." She said quietly. Clarke stood up and turned so Elara wouldn't see tears starting to spring up in her eyes. Healer Thorne lead her back down the sweet smelling hallway and to the glassed room. Mr. Olverin stood up.

"Thank you very much, Healer Thorne." He said to the Healer, to which she replied by telling him to call her Elara. Then, he turned toward Clarke, "How did that go?"

Elara left and Clarke said it went fine. She didn't want to talk about it with him. They walked back down to the main floor and out through the abandoned muggle store. They found a secluded area where no muggle could see them, and found the portkey back to Ireland.

That night, as Clarke laid in bed, she thought over her last session with Elara. She had felt a tight discomfort the rest of the day, thinking she had said too much during the session. Maybe she even felt a little bit guilty about spilling so much. She didn't want that to happen again. She didn't want anyone to worry about her. Right there she decided to pretend to cooperate, but not really give in to what they wanted. She would give the right answers and do the right things so that they didn't worry. She could fix it.

She slept soundly that night.

July 12-2025

After that day, the rest of the week went well, as far as her family could see. Her mind still wouldn't calm down and she had a lot of time to think. Soon it was Saturday again and Clarke was back at the hospital, in Elara's room. Clarke held her hands in her lap, waiting for Elara to speak.

"We left off last time talking about the Remmingtons. Now I want to ask you a question: Why are you here?"

Clarke responded, "I am here because something big happened and I need help sorting through it."

"Well put," Elara smiled, but she was suspicious. "I want to remind you that while many men and women look at therapy as if it reflects something bad on oneself for going, it is braver to go to therapy than to buckle under this belief and hurt yourself more."

Clarke nodded, cooperatively. She would go then, because they believed it was braver. If she was braver, they would worry less.

"In the aftermath of a big event like this, aspects of our life can change drastically. Ideas about things we used to trust or believe in may have been changed by it. We need to learn to find ways to cope with this change. Do you find any changes right now and how are you coming to terms with them?"

Clarke thought for a moment. Once she spoke, she choose her words carefully, "Yeah. I used to think I could tell who was good and who wasn't. Now I'm not sure." She shrugged. "The Olverins…they're kind, but it's not the same. Everything just feels…unfamiliar."

"I can understand that. Our sense of right and wrong can change, even slightly, from an event like this. Who do you find to be the ''bad guy' or the 'good guy' now?" Elara asked, kindly.

And because she thought she would be safe with this answer, she said, "Well, the Remmingtons took me illegally, so…yeah, I guess they would be the bad guys. Dad, Shawn, and Reese would be the good guys."

"And what about you? Are you one of the bad guys or the good guys?" Elara asked, peering at Clarke with her head tilted to the left.

Clarke faltered. Was she a bad or good guy? She didn't feel good. She felt like a burden. "I'm a good guy. I didn't choose to be taken away from my family and to live with the Remmingtons," she said after a moment.

"Remember that, Clarke, you are never going to be the bad guy," she said this with such intensity that Clarke almost believed her. After shifting her position in her chair, Elara asked, "how have you been settling in to your home?"

"It's quite nice. I like the Italian style. It's much smaller than my other home."

"Yes, I like the coziness of the Italian home as well. The difference between the two houses can often make the change feel bigger. How do you feel about these changes?"

"I'm adjusting."

"Only adjusting; do you think you could thrive there?"

"Possibly. There is everything I need to live a normal life." Except, I'm missing the rhythm of my old house, I don't know what to expect from day to day to feel comfortable.

"I'm glad you feel that way. If you ever don't feel that way, it's not wrong. We can always talk about how we can improve the situation." An open invitation, yet, Clarke knew she would not take it. "You will not always want to be dependent on me and, though I try to be, I may not always be available, so I have some things you can do by yourself to help yourself feel grounded if it becomes to much. Why don't you look over this paper and then we can talk about a few of them?" Elara handed Clarke a paper with some quickly scrawled notes.

Clarke skimmed the list of grounding tactics. Soothing playlist, scribble therapy, reading something familiar, walking, cold water on her face, fidgeting with something, breathing, stretching. She nodded. "I'll try some of these things at home if I need them." She didn't care to talk about them. It would just be useless information stored in her brain in which she wanted to store actually important things.

Elara chuckled. "You don't want to know how they work?" She checked her clock hanging on the wall. "Aah, we may not have time to go over them either. Well, let's move on to other things then. I wanted to talk to you about trust.

Trust is a fragile thing. It takes a long time to build, but only a moment to break. Who have you trusted before that you can't trust now?"

Quite a dumb question, if you asked Clarke. Of course, it would be the Remmingtons. She told Elara this, though, she kept the 'dumb question' part to herself. "It's not a big deal, though. People destroy trust a lot. It's nothing new."

"I thought you might say that. Trust is very important and no matter how many times people destroy trust, it doesn't make it less hurtful. They never deserved your trust." She let that sit in the air for a moment. "I think our time's up now. We got far today Clarke. I hope to see you again next Saturday." She stood up and smiled at Clarke.

Clarke gave a polite smile back and left. It was tempting to believe what Elara said, but she didn't want to feel weak; there was no room for weakness anymore.

July 14-2025

After a restful sleep, Monday came and Clarke got up early. She put on a bright coloured shirt and an embroidered pair of shorts. Then she folded her pjs, made her bed, and went downstairs for breakfast. The rest of the Olverins were already there and they exchanged happy greetings.

"Reese, do you want to go to town today?" Clarke asked, brightly.

Reese was startled. "I didn't think you wanted to go, but of course. There is the cutest coffee shop I have to show you!"

So that's what they did. After the breakfast was taken care of, Clarke and Reese set off to the town. It was only a short walk, so they got there in no time. They didn't get back till late afternoon, and when they did, Clarke noticed that her dad had a small, proud smile on his face.