Tickling the Giant Squid and other Grand Adventures

39. Farid

"Farid?" I looked up from Magical Draughts and Potions to see my father standing in the doorway. I'd been home for only a few days and had already taken to spending most of my time in my room.

I slid a ribbon between the pages to mark my place and closed the book. "Yes?"

"Would you come downstairs for a bit? Gwendolyn and I..." he paused, turning the words in his mouth, "We have something to talk to you about."

"Alright," I nodded, placing the book on my bedside table, and sliding off the bed. He led me downstairs and into the living room, where Gwendolyn sat on the couch.

"Is Arthur a part of this?" I asked.

"No," dad replied, "He's in his room, probably owling his friends before bed."

I nodded, and Gwendolyn patted the place next to her on the couch. I sat next to her gingerly, and dad sat on my other side.

"Farid," he began, "As I'm sure you know, your mum and I have been talking about your future quite a bit over the last few months."

I nodded.

"We understand there was a lot of pressure on you to go into Ravenclaw, and it was quite a surprise when Arthur owled us that you had been sorted into Slytherin. But I think I know why. Actually, a tiny part of me has wondered if you would be for a long time-"

"Byron," my mother interjected, "let's not beat around the bush."

"Er, right, sorry. Farid, the point- well, the reason we want to talk to you-"

Gwendolyn sighed, and interrupted again, finishing his stumbling. "We are not your biological parents."

I stared at her dumbly for a moment, before I managed to stammer, "W-what?"

The only man I'd ever known as my father picked up a large shoebox that had been sitting next to the couch, and held it in his lap.

"You're adopted," Gwendolyn reiterated.

"Your real dad was my brother," Byron said, taking the lid off the shoebox, "And both he and your mother were Slytherins." He plucked a photo from the shoebox and placed it in my hands. A raven-haired couple in matching black knit jumpers and Slytherin scarves smiled and waved up at me from the past.

"Just after your second birthday, your parents were called on a trip to Romania." Gwendolyn explained, "Their ship was caught in a storm and sank. There were no known survivors."

"You weren't allowed to go with them so they left you in our care, and when they-... when they were gone, you stayed here as we are your closest relatives," Byron added.

"Does Arthur know all this?" I asked quietly.

"We've never spoken with him about it," Byron said, "But he was five at the time, so he might remember."

I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat and nodded. I placed the photograph back in the shoe box and clasped my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking. Byron put a hand on my shoulder, and Gwendolyn awkwardly patted my knee.

"W-what were their names?" I asked, half wishing they would keep talking to fill the intimidating silence, half afraid of what else they might say; what other secrets they may have hidden from me.

"Lukas and Abigail," Byron replied softly.

"Why did they need to go to Romania?"

"They worked in the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Gwendolyn said. "A number of baby dragons had hatched, and they were needed to escort backup supplies."

Suddenly I remembered something. "You always told me that everyone in our family was in Ravenclaw," I said, looking at Byron.

"When my brother was sorted into Slytherin, our parents shunned him," Byron explained, "he was allowed to come home over summer, but he spent as much time as possible with his friends, and my parents preferred it that way." His green eyes flickered in Gwendolyn's direction for a second before falling to my face again. "But you can always come back here, Farid. We won't brush you off."

Gwendolyn nodded stiffly. I wasn't sure if she sincerely agreed, but I knew Byron would advocate for me if any issues arose. He always had.

"Should I call you Aunt and Uncle now?" I asked.

"That's your decision," Byron assured me, "But we will still love you the same, no matter what you call us."

I nodded, and my gaze fell to my lap again. I had forgotten my hands were clenched, and slowly pulled them apart, splaying out my fingers and examining the crescent marks my fingernails had made. Little mocking smiles on the backs of my hands. 'Haha, you're adopted,' they seemed to say in singsong tones, 'reject, reject, you're a reject.' I curled my hands into fists and closed my eyes.

Byron's hand gave my shoulder a little squeeze. "Do you want to be alone?" He asked gently.

I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady, and felt the couch cushion shift as they stood up. I opened my eyes to see Byron place the shoebox beside me on the couch and follow Gwendolyn into the kitchen. I pulled the shoebox into my lap and stared unseeingly at it.

I was adopted. The people I'd thought were my parents were my Aunt and Uncle. My real parents were dead. I was not the only Slytherin in my family, but I was the only one alive.

In a daze, I stood up and took a few shaky steps forward. Clutching my parents' memories to my chest, I broke into a run, dashing to my room and shutting the door behind me. I tossed the box onto my desk, but tripped over my feet on the way to my bed, collapsing in a heap on the floor. Only now did my eyes start to sting, and there was nothing I could do to stop the hot tears flowing down my cheeks. I hugged my knees to my chest and rocked back and forth a tiny bit, clenching my teeth to keep my sobs silent.

An hour later, I still sat folded up on myself on the floor, staring blankly at the floorboards in front of me, the dried salt from my tears making my face feel slightly stiff. Slowly, cautiously, meticulously, I uncurled my body until I stood upright, and collected the box from my desk before retreating to the soft sanctuary of my bed.

Elvynne padded over to sit beside me as I flipped through the stack of photos on top. In every picture, my parents were happy. Their faces were almost familiar, though I had no memory of them. My father's eyes were the same shade of grey as my own, and in the pictures from their childhood, I could see my own bony frame cloaked in my mother's robes. I wondered if I would grow as willowy and beautiful as she did.

A few showed her with an older couple I assumed to be her parents, all three of them smiling through the years at me, sparkling green eyes bright. My father's individual pictures, I noticed, never included his parents, and very rarely showed Byron. As I neared the bottom of the stack, my mother showed her pregnancy proudly, and when the first picture of me emerged, my breath caught.

A tiny white bundle lay wrapped in her arms, my father hugging us both from behind; both looked exhausted but triumphant. There were numerous pictures of the three of us following my entrance. One, in particular, displayed my mother cradling a probably-one-year-old me in her right arm, with an owl on each shoulder and a tiny baby griffin perched on her left arm. My father stood proudly beside her with hawks on his shoulders, cradling a baby hippogriff in his arms. This one, I propped against the lamp on my bedside table.

Beneath the photos were the jumpers and scarves my parents had been wearing in the first picture, sealed away from any small destructive creatures in plastic bags. I pulled out the wool jumpers in awe. The smaller one, my mother's, smelled faintly of old books and the ocean, while my father's carried the scent of animals and aftershave.

I packed the scarves and photos back in the box and switched off my lamp before curling up between my parent's jumpers with Elvynne. In the dim moonlight drifting between my curtains, I could just make out my parents smiling faces in the picture on my nightstand. Not long after, I drifted into sleep, dreaming of things I couldn't possibly remember.