Chapter 14 A Badger’s Craft
A Badger’s Craft
Will be her strength
She builds her home
Of nature’s wealth
Her eyes are like
A Dragon’s fire
Her fear a strong and firm conviction
For she only fears her heart’s desires
A Badger’s Craft
Will be her strength
Her tears are like
A Thestral’s wings
Hannah tried to steady herself as she stared around her. It had all happened much too fast. The first lesson, the thrill of being able to heal, her sudden realization that she was strong now and couldn’t continue to take up precious space in the hospital, Malaika’s gentle offer. She had shaken her head and walked out the door. And then he was suddenly there before her.
His face was warm even though it was filled with worry. He did not speak much, either, only told her that she should probably get home before the sun finished setting. Nodding and looking around, she had tried to decide which way to walk so she could pretend to be going home. She didn’t even know what bleeding city she was in. And then a warm hand had enveloped hers and it felt so right that Hannah did nothing to resist as he walked her home.
He fed her soup and then told her he would be leaving for a little while so she could make herself comfortable and sleep. And she had. And now she was here, in the middle of a broken down, dirty old house, wondering how something so disgusting could be so beautiful at the same time.
He wasn’t good at tidying apparently, or perhaps he didn’t like to, because even though the two rooms that he used were perfectly clean there were things thrown haphazardly all over the floor. Then again, Hannah thought, perhaps he couldn’t help it; perhaps artists just had to be messy.
The windows in the living room were covered with the most beautiful colors and lines, like small dizzying rainbows.
The leftmost wall had been attacked with chalk of different colors. White and black and a strange sort of grayish color and they blended together to make the most beautiful picture of a Muggle city that was tinged with a blood-red sunset.
The right wall’s paint was peeling, but it seemed to have been helped along by the same skillful hands and she could see a jagged, withering old tree with the word Innocence carved in cursive on a large, dying, falling leaf.
Hannah picked up one of the papers off the ground and eyed the sketch carefully then examined another. He wasn’t very good at drawing faces, she noticed, but they had the same, now familiar, signature at the bottom. MaT.
Suddenly as she looked out at the dark night through the beautiful shimmering glass Hannah felt completely useless. She wondered where he was and whether he was saving another lost orphan off the streets or helping another old woman with her burden like he had been doing when they first met. She shuddered and moved closer to the fireplace.
So Muggles had fireplaces then. Good.
She needed to have a fire to think, she thought, Huffelpuffs needed to sit by their warm, crackling fire to sort out their problems. You couldn’t think in the cold, you couldn’t decide to go back to McGonagall, begging to be taken in as an Auror or a Healer in the cold.
It took a good half hour to find matches, because she had to go into one of the other uninhabited rooms and fish them out from among the haunted, death ridden things. As soon as the flames engulfed the fireplace Hannah‘s hands began to itch. It was always like this when she needed to think or study.
She walked back to the other room and braved the feeling of trespassing just long enough to bring down the large white curtains and fish out a sewing set.
Soon Hannah was sitting on the warm armchair by the crackling flames, her hands moving quickly and skillfully. This was her craft, just like it had been her mother’s craft before her, and there was no time for doubts or fears or for desperate thoughts. She had to concentrate on her task. He would be warm tomorrow when he went out to help others in the chilly night air. He would be strong and, maybe, if she could work up enough courage, she would be standing beside him.
She closed her eyes and paused for a moment as she reached a difficult spot and her mind was filled with a vivid image of the beautiful golden Phoenix perched in the headmaster’s office.
Hannah opened her eyes again and her fingers flew back into action, performing their graceful dance as she stared into the crackling flames. Mother always used to say that you had to be warm or else your cloak would be useless and sit cold, chilling on the shoulders of its owner.
Large tears spilled out of her eyes and Hannah’s hands shook, but she steadied them and set them back to work again in an instant. The tears still fell. Ernie used to always say that it didn’t matter if you cried as long as you picked yourself up afterwards and kept on studying. She let out a short laugh that reminded her of Zacharias.
He had always been sharp, and even though his bitter laughter was sometimes disturbing, his presence had always been nice around the fire. Sometimes his steady, logical thinking reminded her of father. Hannah stopped and looked down at her work and as she pondered her next move her right hand came up and twirled a strand of her hair just like Susan would.
She could almost hear the girl’s many bracelets and bangles shaking and jingling like little bells. She picked the smooth white material back up and turned her eyes back to the fire. Muggle fires were nice, she thought, because you knew they would never turn green all of a sudden. She had always hated the unnatural green color of the Floo.
Tears rolled down her cheeks quickly and she pretended not to notice them when they fell onto the white sheets of fabric. She didn’t notice that they disappeared altogether too quickly leaving behind dry, shimmering material.
Two hours later Hannah smiled through her tears as her hands came to a stop. But the door was thrown open so suddenly she did not have time to look down at her masterpiece.
He came through the door reeling and tears fell freely down his face. His knees collapsed in the middle of the floor and he began gasping and retching. Hannah jumped up out of her seat and went to his aid quickly guiding him to the sink and grasping his larger hand steadyingly. She hadn’t seen a boy cry in a very long time and it was rather terrifying because this one was supposed to be taking care of her right now, in fact he was supposed to be fixing the world.
Hannah put her other hand on his back and guided him back to the chair by the fire and then he began telling his story. He spluttered and gasped and the words came out in half-haunted whispers and she wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to scream and plug her ears and not listen. There was no part of Hannah Abbot that wanted to hear this nightmare, but she knew that he needed to tell it.
He finished at last with a violent shudder as he described the broken blue eyes. He said they were like shattered glassy ice that wouldn’t melt because the fire had been killed.
Suddenly he stood up and tried to walk but he stumbled and fell onto his hands and knees and his jaw was set as more tears spilled over his beautiful face. Hannah picked up the half-forgotten curtains that she had been busily sewing for hours and walked quickly over to his side.
She pushed him upright, gently and she held up her workmanship to show him. Hannah gasped as the once white cloth shimmered in the dim light of the room. It looked like it was on fire. And suddenly Ernie’s voice filled her head:
“…that don’t mess with this badger look again…”
So Hannah set her face into that “look” and stared the boy straight in the eye. “You can’t kill fire, Mat.”
