Raven's Head
h, but you do have a family, and you do have a home,” said Rusthorne, smiling. “True, your mother and father are not here with you now, but you still have grandparents and uncles and aunts . . . all of whom, I should point out, have very splendid homes. In fact, I’d say Raven’s Head — the house of your mother’s eldest sister and her husband, who have agreed to take you in — is just a few rooms short of a palace. Ah, and speak of the devil: here comes your Uncle Nigel now.”
Jina wiped the tears from her eyes as a tall man in black robes approached. He had a pallid complexion, long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and he wore what appeared to be a permanent scowl. Jina’s initial impression was that Rusthorne was right: her uncle did look like he might be the Devil.
“Salutations, Professor,” Uncle Nigel said with a courteous nod upon reaching her and Rusthorne, extending the elder wizard a proper greeting, while toward his niece he just directed a stern look, which made her feel uncomfortable.
Not a second later, the voice of President Marion Posthurdle came calling from behind.
“Ah, Professor Rusthorne, while you’re here, I was wondering if you might — uh — oh.”
“Mr. President,” said Uncle Nigel, with another courteous nod, although Jina could see, plain as day, that there was pure hatred in his eyes.
“Burgomaster Crowe, it’s a — an unexpected pleasure,” said Posthurdle, looking very nervous all of a sudden. “What brings you to New York, might I ask?”
Uncle Nigel looked down his nose at Jina. “I am here to collect my derelict sister-in-law’s abandoned child and bring her home, to live with a proper family.”
Jina frowned, feeling quite insulted by her uncle’s callous remark.
“Oh, I see,” said Posthurdle anxiously. “How noble of you. And what better person to help her sort out her — ah — abandonment issues?”
At this, Jina could almost see daggers shooting out of Uncle Nigel’s eyes. The air was thick with tension. Jina got a sudden feeling that all three of the men were at odds with each other over something, though of course, whatever that something was, she had no idea. It was Rusthorne who broke the awkward silence that had followed Posthurdle’s last remark.
“Well, while you two catch up . . . Miss Dare, might I have another word?” He led her off to a bench in a quiet corner and motioned for her to sit, which she did, placing Pimander on her lap.
“Jina,” Rusthorne began, his tone once again quite grave. “Let me preface this by saying that I do sympathize with how difficult all of this must be for you, and I assure you: I am doing the best I can to make the road ahead less rocky. That being said, I fear things will not be getting better for you anytime soon. In fact, I regret to say that your situation may be going from bad to worse.”
Jina looked over at her uncle, whose awkward meeting with Marion Posthurdle was quickly turning into a heated exchange, and an icy chill crept down her back.
“Soon — very soon, I expect — you will travel back out west to New Salem, a wizarding village in the northeast corner of Death Valley, to live with your uncle and aunt, Nigel and Lacerta Crowe, and their son Cole — who is about your age. There, you will find that, while the Crowes have agreed to take you in, they are, shall we say . . . less than enthusiastic about the arrangement.”
“But why?” she pleaded. “Why are they taking me in if they don’t even want to?”
“They are legally bound to do so . . . and magically, now that your uncle has made an Unbreakable Vow. Now, while I can’t claim to know your aunt or your cousin very well, I do know your uncle — as do most people, for he holds a very prestigious office, that of Burgomaster for the town of New Salem. In my dealings with him over the years, I’ve come to find that Nigel Crowe is not the nicest man at his best, and he can be downright nasty at his worst. I must stress, however, that you have nothing to fear from him, or his family. As long as you are living under their roof, you will be safe — miserable, perhaps, but safe. Which brings me to my final words . . .”
Rusthorne’s expression hardened even more, and the chill down Jina’s spine plummeted several more degrees.
“It is of critical importance for you to understand that you must not, under any circumstances, attempt to leave the premises of the Crowe’s estate, unless in the company of your uncle. May I have your word that you will comply with this request?”
Jina looked down at her shuffling feet.
“But, sir,” she said. “Isn’t there anyone else I could stay with? Don’t any of my other relatives actually want to take me in?”
“Some may,” said Rusthorne. “Although I can assure you, your prospects would be no better. Sometimes in life, we are forced to make difficult choices, where no option seems particularly favorable. I’m afraid, in this case, what is ‘best’ for you might be more aptly described as what is ‘not worst’. I am truly very sorry if none of this seems to make any sense right now. I assure you that all will become clear in time.”
Jina stared at the ground miserably, wondering how any part of her predicament could ever make any sense. “So then, what happens if I leave without my aunt and uncle?” The back of her neck began to prickle. “Am I in some kind of danger?”
Rusthorne sighed. “There is no use denying it. Precautions must be taken to ensure your continued safety. Over the years, your father has made many enemies, and he has also accumulated a vast fortune. This could make you somewhat of a target for those seeking retribution or revenge. Many more are simply eager to vent their frustration — so much pent-up fear and anger within the wizarding community, for which your father is largely responsible. With him now out of the picture . . .”
Jina shuddered, wishing more than ever that she could conjure up a broom and fly away — as far away as she could get from her dark and terrible former life.
“But again, I assure you: as long as you take appropriate precautions, you will be safe. And as time goes on, you will learn all you wish to know . . . and perhaps some things you’ll wish remained unknown. For now, however, you must simply allow yourself to accept your situation, however wrong and unfair it may seem, and trust that I — and others such as Fenowith and Professor Whitewolf — do have your best interests at heart. Therefore, I ask again: will you promise to heed my advice? Do you trust me well enough to accept your current fate, at least for now, and follow my lead?”
Jina wanted to scream, “NO!” but she forced herself not to. She still had a million questions, and she wanted answers immediately. If only she could stop time, even for just a few hours. If only she could just sit with Professor Rusthorne for a good long while, and talk. She was sure he would know the answer to any question she might ask. And deep down, she did know: Rusthorne was the sort of person she could trust — someone whose direction it was always wise to follow and folly to ignore, even if you didn’t quite know how or why. She even felt confident that all her questions would eventually be answered, simply because the Professor had assured her it would be so.
Of course, it was still frustrating, and still very daunting. But, she supposed, it was a kind of fear and frustration she could somehow live with, at least for now, knowing that someone was out there looking after her . . . and that that someone was Professor Marley Rusthorne.
“Can you do that, Jina?” he repeated. “Will you follow my advice?”
“I —” she said, with the last remnants of a protest still lingering on the tip of her tongue, but then she swallowed her reservations and nodded. “Yes, sir, I can. I will.”
Rusthorne gave her a warm smile. “Very well,” he said, eyeing Nigel Crowe, who was striding over in a hurry, his face flushed with anger, while Marion Posthurdle stormed away in the opposite direction. “And now, my dear Miss Dare, I believe it is once again time for us to part ways.”
“Are you ready, or what?” Uncle Nigel snapped.
“We were just saying our goodbyes, Burgomaster,” said Rusthorne. “Farewell, Jina. As always, it has been a pleasure. I do hope we’ll see each other again before too long.”
Jina made one last futile wish that something unexpected would happen, that perhaps Rusthorne would change his mind and take her with him. Or that her mother would show up, give her a great big hug, and take her back home — to her real home.
But no such thing happened. Instead, she followed her uncle through a maze of corridors, into a large chamber full of people, over to a wall crammed with many large fireplaces, each home to a small smoldering fire. Just as she began to wonder why they’d stopped at this place, the flames in the recess to her right erupted — and to her astonishment, a woman stepped out of the fire, smoothed her turquoise robes, and walked away. Jina blinked, and the fireplace erupted again — this time, two wizards stepped into the room, engaged in conversation.
“Well, that’s just it — we have no idea how a litter of kneazle kittens wound up in a No-Maj home,” said the shorter man, who was bald and wore thick round glasses. “I’ve taken them all in myself, while we sort the matter out. And let me tell you, I haven’t seen a single doxy since. I just might have to keep them!”
Uncle Nigel threw the two men a look of disdain, then aimed the same expression at Jina. “I suppose you have no recollection of traveling by fire,” he said, in an accusatory tone.
“Um, no,” Jina replied meekly, eyeing the fireplace.
“Well, this should be interesting,” said Uncle Nigel, a sinister smile spreading over his face. He reached into a canister next to the fireplace in front of them and withdrew a small amount of glittering powder. “This is Floo powder — it is, essentially, fire in solid form, whose power is fully utilized when converted into dust. One may use Floo powder to travel very quickly from point A to point B, even if those points are very distant from one another.”
Nigel stared down his nose at Jina, acting as though this elementary explanation was far beneath him. “To use, one simply tosses a pinch of Floo powder into a Network-connected fireplace, steps into the fire, speaks the name of the place to which they wish to go, and steps back out of the fire. Assuming there is a Network-connected fireplace on the other end: that is where you will find yourself upon stepping out of the flames. Got it?”
“Yes. That sounds easy enough,” Jina lied, summoning up as much confidence as she could muster, albeit still trying to process everything she had just heard.
“Now,” said Uncle Nigel, “take a bit of Floo powder from the canister, and do as I have told you. The name of the place to which we are going is Raven’s Head, in New Salem: a manor that has been in my family for centuries. You must speak the name loudly and enunciate very clearly, or you are liable to wind up somewhere very different indeed.” His thin mouth curled up into a malevolent grin. “Or be trapped in the fire for all eternity.”
That last bit of information made Jina gulp, although ending up in anyplace other than Raven’s Head did sound rather appealing. Trying hard to prevent her hand from quivering, she reached into the canister and took a pinch of Floo powder, holding Pimander in the crook of her other arm.
“Leave the cat here,” Uncle Nigel commanded, speaking with no concern in his voice whatsoever, as though Jina wouldn’t have the slightest bit of difficulty in following his order.
“What? But I can’t just —”
“You can, and you will. I don’t allow such beasts in my home. And you wouldn’t be able to bring him with you through the Floo Network anyway . . . unless you wish to kill him.”
Jina’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. She screwed up her brow, supposing that her uncle, in a twisted sort of way, was being somewhat gracious by telling her to leave Pimander behind — evidently, it would have been just as easy to trick her into getting rid of the cat in a far more sinister fashion. She glanced about, wondering what to do.
She spotted a familiar bald head on the far side of the room — it was the man who’d just stepped out of the fireplace! Hadn’t he been saying something about kittens?
“Sir!” she called after the man, rushing over with Pimander in her arms. “Excuse me, sir. Sorry, I just overheard. You took in some cats recently?”
The man adjusted his spectacles to get a better look at Jina, and he regarded her curiously. “Why, yes. I did — kneazles, actually. Would you like to adopt one?”
“Um, no,” said Jina, wondering what a kneazle was, if it wasn’t a breed of cat. “I was just wondering if — if you might take my cat — just back to where I got him from today, I mean, from the magical creatures shop. I can’t take him with me, but I can’t just abandon him here.”
“Oh!” said the man. “A creature from Marjory’s? Well, I suppose I could do that for you. I’ve been meaning to stop by and say hello to the Major.”
“Hurry up, child!” Uncle Nigel’s cold voice echoed from behind. “I have more important matters to attend to today.”
Jina hugged Pimander, who had stopped purring, and then she sighed and handed him over. She just as well might have been ripping out her own heart and handing it to the man.
“I’m sorry, Pim,” she said. “I really wish you could come too.”
Pimander meowed and held up his wooden paw, as if waving goodbye. Tears began to well in Jina’s eyes, but she forced herself to turn and walk away. She hurried past her uncle with her head bowed low and threw the Floo powder into the fire. The flames rose high, turning emerald green, and she stepped right into them. Had she not just seen others traveling by fire, she might not have been so confident!
Thinking back to something Fenowith had told her earlier that day, she resisted a keen urge to say, “Central Park Zoo!” Instead, she cleared her throat and bellowed the words Uncle Nigel had told her to say: “Raven’s Head, in New — !”
Before she even got to the “Salem” part, a deafening roar filled Jina’s ears, and everything began to spin very fast — or was it she who was spinning? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself aloft in a bright blue sky, but to no avail. The spinning motion made her feel sick, and something that felt oddly like cold hands began slapping her all over. Opening her eyes partway, she saw endless rows of fireplaces and the rooms to which they led. How was she supposed to know which fireplace was the one she needed?
Just as this question came to mind, it was all over. She felt herself trip and fell face forward onto a cold stone floor, bumping her head hard in the process. A moment later, she was being trodden upon.
“What the —?” said Uncle Nigel. “What are you doing on the floor? Get up, you silly, stupid girl!”
Feeling hurt in many ways, Jina remained face down on the floor for a moment.
“Ha-haaa! That was hilarious!” a boy’s voice rang out. “Oh, Father, you should’ve seen her, flailing out of the fireplace. I’ve never seen anyone have such a hard time. Well, anyone over the age of three, that is.”
Someone reached down and pulled Jina to her feet. She could feel a lump beginning to rise on her forehead. Under the guise of nursing the injury, she made a clandestine motion to wipe her eyes. Now tear-free, she saw that the person who had lifted her up was a woman — her aunt, she supposed.
“Look at you,” said Aunt Lacerta, scowling. “All covered in soot. What a mess!” She slapped dirt and ash off Jina’s robes and carried on with her critique.
Aunt Lacerta had long black hair like her husband, but hers was pulled back in a tight bun. Her facial features were eerily similar to those Jina had seen on herself earlier that morning, and even more so to the photograph she’d seen of her mother, only more frigid and timeworn. Her eyes were also dark brown, almost black-looking.
Jina spied her cousin and found dark eyes to be a trait that the entire family shared. He was also pale like his father, and with black hair — although his was short — and his eyebrows pointed down at a sharp angle toward the bridge of his nose, giving him — also like his father — a perpetually perturbed expression. He appeared to be younger than Jina, but not by much, perhaps a year or two.
“Oh, just take her to her room, Cole,” Aunt Lacerta moaned in exasperation. “I don’t want to see any more of her today — it’s unnerving just how much she looks like my simpering sister did at her age.” She gave Jina a piercing look, as though daring her to say something. “And have Azzie come clean up this mess!”
Cole led Jina away and through the house, which (as Rusthorne had assured her) was a magnificent, sprawling mansion.
“So, you’re my cousin, Hecate,” he said, scanning her up and down, and looking clearly unimpressed. “You don’t mind if I call you Hecky, do you?”
“Um, yes,” she replied flatly.
“Excellent!” said Cole, sneering, and Jina narrowed her eyes. “You know, Hecky, I never wanted a sibling. But, now that I think about it, it might be fun to have someone else around the house to play with.”
To toy with is more like it, Jina thought, believing more and more with every passing second that Cole Crowe took after his father in all the worst ways.
“I think this arrangement is going to work out just fine. Don’t you?” said Cole.
Jina hardened her expression and said nothing.
“I suppose I’ll just have Zolfo bring you down some food this evening. You know, seeing as how Mother doesn’t want you around. In any event, I’m sure you won’t be dining with us tonight.”
“Fabulous,” Jina growled, realizing just how hungry she was, as her stomach growled in tandem with her voice. Being so nervous about her meeting with MACUSA earlier, she hadn’t eaten anything all day. In fact, she had no idea of just how long it had been since her last meal, although it suddenly felt like days. She wondered what might be on the menu later and rather doubted it would be much to look forward to, given how badly things were going already.
“And here we are,” Cole said as they reached the end of a long dark hallway. “Right through that door.”
The thought seemed to amuse Cole, who stared at Jina with a cold smirk on his face. She opened the door and peered down a dusty staircase, which gave way to darkness after half a dozen steps.
“So . . . I guess my room’s down there, then,” she said, trying to sound as though the notion didn’t bother her at all.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Cole, as though expecting her to protest. When she said nothing, he grinned and turned to leave, satisfied that his job was done. “And not the whole cellar, mind you, just the laundry room. I think Azzie’s already dragged some furniture down for you, so make yourself at home.”
Jina grimaced and stuck her tongue out at Cole’s back as he walked away. Once he was gone, she turned back to the doorway and stared once more into the dark abyss, wondering with growing unease what might be down there waiting for her. After a long pause, she decided to walk down a few steps, to see if her eyes would adjust to the darkness. Several tiny flames flickered to life inside a series of small lamps along the wall, bathing the stairwell in orange light. Creaking under her weight, the steps led down into a gloomy hallway with several closed doors and one door ajar.
Jina peeked through the open doorway and saw a small cot, a tiny nightstand and a rickety wardrobe. Another set of lamps lit up as she entered the room, which appeared to double as storage and laundry. The walls were all a dingy sort of gray, and there were no windows. She would have expected the place to have a dank, moldy kind of smell, had it not been for the baskets of clean folded linens stacked neatly in a corner of the room, which gave off a pleasant aroma.
She sat down on the cot, which was cold and hard and lumpy. The vibration prompted a large spider to scurry out from under the covers and disappear over the side of the mattress.
Jina sat in total silence for a moment, then the crushing weight of her predicament washed over her like a tidal wave, and she broke down, crying. She felt so lonely, so helpless and deprived that it made her stomach ache. After a few good sobs, she tried to get ahold of herself, taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes tightly to stem the flow of tears. When the wave of agony finally passed, she opened her bloodshot eyes, and her shoulders slumped as she exhaled. All emotion seemed to pour right out, as though her spirit had somehow sprung a leak, and soon she was left feeling hollow and empty, utterly defeated.
She glanced wearily over at the tiny nightstand, upon which was a small crooked lamp and a frilly-looking pink box. Curiously, she picked up the box and read the label: Miss Niminy’s Starter Kit for Blossoming Young Witches. Raising an eyebrow, Jina opened the box, hoping to find something useful — but it was all a bunch of silly, worthless junk: makeup, hairbrush, bath products and a small handbook full of nausea-inducing topics like beauty tips, advice on personal hygiene and the importance of good posture.
Letting out another long heavy sigh, she tried her best to look on the bright side of her unfortunate situation, however awful it might seem. At least things couldn’t get much worse . . . or so she thought.
Jina jumped to her feet when the wardrobe beside her suddenly gave an abrupt and unexpected shudder. A few seconds later, the wardrobe shook again, and she backed away several paces.
Time all but stopped as Jina stood there, frozen to the spot, while the wardrobe shuddered at random. Before long, however, her curiosity began to win out over her fear. Was something trapped inside the wardrobe? An animal trying to get out, perhaps? Maybe just a cat that had wandered in and gotten stuck after the door closed behind it — only Uncle Nigel didn’t allow cats.
She soon became determined to open the wardrobe and see what was inside. Drawing nearer to it, she brought up a trembling hand. The wardrobe shook one last time as Jina reached for the latch and gripped it, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open with a loud creak . . .
There was no cat inside, or any animal whatsoever. The only thing in there was a mirror — a full-length mirror set into an elaborate gold frame, not unlike the one she had seen on the dirigible that morning. She stood and stared at her reflection for the second time in as long as she could remember, and the same little fair-skinned, dark-haired, sky-eyed girl stared back.
Then something unexpected and unnerving happened: she narrowed her eyes — that is, the eyes of her reflection narrowed, even as Jina’s own eyes did the exact opposite, widening in surprise. She watched with growing alarm as her reflection continued to do things that she herself was not doing: the brow furrowed, nostrils flared, lips curled up into a snarling grin; the eyes, at first just blue, now seemed cold as ice. Then, to Jina’s horror, the eyes turned black, even the parts that should have been white. Dark lines began to emerge from beneath the other’s robes and draw themselves across the skin of her arms, neck and face, like a hundred unseen spiders spinning an inky web. Her reflection threw back her head and began to laugh — a haughty, silent laugh that sent cold shivers up Jina’s spine.
The monster in the mirror began to levitate — her hair whipped all around her head, and her dark robes billowed, as though a strong wind had just blown up from below. Fingers splayed, palms turned forward, and a pinprick of green light began to glow in each hand, soon growing into two spinning whirlwinds of energy.
Jina was terrified of what she was seeing, but she couldn’t look away. Her reflection’s hands ignited, both engulfed in bright green flames. A tornado of black smoke swirled up from below, and jagged forks of lightning began bursting all around the doppelgänger. Surely, at any moment, she would break out of the mirror and attempt to murder her true self.
A scream welled up in Jina’s lungs, but then a high-pitched crying voice reached her ears, as though from a great distance.
“Mistress! Noooooooo! Must look away!”
Jina caught a glimpse of movement down near her waist, although her gaze remained fixed upon her horrid alter-ego.
“Azzie will save you, Mistress! Azzie has done wrong, but she will set things right!”
To Jina’s immense relief, the terrifying image in the mirror vanished; she exhaled sharply as her body crumpled to the floor. No sooner had the reflection in the mirror disappeared than the mirror itself did so too. The wardrobe became filled with toddler-sized clothing, which soon began to unravel and dissolve. When everything was gone, a rush of cold, dusty air whooshed into the wardrobe, and the door slammed shut behind it.
Jina sat up and clutched at her chest, her heart still thumping wildly. Something touched the back of her arm, and she recoiled.
“Oooh! Azzie is so very sorry, Mistress! She swears she didn’t mean it!”
A small humanoid creature wept at Jina’s feet — she was only about two feet tall, with pasty white skin, huge bat-like ears, and large mournful green eyes, full of tears.
“Azzie has given the new mistress a terrible fright, but she was not m-m-meaning to! She didn’t know what d-d-d-darkness lurked in the wardrobe! Oooh! Azzie has done wroooong!”
The creature leapt over to the door and began slamming her head hard against the metal knob.
“Azzie” — whap! — “must punish herself” — whap! — “for what she has done!” Whap! Whap!
“Wait! STOP!” cried Jina. She ran over, grabbed the poor thing by the shoulders, and pulled her away from the door. The creature staggered back, eyes rolling, a large bruise beginning to bloom on her forehead.
“What did you do that for?” Jina demanded with concern.
“Azzie has done wrong, and she must p-p-p-punish herself for it.” The creature touched the purple bruise that was now shining on her forehead and winced. “Surely the Mistress must know this is what is expected of a house-elf: to be p-p-punished when they do wrongs. If no master punishes a house-elf, then she must d-d-do it herself.”
“But that’s insane!” said Jina, wondering how anyone could ever have such horrible expectations. “It’s not right. Stop!”
She grabbed the house-elf, who had made to resume slamming her head into the doorknob again, before looking up at Jina with a confused and tearful expression.
“Mistress is not upset with Azzie?”
Jina shook her head. “No! I’m not. You just saved me from that . . . that . . . what was that?”
The elf brushed tears from her eyes. “Mistress opened the wardrobe, not knowing there was a b-b-boggart inside. Azzie swears she wasn’t knowing either! She would never have brought it down for you to use, Mistress, if she was kn-kn-knowing —”
“What’s a . . . bubbaboggart?”
“Please forgive Azzie, young Mistress. A boggart is a creature of darkness that frightens all who gazes upon it, turning itself into the thing we fears the most.”
“Oh,” said Jina, casting a shaky glance back at the wardrobe. “Well, I think it worked.”
“Azzie is very sorry, Mistress. She was not meaning —”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jina said with a smile, trying to dispel the elf’s agitation. “It’s fine. See? No harm done.”
The elf sniffled and dried her eyes. “Oh! The new mistress is most gracious and forgiving. Azzie and Zolfo are lucky to be having such a kindly new mistress in the house as she.”
“Who is Zolfo?”
“Zolfo is the other house-elf, Miss. He is doing the cooking and the butlering while Azzie is doing the laundries and washing the dishes and cleaning the toilets and scrubbing the floors and mowing the lawns and de-gnoming the gardens and —”
“And you — you’re . . . Azzie?”
“Oh, yes, Mistress, at your service!” said the elf, bowing low. “And Azzie is very happy to make acquaintances with such a gracious and forgiving new mistress.”
“Uh, nice to meet you too.” Jina held out a hand, and Azzie, after a nervous pause, shook it, looking rather scandalized before a bright smile spread across her face. “And you can call me Jina, by the way. My name is Jina Dare.”
Azzie’s smile gave way to an expression of pure perplexity. “But Azzie thought — Master Cole told Azzie that the new mistress was the daughter of —” the elf gulped, put a hand beside her mouth, and whispered, “He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named.”
Jina frowned. “Hmph — well, that’s true. I guess I am — but, in all honesty, I’d rather not be.”
She pulled herself to her feet, her heart rate at last returning to normal.
“I mean, ever since I got bopped on the head or whatever it was that happened last night, I don’t remember anything about my parents or anyone else in the family, but it sounds to me like they’re all a bunch of creeps . . . like these people.” She jerked a thumb up to the ceiling. “I don’t want to be like them. I’m not like them. I need to get away from them, to ignore the awful fact that I’m actually related to all these terrible people, and just get on with my life.”
She paused a moment to consider her own words, and how strange and bleak they all must seem. She let out a long sigh.
“So, the truth is: I just don’t want the name they gave me anymore. I prefer the one I gave myself instead . . . and that’s Jina — Jina Dare.”
The elf looked lost for a moment, but then comprehension seemed to dawn.
“Ohh, Azzie understands! She sees now that Mistress Jina Dares is not just gracious and forgiving, she is also noble and wise. She is not wanting to be like the rest of her family, who practices the Dark Arts and revels in dark magic. And forgive Azzie for presuming, Mistress, but Azzie thinks she is knowing why.”
“Oh? Why is that?” said Jina, smiling.
“Because Jina Dares is like a Phoenix, mistress — a girl who died . . . and has been reborn!”
Azzie and Jina became instant friends. Over the next couple of weeks, Jina wound up confiding in the elf, telling her everything she knew about herself, her family, and her current situation — which of course was not much. She also worried and lamented about how much she missed Pimander, the big black cat, and Azzie tried her best to console her.
They shared the laundry room in the cellar, which, as it turned out, had already been the elf’s bedroom for many years. At first, this had made Jina feel awkward, but she soon got used to it, and in fact began to enjoy it very much. The laundry room became a kind of safe haven, set apart from the rest of the dreadfulness that was Raven’s Head.
That very first day, Azzie had shown Jina the basket of linens on the floor in a dark corner of the room that she slept in. When Jina asked why she didn’t have a proper bed, Azzie had insisted that she preferred this arrangement, and Jina soon realized house-elves in general had no control over such things. The Crowes had never offered Azzie a bed or a cot or anything of the sort, and she had never asked for one. Azzie swore that she didn’t mind this or any of the other injustices the Crowes forced upon her, but Jina couldn’t help suspecting that somewhere, deep down, it upset her. How could it not?
After a restless sleep that night, Jina had awoken early the next morning to find Azzie already up, doing laundry. Upon seeing the little elf straining under the weight of baskets that were clearly too overloaded for her to carry without hurting herself, Jina had stepped in to assist. Azzie had protested at first, but Jina had insisted, and before long the house-elf became quite content to accept her help. Her admiration for Jina also increased tenfold, and the songs she hummed to herself while working began to include lyrics that sung her new friend’s praises, which made Jina feel somewhat embarrassed, but appreciative too.
There was just one problem with all of this: as Jina helped Azzie with her duties, the Crowes — who’d at first just watched with incredulity, disinterest and some ridicule — soon began to abuse the situation. Before long, they were piling on the chores, a lot of it backbreaking labor like chopping firewood (despite it being summer) or demeaning jobs like cleaning toilets (which Cole often neglected to flush on purpose). And the worst part: Jina was sure they invented many of these tasks just to spite her. According to Azzie, even the most arduous of chores could be accomplished quickly and easily using simple household spells, but the Crowes believed (or so they claimed) that some jobs were better done without magic. And so, neither Azzie nor Jina was allowed to use magic to complete their tasks.
What was their problem? Why were the Crowes so mean to their own helpers? Why did they hate her so much? How could anyone be so horrible, especially to someone in their own family?
Jina had little choice but to obey the Crowes’ every command; if she didn’t, the task would always fall to Azzie. Never mind the fact that Zolfo, the other house-elf, was just as capable, and often idle — or so it seemed, as Jina almost never saw him doing anything that remotely resembled work. Even his cooking duties seemed to be less of a chore and more of an enjoyable exercise, like a musician practicing on his chosen instrument.
But while all of this made Jina very tired and very angry, it also strengthened her resolve to make things better — especially for Azzie, the first kind soul with whom she’d ever spent more than a day getting to know.
One afternoon, at the end of her first week at Raven’s Head, Jina was lying on her cot, having finished all her chores for the day. Azzie was out, running errands in town. Jina hadn’t yet had an opportunity to leave the house, and she wondered when that opportunity might arise . . . or if it ever would.
She daydreamed for a while, and then her thoughts turned to Azzie the house-elf, with her big, soulful green eyes and that old cloth sack she always wore, day after day — it seemed to be the only article of clothing she owned, which she kept clean and mended but never seemed to change.
This gave Jina a brilliant idea: she would take advantage of the time alone to do something extra nice for Azzie, as a surprise.
Over the next several hours, using some nice, colorful drapery she’d found in a cabinet (which appeared long forgotten by the Crowes), Jina made her friend a new outfit. It came as some surprise to find out just how well she could sew — shirring frills, smocking pleats, stitching elaborate embroidery — and she wondered how she had ever learned it all. Had her mother taught her, perhaps?
Just as she was putting the final stitches into Azzie’s present, she heard the now-familiar cracking sound that meant a house-elf had just appeared out of thin air, transported instantly from some far-off place. Ten minutes later, she was presenting the new outfit to Azzie . . . and, to her astonishment, the elf’s reaction turned out to be the polar opposite of what she was expecting.
“Oh nooooo! But Azzie thought Jina Dares was Azzie’s friend! Oooh! Boo-hoo-hoo!”
“What? But — But I —”
“Why does Jina D-D-Dares try to give Azzie c-c-c-clothes, knowing she cannot sets her free, and Azzie cannot wears them! Oooh!”
“I’m — I — I didn’t know! What’s the problem? Azzie, stop crying! What’s wrong?”
The house-elf looked up at Jina, sniffling, her face dripping with tears. “Jina Dares must know that she cannot set Azzie free, for she is not Azzie’s true mistress!”
“No! No, I didn’t know that.”
“And Jina Dares must know that, even though Azzie can accepts new clothes from her, she cannot wears them, for the Masters and Mistress will surely be punishing her for it!”
“WHAT? Oh no, Azzie! I swear, I had no idea. I’m so sorry! Believe me, I didn’t know!”
At these words, Azzie began to calm down. “Jina Dares was really not knowing?”
“No, I wasn’t knowing — I mean, I didn’t know. Look, maybe we can work it all out somehow.”
“If Jina Dares was not knowing this, then she must not know that clothes means freedom for a house-elf. If a master presents his house-elf with clothes, she becomes a free elf.”
Jina thought about this. “Wait. So, you mean, if the Crowes just give you some new clothes, you’d be set free?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Jina. Clothes is what Azzie is wanting more than anything in the whole world.” Azzie began to look fearful after saying this. “But this makes her an abnormal house-elf.”
“Why? Don’t house-elves want to be free?”
“Oh, no, Miss Jina, house-elves do not want to be free.”
Jina found this hard to comprehend. Who in their right mind would not want freedom? She herself would give anything just to be able to leave Raven’s Head for fifteen minutes.
“But Azzie is wanting to be free, Miss Jina,” the elf continued. “She is not like Zolfo and other house-elves, though she does fear that maybe freedom is something that house-elves is not supposed to be having. So Azzie wants to be getting clothes, but she is also afraid to be getting clothes.”
Jina turned this over in her head. “Wow. I had no idea this would be so . . . complicated. How — How do you do all this laundry if the Crowes can’t ever give you clothes?”
“Oh, the Masters and Mistress never gives Azzie clothes for cleaning,” said the elf, “it’s Azzie’s job to goes upstairs and gets them herself.”
Jina frowned at the thought of the Crowes never even bothering to bring their dirty laundry downstairs for Azzie. Evidently, it would be a rather risky move. Then an idea struck her. “Um, Azzie, do the Crowes ever —? I bet they never even come down here, into our room, very much. Am I right?”
The elf screwed up her face, thinking hard. “As far as Azzie can remember, no one but Jina Dares and Azzie has ever seen Jina Dares and Azzie’s room.”
That was just what Jina wanted to hear. “So, then . . . what if you only ever wore your new clothes here, in our room? Would that work? I mean, nobody would ever know.”
Azzie considered this for several seconds. Then her face lit up. “Oh, yes, Miss Jina! Azzie would like that very much! She trusts Jina Dares not to tell the Masters and Mistress that she is wearing new clothes in secret. Jina Dares is a great friend, aaaand,” the elf tapped a finger on her temple, “she is also very clever!”
From that day forth, Azzie the house-elf always wore new and different clothes, any chance she got. Even Jina benefitted from her own kind gesture, since Azzie felt compelled to return the favor. Before long, Jina, who had once owned just a single pair of robes, socks and underwear to don day after day, now had enough clothes to fill her entire wardrobe (which was now boggart-free, also thanks to Azzie). Just like Azzie, Jina only wore her new clothes in the privacy of the laundry room — a whole host of secret outfits the Crowes knew nothing about. If any of them ever saw her wearing anything but the robes she first arrived in, she was sure there’d be nothing but trouble. And so, the clothes remained her and Azzie’s little secret, and the dreary room under the basement stairs became a very special place indeed.