Finding Father

Chapter 1- Confrontation

I walk quickly, pulling my cloak around me, attempting to avoid the heavy rain. No point, though, I'm already soaked to the skin. I stare at the ground, making my feet follow the pavement until I dead-end at a door.

I stare at it, seriously considering disapparating on the spot. But, I can't. I knock, huddling under the edge of the roof. It's opened a few moments later. I look up at the man.

"Hello," I say.

"Rachel..." he says, his voice low.

"Can- can I come in?" I ask, shivering in the cold. He stares at me for a couple seconds, then steps back and allows me to come in.

"I haven't seen you in months," he says. I nod, pulling off my cloak. I hang it up, and begin walking to his sitting room at the end of the dark hall, keeping my back to him now. Portraits line the walls, most of them showing famous wizards.

"Why are you here? You're almost never in London," my host points out. I hesitate, staring at a picture of the great Salazar Slytherin himself, before replying,

"I needed to speak with you. I was just... too afraid to come before now."

I hear his footsteps following me.

"What do you wish to speak to me about?"

I'm quiet as I step into the sitting room, which is lined with bookshelves full of spell books and such. In the open space I turn around to face him. His eyes immediately move to my previously hidden and pregnant belly.

"How many months?" he asks softly. I meet his eyes.

"Seven months along."

"Who's the father?" He's speaking so quietly I can barely hear him, but I know what he is asking anyways.

"You." My voice catches on the single word. His face is unreadable.

"No other possibility," I continue, terrified of what his reaction might be.

"Why have you come here, then? You know who I am! I cannot raise a child."

"But she's yours!" I cry. "I need your help." His face softens slightly.

"Is it a girl?"

"I don't know. I just feel like it is. Like she is." I can't believe the next words that come out of his mouth.

"You need to go."

"What?! You have to help us. I need you, our child needs you! How am I supposed to raise a daughter on my own?"

"You'll have too. I don't have the time, I don't have the money, the skills...what if I get killed? That is a very real danger in my line of work! Then you'll be on your own anyways."

"What exactly might get you killed? You-Know-Who not happy with you or something?" I shout.

"I don't work for him," he bellows. "I cannot help you. Get out."

His words sting me like the lash of a whip. Tears stream down my face as I run past him, grabbing my cloak and flinging it around myself.

"You want me to leave? Fine. I won't come calling again," I shout, opening the door and slamming it behind me. I run down the sidewalk to the street before stopping there for a breath, one hand on my stomach. I sob harder, as I start striding down the edge of the street. I'm in no mood to disapparate, probably would splinch myself because I can't concentrate...

After walking few blocks down the road, I come across a middle-aged muggle woman carrying too many bags of groceries to her house. I wipe my face, and kindly take one for her. She thanks me, and we walk up the driveway to her front door.

"You like to come in for a cup 'o tea? Rain's nasty right now and you look mighty wet. I'm Mrs. Wilson, by the way," she says to me as she unlocks her front door. I smile.

"That'd be wonderful, thank you." I say. Inside her front hall, we set down the bags and strip off our wet outerwear. Mrs. Wilson sees my stomach, and practically yells at me,

"Shame on you, out in the pourin' rain with a baby due. You'll kill the lot o' ya!" She bustles into the kitchen and sets a pot of water on the stove to heat. I follow her in, and take a seat at the kitchen table, suddenly very tired.

"Why are you out right now, anyways, dear? And are you alright?" She asks.

"I'm okay," I say. "I was out visiting."

"Visiting in this weather, dear me. If you were my daughter..." she mutters.

*******************

A cup of tea later, when the rain has calmed down a bit, I announce to Mrs. Wilson that I should be going. She hugs me tightly, and gives me a fresh coat before I leave.

Once outside, I walk a block or two more, and when I've made sure there are no muggles watching, I step to the side and dissaparate. I reappear in my living room, in my home fifty miles north of my former location in London.

I slouch down on my couch, contemplating the past few hours and my disastrous conversation with my child's father. The only question I have is a simple one, yet the answer is not simple at all.

What do I do now?