Since YOU Don't Want To Be My Friend...

Clarissa Bishop stared out the window of her family home, watching Avery in the yard. She had told the kids from down the block to come by today in the hopes of being able to play. At six years old, she was not allowed to just play with the neighborhood kids on her own. Avery had to agree first – how many times had Claire asked Avery to let the kids stay and play? Claire was too awkward to know how to ask, often saying the exact wrong thing to them. But she longed to have people nearby, around, to fill the long hours. She was out of school hours before Avery, leaving her to wander her home in vain, calling often to her father for attention. She never felt it was enough, but it was more than Avery got, so she could not complain.

She breathed on the window pane glumly, reaching forward and rubbing circles into the mist to give her a better view. She perked – she could see the figures of children her sister’s age on bicycles, approaching down the street. She let out a gasp of happiness and quickly turned around, running down the corridor and skidding around the corner. She grabbed onto the banister of the stairs and quickly pounded down them, her shoelaces dangerously flying in the air, whipping around her ankles. A mighty jump and she landed on the rug at the bottom of the stairs. It slid forward, flinging her forward. She grabbed the doorknob of the door and pushed herself up. She sighed, quickly composing herself, brushing her hair back and taking a big breath.

By the end of the day, these kids could be friends.

She opened the door and smiled widely. Avery was pointing off somewhere and the boys said something, before turning and cycling away. Avery’s head was drooping to return her gaze to the book she was reading. Claire gasped and ran down the way, past her sister, and past the gate – the boundaries she had been forbidden from crossing. “No! Wait! You said we could play!”

“Tell that to your sister!” someone called back.

“Please! I’ll share my dolls!”

The kids laughed and rolled their eyes, continuing to pedal. Frustration bubbled in the little girl’s stomach, and she turned around, approaching her older sister. She wanted to yell, she wanted to cry, but lately Avery just got mad when she did. “Avery- Candace, I mean.” That had been another change. Her sister wanted to be Candace, not Avery. “Why didn’t you want to play with them? I thought they could be our friends? I saw them yesterday when I came back from school and they wanted me to play, and I told them to come ask you. Remember? I told you about that yesterday.”

(OOC: The link to the post about Avery's version of the story is this one: https://www.pottersarmy.net/t18007-fixer-uppers#380373
It starts on the 20th paragraph, which is a one-line dialogue starting with "The last time I spoke to anyone in my immediate family..."
Note: She's literally lost the man she considers her father the day before she tells this story, and Robin is also furious with her because she walked out on him, got drunk, and might possibly have kissed Keiran. So she's going to be feels city when you read it.)



Candace. People kept forgetting she had decided to go by her middle name. She didn’t quite feel like herself anymore, so the change was rather fitting. Her family continued to fall away from her, at least in her eyes, and she no longer felt like the friendlier, more normal Avery that people were used to. But then, no one seemed used to her anymore; any friends she’d had, well they had disappeared after Claire and her father moved out.

It wasn’t the fault of her friends, and Candace knew that. No, it was hers. Several months ago, just a week before Candace’s birthday and a few months before Claire’s, she had overheard one of her mum’s attempts at explaining the divorce. A year and a half later, the woman still had felt like the girls needed some closure. Candace didn’t; she had understood from the start, when Claire couldn’t. Yet here she was, being chided by the Muggle children that Claire had invited over.

“So, question,” the boy began. “Why do you have to approve of everyone your sister plays with? You’re not her mum.”

“No, I’m not.” Candace agreed lightly, one eyebrow raised as her fingers kept the page in her book for her. “But my family has been through a lot, and our dad wants us to be careful.”

How could she explain to him that they had to be wary of Muggles? Who knew what might happen? They could get in far more trouble than Claire might have realized upon asking them to join her to play.

“Just because your parents split doesn’t mean you should act all weird. It’s stupid. And people don’t really like you anymore.” Well, Candace mused silently, at least the boy was straightforward. But then, most children were. She certainly had been at his and Claire’s age. She was still working on being less brutally honest. Hiding her true feelings, hiding what she wanted to say, and even hiding herself had become a priority. Even over school work or making sure she ate and slept properly.

Candace glared at the boy darkly, gesturing down the road. “I don’t think today is going to work out. You can go now.”

It was amusing, her mum had told her once (during one of the rare times in which she had actually spoken to the elder sister since The Incident), how much Candace could act like a businesswoman of sorts. The one that did the firing. Candace couldn’t disagree, though her gut told her that she didn’t want to be that sort of person at all.

It wasn’t until her eyes had found the sentence she had left off on that Candace heard Claire shouting after them and approaching her. Eyebrows lifted in slight surprise, Candace had to remind herself that her sister might not have understood how strongly their mother’s words had changed her. You’re my forever stuff, just as I am yours. Not having been included in that sentence, the elder Bishop sister had to remind herself not to bring it up. Claire had only been five at the time, and she wouldn’t have seen it the same way.

“Look, Clarissa,” Candace started Mind, it wasn’t out of malice or frustration that her sister’s full name was used. No, Candace had always rather liked the way it sounded, and had always said it that way. Well, since she was able to pronounce it, anyway. “That boy was impossibly rude about the divorce. I don’t think you would really want to be friends with them.”

Candace left out the part about her not wanting the boy to ruin her reputation with Claire even further. It wasn’t just that the group of children were Muggles. Most everyone these days had taken to talking about Candace when they thought she couldn’t hear. It didn’t really matter much, though, as at age ten, she had already managed to make her family dislike her all on her own. Always left to the side, the black sheep had begun keeping to herself more and more. If she could help it, she just kept quiet. She did see reason to speak if it just got her into trouble. Not to Claire, not to their parents. Not to anyone if she could manage it. By the time she left for Durmstrang, she would be quite used to taking care of herself and being alone. Aside from her departure date being a mere two weeks away, it wasn’t lost on Candace that she would be the youngest in her year. This, she knew, would only give her another reason to avoid others when she arrived.

Candace didn’t need friends like Claire obviously felt she did. But then, her little sister had always been the outgoing one. The favorite. Sighing, she waited for Claire to drop some comment about it being all the elder blonde’s fault, and sat there clutching the binding of her book like it were the only thing that could keep her from sinking into the ground. The only thing that could keep the tears at bay if they threatened to fall. That was always the worst thing. Claire never seemed to believe her when she cried, though Candace was hardly an actress. Crying in front of anyone was hard, but it was far worse in front of Claire.

No, she was just a scared, ten-year-old girl who felt herself losing her grip on the world. Soon, she would be off to school and her family wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore. So at least there was that.

Claire did not think she would ever understand. It was the most infuriating thing the young girl had ever had to deal with, this lack of understanding. How many times had her mother, her father, her sister all told her that she was too young, that it didn't make sense to her now but it would later, that she would understand when she was older. But it was bothering her now, so why couldn't they make her understand? She did not understand the divorce, why her parents were not together anymore. She did not understand why it was supposed to matter so much - she still saw them both, they both seemed happier, and she was still alive and breathing and their daughter. She did not understand why she could not play with the kids down the street when she wanted when Avery had been able to do so before the divorce. She did not understand that just because her magic was already beginning to show why it had to be hidden if it was such a mark of pride. And she did not understand why Avery first would not go back to being her friend or let her have friends if she would not fill that hole.

Claire had made the promise to herself the last time her mother had said "you'll understand when you're older" that when she eventually went to school (and real school, not sissy muggle school), she would understand everything that she was taught. No one would ever be able to call into question her understanding, and she would be the smartest kid in school. She had already begun preparations for it. When her father was at work and she was home from school, she stole books from his library and attempted to read the difficult words, staring down pictures, and attempting to memorize maps and diagrams. She figured she had a few solid years of this before she would really be able to read the sorts of books that would help her understand all she did not and then no one could ever tell her she did not understand. She would be top of her class and then she could look to her sister and her parents and say 'I'm older, and I understand everything else. Tell me again that I don't understand.'

But for now, she was six years old, with limited reading material, few sources to learn from, and she was incredibly lonely. And once again, she had been denied a simple happiness for reasons she did not seem to understand. She kept tears away because, sensitive though she was, Claire seemed to have a disturbing lack of tears in her tear ducts. Avery typically cried before Claire did, even if Claire was the more emotional in the situation. Her eyes were wide with confusion and hurt as she stared at the elder blonde girl, unable to suppose what the reason could be this time that kept her from being allowed any fun.

It was strange how Avery continued to call her Clarissa even though she preferred Claire, despite the fact that Claire strived to honor her sister's wish to be called Candace. Claire had once loved being called Clarissa, because so much love could be spelled into every syllable, but now she cringed when she heard it, for it was often used in the setting of 'Bad girl, Clarissa' or 'silly girl, Clarissa' or 'you'll understand one day, Clarissa.' It was funny how just her full name could make her feel infinitely more cross.

"Well, Avery," Claire echoed, "Maybe he was impossibly rude because you're impossible! He probably thought you were being rude because he wanted to play with us and you said no for no good reason - again! And yes, I do want to be friends with them, Avery! I don't have friends anymore because I can only play with them if there's somebody else there and since Mommy and Daddy work that means you and you're never around! And when you are, you say no! So maybe I do want to be friends with that rude boy because it's better than having no friends at all!" Her little fists were balled with anger and her cheeks turned pink with emotion. "By. The. Way. His name. Is. Eric!"

Candace frowned darkly, trying to keep from interrupting Claire as the girl shot a miniature rant at her. Sure, the elder Bishop daughter registered the fact that Avery was a perfectly nice name, and that there wasn’t anything wrong with it in particular; she just didn’t feel like herself anymore, and no one treated her the same way, besides. The younger blonde seemed to think that Candace was just trying to be difficult, as Claire always suspected as much from her sister. Candace half wished she could prove her sister wrong, though she wasn’t quite sure how to do so. Perhaps, one day, she could figure it out and fix things. Just then, however, she was far too angry.

“Well, perhaps if Eric didn’t immediately go after people or make light of the divorce, I wouldn’t get so mad.” Candace returned, crossing her arms over her chest as if it could make her appear stronger or protect her from Claire’s attacks. “You can want to be friends with whoever you like, but I won’t sit around watching guys like Eric make fun of our parents or family. Though you hardly act like we are one of those,” Candace added, lifting her chin and turning to face the end of the driveway again.

Nearly shaking her head, she picked up her book again, holding it to her. “It hardly matters, does it? I’ll be off to school in a few weeks and you’ll be able to convince dad to have friends over without me. He’d probably listen to you, anyway, if you kept asking.” It was a well known fact, at least in Candace’s mind, that her parents would give Claire just about anything she desired provided she either cried a bit or begged long enough. The elder sister, on the other hand, felt like she could never get what she wanted from their parents. Perhaps that was a bit overdramatic, but she couldn’t help it.

Somehow, with just one fight, she had managed to make those around her dislike her, if not afraid of her. Candace couldn’t even remember exactly what she had said or what Clarissa had responded with. What she wouldn’t have given to just be someone or something else. School, she knew, could be that for her. But with everything she had caused for her family, she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk making friends only to lose them again.

The problem, someone would tell her down the road, was that she got it set in her mind that there was little she could do to change herself. Other kids her age would have passed off the argument as just that – an argument. Candace, on the other hand, took the entirety of the blame and set it on her own shoulders. That, of course, was something that was hard to get rid of after carrying for several years.

The Claire that would exist nearly twenty years in the future was already beginning to form under the emotional surface that was the wide-eyed child. Sure, this young Claire was full of hopes and dreams. She still chose to be the princess when they played make believe, rather than the King’s Assistant. In house, she was still choosing little sister or mommy, rather than the older sister raising her siblings while putting herself through school. These changes were on the crux, coming soon. There was still enough of it present, though, for her to be motivated by reason, while remaining ruled by emotion. So she took in a deep breath, clenched her fists, and then threw her arms out in exasperation.

“I don’t understand why the divorce is the worstest thing that ever happened! It’s not like anyone died. We still have a mommy, and a daddy, and each other, and that’s a whole lot more that Suzanne Carmichael down the street who doesn’t have a mommy or a daddy or a sister and has to live with her mean old aunt. But you act like we’re never gonna grow up or that mom and dad not being married means they hate us or hate each other or whatever. I’m just sick of you telling me I’m not ‘posed to be happy anymore! I act like we’re not family because you keep complaining about it and I don’t know why!”

The girl crossed her arms defiantly and stared at her older sister, wishing she could understand but knowing they were much too far from getting back on track. They were both too certain that the fault lied in the other sister’s failures and attitude, that there was no reaching an understanding anymore. Claire tightened her arms and huffed.

“We could be a family again, Avery Bishop, if you would just let us. Let us laugh. Let us make friends. Let us not care about this stupid little divorce. It happens all the time. It’s not tragic. We’re not special in that.” She nodded her head, the very picture of the pint-sized voice of reason.

((Sorry this is so long coming!))

Candace – okay, Avery – suddenly had a strong desire to just get up and walk off, ignoring the younger Bishop daughter’s grievances entirely. How many times did she have to explain that Muggles were dangerous? Sure, as children with magic, the sisters likely could cause more trouble than the non-magical children could. That didn’t mean, however, that problems with the other kids their age couldn’t get them into serious trouble with their parents or the world they were meant to be part of.

Did she dare explain that all of those times she’d said no were because she didn’t want to guess wrong and have her father angry with her, too? She rarely saw him as it was; she didn’t need him telling Mum that she couldn’t come visit because she hurt Claire again. She loved the younger blonde, truly. But she didn’t understand exactly how to go about explaining her position. What would happen if Claire found out that her and Avery’s fight had been what pushed them over the edge to finally signing the papers? Or maybe she just thought that was the case. When she overheard her parents, she had realized that Claire wouldn’t see it coming like she would, and it would be her job to explain and prepare her sister. Except everything got far too out of hand.

“I didn’t say I want you to be unhappy!” She burst out suddenly, slamming her book onto the bench. She felt a moment of guilt for injuring the novel, but ignored it. “I’m supposed to protect you. Father would be furious if I messed up.”

A confused look passed over her face at Claire’s words, lingering for a few moments before she understood what was being said. Claire didn’t like their distance either, apparently, which soothed her at least in part. “We are special, though, in our abilities. We can’t forget that. Being what we are – it’s dangerous for kids our age. We can’t control it like adults can. The divorce isn’t the only problem, though I can see why you don’t understand how big of a deal it is.”

Shaking her head, Avery sighed. “This means that at holiday, we may not see both of our parents. It means that down the road, our parents may not even be friends. We may not even be friends considering you live with dad and because of our fighting. Family, yes. But people who see each other or check on each other? Maybe not.”

Claire was past the point of being calm or rational. Even as an adult, there would be those moments that drove her over the edge, unable to return to cold Ice Queen coolness. And it would often be the same factor that pushed her so far over the edge – family. Till the end of her life, it would be family that would be the weakness she was too ashamed to admit. Because, rationally, family should strengthen, not weaken. And so many people found comfort in the very people that Claire could not understand or deal with. As she grew up, she would treat her family in the respectable manner, but once she flew from the nest, what excuse would she to have to return to the people who made her the worst version of herself, the most emotional Claire.

But Avery had been her friend. They had been close, and loving, and they fought, sure, but never like this. They had never had fights so untempered by love before. This was all jealousy, angry, frustration, shades of hatred. But these shades of hatred were the very love Claire thought to be missing, though her six year old brain could not grasp that. She could only defend what she knew which, she would learn later, was not very much.

“You never said it, but you act like it!” Claire said, her voice shrill. She would grow into a voice much lower than her sisters, much more controlled and much more level, but now – high octaves. “It’s not your job to protect me! You’re not my mom, or dad. You’re supposed to be my sister. We’re supposed to get in trouble together!” That was the heart of the situation, she supposed. The girl had never really enjoyed her parents treating her like she needed them. The independent spirit in her rejected these treatments, and now the one person who had always been the one to rescue her from these relationships by being a peer and a friend had become one of them.

“Who said we need Mum and Dad to be friends? Their only job to us is to be our Mummy and Daddy. They can do that without being married. It’s stupid, yeah, but we can deal. ‘Sides, you and I never needed ‘em before. Remember that time we lived on our own?” She was referring to a three hour camping trip in the backyard that her parents had kindly pretended not to be supervising, but the little girl had come to treasure the time spent with her sister ‘on their own.’ “Family doesn’t always have to be together to be family. They just need to love each other and, right now, I don’t feel like you’re my family.” Her words choked in her throat. She was embarrassed. She was the tough one. She was the one who hit her head and didn’t bat an eyelash. She swallowed and spun on her heel, running for the house in shame and hurt.