Hazel Levesque Week Day 6: Hazel + Anyone (Marie, in this case)

Word Count: 3341

Marie and Hazel through the years.

I think that Marie has a lot of nuance to her character that didn't get to fit into the original books because of timing, but I'm obsessed with Hazel's backstory and have always wanted to write it. You know that one Seaweed Brain Podcast episode where they asked for a Hazel backstory fic? Yeah. This is that. Hooray!!

I tried to keep it as close to canon as possible, but some of the order of the dialogue is changed just to make it easier for me to write lol. This is also my first time writing in current tense, so let's see how this goes!!

—

The most common misconception about scamming is that it is a crime. It is not a crime. It is an art. A game, a performance of selling the magic to your audience, creating an illusion so strong you will believe it yourself if you are none the wiser. And then, when your victim finally believes the myth you so carefully cultivated, you take a bow, taking the money from their hand and vanishing behind the curtain, both of you supposedly satisfied with the exchange.

And Marie Levesque has, after so many years, finally perfected the art. The money from wide-eyed tourists ready to be charmed by New Orleans' glamour laid in the metal cash registers in front of her. She counts it slowly, the paper first, then the coins. Not as much as last week, not enough at all. But alas, it would have to do.

She gets up, walking to the shelf where she kept her 'spellbooks,' bought secondhand from stores and loyal customers. They are mostly for display, another ploy to sell the mirage that she was an expert, but for the last few days, she has found herself flicking through them after hours.

Marie wasn't what it is, but something has been compelling her to open the books, read the words and learn more about the magic she performs every day. Most of it was nonsense, but occasionally she found a spell or too intriguing. But none of the spell books contains any knowledge of gris-gris, the practice Marie had become locally famous for.

Gris-gris was something Marie had learned from her mother, and her mother from her parents, and so on, all the way back to Africa, before her ancestor was taken on a slave ship to the United States. Marie remembers her as a child, looking up at her mother as she explained how rituals and spirit summoning worked.

Marie believed it as a child, but the real world is not kind, and she has long lost any belief in voodoo.

So why is she finding herself cooking food to place in front of her? Why is she placing the coins from the cash register on the floor, forming a perfect ring around the food?

The truth is, she doesn't know. But something is calling to her, begging her to do it. Summon one spirit, just to see if it works. Just to see if her naivety from years ago is creditable, or simply childlike wonder.

About an hour later, she has her answer.

She isn't sure what spirit she is trying to summon, but this is not what she imagines when she pictures spirits. This man is White, white as a ghost, paler than the white water lilies that blossomed in April. He stands in a black-and-silver suit, one fit for the upper class.

He is handsome.

"Who are you?" Marie asks, not thinking about what to say in front of the spirit. His face doesn't match the stories that Marie heard from childhood, and she wants to know who is standing in her shop.

"I am Pluto," he responds. Marie almost wants to laugh at the deepness of his voice, but she cannot bring herself to. His presence seems to demand attention, and Marie is the only audience around. She stares in awe silently as he prattles on in his speech, "Roman god of the Underworld, of riches, and of the deep earth. Why have you called upon me?"

There are an abundance of untidied thoughts that run through Marie's head before she can think straight. Pluto? God? Roman? But when her head clears, only one word remains, echoing over and over, needing to be spoken aloud.

"Riches?"

—

Marie does not alert anyone of the pregnancy. But when her stomach begins to swell, people begin to talk. The locals gossip with low voices and curious glances: When did she marry? Who is her husband? The regular customers and tourists congratulate her: A child! How exciting. Have you begun thinking about names? Both roll off her back. This child is hers, and she doesn't need anybody else's input on it. Besides, she has to focus on making enough money to support her and her child. There is barely enough for her right now, and she doesn't know what she'll do once she has a second mouth to feed.

Pluto visits twice more, appearing in the shop one day with no warning. He does not respond to the rituals anymore, instead coming and going at his own accord. It is both an exciting and infuriating puzzle, musing over when he would next arrive.

The day her water breaks, she closes her shop and lies down upstairs, in her little apartment above the shop. After hours of pain and screams, her daughter is here, wails piercing the night. Pluto is next to her, holding their daughter in his arms.

Marie is exhausted, but forces herself to stay alert. Her daughter doesn't look like her father, having the same dark skin and coily hair as her. Hazel (yes, Marie decides, her name is Hazel), looks up at Marie with large eyes that make her melt, and she almost forgets that Pluto is in the room.

"Marie?" he interrupts, and her attention snaps back to him. "She's beautiful."

"I know," Marie responds, and she means it.

Pluto, for the first time since Marie has met him, looks nervous. He looks down at Hazel, and then back at her. "I'm not supposed to do this but..." he sighs and looks up at the sky, but continues before Marie can interject, "I will grant you one wish. One. Anything you want, I'll give it to you."

Marie has heard a lot of empty promises in her life, but something in his voice made him sound truthful. "Why?" she asks, staring at him in wonder. She has not done anything except give birth. Was it truly that big of an accomplishment to him?

Pluto looks up at the ceiling, like he is trying to see the sky above through it. "Because...I do not have many children. And I do not take that many lovers. Raising a child like her, like me, is dangerous, and it isn't fair to leave you completely alone."

Now Marie is exhausted and confused. A child like her? What is so dangerous about Hazel, a baby barely an hour old, that he feels the need to protect her?

"Anything?" Is the question that comes out in the end, and Pluto nods.

"Anything. I swear it on the River Styx."

There he goes again with his nonsense talk. Pluto claims to be a god, and after all these months, Marie finds herself to believe him. What ordinary human appears in a puff of smoke in response to a ritual? What ordinary human uses phrases like 'the River Styx' and 'up on Olympus?' Perhaps not all magic was myth.

There is a lot Marie wishes for. Beauty. Fame. But her shop is losing more and more customers, and food seems harder and harder to afford.

"Fortune. I want all the riches the Earth has to offer."

Pluto's forehead creases at that. "Are you sure that is what you want?"

"You are the god of riches, are you not?"

"Yes, but..." Pluto responds, looking slightly desperate, "The greediest wishes tend to have the deepest sorrows. If I grant you this, I am afraid–"

"You swore on the River Styx to grant me what I want. This is what I want."

Pluto looks at her, with a look that almost seems pitiful. Pitiful? Why? He is going to make her rich!

"As you so wish," he finally answers, and places his palm on Hazel's forehead. There is a golden glow, but after a few seconds it fades, leaving their daughter looking like a regular baby once again.

"She will grant you all the riches you desire. But please, please Marie. Be careful."

"Why wouldn't I be careful?" she asks, and glares at him as she takes Hazel from his arms. How little did he of her?

She quickly forgot about the ordeal. As she cradled her baby in her arms, she couldn't help but not only love her, but anticipate what she would do for her shop.

They are going to be rich.

—

It's good to be Queen.

For the last few weeks, Marie has been selling the gold bars Hazel has been finding around the house. At seven years old, she has a gift, producing the gold from seemingly nowhere, and somehow knowing if it was real or not.

The money has been pooling in, so much Marie has needed to purchase a second cash register to keep all the dollars in. She can afford a second cash register! Everything has changed so quickly it almost feels like a dream.

And it is all thanks to her daughter. Over the last few years, Marie had been worrying that Pluto's wish had not worked. Now, she wants to call on him again and thank him. He has not been visiting her since Hazel's birth, but Marie hadn't let it affect her. Now, she could roll in her riches without him.

She buys Hazel art supplies for her hard work. First crayons, and then colored pencils, markers, anything she wants. Sometimes, she asks to be taken to the stables to watch the horses, and though that cannot go inside to see them closer (the store is owned by White folks, though Marie has heard talk of some family at Hazel's school opening up their own stable), they can watch the animals rome the field from afar, leaping over hurdles and eating apples.

Eventually, Marie has enough money to move her and Hazel to a bigger apartment, above a jazz club. Every night, they sit together, listening to the music playing downstairs and talking about their favorite songs of the night.

She isn't sure who first starts the "Queen Marie" title, but it sticks. She achieves more local fame, and with that, more wealth.

"Mama," Hazel asks one day, drawing with crayons on a blank sheet of paper. Marie has been trying to get her to call her by her new nickname, but the little girl hasn't caught on yet. "How do you tell the future?"

Marie keeps her eyes focused on cooking the steak in front of her as she responds, "I dont,"

"Yes you do! All the time. I see you in the shop."

Marie laughs. "That isn't real, Hazel. I can't tell the future. I just tell people what they want to hear, and they believe me. It's all bunk and hokum."

She doesn't have to turn around to know Hazel is confused. "Then what about the magic jewels?"

"Those are the jewels you find. And I'm so proud of you for that!"

"But they're killing people."

Now, Marie turns away from the meat and looks at Hazel. "What?"

"Trinity Henry's father had a heart attack yesterday. He was wearing the ruby you sold to him two days ago." Hazel's voice is shaky, like she really believes her mother is a killer.

Marie relaxes. "That doesn't mean anything, sweetheart. He was just unlucky."

"And then, last week, Charles Gasceaux's arm got cut off in a harvester. He was wearing the gold bracelet we gave him. He's in the hospital because of us! Kids at school are blaming me!" Hazel wails the last part, and now she looks like she is very much about to cry.

Maybe if things were different, Marie would write these incidents off as an unfortunately coincidence. But she remembers what Pluto told her, seven years ago, with a grave look in his eyes:

'The greediest wishes tend to have the deepest sorrows.'

—

A queen isn't supposed to be a witch. But people in the streets are calling her one.

Down in New Orleans, Marie is wanted for murder. People are bullying Hazel at school. More and more customers are dropping dead like flies. But worst of all, Marie is losing money.

The only customers that visit her now are tourists passing through, if someone doesn't warn them about their curse. Her regulars have become distant memories.

But Hazel cannot stop finding the precious stones. She points them out on the floor, pulls them out of her bag, and even trips over them when she walks. How pathetic. It's hurting the family, but at least the jewels bring them money.

"But it's hurting people!" She exclaims when Marie asks for the emerald in her hand. Hazel is twelve years old now, thirteen in the next few days. "I can't let anyone else die. If we keep all of them and don't sell them, then no one else has to get hurt."

"But what about us?" Marie responds, snarling at the girl before her. "We need that money. If somebody walks in, we sell them the jewel. That is how this works. No one else has to know. It can just be between us and those tourists."

"But—"

"No exceptions."

Hazel looks as if she is about to cry, but Marie cannot bring herself to care. Does she know that if there is no money, there is no food? She gives Marie the emerald, and Marie slips it into her pocket. Then she walks away, tears falling from her face.

"It's your fucking father's fault," Marie mutters after her, "He did this to you."

Hazel doesn't answer. Marie doesn't expect her to.

—

The voice takes over her before she can realize what is happening.

Hazel is out for her thirteenth birthday, probably with that blasted boy Sammy Valdez. They've been spending an awful lot of time together at the stables, and if Marie ever meets him, she will tell him to stay away from her daughter. As she is fuming about her daughter and boys, trying to figure out how to keep the money steady, she feels the spirit enter her.

The voice sounds soothing, and for a moment, Marie almost feels at peace.

Then she begins speaking.

"I need your help," the voice says.

"Who are you?" Marie asks, trying her best not to panic. Both voices are coming from her mouth.

"I am just like you, Marie Levesque. Betrayed by the gods, left on my own. They have left me here, just as Pluto has left you."

The mention of Pluto angers her. The voice seems to sense this, because she continues her speech.

"We can take revenge on the gods together. You and me. If you just come to Alaska."

"Alaska?"

Dimly, Marie watches Hazel enter the apartment. She stops short when she sees her, and although she wants to respond, she cannot make herself move.

"You'll be safe there. Far from the gods."

Hazel looks horrified, like she wants to scream but cannot bring herself to.

"It's too far. Too cold. Too dangerous. He told me not to." Marie argues, remembering the conversation. Pluto had said that Alaska was too far for him to protect her, and if she ever moved, he could never follow. Well, he hasn't been following anyways.

The voice, as if feeling Marie's anger, begins speaking again. They argue for some more time, and at one point, Marie sees Hazel flee down the stairs. When she comes running back up, she isn't alone.

Marie is so mad she breaks out of her trance.

Pluto is standing next to Hazel, his face twisting into concern.

"What do you want?" Marie asks, looking down instead of at him. "Get it out now, because this is the last time we will ever speak."

Pluto's eyebrows pull together. "What do you mean?"

"We're going to Alaska. Hazel and I."

Pluto's face shifts into panic. "Alaska? Marie, no. You'll die."

"Better than living one more minute here." It all comes crashing down on her now. Why stay here? Any fortune New Orleans has brought the Levesque is now long gone. Better to start somewhere new, away from gods and curses.

"Marie, it's insanity. You'll be far beyond my power to protect you."

Anger courses through her as she shouts, "What have you ever done to protect me?"

She lists everything that has gone wrong—the police, who want her for murder, the people, who call her a witch—but Pluto insists on them staying in Louisiana.

Marie doesn't listen. With a final shout at Pluto ("You turned me against you!"), she throws Hazel's gems onto the floor and tells her daughter to pack her bags.

The next day, they leave the city for good.

—

The Earth is alive beneath Marie. The ground beat with a rhythm, like a heartbeat. It smells like dirt, and Marie's hands are permanently caked in it from so much digging over the last few months.

She feels alive for the first time in months too. The Voice is gonna from inside of her, and while Marie now feels like herself again, it also feels like the voice is alive too.

"It's too late," Marie whispers to herself, staring at the large pit she and her daughter have dug. The Voice is gone, and now Marie is here to deal with the consequences.

"Mother?" Hazel's voice asks from behind her, and Marie turns around to face her. As she lays eyes on her daughter, the fear in her eyes, the stiffness in her body, Marie feels tears fill her eyes.

The sobbing has been a long time coming, but it still racks her body, leaving her shoulders shaking and her face wet.

"What have I done?" Marie whispers, "Oh Hazel, what did I do to you?"

Something is inside of the pit. It has been there for a while now, and the Levesques have only helped it grow. It seems ready to be born now, and Marie is terrified to find out what that means.

Marie falls to her knees, tears soaking the soil below her. "I'm sorry, Hazel. I'm so sorry." The apology sounds meaningless, and Hazel looks as if she doesn't believe it, but it is the best thing Marie can do. Sob and sob and beg for forgiveness, and deal with whatever will hatch out of the pit.

But Hazel—so good, so kind—tries to find a way out. She asks Marie, and the only thing Marie can do is cry harder.

"We can't. We can't leave. It's already been done," her entire body trembles, "Pluto warned me. He told me my wish was too dangerous."

Hazel's features twist into confusion. "Your—your wish?"

Marie tells her daughter everything. How the curse is her fault, how everything is all her fault. How it is only bringing sorrow, even now, at the end.

Yes, it was the end. Marie is going to die here, and she has dragged her thirteen-year-old daughter here to do the same. What kind of mother is she?

"Tell me how to stop her." Hazel begs, but Marie cannot offer any answer.

"We can't, Hazel. We can't." But...will The Voice let Hazel go? She only needs one life. Perhaps this will be the way she can make it up to her, by not letting her daughter die here with her. "Hazel, go. She'll let you live, but you must hurry."

When Hazel says, "No," something inside of Marie breaks.

She turns to her mother, and Marie feels an overwhelming sense of pride fill her. For so long, Hazel has been a source of money to her. Jewels bring money, and if there is no money, what is she good for? But Hazel is a human being, not an investment. And not just any human being, her daughter. Her gift.

So Marie tells her that.

She pulls her in close, kissing her forehead and saying, "You were my gift, Hazel. My most precious gift. I was a fool to think anything else."

The Voice yells something, but Marie does not hear. Hazel raises her arm and quickly brings it down. The roof caves, and liquid fills Marie's lungs.

They sank into the Earth together, and let their bodies feel the dirt.

—

The title of this fic comes from the song Pluto by Sleeping At Last (I KNOW IT FITS SO WELL)

I actually went down a rabbit hole about African voodoo when researching this fic and I thought it was very interesting to I'm going to share it with you now:

Gris-Gris is a term originating in West Africa that can either refer to a specific talisman or "bewitch," although the latter term was used in primarily Louisiana. It was brought to the US by slaves, who practiced black magic on their masters. It was passed down over generations, and became popular in Louisiana in the 1900s. (There is more, but for the sake of this authors note that us all I am going to say)

If you are curious, Hecate is the "force" that was causing Marie to flip through those spell books lmao. I couldn't put that in because she didn't know

Anyways, thank you for reading!