Title: That Gum You Like is Going to Come Back in Style

Rating: T+ (Will probably go up to M)

Warnings: Language, violence, age difference relationships (no one under 18 will be paired with an older person), mentions of abuse

Genres: Non-Magical AU, Canon Divergence

Spoilers: All 7 HP books just in case (for character backstories, deaths, etc.), but probably not.

Summary: Godric's Hollow is a strange town. Very strange, indeed. Isolated and hundreds of miles from the nearest city, it has always been equipped with necessities suitable to its inhabitants: a grocery store and weekly farmers markets, medical center, police station, schools, library, along with various places of entertainment. But with every small town comes its secrets, and Godric's Hollow is no stranger to them. And along with its secrets, a small town knows how to keep to itself. So when several of the town's children go missing and one is found dead, it is up to its police department (headed by detectives Potter and Black) to take the investigation into their own hands. Inspired by Twin Peaks. Title is a quote from Twin Peaks. Marauders are in their early 30s and Harry's generation are about 9 or 10.

Subplots include: The Order is a secret society dedicated to researching strange phenomenon that shouldn't be—particularly events and beings existing right in the hollow and in the woods surrounding it. The Death Eaters are an old mafia who found affluence running illegal activities and substances through the town since its inception.

Disclaimer: I own absolutely none of these characters (Thanks, JK Rowling!). I'm just bored and wanting to share this weird headcanon. I don't own Twin Peaks, either. LE sigh. (Thanks, David Lynch and Mark Frost!).

Sirius Black is smoking a cigarette with a nudie magazine balancing on one knee. He taps his foot rhythmically to the dull radio sounds in the background and when it switches over to the typical late-night advertising, When our Lord and Savior returns, will YOU be one of the millions LEFT BEHIND?

He stares at the pages without really seeing them, flipping to the next one occasionally, and mutters, "Yeah, probably."

He blows smoke out of the cracked window of the small room. This is his and James Potter's shared office. The close confines has never bothered either of them seeing as how they've been the closest of friends since they can remember. It only seemed appropriate that they both became attracted to the same career path and ended up together. Great minds think alike and they'd done great things on the force while so young and in such a short period of time that it only made sense to the Godric's Hollow Police Department and town itself that the two become it's lead detectives, second to only its sheriff, Alastor Moody. Sirius always wondered what his and James' respective parents would have thought to see them rise above all expectations. Sirius, when young, thought he and James should be destined for nothing lesser than being great football stars, leading the nation during every World Cup. He still smirks at the thought. This is pretty great too, yeah?

It is only when the doorknob rattles left then right, then shakes, following James yelling,
"Dammit, Sirius, why is the door locked again?!" that Sirius straightens up in his seat, throws the magazine at the coat rack to when it hits the floor in a concealed lump of mangled and tangled pages.

"Er!" He licks his thumb and forefinger, pinching the cherry at the tip of the cigarette before throwing it out the window. He ignores the singed stinging at his fingertips even though the action had been pretty exciting and probably looked cool. The last time he did threw a cigarette out the window without extinguishing the small flame, a medium sized bush caught fire and he grinned, sweaty and lying, at James saying no of course not, he wasn't smoking INSIDE. He didn't know how the bush was on fire and maybe they should call someone about that because it was getting quite lively out there.

"Sirius!"

Sirius slams the window shut and starts spraying trashy cologne on his desk, on his chair, on James' chair, on his head, ass, and into a cross on his chest. He kisses the bottle before setting it down and unlocking the door and cracking it enough to see the face on the other side.

"What in the bloody hell have you been doing in here? What is this?" James motions towards Sirius' face and the hand covering his mouth.

"Uh, nosebleed."

"A nosebleed?" Eyebrows disappear into hairline.

Sirius nods and looks over James' shoulder and at the bathroom across from their ajar door.

"A nosebleed." James echoes flatly. He pushes himself into the room. "Honestly, Sirius—HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING IN HERE AGAIN? THE BUSH YOU CAUGHT FIRE TO LAST MONTH WASN'T ENOUGH TO TEACH YOU YOU NEED TO DO THIS OUTSIDE?!"

"But it's cold outside, James!"

"But you probably sat here next to the window and let the gust of wind come in and numb your face." James could see Sirius in his home, falling asleep while smoking a cigarette, burning his house down, unaware and burning up with it. He could see himself and Frank Longbottom (fireman chief) rolling up onto the scene, but being too late and finding only Sirius' motorbike untarnished by the flames as he always kept it parked on the other side of the street.

"You smoke, as well!"

"Yeah, outside." It was one of James' side projects to start getting Sirius to smoke outside. Hell, smoking outside in the winter was helping James cut back significantly to where he hoped to quit soon—he hoped this would work for his best mate, eventually.

Sirius huffs and throws himself back down into his leather chair and crosses his arms. James hangs his pea-coat on a hook behind the now-closed door.

"And you know I don't care that you smoke inside sometimes. It's just so tiny in here and what makes it unbearable is the fucking spray you use after!"

"Hey, I use that on myself and you've always told me that I smell nice."

James pretends he doesn't hear this and busies himself with the Rolodex on his desk.

Sirius glares and stands up. He opens the door so as to air out the room. James is right. It smells awful when used on a room, the cologne.

"Oy, James, ready to make the rounds?" He unhooks his fleece quarter zip light scarlet pullover (adorned with gold corduroy elbow patches) and pops the collar. DET. S. Black GHPD is stitched in a badass font on the left of his chest and the Police Department badge is pressed under it with GODRIC'S HOLLOW arched over the top. Under the pullovers is the standard uniform: white button down shirt tucked into charcoal gray slacks, gray socks, gray oxfords.

James looks up at him with a sideways smile and nods. The evening rounds. Patrolling back roads and alleys in between houses and garages to make sure no asinine shenanigans happen. Mostly the evening rounds consist of catching people in embarrassing situations more so than criminalizing ones, but always a pleasure, regardless.

He shrugs into his own pullover, "Let's go."

Remus Lupin is carting books away from behind the head librarian's desk when he checks the clock. It's a quarter to nine and he's already thinking about closing up shop, even though he really ought to stay open until nine. Knew I was a bit early at doing this, but oh well, I suppose. He scratches at the back of his neck almost nervously and exhales a breath he wasn't aware had built up. The windows show darkness has fallen outside a long time ago and the miniscule glare of light from under a nearby streetlight shows that a sideways misting of rain has started up. He shivers and buttons his light brown argyle cardigan and shakes the sleeves back down to his wrist.

The day hadn't been particularly awful, he muses, although there's still time enough for it to go that way. This isn't the sort of job one dreads when one wakes up in the morning and knows that it's time to get ready for work. Remus' anxiety has given him a hard time finding a job that he particularly enjoys and doesn't dread waking up for. He remembers back when he served in a restaurant in his late teenaged years and always shudders at less than fond memories.

The quality of his days back then relied heavily upon his supervisor's mood, which was almost always foul, which almost always led everything to be taken out on Remus. There'd been a gnawing sickness at the pit of his stomach most mornings back then and he'd been sick some days before going in. He couldn't even enjoy his evenings once his shifts ended because he still had to come back the next day. And weekends went all too fast, laughing at him as they turned into Monday. But he'd needed the work there until school started up again. August was a blessing in those days.

No, the library was fine work. Just his speed, and it seemed to keep him a bit sheltered from the outside world at times when he didn't even realize he needed it. Sometimes, though, there are unruly patrons and that makes some days less enjoyable than others. And some days, you have to deal with a Malfoy or two. And some days, they came at night when you were alone at the assistants were gone for the evening and you were looking forward to having a glass of wine in your small apartment after work.

"My son tells me that he owes this…" Lucius Malfoy's grey eyes trace the interior of the first floor. He probably sees every particle of dust and is taking inventory, "place some money." His eyes blink rapidly and then widen in derision as his grimace turns into acute smugness, "Which I now understand. You obviously are in dire need of some sort of, ah, maintenance?" His eyes flicker to the dim lights towards the back of some shelves off to the side.

Remus clears his throat and looks up at Malfoy, "I'm sure we've an extra light-bulb around here to change that with," he offers a small smile. "But the real issue at hand is your son's treatment of library materials. Draco has a nasty habit of keeping the newest books outrageously past due. He hardly ever returns them and when he does, it is in extremely poor condition. Other peoples' names are on a waitlist for the new arrivals and seeing as how this is a public library, we all must learn how to take turns and to not, ah, hoard." Remus catches Malfoy's slight nostril flare of disgust.

"Surely, these fees are a joke," Malfoy all but whispers between clenched teeth. "I've not heard of a single person actually paying fees in all my time being aware of these places."

"This is no joke, I assure you, Mr. Malfoy. Each patron reserves the right to check out books, especially the newer ones, in the best condition possible. It is extremely disrespectful, the defacing and juvenile, amateurish graffiti found on the pages on the books your son actually returns. Draco's account has been blocked because he has, quite admirably I must add, reached the outstanding fee limit of $150 for children's and young adult books. Something that hasn't been done in my almost ten years of being here." Remus glares politely at the small white headed and scowling boy dressed in what looked like a Brooks Brothers for kids three-piece suit minus the jacket. "Perhaps the greatest lesson that can be taught to Draco here is what acceptable behavior is and is not." Remus looks Malfoy directly in his cold eyes. "I trust you will find a way to fit that into your busy schedule."

"My busy schedule," Malfoy spat, "Is none of your concern."

"No, you see that is where you are incorrect, Mr. Malfoy. It is my concern when you march in here not ten minutes before closing time and try to talk your son out of trouble when it is my duty at this time to take care of this building and make sure it is ready for everyone by morning. It is my concern when the wealthiest man in town, who fights every year to evade taxes even, thinks $150 is an outrageous amount of money to spend on something." You are an outrageous man, Mr. Malfoy. "Pay the fee. Make your son get a summer job mowing lawns to pay you back. This is what actual families do, Mr. Malfoy."

"And what," Malfoy grits his teeth and digs around in his wallet for the exact amount of cash to cover Draco's outstanding fee, "would you know about family?"

Remus swallows and locks the money Malfoy slaps into his hand away. "Draco's library privileges will be restored within forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Processing fees takes time."

Malfoy grips his sleek black cane with the solid skull-carved pewter, lips a thin and almost invisible line. "Come, Draco."

Slamming the door proves impossible and Remus smiles to himself. He goes over to lock the entrance and pull the shades over the glass windows. He backs into the shades and slides down, ignoring the jittering sound his cardigan makes against them until he is sitting, hugging his knees to his chest to stop his hands from shaking.

There were some people who had the talent to make him feel like a teenager again, and not in the good and cliché way.

"Dets," Molly Weasley, the head dispatcher called at Sirius and James when they returned from a fruitless evening of rounds. "Something in the mailbox for you."

"Who's it from?" James asks through a furrowed brow.

"Yeah, we never get mail. Unless it's a Christmas card," Sirius says hopefully in a joking manner, knowing full well that Christmas is all but three months and some change away.

Molly offers a kind smile. She looks far more tired these days than she ever has, even when the twins were much younger and Arthur, deputy sheriff, had longer nights at the precinct. I would be tired too, Molly, thinks James while pondering the youngest and only daughter of the Weasley children, if I had more than one kid. I don't know how you and Arthur do it, and do it quite well.

Sirius takes the unmarked envelope and turns it in his hands, "Probably a joke, you know," he remarks about the blank whiteness.

"Open it," James urges.

Sirius, with deft fingers, opens it perfectly without tearing it or roughing any of the edges. He pulls out a folded piece of paper and shakes it open. Both detectives tilt their heads to the side when they see it is not written or typed, but a collage of words cut from glossy magazines and newspapers bearing an anonymous message:

A long time ago, someone told me that when I grew up, I would be surprised with what I could live with. I always thought they were wrong and I always wanted to prove them wrong. I thought I would grow up to be outstanding, above immorality and treachery, shining and not burning, with a brave heart. And I think it took me to realize that all the moments after those instances of grandiose daydreams, I was not yet grown.

But I am grown now. And I am going to do great things. Terrible, but great things, and I will be brave to go far and take these things far.

As of now, I am not surprised by the 'awful' things I can live with, as I was told I would be so long ago. I want to see how far I can go. I want to see if I really am able to surprise myself. Perhaps I will surprise you along the way,

Detectives. Let's see if you can stop me. Let the games commence.

"Holy shit," James murmurs.

With wide eyes, Sirius nods in agreement.