John Lupin went to muggle London to escape the world of magic, only to find more magic than he'd ever known.
Disclaimer: I don't own HP, MWPP, or the song Where is Love from Oliver!
Chapter 1-
The grandfather clock in the corner struck 10:00. The sun had long since set and the shop had closed hours ago. John was just finishing a set of dress robes for the wife of a Ministry official, an old loyal customer of his mum's. Lush, deep blue fabric slipped through his bony fingers as he finished the beaded detailing on the cuffs of the sleeves. Pulling the needle through one last time, he bit off the thread and tied a knot. Finally, he draped the finished product over the mannequin and stepped back to observe his work. He could've easily used magic and done the job in half the time, but he had been taught that no wand waving could compare to a hand-stitched garment.
There was no doubt John knew his way around a needle and thread. His mum was one of the most talented seamstresses of both the magic and muggle world before her eyes started giving out. When that happened, he knew it was the end of his dreams of working for the Ministry, or travelling the world, or well…anything. He had some of the highest N.E.W.T scores in his year. He had been a prefect. Everyone- be it teacher or student- told him that he was going places, and he had believed them. But what could he do? He couldn't let his mother starve and he couldn't let his little sister go without school supplies. He took over the shop, working from the break of dawn until his candle dwindled long after sunset. It was becoming clear to him how his mum had lost her eyesight so early on.
He was exhausted. All he wanted was to go to bed, but he couldn't bring himself to climb the stairs to the cramped loft over the shop where his family lived. The shop felt smaller than usual, and he was suffocating. It wasn't fair! His classmates were out there carving their own destinies, and there he was unable to decide anything for himself. He was angry at his mum for keeping him here, angry at his sister for needing him so much, and angry at himself for feeling so selfish. The rational part of his mind knew it wasn't anyone's fault. Fate had brought him in to a family that was significantly less fortunate than most. But Fate wasn't concrete or tangible and that was the part he found most frustrating.
After staring for a long while at the staircase, he made up his mind to climb up to the loft; only not to sleep as he'd originally intended. He rummaged through his trunk (the same one he had kept at Hogwarts) and pulled out a pair of slacks, a plain white button down, and a worn black coat with a hidden space to conceal his wand. From the pocket in the trousers he extracted a small pouch with a few muggle pounds. John slipped into his guise and quietly made his way back down the stairs and out the door.
The crisp, sharp wind sliced at his face and hands. John hissed involuntarily, but he otherwise ignored it and continued on the well-known path to muggle London. It was where he'd go when things became too much to handle. There, he could be hidden in plain sight. Each time he'd find a different pub and take on a different name to avoid being recognized. He'd talk as little as possible and drown himself in gin. It helped that he had a very average appearance; mousy brown hair, slightly angular bone structure, and no memorable features to speak of. Neither ugly nor particularly handsome, he was just average. There was a degree of comfort in being completely anonymous that he didn't fully understand. Not that he cared to. It probably wasn't the healthiest way to cope anyway.
The tired young man craned his neck, looking for a pub he hadn't been to yet. When he reached the street corner, he heard music pouring from a little hole in the wall about a block away. While he was fairly certain he had been there before, something about the rich sound of piano keys being struck by what were obviously highly trained fingers drew him in. Besides, it had been a while, no one would remember him. John followed the entrancing song to the door. The music mingled in the air with the deep laughter and rumbling voices of businessmen dowsing their troubles in scotch and gin. The incoherency of it all was soothing, and with a small smile, he pushed open the door- adding small tinkling bells to the discordant symphony.
Then he saw the artist seated at the piano bench and froze in the doorway. She was beautiful. More than beautiful- she was a work of art herself, a piece of the very music she played. He slowly entered the room and took seat at the bar to get a closer look. He could see her cheeks flush brightly against her fair skin when the music increased in intensity. Her honey colored curls rested on her slender shoulders. She had brown eyes. Under any other circumstance that would be a rather average color, but on her…on her it was the most exquisite color he'd ever seen.
He couldn't help but notice how the tip of her tongue poked out of the corner of her lips as she became lost in the music. Initially he assumed she was concentrating on the sheet music in front of her, or on the placement of her hands, but when he looked closer, he saw that her eyes were looking towards the ceiling as a melodious giggle escaped her lips. She didn't even need to glance at the piano. Slender fingers danced across the keys, as if on their own accord. Watching her play…it was more magic than he had seen in all seven years at Hogwarts.