Queen of Hearts

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own a copy of every HP book, but the content of those stories themselves belongs to some brilliantly divine source I'm not even sure is human (She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named).

"Is this your card?" The twin on the left smirked, holding up a Queen of Hearts. I couldn't fight off a grin while my head rocked back and forth in disbelief.

"Yes," I said through a light laugh, plucking the rectangular royal from the boy's fingers and examining it for myself. There were no signs of trickery: no bizarre patterns, bent corners, discoloration, or added markings. I didn't understand how they did it; it was like real magic!

"Good card, that is," the ginger on the right said, nodding at my pick. "Queen of Hearts. Quite fitting, don't you think, George?"

"Definitely," the boy on the left agreed readily, his expression solemn. "The only card in the deck that does you any justice, I reckon. You're a heart-breaker, you are."

I bit my lip, trying to keep from giggling like a school girl. I had dealt with my fair share of flirts, of course, but this new double-teamed tactic was almost more than I could handle. Who could really resist identical twins, after all? "And what makes you say that, Mr. Weasley?"

The boy on the left made a show of putting a hand to his chest in horror. His counterpart gasped and took advantage of his open mouth, rebutting with, "'Mr. Weasley,' you say? Don't tell me you still can't tell us apart, dearest Camryn!"

Flushing a little, I averted my eyes. I knew one was Fred and the other George, but it was identifying which was which that I had trouble with. But, not wanting to disappoint, I squinted towards both of them in turn, trying to find some sort of difference between them.

It was a lost cause. They were completely congruent down to the very last freckle.

However, I did remember that the one on the right had addressed his brother as George earlier on.

"Not quiet, Frederick," I proclaimed with utmost pride. Both boys raised their brows, not looking as impressed as I had hoped they would.

"A fluke," Fred said dryly, seeing right through my reasoning.

"We're wizards, Camryn. You can't use those simple muggle tricks with us," George finished off. I snorted.

"Where do you two get these ideas from? Honestly," I voiced, rolling my eyes as I leaned forward on the counter. "You're always calling yourselves wizards and saying that I'm nothing but a 'muggle,' whatever that is. Haven't you given up on those fairy tales yet?"

No matter how charismatic, the fact that these two were constantly giving credit of their genius to some form of witchery was getting a little tiring. Did they think that I would still believe in magic at eighteen years old?

"Rubbish," Fred waved off easily. "That's the problem with you muggles: there's magic all over the place, but you lot just can't see what's right in front of you."

I didn't exactly understand what he meant, but that didn't stop me from drawing back and narrowing my stare. It sounded enough like an insult to justify that reaction.

George seemed to take my side in the argument, jabbing an elbow into his brother's side with a warning glance before smiling impishly at my ruffled posture.

"Don't mind this git, Camryn. His behavior just further proves that I really am the better half," George said, nodding with confidence. He hunched forward, plopping an elbow on the counter and resting his cheek to his fist. "No one can resist my debonair charm. Wouldn't you agree?"

I broke. Chagrin dispersing, I stood up from my seat (with him leaning in like that, the proximity was a little uncomfortable), flicking some imaginary lint off my plain black tee-shirt. "Yes, you're certainly... bewitching."

George grinned. "'Course I am. Are you under my spell yet?"

"Ahem."

The twins turned around, craning their necks downward to stare at the stout old man frowning from behind them. After a second's pause they both stepped aside and allowed the man through to the counter.

"I'm sorry, sir," I smiled, trying my best to look and sound contrite; my stomach was genuinely sinking as I took note of his obvious displeasure. In return for the apology I merely received a grunt, so I hurried to ring up and pack his purchases, mortified that I was caught in such an unprofessional position while on the job. After handing the man his bag and change, wishing him a Happy Holiday (to which he shot me a scowl) and expressing my thanks for the business the man was off again, waddling to the doors and making his way out of the shop, leaving the tension of his presence in his wake. The three of us remaining followed his back with our eyes until it disappeared in the crowd outside.

"Miserable old bloke, wasn't he?" Fred commented, scratching his cheek absent-mindedly.

"I suppose he's not going home to a beautiful woman tonight," George sighed, leaning back against the register. I smacked his shoulder lightly, shooing him away from my station as I made my way around the check-out counter to stand before the boys.

"He was upset because you two were holding up his shopping," I chastised, placing my hands to my hips in a classic scolding pose. The two were clearly well acquainted with the stance.

"Oh no, George, she's turning into Mum already," Fred drawled, looking to his brother in faux dismay. "We seem to have that unfortunate effect on woman."

"Speak for yourself," George countered. "She thinks I'm 'bewitching'."

"She's also hit you twice today. I, dear brother, remain unscathed."

"Love taps, they were."

"Enough," I said with a groan, wishing I could actually be angry with them. I scanned the store quickly for any other costumers (I knew there was no one else in the vicinity, with the shop being as small as it was, but it was an instinctual impulse) before grabbing a wrist in each of my hands and leading the twins to the door. "You two are distracting me. I'm supposed to be working."

"How rude," Fred huffed, falsely affronted. "You're kicking us out, are you? We are customers!"

"Neither of you have bought anything in weeks."

"But we do bring humor into your life. That gift it priceless."

"Shut up and leave."

I released them at the front of the store, stepping back and crossing my arms with an expectant expression. I didn't mean to be so assertive, but it wouldn't be good for any of us if they were caught loitering around the counter. My boss (who also happened to be my father) didn't appreciate the boys hanging around so often - they disturbed the dullness of the shop.

"Fine, fine," Fred said airily, making the first move to step forward and open the door. He hesitated in the threshold, turning back and tilting his chin up. "Aren't you going to wish me a Happy Holiday?"

"Manners are reserved for the shoppers who pay me," I sneered, succeeding in making the act sound sincere. I ushered Fred into the street and attempted to push George out after him. The boy was stubborn, though, easily over-powering my efforts and holding me anchored at his side.

"What is it?" I asked with a furrowed brow, fighting to keep my expression firm. It was hard not to break out into googly eyes being that close to George (or any boy, really.) He and his brother, while strange and somewhat immature, weren't exactly the type of boys I would dismiss at first glance; that is to say, they weren't lacking as far as physical appearances go.

Glancing through the glass door quickly, George bend down to my level and whispered, "You can kiss me goodbye now, Darling. We don't have to tell Fred."

I knew there was no hope of forcing down my blush at those bold words. Instead, I simply used every ounce of strength in me to shove him out the of the shop and into the chilled December air, slamming the door shut behind him.

With the two troublemakers out of sight, I made my way back to the counter, taking deep breaths and trying to gather my wits. If I didn't know any better, I'd have to admit that the Weasleys did have a kind of hocus pocus running through their blood. They certainly had a spellbinding effect on me, for whatever reason.

After I had completed the sixth form, I'd decided to take a break from my studies and stand back for a moment; I was in no hurry to grow up and wanted to spend a bit more time enjoying myself before going off to a university. My father, of course, wasn't particularly pleased with my decision. As a compromise, we negotiated that I would work in his paper shop during the day so that I wasn't lounging around and wasting away. It was an incredibly bland job, as I quickly found out, that drained my energy like a leech with its lack of excitement. The store (Regan's Press, named after our family's surname) wasn't large by any means and was stacked from floor to ceiling with more printing goods than I had even known existed. There weren't normally a plethora of customers, but this time of year was the one of the largest rushes; we sold our fair share of wrapping papers and greeting cards during the Christmas season. The only other time when business seemed to boom was around September when the local schools started up. All the months between the two were about as exciting as clipping your toe nails.

Unless, of course, the Weasley twin decided to stop by.

The ironic thing was, my father had once joked about having me man the shop for the sole purpose of attracting some male consumers. While he had only said it as an off-handed attempt at comicality, he was none too thrilled when Fred and George made it a habit of stopping in simply to stand before the register and chat. He was even less amused when they would stay for hours performing the spectacular card tricks that left me in awe.

Honestly, as much as I denied it out loud, magic had always fascinated me, even then I was a child. My first crush, actually, was on the magician David Copperfield. I would watch him on television ritually and marvel at the miracles he managed to pull off. I grew more and more skeptical as I matured, of course, but seeing similar stunts right before my own eyes brought every bit of enthusiasm towards the craft pouring back in with renewed vigor.

I had to find out how they did it; I needed to watch closely and look for the secret. There was no such thing as magic. There were only illusions.

I hadn't been able to uncover anything yet, though. As hard as I tried there never seemed to be any other explanation for Fred and George's talents other than the supernatural. They offered no hints, only reinforcing their annoying wizarding claim. But that was absurd, so I simply convinced myself that not knowing how they did the things they did was better than driving myself mad trying to figure out how they did them. I didn't care anymore, it was all just for laughs. Whether the twins really were male witches or just professional shysters didn't matter as long as they brought a little bit of light into my day.

The only problem was how miserable I became when they left. Like now.

Without their unique means if distraction, there really wasn't much else for me to do but take my seat behind the counter and find some way to entertain myself between the irregular clients that wandered in. Per usual, I found my thoughts drifting to the twins themselves as I dealt out my seventh game of solitaire. I wondered what it was they did when they weren't pestering me here. Were they employed as well? Did they work nearby and only stroll in when their shifts were over for a pick-me-up?

I also thought about their family. Did they have any siblings? Those two seemed to be quite the handful, and I imagined that if there were more than two Weasley children running around Ottery St. Catchpole then their parents deserved my blessings. I knew the family must have lived relatively near by, so it was strange that I had never come across the name Weasley over the course of my life. Why had I never met Fred and George in school? Where had they gotten their education?

I chuckled silently, brooding over the possibilty that they had attended some arcane sorcery school that was hidden from us "muggles". Something told me that was exactly the answer I would get if I tried to ask them about it directly.

With a mighty exhale I flipped over another three cards in my hand, bringing up a Queen of Hearts on the final flip. I paused for a moment before smiling, lifting the card up once again for inspection and twirling it in my fingers. What was it George had meant when he said this card related to me? A heart-breaker, he had called me. But what exactly did he mean by it? There was nothing wrong with fluttering my eye lashes a little; we were teenagers. We flirt, we fight, we fall in love. Fall in lust. That was life.

At this stage I was perfectly free to "play my hand", so to speak. I didn't want to be tied down at all. I wanted to enjoy my youth while it was still there. Now was the time to discover myself and have some adventure, immoral or not. Maybe I was a heart-breaker that lead boys on from time to time, but that was perfectly fine. I was still young and entitled to a bit of fun. I had the rest of my life to be responsible and honest, after all. These last few years of my teens were made for a bit of rebellion before I was forced to grow up. I had no worries for a while and I would bask in my ignorance for as long as it lasted.

So then, George Weasley, perhaps you got it right. That's me: I am Camryn Jensen Regan, the Queen of Hearts.

Thirty minutes. That was all that separated me from 17:00. Only thirty minutes until my shift ended. I longed for that freedom more than anything, and that was probably the reason for time slowing down.

I wondered if I should just give up and close the store early. What were the odds of someone walking in now anyway? It was the hour when the day began winding down and families prepared for dinner. I doubted anyone would coincidentally be in dire need of envelopes at this point in the evening.

Feeling anarchistic, I tip-toed my way the the front of the store, knowing that I was the only living person currently housed in the establishment. It wasn't so bad, really. I only had to turn a switch, flip a sign, and I could be sitting in front of the telly in two minutes. Who would know? My father wouldn't be home until around 18:00. All I had to do was...

The door opened only seconds before my fingers were to touch the lock. I jumped back on reflex with a gasp, my heart racing and mouth babbling in panic.

"WelcometoRegan'sPress-"

"Greeting people isn't a requirement for this job, Camryn," my father chortled, stepping into the store and pulling off his scarf. My body began to right itself, having been going haywire from the fright. My father regarded me with an odd look, taking notice of my abnormal breathing pattern. "What were you doing 'ere by the door anyway?"

"Oh," I said, finding it easy to throw together a fib, even when under pressure, "I was just taking a look outside. The snow's pretty, isn't it?"

Dad scoffed, sliding off his coat and tossing it haphazardly onto the rack beside the entrance. "Beautiful, but bloody freezing. What's say we call it an early day, eh? I'll make us some 'ot chocolate."

I grinned, both out of the irony and the suggestion itself. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

My father and I shared a modest flat directly above the paper shop that had beein in the family since before I was born. We had lived in the building for the entirety of my life, hiring anyone from the elderly to rookie teens to handle things in the store while I was in school and he was working as an electrician. In other words, the place was old and boring.

As far as I could remember, it had always just been my father and I. I obviously must have had a mother at one point in time, but my father was pretty adamant about avoiding the subject. He had granted me enough information to know that she died when I was very young (young enough not to recall her at all, apparently) and that keeping any photos of her around the house had been too painful for him. As a child I was both troubled and intrigued by his vague explanations, but I eventually grew out of my inquisitiveness towards the subject and just accepted things as they were. One thing I did know about the woman who birthed me was that she passed her facial features down to me. I sometimes wondered if my father meant to make me feel guilty when he would send whistful stares towards my chestnut curls every so often.

"How was your day?" the middle-aged man asked, bent over a pan of stir-fry on the stove. I chopped vegetables on the counter a bit away.

"Fine," came the universal answer. I didn't like talking too much when there was a sharp object in my hands. "As good as things can get when I'm gradually losing my mind."

My father snorted. "I take it those boy showed up again, eh?"

I froze. "Well... yeah."

My slicing grew much slower after that, as I concentrated more on the conversation than speedy dicing. I didn't really understand why my father didn't like me hanging around the twins - well, no, I did. I knew that no father liked their daughter fraternizing with young men, but mine seemed to have a particular vendetta against the two ginger bothers. I supposed it was because the only time the twins and I spoke was when I was on the job and they were stopping in, interrupting my shift and taking my focus away from the store itself. Not to mention the fact that I was being "seduced" on my father's own turf; that had to be a stab to his pride.

My dad sighed, poking at the sautéing chiken idly. "Did they at least buy something this time?"

"Yeah. Some stationary."

As long as we were getting some financial benefit out of my flirting, it seemed to help buffer the hard feelings. A harmless fib never hurt anyone.

"Why were you home early, anyway?" I asked, changing the subject. The question had been biting at me for a while and it seemed like as good a time as any to throw it out there.

"No one needed my electrical services today," Dad said nonchalantly. I saw through it, though, knowing that he felt at a loss when he wasn't hard at work a solid twelve hours a some reason (far beyond my understanding) he seemed to enjoy the exhaustion and complete lack of leisure time. "Not that I'm complaining, a' course. It's good to have a bit of a break every once in a while, eh?"

"Yep."

I could call a lie as easy as I could tell one.

After finishing up supper I found myself curled up in front of the television. The mug of cocoa in my hands served me as more of a toy at the moment, however, as I didn't find the prime-time news any more fascinating than my father's chatter.

"Unbelievable," he exhaled, seemingly enthralled with the chaos on the screen. "What's going on lately? The only things being reported these days are more mysterious murders, disappearances, destruction. When will a lad save a cat from a tree, eh?"

I snorted, taking a sip from my cup in an attempt to cover the act up. I suppose I couldn't really blame my father for taking the terror lightly; I wasn't any better. At first all of the disastrous happenings had commanded the undivided attentions of both of us (my father and I), but as the months flew by our interest was left behind with them. I knew that it was inhumane, in a way, but when this sort of hullabaloo highlighted the news on a daily basis it just seemed less and less impressive.

I had seen the film Cloverfied recently; if a giant alien droped from the sky to reek havoc in America then I'd be excited to tune in again.

"Change the channel, Dad," I mumbled, my lips biting the edge of the mug out of habit. "I'm tired of hearing 'bout all this depressing stuff."

"Blimey, Cam, that's a horrible thing to say. People are dying."

I held my father's stare for a long moment until he gave up, holding the remote out and flicking up a few channels. "'S'not like I wanted to listen to another story about buildings blowing up either," he justified. "Let's just be thankful it's not us."

And so, instead, we spent the next thirty minutes with a family comedy series. It was much more entertaining.

(A/N) -Sigh- Another story written purely on whim as a result of summer boredom. Personally I lean a bit more towards Fred when it comes to my liking of the twins, but I wanted to avoid the inevitable angst that comes with a Fred/OC fic these days and the AU ending that I'd be deeply tempted to do. So, because of the fact that George is following VERY closely behind as my second favorite twin, here you go. I never agreed with Rowling pairing him off with Angelina anyway!

I should mention that I'm an American; I don't know how many things in Europe work, including the schooling. I wrote that Camryn finished sixth form, and from what I understand that would be the last two years of High School, meaning she'd be off to college as the next step. If I'm wrong about that please feel free to correct me! Also, you might have guessed that I got this idea from the line in Half-Blood Prince when George mentions a pretty girl in the paper store who likes his card tricks. Again, I am simply assuming that a paper store is just that: a shop that sells various paper goods and office supplies. I've only read a handful of George/OC fics before, so I apologise if this idea isn't as clever as I thought it was and has already been done before ^_^

Also, this story will be one of my back-burner fics; unless it gets super popular or something, it won't be a forerunner on my priorities and I may not update it very often. So until next time, take care everyone! Review, if you'd like :D