Disclaimer: Nope. Definitely do not own Harry Potter. That belongs entirely to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended with this story.
Summary: It was the very worst case of 'wrong place, wrong time.' After a dangerous and completely accidental encounter thrusts Kate Williams into the wizarding world, she's forced to take refuge at one Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The only problem is, she's very much a Muggle. And a certain dark-haired Marauder is dead set on loathing her right from the start. This is a story of two damaged hearts coming together to mend the other. This is a story of belief in the impossible. There's no such thing as magic? Are you watching closely? Good. Now look again.
AN: Woo-hoo, new story time! As usual there are a few vital things you should know first off:
True to my fashion, I am going to take canon, mash it up into a little ball, and throw it right over my figurative shoulder. This story is definitely AU, folks. However, there will be no OOC-ness, or at least no intentional OOC-ness. I just want to play around with the wonderful characters Jo gave us and place them in different situations than we've seen before. :D Canon is great, don't get me wrong, but it's been done. And it's been done well. Thus concludes my logic of venturing once more into AU land.
So, what exactly does that mean, you ask? I'll keep it simple.
Time frame: Post-Final Battle. Voldemort is dead. Good guys won. All is (sort of) well.
Sirius: Not dead. Pardoned. Still not the wizarding world's favorite person (more on that to come).
Remus, Tonks, and a few others the late hour is preventing me from remembering: Also not dead. You're psyched, admit it.
The Order: Alive and well (I clearly have issues with death). Just because Voldie's dead doesn't mean there aren't still baddies out there. More on that later too.
Basically, I'm going to largely ignore/gloss over a lot of what happened in the last book. It's not really integral to the story. Gah, I feel like I'm rambling. Just trust me. Everything'll make sense. :D I swears. As always, questions are welcome and reviews are absolutely cherished. Read on, lovelies!
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Magicked – v. to magic – to be influenced, affected, and/or changed by the art of magic; to believe that which was once thought impossible, often used in reference to Muggles who have been introduced to the wizarding world; dazzled, enchanted, spellbound.
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"Five minutes 'till show time folks!"
The grating voice of the stagehand filled the miniscule space behind the theater, and Kate Williams heaved her tenth tired sigh of the day at the sound. Dark eyes were lifted to the mirror before her one last time, and a grimace took over the girl's expression at the sight of her nearly unrecognizable reflection. Not only did she feel like a clown (which, really, was bad enough), she was entirely certain she looked like one.
Heavy stage makeup encased her features like a mask. Pink rouge covered fair skin, lips were stained a deep red, dark liner and false lashes weighed down sad brown eyes. Drowning eyes. And to top it all off, the icing on the ridiculous cake, a platinum blonde wig, every strand of gleaming gold held stiffly in place with pounds of hairspray. It covered her natural, not quite as ostentatious or brilliant, chestnut brown locks and weighed her down oppressively.
And for what felt like the millionth time, Kate wondered how the hell she ever got here. Wondered how her life had suddenly become so very meaningless and fake. Fake as the mask she donned every time she stepped out onto the stage.
But what else could she expect? She was a magician's assistant, of all the inane, pathetic things. Everything about the job was fake. The trap doors, the smiles sent in the audience's direction, her hair…even the magic itself. Clever tricks and illusions, sleights of the hand…that's all it was. Nothing more.
But it wasn't just the job, she knew. It certainly added to the emptiness that was her life, but it wasn't everything. Briefly, a handsome, grinning face flashed through her thoughts, but she pushed the image away as quickly as it had come. This act of immediate dismissal was familiar to her by now.
Michael…
The sandy-haired man often shoved his way into her mind whenever she let it wander too long. Every feature was distinguishable in that instant when she allowed his image to invade her thoughts. The angled face, the perfectly formed lips, clean shaven chin, the golden hair falling angelically across piercing blue eyes filled with love…
Love for someone else. Love for her...
And that's when the dream would end. That's when she would wrench herself out of her dangerous, crushing thoughts, but never quite quick enough to prevent the icy cold feeling of dejection from gripping her heart.
Or what was left of it, at least.
Quickly she busied herself with last minute touch-ups to her painted face, though it was more for show than anything else. A half-hearted attempt to distract her mind from dwelling on the past. Her old life. The life she'd run away from. This was supposed to be her fresh start. Her clean slate. This was supposed to help her forget.
Too bad the magic tricks she helped perform couldn't rid her of the painful memories. Too bad a simple "abracadabra" couldn't wash away her heartache. A small, humorless laugh escaped her at these musings, and her eyes met those of the stranger in the mirror before her one last time.
"There's no such thing as magic," she whispered. The sound, soft and low, was barely audible over the announcer's booming voice.
It was show time.
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It was an odd contrast, the bright, golden light of the sun shining down upon the desolate and decrepit London street.
A gloom hung in the crisp air even with the afternoon rays illuminating the buildings below. A stray cat ran out from behind a trashcan in one of the many alleyways. A dog barked a steady rhythm somewhere off in the distance. Not a soul was to be seen enjoying the daylight. The street lined with grimy tenements was deserted.
But among those grimy tenements, hidden where no untrained eye could see, resided the headquarters of the wizarding coalition know as the Order. Within its walls, however, Number 12 Grimmauld Place was almost as gloomy and deserted as the street outside. And from a bedroom located deep within the once ostentatious abode, Sirius Black was awakening from the last vestiges of a disturbed slumber.
Sweat covered the chest and forehead of the man as he struggled against the images in his mind. Disheveled black hair covered most of his face—a result of the tossing and turning that had plagued him during the night. And when his gray eyes finally snapped open, they were as haunted and filled with despair as they had been all those years ago on the night that had changed his life forever…
A short, frustrated growl erupted from his throat as he sat up, interrupting the thought before it could fully form. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the large bed, willing the images the thought had brought with it from his mind. This act of immediate dismissal was familiar to him by now. It was easier to push the dark things aside.
Easy, he thought with a humorless snort. Right.
He ran two hands through his dark hair and rested his elbows on his knees as he sat on the edge of his bed. The bedroom was dark, though it was nearing noon outside. Sirius wondered and not for the first time whether it was worth getting out of bed at all. It wasn't as though he had important duties to attend to.
Another derisive snort escaped from him at the thought. No, his days of important duties were long gone. That was for certain. And so, it was with much reluctance that he lifted himself to his feet and dressed, not bothering to amend his bedraggled appearance for the trek downstairs.
Soft murmurings drifted towards him as he neared the kitchen, and he paused in the hallway just outside it to better hear what the voices were saying.
"He does nothing all day! Sleeps till noon, mopes around the house, snaps at everyone."
"Molly, you know how hard these past few years have been for him…"
"We've all had rough times! That is no excuse, Remus, and you know it!"
Sirius grimaced and debated turning around again and climbing back into bed. But this was his house, he reminded himself. And with that thought, he pushed open the door with what was perhaps a bit more force than was necessary and gave the two occupants of the kitchen a toothy grin, taking some satisfaction from the startled looks he received.
"Oh, hello. Didn't know you two were coming over for breakfast. Did I interrupt anything?" he asked in mock concern. "Please, do go on. I'll just be over here moping."
And with that, Sirius moved languidly to the cupboard where he grabbed himself a bowl and then began to scoop out some oatmeal into it that had been sitting in a pot on the stove. No doubt Molly had brought it over. He could almost feel her searing stare on the back of his head but ignored it as he poured a copious amount of sugar into the bowl and stirred.
He heard the indignant huff followed by the opening and closing of the kitchen door. Sure enough, Molly was nowhere to be seen when he finally turned around and took a seat at the kitchen table, bowl in hand.
"She's right you know," Remus said finally, breaking the silence.
Sirius ignored him, focusing instead on the oatmeal he was currently pushing around. He took a bite and had to silently commend Molly once again for her impressive culinary skills. That did not, however, stop him from thinking of her as a nagging old bother of a woman who had problems minding her own damn business.
"Moping," he muttered to himself, taking care to stab the oatmeal before him with particular vehemence. What does she know about anything…
"It's not good for you to stay cooped up here like you do, Sirius," Remus tried again, crossing his arms from where he leaned against the counter. A genuine look of concern for his friend encompassed his features. Sirius, however, met his eyes with a sharp glare.
"Oh?" he asked, a note of derisiveness in his deep voice. "And what do you suggest, dear friend? Should I go out there," he pointed in the direction of the house's entrance, "where they cower from me in fear and disgust? Where they hide their children when they see my face? Where I'm in danger any moment of having a Ministry member rescind the pardon and throw me right back into Azkaban?"
His eyes were darker now. Anger coursed through him as it always did when this subject came up. Remus, true to his nature, appeared as calm and collected as ever, letting Sirius go on with his tirade without the slightest hint of protest. And go on he did.
"You know nothing of what you speak," Sirius snapped. "I am as much a prisoner out there as I am in here. At least here I can go five minutes without a glare. Though that's quickly being amended thanks to Molly. Perhaps I'll move to Antarctica. What do you think, Remmy? Sound like a plan?"
"You wouldn't last a second in the cold," Remus replied without missing a beat. His mouth turned up at the corners a bit as Sirius merely snorted and returned to his meal. A silence fell over them both before Remus chanced to speak again.
"You know," he said, softer this time, "she's just concerned about you. We all are. If it were James telling you this, you would—"
"James isn't here!" Sirius said sharply, cutting Remus off before he could continue. His body had tensed and there was fury in his stormy gray eyes. "If he was, do you think I'd be like this in the first place? Not something you learned in your books, Professor?"
The word was spat out mockingly as Sirius clenched his jaw, never losing the heated expression that had crossed his face at the mere mention of James. Remus held his stare and there was something sad in his eyes, something like pity, as the silence thickened. Sirius saw it and immediately tore his gaze away, disgusted and feeling lower than he had in quite some time. He slid the bowl of oatmeal that had by now gone cold away from him and rose from the table in one fluid motion, refusing to meet his friend's eyes as he did so.
"I'm going back to bed," he said, glowering as he pushed his way through the kitchen door to once again disappear into the shadowy depths of his bedroom.
Remus watched him go, shoulders slumping a bit as Sirius' form disappeared from view. He had tried to help him. Was always trying to help him. But the fact of the matter was that Sirius just didn't want to be helped. And that hurt Remus more than anything. Watching his best friend sink deeper and deeper into solitude and depression was one of the hardest things he'd ever been through. But things just hadn't been the same after James and Lily died…
"I miss them too, you know," Remus said quietly into the empty kitchen.
Sighing, he turned to go, and as he made his way to the front door, he couldn't help but glance upward into the gloom of the stairwell of Grimmauld Place. And again he found himself wishing for there to be a way to change Sirius for the better. To get him to enjoy life the way he used to.
But that, Remus knew, would require a miracle. And miracles were one thing they were all running a bit short on these days. Another sigh escaped his lips, and with one last glance up the staircase, Remus was out the door, leaving the home as quiet and still as a tomb in his wake.
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Most days she can fake it. Most days no one suspects a thing.
Most days she's on time.
"I'm here!" Kate cried, barging through the café's entrance with heavy breaths and carelessly upswept hair. She was already tugging out her apron from the bag on her shoulder before she'd even reached the counter. Behind it, a thin, sharp-eyed woman with spiky blond hair was waiting with arms crossed.
"I think the entire United bloody Kingdom is now aware of that, thanks Kate," she said, trying to hide her wry smile. "You should announce it again though, just in case the Irish missed it."
"Sod off," Kate replied with a frown, struggling with the tie at her back.
"Now, is that any way to talk to your boss? No wait…I've got a better one. Is that any way for a late employee to talk to her boss?"
A cringe quickly replaced Kate's irritated expression. "You're right. I'm sorry Sam," she said with a half-sigh. "I had to stay late at the theater again last night. I didn't mean to sleep in, I swear, it's just my stupid, bloody alarm clock, the damn thing never—"
"Kate, relax," Sam said with a slight laugh. "I was only having a go. I can count the number of times you've been late on one hand." The blond rolled her eyes and grabbed a dishrag, wiping off the already gleaming café counter. "Besides, it's not like your services are direly needed this very brightest of mornings." Her sardonic tone was coupled with a short nod in the direction of the rest of the small shop, which was, like most days, decidedly empty save for one or two of the die hard regulars.
Kate surveyed the scene with another short sigh and tucked a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "No, I suppose not," she agreed quietly.
It seemed the shop was attracting a steadily lower amount of patrons with each day that passed, no doubt easily explained by the increase in larger, more popular businesses that had opened up around them. And yet even with the lack of customers and extremely sparse pay, Kate loved the small shop and its friendly atmosphere. Yes, it was small and unremarkable in every way, but it had found a place inside her heart since she'd taken up her friend Sam's offer of employment eight months ago.
"Drink that," a voice interrupted her musings, followed by a clinking sound. Kate turned, catching Sam's gesture towards a steaming cup she'd just placed on the counter for her. "You look dead on your feet. It'll help."
Kate smirked humorlessly, moving to a seat at the counter and wrapping her hands around the warm cup. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse. I was being kind," Sam replied with an easy half-smile. She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back against the shelves lined with displays of decorative tins of coffee and teas. Kate let out a soft snort and brought the cup of tea to her lips.
Peppermint. Sam knew her too well.
"Why are you even still working for that git?" her friend asked, brows furrowing in a movement clearly displaying the fact that the subject perplexed her. "This is the third night in a row he's made you stay late."
"Fourth, actually," Kate corrected as she recalled the past week with a poorly contained grimace. "And you know I don't have much of a choice. Max has been a family friend for ages. He needed the favor." Kate frowned down at her cooling tea, tracing the lip of the cup with her finger. "And the pay's decent. I can't afford to quit."
"Maximus the Magnanimous," Sam snorted derisively. "What a joke. Who even goes to magic shows anymore?"
"The turnouts aren't that great," was Kate's quiet admittance. It was the truth. People didn't seem to be much inclined to watch magic tricks these days. The fact that the theater Max performed most of his shows in had seen better days certainly didn't help. Nor did the slightly dodgy neighborhood it was located in.
"Which is exactly why he's been keeping everyone late these past few nights," Kate went on. "Wants to spice up the show. Throw in some new tricks. He was even talking about bringing in a lion last night," she said, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Sodding hell, did you talk him out of it?" Sam's eyes widened in fright.
"Tried to. He wasn't having it."
"He better bloody well be having it!" Sam exclaimed, anger darkening her expression. "That man is going to get you all killed."
Kate let her hand drop and gave her friend a placating stare. "Look, it's not a big deal, Sam. Do you really think anyone would give Max a lion? Even if he wanted one, there's no way he could do it." She sighed and leaned her cheek on her palm. "Honestly, at this point I'd rather face a lion than have to spend another night at that drafty, old theater 'till three in the morning."
A bright ringing sound lit the small shop, signaling the entrance of a customer, and Kate glanced up at the mirror behind the counter rather than turning around to observe them. A tall form…a flash of golden hair. She inhaled sharply at the sight, her body tensing and heart hammering violently against her chest. Quickly, she whirled around, hope and dread filling every inch of her as her eyes studied the man more intently.
Only a fraction of a moment had passed. The man faced them more fully as he shrugged out of his coat and headed towards a table. And already her heart rate was dropping back down to its normal pace.
It wasn't him.
She barely noticed when Sam moved from behind the counter to take his order. All she could do was turn back around and stare at her tea blankly.
God, what an idiot she was. Of course it wouldn't be him. Why would he try to find her? He'd made it pretty abundantly clear that he wasn't interested. Mortifying flashes of memory tore through her thoughts. Showing up at his door in the middle of the night, rain-soaked and full of hope and built-up courage and all the things she was finally, finally brave enough to say.
She could still see the pity in his eyes. How his face tightened in poorly concealed embarrassment for her and the situation. They'd had some fun, he'd said. Let's just leave it at that, he'd told her.
Her disbelieving silence had been broken only by the sound of a faint, feminine giggle sounding out from some distant bedroom of the luxurious flat.A very familiar giggle. One she'd heard every day at the posh office building that had once been her place of employment.
Idiot.
"You're still doing that, then, huh?" Sam's voice sounded from before her once more.
Kate quickly wiped the pain from her face, but didn't bother looking up. What was she supposed to say? Yes, she was still mistaking random strangers for the man who'd ripped her heart into a billion tiny little indistinguishable pieces? Yes, she was still hopelessly, moronically, in love with that man? Yes, she thought about him more than anyone had a right to think about someone who had crushed them so very thoroughly?
She opted for silence.
"He's not worth it, Kate. He never was."
A glance upward showed her Sam's expression, uncharacteristically soft and concerned. It was too much to look at for very long, so she turned away again, this time towards the shop's windows. Kate didn't want pity. That was why she tried as hard as she did to keep her emotions safely tucked away where prying eyes couldn't see. This wasn't about getting other people to feel sorry for her. This was about her trying to find something that would rid her of the disease that was him. And that was a struggle she had to cope with on her own.
Even if it was a losing battle and always had been.
A hand was suddenly placed on hers where it rested on the gleaming countertop. Sam leaned down until Kate was forced to meet her stare.
"I mean it. Not worth it at all," she repeated, quiet but firm.
Again, Kate said nothing. But if she had, it would have been a statement borne of the ache she'd become so very, very used to. An ache that was almost as familiar as the simple act of breathing and just as inescapable.
Try telling my heart that.
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AN: Reviews are love! Thanks for reading. :)