Disclaimer: This is written for fun and relaxation and not for profit.
For anyone reading who's familiar with my other stories, this is a bit of fluff I'm enjoying while I have the summer off from classes. Please don't expect anything intricately plotted or developed over months or years!
Author's notes: This story is the result of many hilarious discussions with several friends and of my asking two people who know me well (and who have known me for a long time, 10 + years) which of the male HP characters I would fall in love with. The answers shocked me. They both said the same thing although they've never met and don't know each other. Neither one of them answered what I would have thought - the kind of guy I usually go for in real life.
Also, it's too weird to me to use my real name because no matter what I do, the character here will always be an idealized version of me.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place
by Zen Lady
Chapter 1: The Introduction
"Good afternoon," said Professor Albus Dumbledore as he entered his office. "I'm terribly sorry to have kept you waiting this long."
The woman was tall, dressed in a long, black raincoat and held a red hat in her hand. Her large, dark eyes studied Albus with a little frown, but she did not speak. He worried for a moment that she might be in shock because she didn't speak for several long moments.
"That brocade is gorgeous," she finally said in a smooth American accent like a news reader.
"Thank you," he replied with a smile. "Miss Zen, isn't it?"
"Zen Lady, actually," she said, "but you can call me Zen."
"Please, let me take your coat." He stepped closer to take it from her, and after she had slipped it off her shoulders, she stuck the hat in the sleeve and handed it over. Her heavy mane of auburn hair could have used the attentions of a good comb, but she was attractive with bright intellect apparent in her eyes. "Please sit down," he suggested. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Thanks. That'd be great," she said as she took one of the chairs by his desk.
Interesting that she's not full of a thousand questions, he mused as he poured two cups of tea. "Milk and sugar?"
"Nothing, thanks."
He passed the cup to her before going to sit down on the other side of the desk. "Well, my dear, you are certainly wondering how you came to be here."
"The thought has crossed my mind," she quipped.
He smiled. "I'm glad to see the shock of being transported into this literary world hasn't adversely affected you."
She frowned at him and narrowed her eyes. "Not yet."
"You are not the first author to appear here," he explained. "Many others have visited before you."
"Many others?" she repeated.
"Yes, so the novelty has worn off."
"Maybe for you," she answered. "But what brings us here?"
"We haven't been able to determine that yet," he explained. "But no harm has occurred to anyone. The lucky truth is that their time here – and yours, as well – occurs within a mere few seconds in your world whereas many days pass here."
She frowned even more. "So time goes by more quickly here?"
"I think it is more a matter of your return coinciding almost with the moment of your departure." He sipped his tea. "Therefore, there is no cause for concern. We'll work on sending you back as soon as we may, but none of your responsibilities will be affected by your visit here."
"How convenient," she remarked.
Dumbledore took a careful look at her. Although she seemed at ease, she didn't trust him and didn't altogether believe him. Strange.
"What's the date?" she asked.
"January the sixteenth," he told her. "Nineteen ninety-six. You, of course, know much about what is going to happen in our future, so I must ask you not to speak of what you know while you are here. Even the smallest detail might affect the events of the future."
She pursed her lips and studied him with a dark frown. No, she certainly didn't trust him.
"Until we are able to send you back, I'm going to take you to a place where you can stay safely, where your interactions with others will be at a minimum."
"How long before I go back?" she asked.
"It's hard to say. A few days, probably."
She rose and walked over to a book shelf where her fingertips brushed the spines of the tomes housed there. "You say a lot of other writers have come here before me in the same way?"
"Yes. It's become positively old hat."
"If you don't know what brings us here, how do you send us back?" She turned to look at him.
"I suspect that a powerful longing to visit us, to escape your own lives, is responsible, but I'm not certain," he explained smoothly. "But that doesn't make an enormous difference in the use of our magic. Even if we don't completely understand how it happens, we know how to use it."
From the way she studied him, Albus was fairly sure that she neither liked nor believed his answer; however, she didn't press him for more information. Instead, she asked, "Do you and the others know what we've written? Do you get to read it?"
"We know what has been written," he informed her, "though we don't read all of it."
A hint of a smile turned up one corner of her mouth, and with devilish mischief in her eyes, she asked, "What's the reception been like for slash writers?"
Sirius will like this one, he knew. Oh yes, he would like her, but Albus's thoughts turned darker. The problem was: would Zen like him?
Professor Dumbledore showed her a scrap of paper with the address, and then she knew exactly where she was going – 12 Grimmauld Place. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Carrying her bookbag, oboe case, and handbag, she followed the old wizard to the door, which had no handle or mail slot. Dumbledore touched the door with his wand and there was the sound of several locks opening.
Zen entered the dim interior cautiously and was struck by how gloomy and unpleasant it was. She removed her gloves and put them in her coat pocket. The old wizard obviously expected her to stay here and make no trouble for him.
Dumbledore closed the door behind them, and she stood waiting. There was the creaking sound of someone walking down the stairs, and she looked up to see a shadowy figure descending. The man stepped down from the last step and the hall light fell on his face.
A thrilled shiver ran down Zen's spine, for he was tall and still striking despite the ravages that the years with the Dementors had wreaked. Those beautiful pale eyes of his were filled with the gorgeous light of humor, intelligence, and passion. She forced herself to inhale and tried to keep a neutral expression on her face as an old song ran through her head – I thought the sun rose in your eyes…
"Ah, there you are. Sirius," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "My dear, this is Sirius Black, who will be your host. Sirius, this is the young lady I told you about, Zen."
She held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you," she said, and he reached to shake. "Thanks for agreeing to let me stay on such short notice." His hand was large, strong, and warm, and she tingled all over.
"It's my pleasure," he replied in a warm, deep voice. "I'll enjoy the company." He didn't smile, though. He was looking at her with his beautiful eyes, and Zen wished she had taken off her hat and combed her hair.
"Well, I trust you'll help Zen to settle in," said Dumbledore, "and see to her needs."
"I'd be delighted," he remarked, his eyes flicking to Dumbledore. "I'm sure she'll be comfortable here."
"Excellent." The old wizard beamed at them. "I must be going, but I'll check back in soon."
Sirius went to let him out, so Zen set down her bags, took off her hat, and unbuttoned her coat before smoothing her fingers through her hair. It would have to do until she could comb it.
When Sirius came back, he said, "Let me hang that up for you." He opened a closet door, so she slipped her coat off and stuck the hat in the sleeve before giving it to him.
She picked her bags up again, and when he turned back, he studied her for a moment. "You must be feeling a bit strange. Disoriented."
"A bit," she agreed. "I just hope I'm not too much trouble."
"No trouble." He actually grinned. "It gets lonely here sometimes, so it'll be nice to have a full-time guest for a change. A mate of mine stays when he's not busy with work, but that's not often enough. Here, let me take that."
When he leaned to take the bookbag from her, she thought she might swoon from smelling his wonderful male scent.
"Is this all you have? It's heavy."
"Yeah. There are a couple of textbooks in there."
"Do you play the flute?" he asked.
She glanced down at her case. "No – the oboe."
"The oboe." He blinked in surprise and looked at her.
Zen felt a little foolish, but that had never stopped her before. "It's a hauntingly exotic sound."
He smiled then, a slow smile spreading across his face and lighting up his exquisite eyes even more. "Are you any good?"
"No," she admitted. "Just a beginner. But I will be."
He laughed a little, which pleased her. "I look forward to it. Now, how about a cup of tea before I show you around?"
"No thanks. I've actually just had some," she answered.
"Okay, then let's go on up." He began to lead her up the stairs, and she followed him. .
He showed her a sitting room, a dining room, and a drawing room. His bedroom was on the third floor, and, on the second floor, he showed her into a clean room with two windows, a dark wooden dresser, an old wardrobe, and a canopied bed with a bare mattress.
"Don't worry, we'll get some clean sheets and a nice duvet and pillows," he assured her. He set her bookbag on the dresser. "Move anything you want."
She went over to the windows and twitched aside the curtains. Below was a small garden that was bare in the winter cold. When she turned back, Sirius was leaning in the doorway, regarding her thoughtfully.
"There's some women's clothes in the drawers and wardrobe. There are also some of my mother's robes upstairs. You're taller than she was, though. Thing is, that stuff hasn't been used in years, so I don't think there's anything clean. I'll look through it and see if there's anything salvageable."
"Thanks."
"Anyway, after you take a look of what there is, you can make a list of what you need. And anything else. You know, like toothbrush, and all that."
"Yeah. I actually carry a toothbrush in my bag," she told him. He looked curiously at her, so she added, "I'm a graduate student, and I have to spend long days at the university, so there are some useful things that I tend to carry with me."
"A graduate student?" he asked in interest, his fine blue-grey eyes examining her even more carefully than before.
"Yeah." She gave him a sheepish smile. "Can you show me where the loo is?"
"Oh – sure." He straightened up. "Sorry, I should have done that first." He led her down the hall and drew out his wand. "Lumos."
"We'll put matches on the list of things I need," she quipped.
He stepped back and looked at her again. "I think there's a box of matches around somewhere, and there's a whole pile of stuff in there that no one uses. You know, lotions and creams – women's stuff. It's all yours to use, whatever you want."
"Thanks," she said again. Was the women's stuff, as he called it, left over from the other writers who had been here? Or maybe a former lover?
"You relax and freshen up. I'll get Kreacher to make up the bed and see if I can find any clothes." He headed to the stairs. "Make yourself at home. I'll come and find you for dinner."
She closed the door and quickly relieved her bladder. Then she washed her hands and patted some cool water on her face. There were clean towels, and she blotted her face and dried her hands before getting her comb out of her handbag to have a go at her shaggy mop.
There was a bit of bellowing from somewhere upstairs. She thought it was Sirius's voice, but she couldn't be sure. She pulled the comb through her hair, cursing to herself at the tangles. It took a while to get it smoothed down, and then she checked her reflection. Her makeup was fine, but she applied a little subtle red lip stain.
"Very pretty, my dear," said the mirror, and Zen frowned at her reflection. Was she making herself pretty for Sirius Black?
After that, she poked through all the toiletries both in a cupboard next to the bathtub and a square wicker basket under the sink. Seven different kinds of shampoos and conditioners to build body and shine. Three for color-treated hair. Two for curly and wavy hair. Six tubes of mascara, five liquid eyeliners, seven eyeliner pencils, and eighteen different brands and colors of eye shadow.
Who the heck would wear eye shadow here? Zen wondered.
There was more, much more, different brands and products, and she certainly had everything a woman might need for personal care. Every single thing she could think of that a woman might need was there in triplicate, at least. As Sirius had said, it was a whole pile of stuff! "It'll be a really short list of things I need," she muttered to herself as she pushed the bin back under the sink.
When she went back to her room, she found that the bed had been made up with a fluffy duvet and pillows striped red and white, like a candy canes. She emptied her tote bag and piled her books, notebooks, journal, pencil case, and graphing calculator on the dresser. Next to them, she set her little makeup case and the other zippered case that contained all sorts of odds and ends and useful items.
Then she went through the drawers and the wardrobe. There were some t-shirts in varying sizes, and Zen found a couple that would fit her and a few that were too big but would suffice as nightshirts. There were some trousers, but nothing that would actually fit. The ones that were too big would have to do. Maybe she could get a belt. There was nothing to wear underneath, nor was there a sweater or anything warm enough for this drafty old house. Perhaps there was something heavy and warm upstairs with his mother's old things.
Although a fire had been laid in the hearth, it had not been lit, so she took one of the textbooks and carried it down the stairs. Should she sit in the drawing room or the sitting room? The latter had a fire in the hearth and seemed much cozier, so she slipped off her shoes and settled on the wide sofa with her feet up and the book propped up on a pillow across her knees.How long passed while she was engrossed in the text, she couldn't say, but the daylight had disappeared, and she was straining to read in the light of a single gas lamp when she heard Sirius say, "There you are."
She looked up over her textbook. He approached with two goblets in his hands. "Dinner's nearly ready. I thought you might like a drink beforehand."
"Thanks, that's very thoughtful." Setting her feet back in her shoes, she straightened up and took one of the goblets. Sirius took out his wand and lit more of the gas lamps, so she put her bookmark in the text and set it on the nearby coffee table.
He sat on the sofa where her feet had been and raised his own goblet in a toast. "Here's to your comfortable visit."
She raised her glass as well and then took a sip. It was a very flavorful, dry red wine, and she smiled and took another sip. The sitting room and her bedroom were quite pleasant, but other than that, she wasn't sure how comfortable her stay would be.
"Wastewater Microbiology?" he asked in a surprised voice as he read the title of her book. He looked at her in amazement. "Is that what you're studying?"
"Someone has to do it," she replied with a chuckle. "Actually, it's for a required class called Environmental and Pollution Microbiology. It's a prerequisite for Biodegradation and Bioremediation."
"What's that?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her.
"Biodegradation means decay. Microorganisms, like bacteria and archaea, breaking down things. Bioremediation is when we use the microbes to clean up pollutants from a site where soil or water is contaminated."
He looked interested. "Is that what you're going to do?"
"Not me," she laughed again. "And I won't be doing research in a lab, either. I need to do a job where I can schmooze."
"Schmooze?" he repeated in amusement.
"Yeah," she laughed, blushing and telling herself that it would be better to avoid Yiddish and New York expressions. When her stomach growled loudly, she laughed and blushed even more.
"I know what that means," he said as he got to his feet. "Bring your glass. I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen. It's not worth the trouble of using the dining room."
"No, it's fine." She followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen.
The food tasted good, and Zen enjoyed it and the wine while she and Sirius chatted. There was a slight awkwardness as the two complete strangers became acquainted. He seemed to be looking curiously at her, and she imagined she was probably doing the same thing. The damage that the years in prison had done had left a terrible mark on him, but he was still overwhelmingly attractive to her. Probably more so because the experiences had made him more interesting. Multi-faceted, she decided.
"I was wondering," she began slowly when they had finished eating and were sipping their wine. "Dumbledore said that other writers have been stuck here before now."
He looked wary. "That's right."
Odd. Maybe he knew that they had to try to not affect the other's world and he was thus reluctant to tell her such bad news. "Were they stuck here for a long time?" she asked. Realizing too late that her words might sound offensive, she rephrased that. "How long did it take before Dumbledore was able to send them back?"
"It differed," he said, studying her thoughtfully. "A week, a month."
"A month!" she repeated in shock.
"Even longer than that," he sighed.
Now, it made sense. No wonder he was reluctant to tell her about it!
"But apparently, time passes differently," he went on. "I'm sure Dumbledore has explained. You'll go back just at the same time that you left."
To her, he seemed very intent on reassuring her, which made her feel lovely; however, his reserved manner seemed a bit out of character for Sirius. On the other hand, a month in this place without going outside? How was she going to stand it?
"You know, I've gone through the clothes up in the room, and there are some things that I can wear while I'm here," she informed him. "The problem is, it's so cold in here, and there's nothing really warm. Maybe there's something warm with the old clothes upstairs? Or at least some kind of shawl?"
"No problem," he assured her. "A set of heavy winter robes will keep you nice and toasty. I know exactly what you need. Come on, I'll show you."
Zen followed him all the way up to the third floor and into his room, which she hadn't seen yet. It was surprisingly tidy but the walls and furnishings were much darker than the room she was using.
From a tall wardrobe, Sirius took some heavy robes striped two shades of dark blue. "They're going to be a bit big on you, but they're warm."
"Nothing useful upstairs?" she asked as she took the robes and held them up to her shoulders. They were too long but otherwise just what she needed.
He made a sound of exasperation in the back of his throat. "No. Those old things would be too small anyway. And you should have heard Kreacher when he realized I was going to let you wear my mother's clothes! Miserable, useless idiot that he is."
"It doesn't matter." She folded the striped robes over her arm. "Too long's better than too short in the dead of winter."
He grinned a little. Crap! Too gorgeous by far! "And here's a warm shirt and some socks." He held out a heavy, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of thick socks, which she took with a murmur of thanks. "If you need anything else, don't be shy about letting me know," he told her.
"I won't," she assured him. "But with that big 'pile of stuff' in the bathroom, I won't be needing much."
"Yeah, there is an awful lot of junk in there," he agreed.
"Lots of the same things in different brands," she said as she gathered the clothes in her left arm. "Now, I think I'll take a bath and get some sleep if it's all right."
"Sure, go ahead. No need to ask. Everything is all right here." He winked at her.
She smiled back. "Thanks. Goodnight, then."
"'Night," he replied, watching after her as she went down the stairs.
Acknowledgements:Thanks to Phoenix and Clara Minutes for beta-reading.