Wow. It's been ages since I uploaded anything to FF. Long story, involving lost passwords and broken laptops etc. Anyway, I have stories that I desperately need to finish, but Jay's character popped into my head one day and she wouldn't go away. This is the result. I'm going to aim for 2 chapters a week, but bear with me. A Levels are killing me right now.
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Sirius would have had a far happier life.
A tumble of brown hair framed a face that was all sunlight and cheekbones. The girl's limbs were slim with a bronzy polish, in spite of the dismal, misty weather. She didn't belong there, that was for sure, in the gloomy station waiting room that smelled like damp. Her brown legs were folded up underneath her as she flicked listlessly through a copy of Cosmopolitan, absently chewing on the ends of her hair.
That girl is me, Jay Rivers. I'm seventeen years old and bored as hell. I'm here in the middle of East Yorkshire because my parents, being the control freaks that they are, figured that since I'm starting my NEWT year, I'd be better off at the best wizarding school in the world. Never mind if that means shipping me halfway across the world to live in England with distant relatives that I've never met. Apparently they have a son my age, which could be interesting. I'm still contemplating whether it will be worth befriending him on the off-chance that he has a super hot friend when a flustered looking woman appears in the doorway. Before I've had a chance to open my mouth, she's apologized a thousand times for being late, grabbed my bags and introduced herself as Amber Potter. She's keen to stress that I should feel right at home, and I'm free to call her Auntie. Right. Still, I can't help liking her; she's so warm and cozy. She's older than my parents, but her eyes crinkle up in a pretty way when she smiles and her hair is dark and glossy.
"Listen to me, chattering away like this," She shakes her head and gestures for me to follow her. "How are you finding England?" I hate it, but I can't bring myself to tell her that.
"It's okay, I guess," I shrug and grab my leather tote. She laughs at that, a soft chuckle like she knows I'm lying. I fidget uncomfortably. I don't want to offend her or anything, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"It must be very different for you, coming all the way from California. How are your parents?" I can tell she's being polite, it's not like she wants a proper answer, so I just plaster a fake smile on my face and shrug again. I'm not the chattiest companion but hey, I've flown in all the way from America and been jolted through the English countryside for the past three hours. I think I deserve to be cut a little slack here. Anyway, my Aunt Amber talks enough for two, and by the time we reach the car, I know she met her husband when she was still at school and she has only one son, James, whom she dotes on.
"Sirius lives with us too though, James' friend," she continues, lifting my bags into the trunk of the car and sliding into the front seat. It's fairly ordinary, a blue sedan, but the seats inside are soft cream leather. I sink back, suddenly exhausted. "He's had a difficult time at home, poor dear. You'd understand if you met the family…" she trails off and starts the engine, pulling out of the tiny station's parking lot. She drives fast, my Aunt.
"Is it far?" I ask, pulling my knees to my chest. I'm willing her to say yes. There's nothing I want more than to close my eyes and sink into a deep sleep in these gorgeously soft seats, but she shakes her head.
"No, we'll be there in a few minutes," Amber smiles, turning sharply down another small lane. She drives like a maniac. I feel ill, and breathe shallowly, willing myself not to get sick all over her nice upholstery. I'm still eager to please her though, so I try for a smile. I can't have been very convincing, because she looks anxiously over at me and pats my hand in a motherly way. I find myself, strangely, missing my own mother, even if she's shown me less maternal affection in my entire life than my aunt has in the past few minutes. I swallow hard, and push those thoughts away. No use getting homesick now, when I'm thousands of miles away from LA. I'll just have to grin and bear it. My aunt takes a sudden left hand turn, and suddenly, we're pulling up to a pretty brick house, washed in white paint. The front yard is damp and green and earthy, and everything's flowering. There's even a break in the overcast sky, and a little sunlight filters through onto the house's mullioned windows.
My aunt apologizes for my cousin's absence. He's playing Quidditch apparently, and she couldn't tear him away. She reassures me that I'll meet him in a minute, but is quick to point out that I probably won't see my uncle until tonight, since he's working overtime at the moment. Aunt Amber says all this whilst unloading my bags from the trunk of the car and levitating them through the open front door. I'm left feeling pretty useless, and I slide out of the passenger seat. Gravel crunches under my scuffed up sneakers. My aunt smiles reassuringly at me, but I feel like there's a lead weight in my stomach. Everything is suddenly too much, the air too damp, the crunch of my footsteps too loud, the wet, earthy freshness of the yard overpowering. I swallow hard, and put my hands into my pockets for something to do. I don't want to be here. I long for the heat of California, the sunscreen and sand smell of the beaches. England's too wet, too green. I want to go home.
We walk up to the house in procession, my Aunt Amber following after my floating bags, with me trailing behind. The interior of the house is warm and smells faintly of polish. There's a broom sweeping all on its own in one corner, and the candlesticks along the side table are being waxed by an invisible hand. The walls are covered in pictures, some rural muggle paintings of landscapes, some photographs of relatives. A thousand witches and wizards wave and smile from their frames. Amber seems to sense that I'm not feeling particularly talkative, and doesn't try to make conversation. She smiles her sympathetic smile and lets my cases drop neatly into a corner.
"I'll get the boys to bring your bags up later, but I'll show you to your room if you'd like?" I nod dully, and follow her blindly up the stairs. I know she's just trying to be nice, but she's a stranger. I'm out of my depth here. My house back home is large and open plan, with just two floors. I'm being led up a second staircase, into a narrow corridor with whitewashed walls and bare, polished floorboards. An attic room. Like something out of a fairytale, or those sad Victorian novellas where the children are whipped and sent to bed without supper. I'm expecting an iron bedstead and a leaky roof, but the room I'm shown into is refreshingly ordinary.
"Thank you." I say, plastering a smile on my face. I turn to my Aunt. "If you don't mind, I'm very tired." I sound rude, even to my own ears, but she just smiles.
"I'll call you for dinner in about an hour, OK? The Bathroom's at the end of the hall, you'll be sharing it with Sirius if that's OK." She squeezes my hand comfortingly, and leaves the room. I don't particularly mind sharing a bathroom, but I know teenaged boys. They don't seem to make any effort to aim when they pee, so I'm not exactly thrilled at having to share with a complete stranger. There's not a lot I can do though, so I decide to poke around the room a little. I'll do my best to describe the room exactly. There's a large four poster bed again one wall, although there's no canopy. The bed has been made up pristinely, with white cotton sheets. It reminds me a little of a hospital. Opposite the bed is a small fireplace, but it's been made into a kind of centerpiece, surrounded by vases of flowers. A large portrait of a girl in a white dress hangs above it, but it's completely stationary. Another muggle painting I suppose. The ceiling of the room slopes down a little, and there are padded seats under the small gabled windows that look out onto a vast lawn. On the right hand side of the bed, there's a little door, which opens to reveal a closet. I've never had a walk in closet before, and I grin to see it. Other than that though, the room's pretty empty.
I'm contemplating interior design ideas when there's a knock at the door. I make some kind of noise, and it swings open to reveal a boy whom I figure is my cousin. He has deliberately messy hair and large hazel eyes behind black framed glasses. I suppose he's good looking in a dorky way.
"Hi, Cousin Jay, I'm James," he grins, stepping into the room and appraising my appearance. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "You look American." I raise an eyebrow at that. I wonder what he was expecting me to look like. Before I can reply, he's joined by another boy with the same dark hair, but he's' more tan. Where James' hair is messy and sticks straight up, this boy - Sirius? - has long thick hair that seems to have been styled to look exactly the right kind of mussed. There's a shadow of stubble across his jaw, and his eyes are grey as storm clouds. There's no denying this boy is beautiful. His eyes rake over me, just once, but it's like he's looking all the way into my soul. I shiver. I'm suddenly conscious of how much of my legs are on show, how my jumper has slipped off my shoulder to reveal the strap of my bra. I straighten my clothes and muster up the will to scowl.
"Where I come from, it's polite to knock." I cringe. I sound like my mother. I'm expecting at least a half-hearted apology, but all he does is shrug.
"Door was open." He cocks his head at me. "I'm Sirius by the way." It takes me a moment to figure out that Sirius is his name. I stick out my hand.
"Jay." It's not the warmest greeting, but it's about all I can manage. I feel way out of depth in this strange house, miles from home. "Did you guys bring my stuff up?" James nods.
"Yeah, hang on. Accio." My cases fly in from the hall, and I have to jump to one side to keep from getting squashed. They land with a dull thump at the foot of the bed, far less neatly than when my Aunt set them down downstairs. "Sorry," my cousin shrugs. "Can't be perfect every time." I roll my eyes but I'm not too bothered. I don't have anything breakable anyway.
"So," Sirius smirks, crossing the room to lean against the bedpost. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" I snort at the corny line, and fold my arms across my chest. He might be hot but if he thinks that's gonna get him laid…
"Hitting on my fair cousin already Sirius?" James grins, throwing a mock punch at his friend. Sirius ducks and laughs, and somehow, I've become a witness to a small scuffle, as the two guys shove each other playfully. I clear my throat slightly and tap my foot lightly. They break apart still laughing, and my eyes meet Sirius'. I'm snagged on their cool grey depths, and I smile back in spite of myself. Their laughter is infectious, and I feel my bad mood evaporating at once.
"I'm here," I explain, "because my parents wanted me to get a 'proper education'" I sketch quotation marks in the air and open my first case. No time like the present to start unpacking. "I think they were just worried I was going to end up like my friend Suzy." I slam the case again when I catch sight of my daisy print panties folded neatly on top of my clothes. My cousin and Sirius might be likeable enough, but I wasn't willing to show them my underwear. "She wanted to be an actress, so she dropped out and went to a muggle stage school in Hollywood. Last I heard, she had no money left and had to go live with her parents in Santa Barbara." The next case I open is filled with shirts and jeans, and I unpack them neatly with one sweep of my wand, and into the closet with another. The good thing about having control freak parents is that you learn all your basic household spells as soon as you're old enough to buy your own wand. I stow the empty case away under the bed and collapse onto it.
"So you're an actress?" James asks, flopping down into a window seat. His head collides with the low ceiling and Sirius sniggers. I shrug, and lay back on my pillows.
"Kinda. I grew up in Hollywood, so I suppose I've been around actor types my whole life. I went to stage school with Suzy and Janet when I was a kid too, but then pretty much all my friends did. We did some plays and stuff, and I made a few commercials. I think I'd really like-" I bite my lip. I don't want to tell them that all I really want to do is sing. I've had enough people tell me it's not a career for a nice little girl. They glance at me curiously, but I keep my mouth shut. I suppose they figured what I was going to say didn't matter, because James raises one shoulder.
"Anyway, what's a commercial?" Sirius asks. I'm surprised to see he has somehow climbed onto my bed without me noticing, and he now has his feet propped up on my footboard, his hands behind his head.
"Like, on television? It's a kind of advertisement for a muggle product." I figure I've been clear enough, because they nod in unison. I don't bother telling Sirius to move. I decide I don't really care anyway. Instead, I kick off my sneakers and examine the maroon polish on my toes. It's chipped already. "I got sick of it after a while though. It wasn't like proper acting, with a character and costumes and stuff. It was boring as hell."
Sirius laughs, a velvety chuckle that makes me shiver. "You sound so jaded. You make James and I seem like we have the most boring lives ever." I dare myself to meet his gaze, and suddenly find he's too close. I can smell him, something warm and musky and masculine. I sit up quickly and hug my knees.
"Boring? Padfoot, you insult me." James feigns hurt, and Sirius laughs.
"Padfoot?" I look from James to Sirius curiously. "Is that like a nickname?"James nods and yawns languidly.
"Yeah, he's Padfoot, and I'm Prongs." I don't bother telling them those are the weirdest nicknames I've ever heard, because it probably won't be the first time they've heard it. Instead, I just smirk a little and nod. "So, did mum give you the tour?" James asks, pushing me gently into the hallway before I have a chance to answer. Sirius follows; I know that without turning around. I can feel his gaze burning into my back.