CHAPTER ONE: CONTACT REQUEST.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Olivia Potter, better known as Ollie to her friends, groaned as she rolled over in bed, swinging her arm out in a sweeping arch to bat at the infuriating screech that had disturbed her rather peaceful sleep. Blissful silence reigned once more and, softly, she drifted back under like a feather left to free-fall.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep.
Cursing, Olivia squinted in the dark, eyeing the alarm clock with distaste before she reached over and patted around for her glasses on the nightstand. Kicking the sheets off, still half asleep, glasses sitting wonky on her face, the blurry, flashing red numbers of the alarm clock became clear.
7.43am.
"Fuck!"
Shooting up from bed, Olivia went dashing for the bathroom, snatching up whatever clothing she had laying around on her mad rush, nearly tripping over the half open pile of textbooks she had left stacked on the floor.
The books toppled, sending papers, pages and notes scattering across the floor, her chicken scratch handwriting staring tauntingly back. Olivia had no time to look back, or care. She had exactly fifteen minutes to get washed, brush her teeth, get, at least partially, clothed and race across campus to make it in time for her 8.00am anatomy lecture in the main hall.
The woes of being a medical student; late nights cramming, too early starts.
Still, Olivia Potter couldn't complain. She was, for once, doing well for herself. Against the odds. At twenty-one, she was, yes, still alive. That was always a bonus. She was also, contrary to most expectations of her becoming an Auror, in medical school. A muggle one at that. Ivy league. Harvard medical school, to be precise.
Ha. Look at that aunt Petunia. I'm in medical school, one of the best in the world, while Dudley's flipping burgers. Bet that sits like bile in your throat.
She had worked for it. Hard. Getting her scholarship, when her muggle school records had stopped when she was eleven, had been no easy feat. So many exams, trials, hoops to jump through, just to catch up. Of course, Hermione, her best friend, had helped. She knew how to make a schedule as tight as a nun's knees, and before she knew it, Olivia was applying and, funnily, they had accepted her. Full scholarship and all.
Olivia was still sure one day, soon, they would tell her they made a mistake.
However, while it lasted, she was going to enjoy it. After the war, Olivia hadn't known what to do with herself. She had never thought she would get that far, live that long, actually win, and so, faced with the possibility of having a real future, she had been stumped. What did people do with their lives?
Indubitably, she knew what everyone had wanted her to do with hers. They had made that abundantly clear. So many voices, all with an opinion, all thinking they knew best, all vying to sway Olivia to seeing things their way. Never hers. Theirs.
Some wanted her to fold into the ministry, use her name and face for political clout. Perhaps become an advocate, activist or politician too. Most expected her to follow so many before her and join the Auror department. Maybe even become an Unspeakable. However, all, as Arthur Weasley would say, had expected her to, in some form or shape, carry on the good fight.
The truth was, she was sick of fighting. In all shapes. In all forms. In all shades.
There was too much of it. Everywhere. Olivia, herself, had been fighting since she was eleven. Eleven. A child. Even longer if her struggle against abuse with the Dursleys was counted. At some point, no matter how far along, enough was just enough. She was tired. So bloody tired.
Now, healing, helping, that seemed honourable. Doing so for children seemed even more so.
At first, she had thought, of course she had, of going into wizarding healing. St Mungo's was always looking for apprentices. Yet, it didn't feel right. England, as much as Olivia loved her home, had spent her childhood and most of her teenage years fighting to see it free, felt wrong. No. Not wrong. The memories had felt wrong.
Too many bad ones. Too many lost loved ones. Too many ghosts. Olivia needed a fresh start. Away. Somewhere she could make memories not tainted by war, or death, or blood. Preferable somewhere with actual sunshine. They said America was the land of opportunities. Therefore, paint her red, white and blue, dot some stars on her forehead, and let her have some of that milk and honey.
After she obtained her scholarship, everything just fell into place. She secured a dorm room in Vanderbilt Hall. Packed her things up. Promised to keep in touch with the Weasley's, her adored second family, and she was off, sailing across the Atlantic ocean. Well, apparating more like, but you get her drift.
Thankfully, she wasn't alone in her great adventure for greener pastures.
Hermione had applied right alongside Olivia, receiving her acceptance letter only two days after Olivia. Her studious, more bookish friend was going a completely different route than her, aiming for a biochemistry research internship rather than Olivia's pediatrician residency, and they didn't have many lecture's together, but it was nice having a familiar face lurking around campus.
Finally leaving the bathroom, Olivia tugged down her top from getting caught underneath her breasts, stopping momentarily in front of her mirror to make sure she wasn't about to leave in her pajamas's… Again. Plain camisole, jeans and sneakers. Not a bad combo for a blind lucky dip. The hair, the birds nest that it was, nothing more could be done for it apart from a bun.
Slipping in next to her desk, she plucked up her empty backpack from its solitary resting place on her chair, swung it over her shoulder, snatched up the books she would need for morning lecture, and headed for her small door, fighting to get the key in the hole. Passing through into the hallway, Olivia tripped, barely managing to keep a hold of her balance, and her books, and a tad more of her dignity.
She really wasn't a morning person.
Glancing down at the threshold of her door, she spotted the culprit. A Letter. Large. Thick. Brown. Official looking. Someone must have posted it underneath the door crack. Had she forgotten to pay her water bill? No. She was almost anal about paying things on time. Debt wasn't something Olivia enjoyed. Then what-
The timer on her watch beeped at her. Shit. Five minutes till lecture.
No time.
Hunching down, Olivia kicked up the letter, caught it and flipped in onto her pile of books stacked in the crux of her right arm, slamming her dorm door shut. Halfway down and out of Vanderbilt hall, Olivia realised she still had her toothbrush in her mouth. Mother fucker.
Reluctantly, knowing she had no time to head back now, and rather not fancying having a moist, toothpaste sticky toothbrush bouncing around her backpack, where all her notes were going to be stashed, she threw it in the bin just inside reception, mentally reminding herself to pick another up on the way home tonight.
She was likely going to forget. She always forgot. This was her seventh fucking toothbrush this semester alone.
The air was cool and crisp when she got out. Fresh. Autumn. Lovely. Hermione might actually join her for her afternoon jog this evening. Might. Her best friend wasn't exactly the sporty type. Cutting across the green to save a minute or two, a buzzing took up from Olivia's jeans back pocket. Juggling her books, she eventually managed to wiggle it out, and used her shoulder to prop it to her ear. She didn't need to look to know who was on the other end.
"I know, I know. I'm running late… Again. I'm on my way right now, I swear. I should be there in five. Save me a seat?"
Hermione's voice, too clear, too cheery, and way too put together for this time of morning, answered back just as Olivia came bouldering up the steps of the main building, nodding greetings to some of her fellow students. Ernest, the janitor, and a squib Olivia had met in her time here, shook his head and chuckled at her. After a year, he was used to her antics, and her unfortunate tendency to be late, and therefore, running everywhere like a frantic rabbit.
"Don't worry, Doctor Lucas sent out an email postponing lecture for an hour. He has a meeting with the Dean. You better hurry up, though. I have your favourite right here. Iced vanilla latte with- "
"Cinnamon? You did get the cinnamon didn't you?"
Olivia could hear Hermione's laugh echo out from the other end, crackling slightly on the line.
"Do I look a rookie? Of course I got cinnamon. I've only known you for ten bloody years."
Olivia ducked around the corner, slewed to a halt to stop herself from ploughing straight into some poor soul trying to walk past her, danced around him, earning a bewildered frown in return, and searched down the wide, brightly lit hallway.
"Hey, turn around."
The girl Olivia could see resting by the wall at the far end swivelled, Hermione's bright, friendly smile lighting up her pale face when she spotted her trotting up. Hanging up, she crammed her phone back into her pocket, slung her arm around Hermione's shoulders and gave a warm hug, careful not to crush the two coffee cups between them. Pulling apart, Hermione offered out the left one. Olivia seized it as if it was pure gold.
To a medical student, coffee might as well have been.
"Cheers. You're an absolute star, Hermione. What would I do without you?"
Hermione scoffed, popping the lid and taking a sip of her own coffee. Black. No sugar. Olivia winced. The devils piss, she had called it once, and she stood by that statement whole-heartedly. Olivia had a sweet tooth a mile long, and refused to look at any coffee without at least two skulking in it.
"I don't know? Starve? Dehydrate?"
Olivia was about to tell her to leave off, she wasn't completely hopeless, when Hermione glanced down, to her loaded arms, and spied the brown envelope. Frowning, Hermione nodded at it.
"What's that?"
Olivia shrugged, dropping her bag from her shoulder to her feet so she could begin to put her books away, handing over her drink to Hermione for safe keeping.
"Someone posted it through my dorm room door. It's likely just some newsletter. Or even those research papers on temporal lobe epilepsy I've been waiting for Dr Méndez to hand over. Did you know there's been trial operations on mice for-"
Hermione cut her off with a sharp shake of her curly, caramel curls.
"That return stamp is from Mexico. Sonora, in fact. If I'm not mistaken."
Slipping the last book into the dark recess of her bag with a muted thud, Olivia glanced down at the letter, flipping it back and forth.
"How do you know-… Never mind. It's you. You've probably read a few encyclopedias on post in America already. Save some for the rest of us, Mione."
Hermione, for a flash, looked affronted, frazzling in that singular way that was utterly, irrevocably her. Stiffening her spine, her nose shot straight into the air, a tiny spark of magic zapping by the curl dangling next to her ear, fizzing it into a puffy little knot.
"It was one. And I'll have you know it was highly interesting. It's amazing how different the American postal system is from back home. They don't-"
At Olivia's cocked brow, Hermione came to a puttering stop, clocking on to good-natured prod at the absolute menace she had been when they were younger. Blushing, Hermione playfully thumped her shoulder, chuckling as coffee sloshed up the side. However, soon Olivia's attention drifted back to the letter in her hand, smile slowly dying to a confused frown.
"Mexico? Sonora? I've never heard of it. Why would I get a letter from there?"
Now it was Hermione's turn to shrug haphazardly.
"Only one way to find out."
A tiny, minuscule really, slither of dread slunk up the back of Olivia's throat, pricking at the skin of the back of her neck. Surprises, any, had never gone well for her. Never. Yet, Tom was dead. The war was over. She was free. She had been for years now. In this sort of new world, what harm could a letter cause? Tearing open the letter, pulling out the thick wad of paper stapled together, polished off with an embossed, fancy looking, cover letter, Olivia began to flick through.
Olivia's world shattered.
And Hermione was left to watch as her friends face, normally so cheerful, light, open, transformed. Her startling green eyes began to blink rapidly behind her round glasses, her bronzed skin paling almost sickeningly so, as one page was flicked to another, and then another, and another. Faster and faster and faster.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Olivia didn't look up, consumed by the papers in her hand.
"I-I don't understand. What-"
Olivia flipped right back to the cover letter, eyes scanning as she grew still. So still.
"Ollie? Are you alright? Ollie? Speak to me, here. You look like you're about to faint."
Olivia was ashen now, ghostly so, drained, looking the worst Hermione had seen her look in years. Not since that awful day back in the Battle of Hogwarts when she had finally, and quite literally, revived herself from the dead. Slowly, as if she didn't quite know where she was, or what she had been doing, or really what her name was, Olivia pulled herself away from the letter and locked eyes with Hermione.
They looked wet. Tears.
"It's adoption records. My adoption records. There's-"
Hermione could see how violently Olivia's hand shook as she pulled the cover letter away, holding it out for her to take.
"There's a contact request."
WOO or BOO?
So, I recently read AlwaysEatTheRude21's fic for Mayans MC, and really, almost desperately lol, wanted to give it a shot myself. Obviously, mine is going to be very different, but I still hope you all like it! For those worried, you don't really have to have seen Mayans MC, but it would make everything a bit more nuanced if you did, because I will be doing my fic chiefly from Olivia's P.O.V, so we'll be introduced to that side of this fic through her and understand it as we go along, if that makes sense?
However, I do advise going to watch it for one simple fact. It's an awesome show! Lol
Pairings: Miguel/Emily. Olivia/Nestor (Eventually), Hermione/Coco.
Warnings: Organised crime. Drug trade. Cartels. Murder. Age gap between main pairing. (I'll add any more I can think of as I go along).