Something giving off a similar energy reading as the veil was curious, Heather had to admit, but she still wasn't sure how much help she could be. If Hermione didn't know, what could she do? But her friend had asked her to come and try the spells they'd already tried again but with the Elder wand. And normally Heather would jump to help – but it was Teddy's birthday today and she still hadn't gotten his present ready. Well, no, that's not quite true – she'd gotten a few small things already and there were at Andromeda's but not his big present.
A few months ago, Draco had needed a small favour and part of the bribe had been time for Teddy to spend with the Pegasi herd the Malfoys had at their property. Heather hadn't been sure the boy would even enjoy it but it was no skin off her nose to give Draco what he needed, so she'd called it a fair deal (maybe if she had gone to Slytherin she would've learned how to negotiate better on her own behalf, but, well, that ship had well and truly sailed). Anyway, Teddy had loved it and adored the flying horses – still couldn't shut up about them. So now, for his eighth birthday, she'd intended to get him a rocking horse. Of course, a muggle one would be easy to get a hold off, but Heather still held out hope of finding one in the Magical world somewhere, one which could maybe fly like a foot of the ground or make noises or something.
Now her plans of doing a thorough search were a bit scuppered though. What she currently had was her wand and cloak, a mismatched jeans and t-shirt and her bag linked to her Gringotts account. That was it. Well, maybe she could convince Hermione to animate a muggle one or help her search through Diagon alley and the side alleys Heather so rarely visited.
… Except that never happened.
The moment she stepped into the room Heather felt something snap – no sound, more like a vacuum of sound and then the feeling of tension snapping. Her wand appeared in her right hand with her agitation and she blinked.
Only she wasn't in the room anymore; no Hermione or anyone else – no doors even. Just overflowing bins, a nauseating smell and haphazard (and badly done) Graffiti tagging. And heavy rain – although that was rather typical of Britain but usually less so indoors – but it had rather rapidly become clear that she wasn't inside anymore.
Heather froze but after a moment she stepped towards the main street at the end of the alleyway and saw the many muggles. With deft moves she took of her robes and hid her wand inside the holster after another moment. After a moment's hesitation she stuffed the robes inside her Gringott's bag – while not the ideal place to store robes, it was better than carrying them out here. Not when she may need her hands free.
Green eyes were still scanning rapidly across entrances, exits and windows, across people and locations, trying to discern any potential danger.
Nothing. Not a single wizard. But at least she wasn't far from the Ministry. Head down to shield her glasses and eyes a bit from the rain (the water repellent charm only helped so much against the influx of water and steaming up), Heather scurried up the road and towards the phone booth.
Which wasn't there.
Huh. Well, it had been some time since she used it, preferring the entrance via Diagon Alley usually. Maybe they'd moved it for some reason? It had occasionally been forced to relocate due to new building plans, so maybe something had changed. Heather really should pay more attention to the interdepartmental memos, but both her and Ron still relied too heavily on Hermione for these things.
Finding another alleyway, Heather apparated.
No Diagon Alley.
No Gringotts.
No Ministry.
And no Hogwarts.
In a last, desperate attempt, Heather set out and found Number 4 Privet Drive – but no Dursleys. She even sought out Severus' home in Cokesworth and the Riddle Mansion.
Magic had been wiped off the map. Somehow.
Although Heather quickly found that theory discounted when she picked up a history book at the local library. While there had been a First World War and a Second, the Second had included fights against a Nazi-affiliated "Hydra" organisation and supersoldiers.
The death tolls had not changed much.
But the real surprise came from the more recent news – apart from it being further in the future (2012), aliens were apparently real and had attacked New York. Recently. And there was a man in iron armour who could fly and was a genius technologically-minded person (Heather couldn't wrap her head around half the advancements made since she last saw), the supersoldier from WW2 was still alive and there was a person who turned into a green monster?
Yeah, after that Heather called it a day.
She 'rented' a cheap room with a wave of her wand, regretting that she hadn't listened to Hermione and carried her go-bag everywhere with her. She would be intolerable when Heather got back.
"A different dimension," Heather breathed, sitting on the bed as soon as the door had closed behind her. "Merlin's balls. How in Morgana's name is this even possible?"
She should sleep, Heather knew. Try and deal with the situation, but she couldn't. Reaching into her Gringotts bag for her cloak, she found her hand delving into coins and relaxed. Well, at least this wouldn't be a recap of her year on the run. Somehow when she traversed into another dimension her bag, which was meant to give her unlimited access to her assets at Gringotts, must have decided to put all her holdings into the bag as it would be the only way for her to continue having access. Heather loved magic sometimes – although she also hated it for it was what got her here in the first place.
It took time to get her bearings. The most baffling surprise had been the teenagers – one with a Gryffindor jumper and the other with a Slytherin one, the names spelled out on them, when she was walking through London.
That's how she found out about Harry Potter – a male version of her who had apparently gone through similar – or possibly identical – trials as her. Heather had yet to bring herself to read them.
Anyway, life was easy as a rich person. After spending a fortnight exhausting each and every option she could think of, Heather had come to the conclusion that there was no way back for her and she'd have to make a life for herself (she'd found an empty land in the middle of nowhere in Scotland, warded it to the high heavens from sight by persons or technology, and let loose. After she'd worked through the anger, the grief was easier to handle.
Heather had made a few quick hops with commercial airplanes throughout Europe but quickly decided that she liked English and she liked the hustle and bustle of large cities – which left her with England, Scotland, Ireland, US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. Given the predominance of superheroes within America, her decision was quickly made on where to settle. Heather had enough of being the hero herself, of being expected to jump into danger headfirst. She would rather like to be in a place which had numerous heroes keen to protect it so she could be on the sidelines without feeling the need to help.
New York was clearly the place to go as the site of the alien invasion and the proximity to the Avengers. The more difficult decision came down to where in New York to live, but as Heather liked the ocean and still wanted to help people in small ways and not be surrounded by pretentious Malfoy-wannabe's, she'd decided on Hell's Kitchen (only partly because of its name and how much it would infuriate Petunia. Really).
The name she'd given herself in this world was the name Andromeda had given her, when she had lived at hers for a month, post-battle, helping to feed and care for Teddy as an infant: Meissa, a star at the head of Orion – the head of the Black family. And in the Wizarding World a change of name would never have been accepted – but here she could be anyone she chose to be. So Meissa became her first name, in honour of Andromeda, Teddy and Sirius. Heather became her middle name – she hadn't wanted to get rid of it; her mother had named her in the family tradition after a flower found in Scotland where Hogwarts was. And Sirius had once shown her the necklace she used to have as a child, of heathers pressed into a heart-shape. Meissa loved that, the thought and effort that her parents had put into it, the connection it gave her to people she only remembered dying for her. But it was also connected to the girl-who-lived-to-be-fawned-over, to newspaper articles, to derision and hatred and pain. So, while she kept it, it wouldn't be part of her introduction anymore. She didn't need to be Heather anymore, not in this world, in this dimension. There was only Meissa.
Warding an apartment was never going to be as strong as warding a building wherein it could go into the very foundations and post-alien invasion, it was easy enough to snatch up a place which had been destroyed where she could get an apartment block built. Sneaking in to etch into the foundations with magic was easy, especially with the invisibility cloak covering her and then it was just a matter of waiting while her home was being built and figuring out what she wanted to do.
The easiest – and most obvious – was renting out the apartments she wouldn't be using. Meissa put rent at an all-time low and advertised with a preference for families or single parents. Each apartment was soundproofed (magically through the wards but also with muggle soundproofing methods). Interviewing was… interesting. Meissa had no intention of being known as the rich girl living in Hell's Kitchen, and without a ready supply of Polyjuice, things got more tricky.
But not impossible – a few charms before each meeting so she could see the people in person, shake their hands, gauge their intentions by the colours of the charms lighting up when they crossed the threshold and a computer video interview (technology here was so amazing). Meissa appeared differently to everyone turning up at the door – occasionally male, most female, sometimes somewhere in between, usually mundane-looking but sometimes uglier or prettier as she felt like it. She was creating a safe space which meant she turned away from abusive families (though not without slipping the victim a card to say that they could rent for free for three months as long as their partner didn't come with them), drug addicts or sellers and a plethora of other unsavoury people. But she invited many teenage mothers, large families and tried to get as many as she could into the building and make sure they understood that if they had to decide between feeding themselves and their kids or making rent, that rent could wait – they only had to talk to her.
Opening a coffeeshop had taken a lot longer – not because of permits or skills, but because Meissa hadn't known what she wanted to be here. She didn't need to be a hero or police officer – but what skills did that leave her with?
In the end, the coffeeshop was her preferred option and within a week from opening the café she decided to also open a library and split her hours between the two, hiring other staff and managers (as far as the managers and staff were concerned, she was just a regular employee who happened to be the first hire). The main difficulty had actually been the financing – not because she didn't have enough but because pure gold and silver without imperfections being sold without inundating the market was difficult (as was explaining away the similarities to the Harry Potter franchise – still something which weirded her out to no end). But now she had a steady cashflow from investments and conversions, enough to keep her library / bookshop and café both running. And it allowed her to interact with a large amount of people, sneak free food to children and generally brighten someone's day – which seemed rare enough in Hell's Kitchen – by giving first time in the coffeeshop drink for free along with a free drink every fourth time and handing out the remainder of the leftover food to the homeless at the end of the day. Her library / bookshop had a steady rotation of new stock and always some books for sale at a reduced price.
Although she missed her darling Teddy, Aunt Andromeda, Hermione and Ron (and, okay, maybe Draco on his good days) along with the rest of the Weasley family, Meissa liked it here. With these superheroes running around, it was the first time since the war she felt actually at ease and relaxed. None of this was her fight anymore. No one expected a five foot four woman to come to their rescue when the older, more skilled people could clearly fight a better fight.
Meissa loved it. If given the opportunity to go back home now, after over eight months in this world, she wasn't sure if she could – or would. There were no magic users here and she provided a few safe havens for people with a twenty-four hour library whose wards would protect anyone inside and anyone with malicious intentions would promptly forget them entirely and turn away. Her café was similarly warded and also open continuously.
Given her own insomnia and the number of veterans in her neighbourhood, Meissa, figured others may be like her. So, she handled some day and some nightshifts along with library ones on a rotating schedule. It also allowed her to make sure that the managers she hired were not suddenly focussed on profit but enacted her policies as she had wanted them to and never turned people away because of their clothes or gang affiliations. She served everyone who didn't intend violence or abuse on the people within (and if they managed it into the building, that's the category they fell into).
Despite her loss, life was good.
And then he walked in and Meissa's eyes widened, realising she'd made no accommodations for deaf or blind people (the magical world had false eyeballs which made you see better than if you had normal eyes – it hadn't occurred to her that this world would, of course, still have people she might need to make other accommodations for). Flustered, she stumbled over her greeting (and not just because damn that man was handsome, like Tom Riddle grown up only less cold and a lot more attractive) but the blind man had already left, making his way out and he looked like he was struggling, stumbling.
He probably was tired of never finding a place which actually accommodated him without making him feel lesser – and here the Marauder's Den fell straight into that category. She would have to investigate how to make her library and café more blind- and deaf-friendly. Deaf was the easier one – she already encouraged more learning from the library and café staff and would just make the ASL course mandatory, at least the beginner class.
Luckily for her, the blind returned shortly thereafter with reinforcements. Karen, a woman who had been by for the last few weeks along with a blonde slightly portly man with an affable manner and her- the blind man who could probably moonlight as a model.
Oh no, she was rambling. Her face was getting more and more flushed – of course, Meissa couldn't even handle talking to a handsome guy without embarrassing herself with every breath. Then, when she read out the menu at his behest, he didn't even listen to her, having to be prodded by his friend and asking for a special when they have no special. Meissa flounders for another moment before gathering herself. They are customers. She will treat them like it and smile. So she does, turning to Karen and asking her if she wants the usual, listening to their orders, most of her mind still occupied trying to discern what she should make for the blind guy – Matt, as his friend had called him.
He came in earlier, looking tired and drawn – likely wanting to purchase coffee. Therefore, something with a little kick to it and at least a hint of java. But he'd been pale and wane both times he entered, exhausted and looking as though he'd faint. And Remus had always said chocolate cured everything. The addition of cinnamon was due to it being near Christmas as well as the powerful health benefits and Matt certainly looked like he could use a boost.
Meissa felt her smile widen and shoulders relax when she saw him take a large drink after he'd had the first tentative sip and clearly decided she'd chosen right. Since they'd come in, Matt's eyes hadn't left her. She could feel his eyes on her, which was funny, because he obviously couldn't see, but the prickling she was used to from the stares in the Wizarding World, was there and after another few surreptitious scans of the room, his table was the only one left. And while the others kept glancing at her, they kept glancing away; unlike Matt.
She knew your other senses were meant to increase when you lost one of your senses and she wondered if he could hear every move she made. Was he really concerned about her poisoning them? It had seemed like a joke but why would he be facing her non-stop otherwise? Then the group got up to leave and she turned to face them, to clean up their table but Matt turned to her, a wide smile on his lips and her heart skipped a beat, blush renewed as she stared at the handsome man. She could've sworn his lips twitched after he had tilted his head slightly, as if he knew the effect he had on her with his stupidly handsome face, the dark stubble, soft lips and open humour – yep, this man was a heartbreaker. And with a very attractive physique to boot, from what she could see.
"Thanks for the drink. It was perfect, by the way."
"Ah, yes, em, you're welcome?" Meissa stuttered out and hoped to god his friends didn't tell him just how flustered he made her. "I mean, of course, you're welcome," she quickly corrected herself, drawing in a quick breath to find her confidence – she'd stood against Voldemort, she could handle chatting to a hot guy. "I just figured you needed a bit of sugar to boost your system and a bit of coffee to kick you awake."
He laughed, open and wide, invitingly, and her heart started racing at the sight.
"Yes, it did do that – kick me, that is," he said with a cheeky grin and she huffed with laughter.
"And please come back anytime. While we're getting this place a bit more friendly for, eh, you, drinks are on the house," she offered, hoping he would accept to come back if only for the free drinks. And be her eye candy. Was it socially acceptable to eye up a blind guy or was the objectifying him? Or would it be out of line because he had no way of telling she was looking at him and that she was out of line?
"Just for me?" He asked and Meissa hoped it was flirtatiously, but she had never been good at telling. Maybe she was being discriminatory?
"I mean, not just for you – for all, you know," Oh, god, she must have been infected with Ron's foot-in-mouth disease. She had to speak at a number of celebrations and festivities and Draco had coached her extensively on how to be politic; it seemed her brain was mush, though, when confronted with someone she was attracted to.
"I mean," she cleared her voice, "that the café has recently realised that we are missing in accommodations for people who struggle to see or hear and are working on making accommodations. In the meantime, your drinks are free, as I said."
"And you can just offer that?" He asked and she paused – good call.
"Well," she prevaricated; Meissa had never been a good liar, but hopefully this one wouldn't be too obvious, "I talked to the owner this morning after your first visit, so they're on board with this."
There was a frown on his face, head tilted again as he seemed to think things over momentarily before shrugging and nodding.
"I look forward to seeing you soon, then," he offered with a teasing tone and wide grin.
"Yes, see you soon," she responded wistfully, hating the slightly breathy quality of her own voice before she squeaked, realising what she'd just said. Matt laughed, obviously realising why she'd panicked and waved her off.
"It's fine, don't worry about it. It was meant to be funny."
Ah, so probably someone more like George who enjoyed jokes at his own expense and being treated normally. That, at least, was something she was familiar with and could handle.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly and smiled at him.
"Well, I'll look forward to your next visit, then."
She was about to leave them to it and turn towards the table when she felt his hand press against her back, turning her back towards them and before she knew it, her hand was in his.
"Pleasure to meet you. My name's Matt Murdock. I figured you should know that, at least, if I'm becoming a regular here soon."
Meissa laughed, noticing that his hand was still on her back, his touch warm and firm, and that he was closer than normally appropriate for friends (but definitely the right distance for people flirting – and to appreciate the strength in his arms and the toned body so close to her).
She shook his hand, noticing the callouses and scars, but doesn't ask.
"Pleasure to meet you, too, Matt. I'm glad you came back after this morning. My name's Meissa Heather Black." She wondered why she'd introduced herself with her full name, but nothing could be done about it now. Before she could retract her hand, it was lifted up and he pressed his lips gently against the back of her hand, ignoring her sharp inhalation at the contact or the way her hand shook. She extracted her hand, stepped back and the hand on her back also fell away (skirting her hips) as she turned to do her job, deliberately forcing herself not to watch the man leave. No need to worsen her first few bad impressions; although he didn't seem to mind so far, judging by the fact that he intended to become regular enough to introduce himself.
And well, if her body had responded to his proximity with a racing heart, sweaty palms and damp underwear, there was at least no way for him to tell. For all that his friends knew, she could be blushing from embarrassment, right? On the other hand, Hermione had always told her that Meissa was rather obvious when she crushed on someone.
Sighing to herself, Meissa filled her tray with the empty cups and plates (Matt had drunk every last sip) and tidied the seating area. She wondered if he would actually ever come back after his disastrous first time here but she could hope. And hope that it would be on her shift – which reminded her – she needed to brief the others that he got free drinks. Plus, he had been the one to kiss her hand, and flirt - or at least she hoped he'd been flirting. Draco had rolled his eyes and called her obtuse more than ones when she'd questioned whether someone was flirting with her.
That same evening, however, something else changed. While Meissa usually found peace lying on the roof of the building, staring up at the stars so similar to her own universe, this time she felt eyes on her. There was no one here with her, so somewhere further away. Disquieted, she returned to her apartment, but the eyes never left. Why was someone following her? Why now? And who?
