Author's Note: Well, this is my v. first time posting away from the HP boards. Strange! As I've said ad nauseum, the tone's going to change, & the beginnings of that are in this chapter. There's much more delving into the hormonal side of things, along with a nice, comparatively, nightmare scene.

Thanks so v. much for following me to my saga's new home!

Chapter 17: Laura Norris

In fact, Isabelle did forget about it until Phillip came home, took one look at she and Jake changing out the brake rotors while laughing and talking, and stormed upstairs. She looked at Jake, wide-eyed, who had a completely blank expression, save for a glimmer of an evil twinkle in his eyes. Confused, she sat up, leaned against the car, and turned to her friend.

"What was that about?" she asked, in a no-nonsense tone that clearly asserted that she wanted a straight answer this time.

Jake shrugged. "He's touchy about cars."

"That's it? He's 'touchy about cars'. I pour my heart out to you, and that's all I get?" She was incensed, especially after telling Jake secrets she hadn't even dared to whisper to anyone else.

"If you really want to know, her name was Laura Norris," he confessed with a darkening expression. "And if Phillip hasn't brought her up, I probably wouldn't ask him about it."

"That's why I'm asking you, you bloody retard," Isabelle snapped.

"You asked, I told you. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don't want to talk about it, either?" Jake snapped back. "If you're so damn curious, go find out about her yourself. Meanwhile, we'd better hurry up before it starts snowing."

"Fine."

"Fine," he repeated, equally irritated. "Any big plans for Valentine's Day?"

"No. I hope Phillip forgets, because I wish I could."

"And why are we so down on the Day of Love? What part bugs you – the flowers or the chocolate?"

"Well, since I haven't brought it up, you probably shouldn't ask me about it, now should you?"

Jake burst out laughing. Something about her expression reminded him more of a stubborn toddler, rather than an angry woman. "I only asked you if you weren't fond of flowers or chocolate. I made no mention of the fact that it's Sirius Black's twenty-eighth birthday."

Isabelle was so shocked that she sat straight up, hitting her head with a painful-sounding thump. "How did you know that?"

"I make it my business to know important things like that," he said lightly. "Lie down. Do you have a cut?"

"No," she winced, taking her hand away from her forehead, where a large, red bump was already forming. Jake looked at it for a few seconds, squinted, then took out his wand and uttered a few charms, which made her head feel better instantly. "How'd you learn that?"

"Brittany. She's always been big into the Healing Arts, and she taught all of us that one when we were little. We were a little...adventurous, and always getting hurt. She hates to see anyone in pain. So, don't ask her about Laura, either."

"You're a little protective of her."

"She's like a little sister to me."

Isabelle smiled internally. No matter what side of the ocean, men were still completely blissfully oblivious about how girls felt about them. Honestly, it gave her a small measure of comfort that it wasn't just Sirius who was so thick. Apparently it was a gender-related pheonemon.

-----

About a week later, when Isabelle sat in the school library doing her Chemistry homework, bored, the random idea hit her to search the school yearbooks for this Laura Norris person. She had an hour to kill before work, and snooping about seemed like far more fun than balancing equations. Besides, the library was nearly deserted, so no one would come along to interrupt her.

She quickly calculated in her head the years that Phillip was at Jamestown High, and pulled out the yearbooks to take back to her secluded corner. When she didn't find anything in his freshman yearbook, she grew discouraged because she didn't want to go to Spotswood for any reason, even research. Though, she couldn't help but giggle at her boyfriend's baby face. Sometimes, he barely passed for sixteen, let alone nearly twenty-two.

He was awfully cute though, she thought with pride. Ever since Christmas holidays, she became quite popular, just because it got around the school that Phillip Spence was her boyfriend. Part of her resented the attention, but honestly, it was really nice to have a real relationship. It made her feel more normal, instead of an exiled witch from England with no family or home to go back to.

On the way from the sophomore pictures to the athletic pages (so she could admire his soccer photographs), she idly leafed through the freshman section. Honestly, the Muggle yearbooks bored her terribly, as the pictures didn't move or do anything remotely interesting. On a whim she looked through the "N" column, and to her great surprise, she found a listing for "Laura Norris".

She ran her finger across the photographs until finding the correct one. A cute, brunette girl with a generous splattering of freckles across her nose stared up at Isabelle through deep chocolate brown eyes. Isabelle flipped to the back to the index, cursing herself for not thinking of that sooner, and looked at all the pictures of the girl.

There was one of her with the FFA, which made Isabelle wrinkle her nose. Why on earth would there be a need for a club for Future Farmers of America, anyway? Laura also was in the Drama Club, and the manager of the varsity boys' soccer team. Other than that, she wasn't overly photographed or popular.

Unlike Phillip, who was absolutely everywhere, especially in his junior year yearbook. The mystery girl began appearing in the pictures alongside him, beaming. She barely came up to the middle of his chest, Isabelle thought jealously with a frown. What on earth could he possibly have seen in such an ordinary Muggle girl like Laura?

Isabelle's mean-spirited thoughts continued until she opened the cover of Phillip's senior year yearbook. The top of the first page read, "In Memoriam", and below it was a large, glossy picture of a typically-sunny faced Laura. Isabelle's heart sunk as she read the page, feeling horribly guilty for being jealous of a dead girl.

The yearbook didn't offer up any more information, and it was nearly time for her to leave for work, so Isabelle somberly returned the yearbooks to the circulation desk. She ploddingly packed up her schoolbooks and headed towards Wiz-Mart. Perhaps it would be a busy evening. That way, she wouldn't have much time to wonder about this Laura. The ghost of one dead woman was enough for her to live under; Isabelle didn't want to fight another one.

-----

Isabelle hated Mondays. The fact that this particular Monday also happened to be Valentine's Day made her mood even worse. Since Severus was still away, choosing to leave her for an extended weekend in a surprising move of trust that she attributed more to his wanting to spend time with Stacey than anything else, she decided to skip school in order to ignore the day altogether. She owled Sarah Lindsay the night before, telling her friend that she caught a cold from a patient at Wiz-Mart.

Unfortunately, she couldn't really do anything or go anywhere, because she was "sick". Not only that, but everything on the television was Valentine's Day related. So she did the only dignified thing she could think of, which was hiding underneath her covers and feeling sorry for herself. She slept on and off until noon, when she vaguely heard a faint pop.

"Isabelle?" came Phillip's voice. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm," fake cough, "sick."

"Yeah, and I'm the Dali Lama," he laughed, sitting on her bed and pulling the covers off her head. He pointed to a large container on the floor. "Brittany wanted me to bring by some soup for you – her famous healing soup – since she heard you weren't feeling well. I didn't have the heart to tell her that you're just throwing a pity party. Besides, I figured you wouldn't turn down a free lunch."

"Oh." Now Isabelle really did feel sick. Sick with guilt and shame for worrying her friends. She wasn't really used to having friends who actually cared for her like that.

"So why are you skipping school?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Why are you skipping school?" she parroted back.

"I'm not. I get out on Mondays at noon," he reminded her, leaning over to brush some stray hairs from her face. He took her into his arms so gently and tenderly that Isabelle's face colored red with shame.

"Why are you so nice to me?"

"Because I'm a glutton for punishment."

She couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not. "I hate Valentine's Day."

"Good thing I didn't get you a damn thing, then," Phillip smirked as her head jerked up in surprise. He twirled a strand of hair around his finger, as was his custom, and enigmatically said, "Don't worry, I have a day planned out that's all us. No random past emotional baggage."

Isabelle bit her lip and looked straight into his sincere blue eyes. "Speaking of, there's, uh, a question I need to ask you."

"Anything."

"Am I – that is," she stuttered, "am I second best to you?"

"What?" He was stunned, having no clue what she meant.

Isabelle hung her head and barely squeaked out, "I know about Laura Norris. I mean, I read about her in the yearbooks, and in the Muggle newspaper."

"I see."

"No, you don't see," she continued, gaining a little confidence. "I thought that this was different, that we were different. I thought there was no one else to compete with for your heart, and it turns out that there is. See, I fell in love with a man once, who was in love with someone else, and it nearly tore me apart. I can't do that again, so if I can't have your heart – your whole heart – than please tell me now, before I get too attached, and--"

"I'm over Laura," Phillip interrupted, leaning his forehead to hers. "Do you know when I knew that for sure?"

Isabelle shook her head no. "When?"

"When I met you at that Christmas party in London. I honestly changed after that, and I think that's why I got so upset when everyone thought you died."

"I don't quite follow."

Over bowls of soup, which was the perfect lunch, considering the day was horribly gloomy and threatening to sleet, Phillip opened up to Isabelle about his own past. How he knew Laura peripherally from Spotswood, and got to know her only because she was totally lost in the Muggle world. She rode horses, and decided to transfer schools because she could compete in the various Muggle competitions.

He talked about how he fell for her late in his sophomore year, and how they were inseparable. Back then, he had no real driving ambition, other than to play soccer, and she just wanted a farm with a stable full of horses. They secretly planned to marry after she graduated high school, settle down in the country outside of town, and live happily ever after.

However, fate had an entirely different plan altogether. At an after-prom party during Phillip's senior year, Laura had a bit too much to drink. She wasn't much of a drinker and had no clue how intoxicated she really was. She needed to go home because of a competition the next morning, and he was far too drunk to take her home. So, considering that her house was less than a mile away, she decided to take her chances.

Laura never made it home. The police ruled that a combination of poor road visibility due to a strong thunderstorm, her impaired senses, and brake failure caused her to veer off the road and into a tree. Phillip couldn't forgive himself for any of it, especially since it was he who changed her brakes last.

After that, he really didn't care about anything at all. He decided on Muggle college only because he got offered a scholarship, and soccer was the only thing that remotely made him happy. Nothing mattered anymore, so when one of his father's colleague's daughters asked him out, he went along with it. He didn't give a damn about Nikki Sullivan, other than her father was powerful and would help him get a high-ranking job after he graduated college.

And she was easy. When he admitted that part, Phillip couldn't bear to meet Isabelle's curious gaze. Nikki was cruel and manipulative, but he didn't mind as long as she put out whenever he wanted. It wasn't a very happy existence, but without Laura, he figured it was the best he was going to have.

Then came the invitation to join the Sullivan family at the Ministry of Magic's annual Christmas party. The only reason he agreed to it is because Laura always wanted to visit England, especially London. He planned to take her there on their honeymoon, so he figured that he'd go to honor her memory. At least, that was his twisted logic.

While Nikki went off shopping with her mother, Phillip walked the streets, visiting various places that Laura always talked about going to. But, he wasn't quite as sad as he thought he'd be. It wasn't nearly as traumatic as he anticipated.

Not being upset bothered him far more than if he was devastated vising London without her. By the time he got to the party, he was in a foul mood. So he went off by himself to stew, which is what he was busy doing when Isabelle accidentally sat on him.

"I realized that I wasn't that upset because I was over Laura," he said, looking up at Isabelle. After eating, they sprawled out in the living room, where he rested his head in her lap. He liked it when she ran her fingers through his hair; it soothed him.

"I mean," he continued, "I'll always love her. She was my first love. But when I was in London, with you, you were really nice to me. Even though you said yourself that you'd never see me again, so you had no reason to be. And back then, I wasn't a very nice guy. I didn't deserve it. I wanted to be someone who a girl like you, or Laura, would actually go out with."

"Heh. I'm no angel," Isabelle admitted, making his hair stand straight out on end.

"So anyway, I was really pissed off when your family fell apart, because it seemed like every girl I actually cared about dies. Everyone thought I was in denial when I said you were, well, you."

"And here we are," Isabelle concluded.

"Here we are," Phillip repeated, sitting up to kiss her. "I'm yours, I promise. Now, since you're sick and obviously in no condition to go out, how do you want to spend the rest of the day?"

"What are my options?" she giggled, watching him try to fix his hair.

"We could..." his voice trailed off, as he kissed her again. He thought what was on his mind was completely obvious. "There's nothing on TV."

"True."

-----

The small closet was black – pitch black. So dark that it wrapped around her, like a hot, suffocating blanket. Isabelle hated the dark, but she refused to cry. No matter what, she wouldn't let Petunia know that she was afraid. Even though she was hungry and desperately needed a bathroom.

She sat quietly, feverishly praying that someone would come let her out soon. It wasn't her fault that the tea cup went flying across the room. She simply got angry and it just...happened. But Petunia couldn't understand her anyway, so she didn't even try. Instead, she quietly allowed her sister to push her into the large linen closet, figuring that if she didn't protest, she wouldn't be spanked, or worse. Her sister could have quite a temper when provoked.

A small squeaking, followed by a rustling, interrupted the silence. Isabelle knew it was a mouse, and was petrified of them, even more than Petunia. She began beating on the door, screaming for someone to find her. But, no one came. She screamed until she was hoarse, and even then, she didn't stop.

"Please, let me out!" she croaked. "I promise, I'll be good, I swear! Please!"

"Isabelle, wake up," Phillip said loudly, shaking her roughly. "Isabelle!"

"I swear, it won't happen again!" she screamed in English, switching languages in her half-awake state.

"You're having a nightmare," he told her, conjuring up a lantern. He waited until its soft light illuminated the room before speaking again. "See? Everything's fine now."

"I hate the dark," she shuddered, practically leaping into his arms. She waited for him to ask what her dream was about, but to her relief, he didn't. He simply held her quietly until she was nearly asleep.

When he moved to leave, she clung to him, and pleaded, "Please don't leave me."

"I'm trying to be a gentleman here," Phillip pointed out, even though he definitely didn't want to be, in any way, shape or form.

"Please."

He couldn't tell her no.

-----

In fact, from then on, whenever she had a nightmare, which was nearly every night, she immediately Apparated into Phillip's bedroom and curled up beside him. He'd spend a good half hour or so calming her down, then get to her go back to her own apartment. She'd beg him to come with, just to make sure everything was really all right. At that point, she always flashed her big, frightened green eyes and he ended up in bed with her.

Which was torture, frankly. Ever since they'd gotten together at Christmas, they hadn't slept together. Not even remotely close. He really wanted to bring up the subject, considering that they were practically living together, but didn't want to jeopardize what they did have together. But spending his nights next to a girlfriend he couldn't really touch wasn't fun.

Not to mention that they'd been together before, so he had a very good recollection of exactly what that experience was like. In the back of his mind, he figured that had something to do with it. Either that, or she was one of those girls, the ones who weren't willing to go that far. But she always said that she was no angel, so that didn't make any sense.

Phillip's mind circled with those thoughts for hours, until the sun rose and he could justifiedly excuse himself. He got along with Severus just fine, but if the older wizard caught him in Isabelle's bed, no matter how chaste the circumstances, the outcome wouldn't be pleasant. After Apparating back to his place, he usually took an extremely cold shower. He didn't remember what a warm one felt like at this point.

Once, he was so tired that instead of using magical means, he took his chances sneaking out and walking the fifty or so feet to his own apartment. Unfortunately for him, Thomas was awake early for some reason and started joking on him, insinuating that he was doing the Walk of Shame. Instead of correcting his brother, Phillip let him think that he was sleeping with Isabelle, even though he definitely wasn't. Less embarrassing that way.

By the time Saint Patrick's Day arrived, he had completely given up on ever seeing her less than completely clothed. He asked her to make sure she had the night off from work, and surprised her with a picnic dinner beside the river underneath the stars. When it got chilly, he lit a small fire and the two roasted marshmallows and generally enjoyed each other's company.

"I told you I had something planned," he whispered into her ear. His breath tickled her ear, and she involuntarily shivered. "Cold?"

"No. This is really romantic, except that there's no green beer. It's Saint Patrick's Day, after all," she joked, licking bits of toasted marshmallow off her fingers. Phillip couldn't watch.

"Who says this is it?" he teased back, pulling her to her feet.

When they got back to their apartment complex, they snuck to the roof, where they stayed outside until nearly one o'clock in the morning. Phillip managed to find various recordings of her favorite Celtic artists, so they danced and drank a bit too much, only quitting when they were too dizzy to continue. They laid side by side on a blanket looking at the night sky until the world righted itself.

Then they snuck into Isabelle's bedroom window via the fire escape, and Phillip began to make for the door. She caught his robe sleeve, kissing him until he really wanted to give in. But since he was seriously trying to be good, and virtuous, and such, he gently pushed her away.

"Stay," she pouted, pulling him back to her.

"I can't," he said honestly. "I can't do this anymore, spending nights beside you and not--"

"I really want you to stay. Please, be with me," Isabelle bit her lip, deciding to come right out with it. She leaned over and whispered, "That's my polite English way of asking you to shag me rotten. Want to have a go?"

-----

"He turned me down," Isabelle said flatly, shuffling her feet along the gymnasium floor. Sarah Lindsay stopped mid-stride and stared at her in disbelief.

"He did what?" she squeaked, before starting to walk again.

Since it was an unusually cold, dreary March, the P.E. classes generally kept indoors. Everyone was left to their own devices, as long as they did something athletically-oriented. Most of the ninth grade girls walked around the gym floor, in order to admire the boys. Some went into the weight room, to pretend to lift weights when they actually wanted to stare at the guys.

And some, like Brittany, played around on the gymnastics equipment. Not being particularly gymnastically oriented or interested in ninth grade boys, Isabelle and Sarah Lindsay used the time to catch up on things, since Isabelle worked constantly and didn't have much free time. Brittany usually stayed away, because the talk always centered around their boyfriends, and she didn't want to even think about her older brothers that way.

"Tucked me into bed like James did when I was a little girl and stayed up too late to put myself to bed. And then, went home. How humiliating is that?" Isabelle lamented.

"Pretty bad."

"Maybe he just doesn't want me. After all, it's only been that one time..."

Sarah Lindsay stopped for the second time in that many minutes. This time, she was certain that she had earwax stopping up her ears, or went temporarily insane. "You mean to tell me that you and Phillip haven't...in all this time?"

"Nope," Isabelle confirmed. "He hasn't even made a move, other than snogging. All those weekends, alone, nothing."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!" her friend exclaimed, unaware of the irony of her statement. "I've been staying away, putting up with my crazy mother, for nothing?"

"I'm afraid so. I would've said something, but I've been too embarrassed. I mean, he's...and I'm...maybe he thinks I'm too young for him, and he's trying to find a decent way to chuck me," Isabelle theorized.

"But you're eighteen in three months. Definitely legal at that point. Besides, you're English, so American rules don't apply," Sarah Lindsay pointed out.

"Irish," she corrected, pouting.

"Half-Irish at that, and your nationality is English, you little snot," she teased, knowing that Isabelle was itching to hex her for that one. "Either way, it doesn't change my point that over there, you're definitely an adult."

"But he's almost twenty-two."

"Women mature much faster than men. Everyone knows that," Sarah Lindsay said, nodding her head wisely.

"So true," Isabelle agreed. "Maybe he doesn't want me because of the last time we were together. I threw myself at him. Maybe he thinks I'm a bit of a," she lowered her voice, "a tart."

"A pastry?"

"No, that I'm easy. I had that reputation, undeservedly," her face darkened, "at Hogwarts. Maybe Phillip heard about it and now he doesn't want a girl who'd shag anyone."

Sarah Lindsay laughed out loud, trying to be serious, but it simply wasn't in her nature. "Haven't y'all had the talk?"

"What talk?" Isabelle puzzled.

"The list talk. You know, where you talk about who you've been with, past romantic relationships, times you've been in love, that stuff."

"Uh, no! I'm English, for crying out loud!" she hissed, absolutely horrified.

"Now you claim it," Sarah Lindsay joked, giggling behind her hand. "Come on, this is the eighties. You need to be empowered and take control over your sexual destiny."

"What magazine did you read that from?"

"Can't remember," she shrugged. "Meanwhile, if that's what's bothering Phillip, then tell him the truth. Besides, isn't he always saying that your past doesn't matter to him?"

"True. Which is good, because I don't exactly want to air my dirty laundry. Maybe I was a horrible shag," Isabelle pondered, frowning. That possibility hadn't occurred to her, and was quite a kick in the ego.

"But you were drunk!" Sarah Lindsay said in her friend's defense.

"Well, I'm not that experienced, considering. The only boy I've been with for any length of time was a long time ago. He didn't complain, but maybe Phillip's much more picky. Being as he's older and all."

"He porked that Sullivan slut," she said rather crassly, but that particular individual didn't deserve any sort of politeness.

"Yes, but she is a tart, so probably a good shag," Isabelle pointed out. "Unlike me, apparently."

The teacher blew his whistle for the end of class, so everyone began migrating towards the locker rooms to dress out. Isabelle sadly changed back into her jeans and tee-shirt, stuffing her gym suit in her duffel bag. At least she wouldn't have to see Phillip tonight, because she was closing the apothecary. With any luck, she could pick up a shift Saturday so she could avoid him.