So, uh, this story's back. Hi.
Original Publication Date: June 2016
Chapter One
Pimply
"Do you have any chips here?"
I looked up from where I stood behind the counter, the latest copy of Witch Weekly in my hands, to see a boy who couldn't have been older than ten staring up at me with wide blue eyes, his expression hopeful.
"Sorry, kid, we only have ice cream here." I pointed to the sign hanging in the shop window: Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, with a very obvious depiction of an ice cream cone floating next to it, but the kid looked obliviously back at me.
"So, you don't have any chips?"
I sighed, glancing around the shop and wondering where his parents were, only to look back at him when he put his elbows on the counter, leaning towards me. On instinct, I leaned back, and the boy pouted.
"Look, kid, we have ice cream, and only ice cream," I said as patiently as I could. I had been here for six hours already, and my shift was about to be over, so I really didn't have time for this kid and his stupid questions. "If you want chips, there's a nice little pub down the street called the Leaky Cauldron. Ask for Tom; he'll help you out."
I went back to my magazine, clearly dismissing him, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes when he asked, "So, you really don't have any chips?"
"Kid, for the tenth time, no, we don't have any bloody chips—"
"Everything all right out here?"
I grimaced at the voice of Alice Fortescue, the daughter of the shop's owner. I turned my head to see her smiling warmly at the boy, though her expression flickered when her eyes met mine.
"He keeps asking me if we have any chips," I explained. "I told him no, like, three times, but he's refusing to listen to me—"
"Can I have an ice cream?" the boy piped up.
I whirled around, seeing the kid looking at Alice innocently, and the round-faced girl smiled at him.
"Of course, sweetie," she said. "What kind would you like?"
I swiveled my head back and forth between the two, bewildered.
"But he – I—" I spluttered, gaping when the boy grinned at me triumphantly. That little shit.
"Raspberry with almonds," he said easily, as if he had ordered the flavor a thousand times. All I could do was stare as Alice nodded, gesturing to me.
"You got it, dear," she said kindly. "Piper here will get right on that for you."
She looked at me as if daring me to argue, and though I wanted to protest, I swallowed down my retort and nodded stiffly, moving to make the ice cream. Although Alice and I had never gotten along, I didn't want to give her a reason for her dad to fire me, so I had no choice but to bow my head and do what she said, something she would no doubt lord over me as soon as we went back to Hogwarts.
Alice was about to start her seventh and final year at school, while I was only in my sixth, and boy, did she like to point out that fact a lot. I wasn't entirely sure why she disliked me, but if I based her opinions off of everyone else in the school, then I would say that it was because of my friends' – and my – reputation. See, I thought of us as the cool, suave, totally awesome sixth-years, but to everyone else, we were "slags", "attention-seekers", and (my personal favorite) "bitches."
"That'll be two Knuts," I said, handing the ice cream cone over to the boy and preparing to open the register, but Alice just shook her head.
"It's on me," she said, waving the boy away. "Enjoy the rest of your day, sweetie."
The boy beamed at Alice, then stuck his tongue out at me when she wasn't looking before bouncing out of the store, ice cream already smeared around his mouth.
I closed the register with a sigh and reached for my magazine again, but Alice snatched it away from me.
"You're still on the clock, Piper," she said reproachfully, rolling the magazine up and wagging it at me. "Save your gossip column for your own time."
I looked around the empty shop skeptically. "There's no one in here. What am I supposed to do? Stand here and look pretty?"
Alice gave me a dark look before grabbing the broom and dustpan from the corner. "How about sweeping?"
I eyed the cleaning utensils with a grimace before she thrust them into my hands.
"If you've got time to lean, you've got time to clean," she said sweetly, quoting one of the stupid catchphrases her dad always spouted as I walked out to the lobby. "Shame you can't use magic outside of school yet," she continued with faux sympathy, twirling her wand between her fingers as she watched me. "I don't know how I coped with things before I was seventeen. It was all just so…Muggle."
I clenched my teeth, choosing not to respond and continue on with sweeping. Alice, now seemingly satisfied at the number of digs she had made at me, whisked to the back (probably to read my magazine), leaving me alone in the empty shop.
Despite the relatively warm summer day, business was slow, but I attributed that to the fact that most people were too busy running around trying to buy last-minute school supplies to even think about ice cream. Fortunately, I was in no such rush, having bought my things weeks ago, so I just continued to clean, humming to myself and counting down the minutes until I was off.
Truth be told, I was going to miss working here. Despite Alice's superiority complex, the shop had been a nice reprieve from my usual boring summer holidays home, and I had made a lot of money from doing it, too. The best part, however, had probably been being able to keep up with the rest of the wizarding world for once, instead of being cooped up in my Muggle home all the time. Tomorrow I would be off to Hogwarts again, though, and that left one more year until I was gone for good, and that was the lifeline I had been clutching onto since I was eleven.
When some strange lady proclaiming to be Minerva McGonagall had popped onto our doorstep five years ago (and I mean she literally popped out of thin air) and told my parents she was the Deputy Headmistress at some school called Hogwarts, none of us had believed her. Add the fact that apparently I was a witch, and my younger brother was most likely a wizard, and my parents had been prepared to call the police. But she explained everything to us, and for some inexplicable reason, it all made total sense.
Odd things had always happened around me when I was younger, from accidentally turning my brother's hair pink when he stole my favorite toy to lighting a candle just by thinking about it, and when she had begun to explain why I did the things I did, and who I was, and that there was a school where I would be able to learn more about it all, I was ecstatic.
Finally, I had a chance of getting out of the mess that was my life. I could escape the shoves and laughter of the kids that had bullied me mercilessly in primary school, I wouldn't have to listen to my dad shouting and my mum crying… I could leave. I could go to a place where I would finally be accepted, and if luck had it, my brother could follow me there one year later.
It had taken a lot of convincing on my parents' part, and to this day, I still don't think they entirely believe it, but they had agreed to let me go. I had gotten a wand, and robes, and textbooks about charms and potions and actual spells, and I had never been happier. Of course, things don't always turn out the way you expect them to be, but five years later I'm still alive and kicking, so that's something, right?
The clock behind the counter rang out that it was four o'clock, and a wheezy voice issued out of a slit near the bottom. "Shift for Piper Everlark is now complete. Please clock out before leaving."
Well, it didn't have to tell me twice. I put up the broom and dustpan and grabbed my timecard, about to punch myself out before the bell above the door dinged behind me and footsteps trampled in, followed by loud laughter that made me roll my eyes in annoyance.
Assuming Alice wasn't going to come out to help me, I dropped my card on the table beneath the clock and prepared to turn around, only to freeze when a familiar voice drawled, "Oi, can we get some service, please? It's a scorcher out there."
Taking a deep breath, I turned around with a dazzling smile, enjoying the expression of shock that crossed James Potter's face before it slipped into a scowl. He was flanked perpetually by his stupid mates—Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew—and they looked none too happy to see me either as I leaned against the counter.
"And just what can I get you boys today?" I said. Potter appeared like he had half a mind to turn around and walk out before Black scoffed beside him.
"Well, if I had known Pimply was working here, I would've suggested somewhere else," he said, sneering at me, and Pettigrew chortled.
"No one's saying you have to buy anything, git," I replied sweetly, and he rolled his eyes.
"C'mon, Sirius, there's a sandwich shop right up the street," Lupin said, his tone utterly bored as he gestured vaguely to the door.
He walked out without waiting for the others, Pettigrew following suit and Black right behind him. Potter cast me one last scathing look before waving. "See ya, Pimply!"
The bell chimed again as the door snapped closed behind them, and I relaxed my grip on the counter, not even realizing how tightly I had been holding it. No matter how many years went by, I knew those boys would never forgive me. I had been marked down as their sworn enemy (only behind Severus Snape and Bertram Aubrey) since I was in first year and they second, and they never missed an opportunity to remind me of that (even though my old nickname didn't even count anymore, as my face had long since cleared of any acne).
Sighing, I finally clocked out and stepped out of the shop. Sweat was already forming on the back of my neck and under my arms as I walked to the corner of the shop and unchained my bicycle from where I locked it against one of the water pipes jutting out of the building before climbing on and taking off down the street, the slight breeze conjured by the movement smoothing my hair out of my face and offering some reprieve from the stifling heat.
I pedaled towards the Leaky Cauldron before hopping off and walking my bike inside, careful to avoid hitting any patrons with it as I made my way toward the alley and the brick wall that would take me back to the Muggle side of London.
I passed the bar and waved to Tom, who gave me a gap-toothed smile and a nod in return before I was out the other door and in the alleyway. A gaggle of wizards were entering from the other side, dressed in poorly mismatched Muggle clothes, and they appeared to be in deep discussion, though one of them kindly held his arm out to keep the bricks from sliding back into place, allowing me to go through without having to use my wand to tap the wall open again.
"Thanks," I said hastily, pushing my bike past the group and heading for the opening, my ears snatching on bits of their conversation as I walked past.
"—I'm telling you, Bert, that bridge collapse down in Kent wasn't a Muggle construction malfunction—"
One of the wizards dressed in a polka-dotted raincoat and matching boots scoffed openly.
"'Course it was, Hector, those Muggles never know what they're doin' half the time," he retorted.
"The only explanation is Death Eaters!" another whispered harshly. "You-Know-Who is behind this – we can't stop lying to ourselves about this menace—"
"That's enough, Scotty!" the first wizard growled, his warning gaze sliding over to me where I had frozen in place, staring at them with wide eyes. "C'mon," he said, pushing them inside the pub, "let's talk in here."
I hurried out of the opening before the bricks slid back into place, my chest tight as I entered back into the Muggle world, the sudden rush of honking automobiles and chattering people not quite permeating my brain, everyone walking by me as if I had been there the whole time and hadn't just appeared on the street a few seconds ago.
The uneasiness that had come over me as I got back on my bike and began pedaling down the street hadn't subsided since I left the wizards behind, and I couldn't help the small shiver that went down my spine as I recalled their conversation.
It was common knowledge in the wizarding world that there was a war brewing, a war between those who valued "pure" wizards with all magical blood over those with only half or those of Muggle descent, like me. The leader who fronted it was a powerful enemy spoken about only by using the monikers 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.' Even though I wasn't entirely invested in the happenings going on in the wizarding world, hearing about the tension and fear that was rapidly spreading amongst the magical community was still unsettling.
Pushing all thoughts of Death Eaters and You-Know-Who out of my mind, I continued on my way home, entirely certain of one thing amidst all this madness: nothing bad would happen to me, or my brother, or my family. We were safe.
Yet I couldn't ignore the little voice in the back of my mind that whispered but what if you're not?
General Author's Note: I've been feeling terrible recently about the number of stories I've deleted over the years, so I will slowly be re-uploading them to my profile, both here and on AO3. If you're still here, welcome back for the ride! If you're new, happy to have you here!