Wow! Thank you for the lovely reviews, they really make my day. The updates are going to slow down a bit from here but my goal is to post at least one update per week!
- H. Kestrel
What was it that Dumbledore had called it?
Repressed magic.
Charlotte rolled her eyes at the thought, curled up on her musty bed in the Leaky Cauldron.
It had been five weeks since she had transitioned to her temporary home and she had already tried to make it as homey as she could manage. She had replaced the moth-ball scented quilt with one she had purchased in London the first year she lived at Spinner's End. It was her favorite color – blue – and seemed to lighten the room considerably. She had placed her own framed photographs on the fireplace mantle – one of herself and Walburga Black on her wedding day, another of two dark-haired brothers and a cheerfully laughing girl, and three girls bunched together in the Slytherin common room – and had lit some lavender candles to get rid of the dingy odor.
Charlotte still used magic, albeit occasionally.
After all, it had been her magic that had caused all of this.
She used simple spells – repairing charms and used plenty of them in her potion brewing – and occasionally she waved her wand to clean. More commonly, Charlotte went about her day the muggle way, and more often than not, left her wand in her room at the Leaky Cauldron.
Three years ago, this would have been blasphemous. Three years ago, Regulus had died and the Dark Lord – no, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – was happily burning down every semblance of happiness she had never known. Charlotte had needed her wand then.
But now He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone, and Charlotte found herself enjoying the lack of her wand. It caused fewer problems in her daily activities. It did not stick her in the ass anymore when she was reading, nor did it catch on things and go spiraling out of her pockets. Charlotte quite liked going wandless as often as possible.
If Dumbledore wanted to call that repressing her magic, then she was perfectly fine with repressing the bloody hell out of it.
She tugged her sleeves down to her wrists, a habit she had acquired as of late, and turned back to her book, ignoring the leering stare of her mother-in-law in the photograph.
Walburga would have expected her to visit.
Though Charlotte and Walburga had their disappointments over the years, Walburga had loved Charlotte.
Charlotte's own parents had died when she was in school, and her mother being close friends with Walburga from their own days at Hogwarts, Charlotte had gone to live with the Blacks. It had always been assumed that Charlotte would marry one of the Black brothers. They had cut their teeth together, after all. Charlotte had learned to walk by yanking Regulus down in his own mobility attempt and had learned to escape her play pen by Sirius's instruction.
Sirius had taught her how to ride a broomstick, and Regulus had refined her dueling. If they had been brought up under normal circumstances, they would have been like sister and brothers. But their upbringing had very little semblance to normal. Walburga wanted one of her boys to marry the Fraser girl, and she had gotten her wish.
Walburga had always doted on her. Perhaps it was that she did not need to carry any expectations of Charlotte, because she was not her own daughter. But Walburga never seemed to grow exceptionally upset with Charlotte over anything – other than when Charlotte attempted a disastrous bob haircut – and had enjoyed spoiling her. The Black matriarch had taken her to get her nails done every holiday they went home and had sent her chocolates and beautiful scarves while at Hogwarts.
Since Regulus had died, Charlotte had not gone to see her.
The shame was simply too much for Charlotte to bear.
It was her fault, after all, that they were living this ghost of a life.
"Stop THINKING," Charlotte suddenly shouted to the empty room, "You stupid, silly girl!"
The table side lamp exploded in a glitter of broken glass.
Burying her face into the feathered pillows, Charlotte took deep breaths.
Repressed magic.
That's what Dumbledore had called it.
Growling in frustration, Charlotte sat up and took three attempts to repair the broken lamp before hurling her wand across the room. Standing abruptly, she gathered her books and made her way down to the pub downstairs.
Ordering a pot of oolong from the barmaid, who cast her a dithering look, Charlotte propped her book up at the booth and delved into the realm of fiction.
Walburga had always snickered that she should have been a Ravenclaw.
Always stuck in a book, that pretty nose of yours.
Charlotte did not think she would have done well in Ravenclaw. Her favorite pastime had always been reading from the time she could do so. However, Charlotte had rarely done exceptional in school and she had not scored a single 'E' in her NEWT's. It had left her ability to secure any kind of career rather dismal, and thankfully Charlotte had some family money to live on.
No, Charlotte had been adequately placed in Slytherin, she thought coldly.
She had done enough to reaffirm that House's reputation.
Several hours passed before Charlotte bothered to look up from her stack of fiction tomes, and glance around the bustling pub. She had drunk a pot of oolong and snacked on several bowls of crisps – to the glowering glare of the barmaid – and was ready to return to repairing the lamp in her rooms.
She recognized the face before it recognized her.
A moment passed between the two sets of hazel eyes, before they brightened in surprise and then in shock, and for a moment a look passed between the two that could simply be described as resignation.
Remus Lupin crossed the Leaky Cauldron pub to stand alongside her booth.
"Hello, Charlotte," he said softly.
Charlotte took note of his robes – which were as ragged as ever – and the fringe of face that had gone a few days without shaving. She recalled the way he had looked last she saw him – in perhaps those same robes, but new, and a bright smile plastered across his face.
Remus looked like he hadn't smiled much in the last three years.
"Remus," She matched his tone, "How are you?"
For a moment, he seemed surprised.
"As well as could be expected. Can I join you?"
Charlotte nodded nervously, watching the werewolf-wizard slide into the booth across from her.
"Come here often?" He joked, but the light didn't come to his eyes.
Charlotte wondered what she should say and bit her lip.
Most of Charlotte's friends had died in the war. Evan Rosier had perished, Bellatrix was in Azkaban with Rabastan, Rudolphus, and Sirius. Despite their numerous agreements to meet up for tea one day, Charlotte had not seen Louisa Rosier in nearly two years. Augustus was busy with his job at the Ministry of Magic, and Wilhemina Wilkes had been killed by her own brother when she married that idiot muggle.
She had not ever had to explain her current predicament. How would she tell anyone that her marriage to Severus had been arranged for them both to save face? Or that it hadn't even been their own idea? It felt like something out of one of Charlotte's books if it weren't so pathetically sad.
"I stay here, during the summer," Charlotte decided.
Remus peered at her for a moment, digging his fingers into the bowl of potato crisps.
But Charlotte recalled that Remus was exceptionally kind and felt relief flood over here when he shrugged and began discussing his most recent job working for a printing company. She was delighted that he could whisper confirmation of her favorite author's new book release.
"I heard a rumor," he said after a half hour of uncommitted conversation, "That you married Snape?"
Charlotte felt her cheeks burn, "Ah, yes. About a year ago."
Remus glanced about the pub, "Where is Sni- excuse me - Severus?"
She hadn't heard any one dare to refer to Snape's Hogwarts nickname in years, and found a startled laugh escape her mouth.
"Home, I imagine," she offered, "I couldn't tell you, honestly."
Remus raised a single brow, "He's your husband."
"We don't live together."
It appeared that too many unasked questions have overwhelmed Remus, whose raised eyebrow suddenly furrowed on his forehead, and Charlotte sunk her teeth into her lip again.
"You don't live together?"
Charlotte opened her mouth haphazardly, but Remus interrupted her, "Are you alright, Charlie?"
Charlotte followed his downward glance and looked at her trembling hands. Her fingertips had scorched the wooden booth-top, leaving ten tiny black dots. She looked up at him in alarm, and for a moment she could see his younger, smiling face beneath the haggard one facing her now.
No one had called her Charlie in years.
Charlie, they aren't going to hate you.
Yes, they are Sirius, I'm a Slytherin, they're Gryffindor. It's a hatred sewn in history.
They'll love you because I love you.
Her breaths were coming to her like gasps for air, she fisted her hands together and placed them on her lap, but already she felt that familiar sensation washing over her – like pressing a burn to ice.
See, they loved you.
Only because they love you, you idiot.
Well, let's hope they never see me the way you do.
His voice was ringing in her ears like the buzz of a lightbulb, her fingers inadvertently reached to plug them, and her eyes squeezed shut of her own accord.
"Go away," She whispered to herself.
"Charlie?"
She could hear the alarm in Remus's voice, but when she opened her eyes she saw Sirius staring back at her, grinning the way he had that night. The summer before her last year at Hogwarts, when he had snuck her out of Grimmauld Place on his motorbike and taken her to Godric's Hollow.
The lamps in the Leaky Cauldron pub exploded.
Blinking, Charlotte stared up at the sand descending from the lampshades as it landed over the startled, laughing crowd. Tom hastily blamed a particularly liquored wizard who promptly leaned forward and emptied the pitcher of beer he had consumed onto the floor, and suddenly the lamps were repairing themselves.
But Remus was staring at her with the expression she had come to know – fear.
"I'm really tired, Remus," she whispered, "I think I'll head up to bed."
Remus stared at her, "Are you alright?"
"Just tired," she slipped from the booth and gathered her books in her arms, carefully avoiding a large piece of glass that zoomed up to repair above her, "I'll see you again sometime?"
"Sure, I come here most weekends. I'd like to catch up more next time."
Charlotte made a mental note to never leave her room on the weekends as she leaned forward to hug the wiry wizard, "Sure Remus."
She made a hasty escape.
Dumbledore had warned her that limiting her magic usage was dangerous.
He had talked long and hard at her about the precautions she must take. That suppressing too much magic for too long could have disastrous consequences.
Charlotte tried to recall the last time she had done magic more complicated than what they were taught in the first two years of Hogwarts.
She couldn't remember.
Throwing objects from her trunk, Charlotte brought out a jarred candle. She sat it carefully on the floor and stood, pointing her wand at the cylinder.
"Reducto," she whispered.
It vibrated for a moment, before becoming still.
"Reducto!"
The glass cracked.
"REDUCTO!"
The candle burst as Charlotte's eyes began to sting.
A tightening began in her chest, until it had encased her throat and worked its way to her jaw, and she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.
It had been her magic, after all, that had ruined everything.
Her magic that had caused Regulus to die.
Her magic that had sent Sirius to Azkaban.
Her magic that had trapped her in a marriage that would bring her no joy, no children.
It would bring her nothing.
She was better off being nothing.
There's Chapter Two for you all! Thank you for the wonderful reviews, they give me the urge to do cartwheels.