Author's Note: Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my YouTube channel via the link on my profile.
Edited: I do NOT hold with the shit JK spouts.
When You Are Young
They assume you know nothing…
June, 1971
Out of the six Stark siblings, Felicity was the only one to see 12 Grimmauld Place, her bedroom window overlooking its intimidatingly opulent exterior. But to the rest of the world, it didn't exist; with not even a number to mark where it should have stood between 11 and 13. Rain or shine, the battered brass of 11 kept company with the shining silver of 13 without a care in the world for its missing companion. Her siblings would often mock the mistake, her parents merely classing it as a quaint example of English eccentricity, but Felicity would avert her eyes from the sight and rush on. It represented everything wrong with her, the secret that separated her from her siblings.
The Stark family had upped sticks from America that spring to move back to where Sarah Stark had been born, a mere stone's throw away from King's Cross Station. After the death of her own mother, Sarah had been seized by a sudden and violent urge to return to her roots. Selling the family's thriving vineyard business, Sarah and her husband Philip had left Long Island to set up home in a rented townhouse in Islington, and hadn't looked back since. With a new baby now unexpectedly on the way, Sarah had given herself up to the joys of nesting whilst Philip pursued his academic ambitions, something that hadn't been possible back in America.
Their children had taken to England like ducks to water, causing their usual chaos this side of the pond and if Sarah overlooked Felicity's… oddness on occasion amidst the mayhem, nobody could perhaps blame her. If the chandelier started to swing on its own, it was blamed on a draught; if a teacup exploded in somebody's hand, it was because they had too strong a grip. That these kinds of incidents only occurred when Felicity was present was forgotten.
Nobody seemed to notice that the chandelier only swung when she walked under it or that the teacup had exploded because the person holding it had commented on her unflatteringly too short haircut at the time. When flames burned blue or she remained dry during a rainstorm, there was always a logical explanation close at hand. Even the time when Felicity's guinea pig had poked its head out of Sarah's Wellington boot just as she was about to pull it on, had simply been explained away as absentmindedness, even though Sarah could have sworn she had just seen it going round and round in its hamster wheel when she'd passed its cage only moments before in the hall.
But as Sarah sat knitting on the sofa that warm summer morning, the only thing that could disrupt her general sense of contentment was the sight of Felicity kneeling on the window-seat, nose practically pressed against the glass. "Lissie," she sighed, sitting up straight with some difficulty, her bump getting in the way, "what are you doing?"
Felicity started violently, startling Sarah in turn. Then she recovered herself, tucking a strand of almost shoulder-length sandy hair behind her ear, the bad haircut now nothing more than a bad memory. "I'm… just… sitting… here," she replied, wincing as the words left her lips.
"It's a beautiful day," Sarah said pointedly, "too beautiful to be wasted on something such as sitting."
But Felicity just still sat there, legs curled up beneath her, green eyes oddly alarmed.
Sarah rolled her own eyes, unperturbed. "Scoot!" she ordered, flapping her hands for greater emphasis. "Vamoose!"
Felicity collapsed against the front door, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand, the bright sunlight almost blinding. It had almost happened again, that frightening flood of force swelling within her, threatening to break upon the banks of her self-control. Last night, she had made the lightbulb explode when Marcella had taken the last slice of chocolate cake after pigging out on two massive pieces already, while Felicity had been finishing up her first and only slice. As they'd argued, the lightbulb had suddenly shattered overhead, showering the kitchen with shards of broken glass, rendering Felicity frightened out of her wits, everyone attributing it to the 'accident' in their obliviousness.
The fear of losing control was what terrified Felicity the most; scared she was going to hurt somebody she loved. There had been too many close calls already, and with a new baby brother or sister now on the way, it would just become another target. And as it was, Felicity was now living on her last nerve, literally fear incarnated in the flesh, with dread making up the very marrow of her being. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep on like this, every heartbeat a slow strung out pulse of panic, causing her breath to catch in her throat, choking her.
"Hey, Lish!"
Her head jerked up, spine stiffening, only to see her eldest brother, Tony, and two of her sisters, Caggie and the gluttonous Marcella, come traipsing up the sun-baked steps towards her. Tony was accompanied as usual by his red transistor radio, which was quietly blasting 'You've Got A Friend', whilst Caggie looked bored and Marcella gnawed like a rat upon a Lyons Maid ice lolly. All three were cut from the same stereotypically Stark lines, all blonde, breezy charm; Tony brandishing his golden bowl-cut with each characteristic toss of the head, Caggie with her pale pageboy and Marcella's waist-length ashen waves rippling down her back. As they approached her en masse, Felicity was suddenly and wildly envious of their happy ignorance, making her feel abruptly exiled from them.
"What's going on?" Caggie asked with a deep sigh, already jaded at the grand age of ten.
"Nothing," Felicity said defensively, straightening up.
"Don't look like nothing," Marcella inputted with an insolent lick of her ice lolly.
"Where's the others?" Felicity asked Tony, ignoring Marcella.
Tony glanced up from where he was fiddling with the volume dial. "What's that?" he barked, tossing his overlong fringe out of his eyes.
"Where's the others?"
Tony shrugged. "Morgan's sunbathing in the park," he then added as an afterthought, "dunno where Steve is though."
The park. At this thought, Felicity suddenly pulled herself together. Without another word, she suddenly took off down the steps, barging Marcella aside as she did, ignoring her sister's squawk of outrage. The park was where she would at least find one of the answers to the mysteries that haunted her.
Heart thudding, Felicity stood there, clinging to the gleaming black railing with one hand. Grimmauld Square divided her home from 12 Grimmauld Place that lay just across the way, a narrow winding path bridging the gap in-between. By day, the small park was merely a pleasant place to linger in fine weather, with its neatly trimmed grass and ornate Victorian lamp-posts, but at night it took on a new tone, becoming another world altogether, one she didn't care to explore. On those evenings, she would often stand at her window and look across the park at 12 Grimmauld Place, watching its candle-lit rooms with a curiosity she could never quite tear herself free from the clutches of.
Over time, she had come to know its ghostly occupants just as well as she did her own family – the tall, handsome woman with her jet hair piled high on her head, moving with a stately grace; the stern-featured man with his habitual cold expression; the pair of brothers, one a pale echo of the other. The oddest thing was she had only ever seen them from a distance and through glass. But this morning, everything had changed, Felicity having glanced carelessly out of the living room window, only to see the two brothers walking into Grimmauld Square, large as life. She had then proceeded to watch them in captivated horror as they camped out on the grass, the elder kicking his heels whilst the younger perched on the edge of the iron wrought park bench, a battered book dangling from his hand.
Now the boys were throwing an old cricket ball back and forth, the smaller moving with a swiftness the other lacked, who often missed his catch, cursing colourfully as he did. They were dressed in strange old-fashioned apparel, making her oddly aware of her own striped t-shirt and embroidered bell-bottoms. The older boy wore his open-necked white shirt and black narrow-tailored trousers with careless grace, whilst the younger looked stiff and starched, almost fresh off the ironing board. Nobody eyed them with approbation, only Felicity, and the longer she looked, the more disjointed she felt.
As she stood there, her eye suddenly caught the older boy's, making him miss his catch again. As the ball rolled away, his brother racing after it, heckling him as he did, the older boy straightened up, brow furrowing. Feet moving at their own volition, Felicity slowly entered the square, reluctantly relinquishing the railing, her last bastion of stability. The boy tilted his chin as she approached, brow furrowing further. Felicity's green gaze flickered over him, taking in the swept back dark hair with one unruly lock threatening to fall across his eyes; the faint blush staining his sallow cheeks. He was tall for his age, his hands now rammed aggressively into his trouser pockets. For a ghost he looked very much alive, the knowledge lending life to her own bones.
The boy stared at her, studying her as she did him, only for sudden enlightenment to sweep over his handsome face. " You!?" he suddenly spat, startling Felicity to a stop.
"Me?" she said stupidly, taken aback.
"Yes, you!" he snapped, grey eyes now alarmingly angry. "Spying on us like some sordid little creep!"
"Sirius?" his brother asked in confusion as he came up to them, clutching the cricket ball to his chest. "Why are you talking to that Muggle?"
"Muggle!?" Felicity protested, insulted.
"Regulus, go home," Sirius ordered, not looking at him even once, all his attention fixated on Felicity's furious face.
Regulus scowled, but he did as he was told, taking his leave in sullen silence. Felicity watched him go, Regulus passing a sunbathing Morgan as he did, who lay inches away from his feet, the unknown existing alongside the familiar. But her big sister seemed to be asleep, unaware of the drama that was unfolding, a small mercy Felicity was thankful for.
"Who are you?" Sirius demanded, startling her again. "Or what are you to be exact!?"
Felicity stared at him. "What am I?" she said in disbelief. "Shouldn't I be asking you that!?"
Sirius glanced around, suddenly aware of their surroundings, his face strangely frightened. Without warning, he grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her behind a tree out of eavesdropping range. He abruptly flung her arm aside, like it was a piece of litter, before just as suddenly rounding on Felicity, his distinctive eyes now a conundrum of confusion and consternation. "I see you almost every evening standing at your window," he said in a low voice, stooping down so they were eye-level, "but somehow you see me - you bloody see us all!"
Felicity bit her lip. "What's a Muggle?" she asked suddenly, brow creasing.
Sirius straightened up. "You," he said abruptly, "unless… unless you're one of us." He tilted his dark head sideways, almost appraising her, eyes narrowing. "You're rather scrawny for somebody from the New World," he then said insultingly, "but maybe that's the Muggles' fault."
"I'm not a neglected child!"
"You sure, girlie?"
"Hey, don't call me" -
Shocked, Felicity suddenly reeled back, hands flying to her mouth in horror. Anything else she was about to say lived and died. Baffled, Sirius just stared down at her, not understanding her reaction. Wordlessly, Felicity pointed at his head. What had once been jet black hair, was now the brightest of bubblegum pink, lending him a carnival air. Sirius ran his hands over his head, before examining both palms, only to find nothing there, the sight only serving to make him become even more bewildered.
"What is it?" he demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. "Bloody tell me!"
"Your-hair!" Felicity gabbled between shakes. "Your-hair-is- pink."
Sirius reeled back, shocked in turn. His grey gaze flickered over her, disdain at war with disbelief. "You are one of us after all," he then said, letting go of her, shaking his bright head. "May Merlin help me."