Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. If only I had a time machine…
Another huge thank you to my beta reader, Mikkisteel. I'm eternally grateful for what you do.
Chapter Nineteen
Heather lay relaxed across a sofa in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. Unlike the rest of the house, there was a modicum of peace in here, at least with the door firmly closed. Katie's tirade could still be clearly heard filtering in from somewhere beyond the thick wood, upbraiding Seamus once again for some unknown offense. Heather didn't know just what Seamus had done to today to warrant Katie's ire, though she doubted it was really all that important. To be honest she, like everyone else living in the house, was more than ready for both of them to pull their heads out of their respective arses and figure out what only the most oblivious could see plain as day. It was hoped, though without any real conviction, that if those two would finally get together than life in the house might finally approach something…less chaotic than it currently was. Hoping for quiet was too unlikely for even the most optimistic to wish for. "That'll be the day," Heather muttered quietly to herself.
The drawing room, and for that matter the rest of the house, bore little resemblance to how it had looked during the day's of the Order's residence. With much of the Black family's possessions gotten rid of, either thrown out by Sirius or stolen by Mundungus, the new residents had made sure to supply new, and strikingly different, decorations. If Mrs. Black had still been alive, Heather was sure she would keel over with a heart attack just by stepping through the front door. This opinion was reinforced by the wailing of her portrait anytime anyone was careless enough to be loud on the ground floor. Further attempts to remove the painting had failed. Thankfully, shortly after moving in, Susan had come up with something of a solution and had painted a large cloth across the mad old woman's face. It didn't stop her screaming, but it did make at least possible to understand one another over the muffled tirade.
Very little of the silver and green silk wallpaper could be seen anymore, having been almost entirely covered in large clothes of just about every color imaginable until it reached a point where the cacophony was almost painful to look at. The large Black family tree and crest was obscured completely by three large banners representing the three Hogwarts houses of the residents. More than once during this dramatic redecoration, Heather had caught sight of Kreacher lurking almost out of sight, watching with a curious expression. He hadn't tried to save any of the remaining artifacts they removed, nor had he complained loudly about the changes. In fact, Heather didn't think he was really all that upset about it. From the looks of it, any lingering loyalty he might have had to his old mistress was no longer.
Over the continued screeching outside, Heather held the clipping from the Daily Prophet up over her head in both hands so she could reread it again. With the constant folding and unfolding the little piece of paper had gone through small tears were beginning to form in the creases, but she knew the words well enough by now that she didn't really need to see them. Still, she couldn't bring herself to throw it away or stop herself from pulling it out at least once a day to read it. As her eyes slid back and forth, she pointedly ignored the thick, hastily scribbled name and phone number, which even after having faded slightly in the past day and a half, still showed clearly on her pale skin. That too she had now read enough times to have memorized, which in a way was good because it had begun to blur, not that she really had any intention of calling it.
Was Potter really the knight in shining armor he's been painted as? What other sordid secrets of his treachery might still be lurking out there, and will the Ministry be as active to cover these up as they are with this episode? As always, I, Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, will work tirelessly to shed light on the truth.
The noise outside reached a sudden crescendo as the door suddenly opened. With a jerk that partially tore the piece of paper a hand wrenched it from Heather's grip. "What's this?" asked Ginny, crossing to an armchair and flopping down in it, one of her legs casually thrown over the arm. Heather started, having not heard Ginny approach. Last she knew her friend had been packing for her, somewhat reluctant, return to the Burrow.
"Give that back!" Heather yelped, pushing herself up onto an elbow and holding out a hand for the parchment.
Ginny ignored her but read the article slowly. Over the clipping, Heather could see her eyebrows narrowing together. "Why in the name of Merlin's purple undershorts are you reading this tripe?" Ginny asked, glaring at the paper like it had insulted her instead of Heather.
"Because…" Heather began but stopped. How could she explain to Ginny what she had so far been unable to explain to herself.
"Oh, come on Heather. Don't tell me you believe any of this?" Ginny asked incredulously, waving the snippet around. Heather let her hand drop and lowered her head back onto the sofa arm. Under her breath, she heard Ginny mutter, "Same old, same old."
Bile rose in Heather's stomach. In a flash she was sitting upright, glaring at Ginny with hot fury. "And just what is that supposed to mean?" she growled.
"Exactly what I said," Ginny replied hotly. Crossing her arms and rolling her eyes almost imperceptibly. "You're letting that bitch get to you, again. News flash Heather, but you've already been cleared by anyone who matters that you didn't do anything wrong. So why are you getting so caught up in the words of a bitch who will never have a good thing to say about you?" Ginny crumpled the parchment in one fist.
"It's not that easy," Heather bit out, feeling her hands clench into fists. It was taking everything she had not to launch herself off the couch and throw herself at Ginny.
"And why not? Oh, right." Ginny replied sarcastically, "Because, like usual, you'd rather blame yourself and wallow than dealing with what happened at getting past it."
Heather's body was quivering with rage now. Her fingernails were pressing so tightly into her palsm that she could feel little pools of blood forming. She hardly noticed that the sound of shouting outside the now slightly open door had stopped.
"Come on," Ginny said tauntingly, making a 'bring it on' gesture with the hand not clenching the parchment. "If you're going to do something, then do it." When Heather didn't move, she continued, "I'm not Hermione. I'm not going to sugarcoat everything and hold your hand. This is the same crap you've been dealing with since the Battle. No, correction. This is the same crap you've been refusing to deal with for years."
"You…" Heather spat, now practically vibrating with fury but still glued to the sofa.
"Me what?" Ginny replied. "You don't think I know what's why you moved up here to London? Oh sure, you told everyone it's because of the commute or not wanting to wake us up. No. You did it so me and mum wouldn't see you wallowing and try to force you out of it. Well, you might have everyone else fooled, but not me. What you don't seem to get Heather, is that you are probably the least subtle person I know, and I'm related to Ro-"
Heather sprung forward off the couch and slapped her hard across the face. Ginny's head whipped to the side, and a bright red mark quickly formed in the spot Heather's hand had landed along with thin trails of blood from her palms. Ginny brought her head back around slowly to look up at Heather, but instead of seeing anger or tears, Heather saw she was smiling with satisfaction. "Good to know," Ginny said, slowly massaging her jaw. "Comparing you to my brother is the quickest way to peeve you off."
Heather swung again, determined to wipe the self-satisfied smile off her friend's face, but Ginny moved faster. Bringing a foot up, she planted it in Heather's stomach and shoved. Caught off balance and mid-swing, Heather toppled backwards, her butt landing on the front edge of the sofa and sliding hard to the floor. Now Ginny was on her feet, towering over her.
"Good!" Ginny crowed, still looking extremely pleased with herself, "doesn't it feel good to act when something's bothering you? Isn't that better than bottling it up and wallowing in it?"
Having the wind knocked out of her took the edge off Heather's rage, at least to a small degree. She still wanted to strike Ginny, but reason was starting to slowly force its way into her head. Ginny stood there a moment longer before reaching out a hand to pull Heather back up. Her smile shifted just slightly, becoming less gloating and more kind. It was only after finally pushing down the urge to hit Ginny so hard that she saw stars, that Heather reached up and allowed herself to be pulled back onto her feet.
"You gonna hit me again?" Ginny asked as Heather reached her height. The mark on her cheek now glowed brightly, matching the deep red of her hair. Heather tried hard not to be satisfied with the effect and failed.
"Don't tempt me." she grumped, dropping back onto the sofa.
Ginny shrugged and returned to the armchair. "I'm not sorry by the way if you're waiting for an apology. I had to prove a point, and I did." She received a glare for this but smirked again.
"So, what am I supposed to do, go fight Rita Skeeter?" Heather asked angrily.
"I'm not saying I wouldn't pay to watch that, but no. I already told you what you needed to do. Stop. Wallowing," she said emphatically. Heather opened her mouth to reply but Ginny cut her off. "And before you say, it isn't that easy, don't. You've got stuff to deal with, so stop hiding from it and deal with it."
Heather's mouth opened and closed several times while she tried to form a convincing argument to this. Her anger's departure had left her feeling cold even in the stuffy air of the drawing room. "You really aren't Hermione," she said finally.
"About time you finally noticed." Ginny said. "Now, I'm going to do you one more favor today." She reached over the arm of the chair and scooped up the tiny ball of paper from where it had fallen. With easy grace she chucked it over her shoulder into the empty fireplace. Extracting her wand from the pocket of her jeans, she aimed it at the grate and shouted, "Incendio!" A fire burst into light there, instantly incinerating the words of Rita Skeeter and causing many of the new wall decorations to shimmer warmly.
"You know," Heather pointed out emotionlessly as she watched the fire slowly burn out, "I can always just go buy another copy of that."
"You could, but why waste any more of your time, money, or energy on that hag?" Ginny countered unconcernedly, also gazing into the dying flames.
In the last light of the fire, the mark on Ginny's cheek seemed to flash more brightly and for the first time Heather felt regret for losing her temper so violently. "Sorry for hitting you," she said softly.
Ginny looked around at her and waved a dismissive hand. "It's nothing. Besides," she added with a malevolent gleam in her eye, "I've been hit harder by gnomes in the garden than that sad excuse for a slap."
Despite herself, Heather smiled. "Don't tempt me," she repeated. She let herself lean back into the faded cloth of the sofa and felt it sag under her weight comfortable. Rather than let her hand hang uncomfortable out into air, she laid it casually across her forehead.
"So, what are you going to do about that?" asked Ginny into the silence, pointing at the phone number.
"What can I do?" asked Heather, shrugging. "I don't exactly have a phone to call him, even if I wanted to."
"Oh, you want to," Ginny said matter-of-factly. "And don't muggles have those Felly-tone boxes like the broken one we used to get into the Ministry?"
"Telephones," Heather corrected automatically, "and they do." She had already thought of that, but a vicious hangover had kept her bedridden the previous day. Even now, feeling marginally better, she still hesitated at actually doing it. Did she really need to complicate her life by trying to date a muggle? Didn't she have enough going on?
"So, what are you waiting for then?" Ginny pressed excitedly.
"Oy!" a voice shouted from downstairs. It was Ron. "Are you two done screaming at each other yet?"
"We are!" called back Ginny. "Heather's about to go call that boy!" She added, beaming at Heather.
"No I'm not!" Heather cried, but it was too late.
"Can I come watch?" Susan called, "I've never seen a telephone actually used before!"
Under the combined needling of Ginny, Susan, and Katie, during which Ron watched it all happen with a smirk, Heather finally gave in. Silently hoping each and every one of them would suddenly have boils break out in very uncomfortable places, she retrieved a handful of muggle coins from the bottom of her purse and stepped out onto the front step. It was a beautiful summer's day, which after a day and a half completely indoors, felt uncomfortably bright. Glancing around the derelict square to ensure no one would notice her sudden appearance at the edge of the house's wards, Heather descended to the sidewalk. There was a phone box two blocks over, she remembered from their raid on the house. After checking to make sure that no one had followed her out of the house, she set off, her nerves rising with each step.
A man in a smart muggle suit with neatly combed black hair that did not completely cover a growing bald spot was just stepping out of the box when she arrived. He didn't condescend to notice her, but walked three paces away and waited, reading from a newspaper. Somewhat unnerved by him, Heather pulled the door to the box closed. Casually, she sealed the box with a locking charm and cast Muffliato for good measure. She wasn't all that worried about muggles listening it, but she wouldn't put it past her friends to have tagged along invisibly just to give her a hard time about this later.
Her fingers fumbled with the receiver while her other hand groped in a pocket for coins before remembering she had put them in the opposite pocket. Now feeling completely flummoxed, she inserted enough change for the call and began entering the number written on her hand. It rang four times, each one causing her heart to stop briefly.
"Hullo?" an electronically diffused male voice asked.
It was in this moment Heather realized she had no idea what to say. "S-sean?" she blurted out after another confused, "Hullo?"
"Yeah, who's this." The voice asked.
"It's Heather, f-from the other night."
"Oh, hi!" Sean replied, warmth filtering through the static and warming her cheeks. "I was beginning to think you'd lost my number." It was a poor joke, but Heather chuckled.
"Sort of hard to do that, you wrote it on my hand." She replied lamely.
"So what's going on?" He asked after a moment's pause.
"Err…well," Heather stammered, trying to force her brain into action. "You see, my friends and I are leaving tonight for home, and I wanted to see if you wanted to get a coffee or something before we left?"
"I'd like that, where are you ladies staying?" Sean asked.
Heather racked her brains for a moment. "Islington," she said at last.
As it turned out, Sean and his friends were living not far from Heather. After agreeing on a coffee shop that he claimed was the 'best place ever,' she made to hang up.
"Wait, Heather, quick question. Can McKenna come? She's been bugging me since we left Tribe, asking me if you'd called or not. She wants to see you again. And I figured, since it's not like it's really a date or anything you wouldn't mind…" his voice trailed off.
"Err, of course! I'd be happy to see her again."
"Right, good." Sean replied with a self-conscious laugh. "Oh, and bring your friend Luna, if you can. McKenna hasn't shut up about her either, and that way it's an even number."
"I'll ask." Heather promised and hung up the phone.
The coffeeshop was a few blocks from the house and Heather found it quickly with Luna happily in tow. Having only ever been in one muggle café before, Heather was surprised at just how…artsy was the best word her mind could come up with, it was. Gray, nondescript walls were covered in strange pieces of artwork that seemed to depict nothing of interest while still being pleasant to look at. Over a condiment cart next to the bar a large notice board was covered in lurid band posters. Filling the shop were small tables with stiff looking wooden chairs and small clumps of squishy looking bags that were clearly meant to be sat on. It wasn't particularly crowded, with only two people working behind the counter and a small knot of muggles in a corner all staring intently into personal computers. Unsure of exactly what to do, Heather secured a table as far away from anyone else from which she could easily see through the front glass.
They were waiting perhaps twenty minutes, which was just long enough for one of the baristas to swing by their table and inform them in a bored tone that, "If you aren't drinking then you aren't sitting."
"We're just waiting on some friends," Heather replied nervously, but under the continued stare of the woman added, "Err, two teas please." Looking back towards the door, she saw Sean making his way down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, walking briskly towards the crosswalk. Keeping pace with him was a nervous looking redhead boy. Heather didn't recognize him as one of Sean's friend's she'd met the other night, and she was perplexed. Maybe McKenna hadn't been able to come after all and Sean had merely invited another friend to keep the numbers even? She was still pondering the boy's identity when Sean pushed the door open. He smiled warmly at the sight of them and guided the redhead towards them. He in turn was glancing around nervously, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere but here. After purchasing drinks for the two of them, Sean lead his friend over to the table and they sat down.
"Hi," Sean said warmly, sliding into his seat.
"Hi, Heather and Luna replied. Heather couldn't help but stare at the unknown boy who was still looking everywhere but at her.
Her confusion must have been apparent to Sean, who quietly said, "You remember McKenna, I'm sure."
Heather did a double take. Now that it was said, she felt like an absolute idiot. Of course she would still look like a boy most of the time. Knowing now what to look for, Heather quickly recognized McKenna's features hidden beneath the boy she saw sitting there. "Wow," she muttered quietly then quickly added, "your make up skills are amazing."
McKenna flushed but muttered a quiet "thanks."
"Kenna can't go out in public like you can, not yet." Sean explained for her, sending his friend a reassuring look. "I hope that's not a problem."
"Of course not! I understand," Heather said quickly, "I was like that until about a year ago. Only my best friends and a few other people knew."
"Did you know?" McKenna asked Luna, her posture relaxing a fraction of an inch.
"Yes," Luna said in her dreamy way, "but I don't think Heather knew that I knew. It was obvious." She added almost as an afterthought.
"It was?" pressed McKenna.
"Oh yes, just like it is with you." Luna said unconcernedly. She appeared not to see McKenna's body tensing again, because Heather had to interject, "Luna's got a unique way of looking at the world, and she's usually able to see more than almost anyone I've ever met." This did little to reassure McKenna, and that made Heather's heart ache more than a little for her.
"I can see you, there" Luna said, pointing at McKenna's eyes, then at her heart. "You aren't right like this, and you know that. Your eyes look…sad."
"Wow," Sean said softly, gazing at McKenna. "She's got you down cold, 'Kenna." He snaked an arm around McKenna's shoulder and squeezed it before letting his arm drop again.
"Have…have you started…changing?" Heather asked, suddenly aware that she wasn't quite sure exactly how to phrase what she wanted to ask.
McKenna looked confused for a moment before understanding. "You mean transitioning? No. I…it's a long story."
Heather held up her mug. "I've got time," she said kindly. Sean quickly excused himself to order from the counter and returned quickly with two fresh mugs. McKenna waited for him to return, then with an unspoken plea for help, Sean spoke for her again.
"Kenna…can't start that yet. She knows who she is and wants to transition more than anything, but there are reasons why she can't."
"Like what?" asked Luna immediately. Heather closed her eyes, both marveling at Luna's lack of social grace and in heartbreak once again for her new friend.
"My parents, for one thing," muttered McKenna darkly, staring into the depths of her tea.
"They wouldn't approve?" asked Heather, even though she thought she already knew the answer.
"No." McKenna spat. "My dad's a reverend and my mum's a born and raised catholic, so if I'm not straight as an arrow they'll want nothing to do with me."
Heather knew something about muggle religions even if the Dursley's had never attended church, so she had some context to base this statement. Luna on the other hand, did not. Thankfully, she must have understood well enough to keep silent.
"And you're afraid they'll disown you or something if you transition?" Heather asked, trying out the new word.
McKenna nodded. "You should see how it was for my sister when she came out as gay. It's like they stopped having a daughter."
Heather nodded. "Then…why…" She stumbled again, once more at a loss for exactly how to phrase the question forming in her mind.
McKenna understood. "Why don't I tell them to screw themselves and live my life?" She asked bitterly.
"Err…something like that," Heather stammered, hoping she hadn't offended her.
"Because…because they're my parents." McKenna said morosely, deflating a little. "They're my parents and I want them to love me even though they're terrible people." Tears had begun to form in the corner of her eyes, and she wiped them away. The other customers had gone now, leaving them alone in the shop.
"It's ok, Kenna. Let it out." Sean said softly.
"Sorry," she apologized unnecessarily as the tears kept coming. "It's so stupid, I know."
Heather reached out across the table and touched her arm. "No, it's not. It's a long story, but I never knew my parents. I know what wanting them to love me for who I am feels like, though."
McKenna took a long gulp of tea and visibly steadied herself in her seat. "Growing up, I was my mum's favorite kid, and I was very close to my mum. My sister, for a lot of reasons that I didn't understand back then, she raised hell and pushed boundaries everywhere she could. It drove mum mental. So, when I was around eight or so, I promised my mum that no matter what I would be her easy kid."
"Why would she want you to do that?" asked Luna.
"She didn't, I did it myself because I liked being the favorite. I was, even if no one actually said so, but it was still true. And I saw what my sister's crap did to my mum, and I thought it was my job to spare her having to go through that with me."
"I'm sorry," Heather said, "but I don't really think I understand."
"I've spent my entire life hiding who I am just so I can be her easy kid. Not even just with being trans, but little, everyday things too. I mean, how am I supposed to be who I am without breaking that promise? My mum has no clue about any of this because if I told her it would break her heart. She keeps telling me she's counting on me for grandkids, to carry on the family line, to be her good kid. It's reached the point where I'm more worried about losing that connection with her even if it means not being who I am." McKenna was no longer holding back the tears shining brightly on her cheeks.
Heather listened quietly, remembering how terrified she'd been to tell Sirius, all the while knowing it wasn't anywhere close to what McKenna was going through. "So you're stuck. You want to be you but can't because of what she'd do," she said quietly.
"Yeah," McKenna whispered, her shoulders dropping very low. "Like I said, it's stupid. I should just tell her to screw off and be who I am, but it's not that easy."
"It never is," Heather mumbled quietly, realizing just how many times she had used that exact same phrase to get out of facing something that was unpleasant.
McKenna looked up, "You understand, don't you."
"Yes, in so many ways, and at the same time, no. I've had to deal with things like that, but never to such a massive degree," Heather replied.
"What would you do?" asked McKenna earnestly, leaning forward. From deep within her eyes Heather could see a small light beginning to blaze forth, emerging from behind the clouds of sadness. Heather spared a glance at Sean, then at Luna, hoping one of them would speak up.
"Err, I don't really think-" she started when neither of them rescued her.
"Oh, please," McKenna practically begged. "Look at you! You've got it all figured out, haven't you? You're living your life as who you are. Tell me what to do."
"Kenna," Sean said, resting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her back slightly, "let the girl breathe a second." McKenna resisted the restraining hand and kept leaning into the table.
"Err," Heather began again, "Listen, you're right that I'm living as who I am, but I'm a far cry from having it all figured out. I can't tell you what to do, that's up to you to decide. All I can do, all anyone can do, is give you support to figure it out for yourself."
"That's right," said Luna cheerily, "McKenna's a pretty name though, and it fits you."
"Well…thanks," McKenna said, looking confused at the apparent non sequitur.
"What she means is," Heather said quickly, "Is that she thinks you should be who you are, which is exactly what I think too. At some point, you have to do what's right for you, and…how did you put it, tell the everyone who doesn't like it to 'screw' off." McKenna's shoulders drooped again. "Listen, I know you want a quick fix for this that isn't going to hurt, but there isn't one."
Sean's arm snaked up again, "You know no matter what, me and the boys are here for you," he said reassuringly.
McKenna let out a long sniffle before saying, "You're the best."
"See," Heather chimed in, "friends are what made it possible for me to find out who I was and to show the world. Trust them, lean on them when you need them, but in the end-"
"Tell my mum, and the rest of them, to go jump off a bridge." McKenna finished for her.
"Well," Heather said, smiling and holding her hands out at her sides, "I could think of a few better ideas, but from the sound of it you've got the right idea."
"Now I've just got to do it."
Heather nodded, "and that's the hard part. But, I know you can handle it."
"How do you know?" asked McKenna, cocking her head to the side.
"Because, you've got him." Heather gestured to Sean, "and you've got that." She pointed at McKenna's chest, just about where her heart should be. "If you've been brave enough to look in there and see the girl hiding in there, then you're brave enough to show her to the world."
Sean's watch chose that moment to let out a loud chime. "Blimey," he said, pressing a button on it to silence it. "We've got to get going. I've got work tonight and Kenna's got a date, if you can believe it."
"A date?" asked Heather interestedly. "And does…he…she…know about…"
"Sort of, but he isn't going to see her tonight." She stood up, followed by everyone else.
"Well, when he does, "Heather replied, "you should definitely wear the same dress you wore the other night. You were an absolute knock out."
McKenna blushed. Out on the sidewalk, she asked, "Can we keep in touch? I know you're leaving London, and you don't have a mobile, but is there any way I can reach you?"
"Err," Heather mumbled, trying to think very quickly. There was no way she could give her the Grimmauld Place address, even if muggles couldn't see through a fidelius charm. It could lead to awkward questions, especially since it was a London address, and she had already told them she didn't live here. At the same time, the Burrow didn't have an address she knew of, and the muggle postman had never been seen there. She supposed she could give them the Dursley's address and find some way of intercepting the letters. The Ministry did maintain a group of wizards who watched for magical letters in the muggle post and directed them to the correct destinations, after all. But, at the same time, suppose a letter slipped through and ended up in Uncle Vernon's fat fingers. That could be bad, in several ways. Thinking of Privet Drive, she suddenly remembered someone else in the area who might be able to help. "Do you have something I can write on?"
On the back of their receipt from the coffeeshop, Heather scribbled down the address of Mrs. Figg. "I don't really have a permanent address right now, but an old friend of mine lives there, and she can get any letters you send there to me." She said, making a mental note to reach out to her former cat loving neighbor. She hoped that the woman would be willing to forward the letters to her, or if she was unwilling, Heather would talk to the Muggle Liaison Office about arranging to redirect them to her before even arriving at Wisteria Walk. After a quick round of hugs, Sean's being a bit tighter than Heather expected, he and McKenna set off down the street. When they were gone, Heather and Luna turned the opposite direction and started for home.