BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

xx. Her Name's Natalie!

1975

"Uh, James?"

"Yeah?"

"What exactly is the plan here?"

Abruptly, James Potter froze. The two boys trailing uneasily behind screeched their shoes upon the cracking, yellowed sidewalk. Weeds threaded the crevices, sprightly dandelions peeking upwards. While Remus Lupin kept his distance, figuring a mishap was bound to happen, Peter Pettigrew was not so lucky. Dumbly, the boy crashed into his friend, springing backwards with a surprised grunt. James twisted on his heel and outstretched his arms to stabilize the boy.

James cracked a smirk, but it wasn't self-assured like he usually wore. It was uneasy, a little bit harebrained.

A low whistle of a groan escaped Remus. "You don't have one do you?"

"No! Just listen—" James waved his hands frantically, assuredly.

"Unbelievable!"

In fact, James did have a plan. And it was very extensive. Tirelessly, he crafted it. Because he found it strange Sirius seemed as light as air, gliding through lush breezes like wispy tendrils on a willow. That burden roughly placed upon his shoulders was skewed, sagging off. The more Sirius retold his night, the brighter he seemed. A soft gaze washed him in a delicate glow. Who could've done this?

And a muggle at that! Sirius was reluctant with the words, stuck in his throat like thick honey. Perhaps it really was painful? Those words singed his tongue. Yet, James was determined. With the way he spoke about her, she must've been a talented thief. James wrangled together his remaining friends, reluctant and otherwise, and set off.

The objective? Uncover whoever stole Sirius Black's heart.

High in the clutches of a towering tree, a crow's caw rained down. Shrill, darkly antiquated. Passing muggle vehicles (some James found very fascinating) careened down the busy stretch of road lining the restaurant. He found it odd, how he never noticed this diner until now. Especially with how obvious it stood. Certainly, ostentatious. Blue—possibly teal . . . he's not well-versed with colors—and white stripped awning, and it wrapped around the smooth chromatic exterior.

Shrubbery was sparse but glaring. Below the windowsills, was a line of colorful flowers, which James knew to be snapdragons. How did he know? He found the name funny. The other arrays—well, those remained a mystery. Herbology really wasn't his forte. To his left, where the crows mocked, stood that leering tree. Branches appeared frizzled with static and tattered foliage gracefully danced in the gentle breeze. There was a scent; it was sweet.

Truly, besides the garish colors of blue and the blinding mirrored exterior, the aroma enraptured James. Because it was familiar, yet he didn't know how. White flowers dotted every branch and petals littered the grassy patches in a snowy wasteland. Obviously, the scent was floral, but also citrusy, like a freshly sliced lime. Somewhere those memories await exhumation.

"If you'd let me get a word in—"

As if by divine interference or perfect comedic timing, the diner door slammed open, welcoming bells screeching haphazardly. The three startled (James particularly). A tall man, a huge, towering man—seriously, they hadn't seen someone so big—loomed in the threshold. Dark furrowed brows, thin lips buried underneath an unkempt beard, grease stains on a worn-out apron, and brandishing a spatula like a weapon.

James backed behind Remus.

"Either get inside or get lost," the man grunted, and James's eyes gravitated to the veins bulging on the guy's arms—he gulped. "No loitering."