For a brief time, as I scuttled in my broccoli green dress down the old cobbled village road, the drab and boring cottages that lined the street were painted golden, drenched the last rays of sunlight. Mom was ahead of me, holding a casserole dish—some Cajun concoction of hers (of course)—and my dad was walking along at her side, shamelessly admiring all the front yards we were passing, making comments here and there about how good their flowers and shrubs looked. ("Betty, just look at those begonias!")
I walked behind them awkwardly adjusting and readjusting my dress. It didn't fit right.
Or maybe it did and I just wasn't used to it.
Whatever.
The point is that the dress Mom made me wear was both a hideous shade of green and uncomfortable. Oh, and I had somehow forgot my sweater—needless to say I was too preoccupied to really breathe in the bland splendor that was Godric's Hollow.
It was a surprisingly short walk to this illusive neighbor which we were meeting, for which I was thankful.
We had only gone down the south side of the street and around the corner. The stone house was comfortably sized—two story with a small gate. It had green shutters (which Mom loved), a few muggle garden gnomes peaking out behind some well manicured shrubs (which Dad loved), and a large sprawling tree whose limbs stretched out towards the second story window (which I loved).
I loathed the house on principle because it meant I'd have to talk to strangers (not my thing—see grocery store incident) but even I had to admit it actually looked rather cozy, all things considered.
Actually, reminded me a lot of the house our old elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, lived in. She had a glass eye, donkeys named after the three stooges, and always brought us tomatoes and cantaloupes from her garden.
Can you grow cantaloupes in England?
I pondered this fact as we walked through the gate and hustled up to the door.
It was a squeeze for all three of us (plus Moms cajun casserole) to clamber up to the front porch, but we Higgs are a tenacious breed, so we made it work.
I shuffled to the side and looked up. A little wooden sign hung above the door with the words "Potter Cottage", painted on in black cursive letters.
I saw mom eyeing the sign as well, with the familiar glint that oft preceded extended crafting sessions...
"Why don't you do us the honors, Paisy?" Dad said, pointing to the doorbell with a silly grin.
For a big scary auror, Dad could be such a goof. I shook my head and tried not to smile as I pressed the bell.
A pleasant, muffled chiming from inside was immediately followed by frantic footsteps and a woman's voice.
The door swung open, whooshing a warm gust of air at us that smelled of freshly baked bread and spices. An older woman stood in the door way, gray hair up in a French twist, smiling kindly at us. "Welcome! Welcome! Come on in! Please!" she said graciously. "Here, let me take your coats!"
My mother was the first to shuffle in. "Thank you for having us, Euphemia," she said in her gorgeous southern drawl, smiling genteelly. She always sounded like a southern belle—aka nothing like me. "This is my husband, Sam, and this," she said gesturing to me with the hand that was not holding a casserole dish. "Is our youngest daughter, Paisley."
Euphemia smiled warmly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "What a lovely name. It's very nice to meet you," she said looking between me and dad. "Both of you."
A rather loud thunk from upstairs broke her smile momentarily.
She looked around, seeing a tad flustered. "Fleamont, my husband, is grilling in the back garden and the boys are still upstairs, but you can just take a seat wherever you like! Make yourselves at home!"
Dad quickly offered to help Mr. Potter. He got restless and much perfected doing something productive than 'making himself at home'.
Mom, went to help Euphemia in the kitchen and was hopefully warning her that the Cajun chicken dish she made was super spicy.
However I, in typical Paisley fashion, lagged behind standing awkwardly out of the way in the kitchen admiring a ceramic owl cookie jar that was placed on the counter.
I guess I thought I'd find something useful to do if I lingered around the kitchen (which in hindsight was ridiculous because I'm a walking fire hazard), but thankfully Mom and Euphemia sort of ignored me, chattering away like they'd been friends for ages.
"Have you seen much of London yet?" Mrs. Potter asked, filling some water goblets with a graceful flick of her wand.
Mom tossed her hair behind her shoulder and sighed. "No, not yet... Sam is always up at the ministry and Paisley—" She lowered her voice to a whisper out of politeness, but I could still hear every word she said. "She's having trouble adjusting to the move... Hardly leaves the house if it's not for ice cream or to avoid me..."
I traced my fingers over the ceramic owl cookie jar's chipped beak. She wasn't wrong.
"I don't know what to do with her— She won't talk to me— "
"It's just the age, dear," Euphemia said kindly.
"But we never had these issues with her sister—"
Of course she didn't have these issues with Clementine. Clemy didn't have any issues. She was perfect, wonderful, sweet, successful, talented, athletic, punctual, smart, popular, beautiful— everything I wasn't.
Which was why I was constantly being compared to her.
But that's a story for another time.
Back to the owl cookie jar.
After hearing Mom mention good old Clementine, I was no longer in the mood to hang around in the kitchen. I gave the cookie jar owl a farewell tap on the beak, took exactly two and a half steps towards the back door where Dad was, then stopped dead in my tracks—
I honestly thought that we were in the midst of an earthquake.
Do they have earthquakes in England?
The cookie jar wobbled, and the painting of a chubby bespectacled child in fancy dress robes shook on the wall as thundering footsteps came trampling down the staircase behind me.
"Mmm... smells great, Mrs.P!" boomed a voice.
A boy's voice.
A familiar boy's voice.
I froze.
I mean, I was already frozen because of the whole earthquake scare, but my frozen state became even more frozier.
"Blimey... grocery girl, is that you?"
No, no, no, no.
No.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
This could not be happening.
I prayed this was all some sick dream.
My cheeks were burning.
Maybe if I stayed really still they would forget I was here? Maybe if it was a dream and I knew I was dreaming I would wake up?
"Grocery store girl?" said another voice in an only slightly hushed, but completely amused toned. "You mean the weird bird you tackled?"
"I didn't tackle her!"
Not a dream.
Unfortunately.
I noticed that motorcycle dude (for it was motorcycle dude that was speaking) said nothing to the fact that his friend had just called me 'weird' and a 'bird'.
It was utter annoyance at his rudeness that finally made me turn to face him.
I gave that annoyingly handsome boy my best stink eye and 'who you calling a weird bird?' look. Judging by his aloof scowl, Motorcycle guy didn't appreciate this. Though, that could have just been his normal face.
"Oh, don't be so rude, Sirius!" Euphemia scolded. "This is Paisley Higgs, our new neighbor I told you two about! Paisley, this is Sirius Black, my son James's best mate—James, put that down and introduce yourself!"
Winking guy that called me a weird bird was the old lady's son? Grandson would have made more sense... but who am I to judge?
James, her son, with the messy hair and glasses whose baby pictures were pasted up like wallpaper around their house, put down a napkin ring he'd been idly tossing in the air and strutted towards me.
Literally strutted.
Oh, what fresh hell had I landed myself in?
"James Potter," he said, reaching out to shake my hand. Then he winked. Again. Could have been a nervous twitch, but I seriously doubted it.
I had the overwhelming urge step to on his foot, but managed to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. A win, if you ask me.
His friend elbowed him in the ribs and said something under his breath before turning to me with a forced smile and reaching to shake my hand as well. "Sirius Black, very nice to meet you... officially."
Still no apology for the 'weird bird' comment, I noticed.
"Um... right..." I mumbled staring at his hand. Not shaking it like a normal person. It's strange how you can be so very aware of your own awkwardness, yet have no idea in the moment how to make things less awkward. "uh... I'm P-paisley... but I guess she just said that... um..." I looked around nervously, eyes landing on the chubby baby picture as I said, "Mom, do you need any help?"
"No, no, dear! We've got it handled!" Mom said as she gracefully tossed a salad. How do you even toss a salad gracefully?
I slowly turned back to the boys.
James gave Sirius a look, as if silently communicating that he thought I was a total weirdo once again. Sirius shrugged and ran a hand through his hair then followed James towards the table. They began to lay out plates, glasses, and silverware at each of the knitted placemats. Ignoring me.
I watched them set the table, crossing and uncrossing my cold arms over my chest, wishing I had a sweater.
I was so very aware of everything about myself. I could feel every awkward finger and movement so acutely. Even though I knew no one was watching me, and I knew those boys and Mrs. Potter could care less what I did, I was still so conscious of their presence. Like a bug squirming under a microscope, unsure if the scientist looming above was watching or snacking on Pringle's.
I wished my dad would come back in already.
He could diffuse awkwardness like nobody's business.
Also, he was scary looking.
Those boys wouldn't dare call me weird in front of him, even if it was true.
"So... you went to Ilvermorny, right?" said James casually.
I stared at him for several seconds confused on why he was chatting with me.
Did he feel the need to chat with me? Was he genuinely interested in talking to me or was it more out of politeness? Or worse, pity? My guess was politeness when I saw Mrs. Potter mouthing something unintelligible out of the corner of my eye.
James put down three knives and then I nodded as a reply. But then I realized he wasn't actually looking at me which mean I needed to actually say something if he was going to know I replied. "Oh—Uh-Huh..."
"What was it like?"
I furrowed my brows. "Um... I mean... it was school..."
"Well yeah, obviously," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "But what was it like? I mean you had to have had friends—What'd you do for fun?"
I blinked a few times, trying to rack my brain for an answer. Fun? I knew I had to have done fun things in the five years I spent there, but at that particular moment my mind came up blank. "Oh... uh... well... you see... I uh..."
"Pais, why don't you tell them about Matt?" Mom said from the kitchen.
Nothing better than having your mother help you converse with your peers.
"Who's Matt?" James asked, looking much too entertained. "Your boyfriend?"
"No!" I said a tad aggressively.
Both James and Sirius raised their eyebrows.
"Sorry... he-he's my friend. My best friend." My only friend.
The two resumed their work at setting the table.
"Well... what did you and Matt do for fun?" Sirius asked.
I took a deep breath and looked down at my penny loafers. "Well... um... well we'd read comics sometimes... but mostly we just kind of walk around the school a lot... it was kind of like exploring... The school's massive and there's all these random hallways and hidden rooms... places no ones been to in years... and we just—I dunno, it sounds sort of stupid when I say it out loud..."
"That doesn't sound stupid at all," James said.
I looked up, unsure of if he was mocking me or not. However, to my surprise, he and Sirius looked genuinely interested. Weird.
"That's what we do with our mates," Sirius said quietly, presumably so that the adults in the kitchen couldn't hear. "Muck about finding hidden passages and stuff."
"Hogwarts is full of shit like that," James said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
"O-oh... erm... cool..." I said stupidly. It really did sound cool. They sounded cool. Way too cool to be talking to me. Now, Clemy on the other hand...
I fiddled with my fingers for a moment trying to think up something else to say... or an excuse to leave. Whatever came first.
"Erm... do y'all have houses?" I blurted out.
They both just stared at me, then Sirius gestured to the room as if I was a genuine idiot.
Good grief.
I cleared my throat. "I meant at Hogwarts... Ilvermorny had houses that we were all sorted into..."
"Oh!" James exclaimed boisterously, making his mother look at him with a stern expression. "Course' we've got houses!"
"We're both Gryffindors," Sirius added, as if this was something to be proud of.
"What house were you in at Illvermorny?" James asked.
"Oh... um... Matt and I were both Pukwudgies—"
Sirius laughed loudly. "What the hell is a Pukwudgie?"
"Watch your language, young man!" Mrs. Potter called.
I smiled slightly seeing him flustered from her admonishment.
James swooped in, throwing an arm over Sirius's shoulders. "What my good man means, is what were your houses traits?"
I bit my lip, puzzled. "Traits?"
"What are they known for?" James explained, waving his hand in a very posh way. He would not have looked out of place at all with a pocket watch and a pipe.
I was still having a hard time figuring out how to answer his question. What were we known for?
"Yeah, were you in the smart house, the evil house, the brave, or the... the... whatever was left over house?" Sirius said.
Thunderbirds were adventurers... Wampus were warriors... So I supposed they were both brave... Horned Serpents were the smart ones... we didn't have any evil houses per say, with the exception of one Beatrice Boot in Wampus—I accidentally charmed off my hair my first year (severing spell gone wrong) and she started a rumor that I cut my hair because I wanted to be a boy. My popularity never fully recovered.
But, back to the point, I knew Pukwudgies famously favored healers... so maybe we were known for being nice? Nice sounds good.
"Erm... we were nice?" I said, my words coming out as a question.
The boys both looked at each other, as if sharing a private joke.
"Hufflepuff. Total Hufflepuff. I'm calling it now," James said with a smile.
Sirius seemed noticeably less amused. "Can we eat already?"
"Yes we can!" Mrs. Potter said, swooping in with Mom's casserole dish in one hand and a wand gracefully whipping around in the other.
James pushed his glasses up his nose and gave a good sniff to a basket of rolls levitating towards the table when the back door swung open.
"Paisy! You've got to see the treehouse they've—oh, hello! You must be the boys!" Dad said, coming into the kitchen with a tray of grilled chicken and an older man nearly as tall as him close behind.
"Treehouse?" I asked to no one in particular.
James waved it off. "Oh, that—Sirius and I built it after first year—never go up there anymore."
I'd always wanted a treehouse, as Dad well knew. If I had one I'd probably live there. Maybe that's why they never built me one...
"Speak for yourself," Sirius scoffed.
James turned to Sirius, incredulous. "You still go up there?"
Sirius shrugged, casually and elegantly inspecting his water goblet. "Occasionally."
James made a little annoyed sound, but plopped his gangly self down at the table beside his friend.
*
Dinner wasn't quite as awful as I had anticipated. The food was amazing, the boys were too intimidated by Dad to be outright rude to me, and Mom babbled on enough that I didn't have to say much.
James seemed to really enjoy the sound of his own voice, I noticed. He went on and on about some weird boring game they played instead of Quodpot. It was very complicated and didn't have any explosions. Lame.
"Our Clemy was the star of the Quodpot team!" Dad chuckled. "You should have seen the way Paisley watched her fly—"
"Dad..." I said under my breath. I could tell as soon as they mentioned Clementine that this was headed toward an embarrassing story about me.
Dad continued to chortle and James leaned forward slightly, eyeing me curiously. Sirius looked much more interested in his cajun casserole, moving the onions and bell peppers around with his fork.
"She even stole a broom once when she was ten!" Dad said, thoroughly amused by his own anecdotes. "But— but she didn't know how to fly yet!"
Mom laughed and I wanted to fall into a hole and die. "She was zipping around willy nilly! Gave us such a fright when she got herself tangled in that tree! Thank goodness for Matt—"
"He lived in the neighborhood and was riding his bike when he saw her dangling, being pecked by a couple of angry bluejays she accidentally turned pink—" Dad continued.
He was downplaying the pink bluejay thing. They were evil. I still have scars from where they pecked at me.
Mom shook her head, smiling fondly. "He was so confused on how she got herself up there, with a broom no less, but bless his heart, he got her down and brought her all the way back home—"
"Good man, that Matt," Dad sighed. "Too bad you two broke up, Paisy, I thought you two were good together—"
Oh, now he'd done it.
"Dad! We never broke up—"
Dad smiled wide.
"Ugh! We never broke up because we were never dating!"
He frowned.
Sirius coughed into his water goblet.
Mrs. Potter clapped her hands together with a smile. "Who wants pie?!"
"I'll get it!" James said, leaping out of his chair.
Sirius nearly got out of his own chair. "Prongs, don't forget the—"
"I'm not going to forget it, Padfoot!" James tutted, swinging the freezer open. "Apple pie a la mode coming right up!"
Ice cream.
I couldn't even pretend to be sulky when I saw James take the ice-cream out of the freezer. It was vanilla and that same weird brand that they sold at the tiny grocery store down the street, but it was still ice cream.
"Paisley loves ice cream!" Mom laughed, ruffling my hair. "I remember when she was three she—"
I turned to scowl at her. We were not about to listen to the time I ate a whole gallon of chocolate bluebell ice-cream the threw it up on Clemy's Madame Alexander babydoll.
Mom got the hint and trailed off.
Mr. Potter spoke next. "Sirius loves ice cream as well— I wish you could have seen his face the first time he had it at our house that first summer after Hogwarts—"
Sirius, for all his cool boy vibes, blushed. Faintly. But it still counted.
But then I realized what Mr. Potter had just said.
"You didn't have ice cream until you were eleven?!" I exclaimed incredulously.
"Twelve, actually!" James piped in as he cut the pie.
I gawped at him. "What rock do you have to be living under to not have ice cream until you were twelve?! Were your parents hippies or something?"
"Paisley!" Mom chastised, clearly embarrassed by me.
I flushed as my own rudeness sunk in.
I could just imagine what Clementine would say if she were there. ("Paisley, you can't just ask people if their parents are hippies!")
Thankfully, Sirius laughed. "Definitely not hippies! I don't think they even know what hippies are!"
Who didn't know what a hippy was?
Sensing my confusion, Sirius continued. "They're Purebloods."
I furrowed my brows. "I'm pureblood and I know what ice cream and hippies are—"
"No, they're—" he paused, searching for the right way to word whatever it was he was trying to say.
"Desert is served!" James practically shouted, wand out and levitating all the pie plates in front of us. I was confused. Didn't they still have underage magic laws in Britain?
Sirius snorted at the incredulous look on my dad's face. "Mate, you do realize there's a ministry official at the table, right?"
James paled and the last plate, mine, fell to the table. Shattering on impact.
Apple pie and vanilla ice-cream mixed with broken china flew and covered the place I had been sitting, getting all over my broccoli green dress.
Judge me all you want, but I really wanted to cry. Not because the frumpy dress had been ruined, but because I was really looking forward to the ice cream...
"Merlin's balls! I'm so sorry!" James yelped.
"Language!" Mrs. Potter said on reflex. "Oh, poor dear, here let me—"
I sat, staring dejectedly at the empty spot in front of me as Mrs. Potter, with a few quick spells, cleaned the mess and repaired the plate.
Unfortunately, she also vanished all the food... and there wasn't anymore. The pie only had six pieces and the ice cream carton was far too small to have anymore than a spoonful left... if that...
That's when I saw a hand move across the table and place a plate of Apple pie a la mode in front of me.
Sirius.
I blinked. Sirius had just given me his own desert plate leaving him with nothing. "You— you don't— you didn't have to—"
"It's late and I have to go anyway," he said not meeting my eyes. "Thanks for having me Mr. and Mrs. Potter, it was lovely as always—"
"Oh, you know you're always welcome, Sirius!" Mrs. Potter said in a rather grandmotherly way. "You be safe getting home!"
"Taking the floo today, no worries," Sirius smirked, gracefully getting up from the table. " Nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Higgs— see you around Paisley."
I waved awkwardly, hand nearly knocking over my water.