Breakfast at Natalie's

The radio alarm went off, some upbeat hip-hop song blaring through the speakers.

"Damn Muggle contraption," muttered Natalie, groping around until her fingers found the off button. Ever since the enchanted cuckoo clock had broken, she'd been using a Muggle alarm clock. The cuckoo clock now only chirped when it wanted to or at inconvenient times (like half past three in the morning), so it wasn't very reliable.

She shoved her chilly feet into her slippers and shuffled into the bathroom, twisting the knob on the antique bathtub until hot water flowed out. She carefully lowered herself into the tub, letting the steam penetrate her tired pores.

The house was here now, and had been since her father had left it to her in his will. He'd died a month ago. The coroner said it was a stroke. She'd gotten up that day and discovered that her father hadn't eaten breakfast. (She was nearly thirty now, but she'd lived with her father at his request.) He was an early riser, and she found it odd that he would still be sleeping at eight in the morning. She'd gone into his bedroom and found him tucked beneath the blankets, his face peaceful.

"Dad?"

He didn't move. She inched closer.

"Dad?"

She touched his hand; it was cool. Then she realized that he wasn't breathing.

"Dad!"

That had been the worst day of her life.

And now she had his house. A house empty of his bodily presence, yet filled to the brim with memories. She could feel him lingering in the faint smell of cedar from his workshop. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

As an only child, he had been everything to her. She had never known who her mother was, and he never talked about her. She had learned to stop wondering, to stop wishing and hoping for answers that she would never have.

She remembered how proud he'd been when she'd received her letter to Hogwarts. They'd both been so excited. Ever since she was a small child, he had told her stories of his years at Hogwarts, and she'd always dreamed of the day she would go there too. He took her to Diagon Alley, pointing out the different storefronts and introducing her to the various shopkeepers as they shopped for supplies. He'd taken her to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, kissing her goodbye on her forehead and telling her to be good. She'd pressed her small hands against the window and made silly faces until he was nothing but a speck in the distance. She remembered being terrified of the fabled Sorting Hat, slipping it over her blonde hair, and hearing it shout, "Slytherin!" She wrote home to tell him the good news, and a few days later, he appeared at the castle door, demanding to withdraw her from the school.

"But why, Daddy?" Her dreams broken, shattered.

She later learned that it was because he wanted her to be in Gryffindor. All of his family (including himself) had been in Gryffindor, and he couldn't stand to see his only child be put in Slytherin. She begged and pleaded and threw tantrums, but nothing could sway his decision. She remembered meeting Albus Dumbledore for the first and only time. He peered at her from behind half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes twinkling and contradicting his solemn demeanor.

"If it is what you wish, Mr. King. I cannot force anything upon you." Dumbledore looked at her, and in that split second, she understood him perfectly. "It is your decision, Natalie King," he seemed to be telling her. She glanced at her father, his eyes hard and unyielding, and she knew that she didn't have a chance. As they left the school grounds, she could feel the castle calling to her, but she didn't dare turn back. She sometimes thought of Albus Dumbledore and wished that she had been strong enough to defy her father. Years later, she read of Dumbledore's death in the newspaper, and once again, she felt the pang of longing.

After her father had withdrawn her from Hogwarts, he taught her himself. Though she didn't know it, she was far more advanced than witches and wizards her own age. In her fifth year of training her father made special arrangements for her to take the O.W.L. exams. It was a similar situation with N.E.W.T.s. She scored brilliantly on both exams, and she remembered the day the scores came. Her owl, Charlotte, had dropped an envelope on her breakfast plate. With shaking hands, she tore open the envelope.

"N.E.W.T. scores?" said her father from behind his newspaper.

"Y-yes."

"Well?" He looked at her sternly. Too stunned to speak, she slid the parchment over to him. He peered at it for a few seconds, and then broke into one of his rare smiles. "Eleven Outstandings. C'mere, Nat." She ran to him and hugged him, breathing in the mixture of sawdust and cigarette smoke he always had. He ruffled her hair. "That's my girl," he said proudly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Still immersed in the now lukewarm bathwater, Natalie felt the tears forming in her eyes.

"No, you idiot," she said to herself, as she stepped onto the mat and herself. "Don't you dare cry. If you cry, you won't be able to stop."

But she couldn't stem the flow of tears that were now dripping into her cereal. He had been her world, her everything. Now he was gone, and it seemed like her life was falling to pieces. She blew her nose on a napkin.

"Great, now my face is all blotchy," she grumbled, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She applied some Stunning Solutions Magic Concealer and hoped that the redness would diminish by the time she got to work. She put on a coat over her wrinkled blouse and stained black pants and Disapparated into a deserted alleyway. It was about a three-minute walk to the café, and she set off at a brisk pace, the wind whipping her hair about. She arrived at the café, unlocking the door and flipping the sign to read "Open".

She was usually the first to arrive. She had been since they hired her two weeks ago. She busied herself by starting a pot of decaf and a pot of regular, feeling calmed by the familiar bubbling of the boiling water. She contemplated selling her father's house and moving into an apartment closer to work, but she didn't think she could do it. The house was the only tangible thing she had left of him, and she couldn't bear to part with it. The bell jangled and she looked up.

"Good morning!" said Emily cheerfully.

"Morning," she mumbled.

Emily hung up her coat and tied an apron around her waist, and then she began to set the tables.

"You know, Natalie, you look really gloomy today," said Emily randomly.

"I do?" She was rather taken aback.

"Well, gloomier than usual."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say, so she lowered her head, letting her hair create a curtain to hide her face.

"I mean, you really need a boyfriend or something. Or maybe you already have one? I don't know."

"No, I don't." The last guy she'd dated had been several years ago, and he'd turned out to be a jerk. There hadn't been anyone else after him. She didn't see the point of boyfriends, or actually, any sort of relationship. She was, by nature, a loner, but since her father's death she had become even more aloof. Besides, as she saw it, why would you bother to become attached to someone if you knew they were going to leave you anyway? Why set yourself up for pain?

"You just...I don't know," continued Emily. "You seem so indifferent. Like you don't care about anything. I mean, no offense or anything, but look at you. Your shirt's all wrinkly, your apron's got a huge stain on it...you need a makeover."

"I do care," she said slowly, looking down at herself. "About some things."

"Like what?" snorted Emily.

"Like..." She couldn't think of anything.

"That's it," said Emily, as Martha the cook heated the griddle. "I'm giving you a makeover. Are you free after work today?"

"Today? But I..." She withered under Emily's glare. "Um, no. I mean, yes. I'm free this afternoon."

"Good. You're coming home with me."

"Okay." She shrugged. The door opened, and the first customers walked in. She hurried to grab a stack of menus.

--------------------------------

The café closed at three, and she helped Emily lock up for the evening. Once the door was locked securely, she followed Emily outside where they hailed a cab. She didn't ask where they were going, and she thought it best not to. A few minutes later, Emily signaled for her to get out. They had arrived in front of a small salon, its display windows featuring faceless mannequins modeling outrageous hairstyles. Emily opened the door and they stepped inside, greeted by a blast of warm air.

A thin woman with sleek brown hair came out from behind the counter. "Emily! It's wonderful to see you!"

"Hello, Aunt Vivian," said Emily, as they embraced. "I've brought my friend Natalie."

"Hello," mumbled Natalie, staring at the floor.

"Hello, Natalie!" said the woman brightly. "What can I do for you darlings?"

"Well," said Emily, casting a sideways glance at Natalie, "she kind of needs a makeover."

"Hmm," said Vivian. "Hmm...a makeover. Well, I'll see what I can do. Come with me." She led them into a room with a shelf full of beauty supplies and a hairdresser's chair. "Sit," she said, pointing at the chair with a crimson colored nail. Natalie stared at her reflection in the large mirror. Her skin was fair, though pale. Her hair hung limply over her shoulders.

"Do you think it would look better short?" said Emily from behind her. Though Emily was trying hard to sound blasé, Natalie could tell that she was actually enjoying this.

"Not too short," said Vivian, taking out a barber's cape and a pair of scissors.

"You're going to cut my hair?" Natalie placed her hands protectively over her head.

Emily looked at her sternly. "Do you want to look better or not?"

She reluctantly lowered her hands and gulped as Vivian draped the sheet around her shoulders and tilted her head back into the sink. The warm water was soothing on her scalp. Then Vivian blew her hair dry and began to cut. She watched as tresses of hair fell to the floor and shut her eyes, wincing each time the scissors made a snipping noise.

"All done," said Vivian a few minutes later. She removed the cape. "You can look now."

Natalie opened her eyes and surveyed the floor beneath her: it was covered in a mass of hair--her hair. She slowly raised her eyes to the mirror. Her hair was much shorter now, though still below shoulder-length. Vivian had layered it so it wasn't all the same length. She looked more sophisticated, more stylish. Sexier. She shuddered and tilted her head to the side. There wasn't quite enough hair to cover her entire face, but it would have to do.

"What do you think?"

"It's...I like it."

"I'm glad," said Vivian, grinning. Emily was smiling too. "And now for a little bit of powder and paint."

She sat still as Vivian applied makeup to her face, Emily making comments all the while.

"I think you should paint her nails too," suggested Emily. She selected a bottle of pale pink polish. "This color." Natalie didn't protest. She actually kind of liked being pampered. She felt like a princess, or maybe a movie star. A girl could get used to this, she thought.

When they were finished, she almost didn't recognize herself in the mirror. She'd never thought of herself as pretty, but as she gazed at her reflection, the word came to mind.

"Thank you so much, Aunt Vivian," said Emily, as she placed the cosmetics into a small bag.

"Thank you," said Natalie, finding it difficult to tear herself away from the mirror.

Vivian chuckled. "No, it was my pleasure." She waved as they left the store.

"Next stop," said Emily, as they slid into another taxi, "is clothes. And shoes."

"We're not done?" asked Natalie, unable to resist looking at herself in the rearview mirror as they got out. Even the taxi driver had given her a second glance.

"Of course not," said Emily, leading her into a cozy boutique. "No makeover is complete without new clothes and shoes."

The store was owned by an amiable woman named Julie. They split up and browsed the aisles.

"Try these on," said Emily, dumping clothes into Natalie's arms.

"What--"

"Just try them on." She obeyed and entered the fitting room, feeling awkward and conspicuous among the other women trying clothes on.

"How does it look?" asked Emily, coming in with more clothes.

"I don't know," said Natalie, stepping onto the plush carpet. "What do you think?"

"Turn around." Natalie spun so quickly that she almost fell over. "Not so fast," said Emily impatiently. "Slowly."

She did a self-conscious turn.

"You need color," said Emily, handing her a sweater that brought out the blue in her eyes. She obediently put it on and stepped out of the cubicle again. "Yes," breathed Emily. "You're getting that."

They went through what seemed like hundreds of outfits before Emily finally decided that they were ready for shoes.

"No high heels," said Natalie, as soon as she sat down.

"Nothing too extravagant," agreed Emily, handing her a pair of patent leather flats. "You're already a decent height, so we don't want to make you freakishly tall, but you'll need something with a small heel to go with the dress."

"Why do I need a dress anyway?" said Natalie, trying on a pair of strappy, chocolate brown heels. The heels weren't very high, but even so, she wobbled.

"Because," said Emily, frowning as she pored over the selections, "I said so."

In they end, they left the store with three outfits, a dress, and two pairs of shoes, all of which Emily paid for.

"I can't let you do this," protested Natalie. "I'll pay."

"Just get me something good for Christmas," said Emily, shoving the shopping bags into her hands. "Alright?" Natalie nodded. "I've got to get going now, so I guess you'll have to get your own taxi."

"Yeah, sure."

"See you tomorrow."

"See you."

She waited until Emily got into her taxi. Then she closed her eyes and felt the familiar sensation of Apparition as she was squeezed through the darkness.