Wait for Me

Three days ago...

"What on earth do you mean you have no clothes, Ronald Weasley?"

The boy in question gestured wordlessly to his closet, which was overflowing with maroon sweaters.

"Mum, you've got to have pity on me!"

"Easy, chap, treading on dangerous ground," Charlie muttered discreetly, sprawled on Ron's bed with his eyes fixed on the chessboard.

Bill just shook his head and made a throat-cutting motion, but Ron plunged forward without caution.

"I dream in maroon, Mum. I get maroon all year, every year. I'm not ungrateful, really I'm not, but I've got to have another color or I WILL GO MAAADD!!"

Silence. It was only broken by the faint ka-thunk of a knight chesspiece getting walloped and dragged off to the side of the board. The little figure rubbed his head and shook his fist at an unheeding Charlie, who was wincing in anticipation of the explosion.

"Well." Mrs. Weasley picked up the laundry basket she had dropped earlier...took a deep, ominous breath - then looked at Ron and winked just a little.

"How does tomorrow sound, love?"

She walked off briskly, humming a little tune as she flicked her wand here and there, banishing stray cobwebs in the high hall ceilings.

"You never know, do you?" an astonished Ron finally spluttered after the brothers' shocked silence.

"Well, why'd you take the chance if you weren't sure? Personally, Ron, I believe you have a death wish..."

Looking back at the chessboard, Bill grunted, then smiled in satisfaction and stretched lazily.

"Checkmate. Again."

Charlie stared at the board a bit longer as if hoping for a miracle, then sighed glumly. His pieces were picking themselves up, dusting off clothes; some advanced to the edge, making faces and waggling fingers at him.

"Honestly, Bill, you need a new set. I think they go out of their way to make me lose..."

"Actually, I do need to see about my wand now that you mention it. Ever since that troll incident it's been a little off...hey Ron, have you been to Diagon Alley yet?"

"Urrmpphh," came the reply from the floor where he lay on his back perusing the latest "Quidditch World". A half-eaten peanut butter sandwich was in his hand.

"What? What was that?"

"Erruupphhh!" Ron spoke, forgetting about the sandwich in his mouth and spraying crumbs in Bill's direction. Bill, ever the neat-conscious type, ducked to avoid them and his rickety chair saw fit to deposit him all the way on the floor, where he casually lounged on one elbow, watching his brother with just a hint of a grin.

Shaking with laughter, Charlie picked up his wand.

"Hey, you look a little thirsty, Ron. Care for a drink?" He held the just-conjured, frosty glass of milk just out of his reach. "It's so cold..."

After another minute or so of unintelligible, peanut-buttery curses, Charlie relented and handed it over.

"NO, I haven't gone yet," Ron finally said through his last mouthful of sandwich, giving Charlie a dirty look.

"Mum and Ginny went the other day but...you know, the Cannons are really getting into it now...so yeah, I sort of need books and robes and things - if Mum'll go for it, that is...maybe I went a bit overboard..."

He stopped with a worried frown.

"She's in a really good mood for some reason, I haven't a clue why. There has to be something going on."

"And you're worried because?" Charlie asked sarcastically.

Ron just rolled his eyes, not deigning to respond to the obvious question.

"Give over, kids." Bill unfolded his long legs, stood and headed for the door. "I'll take you with me tomorrow, Ron. I have a spot of work to do on the way, then we'll be off. Get out your Muggle clothes, if you can find them under all that maroon..."

"Wicked!" Ron grinned, only to frown again. "But Mum..."

"Ah, I'll take care of her...she usually comes around after a bit." Bill left, whistling in a little parody of Mrs. Weasley.

"She usually comes around," the younger redhead mimicked, grumbling. "It must be the first-born thing.".

He wandered over to the table where Charlie still sat, glaring at the chess pieces who were for their part studiously ignoring his efforts to coax them back into the box.

"Hey, let's have a go, Charlie." Reaching for another sandwich, he settled into the chair. The white pieces trotted obediently over to his side and formed the starting line in silence, while the slower black pieces shuffled reluctantly to the other side with dramatic, long-suffering sighs.

Charlie shook his head.

"I still don't know what in blazes I did to them."

Snape gave a small sigh of contentment as he settled back in his armchair, glass of brandy in hand. The time is at hand...may as well enjoy what's left of my freedom.

A flick of his wand and the fireplace was suddenly ablaze, spreading a warm light but not quite banishing all the shadows, which was just the way he liked it. The air stilled smelled faintly like the dinner he had brought to his rooms, his favorite roast and potato dish. His evening was gloriously, blissfully empty.

At that, he became even more aware than usual of the cursed Mark. It seemed to pulse as he stared at it, felt it burning into his arm, felt the rage at the mere sight of it. He saw his memories every time, the ones time could not blur. The blood spilled, the curses screamed over fire and laughter, dances wild and completely uninhibited. Their eyes, everyone's eyes seeking, probing the cracks in the walls he so carefully built for himself. God he couldn't take the eyes...they knew who he was, what he was. Bilious yellow filled his vision, straining to touch his mind - almost - and then blue fire blew it apart. Blew the Dark Lord apart. The blessed, godforsaken light...

Not tonight you don't! That anyone has such power over me...never again! Never...

He forced the litany in his brain down to a buzz and drained his brandy glass in one smooth gulp. As the liquor burned its way down his throat, he told his brain to shut up and, for once, it seemed to want to obey.

"You're free tonight," he murmured absently, opening a Muggle book he had purchased a short time ago.

"No trysts, no revels, no kowtowing tonight, by the gods...perhaps even-"

"Hello, Severus."

"-no Dumbledore," Snape finished to himself sourly, and shrugged. Ah well.

"Yes, Headmaster?" he said to the head floating in the flames.

"A little light reading, I take it," the old wizard teased, looking at the tome in Snape's hands.

"Just something I picked up," he returned a little defensively, and kept the title hidden.

"I need another favor, Severus, if you would be so kind...of course, I'll completely understand if you have other obligations tomorrow."

You know perfectly well that I do not, he thought in amusement but kept his face smooth as usual. What could it be today?

"Of course I will help - with?"

"Our visitor is arriving tomorrow, and someone needs to meet her at the Muggle platform to guide her through. I, unfortunately," and here Dumbledore grimaced faintly, "have a meeting that I cannot put off any longer, with Minister Fudge. Since you two have met already I thought this would be the perfect solution."

Snape was perfectly still for a few seconds, then replied calmly, "At what time?"

"Ten o'clock sharp...by the entrance. You can show her what to do, get on the train and voila! The favor is finished." Dumbledore peered at the potions master slyly.

"Of course, I'm sure I can find another person if you cannot - perhaps Remus..."

"Consider it done!" Snape said quickly, then scowled. He could have been a Slytherin, damn him...

"Thank you, Severus," eyes atwinkle as usual.

"Any other instructions?" he asked warily

"No, only..." His face looked beyond old for just a moment.

"Make sure she is safe, Severus. It is finally happening, after so long...just be careful. I do not anticipate anything happening out of the ordinary, but..."

"I understand, Headmaster." It was all that was needed.

They exchanged a long look, then Dumbledore vanished from his fireplace with a "Sleep well".

Snape sat in his silence once more, thinking vaguely about smoke and the color red. He frowned unconsciously, settled in his chair again and opened his book, The History of the Blues.

It was an unusually sunny day in London and people were out in droves enjoying the gorgeous weather. Miriam turned her face up into the warmth as she strolled about, paying no mind to the continuous human traffic flowing around her.

She smiled to herself. If the guys only knew where I was going. Her bandmates were typical men, satisfied with her vague descriptions of where she would be and what she was doing. They were drifters too, all of them - they understood. She'd never really had to say or do anything in particular to gain their friendship; it had just happened, like magic ha ha she thought to herself, wincing at the terrible pun. It was the understanding from them, really, that kept her going in the end; the acceptance and commitment no matter what. Before, in other places and other times, relationships ended, feelings were inevitably hurt - sometimes that hurt had been necessary so contact couldn't be restored.

She didn't think she could have done that again; she didn't like to think of herself as someone who could voluntarily hurt others. Miriam silently thanked whatever gods there were for her motherless (except for Bernard!), thick-skinned twentysomething wanderers - mirrors of herself sometimes. But enough...

Tomorrow, she was to join Albus...somewhere...wherever the magic school was that he headed. Somehow she had never learned the name, or really anything beyond the fact that it existed. Tomorrow, she would know so much more.

"Why can't I come with you?" she had cried twelve years ago, clinging to the only father she had ever known in desperation. Miriam had made it a point never to cry when Albus was leaving - not even when she was small - secretly fearful he might not come back. But that day - ah, she had just turned fifteen, and so many things were changing. So many questions to ask, rules to rebel against. Was it Miriam or the world in a state of flux? The only thing she did know, had ever known, was Albus. So she grasped the remnants of her childhood one last time, and of course he had understood.

"Darling," he said, eyes loving but stern, "I know this is difficult. And believe me, nothing in the world would make me happier than you with me at school, discovering your birthright, the ways of your true world."

"Then..."

"Hush, Miriam," he gathered her close. "You know the answers; you know why you cannot come. All we need is a little more time. I will tell you when you're ready to take your place with our kind, and when we're ready for you. Jan will always help you no matter what, you know."

"Yes, but it's just not...the same..."

She did cry then, silently, the painful sobs that seem to tear into your chest, taking away breath and life. But eventually they did slow, and then stop. Sniffling, she readjusted her head on his chest, feeling his beard crinkle.

"I know." her faint whisper finally came. "I've always known that waiting is the hardest part of all."

Miriam blinked once, twice, vision clearing - and realized she was in the middle of the street, thankfully empty. Embarrassed, she tried to look casual as she stepped onto the sidewalk in front of what looked like an Underground station. She sat down on a ledge jutting out from the outer tunnel wall and lit a cigarette to calm her nerves.

Don't suppose this habit'll last much longer over there...just as well, of course.

Albus' words still echoed in her memory.

Was it really that long ago? she thought in wonder. What did I do with all that time?

Well, here I am, brave new world. Drum rolls and trumpet blasts please. And with that, she walked over to the pizza stand , bought a slice with two identifiable toppings and one not-so identifiable, and devoured it until the gaping hole where her stomach used to be was filled. The smell had reminded her she hadn't eaten since yesterday at the airport. She was staying with Jan's friend but he had the night shift at one of the local museums, and he apparently subsisted on crackers and rice, according to the contents of his pantry.

She walked towards the train entrance, wondering where a drugstore might be. I suppose they have shampoo and things like that over there...but better safe than sorry...

Suddenly Miriam became aware of a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she frowned. I just ate! When she realized it wasn't hunger she started to feel slightly strange. Where is it? I have to find...She stood on her toes, irritated by her lack of height, and scanned the crowd intently, looking for...

Then her conscious mind caught up to her actions

"What the hell am I looking for?" she wondered aloud.

"It smells in here," Ron remarked. "Remind me again why we couldn't just Apparate..."

"Ron," Bill said mildly, "we're out here now."

Ron shut it after a surprised "oh!" and a slight blush.

"There's no Apparating with minors, remember?" Bill continued in a hurried whisper. "And the Underground's the most straightforward way really. It's an experience, Ron...kind of exciting if you ask me. I wouldn't be complaining if I were you, Mr. Got-to have-another-color-in-my-wardrobe; Mum took some work yesterday."

His brother rolled his eyes - after checking to see if Bill was looking, of course.

"And I've got to meet somebody at the Cauldron, anyway," he added absently, "won't take a minute."

"Fine, fine," Ron replied just as absently, his eyes falling on a dark-haired girl sitting across from them. As the train slowed, she rose and shrugged into her coat, narrowing her eyes at Ron's stare.

"Cut it out." Bill gave him a whack on the head. The girl made her way down the aisle, grumbling under her breath.

"Did you see those..."

"Yeah, and they dress like that out here, dope. Hope you got that out of your system now."

Ron pushed him in the back on their way out, and his brother grabbed him in a headlock. Annoyed Muggles gave them a wide berth as they scuffled their way out of the train, and separated after getting a few last jabs in each, Ron snickering and Bill looking only faintly amused as behooved his elder-brother status.

"So where do we go now?" his brother asked while carefully straightening out his striped Muggle shirt. A faraway look came into Bill's eyes, and he stood as if rooted to the spot.

"Bill? Hellooo, Bill?"

"What? Oh, er...off to the Cauldron then, I suppose. Ron, do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Some kind of music...I dunno..." Bill was still for another moment, then shrugged.

"Must be one of those Muggle things," forgetting he wasn't supposed to talk magic in the outside world. "Come on..."

He took a few steps away from the boarding platform, then looked back at a seriously confused Ron.

"We don't have all bloody day..." He grunted as someone bumped hard against him in passing.

"I'm so sorry," the female voice called, her feet still carrying her past the train's open doors.

At the sound of her voice, Bill stiffened and spun around.

Shocked blue eyes met his from ten feet away.

-I know you-

-I know you...

And he heard the music again, swelling from a distance, felt it within her. It was a magnet; the overwhelming familiarity, the sound of home. He felt his feet carry him forward as from a distance. But the doors were closing.

The girl's eyes widened in panic and she pressed her hands flat against the window, ignoring the press of the crowd about her. And the train started to move.

Bill's long strides kept even with it for a few seconds, but it was too late. He shook his head in denial.

"Who are you?" the girl's lips formed silently.

"Who are you?" he whispered back, overwhelmed. She opened her mouth again but the train was moving faster. The music receded as she did, hands still locked to the windowpane. She was gone.

He slowed, leaning against a rail, breathing hard and fast. His eyes were locked on the dark tunnel.

I feel so empty - why am I so empty?

"Bill?"

Ron's uncertain voice intruded like a foghorn, and in a split second the sounds and smells of busy Muggle London rushed back into his brain. He hadn't realized the music had overwhelmed him so.

"Um, I think she dropped this." His brother held out a small object with the careful air of a zookeeper about to feed a rabid lion.

Thoughts still churning fiercely, Bill took the object, which appeared to be a Muggle money-holder. He opened it, thumbed through several pieces of strange-looking paper, unzipped an opening containing metal coins (and several gum wrappers), then by chance pulled out a plastic card and saw her face.

How odd, she's just sitting there, his mind piped up distantly while he examined the card.

"Miriam Aberforth," he murmured aloud.

Ron peered over his shoulder.

"It's a Muggle identification card - Hermione showed me hers. See, here's her address - an American! - and, hey, look at her birthdate..."

Bill looked, and something turned over in his stomach.

For Merlin's sake...what is going on?

He strode off down the street and made the correct turn onto a little alley. Ron stayed at his side with no questions for once, until finally with a strangled croak, he blurted out,

"Who was she, Bill?"

He just shook his head.

I should know, shouldn't I?