The Mysterious M

Chapter One: The Beginning

Meara MacDonald stood over the stove in the small kitchen in the flat above shop. Her small stature and short, extremely curly hair made her an unlikely choice for a rock star singer, but her flashing green eyes revealed a passionate fire. The steam rising from the pot added to the mysterious air that surrounded her. Pulling a spoon out of her back pant pocket, she stirred the contents of the pot. She began to hum, and as she thought, a far away look came to her eyes. She put the spoon down and grabbed a worn notebook from the countertop. Pulling a pencil from behind her ear, she began to write on a blank sheet.

Are you the wizard of my dreams?

Was it you that I saw last night?

Was it your red hair and freckled smile

That made me turn away in fright

Of what I feel

Of what I had thought

When I saw your muscular frame?

The more you say

The more I lie

And try to hide

What I feel inside

I'm a whole different person when I'm with you

There's nothing else I'd rather do

Than be here

The wizard of my dreams

A call from the other room made her jump. She stared at the door, where a smiling face came into view. George Weasley smiled as he gazed at the startled young woman before him.

"Hey, we going to have dinner or a song tonight?" he asked jokingly. Meara quickly stuffed her notebook out of sight.

"You're not supposed to know about my notebook," she said accusingly, turning back to the pot on the stove. She noticed the contents floating, and quickly turned the burner off. Lifting the pot off of the stove, she strained the raviolis in the sink and then put them back in the pot with a bit of butter. She turned to see George pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven and placing it on the special bread board Meara had gotten from her mother before leaving the states. He smiled as he lead the way out of the kitchen. Meara shook her head to clear it of any inappropriate thoughts before following with the main course.

Seated around the table in the small living area, forks and knives in the air, were Fred Weasley, the other Weasley twin, Ian Smith, lead guitarist of Mysterious M, Robert Hank, the rhythm guitarist, Bobby Underhill, drummer, and Alfie Polan, bassist. Meara had to laugh as the group of them began to pound their utensils on the table and chanted "We want food now". George gave Meara a lopsided smile as they placed the food on the table to a flurry of action. Dinner in the joke shop was always an interesting affair.

As soon as the meal was over, the group began to tell stories and jokes. Meara enjoyed these little talks. They allowed her to relax fully after a hard day's work and have a nice conversation with close friends. Besides the band, the only people she knew in Britain were the Weasley twins and their large family, and she felt very close indeed to the two twins.

After a few hours, Meara's eyes began to droop. She put her head on the nearest shoulder, praying that it was Ian or Bobby. They never minded when she used them for a pillow. She closed her eyes and listened to Alfie tell the story about the time a band he was in played for a full house in huge bar. Within moments, she was asleep.

A sunbeam gently caressed Meara's cheek as she stirred. Her vivid green eyes opened to see a window ajar and gauzy curtains blowing in a gentle wind. She didn't recognize the window, or its view, but she was too groggy to care. She rolled over, away from the light, and curled up against a very warm pillow. Before falling asleep again, she wondered why her pillow was so warm and felt so unlike cotton.

George opened his eyes to a startling view. He knew that Meara had fallen asleep on her shoulder, but how she ended up in his bed curled up on his chest was beyond him. He fell back into the pillows to think. After she had fallen asleep, the other band members had said that they couldn't carry her all the way home. While Meara was small, she was muscular and weighed enough that one of them, tired as they were, could not carry her all the way home. He vaguely remembered Fred offering to let her stay the night, and a small, quiet argument about where she was going to sleep.

Realization hit him. He had finally decided to just let her sleep in his bed, fighting the feelings that swamped his mind. He had originally meant to sleep on the floor, but when he came back from a midnight bathroom visit, half asleep, he fell into bed without thinking and fell asleep. He then turned his thoughts on the awkward position he had found himself in.

"What am I going to do about this?" he asked himself quietly. Meara gently stirred in her sleep, letting out a small groan and rolling off of his chest. He carefully climbed out of bed, trying hard not to wake her. He pulled on an old t-shirt that was laying on a chair and quietly made his way out of the room. Fred met him in the hallway.

"You just gonna let her wake up alone in a strange room?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother's tired look. George shrugged.

"It's a better option than letting her wake up with her head on my bear chest in my bed wondering what the hell happened last night," he said wearily as he made to the kitchen. Fred followed.

"And, pray tell brother dearest, what did happen?" he asked, a smile on his face and in his voice. George groaned.

"I didn't tease you about Angelina, Fred, don't even go there with Meara," George said as he stepped into the kitchen. He made his way to the cabinets and put a kettle full of water on the stove. Fred followed him in and walked to a cabinet. Pulling the doors open, he pulled out two mugs and two tea bags.

"I'm sorry if I'm prying, George," he began as he set the mugs down on the countertop. He then turned to see George looking out the back window into the alleyway. "But I see the way you look at her, the way you rush to help her out when she's working for us. It's the same way Dad looks at Mom. You're my twin; it's my job to tease you."

George sighed, then turned and looked at Fred. "Is this how you feel about Angelina?" he asked, uncertainty and fear in his eyes. Fred smiled.

"Yeah, it is," he admitted. He blushed and looked back into the shop. Fred smiled as he thought of Angelina Johnson, chaser of the Gryffindor Quiddich team. Turning back to his brother, he continued.

"I've never felt this way before, with any girl. She's something else entirely. Now I know what Dad meant when he said, 'You'll know her when you see her.'" George let out a small laugh.

"The sad thing? I barely know her. Yeah, I know that she sings in a rock band, and that she likes Italian food. I know that she has a mother back home in New York, and I know that she refuses to change anything about herself to please anyone else. But I don't know Meara. I don't know what makes her who she is. I don't know where she learned her witchcraft. I don't even know her birthday, Fred. But, if you or anyone else were to ask me if I was in love with that witch, I'd have to say yes."

Fred shook his head. "You know enough about her to know that she's the woman for you, don't you?" he asked. When George nodded, he smiled. "Then you know enough. The rest will come with time, trust me. I don't think Meara has ever really had anyone to open up to, and living in New York, she's most likely used to not telling everything right away. Give her time." He turned to look out the door and saw Meara coming down the hallway, wearing an oversized t-shirt and little else. Her usually wild hair was even more so, thanks to constant tossing and turning during the night. She walked into the kitchen as Fred reopened the cabinet doors and pulled out a third mug and tea bag. George looked at her, a lopsided smile on his face.

"Morning, Meara," he said casually as she leaned against a cupboard. She smiled back.

"Morning, George. Fred," she said sleepily. She smiled at Fred as he handed her a mug and murmured her thanks. Fred did some fast thinking.

"Hey, Meara, sorry to bother you with this first thing in the morning, but where are the magic schools in the US? I mean, there has to be at least one, since you're a witch and you didn't go to school in Canada..." He trailed off, gestering his hands to prompt her. Meara gave a slight smile.

"Oh, there are schools in every state, at least one. New York has several. The one I went to was called The Salem School of Witchcraft, one of the best. All-girl high school-type. That's where I learned everything. There are, of course, magical colleges, but I wanted to be a musician, so I quit the learning scene. Those are basically for higher-level magic, stuff I didn't need because of what I wanted to do." She shrugged, took a sip of her tea, and then continued. "Besides, they're all terribly expensive, and Mom and I just didn't have the money for me to continue. It was actually my only choice, to quit school and go into the music business. Wasn't twisting my arm, let me tell you that." She suddenly became very interested in her tea and took several more sips before George broke the silence.

"How did you meet your band?" he asked quietly. Meara looked up, amused.

"What, did I not tell you?" she asked jokingly. George smiled. She made a face, put her tea down on the countertop, and pulled herself up so that she could sit down and look the twins in their faces. "I put out a few feelers. You learn these things, especially in New York in the magical musical district. We used to call it the MM, to shorten where we were going. Anyways, I got word that there was an amazing bassist in a band in a club somewhere. They said that while the band wasn't going anywhere fast, the bass was amazing. He could be famous someday. I gave him an owl, and he came to meet me after work in a coffee shop near his club. He was a nice guy, and we clicked. He then recommended an old friend of his for drums. Alfie brought Bobby to Mom and my apartment, and even Mom liked him. The two of them were extremely talented, and amazingly enough, the three of us became quick friends. Two of the only people I've ever really talked to.

"The only problem then was guitars. They had some great song material, but all of it required at least two guitars. There wasn't anything in New York, and trust me, we looked." She shuddered. "All those hours sitting in a chair in that club Alfie used to play in, listening to hacks who thought they were the wizard version of Angus Young... When we finally did get two promising tapes, they were from Britain. I wasn't anxious to leave Mom, since she's all I've ever had, but she insisted. Even Bobby and Alfie were all over it, saying that England was more receptive to what we wanted to do. So, we went for it. We moved here, Ian and Robert joined the band, and we got jobs to pay the bills until we got a good stream of paying gigs. That's when I met you guys." She smiled at the memory. "You two, my band, and my mother are the people who know the most about me, the people I feel I can most trust. I know I don't talk much about who I am, but..." She shrugged again. "I've never felt that I have to spell out who I am. The people I hang out with are smart enough to figure that out for themselves." She fell silent, lost in thought. George looked at Fred, and as soon as their eyes met, they knew that they were about to do something highly amusing. They turned in perfect unison back to Meara and gave her an evil smile.

"So, what's in that notebook that you're always writing in?" Fred asked, a glint in his eye. Meara raised an eyebrow.

"Song material. Mostly poems that I've written that can become lyrics. Why?" she asked, suddenly suspicious. George pulled her notebook from behind his back.

"Mind if we read?" he asked, already opening the cover. Meara shrugged.

"You want to enter the craziness that's my mind, be my guest," she said, taking another sip from her tea. "Just don't ask questions or read them out loud," she added as he began to open his mouth. She knew full well that he would ask quite a few questions from the wizard song, but she didn't want unnecessary prying into her inner thoughts. As she and Fred finished their tea and began breakfast, George read the many pages of poems and songs, looked at the many costume ideas, and glanced over special effects plots that she had done when talking to the band about the big show they had always wanted to do when they had enough material and popularity to do so.

As Meara put the scrambled eggs on the table beside the toast, George flipped back through the pages of the notebook. He then beckoned her over.

"This," he said, pointing to a costume idea she had conceived during a slow day at the store, "is without a doubt the coolest thing that you could wear for a concert featuring these songs. Why don't you make it?" He looked up at her shocked face.

"Mostly because I don't have the money or time," she said softly, looking back at his freckled face. He smiled at her.

"Seriously, something like this would be the look for you," he said equally softly. "This is the kind of thing that makes or breaks a band." He pulled the pen out from the spiral wire binding and began to sketch. Meara pulled a few plates out from a cabinet and grabbed some silverware from a drawer before sitting down and giving the required utensils to the twins. Fred joined her in eating while watching George scribble on the page. Finally, Meara spoke up.

"George, you need to eat something before it all goes cold," she said softly. He looked up at her as if finally realizing that there was food. He handed her the notebook and pen before pulling dishes towards him.

"There you have it, the ultimate M look," he said, proud of himself. Meara took a look at the page. He had added a few things to her outfit, leaving her in a shorter plaid school-girl skirt and a slightly torn white blouse, sporting black boots that went up to her knees. The rest of the band was dressed in Muggle school uniform-like outfits, all artfully torn or worn with patches. She was impressed. They looked like a Muggle rock band, something definitely new to the magical scene. Most magical performers wore robes of various styles, but this... This allowed her to move around the stage and do what she needed to do while still letting her be a rock star. She passed the notebook to Fred, who was obviously impressed as well. Meara then turned to George.

"I can't wear that to every show, of course. That would be a great stadium costume, or a large bar. A venue where I need to be all over the stage. But..."

She trailed off as she grabbed the notebook back from Fred and began to sketch furiously. Fred and George shared a bemused look before beginning to clear the table. It wasn't even an hour before she walked into the kitchen holding out the notebook for their approval. The twins, all four hands in soapy water washing dishes, looked at the drawings with interest. It was a hurried sketch of Meara in a tight pair of worn jeans and t-shirt paired with boots similar to the ones George had her wearing in the previous drawing. Both smiled. This was another classic M look, with them all looking like Muggles and yet sounding like wizards. A whole new form of magical music was born.

"Just as the wild winged dove sings a song, sounds like she's singin' 'Who, baby, who, who?'" came a voice from behind a door in the small apartment of Sophia MacDonald. Sophia herself was in the kitchen a few paces away dancing to the music clearly audible from her only daughter's room. The door opened, letting out more notes as Meara emerged from her hiding place.

"Just as the wild winged dove sings a song, sounds like she's singin' 'Who, baby, who, who?'" sang the two women as they danced around the kitchen. Sophia laughed as her daughter twirled around a pole acting as a doorway separating the living room from the bedrooms. Giggling, Meara dodged back into her room to turn off Stevie Nicks. When she reamerged, Sophia pulled her daughter to her.

"Come here you," she said jokingly, hugging the young woman. Meara snuggled next to her mother and put her arm around her waist.

"How can I help ya, Mom?" she asked, the slight New York accent showing in her speech. Sophia released her daughter and threw a potholder at her.

"You can start by pulling whatever's in the oven out and putting it on the table," she said, contrasting her daughter's accent with her own Scottish one. Meara sighed and did as her mother asked.

Sophia picked up a pile of envelopes from the countertop. "This all that came in the mail?" she asked her daughter. Meara put the casserole on the table and turned to face her mother's back.

"Yeah, that's all of it," she said, leaning against the table. "Why?"

Sophia turned to face her daughter, an envelope in her hand. "This is for you, babe," she said, holding it out. Meara came, a puzzled look on her face, and took it from her mother. She took a look at the address written in purple ink:

Meara MacDonald

135 36^th Street

Apartment 4C

New York, New York

She was increasingly suspicious as she ripped it open to reveal several pages written in the same purple ink. She looked at her mother who simply shrugged, a smile on her face. Turning back to the first page, she began to read.

Dear Miss Meara,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for admission into the Salem School of Witchcraft in Salem, Massachusetts. This fine institution is agirls only school teaching the finest magical methods.

Meara turned back to look at her mother.

"A witch? I'm a witch?" she asked, the shock evident in her voice. Sophia nodded.

"Your father was a wizard," she said quietly. "I hoped you'd have those genes. It was wonderful to have a wizard around the house."

Meara looked down at the page for a moment, then turned back to her mother. "You've never told me anything about him," she said sadly. Sophia sighed.

"He didn't tell me much," she admitted. "We lived together when I was in London before you were born. Of course, that was only of convenience for him. I had an apartment, but for a few days every month, he was off somewhere else." She shrugged. "I was young and naïve. He was attractive, mysterious, and very intelligent." She fell into silence, thinking about the man who fathered her child. Meara watched her mother.

"Didn't he tell you his name?" she asked quietly, taking a step towards her mom. Sophia shook her head.

"He gave me a name, but when I tried to find him again, to tell him that he was a father, I found out the name was false. All I know is that he was a wizard."

"But, why would he tell you that he was a wizard and not tell you his real name?" Meara asked, a puzzled look on her face, the letter all but forgotten. Sophia gave a small laugh.

"Oh, he didn't tell me that. I found his wand along with several books when he was sleeping," she said, a large smile on her face as she remembered the scene. "He never found out that I knew, and I never felt the need to tell him until you were born. By then, he was gone."

Meara put the letter on the table and then walked up to her mother. Giving the older woman a hug, she felt the need to continue the line of questioning.

"What happened? Why did he leave?" she asked quietly. Her mother sighed again and held her daughter closer.

"I don't know. He was gone for several days one month, right after I found out I was pregnant and was figuring out how to tell him, and then, when he came back, it was while I was sleeping. He snuck back into the apartment, gathered his things, and left. He didn't even leave a note," she said sadly.

An alarm made both women jump. Sophia straightened up and wiped the few tears off her cheeks. "That'll be the stove," she said, business-like again, and she and Meara finished preparing dinner.

A/N: Thank you, Ian, for letting use your lyrics. You are truly an angel.