The Unknown Legacy

Heartache and Hospitality

On her fifth day in the Leaky Cauldron, Lydia woke up and sighed. Last night she'd had the most peculiar dream. She was in a room full of thousands of women, talking about responsibility to the world. Each of the women looked pale and clammy, and some had the tell tale milky eyes of blindness. The dream hadn't scared her at all. None of the women were there to hurt her, she was merely sitting among them, listening to them. They sounded as if they were talking through a throat full of dirt.

Lydia was still in bed, thinking about what they'd said, 'This will never happen to you'. Was it her imagination that the one closest to her looked like her mother? She got up and went to the wardrobe to get out a set of robes, but stopped. Slowly she turned to her suitcase, and put on a pair of shorts and a Tori Amos tank top, grabbed some money and her London Map. She walked out from behind the dressing screen.

"How do I look?" she asked the man in the painting. She'd gotten rather accustomed to talking to him. He scratched his chin and then nodded.

"Like an under dressed Muggle," he said finally. Lydia grinned.

"Yup, that's how we dress," she said and walked downstairs. She walked past Tom.

"Where you going?" he asked, sounding curious. Lydia turned around and pointed to the door that led to the Muggle street. He noticed that the look on her face was very determined. People who knew her family would've immediately recognized it as the face her grandmother made when she was being stubborn.

"The whole reason I came to London is out there," she announced and heaved a sigh. "It's time to face my demons. I've avoided them for almost a week now. If George asks where I am, can you just tell him I'll be back around one o'clock?" she asked. Tom nodded.

"I can do that for you. Good Luck with the demons," he said. Lydia thanked him and headed out the door.

When she walked out of the door and let it shut behind her, she wanted to turn around and walk right back in. To her, London had been Diagon Alley. She looked down at her clothes and now knew what the man in the painting meant. She felt very naked with out the long robes covering up her legs.

It was awkward familiarity, to be back among the world she'd grown up knowing, even if it was in a different country. The people around her were bustling past without a notice, and Lydia wondered how they would react if they could know and see what she knew and saw. She imagined the range of over zealous reactions, from the devoutly religious all the way to the scientists, both desperately trying to explain magic. She watched a man changing the batteries in his portable CD player, and a woman chatting pleasantly on her cell phone. They were all familiar sites, but seemed shoved into antiquity by the events of the past few days. Lydia took a deep breath and was on her way. She walked to the end of the street and noted the street name so she could find her way back.

On the corner of her map was a hand written address, belonging to the shop where her mother had died, and where Lydia had been born. She looked on the map and found the street about 15 blocks away. She started walking. As she walked, she fingered a knut in her pocket and felt a bit braver. Maybe she could find a way to live in the Wizarding world later in life. It seemed like a nice place to be, certainly no easier then Muggle life, but nicer. She went into a McDonalds to get an egg and cheese sandwich. It tasted fake and foamy compared to the food she'd eaten in The Leaky Cauldron, but it filled her up. She reminded herself that the Wizarding world was not where she belonged. Her entire life was in America, where she had college, friends, family and work.

But George told me that wizards marry Muggles all the time, and they get along with life just fine. her mind pointed out. She decided that it wasn't the best time to think about it and kept walking.

Ten minutes later, she found herself in front of the store. She checked the address, and then looked back at the building. She imagined that it hadn't changed much, despite that it was no longer a clothing shop, but a cellular phone store. It was built of brick and had a large bay window with green wood trim. Lydia took a deep breath and exhaled. She walked forward towards the door and touched the handle.

Is this the same handle that was on the door then? Is this even the same door as then? Did my mother open the door using this handle every day for the last nine months of her life? Lydia thought a second before she opened the shop door and stepped inside. A pretty blonde girl with a lip ring walked up to her almost immediately. Lydia forced a smile.

"Just browsing," she said. The girl nodded and told her to ask if she needed help with anything.

Why in the hell does that yank tourist want to browse a phone shop? the girl thought, but said nothing. She watched the strange woman's reaction to the place. All she did was stand there in the middle of the store with her eyes closed. These bloody people get weirder and weirder by the day.

Lydia was standing there with her eyes shut. She could feel no sorrow in the air. The tens of thousands of people who'd walked through here in the past 20 years had covered any trace of her mother's energy. She opened her eyes and felt stupid. Who was she trying to kid? She wasn't one of those insufferable TV ghost finders who went to haunted houses looking for lingering spirits of little girls or murder victims.

She instead imagined the scene of her birth, all the paramedics crowded around her mother's dead body, holding Lydia's wailing form up like a sick trophy, with the umbilical cord still attached. She bit back tears. Where in the store had it happened, and why was she torturing herself this way?

"Are you ok?" the girl asked. Lydia opened her eyes and looked at her.

"I lost someone very dear to me here 20 years ago, the same day I was born," she said and looked down at the carpet. "I was sent back to my family in America and haven't been back since, so yes and no," she said. The girl looked a little taken aback, but she faintly remembered an offhand story her boss had told her to the same effect. She coughed.

"You're the baby aren't you?" she said in a matter of fact voice. "You're the baby they took from the woman after she died."

Lydia looked at the girl for a moment, tightlipped and emotionless. It was another one of her grandmother's faces. Then she heaved a sigh.

"Yes. I'm the baby that was born here. I didn't think you'd know about it," she said. Her voice had a dangerous edge to it. The girl however didn't notice and leaned against a shelf full of car phone accessories, and flipped her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, the store owner told me," she said distantly and stepped away after a second or two. Lydia was coping with the chill she'd gotten from the telling of the tale again. The girl's 'I-could-care-less' tone and referral of her as 'the baby they took out of the woman' hadn't helped either. There was nothing here for her. She curtly thanked the girl and walked out of the store.

Meanwhile, at a large crooked house belonging to the Weasley family, Molly Weasley was listening to her son George babble about a girl he'd met in Diagon Alley; and not for the first time. In fact, he hadn't talked about anything but this girl for the past few days. He'd mentioned something about the girl that made her special, something about a memory charm not working on her, which was odd indeed. However, her husband Arthur had been especially proud of George for befriending a Muggle.

"This will be a great opportunity to help improve Wizard/Muggle relations! Good job George!" he'd said the first night George had mentioned the girl. He was even happier a few nights later on his birthday, when George had given him the present Lydia helped pick out, a London souvenir pen with a mini light on the top. Arthur took it with him everywhere he went and pushed the light button absently when he was doing something boring.

Now, Molly flicked her wand at the sink full of dishes that she'd been meaning to do. They slowly clinked and washed themselves.

"...And she's beautiful mum!" he said and paused to take a breath. It was the first time he'd shut up since he'd apparated in the kitchen and began talking five minutes ago.

"So you've told me," she said as she tried to hide the amused grin on her face. Fred had gone on about a girl on the Quidditch team he'd taken to the Yule Ball his sixth year when he'd gotten home from school for the summer. But of course it had been months later, so some of the excitement had worn off. It was all fresh for George though.

"I'm happy for you George, but you still haven't told me why you're home telling me all this. Isn't Fred all alone at the shop?" she asked. A few years back, before Fred and George left Hogwarts, she'd been thoroughly disgusted with the fact that her twins' only ambition was to open a joke shop, and not go to work for the Ministry. But she'd been pleasantly shocked when their shop became a booming business in Diagon Alley, and raked in money. It was just as successful as Zonko's. If you were in Hogsmeade looking for a joke shop, you went to Zonko's. If you were in Diagon Alley, you went to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was that simple.

"Nah, Lee is there today. But mum, the reason is...well, it's pointless for her to stay in Diagon Alley! I was wondering if maybe she could stay here instead."

"Here? But why George, you barely know her," she said and watched George sigh. It wasn't a question of having the room. Now with three of their seven children out of the house, several rooms were empty. Her youngest son's friend Harry Potter was also temporarily living at the Burrow, since his Aunt and Uncle had thrown him out of their house the day he turned eighteen, and asked him never to contact them again. Such rude people! It was amazing that Harry turned out the way he did growing up with such unpleasant people.

"Because mum, she's so out of place there. She practically clings to Fred and I when she goes out into Diagon Alley. She even bought some robes so people would quit staring at her Muggle clothes."

Molly sat down at the kitchen table to think. Arthur would certainly love to have a real Muggle staying at the house to talk to, and Molly admitted to herself that she also shared a hint of Arthur's Muggle curiosity.

Though not enough to break the law, she thought hotly, thinking of the family garage full of Muggle junk that her husband collected and experimented on. She looked back to George and that cinched it. He looked so hopeful, and he was practically glowing with excitement.

"Well, it does sound like the poor girl needs some place to fit in, and it's not like we don't have the room now that Percy has his own house. Plus Arthur could make her feel a bit more at home with his Muggle talk...Ok George, she can stay here in Percy's old-" she wasn't able to finish, because George flung his arms around her, cried 'THANKS MUM!' and immediately disapparated. Molly was finally able to giggle.

"Ah, young love," she said to herself and picked up the Great Big Book of Muggle Cooking that Arthur had gotten her for their last Anniversary, and began reading a section called 'An art form for the witch who has time to waste!'

When George arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, he looked around for Lydia to tell her the news, but didn't see her. Tom called his name and waved him over to the bar.

"She said she went out into Muggle London to face some demons, I hope she's ok. Said she'd be back around 1," Tom said as George looked at his watch. Besides telling him that it was 11:30, it also showed him a spectacular display of the number of people in the shop at that exact moment and how much money they'd made so far that day.

He was about to wander back to the joke shop when the door from the Muggle street opened. Lydia walked in and shut the door. George was about to smile, when he saw her face. She looked to be on the verge of tears. He strode over and touched her shoulder.

"Lydia, what's wrong?" he asked. She threw her arms around George and sobbed. It surprised him. People were staring at Lydia, some with concern, some wondering what the hell she was wearing. George pulled away from Lydia and led her upstairs and away from nosey glances, with his arm around her. Once they got into her room, she sat down on the bed. He shut the door.

"Lydia what happened?" he asked. She explained how she'd gone out alone, and back to the scene of the crime. She told him how cold the cashier girl had been, even though she knew the story. She leaned her head on his shoulder as he patted her hand. He wasn't really sure on how to deal with a sobbing woman. He and Fred had always dealt with their little sister's sobs by jumping out from around corners and tickle attacking her. George doubted he should try that with Lydia. She seemed to be calming down though.

Without warning, a tray full of tiny sandwiches and a teapot appeared on the small table by the fireplace. It had a short note on it, which George read to Lydia.

Have some tea and sandwiches on the house lass, and feel better, it's heartbreaking to see you upset like that. ~ Tom

Lydia blew her nose.

"That's so sweet of him," she said and threw the tissue away. George levitated the table closer to Lydia. It still amazed her when she saw the extent of what people used magic for. He could have easily lifted it and brought it over, tea tray and all, without spilling anything. She didn't say anything about it as he poured her a cup, and sat back down next to her.

"I feel stupid now," she complained in a wavering voice.

"Don't worry about it, no one thinks less of you. Tom's right, seeing you cry like that is completely life shattering. I thought the world had ended," he said and smiled, trying to cheer her up. She sipped the steamy tea and felt a little better. It tasted of orange and spices.

"I'll have to remember not to cry in front of people then," Lydia muttered as she set the cup down and picked up one of the sandwiches.

"I've got some good news to cheer you up though," George said, with a smile. Lydia sniffled and looked at him. "I talked to my mum today, and she's agreed to let you stay at our house free of charge until September First."

"Really?" Lydia asked and nibbled on the corner of one of the sandwiches, even though she wasn't hungry. Growing up with her grandmother had taught her never to refuse food that was offered. It was delicious roast beef. She took another sip of her tea to wash it down.

"She really said I could stay? I always wondered what your house looks like," she admitted finally. George grinned.

"Well, now you can see for yourself," he said and ate one of the little sandwiches. They didn't notice that two sandwiches appeared on the tray to replace the ones they'd eaten.

"Oh I feel like I'll be a burden," Lydia croaked and dropped her head. Crying had made her sleepy. George seemed to notice this.

"You won't be a burden at all. Mum wouldn't offer if she didn't want you there. But we won't be leaving till later today, after we close the shop, so in the meantime, you should take a nap, while I get back down to the shop."

Lydia nodded. After she showed George out of her room, she went back to the bed and laid down on top of the covers. Sleep found her easily.

"Is she feeling better?" Tom asked when George came down the stairs. He nodded.

"Yes, she's sleeping now. The tea and sandwiches really helped too, you made her feel a lot better. This is also going to be her last day here. My mum offered to put her up at my house. So she should be out of the room around six o'clock," George said. Tom nodded.

"It was awful watching her carry on like that. I'm glad she's better. That girl is special. You shoulda seen it, when Mr. Diggle tried to charm her. She turned right around and snatched his wand from him. I have a feeling she's going to be very important to us all someday! Mark my words," Tom said and pointed at George.

"I think you're right. If she's really immune to magic, that could mean great things in the fight against You-Know-Who," George said. His stomach turned quietly at the thought of Lydia facing You-Know-Who. George was surprised when he couldn't imagine her looking anything but powerfully defiant in the face of the Dark Lord. He almost smiled when he imagined her knocking him in the face with her elbow, like she'd done to the straw dummy.

"I've never heard of anyone immune to magic before," Tom said, and scratched his bald head. "It'll be a first if she is. Really odd though. It'd be like saying you're immune to hearing song birds sing or feeling the grass under your feet. But keep a close eye on her Weasley, she's far to precious to lose."

And how right he was.