The Muggle Who Did Something: A marauders era fanfiction

Chapter 1: The Men In Her Flat

Cynthia leant her back heavily against the front door she'd just shut, as if her added weight could stop anything or anyone from getting through. Her vision swayed a little, threatening to bring her last meal forward. A pulsing sensation filled her head with dull repetitive pain.

 It wasn't as bad as it was before. The distance had done wonders, but she could feel the lingering pressure behind her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest, relentlessly forcing her blood through her body. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the door, willing her body to calm itself.

Forcing herself to focus, she took note of her current state. Her knees felt stiff, and almost hollow from running. The raw tingling burn in her legs was not something she had felt for years. When even was the last time she'd run so hard? The girl didn't think she was so unfit to be winded by the night's escapades. Apparently she was wrong.

Cynthia's clothes now clung uncomfortably to her slightly sweaty skin. She scowled in disgust wanting nothing more than to rip them off and let her body breathe, but she couldn't do that.

Not yet at least.

The woman's heart slowed its pace, but only slightly. At least her head wasn't swimming anymore. Her knees and legs would no doubt be crying from soreness for the next few days at least. Perhaps she needed to better work her body in the future.

Shaking the thought of future exercise, the woman tentatively opened her eyes. Her small flat welcomed her back as it always did. The little room itself was tidy enough. As always, near the window sat her dark blue couch littered with a few pillows and a fluffy throw blanket. On her coffee table were a few books and stray papers from her current project. The lovely scent of last night's vanilla candle still hung in the air, reminding her that she'd need to buy another soon.

The only unusual thing she could find was that there was a man in her flat. Well, actually two of them. Two men that she had just dragged home herself. Cynthia prayed silently that none of her neighbors had seen them. She would never live it down if they had. Those old ladies lived for gossip!

The first man lay sprawled on the floor, part of him on the creamy rug that separated the front room from the rest of the space. His eyes were closed, a deep wince still pulled at his face as he clenched his right arm. His dark messy curls hung in an untamable manner, reminding the girl of a brown lion's mane. The guy could only be 19, maybe 20. His face had a youthful sheen to it making Cynthia feel this man laughed a lot.

He wasn't laughing now though. His breath was just as labored, if not more so than Cynthia's herself. He'd been running just as hard, pushing himself to keep moving forward. He'd even pulled her from harm's way during the 'attack'.

Cynthia wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, unable to think of a better word than that at the moment. Calling whatever that was an 'attack' didn't make much sense. Who fights by yelling gibberish at each other and lighting off fireworks?

Cynthia was pulled from her thoughts as the second man groaned loudly, holding his head in one hand and a funny stick in the other. He sat on the floor beside his friend, one leg bent giving himself support. His more tidy black hair hung limply covering his face. This young man's hair was a little longer than his friends, ending a little below his striking jaw line. He reminded Cynthia of what a handsome Italian man might look like on the cover of a romance novel. His broad shoulders moved in a refined way even as he struggled to breathe.

Cynthia couldn't shake the feeling these men might be more than she'd bargained for.

"That... Was... Too... Close..." The 'italian' man refused to catch his breath, forcing each of his words out with a puff of air.