The Tale of Jamie Devereaux

Pay No Attention to the Side Character

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place did not look how it did the year prior. In the week Dobby the House Elf had apparated here under Jamie Devereaux Bruce's wishes, the small elf had transformed most of the rooms. It was spotless, despite how worn down it was, and items that were previously covered in cobwebs had a shine to them as if they were brand new. The best part of it all, Sirius Black demanded to double Dobby's Hogwarts salary to two Galleons a week to help out around the house. The only being not pleased by Dobby's work was Kreacher, who could be found huddled in corners trying to re-cobweb them. 

Loren Bruce, with her black curls tied up in a knot at the base of her neck, sat cross-legged on the couch of the Black family tea room. She wore muggle jeans and a giant Oxford sweatshirt. Across from the couch perched haphazardly on a priceless antique secretary table, with a three-hundred year old vase leaning against it, was a large television. Salem, Jamie's cat that had been rescued from Hogwarts by Dobby, stuck his tail in the air as he readied his pounce at the vase. Loren scooped him up in her arms before he attacked, "Salem, you cannot go disrespecting the Black home like that." She tsk-ed at him. Then the muggle woman promptly shoved half her arm in to a crisps bag, allowing hundreds of little crumbs to spray across the vintage love seat. 

Jamie Devereaux Bruce was leaning with her back against the couch, sitting on a rug that was older than most dynasty's. Her head was tiled to the side, eyes narrowed, at the movie that was playing on the television. It was an older one, Casa Blanca, and—in Jamie's opinion—everyone seemed to talk funny in it. "I wonder if that type of haircut would look good on me." Jamie said, pointing at the black-and-white figure twirling across the screen.

Loren paused, watching for a moment before sighing, "I am sorry, love, but your cheekbones aren't high enough to pull that off." 

Jamie pouted, "You do realize it's your fault I don't have higher cheekbones."

Loren Bruce corrected herself, "I am sorry, love, but I have always hated you and decided not to give you cheekbones that would help you pull off that haircut."

"Well at least you're honest." Jamie huffed. She reached her arm out, dramatically grasping for the crisps that were in her mother's lap.

There was a large crack and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the hallway of Number Twelve with his arms full of paper bags displaying a muggle store logo on the front. Loren leapt off the couch, unfolding her legs in mid-air, before bounding toward the auror. "You got the groceries!" Loren said excitedly. 

Kingsley sighed, handing her over the bags reluctantly as Loren hustled into the kitchen to unpack her muggle food, with Jamie following happily after her, "I have been turned into a house elf, but yes I got you all of your fake food."

Loren gave Kingsley a look out of the side of her eye, "Just because it's muggle food doesn't mean it's fake." The echo, Jamie, said "Yeah."

Kingsley Shacklebolt picked up a box of pink-frosting coated cakes and shook them lightly, "Of course, how silly of me, I think these grow in my neighbor's garden."

"I can't picture you with a neighbor. Do you ever do neighborly things like ask for sugar? Do you even bake?" Loren asked, raising an eyebrow as she put a knee on the counter of the kitchen to get better leverage for the higher shelves. The crisps shelf was overflowing with various colors of plastic covering, but Loren ignored that fact as she shoved yet another bag in there before quickly slamming the cabinet door shut to hold all the crisps in.

Kingsley shifted on his feet, "I can bake."

Jamie hopped on her feet excitedly as she opened a container of chocolate covered mints before it could even reach the shelves. "Oh my god can you imagine Kingsley in oven mits and an apron baking pie for everyone in his little wizard-ing neighborhood."