Author Note: The following came from some notes I found that had a bunch of out takes and backstory snippets. This one was labeled "Maryrose AU/Nonmagical Backstory Martin". I re-read it and thought it was really interesting... especially the timing of it resurfacing in my notes being with the current storyline in Marauders. I did have a note to have it as a flashback for Emmaline, where Emmaline would replace the character of Lizzie in this version. I thought some of the Maryrose stans might enjoy this, given the notes.

I stood up and paced around the room, looking at the pictures and concert tickets thumb-tacked on the wall around her desk. She'd been to so many impressive places - there were pictures of her in all sorts of foreign cities like Paris and London, and others I didn't recognize. I'd never been much of anywhere. I wondered what it was about a nobody like me that interested Lizzie, and worried that maybe she didn't really know I was a nobody yet and that she would find out and ditch me the first chance she got.

It was then I saw it. Just under her bed.

I got up and walked over, kneeling down and picked it up. It was a bra. Soft and pink, with little tiny flowers on the cups. I ran my fingers over the cloth and stared at it. It was as foreign as any of the cities in her photos to me. I turned it over in my hands, looking at the stitching, feeling the stiffness of the underwire... I don't know what made me do it, honestly. I hadn't even really consciously had the idea before I'd shrugged my jacket onto the floor and pulled my shirt off over my head.

It took me a second of struggle as I undid the hook in the front, right between the cups, but I got it finally.

I glanced at the door and listened carefully a moment. There wasn't anyone coming it didn't sound like, so I slung the bra around me, sliding the straps up my shoulders, and tugged the fabric around my torso, biting my lip as I rehinged the hook. It took some adjusting, wiggling my shoulders and pulling the cups down. I felt the strap digging into the soft spot under my arms. It was too small, but it was on, and I stared down at the empty cups a moment. I stepped over to her bathroom and reached for the roll of toilet paper, unfurling two handfuls of tissue and stuffing them into the cups to fill them up. My hands shook as I did it.

Don't think about it, I told myself. You're just messing around. It doesn't mean anything.

Except it did. It did mean something, I just didn't quite know what and there wasn't really any words for what I was feeling as I brought my palms up to cup the now full bra.

I turned around and faced the mirror over the sink. There he was - the stranger I always saw - staring back at me... but not as completely strange as he sometimes looked because now he had boobs. Perky little things that stuck out from where his pecs would normally be, covered in soft pink fabric and little rose buds. They weren't symmetrical - I mean, they were made of tissue so of course not - but they were there.

I shivered and met the eyes of the stranger in the mirror and for the first time there was a flicker of recognition.

It was overwhelming. I lost my breath and I stood there holding onto those tissue boobs like if I let go of them they'd disappear. I could feel tears in my eyes and I blinked twice as hard to keep them from falling, but they snuck out of my eyes anyways - the bastards - and rolled down my cheeks.

What the hell is wrong with me? I thought, Am I some kind of sick pervert? I thought of all the jokes out on the internet about guys saying if they had boobs they'd just stand in the mirror all day touching them. Was I literally a male cliche? Was that who I was, after all this time trying to figure it out and I was really just something as basic as all that?

"What are you doing?" Lizzie's voice cut through my thoughts and I dropped my hands from the tissue boobs quickly, turning to her in shock. I couldn't put together words - my mouth flopped unhinged and I stammered, unable to come up with anything that sounded even slightly normal for why this poor girl was coming upstairs to find this strange boy trying on a bra and feeling himself up in the bathroom. "You need to adjust the straps," she said. Before I could process the words, Lizzie stepped up behind me and fidgeted with the shoulder straps and tugged the bra down so it sat on my chest in the proper place. She looked over my shoulder at the mirror. "See? Much better fit now."

I stared at my reflection. She was right, it fit pretty nicely now and even if they were made of tissues, they looked a little more real.

Lizzie smiled gently at me in the mirror.

I smiled back.

She hesitated. "Would you like to try on some more stuff?"

"Like what?" I asked.

"Wait here." Lizzie left the bathroom and came back a couple minutes later with a bag. "Sit down." She gestured to the edge of the bathtub, and Lizzie sat down on the closed toilet seat lid, unzipping the bag. It was full of make-up.

"I don't know," I said, reluctant as she started pulling out little bottles and tubes.

Lizzie asked, "Why not?"

I shrugged. I didn't know why not. I really just wanted her to tell me why. I wanted her to give me a reason I should let her. Any excuse would do.

She uncapped a lipstick. "Just try on a little bit and we can wipe it right off if you don't like it."

Good enough. I nodded.

Lizzie turned the little knob on the lipstick and the color came up. She made a pucker-lipped face. "Hold your mouth like this." I tried the best I could to imitate what she did, like I was kissing the air. Lizzie leaned forward and I felt the stick smearing onto my mouth, sticky in a pleasant way, and smooth like a thick paint. "Here, go like this." She smacked her lips, making a popping sound. I did it, and I could feel the lipstick setting. Lizzie smiled when I stopped and she said, "That color matches the little roses on your bra. It really brings out your eyes."

"Yeah?" I asked.

She nodded. "Your eyes are beautiful. Here, let's accent them a little bit..." she dove into the bag of make-up as I smiled, flattered that she'd noticed my eyes. She held up a pink tube and a brown pencil. "Here we go. Now hold still, I'm going to put some eyeliner on you."

"Isn't eyeliner supposed to be black?" I asked, watching her uncap the brown pencil.

"Brown will bring out the green in your eyes much more than the black," she replied, and she leaned closer, holding my cheek. "Open wide and roll your eyes upward." I did. I was staring at the ceiling but from the corner of my eyes I saw her leaning in with the pencil and felt it scraping the edge of my eyelid. My eyes watered as she worked, careful not to poke me. When she'd finished one side, she did the other, then she opened the pink tube and brought a brush to my lashes, swiping it on, her mouth open in an O-shape. "There."

I blinked. I was hyper-aware of my eyes. I could feel the lashes touch the top of my cheek and my brow bone as I opened and closed my eyes. "They feel... crunchy," I commented.

"That's the mascara," Lizzie said. "You won't feel it after a couple minutes. It makes your eyelashes look so big! You have great lashes. Like dream lashes, okay? I wish I had your eyelashes."

"Thanks," I said, and I felt my cheeks warm.

Lizzie reached into her bag again, "Here. Just a couple swipes of blush and we can be done."

"Alright," I murmured.

She opened a small plastic case and used a little brush from the bag, sweeping it over the color and then across my face, along my cheekbones. She gently rubbed it in with her fingertips, and when she was done, she smiled at me again for a long moment. "Perfect. Here... have a look."

I got up and went over to the mirror and looked at my reflection again and staring back at me was... a girl. A girl with a pretty face and perky boobs. The lipstick really did match the little rosebuds in the fabric, and I leaned closer to inspect the brown pencil under my eye and Lizzie was right - it did make the green flecks in my irises stand out more.

Lizzie looked over my shoulder at the mirror again. "If we put a little highlighting powder under your eyes here, these dark circles would virtually disappear, and if you used some moisturizer, your cheeks would be softer... There's these great pore cleansing strips you can get, too, that would help close up your pores - especially on your nose here..." Lizzie was pointing to her own face as she explained where she meant. "I mean, you don't really have to... You've got a really nice natural glow."

I stared at my reflection and I wasn't sure what I felt. I mean, I felt good, I guess. It was sort of this warm, okay feeling that I hadn't really had in a long time. Especially not about myself. I turned to see myself in profile, how the bra sat on my chest and I bit my lower lip.

"Seriously, Martin... You look so pretty," she complimented.

Something squirmed in me at the word pretty. Something deep and heavy. I really, really wanted to be pretty. I specifically wanted Lizzie to think I was pretty. But boys aren't supposed to be pretty, I thought.

"Martin?"

Suddenly I felt so... disgusting. I felt sick. I felt dizzy. "I need to -- I need to go."

"What?" Lizzie looked surprised.

"I gotta go. Get it off me." I felt panic rising up in my throat. "Get it of me."

"Okay. Alright, let me get a towelette." She dove for her make-up bag.

I turned on the sink, "Just - please. I can't - I can't be seen like this. Don't look at me. I - I can't believe I let you do this."

"It's okay," Lizzie said, "You're okay."

"No I'm not," I said, "Something's wrong with me. I just - I want it off. Please."

She held up the towelette, "Here. Just gently wipe it off with this. It'll come right off. I promise."

I was trying so hard not to cry as I swiped and scrubbed with the towelette so hard I was sure my face would wipe right off. And maybe it was better that way. Maybe I could wipe it off and the stranger would go with it and I'd never have to look at his face again, either. I was shaking and when I'd gotten it all off I turned and hurried to get my shirt and jacket.

"Martin!" Lizzie said, coming out of the bathroom as I grabbed my stuff off the floor.

"What?" I asked, my voice sharp with emotion.

"The bra."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." I'd forgotten it was even on me. I hesitated slightly before I unhooked it, and I dropped it onto her bed, along with the tissues. "I'm sorry," I repeated as I threw my shirt on over my head, pulled on my jacket.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Lizzie said. "Please don't go. We can talk about this..."

I shook my head and raced for the door -- I was way, way, way too embarrassed to even start to think about talking about it. Like, ever. My face was flush, I could feel it burning as I thundered down the steps.

I was down the stairs and nearly to the front door when Mrs. Peters leaned around the doorway of the kitchen, "Martin!" she called, "You're not leaving already? I thought you were going to stay for dinner?"

"Change of plans, Mrs. P," I called, "I'm sorry," and I rushed out the door and down the driveway to the street, my heart slamming about in my chest, shoving my hands into my pockets and hurrying down the street, barely able to breathe, the lingering image of the girl in the mirror still haunting my mind.