This is a sister-fic for my first ever story "Forgotten, not Forgiven," which I would suggest you read as well so as not to be confused by what's happening. This first chapter is very similar to Chapter One of F.N.F, but it's taken from a slightly different perspective, with new insights, so hopefully you won't find it too dull. There's a lot more action to come in the next few chapters! (PS I don't own any of the Pevensies but there are a few minor OC's that are mine.)

Susan sat at her mother's dressing table, brushing out her long dark hair, a wistful smile playing on her lips. A new record twirled on the gramophone and in her mind's eye she was twirling too; spinning round and round in the arms of some handsome, unknown young man.

She counted the strokes in time with the beat of the music, and then, having completed her allotted one hundred, Susan put the brush down, swept up her hair in two combs, and shifted her attention to her face. First, a little powder to give her a smooth foundation to work from; this accomplished, she scrutinised her reflection for flaws. She had to admit she was looking a little wan what with the many late nights she'd been having recently, but a quick pinch, and perhaps just a tiny soupcon of her mother's American-bought rouge would soon lift her complexion. Then it was just a matter of brushing her eyebrows and giving herself a quick stroke of mascara. Not a great deal. However much Edmund might joke that she looked like a poor man's Vargas girl, she didn't want to look cheap. Silly boy; as if he knew anything about that sort of thing!

Though she wasn't truly aware of it, it often seemed to Susan that there was something missing when she looked at herself in the mirror. She scoured the fashion papers every week, without really knowing what it was that she was looking for; presumably some magical potion or powder, but she hadn't found it yet, whatever it was. Sighing, she lit a match from the little box at her elbow and waited a moment before blowing out the flame. As she lined her eyes with the sooty residue, Susan wished fervently that her mother would hurry up and send her the long promised kohl pencil.

Satisfied at last, she got up and moved over to the bed, where her new frock lay. She had just finished making it from a pattern her mother had brought home with her from her last trip to the States, and Susan was really quite pleased with the results. It was a pretty cornflower colour; nicely form fitting, with sweet little blue buttons all down the front. Those had been scavenged from her little sister's old school cardigan, but you would never guess; it really looked quite stylish. Putting the dress on, Susan span herself around, delighting at the sight and sensation of the skirt swishing around her legs. This was going to be a lucky dress. Glancing at the clock, she noticed the time, jumped up and headed for the door, grabbing a pen off her mother's bureau as she passed.

Descending the stairs she looked down to see Peter at the bottom, his hand tightly gripping the banister. Oh dear, it seemed she was for it; he looked terribly serious, and strangely on edge.

"What's wrong, Pete?" she asked, concerned, wanting to get it over with, whatever 'it' was.

"Don't go out tonight Susan," he said flatly. Susan's heart sank a little in her chest. She loved her brother and genuinely hated being at odds with him, but he really could be such a bore at times; he seemed to want her to stay at home every night. Her friends thought she was lucky to have such a protective, handsome elder brother, but it could be pretty wearing at times.

"I've got to go. I promised I would," she pointed out, giving him a rueful little smile. She wasn't about to break a promise.

Patting Peter's arm as she passed, Susan walked quickly into the kitchen, wanting to avoid any chance of a scene. She found her younger brother sat at the table, hunched industriously over his books. This pleased her; Edmund hadn't been getting very good reports from school, he had been somewhat distracted of late, since he and Lucy had gotten home from their aunt and uncle's house. Susan had had to have what her mother would call "a little talk" with him earlier, as the two of them washed the dinner plates - Just because she had failed miserably at her 'O' Levels, it didn't mean that she wanted her younger siblings to follow in her footsteps. Ed and Lu were clever, like Peter, and she couldn't bear to see their potential being squandered through idle daydreams.

"Edmund, would you help me with my lines? You're the only one who can do them straight."

Her winning smile faltered a little as Edmund hurriedly flipped the page he had been working on, and composed his face into a ludicrous imitation of concentration. She wasn't fooled for a second; quick as a flash, she grabbed the exercise book from his hands and turned the page back to find a pencil drawing of a half-man, half-horse creature that she vaguely remembered from Greek mythology. What was it called again…?

"Oh Edmund," she admonished. "You're supposed to be doing your algebra, not doodling all over your exercise book! You'll end up getting lines again if you're not careful. What's that you've drawn, anyway?"

"It's a centaur, Susan," Edmund laughed, but he sounded a little wounded. "Why, is it so bad you can't tell?"

"Oh yes, I can see it is now." Not wanting to hurt his feelings further, Susan nodded, smiled and handed the book back into her brother's waiting palms. "It's beautiful darling. Now are you going to help me with my lines or not, Mr Picasso?"

Edmund groaned, "Do I have to? Why can't you just wear knee-socks instead?"

Susan couldn't stop a giggle escaping from her lips; even though he had shot up to be two inches taller than she was, her little brother was still very much a boy.

"Because I'll look like a kid, that's why! You wally Ed, you haven't got a clue!" Come on Eddy, give me a hand. I'll love you forever." She batted her eyelashes in a ridiculous imitation of the glamorous movie stars her sixteen year old brother still seemed to find so terrifying.

He groaned, and an amusing look of alarm mixed with deep distaste crossed his adolescent face. "Oh all right, if I must. But you look ridiculous if you ask me."

"Hence why I never ask you!" she quipped, and beckoned to him. "Come into the living room, it's brighter in there. Don't want you straining your eyes."

She grabbed his wrist and Edmund reluctantly followed his sister down the hall into the living room, where their siblings were gathered next to the fire. Peter sat in their father's chair reading a rather dry book about mythology. Lucy was lying on the rug, inexplicably barefoot and waving her naked toes in the air. Susan gave her a reproving look; since she was a baby, her little sister had had a dangerous habit of sitting too close to the fire. It made Susan nervous, but then Lucy never did seem to be scared of anything.

Standing stock still, Susan passed the pen to Edmund and said: "Make sure you get them straight."

Edmund muttered: "Yeah, yeah, I know," then crouched down on the floor. Taking Susan's ankle in his hand, he drew a long, straight line up the back of her right leg. It was very ticklish, and it was all she could do to keep still. Painstakingly, the pen crept up her leg to the sensitive crook of her knee; then the same process began on her other leg. Susan wished ardently that she could get hold of some real nylons so that she wouldn't have to go through this rigmarole every time she wanted to go out, but they were like gold dust nowadays.

"Can't you go up a bit higher, Ed?" Susan asked, forgetting for a moment that it was her squeamish little brother she was talking to. "When I twirl, you'll be able to see where the lines stop. I nearly got rumbled last Saturday."

That had been really humiliating – Kathleen, who was currently involved with a G.I and was perpetually showing off her real silk stockings, had spotted Ed's unusually shoddy workmanship from ten paces.

Edmund looked mortified, "If you want them any higher, you can do them yourself!" he protested. She felt a little embarrassed; but really, it wasn't like she was asking anything too awful, was it? But then, Peter gave an uncomfortable little cough, which made Susan flush hotly.

"All right," she said, "Keep your hair on. I was only asking."

Eventually the task was done, and not before time. Edmund normally did an excellent job, but he could be very slow, and it was difficult to stand still for so long.

"Why, thank you Eddy. Ah do declare, you're a regular little angel," she joked, and messed up Edmund's hair, before heading out into the hall in preparation for her departure. She put her coat on, and stood in front of the mirror to put on her lipstick. As she was powdering her nose, Peter's face appeared in the mirror behind her. She raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.

"Susan… Where are you going tonight? You haven't told me." His tone was a little forced. She sighed inwardly, but outwardly she smiled.

"Haven't I? Oh, they're just having a little dance down at the hall. The G.I.'s have promised to show us how to jitterbug! Mrs Jenner wants all of us down there to make them feel welcome, you know."

She felt a little shiver of excitement run down her spine as she spoke; in her admittedly limited experience, she had thought Americans were lots of fun, so open and honest and easy to get on with. She was really looking forward to learning some of the wilder new dances she had been hearing about.

"Who are you going with?" Peter asked sharply, knocking his sister out of her pleasant little daydream.

"Oh, just Kathleen and Margaret," she told him, a little hurt by his tone. "Freda said she might come. I'm meeting them on the corner."

Really, he didn't need to act like he was her father! If only Peter realised how innocent these little church-hall dances were. They were well chaperoned, and almost always finished by eleven thirty. Some nice young man of her acquaintance would walk her home, to be rewarded by a chaste little peck on the cheek; and that was that! If Peter could only see for himself…

"Why don't you come with me Pete? Come on. Edmund's old enough to look after Lucy for a few hours. You could do with a night out…"

Her brother looked down at the floor, an uncomfortable almost sullen expression on his face.

"I don't dance," he said.

Now that simply wasn't true. Alright, she couldn't give him a distinct example, but Susan had plenty of vaguely pleasant memories of Peter dancing with her and Lucy.

"Oh, Peter. You used to love to dance, I remember…" she began, but then gave up. What was the use?

He paused, and for a moment Susan though he might be thinking her proposition over. But then he said: "No thanks… It's not really my scene. You go, and enjoy yourself."

"I will," she replied. "But I wish you would come out with me sometime Peter. I'm sure you would have fun. And… I miss you, you know?"

It was true, she did. Once upon a time the two eldest Pevensies had been almost inseparable. Peter could be very dry and almost too serious for his own good, but one could always talk to him. Susan realised then that it had been months since the two of them had spent any real time together, although she had to admit that she hadn't exactly been around the house very much lately. Perhaps this weekend she would ask Peter to go out riding or skating with her, and they could catch up. There was definitely something on his mind.

"We used to have such fun together," she smiled at him, wanting to recapture that easy, good feeling they used to share, wanting to see him smile too. He rewarded her with a tight little grin that didn't reach his eyes.

It was twenty to eight. "Gosh, look at the time," Susan cried, snapping her compact shut. "I'm going to be late; they'll be waiting for me."

Sticking her head around the living room door, she called to Lucy and Edmund: "Bye kids, don't wait up!" As she passed Peter she gave him a heartfelt peck on the cheek, then headed out the door, shutting it behind her.

The evening was fresh, clear and full of promise.

Turning right at the garden gate, she spied three figures in the darkness at the end of the street, punctuated by the red pinprick lights of two cigarettes. Hurrying now, Susan called out:

"I'm here girls, I'm coming! Sorry I'm late!"

The three young women smiled and waved their hands in greeting, and Freda, who had evidently decided to come out after all, flicked her lighter so that Susan could light her own cigarette.

"What kept you?" Margaret asked, a mischievous glint in her eye, "Was that darling brother of yours fretting that we're a bad influence on you?"

Susan gave a little laugh and rolled her eyes, but said nothing; she didn't want to talk about Peter.

"Ooh, I tell you girls, I'd like to have a go at being a bad influence on him!" Freda chuckled wickedly, and Susan gave her a little push.

"Don't even think about it, Fred," she warned, only half joking. Then inhaling deeply, luxuriously, she smiled round at her friends and said:

"Right, let's get going, shall we?"