A Talk
Harry finished the painstaking process of writing Hermione's letter. Emotionally, he was exhausted. Physically, he had no idea how he felt. He set the letter on the counter and went to the kitchen for a drink of water and two envelopes…one large, one small. On the small envelop he wrote Ron's name and slipped his letter inside. He sealed it and placed it inside the larger envelope he'd addressed to Hermione.
He yawned as he mindlessly picked up and folded Hermione's letter before putting it into the envelope along with Ron's. He then sealed it without another thought. He put a few extra stamps on it and smiled at the memory of the letter Mrs. Weasley had sent covered with postage stamps to the Dursleys the summer before his fourth year. He chuckled and placed the letter on top of Aunt Petunia's so he wouldn't forget to take it out to the mailbox the following morning.
He yawned again, grateful for his sudden tiredness. He grabbed his plastic cup of water and cut the lights as he headed to his room. He barely had time to crawl between the sheets before a blissfully dreamless sleep overcame him.
When he awoke a few hours later it was still dark outside. He checked the clock beside his bed…4:30. He rose feeling refreshed and invigorated, excited to see the sun rise above the Pacific Ocean. He went to the bathroom to splash water on his face and brush his teeth before padding through the house in his bare feet toward the kitchen to make coffee. A cup of coffee and the sunrise over the ocean sounded like a perfect way to start the day.
He wasn't sure what time the sun rose but now that he was awake he could see that the sky wasn't nearly as dark as he had originally thought. He ran to his room to put on warmer clothes and grabbed a spare blanket from the closet before returning to the kitchen for his coffee. He took his blanket and stepped out into the soft gray light of morning, signifying the dawn of a new day.
He sat down on the top step of his porch, the blanket spread across his legs, steam from the coffee cup he held in his hand swirled away with the morning breeze. The morning sky was lightening and the objects around him were slowly becoming more than just abstract shapes. He could vaguely see the low-lying brush and the wild grass that changed his view from green to brown as his eyes made their way to the sandy beach. Green and brown, natural colors, the colors of the earth. Two colors that live cohesively and blend together like no two others. Brown, the color of her eyes. Green, the color of his. Two people walking on the same path, their destinies intermingled, blended like colors of the earth.
Blue…Ron's eyes? He couldn't remember the color of Ron's eyes. He wasn't sure he'd ever noticed them before. He'd spent a lot of time over the years looking at Hermione, studying her, trying to figure her out. With Ron, he just sort of listened without really paying attention to details like that. In that moment he wanted to believe they were blue and that together the three of them made the perfect blend of all that is natural…all that is nature.
It's funny really, he thought, brown and green together create a solid foundation. Blue could either look down on them from above or form the waters…neither of which offered the solidity of green and brown. Brown and green fuse together until it appears as though one cannot exist without the other. The water feeds the green, helping it to grow and it soaks into the brown until it solidifies it and forces it to become the strongest, most stable foundation it can be. The green shades the brown, protecting it from the elements.
That all seemed fitting for the way he, Hermione, and Ron fit together. He and Hermione had always provided the foundation and Ron's presence had always helped to sustain them.
Harry pulled his eyes from the ground and his thoughts were brought sharply back to the reality in front of him. The sky was lightening significantly but there was no indication that the sun was rising. He wondered about it briefly before the realization dawned on him and he literally smacked himself in the head. He picked up his blanket and stood up abruptly, spilling his coffee in his haste. The warmth of it washed over his hand and he cursed himself as he turned to hurry back inside the house.
He rushed to his room to grab socks from the drawer and he struggled to put them on as he walked into the living room for his shoes. He slipped them on his feet and tied them quickly. He ran his fingers through his hair and rushed out the back door, remembering this time to close it as he went. He chuckled to himself as he walked quickly toward the beach. When he was as far away from his house as he could get without finding himself in the water, he turned back toward his house.
The sun had nearly risen but he could still make out the pinks and yellows, oranges and reds that silhouetted it. The splashes of color against the white and blue of the sky made him think about Hermione again and his thoughts of the night before, when he'd pictured her looking at her rising sun only a few short hours after he had watched his rising moon. Did she really see the same colors? Was there white blended in with the blue, or was her morning sky clear of the clouds that lingered in his? It amazed him to think that while the sun, the moon, and the stars were the same, the colors could be so different. The clouds changed everything. They could cover the moon, blanket the stars, and even hide the sun if that was their desire. On this morning-his morning-they chose to intermingle with the sun and the colors that accompanied it…nothing appeared to be hiding from him. It was as though the sky was a stage and the sun and clouds and colors were performing only for him…it was beautiful, peaceful. And as he stood, staring at the wonder of nature, he again longed for someone to share it with.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter."
Harry started and nearly fell to the ground, his heart hammering against his chest. His breathing was rapid as he wildly looked around. He breathed heavily and chuckled with relief. "Morning, Jim," Harry replied, taking one final deep breath to get his labored breathing under control, "Harry, please."
"Didn't mean to scare you. You all right?" Jim asked, chuckling softly to himself as he watched Harry regain control. "You were really out there, weren't you? Everything okay?"
Harry swallowed and offered him a smile. "Yeah, fine. It's good. I just…whew," he shook his head, "you scared me. I didn't realize anyone else was out here."
Jim looked up at the sky that had enthralled Harry only moments before. "I love it out here," he replied. "I come out here nearly every morning to watch the sun rise. Most peaceful time of the day, morning is. Vacationers are generally still sleeping so I have the beach to myself most times. It's good to see you out here so early. What brings you?"
Harry looked at him and rolled his eyes, a smile that said "stupidity" on his face.
Jim chuckled. "I see," he said, chuckling harder. "Fell for it, did you? Thought you'd step outside onto your porch and watch the sun rise over the Pacific. Don't worry, Harry, you're not the first to forget the sun doesn't rise in the west. You have to face east if you want to see that."
Harry laughed at himself. "Yeah, well," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Looks like you figured it out in time," Jim replied, smiling as he looked from Harry to the sky. "Some don't, you know. Believe it or not, I've met people who wake up early every morning they're here and try to watch the sun rise over this ocean. Some just never seem to get it. Most figure it out after the second or third morning, but there are those…." His voice drifted away in disbelief.
"Suppose I should be thankful I don't fall into that category, huh?" Harry said, laughing once more at himself. He looked up at the sky and the new position of the sun. The clouds were sparse now as around them, more and more blue seemed to be breaking free of their cover. His eyes fell back to Jim who was watching him closely, as though checking to be sure he was truly all right. "So," Harry began, clearing his throat, "you live around here? I wasn't aware of that."
"Not far. `Bout a half-mile up that way," he replied, pointing toward the south.
"You live near the…mall, then?" Harry said, stammering a bit as he tried to remember what Tanya had called it.
"The strip mall, yes. Not far from there."
"Strip mall," Harry echoed quietly. He looked up at Jim and smiled. "Need to remember that one."
"Mall is good, Harry. You say mall, and most folks'll know what you're talking about. The ones who don't probably wouldn't know strip mall either. Don't worry about it."
"Looks like the shows over," Harry replied, his eyes scanning the sky for the colors he'd been so enamored by. "You busy any time soon? Want to join me for coffee?"
"You sure? I don't want to impose. Like I said, I do this every morning. Going home is a habit now," Jim replied, a faraway look in his eye.
"No problem at all," Harry said genially. "Made a fresh pot of coffee right before I came out this morning. Come on." Harry started walking toward his house and after only a moment's hesitation, Jim followed.
"So, you haven't called to have me drive you anywhere," Jim said conversationally. "You haven't needed to go to the store or anything yet? The post office?"
"Actually, I have been to the store. First night, the woman who works for the property management company took me. You know Tanya Richards?"
"Tanya?" Jim repeated, rolling his eyes back as he thought about it. "No. Don't know any Tanya, not that I can think up anyway. She pretty?" he asked, laughing playfully.
Harry rolled his eyes again, "Oh yeah," he replied, his voice quavering with that `you could say that again' tremor.
Jim eyed him carefully. "Watch out for the locals, Harry. A young, handsome Englishman like yourself? Give the ladies around here something to talk about. You just be careful, you hear?"
"No worries. I told her right away that I wasn't looking for a relationship," he said, opening the door to his house. "Told her it was friends or nothing. How do you take your coffee?" Harry was already at the cupboard, preparing to reach for a coffee cup.
"Black," Jim replied. "Black is fine. Thanks."
Harry poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Jim. They sat down at the bar in quiet companionship as they each took a few sips of coffee. Jim looked down at the counter and saw the letters Harry had left there. "Don't mean to be nosy, but if you want those letters to go out today, you might want to think about getting them in the box soon. Mail comes early around these parts."
"Oh, right," Harry said, picking them up from the counter. "Excuse me for a minute."
Jim nodded and Harry stood and walked out the front door. Jim watched him closely, a slight smile resting comfortably at the corners of his mouth, and a twinkle in his eye. He looked up and then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he did so…the smile never leaving his face.
Harry returned quickly. Jim had resumed drinking his coffee and was eyeing him over the brim of his cup. He set the cup on the counter. "How are you doing, Harry? I mean, really. How are you?"
Harry looked at the sincerity in Jim's face and he heard the concern in his voice. There was something about him that made Harry want to open up, he just couldn't understand what it was. He didn't know him very well; they'd hardly spoken on the ride from the airport. But even that first day he'd felt as though they'd known each other for a lifetime. Harry needed someone to talk to, someone who didn't really know him and who wasn't looking to gain something from him…he hoped that Jim was what he needed. "When you say really, what do you mean by that?" Harry asked.
"I mean, really," Jim replied, chuckling lightly. "You remind me of someone I knew once, Harry…someone very special to me. You need someone, I can see it in your eyes. Let me assure you right here and now, there is nothing you have that I want. You need a friend, a confidante, and I'm willing to be that for you. It may seem strange, but I feel as though we've known each other for a very long time; like there was a reason I was called upon to be your driver. I'll take nothing more than you are willing to give, and I'll offer nothing more than you're willing to take. Whatever your concerns, they will go no farther than this room. Tell me, Harry, how are you really?"
Every word he said was exactly what Harry needed to hear and he was grateful for that. "Honestly?" Harry said, somewhat at a loss for words. Jim nodded. "Honestly, I don't know how I am," he admitted. "I came here to find myself. To discover whether or not I could do anything besides mag…" he stopped himself short. "Anything besides imagine all of this," he finished quickly, hoping Jim wouldn't ask too many questions.
Jim stared at him knowingly. "And? Are you telling me you've discovered nothing new about yourself in the past couple of days?"
Harry eyed him, suddenly feeling nervous, as though he was about to tell him … "I think I'm in love," … everything.
"Wow!" Jim replied, a look of surprise on his face. "Must've been quite the epiphany, that one."
Harry chuckled. "Don't know about epiphany, don't know about love for that matter," he replied, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He looked up sharply. "Have you ever been in love?"
Jim's expression changed so drastically the very second that the words left Harry's mouth that he immediately began apologizing. "I'm…I'm sorry," he said, trying his best to cover for the obvious mistake he'd made in asking. "Please, I'm…."
Jim placed a reassuring hand on Harry's arm. "S'okay. Relax," he said, smiling despite his own inner turmoil. "Yes. Yes, I have been in love. A very long time ago. She was…" he paused in silent reflection, Harry watched as the older man's face changed as his memories began to play in mind. "She was beautiful. The most amazing woman I'd ever known. She's gone now, sixteen years. I still see her though…in my dreams." His voice was hoarse, cracking with emotion.
"I'm sorry," Harry replied softly. "I…I didn't mean to…."
"Remembering is good for the soul, Harry. I miss her, and I love her, and I know that memories are all I have. That's enough for me now. It has to be," he replied, his hand gently patting Harry's arm where he'd reached for it only moments ago. "What of your young lady?" he asked, anxious to redirect the conversation back to Harry.
"Hermione," Harry said with a sigh. "That's her name…Hermione."
"Hermione," Jim repeated softly. "What a lovely name."
Harry laughed. "Try telling her that," he said wistfully. "I don't know what it is. I don't know when things changed. I thought I'd come here to find myself, but all I seem to find are wishes that she was here with me. Every time I look at the sky or the ocean I think how wonderful it would be if she was here to share it with me. I watched the storm and my thoughts went straight to her. I wondered…" he paused, dropping his eyes, too embarrassed to continue.
"Go on, Harry," Jim said softly. "Let it out."
"I wondered…if she would be scared. If holding onto my hand would be enough for her to feel safe. If she could…" he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue, "…if she could find comfort in me. How do you know?" he asked, jerking his head up suddenly. "How do you know if it's love? Is it supposed to hurt? Is it supposed to make your stomach clench and your head spin? Is there supposed to be this pain I feel in my chest or this hollow empty feeling I have inside, knowing she's thousands of miles away? How do I know? More importantly…how do I know if she feels the same? Are there signals? Something I should be looking for? I just don't…" Harry rose abruptly and walked to the kitchen. He needed a distraction and pouring more coffee into his nearly full cup sounded like a good one at the moment. "Would you like some more?" he asked, holding out the pot.
"Please," Jim replied, pushing his cup forward on the counter, "if you don't mind."
Harry poured the coffee and set the now-empty pot back on the burner and flipped the switch to `off'. He held his cup with both hands and took a long drink, almost hoping for the burning sensation that accompanied hot coffee. His coffee, however, was not nearly hot enough to provide him with painful distraction he felt he needed. He chuckled softly to himself. Rather have the pain of scalding hot coffee than the pain of acknowledgment, eh? The pain from the coffee will last but a minute…the pain of acknowledgment will last a lifetime if you choose to ignore it and make-believe it doesn't exist…it will forever tor....
"What are you thinking, Harry," Jim's voice cut straight through Harry's invasive thoughts. "Right now, in this moment, tell me what you're thinking."
Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "This voice, like my conscious or something, just sort of pops in whenever I least expect it. Sounds stupid, right?" he added, turning away in embarrassment.
"Not at all, Harry. We all have that inner voice. In some, it is more prevalent than in others. Tell me, Harry, when you hear it, do you really hear it? Do you listen to it or at it?"
Harry thought for a moment. "At, mostly," he said honestly. "Always feel a bit of a fool if I listen too closely. Believe me, whatever this voice is inside me, some of the things I hear just…" he visibly shuddered and had to restrain himself to keep from placing his hands over his ears. "Just believe me, some things are better when they are listened at."
"Tell me something," Jim said. "Have you always followed your head or your heart?"
Harry walked from the kitchen back to his barstool and sat down heavily. "My head or my heart?" he echoed softly to himself. "I think I've more or less followed my heart. My head hasn't really been my own in about seven years."
Jim shook his head and looked at him quizzically. "I'm sorry?"
Harry chuckled. "Hermione," he said, as though that were enough of an explanation. "She's my head, my logic. I tend to want to follow my heart without thinking of consequences. Then Hermione, my head, steps in and forces me to think logically."
"So, now tell me," Jim replied softly, "do you listen to your head or do you listen to your heart?"
"My head," Harry answered without hesitation. "Once I'm shown the logic, I generally try to listen to it."
"You ask me how you know if it's love. What, Harry, does your head tell you?"
Harry thought long and hard about the question, afraid somehow of giving the wrong answer. "I…my…"
"There are no wrong answers, Harry," Jim replied, his voice softer than before, "just listen."
Harry looked at him, mildly shocked by the familiarity of his words. He shook his head, then closed his eyes. "My head is telling me that it's crazy. Hermione is my best friend, and if I admit to either of us that I've fallen in love with her, I'll lose every part of her forever."
"And your heart?"
Harry placed a fist on his chest, over his heart, and pounded against it a couple of times before dropping it to his knee. "My heart…" he paused again, not sure how to convey in words, the things he felt in his heart. "My heart is telling me that there's no logical explanation. It's telling me that to deny it is to deny everything that's ever mattered to me. That's ridiculous…" he looked up for confirmation, "right?"
"Nothing our heart tells us is ridiculous…not if we're really listening. Your heart is the one thing that will never steer you wrong. It will never misguide you or make you believe in things that don't exist. If you feel a hesitation in a decision, that's your heart telling you to think twice before making it. The heart sends out warnings all the time, it's up to us to listen to them. The ridiculous only finds its way in, when we forget to listen to, or choose to ignore, the messages the heart is sending. I can sit here, and I can name hundreds of things that made me fall in love, hundreds more that kept me there. Thousands of things about her that I noticed in our time together that made me fall in love over and over again. That's not what you need, Harry. What you need, is to find your own meanings."
Harry looked at him questioningly. "You sound like a professor I know," he said, staring into the brown eyes that stared back at him unblinkingly. "He used to talk to me the same way you are right now. In circles," he said straightforwardly, "just like this."
Jim laughed. "Sounds like someone I'd find pleasure in meeting. You're looking at me as though I could be him." Jim looked at him, studying his eyes and facial expressions. "Is that what you think, Harry? That I'm some professor of yours in disguise? If so, you hold yourself in mighty high regard, don't you? You do realize how far you've come to be in this place, don't you? Do you really believe that your professor has nothing better to do with his time than to traipse halfway around the world after you…just to offer you advice on love?"
Harry shook his head and laughed at the ridiculousness of his thoughts. "No," he said, shaking his head, "no, I don't believe that. He's a great man, and I believe he has plenty more important things to be going on with. I do wonder though," he said, searching Jim's face, "how it is you seem so familiar to me."
"I've told you, Harry," Jim replied, staring unwaveringly into Harry's eyes, "it's as if we've known each other a very long time. I can't explain it, nor would I want to, truth be told. Sometimes it's best just to take what we can get in life, you know? My wife…" he said, his voice suddenly filled with loss and longing. "She was…she was a beautiful woman. She'd um, she'd sacrifice her life to save a dog from being hit by a car, she'd nurse a kitten back to health if it was lost or abandoned by its mother, she'd give money to every beggar who happened to cross her path. She was a kind woman, an unselfish one."
"Sounds like what I've been told of my mother," Harry said softly. "Where is she? Your wife?"
"Our house…it, um," Jim paused and closed his eyes. Harry could tell by the sudden hitch in his breathing that Jim was on the verge of tears and he remained quiet, patiently waiting for him to continue, if that's what he chose to do. Jim took a deep breath. "The house…there was a, uh, a fire. I grabbed her arm and I pulled her toward the exit. The smoke, it was overwhelming, and the heat…the heat was intense. We made it to the door when she stopped. Our son…he was in his crib. I wanted her out. I wanted her safe before I ran back in to get him. She placed her hand against my cheek and blew a kiss into the air. I could see her lips move, but I couldn't hear the words she spoke…it was the last time she ever said she loved me. I reached for her, but it was too late. She was gone. I wanted to follow her. I wanted to make sure she was safe. Instead, I turned around and walked through the door. She ran back into the house and she grabbed our son. She buried his face into the crook of her arm, trying to keep him from inhaling as much of the smoke as she could. She appeared in a window near the front of the house. I ran to her, she handed him to me and told me she was coming. I held our son in my arms as I waited and watched for her. I couldn't leave him, if I did, there was a chance that he'd be left alone in this world. She sacrificed her life to save his, and I couldn't let that sacrifice be in vain. So I held him, and I waited…and I waited. She never came out. Sometimes, when I dream, I find myself still waiting. When I'm awake, I realize it's her who's waiting on me now. Do you know why I walked through that door, Harry?" he asked, looking once again into Harry's eyes.
Harry shook his head.
"Because I listened to my heart. In my heart, I knew that's where I was needed most. Had I listened to my head, our son never would've had a chance."
"Where," Harry swallowed hard, somehow fearing the answer, "is your son now?"
Jim dropped his head and Harry heard the distinct sniffle that accompanied fallen tears. Jim raised his head and attempted a deep breath. "Our son, he um, he survived for about a week. He inhaled too much smoke. The respirators worked for a while, but there was too much damage. Me? I think…" he sighed, "I think he just couldn't live without his mother. For sixteen years, they've watched over me. And for sixteen years, I've looked up to them. Harry, if you hear nothing else I've said today, hear this. You have to hold onto what you have. You have to hold on tight and never let go. If you love this girl, or even think for one moment that you might love her, then you have got to seize that opportunity. Love is a rare and special gift. It's not something that's handed to everyone and believe me, it's not something we're guaranteed to get to hold on to. You're young, Harry, and I'm assuming that she is too, but I can see the life you've lived reflected in your eyes. Your path hasn't been easy, and I know that you're scared, but its time, Harry, to listen to your heart. Hermione cannot be your head this time. She can't fill you with logic until you see the reasons to make it work, or not work…this time it's all up to you."
"Listen to my heart," Harry repeated. "My mum told me that same thing yesterday, in a dream. I never really knew my mum, my dad either. They were ki…" Harry paused, quickly correcting himself, "they died when I was a baby. Sixteen years ago, like your wife. Do you believe in heaven, Jim?"
"Sometimes," Jim admitted softly. "I like the idea of heaven. The thought of my wife and son walking on streets of gold, no burdens to carry, no pain. Throw in some angels and the sounds of a harp and I'm sold. I want to believe. It makes me feel better to think that they are happily looking down on me. Do you believe?"
"I want to believe in heaven, I want to believe there's a God, but…"
"You're far too young to be such a skeptic, Harry," Jim said quickly.
Harry cocked his head and stared over Jim's shoulder, thinking. "I s'pose," he said thoughtfully. "But if you knew the hell I've been through in my seventeen years, you may think I'm not skeptical enough."
Jim studied Harry's face as Harry continued to stare over his shoulder. "That's an interesting scar," he said, gesturing toward Harry's forehead. "Looks like a lightning bolt. Bet the other kids thought that was cool, huh? Not everyday you meet someone with a scar like that."
Harry's hand instinctively went to his forehead to cover the one thing that always made him stand out above all others. "Yeah, sure," he said, his voice bitter. He shook his head. "Sorry," he said, shaking himself from the stupor he always managed to find himself in when someone mentioned his scar. "Most people thought it odd, really. Very few people thought it was cool."
"Mind if I ask how you got it?"
"Car accident," Harry responded quickly. The answer had been instinctual from as far back as he could remember. Thankfully the standard answer hadn't changed in his mind. No one in the wizarding world would ask him that question…it seemed everyone there already knew the reason for his scar.
"Car accident," Jim repeated. "Amazing isn't it? The distinctive ways in which our bodies are marked by the various occurrences in our lives. The most tragic events generally leave a mark on the inside, visible only to us when we close our eyes and are forced to live through them again and again."
"My most tragic is both inside and out," Harry replied. "This…accident left both of my parents dead. It never should've happened," he said, his voice growing uncontrollably louder with each word.
"You were an infant Harry, a child," Jim said consolingly. "You don't really believe you could've prevented the car accident that killed your parents, do you?"
Harry shook his head and looked at Jim as though just realizing he was there. It was so seldom that he met anyone who didn't know the truth behind his scar that he was momentarily taken aback by the question. "No, no…I, no," he stammered, shaking his head, unable or unwilling to take his reply any further.
Jim placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Right now you need to remember this," he said with quiet conviction, "listen to your heart. You have a lot to work through, but every step you take forward gets you that much closer to finding what it is you're looking for. Have you stopped to think that maybe you don't have to do this alone? Maybe your young woman could help you more than you know."
Harry nodded his head. "Yeah," he said, chuckling ironically, "I've thought about little else since I woke up yesterday."
"Do what you have to do, Harry," Jim said softly. "This is all about you now." He removed his hand from Harry's shoulder and Harry shivered at the cold, and the loss of familiarity that replaced it. How had it gotten so warm, so quickly, that I'd feel the difference the very second he lifted his hand? He wondered.
"All about me, listen to my heart, don't have to do it alone…" Harry studied Jim closely. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you've been talking to my mum."
"I'd better go," Jim said, rising from his barstool and stretching. "I've taken up too much of your morning as it is. Last thing you need is some old guy telling you his life story. You have quite enough to be going on with, I'm sure."
"Well, you've given me a lot to think about, that's for sure," Harry replied, chuckling. "It's actually been great having you here. Don't know what I would've done with my morning otherwise. I'm waiting on some stuff to come. I would've been pretty bored just sitting here." Harry looked at the clock and jumped up from his seat. "Oh," he exclaimed, heading toward the kitchen. "We've been here a couple of hours already and I didn't even offer you breakfast. Can I get you something? I know you said you're on your way out, but you're welcome to stay if you'd like. I should've thought of that," he said apologetically.
"No, Harry," Jim said, putting his hand up in protest. "No, I'm all right. I'm not much of a breakfast person anyway. It's no problem, really. I'm just going to go home and shower, and prepare to start my day. Thanks for the wonderful conversation. A good talk does wonders for the soul. I appreciate your listening to the ramblings of an old man. You're a great man, Harry, don't forget that. You find what you're looking for and you hold on to it, you hear?"
Harry nodded and walked back around the counter to stand in front of him. He held out his hand and Jim took it firmly in his own; his free hand patting Harry's extended arm. "Thanks," Harry said gratefully.
"Hang in there," Jim replied. "You'll hear that heart of yours soon enough. Once you do, all of the pieces will start falling into place…just like the last few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Try not to worry too much. Make time for fun. Just let the answers come to you. If it's important, your heart will tell you."
"Thanks," Harry said again. He smiled as Jim turned toward the back door.
"You make sure to call me if you need to go somewhere," Jim said, looking straight into Harry's eyes. "Don't ever feel like you can't call. You have my number. Day or night…I'll be here. Don't hesitate…even if you just need an ear."
"I will," Harry replied. "I have it in my wallet. I'll be sure to call. I have a feeling I'll be in need of at least one of your services very soon. I have a lot of thinking to do. Thanks, again. Talking to you has been," he paused, searching for the right word, "…enlightening? Yeah…but it's been more than just that. I think it's just exactly what I needed."
"Good," Jim replied, "that's good. I hope I was able to give you something to take with you as you contemplate your future. I wish you the best, Harry. Keep in touch."
"Bye," Harry said as he watched him walk through the door and down the back porch steps.
Jim turned around and gave him a quick wave before heading toward the beach to begin his trek home.
Harry slid the door closed and sat down at the counter. His eyes slid across the countertop. Something wasn't right. Something was missing. He rummaged through the papers that were lying there, searching for something unknown. After a minute of fruitless searching, he leaned heavily against the back of the barstool, his eyes still roaming the countertop. Suddenly it occurred to him. "Bloody hell," he shouted, jumping off the stool and scrambling to reach the papers once again. He looked through every last sheet of paper…they were gone. Everything he'd written in the past few nights had disappeared.
He wondered briefly if Jim had somehow managed to take them. He quickly dispelled of that thought because he hadn't ever left him alone in the room. The furthest he'd gone was the coffee pot. Except…the mailbox. Jim had been left alone when Harry went to mail the letters. Something didn't seem right about that. He couldn't believe that Jim would take them…there was no reason for him to.
He thought back to the night before and tried to picture where he'd left them. He studied the counter. "I left them right here, I think," he said, trying to talk himself through it. "Then I went to bed, got up, wrote Hermione's letter and..."
"Bloody hell," he shouted again. He raced for the front door and out to the mailbox. He yanked open the door and reached inside. He pulled out an envelope addressed to him from the power company. "Dammit!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand against the mailbox.
He walked back into the house slowly…wondering how the hell he was going to explain those papers to Hermione once she received them in the mail….
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