Title: I Believed Her
Author: Electric_blue
Rating: NC-17
Chapter Rating: PG
Warnings: M/F, angst, dark themes, character death
Disclaimer: You know I don't own this, why do I even have to put a disclaimer?
Author's Note: I just wanted to thank every person who has read and reviewed this story so far. It remains to be amazing to me. I have a break coming up, so hopefully I'll be able to get back to responding to everyone personally.
Also, something that must be said - but that I will say nothing more about (as it will become clear through out the story), is this: ... I never said Hermione was dead... ;-D And sort of going along with that, while I certainly am a fan of the sadder, more angsty stuff - I prefer stories with more of a bitter sweet ending rather than just plain sappy or conversely just plain depressing. However... you're still in for some hard times if you continue to read. It's just what I do.
But there will be reprieve. Trust me.
Annnnnyway, thank you for coming this far, and I hope you enjoy:
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I Believed Her
Chapter II
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"Now conscience wakes despair That slumber'd, wakes the bitter memory Of what he was, what is, and what must be Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue!"
-John Milton
I woke up suddenly - lightly sheeted in sweat and my breathing heavy. Gulping a bit for air, I sat up. The finer details of the nightmare that had brought me up so unceremoniously from my sleep were already beginning to fade away back in to my subconscious. The main idea of it, however, was still fresh in my mind.
Hermione... she had been killed.
Taking in a few deep breaths I told myself it was just a dream - though that did nothing to ease the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach away. That was when I noticed something... something very strange about my face. Usually when I woke up in the morning there was not a piece of paper taped to my forehead... and since it was not there when I had gone to bed the night before, I could only assume that it had been placed there as I slept. I furrowed my forehead and reached for my glasses on my night stand. Pulling the paper off of my face and putting my glasses on, I read:
Did you know you talk in your sleep? I found it quite entertaining. Tell me, Harry... what exactly is a Magical Tea Party? It certainly sounded lovely. Meet me in the kitchen, and perhaps you will be so obliging as to explain it to me.
- Hermione
I smiled to myself as the last bit of the nightmare slipped away from me.
And then my smile faded away as I remembered all the horrible events of the previous day, and the reason Hermione was here in the first place. Taking a deep breath, I set the note down on my night stand and threw my feet over the edge of the bed. I looked around the room as though I thought something important or interesting would be there... I supposed it had just become habit. Right after Ron died and Ginny had left, every night I would say some kind of silent pleading prayer for them both to be back the next morning, and had taken to expecting them to be there when I woke up. I made myself believe that if I wanted it bad enough I could make it happen - the way magic sometimes worked. After a while, though, I had to force myself to understand that no amount of magic would bring Ron or Ginny back. I had been able to stop hoping for Ginny, but couldn't help but still hope for Ron. Maybe he was just hiding from us. Maybe he was just playing some sick and twisted practical joke...
I shook my head. These were the things I hated thinking. No. He wasn't hiding - he was dead. Why couldn't I just accept that? Everyone else had seemed to...
Standing up, I decided to take Hermione up on her offer. I had to get out of this room.
******
Just outside the kitchen, the smell of frying food met my nostrils. I was not at all used to waking up to that smell. Mostly all I ate for breakfast - if I ate breakfast at all - was a bit of fruit. I lived alone since Ron was gone and it was odd waking up to someone else in the house. At any rate - I usually just ate my meals (if they could ever really be called "meals") quickly in my room before heading down to the ministry for my latest assignment or to the unofficial meeting room downstairs for the latest debriefing.
Walking through the kitchen doors with a crease in my forehead, I grinned slightly at what met my eyes.
Two frying pans shifted back and fourth over the stove as four slices of toast spread marmalade over themselves above the table. A salt shaker danced with it's pepper counterpart - a bit of amusing magic that probably had gotten away from the one wielding it. It seemed like a scene straight out of Mary Poppins... Hermione sat at the table with a book in one hand and her wand in the other - waving it lazily back and fourth as she multitasked as only she could. It was all very domestic in a wizarding world kind of way.
"I feel like I should be breaking out in to song or something." I said with a grin from the doorway. Hermione looked up at me suddenly from her book as I had startled her. The frying pans crashed down on to the stove, and the toast landed neatly on the plate they had been hovering over. The salt and pepper shakers, however, continued on dancing on the counter as though no one was watching - twirling and dipping each other with invisible hands. It was as though they had been waiting an eternity in their inanimate slumber for this moment... and they weren't going to give it up just because Hermione had lost her focus.
I felt a twinge of sympathy for them briefly... the spell that had awaken them would be broken soon enough. They'd be put back to sleep for another eternity to helplessly await the next chance they got to spark to life. Did Salt and Pepper love each other? Knowing they did no have long, did their little permeable hearts break even as they finally got the dance they had been so long denied?
These are the kind of thoughts that made me think I'd gone completely sack of hammers.
"Harry." Hermione said, bringing me out of my odd reverie - rolling her eyes at herself for having been startled so easily, and then smiled.
"Morning, Hermione." I said as I took a seat at the table next to her. Then, looking around, I asked, "What's all this?"
Hermione looked around as well.
"I started out cooking the muggle way." She started with a shrug. "I've been watching my parents do it for ages... but it's rather slow, and boring, and it just seemed like the perfect time to get some research done--"
I laughed, and found that I truly was amused. It felt good. More and more Hermione had been able to make me feel like the old Harry... and I appreciated her more each day for it. How was she doing this? How was she making it possible for me to sleep well and to laugh again? Again it was apparent to me just how lost I would be without her, and how lucky I was to have a friend like her in my life.
"I don't think there's a scenario in which you wouldn't deem the perfect time to research." I said. She shrugged and poured me some orange juice. "At least you can do that the muggle way." I teased.
"Who are you, Daren Stevens? Would you like me to do away with magic forever and do everything the hard way even though it's absolutely ridiculous because I need only to snap my fingers to get it done?"
I laughed again. That was twice. Twice this girl had made me laugh in the span of five minutes.
"Touchy subject?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Bewitched was a horrible show and an equally horrible representation of witches and our world.... and what kind of bigot had she married in the first place? If he loved her at all he would have accepted that she was a magical being and loved that about her as well... and why did she have to listen to him all the time? Just because he was the man, he's automatically her owner?" Hermione shook her head. "Completely misogynistic if you ask me."
I blinked.
"Too bad your parents went in to dentistry instead of psychiatry... looks like you may have some issues need working out."
Hermione stared at me in mock offense for a few moments before a smile broke on her face, and she laughed. I found that making her laugh was just as gratifying as her making me laugh... more so even. I wanted to make her laugh all the time. Make her smile. She had done so much for me, and making her happy suddenly seemed like the most important I had to do. Winning the war came second.
I realized at that moment, quite astonished, that Hermione had managed to do in five minutes what Ginny hadn't been able to do in two years... She had somehow gotten me to place her first. Or perhaps... perhaps it hadn't been in five minutes. Perhaps Hermione had been pushing her way to the most important thing in my life since I had met her... or perhaps she had always been first. She and Ron.
That made the most sense...
It had always been Ron and Hermione, the war, and then Ginny. Maybe that was really why Ginny had needed to get away from me. She was not only competing with my inability to place her first over the fight... she was competing with a dead man and another woman...
Another woman? That had been a jolting thought. That made it sound so... wrong. Hermione wasn't another woman, really. She was just a female version of Ron. A prettier, bookish, more petite version of Ron...
"You all right?" Hermione asked with a furrow in her forehead. I looked at her, realizing that I had been lost in thought for a few moments, and then took a deep breath.
"I feel like Ron should be here." Was what came out of my mouth. I didn't think I was even planning on saying that. Hermione looked a little surprised, and then sad. I wished that I could take that look off of her face and make it so that it would never be there again... but I knew that was impossible. I knew that she and Ron had had something that she and I had not had. Something more than a friendship. They never really spoke about it or acknowledged it, but it had been there. Something. Maybe they'd have done something about it one day... but that wouldn't happen now. Ron's death was just a plethora of wasted possibilities.
"He should be." She responded after a moment, looking down at the table. She took a deep breath. "Sometimes when I'm... happy, I feel like I shouldn't be. How can I be happy when Ron's gone? I feel guilty."
Somewhere inside I knew the words I was supposed to be saying... something about how Ron wouldn't want us to feel that way. He'd want us to continue on with our lives and find happiness where ever we could get it. I should have said that there was nothing wrong with us laughing even though Ron wasn't around to laugh with us. There were so many things that I knew were the right thing to say... but I could say none of them - because I felt the same way Hermione did. I couldn't force myself to say these words that I didn't really mean.
"... Did..." I started. "Did you and Ron ever...?"
Hermione didn't look up at me as she shook her head.
"No... well, yes... I mean, no. Not really." She bit her bottom lip, and then finally looked up and met my eyes. I could see her fighting back her tears and my heart lit on fire instantly. I hated seeing her that way. "Sometimes he would say the sweetest things to me... and sometimes, when we were alone, I'd rest my head on his shoulder. He'd just hold my hand and we'd talk. Or we wouldn't talk." She paused. "That was all we had... but during those times, it was enough."
I swallowed - feeling a very deep sorrow for Hermione and Ron, and what they could have had.
"Did you love him?" I didn't know why I needed to know, but I did. Hermione looked back down.
"I don't... I don't know if I did. At least, I don't know if I loved him in that way." She answered softly. "I knew I had strong feelings for him and that there was this unspoken agreement between us - when the war was over we'd see if there was more to our friendship than just friendship..."
The weight that was always crushing down on my chest intensified.
"I'm sorry, Hermione." And I was. More sorry than I could explain, or than she would ever know.
"Well..." A familiar man's voice started from the kitchen doorway. Hermione and I both looked over in the direction of it a little startled. Remus leaned against the doorway with his hands in his pockets - staring at the stove. "Looks like someone was performing a ritual sacrifice of some kind." Hermione's gaze shot immediately toward the frying pans which were formerly filled with cooking food, and were now filled with the charred remains of what might have been a good breakfast. Hermione grimaced a little as she let out a slight groan. "Those are frowned upon in the wizarding world, just so you know."
Hermione looked at me and smiled apologetically. I gave her a small smile in return, and then turned back to face Remus.
"Are you the only one here?" I asked. Remus stood straight and took a step in to the kitchen as he gave me a short nod.
"I've arranged for you to have the day to yourself, Harry." He started. I looked at him confused.
"Day to myself?" I asked. "I don't understand. The order will want to know--"
"They'll want to know a lot of things... but they'll just have to wait. Today is yours."
It wasn't as though I never had days where I could do as I pleased - but I never had them after having been involved in a fight. The night before had been horrible... gruesome. There had been an attack in Muggle London. I don't think I had ever seen that much blood. That much pain. Voldemort and his followers were taking our war to streets that had no place in it... and innocent people were dying. Innocent people who had no part in what was going on. A fighting wizard at least knew what he was getting himself into. A muggle was oblivious and defenseless. It was the worst kind of war tactic I had seen... it was something done just to be cruel - sending the message that they were in control now. They're darkness wouldn't just mar the skies over Hogsmeade anymore...
And since this attack had taken place in a heavily populated muggle city, the ministry was going to have a hard time covering it up... and I was one of the key players in the defense and clean up the night before. The ministry and the order wouldn't have let me go for the day without a fight.
"How did you...?" I asked as I shook my head slowly.
"I simply explained to them that you had been through enough last night, and that it would be beneficial to all of us if you had a few hours to regroup before going through a tedious debriefing process." I raised my eyebrows incredulously. As though it had been that easy. Remus looked from me to Hermione - who must have been making the same expression - then back to me again. "... Well, the words I used were more colorful than that as I'm sure you both can imagine, but the idea was something along those lines."
I looked down and thought about this for a moment, and then took a deep breath. I shook my head, and met Remus' eyes.
"No." I said. "I can't. People died last night, Remus... I was there and it was terrible, but that's no reason for me to go on some holiday. The order'll need me--"
"The order is always going to need you for something." Remus interrupted, taking another step toward me - looking very serious. I almost thought he was going to lecture me... it wouldn't have been the first time. "None of us can say why some things happen the way they do, so I can't explain or even understand why such a young boy has been handed the weight of the world. You have so much responsibility and a lifetime of terrible things have taken the place of your childhood. So, I'm not asking you to frolic madly through great grassy meadows while singing show tunes... but I am telling you, today, you take some time and try not to think too much about the things you saw last night. Sadly, there will be plenty of time for that later."
I bit my lip, and still was intending to argue the point... when a soft hand on my forearm caused me to look away from Remus and in to the eyes of my best friend. Her eyebrows were knit together in an expression of worry that I had seen so many times before on her face.
"Remus is right." She said. "I saw you last night... you need this, Harry." It wasn't exactly what she had said that made me concede... it was more the fact that she could have said anything at that moment and I would have agreed with her. There was something in her eyes that would have made it impossible for me to argue. Something beyond worry that I couldn't place.
After a moment, I nodded. Hermione gave me a small smile that didn't exactly reach her eyes as she pat my back.
"Good." Remus said. "As for me, I've got a lot of work ahead of me at the ministry." He looked at Hermione. "I don't think I have to tell you that I will be very perturbed to see Harry there at all today." I looked over at Hermione as she nodded.
"I understand." She responded. I felt like this should have made me mad. As though they could keep me from going to the ministry if I really wanted to - Remus' anger be damned... but it did not make me mad. I felt an odd sort of detachment from everything other than Hermione's soothing hand on my back at that moment. The notion the Hermione was using some kind of magic on me swam vaguely through my head, though I knew it wasn't true.
"Wonderful." Remus put his hands back in his pockets. "I'll see you two a little later then." He turned around and was about to leave, but stopped. "Oh," he said and turned back to us for a moment. "Enjoy your sacrificial breakfast." He said with something akin to a twinkle in his eyes before leaving Hermione and I alone. She looked over at the stove.
"Sorry about the food." She apologized.
"Don't be sorry." I said. "It's the thought that counts... and besides, I'm not exactly hungry right now anyway."
Hermione sighed.
"You've lost weight." She said with concern lacing her words as she gently nudged the plate of toast toward me. I looked down at it and then up at her with a nearly amused expression on my face. I took a piece and tore it in half.
"So have you." I spoke - handing a half of the toast to her. She looked at it for a moment, and then let out a short sound from the back of her throat that constituted a laugh, and took the bread from my hand.
"I miss Hogwarts." She said as she took a bite of the toast. "At least there we got three proper meals a day."
"Yeah... and those were edible." I remarked.
Hermione and I laughed together... after a few moments, the laughter died away and our smiles faded. We sat silently, staring in to each other's eyes. I wanted to ask her how she did that; made me feel like everything hadn't gone to hell around us. Had she always been able to do that?
Hermione cleared her throat, and then looked around the room. I blinked a few times - realizing I had been zoning out again.
"So... what are you going to do today?" She asked. I shrugged.
"I still don't know how I feel about taking the day off. It doesn't seem right." I responded, feeling just a bit uncomfortable with the subject. It looked as though there was really nothing I could do about this little vacation of mine seeing as how I had been banned from the ministry that day and Hermione had been assigned to the task of seeing to it that I didn't disregard the fact. Everyone else around me seemed to think they knew what was best for me... so, in that way at least, it was no different than every other day of my life.
That thought lightly sparked something inside of me that I couldn't exactly control. The irritation that had not been present as Remus had told Hermione that he would be "perturbed" to see me at the ministry seemed to awaken and realize it had missed something before.
"Harry... what happened last night..." She shook her head. "It wasn't your fault."
And at this, for some reason unknown to me, my irritation seemed to build upon itself.
"I know it wasn't my fault..." I said as I stood up and turned away from her, not really stopping to think why that had annoyed me. My moods had been very hard for even myself to predict or control for some time now, so I didn't bother trying to understand why her words had gotten to me the way they had. I just knew that they had, and I didn't have the grace just then to hide it. "Just like what happened to Ron wasn't my fault. What happened to Dumbledore and Sirius wasn't my fault either." I shook my head and turned back to her, becoming more irritated as I spoke. "That doesn't mean that there isn't evil to be fought and that I don't have an obligation to fight it."
Hermione looked upon me with an affected expression, and then dropped her gaze to the floor.
"You're not responsible for every bad thing that happens." She said - her voice a bit strained as it had the tendency to become when she was upset. "And you're not responsible for stopping them from happening, either."
Perhaps this should have made sense to me... but it only served to send my mood from irritated to mildly angered. I let out a laugh that wasn't really a laugh at all and shrugged largely.
"You know..." I started - my voice rising a bit. "I wish everybody would make up their mind about what they want from me. I'm either being asked to save the world, or being told that the fate of the world isn't my responsibility." By the time I was finished speaking, I was nearly yelling. Suddenly Hermione stood up - her chair screeching against the floor as it slid back, the toast she had erstwhile been holding falling to the floor. The chair hit the counter - knocking the salt shaker that was still dancing with Pepper off of it's balance - wobbling once, then twice, then three times before plummeting to the floor with a resounding crash. Hermione's eyes locked on to mine. They were near angry and did not hold their usual warmth and compassion that I was used to from her when she looked at me. All at once my anger melted away leaving me to wonder why I had become so upset in the first place. Nothing was so worth getting riled up over if it was going to take the warmth out of Hermione's eyes.
"I've never expected anything from you, nor have I ever asked anything of you... " She started - her voice becoming even more strained than it had been before. I could only imagine how I must have looked - staring at her; horrified at how I had spoken to her. "I've done nothing but support you, and I don't know where this is coming from, but I don't deserve it."
And she didn't. She didn't deserve it.
"Hermione, I--" I reached out to her, but she pulled back before I could touch her. This sent a wave of pain crashing against my chest and I stood with my hand outstretched towards her for a few moments before I let it drop back down to my side. She stared at me with an emotion in her eyes and on her face that I couldn't read, but that I knew I was the cause of, opened her mouth to speak... but then said nothing, and closed it again.
Shaking her head - perhaps in disappointment - she walked passed me to the door. I turned around to look at her, not knowing what to do or say to keep her from going. She stopped - her hand on the door frame - and turned her head only slightly toward me. It looked like she was going to say something, and I wanted her to. I wanted her to turn back around and allow me to apologize to her. She had to say something. Anything... I couldn't handle her not letting me touch her, and then not speaking to me. It was too much... all because I couldn't control my temper. Didn't she understand that I was sorry? Didn't she understand that I needed her, and her not letting me close to her was like spearing glass through my heart? She had to let me apologize. She had to turn around.
The next moment Hermione walked silently away...
And if I didn't know better, I'd have sworn the Pepper shaker was trembling slightly as it gazed over the cliff that was the counter at the shattered remains of his dance partner.
******
I often think of that moment... the moment Hermione pulled away from me - not letting me touch her. I can remember the distinct sensation of not being able to breathe. I felt dizzy; sick. Up until that moment if I had wanted to hold her, I could. If I wanted to feel her, I could. If I wanted to talk to her, I could. At that moment, I knew I could do none of these things that I had grown so fond of in the months prior. It was as though I had lost something - something essential to my being - and it was horrible.
I did not know it then... but that would become the moment that I would later look back on and recall as the moment Hermione Granger became my whole life.
******
"If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to himself . . . that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive."
- Lord Bryon
I stood alone in the old cemetery - surrounded by nothing but old gothic statues, and a sense of death.
The scent of grass and wild flowers was not at all unpleasant and the day was cool but not cold - overcast but not exactly gloomy. Somehow... this was not an ugly place. Except for the gravestones, one could almost imagine they were in some old unkempt garden. That didn't take away from the almost eerie ambiance, however. Oddly enough - it really just seemed to add to it. It didn't matter how many wild flowers bloomed here, how good the grass smelled, or how nice the day was... death was still death. There was no changing that.
"Tell me what to do." I whispered as I stared down at the graves of my mother and father for only the second time in my life - a cool breeze ruffling my collar a bit.
This is what I had chosen to do on my "day off".
I had never asked my parents for anything - due in large part to the fact that they had not been around for the better part of my life... but I felt there was more to it than that. I had never been the type to look up at the sky and speak as though I felt someone was listening. Mostly this was out of fear that I would not get a response and consequently have to deal with the fact that, no - no one was. If I just closed my eyes long enough and focused hard enough... I could imagine they were with me. My parents, angels... God. Someone. Some higher being. I believed that they were guiding me in ways that I couldn't exactly understand, and had made myself think that I didn't need to ask for help to get it from them. In this way, I never truly was able to feel alone. I knew that once I tried talking to them, if they didn't answer - if they didn't help - that feeling would die.
But since Ron and Ginny... that feeling was long since dead anyway, and now I had nothing much to lose.
"Please..." Another whispered word - this time with a tinge of repressed agony, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. Hardly breathing, I waited. I waited for something; anything... anything to let me know that there was someone on my side. Someone guiding me along the way.
But for the sound of rustling leaves, and the steady beating of my own heart... there was nothing.
It occurred to me then... that there really was no great mystery surrounding death. There were two paths a person could choose - continuing on as a shadow of themselves, or letting go completely. Ghosts were just people who were too afraid not to exist anymore and who thought existing as a mere suggestion of who they once were was better than nothing. Some people, I supposed, knew that it just wasn't worth it. They accepted death and allowed themselves to become apart of the great nothingness that eventually engulfed everything in it's turn. My parents were not watching over me as I had let myself believe so many times before... they were just gone. Just like Dumbledore, just like Sirius, and just like Ron. They were gone. Of course they were. They'd all have been brave enough to see what lay beyond... even if it was nothing.
I let out a shaky sigh. Taking my glasses off, I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Coming here had been a dumb idea to begin with and had yielded disappointing results to say the least. If I had felt alone before - that feeling was intensely punctuated now.
Harry...
I creased my forehead, and opened my eyes immediately. The word - my name - seemed to float at me on the breeze. So soft and light that it was very possible that I had imagined it... Almost as though the wind had howled in just the right way to trick my mind in to believing I had heard Ron's voice calling out to me. It had been his voice, hadn't it? I may have been depressed, but I wasn't crazy... and I'd know my own best friend's voice if I'd heard it. Was this the sign I had been looking for? Had Ron - wherever he was - heard my pleading prayer and sympathized enough to give me just a glimmer of hope? Was that even possible?
So I stood - quite still and as silent as I could manage... waiting to hear it again and wishing with all that I was that I would. If I could just hear it again I would have been certain that it was real. My mind and the wind couldn't conspire to conjure the same trick twice, could they? No. If I heard it for a second time then I would know that Ron was there with me - standing at my side the way he always had. Helping me in the seemingly most miniscule - but ultimately momentous ways. That's how Ron had worked; subtlety. Though I doubt he had done that on purpose. Ron had been every bit the bumbling sidekick on the surface... but beneath that he was so much more. His heart was in the fight and his bravery surpassed that of most others. After all, he had been one of the first to join me in the quest for the horcruxes even though he was terrified and despite his claims that the whole thing had been "mental". He'd always been there. Right there. It made sense that he would be the one to try and alleviate the anxiety I was having that I was alone in the universe.
He'd been my best friend, after all.
But when I didn't hear the sound again... all I felt was a fresh wave of disappointment and a very raw tenseness. So tense was I that I had managed to bend the glasses that I still held in one hand to a useless bit of wire - and dig the nails of the other hand in to the defenseless flesh of my palm. Wincing at the suddenly realized pain, I unclenched my hand.
"Bloody..." I muttered as I surveyed the damage done to my glasses. It wasn't so much the fact that they were completely destroyed that annoyed me - that was an easy fix... it was more the fact that I had destroyed them. I had been standing in the middle of the cemetery waiting to hear the voice of my dead best friend calling out my name like a git, and had ruined my glasses in the process.
But then...
Harry...
Dropping the mangled wire and plastic to the ground, I looked around frantically - everything blurry and confusing.
"Ron?" I called out loudly. There was no mistaking it this time... and as there had been no wind blowing at that particular moment, it was impossible to blame it on that. It had been his voice for sure. I was certain... but it had been so faint. It was as though he were a million miles away - a world and a lifetime away.
There was no answer to my call.
"Ron, if you're here answer me, dammit!" I took in a sharp breath and then swallowed - adrenaline pumping madly through my heart. The thought that I might possibly see Ron again was almost overwhelming... and the fear that I wouldn't; heart wrenching. My head began to swim from both the lack of oxygen and the invariable headache that accompanied my un glassed eyes.
"Answer me!" I cried out in to the seemingly empty cemetery - my voice breaking. "Please..." Was added softly.
I breathed out a deep shuddering sigh and covered my face with my hands.
"You all right?" The deep voice so solid and real as opposed to the faint whisper that I had thought had been Ron's voice, combined with the fact that I was already extremely on edge - startled me to the point where I thought I may have a had a mini heart attack. I turned around quickly to face the owner - though I was unable to make out a face through the blur. At any rate, I didn't think I knew the person who stood in front of me anyway.
"Uh, yeah... fine." I answered a bit too fast. Kneeling down I began patting around the floor for the wreckage that was my glasses. My hands came in to contact with them, and I attempted to adjust the mangled mess to my face as I stood. I couldn't risk doing the repairo spell on them just then as I wasn't sure if the person whom had just asked me if I was all right was muggle or wizard. I met the person's dark eyes warily - though one of the lenses of my glasses had fallen out... so it was with a half blurry gaze that I finally saw his tanned face. I was certain I had never met him before in my life. "Just lost my glasses is all."
The man, who looked to be about my age, raised an eyebrow.
"Looks like you did a lot more than that to them." He responded in an easy American accent. I briefly noted that, yes, he was much too tan to be exactly British... his skin color spoke of Summers on the California coast line or something like that. The man was also quite tall and lean with long brown hair pulled back in to a pony tail... I hadn't met many surfers - or Americans for that matter - but he certainly fit the physical stereotype.
I shrugged, not exactly knowing what to say or what to make of my new American acquaintance. I could see his eyes glance upwards toward the scar on my forehead, and then he met my eyes again. A sigh escaped him and he nodded slightly as though I had said something that made sense to him.
"Harry Potter, then?" He asked nonchalantly. I tilted my head - very confused.
"Who--" The man held out his hand.
"Daniel Blake." He said. "I guess I'm here to help you..."
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