Safehouse

Hello everyone! I’m back! Life has been a heck of a ride lately, and I’ve hardly had the time to work on any projects, old or otherwise. But then one day, out of virtually nowhere, this little bugger popped up. Inspired by the supposed Last Word ‘scar’, the annoying weather around here, and partly by the 7fore7 Fic Challenge (for which, unfortunately, this piece does not qualify for not meeting the required word count), this baby constructed itself in the span of six hours for the rough draft. And I’m quite proud of it. Special thanks to Julie. I hope y’all like it.

~~~

She trudged on in the general direction of her flat, preferring to walk rather than Apparate. Why she wanted to walk today, though, she didn't know. Dark, heavy clouds loomed over Muggle London. Rain had been threatening to fall for hours, and yet there hadn't been so much as a single drop. There was only the wind, frequent, moderately strong gusts of wind that had people pulling their cloaks tighter as they struggled against the force. The sound of distant thunder made her look up. The sky hadn't changed much since this morning, and it matched the rather glum mood she was in.

She hadn't been feeling up to anything today, actually. She woke up to a strange sadness that hurt physically, particularly around her chest cavity. As she went about her morning routine, it felt as though she was drifting through the residence, as though she were watching herself from afar, feeling like she was merely existing, and not at all living. Grabbing a mug of coffee before heading out, she passed the calendar that hung over the kitchen counter.

September 19th.

Oh.

She supposed she should be happy. But why wasn't she? Just then, she checked her watch and realized that she was running a bit late, so she left her mug in the sink and Apparated to work.

Work. It was just a distraction, she knew, but it was the only thing that successfully kept her from her emotions. Guilt, anger, hatred, pain that was beyond anything she could ever have imagined herself capable of feeling. And the worst of them all, the one that always got her when she least expected it, was loneliness. A loneliness that never went away no matter how many people surrounded her. A loneliness that had her constantly blaming herself for losing all the ones she'd ever held dear, and blaming them for leaving her all alone. A loneliness that became more and more poignant when the most unlikely and unexpected things reminded her of those who had gone. At the end of the day it was not the guilt or the anger but the loneliness that made her break down and cry.

Cry. What else could she do? There was no bringing them back. Every single day was a reminder of that. Every single day without Voldemort. It was a curse, she concluded, surviving the war, knowing that such evil would never again walk the earth, but being alone in that knowledge. It was unfair to those who had sacrificed so much not to live in the days of peace for which they had given their lives. She kept their memories alive by still marking their birthdates and visiting their graves as frequently as she could manage. It had been four years, but the pain still seared through her the way it did the day they left. It had been four years; still she cried the same amount of tears.

She pounded the pavement with an even stride. The wind was getting stronger, whipping her long brown hair back and forth. Her destination was still quite a way off; she needed to find a place to wait until the tempest calmed down. To her right she noticed series of little shops, one of which was a bookstore with a small café.

The smell of coffee greeted her upon stepping through the door, and immediately she felt rejuvenated. The shop was larger than it looked from the outside, furnished with three sets of wooden chairs and tables. Save for two employees, the place was quite empty. The walls were lined with hundreds of books: classics, contemporaries, biographies, everything! She smiled as she perused the titles; everyone was here, Shakespeare, Homer, Austen, Hamilton... She decided that she'd not felt better in weeks and was quite glad that she walked home.

'Can I help you with anything, miss?' she heard someone from behind her say. She turned towards the source of the voice to tell him that she was just browsing.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was him.

Well, at least he resembled him. But it was tough to be sure; he looked every inch the original, everything from the hair to the glasses to the bright green eyes. But then how could it be him? He’s dead. He was buried six feet under the ground in a large estate somewhere in Scotland. She knew; she had been at his funeral. She supposed it was just another one of her hallucinations and prepared to be utterly disappointed yet again, but there was this nagging feeling in her gut, in her heart, that perhaps... maybe...

She never thought that it mattered, detested it because it was the mark that made him so noticeable. It was so conspicuous, the mark that tore him away from the carefree, rebellious, irresponsible life of a normal boy with a normal childhood that he should have had. The mark that ultimately decided his destiny for him. But she had to see, she had to know. Rude though it might have been, she tried to take a peek behind the mess of bangs that obscured his forehead.

‘Um, excuse me, but…’ she reached up and moved a part of the jet black hair back.

And there it was, exactly where it was supposed to be, right where it had been all those years ago. The scar.

In a choked whisper that many other times had been ignored, she ventured, 'Harry?'

The tall man in a black shirt, black trousers and royal blue apron smiled. 'It’s James now.'

Outside, it started to rain.

~~~

I wanted to put this in the prank category… Anyway, reviews are love… =)

--21