It's a small café, full of Muggles. Harry comes here when the whispers and the not-so-subtle stares become too much. Here, he can be just a regular guy. Not a hero, not a figure out of war stories and larger-than-life tales. Just a guy.
"It's on the house," the waitress tells him.
He looks up and sees her for the first time. Years later, he can't ever remember her face. All he does remember is that her hair was not red and her eyes were too soft.
He drinks his tea and leaves without a word.
The next time he comes, he can't find her. She stopped working three weeks ago. He looks around, asks the waitresses but nobody seems to know where she is. Harry thinks it's fitting, another thing he never get the chance to know, just out of his reach forever.
"So melodramatic," he thinks but doesn't laugh.
She finds him first. He sits in his usual spot when she takes the chair next to him.
"So, I heard you were looking for me."
Her smile is too bright, her voice too loud. Harry takes a big breath and tries to smile, too. He nods.
"Good thing I found you."
"Just in time." Harry doesn't know what he means, but the girl accepts it. He is grateful.
"So, what's your name?" she asks.
"You don't speak much about yourself, don't you? I would say you are shy, but you don't look shy. More, like, reserved."
"What do you want to know?" Harry sighs. He dreads these questions. He doesn't want to lie, but he knows she can't handle the truth. Or he can't. He is not so sure anymore.
"Ah, what's the fun in that? Let me guess: tragic life, mysterious enemies, ghosts from the past…" she laughs like it's the funniest thing ever. Harry has never heard his life summarized like that, and for the first time, he finds it funny too.
He doesn't tell her how close she was.
"What's your job?"
"I am working for the government." He doesn't feel guilty because, well, it's technically true.
Her (blue? green? black?) eyes are shining with curiosity. "Government? Are you… a secret agent or something?"
Harry looks at her. They must be the same age but she looks so young. No one he knows looks so young.
"Yes, something like that," he says and he hates her when he sees the look of wonder on her face.
No one has the right to be so young.
"Interesting scar."
"Boring story. Fell from a broom."
"What?"
"I mean, bike. Fell from a bike."
"Well, I've got to go. Give me a ring, sometimes. When you are not on a mission, of course." She leaves him with a small piece of paper. Harry tries to remember when was the last time he used the telephone or wrote something down with a pen. It's not really important.
He never calls her. Two years later, he marries Ginny and they have three lovely kids.
He is happy and doesn't regret his decision. But sometimes, he longs to be that guy again.
He throws the paper away.
