The music of the Victory Day celebration filled the air, drifting from the village to the castle.
One of the occupants of the castle, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, wandered along the road leading to the village.
Harry is not a frivolous man, and is, in fact, uncomfortable with the celebration. While others have regained their lives, for the past year he had devoted his life to grieving the lost of his beloved mother, Lily, recuperating from his battle and his defeat with Tom Riddle, and as much as he hated doing it, attending to ailing father, James Potter.
The responsibilities he had assumed did not allow time for leisure. He wasn't drawn to the village to celebrate anything, but just for the simple need to be out of the school grounds. He didn t want to come here, but as others have told him, people needed him to be there. They needed to see The-Boy-Who-Defeated-The-Dark-Lord .
All he wanted was to escape.
Unobtrusively Harry stood at the edge of the crowd while the evening darkened. Like the other wizards present, Harry took note of the particularly attractive girls. It had been a long time since he'd had time to think of girls.
Harry's chest moved in a taut sigh. He watched the revelry for a few minutes more, conscious of an emptiness inside that refused to abate. Deciding to return to the castle and indulge in a shot or an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, he turned away. All of a sudden, his attention was caught by a group of strolling witches that had arrived to take part in the festivities.
A few of those in the crowd encouraged the new arrivals to join. Two of the women complied, but the third, a slender girl with crimson hair pinned to the crown of her head, shook her head adamantly but someone placed a circlet of flowers on her head, making her laugh reluctantly as she followed the other girls in their path around the garlanded tree.
Harry watched her in fascination. She was easily distinguishable by her hair. It was strange, the effect she had on him, his body turning hollow with yearning, every sense focused on the sight of her and the high, sweet sound of her laughter.
She's just a girl, he told himself silently, trying in vain to rid himself of the urges that consumed him. She's a girl like any other. But that wasn't true. The strength of his reaction to her alarmed and electrified him. He s learned to guard his vulnerability to sudden impulses since his mother s dead. But it seemed that all the recklessness he s been able to control for the past year had come over him in one moment.
Because of her.
Harry moved around the edge of the crowd with the deliberateness a seasoned Auror would be proud of, his gaze locked on her. He wasn't certain what he intended to do, only that he had to be near her. Laughing, gasping for breath, she managed to decline the invitation to dance and turned to walk away. The garland of flowers flew from her head and landed near Harry's feet. He bent and closed his fingers around it, unconsciously crushing some of the fragrant petals.
The girl wandered away from the crowd, seemingly going to an inn near Hogwarts. Harry followed her, his heart driving hard in his chest. Although he didn't make a sound, she must have sensed his presence. She stopped and turned to face him, wand at a ready. Not minding her stance, Harry walked closer to her, stopping a scant foot away from her.
I believe this is yours, he said thickly. She looked up at him, her chocolate-brown colored eyes still shining in the darkness. The hint of a smile appeared on the tender curve of her lips, although she still held her wand at level to his chest, ready to hex him at any given moment.
Thank you. She reached for the flowers with her free hand, her cool fingers brushing his for a split second. He felt the shock of it all through his body.
Who are you? he blurted out, voice full of longing curiosity.
The girl laughed, I'm no one of importance. Just an actress with a traveling company. She hesitated briefly. And you?
He remained silent, unable to answer while the heady scents of crushed flowers, butterbeer, and perspiration filled his nostrils and made his blood rush through his veins. He wanted to tear her away from the crowd. He wanted to press his mouth against her pale skin, and unpin her hair until it rippled between his fingers. He wanted to hide her away from everyone.
He wanted
The girl regarded him curiously, tilting her head to the side. You must be from the castle, she said. All at once her expression became wary. Are you one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix?
Harry shook his head he was never part of the Order to be perfectly honest. I'm a visitor here, he said, his voice slightly hoarse. Just as you are.
She looked skeptical but seemed to relax, wand lowering just an inch.
Where are you from? Harry asked.
Her teeth flashed in the darkness. He had never seen anything as beautiful as her smile. I don't choose to think about my past. She pushed back the stray locks of gleaming crimson hair from her forehead. Why did you come outside, then? Was it to join the festivities and celebrate the Chosen One s victory?
To find you, he quipped, not even frowning as he usually does when he hears someone say, The Chosen One.
A quiet laugh escaped her, and she tensed like a bird ready to take flight. Sensing that she was about to slip away, Harry found himself acting without conscious thought. His hands came to either side of her head, holding her securely in spite of her startled protest.
Let me, he whispered, a tremor running through his fingers as they pressed against her downy cheeks. He pressed his mouth to hers, and she became very still. Her breath rushed hot and fast on his skin, while the taste of her spilled through his senses in an intoxicating rush. He felt her response, and the moment was suspended in time, more magical than anything that had ever happened to him before.
She turned her face away, making a sound of confusion. Harry was intensely aware of the velvety touch of her cheek against his, the nearness of her body. They were both silent, motionless as they drank in the sensation of standing close together.
Good night, she whispered.
Don't go, he said, but she strode away, seeming to melt into the crowd.
Although Harry could have followed, he chose not to.
He didn't want her to be real.
Let her remain a fantasy, an image he could keep for the rest of his life, untouched by the unpleasant realities that have controlled his entire life.
He left, unable to rid his mind of the sudden intuition that somehow, someday they would meet again.