This is certainly a step in a different direction for me. A PLL/HP crossover: James Sirius Potter/Alison DiLaurentis piece. This was written for exploding-empire's The Crossover Challenge on HPFC, with the setting of Moscow as a prompt. I own nothing.
/ /
You meet her in a bar in the middle of Moscow. It's icy cold outside, the kind of day where your breath forms visible clouds of smoke in front of you, every breath you inhale feels like shards of ice prickling your throat and the sunlight dances of the icy streets, causing spectrums to refract all around you. It's only thanks to a handy heating charm that you are able to walk around normally. You love this kind of weather; it reminds you of early-morning winter Quidditch practices, the Christmas decorations at Hogwarts, the snowy Hogsmeade trips and slipping into The Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer. So, when you spot a bar, you can't resist the temptation to stop and have a quick pick-me-up.
You've just finished your NEWTs and you're just a boy with massive hopes, a lifetime of endless opportunities ahead of you and the whole of the wizarding world's eyes on your every move. You've decided to take some time out and travel the world, before foraying into the world of work, you've decided to live a little without your parents, siblings or cousins there to guide you. You walk into the dim, practically empty space and go and sit right up at the bar.
In garbled Russian that you learnt from a phrasebook, you order yourself a drink (it's nowhere near as good as Butterbeer or Firewhisky, but it still leaves you with a pleasant buzz) and you begin to scan your surroundings. It sort of reminds you of the Hogs Head but, that's another pub in another world in another life you've temporarily left behind.
"You're English," a female voice from behind you sounds. It's not a question, it's a statement and you're guessing that she already knows the answer.
You swivel around in your seat and, in front of you stands a girl of around your age, wrapped up in massive black coat with a crimson scarf encircling her neck. Your first impression is that she kind of reminds you of beautiful Victoire, with her heart shaped face, long blonde hair and blue eyes. But then, you look a bit closer and you realise that this girl's hair is little more golden, her eyes a little less icy and her skin slightly more tanned and she's like a breath of sunshine in this icy, freezing city of strangers. But, she's still the most beautiful girl you think you've ever seen and that's saying something, considering you grew up with a part-Veela aunt and cousins.
"I am," you reply, "and you're American."
"I am," she nods before sitting in the stool next to you and ordering a drink of her own, in much more impressive Russian than you can manage. She pulls off her scarf and she shakes her head and long golden curls spill down her back.
"James," you reply, sticking your hand out towards her.
She glances down at your Quidditch-calloused hands, before putting her own fragile, tanned one in yours.
"Alison," she replies, flashing you a smile that you can't quite work out. But, after all, you've always liked mysteries.
And, that's the beginning.
/ /
Later, when the sky is becoming tinged with pink, you're still both sat together at the bar, chatting about everything together.
You find out that she's from a small suburb in Pennsylvania and that back at home, she lives with her mother and father and her older brother and they all pretend to be one big happy family but really, they're all just screwed up people who have to live under the same roof together.
You tell her about your family home in a little village in the west of England, your massive extended family, about Al and Lily and about boarding school you attended in Scotland (of course, you don't tell her what kind of school it is, or what you truly are).
"So, Ali," you ask her, as you hold a shot of Vodka in your hand, "what brings you to Moscow?"
She looks at you, and it's the kind of look that makes you think she can read your mind and you realise with a start that you kind of want her to be able to.
"Hiding," she replies simply.
As you look back into her face, you can't understand why you ever compared her to Victoire, of all people. Because Victoire has a dainty, fragile, innocent look about her but this girl in front of you is tough, wizened and hardened and has been through so much more than Victoire ever has been through.
"And you?" she asks.
"Running," you reply truthfully and she flashes you another one of her smiles that you could fall really hard for.
/ /
Darkness falls, and she takes you back to a little flat she's renting on the outskirts of the city. Soon enough, you're tearing her clothes off and sinking back into her bed and she's drawing circles on your back and leaving sparks of desire on your skin and, you never, ever do this. You're not the kind to sleep with someone after only knowing them for a few hours, but as she runs her fingers through your hair and presses her lips to yours, you can't help but want her so much more.
Hours later, you're both lying together on her bed, and a shaft of moonlight is falling through a gap in her curtains and illuminating her face. Her golden locks are splayed out across your pillow and one tanned arm is draped across your pale stomach. She's telling you about four friends she had, back in America who sometimes, she really just misses and she seems so honest that you can't help the words that spill from your lips.
"At home, in England, my father is really famous for being a war hero and sometimes, it feels like the whole world is watching me and expecting me to live up to my surname and his achievements but I don't want to just be known as his son. I want to be known as me. As James. And, so, I decided to travel the world and to try and escape their gaze. That's why I'm in Moscow," you whisper to her.
"I'm supposed to be dead," she whispers back, "I disappeared from a sleepover when I was 15 and they found a body and my 'murder' is still an on-going investigation. No-one here really knows about my disappearance and so, I can hide. That's why I'm in Moscow."
And she tells you the bare facts and nothing more, no elaboration and no real facts but, it's enough to stun you into silence as it is.
"I know it's not exactly a normal life, but where's the fun in that? After all, sometimes hiding can lead you to the most extraordinary of people and places," she muses aloud, "and, running does too. It guides you to the people that could change your life."
In the darkness, you can't help but agree because running is what brought you to Moscow and, in this moment, you can't imagine being anywhere else.
/ /
What you had originally planned to be a month long visit suddenly turns into two months, then three, then six. Your family write you letters asking you when you will return, but every single scribbled note you send them back is filled with rushed 'I don't knows' and 'undecided plans'.
She asks you to stay with her and when she does, she has such a raw, non-Ali, worried expression on her face, you can't help but tell her you will.
And then, next minute, her temporarily fragile expression is replaced with her ordinary tough, beautiful smile and you take her hand in yours and you can't help but think that she's the kind of girl who could easily break your heart.
/ /
Your relationship is one of cigarettes, sex and secrets. Secrets because you can never tell her what you truly are and you so often have to skim details of your life because she just can't know.
And, secrets, because you're absolutely positive that she's not telling you the whole truth about what happened to her. So often, you'll be out together and you'll point something out, and she'll get a faint glimmer of nostalgia in her eyes and a fond smile will slowly seep on to her features. But, you don't mind because you're not really being honest with her and why should you expect the truth when you're not exactly giving it to her.
Even when you feel like screaming at her because you really want to know what the hell she's thinking, she'll shoot you another beautifully complicated smile that, after all this time you still haven't figured out and every single thought vanishes out of your mind, because she's Ali and it's as simple as that.
/ /
"Let me show you my favourite place," she whispers to you one night, as you lie next to each other.
"What?" you reply, "At this time?"
"It's always best at night-time," she whispers backs, before grabbing your hand and pulling you out of bed.
She leads you up the stairs of her block of flats and out onto a rooftop. It looks pretty unspectacular from here, a bit grimy and cloaked in darkness. Ali lets go of your hand but carries on walking, weaving through the shadows and darkness gracefully; her long, golden curls swishing in the breeze and letting out a laugh of joy. You follow.
She carries on walking until she reaches the very edge of the building. She gazes down and for one terrible, heart stopping moment, you think she's going to fall or maybe even jump but, she steps away and turns around and flashes you another one of her smiles.
"Look," she says, simply, and you do. You can see the sights of Moscow, the towers, the small roads, a few weaving car headlights, all nestled under an infinite velvet heaven. It's beautiful and it takes your breath away.
You both stand next to each other in perfect, harmonious silence, staring out at the web of lights that make Moscow, breathing in the chilly, city air and you realise with a start that there is nowhere you'd rather be than here.
"It's my escape," she tells you and her sweet, clear voice carries through the air towards you, so unguarded and honest for once.
"It's perfect," you reply and she lets out a laugh.
You glance over to her and she has an expression of pure joy etched onto her beautiful features and you can't help the speeding up of your heartbeat. You lean down and kiss her softly on the cheek, and the next thing you know, you're pressed up against each other and her tongue is flicking over your teeth and her golden hair tickling your cheek.
"You're my escape," you whisper to her and you can feel her lips tilt upwards into a smile against yours.
"Runners don't need escapes. Hiders do," you swear you hear her whisper back.
/ /
It's the last day of August and you find Ali sat on a chair on her balcony, looking out across the Russian city that has been her hiding place for so many years now. Even though it's still, technically summer, the Russian nights are drawing in and goose-bumps are appearing on her bare, tanned arms. Her head is turned away from you and you drape a coat around her shoulders and you sit in the seat next to her.
She tilts her head slightly to the side, into the light and you suddenly realise with a start that there are tears pooled in her startling blue eyes. You've seen Ali overjoyed, you've seen her worried, you've seen her stoic and you've seen her determined but never have you once seen her upset. She looks so innocent and so young and you can't help but fall for her just a tiny bit more.
"Ali, are you alright?" you ask her, knowing yourself that it is a stupid question because obviously she's not alright.
"It happened four years ago today," she whispers, looking down, "I went missing four years ago and they found a body, not mine, they think I'm dead, still looking, my friends… I left them behind and then, they… messages, stalking, almost killed. T-they, oh, that shovel and the d-dirt…"
She trails off and you stare at her confusedly. She's speaking a garbled collection of words that you can't quite make sense of and you're feeling nothing but confusion.
"B-but, I got my revenge in the end," she mutters to herself and looks away again.
You turn back and stare out into the inky blue heavens, thinking about and trying to make sense of what she's just revealed to you. You've never seen her look so broken, so young.
But, you turn back to her and the tears have gone from her face and the defiant, tough expression is back in her eyes. She brings a cigarette up to her painted crimson lips and she looks like the tragically, beautiful, resilient girl you fell for all those months ago.
She breathes out and the smoke leaves her scarlet lips in intricately shaped curls and wisps of grey, swirling in the chilly breeze. You can make out thousands of images, thousands of permutations of the smoke from just one breath and it dances slowly through the air, spreading out until it fades into nothingness.
"James?" Ali turns towards you, and you nod in reply, "Remember when you said you'd stay with me? Did you mean it?"
She asks you the question and her face returns to that raw, vulnerable expression she wore the last time she asked you.
"Of course I did," you reply.
"Good," she says shortly, her face morphing back into her tough expression quickly, raising the cigarette to her mouth. And, just like that, young, fearful Ali disappears and, in her place is the tough Ali.
The smoke curls through the air once more and as you stare out into the night sky, you can't help but wonder who the real Ali is.
/ /
She asks you to stay with her twice and you answer without hesitation. Yes, of course you will because you can't imagine being anywhere else aside from with Ali's golden curls tickling your chin and her tiny hand in yours.
She asks you to stay with her twice but, she leaves without hesitation.
/ /
One month after the anniversary of her disappearance, you wake up in Ali's bed to the sound of your name being whispered in your ear. You blink sleep from your eyes and sit up.
Ali is standing by the bed next to you, fully clothed, with a suitcase next to her. Your heart stops for a moment as you notice how bare her flat suddenly looks.
"Ali?" you ask, your voice croaking with tiredness.
"James," she says, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" you ask her, even though you kind of already know the answer.
"I'm leaving, James, I'm sorry," the words drip from her lips like poison, "I've stayed here long enough, James. People will start figuring out who I really am before long. James, I've got to go. I'm so so sorry."
You can't quite believe what you're hearing; you can't quite grasp the words that are falling from her lips.
"You're leaving? Take me with you, then. I was going to travel the world anyway, take me with you," you ask her, desperately.
"I'm sorry James, I wish I could but, I can't," she looks genuinely sad for a moment, "you said it yourself, James, you're a runner. You'll run, you can't stay with me forever, you'll run away. You can't stay put."
Her words seem to sound horribly like the truth.
"But, Ali, you said you were a hider. Hiders don't run, hiders stay put and avoid being found. Ali, you're a hider, you don't run,"
"Maybe I'm both, James. Maybe we all are," she smiles another sad smile.
"Ali-" she cuts you off.
"Goodbye James. I had the best year and I will never, ever forget you. Maybe one day our paths will cross again but maybe they won't. It's up to fate, after all,"
She pulls on the black coat and the crimson scarf she wore the first time you saw her and her hair cascades down her back once more. She leans over and plants one final, tragically perfect kiss on your lips and grabs her bags and heads towards the door.
She turns around one final time and throws you another one of those smiles that you've fallen so heartbreakingly hard for and your breath catches in your throat.
Before you know it, the door has closed with a depressing thunk of finality, your head is still reeling, you're still half-asleep, your lips are still tingling from your final kiss, the room feels a bit dimmer without her shock of golden hair, her side of the bed next to you is still warm and Ali has left you.
And, it's the end and it's so bittersweet.
/ /
So, you return home. You go back to England with a heavy heart and a handful of unanswered questions and you arrive back in your home country, which just seems dull and lifeless after a year in Russia with Ali. It's just not the same magical world of endless possibilities that you grew up in, everything just seems a little darker and a little more faded since Ali with her splash of golden hair left your life.
You go to your family home again and you greet your parents and they tell you about everything you've missed while you've been away and tell you how much they've missed you and ask you what you've been doing for your year away.
You skirt around most of the questions and avoid their eye contact, telling them nothing about Ali. You feel that you can't betray her trust. She's not even supposed to exist, she's supposed to be dead and you can't give it away like that.
So, you sink back into your mundane everyday life, a ghost of the lively, carefree boy you were when you were with Ali.
You were dancing through Moscow with her hand in yours, jumping through the shadows and sunlight, laughing and not thinking about consequences or what the next dawn would bring. But now, you're tiptoeing around your family and your old house back at home and trying to ignore the fact that everything seems to remind you of her and that every flash of golden hair makes your heart speed up.
Because you fell for Ali's beautifully complex smile and now, it's gone and you feel like nothing.
/ /
In Moscow, time flew rapidly. It was a blur of laughter, golden hair, moonlight dancing, holding hands, uncontrollable desire and secrets that didn't seem so big. But, now, time passes slowly. Time creeps forward and every painstaking second of missing her is as clear as day in your head.
You try to hate her for leaving you, but you just can't. At the end of the day, it's yourself you hate for falling for her so hard.
/ /
Two months after you arrive back in England, you visit Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron's house with your parents. It's all small talk and reminiscing and you ask if you can borrow Hermione's Muggle computer that she keeps in her study.
Your father taught you how to use one years ago and there's something you've been dying to research.
You switch the computer on and drum your fingers on the wooden desk, waiting impatiently for it to load, listening to the far away laughter and chat of your parents.
Finally, it switches on and you slowly type into a search engine 'Alison DiLaurentis'. Within a few seconds, thousands and thousands of websites have popped up on the screen. News articles, theory websites, personal pleas, all centred around the disappearance of your Ali.
You randomly click on the websites and scan the text and look at the pictures in a numb fashion.
Words jump out at you from the pages and pages of theories and reports, words that stick with you and refuse to leave your mind. Stalker. Threats. Death. Several suspects. Injured. Rape caught on camera. Secretive. Dual identity. Secret video making. Spying. Suspected paedophilia. Search for answers. Buried alive. Visits. Alcohol. Abuse. Drugging. Secrets. Lies.
And, slowly, you begin to piece together the story of Alison DiLaurentis. Not the story of your Ali, but the gruesome and mysterious tale of someone you thought you knew and you clearly didn't.
You find out the story of a girl who was stalked, threatened and nearly killed by an unknown figure who went by the name 'A'. You find out the story of a girl who had an affair with her friend's sister's boyfriend. You find out the story of a girl whose brother, her boyfriend and their friend enjoyed making secret videos of their neighbours. You find out the story of a girl who got herself far too involved with many people. You find out the story of a girl who went missing and whose stalker continued to pursue her friends. You find out the story of several suspected killers who were jailed and then released. You find out stories of the search for the truth and the uncovering of this girl's murky, shrouded past.
You knew that Ali wasn't telling you the whole truth, but, you never thought that it would be as elaborate, complex and as dark as this.
On one of the websites you click on, you find a quote from a Miss Spencer Hastings, after a lot of Alison's past was uncovered.
You remember Ali lying next to you in bed and telling you about Spence, her brunette, rich, competitive, genius friend who was funny and had a thirst for knowledge that Ali really missed.
You read her comment and your heart starts to pound because you can relate to it oh-so well. "Sometimes, it felt like you didn't really know Alison. She had so many sides to her and sometimes, Ali; your best friend could suddenly seem like a completely different person. Sometimes it felt like she was playing you. But, at the end of the day, she meant a lot to me, no matter who she was. She was Ali and I loved her and she was unforgettable."
You sit back from the computer and you think. You think about Alison DiLaurentis, whose life was a story of deception and secrecy. And you think of Ali and the story of a boy and a girl who met in a cold, foreign city and fell in love. You think about how those two people are the same and that your Ali has been through so much more than you ever imagined.
You think about how Ali had a different life that you knew next to nothing about and you know you should feel angry, you should hate the girl that kept so many secrets from you but, you just can't because it's Ali and you loved her, despite her faults.
But, still, you kind of feel like you didn't really know her and you kind of feel that you probably never will.
And, finally, it feels like moving on.
/ /
And, you do. You move on and you decide to live your life because, if Ali taught you only one thing it is that not even tomorrow is guaranteed. You live your life how you should. You watch your siblings grow up, you get a job, you play Quidditch professionally, you stop thinking about what the rest of the world thinks of you, you spend time with your cousins, you talk with your parents, you become godfather to Teddy and Victoire's first child, you get drunk, you play jokes, you fall in love twice more and you breathe in the air on hot summer days because you're as free as a bird and you can do whatever you want.
You never tell anyone about Ali but, you never forget her either. You remember her on icy cold days, when sunlight is refracting of the frosted ground, whenever you see a blonde girl wearing a crimson scarf, when you look out into the stars above you and when someone has a beautifully complicated smile that you can't quite solve.
She'll always hold a special place in your heart but finally, you can live your life again and it feels promising.
/ /
Five years later, you return to Moscow. You're there for a business trip but, you can't resist the urge to go and relive the city that you feel that you belong in. Every street corner and every building reminds you of Ali and you smile fondly and wrap your coat a little tighter around you.
You're feeling a tad nostalgic so, you decide to nip into the bar where it all began. It's dark and half empty still and the same man is stood behind the counter. You order yourself a drink in Russian that's improved a lot since your last visit and you sit in the same seat you did last time and reminisce.
A short while later, a beautiful blonde girl enters the bar and breathes a gasp of recognition. She pulls off her crimson scarf and shakes her golden curls that are still like sunlight down her back. She sits next to you and orders a drink in excellent Russian.
She puts a tanned hand in yours and shoots you a complicated smile that finally, you're starting to understand.
And, it's perfect and it kind of feels like the beginning again.
/ /
fin.