Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: This is for all the betas out there. All of you who do a great job without more than a thank you as reward. You rock, don't forget that.
"Big city - big loneliness" - Latin saying
A never-ending stream of feet hurried past him. He looked at them with uninterested eyes, too tired to bother raising his gaze and look at the people above. Occasionally someone threw a coin or two in the paper coffee-cup standing in front of him. He didn't actively beg for money; that was below him. He just couldn't bear to do it, even after months on the streets. He preferred hunger to humiliation. Pride could make a person go through the strangest ordeals. He could eat from rubbish-bins, but he refused to beg for a living, or ask anyone for help. Not that anyone would want to help him. He had no one. The homeless on the streets sometimes tried to speak to him, but he was far above them; he refused to talk to such human garbage, even if he happened to live like one of them. Sometimes he wondered why he didn't simply lay down and die. It would be so easy. To sleep, to wake no more. But he was too proud and too stubborn for that. Maybe he could try to find a drug-dealer and take an overdose. Oh wait - he had no money. The clothes on his body and the filthy blankets were everything he owned in this world, besides the small pile of change in the paper cup.The endless flow of feet was almost soothing, like counting sheep before falling asleep. His thoughts rushed past inside his head, mirroring the hurrying feet outside. He wanted so badly to sleep right now, but he couldn't. He had to watch his cup, make sure no one stole his dinner-to-be. Trainers and boots hurried past, a small pathetic dog sniffed his blankets but was soon tugged away by its owner, young feet skipped along the pavement, avoiding the cracks, and old feet in leather shoes slowly made their way through the crowd. A pair of pink trainers suddenly brushed past the paper cup and scattered the coins over the sidewalk. That pulled him out of his apathy.
"Stupid fucking Muggles!" He struggled to get out of his dirty blankets and gather his scarce funds, but a pair of black boots beat him to it.
"Leave it, it's mine!" he snarled with a faint trace of panic. That was his only money, and without it he was doomed to yet another day and night without food. However, he didn't have to worry. All the boots owner did was scoop up the change in his big hand and put it back in the cup before giving it to him again. He felt a bit stupid when he snatched it back from the guy with the boots. To prevent further mishaps he emptied the cup and tucked away the money in one of his pockets, only leaving two silvery coins in it.
"You're welcome," said a deep voice ironically. What did he expect? A thank you? Well he wasn't going to get one from him.
The boots didn't disappear. They seemed to glare at him, those shoes. Black and newly polished, obviously much used, but still in fine condition. The trousers fitted in the bad-boy image suggested by the footwear. Black and unnaturally shiny, it didn't look quite right, probably something plas-tick.
He looked up at the man towering over him and his grey eyes met gentle brown ones. The guy with the boots seemed to be very tall, and that wasn't only due to his current frog-perspective, most people hurrying past were at least a head shorter than this guy was. His red hair was neatly collected in a ponytail, but a few long coppery strands had escaped and seemed to live a life of their own, flying in the soft breeze. The stranger was looking straight into his eyes, with an interested expression that scared the shit out of him. It had been a long time since someone looked at him like that, not with disgust or even pity, but as if he was trying to see the real person inside him. Like one human being looking at another. Had anyone ever looked at him like that? He couldn't remember. He wanted to run away, or punch the man in the face, or do anything but meeting that piercing gaze. He was used to indifference and disgust, he could handle pity even though it pissed him of, but he had no defence for this gentle curiosity.
Everyone wants to be someone, and this person looked at him like his existence actually mattered. As frightening as it was, something deep down inside him wanted that attention. He was torn between the aching need to be acknowledged and the basic survival-instinct that told him to keep his head down and to stay unnoticed. He had seen enough of the Muggle please-men to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
"What are you looking at?" he snapped angrily, but he couldn't break eye contact. Go away. Go away. Go away. He wished that this person would just disappear and leave him alone again, but a small part of him almost wanted him to stay. The other man cocked his head and frowned. The next thing he knew the man moved towards him, his right hand balled to a fist. He flinched and closed his eyes, trying to hide from a blow that didn't come. Instead he heard the soft rustle of paper and the sound of coins clattering together. Only at the sound of retreating feet was he finally able to look up again. The man with the boots slowly made his way through the crowd, his copper-red head sticking out like a beacon above the people.
When the man no longer was in sight he finally lowered his gaze to the cup. A twenty pound note was stuffed down in it. Money. He carefully removed it and smoothed the wrinkles as he stared in disbelief on the piece of paper. This meant no worries for a week if he was careful with his resources. He looked after the stranger again, but the man was no longer visible. Why? Conflicting emotions oscillated inside him, from anger to gratitude to more anger because he felt gratitude. He tucked away his newfound fortune and looked down in his cup again. The two coins he had left in it now had been joined by a small piece of bronze. His heart almost skipped a beat as he picked up the shiny object. He hadn't seen one of these in a very long time.
It was a bronze Knut.