"Come on, darlin'," the man was saying, touching me too familiarly, the contact incredibly unwelcome. He grinned down at me. "Come down the pub with me." The underground was crowded in that lunch-time, everyone-should-be-somewhere-else way, so I couldn't move very far. He was facing me, and I tried desperately to keep the pole between the two of us, but he kept following me in a creepy and struggled game of ring-around-the-rosie.
"No thanks," I said, loudly, hoping if other people heard maybe he would leave me alone. But he persisted, holding my elbow firmly now, and he wasn't a particularly weak man. He wasn't overly large, but he was squat and muscled and could easily take the situation by force, if we weren't stuck immobile in a crowd of dozens. "I'm busy."
"Oh, don't you like me, love?" he asked. He pulled me toward him by the elbow.
"Let go!" I demanded, but the train took a corner and I lost my balance slightly and my shoulder bounced off his chest.
"That's better," the man said, holding me in place with one firm arm around my trapped shoulder. He grinned down at me. "Let's go off and get a drink."
But at this point I'd had quite enough of it. It was crowded and smelly and the lights were flickering in and out of service every now and then and no one was concerned with anyone except themselves. Slowly, carefully, I pulled my wand from the inside of my sleeve. I jammed it up between myself and the man, and he had enough time to look down and say, "What is—" before I whispered, "Confundo!"
Immediately the man's features softened. His expression was blank and he let go of me entirely, his arms falling to his sides. The train was slowing to its next stop and several people were stepping out of the car, at least as many as were trying to get on. "This is your stop, sir," I told him, pointing out the doors. He looked at me blankly, asking, "Is it?"
I nodded and helped him off onto the platform with a touch on his elbow, without letting go of the pole with my other hand. "Watch your step, sir." He thanked me, smiling sort of haphazardly, before wandering off. I watched him bounce off a pillar next to the door and desperately hoped he wouldn't fall from the platform. The compartment doors closed and the train moved on. I breathed a sigh of relief and let my head fall forward onto the pole.
"I saw that."
The voice came low and quiet and as though it was breathing directly down the back of my neck. I gasped and turned around so quickly that the man behind me had to step back slightly. "Saw what?" I asked, breathlessly.
The man standing there seemed amused as he looked down at me. He was a few inches taller, and built wiry, about as skinny as me, which is fairly skinny. Well, kinda skinny. Skinny enough. Skinny-ish.
The feature that caught your eye, though, was his flaming red-orange hair. It was stylishly messy, in the way that made me think it took longer to do in the mornings than mine did. His face was freckled and build wide for gigantic grins, and he flashed me one now. "Saw what?" I demanded again, my heart still racing from the adrenaline rush of being startled.
"This," he said, holding up my own wand before my eyes, spinning it in his fingers. I snatched it from his hand and shoved it up my sleeve again.
"How did you get that?" I hissed, glancing all around us to see if anyone had noticed. When I looked back at him he was just looking at me with one eyebrow raised.
"Magic?" he suggested, wryly. I opened my mouth, furious at being patronized, but he actually shushed me. And I was shocked enough to shush. "That was just good, old-fashioned Muggle slight of hand," he assured me. "Like this." He held both hands open and empty in front of me. Before I could do or say anything, he reached forward and brushed a stray hair of mine behind my ear, his fingers returning with a long-stem rose. He presented it to me, grinning.
I knew my face must have looked a mix of confused and shocked, and still a little furious. But I composed myself with a sigh and it was my turn to raise an eyebrow and look somewhat resignedly amused. I took the rose.
"You think you're charming, don't you," I said. He actually laughed.
"I know I'm charming," he replied.
The train was slowing suddenly for the next stop and I didn't have my grip on the pole because I was standing between it and the red-headed man. I lost my balance and fell abruptly into his chest as he held a bar over his head. Absurdly, I took the time to notice that he smelled wonderfully, of something both spicy and sweet, and clean... I regained my balance, though I had to do so by pushing myself off his chest with one hand, no doubt blushing furiously. I refused to look up at him, instead turning to see what stop the train had reached (I'd lost track of time), praying somehow it was mine. It wasn't.
I winced and gripped the pole now, all the more forcefully. When I looked up again he was clearly trying to suppress a smile. I wanted to kick myself. Or him, it was a toss-up. "So what is a lovely witch like you doing so far from the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked me, conversationally, keeping his voice low enough that the Muggles bustling around us wouldn't hear.
"I haven't been there in five years," I blurted, surprised into speaking. Why on earth would I just share that information randomly? He looked surprised, and somewhat concerned, and I couldn't figure why until he asked, "You mean, because…?"
"Oh goodness no," I said. "Nothing to do with that." That sentence could have ended there, but for some reason my mouth kept moving. "That's a lie, everything in the world had—well, obviously it didn't have nothing to do—I mean, what didn't it change—shut up, Carolyn," I managed to stop, rubbing my eyes with my free hand as I finished.
"Ah, Carolyn!" said the man, holding his free hand up in triumph, startling a few disgruntled passengers nearby. "She has a name!" He smiled at me as I looked up, saying "It suits you. Lovely." I laughed a little.
"And you?" I asked. "Do you have a name?"
"Oh certainly," he said. He smiled down at me. There was a long silence. I raised both eyebrows and leaned forward slightly, prompting him. When he still said nothing, I finally asked, "And?"
"And what?" he asked, sounding surprised.
"What is it?"
"What is what?"
"Your name, what is your name?" I asked, half-annoyed but still laughing.
"Oh!" he said, grinning again. "George, my name is George." He offered me his free hand, and I reached out to take it. Then I snatched my hand back, suspiciously.
"Nothing's going to come out your sleeve, is it?" I asked.
"I promise."
"And you won't take my wand again," I said, more an order than a question.
"Merlin's honor," George pledged, his hand held up.
I shook his hand.
"You're an odd bloke, George," I said, shaking my head. He looked suddenly aghast, clutching one hand to his chest.
"What?" he gasped, his knees apparently gone weak as he held himself up on the pole as best he could. "How dare you!" He was knocking into people's legs nearby and they bristled angrily around the two of us. "How so?"
I lifted him by the scruff of the neck (he stood, obligingly) back to his feet and looked up the few inches it took to meet his eyes. "What, you mean like the fact you can do Muggle magic, and go around accosting—" ("Accosting?!") "—young witches on the London underground?" I asked. Then I frowned. "What are you doing so far from the Leaky Cauldron, anyway?" He regarded me and it seemed like his answer didn't come as quickly to him as mine did to me.
"I'm looking for an old wizarding artifact I think was sent to a Muggle Asian market by accident," he said, finally. I was impressed.
"Your excuse sounds much more exciting than mine," I admitted. The train had stopped and let off and taken on passengers several times during our conversations, and I knew my stop would be coming along soon. It wasn't that long a commute.
"Yes," he said, "but you haven't actually given me your reason." This time I did wait before answering, and decided carefully on my response.
"I'm…living Muggle," I explained. He looked surprised, but his expression didn't hold any of the usual distrust or scorn.
"Interesting," he said, stroking his chin as though he had a beard. "Tell me more."
"Kind of a long story," I said, dryly.
He shrugged and looked around the train compartment as though he lived there and wasn't being buffeted all over the place as we turned and stopped and started again. "I've got time," he said.
I laughed. "I haven't," I said, "my stop's next." We were already slowing, and I was trying to move toward the doors, knowing the influx here was enough to drag me back in with the oncoming passengers and I needed to be ready to elbow my way out. "Good to meet you George!" I called, laughing.
"Hey, wait!" I couldn't turn around, but I recognized his voice. "How do I find you again?"
I was caught between incoming and outgoing passengers and trying to fight my way out, but I turned my face enough to call back, "You don't!" I pushed through onto the platform and caught my breath. I turned around and saw a figure with flaming red hair trying to squeeze between people to get out the doors after me, but strong and skinny (-ish) as he was, it was too late. They were closing jerkily, as they always do, and there was a squat little old woman between him and the doors. He was nearly twice as tall, but he couldn't get past. I laughed.
The doors had stuck slightly as the train started to move again. "At least your name!" he called out, through the remaining space. I hesitated.
"Young!" I shouted after him.
I watched the train leave, and then turned and raced up the stairs two at a time to street-level. I was still smiling when I climbed the last few steps into the typical London grim weather. He had been charming.
For a moment I wondered why I had run off before I asked his name, or anything else. Truth be told I was lonely, and some companionship—in whatever form that took, I thought, smirking—would really be rather welcome. Except I didn't want to get mixed up with that whole life again. Fine. Good enough reasoning.
I checked the time on my mobile phone. I should start looking for some blokes down the pub, I thought. Then I thought about the kind of blokes down the pub and made a face. Maybe someone from work. I had dated a lot of Muggles when I first moved here, and it hadn't been particularly hard to keep my past in my past. Most of those relationships hadn't been serious anyway, and no one was interested enough to ask too many questions. I guess I ran through blokes pretty quickly, and then just stopped. Maybe I'd become too desensitized.
Anyway, the interaction on the train had been fun, I admitted it. I sighed fairly contentedly and walked to work.
When I got there, I found two more roses in the inner pocket of my jacket.
