TITLE: Enchanted
RATING: Provisionally "T", because I don't really know what's going to happen from here!
CHARACTERS: Ruth and Harry
SPOILERS: Nada. This is so ridiculously AU that I don't think it possibly could!
SUMMARY: "My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again" Young Harry and Ruth in a modern setting; complete suspension of disbelief necessary! :)
A/N: Nicola has always said that she was offended at first to be cast as Ruth because Ruth is a lot older than she is; so, for the purposes of this story, the age-gap between Ruth and Harry is only about five years.

Please don't hate me for being so spectacularly AU - pure fluff multi-chap will probably follow... :) :)

Merry Christmas xxx

"This is me praying that this was the very first page
Not where the story line ends
My thoughts will echo your name until I see you again
These are the words I held back as I was leaving too soon
I was enchanted to meet you"

- Enchanted, Taylor Swift

One

As a rule, it is usually best not to bother Ruth Evershed when she is on her way to the office. This tends only to happen in the late evening anyway, because of the intensity with which she chooses to study, but despite their beauty, the tiny back-allies between her college library and the offices of the student newspaper where she's recently started work as an editor are dark, gloomy and often a little scary in the darkness. It takes a brave soul to walk up to her seemingly at random, when she walks with such purpose, and join her in conversation.

Luckily, then, the man who is now following her with that express purpose was used to facing such hostile foes – and was more than capable of smiling charmingly enough to bamboozle even Ruth for a moment or two at the least.

He knows all about her, of course; he wouldn't be approaching her if he didn't. She is quite remarkable, and quite the most extraordinary person he's ever had the pleasure of having to watch. The most remarkable thing was that he had discovered her all himself. He isn't used to being able to exert that much power, yet, and had been utterly stunned when Karin, his boss and the head of MI5's Counter-Terrorism unit, had allowed him a week to recruit her. They needed a new analyst, Karin had reasoned, and Ms Evershed showed every sign of being more than perfect for the position. Besides, the Grid was a little too full of testosterone at that moment anyway; it would be nice for her to have another woman to work with, aside from the formidable Rosalind, a new temp seconded from 6 who honestly put the fear of God into even Karin from time to time.

And so Harry finds himself in a back-alley outside Corpus Christi College at dusk, hiding in the shadows until the remarkable Ms Evershed has exited the building, several folders piled a little awkwardly in her arms. She walks with purpose, and it takes him a few moments to catch up with her. He follows a step behind her for a few paces before calling out her name; "Ruth?"

She turns on the spot, eyes alight with fire and confusion. "Yes?" she asks, near-glowering at him over the top of her folders. For a second, she almost reminds him of Rosalind, until the friendliness beneath the facade reveals itself in suddenly reddening cheeks under his gaze.

"You are Ruth Evershed, aren't you?" he asks, and she nods a little taken aback. "And I suppose you're on your way to Cherwell at the moment?" he continues. She nods again, momentarily mute. "Can I help you carry anything?"

He doesn't wait for a response, taking the top few off her pile and carrying them comfortably. He watches for a second as she stumbles, readjusts her load, and smiles in a bemused fashion.

"Who are you?" she asks, as they round a corner. He just smiles.

"I've read your book." He tells her. She stares at him, again, utterly bemused.

"B-book?" she stutters.

"Mmm." He nods. "Yes. I've read your book." He reads her expression carefully, and smiles. "I enjoyed it, you know."

"Who are you?" she asks, again.

"Harry Davies." He tells her, without flinching over the false name. "I'm a PhD student at King's in London."

"And my b-book?" she stutters, again, somehow still managing to place one foot before the other.

"Yes. Your book. I read it, and I have to say, I enjoyed it immensely."

"H-how?"

"How do I know who you are?"

She nods, mutely, and he taps his finger against his nose, smiling that charming Harry smile which, experience tells him, will silence any woman for at least a moment. "I'm doing a PhD in Arabic Literature." He tells her. The lies seem to roll off the tongue. "And I'm here for a week to make use of the texts you lovely people have here."

She continues to mutely nod, and so he goes on, parroting the much-practised back-story handed down to him by Malcolm, and old hand on the Grid whose favourite job is creating elaborate fictions for fellow officers.

"Anyway, your bio says you studied Classics at Corpus Christi last year, so I thought I'd take my chances, and I asked around, and there you were."

As the offices of Cherwell come into view, Ruth finally regains her voice, and manages to express what has been bugging her since he spoke the words "your book": "I published under a pseudonym."

He shrugs, again; "I didn't ask for Ruth Evershed", he smiles. The glint in his eye forces her to avert her gaze for a moment. "I asked if the beautiful girl who wrote the wonderful novel still studied here. The one who read Classics." He smiles again. "Reception was most friendly. Ruth Evershed? They said. She's doing her MSt in Classical Languages now. Very bright. Very pretty. Probably heading over to Cherwell in a moment, too."

"Oh." She says, utterly stumped.

"So, I thought I'd say hello." He tells her. "I recognised you from your dust-jacket photo."

"Oh."

"Besides, I guessed that it wasn't every day you'd come across someone who could tell you how much they enjoyed your novel, in Russian?"

"You can tell me it in Russian, or you enjoyed it in Russian?" she asks, biting back a hint of laughter.

"Я очень много насладился вашим романом, госпожей Evershed. Он замечательно прочитан, и inciteful. Исследование самостоятельно должно принять вам продолжительность жизни."

His accent is nearly perfect, if his translation is a little off. She can't help but smile. "Я радостен" she tells him. "And yes, the research did take me a lifetime. A lifetime of watching bad spy films and reading bad spy novels with my father."

"Ah" he smiles. "They can't have been that bad. Your book was exquisite."

"Charmer." She laughs. "I know nothing about you. I'm not going to accept your critique when I won't take my own mother's!"

They reach Ruth's destination as she says this, and she smiles. "It was nice to meet you, Harry Davies who has read my book and seems to be stalking me. I guess you know why I'm here, too?"

"You're one of the News Editors."

"Stalker. Definitely a stalker..."

"Mmm. Probably." He shrugs. "I guess you'll be here a while?"

"It's Friday night. It's comforting to be in the office on a Friday night. I'll be here forever."

"Why?" he asks, and she shrugs;

"I was a published author at nineteen. I'm back at Corpus doing a Masters in a subject most people have never heard of after just two months away. I can pick out the flaws in your Russian language from memory now, if you like -"

"No thanks!"

She laughs and continues "- and I'm learning Mandarin Chinese in my spare time. I'm not exactly the kind of girl who does anything else with her Friday nights."

"I'm doing a PhD in Arabic Literature." He counters. "And stalking one of my favourite authors. I win."

She pretends to weigh this up in her mind, and laughs. Her laugh tinkles; it's delicate, innocent, full of earnest joy. It's tiny, petite and beautiful; something else; just like she is. He cannot help but smile.

"I don't think so." She says. "I have to go."

"I'll be waiting, then."

"Then you really are a stalker, and I might have to call the police."

"Have a drink with me tonight."

"I can't." She tells him. "I don't know you, and I'm busy."

"Come on..." he smiles. He smiles that smile. "I'm only around for a week. I bet you know a little Arabic. I could talk to you about your novel in that if my Russian sentence structures are lacking...?"

"Fine." She says, deliberately averting her gaze. "Fine."

"When shall I pick you up?" He asks, triumphant.

"Oh, you might as well just come in." She says. "It's not as though anyone else will be working this late on a Friday."

A/N: reviews are like little individually wrapped Christmas presents, and they make me very very happy indeed. They'll also tell me whether or not you think this story is work pursuing? Ta xo A