----The Story Begins----
The women lurched as yet another passer-by connected forcefully with her shoulder.
'Why he wants to move here I have no idea. The people have absolutely no manners, and even less patience!' she consciously cursed. Never-the-less, she pressed on, doing her share of pushing here and there.
"The three o'clock from Manchester to London will be delayed until four o'clock. All passengers may board at your leisure until departure. We are sorry for the inconvenience; enjoy your commute," the amplified voice of a woman with a strong British accent announced over the intercom.
'Spectacular,' the jostled woman thought sarcastically, 'when am I going to catch a break? First my offer on the flat gets turned down, now this!' For reasons unknown to the aggravated woman, she felt compelled to board the train immediately; possibly for the fear of missing it? She didn't know. 'Better safe than sorry.'
As if on instinct, she gravitated towards the shiny metallic passenger-train on Platform 9.
'Such a boring number,' she mused. Presenting her ticket to the ticket master, she ascended the small flight of steps, and found herself in the middle of a long corridor that stretched from end to end in her carriage. The women observed her surroundings and decided this was one of the oddest train cars she'd traveled on. Instead of individual seats throughout the carriage, there were walled off compartments, each with its own sliding door. 'These would be nice if someone wanted a little privacy,' she considered, a sly grin spreading across her face.
Observing the number on her ticket – seven – she walked down the corridor, all the while glancing in the lower digit compartments for other early boarders such as herself, but found them all vacant; as such, it came as a surprise to find an occupant already residing in compartment seven.
"Hello," the women said politely to the middle-aged man. He looked too young to have such grey hair, though, for the record, he still had streaks of dark brown every now and then. He wore rather new looking garments, almost as if he'd bought them yesterday – a pair of washed out blue jeans, a red spring jacket, and what looked like a black button up underneath. He was an all around well groomed man with a nice kind face.
"Hello," he replied with a small smile that never reached his eyes, "Jo." She almost replied with a 'how are you' as she would between friends, but instead pulled an all too obvious double-take and stared at the stranger in disbelief. "Your name is on your bag," he answered the silent question, his smile growing, as he read the women's facial expressions. She looked down at the small traveling bag that was haphazardly draped over her shoulder, and indeed, incased in a small plastic holder near the shoulder strap's attachment read a card with her full name, present address and phone number. But even at her close proximity, she had to squint to make out any of the information. How could anyone other than herself read the untidy scrawl?
"Do I know you?" she asked, doing her best to keep the suspicion out of her voice.
"Not yet, but please, have a seat," the man inquired with a hand gesture. "I have a job for you, and I sure hope you're interested. But first, my name is Remus John Lupin."
"So here we are. We two are among the few survivors. Of course, there are others over seas, and I presume there are more still in countries farther south and east of here where the war never progressed – but locally, it's just me and Harry," the man named Remus John Lupin finished with a sad, downcast look about him. Joanne Kathleen Rowling, as she had informed this stranger before he'd bantered off, continued to once again stare at the man, mouth agape. Before the ridiculous, though very interesting story Mr. Lupin had told her, she had been quite disturbed by his presence alone, for shortly after their introductions, he had let it be known that he knew almost as much about her as she did. She was in-fact, a struggling writer; he'd known this. She was also in search of a flat in Manchester to inhabit with her boyfriend; he'd known all of this as well. At first she had been shocked and scared to hear this man continually tell her who she was, and what she was up to. He'd taken questions right out of her mouth before she could even ask them; it was like he could see into her mind. She wondered if she should scream for help – surely someone would hear her, and come to her rescue, right? It wasn't until he mentioned looking over her history that she screamed.
"Shhhh," the stranger had quieted her as if nothing was afoot. "Shhhh, please quiet down, no one can here you. I placed a silencing charm on our compartment moments after you entered. Oh yes – I locked the door as well," he added as an after thought when she'd attempted to escape. "I would like to offer you a job, in a manner of speaking," Lupin stated rather urgently, as if he were late for something that was more important than tormenting her. She had calmed almost immediately. She'd dreamt those words coming from unseen facing for months now. She was desperately in need of work. "How much do you know about magic Jo?"
That question seemed like it was asked a life and a half ago, now. Therefore, here she sat, slack-jawed, and confused. This complete stranger had just recapped the events of what must have been close to 20 years of history in a story of magic, love, and war.
'But that's all it was – a story. It had to be, magic doesn't exist.'
"Doesn't it?" Lupin asked from opposite her on an identical bench seat, clearly unnerving her as evidenced by her slow, yet snappy response.
"Of course it doesn't, but. . ."
"But what?" he asked with a smile as he handed her a dozen roses; roses that she hadn't remembered present in the compartment till this moment. "Magic is everywhere Ms. Rowling; in the air, in the earth, the water. Magic is even in you Jo. It runs through your very veins; it's in your hair, and your eyes. It's everywhere. Some just aren't born to wield it."
"I don't think I understand why you're telling me all this Mr. Lupin," a confused younger version of the future idol – J.K. Rowling – asked. She was more comfortable in this man's company now, at least after she'd calmed down some and realized how funny it would be to consider him threatening.
"I. . ." he started, looking for the right words it seemed. "I'd like you to record it; make it into a book if you will." The hopeful express that adorned his face could have made the heart of a werewolf melt, but still. . .
"Mr. Lupin, with all due respect, this is not a happy story, and who'd believe me anyway?"
"You've read The Hobbit I imagine Ms. Rowling –?"
"Well of course I have, it was part of my study at university."
"Well is that not what you call, fiction?" What seemed like a concrete wall seemed to lift in her decision making process as she began to see the possibilities.
"Still though, Mr. Lupin, the story will never publish. Bloody publishers today live in a world with no unhappy endings," she stated. This topic had bothered her for a long time. Publishers would consistently turn away stories that represented the real world, and would instead print and re-print stories with happily-ever-afters.
"So . . . use your imagination. Change it. I have faith in you Ms. Rowling. You'll make it work." Oh yes, the cogs were turning now. This story was fresh. It was new. It was exciting. She could see it now – a scrawny, black haired, bespectacled boy who doesn't know he's a wizard finally discovers his true lineage. If she changed the dates and plot around a little bit it just might work.
'Yes, this could be it, the novel I've been waiting to write since I was six!'
"Six huh? Then I guess that's a yes," said Lupin.
"Yes, of course I will, but –" her eyes had gone wide. "Is that the ummm . . . ummm –"
"Legilimency?" Lupin finished and answered her question. "Yes." Still slightly disbelieving, as was not unpredicted from a muggle who'd been brought up with the assumption that magic was but a thing of fairytales, Jo could only produce a large audible gulp in response; one that earned her a small laugh from Lupin.
"Can you . . . show me? More magic I mean." She asked, mimicking Lupin's hopeful facial expression from before. It was only when he yawned, and she helplessly followed suit, that she realized how tired she was. "O my god!" Jo exclaimed. "How long have we been here? I feel like I haven't slept in forever."
"Yes, I agree. We have been at this for a rather long time, and I feel I must be going now," Lupin said as he looked at his watch; one with no numbers on it what-so ever. Instead, it withheld what looked like tiny planets slowly orbiting around one another. "Yes, it's time. Good bye, Ms. Rowling." Lupin held out his hand. "I believe you might just be the perfect candidate for the job," and she willingly shook it.
"Sir –"
"Lupin –"
"Yes, Lupin, may I ask – if what you told me was all truth, and I'm starting to believe you, which scares me to death – what are you and Harry going to do now?" Jo hoped she wasn't prying too deep, but she was honestly curious. If, indeed, the story Lupin had told her was the truth, odd as it was, then he and Harry must be awfully troubled individuals.
"Well, I'm staying here. I'm going to help rebuild what's left of my world. Maybe I'll even drop by and say hi to you one day," Lupin grinned. For some reason, just hearing that she'd see this man – Remus John Lupin – another day brought a smile to her face. She didn't know why though, she'd just met him.
"And Harry?" she pressed, trying not to sound too eager.
"Harry has decided to depart from this world," Lupin said. He looked sad, yet happy at the same moment as he responded.
"What! You mean die?" She frightfully whispered, shocked. She'd never met this Harry Potter before, not once, and yet, she was concerned for his welfare.
"No! No!" Lupin responded, looking just as shocked as she must have, "at least I hope not."
"Well, then . . . ?" she wondered as Lupin stole another glance at his watch.
"Fourteen hours, well I'll be," he all but whispered before answering her question. "Ah! Yes! Well, that's another story for another day Ms. Rowling. Until then." And with a small wave, there was a sound similar to that of a cork ejecting from its champagne bottle, and Lupin disappeared.
Almost at once, she felt like a warm breeze brushed past her, and true exhaustion took hold of her.
'O my, it must be so late, how come no one came to clean the compartments? On second thought, when did anyone board? Better yet, when did we leave the station?' she wondered, utterly perplexed. She'd been so distracted and preoccupied with Lupin that these thoughts had never surfaced.
The sound of her compartment door sliding open reached her ears, and she found herself looking to the intruder.
"O good," a woman slightly older than herself with long red hair exhaled, "I hoped I wouldn't be the only early boarder." Jo Rowling's gape quickly dissolved, and a sleep deprived smile found her face.
"Yes, yes, better safe than sorry," Jo responded groggily. She'd wait till she got home to start writing; she was too shy to ask for pen and paper from this woman. With that, Joanne Kathleen Rowling let sleep claim her.
"Well, then . . .?" Ms. Rowling pressed, wondering what, exactly, he meant when he told her Harry would be departing this world.
'My my, she sure asks enough questions,' Lupin thought sub-vocally. She had been full of surprises. He knew, of course, most documented information on this woman long before confronting her, but he had never once anticipated such an accepting attitude. Most muggles would probably attack him, but she calmed down almost instantly after her expected outburst.
She drank in his and his world's history as if she was a disguised witch herself; and yet, he could detect no magical aura belonging to her. She was, in all intents and purposes, a muggle. This woman, Jo, had bent almost willingly to believe in magic. Not to mention, she'd done so faster than any non-magic being he'd met to date. Glancing at his watch, a newly acquired habit, Lupin was shocked to find Saturn already cresting its oval shaped orbital track. He'd have to leave soon if he wanted to make it back with out repercussions.
"Fourteen hours, well I'll be," he said softly, so Jo would have to strain if she wished to discern his words. Aware of his impoliteness, he continued, "Ah! Yes! Well, that's another story for another day Ms. Rowling. Until then." He delivered a small wave, and with a quiet pop, he apparated away.
In an instant, he found himself in the center of a vast expansion of open land. The landscape was almost baron of life. A single solitary tree could be seen in the distance, standing alone amongst the long grasses of this particular flatland. This was his arrival point, as well as his departure point. Risking a second glance at his peculiar watch, he discovered Saturn was rounding its crest and, as if by a gravitational pull, was fighting the urge to move back towards the center of the watch. This was the moment.
"Here we go," Lupin shuddered. This was never a pleasant experience.
A strong wind picked up around the loan figure and he felt the familiar squeezing sensation not unlike that of apparition. The only exception was this was a much more violent deconstruction of his atoms.
He watched as his hands and feet seemed to fade in and out of solidity. The world around him started to haze, and the air around him seemed to increase in density. The squeezing sensation tightened as the remaining air in his lungs escaped. With a sharp pain up the length of his spine, he closed his eyes and disappeared. He never had liked time-travel.
-------------------------->
Technically, this follows J.K. Rowling's diary on her website. I included her 'where, when, why, etc.' during the day she came up with the HP series.
Also, this was/is 'part' ofthefirst chapter to an AU fic I've been working on. Should I continue?
Thanks, Ben.