Broken Arrows

Prologue

The weather was positively frightful outside as I dashed towards the safety of the bus stop from the small café where that awful scene I had just caused had taken place. My bag rattled as I ran along the thin street, filled with the potions I had confiscated from a raid earlier and I was now taking them into the office for further examination by the Unspeakables. So far, no-one had been able to identify exactly what the bright emerald potions were.

The warmth and the comfort of the bus called to me like a beacon with the same homeliness I associated with the Muggle world, I did not wish to be trapped out here for much longer in case he tried to follow me. I coughed several times as I waited, I mentally told myself to take the calming draught the moment I was seated to calm this persistent cold. As the bus pulled up I breathed a sigh of relief, I would not be left standing out on this curb for any longer, thankfully. I paid my fare and took my seat on the bus in the last available seat next to an elderly balding gentleman, who gave me a reassuring smile, but this did little to settle my emotions - if anything, it worsened them.

My tear stained cheeks were drawing some attention from curious onlookers, but I did not mind, what was worse was the fact that I'd been reduced to this on a public bus - silently sheading a river of tears over that complete arse - Ronald Weasley. This was not the first time, but I suspected it to be the last. There was only so much of this I could take, and today was the straw that broke the camel's back, I'd put up with this ridiculousness for too long.

I had the future to consider now, holding onto an old school romance for this long was nice, but it was not the future I had imagined. In some ways, I was more than reluctant to let go of Ron than to keep him. There were things I still could not stand about him like his childish behaviour and total lack of respect for the authority of rules. On the opposite end of the scale there were those things I loved about him like his smile and the way that he made me laugh.

Despite how much we fought, I had loved him.

'Are you alright, love?' A young man asked me holding out several tissues; he had a faint Irish accent which half tempted me to look up at him.

'I will be, once I can get out of here.' I replied honestly taking the tissues to be polite, not bothering to look up.

'He's not worth crying over, no-one as pretty as yourself should cry over someone stupid enough to let you go.'

'How would you know?' I asked.

'I know a little something about broken hearts, love. Trust me; you'll forget about him, he's not worth your tears.'

It was strange how this man continued to call me love, almost like he knew me or something. I refused to look up; I did not want this kind man to see me in such a frightful mess.

I coughed once again, reaching into my bag drawing out the small phial of calming draught and swallowed it quickly. My coughing stopped abruptly, I wiped my eyes quickly before speaking again.

'I've known him for nine years; he's been one of my best friends that entire time. Look what I've been reduced to - asking a stranger on the bus for advice, what am I supposed to do?'

'Prepare yourself.' He responded rather cryptically.

'What do mean?' I asked as my hands begun to shake.

'Trust me,' He replied. 'look up, love.'

I heard the bells of Big Ben ring out across London signalling midday as I looked up. The bus came to a grinding halt and I felt the rush of the world passing by behind me in a single unsettling motion as I did so. I suddenly felt myself lurch forward then fly backwards off my seat, if that were at all possible, and felt myself tumbling into the darkness. The last thing I could see among the total lack of light being the bright blue of the helpful Irish stranger's eyes as the entire world went black.

A/N: So what do you think? Leave a review and let me know!