The river is typical of any in this part of England. At this time of year, it should lie low in its bed but there has been heavy rainfall the past few days. It's swamped all the little stony beaches that run alongside it and the long fingers of the willow tree by the bridge trail in the water they should barely touch. The bridge itself is made of stone. It's the oldest thing for miles around; the point the village grew from some time in the Middle Ages.
A little girl stands on the bridge. She hoists herself up onto the wall and stares down into the murky water rushing underneath her before letting herself fall back onto the road with a sigh.
Three hours ago she was in London. Now she is in some piddly little village in the middle of nowhere. All her friends are back in London and all her favourite places are back there. Her wellie boot kicks the asphalt angrily and she trudges back into the centre of the village. Her dad is still talking with the nosy coffin-dodger who dashed from her house the second they pulled up outside the new place.
"Erica! Where have you been!" he says when he sees her.
"Just to see the bridge," she replies flatly and thrusts her hands into the pockets of her jeans. He stretches a hand out and ruffles her honey-blonde hair before sliding the hand down to her shoulder and pulling her in close.
"Hello luvvie!" the coffin-dodger coos. She glares at her and then turns the glare up to their new home.
She used to live in a beautiful white house with a wrought-iron gate and old sash windows. It had black and white tiles on the floor in the hall that she played hopscotch across when she was bored. Now she will live in a flat above a shop. She will have a bedroom half the size of her old one.
Because, for some strange reason her nine-year-old brain cannot fathom, her dad has decided that he did not like their lovely home in London and has bought a shop. A horrible, little corner shop in a piddly little village in the middle of nowhere. She dislikes the whole situation immensely.
"Erica," her dad says again, a dangerous tone creeping into his voice. She bares her teeth in a ridiculous simper at the coffin-dodger, who coos appropriately.
"Aww, luvvie," she says. "How old is she?"
Erica worms her way out of her dad's hold and runs off back to the bridge. There is a path running alongside the river that is intriguing her. She jumps over the fence and follows it. It leads along the riverbank for quite some way. She stops under an old oak tree just around the bend from the village. The path continues on for as far as she can see, winding between fields and hedgerows and following the river.
"Who are you?" a voice says curtly from behind her. She turns to see a boy her own age standing a few steps behind her. He's slightly taller than her, with messy, black hair and hazel eyes. He's also glowering at her like she's invaded some private space of his.
"I'm Erica. Erica Hudson. I've just moved here from London," she tells him.
"City Girl? Why would you move from a city like London to this place?"
"I didn't get much of a choice. It was Dad who wanted to move," she protests. He turns his nose up at her and takes a few steps towards her.
"Well, City Girl, this place down by the river is mine. Scram."
She does so.
The school is tiny compared to her old one. Mum hasn't taken her to get a new school uniform yet so she feels like an idiot in her old one; a pleated skirt, a blazer and a tie. The other children are just wearing school jumpers over a white shirt and whatever bottoms they like. Most of the girls are in skirts while the boys are in jeans. They all stare at her as she walks in and is made to stammer her way through an introduction by the teacher.
"I hope you will enjoy yourself here, Erica," the teacher says warmly when she finishes. "Why don't you take the seat there next to James and I will find you an exercise book."
As she shuffles over to her new seat, she realises it is next to the boy from down by the river. She perches on the chair and rests her hands on her lap.
"Hi again," she says nervously.
He looks at her and then faces forward without saying anything. She follows him around all day, all around the playground at break, slides onto the bench next to him at lunch, and finally follows him back across the village and down to the river again.
They sit next to each other under the oak tree without a word. She digs in her schoolbag and finds the bottle of bubble mix her mum gave her and begins to blow bubbles. They fly through the late afternoon air; some landing in the water and being swept away downstream, some making it over the river to the field beyond, and some are picked up and carried away by the wind.
"Why are you following me?" he asks eventually.
"Why not?" she replies and offers him the bubble wand. "I like it down here and I'll come here whether you like it or not."
And, just like that, they are best of friends. This place by the oak tree down by the river becomes theirs and they come here nearly every day.
Hello and welcome to my new story about James Potter's Muggle best friend! I hope you enjoyed it! :D I thought it would be interesting to see things from the perspective of a Muggle girl who has no idea about the Wizarding world.
I listened to three songs almost on repeat while writing this. They are -
Bubbles- Biffy ClyroLife on Mars - David Bowie (which may appear in the course of the fic itself ;))
When You Break - Bear's Den
Please leave a review telling me what you thought!