Really random, but in that way totally awesome. Set between 1980-Harry's era.
Sybill Trelawney meandered down Diagon Alley, an air of intent dreaminess on her face. Her thick glasses grew steamy as she exhaled, clouding her vision. It was very cold on the street, although it was packed with Wizard's doing their Christmas shopping.
A group of skinny young witches passed by; bumping into her and causing her to drop her scarf on to the floor. They laughed shrilly, before turning away from the queer witch with her long shawls and silken robes.
She bent down to pick it up, murmuring to herself as the strong wind blew her scarf out of her clutches.
"Let me help you," said a voice from above her, loud and clear in the din of the surrounding people. Two smart black shoes stepped into her line of vision, followed by a large hand. Clutching the flimsy material of her scarf in one hand, Sybill let the hand pull her up.
Frazzled, her large eyes blinked at the warm face of a man standing before her, whose hand was still clutched in hers.
"Sybill Trelawney." The man said in recognition, flashing a glistening smile. "It has been a long time."
She fumbled with the scarf. His hand was warm around hers. It was a very nice hand, soft and large, but not at all clown-like.
She looked at him, the clean-shaven line of his jaw, the soft twinkling brown eyes and the curls of dark brown hair. Sybill couldn't quite place him, but she knew that the slightest nudge and they would be back to good old nostalgia. But Sybill certainly didn't know anyone who wore suits and shiny shoes or had such nice hands.
She had a nagging feeling that this man, whom she couldn't remember, would turn around and laugh at her like those witches, like all of her students. That he would mock her.
"Do you remember me?" He asked prompting her.
She shook her head, and her scarves swished against them, blown in the wind.
"I'm Geoffrey. Geoffrey Blake?"
Oh. So he wasn't one of those people who had teased her! He was Geoffrey, one of her friends in Hogwarts.
"Geoffrey! How are you?"
The two sat in the window of a small café. It was warm in there, and the passers by were practically invisible through the fogged up windows. There were only a few tables there, all crammed together and surrounded by chairs. To get to the counter they had to nearly climb over everything, but the room was quite empty. There was a menu, a sugar bowl and a few coasters on their table, and Sybill fiddled with them, pilling up the coasters before dismantling them again.
Geoffrey rubbed his hands together. For a minute the two were silent, but it was a friendly silence. Geoffrey was in London for the weekend; he was one of the Quidditch correspondents for the Daily Prophet and never missed a game- but for once he had a break.
Sybill could remember this Geoffrey, when he talked with animated glee about the sport he loved so much. Throughout most of Hogwarts, they had been best friends. They were both odd, both different, and they bonded together like glue.
In fifth year they had been as close as ever; they would spend nearly all of their time together- the class rejects. But then something happened over the summer that changed them completely.
He got hotter.
When they returned to Hogwarts in the September of their sixth year there, Geoffrey was greeted with shock and surprise. He had grown taller, and was strong and muscled. His glasses were gone, as were the last of his acne and his greasy hair. Within minutes he was the centre of attention. He was tried for the Quidditch team, and got in. He made new friends. He left Sybill.
She had always been startled by this sudden change in her friend. She had been upset, but she never said anything. Good old Sybill didn't complain, even when her only friend had abandoned her.
But Sybill couldn't bring herself to mention it. Her old friend, as young and pretty as ever, was sitting right in front of her, and she couldn't mention why they weren't friends anymore. He was so nice, so casual, and so sweet.
She waited for him to mention it. He didn't.
They ordered Milkshakes despite the weather, and walked up and down Diagon Alley, past Ollivander's and Gringotts. They walked until the streetlamps glowed bright, until the street was almost empty.
Eventually he stopped. They hadn't been walking in silence; in fact they had so much to be talking about. They had caught up on everything, but to Sybill it was like there was a wall in between them, a wall made of that aching pain she had felt in sixth year. The loss of her best friend.
He glowed in the torchlight, stopping right in front of Ollivander's. It was empty; it's glass windows bare and dark. His hair was light and his shoes shone brightly in the thick night. "Sybill." He said- as if to start a monologue. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I changed and stopped talking to you. I'm sorry I left you, abandoned you, and ignored you even. I'm sorry I became a perfect Quidditch player and left you, made new friends. I didn't mean to. I thought that if I changed myself, I would stop being your friend and I could be more. But I changed too much, and you didn't want to be my friend anymore." Sybill protested at this, but he interrupted her. "I loved you. And in my immaturity I didn't realize that I changed into something you hated, and then it was all gone and I was different. I had new friends, and I changed inside too. I stopped being Geoffrey. I was number 17 instead."
Sybill placed her hand in his, squeezing his warm hand. He looked at her, just looked at her, with apology in his eyes, and wordlessly she accepted, moving her hand and leaning in to hug him.
"Geoffrey." She whispered, "Thank you."
They stopped hugging and carried on walking, hand in hand, silent. Eventually they reached the leaky cauldron, where Geoffrey was staying. They were to say goodbye.
They embraced once last time, but it wasn't the end. Sybill reminded herself to stay neutral.
"Don't go changing." She whispered.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Ja?