A/N: Hi, guys! Terribly sorry to keep you waiting so long! I've ventured out into the great nothingness that is the ranch where I keep my pony. It's in the middle of nowhere with awful internet connection. But alas, I have prevailed and here's another chapter. And as tomorrow it will be too cold to go riding :( I should have plenty of tome to work on the next chapter :) Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven
Magically Misfortunate

Despite having been in considerably more earth shattering, soul rendering moments, Harry was in such a shock that he couldn't make himself run after her. His heart was screaming at him to run, to chase her down, to have her explain. But his brain, however, was so utterly scrambled that his limbs remained frozen, his body unmoving. She was long gone and he was standing in the shadow of the streetlight, alone and confused.

He was finally spurred into action when a kindly middle-aged couple approached him. Honey eyes and dark locks greeted him once they finally gained his attention.

"Hello, dear, are you alright?" the petite woman wondered. She was just shorter than Harry but carried herself in such a presence that he hardly noticed. Her golden brown yes were filled with concern for the strange boy standing motionless in the street. Her hair was pulled up in a professional looking bun, a style that seemed to contradict the warm friendliness radiating off her.

Her sweet voice lulled Harry out of his shock. He shook his head in hopes of clearing it and offered her a small smile. "I am, ma'am, thanks. Just received a bit of a shock from a friend, I suppose."

The woman's husband, tall where she was short with serious eyes, glanced around. "And where is the friend of yours?"

"I'm afraid she's run off," the Boy-Who-Lived admittedly, roses blossoming on his cheeks.

With a cheery wink, the man wrapped an arm around his wife. "Well, son, if your friend is anything like this fine lady here, I daresay you should be running after her."

"You're absolutely right, sir. Good evening," Harry said with enthusiasm, darting off in the direction Cassie had disappeared to.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, as he hadn't a clue what he was going to say to her, Cassie was nowhere to be found. Discouraged and downtrodden, the raven haired boy trudged back to his flat.

Upstairs in the little flat above the Quarry Bay Café, George was passed out on the living room couch. The ginger didn't stir a muscle, even as Harry slammed the door in a fit of frustration. He wasn't quite sure how George could still be alive, as his face was sleeping face first on the sofa. How he was breathing was a mystery to Harry.

When shouting and shaking him did nothing to wake his friend, Harry simply collapsed on the other end of the couch. George's legs were a lumpy seat, but Harry hardly cared at that moment. Feeling his legs suddenly trapped proved to be enough to rouse the slumbering boy.

"Hey, lover boy," George teased in a gravelly voice thick with sleep. Harry's worried expression tipped him off that something wasn't quite right with the boy. "What's wrong, mate?"

Harry just shook his head in dismissal of the question. George wriggled his legs out from under Harry and sat up beside him. Guilt sudden swarmed him. "Did-did I ruin your date?"

George's timid question had Harry shaking his head frantically. "Merlin, no, George! Of course not. How'd it go with Becs?"

"Ah, ah, ah. I don't think so, Mr. Potter. There will be no distracting me," George tasked, relieved he hadn't messed up Harry's date. "But things went well, anyway. Now what's wrong? Did something else ruin your date?"

"I did," Harry answered solemnly. "Or at least, my name did."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, George, that Cassie knows who I am."

The ginger looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to be a little less vague.

"She knows I'm Harry Potter, the 'Boy-Who-Lived'."

George's eyes grew comically wide, his mouth hanging open in a fantastically undignified manner. "But-but how? She's a Muggle! I mean, isn't she?"

"I don't know, Harry groaned miserably. "All I know is she bolted the moment she found out."

"You've got to find her, mate!" George exclaimed, jumping off the couch. "What are we waiting for?"

"It's too late to go tonight, mate. And anyway, she was really freaked out. I'll go to her store in the morning. I just need some sleep."

Having been trying to get him to admit to needing sleep, George couldn't argue with him. Harry flopped onto the sofa and took up George's previous position.


Unfortunately for Harry, Cassie did not want to be found. She was blatantly avoiding the poor boy, always disappearing right before he showed up and reappearing right after he would leave. Not knowing how she might know who he really was proved to drive him up the wall. Harry couldn't decide if he'd be disappointed to find out she was a witch or happy she was. Hadn't he been so intrigued because she was a Muggle, someone who didn't think they knew everything they thought there was to know about him?

After three days of been ignored and avoided, Harry was desperate enough to talk to her again that he decided he wouldn't care if she turned out to be a gnome. Not ready to admit defeat but accepting that he needed help, Harry found himself outside Becs' door.

The surfer tore open the door, clearly eager. "George! I wasn't expecting you so early!" The curly haired blonde's grin morphed into a confused but not unpleasant frown. "Harry?"

"Hey," he greeted nervously. He rubbed the back of his next and wished he had better prepared what he wanted to say to her. "So, I need your help."

Without a word, she stepped back to give him the space to enter. Beds, at 19, had her own flat by the bay. It was rather cramped but kept meticulously clean. The only messiness allowed was the inevitable traces of sand that followed the girl in from the beach. Three different size surf boards were propped up against the wall in the hall leading to the kitchen. She beckoned for Harry to take a seat at one of the stools at her small table.

"Why do you need me, Harry?" she questioned curiously, popping the lid of her soda bottle. She offered Harry one which he politely declined.

"Cassie." He jumped when she slammed the bottle down. "Did you hurt my best friend already?" she shrieked. "No, no!" Harry insisted urgently, covering his head with his arms as she smacked him with a rolled up magazine. "I didn't do anything, I swear!"

At his insistence, Becs ceased her attacks. She eyed the cowering boy suspiciously. Facing the Dark Lord was easy going compared to the death stare Becs was shooting him. "I didn't hurt her. She-I don't know how to put this. We had a great night, an excellent one, really. But then she ran off and I don't know why. She's been avoiding me since. Could you just get her to talk to me? She can go back to pretending I don't exist but only after she talks to me."

"Done."


Becs stayed true to her word and managed to get the two together. Unfortunately, the way she went about it was less than desirable. Cassie was plotting her best friend's murder as she realized their lunch plans were only a rouse to get her to meet Harry. She took one step into the café only to instantly recognize his messy dark hair. Grey eyes met green before they turned desperately to an escape.

Understanding that she was about to run, yet again, Harry bolted out the door after her. He'd be damned if he was to let her get away this time.

"Cassie!" he called after her. "I just want to talk to you!"

Cassie slipped down an alleyway, convinced that she had thrown him off her scent. Her hands trembled, her stomach churned. Why? Why did he of all people have to saunter into her shop? Make her heart sing?

"Cassie," a voice breathed in relief, "There you are."

She whirled around in fright to find Harry standing not two feet from her. "H-harry."

"Yes," he said coolly, "You made it obvious that you knew my name already. And that you knew what it meant. How? How do you know who I am?"

She cowered away from him. Her eyes flicked all around in search of an escape. He offered none, stepping slowly closer. For each step he took toward her, she took one back. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar. You know about me. About what happened back in England. I came here to get away from all of that. To be away from magic, away from magical people. I thought I had found something here, something so beautifully nonmagical that it was magical in an entirely new way. And then I find out that you know about that. Who are you? What are you? I thought that Helen was the only witch here, but that doesn't seem to be the case, does it? I'm not mad, I just need to understand. I've been thinking about it nonstop for the past three days. What you are, how you ended up here. I mean, you said you were born in England. Hell, if you hadn't been adopted and brought here we might've gone to school together. What would I-"

"I'm a squib," Cassie stated suddenly, stopping his rambling in its tracks. "My family was…rather important. And my father…he was not a good man. He was so embarrassed to have a squib in the family that he was going to-well, he was going to 'resolve the issue' if you know what I mean. My mother managed to keep him from killing me, though. She smuggled me out and sent me to Australia with fake papers before he could. I assume she told him she did it herself.

"I was threatened with death should I ever bring up my heritage to anyone or try to make contact with them. A kind family adopted me when I was seven and they've been nothing but loving. But it's been hard, living in one world and knowing there's a whole other one out there. One you can't be a part of.

"I've met a few witches and wizards that have come through here and heard all about you."

"What family-"

"No, I can't tell you. But I will tell you that I don't regret all of it. They were terrible, my parents. My only regret about that life is my brother."

Harry was more than overwhelmed, but even still, he wondered about something. "You're brother...he's not dead." It was not a question. Cassie buried her face into her hands and fell to her knees. Despite being wary of the girl he thought he knew, he couldn't help but want to comfort her. He dropped down in front of her and wrapped her in his arms.

"It's me," she finally manages to choke out. "It's me who died. My brother, he-he thinks I'm dead. Is it better, you think, to believe that someone is gone for good or to know they're out there somewhere but not know how they are?"

Harry couldn't help but think of Hermione. As far as he knew, or had assumed, she was still out there living her life. But there was a special ache in his heart that came with knowing nothing about what that life was like. What was she doing? Was she safe? And why? Why the silence?

"I think they both suck."

Cassie made a surprised sound that was a tragic mix between a laugh and a sob. Harry, understanding the hurt the blonde was constantly suffering, let her cling to him. He was no lifeline, come to save her from the depths of the despair she'd been denying for years. But nonetheless, he was there and that was all that mattered.

"I want to apologize for not telling you," Cassie sniffed, wiping her face when she finally pulled away from Harry. Before he could open his mouth, she was already waving away his words. "I feel like I should apologize for lying or something. But I didn't. I mean, I didn't know you were the Chosen One."

Harry visibly cringed at the nickname and looked away, his eyes haunted.

"I didn't know who you were, so obviously there was no reason to tell you what I am. But I still feel like I've somehow deceived you."

"I overreacted, Cassie. And for that, I need to apologize," Harry said sincerely, resting back on his hands. "I've been through a lot recently. I've spent years of my life being lied to and manipulated. I know you did nothing of the sort, but I fall back into that mindset sometimes. The war didn't break me completely, but I didn't get out unscathed, no one did. I lost a lot of myself and my friends, and that's why George and I are here. To figure out what's left of us."

Beside him, Cassie had pulled her knees to her chest. Her face was stained with tears, her eyes red and puffy. Harry always scoffed at the books that said women were beautiful when they cried, that vulnerability was something men found desirable. It finally made sense to him. It wasn't that crying made her more beautiful. It was that she was so beautiful, even crying couldn't mar her features.

"I hate that I made you feel like that, Harry," she mumbled mournfully. She looked to him curiously when she felt his hand pry hers away from her knee. "Don't," he said sternly. Eyes softening, he continued. "You're not the only thing that's brought everything back. I've been ignoring it. And I've always been terrible at talking about things. But with you, well, you don't let me distract you. You make me tell you what's going through my head. And, much as it makes me squirm, I need it. I need you."

Harry caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Wordlessly, she stared down at their entwined fingers. He was content to wait for her to speak, happy to have cleared things up between them. He felt immensely guilty for not understanding her avoidance of him the past few days. He vowed to himself that he would let her do what she thought best without trying to force his hand on the matter, not wanting to upset her again. Moments later, Harry would come to regret this.

"Harry, I don't think this is a good idea." Her voice was so quiet, he had to strain to hear her. When the words clicked, he pulled back, wounded. "What?"

She let out a shaky sigh and continued staring down at their joined hands. "This, Harry," she said, louder this time, squeezing his hand before releasing it completely. "I don't think I'm ready for it. And something tells me you're not either."

He was loathe to admit it, but she was right. Much as he wanted to blindly jump headfirst into happiness with the girl, he knew it wasn't that simple. Though they would never again be together, his heart sometimes forgot it was no longer beating for a feisty red head back in England. Harry didn't want to move on too quickly.

"I understand. And, though I don't want to agree, I do," Harry sighed at last. Despite their agreement, neither were particularly happy about it. "But Cassie, you should know. I do like you. As more than a friend. But until we are both ready…I'm happy to call you a dear friend."

"Look at me, the shameful Squib now best buds with Harry bloody Potter. What a world we live in," Cassie sighed. Friends or maybe something a little more, she slipped her hand back into Harry's.


A/N: Hope you liked it :)