I Helped

I Helped

By the Hippy Gypsy

Disclaimer:  All Harry Potter characters and etc belong to the wondrous JK Rowling, and Shelby Autumns and etc are my own creations of two minutes ago.  I hope this fic is good.  Let me know.  And PLEASE NO FLAMES!!  Thanks.

            It was pure dumb luck that I met him.  I hadn't ever imagined meeting him.  I wasn't wild about him because of his fame.  Heck, I wasn't wild about him at all!  I mean, so what if he was famous?  But somehow, in that short conversation we had, I couldn't help but think that we connected somehow.  Was it just me, or did he seem to think so too?

            I was sitting on a bench outside the shop my mother was in, when he came and sat down on the other end, looking a bit flustered.  I didn't know what to do, so I tried to calm him.  "Ummm…are you all right?"

            He looked up and I got a good look at his face.  Holy cow! I thought.  I think that's Harry Potter!

            "Huh?" he said coming out of his long state.  "Sorry.  I'm just a bit frustrated.  I have been for the past few days."

            I chose my words carefully, making sure not to upset him.  "I don't mean to pry into your private life, but is there anyway I can help?"

            He considered me carefully for a minute, glanced at the non-magical folk around us, then leaned in and whispered, "Does the word 'Muggle' mean anything to you?"

            I knew what he was thinking.  "Don't worry Harry.  I'm a witch.  Pleasure to meet you."  I held out my hand and he shook it.

            "Sorry about that.  I just wanted to make sure I wasn't about the relay my story to a Muggle.  If Aunt Petunia found out, I'd be dead meat for sure.  Pleasure to meet you too.  What's your name by the way?"

            "Shelby Autumns.  Going into my 5th year at the Enchanted Forest Academy in the fall.  So…ummm…you want to talk about what's bugging you?"

            Harry gave a small smile.  "You don't read the papers do you?"

            I shook my head and grimaced.  "Are you kidding?  Almost every story I seem to pick up is written by Rita Skeeter.  How can anyone listen to what that woman has to say?  I'll eat my Quidditch cape if half of what she prints is true!"

            Harry smiled at my reaction, then went odd again.  "Well, the Triwizard Tournament ended in disaster."

            "What happened?  Did you lose?"

            "No.  Far worse.  I won."

            I raised my eyebrow in confusion.  What he said didn't seem right.  "Isn't winning usually a good thing?"

            "There's more to it than that Shelby.  I won, but my friend was killed in the action."

            I gasped.  "O no.  Harry I'm sorry," I whispered.  "How?"

            He didn't want to answer this.  "I can't say.  I don't want to start a panic."

            I considered the dark look in his face for a moment.  "I was a Dark force wasn't it?"

            He looked at me knowingly, then nodded.  "It was Voldemort," he whispered.

            I flinched.  I hated that name with every inch of my soul! 

            "We were transported to a graveyard, and he cursed Cedric.  Just flat out killed him."  I wasn't sure, but for a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes.  "I brought him there…but…"  He trailed off.

            "Harry, it's not your fault," I told him gently.  "You had no idea what would happen.  You can't blame yourself."

            "But some people do though."  He looked horrible.

            My mother had come out of the shop at this point, and I stood up.  "Harry, some people may blame you, but remember this:  I've known you for two minutes, and I can already tell that you are a caring, loyal, and thoughtful person, and with those qualities you can go a long way in life.  And if people are blaming you, always remember, I don't."  I held out my hand and smiled.  "Good luck Harry.  Take care of yourself."

            He shook it and smiled back.  "Thank you Shelby.  I needed that…thank you.  Truly…thank you."

            I joined mother and we began to walk away, but I looked over my shoulder.  He was joined by a skinny blonde woman and her (there was no other word for it) fat son.  They started pestering him and soon he was off with them in the other direction.  I shook my head.  Poor Harry, I thought.  You've never asked for this life, but you're living through it and passing its tests with flying colors.  Good luck…I don't blame you.

            I tried to help him that day.  I just hope I did well in my task.

Note from the Hippy Gypsy:  I know this story is short and it sucks, but for some reason I wanted to write it.  Oh well.  Back to the drawing board.