In Another World
--by Egon Starcollector
Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the characters of Martin "Mac" Ledbetter, Anne Ledbetter, Maggie Dunkirk, and Mudie. Harry Potter, Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger (Potter) are the property of J.K. Rowling. Lyrics to "In Another World" copywright Joe Diffie. Darrowby is the property of James Herriot. ;)
A/N: I figured we needed Harry's P.O.V. Ain't I a stinker? ;)
Harry walked along the road, his thumb stuck out in the Muggle sign for "I need a ride." Hitchhiking, they called it. Lord, it was hot...there'd been an uncharacteristic drought all summer, so the English countryside was starting to look more like the Sahara.
Thumb stuck high in the air,
Destination anywhere
This road decides to go
Underneath the desert sky,
I find a place to hide
And rest my weary bones
It was early afternoon, so Harry crawled under a bridge to nap away the day's heat. It was shady, and comfortable even though there was very little water left in the stream (*So much for cooling breezes,* he thought). He was very sore...just yesterday he'd finished a job in Edinburgh assisting a Muggle who was installing carpet. It might have seemed rather beneath Harry's education and social standing, but he'd needed money. Besides, after all those years with the Durseleys Harry was anything but a snob.
This underpass will shade the heat
And as my mind drifts off to sleep....
He soon dozed...and had the same dream he always had. Hermione....
There you are with your hair all down
And your feet are bare in your cotton gown
What a beautiful sight
In the moonlight
The way you're lookin' at me with your loving eyes
You're letting me know that for all my life
You will always be my only girl
But that's another place and time
Back when you were mine
In another world
But Hermione--and their marriage--had belonged to Hogwarts and a younger Harry. Younger, he thought, and perhaps wiser. Now...he was just a drifter in the world of Muggles.
A car stops way up ahead
I climb inside, her hair is red
I thank her for the ride
Soon after Harry woke up and started walking again, a young woman in a blue sedan stopped and offered him a lift. *Grief, she almost looks like Ginny Weasley. Eyes are the wrong color, though.* "Thanks for the ride, Miss...?"
"Maggie. Maggie Dunkirk. Where you headed?"
He shrugged. "Wherever the road goes."
She talks the miles away
I nod and smile and try to say
Anything to be polite
Lord, Maggie Dunkirk was a talker! He'd never known anyone to talk for three hours straight without saying anything of import--well, except maybe Aunt Petunia. Fortunately, Harry had learned how to feign interest from seven years of Potions class.
But as the darkness ends the day
Another voice whispers my name....
As night fell, Harry found himself nodding lightly. "Harry...." What? Hermione? He started slightly, realizing with a soft sigh that he must have been dreaming again.
There you are with your hair all down
And your feet are bare in your cotton gown
What a beautiful sight
In the moonlight
It wouldn't be hard on a night like this...summer night, cool and gentle breeze.... He and Hermione had loved nights like this. She'd open the window in their bedroom to let in the breeze...she was so lovely, even in a simple gown. She'd come over to him, the moonlight falling softly on her face and love shining in her eyes.... Hermione....
The way you're lookin' at me with your loving eyes
You're letting me know that for all my life
You will always be my only girl
But that's another place and time
Back when you were mine
In another world
He'd wanted her always to be his. Legally, she still was; that was one reason he'd never taken off his wedding ring. Besides...he just couldn't. Even if she never gave him a thought...she was ever on his mind. *'Mione, I never stopped loving you.* What madness had possessed him to leave?
"Hey Harry, I'm afraid this is where you get off. I'll drop you at the pub, okay? Mac's a real nice guy, and his rooms are cheap."
"All right. Thank you ever so much." Shelters...bridges...sometimes cheap rooms in pubs. All the places he'd slept the last two and a half years. They always felt cold, no matter how warm they really were...and he always dreamed of Hermione.
He remembered a conversation he'd had with the Muggle who'd hired him as a carpetlayer. Mudie--that was all he'd ever known the genial Scot by-- had been boasting one day about his son's good marks at school. Then, he'd done something he rarely did: he asked Harry a question.
"You're mighty tight-lipped about yourself, Potter. Haven't ye got a home to go to ever?"
"Oh, I have a home. I just don't know if I'm welcome there anymore."
Harry walked into the pub and saw a man with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and a neat brown beard and mustache standing behind the bar. The man wore black jeans, a black shirt, and--from the sound of his steps-- what the American Muggles called "cowboy boots." "Um, are you Mac?"
"At your service. What can I do for you, stranger?" the man said in a broad American accent.
"Stranger? You're the American," Harry said with a gently teasing smile. He'd warmed up to the twinkle in the man's eyes and felt oddly comfortable joking with him.
Mac shook his head. "I been here fifteen years, pal. I know everybody in this town--and I don't know you. So that makes you the stranger," he retorted with a grin.
Harry smiled. He was thirsty...he decided to treat himself and have a Muggle drink he'd grown fond of. "I'll have a cola."
"One Coke, comin' up." Mac put ice in a glass and filled it with the fizzy liquid, then set it before Harry and dropped a straw on the counter. "So what brings you here? Little bitty Darrowby...nobody comes here."
"Evidently you did."
"Well, you're right there. See, I was an exchange student my last year in high school. By the time the school year ended, I had a job with a band. By the time the band broke up, I was married to the gal whose dad used to own this pub--that was before he retired and sold it to me. So that's how Martin Ledbetter--but everybody calls me Mac--from Athens, Alabama ended up in the middle of Yorkshire, England. Your turn," he said, drying some glasses.
Harry couldn't help but grin. Mac evidently didn't like anyone to stay a stranger for long--besides, it was a slow night. "Well, I married my high school sweetheart. We were happy for a few years--but then we both got too involved with our jobs. She was a teacher at our old school, I was a coach. One night I went out with the team after we won an important game, and I didn't call to tell her where I was. We'd been fighting a lot...when I came home, she completely blew up at me. I responded in kind...after we'd shouted ourselves hoarse, I put some clothes in my pack and I...left. That was two and a half years ago."
Mac shook his head a little disapprovingly. "Should've called. 'Nother thing I think you both need to work on...work *never* comes first."
Harry snorted. "It's kind of a moot point now."
"Is it? You don't look like it is. You still love her, don't you?"
"More than ever." Harry started to cry.
"So why don't you go back?"
"It's been so long...."
"And you're too proud and stubborn." Harry was speechless. "Stung, didn't it? But what else could keep you on the road this long when you miss her? And you know what? I bet she misses you too."
"I...."
"Look, I can see in your eyes how you feel. And I just kind of wonder if maybe she doesn't still feel the same way."
Harry's stomach quivered. Mudie had said the same thing, sort of. "So why don't you ask her? Ye might be more welcome than ye think."
"Um...."
"Look, it's late. You probably need a room, right?"
"Yeah," Harry said as he drained his soda.
"Okay. Three pounds sterling."
Harry put the money on the counter. "My wife'll show you to your room. Anne!" Mac's wife, a sturdy-looking and quite pregnant blonde, came into the room. "This gentleman needs a room. And stranger?"
"Yes?" Harry turned.
"Don't you forget what I said."
"I won't." Harry smiled faintly.
Mac winked. "Have a good night."
There you are with your hair all down
And your feet are bare in your cotton gown
What a beautiful sight
In the moonlight
The way you're lookin' at me with your loving eyes
You're letting me know that for all my life
You will always be my only girl
But that's another place and time
Back when you were mine
In another world
Harry woke up from the dream again. Mac sounded mighty confident. But could he possibly be right? *I only wish.*
In another world
Then again...could it hurt? Maybe Hermione *did* miss him, after all. Maybe...just maybe...in the morning he'd head back to the world his heart still lived in....
In another world....
--by Egon Starcollector
Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the characters of Martin "Mac" Ledbetter, Anne Ledbetter, Maggie Dunkirk, and Mudie. Harry Potter, Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger (Potter) are the property of J.K. Rowling. Lyrics to "In Another World" copywright Joe Diffie. Darrowby is the property of James Herriot. ;)
A/N: I figured we needed Harry's P.O.V. Ain't I a stinker? ;)
Harry walked along the road, his thumb stuck out in the Muggle sign for "I need a ride." Hitchhiking, they called it. Lord, it was hot...there'd been an uncharacteristic drought all summer, so the English countryside was starting to look more like the Sahara.
Thumb stuck high in the air,
Destination anywhere
This road decides to go
Underneath the desert sky,
I find a place to hide
And rest my weary bones
It was early afternoon, so Harry crawled under a bridge to nap away the day's heat. It was shady, and comfortable even though there was very little water left in the stream (*So much for cooling breezes,* he thought). He was very sore...just yesterday he'd finished a job in Edinburgh assisting a Muggle who was installing carpet. It might have seemed rather beneath Harry's education and social standing, but he'd needed money. Besides, after all those years with the Durseleys Harry was anything but a snob.
This underpass will shade the heat
And as my mind drifts off to sleep....
He soon dozed...and had the same dream he always had. Hermione....
There you are with your hair all down
And your feet are bare in your cotton gown
What a beautiful sight
In the moonlight
The way you're lookin' at me with your loving eyes
You're letting me know that for all my life
You will always be my only girl
But that's another place and time
Back when you were mine
In another world
But Hermione--and their marriage--had belonged to Hogwarts and a younger Harry. Younger, he thought, and perhaps wiser. Now...he was just a drifter in the world of Muggles.
A car stops way up ahead
I climb inside, her hair is red
I thank her for the ride
Soon after Harry woke up and started walking again, a young woman in a blue sedan stopped and offered him a lift. *Grief, she almost looks like Ginny Weasley. Eyes are the wrong color, though.* "Thanks for the ride, Miss...?"
"Maggie. Maggie Dunkirk. Where you headed?"
He shrugged. "Wherever the road goes."
She talks the miles away
I nod and smile and try to say
Anything to be polite
Lord, Maggie Dunkirk was a talker! He'd never known anyone to talk for three hours straight without saying anything of import--well, except maybe Aunt Petunia. Fortunately, Harry had learned how to feign interest from seven years of Potions class.
But as the darkness ends the day
Another voice whispers my name....
As night fell, Harry found himself nodding lightly. "Harry...." What? Hermione? He started slightly, realizing with a soft sigh that he must have been dreaming again.
There you are with your hair all down
And your feet are bare in your cotton gown
What a beautiful sight
In the moonlight
It wouldn't be hard on a night like this...summer night, cool and gentle breeze.... He and Hermione had loved nights like this. She'd open the window in their bedroom to let in the breeze...she was so lovely, even in a simple gown. She'd come over to him, the moonlight falling softly on her face and love shining in her eyes.... Hermione....
The way you're lookin' at me with your loving eyes
You're letting me know that for all my life
You will always be my only girl
But that's another place and time
Back when you were mine
In another world
He'd wanted her always to be his. Legally, she still was; that was one reason he'd never taken off his wedding ring. Besides...he just couldn't. Even if she never gave him a thought...she was ever on his mind. *'Mione, I never stopped loving you.* What madness had possessed him to leave?
"Hey Harry, I'm afraid this is where you get off. I'll drop you at the pub, okay? Mac's a real nice guy, and his rooms are cheap."
"All right. Thank you ever so much." Shelters...bridges...sometimes cheap rooms in pubs. All the places he'd slept the last two and a half years. They always felt cold, no matter how warm they really were...and he always dreamed of Hermione.
He remembered a conversation he'd had with the Muggle who'd hired him as a carpetlayer. Mudie--that was all he'd ever known the genial Scot by-- had been boasting one day about his son's good marks at school. Then, he'd done something he rarely did: he asked Harry a question.
"You're mighty tight-lipped about yourself, Potter. Haven't ye got a home to go to ever?"
"Oh, I have a home. I just don't know if I'm welcome there anymore."
Harry walked into the pub and saw a man with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and a neat brown beard and mustache standing behind the bar. The man wore black jeans, a black shirt, and--from the sound of his steps-- what the American Muggles called "cowboy boots." "Um, are you Mac?"
"At your service. What can I do for you, stranger?" the man said in a broad American accent.
"Stranger? You're the American," Harry said with a gently teasing smile. He'd warmed up to the twinkle in the man's eyes and felt oddly comfortable joking with him.
Mac shook his head. "I been here fifteen years, pal. I know everybody in this town--and I don't know you. So that makes you the stranger," he retorted with a grin.
Harry smiled. He was thirsty...he decided to treat himself and have a Muggle drink he'd grown fond of. "I'll have a cola."
"One Coke, comin' up." Mac put ice in a glass and filled it with the fizzy liquid, then set it before Harry and dropped a straw on the counter. "So what brings you here? Little bitty Darrowby...nobody comes here."
"Evidently you did."
"Well, you're right there. See, I was an exchange student my last year in high school. By the time the school year ended, I had a job with a band. By the time the band broke up, I was married to the gal whose dad used to own this pub--that was before he retired and sold it to me. So that's how Martin Ledbetter--but everybody calls me Mac--from Athens, Alabama ended up in the middle of Yorkshire, England. Your turn," he said, drying some glasses.
Harry couldn't help but grin. Mac evidently didn't like anyone to stay a stranger for long--besides, it was a slow night. "Well, I married my high school sweetheart. We were happy for a few years--but then we both got too involved with our jobs. She was a teacher at our old school, I was a coach. One night I went out with the team after we won an important game, and I didn't call to tell her where I was. We'd been fighting a lot...when I came home, she completely blew up at me. I responded in kind...after we'd shouted ourselves hoarse, I put some clothes in my pack and I...left. That was two and a half years ago."
Mac shook his head a little disapprovingly. "Should've called. 'Nother thing I think you both need to work on...work *never* comes first."
Harry snorted. "It's kind of a moot point now."
"Is it? You don't look like it is. You still love her, don't you?"
"More than ever." Harry started to cry.
"So why don't you go back?"
"It's been so long...."
"And you're too proud and stubborn." Harry was speechless. "Stung, didn't it? But what else could keep you on the road this long when you miss her? And you know what? I bet she misses you too."
"I...."
"Look, I can see in your eyes how you feel. And I just kind of wonder if maybe she doesn't still feel the same way."
Harry's stomach quivered. Mudie had said the same thing, sort of. "So why don't you ask her? Ye might be more welcome than ye think."
"Um...."
"Look, it's late. You probably need a room, right?"
"Yeah," Harry said as he drained his soda.
"Okay. Three pounds sterling."
Harry put the money on the counter. "My wife'll show you to your room. Anne!" Mac's wife, a sturdy-looking and quite pregnant blonde, came into the room. "This gentleman needs a room. And stranger?"
"Yes?" Harry turned.
"Don't you forget what I said."
"I won't." Harry smiled faintly.
Mac winked. "Have a good night."
There you are with your hair all down
And your feet are bare in your cotton gown
What a beautiful sight
In the moonlight
The way you're lookin' at me with your loving eyes
You're letting me know that for all my life
You will always be my only girl
But that's another place and time
Back when you were mine
In another world
Harry woke up from the dream again. Mac sounded mighty confident. But could he possibly be right? *I only wish.*
In another world
Then again...could it hurt? Maybe Hermione *did* miss him, after all. Maybe...just maybe...in the morning he'd head back to the world his heart still lived in....
In another world....
