"Good morning, Harry," smiled Professor Bhoerer, the only professor in Harry's recollection ever to have bothered learning the names of her students, or even greet them cordially. It wasn't so much a disinterest in pleasantries, Harry thought. Perhaps they didn't want to get too attached with only 4 months in a semester? Or maybe it was that oft tested and oft breached school policy forbidding "improperly close" relationships between a student and teacher. Or maybe they just couldn't be bothered. Harry had trouble remembering his professors' names as well, so he couldn't really hold it against them.
Harry nodded in greeting and took his customary seat next to the window, the view usually interesting enough to keep him from falling asleep through the more tedious lectures. Sure enough, from the second story of the Monroe building, Harry could see the results of Manic's midnight escapades. A free standing…glob of stone, once oddly shapeless and the color of something Harry had coughed up this morning, was now glowing in its tie-dyed splendor, Barbie appendages super-glued, along with some tasteless replicas of certain reproductive organs, and a multitude of stickers splashing about either ultra-offensive or utterly moronic slogans. Such as "Make it better, add cheddar." Another work of art. Harry wasn't sad he had missed the party.
"Work of yours?" Lana asked, following his gaze out the window and startling Harry enough to send his pen flying into the back of some poor girl's head. He hadn't spoken to Lana since the previous morning, as per usual. But then, Harry rarely went after classmates, unless it was very close to the end of the semester. As it now stood, Harry had to sit across the aisle from this particular one night stand for another few months before graduation, and that could get rather uncomfortable for both of them if they let the other night become an issue.
"Actually, it's not," Harry answered, smiling at her, checking the level of anger in her eyes. If there was any, she was very good at hiding it. "I merely made the suggestion and let the minions get to work."
Both stopped to scribble down the importance for Hallam in Tennyson's work, as if they didn't already know after the lengthy biography Bhoerer had assigned for background reading. Once the class realized with no little amount of fury that the lecture was going to be a recap of the entire book and proof of $16.57 wasted, Harry returned his attention to Lana, who obviously wasn't done with him.
"So where were you last night? I called," she continued, obvious in her attempt to not sound either bitter or possessive.
"When?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. Had he gone anywhere last night?
"I don't know, maybe nine or ten."
"I'm sure I was home by then. Maybe I was in the shower…or not. I could have been asleep, actually. Or just thinking. It was a strange afternoon." Where was this honesty coming from?
"What? Havoc at the mall?" Lana laughed, though Harry could detect something darker in her tone.
"How did you know I went there?" Harry asked, wishing he knew this girl well enough to be able to predict her answer. But then, he hadn't really been interested in knowing her. He wasn't keen on knowing anyone at this point in his life. He didn't want any complications.
"I went to the movies with my girlfriend and I saw you and your little entourage torturing the security guard near the food court," she answered, cheeks blushing at the memory of dragging her friend behind the smoothie kiosk so she could spy on Harry unnoticed.
"Why didn't you come over and say hi?" Harry asked, knowing full well that he wouldn't have done the same if the situation had been reversed.
"I didn't want to bother you," she answered. "I thought that you had left for something important."
"You wouldn't have been a bother. And I'm sorry about that, leaving like I did. It wasn't really something important, more a social obligation. That little entourage you mentioned would have broken down my door if I had bailed on our weekly meeting."
"You make it sound as if you're in some sort of cult," she smiled, obviously appeased by the apology, half-hearted thought it may have been.
"I am," Harry answered solemnly, again looking out the window, though the subject of his scrutiny wasn't entirely tangible.
"You want to visit me at Bennigan's tonight? You can bring your friends, and I'd even throw in my discount," Lana continued, missing the change in Harry's tone.
"When do you get off?"
"One, I have to close."
"How about I just pick you up then, take you somewhere, just the two of us?"
"What's open at that time of night?"
"Don't worry, I'll fix something. So you up for it?" Harry didn't like the feeling in his stomach, the unease at the thought that she might say no. He couldn't afford these petty anxieties, not after the decision he had made last night. He couldn't take Lana where he was going.
"Of course, but don't expect me to put out at the end of the night," she said in mock severity. Unfortunately, she said it a little too loudly to keep on the side of discretion.
"I'm sure the whole class is grateful for the safety of your virtue, Ms. Noel, but I doubt Tennyson would be very interested in such things, romantic though he was. Now if you'd please turn to-"
After a few prudent minutes of silence, Harry scribbled out a note and lobbed it at her head.
"Don't flatter yourself, you weren't that good." He smiled as her lips pursed in an effort not to smack him upside the head. Instead, she hastily scribbled a response.
"Oh, that really hurts, Tiny."
This means war.
Unfortunately, Harry couldn't think of a suitable response. So he settled for sticking out his tongue and plastering what he hoped was a cute and endearing pout on his face. It must have worked, for when the class was dismissed, Lana kissed his cheek, said she'd see him at a quarter after, and rushed off to her class, leaving Harry grinning and feeling remarkably like a twelve-year old.
Harry arrived at the restaurant shortly before one, but decided to lie out on the hood of his car rather than wait inside. With the clear winter night, he could almost make out the spiraling arms of the Milky Way. He could see the Dog Star, and he smiled as he thought of a man called Sirius Black. Minerva had written all about him when he escaped from Azkaban when Harry was sixteen. Harry was still in Surrey at the time and he remembered the drawn, pale face of the convict on the evening news. But it had been buried under the more gruesome headlines that came with the war. Missing people, murders, explosions, some blamed on political and religious sects, some on anonymous terrorists. It never really mattered to Harry, since he knew the truth. And McGonagall had explained Sirius's situation to him, just as she tended to explain everything to him, whether he cared to know or not. But this one time, Harry did care to know that his father's best friend had not been his murderer. A man named Peter Pettigrew had been spotted several times since the war began, but the Ministry hadn't seen this as proof enough to release Sirius and Harry's godfather had been forced to take justice into his own hands. And now, as Harry stared up at the star that bore his name, he wondered where he was hiding, and why he hadn't tried to make contact. Then again, that world had more than enough problems to be dealt with.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Lana broke in, again sending Harry flying.
"Must you always sneak up on me?" he asked, inspecting the hood for damage. A little dent, nothing that couldn't be hammered out.
"It's not my fault that you never see me coming," she answered. "So what were you thinking about?"
"Nothing, how was work?" he asked, skirting around the question by opening the car door for her and practically pushing her inside.
"It was fine. Where are we going?"
"Ohm. I know the owners and they'll keep it open for us."
Ohm was a quiet coffeehouse nestled in between a guitar shop and a store catering to adult entertainment. Not surprisingly, it often went unnoticed. It was modestly decorated, scarcely lit, and served the best iced-tchai in town. Thusly, it was Harry's favorite hang out, somewhere he could go to be alone and not seem terribly antisocial, since most of the patrons of the establishment came alone as well.
"I wouldn't have thought you'd go to these places," Lana said as she sat down, throwing a smile at the waiter with a familiarity that suggested she was no stranger to this place, or maybe to that man.
"Why is that?" Harry asked, torn between anger at that smile and anger at the presumption, and amusement at those same things.
"I'm not sure. Every time I look at you, you seem to be bouncing. Flying. I wouldn't have thought you'd ever just go somewhere to sit."
"Well, we've all gotta land some time, right?" In truth, Harry was still flying, his mind running through a million possibilities and none of them had to do with the person sitting in front of him, drinking her black coffee. No, the person behind Harry had all of his attention. It was the man from the tattoo parlor, again in that same sleek suit that made Harry wonder if he ever fit in anywhere.
"Harry? Hello?"
"I'm sorry, my mind has the habit of walking off without me some times," Harry said, making at least a slight effort to wipe that look off Lana's face. She had evidently been relating to him some amusing story about her night at work, and even though Harry had the suspicion that she was exactly the type to rehearse a conversation in her mind before a date, that didn't mean she deserved to be ignored. She deserved the pretense of an audience, at least.
"That's ok, I've noticed. What are you thinking about now?"
"I'm thinking about getting out of here," he smiled, setting down a twenty and standing, not bothering to hear what Lana had to say on the matter. What he did hear was the soft clang of a bell behind him, signaling that the man had left. "Hey Frannie, is there a back door to this place?" Harry called to the owner.
"Why, someone after you?" Fran laughed, setting aside her broom to get Lana's coat from the rack.
"I think so," Harry smiled, shooting Lana a pointed look.
"Well, there's a door that goes out into the ally, if you're being serious," Fran answered, pointing down the hall towards the bathroom. Harry thanked her and grabbed Lana's hand.
"Why are we going this way?" Lana whispered in a way that showed she didn't really care as long as Harry held on to her hand. Harry just sped up, dragging her through the side door, the feeling in his stomach screaming at him to get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, Harry's gut didn't have the best sense of direction, and upon opening the door, he was staring down the barrel of a gun.
"Hand over your cash and no one gets hurt." The man in front of them couldn't have been a year older than they were, and by the way his hand shook as he pointed it first at Harry, then Lana, then Harry again suggested that he couldn't have been a thief very long either. But then, his face was strangely void of…anything.
"Harry?!" Lana whined, slapping him on the elbow as she handed him her purse, as if he was her chosen representative in this particular transaction. But Harry wasn't about to just give into this kid, not when the punk looked stoned out of his senses.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, willing the spell with his mind and thankful that he had finally gotten around to taking some Latin courses last year. Almost immediately, the gun flew into Harry's outstretched hand and the young man stood still, face blank as before, not even reacting to Lana's scream. Harry started to open the chamber of the gun, only to be interrupted by a familiar silky voice.
"No need to check, of course it's not loaded," greeted the man from the tattoo parlor as he stepped out from the shadows, making Harry curse himself for not noticing him sooner.
"What do you want?" Harry snapped, shooting a warning glare to silence Lana, who was preparing to complain or cry.
"Only to talk, Harry. Only to talk," answered the man, his smile all but friendly. "I see that you are what we thought you were. The Dark Lord will be pleased about that. But he'll be absolutely thrilled when I hand him a recruit that can disarm without a wand."
"Is that what this demonstration was for? Testing me?" Harry growled.
"Well of course! Didn't know if you were any use at all, but the Master had his suspicions that you'd been honing your powers in secret. Do you even own a wand, or can you do all of your magic without it?"
Harry couldn't help but smile at this. For a Death Eater, this man wasn't very guarded about the extent of his knowledge.
"I only disarmed him. It doesn't take a wand to do something simple like that. When you think you're life's in danger, that is," Harry answered, trying to sound as arrogant as hell. From all he could observe about the man before him, arrogance would be something of a common tongue. Still, he was careful not to mention that the answer to the man's question was yes on both accounts. Harry's wand was tucked under his bed and, since he was sixteen, Harry had been doing most of his spells without it. It wasn't some extraordinary talent, rather the result of deep reading into magical theory. When he was younger, Harry had done several things without the use of a wand. Made his hair grow. Apparated onto a rooftop. Made glass disappear. When he was thirteen, he had accidentally blown up his cousin's computer. It stood to reason that wandless magic was possible, even controllable once you forced yourself to accept that it existed.
"I'm sure the Dark Lord will be very eager to meet you, Potter."
"I'm not interested in joining, thanks."
"It's not as if you have a choice," hissed the man. "You either join or you die."
"I have an infinite amount of choices, and I choose not to commit myself to anything until I graduate," Harry answered, staring into the man's gray eyes, wondering how he could possibly stay in Massachusetts long enough to graduate. From what he read about Voldemort, he did not take kindly to ultimatums.
"I'll tell him you said that. Consider yourself lucky that he has personal interest in you, or else you'd be dead right now," the man snarled. "But before I go…Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green and the boy that had tried to rob them was lying in a heap at their feet, Harry cursing as he watched the suit apparate away, Lana half sobbing, half babbling. "What the fuck was that? Is he dead? What the FUCK is going on?!" she screamed, once the ability to form words returned.
"Shut the hell up and come with me," Harry whispered, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards his car. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Harry noticed the Dark Mark hovering over the ally and he wondered why he hadn't recognized that symbol when he was in the parlor. Within minutes, they were back in Harry's dorm, Lana still rambling on incoherently as Harry tore through the trunk under his bed, finally finding what he had been looking for. "Obliviate!" he shouted, pointing his wand at Lana. He had doubted whether he could perform the charm on someone without a wand, since he had never used it before. But the dazed look she got on her face the moment he spoke the word showed that he had gotten it right. "We've just had a wonderful night at the coffee house," he continued, not really sure how much of her memory was being erased but not really caring if she had a few blank spots, as long as she didn't remember anything about the existence of real magic.
"So, where were we?" she smiled, looking as if she had come to as she ran her hand up Harry's thigh.
"You said that you just aren't interested in me in that way and that you needed to go home and study for tomorrow's class," Harry answered, deciding that this definitely was not the time to move beyond his one-night-stand stage.
"Oh, right. I'm sorry Harry. No hard feelings?" she asked, the compassion in her eyes nearly sending Harry into a fit of laughs.
"No hard feelings. Good night," he answered, practically shoving her out the door and then sitting down to draft a letter to Albus Dumbledore. Graduation could wait. Harry had chosen a side and there was no time to waste.