Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Harry Potter Universe.

Chapter Four

The Date

Harry had entered the Red Cherry with his mind swimming with information. Kittie had run away from him after her confessions in his arms, and he had barely begun to process what had happened, let alone what it all meant. Stu had promptly driven all thoughts of Kittie, however, from his mind, or at least, had driven them as far as anyone could, given the circumstances. Harry had been put to work.

"Now see here, kid," Stu had begun. "We run a very posh establishment. The who's who of our little nest comes here and dines each week. Sometimes we get famous types, and others we get rich ones. We need this place to look beautiful each and everyday, because you never know when company's coming. You got me?"

"I understand," Harry affirmed.

"Good. So your job is to make sure this place gleams everyday, all the time. See here, you're going to inspect each glass so that it's clean. And after you've checked they're clean, you're going to double-check to make sure that they're shiny too. And the bar, and the stools and even the undersides. You never know when someone's going to drop something and have to bend over to pick it up. And then they're going to notice what kind of an establishment the Red Cherry really is."

"Sir, do I have to clean the backrooms?" Harry asked.

"Absolutely," Stu said, missing Harry's moment of revulsion. He went on, "The bathrooms, the backrooms, everything. You gotta clean the tables, the floors the walls. Even if nothing's been spilt, you gotta clean the fingerprints off, the breath, the smells, all of it. Clean it no matter what. Again and again."

"Anything else?' Harry asked.

"Oh, yes. the final things. We'll be having you do the kitchens too. If you're up to it. Cleaning the dishes, and what not. You can be a bit more lax in here about the walls, floors and what not. Just make sure that whatever goes out to the front, utensils, glasses, anything. That stuff has to be spotless. That understood?"

Harry nodded.

"Okay, let me introduce you to the head chef, Gaston." Stu and Harry stopped in front of a large, stout fellow with a giant chef's hat balanced on his head, from which thick curls of black hair sprouted from all directions. "Harry, I want you to meet Gaston. When you come in tonight - start at about six - he'll show you how the kitchen staff are organized and where you are in the lineup. If you get good in the kitchens, you might be promoted to line cook, and, one day, even server."

Harry grimaced inwardly. It'll be a cold day in Hell before I spend that long here, he thought. If a portal home hadn't opened in two weeks, he was going to chance jumping through one at random. He had horcruxes to find.

So Harry set to work, cleaning regularly, and waiting and watching for Kittie. He had asked around, tried to figure out when he might next expect her to come in. After a day had passed, he decided she wasn't going to. He had hoped secretly that she wouldn't be able to stay away and that she would come in just to see him, to say hi, to tell him she was thinking of him, that she couldn't get him out of her mind the way he couldn't get her out of his. But that didn't appear to be the case. She just needs time, he told himself, to sort herself out. She's not a simple girl (like Minnie). All the while, harry stole glances out the front windows, taking extra time to clean the tables that afforded him the best view of the street.

When no one was looking, Harry tended to use magic to clean things. He found himself almost always dawdling, waiting for people to go elsewhere. During the day, it was rather easy since the place was empty. The bathroom he almost never used his hands. It had grown very difficult though come evenings, and he had started to concentrate on doing the work by hand so that he wouldn't get lazy. Motivated to hurry up, however, he found himself performing increasingly more acts of wandless magic. At first, they were spontaneous, like causing the dishsoap to fall over into the sink before he had reached for it, and then it had been summoning cups to him. Fortunately, after the first few, he had been able to keep a constant guard and deploy his seeker instincts to catch anything fragile that he accidentally summoned. By the third day of work, he was consciously directing his mind to clean plates wandlessly and magically. This, he decided, was a very good thing, because it allowed him to keep his wand hidden.

It had never occurred to him how easy it was for people to take his wand away. Wizards avoided manual labour like the plague, and consequently, they didn't know the first thing about hand-to-hand combat. He thought of how easy it would be to snatch someone's wand from a foot away, the way Jack had thoughtlessly knocked Harry off his feet the first day he got there. Harry hadn't had time to utter the full body bind. And Jack hadn't even known about his wand. At least not fully. Yes, Harry had to get a grip on his wandless magic. If he could summon his wand after it had been taken, or break ropes and open locked doors. Just those things would be enough. At least for now, to give him some reassurance. As it were, his only practice was summoning dishes surreptitiously. Apart from that, he was only getting experience vanishing and Scourgifying things. That was fine enough for him, since it didn't appear that the demons were looking for revenge. he also seemed safe enough whenever he was inside the Red Cherry. Once, he had ventured outside and, to his horror, had run across Jilly, who, he noticed as she fled with a look of abject terror on her face, that she was limping and one arm seemed to be hanging uselessly at her side.

On his third day, Harry found himself in the kitchen alone, which, he decided, would become a common occurrence for him. The kitchen typically had no one in it at this time of day, since the Red Cherry was only open for dinner as a rule, though people could come in for an afternoon drink if they so chose. The bar, fortunately, was completely separate and no one ever had to actually go into the kitchen for anything. Often times, unless it was looking to be really busy or there was a special event, which was never, as Harry understood it, the kitchen lay dormant and unused for much of the day. That's why Harry found himself in it. He aimed his fingers at the door and focused on locking it. he found that the more difficult the spell, the more he would have to focus and the longer it would take for him to cast the spell. He shuddered to think how much time and energy it would take to cast something like the Patronus Charm. Hours, maybe. Days, even. Harry then used his wand to cast the Imperturbable Charm and proceeded to hurl dishes with his hand, banishing them to the far wall and then summoning them back. Sometimes he would let them crash and then repair them, and sometimes he would hit the glasses with the impediment jinx before they got that far. And he did it all wandlessly. he had taken to whispering the spells when he did them normally, and found that they got progressively harder the quiter he said them. he also found that, with practice, he could bolster his focus so that he could increase the potency of the spell even when he was being quiet. And, with that, he was growing to use magic both wandlessly and silently.

And all because I have the freedom to do magic and the responsibility of doing manual labour, he thought, sending two plates hurtling toward the far wall. he chased them with an impediment jinx that he sliced in half. Both the plates were hit by the jinxes, but, instead of slowing them to an undetectable crawl, they both merely slowed to a sluggish walk. Harry watched interestedly as they bounced off the wall, which promptly broke both the spells, causing the plates to fall normally to the ground. There they broke, as he expected.

Before he could muster the focus to fix them, there was a knock at the kitchen door. harry's head snapped up, his eyes searching. He knew that everyone was off today, since it was a Wednesday and the place was particularly dead on Wednesdays. Apparently they didn't offer the usual happy hour entreaties, and that disinclined patrons to come on a Wednesday. Harry heard the person knock again, but he ignored them. Instead, he took to repairing the plates and guiding them with the levitation charm to their place on one of the shelves. Harry then pointed his wand and said, "Finite incantanum." He put his wand away and stared at the door expectantly. "Come in," he called finally.

He saw Kittie poke her head in through the doorway hesitantly. "Hey," she said.

Harry was surprised, to say the least. "Hey," he responded, his brain promptly having taken a vacation.

"I was just wondering how you were doing."

"Good," he managed. "You?"

"Good," she said in a rather high voice. "Couldn't be better."

After a moment of staring at one another, only Kittie's head visible through the partially open door, Harry's brain managed to spit out, "Would you like to come in?"

"Um, yes," Kittie agreed. "Sure." She entered the kitchen so that she could face him fully. "The door was locked," she explained. "I wasn't sure if maybe you were doing something." With that, Kittie looked around to spy after whatever it was that Harry could have been doing alone in the kitchen, with, as he very well knew, nothing to do.

"No, I was just doing a spot of cleaning, and looking around to make sure everything was in order," Harry lied. "Haven't had much to do these last couple of days." He thought he saw her wince a little at that last comment, which some nasty part of him had directed at her in order to accuse her of abandoning him and playing with his feelings.

"Oh, okay," she said quietly.

Another silence fell, leaving Harry to marvel at the intensity of her dark eyes. He wanted to throw something at the wall; another plate maybe. He wanted to collect her in his arms and hold her, sing her lullabies and stories of other places, to spill his feelings in a torrent of words and soft caresses. But he felt rooted to the spot, unsure of her feelings towards him, unsure that she wanted him to come. He wanted her to stay, but it was killing him, forcing this space between them, a space he didn't understand. Why can't I be close to you? he asked in his mind, letting his shields down so she could feel the question through her telepathy.

She did not appear to notice the question though, and instead had turned her gaze to the door, which she was now scrutinizing avidly. Harry followed her to the object in question until he found what it was that had attracted her attention. Instinctively, he scowled and erected his shields. The door that he had locked using magic did not, as he was now realizing, have a lock on it.

"Harry, how did you-?" She looked up at him in puzzlement, but silenced herself in the middle of the question. Looking at his grim expression and feeling that nothing was coming from the link, she knew that he had placed himself on guard again, and that her inquiries would be met with a blank wall. Kittie switched gears and asked, instead, "How do you expect us to be close, when you keep these secrets from me?"

Harry had the good grace to look down at his shoes with an expression of shame on his face. "I don't know," he mumbled truthfully. "I just know that I'd rather not talk about it. It's... painful." When Harry looked up to meet her gaze once more, he saw that there was a silent understanding there. We all have our demons, I suppose, he thought.

"I was wondering if you would like to maybe go out for dinner this evening," Kitie said in a rush. then she added, "if you're not working, of course."

Immediately, Harry's eyes lit up. "Of course! I mean, I am working, but it's okay. I'll arrange it with Stu. I'm sure he won't mind if I take one night off." Harry decided that he would throw a few extra spells around just in case, and make sure that everything was spotless and resistant to uncleanliness. It wouldn't do if Stu decided he were necessary and tried to take steps to ensure that Harry stuck around at the Red Cherry. I have to make myself look less valuable, he thought. Yes, he was certain that he couldn't show people the extent of his magical abilities. They would probably have him cleaning the toilets for the rest of his life.

"Okay, that's good," she said, giving him a snmile that went to her eyes. "That's good." I should also let you know that Marv and his girlfriend are going to be joining us. It's their first date too, and I thought it would be nice if-"

"Marv?" Harry asked, his expression turning dangerously alert.

"Um, yes," Kittie said, trying to pick up where she left off. "It's their first time out and - and - oh Harry! Dammit! He's a friend of mine! Why do you have to be like this?"

"Like what?" He asked defensively, aware all too well that his face had probably contorted into that scowl.

"He reminds you of someone!" she said accusingly. "That doesn't mean he is that person! Why can't you just let it go? He's always been good to me!"

Harry felt duly chastened for his antagonism, but he couldn't let his reservations go. "I'm sorry," Harry said. "It's not that easy to let these things go, sometimes. He just... brings to mind so many bad memories." That was at least partly true. Harry wasn't quite prepared to share his suspicions with himself, let alone Kittie. It seemed generally preposterous, especially since this Marv character seemed so well-adjusted and polite and friendly with muggles.

Kittie's expression softened and she came closer to him. Before Harry knew it, he felt her arms around him, enfolding him in the warm blanket of her body. "What bad memories," she asked softly.

The touch of her embrace felt intense to Harry; it felt like it were too much to bear. It felt like it were a million years of love and belonging and understanding and comfort and empathy, and it was so familiar that he couldn't understand why he hadn't shared all his sorrows with her before. "murdered my mum," Harry said, choking on the words. With that one phrase, Harry felt like all the dams and protections he had put on his emotions, all the reins and bridles since he had cracked in front of the Mirror of Erised, came crashing down before him. He began to cry. "Murdered my mum," he said again, now openly crying into Kittie's shoulder. "And my dad. My Godfather. And, last month, he - he-" Harry felt the waves of sorrow rise a notch within him as he thought of Voldemort's most recent victim, Dumbledore. Despite the times that Dumbledore hadn't been there in the past, and despite how angry he was at the old headmaster for his fifth year, Harry knew deep down in his heart of hearts that Dumbledore had always protected Harry to the best of his abilities. Dumbledore had loved harry like a grandson, and harry had loved him back, had trusted him implicitly to hold Harry's interests in high regard. "Murdered my - guardian last month. Right in front of me, just like Sirius, just like my parents. Keeps killing everyone I ever loved." Harry felt himself clinging to Kittie for dear life, and under the weight of all his burdens and sorrows, they both fell to their knees, Harry still clutching her, still sobbing in her shoulder. "He's been trying to kill me ever since I was a baby," Harry wailed tearfully. "And every time, someone's stopped him. First it was my dad - I have only one memory of him. I hear him telling my mother to flee with me while he holds him off. He smashed my parent's house to smithereens that night. And then, he killed my mum. It's the only memory I have of her too. It's the only one I'll ever have. She was running and fell to her knees, still clutching me in her arms, and he came right up to her and told her to step aside. He would have spared her life, but... she loved me so much, she said no, and refused to back down. She protected me with her body. It was the last thing she could do to defend me, even if it was pointless, and he killed her without a moment's thought. And then he tried to kill me, but she had bought me enough time and he got scared off. And then they sent me away to live with strangers for my life, so that he couldn't find me, only he would always find me." Harry clutched at her more tightly. "He always finds me," Harry repeated in a whisper. "He murdered my godfather last year, right before my eyes. I still remember the expression of surprise on Sirius's face. he was defending me and then he got hit and fell, and, and, they never recovered his body." harry fell limp in her arms, having no more strength left in his limbs. He said the rest with quiet resignation in his voice, "Then, last month, he murdered Dumbledore. Dumbledore's the one who sent me away into hiding. He's always been there to protect me. He fought off Voldemort after Sirius died and now he's gone. He was murdered by his own friends, who betrayed him. Murdered in front of me, just like Sirius, and I watched his killer go free, helpless to stop it. He'll come after my friends next; he'll come after me. He'll never stop. I have to kill him, somehow. I have to hunt him down and stop him before he hurts anyone else." In that last sentence, Harry felt the old, hardened resolve that he had felt all his life in the face of insurmountable adversities. Yes, he would never stop. he would always keep fighting, because he had to. He was crazy with that righteous anger; it was an eternal torch in his heart, like the memory of all his loved ones. As long as you never forget them, he told himself quietly. Never forget them. "I'll never forget them," he echoed softly. "I'll never stop hunting him; I'll never forget them. Never."

Between the magical exertion of his wandless training and his tirade about his life history, Harry promptly fell asleep, his head sliding into Kittie's lap, leaving his arms still wrapped around her torso, hers wrapped protectively over his. Kittie was stunned, to say the least. She didn't know what she had expected to gain from pushing him - she hadn't even thought he would open up. She supposed, reflecting back, she would have expected that Marv looked like some schoolyard bully that had tormented Harry about wearing goofy-looking glasses and oversized clothes. Now she saw that those things, the goofy glasses and oversized clothes, were products of harry's complete disinterest from such petty things. He had problems way bigger than anything she had had before. Problems she couldn't properly comprehend, and for which she felt duly chastened berating Harry for his behaviour. Kittie gently stroked Harry's messy black hair, trying idly to straighten it out. She had only barely begun to process all the things he had said. Parents murdered, sent into hiding, hunted down... she instinctively shivered at the images that his words brought to her mind. Parents murdered, went into hiding... hunted down, her thoughts echoed, as if tasting the sound of the words in her head. What kind of life have you lived? she wondered. My Harry.

Kittie glanced around nervously, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. What if this predator followed Harry here? Cassandra asked softly. Your life and the lives of your friends are in danger.

Kittie shook that nasty bit of self-indulgent thinking from her mind. No, they were all safe here. Harry was in another world, miles away from his predator. He's safer here than anyone could have imagined back home, she thought. Maybe it's better he's here. Maybe it's better we're all here. Kittie didn't have answers to those questions, but she felt suddenly certain that she would be there for Harry. She would be another protector of his, just like his parents and these Sirius and Dumbledore characters. I'll keep you safe, she thought. I'll keep you safe too, Harry. And so, there they sat for a long time, on the tiled kitchen floor that had recently been cleaned by none other than Harry himself, Kittie stroking his hair lovingly, looking at him with a kind of maternal affection, resolving herself to follow Harry's fate. She couldn't understand why she wanted to, except that he seemed like the kind of person that she would be proud to die for; the kind of person who would lead her into a war that made her life mean something.

But for now, they would go on a double-date and have fun, because, that, she decided, was important too, and Harry was in need of a great deal of fun. That would be her first step to protecting him.

Kittie took off her vest and covered Harry with it. Then she took her purse, puffed it up and gently laid Harry's head down on it as if it were a pillow. Once having made sure that he was perfectly comfortable, she took a scrap of paper and a pen and wrote down directions to her flat, and a note instructing him to come by at about six thirty. She then took his glasses off, folded them and inserted the note between the arms of the glasses and setting them down on the countertop. Satisfied that harry would get the rest he needed and and that he would come by the note when he awoke, she left the Red Cherry and made sure to flip the open sign to read closed. Nobody was going to come in anyway, so it didn't matter, she decided. Kittie then went home to get dressed and wait for her date.

Harry awoke with a start some time later. He felt unpleasantly stiff, and disoriented from the sight of fluorescent lights and all-bright countertops rising up around him. He even saw a rack of knives and a giant soup ladle. Where the hell am I? he asked. Rolling onto his stomach, he was aware of the cold tile floor, and, somehow, the sight of it jogged his memory to the last few moments before sleep had taken him. What had he done? He'd broken down like a little baby and cried all over Kittie's shoulder, whining about all his stupid problems, making himself seem like a grand victim. Harry groaned. She's going to hate me now. She'll either think I'm some kind of pity-mongerer, or a lunatic, or a danger. Or worse, a charity case. Harry got to his feet and looked around, spying blearily his glasses, which were sitting innocently on the main counter. Harry picked up Kittie's jacket and purse, and, realizing that she wouldn't have left those things if she hated him, his spirits brightened a little. Harry then collected his glasses and saw the note slip out, which he promptly snatched and absorbed at instantaneous speed. "Six thirty," he muttered aloud, checking his watch instinctively only to discover that he didn't have one. "Damn tournament," he muttered.

Harry checked a nearby clock. Six.

He then double-checked his note and decided that she didn't live that far. Let's just hope I don't get waylaid en route, he thought disconsolately. It wouldn't be the first time. And with that, Harry set off to clean himself up, have a tall glass of water, use the bathroom, wipe his face down, clean his teeth, fix his clothes and so on and so on. Finally, he scoured the place for anything unclean, cast a few mild impervious charms, his mind flicking back briefly to that moment in third year when he, through his water-soaked vision, saw Hermione, his friend and guardian angel loom into view, her hair and cheeks wind-swept, her eyes shining with that determination that impelled her to try and free house elves. Harry smiled, momentarily, but then it faded. What are you doing here, harry? a voice inside him asked. She needs you. They all need you and you're going on a date with some floozy in another world?

Harry shook himself free of that thought. It was just for tonight, and he, for one, was not going to throw away an opportunity to have a nice evening with a girl he fancied just to go sulk in a corner and do nothing. Jumping worlds would have to wait for another day.

By the time he left, fifteen minutes later, the place was crawling with afterwork guests, some of whom were there soely for the libations and others who came for the food. The bar had been opened, and a guy Harry only knew as "Buzz", on account of his hairstyle, was rapidly firing off drinks to the growing number of patrons. Harry dashed off a note to Gaston, who hadn't come in yet, and called to one of the arriving line cooks, a fellow by the name of Ward, to let Gaston know that he was going out for the night.

"Hey, Minnie," Harry said, passing her as he crossed the threshold of the Red Cherry, exiting.

"Hey yourself, big fella," she said conspiratorially. "Whenever you're free..."

Harry didn't get to hear the last of her sentence, as he was already rushing down the street. He suspected he knew what she was going to say; especially since it hadn't been the first, or the second or even the third time she had said it. to Harry's relief, Jack had deemed him harmless enough, and Harry was determined to maintain that perception, and part of that meant avoiding Minnie at all costs - not that she was not nice. Minnie was quite more than nice, as far as Harry was concerned, but he doubted he could levitate Jack wandlessly, and the hulk had proven to be exceptionally fast. It was like trying to take on Hagrid, and harry remembered clearly how well that had worked for Umbridge and her goons the previous June. Just days before the Department of Mysteries fiasco.

Harry turned right off the main street and went two blocks, taking another right a third of a block until he came to a run-down three-story walk-up on a deserted street lined with large trees. The cement paths were cracked horribly, some of the pieces having risen up from the ground markedly to create a dangerously uneven surface. There were all manner of cement chips and stones loitering about that made a distinctive crunching sound as Harry trounced over them. He had gotten used to the multitude of changing colours that made up the streets, and noticed swiftly that here, at the fringes of the outworld, the colours had faded from screaming neon to pale creams and blue-greys. I wonder if I shuffle enough pebbles about, will people in the real world notice? he mused.

Harry entered the apartment complex, which he had noted with some dismay, looked even worse for wear on the inside. The buzzer system crackled ominously, frayed wires sticking out in all directions as though Grawp had put a fist through the console protecting its electrical workings. Were you expecting the Ritz? he asked himself, shrugged at the small display of carnage and proceeded inside, noticing without surprise that there wasn't a shred of protection for the building. Some psycho could just waltz in and stand outside her door and-, Harry shrugged the thought away. She had lived here long enough, and it wasn't his place to go telling her what was what. There were reasons for it. She probably wasn't rich, or maybe security like that was a joke around here. Like locked doors were in the wizarding community. If muggles only knew how easy it was for wizards and witches to unlock a deadbolt, they would not feel so safe at night. And any experienced wizard would just apparate inside, leaving all the outer security measures undisturbed.

Kittie lived on the third floor at the far end of the hall. He briefly wondered if she had selected the furthest room from the building entrance on purpose, or if it were just random chance. He knocked.

After a moment, she opened the door and smiled brightly at him. "Hi."

"Hi," Harry said.

"Come on in," Kittie opened the door all the way and made room for Harry to enter.

At first glance, her apartment seemed incredibly sparse, as though she had not been there very long, but, after surveying the walls and the floor with his seeker's eyes, Harry recognized tell-tale signs of having been lived in. There were the drag marks of furniture having been moved once in awhile to stave off interior design boredom, and there was the usual dirt that collected in the corners, no matter how hard you scrubbed, and there were fingerprints around the light switches. Kittie's apartment had one major room, which was half-kitchen and half-living room, which was divided by a series of cupboards affixed to the ceiling. There was a large South-facing window that let in sunlight slanting into the far wall, illuminating the pin-sized hole where a picture had once been hung-up. Harry wondered if it were a picture that Kittie had had, or if it had belonged to one of the previous tenants.

"I know it's not much," Kittie was saying, "but it's home. Been that way for years."

"It's beautiful," harry responded instantly. "It must be wonderful to have your own place."

Kittie shrugged. "It can get lonely at times, but, overall, yeah, it's nice."

"I still live with family."

"Oh?" Kittie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my aunt and uncle." After a moment's thought, Harry added. "And my cousin, Dudley."

"Is he your age?"

Harry nodded, and took a seat on a modest futon, which Kittie motioned to with one hand. It was a rickety old thing that was made of criss-crossing wooden boards and a mattress. It reminded Harry of a makeshift raft he had seen stranded people make on television shows to escape island prisons and what not.

"Would you like a drink?" Kittie asked.

"Um, sure," Harry replied. He wasn't thirsty, but it seemed like the sociable response to such a question, so he went with it, thinking that it all seemed rather formal in light of the intense conversations he had been used to having with Kittie. Not that it bothered him that much, since, as he had thought two weeks ago when he had met the blonde woman in the Little Whinging playpark, pleasant conversations were something that he had yet to tire of.

"How does a gin and tonic sound?" Kittie asked, entering the kitchen and rummaging about for the right items.

"That sounds nice," Harry said, wincing at his description. He had never even had a gin and tonic before, and hoped immensely that he didn't gag at the taste of it. Harry turned to look at her, still enjoying the sight of her form, and in an uncharacteristically voyeuristic mood, enjoying the ability to watch her while she could not herself see her watcher. The cupboards occluded her head and shoulders from view, and the counter occluded everything waist-down, leaving her midsection exposed. Harry idly thought about how much he would like to stroke her back and her sides and stomach, possibly nestling his head up against her as he had done earlier that day. She had felt so warm and wonderful, it had intoxicated him into spilling his life story - at least the sad bits. He supposed now, watching her, that it must have all sounded really terrible; it certainly sounded that way to his own ears when he had narrated it. At the moment though, it didn't feel so horrible - his life. He had many good memories, and he was confident that his parents went to a good place and that they were happy together with Sirius. He was confident that they loved each other and that they loved him and that, at the end of his life's journey, he would join them in peace, whether he killed Voldemort or whether Voldemort killed him. You can't take that from me, tom, Harry thought fiercely. No matter what you do, I will always be in the arms of my loved ones. No matter how many people you kill, no matter if you kill me.

It occurred to Harry that he hadn't brought Kittie anything for her apartment or for her. She probably understood, as he didn't really get paid at the Red Cherry, except in room and board, and the date had been a bit sudden. Still though, he felt unsure of himself all of a sudden. Kittie had clearly wanted this to be a formal date, like the way he saw people go on dates in the movies, and that necessitated him bringing him flowers and chocolate for her. Nice ones. He idly watched her drop whole olives into each glass, along with three ice cubes. I wonder why the olives, he mused. Am I supposed to eat it or is it just decoration? It seemed like a bit of a silly decoration for a beverage, and he didn't think Stu had any olives in his gin and tonic, which Harry now remembered his employer had had on his first night at the Red Cherry.

Kittie came and sat down next to Harry on the futon, putting his glass down on the plain wood coffee table that she was using. "There you go," she said.

"Thanks." Harry obligingly took the glass in one hand and took a tentative sip, hoping that alcohol wasn't as appalling as he had heard it was from some of his dormmates. Kittie watched, clearly amused by Harry's alcoholic virginity.

"Not used to this stuff, are you?" she asked, phrasing it in what was, to Harry's mind a mockingly polite way of describing his newness to the experience.

"Am I that transparent?" he asked sheepishly.

"Like a window," she confided. "But it's okay, I won't tell."

"I am forever in your debt, Ms.-" Harry's face took on an expression of thoughtfulness. "Hmm," he said. "I don't think I know your last name."

"Nope, don't think you do," she sighed, curling up against his body, causing him to instinctively put his arm around her. She felt exquisite in that position, making Harry's sense of touch alert wherever she was pressed against him.

"I take it you're not going to tell me."

"I might," she said, feigning boredom. "But it'll cost you."

"Cost me?" Harry said, baffled as to what kind of cost she could possibly be thinking of.

"Yes, I will get to ask you a question in return, and you have to answer."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure he liked that idea very much. On the other hand, it made him very curious as to what her last name was, though it didn't seem fair to give her a carte blanche on account of it.

"you already know my last name," Harry said, searching for an argument that would get him the information he wanted without having to commit to anything.

"Should have thought of that before you went spouting your mouth off," she said, shrugging and snuggling closer to him.

Damn, he thought. She's using her feminine wiles to dull my rational senses.

"Oh am I?" she huffed, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Indeed you are," he said. Then, hitting on a new tactic, decided he would make up a last name for her, and use it to tease her mercilessly until she willingly gave up the information. If Hermione had been privy to his thoughts, she would have explained that the tactic was an example of negative punishment, a form of operant conditioning developed by a behavioural psychologist named B.F. skinner, who had an enormous, melon-sized head. As it were, she was not, and Harry continued his life ignorant of this fact. "Indeed you are, Ms. Pryde."

"Ms. Pryde?" she asked baffled.

"Since you're not bothered to tell me your last name, i figure, I have license to make one up."

"And you chose Pryde?" she asked curiously, seemingly intrigued by this.

"Well, I'd thought she-devil was more appropriate in light of your character, but it just didn't have the ring to it that I was looking for," Harry deadpanned.

"Hmph," she said, huffing again. "you're terrible."

Harry gazed down at her and smiled. "I can live with that." Feeling more relaxed at the playfulness that they were enjoying, he tipped his glass back and took a long sip. The liquid was cool in his throat and burned in his stomach, creating a mixture of sensations that were both pleasant and uncomfortable, and mildly titillating. "So do we have reservations?" Harry asked, turning to the subject of dinner.

"Seven thirty," Kittie replied.

"Is it far?"

Kittie looked up at him with an expression that indicated she was scrutinizing him.

"What?" Harry asked after a second.

"Nothing, I guess. I was just wondering how much Stu told you about this place."

"He told me enough, I suppose."

"This place isn't that big."

"yeah, so?" Harry asked.

Kittie shrugged. "There's not much here to do, when you come right down to it. There's a training room for jocks, some boutiques, a flower shop, a hair dresser, a small grocery store, a few seedier places. Some pubs, a couple of cafes-"

"Kittie, what's your point?" Harry asked, sensing something was coming and growing impatient to find out what the punch line was.

"We're going to the Red Cherry for dinner, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said. "Is that all?"

"Yeah. I just thought you knew. That's why I wanted you to come here. So I could get you out of that place for awhile. I know Marv's gotten comfortable with the idea that it's basically the only decent place to eat in this town. I wasn't sure how you felt about having to have dinner at the place where you work."

Harry shrugged. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but it's not a big deal, really. I suppose I've been curious about investigating some of the other parts of the area, but I've been too afraid to go unescorted."

"Why is that?" she asked.

"Mosaics," Harry responded solemnly.

"Oh," she said, understanding. "But it looked like you were perfectly capable of defending yourself."

"It's not that. I don't want to get in anymore fights, that's all. I'd rather not have to kill anybody else around here."

"I see."

They passed the rest of their time in Kittie's apartment in a comfortable silence, and then left for the Red Cherry, walking a route that Harry was coming to learn and one which Kittie had memorized long ago.

The restaurant, being a typical Wednesday evening, was sparsely populated. Kittie and Harry entered and found Marv and his date, Liz, waiting by the bar, Marv sipping on a Tom Collins and Liz having some sort of clear liquid. Probably water, harry thought, as they walked up to them.

"Hi," Kittie said.

marv smiled and they gave each other a short hug. "Hi yourself."

"You must be Liz," Kittie said, turning to the woman drinking the water. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Liz replied, shaking Kittie's hand petitely.

"Hi, Harry," Marv said, turning to him to face him squarely. Harry was again, eerily reminded of the way Tom looked at him down in the chamber, his gaze like that of a serpent's, like he were ready to pounce, and simply gauging the right time to do so.

"Hi, Marv," Harry said, schooling his features into a blandly pleasant smile. "Nice to see you again, as always."

"Let's go take a seat," Kittie suggested, and the four moved to a booth at the far end, away from the entrance to the four backrooms that the establishment sported.

"So, Harry, how are you finding work here?" Marv asked, his tone and his expression one of complete sincerity.

"It's nice enough," Harry replied.

"Will you be staying long?"

"Don't really know."

"Oh, are you the new guy?" Liz broke in. "I heard about the demon thing. They say you killed them without even moving an inch."

Harry inwardly winced. "Um, yeah. Well, I probably moved a few inches this way or that."

"Really?" Liz asked, genuinely interested. "We're all dying to know. Us at the shop, I mean. You've been the talk of it all."

She's a tactless twit, isn't she? Harry thought to Kittie, who, receiving his message, promptly burst out laughing, spluttering into the cup of water she was nursing.

Marv and Liz looked at her quizzically, and, trying to recover as quickly as possible, apologized profusely, saying, "It's all a bit exaggerated, actually. I saw the whole thing. The demons were so busy being eaten alive by a bunch of snakes, they didn't have time to even get to Harry. It was the silliest thing, really. Harry never made a move. I mean, he hit one of them, but that was about all. Then he just left."

Harry saw that Liz was looking at Kittie confusedly and Marv simply had an eyebrow raised in question. "Snakes?" they asked.

"Yes, snakes."

Liz turned to Harry, who understood that Kittie was saving him from having to relive the whole thing, merely nodded. "yep. Didn't do anything, actually. It was all a bunch of poisonous cobras."

"But how did a bunch of snakes get into the cafe?" Liz asked.

Harry shrugged. "Well, you know, Liz. That's the million dollar question, isn't it? I mean, whoever put those snakes there must have really disliked the demons. I would shudder to think of crossing that person. They must have considerable resources. No, I would rather not like to meet that person, and will, in future, try to keep out of his way." harry's gaze flickered to Marv, who was scrutinizing Harry intensely.

Kittie, seeing this biplay, interjected, "So how are things going at the shop, Liz? Marv said you work at that little magic shop on the corner of sixth and seventh."

"Oh yes, I do. It's going well, Kittie. It seems more and more people are coming around to the idea that magic really exists. It's about time people start opening their eyes to what's been in front of them all this time."

"Magic, you say?" Harry asked.

"Indeed," Liz agreed.

"What kind of magic?"

"Oh, lots. We have a resident fortune teller - I've been told I myself have a bit of the gift, you see. I can spot a fake from a mile away, though my predictions tend to be a bit more vague than some of the others. We also do tarot and crystal readings, though I've always found tea leaves to work the best for me. We also have various talismans and other charms to help ward yourself from danger. Take you for example. You're new here, you obviously didn't have a clue what you were doing walking into a demon's nest, and you only survived by the barest margin. It would do you some good to come by and pick up something that would help your fortunes. If you had been just a bit luckier, then maybe you would have kept on walking and gone into the Plant Stop, a little vegetarian place a block off the main road."

"I see," harry said. "Yes, maybe I'll come by. It's always worth a look."

"yes, yes, it never hurts to look," Liz agreed. "You must keep your mind open, of course. So many people come in and just make fun of it all, but I tell you, they're simply jealous, or scared. Yes, yes, scared of the truth, that is. So many people, even here have difficulty believing."

"Even here?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes, Harry. Even here. Surely you understand that this place is not ordinary. We get all kinds of magics going on. With the different types of people, the demons and that ogre that hangs about here, people are naturally going to be more open minded. Still not enough, of course. Tell me, where did you come from?"

"Liz, you know we don't ask questions like that around here," Marv said quickly.

"Nonsense, Marv. Just because you dislike the questions doesn't mean that other people have the same things to hide. Harry here seems perfectly normal. Aren't you, Harry? I must admit that we all thought you were something special from the account of what happened, but now, looking at you, it seems plain as day that you're less interesting than even myself."

"Liz!" Marv exclaimed.

Harry simply smiled and nodded. "It's Okay, Marv. I have no problem being called boring. In fact, I'm kind of fond of the idea, actually. I think being interesting is a bit overrated, to tell you the truth."

"Interesting indeed, harry," Liz went on. "So, tell us then. Where are you from? How did you get here?"

"It's kind of funny, actually. I was just walking through downtown, thinking about things, when this giant car came crashing down the sidewalk. I scrambled into an alley and, when I looked around, I saw this young woman just lying about. I went to see if she were okay, and she had a gash on her cheek, and she was unconscious. So I went inside the nearest building to find help, only it happened that it was full of vampires." Everybody at the table gasped.

"How did you survive?" Liz whispered.

Harry decided it was best for his ego to skip the part about having the blood cocktail, and simply said, "When I found out where I was, I simply ran as fast as I could, and made my way to an exit. When I came out, I was here." Even as Harry said these last words, however, something struck him as being incredibly odd. Did everything really change when he went through the building? That didn't seem right. That would have meant that the girl was in both worlds. Harry furrowed his brows in concentration. He must have entered the world beforehand. By going through the alley in the first place. He decided to file that thought away and consider it later.

"So how long have you been here?" Liz asked.

"Just a few days, but I won't be staying long."

"Why is that?"

"I have to get back so my friends don't miss me," Harry said.

"That could be a bit of a problem, couldn't it?" Liz asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry returned.

"Well, you're starting to make friends here, aren't you? I mean, won't they miss you too?"

Harry glanced instinctively at Kittie, but she was not looking at him. You're going to leave her, a voice in his head thought. Is this outing still so harmless? Harry decided to switch gears. "So, now that I've told you how I've gotten here, anyone care to volunteer their story?"

Oddly enough, no one responded.

"Nobody?" Harry asked, looking at his three dinner companions. "Liz?"

She turned away and stared fixedly at the salt shaker, causing Harry to glance at Kittie questioningly. Seems a bit odd, Kittie, he thought. She just asked me about my history. It seems only fair.

"Histories are actually a rather personal thing around here," Kittie said. "That's why Marv said Lizzie shouldn't ask. We don't usually talk about them, because..." Kittie trailed off and gave the salt shaker a glance, trying to collect her thoughts. She went on, "Because, it takes misfortune to bring people here. All our tales are sad ones."

"Oh," harry said. All their tales were sad ones. "But wait a second," He said slowly, thinking about his own entry. 'Mine wasn't sad. Mine was rather ordinary."

"No, what I mean is that there has to be something in your old life, something in the real world that drives you to want to leave it. That's all. For some of us, it is the loss of a loved one, for others, it is the loss of material wealth. For others still, it could be entirely different."

Harry considered this. What in his life had made him susceptible to crossing between boundaries? Was it the loss of Dumbledore? Sirius? The feeling that he had to be an adult, maybe? Or it could havejust been the slow march towards that inevitable confrontation between him and Voldemort.

The server came by and took their drink and dinner orders. They were all splitting a bottle of house wine. The women each had a cocktail, Kittie taking a Singapore Sling and Liz going for a Candy Apple. Both Harry and Marv kept with their water. For dinner, there was a pasta, a stir fry, something ethnic sounding and a steak, which Harry ordered. Conversation lapsed into the usual dull things that Harry found drove conversations between people who didn't know each other very well. They talked about how Mosaics was being shut down and renovated by a foreign investor, and that the demons were getting out of town. There was talk about the construction of a pub called the Dark Horse, which would be operating in direct competition with the Red Cherry and so on and so forth. harry nodded and smiled and made noises of interest from time to time, sometimes, catching Kittie's hand under the table and squeezing it gently. Things like that were the only decent part of the evening, as far as he was concerned. Liz turned out to be a complete babbler, her incessant chattering growing worse as she pounded back one drink after the next. The thrum of business had grown, but was not nearly as strong as it usually was on one of the other nights. Harry spared a quick glance and saw a familiar fat, balding man in one corner, his large frame making him tower over his companions, who were simpering before him. Must be important, harry thought.

Harry also had time during the evening to study Marv a little more closely. To his discomfort, he felt that Marv was studying him too, and was getting something more out of the exchange than Harry was. He tried to keep his comments neutral, but every once in a while, a nasty, biting comment surged up from out of nowhere and it was all Harry could do to ameliorate his desire to expose the fraud. The fraud that he knew Marv was. Or at least, was fairly confident. Liz had started going on about snakes and their healing properties, and Harry briefly considered conjuring a poisonous cobra right onto the table. He thought it would serve two very key functions. He could effectively shut Liz up - if he were lucky, she would die of fright, and, simultaneously, he could test to see if Marv were a parselmouth. Alas, Harry fought back that desire. It would give him away too quickly. For all he knew, Marv was just some loser, like the next guy, or at the very least, he'd probably never heard of Harry Potter and would not feel threatened. If Harry went around showing off his talents as a parselmouth, which was a very distinctive characteristic, he would have to watch his back much more carefully from then on. It was bad enough that Marv may have suspected. I'm going to have to check to see what Kittie's told him.

At that moment, Harry felt a nudge coming from Kittie, and when he returned his attention to the table, he found the three were staring at him.

"Hmm?" he asked innocently

"Harry, Marv just asked you a question."

"Er," Harry began, not wanting to admit that he hadn't been paying attention. Don't tell them you weren't paying attention, his mind said. "Er, I wasn't paying attention," he admitted to Kittie. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Kittie rolled her eyes exasperatedly, and let his hand go from underneath the table. She made a show of turning her attention to Liz, leaving harry feeling a bit stupid.

Marv gave Harry a sympathetic glance and kindly reiterated his question. "Have you been out and about anywhere in our little hideaway?" Marv asked.

"Not after the demon thing," Harry said. "I've gone out a couple of times just to get some fresh air and stretch my legs, but nothing major. Heard there really isn't much to do around here."

"No, there isn't. You have to go to one of the other islands if you want to see some actual variety. I've heard there's quite a few nice ones if you don't mind taking risks."

"Risks?" Harry inquired.

Marv shrugged. "Some places aren't as friendly as others and hopping islands isn't an exact science. I haven't gone anywhere myself, being a bit too vulnerable and all that, but I've heard that some places are very stable and it's easy to get there, but some aren't. It all takes a bit of trial and error, actually."

"I don't really have much interest in going anywhere. Anywhere that's not home, that is."

"Right, right."

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about getting back to the mainland, would you?"

Marv shook his head. "Sorry, Harry. I came here and never spared a second glance back."

Harry pondered this statement, wondering what could have driven Marv from his old life. What had been so bad that he never wanted to return, that made him exile himself? Harry decided to ask, venturing with a preambling question. "Do you mind if I ask about your old life?"

Marv considered it for a moment and then made a hand gesture inviting Harry to continue. God what I wouldn't give for some veritassurum right about now, Harry thought.

"What made it so bad that you never spared a glance back?"

Marv sighed, and Harry was aware that both Liz and Kittie had returned their attention to the boys. "There were a lot of things, I suppose. Mostly it was just me. I wasn't very happy with who I was. Then, one day, there was an accident, and I hit my head, lost some memories I think. Or at least, there was a dead space in my life. When I awoke, years later, I must have been about twenty-two - I found my friends had moved on. I was just a bit lonely, I guess. Figured it was time for me to move on. My family had passed away somewhere in the middle so there really wasn't anything for me to do."

Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting, but that answer was not it. It sounded dull and uninteresting and, well, sad. It was so bland and spoke of such a banal existence, that harry was hard pressed to accuse it of even being fake. "I can't say it's the happiest story I've ever heard," Harry said. "Or even the most cohesive one. Marv, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Marv asked.

Harry nodded, allowing Marv to scrutinize him thoroughly. He nodded and a silent understanding passed between them. You're a nobody, Marv, Harry thought, and I'm sorry I thought you were someone else.

The rest of the evening past in idle chit chat. Harry was amused to learn that Liz had, through some act of intuition, made a few clever guesses about the existence of wizards. She was a firm believer that some of the deformed people in the world were in fact victims of magic, though this line of thought tended to degenerate into a pitch for the trinkets in her shop. Harry had promised that he would stop by and take a look around to see if there were anything he could use to protect himself, all the while Kittie rolled her eyes surreptitiously so that only Harry noticed. Afterwards, the two couples parted ways.

"It was a wonderful evening," Harry reassured her as he walked her back to her apartment, stars twinkling different colours from the black sheen of the sky above them.

"Do you mean that?" Kittie asked, her grip on Harry's arm as they walked, arms linked, tightening just a fraction.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked.

"In a word - Marv."

"Oh." They walked in silence for a moment, the faint crackle of cars and music and other things in the distance thickening in the ensuing silence between them. Now that the alcohol was wearing off, doubts about who Marv was had returned, and that made him worry. How could he lie to Kittie? The answer was that he couldn't. He didn't want to block her out of his mind all the time. He wanted to be comfortable with her, and that meant being honest. It was important in a relationship, he realized; especially after Cho. He and Cho had had unresolved issues between them and it had driven them apart. If only Harry had come clean and talked about Cedric with her could they have had a chance at a decent relationship.

"Harry?"

"Hmm? Yes, right, Marv. Could we talk about something else?"

"It seemed like you were warming up to him."

"That is when the snake aims to pounce," Harry countered. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this was the wrong thing to say; that the right thing to say would have come off sounding more apologetic, but he couldn't muster it. No, he knew magic existed in the world, and he knew that impossible things were possible. He also knew that danger followed him everywhere, and that meant it could follow him clean into a whole other universe. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all.

Kittie separated herself from him and said curtly. "I think it is better that we part ways here."

They stopped walking, and Harry turned to stare at her, all the while Kittie keeping her body aimed in the direction of her home. In all practicality, he had brought her far enough that she was safe making it home on her own, so that wasn't really an issue. But Harry didn't want to part ways just yet, because he was getting tired of the tension. In fact, he was more than just tired. He was getting pissed off, and this Marv issue was starting to remind him of Cedric in some distinctly uncomfortable ways.

"Dammit, Kittie," he said, throwing his hands up into the air in defeat. "I can't deal with this. I like you. I like you a lot. Why can't that be enough? Why do you have to push me like this? I can't get comfortable near him. It won't happen. I'm sorry."

She turned to him, and he saw tears running down her face. Oh no, he moaned. Not tears. "Just tell me you have a good reason for it. Tell me that. I know there's things about you I don't understand. You clearly aren't interested in letting me in. I can only believe that you think Marv is some kind of a threat to you-"

"To you too," Harry said quickly.

Kittie waved his words away with her hand. "I can't believe that. There's nothing you could say that would make me believe it, and if you ever try to turn me again Marv, he'll be the least of your worries. Believe me." There was an unmistakably hard edge in her voice that Harry recognized. It was the same edge that he heard when Dumbledore felt his students' well-being had been threatened. The air seemed to drop in temperature with her words, and Harry wisely chose to remain silent for the moment and let her continue. "I do trust you a little, however," she continued. "I have had moments of insight into your mind, as you know, and so you don't seem dangerous or insane."

"Gee, thanks," he muttered, not being able to resist.

Kittie went on as though she didn't hear him, "So, I'll just assume that you think you have good reason. Maybe you do, since you've all these secrets."

Harry looked into her eyes, and absently brushed an errant tear away from her left cheek. His expression was one of deep pain. Tell her, you idiot! his mind screamed. It did so at such high volume, that it nearly burst through his mental shields. Yet there was something keeping that reasoning at bay. Something about not wanting to get too close or too involved - the small little voice inside his head that reminded him unfailingly that he was destined to leave her and continue his war. There was another nagging little thought that had recently surfaced as well; one more disturbing than the others, because it suggested that he himself couldn't be trusted. Maybe you're looking for Dartk Lords where there aren't any Maybe you're trying to avoid the reality of the situation. Maybe you want to stay here where it's safe and comfortable and where you're free from the pressures that the wizarding world has placed on you. This is your oasis and Marv is the answer to your guilty conscience.

Harry shook these thoughts from his head and responded by watching Kittie walk away. "Dammit, Kittie!" he shouted to her retreating form. She turned and looked meaningfully into his eyes, the distance of the ten paces between them hanging like the omnipresent barrier that was plaguing their relationship. Harry reflexively ran his fingers through his messy black hair, blithely unaware of how cute Kittie regarded that particular mannerism of his. "I don't know what to say anymore. I'm tired. I think about you all the time, and I hate how tired and anxious I feel. When I'm with you, it feels so wonderful and when you're not there... it's like there's a little less colour in the world." He paused, searching for the right words and suddenly growing frustrated. He kicked a loose pebble onto the lawn, watching it disappear in the rush of dark grass blades. "I can't keep fighting with you like this. If you can't accept the way I am or feel, then I don't think there's anything left for us. I don't want it to be that way. God, how I don't. But I can't change who I am."

"Harry, I am not asking you to change who you are. I'm asking you to let me in. Can you really stand there and think that it's okay for you to not tell me and still expect me to get close to you. I'm not interested in being a casual fuck for some passerby. If you're going to be with me, you need to open up and let me decide. Now or later."

"Kittie, I would never think of you as that. A casual-" Harry paused, struggling to voice the obscenity and failing, "well, you know. Like that. You mean a lot to me. It's only been three days, but it feels like so long. I don't want to go back to wondering each second if you're going to walk through the door or not. I find myself always looking."

"You need to open up. You can't expect me to make myself vulnerable to you and not make yourself vulnerable to me. I won't have it."

"What does not talking about Marv have to do with vulnerability!" Harry exclaimed. "I just don't want to talk about the bloody git!"

Kittie through up her hands in exasperation. "This has nothing to do with Marv, Harry! God, are you that dense! This has to do with you warding off the parts of you that make you who you are. I don't know who you are!"

"I don't know who you are!" he shot back.

"You can ask me!"

Harry scrunched up his face in consternation. He wasn't quite sure where the conversation had gotten to, but he was pretty sure he had lost whatever argument they were having. At least along this point of contention. "Why do you trust him then" Harry asked suddenly.

"He's never given me a reason not to," she said. "He's always been open with me. When I first got here, I was alone. He was my first friend; we talked. We talked about all kinds of things. He was the first one who I felt I could count on, and who wasn't trying to use me or take advantage of me. He's my friend. I don't understand why that's so difficult for you to believe. You couldn't seriously think that he's the same person that murdered your family. Harry, he would have been only a toddler when it happened." She shook her head, and then said, "Why do you mistrust him so?"

Harry felt his throat constricting with each word Kittie spoke. He knew that he had taken this argument down a wrong turn somewhere, or, at least, that's what he told himself. But another part of his mind was quietly asking why he wasn't confessing the truth. Well, there were many answers to that question, all of them valid and many of them either rational or irrational. Harry merely kept silent. And so, Kittie left, leaving him to return to the Red Cherry sullent and confused.