Disclaimer: I have no claim on anything, save for Rosie, the bookshop dude and the annoyed old guy. The professor is based on an actual scary man I currently have the misfortune of meeting.

Perspectives from the Past is an actual book, though I made up the author Erika Erikson. If someone by that name however does exist, then well, I don't own that person either. The little piece below is part of ALACANDRE's speech to PRIDAMANT in the play The Illusion. Good stuff. The whole piece of Alacandre's little monologue will continue in the final two chapters of this story. I just wanted to divide the small monologue according to the content in the chapters.

Author's Notes: A great big thank you to everyone for the wonderful feedback. You're all amazing.

I'm going into second year, so I don't have the faintest idea of how an intermediate class would go about. I do have a fear of math and science though so at least in that aspect I can write truthfully. I was however once dragged into a friend of mine's compsci 250 (at least I think it was compsci) which drove me to the conclusion that algorithms suck. And a big ol "Quiet you" to those who want to prove me otherwise. But enough of this babble. Enjoy, and let me know what you think.


What in this world is real and not seeming?

Love, which seems the realest thing, is really nothing at all;

A simple gray rock is a thousand times more tangible than love is;

And the earth is such a rock, and love only a breeze

that dreams over its surface, weightless and traceless.

And yet love's more mineral, more dense, more veined with gold

and corrupted with lead,

more bitter and more weighty than the earth's profoundest matter.

Love is a sea of desire stretched between shores -- only the shores are real,

but how much more compelling is the sea…

-excerpt taken from Pierre Corneille's The Illusion, (Adapted by: Tony Kushner)


"That'll be 25.22, son."

Harry dug into his wallet, pulled out the notes and handed them to the cashier.

"It's a good book, this one," the cashier, a short, balding man with beady eyes that had something of a hint of Dumbledore's twinkle said to Harry; his leathery face wrinkled as his lips cracked into a smile. He hefted the heavy maroon tomb entitled Perspectives from the Past and delicately placed it in the bag with the other books.

"Yeah, so I've heard," Harry answered accepting the change in the man's outstretched hand.

"You go to the university?" the man asked, eyes squinting at the receipt as it sluggishly tumbled from the machine.

Harry shook his head. "No I- that one's just for me and the others are presents."

The man nodded thoughtfully and tore at the receipt and gave it to Harry. "Light reading, eh? Good for you, son. Business has been slow the past century, what with those blasted computer games coming out."

Harry chuckled and thanked him with a nod, taking the receipt and shoving it into his bag.

"You take care now and enjoy Perspectives. As I said, good book, that."

Harry nodded and raised his hand in farewell. Then passing rows upon rows of shelves bursting with dusty books, he pushed open the doors, stuffed a hand in his pocket and looked across the road. The heavy rain beat against his upturned face and muddled his vision. In big bold letters the words NICE DREAM filled his sight. His eyes lingered on the window and if he squinted just right, he could make out a familiar head of bushy hair.

Someone pushed past him, knocking into his shoulder and immediately bringing him back to his senses. He was wet. The wind was picking up and if he didn't get inside somewhere soon he would eventually be wet and cold.

He shook his head and took a step to the left, making to leave for the nearest Apparation Centre. A car shot by on the road, nearly dashing him with filthy rain water and Harry jerked to the side, swearing heavily.

"Wonderful," he muttered, wishing he could use a bit of water repelling magic, but there were too many muggles around and someone would sure notice that a very dry man without an umbrella was a very strange thing.

NICE DREAM glared back at him and his shoulders sagged in defeat. Coffee. That's what he needed. Hot, soothing coffee. Gripping his bag laden with three books (including Erika Erikson's Perspectives from the Past), he gritted his teeth and looked up and down the road, wary of other mad muggle drivers spraying deadly muddied rain water in their wake, before trotting across the street.

He pulled open the door and the bell chimed announcing his arrival. He made his way to his usual table by the window, which just so happened to involve him passing by her table, but he was here for coffee and nothing more. So naturally it was only because he was drenched and chilled to the bone from the rain that he suddenly had a coughing fit, and it was pure coincidence that his sudden and most certainly unintentional attack took him just as he walked by her table.

She didn't notice.

Plopping his bag on the bench, he suddenly became aware that his jacket was sopping and drenched. So he of course just had to shrug it off and shake the water out, making much of a fuss and plenty of noise.

She didn't look up.

He let out another cough and just for good measure, cleared his throat loudly.

She turned the page of her book, completely entranced.

Then the same old man he had seen on the first day looked up from his paper and eyed him in annoyance. Harry coloured slightly and sat down with a small sigh. The old man huffed and brought his attention back to his paper leaving Harry to stare sullenly at his table.

Slightly disappointed, he ordered a coffee.

Harry stared out the window for a moment then rummaged through his bag and pulled out the heavy maroon book and laid it on the table. He eyed the gold letters etched across the hard cover and became so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice Rosie click her way to him and set his neon green mug on the smooth surface.

"Erika Erikson, huh?" she said and Harry looked up at her.

"Yeah."

"New book?"

"Just got it today. That's why I'm here."

Rosie nodded and placed a hand on her hip as she inspected the plain cover. "You're the second person that I've seen who's crazy enough to get that."

Harry leaned back in his seat, resting his eyes on the woman standing before him. So she knew. Big deal.

"What made you buy it?" she asked with a knowing smile.

Harry shrugged and refused to look at the Woman seated two tables away from him and to his left. "Heard some good stuff about it and I was curious."

"Hmm," she answered. "Well, enjoy the drink. The book as well," and she left.

Harry grunted and drank his coffee. The Woman was marking another page in her book.


The rain had stopped. Harry fixed his gaze outside the window. The sun was just starting to peak from behind the clouds, warming the wet pavement. Bright rays fell across the windows of the shops, causing the droplets that streaked the glass to glisten and shine. Then he heard a sound of a chair scraping across the floor and he looked up

. The woman was standing and she took her maroon book. The gold letters of the word Perspectives lingered before his eyes before the book disappeared into her bag. Delving through her purse, she pulled out some coins and placed them on the table. Then with a farewell to Rosie she headed out the door, the bell chimed at her back.

Harry looked out the window and watched as she passed by and stepped onto the curb. She scanned the road before crossing and she adjusted the strap of her black satchel across her shoulder.

Harry didn't know why, but suddenly he found himself standing, tossing some notes on the table and heading out the door. Waiting for the road to clear, he then crossed the street and scanned the crowd of people on the sidewalk. He immediately spotted her and he quickened his step only to slow down when she was a safe distance away.

He kept at a steady pace always bringing himself closer to her yet not too close that she would notice, and with his hands in his pockets he allowed his gaze to drift downward and fall on her hips that gently swayed in a childish innocence with each step. He wondered if she even noticed her actions, for her eyes were once again buried in a sheet of paper she held in her delicate hands.

Harry swallowed.

If only he could just reach out, encircle her waist and pull her back against him. Then he could lean in close and bury his nose in her hair.

He wondered what she smelled like.

Was her scent the gentle rose? Was it the tickling fruit? Sweet vanilla? Or did she have a scent of her own; an intoxicating subtle aroma that gently washed over him making him gasp and tremble.

He licked lips that had gone dry and wished he had brought his coffee with him.

Harry followed her as far as the bus stop and took a seat at the bench behind her. Right, I'll leave as soon as the bus comes.

She stood, reading. Her lips moved with each word that flowed from the page.

"Excuse me?" a voice sounded, forcing Harry to break his gaze. He turned to find a girl who looked to be about fifteen or sixteen, eyeing him with interest. "You don't happen to have the time do you? I lost my watch," she said sheepishly.

Harry glanced at the watch on his wrist and said, "It's 1:32."

She thanked him and looked as if she was about to say something more. Thankfully the bus arrived and Harry shot to his feet, giving her a fleeting smile and nearly dashing onto the bus. Lovely. He thought with a frown as he paid his fare.

He spotted the Woman already seated with one empty chair beside her.

Well. As long as I'm here…

Harry took a seat beside her and placed his hands on his knees to prevent himself from fidgeting. He focused his gaze on the dirt ridden floor of the vehicle and he contemplated a conversation with her. If there was ever a time, now was a good one. But what would he say? "Hi I'm Harry," would be a nice start. He pictured her giving him a blank stare before turning back to her papers in silence.

Come on, think of something.

Harry was fully aware that he may not have another chance so he lifted his head, turned to her and opened his mouth to speak. Then his throat closed up and he froze. She looked up from her papers to look up at him, but he had already jerked his head back to the floor. Idiot. He thought. He brought a hand to fumble with the handle of the bag and the bus stopped at a red light.

Now that certainly didn't go well at all.

A real winner, you are. Brilliant. A real ladies' man.

He had nothing interesting to say anyway so he only stared sullenly at the contents in his bag, wondering which stop he should get off at.

The Woman then let out a sigh and sidled through the contents of her bag, stuffing her papers in and pulling out a notebook. Curious, Harry looked at its contents and his head spun. He furrowed his brow in confusion. The page was covered with complicated equations and diagrams. Well. He certainly knew that he was sure to be a complete bore to her. A small surge of something filled him and his lips curved slightly in amusement. All breasts and no brains, indeed. Ron would be proud.

A few stops later the Woman stood, shoved the book back in her bag, and walked off the bus. The struggle took only a moment for him. Should I stay or should I go?

Harry stepped lightly onto the still wet cement of the sidewalk.

He followed her across the freshly cut grass, through a pathway littered with flyers scattered on the poles, and into a building where she went up three flights of stairs and through orange double doors. Harry paused before the doors wondering if this was the point where he should stop.

Ah, what the hell.

He pushed through the doors and entered the lecture hall. She was sitting in the front row and already had her notebook out. Then Harry dared to look at the equations on the board and immediately regretted stepping into the room.

An old man sporting a bright yellow sweater and tweed pants strode into the room with vigour and tossed his folder onto the table at a quick flick of his wrist. With beady eyes, the man glared at the few students that just entered and Harry quickly took a seat farther up and away from his gaze. He made sure that his seat had a clear sight of the Woman. She was now sitting upright and alert, pencil in hand.

The next hour was a flurry of activity with the professor jotting down equations on the board and scratching diagrams painful to the eye. All the while hands, some tentative and some eager, shot into the air. Harry glanced around him nervously as he noted the students scribbling furiously. Some chewed pens and pencils in their hands and others nodded at whatever the professor, bordering on god, said.

Every now and then a question would be thrown in. Some were good and some were, well, not so good. Harry knew which ones that failed to shine in the professor's eyes for the old man would suddenly grow red in the face, his dark eyes would narrow making them seem even smaller and he would roar, "BRIGHT YOUNG DOCTORS ASK BRIGHT QUESTIONS!" To which Harry would respond with a good natured jerk of the shoulders in surprise. Some students winced, while others looked smugly at the offending questioner. Harry's girl would then raise her hand and offer some bright input.

"Excellent," the professor said gruffly. He whirled his plump frame to the board and began to madly erase his work, creating a light smoke of chalk to dust his thick moustache. "Miss Granger has once again deduced that when taking into consideration the…"

Harry decided to tune the man out and instead smiled with satisfaction at the Woman who sat in her seat looking rather pleased. So she did have a name. Granger. Her intelligence impressed him. He was sure that she was by far the most intelligent woman in this entire class. The entire school even. Sure he was biased, but he was proud of her just the same. Now he just needed to know her first name.

The professor barked at another student who cowered under his beady gaze and Harry decided to slip out the back. He had pushed open the door already running through his head what he would say to her when he saw her again. Then he spotted Ron sitting on the ledge by the wall, arms folded over his chest. One eye opened, revealing the bright blue of his iris and a slow, lazy smile lit his face.

"About time you came out," said Ron. He stood and stretched, not bothering to swallow the loud yawn. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked.

Harry headed to the stairs. "Immensely."

Ron followed him and their plodding footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell.

"Why didn't you just follow me in?" said Harry.

"I almost did," said Ron and he eyed the bag Harry was holding. "Then I heard some rubbish about bright doctors asking questions. Nutters."

Harry grinned. "You hungry?"

"Always."

They stepped out into the bright sunshine and paused. Harry looked around. "I think I noticed a restaurant here somewhere."

"Why don't we just head over to Diagon Alley? Oh right, that would take you away from your mystery woman of the bushy hair that you oh so love to stalk."

Harry turned to scowl at him. "I'm not stalking her."

Ron raised a dubious brow.

"Oh alright. Fine. I'm stalking her."

It sounded weird when he said it aloud and he felt disgusted with himself. She's driving me insane.

"Great. Now that you've embraced it, we can move on." Ron stopped a stranger and asked where the nearest restaurant was. Pointed in the right direction, they continued walking.

"Her hair isn't bushy. It's curly," Harry suddenly said in defence.

Ron's lips twitched in hilarity. "Curly in a bushy sorta way?"

Harry tried to wrestle his smile but to no avail.

They stepped into the restaurant and order their food. Once seated, with a plate before him, Ron bit into his sandwich with relish. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "Hmm, not bad." He drank deeply then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "So," he said popping a fry in his mouth. "Have you got her name yet?"

Harry swallowed his share and said, "It's Granger."

Ron blinked and took another gulp of his drink. "Granger, eh? Dunno about you mate, but that's the strangest first name I've ever heard." Ron ignored his friend's dark look. "Tell me," he said taking another bite of his sandwich. "Were her parents on drugs?"

"No you idiot, Granger is her last name."

Ron's sandwich paused in its ascent to his mouth.

"Ah. So you haven't talked to her then."

Harry muttered a 'No' before taking a deep pull from his bottle.