Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
THE SONG OF SOLOMON
Chapter 6: The Offer
Al held on to the golden Galleon as tightly as he could, as though it would grow little feet and run away if he'd let go. It was his first visit to Honeydukes, and that coin was for him to spend all alone.
Surveying the shelves towering over him, Al found it quite impossible to decide whether he wanted sugar quills or chocolate frogs, acid pops or pepper imps. Perhaps he should find his brother and they could get different ones to share. He looked around; his parents were chatting with Mr. Flume at the counter, but James was nowhere in sight.
Faint noises drifted into his ears amidst the sound of falling rain as he ventured to the other end of the shop, and quickly crescendoed into a rowdy mix of chattering and laughter. Soon the door burst open to a swarm of students, all dressed in Hogwarts robes, their long arms instantly stretching over his head to attack the merchandise.
Al cowered to the corner. Crowds always scared him, and the loud cheers and yells did nothing to stop his heart from thumping. He stretched his neck towards the counter, but no matter how hard he tried he could not see his dad, who he knew could save him from anything and everything.
Clutching the coin close to his chest, the boy settled on the carpet and willed his eyes away from the customers. Under his breath he began to chant what his father had always told him, that Albus Severus Potter was brave and no one could ever hurt him and someone would always be there…
He paused to peer from behind the rim of his round spectacles. Not this time, he thought, his heart sinking. The only other person lingering in this corner of the shop was a man dressed in a traveling cloak, his body half leaning against the wall to balance the weight of a rucksack strung across his shoulders. His back was facing Al, who decided to crawl a small distance on the carpet and join his gaze to the pavement outside.
A fight had broken out. Through the foggy glass Al could see two fuzzy lumps rolling on the cobblestones and all over each other, their equally black shade made it impossible to distinguish which was which. Occasionally a strip of red would flash into view among the mist; other times, a band a green. Other students had gathered around to watch, some of them pumping their fists and hollering; it was clearly a spectacle quite familiar to all of them.
The boy blinked and looked away. The man by the window didn't seem to enjoy the scene much either, although his line of sight remained curiously even. Al also noticed, as he glanced at the sharp profile sprinkled with the glistening reflections of raindrops, that there was a slight movement at the corner of the mouth; it was as if the man wanted to say something or to smile, but the skin around the lips was too heavy to lift.
Al had found that expression on Dad before; James had taught him to look out for it, the perfect moment to ask for presents or show bad school marks. His brother also added, after heaving a loud sigh, that it's a shame that there couldn't be thunderstorms everyday. Al hadn't quite understood what that meant.
A rustling broke the child's stream of thought; the man had raised an arm to his face, to wipe his nose perhaps? The noise had come from the two bags dangling from his wrist. Al watched in horror as a chocolate frog fell out from the smaller one and its owner didn't seem to notice.
What if all the sweets were gone before the man reached home?
He thought he should do something, his mind shuddering at his own imaginary disappointment if his father were to come home with an empty Honeydukes bag. A simple alert would do; yet Al could never talk to strangers, his already timid articulation truncated to stuttering fragments of Ers and Ums whenever he tried.
Another sweet fall out; this time, a chocoball. Al panicked.
Then he saw them, two long silver ribbons that suspended from the sleeve of the traveling cloak, draping smoothly over the very pale skin on the back of the hand. They were beautiful, and the softness of the fabric made them look gentle, harmless.
Al bit his lips and stood up, his breathing hastened with excitement and anxiety; he drew near to the man and, his hand lifted in slow motion, tugged on one of the silver ribbons in front of him.
The man gave a start and looked down with a slight frown. The features staring at Al were unlike anything the boy had seen before; the contours of nose, chin and cheekbone were so severe and the hair and eyebrows so fair that they appeared to be carved from marble.
Al gulped, his tongue instantly twisted into a tight knot. All he could do was to jab a small finger to the broken bag and then point at the sweets on the carpet.
Grey eyes softened in a gleam of realization as the man retrieved his wand and cast a silent spell to mend the tear. His hand then disappeared into the bag to rummage through the contents; upon reappearing, the outstretched palm towards the boy was laden with sweets.
Violent blush attacked the soft cheeks as Al resisted the temptation to take a gift from a stranger. He shook his head, as if to answer, or rather, to convince himself, and made a courageous attempt to keep his eyes downcast despite their flickering every now and then to the offered generosity. With both hands he pressed on his oversized spectacles, stopping them from sliding down the sweat-slicked bridge of his nose.
The man opened his mouth to verbalize his offer. Yet no words came, the sounds abruptly held back as if a mistake had been made before. Instead, the hand lowered and gave a cautious nudge.
Al's stomach churned. He bit his lips and shook his head again, this time more forcefully, feeling his already shaggy hair becoming even more disheveled at each turn. He must look like he was about to cry, for the man sank to his knees almost immediately, his rucksack fell on the carpet with a muted thump. The free hand extended, and after a moment of hesitation, ran its fingers slowly through the black locks to smooth them out.
The gesture, reminiscent of his dad and so familiar to Al, slowed the erratic breathing that heaved the small chest. That corner of the shop became a safe haven, pulsating in the steady rhythm of warmth gliding along his scalp. The boy's eyes finally met those of his hero of the moment, and his lips curled shyly upwards in gratitude.
Much to Al's surprise, the stranger smiled back. Smooth crescents appeared on the austere and impassive features as the stern eyes arched and the corner of the mouth lifted. Al looked in wonder as faint lines of crow's feet crept into view, like the final touches of a chisel that brought life into what had been a statue just seconds ago.
Al grinned as his last trace of discomfort dissolved into the sweet scent of confection in the air; a sudden burst of courage shot through him, and he reached out to touch again the tails of the silver ribbon in front of his eyes, swaying gently in sync with the hand brushing through his hair. He curled it around one of his chubby fingers and watched it untwist in a spiral as he let go.
The stranger chuckled. With the fingers of his other hand he pulled at the ornament on the sleeve, and the clasp gave way in a soft metallic clink. When the palm saw light again there spread the knot, embellished by its two long slender tails, a bejeweled butterfly perched on the previously offered sweets.
Al could feel heat returning to his cheeks again. His lips worded a silent Thank You as he took the gift from the outstretched hand and placed it in his own, the soft silver so dissimilar and yet so flawless against the solid gold of the Galleon. He took a deep breath and was determined to say something coherent when he heard his name being called in the distance, a whisper among the commotion that perhaps he was the only one who could hear.
The boy turned and ran into the crowd, eager to find his parents and introduce his new friend. But when Al was finally in his dad's embrace, his forehead showered by the soft kisses from his mum, all was forgotten. It was not until that night, when he was saying goodnight to his little sister in the crib and realized that he had forgotten to get sweets for her, that he remembered the beautiful gift from the stranger in the shop. He planted the silver ribbon under the blanket.
The next day came, and it was gone.