Somewhere Out There: A Passing Glance
Putting my hands in the pockets of the old jeans I wore, the bottoms tattered a bit, I walked on down the road and past the houses of happy families, the kids currently in school and their parents working the 40-hour-a-week jobs that provided the food, clothing, and livelihood for their families. I was just hoping to find enough to get by for now. Hopes I ever had of a family had died with Ron. I had fallen quickly in love with his developing courage and steadfastness when it came to the people he cared about. He was loyal to a fault and fascinated by my studious nature. Even though we were opposites, we clung to each other for friendship and love.
We had talked about our future together during the war; what would happen if we won, what would happen if Voldemort won, who would plan the wedding, and what our children would grow up to be. Even though I thought of myself as a little more down-to-earth than Ron was, I still craved to be a best friend, mother, and lover. I never got that chance. After the disappearance of Mrs. Weasley and Tonks, the Order decided it would be better to keep the lot of us separated, especially all the Weasley siblings. When I did see Ron after that, there was no time for snogging, just a few quick perfunctory hugs and little was ever said. We had never talked about what would happen if one of us died. We'd never made it that far in our thinking. Well, no, we had, but we didn't want to imagine the possibility.
Ron proposed, of course, a little before the disappearances. Harry had gone with him to Diagon Alley over Christmas Break to get the ring. It was beautiful, a gold band with a single pear-shaped diamond in the middle surrounded by two small rubies. He didn't have any big, sweet proposal line, but he gave to me on the first day of spring. He claimed it signified things were going to get better, that the world would be right again, that the charming little children we would have would grow up in a world. Though he didn't plan where we would live, considering the Burrow was already a little, well, crowded, it was sweet of him either way. With tears in my eyes, I had accepted and he slipped the gold ring onto the four finger of my right hand. He claimed it was tradition in Wizarding culture to place the ring on the dominant hand so the person would always be reminded to love and of their love to one another. He'd forgotten that I'm left-handed, but I didn't feel the need to remind him…again.
Over the course of the next few weeks, I wore it always. Instead of wearing it on my finger, however, I wore it on a chain under my clothing and close to my heart. I didn't want anyone to use my heritage or "lack thereof" as a means to destroy the Weasley family. War was a time of desperation. If one word of our new status had reached the wrong ears, Ron's family might have been killed, my parents slaughtered, or even worse. A Mudblood was useless to the Dark Lord and Ron, though a blood traitor, was still a step above the ultimate evil of "dirty blood." I wanted to protect him, but it didn't save him in the end…nothing would have. Months later, I put the ring back in its box, closing the lid on a future that was no longer possible, the bright glint of gold fading as the lid clicked shut with a snap, a hard finality to the sound.
The ring, nestled in its shell of a box, was currently residing in my one faded suitcase back at the apartment I had just rented. It was a reminder of my past, a mere accoutrement of a life I couldn't have any longer. My books had been burned during the Final Battle, parts of the castle flooded with Fiendfyre in Voldemort's uncontrollable rage. Gryffindor's common room had been destroyed in the fire; a burned husk of what it once is all that remained in the memory of Godric Gryffindor. Salazar's heir had been brutal to his enemies, not kind. Voldemort took everything; love, friends, family, possessions, as my baser instincts had set in after the Final Battle. Survival and reluctance to leave the Wizarding World tangled with the warring emotions in my heart. Taken over by fear, I had fled, created a new persona, barely believable to the reality of Hermione Granger, but the only solution to rebuilding the future I no longer had.
It was times like these when I hated being Nell Johnson, the shy, reluctant young woman, whose passion for life had died along with her only hope at love. Truth be told, it was hard to tell where Hermione Granger ended and Nell Johnson began. Two lives, inexplicably intertwined in the same body, keeping each other alive through a twisted mixture of pain and hope. The memories I held inside of my friends and family made me long for a Pensieve, to keep the memories from becoming dim and to be instead, as clear as the moment they were made. I wanted little, perfect treasures, needed them. Yet, they grow dimmer, not to make room for new, but because I have changed. I no longer care to remember who I was. Clinging to Nell Johnson made my life much less complicated.
I tripped on the staggered pavement, catching myself at the last moment. Cursing myself for not paying attention, my stubbed toe throbbed in pain as I continued on down the street. I glanced at the antique shops, old clocks, watches, and interesting curios on display, taking glances at the price tags occasionally. I whistled through my teeth at some of the prices, much higher than I thought they should be, and kept walking. I didn't need someone else's memories, I needed food and work. Truthfully, I was willing to walk around with a large cardboard sign that said in big, black letters, "WILL WORK FOR FOOD" like I'd seen in the bigger cities, but being the proud, obstinate Gryffindor that I was, didn't want to give in to that so quickly. This, of course, is beside the fact that doing just that in such a small town would certainly not help whatever position I held in the gossip mill so far.
Shuddering against that thought, I kept walking until I was once again at the large gleaming gas station, its logo emblazoned on the front in bright red neon letters. The name, "BISTO", made me laugh a little and I found it appropriate that there was a "Now Hiring" sign located on the glass to the left of the entryway. Smiling, I went inside and approached the front, the contrast of temperatures chilling me a bit as I walked in. A tall young woman with black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose did little to distract from her bored look and heavy makeup. She leaned on the counter a bit and there were a series of multicolored cards to her left in rows, some rolled out on the other side. I gazed at them a bit closer, studying them a little until the girl's voice broke me out of it.
"Do you want some lotto or not?" she stated impatiently.
Shaking my head, I stammered out, "No, I saw your sign and would like to apply."
Her eyes widened a moment before she spoke. "You're British, aren't you? What a cool accent! Could you teach me sometime? Are you new around here? I haven't seen you yet and everybody comes in here some time."
"Thanks," I said sheepishly, annoyed at her barrage of questions that I refused to answer. After she kept staring at me, I got a little haughty with my next statement, "Could I just have an application, please? I need to find a market somewhere and I don't really know where that is either, and I would like to get going."
"Well, well, aren't we special?" she stated with some sarcasm. "Market's down the street on the left. You'll find everythin' you'll need there. Locally owned too, so it's cheaper than the larger stores, and the fruits and vegetables are fresh in season."
I went to leave, but she caught me just as I went out the door. Thrusting a few plastic bags in my hand, she said, "You'll need those for the market. They're out of 'em down there. Found that out the hard way this mornin' when I stopped by earlier." I accepted them, just now noticing that there was a man standing in the corner getting coffee. I blushed as I gazed in that direction, embarrassed to have absolutely nothing and someone else knowing. I could just imagine the rumors in the gossip mill going around…and I flinched.
The girl whispered to me, "Oh, that's Sullivan. Don't worry about him knowin' anything. Keeps to himself anyway and he doesn't bother anyone." Her voice got louder and she pushed me out the door, saying, "My name's Sadie. What's yours?"
"Nell. Nell Johnson."
"See ya, Nell." Urging me to leave, she pointed down the street. "The market closes in an hour, so you need to hurry."
"Thanks for these," I motioned, holding up the plastic sacks.
"It was nothing. Come visit me. Now go!"
As I hurried off, I noticed the man inside staring at the interaction. He looked vaguely familiar, but I shook that idea out of my head as I went on my way, application and sacks in hand, as I rushed to the market.
"Hire her."
"Sullivan, you know I can't make any promises about any of that. You'd need to talk to Amber, who you know isn't here right now," Sadie said, ringing up the coffee in the register. "Eighty-five cents, by the way."
Irritated, the dark man paid his bill, pushing his sunglasses up his face and into his short, chin-length hair. "Sadie, tell Amber to hire her then. She's too proud to steal."
Ignoring that comment, Sadie kept right on talking, seeming oblivious to the jab he threw at her previous co-worker. "It's a little strange that she's here, ain't it? Both of you talk the same, although you're a bit crueler and a lot more sarcastic," Sadie mentioned, giggling slightly.
Glaring at her, the man stood up to his full height and looked down at her. Sadie stopped giggling, leaning back on the counter, bored again after he stopped talking.
"You always ruin the fun, Sullivan," she pouted, pushing her bottom lip out slightly. Returning his glare, she stated, "I'll tell Amber, but I still can't promise anything."
With a short grunt, he grabbed his coffee, nodding to Sadie as he strolled through the door with an easily practiced gait, sipping his coffee as he went. He walked down the corner of the building and then disappeared out of sight. Sadie merely shook her head, sighed, and went to call Amber. This was going to be interesting, she thought with a slightly evil smirk plastered on her face.
I set the bags down in front of the door, fumbling with the apartment key to get it in the lock. The market was frustrating, first refusing to take the hundred dollar bills, then accepting them merely because I had nothing else. After a few sneers from the public behind me, I nearly ran towards the door to escape those people. One day, and I feel as if I had already made enemies in this small little town of Deer Creek.
Successful, I dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and proceeded to extract the necessary items for my dinner. I had bought a simple pasta pot, a small skillet, a few kitchen knives with silverware, and a cutting board, along with fresh fruits, vegetables, milk, a can of coffee, and other foodstuffs. While I was making dinner, I thought about the man I'd seen in the gas station while I was talking with Sadie. He was taller with a lean build, a bit pale, with a dark shock of raven-colored hair. When he had looked at Sadie and I, his mouth was set disapprovingly as if we were gossiping about him, and his eyes were hidden behind a rather large pair of sunglasses. I'd felt, though, as I was standing there, a familiarity with this man that surprised me.
A sharp pain stabbed through me as I looked down at my bleeding finger. Cursing myself, I grabbed the salvageable tomato and threw it in the skillet, tossed the rest in the trash, and set to work bandaging my finger and washing the cutting board. It was a time like this when I wish a simple Scourgify would come to mind, but my body wanted no more to do with magic. Yes, I was the first in my class to perfect non-verbal spells, but the body and mind have to share a will to make that happen. Obviously, I do not…and it had been harder for me to grasp something that seemed so intangible without a wand. I likened it to pulling at straws and hoping to get the right one, the right straw that signaled the strand of magic the caster needed to pull. It is much harder than it really seems.
So, here I am, Muggle as I have ever been, struggling to get by on what little I have, without magic or work. I count my dinner, now cooked, as a success. Though the tomato is a little burnt and the pasta a little chewy, it's edible. Comforts fell away after the war, but a warm meal and a semi-soft couch made me feel like a princess, even if it was all a fairytale I made up for myself. Being a witch was a fairytale for me nine years ago when Dumbledore came to tell my parents I was different; I had magic. It was exciting then, the wand-waving, incantations, and the overall environment, but Hogwarts was nothing now. My friends had died there, along with my hopes and dreams of becoming something in a world in which I no longer played a part.
After I cleaned up the kitchen and the sun had set, I opened the application I got from Sadie and picked up a pen. Chewing on the edge of the pen, I mulled over what I should write in the blanks. Nell Johnson was a lie and Hermione Granger was dead. I thought for a few long moments on what to do and then an idea struck me. If the Wizarding World was in shambles, they wouldn't be able to find my information, and I doubted that my potential employers would look deep enough to find the disturbing evidence that Nell Johnson was really Hermione Granger, a Muggle turned witch years ago, or if they would even believe it. Determined, I wrote down all of my real information with a different name. Hermione truly was dead now, and no one would be able to change that. Not even the real Hermione Granger herself, I thought with a pitiful sigh. Shrugging, I told myself it didn't matter anyway. I could never go back. I was moving on.
The next day, I went back to "BISTO" with my filled out application, perfectly written in my neat little handwriting. This time, I handed the application to an older women, hair nearly white with minimal makeup and a pursed smile. Her eyes were sharp, though, like a vulture's…and it unnerved me a little. Quickly making my exit after writing down my name and phone number, praising the renter for including phone service into the monthly rent, I failed to notice the person on the other side of the door when I opened it hastily, slamming it into someone on the other side and collapsing to the ground from the impact.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? Are you…?" I rapidly spouted, looking up hastily into a pale face and dark, large sunglasses. A long-fingered hand rested on my shoulder, preventing me from rising, but the other hand came out of an invisible pocket to grasp mine warmly. Holding the door open with one foot, Sullivan helped me to rise, his warm hand distracting me from shock. I blushed as I looked back at his face, overtaken by the light scent of sandalwood emanating from him. He grunted, motioning for me to move aside, and as I did, entered the store without a backward glance. His mouth bent into a frown when he noticed me watching him and I quickly turned and fled, but not before wondering at just how familiar that particular scowl seemed to me.