Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine.
A/N: Sorry it's taken so long. I've been hilariously busy what with college and stuff. Thanks for being patient.
I wandered around New York City, a huge smile on my face. It was so . . . alive! And there were so many Muggles! Or, at least, I think most of them were muggles. Hermione told me there was a magic school here somewhere.
I wasn't sure where I was going or where I wanted to go, but wandering was fun. Our hotel was right in front of Central park and I think half of the Dance Troupe had wandered in there (including Nathan) and so I decided to be different, exploring the streets around the park.
It was so nice here, romantic like Hermione had said. I watched as a couple went past me in a horse-drawn carriage, cuddled up together against the snow.
A small, sad smile came to my face as the carriage rouned a corner and I remembered my dreams. A year had passed since Harry had died but it didn't make life any easier. Sure, I didn't spend half my time crying over him anymore and sleeping just so I could see his face, but I still thought of him often and especially now in this big old city.
I tugged my jacket around my shoulders a little tighter, looking to my right and left before I crossed the street, heading towards a building called Starbucks. I've never been to a Starbucks before or heard of one for that matter but people were leaving the crowded building clutching cups with steaming liguid in their hands. A hot chocolate sounded reall nice right about now.
Entering the shop was a lot harder than it had looked as pushed my way through throngs of people standing around the hot shop, talking and laughing. When I finally realized where the que for the register was I ended having to go almost all the way back to the door.
I'm not exactly sure how long I stood in the que before I got even close to the register, but in the time that I was standing there, four guys tried to come and chat me up, asking things like "what is a beautiful British Chick like you doing here in New York?" and "Have you thought about making New York your permantment home of residence?" Then, they asked for my number so that they could "call me" and "give me a tour" or "help me move in".
"I have a boyfriend, sorry," I responded to each. And each walked away looking slightly betrayed.
By the time I reached the registar, I thanked Merlin for gracing me with a Muggleborn friend. Before I had left to the airport, Hermione had gone with me to Gringotss to get some of my money exchanged for American Muggle money. And then she thought me how to use it for which I was very grateful. That way, not only did I not look like a weirdo because I didn't understand Muggle money, but I didn't look like I was a foreignor either.
It wasn't until after I had paid for my hot choclate did I realize I had to stand in another que to get it. This was so bothersome! But I had to admit, as I watched the people behind the counters quickly fixing up drinks for their customers, these Muggles certainly had a large amount of patience.
When my name was finally called, I squeezed in between two people, reaching forward to grab my cup. "Thank you," I told the blond boy behind the counter.
He grinned at me and winked saying, "Anytime, seriously."
I turned my back on him, rolling my eyes . . . just before I crashed into someone who had been standing right behind me. The lid came off my cup, the hot (scorchingly so) chocolate spilling onto my (thankfully) gloved hands and onto the person's black trench coat.
"Oh no!" I cried, looking around me for some napkins. I found some, just on the counter behind me and I began to brush at the person's jacket. "I'm so terribly sorry! How clumsy of me! Are you all right? I hope I didn't burn you! Oh my, I've ruined your lovely coat!"
The person's hand clasped gently onto mine and I realized he was laughing. He spoke then, in a soft, British accent. "Really, it's fine. I've got another coat back at home and the stain should come out in the wash. Can I get this young lady another . . . hot chocolate, please, sir?"
It was the voice that caught as I (1) realized he was British and (2) realized the voice and the laugh were incredibly familiar. I looked up from the stain on his coat to his face, my mouth dropping open and my eyes getting wide.
The man's facial expression almost matched mine as he met my eyes . . . except his mouth formed into a dropped jaw grin. "Kat?"
"Harry?"