Chapter Two: Something Else

Crumpled on the far side of the room, I wasn't very impressed. "Oh," I cried out when I tried to move my arm. After that I didn't make any sudden movements with my arm. Damn thing must be broken. I got up mumbling, "Damn broomstick, as faulty as the day I made it. What in the hell was I thinking? Oh yeah, it'll make me a million galleons and I'll be famous for bringing an oldie back. Good thinking, you knob!" I blinked and winced again at my arm. I saw the destruction I had brought with me when I had decided to test out the old Nimbus Two-Thousand I had built from scratch when I was younger. Now, around me it looked as if I wasn't the only one injured from my foolish ideas.

He was sprawled over a large white box, turned as if protecting it. I hobbled over to him and poked him once, hoping to god I hadn't killed him. He groaned. I just knew it; he was going to die because of me. In my frustration I kicked the side of the desk, using all my force. I kicked the desk leg right off and slipped at the same time, falling on to the floor with a thud. The desk leaned, the sprawled man slipped off the white box, which seemed to be held in place somehow, and fell directly on top of me. I bit my lip briefly before letting out a wail in pain. He'd fallen right on my arm.

The noise must have alerted him to my presence because he groaned again before raising his head to look at me. "Oh," was all he said.

I gasped "Yeah, 'oh', now get the heck off of me!"

"OH!" he replied before leaping to action. He reached for me, grabbing for my bad arm.

"OWWW!!!!!" I screamed. "Not that arm you ignorant son of a—"

"I'm sorry." He went around me and gently raised me to my feet, without budging me arm a bit. "I…I don't know what to say."

"You and me both," I replied, once again surveying the destruction of the office. The only thing that looked semi-intact was the book shelves on the far side of the room and the white box that was still on the broken desk. "I guess…well I guess I should be saying sorry as well." Then I mumbled, "Piece of junk broomstick, where the hell are you? I'm going to use you as kindling when I find you."

"Excuse me?" the man asked, looking at me rather confused.

I tried my best to put on a smile before replying, "Oh nothing."

"Look, I'm sorry if I lay offence, and correct me if I'm wrong, but you were riding a broomstick when you crashed into my office, right?"

I laughed one nervous laugh, recognizing the handsome face with a confused expression he was currently displaying. It told me was still trying to wrap his head around what just happened. "Uh…" I tried to think of something to distract him briefly, "Uh…can I use your washroom?"

"Sure," he said. "Down the hall, second door on the right. If you hit the kitchen you've gone past it."

"Right, okay. I'll be right back then," I said, ducking out of the interrogation. He was sure to ask more when I came back, especially since I was planning a little instant-healing in the washroom.

Down the hall and at the second door on the right hand side I entered the spacious bathroom and shut the door, locking it and soundproofing it. I took my wand, looking into the mirror, and pointed at my arm. It took all my effort to hold it at my side in order to heal it. Muttering the spell I heard a large crack and spewed off a series of swear words. I flexed my arm a few times, raising and lowering it, before I was completely satisfied that the charm had worked. It seemed so and I took a look once more in the mirror. There were a few splinters of wood in my hair, which I plucked out immediately, and ran my hands under the tap to wash off the smoke soot, a result of broomstick straw catching on fire midair. I brushed my fingers through my hair then, as only a girl would, and retracted the soundproof spell and unlocked the door.

Upon opening the door I was taken by surprise at the man whose house I'd crashed into just standing there with his hands in his pockets, a frown now permanently tattooed on his forehead. I had to admit that to some degree, he was actually quite good looking. Spectacular I'd say, if I wasn't in my right mind. I tried my best to smile but his serious look brushed it right off.

"You owe me some answers," he said.

"Uh-huh," I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Let's start with your name, Ms…"

"Uh…Chris …er…Christiana Malfoy. What's your name?"

"Callum MacArthur. Now why not explaining to me what just happened in there?"

My face contorted. I really wanted to tell him, but I knew I really shouldn't. I could always erase his memory later, but that didn't seem all too humane to me. I always remembered my Uncle Ron's story about his second year of school and how his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had tried to erase my Uncle Harry's memory, and it backfired and erased his own instead. I really didn't believe in doing that to someone who had a full life before they would potentially have their memory erased.

With that concluded I simply replied with the truth. "I was riding a broomstick I had made when I was like thirteen, which ended up being a really bad idea, because it suddenly caught fire and I started careening towards your window and I crashed into the window because I didn't have any breaks and then broke my arm and you fell on top of me, which hurt a lot by the way, and then I excused myself to get out of your questioning me, to heal my arm, and for fear of your finding out I was a witch."

I blinked and bit down on my tongue again. I looked up at Callum and he seemed rather amused. "A witch?" he asked.

"Uh-huh."

"A broomstick?"

"Uh-huh."

"Heal your arm?"

I lifted my arm to show him. "Uh-huh."

He then laughed, "Are you going to say something other than 'uh-huh'?"

I frowned. "What is this?" I asked him smoothly. Did he believe me? "Why are you acting so cool about this?"

He shrugged, "I don't actually know. I don't seem to have a choice."

I eyed him suspiciously, "No choice?" I repeated.

"Nope. You're a witch, I saw you riding a broomstick, which I must admit isn't the most logical mode of transportation, but I've never been past believing the impossible. The numbers prove the impossible every day."

I crossed my arms and stared at him. "So, you're usually a level-headed, logical, practical muggle—I mean guy—and you have no problem whatsoever in believing that I'm witch?"

He shrugged again, "Guess not. What's a muggle?"

"Non-magic person."

"Oh. Do you want a drink?"

"Sure—wait! Wait just a minute! Did you hit your head on that white box thing? Are you feeling okay?"

He nodded, "I'm fine. And it's a computer."

"What's a computer?"

"That white box thing you're talking about."

"Whatever!"

He smiled softly, lighting up his eyes that I hadn't really looked into since we'd officially met. They were a harsh golden colour that seemed to twinkle. "You seem to be having a harder time believing this than me," he commented.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I guess I just never thought someone would accept it so easily. You are a muggle right?"

"I guess so. I mean I can't wave a wand and charm someone or something if that's what you're getting at."

I pulled out my wand and palm up showed it to him. "You know about my wand?"

"Ha," he laughed. "I never would have guessed. So the stories are true? What about the broomstick?"

"That piece of junk. I'm going to turn it into splinters when I find it," I admitted angrily.

This just seemed to amuse him. "Neat," he said, "Can I watch?"

I couldn't help but laugh. Shaking my head I looked over at him, "You know, you're something else, Callum. You're just something else."

***

So was she, he had to admit. She was luminous. Despite the soot on her nose and the stray splinter of wood in her hair, she was positively glowing. He was now beginning to doubt his level-headedness and call a doctor for a CAT-scan. He wasn't usually this cool about things. He claimed that numbers proved the impossible everyday, but what he didn't say was that it usually had some sort of logic behind it, a system, or an algorithm, something that explained the series of events. This kind of impossible was like dropping a bomb and cleaning out all preconceived notions about the fact that witchcraft was just a bunch of hocus pocus. But this woman in front of him, this radiant witch, mislaid all those judgments and allowed him to begin with a clean slate. And he had so many questions.

She seemed to be watching him intently, smiling the whole time. "What?" he asked.

"Uh-oh," she replied. "I know that look."

"What look?" he asked, trying to erase whatever look he had been holding previously.

"The look of a kid opening the biggest present under the Christmas tree at age six. The look that says, 'this is something new and exciting and I want to find out everything I can about it."

"Oh." He then laughed, not realizing that he had been so transparent. "I guess that is how I feel. Can…can I ask some questions?"

She inclined her head. "Sure. Help me find that broomstick of mine and I'll answer all your questions. If I decide I've told you too much, I can always erase your memory later."

Callum laughed, "Oh yeah…wait. You can do that?"

When Chris laughed, Callum thought of celestial music, which on the outside seemed really corny, but on the inside, it made him feel something…as if a thousand possibilities had opened up to him. He started asking her all sorts of questions as they walked back into his study.

Looking for the remains of her broomstick took all of ten minutes as the damage hadn't been that extensive, but the talking lasted most of the night. Within three hours he had learned more about the wizarding world than a first year going to a school called Hogwarts knew. He learned a little about something called The Ministry of Magic, a sort of Wizarding government from what he had deduced. He knew that Chris was sixteen years younger than her brother, her mother was muggleborn and her father was a pureblood, meaning she was a half-blood witch. He had also decided that he would ask her out again, officially this time.

When the clock on the hall struck ten o'clock Christiana gathered up the pieces of her soon-to-be-firewood broomstick and retreated towards the door of the study. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late. I really should be going."

As she turned to leave Callum thought fast for something to somehow gap the time spent today to time that could potentially be spent together in the near future. "Wait," he said, "I don't even know your phone number." Chris stopped, and from the look on her face, Callum suspected that he had said something wrong. "What? What is it?"

She laughed, "Um…well, I don't have a phone."

Mouth-open he gaped at her. "No phone?!"

She shook her head. "Most wizards use Owl mail."

He wrapped his head around the concept. "Then…how do I…er…owl you?"

Again she laughed, "I'll owl you."

"When?"

"Soon," was all she answered before disappearing on the spot. Her form turned into a wisp of smoke, as if she had just evaporated. Mouth still open Callum returned to his still destructed office and sat in his chair. His computer monitor beeped at him as he took it out of hibernate. He opened a few work files before swiveling in his chair and looking out of the smashed window. Over on the hill, where Malfoy Manor stood, Callum saw a light in the South tower flick on. He sighed and for the first time, he felt oddly…at peace.

***

I owled him two days later. I couldn't stop thinking about him. From my tower bedroom, which I had moved to just after Scorpius had moved out, I looked out over the hills towards his home and tried to remember every detail about him. I could see his broad shoulders, his lean but strong build, and his brown hair. I could see every detail, except what color his eyes were. It was driving me crazy. Never in my life had I paced so much, wracked my brain so hard, not even during school exams had I worked so hard, and for the life of me I couldn't remember.

Finally I gave up and waited a whole day before scribbling on a piece of parchment: What color are your eyes? Then on a lark, I continued with: Would you like to go to dinner? Just write your response when you get it and send it back tied to Camilla's leg. (Camilla was a name I had picked out for my tawny brown owl when I was like eleven. Ten years gone and she was still a tough old bird).

The light flicked on in his study and I opened the window to let Camilla out. I saw her swoop down over the landscape, down the rolling hills towards Callum's house. She went in through the open study window, which Callum had surprisingly not replaced yet. I sat down on my bed and waited for the response. Ten minutes later I had one.

My eyes are whiskey-gold, or at least that's what people tell me. I just call them brown. I think dinner would be great. When? And I take it Camilla is the name of your owl?

I smiled to myself and then picked up my quill to reply. I had a change of heart though. It took me fifteen minutes to put on a green blouse and a pair of classy-looking faded jeans and boots. With a quick charm my hair was soft and silky and my make-up was applied accordingly. Without thinking twice I apparated to his front door and rang the doorbell.

When he opened the door his scowl immediately turned into a wide smile. He casually leaned against the doorframe, "Dinner for two?"

"In or out?" I replied smiling like a fool.

"Drinks in, dinner out?" he held open the door for me to pass through.

"Sounds good to me."

***

Six Months Later…

Curled up in the crook of his arm I lay listening to his heartbeat. He was wearing a pair of glasses reading the muggle paper he needed to keep up with his work. Bare-chested wearing a simple pair of pajama pants, he looked just about as good as he was gonna get. I was currently wearing an old Harvard t-shirt of his and a pair of his boxers. He had offered to turn the TV on, but I couldn't think of anything better to do than listen to the heartbeat of the man I had fallen in love with.

"Numbers up, numbers down, can't anyone get things right?" he muttered to himself. He had a habit of doing that when he read the stock exchange section of the paper. I giggled and simply ignored his mutterings; I was used to them by now.

He had been my secret lover for six months now. Six months of sneaking around my parents and my brother. Six months of pure bliss. Scorpius would no doubt be proud of me for finding Callum, for settling down, as I hadn't been on a late night scamper through the streets of London since meeting Callum. I couldn't begin to guess what my parents would say though.

My pureblood 'mother' would certainly be disappointed that she had raised such a delinquent child. She would fume and fuss, and in the end she would putter out and resign herself to not speaking to me for a few days. Father was another matter. He didn't harbor any ill-will towards muggles like he used to before he'd fallen in love with my real mother, muggleborn Hermione Granger. He held his nose up in society as only Malfoy would, pretending to despise all muggleborns, but somehow I suspected that he wouldn't mind as much. He was getting on in years too, so he might just be happy to see his Baby Girl with someone at all.

I bit my tongue and turned my head up to look at Callum. He had been bugging me for some time about when he was going to meet my parents. I had already met his, and despite the fact that they knew I wasn't their kind of money, they knew I was high-class somewhere, so they were satisfied. Callum had promised time and again that he'd be on his best behavior when meeting my parents, and though I believed him with all my heart, I still had reservations because I didn't have any certainty about my guesses of my parents' response.

I sighed heavily. Callum noticed, setting down his paper, "Uh-oh, she's thinking again."

Chuckling I replied, "Yeah. Force of habit from hanging out with you for too long."

He wiggled his hand around to my side and started tickling me. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," I laughed. He stopped then. "Callum…" I began.

He removed his glasses to look at me directly, "Knut for your thoughts?"

I couldn't help but smiling. He was so down-to-earth about my world I was so sure he would handle my parents famously. It was the vice versa I was worried about. I took a leap and said, "I think…I think you should…meet my parents."

Callum nodded as if expecting it. He then shrugged me off of him and opened his side dresser drawer. Revealing a small blue velvet box he popped the lid as he took me back into his arms. "And I think you should marry me."

I didn't have to think. I saw the ring, I saw the look in his eyes and I knew. I nodded speechlessly. I didn't know whether I was going to cry or not from the feeling welling up inside of me. But what I did know was that Callum was the best thing that had ever happened to me. "Yes," I said, finding my voice at last. "Yes, yes, yes!"

He put the ring on my finger and lifted my chin delicately to place a kiss on my lips. I kissed him right back. Ready or not, we were taking the plunge now. The icy cold plunge into an unknown world. We planned for a family dinner the following Sunday, were I would introduce Callum as my fiancé and wait for all hell to break loose.

Author's Note: Please keep reading. The past two segments of this trilogy have been rather sad and I want you to know right up front that I made the ending of this one as happy as I could make it. Please leave a review. Thanks a million!