The Refiner's Fire

Chapter 2 - Lunch Breaks and Friendship

On Harry's next day at work, he brought a piece of toast for his lunch, as usual. He'd managed to sneak an apple out of the house without Aunt Petunia noticing, as well, and was pleased at his successful larceny. He sat under the tree in the garden behind the shop polishing his apple before taking a bite of it when the owner's daughter, Casey, appeared, a large basket over her arm.

"Hello, Harry," she said with a big smile. "All right, there?"

"Yeah," he replied with a shy smile. "You?" he asked as he got up and offered to help her.

"I'm just wonderful," she said, letting him take the basket from her.

"Where would you like this?" he asked.

"Right there next to you would be fine."

Harry tilted his head, confused. "Next to me?"

"Of course! It's your lunch," she said with a laugh.

"My . . . lunch?" He looked at her quizzically. "I brought an apple," he said, holding out the small piece of fruit. Even in her choice of produce, Aunt Petunia was miserly.

"Yes, your lunch. My mum is taking cookery and she decided to try out her new recipes. I brought lunch for Dad, and for you and me as well. I've already dropped Dad's off in his office. This is ours."

"Wow. Why me?" Harry said with a delighted smile as he put the basket down and sat cross-legged next to it.

"She had lots of boy cousins growing up and said they never seemed to get enough to eat when they were teenagers, that they had 'two hollow legs' when it came to food. So she thought the same might apply to you. Are you hungry?"

Harry laughed out loud. "Always!" and grinned as he saw container after container coming out of the picnic basket. He helped Casey spread a tablecloth and set the food out, then waited politely for her to start serving herself.

"Go on, then, tuck in," she encouraged him.

"Oh no, ladies first," he said, a crooked grin on his blushing face. He wished he were dressed better, but of course that wasn't possible unless he wore his school robes or his nice new clothes. This girl was so pretty, and was being friendly to him, and they were having lunch together - amazing! - and he looked like a tramp, as usual. Working with tile was so messy, he'd continued wearing his old clothes to work. He shoved nervous fingers through his hair, trying to calm it down, but only succeeding in streaking the white marble dust coating his jet black hair. I must look like a zebra now, with all the black and white stripes in my hair, he thought miserably. And she saw me trying to flatten my hair. Way to go, Potter. Just act like an infatuated fool, why don't you.

Casey noticed his attempt at improving his appearance and found his actions pleased her very much. If you looked past the clothes, he was a sweet, well-mannered, handsome boy, if a bit skinny and shy. "Here, I'll serve both of us, how's that?"

"Fine," he replied breathlessly. Am I ever going to stop being nervous around girls?

They chatted about various things as they ate, just getting to know each other. They found they liked the same bands, but there were many things Casey mentioned enjoying that Harry didn't understand - books he'd never read, films he'd never seen. She tried to find out what football team he followed, or what other sports interested him, and all he could reply was, "I, erm, like to run."

"Are you on a team at school?"

"Erm. . .yes."

"What's your distance?" she asked, trying to draw him out.

"Erm. . .it varies." I play Quidditch. I'm really fast on a broom. I don't do other sports, although I do actually run for fitness. How do I get around all this? "Actually, I'm good at the speed things, but I do some distance running as well, for fitness, you know. We have a large lake on our grounds, and I run around the lake in the mornings before class whenever I can."

"You have a lake? Do you swim, then, or go boating?"

Thinking of the second task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and the first-years' traditional arrival at the castle in boats, he replied, "A little of both. I'm not very good at either, though," he said honestly.

Wow, a teenaged boy who's modest about sports! That's simply unheard of. He doesn't look bookish in spite of those glasses. He does have some muscle on that skinny body, so he must be an athlete, right? Casey amused herself with her thoughts about the boy sitting across from her. He seemed very reserved, quite shy even, yet had an aura of maturity that didn't match the shyness. Interesting.

Harry racked his brain trying to think of things to talk with her about. He wanted to prolong this conversation as long as possible, but was stuck for good topics of conversation.

Casey saw his discomfort and thought, I'll bet he's never had a girlfriend. He doesn't seem to know what to say or do. She decided to try some other topic of conversation. "What do you do when you're not here at work? What are your hobbies? Or do you hang out with friends?"

"Erm. . . my friends from school all live a long way from here. When I'm not here, I have lots of chores to do for my aunt and uncle."

"Like what?"

"I do the gardening and yard work, and stuff in the house, you know," Harry said lamely, not wanting to go into his status as a virtual slave to the Dursleys.

"Oh, I love gardening! What kind of plants do you have? I'm quite fond of roses, myself," she said with a smile, delighted to have finally found common ground with him. They chatted about gardening and the depraved nature of the bugs who liked to decimate their hard work for the rest of their lunch time. After that day, their conversations grew more comfortable and they developed an easy friendship.

* * * * *

"Dear Ron, Guess what? Casey, my boss's daughter, had lunch with me today. She said her mum is in a cookery class and wanted to try out recipes, and that she thought teenaged boys were always hungry, because she had loads of boy cousins who were always hungry growing up. I guess her cousins must be like you, hungry all the time! Ha! But living with the Dursleys, I'm hungry most of the time as well. So, lunch was a real treat! Casey says she's going to be bringing me lunch every day. Her mum is fixing enough for her dad, Casey and me to have HUGE lunches! I'm going to get fat, eating like this! Ha! Oh, I haven't told you about Casey, have I? She's our age, with long honey-blond hair and big golden-green eyes, very pretty. I keep wondering why she's bothering with me. Maybe I'm their 'charity of the month' or something, but she honestly doesn't make me feel like that. She makes me feel like she wants to be friends. I don't know why she'd want to, with the way I look in Diddy Dumkins cast-off clothes and so dirty I was actually gritty (well, I did wash my hands before eating), but I'm not arguing with her about it. When she sat down to have lunch with me today, like an idiot I tried to flatten my hair. I had white marble dust all over me, and succeeded in looking much older than I am with loads of grey hair from the dust. Trying to flatten my hair made it look worse! She just smiled. She's very nice. I'm enjoying the work. Hearing her talk about their dog Sirius makes me miss Snuffles even more than usual. I suppose some day I'll be over that. Wish that day would hurry up. Hope you're having fun there. Write back soon! Harry"

* * * * *

Harry was getting muscular and tanned from working at his job. This afternoon, he lay in the shade of a big tree, comfortable in his sleeveless T-shirt and shorts and new trainers. Since Casey had started bringing him lunch, he'd begun dressing in the clothes that fit him. Not only did he look better, but he was safer. Those baggy clothes of Dudley's caught on equipment from time to time and just weren't safe to wear at work, so Harry gladly binned the lot of them. Now he lay back on the grass, his glasses on the ground beside him, his arm up over his eyes as he dozed. He was awakened by a great slurp on his cheek. He sat up to find the dog, Sirius, wagging his tail madly and getting ready to lick Harry's face again.

"Oy, Sirius!" he said, laughing. "What are you up to?"

"He's helping me bring you lunch," Casey said. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah!" He grinned as he sat up and crossed his legs. "I'm a growing boy, you know!"

Casey laughed and sat down next to Harry. He was putting on weight as well as muscle thanks to the generosity of the Ashers. He ate as though he had two hollow legs, a "growing boy," indeed.

"Harry," she said as she set the meal out for them, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Erm. . ." He hesitated. He wanted to be an Auror, but he couldn't very well say that to a Muggle. "A detective." Yeah, that was close enough.

"Really? Why?"

"I want to nail the bad guys," he said with great sincerity.

"Wow. Isn't that a dangerous job?"

"Somebody has to do it. It's as if. . . there's a war on between good and evil, and if all the good people worry about how dangerous it is to stop the evil ones, the evil side will win. Evil people are more interested in power or money or bullying people or whatever than in worrying about danger, so they don't think about their own safety. They just don't want to get caught. Somebody has to be the soldiers on the side of good. D'you see?"

Casey thought a moment. "Like soldiers in a war. I guess that's a good way to describe it. You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?"

Harry nodded. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I think I'd like to be a vet. I love animals and I want to be able to help them when they're hurt," she replied.

"That's great. That's several years of studying, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it will be worth it. I've already started taking some classes to prepare for it," Casey said.

"Like what?"

"Lots of biology, chemistry, maths. I took a couple of psychology courses last summer. . ."

Harry was surprised. "Psychology? For a vet?"

"Sure. To help people deal with having to put their pets to sleep. We had to put our dog to sleep a few years ago - before we got Sirius. It was an awful time, worrying about if we were doing the right thing, and grieving over poor Puddles."

He chuckled. "Puddles?"

Casey smiled. "He had a bit of a housetraining problem for a while. . ."

"Oh," he said with a grin, then sobered. "I'm sorry about him dying - I know that must have been hard."

"Probably like you and your godfather's dog - oh, but you lost your godfather at the same time, that must have been ever so awful."

Harry's eyes saddened. "Yes."

"Was the funeral horrible for you?"

"There was no funeral. He. . .they were just gone."

Casey sat up straighter, astonished. "Why? Even if they couldn't find their bodies, they could've had a memorial service."

"What for?"

"For those who loved him to have closure!"

Harry tilted his head and studied her. She sounded like Hermione in some ways, so insistent that there was a "right" way to do things. She must read a lot of books, he thought. "What's closure?"

Casey sat and thought a moment. "How long has it been since he died?"

"A little over a month."

"That's not that long ago. And you're still having a really hard time accepting his death, aren't you?" she said as she studied his sad eyes.

"Yes." He glanced away from her, studying the ground with sudden interest, his mouth a thin line of determination. He would NOT cry again!

She reached out and took his hand, holding it in both of hers and gently stroking it. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"You didn't make me sad - I came that way," he replied with a crooked smile.

Casey's heart turned over. There had to be some way to help him, so he would find happiness again - if he'd ever known any at all. "There are stages of grief. I learned this in my psychology classes. There's denial, then anger, then bargaining, then depression, then acceptance. Not everyone goes through the stages in that order, and sometimes a person goes through more than one stage at a time. Some people take longer to get through the stages, but if you have 'closure' in the form of a funeral or memorial service, a chance to say goodbye, then it's easier to get through the grieving process. Or so the book said."

Harry didn't know what to say. He studied the laces on his trainers for a while, thinking about what she'd said. "So. . ." he began hesitantly, "so if there's a memorial service, you think I'll get past this stuff faster? Or easier?" He looked up at her, afraid to believe her, yet hoping she knew what she was talking about.

"Lots of studies show that to be true. So I guess it must work," she said, still rubbing her thumbs across the back of his hand. His hands were nice, long fingered and slim yet strong, with interesting calluses on the palm from hours of Quidditch practice, as well as his work for her dad.

"Everyone else seems to have gone on with their lives," he murmured. "I think I'm the only one having so much trouble with it."

"Then maybe we can have a memorial service for him, just you and I," she offered. "We can. . .hmm. We can go down by the river and throw flowers in the water, say nice things about him, and say goodbye to him. Would you like to do that?"

He thought it sounded a bit silly in some ways. Flowers in the water? But then again, nothing he'd done had helped him. He was willing to try something new to get past the grief. "OK. That sounds nice. But you didn't know him. . ."

"But I know you, and he must have been wonderful for you to love him so much. I'd be honoured to be at his memorial service with you," she said earnestly. "How about Saturday? I'll bring tea. We can toast him. And his dog, too," she added with a smile.

A slow, sad smile spread across Harry's face. "That's very kind of you. Thanks."

* * * * *

Saturday dawned bright and breezy, a beautiful day for a picnic - or a memorial service. Casey met Harry in the park and they walked to the bridge over the river, then climbed down the slope to sit on the grassy riverbank. She spread the blanket she'd brought along, and set out the tea things. He had a fistful of flowers nicked from Aunt Petunia's garden.

"Oh, how beautiful! And they smell wonderful too," she said with a smile. "You got really nice flowers, Harry."

"Thanks," he said shyly. "This one is for you," he added as he pulled out a pink rose and handed it to her.

Casey turned as pink as the rose. "Oh, thank you! It's lovely!" She held the rose he had carefully de-thorned, and smelled its lush fragrance.

"I thought. . ." he began, then gulped and went on, "I thought it would look pretty in your hair. The pink against that honey gold. . ." He blushed as he said this.

Casey's eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. She slid the rose carefully behind her ear. "That's so sweet, Harry. Thanks."

He glanced at her, then studied his trainers for a moment, looked at her again and reached out hesitantly to tuck a strand of her long, silky hair in behind the rose. "You're welcome. Thank you for thinking of this. I'm actually looking forward to it in a way."

"Then let's get on with it, shall we?" She sat on the blanket and said, "Tell me about your godfather. What made him so wonderful. What your favourite memories are. That kind of thing. About the dog, too, Sirius."

"Sirius was my godfather's name. Snuffles was the dog," he began, then realized his mistake - he'd called her dog "Sirius" when they'd met. "We often called Snuffles 'Sirius' too, because they were a lot alike," he continued, "that's why I called your dog Sirius when I first saw him." Sensing she accepted that explanation well enough, Harry started to go on, then hesitated, trying to work out how to say what he wanted to, yet not reveal too much to a muggle. "Sirius was. . .I didn't know him all that long, you know. He was wrongfully imprisoned for 12 years. He escaped to try to help me when he thought I was in danger. I've only known him a couple of years."

She gulped, already astonished at Harry's story, and he'd barely begun. "Go on," she encouraged.

He took a deep breath, blew it out hard, rubbed his eyes, then looked off in the distance. He could see, in his mind's eye, the Dementors surrounding Sirius, ready to suck out his soul. He could see Sirius and Remus ready to kill Peter Pettigrew. He could see Sirius laughing his great bark of a laugh, teasing Harry at Christmas about something, playing games with Harry like an overgrown kid, making shadow figures dance on the ceiling as they both lay on Harry's bed in his room at Grimmauld Place. He could see Sirius frustrated at being forced to stay in Order Headquarters when he'd rather be out doing anything else. He could see Sirius in his Animagus form, bounding along beside the Hogwarts Express barking joyfully at him as the train pulled out. He could see Sirius calling encouragement to him as he battled the Death Eaters in the Death Chamber - and Bellatrix's spell making Sirius fall through the veil. Tears streamed down Harry's face as he thought of all these things. A gentle hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present.

"It's OK to mourn."

He ducked his head, scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, then turned to look at her. "You've seen me at my worst. Sometime I hope you can see me when I'm not falling apart all the time."

"I hope so too."

"OK, so. . . Sirius. He was Sirius Black, the man they had on the telly a couple of years ago as an 'escaped mass murderer' - only he didn't do it, he was innocent. He was my dad's best mate in school, they did everything together. He and my mum were good friends too. He was best man at my parents' wedding. He was strong, loyal, funny, irreverent . . . a rascal in many ways, a real ladies' man, too." He smiled. "The only girl he wanted to date who would never go out with him was my mum. All the other girls stood in line to go out with him, to hear him tell it." He chuckled and shook his head, remembering how he and Sirius had howled with laughter trying to have a "father/son" talk about the fairer sex. "He was a father-figure to me, a brother, a friend. He died trying to protect me. . . ." Realizing he'd said too much, Harry glanced at Casey and then tried to change the subject. "Snuffles was a great black dog like your Sirius. . ."

"Wait a minute - you said he died trying to save you? I thought you said they both fell down a hole?"

He sighed. "Erm. . ." He thought for a minute, then shrugged. Better to tell a lie based on the truth than a complete fabrication. "There's this evil man who was after my parents. He killed them, and tried to kill me - that's where I got this scar," he added, pushing his fringe off his forehead. "After he tried and failed to kill me, he disappeared. He's back, and he came after me again, and Sirius found out about it and tried to save me. That's how he died."

Casey was shocked. No wonder Harry was grieving so hard. He was blaming himself for his godfather's death. "If he died trying to save you, how did you escape?"

"There were other people there helping - they helped me escape."

"What happened to the bad man? And why's he after you?"

"He got away again. I can't explain why he's after me. Maybe it's just unfinished business, I don't know."

Casey was alarmed. "So he's still out there looking for you?"

He tried to reassure her. "He doesn't know where I am now. He lured me to that place, let me think Sirius had been captured. I went to try to rescue Sirius, then Sirius tried to rescue me, and you know the rest. It was my own stupidity. . .I should've known better, but. . ."

"Oh, Harry, anyone can be misled. Don't blame yourself."

"But it was my fault," he insisted.

She didn't know what to say to that. After a moment's pause, she said, "Why was he after your parents? And how did you escape when you were a baby?"

He drew shapes in the dirt by his feet as he tried to think of a logical answer. "Well. . .my mum died protecting me. That's how I was saved. He was after my parents because they were trying to stop him."

"They were detectives?"

With a grim smile, he nodded. "Yes, you could say that."

"Wow. Do you remember them?"

"Sometimes I can hear my mum screaming as she died - like in dreams, y'know? Other than that, no, I don't remember them."

"How awful! I'm so sorry!"

"'S'OK. It was a long time ago."

Casey shook her head, appalled at what this gentle, sweet-natured boy had been through in his life so far. She sighed and said, "So what else about Sirius?"

"He invited me to live with him, but his name hadn't been cleared yet, so I was stuck living with my aunt and uncle. When he asked me if I'd be interested in living with him, I'd only known him a very short time, and I'd been afraid of him before I got to know him - he was an 'escaped mass murderer,' after all, for all I knew then. But when he asked - that was one of the happiest moments of my life." He smiled a little at the memory. "I'd be living with my dad's best friend. He'd be able to tell me stories about my parents, about them growing up and being married, about when I was born, all that kind of thing other people hear in their families all the time." He paused, his face growing solemn again. "I'd never heard any of it. My aunt and uncle won't talk about my parents at all except to tell people my parents were killed in a car crash, and that's where I got my scar. That's so unfair. They were murdered! I don't know why they can't accept that. Sirius. . .he opened doors to my family history, to my parents. . . . We were going to live together and be a family." Tears were streaming down his face again. "We never had the chance."

"I don't know what to say. That's the saddest story I've ever heard."

"It's not all sad, you know. Sirius loved me. Nobody ever hugged me, ever, not since my parents died, until I went away to school when I was eleven, and even then not often. Sirius hugged me, wrestled with me, tickled me, made me feel loved and important to him. I'd never had that before. I can count on one hand - well, maybe with a few extra fingers - the number of times I've been really, truly hugged by anyone but Sirius. Most of those were from my friend Ron's mum. She's kind of adopted me." He chuckled, thinking fondly of Molly Weasley. "She has seven children. She said one more doesn't make much difference, but she treats me . . . well, she makes me feel really special. Some hugs were from my friend Hermione, others from my friend Hagrid. And some from Remus, too. But that's about it." He looked at her with very serious eyes. "You come from a loving family. I've seen how you all treat each other. You're always hugging or patting each other on the back or arm, whatever." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I was . . . hungry . . .for someone to care enough . . . to want to touch me. I used to think I must smell bad or that something was very wrong with me. Nobody ever wanted to sit near me, touch me, or talk with me. . . except to yell at me, of course . . . ." His voice trailed off. "When I finally got to go away to school, I made friends, good friends, but I still missed having the closeness of a family of my own who cared about me. Sirius changed all that for me."

"Your aunt and uncle never hugged or kissed you, cuddled you, any of that?"

"They barely changed my nappies, and did that at arm's length," Harry said bitterly. "As soon as I was out of nappies, they never touched me again except to hit me or push me around. Baths, dressing, eating, skinned knees, whatever, I was on my own."

Casey realized she'd been cherished her whole life. She couldn't imagine any child growing up with no love at all and still turning out to be as nice a person as Harry was. He was considerate, well-mannered, kind-hearted, generous - how could that be, with the way he'd grown up? Thinking of his experiences gave her the shivers. "They sound like awful people."

"Too right." He sighed, shook his head and rubbed his face hard. "OK, what's next in this service? I've probably been maudlin long enough."

"Now we drink a toast to Sirius and Snuffles and throw the flowers in the river." She poured tea from her thermos into two cups and they stood and lifted their cups to the river.

"To Sirius Black. And to Snuffles." Harry said, his voice breaking. "Best family a bloke could have."

"Hear, hear," Casey said quietly.

They drank their tea, put the cups down and sprinkled the flowers in the river so they made a small multi-coloured carpet floating downstream. With each he flower tossed, Harry said, "Thank you, Sirius, for being part of my life. Thank you for the fun we had together. Thank you for listening to me, for being there for me. Thank you for . . .loving me." His voice broke. He bit his lip, trying not to cry anymore. A soft arm came around his back, and the next thing he knew, his head was being drawn down to Casey's shoulder. He stiffened, nearly pulled back, then accepted the comfort offered gratefully, wrapping his arms around her and holding on to her tightly. She rocked Harry back and forth, crooning to him and stroking his hair and rubbing his back as he sobbed.

A while later, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "I'm so sorry. What you must think of me. . . . I got your blouse all wet. I don't usually cry, but now I can't seem to stop."

"It's OK. It's part of the healing process. And I don't mind at all. I just hope it's helping."

He scrubbed frantically at his face, as if he was trying to scrub his skin right off to remove the tears.

She reached up and took his hands in hers. "Harry, honest. It's OK."

He smiled his crooked smile at her through his tears. "I can add another hug to my list now," he said with a broken chuckle. "Thanks."

"Any time you need a hug, Harry Potter, you come see me!" she laughed. She reached out and wiped the last tears from his cheeks, then wrapped her arms gently around his neck. "Did anyone ever tell you that you give great hugs?" she said with warm laughter in her voice.

Harry looked a bit startled. "Actually, no."

"Well, you do!" She looked up into his emerald green eyes, smiling at him.

He leaned in slowly and shyly, gently kissed her cheek, then rested his forehead against hers. "Thank you. You really have helped me today. I mean that." He took a step back, taking her hand from his neck and kissing her palm before letting go. "I suppose we should get going," he said. "You probably have lots of other things to do today."

"Actually, I'm free all day. Do you want to go do something fun now? It's a beautiful day."

Harry helped her pick up the tea things and put them in her basket, and fold the blanket they'd sat on earlier. He smiled at her and said, "I'd love to spend the day with you." He shyly took her hand and they walked back up the riverbank, off for a day of adventure.