Far Away Journey

Far Away Journey: Chapter Three

The rich, open tones of his American accent rolled into the air.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "And you?" She had to look up at the tall man, now that he was standing before her.

"William Green," he said, giving her a firm handshake. "I'm your guide and your guardian and whatever else...let's see...your friendly hand for your stay here. Well, not in this alley of course, but you know what I mean."

"Nice to meet you."

"Now, first things first. We need to get out of this lousy place. It's so dirty--just disgusting--but nevertheless, a great place where muggles won't see you pop out of nowhere. Imagine how crazy it would be if they saw!" He chuckled and then turned serious. "Never-mind, I shouldn't be saying things like that. It's not really funny; it'd be a disaster if it happened." He looked at Hermione's luggage, his eyes widening at the redundant bags and suitcases. The young witch looked guiltily at him.

"It's my luggage, isn't it?"

"Well, not really...no, actually yes, crap, that's a lot of bags you have there. Four in all, I think. I'm going to have to carry some of them for you. You'll get tendonitis if you lug all that around by yourself. Here, I'll take these two duffle bags, and you take that backpack there and that suitcase."

Hermione's face relaxed, as though the boulder that had been weighing down on her suddenly floated away. "Thank you, Mr. Green, you are so kind. I don't know what to say." She slung the backpack over her shoulders.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything else. I'm just doing my job. By the way, you don't need to call me Mr. Green; it makes me feel like there's a social barrier between us. Call me Will." Holding the suitcase in one hand and the duffle bag in the other, he began to walk briskly out of the alley. "Follow me."

Hermione pulled the wheeled suitcase. She followed him onto a street busy with traffic and bright streetlights. Sunlight showered like gold onto them even though the air itself was frigid, and winds whipped into their faces despite coats and scarves.

"Welcome to Boston," said Will; his eyes were squinting in the sunlight. "Keep up with me, okay? This is a big city, a big muggle city, and I don't want you getting lost. If you feel tired, please tell me. We'll take a break if we need to."

"You don't need to worry about me getting lost just because this is a muggle city. I'm muggle-born. I was born and raised in muggle cities."

"You're muggle-born? Now that's something new to me. The professors at Hogwarts didn't tell me about you being muggle-born. Well, at least we don't need to worry about having you running past green streetlights or into cars and whatnot." Will walked in long strides, which after several minutes became difficult for Hermione to keep up, who was about a head shorter than him and didn't have legs as long as his. The freezing weather didn't help either. She could barely feel her face, her ears, or her fingers, even though she had gloves on. "Will," she called out, panting and bending over her suitcase, "can you wait for a bit?"

"You must be really tired." He scanned the area, and saw a café nearby. "Want to go to Staubucks?"

"Sounds great."

With the wind biting at their heels, the two of them hurried into Starbucks, and were swept over with billows of warm air upon entering. Rich aromas of coffee wafted in the air. People sat at small tables, hands clutching steaming cups, reading, or gazing serenely at their laptops while their fingers danced over the keyboards. Hermione found a free table and plopped into the chair without even bothering to take off the backpack.

Setting down the bags, Will asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee? What kind?"

"Sure, I'd like to have a French roast," she began excitedly, and then a shadow crept into her eyes. "No wait. I can't. I have no way of paying for it. I haven't got any American currency. Fantastic. Of all the things I decided pack, the most important thing is what I forget to bring."

"Don't worry. Just chill, okay? I've got money here. It's on me." He began pulling out a wad of dollar bills from his wallet, and dashed to the cashier counter before Hermione could protest any more.

While Hermione looked out of the window, admiring the bustle of city-life, Will paced toward her with two cups of coffee in his hands. Fire alarms seemed to go off in Hermione's brain as she watched the caffeine-filled beverage smoke with steam. She was exhausted. The coffee drink was a miracle.

"Thanks," she said, testing the coffee, and feeling the liquid scald her tongue. She put the drink down, wrapping her frozen fingers around the cup.

"No problem."

"So, what am I supposed to do around here?"

"What did the Headmaster tell you to do?"

"He was kind of vague about it all. I guess he just wants me to observe American muggle culture, and when I get back, I'm supposed to write a paper about my findings. Not that there's much to find." She sipped on her coffee.

"Well, that much I can understand. Jeez, you might even be able to ace this paper even if you didn't come here to observe and stuff. For God's sake, you're muggle-born!"

She chuckled. "Yeah, I know. However, I still think that taking this educational offer is good in a way. American muggles are different from the British muggles, so it's not like I'm learning nothing new."

The two of them drank their coffee silently. Waves of energy started to radiate into Hermione's body as she finished the last few drops of the drink. She felt her cheeks flaming with the coffee's heat.

"Finished?" her guardian inquired. "I'll take your cup." He tossed his cup into the trash.

"It's okay. I can throw it out myself." She tossed it away, grabbed her suitcase, and followed Will out of the café.

----

The hallways were dark and gloomy. Deatheaters surrounded every corner, their hooded faces concealed, holding lighted wands. Harry was hiding under his Invisibility Cloak behind the statue of a humpbacked hag. He tried to suppress his ragged breathing for he was sure that they could hear him. He smothered his trembling lips with his hands, forcing himself to breath through his nose.

A tall man was holding a person by the hair, dragging the victim like an animal toward the statue. Harry's eyes widened. Screams from the victim echoed through the corridors, even making the sleeping pictures cringe. It was a female scream.

"Lumos," the man said, and waved his glowing wand in front of the woman's face. Her expression was ripped with pain and terror. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Harry peered at the scene unfolding before him. "Hermione," he whispered, immediately recognizing her visage despite the woeful façade. His hands clenched into fists, and in a rage, he flung off the cloak with his wand aimed at the man. "Let her go! expel--"

Before Harry could finish his spell, he found his own wand zooming out of his hand. "My wand..."

The man's face wasn't visible underneath his hood, but Harry knew the person was laughing. "And why, if it isn't the Boy Who Lived?" In a matter of seconds, many other Deatheaters ran into the scene, their glowing wands shining in the dark like fireflies. "Say goodbye to your little friend, Harry Potter! Avada Kedavra!"

"NOOOO! HERMIONE!" He bounded forward as he saw the green light explode from the tip of the man's wand.

Harry jerked up in bed, and his eyes snapped open. He was breathing heavily as though there wasn't enough air in the room. A sheen of perspiration layered over his face. His clothes were sticking to his body, causing him to feel intensely claustrophobic in the tangled mess between his blankets.

"Oh my God," his whispered, his hands traveling to his face to wipe away the sweat. He sat there with his face in his hands, feeling as though his heart wanted to jump out of his ribcage. "It was just a dream. Nothing more than a nightmare. Calm down. Calm down. Breathe."

Pushing away the covers, he climbed out of bed, and threw off his damp clothes, putting on fresh ones instead. He walked to his dresser, and pulled out the photo album of his deceased parents. Watching his parents smile and wave at him in the first picture, he felt tears start to well up in his eyes. "Mom, Dad, what am I supposed to do?"

The door creaked open, and Dean's head poked in. "What're you doing, Harry?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, quickly stuffing the photo album back into the drawers. "I just woke up."

"Great, because boy do I have news to tell you!" Dean ran over, and plopped onto Harry's bed. His face was glistening with excitement.

"What is it?"

"There's a new girl here. A girl. A sixth year!"

"Wait, I didn't know that we get students in the middle of the year!" Harry exclaimed, trying too hard to act as though there wasn't a stain in his life. "Dumbledore didn't even announce this at yesterday's dinner, or the dinner before yesterday for that matter."

"Apparently, it was supposed to be some big surprise. I heard some people say that she's the exchange student for Hermione. I just saw her a few minutes ago in our common room. She's in Gryffindor! Can you believe our luck?"

"I didn't know that Hermione is in a student exchange program," Harry mused. "I mean, I know that she's off in America, but I didn't know that someone's coming to replace her."

"But, if you think about it, this really isn't an exchange program, because Hermione is still here," Dean contradicted.

"Still here? What do you mean? She's in America." Harry felt his heart flutter.

"Oh, you weren't there at the meeting this morning. Professor McGonagall told all the Gryffindors that a fake Hermione has been created. She's already wandering around Hogwarts as we speak. The fake Hermione, I mean."

"You're kidding." Harry couldn't believe his ears.

Dean waved his hands wildly. "It's true! Go ask Professor McGonagall if you want."

"But why create a second Hermione?"

"Okay, Harry, before we talk about this any more, I have to make one thing clear."

"What?"

"Only the people from Gryffindor know that this new Hermione is fake. Nobody else knows, and you can't go around telling people. Get it? This is not only for Hermione's safety, but for Hogwart's safety." Dean's face was serious.

"Okay, I promise I won't go around blabbing it to everyone. But doesn't everyone at this school already know that she's in America? These people aren't stupid; they'll know something is fishy when they see the Hermione look-alike here."

"You don't need to ask that." Dean scoffed. "It's all taken care of. There's an explanation for everything."

"What's the explanation?"

"I'm just guessing from common sense," Dean began, "but I think they'll get convinced that she couldn't bring herself to go to America, and decided in the end to stay with all her friends at Hogwarts."

"Okay," Harry muttered skeptically. "But why did they create a second Hermione?"

"Dumbledore doesn't want anyone knowing that an innocent, Hogwarts witch is off on her own thousands of miles away from here. It's really dangerous. That's why we have another Hermione created. To fool the bad guys."

"I see. It's all starting to make sense." Harry rubbed his forehead, pondering about this second Hermione, and wondering if she's as authentic as the real one. Despite his curiosity, he didn't want to have anything to do with this fake Hermione, and yet, a part of him wanted to see her and see exactly how alike she is to the real person.

"Anyway," Dean continued, "this new girl is awesome. She's from the States. Hey, why don't I introduce you to her?"

"Ummm..."

"Come on, Harry, it'll be fun! I know you want to meet her." Dean's voice was persuasively annoying.

"Fine," Harry finally said. "I'll go meet her."

"Great! I knew you were going to be interested. Heck, who wouldn't?"

Dean pushed Harry off his bed, and began thundering down the stairs. Harry paced at a slower rate behind, not feeling all that interested about the new girl.

Dean glared at the snail trailing behind his footsteps. "Come on, Harry! Get your butt moving!"

Harry in response ran a few steps to catch up with Dean, and then pushed his glasses higher on his nose. Walking down the stairs to the common room, Dean scanned the room for traces of the new girl.

Dean shook Harry's shoulder. "There she is," he whispered. "She's sitting by herself on that couch there. Alone! This is the perfect opportunity! Hurry up!"

Harry looked at the girl as he ambled down the stairs. She looked like she was half Asian and half of some Western kin. There was smooth, dark brown hair rippling over her shoulders, framing a pale, oval face with large eyes and tiny lips. Not yet dressed in the school uniform, she lounged over the sofa, drowning in cushions, reading a book. Harry looked briefly at the cover of her book where there was an image of a man and a woman dressed in togas passionately kissing each other. Romance book.

"Hey," Dean greeted, a goofy smile spreading across his face.

She looked up, and a smile began to form itself over rosy lips. "Hey Dean," she said quietly. She looked over at Harry, and her lips parted as though she wanted to say something, but couldn't.

"I don't think you've met my friend here," Dean began. "This is Harry Potter. Harry, meet Natalie Schulminsky."

"Hey," they both said at the same time.

Dean pulled down Harry into a chair, forcing him to sit. "You know what, Harry," Dean began, giving him a private wink, "I forgot that I have some unfinished business to do in my room. Homework and stuff. I've got to go. Bye Natalie." He left swiftly, not even allowing Harry time to stop him. Harry squirmed in his seat.

Natalie's eyes glowed every second she looked at Harry, making him feel extremely vulnerable to an anticipated 'fan-attack'. Seconds flew by. His hands fidgeted over his lap as his smiled nervously at the young lady. God, she's pretty, Harry thought unconsciously before mentally slapping himself. Stop thinking about that. Come on, a little control here...remember that Hermione is the love of your life? He found himself enthralled by her lips; they had the ability to bend ever so slightly around the corners in a timid yet alluring manner.

Wrapping a wisp of her hair around her forefinger, she leaned forward and inquired, "Are you really the Harry Potter?"

Harry could already feel the rush coming. It was the rush of an obsessed boy-who-lived-fan beginning the question that has now become a mere cliché in Harry's mind. This small question will then lead to numerous other ones about his life, his interests, his adventures, whether or not he's dating someone, whether or not he'd be interesting in dating if not currently dating...

He braced himself, mentally crossing his fingers.

"Yes," he replied, trying hard to seem as normal as possible.

She gasped and looked as though she was ready to faint as she lightly covered her mouth with her fingers. "OH MY GOD!" she shrieked. "NO WAY!" Her eyes were glued to Harry's forehead. Now comes the part where she'll throw herself over me, Harry thought disgustedly. "I think I must be dreaming." A dazed expression fogged up her face.

"This is real," Harry said almost impatiently.

"You're right," she began thoughtfully, "I'm perfectly awake, and this is life...this is real...this is now. Okay, so I want to know all about you, well, I already know so much about you already, but you never know...I could learn something new. I can't believe I'm actually talking to you! Oh my God, this is like so awesome. Wait till I tell all my friends back in my hometown that I actually met you. They'll be totally jealous. You know, everyone is so extremely in love with you...at least all my friends back at home are. So, you straight?"

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

The girl laughed flirtatiously, waving a hand in front of her face. "You don't have to pull that one on me."

"Wait, I'm a little lost. What do you mean? Pull what?"

She put her book down, and looked at Harry from under thick layers of mascara. Tilting her head up with one hand buried in her hair, she giggled some more, making Harry have second thoughts about her: Never judge a person by their looks, no matter how beautiful. "Ok, so now you're trying to play dumb. I'm totally in guys who try to be cute by acting like they don't know what's going on when they know perfectly well how everything's going."

"Look, you don't seem to understand. I just wanted to ask you―"

Her eyes danced with excitement. "You wanted to ask me out? What? You like me? Come on. Admit it. I think we have something special cooking here."

"That's not what I wanted to say," Harry began weakly.

Natalie cut in, not letting him say anything more. Her voice was hurt. "You mean...you don't like me?" Suddenly, she took in a sharp breath, and her eyes seemed twice as large as before. A new revelation came over her. "No...don't say you're gay."

Girls can be so stupid, Harry thought angrily. Wait, not all girls...just ones like her. "No, I'm not gay."

"You're not? Then do you still want to go out?"

He felt himself tense, and sighed, "I never said I wanted to go out with you."

"You did! You did!" She insisted. "You said exactly, 'I just wanted to ask you' and I automatically knew what you were thinking! You see? You are my soul mate. I know how you think. We're like this." She laced her fingers over each other, and thrust her hands in front of his face. He winced at the sudden movement, and fell back against his chair in emotional and mental exhaustion.

It was completely hopeless. The new girl turned out to be an I-love-Harry-freak, making Harry's already terrible week considerably worse. He sat back in the armchair, feeling himself sinking into the soft cushions as though he were melting. Averting his eyes toward the ceiling, he stared straight up for several seconds, scarcely listening to the ramblings of Natalie.

"Are you listening, Harry?" Her eyes searched deep into Harry's eyes, watching the way the lights reflected off the green. Without realizing it, Natalie's lower jaw began to slide down, and she found herself gaping unabashedly at his face. Embarrassed, she immediately looked at the wall behind Harry, then at the floor, then the ceiling, and finally, her hands.

The ceiling above seemed to spiral upwards like the inside of a seashell as Harry rested his head against the top of his armchair. It was a never-ending whirlpool of creamy plaster in a blend of golden and ivory hues. This is my life now. I'm waiting for myself to turn into this ceiling; I'm waiting to get sucked into a twister of life and fate. Slowly, he removed his gaze from Natalie's perpetually moving mouth. Her words flew past his ears like the wind, leaving him in confusion. He found himself saying, "Yes," after everything sentence she uttered, and had no idea what was going on. Hermione's face flashed incessantly into his mind with ghostly echoes of her voice. His lips curled into a small smile as he stared blankly into space, appearing to see nothing, yet he was remembering childhood memories. Memories shared with Hermione. Inadvertently, he fingered the bridge of his glasses, the very spot where the metal had been broken and restored countless times.

In the background, they heard the Fat Lady holler something about a serial killer running about in Hogwarts. Her shrieks were muffled by the soft thud of the closing door. Trying to ignore everything, Harry looked down at his lap, his fingers still lingering over the bridge of his nose. Behind him, he heard shoes clicking slowly across the marble floor, and silence suddenly stretched throughout the chamber. A gasp escaped from Natalie's lips. Harry, sensing that something wasn't right, looked up at Natalie, watching the stricken expression on her face melt to that of curiosity.

"Natalie? You okay?"

"Ummm..." she mouthed. Her eyes were as glassy as a porcelain doll.

Again, the clicking of shoes echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and into the recesses of the caved ceiling, until it blended into the plush of the carpet. Harry felt the presence of the person approach behind him, though he was too submerged in his own gloom to care. Then, he felt the brush of someone's fingertips against his shoulder.

His heart jumped a beat.

His body tensed.

"Hi, Harry," the person said.