Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

Chapter 5

Debbie's mind was currently a jumble of conflicting thoughts and colliding images. Sunday morning and here she was again, standing on his doorstep as if nothing had happened.

Harry's appearance at her birthday party last night had been an interesting experience. Her family and friends had all been duly impressed, but when the party was over and everyone, including Harry, had gone home, she was left feeling like something was missing. It was almost too perfect, like a stage show performance, not real life.

She nervously fiddled with the tiny golden stag hanging around her neck. And what of the 'other' present? That was one reason why, despite her misgivings, she was standing here. There were other reasons, of course, such as her firm belief that she really loved him.

The door swung open suddenly and there he was. She stepped forward into his arms. The customary embrace was to her surprise shorter than usual and not accompanied by a kiss. He stepped back. "I'm glad you decided to come round today." He seemed hesitant, almost shy, and his eyes were darting around, not quite meeting hers.

She smiled and playfully patted his arm. "And why wouldn't I, after last night." Gently she added, "thank you for being there. That really meant a lot to me."

At last he caught her eye. "I'm glad. It was worth it then." He shrugged out from under her hand, strode over to the sofa, sat down and waited for her to join him.

If it had been anyone else she knew, Debbie would have sworn he was very, very, nervous, even a little scared. Scared was not a word she associated with Harry.

"So, Mr. Evans," she said as she sauntered across the room to drop down on the sofa beside him. "You promised me another present." She smiled at him. "I'm here to collect."

He looked away again, staring forward and clasping his hands together between his knees. The unbelievable was true. Harry was scared.

She sat stiffly, uncertain how to handle the situation. "Well ..."

He cleared his throat with a nervous little cough. "Debbie," he said very softly, "I've had plenty of time to think about what you said to me. About needing to know someone before you can have a real relationship with them ..." his voice trailed off.

"Yes?"

He turned to look at her, for just a split second his face bore an expression of utter panic. She reached out and put her hand on his. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I didn't think it was going to be this hard." He stood up abruptly, and started to pace slowly up and down in front of her. "Do you remember on our first date we talked about magic, and fairy tales?"

Debbie was confused. What was that about? She strained her mind to try to remember what he was referring to. "Oh, yes. I vaguely remember that."

"Do you remember the answer I gave you?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly."

"I told you that magic does exist, and I meant it. For you, Debbie, magic is a wonderful idea, maybe a way for miracles to happen and dreams to come true. Would that be correct?" He turned to her, his green eyes flashing, catching her attention with the sudden intensity in his gaze. She nodded, wanting to hear what he would say next.

"You are wrong, you know. Magic isn't wishful thinking. Magic is very real. In this city alone there are several hundred people using magic everyday." He straightened up and looked her in the eye. "And I am one of them."

"What?" Debbie stared back at him trying desperately to make sense of his last sentence. "What do you mean?" she said slowly.

"I can do magic," he stated, sounding like he really believed it.

She looked at him doubtfully, shaking her head. He sighed, rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "I'm going to have to show you, aren't I? Follow me." He turned and took off up the stairs in a tearing hurry. Debbie stood up and followed at a much slower pace, still trying to figure out if she had heard him correctly and what he really meant. Could it be that she was dating a head case? But where would a nutter get the money to support Harry's lifestyle?

When she finally caught up with him, he was standing in front of the locked study door. Debbie knew it was locked; she had secretly tried the handle several times with no success. As soon as she got there he put his hand on the handle and turned towards the door. "Cedric." As he said the word she could hear the faint clicking of tumblers within the deadlock. Harry turned the handle and the door swung open.

There was a large window directly opposite the door and the curtains were drawn back allowing plenty of natural light to illuminate the room.

Debbie gasped in amazement. It was like no study she had ever seen. On the large wooden desk in front of her there was no phone, and no computer. Instead she saw a large metal pot holding what looked like scrolls and next to it an old fashioned inkstand with several pots of ink and a hollow wooden cylinder containing several large bird feathers. Next to that stood a photo of a young woman with long brown hair tied back in a loose bushy ponytail. She was wearing a long black robe, decorated with a red and gold appliqué and a large gold badge which Debbie could not quite read from her viewing position.

Harry pulled the solid looking wooden chair away from the desk. Debbie subconsciously registered that it didn't have wheels, but still glided silently across the wooden floor.

She looked to her left. Hanging on the wall supported by large stainless steel brackets was ...

"A broomstick!" she turned to look at Harry who was hovering behind her, his continuing nervousness betrayed by the way he was fiddling with the smooth wooden rod he was now holding in his right hand.

"Not just any broomstick," he said, with a slight hint of indignation, "That is a Firebolt. Six years ago when I received it, it was state of the art. And it's still pretty damn good." He reached over and gently caressed the wooden shaft. "It still does the job when needed," his voice dropped to a murmur, "it was a present from my godfather."

Debbie was in a state of semi-numbness. She turned. Sitting on the floor against the opposite wall was the large wooden chest she had seen once before. It was old and battered; on the front could faintly be seen worn gold lettering, 'HJP'. There was a large wooden shelf on the wall above it cluttered with an assortment of photos. Above this a large watercolor hung on the wall, flanked by a couple of award plaques.

Being an artist herself, the picture caught Debbie's eye, it was obviously an original. The picture was a family portrait. In the centre sat a young woman with dark red hair wearing a blue robe-like dress, holding in her arms a small dark haired baby. Kneeling half behind her, his arms protectively around his family was a dark haired man with glasses, who looked like Harry, but somehow she knew it wasn't. There was a signature in the bottom corner 'D Thomas 1997'.

"My parents," said Harry, "it was done from a photo. I never knew them. They died protecting me." The blunt, factual tone of his voice was scary.

Debbie spun around to face him, she opened her mouth, but he put his hand up to her lips, "No, there's no point." His tone of voice was softer, with a hint of some emotion she couldn't name. "You wanted to know more about me." He indicated to the room around them. "My real name is Harry James Potter and I am a wizard. My parents were also magical, although my mother was Muggle born."

"Muggle born?"

"Her parents were non-magical. Muggles like you."

Harry pulled a small wooden block out of the top drawer of his desk, tapped it with the wooden rod and muttered something. Debbie nearly fell over as before her eyes the block turned into a very comfy looking lounge chair.

"Sit down," said Harry, settling down into the other chair. "Don't worry; it won't revert unless I make it."

Debbie gingerly settled into the chair, which really was as comfortable as it looked.

"If I haven't freaked you out enough already, would you like to learn a little more?"

She nodded.

"I'm going to tell you what you might call a fairy tale, but it's a real story, my life story ... so far."