Coming Into His Own

Chapter 1: The Nightlife Re-visited

The sun's rays of gold and yellow shined on that Chelsea neighborhood in the West End of London. It was a quiet Monday morning, except for the noise of the bin lorries that made their rounds around the community. On a tree-lined street occupied by terraced townhouses stood a white stucco Victoria mansion. Once the home of Dukes and Earls, it had now been converted into luxury flats. An American couple on holiday passed by the building on their way to catch the Tube to watch the Changing of the Guards. If only they knew that in that building lived an individual who was more extraordinary than any of the pomp and circumstance that took place at Buckingham Palace.

Occupying the fifth and sixth floors of that building was a most unusual young man indeed. He was well renowned in the secretive wizarding world that existed in the United Kingdom.

Harry Potter was the most famous wizard of his time; other wizards tipped off their hats to him, and witches kissed his hand and pointed him out to their children when they saw him walking on the street. These acts of public adoration always embarrassed the young man - for his reserved nature could not handle being made the center of attention - and caused him to hide his blushing cheeks, as the crowd of people swarmed around him, their hands reaching out to touch or pat him on the back. Of course, in the Muggle world he was anonymous, except for the times young boys mistook him for footballer Michael Owen, and asked for his autograph.

This young man of twenty had lived a life plagued with hardships, loneliness and near deaths. But all of those trials and tribulations were all but gone from his life; he had long since defeated his adversary at the tender age of seventeen.

The melee had taken place a week before he was to graduate from his school of witchcraft and wizardry. Sleeping peacefully for the first time in months in his dorm room, he awoke to find a figure standing over him; the shiny knife in the stranger's hand was made visible by the cascading glow of the moon that reflected on the sharp blade. But before he had time to react, several men dressed in robes surrounded and began pummeling him with their fists. The school was then overtaken by these hooded men, who forced everyone - except the students of Slytherin House - into the Great Hall.

It was in the Hall that the Dark Lord finally made his presence known. He walked amongst the scared students, while he made a speech about his power, warning that death would come to all those who were not with him. But unfortunately, most of his speech was drowned out by the loud whimpering of Dennis Creevey, whom he immediately grabbed by the neck and threw against the floor. Seeing his brother's unmoving body, Colin charged the hooded man. But he too was dealt the same punishment and inevitable end as his sibling. Those two senseless murders precipitated the long confrontation between Harry and the Dark Lord.

The ensuing battle was a violent one that left many dead, including his former headmaster and gamekeeper. But he had fought valiantly to kill Lord Voldemort, who had haunted him since the age of eleven. Their fight was long and arduous; both men had great determination and will, their skills and expertise so perfectly matched. But the boy had much more desire to rid the world of the demon/man who had taken the lives of his parents when he was a mere babe. Thoughts of his parents' deaths and those of his classmates and beloved teachers had helped Harry deliver the final blow to his adversary, as he stuck that sword deep in his heart.

Upon Voldemort's death, many of his supporters were either killed by Hit Wizards or fled to other countries of the world, vowing that they would somehow seek their revenge on Harry.

Fearing another attack, Harry was quickly whisked away by Ministry officials to his aunt and uncle's home. He was then forced to remain a prisoner in that house for nearly two weeks. He would often spend his days staring out the window, dreaming of the flat he had bought several months before. The living arrangements also grated Vernon and Petunia's nerves, as they were looking forward to seeing him finally leave their custody.

Soon, Harry began to wish he could flee England, like so many of the Death Eaters. He had often hoped he could move far away to a place he was not known by admirers and enemies alike. He once considered moving across the pond to American, where the wizarding community in Salem was much smaller in size. To walk in the streets - not only those of Muggles, but also wizarding communities - and not be greeted by unwanted attention, or the glances that flittered to the scar on his forehead, would have been heaven for the normally introverted young man.

But his dream of moving was put on hold once the Ministry of Magic got wind of his plans. Cornelius Fudge had even paid a visit to 4 Pivot Drive to stop him from departing. His Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, however, encouraged him to leave the country, as they did not want him to bring any danger to their little family.

While Harry packed the few belongings he possessed, Fudge had placed his hand on his shoulder and uttered, "I really think you should reconsider your decision. If you leave, you will be all alone. You have no friends or relatives in the States. And if you go abroad, the wizarding community of Salem is too small and disorganized to assist you if the Death Eaters plan another attack."

Although Fudge had tried to be sincere with his statement, Harry knew the man had ulterior motives for wanting him to stay: he was England's main tourist attraction for witches and wizards worldwide. In the end, Harry realized he had been too hasty in his decision to leave, and decided to stay. Plus, he could not abandon a certain man who depended on him to survive.

Several weeks after the devastation that was caused to his school, which now lay in rubble - a memorial honoring the innocent people who lost their lives on that June day is to be built on the grounds - Harry finally moved into his flat, which was now bewitched with spells and curses that guarded him from further attacks. But the move was not one that filled him with joy, as he had hoped. The trauma of seeing those dead bodies on the ground and watching as the velvety blood flowed from their wounds had stayed with him for months; he now woke up screaming in the middle of the night, his face and chest covered in sweat.

But after a year and a half, those gruesome nightmares ceased to dominate his nights and were eventually replaced by images of the young lady he had long lost touch with. Although the images that now flooded his dreams were less scary, they were just as haunting and bittersweet. These dreams always began the same way: he and his former flame would be in their favorite abandoned classroom in Hogswarts, lying on the floor as they conducted their amorous activity. Guided by the glow of the moon, he would glide his fingers across her honeyed skin, while he looked deep into her brown eyes. However, he always awake before their kissing and fondling proceeded into something more.

That night, he had the same dream, which caused him to get out of bed and venture around his flat until her face, thick brown locks and intoxicating perfume escaped his mind. He had finally fallen back to sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

Let's venture through the large windows that dripped with rain from that morning's light drizzle and overlooked the glorious views of the lush Royal Hospital ground; past the white shutters, and up the winding staircase to the master bedroom where our young hero lay. Once a thin and frail boy who was short for his age, he had now grown to be six feet tall. Although his body was still lean, it was not the result of being cruelly undernourished by his aunt and uncle, but from years of playing Quidditch.

The early morning light peaked in through the windows, washing the walls and the bed in a prism of silvery colors. Down in the bed, underneath the cotton duvets, the young man was stirring. He often slept with his head buried under the covers, with only his face poking out to allow him some air. The sheets were now crinkled, collecting in large piles about his half-naked body. The only parts that were visible was a tanned leg and his bare chest, which had some light sprinkling of dark curly hair.

He slowly opened his eyes and glanced at the clock on his nightstand; it was eleven in the morning. He normally would have been awake for several hours, had it been a normal day. His days usually started at six in the morning; sometimes he and Arthur Weasley would be up at the crack of dawn in order to catch the suspects off guard when they intended to raid a house.

Harry got out of bed and stretched in front of his large window, allowing the heat of the sun to spread along his bare chest. His footsteps feeling heavy as they hit the carpeted floor, he made his way to the shower.

A towel loosely draped around his waist, he looked at himself in the mirror. That he no longer needed his glasses to see never failed to startle him, although it had already been a year. However, he still found himself bringing his fingers to his face every so often - a habit that had developed from wearing spectacles that always slid down the bridge of his nose. The operation had taken place the previous year, when he had been desperate to alter his appearance. During this soul-searching time in his life, he had grown his black hair to his shoulders and gotten the Hebrew word for 'peace' tattooed on his back.

He opened his medicine cabinet to get out his razors, when his gaze fell upon the young lady's toothbrush. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; he had been finding her possessions tucked away in different drawers and cabinets around his home for quite some time now. Perhaps it gave her an excuse to come back to his place, he thought. Or maybe, it was her way of slowly indoctrinating herself as a permanent fixture in his life. He could have offered her space in his closet, so she didn't have to resort to hiding things in his house; but he didn't want to feel as though they were living together. Plus, she wasn't officially his girlfriend.

Harry examined his image in the mirror, as he rubbed his chin. His face was fuller than the past years, when his sunken cheeks and drawn eyes gave him a gaunt and haunting appearance; the emotional and psychological stress of those days had definitely taken a toll on him. A smile spread on his lips as he thought how he was becoming more and more manly like his godfather, whose dark features he so admired.

After he had shaved the few tuffs of hair that were on his chin, he headed to his closet. The walk-in closet housed the attire for his two separate lives. One side held his Muggle clothes; while the other side held the wizard robes he wore to different Ministry award ceremonies, his old Gryffindor Quidditch gear and his broom. He reached in and pulled out a pair of jeans and a sweater. It was fortunate for him that he had grown up amongst Muggles, and knew how to dress like them. He often felt sorry for other wizards, whose attempts of blending into the Muggle world had horrendous results - like the wizard he had seen outside Marks and Spencer wearing ballet slippers and thigh high knee socks.

He draped his coat over his arm and went downstairs to the kitchen. He could have made himself something to eat, as he was a proficient cook - thanks to the task of having to prepare all the meals at his aunt and uncle's home. He remembered frying up some sausages once for Dudley's breakfast - he, of course couldn’t eat any, even though there were six in the pan - when he accidentally dropped them on the floor, watching in horror as several of them rolled underneath the fridge. Luckily for him, his aunt and uncle did not witness this discretion, as they were too busy fussing over their lummox of a son. Without much hesitation - well he hesitated for a mere moment - Harry scooped up the sausages and continued frying them as though nothing had happened.

Knowing that he would be getting a good meal at his friend's house, Harry made himself a cup of tea. As he took sips of his syrupy concoction, he heard a faint tapping noise behind him. Turning around, his eyes landed on his beloved owl Hedwig. He opened the window and watched as she flew to the breakfast table, and placed the letter she carried in her claws onto the tabletop. It had been a long time since he'd seen her, as she now belonged to his godfather. He placed his hand on top of her head, smoothing back her ruffled feathers. He would have given her some owl treats, but she ate his last bag on her previous visit. Treat or no treat, she seemed happy to see him again, as she hopped around on his table, instead of immediately flying away to her new master’s home in Notting Hill.

Harry glanced down and read the note Sirius had written him. It appeared as though he was to have dinner at his godfather’s home that upcoming weekend. After a few more sips of the warm tea, Harry jotted down his acceptance to the dinner invitation and sent Hedwig on her way.

At noon, he finally headed down to his friend’s home for a much-deserved meal. But as he walked down the narrow steps of the building to the first floor, the elderly woman who lived on the floor just below his accosted him. He of course said hello to her and greeted her with a warm smile, before continuing on his way. When he reached the building's front doors, Harry shook his head; it was a rare moment indeed when she did not try to fix him on a date with her overly chatty daughter. She must have assumed he was lonely, he thought, since very few guests were ever seen venturing to and from his house - and he was certain she kept count of the visitors he had since he moved into the building.

But Mrs. Whistlethorpe wasn’t the only person who was overly curious about his private affairs; the other occupants had often wondered how a man so young could afford such an extravagant flat. But they later assumed he must have been the son of a wealthy investment broker or an Internet mogul.

Harry walked down the street with his head hung low, trying with some conviction to avoid the large puddles on his way. He was in the process of turning the corner when a man stepped in front of him. He and the older gentleman looked at each other. Harry’s heart throbbed as the man's eyes scrutinized every feature on his face. The young man's eyes then darted to the right and left in search of somewhere to hide. But he could not move, as his feet stayed planted where they were. He watched as the short man approached him, until he was standing before him.

Harry knew what the man was immediately; there was something off kilter about his attire that gave him away as being a wizard. Besides his black trousers and trench coat, the man had a bathing cap on his head and pink bunny slippers.

He approached Harry and took his hand. He stroked the young man's skin with the utmost gentility before bringing that hand to his lips. "Words alone," he muttered in a raspy voice, "cannot convey the kind of gratitude that we owe to you, Mr. Potter."

Harry remained quiet, as the man proceeded to thank him for several minutes. After the other wizard had eventually waddled away with tears in his eyes, Harry continued on his way to his friends’ house.

He walked the two blocks down to Justin’s townhouse on Mayfield Road. The former Hufflepuff lived with his parents; he was still unable to afford his own place as he only earned an entry-level salary from his job as an office clerk in the Ministry’s Recreational department - well, that was what he told people who questioned him on his living arrangement. Harry was the only one of his graduation class whose salary rivaled that of a supervisor.

He climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. After a flurry of raised voices and footsteps, the door flew open. "Hello dear," said Justin’s mother. Her hands were raised to her ear as she fumbled with her earrings. "Come in, come in." She placed a hand on his back, and ushered him into the house.

"Justin," she bellowed out, causing Harry to jump back, "Harry’s here."

Harry stood in the middle of the entryway, watching as Justin’s mother ran here and there, grabbing her purse and keys.

"I wish I had more time to chat with you," she exclaimed, " but I don't." She rushed to the closet and took out a light jacket. "I have to go to the store. Apparently one our shipments didn't show up and now there's mayhem." She quickly patted him on the head, before heading out the door.

Justin's family owned a whole food store, which sold everything from soy donuts to aromatherapy, and it was his mother's job to handle the inventory. Harry had gone to Healthy Living on several occasions with his godfather, who had suddenly developed a liking for organic foods.

Harry made his way to the living room, where he found the other man relaxing in an oversized seat in front of the television. He and Justin became an inseparable duo after they discover they lived in the same neighborhood. Additionally, that the other man was Muggle born allotted Harry the opportunity to chat with someone about television programs and football – he didn’t follow the sport, but if he did – and not have them stare back at him with a confused look on their face.

Although he was now a frequent guest at Justin's house, Harry often hated inviting the other man to his flat. Justin would usually spend most of his time marveling at Harry's possessions, and complaining about how poor he was. But Justin was not as impoverished as he made himself out to be; he clearly had enough money to treat himself to high tech gadgets and a new car. Harry assumed he lived with his parents because he enjoyed the creature comforts of home.

Harry took off his coat and sat in his usual spot on the sofa.

"The food just got here," said Justin. He took the containers of takeaway from the bag on the coffee table and handed one to Harry. He opened his own container and sighed as the smell of spices and meat hit his nostrils. Since his mother was a devout vegan, Justin and his father had to suffer through eating tofu on a fairly regular basis. So he genuinely enjoyed days when he could indulge his taste buds.

Harry barely paid attention to the images that flashed before him on the television screen, as he sank into his meal of kebabs. But the delight that was occurring in his mouth was not enough to keep him from finally gazing up at the half naked women on the screen. He then glanced at Justin, whose eyes were glazed over and completely focused on young women before him - so much so, that he spilled much of his food in his lap.

"Isn't this show great?" asked Justin, his mouth full of food.

Harry only smiled and glanced away; he wasn't particularly fond of the teen soap opera. He gazed out the window, watching the passersby, when he noticed Justin staring at him.

"What did you do last night?" asked Justin.

Harry swallowed the piece of food he had been chewing on and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Nothing much. I just stayed in."

"Did you have any company? Because when I called, you sounded a little out of breath." Justin then leaned forward in his chair. A small cheeky smile now formed in the corner of his lips. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

Harry lowered his head when he felt his face grow warm. He looked away for several moments, but it was hard to shake Justin's piercing gaze. The other man was always asking him such questions; he always assumed Harry lived an eventful life. "I wasn't with anyone," Harry finally said. "And I wasn't out of breath."

Justin stared at him for a while longer. "If you say so." He picked up his container and continued to watch television once more, all the while gazing at Harry every now and then from the corner of his eyes.

After their meal, the two men spent nearly two hours talking. Well, Justin did most of the talking, while Harry sat back in his seat and looked sympathetic, as the other man told him his problems - which varied from losing his hair from the depression medicine he was taking to his failures in getting the young lady who worked at the local pub to date him. Harry didn't mind listening to the other man's problems; anything that took the focus away from his personal life was fine with him.

After Justin had finally stopped talking, Harry was ready to make his way back home. But as he walked to the door, Justin placed his arm around his shoulder. "Are you coming to the ceremony?" the other man asked. "Fudge said he would like all the survivors to be there. I don’t know if I’ll go, but my mum says I should."

Harry glanced away just then and squeezed his eyes. He had gotten numerous owls from the Ministry asking him to be present at the former Hogwarts grounds for the upcoming event. He was to receive an award from Fudge for his show of bravery and courage. But the thought of accepting anything from the Minister of Magic made him cringe. "I haven’t decided yet," he answered. In actuality, he would have liked to attend, if only to see his former classmates, whom he had lost touch with as they all scattered to the winds in pursuit of their professions. But that Fudge would also be present lessened Harry’s desire to attend.

The bitterness between the two men started shortly after Voldemort’s death, when Harry pleaded with the Ministry to remove all charges of murder from his godfather’s records. He assumed the task would not be difficult, since Pettigrew had confessed to his sins before his death and Lupin had provided additional evidence clearing Sirius’ name. But all the evidence was met with deaf ears, as Fudge was unwilling to believe the truth. He regarded Pettigrew’s confession as nonsense and thought Lupin had fabricated his story to help out his school friend. But seeing that Harry was angry with his refusal to see Sirius as anything but a criminal, Fudge compromised with the young man: his Hit Wizards would not chase Sirius, as long as the man stayed out of the wizarding community.

He and Justin exchanged a glance. Harry could tell from the expression in his eyes that Justin was thinking of that same horrible night, which had caused the former Hufflepuff to go to therapy two times a week. Then, they both looked away. There was an uneasy silence between them, until Justin cleared his throat and said in a rather chirper voice, "Don’t forget about tonight. You and I will have a great time."

Harry shook his head. "I don’t know about that. I’m feeling a little tired."

Justin placed his hand on Harry’s back as he escorted him to the door. "Oh come on. We don’t have work tomorrow. A night out at a club will do us both a bit of good. Plus, you don’t do much except work. Don’t you have any fun?"

A weak smile curled onto the corner of Harry’s lips, before he glanced away. He had definitely had his share of fun during the fall of 1998. Justin was not around to witness the debacle, as he was away in Northern England, "visiting relatives." But Harry knew his friend had checked himself into a psychiatric hospital in Manchester in order to deal with his trauma. Harry kept mum about his past late night excursions in London’s Muggle clubs and allowed Justin to convince him to join him that night.

~*~*~

As Harry climbed the stairs to his flat, he could feel the old woman peaking at him through her peephole. He walked into the flat and threw himself on the sofa, as he was unable to believe he had agreed to go out with Justin that night. If only the other man knew the kind of trouble he had been through in the past, thought Harry.

Every thing had occurred the first few months after he moved out of the rickety house on Pivet Drive. That time should have filled him with joy, as he had finally received his independence; but his life seemed to spiral out of control. Instead of inviting his friends around for a house warming, he found himself hiding in his flat and refusing to talk to anyone.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Sirius always came to see how he was coping; but he always told them he was fine. "It's nothing I haven't faced before," Harry told them on the occasions they would visit. But deep inside, he was overwhelmed by a strong sense of worthlessness, and nothing seemed to keep him from constantly crying. To him, his entire life appeared to be a crash course in hardships.

In search of a diversion from his troubles, he began to explore what the nightlife could offer. Although those were dark times he wished not to repeat, he now realized it was something he needed to experience. He was a young man who had seen and experienced terrible things no one should ever face in their lifetime, and thus needed a release. Unfortunately, that release came in the form of one night stands.

The acts always started in his living room, where he and the woman would lay on his couch, and explore the delights of the other's mouth. Harry never did hear what those girls moaned in his ear nor paid attention to the pleasure he was giving them as his naked body glided on top of theirs; he always remained focused on reaching his goal. When he finally did reach that inevitable end, the pain and bad memories would be momentarily forgotten, as his body tensed and became enveloped in pleasure. However, that joyous feeling would never last. And afterwards, his suffering would come back threefold - coupled by the guilt he felt for having used a girl for her body. But the one-night stands were quickly replaced by alcohol, which brought about his euphoria even quicker. He would then spend much of his time passed out on his bed in a drunken stupor.

People at the Ministry began to realize there was a something wrong with him when he wouldn’t show up for work for days at a time. Those close to him knew he was still dealing with the emotional trauma of the attack, but others – like those who envied his large salary – thought he was acting up and being a brat because of his celebrity. Even Sirius noticed a change in Harry’s demeanor when he stopped replying to his owls. He was taken aback when he saw the way Harry had allowed himself to determinate; the young man’s emaciated appearance reminded Sirius of himself when he was hiding in caves and living off of scraps.

Harry had resisted his godfather’s help, and even balked when the other man suggested he see a counselor. In his mind, Harry assumed he could cope with things on his own; he's had to rely on himself ever since he was a small child and was left to tend to his own needs by his aunt and uncle. But Sirius was just as stubborn as he and continually badgered Harry – plus, he had the help of Molly Weasley, who was always good a nagging – until he relented.

They all thought it best that Harry should see a Muggle therapist - a wizard professional surely would have gone to the Daily Prophet with personal tidbits about the young man. And for nearly a year, Harry utilized the services of a therapist on Bond Street, revealing all about his life - he, of course, kept certain aspects of the wizarding world to himself.

Although he tried hard to convince his godfather that he did not have a fondness for alcohol, Harry was still persuaded to take classes on alcoholism.

An outsider would have blamed Harry's breakdown solely on his final battle with Voldemort; but the young man had been crippled with a broken heart long before the melee ever took place. Months before, he had been involved in a love triangle with Hermione and Ron that later shattered their friendship with one another. In the end, they all ended up miserably. He and Hermione could have continued their passionate relationship, but found themselves avoiding the other in the halls. He would always take refuge in a dark corner whenever he saw her walking his way. He would then eye her every movement from his secret hiding place. Regardless of the hurt she had caused him, he never lost his desire to be close to her, and had to stop himself from grabbing her arm whenever she walked past him.

It was not just a need to caress and make love to her that he craved; he also yearned for her companionship. When he finally got high marks in Potions for his essay, Harry desperately wanted to share his good news with her; being the academic wiz that she was, Hermione would have appreciated his new achievement. But he never did find the courage to approach her.

Speaking to Ron was out of the question; he knew the volatile redhead would have thought he was showing off. Additionally, the way Ron always stared at him told Harry to keep his distance. While Hermione often roamed the halls with a sad expression on her face that made Harry feel sorry for her, Ron greeted his presence with a scowl and narrowed eyes. Ron had also switched beds with Neville, so he and Harry didn't have to sleep next to one another.

Harry had always hoped the three of then could rekindle their friendship, but that was not to be. And the battle did nothing to bring them together, as they had all gone their separate ways afterwards.

Harry stretched out on the sofa, as he wondered what Hermione could be doing at that moment. The last he heard, she had moved to Paris. He of course knew what Ron had been doing for the past two years; the redhead's career as a Cannon had been well chronicled in the Daily Prophet. He had gone to one of the Cannons' games to see his friend in action, and had even cheered along with the rest of the Weasley family when Ron scored. However, he refused to go back to the dressing room to meet his former friend, despite Molly Weasley's pleas. Although there had plenty of opportunities for the two men to meet in the past - especially since Harry was now working alongside Ron's father and often went to their family home - it was mutually decided that they would keep their distance from one another.

~*~*~

"So," said Justin, "you like the place?" He and Harry had been standing at the bar for nearly an hour, watching the other people at the club.

"This place is nice," Harry finally answered, as he looked out into the crowd of young men and women dancing with one another. Several women had asked him to dance, but he declined, causing Justin to elbow him in the side and flash him an annoyed look.

He was in the middle of taking another sip of his soda, when Justin said, "Harry, look at that girl."

Harry gazed in the direction the other man was pointing. In the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by a throng of men, was a woman dressed all in black. She was dancing in tune to the music, her body moving to the beat, as her long blonde hair swayed back and forth.

"Turn around, so I can get a good look at you," said Justin under his breathe.

Harry too wanted to look at this woman.

She eventually turned around and revealed her face to the two young men. Justin caught her gaze, and then winked at her. The girl stopped dancing momentarily and looked him up and down, her scrutinizing eyes traveling slowly along the length of his body. Her lips then curled into a grimace, as a look of disgust spread on her gentle features. The girl turned the other way and continued dancing once more.

Justin slowly faced the bar and lowered his head.

"I'll buy you another drink," said Harry, as he patted his friend on the back in a reassuring manner. The people at those clubs could be quite rude with their rebuffs, thought Harry; and Justin had certainly suffered from many stings that night from several young ladies.

After another hour, Harry walked about the place in search of a quiet corner where he could sit down. He had left Justin at the bar, where he was solely preoccupied with a certain brunette who was surprisingly showing some interest in him. Harry had now settled himself on a large plush sofa in the back of the room, and leaned into the cushy folds of the fabric. His eyes then wondered about the smoky room, before they landed on the people in the next sofa, who were doing everything but having sex in front of him. He raised his head and glanced up at the VIP section of the club on the second floor. The small section was filled with red leather chairs and occupied by young men and women who had bored expressions on their faces.

He was about to turn away, when a young lady leaning against the railing caught his eye. He had noticed her watching him over the course of that hour, but had never paid much attention to her gaze; he assumed she was another one of the numerous girls who was trying to flirt with him. Most of the young woman's body and face was obscured by the shadow of one of the club's pillars, but her eyes were clearly visible. He normally would have looked away just then, but something in her stare prevented him from doing so.

He brought his hand to his chest, his fingers splaying against his shirt, as he thought he recognized her brown eyes. There was something oddly familiar about the way she observed him; it reminded him so much of a certain young lady's gaze. He leaned forward and squinted to get a better view of her, but the area she was standing in was too dark and smoky. The eye contact continued for several more moments, as both parties appeared to be in a trance. His heart began to pound and he heard himself call out, "Hermione."

The young woman's eyes widened and she glanced away, before disappearing into the darkness.

Harry bolted from his seat. He weaved through the crowd, often bumping into people and having to even push others out of his way. His desire to make it to the staircase was such that he forgone apologizing to those he had knocked over. He raced up the staircase to the roped off area, which was guarded by a large, muscular man.

"I'm sorry sir," said the bouncer, as he glared down at Harry, "but this is a private party."

Harry paid no heed to the man's words - nor his incredible size - and glanced about the room. His eyes flittered left to right, in search of the elusive young woman. "Hermione," he yelled when he spotted a dark haired woman standing in the corner, her back turned to him.

Harry's heart pounded as the young woman slowly turned around. His stomach was now flustered with butterflies as he thought of the prospect of seeing her once again. Two years of dreaming and hoping were finally going to get realized, as they would see one another again. He held his breath, when she flipped her long wavy hair out of her face.

Alas, his heart sank, when he realized it wasn't her. The woman glanced at him through uninterested eyes, as a cigarette dangled from her lips. His hopes finally shattered, Harry retreated back to his seat. He remained in the chair with his eyes closed for longer than he could calculate, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Let's leave," said Justin. He glanced over his shoulder at the brunette he had been talking to several minutes before. "I haven't had much luck in this place." He looked down at Harry, and jealously eyed the pieces of paper that some of the more brazen girls had stuffed into his trouser pocket - despite the green-eyed young man saying he wasn't interested. "It seems as though you were popular with the girls tonight. If you got too many numbers, I will be more than happy to take some of them off your hands--"

"Justin, do you know who those people are at the VIP section?"

Justin glanced up at the second floor. "I don't know. But from the jaded looks on their faces, they seem rich. A lot of young models and children of rock stars hang out here. Did one of them catch your eye?"

Harry continued to look up at the second floor. His eyes flittered from girl to girl - causing a young blonde to smile his way - but he could not find the girl who had mesmerized him. Something in his heart told him it was her. But he quickly shook his head, as he was convinced he was going mad. "It's nothing," he finally said.