City Sickness

[Chapter two]

Never Will

A while ago I met someone I never thought I'd meet again. I was coming home from a Muggle jazzclub I sometimes go to with Seamus, when I saw a young man leaning languidly against the wall. His blonde hair was hanging in front of his eyes and he smoked a cigarette.

I didn't pay much attention to him then.

I buttoned my coat, shivering at the freezing London wind and walked promptly through the patio. I could feel that his eyes were fixated on me, and I did my best to avoid his intense gaze, hoping he would give up soon.

Suddenly he stepped forward, and before I even knew it he was standing right in front of me. His eyes gleamed with silvery curiosity.

"Excuse me", he drawled, "but do you happen to know what the time is?"

I gaped at him, utterly speechless. I don't know what I had been expecting, but certainly not that.

"S-sure", I managed to stammer and glanced at my wrist watch I had only lately grown used to wearing, after seven years of Hogwarts and practically no muggle equipment. "It's half past two."

He blinked and stubbed out his cigarette.

"Half past two?"

I swallowed.

"Yeah, it precisely is 02:27."

He gave me an unseemly soft laughter and lit up another cigarette.

"Time flies when you're having fun, eh?" A short break. "Thank you."

I smiled forcedly and glanced around. There was only us.

"Well, if that was all, I better get going. It's rather late and..."

He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to return the favour?"

I surveyed him silently for a moment. I may be naive, but I knew exactly what he was. He tilted his head and licked his lower lip. For some reason it reminded me of that hungry, needy look in Voldemort's eyes that night in the cemetery, right after his horrendous transformation. Right after Cedric's death. I felt something huge in the back of my throat. I coughed a bit and shook my head.

"Are you sure? You'll never know what you're missing."

I smiled stiffly. I was angry with myself. Angry because I couldn't let myself forget. I had thought I was over Cedric's death, but I then knew I never would be. Not in this life, anyway.

"I'll take my chances. Goodbye."

He shrugged indifferently and I remember how his cigarette glowed menacingly in the dark. I turned around and walked away without looking back. His last words echoed in my head for the rest of the night, teasing me, flickering closer and then escaping into the indistinct mass of memories when I tried to grab them. I lay on my bed, unable to fall asleep. His words formed shapes and colours, frightening and yet somehow enticing. I could almost taste them, and they tasted of danger and heartbeat. I rolled over and over, burying my head into my pillow and trying to breathe casually. I had never imagined three simple words having such a huge effect me on. It was unnatural. It was wrong.

I started to list things in my head. I soon realised I had been listening to Ron carefully enough to be able to tell the dates of every game the Chudley Cannons had ever won. After that I went through all the 700 ways to commit a foul during a Quidditch game. When that didn't work either, I tried to recall all the times Oliver Wood had slapped my shoulder in that enthusiastic and encouraging manner of his. Sometimes he had slammed his hand down hard enough to make my skin flush and tingle.

The words refused to leave me alone and continued twirling around in my head, almost mocking me.

"Good night, Potter."