Obliviate

Obliviate - Chapter Three

"...James?" She blinked. "What are you doing here?"

He gestured for him to walk with her outside to the parking lot. "Follow me."

They slipped out through the doors, holding hands, unnoticed by the crowd. James felt an uneasy sensation settling in his stomach as he studied her out of the corner of his eye: rather than appearing happy at seeing him, she seemed nervous or apprehensive; he noticed she was still smiling but there was something fixed about her expression and it didn't seem real to him. She saw him glancing at her worriedly and she stared stubbornly at the ground. What was going on?

Once they stood outside in the parking lot, he gently gripped her shoulders and asked in a quiet voice, "You alright?"

Nora blinked again and nodded, keeping her mouth closed. A slight frown pulled at his lips and he peered intently at her face, feeling as if he was trying to decipher a code. James furrowed a brow and tried to lift her chin up with his finger but she shook her head and shoved his hand away. He took a wary step backward, unsure of what was running through her mind or what he should do.

"James," her voice came out in a hoarse whisper, "don't come here again."

"But-"

Without bothering to hear his reply, she swung around and strode away from him, leaving him standing there, baffled and alone.

* * *

James decided not to put any more time into puzzling over her odd behavior the rest of the week. What was done was done; she no longer wanted to see him and he accepted that. Maybe she'd only developed a crush on him because he had been a helpless, bedridden inpatient - not because of who he really was, which was, ironically enough, another thing he was still trying to figure out.

He was driving back home after a short day at work, humming out of tune and enjoying the refreshing ripples of wind coming in through the open windows.

"Nora..." he said softly to himself. "Ah, well. You were a nice distraction...."

James parked his car on the side of the street and stepped out, smiling at the beautiful weather. Today was a new day - a new beginning for his new self. It was time to start living his life for himself, the new James Evans, not the old one who had disappeared three weeks ago.

He'd decided to visit London today to see the sights, just to get out a little. Who cared if he looked like a tourist in his home city? Not James Evans. With an easy gait and his hands tucked casually into the pockets of a hooded sweater, he wandered calmly down a busy walkway, savoring the early autumn weather and its crisp, cool breeze.

Over the course of the day he lost himself in the city's sights, wondering to himself if he'd ever seen them before in his past life. He visited Eltham Palace, admiring the tasteful blend of features from medieval times and the 1930's; he explored the HMS Belfast, an old World War Two cruiser converted into a museum; he also made sure to stop in and check out all manner of smaller stores and coffee shops.

Gradually the sun's rays faded from gold to orange and slowly sank below the horizon; magnificent, fiery streaks crossed the sky and evening settled in over London. James wanted to explore the nightlife of the city as well, so he raised a hand to hail a taxi and one instantly came swerving around into sight, as if it had been waiting for him. He clambered into the vehicle, feeling exhausted but still wanting to continue on his adventure.

The driver looked at him expectantly and his eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second as they darted up to his forehead and then back to his face.

"What's that all about?" James wondered to himself. Out loud he said in a weary voice, "Take me somewhere...." He sat still, thinking for a moment. "Somewhere I can get drunk," he finished with a mischievous grin.

"Right you are, sir!" the driver exclaimed. James could have sworn the man winked at him but he'd already shifted the car into gear and was driving them down the road haphazardly, slipping between buses and cars with ease, avoiding traffic like a magician.

He relaxed back into the seat and closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath he didn't know he'd been holding. London was quite a city, and to imagine this was where he lived. Everything seemed so new to him it felt impossible that he'd ever lived here before. Perhaps he'd only moved here recently from outside the city? The meager one page file he'd received from the hospital hadn't listed any of his living history so he had no way of knowing for sure.

Suddenly, the taxi jolted to a stop and James lurched forward in his seat, smacking his head against the headrest in front of him.

Rubbing his nose tenderly, he said to the driver, "You really ought to give a fair warning before you do that." He shook his head and looked out the window. "What's this?"

"This, sir, is The Leaky Cauldron."

James squinted and pressed his still sore nose up to the window, trying to get a better view of the building. From what he could see, it was a run down establishment, looking as if it had been constructed a few centuries ago and never taken care of over the years.

"Are you sure this place is decent? It looks a little, er - dodgy."

The driver merely shook his head and chuckled. "Don't worry, it's the best place around for our type."

James still felt a little disoriented from their sudden stop and that last remark slid by his ears unheard. "Alright, how much do I owe you?" he asked, pulling his wallet out.

The other man waved his hands in front of him, refusing his payment. "No sir, I can't accept your money - not after what you've done for us all."

He gave the driver an odd look and narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to understand the cryptic comment, but he shrugged and stepped out of the taxi, slamming the door shut behind him, glad to be rid of his presence.

"The Leaky Cauldron, eh?" He paused before the bar, gazing up at the battered old sign hanging overhead. "Let's see what you've got in store for me...."

* * *

Meanwhile a young woman stared dejectedly into a burning fire, fearing another encounter with the strange man who lived in the hearth. Or at least she thought he lived there. Nora couldn't be absolutely certain as she'd checked her fireplace thoroughly at least a dozen times since he'd first popped out, appearing as if he was stepping off a train.

The first time he'd arrived, she'd been in her kitchen, preparing dinner for herself when she suddenly became aware of the smell of smoke.

"That's odd," she muttered to herself as she checked around the room. "The oven's not on...."

She followed the scent to her living room where, to her surprise, there was a fire burning merrily in the hearth, as if it had been tended to with loving care over the last few hours. But nobody else was home. In fact nobody else even lived with her and she was sure that she hadn't lit the fire herself. She was especially certain of that last fact because the fire wasn't just a normal collage of gold and crimson - it was a bright, sparkling, vibrant green.

No, she definitely wasn't responsible for lighting that fire.

And then, moments later, she felt her heart beating madly in her chest as an old, wizened face appeared in the flames. A man with curiously shaped spectacles, twinkling blue eyes, and a lengthy, snow white beard was sitting in her fire, and he was smiling benignly up at her.

"Good evening, Miss O'Connor," he said politely in a rich, resonant voice. "Do you mind if I come through? It can become quite uncomfortable kneeling on the floor for very long at my age," he added with a wink.

Utterly bewildered and sensing that the man (however strange he seemed to be) did not mean any harm, she nodded silently and stepped aside. She watched in astonishment as his face retreated for a second and then she saw him spin - for there was no other word for it - in the flames and hop out a second later. He nonchalantly brushed his clothes off, which appeared to her to be some sort of fancy, purple nightgown adorned with faintly shimmering yellow stars.

"Ah, your hospitality is very much appreciated," he said genially, beaming at her. Then with another wink, he added, "My knees aren't what they used to be."

Nora managed a weak nod and stood in place, trying to overcome the shock of seeing such a peculiar man standing before her, looking around her living room with curiosity.

"W-would you like a cup of tea?" she asked, feeling strangely compelled to be a good host, since she had no idea what else she could do. She couldn't call the police - what would she say? Oh, hello, I have an emergency... yes, a man jumped out of my fireplace....

"That would be lovely," he replied. "Oh dear, where are my manners?" The eccentrically dressed man straightened his shoulders and extended a wrinkled hand to her, shaking hers with surprising strength. "My name is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He said all of this while maintaining his charming smile and Nora felt herself feeling more curious than scared. She cocked her head and gave him a skeptical look. "Did you just say you're a wizard?"

Dumbledore nodded and strode past her into the kitchen, his violet robes gliding along behind him. He gave the room a once over and sat down in a seat, conjured up a tray with two cups of steaming tea, and offered one to her. She accepted it with a weak hand, feeling her breath catch in the back of her throat.

"Yes, at Hogwarts our pupils learn a vast array of spells and charms that help them to become successful witches and wizards."

Nora kept her mouth shut. She didn't feel up to arguing with the crazy man that witchcraft was a sin.

"Please, have a seat." He motioned to the chair across from him at the table. She sat down without a word, feeling slightly put off by being offered tea and to have a seat in her own home. "Now," Dumbledore lowered his voice conspiratorially as he spoke, "if you'll listen carefully, I have a proposal for you...."

The headmaster had gone on to explain to her about a special young man by the name of James Evans who would soon be arriving at the hospital she volunteered at. Dumbledore offered her a considerable sum of money to simply keep watch over James and report his progress back to him. It had been a simple enough job except she hadn't counted one thing: developing a crush on James.

As he rested in the hospital for days on end, he looked so fragile and in need of a warm smile - she was willing to do anything to help him feel better. Then he had woken up and she had felt her attraction for him grow as she got to know him better. She gradually became familiar with the way he smiled at her when she entered the room, the way his crystal clear emerald eyes would focus on her, the soft touch of his hand on hers....

Too soon he had been discharged and her volunteer work at the hospital was complete; she had no way of finding him and she didn't know if he would ever bother to find her, until she had seen him at her church, of all places. Her initial reaction had been to smile and give him a hug, but Dumbledore had warned her about James - she shouldn't ever get too close to him because he was dangerous... but how could her sweet, innocent James pose any threat to her? It was inconceivable. Nonetheless, she'd found herself resolutely pushing him away, refusing to even talk to him. Her only hope was that he'd move on and continue to live his own, happy life.

Nora wanted to see James again but she was also a little wary - she didn't know what Dumbledore would do to her if he found out she hadn't stuck to her side of the deal. After all, he was a wizard who could travel through fireplaces and she was, well, she was just plain old Nora.

* * *

The inside of The Leaky Cauldron was dimly lit by candles which hung from the ceiling on strings so thin they appeared to be floating in midair; the clientèle huddled to the stools by the bar, cradling mugs of beer and ale. Ancient wooden floorboards creaked and groaned under James' feet and the air inside smelled a little musty, as if the place hadn't ever been aired out. All he could hear was the low murmur of quiet conversation and the sounds of faintly clinking silverware - not what he had expected from a place such as this. Nobody paid him any attention as he crossed through the threshold and ambled up to the bar, not feeling completely comfortable being there alone.

What had that taxi driver been thinking? The bar was a dodge.

James noticed with a bit of apprehension that everybody else in the room was dressed in what looked like long, flowing bathrobes of various colors with different designs on them.

"How queer," he muttered to himself, observing a rough looking man wearing a bright blue robe.

And then he noticed what was going on behind the bar.

While the bartender was leaning over in a corner pouring all sorts of bizarrely colored liquids into a tall glass, there were dozens of mugs spinning by themselves atop the counter behind the bar, being wiped clean and polished to shining perfection by floating rags. James stared in fascination at the scene before him until he was unexpectedly bumped into from behind.

"Excuse-" he began.

"Excuse me-" The man who'd bumped into him stopped in mid-sentence, gaping at him with his jaw hanging open. "It can't be," he murmured. Then, in a louder, more excited voice he repeated, "It can't be!"

Everyone sitting at the bar swiveled around on their stools to stare at him and even some of the people scattered about at the tables stopped what they were doing to see what the commotion was all about. The room went nearly silent as James could hear muffled gasps and whispers leaking out and bouncing about gleefully all around him.

Then the bartender looked up from what he was doing and grinned at him.

"Well," he bellowed out for all to hear, "if it isn't Harry Potter!" He cheerfully raised his mug in the air and James saw other people in the bar hastily copy the motion. "Welcome back home!"