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Convergence | ||||
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Category: Post-OotP Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Drama Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG Reviews: 11 Summary: An American wizard runs into a mysterious visitor at the end of a day filled with odd events. Little did he know he was in for the experience of a lifetime. Inspired by an Neil Gaiman short story. Hitcount: Story Total: 3968 |
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Looking back on it now, I should have known something was going to happen. All the signs were there. I had to work late, and nobody else did. None of my coworkers stayed behind. My drinking buddies were all out doing “family” things. When I finally made it to the square I knew nobody who was there. The cute little witch I had met the night before wasn’t there either. Pity. Honestly, I should have gone home. That’s what I normally would have done. But I didn’t. Instead, I went to the bar alone. It wasn’t something I would normally do, mind you. In the thirty-plus years since I have never done it again. I should have known. The weirdness didn’t stop there, either. When I got to the bar, it was dead. Not quiet, not subdued, dead. There was only one other patron in the entire bar, and he was in the back corner. Carl, the bartender, looked shocked that showed up. It was that dead. “Nate! What in blazes? Shouldn’t you be home?” he asked as I stepped up to the bar. “You’re a funny man, Carl. My usual, please.” “Yeah, funny that. We’re out,” he explained. This should have been my first real clue. Carl was never out of the Muggle spirit I had acquired a taste for, a single-malt hundred-proof Kentucky Bourbon. It wasn’t all that common in Wizard bars, but it was very common in Muggle bars and stores, so it was very easy to obtain. “What do you mean, you’re out?” I asked him. “The distiller got snowed out. A freak storm hit them a while back. They can’t get trucks in or out to deliver the goods. The supply dried up fast; all the Muggle bars stocked up on it. I’m sorry, Nate.” I could tell Carl was being serious, which really surprised me. At first I thought he was pulling my leg, but I knew then it was no joke. “You know, this is really turning out to be a crappy night. It seems I have nobody to hang out with… well, except you, of course… and now that I’m here, I can’t even enjoy my favorite poison. Now what am I going to drink?” “Firewhisky.” I don’t know how he did it, but the guy who had been setting in the back booth was now sitting right next to me. He was wearing an expensive looking black cloak outlined in green silk. Little bits of green silk thread had been woven into the black fabric, giving it an odd sparkle. I didn’t hear a sound as he approached and sat down. Neither did Carl, apparently; as soon as the man had uttered the word, Carl twitched, obviously startled. “Hey! Don’cha know it’s rude to sneak up on people like that?” Carl complained to our quiet visitor. “Sorry about that,” the man said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so quiet. I’ll try to make more noise next time.” The man had an English accent. There was something else about the man’s voice that caught my attention immediately, but I didn’t know what it was at the time. The man’s apology seemed to have satisfied Carl who nodded back. “Firewhisky then?” “Please, and one for Nate here. It was Nate, wasn’t it?” The man didn’t look my way when he spoke. I figured he was blind or something, and not wanting to be rude I didn’t press the issue. “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t get your name.” The man paused a moment. “No, you didn’t.” If it had been any other man I probably would have been upset, but there was something in the way the man said these words that had me feeling sad for him all of a sudden. It was if the man had put a decade of pain and suffering into these scant few words. Instead of protesting, I sat quietly at the bar waiting for my whisky. It wasn’t long before Carl returned with the drinks. “Here we are, two glasses of the finest Firewhisky this side of the Atlantic.” The stuff in the glass looked amazing. I had heard of Firewhisky but I had never seen it, much less tasted it before. The liquid in the glass was clear, but it moved, and when it did it refracted the light. It was as if the whisky was actually liquid diamond. I could make out faint wisps of something coming off the surface of the liquid. As I watched, I realized I was seeing very faint flames of different colors. I found it so fascinating I hesitated to drink it. The man took his glass and looked at it for a moment. Well, ok, I couldn’t tell if he was looking at it since he had his hood up and all, but I figured that was what he was doing. He then said “Cheers” and downed the entire glass in one shot. He set the glass down on the bar hard and hung his head down. As he did this, I could feel him wince. Now, when I say I could feel him, it wasn’t like when you see one of your friends slam their finger in a door, and you grab your own finger and say “ouch” to yourself. I mean, I felt him wince. It was like feeling heat coming off of a torch, only I didn’t feel heat, I felt wince. I don’t know how better to explain it, so I won’t try. The man groaned and exhaled. “You were absolutely right, Mr. Carl. That is excellent Firewhisky. Another, please.” “Hey now,” Carl began. “You seem like a nice fella’ and all, but this stuff is pretty strong, and it ain’t cheap. You sure you want to be pressing your luck?” Slowly, the man pulled out a pouch and, one by one, placed ten Galleons on the counter. “That be enough to cover it?” he asked. Carl took the Galleons and put them in his money bin. He then graciously poured the man another round. This time the man took a small sip and put the glass down carefully. “You should try your Firewhisky, Nate,” the man said. “But be careful: from what I know of Muggle alcohol, this stuff has much more of a kick.” Not wanting to be rude, and for some reason I was trying to be very polite that night, I carefully grasped my glass and picked it up. It was surprisingly cool. I put the glass to my lips and took a tentative sip. At first it was sweet and aromatic and tasted of summer mornings and soft breezes. That didn’t last long: as I swallowed it, it went down like pure grain alcohol, and it burned through me like fire. I almost dropped my glass but managed to get it down without spilling it. Once the fire had subsided, I noticed my entire mouth felt like I had been sucking on a spearmint candy for an hour. It was the most amazing experience I had ever had drinking. I may have imagined it, but I think I actually heard the man chuckle. “Never had Firewhisky before, have ya, Nate?” Carl asked, also amused. “No, and now I wish I had tried it sooner. That is amazing stuff.” “Well, this calls for a celebration!” Carl exclaimed. He reached under the bar and brought up a box of cigars. “Now Carl, you know I quit those years ago.” “I know, but this is a special occasion, and I know how you like those special Cuban ones.” I stared at Carl in shock. “You didn’t!” Carl just smiled and pulled out one for me. He cut off the end and handed it to me like it was some kind of prize. I took it from him and put it under my nose, letting the musky aroma fill my nostrils. I exhaled slowly and put the cigar in my mouth, fumbling for a match. “Wouldn’t you know it, I don’t have match. Or a lighter for that matter.” Carl fumbled around the bar for a few moments, then said, “I don’t believe this, neither do I.” “What do you mean?” I asked him indignantly, trying to speak clearly with the cigar in my mouth. “You bought a whole box of Cuban cigars and you didn’t think to get a pack of matches?” I should have known this was another sign. Not that it mattered anyway. The mysterious events of the night were about to converge on this little bar, and the trumpet heralding the start of the convergence was just about to sound. The man pulled his hand out from under his cloak and waved it casually in my direction. At once, a flame appeared at the end of my cigar, then went out, leaving the cigar perfectly lit. Now; I have been around magic since I was born. I have seen and experienced many things in my years, from my time in Wizarding School all the way to the present day. I have only seen wandless magic twice; once during a special demonstration given at an experimental magic symposium at the university, and once in a moving picture book about an ancient wizard. So you can imagine my shock when this seemingly polite yet strangely odd fellow next to me waves his hand and makes a flame appear. Strangely enough, I wasn’t frightened. I was fascinated. Carl was a different matter. He stood bolt upright in fear. He was like a cat, frozen a moment in fright, though he wasn’t about to move. Any wizard who could do wandless magic was not a wizard to be trifled with. The man sighed. It was if he knew we were suddenly uncomfortable with him. He pulled his other hand out of his cloak and pulled his hood down, revealing a mass of short, messy black hair which was starting to go grey at the temples. He turned to look at me then; his face sported several days of unshaved facial hair and he wore glasses, behind which gleamed a pair of emerald green eyes. None of this mattered at that moment. What mattered was what I saw next, the thing which drew my attention away from the rest of his face. Right there, sitting in the middle of his forehead, was the unmistakable lightning shaped scar. All at once it made sense. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said simply. “I just thought you could use a light.” I could scarcely speak. I had heard that everyone, at some point in their lifetime, has a brush with greatness. This was more like meeting a living legend. No, the living legend. It was like Merlin had come back and was sitting in the bar next to me. “Are… Aren’t you…” was all I could manage. “Yeah, but don’t say it, please. You can imagine how much I get that.” I wanted to talk to him then, to ask him all the usual questions, the ones about the battle with He Who Must Not Be Named, about his experience in the Auror Corps, about his friendship with the controversial Minister Granger, about what he did in his free time, and if he still played Quidditch. Most of all, I wanted to ask him about his apparent disappearance. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that… well…” He turned back to his whisky and said, “It’s ok, I’m used to it.” Understanding man that I am, I granted Mr. Potter’s request. Carl on the other hand is a little slower on the uptake. I could see it coming, and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it. Cark got a huge grin on his face, then started laughing loudly. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! It’s H…” was all he was able to say. Mr. Potter apparently had read the signs too. Just before he blurted out the name, Mr. Potter had waved his hand again, and Carl found himself quite unable to continue speaking. “Please forgive me, Mr. Carl, but I would rather not have my named yelled out loud in this neighborhood, thank you,” Mr. Potter said quietly yet firmly. To his credit, Carl managed to regain control of his senses, calm down and nod his head. Mr. Potter snapped his fingers, and Carl spoke again, much quieter this time. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Potter, I didn’t mean nothing by it, honestly, it’s just that it’s not often I see a wizard of your stature in my bar that often, and, well, never come to think of it, and I just got excited is all, and I’m really sorry…” Mr. Potter smiled a bit and held up his hand. “Mr. Carl, it is quite alright.” Carl nodded nervously and, apparently unable to think of anything else to say or do, began cleaning glasses behind the bar. Mr. Potter’s display had given me an idea on how to start up a conversation. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is it possible to do magic without a wand? I’ve only seen it done once in my lifetime, and I’ve never even come close to being able to do it.” Mr. Potter sipped his whisky, then said, “It’s more of a talent you’re born with, really. Some people have a knack for it, others never get the hang of it. I can only do it with simpler spells; anything more than that and I need a wand.” Was he really that modest? “I’ve heard it said that those that have the knack are also among the most powerful of wizards, is that true?” “I suppose so,” he replied. “I haven’t given it much thought, to be honest.” “Haven’t given it much thought?” Carl asked indignantly. “Hell man, they say you’re the most powerful wizard who ever lived, next to Merlin himself!” Mr. Potter chuckled. “Now I wouldn’t say that. I know of one wizard who could run circles around me in most situations. He was a great wizard, and a great man.” The way he spoke, I could tell he very much respected this wizard and thought of him fondly. “Nah, you’re just being modest. We heard all about you here in the states, Mr. Potter. We know you took down You Know Who before you even turned eighteen. We also know you made it through Auror training and into the Corps in half the time of other wizards. And, if rumor is to be believed, you were the youngest Quidditch player at your school in a century, and a seeker at that. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” Mr. Potter sipped his whiskey, then looked at Carl and smiled. “Guilty as charged.” “Ha! Ya see, Nate? What did I tell ya?” For some reason, I decided to ask the rhetorical question. “So what are you doing here in States?” For some moments Mr. Potter stared at his glass and said nothing. Then, sadly, he said, “Things don’t always turn out like you intend them to, Nate.” For a moment I thought I had offended him. I returned to watching my firewhisky glisten in its glass, taking another glorious sip and letting it burn into my soul. To my utter amazement, Mr. Potter began telling me a story. This is how it went, to the best of my recollection: “After the battle with Voldemort I went on to train as an Auror, as you apparently know. In two years I earned my badge and went on to a fairly respectable career in the Corps. During that time I fell in love with a woman I had known since the summer before my second year at Wizard School as you call it, though I had known of her a year before. She was shorter than me with flaming red hair, deep brown eyes and a smile that could make all my troubles melt instantly. She had become a very good friend, especially after my other two good friends had gotten together themselves. I finally realized how much she meant to me, and we were married on the grounds of the school. We were celebrating our first anniversary when the attacks started.” My gut wrenched when he said that. He paused to take a sip and continued. “I was immediately called in with the rest of the Corps, of course. We spent months tracking down lead after lead and chased wizard and witch alike, but each one turned out to be a dead end. Every time we thought the whole thing had blown over, another witch or wizard would die. It was the most frustrating time I have ever experienced. “Finally we got a lucky break, and with the help of an informant we captured the wizard we thought was the ring leader. He came quietly, which shocked me and caused a great deal of concern among the Corps. He cooperated in every conceivable way until we tried to interrogate him. We brought him in, gave him the serum and began to ask him questions. Instead of singing like a canary in Spring, like we had expected, he sat in his chair and said nothing. After several futile hours of that we tried to dig into his thoughts, but all of us came up empty handed. It seemed he was immune to the serum and was an exceptional Occlumens. “Once we had exhausted all of our methods, he began to talk in quiet monotone which gave us all very serious chills. He told us simply that if we didn’t let him go, each of us would suffer a great personal loss.” “What kind of personal loss?” I asked him. Mr. Potter either didn’t hear me or ignored me because he continued: “We all laughed at him, of course. We then escorted him back to his cell and we all went home. That next day my wife went missing.” My heart sank. I didn’t know what to say. He went on as if in a trance. “We were supposed to meet in Diagon Alley for lunch. She never showed. I went back to the house to check on her. It was dead silent. There was no sign of struggle or forced entry. She simply wasn’t there. Nobody knew where she had gone; her family hadn’t heard from her, and her friends knew nothing. She always tells somebody when she’s going to be somewhere, and she rarely goes anywhere alone. She had simply vanished. “I brought our suspect back into the interrogation room and demanded he tell me where she was. He smiled and said nothing. I poured every bit of my being into Legilimency trying to get any information I could out of him. That’s when it happened.” After a few seconds I asked, “What happened?” “He died.” Again I found myself speechless. I had only heard of such things happening in those sickle novels you find at the counter at the bookstore. I never imagined such a thing was actually possible. I was horrified. “They immediately placed me under an administrative suspension and set a date for a hearing. I never made it. I knew that if I didn’t act fast somebody else would be next, and my wife would never be found. I packed up everything I could, pulled as much money as I could out of the bank and went undercover. For months I scoured the city tracking down the wizards we had discovered during our initial investigations, bribing, cajoling or threatening as I saw fit. Every time I thought I was getting close, it turned out they were a step ahead. Always a step ahead. I would send leads back to the Corps anonymously, and inevitably the witch or wizard in question would end up in Azkaban.” He took another sip and went silent. “So what happened?” I asked tentatively. He sighed. “I ran out of wizards to track down. Once the leads dried up I had nowhere else to go. At that point I was losing hope of every finding her alive. Since nobody knew I was the one handing the clues to the Corps I was branded a renegade by the Ministry. I was a wanted man, so I fled the country and came to the States. I’ve been here ever since.” “You mean, you never found you wife?” I asked in disbelief. He hung his head then, and I thought I caught a tear drip onto the counter. “No.” I stared at him in disbelief. I looked up at Carl who, I discovered, had let loose a few tears of his own. It was unthinkable that such a thing could have happened to the greatest Wizard of this age. What do you say to someone like that? Mr. Potter finished off his whisky, then got up from his chair. “Well, gentlemen, I must be going. Mr. Carl, thank you for the excellent firewhisky. Good evening to you both.” He started walking towards the door. I didn’t want to let him leave without saying something. Something came to mind, so I said it. “They say it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Mr. Potter stopped. Without turning back he said, “Yeah. Right.” With that he was gone. Carl and I stared at each other for a good minute. “Can you believe that?” Carl asked me. “What a story! That poor man.” I nodded. “That must have been some woman.” Carl looked me over. “You look like crap, Nate. Go home. Get some rest.” “Yeah yeah, alright, I’m going. See you next time.” “Take care of yourself,” Carl said as I left. I remember the night air being cooler than normal. A light fog had rolled in, but it didn’t strike me as unusual. I just remember going over the experience in the bar in my head, amazed at the fact that I had met him face to face, knowing that nobody would ever believe me. I was very soon to be proven wrong on this point. I’m not sure if it was the fog or the fact that I was distracted, but I never saw her standing there. I just bumped into her. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, are you ok?” I said “Yes, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have been standing out in the middle of the sidewalk, forgive me,” she replied. She had an English accent. As I looked her over, I realized she had flaming red hair and deep brown eyes. She also looked like she had been crying. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” I asked. “No, no you didn’t, I’m sorry, it’s just that… well, I’m looking for someone.” A burst of excited adrenaline surged through my body as I realized who this was. It hit me then; this was a convergence. This was the reason I was where I was that night. Fate had introduced me to Harry Potter, and now fate would use me to lead his wife back to him. “He wouldn’t happen to be about my height, dark, messy hair, green eyes, and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead, would he?” I will remember the look of shock on her face until the day I die. “You’ve seen him? WHERE? WHEN?” “Five minutes ago in the bar I was just in around the corner. He left before I did, so I didn’t see where he went…” Before I could finish the woman who was Harry Potter’s wife had pulled out some kind of gadget and was holding it in her hand. As I watched, an arrow in the center of the gadget glowed red, then turned and pointed back the direction I had come from. “He’s here! I knew it! Oh thank you mister,” she said excitedly. She grabbed my head with one hand and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off in the direction of the arrow. I watched her disappear into the fog, wondering how long it would take for her to find him. The next day everything returned to normal. After work I walked to the square with a few of my drinking buddies, but bid them farewell as I walked over to the cute little witch I had met two nights before. We went out to dinner that night. Two years later we married. I never saw Mr. Potter or his wife again. I read in the newspaper years later that he had returned to England and surrendered himself to the authorities. After that I told this story to my children and years later to my grandchildren. I’m not sure any of them ever believed me. |
| Reviews 11 |
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