The Beginning of the End

September 1st 2017

There are people who hate noise and prefer silence above anything else. Then there are people who seek noise to surround themselves in. You see, that noise can be a soothing distraction from the never-ending voices of the ghosts from the past. Nadia Rosier might have been a former member of the first-mentioned group but she had resigned years ago. Nowadays she was a loyal supporter of the latter.

Alas, it was not an unusual sighting to spot our perfect stranger alone in a poorly lit pub which probably had had its glory days back when a certain long, white-haired former headmaster was in his prime teenage years. Despite a bit of a rough surface, the place was surprisingly comfortable. A light, buzzing chatter and warm-coloured interiors framed a perfect picture of a safe haven where time was frozen.

The heavy, wooden door opened bringing a momentary cold breeze and shattered the isolated atmosphere for a moment. The disturber of peace was a dark-haired man who seemed like he had waited a very long time to step indoors. Some more polite individuals would describe this man as a positively smart-looking, and overall well-rounded lad may be in a need of a brush after emerging from the windy outdoors. Anyone else with a better knowledge would know that no brush or comb, normal or magical, would do much good when it comes to the infamous Potter hair. The hair did it's best but failed to hide the edge of that oh-so-awful scar on the man's forehead.

The boy who lived, now an increasingly uneventful life may I add, eyed the place for a seat. His choice was made for him as the only even remotely vacant area was the odd number of stools at the bar counter. The only person sitting there was this strange woman who looked too clearly out of place for it to be even slightly convincing. Exhausted from the day that somehow felt abnormally long, Harry Potter chose to ignore the questions that were starting to form in his head. Besides, his head had picked up this frustrating habit of doubting everyone, everything, and then some. But that tends to happen when one spends too long trying to spot the enemy amongst friends and vice versa.

The woman gave her best effort to not stare at our chosen one. It was only partly to not seem suspicious. Partly it was still too hard to bring up the deeply buried pain the resemblance caused. Oh, Merlin, it was still shocking after all these years. She had to bite her lip not to blurt out the wrong name out of reflex. The doppelgänger of her long-gone friend sat down only two chairs away. He eyed the woman warily before giving his order to the absent-minded bartender. A whiskey, on the rocks. Double.

Harry was very well aware of the woman's interest in his every move. He observed as she carefully tried to hide her now almost rude nosiness. Harry Potter was not a first-timer when it came to strangers a bit too invested in his life, believe you me. Something about his newest admirer was different, though. She was way too well dressed to have randomly stumbled upon this place that was fairly racked and under the radar. Her fine, cream wool coat and leather gloves on the table next to her glass were not typical to the pub's usual clientele. She carried herself with a tint of pride that offered no explanation to why she would sit drinking all alone on a normal Tuesday afternoon. Something about her told that this was clearly not a normal Tuesday afternoon, not for her. And of course, nothing explained the slight smirk on her face when Harry had mumbled his order to the bartender. The smile passed away so quickly that for a moment Harry thought it was merely a product of his imagination. He devoted his attention back to the drink the bartender had just handed over.

"You're father used to order the same", the woman said. Harry raised his head a bit too fast. Surely he had just misheard?

"Of course his version had a little bit more fire in it" she continued now finally facing the man he was addressing.

Harry studied her face carefully for a sign of familiarity, a bold lie or more likely insanity. Nothing ringed a bell.

"Pardon, have we met ma'am?", was all he managed to get out of his mouth.

The smirk returned to the woman's face. "I've had the pleasure of meeting a Potter but never with green eyes. That was a speciality of Evans".

A familiar knot returned to Harry's stomach for the first time in many years. After all, he had been through, Harry prided his survival a relatively great accomplishment. But he knew all too well that nothing soothed the pain of losing someone. So a mere mention of his parents seemed to shrink him right back into that boy who once lived under the cupboard.

"You knew my parents". That wasn't a question. Harry was familiar with strangers pointing out whatever brief encounter they had shared with his parents. It was rather tiresome to hear people who barely knew his mother and father tell Harry again and again about how James Potter had been on the quidditch team, just like Harry! Or how Lily excelled in Potions, well, unlike Harry!

Harry stared at the woman while working on an excuse to leave. She returned the look. He noticed she had very dark brown eyes. Almost black, until the light hit them just right sparking them like a kaleidoscope. Her rich brown hair was tied to a tidy knot but a couple of strands of hair had managed to loosen to frame her face. She must've been beautiful when she was young. Now there was a bit of a haunted look in her eyes accompanied by lines on her forehead when she smiled.

"Yes, you could say I knew them", she finally replied.

Harry sighed, he was not about to make his day any longer out of politeness. "Excuse me", he nodded while getting back on his feet to head to the door.

When he was about to turn his back to the woman, a glimpse of shiny silver caught his eye. The lady, yet to introduce herself, casually went through her purse to retrieve a small compact mirror as if it was a crucial moment to powder her nose. This made Harry stop in his tracks. The mirror .

"Leaving already?" she raised a brow while opening the mirror.

Harry locked eyes with her through that little, cursed thing. "Where did you get that", he almost hissed, getting more annoyed minute by minute.

"Oh, this silly thing? It was a gift from an old friend", the woman returned with a combination of amusement and sneer in her voice.

That tone of voice. That mirror. Harry would've recognised it anywhere. Yet when she looked at the woman in front of him, there was no familiarity.

"My name is Nadia Rosier and it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Harry Potter." she offered a hand. The emerald ring on her index finger sparkled despite the lack of light in the pub.

"My parents had small circles. Yet I don't recall hearing that name before. A bit odd no one remembers you, isn't it?", Harry Potter was in no mood for falling into a trap.

"Yes, no one remembers me. I made sure of it." she, Nadia, replied with a weird emotion in her voice that Harry couldn't quite decipher. "I, on the other hand, remember everything. And I think it's about time you and I became acquainted".