Bubblegum pink
What am I waiting for?
Feet planted beneath
My compass, my transport
- Evergreen by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners -
Harry slept better than in the last two months combined. No nightmares, no fear. Only the light of the beautiful sun. He hasn't even started his trip yet, but he already knows it's worth it. He is going to slowly make his way towards the better days. Or death.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
So the Gringotts. He had already decided last night to take the Knight Bus there and back. He knows the Muggles won't notice the bus, but he doesn't think that will apply in broad daylight when he calls. He has to walk a bit away from the houses, but not much of a walk. He'd better not use his real name, but damn he's still recognizable! Especially in the 'weird' muggle clothes. With that flourish, he threw his wizard's suit and hat into his (read: Dudley's old and leaky) backpack. When he gets far enough away from the gossipy eyes of Privet Drive, he changes his clothes, calls the bus, and prays no one will notice him.
Too many pitfalls in this plan, so much depends on luck. Still, he had no better idea.
"Boy!"
Harry groaned quietly when he heard Aunt Petunia's shriek.
"Why are you still here? Huh?!"
Oh dear. How much he won't miss this. His plan better work.
"I'm going! Bye, Aunt Petunia," Harry muttered as he hurried down the stairs and out the front door. It was a boiling hot summer day, perhaps the hottest of the year. He had just stepped out the door, but already he regretted having to walk. If only he could cast a cooling spell –
Harry sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot lately. There's no point in complaining anyway. He just goes and comes. After that, he’s free.
He will be actually free.
With quick steps he moved away from the house.
Having spent much of the previous weeks wandering the area, Harry knew a few deserted roads. A few streets down, if you turn right, you come to a small side street. If you're paying attention, and Harry is, you'll notice a small path running under the bushes to the edge of the housing estate. From here a dirt track leads past small houses, away from central London. The further away from the watchers, the better.
Harry walked along the familiar path, into the little street, through the bushes, like a pre-programmed robot.
Once he might have been afraid to walk the streets alone, but he was no longer that Harry. He reached the first fork in the dirt road in less than half an hour with surprising ease.
If he turns in here, he cannot be seen from the windows of the houses. In other words, it was perfect for Harry.
He pulled his wizard's robe from his backpack. This was not his school uniform, but what he wore as an outer (one of the thinner) layers during the year. It had neither the Hogwarts nor the Gryffindor crest. Though he was hot, he put it on his Muggle clothes. It would be stupid to take his original clothes off, because anything could happen. Knowing his luck he would lose his bag, along with his muggle clothing, and then he would have to go back to Privet Drive in his wizard dressing. That would be just what he needs now.
He pulled his pointed wizard's hat low on his head, his always tangled hair pulled back, covering his scar. He also took off his glasses. His vision was blurry, but just enough not to stumble on anything. Hermione had cast a few sight-enhancing spells on him over the years, whenever she found a new one for him, so even the current one was a vast improvement.
Harry just hoped his plan would work.
Just breathe, he told himself. He took a deep breath and held out his wand.
One, two, three-
Bang!
The Knight Bus stopped in front of him loudly.
Stan Shunpike, the bus ticket collector, opened the bus door and waved for Harry to get on.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus!" he greeted. "I'm Stan. The ride will be eleven sickles. But if you want hot chocolate, that's thirteen sickles!"
"No thanks, I'll be fine without it," Harry declined Stan's offer. All he needs is to have a hot chocolate poured into his lap! Who drinks hot chocolate in this heat anyway?
He took out the eleven sickles from his pocket, and gave them to Stan. He prepared them in his pocket beforehand -without his glasses, there's no way he could see the coins- based on his last trip. Again, he trusted his luck and hoped the price didn't change. Stan took the money from Harry, then handed over his ticket in return.
"So, where are we going, Mr-?" Stan asked. Last time Harry was stupid enough to use Neville's name. He just later realized that he was just lucky no one questioned it, considering that the Longbottoms were an old wizard family, therefore part of the pureblood pantheon known as the The Sacred Twenty-Eight. Who would have thought that his quiet roommate was actually quite famous. Nor does he want Stan to connect the dots from his last visit. After all, the whole point is not to be recognised.
"Evans." He hoped his mother wouldn’t mind using her name. Harry knew Evans was a pretty typical muggle name, and everyone knew his mother as Lily Potter. Only the people she knew recognised her maiden name, and even then they might not link it to her, because as I said, it was a pretty common name. Harry needed a name he'd actually listen to, and he wasn't very good at coming up with names anyway. "And I'm off to the Leaky Cauldron."
"All right, Evans, settle in. Hey Ernie, another one for the Leaky Cauldron!" With that, Stan turned back to the driver. Harry took this as a sign and went inside the bus. It looked different now from the last time he had been here. Instead of beds, which were obviously only provided for night travel, there were seats arranged in rows.
Bang!
The moment he sat down in one of the seats, the bus took off. It was so fast that it even pushed Harry's head back, and he realised that in fact everything was being pushed back. Apparently, the seats were not bolted down. Startled, Harry jumped up from his seat and reached for a handrail, now in the back of the bus. He should have expected this! The beds weren't fixed either, they were just replaced with seats during the day. If the beds were not bolted down, why would the seats be? (Well, maybe because they're wizards, damn it, but whatever.) He leaned into the safe corner where the back and side walls of the bus met, and held on for dear life.
Harry really wanted to have a talk with that bloody person who designed this bus.
"First time?"
At the voice, Harry quickly snapped his head up. He hadn't even noticed someone was here! Terrorists hunting him and he doesn't notice someone standing ten feet away? He may be quite suicidal, but come on! He has some survival instinct!
"Something like that," he replied finally, eliciting a little giggle from the other.
Harry could tell much even without his glasses. The person was definitely a woman, judging by the voice and the body shape. She stood firmly in the other corner of the bus, facing him with a large backpack at her feet. She wore a dress, wich was like a baggy shirt on top, reaching down to the elbows, with a brown belt at the waist, and then down to the knees. The dress was white, highlighting her tanned skin. She gave a bit of a Luna’s vibe, just wilder. And that’s... pink hair? Yes, bubble gum-coloured, curly, and lots of hair in a ponytail. So much and curly, that it would even put Hermione's hair to shame.
She was surely attractive, especially to those who were attracted by the free spirit emanating from her. If she wasn't certainly older than him by like at least eight years, maybe she could’ve been Harry's type. Depends if she was playing quidditch though.
"You travel a lot with this bus?" he decided to continue the conversation. If she had already spoken to him, it would be rude to just ignore her. Not because Harry suddenly trusts everyone not to attack him, but at least she doesn't have a death eater mark on her arm. That’s a good start. Besides, she looked cool, and on Harry's trip he wouldn't mind making friends. Currently, he doesn't even know how many friends he actually has.
"Yep," she said, pressing the 'p'. "I camp a lot around the world. The Knight Bus is the fastest for trips around Britain, y’know. So far, I’ve travelled the most in England, mostly using this bus. I remember being about your age when I first rode in this, back in high school," she chuckled at the memory and continued, smiling wider. "I was screaming the whole time, so you're already doing better, kiddo."
Harry flushed. No one had ever called him 'kiddo'. Not even Sirius.
"So, er, where are you going?"
"I'm visiting places with great magic," she started, but suddenly the bus stopped with a rumble. He heard Stan shout the name, but it was not Harry’s stop. He melted back into the safe corner, holding on tighter in preparation for the ride. Meanwhile, the girl seemed unperturbed, as she continued, "like Stonehenge or the roman Hadrian's Wall. Most famous ancient sites have great magic. But at the same time there are hidden places, inhabited mainly by magical creatures. I seek out both types on my travels."
Harry furrowed his brows. He had enough experience with magical creatures. He didn't mind them, he still remembered how magical was that one flight on the hippogriff, or even Fawkes. But the basilisk, the Hungarian Horntail, and the swim in the Black Lake didn't exactly leave him with a good taste in the mouth.
"Don't give me that look," she laughed at Harry’s sour expression. "You must have met some magical beasts, huh? But I have to tell you that creatures in their natural habitat are different. Different, but in a good way. Usually you find them in places where there's ancient magic - which is what I'm looking for. It attracts them like a magnet. It's like fresh air to them."
"I don’t really get it, sorry." Harry wasn't mentally prepared for a magic theory lecture, okay?
"What is taught in schools today..." she muttered to herself. Then a little louder, this time she spoke to Harry; "Okay, listen. Magic is everywhere, right?"
"Yeah," he nodded.
"But if it is everywhere, why don't creatures live all around?"
Harry thought about it. He'd never given much thought to the theory of magic, but what if- "Is the quality of the magic different?"
"You're catching on, kiddo! So what can you conclude from this?"
"That older magic is better for them?" Harry guessed.
"Exactly!" She snapped her fingers in approval. A few shorter locks of pink hair hung down into her face, framing her face and enhancing her messy looking hair. "But not just for them, for everything. Although magic is everywhere, it’s only the filtered version of it. The older the wizard, the more filters they use. This is why children are capable of accidental magic, while adults are hardly ever."
"Filtered?" Harry doesn't know what could be considered as a filter. What changes in a child sorcerer growing up. The body? The magical core? Maybe, but- Harry's eyes widened with realisation.
"Spells."
The woman smiles, and Harry knows he said the good answer.
"You're good, kiddo. That's why magical creatures live near ancient magic. Ordinary magic is poisonous to them, they are becoming more animalistic. There is as much difference between a Hippogriff living in the wild -near great magic- and one kept in a pen as there is between a dog and a wolf. It's just not a well-known fact, as very few people get to see a wild hippogriff."
"But then isn't it toxic for us too? To filter it?" Harry asked.
"Toxic? No, not quite. But it affects us. In the old days, magicians didn't use spells. They were invented later, adapting strong words from old languages like Latin or ancient Greek to make it easier. Today you can't even make light without the spell lumos unless you have a abnormally strong magical core. It's one of the easiest spells actually. And don't confuse it with mute magic! You have the word in your head in that case, you just don't say it out."
Harry couldn't help but look at her in admiration.
This woman was really something.
Not to mention this weird magic-theory lesson, which she just started with a complete stranger. Who even does that?
Whatever. Harry may be quite against his studies, but he's not that stupid to skipp this, despite the weirdness. He can feel that he should lissen to this woman. (This thought brought him a cold shiver. Was he Imperio-d, or it his paranoia?)
"So if we didn't use spells at all, couldn’t we do magic without them?"
"If only it were that easy, kiddo," she let out a frustrated sigh. "The magic changed around us during the centuries, due to the affects of the spells. Basiaclly your own magic would stop you. What do you think happens to those muggle-borns that we couldn’t find? Their magic is fading, considering that their core could never develop and is naturally weaker, or just 'strange things' keep happening to them throughout their lives."
"Slow down a little!" Harry shouts out. The bus around them is still rumbling loudly. Due to the many passengers, they stop in many places, but Harry doesn't mind; at least he has plenty of time to talk. She's already given him so much to think about. "How do you mean that the cores of muggle-borns are naturally weaker? Is this something racist theory?"
She laughs bitterly. "No, but I'm not judging your accusations. I know how it sounds. But this is the truth. The core of the first-generation wizards is much weaker. It has the same magical abilities, but it gets tired or breaks more easily. Because, it did not receive genetic preparation for channeling magic. This is one of the many reasons why numerous wizarding families insisted on keeping their bloodlines pure."
"I am half-blood. Where does this leave us?"
She seemed as if she had brightened up.
"Really? Me too! In answer to your question, we don’t really have a weak core. We inherited it from one side, and although the core is not as strong as a pure-blood’s, it is in good condition. Anyways, Mom or Dad?"
"Er...?" First of all, it's reassuring to know that. And secondly, he wanted to hit himself on the head. What a very thoughtful question, Harry! he scolded himself. Congratulations!
"Is your Mom or Dad a muggle?"
Oh.
"Grandparents. My Mum was muggle-born."
Now, the girl wanted to hit herself in the head. "Well, of course-," she muttered to herself, which Harry barely catched over the noise of the bus. She looked as if she was having an internal debate with herself, muttering about the Ministry, then she sighed loudly and frustratedly, just like Harry does. In a matter of seconds, she finally pulled herself together.
"Apologies. I keep forgetting that in my home country, half-blood is defined differently." Harry nodded, silently waiting for an explanation. "I don't want to speak badly of much of the world, but the whole blood-based thing has long outgrown itself. Here, a half-blood is currently a person who has at least one muggle parent or grandparent. It was decided that a three-generation only wizard could now count as a pure-blood. Here, half-blood is someone who is not pure-blood, and not first-generation wizard. It surely has become a catch-all term."
Yes, Harry knew about these classifications.
"At home, however, we have very simple definitions. There are two kinds of people: magical or non-magical - a.k.a. muggle-. If a muggle-muggle parent has a sorcerer child, then the child is considered as a muggle-born. If a wizard and a muggle have a child, it's a half-blood. There's no such thing as a second generation half-blood or something. And lastly, in the case of two wizard parents, the twist is that we don't care what blood the magician is. If they have magical powers, they are considered a wizard parent, which makes their child pure-blood, since they inherit magic from both parents. And in politics, we attach other labels to the old and aristocratic families, not just their blood status."
"I think I'm starting to understand..."
"We separate blood states based on magic, not politics," she chose her words carefully, while she plays with a pink slim braid between her fingers from her ponytail. "So you would be considered pure-blood, because your magic core is up to that. And magic is never wrong."
Oh.
"But where were we? Great magic, right," she reminds herself. "The bigger and older the magician's core, the more sensitive they are to old magic. While filtered magic is available to all, natural magic - or raw magic - is selective in who it reaches."
"That’s why you visit those places?"
"Yes. Or at least something similar. Besides the wondrous experiences, my goal is to accustom my magic to the ancient, in the hope that it will be receptive and embraces it as my own. But to be honest, it's now mostly about hiking."
"You didn't succeed, then?" asked Harry. He couldn't imagine spending years trying, but failing.
"I guess not," she shook her head with a sigh. "But once, two years ago, I felt it. It was just a moment, kiddo, but I'm still chasing it."
Harry stared at her, eyes wide, like a little child.
"What was it like?" he asked excitedly.
"It was like opening my eyes for the first time." Her eyes staring off into the distance as she recalled the old memory. Her voice was filled with admiration, no, with love;
"The magic was there in every colour everywhere I looked. It was like a spider's web, enmeshing everything and everyone. And my magic resonated with it, and the wind whispered to me. There were no limits, the same rules did not apply to me at that moment. That's when I understood what it really means to do magic, what real magic is."
Harry waited with bated breath, and he felt- knew - that every word she said was true.
"And?" he urged as if the stars were about to reveal all their secrets - because maybe they were.
"I felt like I could do anything," she said finally. "And everything in the universe made sense. But the moment came as quickly as it passed. I have wanted to relive that feeling ever since. But to be clear, I don't desire the power, I desire the knowledge. The power of magic can be tempting, but if anyone wishes to use it, they shall never become great. Remember that, kiddo."
And Harry knows it, because that's exactly what happened in his first year, when he faced the Mirror of Erised, searching for the Philosopher's Stone. He saw what happened to Voldemort, and in that moment he vowed to never seek that kind of power.
"Do you know why it happened?
"No, sadly." She brushed some of her pink curls back from her face with her hand. "I've checked everything. There was no specific trigger, I was in a small magic place with few creatures, and although I've been there many times since then, even with others, it's never happened again. Not there, not elsewhere. The mother magic is truly unfathomable," a soft smile crept across her lips. "I can only hope that it will help me to be enlightened one day."
Bang!
The bus came to a screeching halt, and Stan shouted back;
"Greenwich!"
She swiveled to the side and, to Harry's horror, she picked up her bag.
"Well, looks like my ride's over here."
No! Harry still had so many questions to her.
"Oh, by the way! What's your name? I just realised that we haven't even introduced ourselves."
"E-Evans," Harry blurted out quickly. He almost forgot he was in incognito. Seriously, zero survival instinct!
"Not even a first name? Wow, you really are mistrusting," she chuckled. "Never mind, I'm Emma. It was nice to meet you, kiddo."
With that, she grabbed her bag and headed for the bus door, leaving Harry.
"Wait!" he called after her. Emma looked back from the door. There were so many things Harry wanted to tell her and ask her. But there was no time. Perhaps he would have the chance sometime in the future, if the stars agreed. In the end, all he could say was;
"Thank you."
Emma smiled back one last time, holding up her thumb before the door closed behind her.
And Harry, for the first time in months, smiled.
He won’t forget Emma's bubblegum pink hair.