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RP's
Harry James (/245110)
Christmas time was always a wonderful time for Genevieve. The season was filled with everything she adored: family, friends, freshly baked pastries and time off from work. This season; however, was a mess for the ginger girl. Her home piled with files, paperwork, knickknacks and everything that would belong in her office in London. The Minister of Magic sent his best out on the field in fear of a rebellion from former Death Eaters. It was a challenge, and did Genevieve love challenges and everything included except one thing: the time. It felt as if time was slipping away from the woman, being kept from her family and possibly future-husband. Of course, him being an Aurror and Gen's line of work mixed occasionally and this wasn't one of them.
Genevieve bundled herself up, pulling her coat close to her body as she walked the uneven streets. The heel of her boots clicking with every step and her hair in front of her face, just as its always been. Having the scar over her eye was never a pleasant thing, even going through school at Hogwarts. Though there Harry Potter outshined her which kept her under the radar. The people around her, speaking her native tongue, it was overwhelming. A part of her didn't want to return to London in the new year while the other part fought with her reasoning. "These muggles are pathetic, I don't know why Carrow picked this pathetic--" Genevieve overheard, tilting her gaze to see a pair of bodies disappear in the crowd. Widen eyes, the ginger quickly pushed her way through the crowd. 'Carrow? They were dead, or maybe they had a son? Couldn't be, we have everyone on record' the girl though, trying to match her eyes with the voices she heard.
The crowd took control and lost the pair. Strangely enough, Genevieve wasn't surprised. It was a small town, but not small enough to get lost in the streets. Blowing the hair out of her face, she returned to her home to write down the event. Just knowing that 'Carrow' was being mentioned again made the woman sick to her stomach. The Ministry was right, they had a reason to fear of an uprising of old ways. Gasping to herself, Genevieve ran out of her office to the downstairs fireplace, grabbing a hand full of floo powder and clearly stated, "Ministry of Magic, Department of Law Enforcement" before sticking her head in. "Hello? Hello is anyone there!" she called out, looking around. "Miss McKnight? How are you! It's so wonderful to see you!" she heard a small squeal. The girl had to hold back an eyeroll, "Please tell me you aren't the only one here, Bones." she said looking at the girl who nodded her head. "Yes I am, everyone's left already. Something about a festivity down at the Leaky Cauldron." she said with a small shrug, "Is there anything I can do for you?" she said and Geneveive shook her head before disappearing once more. The information she carried was too sensitive to tell an intern.
The next morning, Genevieve decided to carry out her lead and possibly receive concrete information on what she overheard. It was possible that she was just imagining it, making stories in her head so she had something productive to do. With a warm cup of coffee in her hands and the snow lightly falling on the grounds, she waited. Translating everything she heard, not one of them spoke about witches, muggles, or even the Carrow. Letting out a soft sigh of defeat, she brought the cup up to her lips and drank as her eyes took in the scenery. What she couldn't believe was a black haired man with bright green eyes. "It can't be." she whispered to herself, pushing herself off of the metal chair, leaving the coffee on the table and walked towards the man, pushing her way in the small crowd of people in her way. Same hair, same eyes, and a scar?! Genevieve couldn't believe herself. "I can't believe my eyes," she started softly once she made her way to the male, "It's Harry Potter, in the flesh." she said, her lips cracked a small smile.
Harry James Potter... He was famous, you know. If only in the magical world. He hated it. Oh of course, at first it was flattering and he felt that he had worth. He had purpose. He wasn't used to people being nice to him, so from age 11 and up, every school year, being doted on by people who really didn't know him, boosted his ego. They would see that damned scar and fall over themselves to talk to him, even if it was only a minute. Unless of course they were Malfoy and his bunch of lackeys. He grew to hate the recognition, but to live with it. After the war and Voldemort's defeat he tried his hand at moving forward in the magical community. He is an Auror by profession, one that he actually takes very serious... But he needed more. He needed to find his identity. He was no longer the Chosen One, or the BOY Who Lived.. Because he was no longer a boy, and the war.. well hell, it was over now. Now, he was simply Harry Potter. And he wanted to know... Who is Harry Potter? So, with some thought and discussion among his friends - Harry took a leave of absence from his position and began to travel. He learned to speak Japanese in japan. He learned Italian in Italy. He began writing in Prague and cooking in Belgium. He studied art and music and theater. And now he was in France painting landscapes of the countryside, and photographing the people he meets. He enjoys his life. He uses very little magic unless a kid at the grocery store is screaming. He will then just wave his hand and send over a lollipop when the mum's not looking. France... He took to the country like he was native. The language was surprisingly easy for him to pick up and understand, although he still sounded like a stuttering child learning when he tried to speak it. The land itself is beautiful, and Harry appreciated beauty. His favorite time was morning. The air was crisp. The sun peeking through leaving those early morning shadows. Shadows that no longer scare him. Every morning Harry would get up, no matter the weather and take a walk. Normally he stayed just around his loft, but today he walked a little further. It was the first snow of the season, and there was something about snow that set his mood. He loved the holidays. He loved winter. The songs, the good cheer. It had an almost festive feeling for three months. And to Harry, snow just made it all the better. So he got dressed in warm jeans, a black t-shirt and his heavy down jacket. Wandered into town and found a small caf� that served breakfast. As he sat down he took out his copy of the Daily Prophet and began reading of the current events and goings on in the magical world. Apparently it was Carlotta Pinkstone's 100th birthday and the celebration they had in London blew out anything that Queen had ever thrown. He chuckled, Hermione begged him to come back for that. Now he thought perhaps he should have. When the server introduced herself Harry ordered a cup of coffee, with two creamers and five sugars along with eggs and toast. He never lowered his paper until his food came. He ate leisurely, nibbling and sipping and reading. He looked around and kicked himself for not bringing his camera with him. The people there, on this morning, were interesting to say the least. After finishing, he paid the server and left her a tip, even though in most European countries tipping is frowned upon, he does it anyway - something he picked up on in the states. He wanted her to know she was appreciated. He folded up his paper and passed by a few tables on his way out when she spoke up. He looked around thinking she had made a mistake until he heard her say his name. He narrowed his eyes searching for familiarity. He didn't want to be rude if he knew her. "It is I.. In the flesh." He chuckled. "If I were not in the flesh, you would have something to tell the grandkids.." he had no idea why he said that, filling up the air with words.
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