#andra........... well.

-

Most wizards don’t really understand cell phones, which means Harry can get away with a lot of texting at work. Sometimes she isn’t sure how she’d survive it all otherwise. 

“Mr. Potter,” Robards snaps, and Harry scrambles to attention, dropping her phone into her lap. “Is there something more pressing going on in your little gadget than being properly prepared for this mission? Because I’m sure we’d all delight to know.”

The other Aurors let out a chorus of snickering, one of them murmuring something about The Boy Who Texted. “No, sir,” Harry says. “Sorry.” 

Robards’ glare lingers on her for a few moments before he launches back into his droning. Harry opens her phone under the desk.

J: all this texting is going to get me bloody fired from my job

L: are you sure it’s the texting and not, like, general incompetence?

J: ha ha ha.

Lucy doesn’t reply for a few moments, and then Harry’s phone buzzes again.

L: is it any better lately, though?

J: no J: not really.  J: idk, all the mistering and he’s and him’s J: idk J: sucks sometimes

L: yeah i know L: i get it. I do L: it’ll be alright, though, jamie. L: it’ll get better L: it’s temporary L: you just have to get through it.

Harry smiles down at her phone. Sometimes, when Lucy says it, she can believe it.

L: what did you say you do again?

J: uhhh J: i didn’t

L: oh right right, anonymity and all that L: like i’m going to be able to stalk you just from knowing your job

J: well, err J: you’d be surprised.

-

She meets up with Ron and Hermione after work just like she does every Friday, and even though being around them used to feel like the time she was most herself, lately it feels like there’s something dense forming between them, like a thick glass wall she can see through but can’t quite reach past.

“He’s not even listening,” Ron mumbles, then raps lightly on Harry’s head. “Anyone home in there?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, and finishes off the end of her ale. “You were telling me about the Cannons.”

“Erm, maybe two topics ago,” Hermione says. “We’ve been talking about the new Defense professor for at least the past ten minutes.” She fixes Harry with a particularly Hermione look. “Harry, are you alright?”

It would be as good a time as any to tell them. She’s going to do it eventually, and she knows they won’t care. But every time she tries to find the words, her mouth goes dry. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Sorry. Just —” 

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She flips it open to find a very pixely image of a very angry cat wearing a very tall tophat.

L: jamie jamie look at this L: i think this is what Muggles do for fun L: they put hats on cats and such it’s quite fascinating L: … L: it’s cute actually L: maybe I should get a cat  L: so i can put hats on it.

“Merlin,” Ron says on a laugh. “You’ve gone and met someone, haven’t you? No wonder you’ve been so spacey. Who is he?”

“Ron!” Hermione says chidingly. “Harry will tell us whenever he’s ready.” She casts him a playful smile. “Though I do hope he’s better than that last bloke who couldn’t hold a conversation if he was carrying it in a bucket.” 

Hermione and Ron quickly forget he’s there, launching into some debate about Harry’s ex, a Kestrels player who Ron was more in love with than Harry ever was. Harry looks down at her phone.

J: brilliant J: thanks for looping me in

L: you alright?

It’s almost staggering, really, how Lucy can pick up on things so quickly through nothing but pixels on a screen. Sometimes Ron and Hermione don’t even pick up on things when they’re sitting right across from her.

J: long day J: the cat helps tho J: thanks.

L: it gets easier, jamie

J: i hope so.

-

When Harry gets home from the pub, there are ten more cat pictures on her phone. 

L: i can’t get enough of these L: pretend these stupid pix are runes that will magically fix ur shit day

A smile spreads across Harry’s face as she scrolls through the photos. Most of them have strange captions about “cheezeburgers.” They’re absolutely inane, but they’re from Lucy, so she loves them.

J: it wasn’t so shit J: i got to talk to you

L: awwwwwwwwwww L: that’s so gay!

J: yup.

Lucy doesn’t reply for a while, and Harry thinks she may have fallen asleep on her for once. She busies herself cooking dinner, halfheartedly cleaning her flat, and working on some paperwork - checking her phone too often like she always does, in case she missed a text. She’s about to turn in when her phone finally buzzes.

L: jamie?

J: lucy? 

Another long silence before Lucy texts again.

L: do you think we’ll ever actually meet up? L: i mean, i know it’s maybe fast. but L: you live in London, too, right? and L: i dunno

Harry watches the texts fill her screen. She pictures neatly manicured nails holding a phone somewhere in this massive city, typing out words that are only for her.

L: i just thought maybe L: we could see if there’s L: i don’t know. L: something.

In Harry’s mind, the manicured hand attaches to the faint outline of a person. Someone feminine and polished, a perfect vision of womanhood. Or maybe someone like her, moving through life in a form that doesn’t exactly align with who she is.

Her fingers shake slightly as she types a response.

J: maybe.

L: maybe we’ll meet? L: or maybe there’s something?

J: both. maybe. J: i dunno. J: i keep thinking that maybe if it’s meant to happen it’ll just J: happen.

L: wow L: that’s very poetic L: you never struck me as the type to believe in that sort of thing L: like... fate J: well J: i believe in it more lately than i used to

L: hm. L: alright L: well L: i can deal with maybe 

There’s another long pause.

L: at least for now L: i can’t wait my whole life jamie smdh L: i’m a very busy woman etc etc L: and powerful L: and, like, hot and stuff

J: yes i believe i remember all of this seeing as you make a point to remind me of it every single day

L: well i won’t have you forgetting these most important facts of life

Harry smiles at her phone. Inside of her, waves of chaos and confusion, devoured by butterflies.

L: goodnight, jamie.

J: goodnight, lu.

-

Harry tries to sleep, but it’s elusive, scattered apart by a wash of nerves and excitement and deep echoes of fear. After staring at her ceiling for either ten minutes or two hours, she climbs out of bed and pulls on a jumper and jeans, unsure how to work through all of her pools of nervous energy, but sure she has to do something about it. When she grabs her phone to walk out of her flat, she sees she missed a text from Lucy.

L: uuuGGGHH i can’t sleep

J: yea me neither J: somehow i feel like this is your fault

L: probably L: i tend to be accidentally evil that way

Harry finds herself under the warm golden lights of the mostly-empty Leaky, nursing a butterbeer by the fire. It’s where she always comes when she can’t sleep, and the patrons generally leave her alone. This time of night, mostly everyone is too busy seeing her as Harry Potter Brooding in A Corner to really see her anyway — but then, lately it feels like everyone is too busy seeing Harry Potter to see anything deeper.

J: what are you doing awake?

L: thinking, i guess

J: rare J: don’t hurt yourself

L: ha

J: what are you thinking about?

L: idk L: you

Harry feels her heart flutter and swallows down a bundle of nerves.

J: oh  J: so we’re doing the same thing

L: thinking about you?

J: lol no J: you know what i meant

L: but honestly im thinking about how i’m just L: really glad we met L: even if it was through somewhat odd channels L: it’s just been L: well, i dunno L: you’re marvelous

Harry’s breath catches in her throat. Lucy can’t really know, after all. She doesn’t know Harry, not really. But there’s something about her anyway, something that seems to run deeper than just words on a screen, words that Harry can hardly believe. 

J: i feel the same way

L: that you’re marvelous?

J: well yea that too J: but honestly  J: i have a lot to thank you for, lucy J: i don’t know where i’d be without you J: who i’d be J: so thank you.

L: no L: jamie you’re doing all of it on your own L: but it’s been truly remarkable to watch.

The door to the Leaky opens, pulling Harry’s attention away from her phone. A woman stands at the entrance, surveying the sparse scene before turning to the bar. She looks half-asleep, dressed in a pastel pink jumper and jeans and stylish suede boots that come up to the middle of her thighs. Harry’s eyes linger on her from across the pub, the effortlessness of it all, the understated nature of her femininity, something that feels just out of reach — something that maybe even feels familiar. There’s a small smile on the woman’s lips, something quiet and only for herself. Harry looks back down to her phone.

J: is that humility i sense? you must be very tired

Harry’s tired, and she may be imagining things — but she thinks she hears the faint buzz of a cell phone receiving a text a few paces away.

Harry watches as the woman at the bar fiddles with her hair while she waits for her drink, taking it out of the messy bun atop her head. It unspools in waves of silver-white that drop down a few inches past her shoulders, and she threads her fingers through it while she waits for the bartender. She pays for her drink and finds an empty table in the corner across from Harry. 

Harry watches as the woman takes out her phone. The smile widens on her lips.

L: ha  L: honestly though  L: you mean a lot to me L: i hope you know that

Harry’s fingers are so shaky she can hardly coordinate her texting, her eyes glancing between her phone and the woman across the room — the woman who looks uncannily familiar, light hair and lighter eyes, a narrow nose that reminds her of someone from another life.

J: yea J: i do

Harry listens as the phone in the woman’s hand buzzes, her smile illuminated by the light from the screen in the darkness.

J: you mean a lot to me too J: even if you’re certifiably mental

In the empty pub, the sound of the woman’s laughter carries across the room. She drops her phone to her lap and takes a sip of her whiskey. As she drinks, her eyes flit up over her glass and out across the room. Harry’s heart pounds through her chest. She feels frozen to the spot. 

And that’s how she is when the woman’s eyes fall upon her — shocked stupid, phone in one hand, the other wrapped around her butterbeer like a vice.

Recognition passes through the woman’s face in layers. Harry watches it happen. First, she sees Harry. Then, she sees Jamie.

The smile spreads until it’s taking up the woman’s entire face — high cheekbones, pink lips, eyes twinkling between deep affection and complete and utter bewilderment. 

Harry thinks she may have imagined it — all of it. Maybe it was just an odd set of coincidences. Maybe she was wrong about where she seems to remember the woman from, the confusing echo radiating from her childhood. But then, it all felt too perfect, too familiar from the very beginning. And things slowly click into place — the name, the potions, the unmistakable snark. She can see the woman across the room working through all of it as well, her eyes locked on Harry’s as she does.

The woman closes her phone, and her lips form around a silent word.

“Hi,” she mouths.

Harry blinks, not sure if she imaged it. Then she mouths back: “Hi.”  It’s the first time Harry has seen her smile — at least like this — but the sight of it feels like a memory.