Once again, guys, thanks for being patient. New characters make things hard, but I think I've captured this one just as I imagined. Hope you enjoy. More to come.... SOON.





Day 2, Part 2

The beach is kind of beautiful in its own murky, moody way. The cloudy water laps half-heartedly against the dock pilings and the pebbly sand, which is a marked difference against most of the beaches I’ve experienced before. Ocean beaches with fine white sand and white breakers creating a cacophony of background noise heard from miles away. The dark, cold waves of Lake Erie, where Brad and I insisted on going after that rubber museum, only to race back to the car after a few brave drenchings.

But this lake is calmer, even if it has the sort of beauty you admire like a puddle of oil in a parking lot. You know you shouldn’t find it pretty, but you just keep seeing the rainbows inside. I like the way the sand is studded with flat, smooth stones, just as I like how the slough and hiss of the green water suits the low hanging fog still wound around the trees and buildings across the lake. It’s gloomy, almost creepy, and it appeals to my mood and that corner of my heart that wants England to be as Potterish as possible. This is a beach where the Trio might have camped while they were hiding from Voldemort, a place Dumbledore might have sought horcruxes, a spot wrapped up in its own secrets and magic.

Or so I imagine.

In less than an hour, when the sun burns off the fog and the rest of the kids in these cottages wake up and come outside, the charm will be broken. I guess maybe the busy beach will have its own charm, and I’ll be able to find Al and hide from Brad much better, but I’m glad I got to see the lake like this.

Around a bend in the shore from our cottage, I hunker down between a little crest of hill and a fallen tree. The location is perfect to see the dock and part of the path without being immediately visible, and it gives me a nice lonely view of crumbling castle wall reflected in the water.

I open Deathly Hallows to the end and read the Epilogue through twice. The Epilogue is a bittersweet thing for true fans, or at least for the true fans that I’m allowed to speak for – which may be just me. Writing-wise, it’s sort of crappy and uneven with the rest of the book. In a better world, JK would have stopped with Harry wanting a sandwich. Imperfect, unfinished, but honest. The Epilogue feels like an attempt to finish off a beautifully wrapped, expensive gift with a dingy ribbon. But for someone who is not just a fan of the books but is also a fan of Harry and his world, the Epilogue gives you a promise that Harry finally got the life he deserved. I might cringe over how all the neat edges feel like JK is writing her own fanfiction, but I can’t help but enjoy imagining the after-the-war life she created for him.

“And what’s this?”

My little moment of reverie is broken, and I glance up from the lake to find that Harry-Potter-face-but-not-quite peering over the log at me. Not Al, but the brother I sort of met yesterday. If you call getting mortified by your own brother in front of someone ‘meeting’ them. He’s all cocky grin as he slides over the log and crowds into the little nook I’ve made for myself.

This boy is Brad’s soul mate, I swear.

“Nice little spot you’ve found here.” And he’s suddenly taking up all the space. I’m not really sure how he does this, considering the fact that he’s not brutishly big like my brother and the spot seemed practically roomy minutes ago. Might have something to do with the way his leg is touching my leg.

And ick. I think I’m blushing.

“What are you…”

“Don’t be unfriendly, Al’s friend. It’ll make me feel unwanted and hurt my feelings,” Jim splays out on the pebbled beach, managing to take up even more space.

“Ally.” Although I kind of like being Al’s friend. And I’m pretty sure he knew my name before he invaded my space.

“Al and Ally. Almost seems like fate, dunit?”

I sigh and wrap my arms around my knees, attempting to keep my leg from touching Jim’s. Briefly, I wonder if I remembered to brush my hair this morning.

“Magic, maybe?” I’m fishing for a reaction from him, but Jim just gives me a measured look before bursting out into laughter. No one likes to be laughed at, even when they say things they know to be stupid. Uneasily, I laugh too, just to show how very very much I am kidding.

Magic? Yeah , right.

“You’re a right laugh, kid.” He prods my thigh with his elbow. I like ‘kid’ a lot less than I liked ‘Al’s friend’. He can’t be much older than Brad, who is only two years older than I am. Definitely not old enough to be calling me a kid. Jim must be able to sense my mood going sour, because he prods me again with that pointy elbow and tries out another cocky grin.

Not my type. I blush again anyway.