You can make me free,
You can make me smile,
You can make me be,
Like a little child.

{ You can make me be
Like a little child }


“Ah, Ariel.”

She had met the barrier that led to the Hogwarts Express at a run, feeling that revitalizing rush of familiar scents and places and people as she emerged on the other side and caught sight of the scarlet steam engine, thick torrents of smoke bellowing out of its giant body. She had slackened her firm grip on her trolley, then, bright gaze in search of her friends, only to be addressed by a faintly familiar [and rather sleek, if I may so myself] voice.

She looked up, raising an eyebrow at the - and there is no other word to describe people like him - hunk that was John River. He looked even more handsome than usual [and that is saying something], his usual black robes faultless down to the pressed hem, hair swept off his forehead in that manner that ensures it'll fall back into one's eyes in a matter of seconds, his appearance quite the other name for unnecessary luxury.

The handsomeness, the robes, the hair, the eyes - the oblivious Ariel registered none of this. “There's a smudge of dirt on your shoeee," she said pleasantly [and quite happily.]

John chose to ignore the revelation. “Pleasure meeting you again,” He said, gracefully extending a hand.

“What do you want?”

“We have only met once before –” John began, not at all put off by her skeptical greeting or suspicious gaze - or the fact that she had noticed the smudge of dirt on his shoe.

“Of couuuurse,” Ariel cut through. “You only transferred to Hogwarts a fortnight before the last term ended, French boy." She sounded like she did not mind stating the obvious - and she didn't. "Silly decision, if you ask me – who leaves a place they have studied at, for six years?” The next part of her statement ["Only an idiot!"] hung in the air, unsaid but not un-conveyed. Her eyes said it all.

“My family moved –”

“You should have stayed, French boy. I'm telling you, you should have stayed, River. Smart thing to do, right? Now me, I would never leave my friends.”

She didn't sound full of advice, just full of bright chatter and even more bright rambling. John still took a step back [Girls didn't scare him. Girls like Ariel did] but, half a moment later, tried again [He could tackle her. Or so he told himself. He had to tackle her.]

“I was hoping we could get to know each other better.” See? Sweet and simple. Girls fell for that, right off the mark. It should be effective, especially since [in John's opinion] she did not seem to be the type that liked him beating about the bush.

“Guess what? I was hoping nothing of that sort, French boy.”

John sighed [but did not give up. Of course not] Back in France, things had been a lot easier and smoother for him: a store of wealth and good lucks combined had attracted pretty girls his way, better than a magnet can attract iron fillings. Since transferring to Hogwarts, though, he had had less luck [in other words, his luck had run out. But he couldn't be made to admit that, no]. The one girl that had really caught his eye was the blue-eyed redhead standing in front of him, right now and, as fate would have it, she [though John had yet to realize it] did not even notice that boys could exist for anything other than friendship.

– and to be poked in the eye when one felt all blue and sad, possibly.

“I have to say,” John tried [quite valiantly] again. “That you look quite pretty, today.”

“My mum thinks I look most inappropriate,” Ariel confided cheerfully. She stifled a yawn and rubbed her large, blue eyes. “Hey, French boy, do me a favour and carry my luggage into the train... Please?” The 'please' seemed to be added as a pleasant afterthought.

If John thought this meant progress, he did not say so. He only grabbed the handle of her trolley, back straight, eyes all smiles as he tried to look more graceful than usual [and failed spectacularly] and, after a moment [during which he considered if he should just levitate the thing and then decided that no, it might make her think of him as less manly] began to push it. The redheaded owner of the said trolley skipped after him, hands clasped, eyes wiiide as she looked around.

“I can’t see them,” she said, and she pouted.

“See what?” John asked, and so glad he was that she was acting normal, for once - she’s acting normal, thank God, thank God - that he decided he could have pushed a dozen trolleys for this.

“My friends,” came the cheerful reply. “I guess I’m early. Hey River – wait, River isn’t your first name, is it, French boy?" She sounded all bright and interested now, and that made John perk up. Perk up... until she spoke again. "Is it Sea? Or Freshwater?”

John sighed. “John,” he mumbled. “It's John River.”

He had never disliked his surname so much.



Reference:

[] "You can make me free -" Lyrics of You Can Make Me Free by Billy Joel.