Who: Roger Davies and Erica Shine What: Erica discovers Roger's journal, leading to uncomfortable questions about who he really is. When: Friday morning/early afternoon Where: Roger's apartment, then Leaky Cauldron/Diagon Alley Warnings: Language. Status: Complete
Wham. A single bright, pale blue eye opened at the sudden sound and peered around the sun-drenched bedroom. Roger Davies couldn’t find the source of the commotion, and contented himself to fall back asleep when an even louder thud caused both eyes to open.
“What the hell?” He muttered feeling a bit dazed from the sudden awakening. The source of the noise came from the doorway, where Erica Shine currently stood, glaring at Roger while roughly shaking out laundry. As their eyes met, Erica’s face seemed to cloud and she stormed off. Roger sighed deeply as his mind raced through the many possible sources of his girlfriend’s anger. He dearly just wanted to go to back to sleep, as the clock on the night stand dimly read the unacceptable time of eight-in-the-morning. Another sigh followed as Roger rose out of bed and stretched; might as well get in the bathroom and get ready for the day as calming down Erica could take a little while.
He took longer than usual in the bathroom and the hallway seemed shorter than before, but when Roger entered the living room and felt a sense of dread; Erica sat curled up on the couch looking not unlike a dejected puppy and cradled a small item against her chest. After a few awkward moments their eyes met and Roger felt a pang of guilt in his stomach; Erica had been crying.
“..Erica,” he began softly, only to be cut off by Erica’s terse response.
“Don’t. Just… don’t say anything.” The silence settled between them like a heavy blanket. Erica continued to glare at Roger before continuing, spite tinting her voice. “I got up early to tidy the place up and I found this.” The object cradled in her arms moved to her hands and Roger blanched; it was his journal.
“Erica how did yo-”
“It fell out of your jacket pocket you stupid son of a bitch.” Erica snapped back, the spite in her voice turning into indignation at the thought of being accused for snooping. “I didn’t think we were keeping secrets from each other, Roger.”
Roger’s heart hammered wildly against his rib cage. He’d forgotten to wipe his journal. What could she have found that made her so upset? Now he was faced with another problem: Erica’s new knowledge of the magical world. The blood rushed out of his head so quickly that he had to lean against the wall for support.
“Well?” Erica’s demand snapped Roger out of the mental crisis management mode.
“Erica, listen, it isn’t what you thin-”
“Not what I think!?” She exploded, launching herself from the couch and throwing the book at Roger. He ducked out of the way, watching as his journal smacked against the wall and clattered onto the floor. “What am I supposed to think when you’re flirting with some girl named Gwen and talking about sharing private pictures with her.” Her entire being seemed to shake with fury and Roger was unable to meet her scalding, accusatory gaze. She was right, he had been flirting with Gwen. Why he didn’t know; it is hard to kill what is second nature. Erica’s face, so full of anger and betrayal now cracked with heartache. “And… what is a m-muggle anyway? It’s bad enough to flirt with another girl but to call me names and say it is a m-mistake to da-date me…” Despite her best intentions to remain calm, she was quickly falling to pieces. Feeling as though now were an appropriate time to make a move, Roger crossed the room in swift strides to Erica’s side, who stood with her face buried in her hands.
“Erica…”
“I feel like such a fool.” She whispered, not easing away from his careful touch on her shoulder. “I knew, you know. I knew you had a reputation, but I ignored it. I’m so fucking stupid.” She leaned into Roger and dissolved into sobbing. He pressed his chin against the top of her head while accepting the sobbing Erica into his arms and felt torn; on the one hand she had snooped through his private things and yet he was guilty of flirting with Gwen and saying his relationship felt like a mistake. The silence settled once more and stretched for what seemed like an eternity, only punctured by Erica’s sniffles.
“I was wrong to say those things,” Roger said, taking a brave stab at making conversation. When Erica remained silent he continued. “I… Gwen, she doesn’t mean anything—no, Erica, don’t roll your eyes, she doesn’t. She’s some girl I know who means nothing more to me than some pretty face.”
Erica laughed, disbelief lacing her voice.
“Then why did you say dating a ‘muggle’ is a mistake? What the hell is a muggle anyway?”
Roger’s stomach clenched uncomfortably once more. What could he tell her? Certainly not his true magical nature; it would not only go against everything he’d been taught but Erica wouldn’t believe him. Wracking his brain, Roger tried to come across a suitable cover. Erica however pushed away from him with a hurt look on her face muttering something that sounded like ‘don’t think too hard’. He had been a hundred percent sure his face was guarded, absolutely, flawlessly so, and still, she could see right through him. How the hell could she read in him? It both amazed and annoyed him.
“There are… there is a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Roger said measuredly, unsure of where he wanted to take this conversation.
“Like you like you flirt with other women and insult your girlfriend behind her back.”
“Jesus, no.” Roger took a step back and studied Erica. Despite the blotches of red on her face she seemed far more calm than early. “Would you just fucking listen to me? There is… so much you don’t know about me and I have no idea how to tell you.” Now he worried his lip, wondering just how far down the rabbit hole he should go. “I’m not who you think I am.”
“Oh what, then, you’re some secret agent who zips around the world?” Erica crossed her arms over her chest, staring at him in disbelief. “Christ, why am I even sitting here listening to this? You’re obviously stalling for time while you come up with some decent excuse. I know you’re not as dense as you pretend, Roger.”
“Oh yeah, so why are you still here, then?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Erica retorted, hugging herself nervously as she turned, finding it difficult to stand in his sight.
"Cut this ominous shit. Why?” Roger grabbed her elbow and pulled her back, so she was forced to make a half-turn toward him. "Why." He groaned. It wasn't much above a whisper. A sigh.
“Because I was falling in love, you dick!”
Erica’s words echoed through the apartment as though they had been magically enhanced. Roger felt himself sway on the spot as he studied Erica. Her face was hard, that of someone before the final battle – before falling. She loved, or rather, could love him. Him. Not Roger Davies the Quidditch player, not Roger Davies who, thanks to his career, is loaded, and certainly not Roger Davies popular-party-boy. The very idea of being wanted for just his simple being shook him to his core.
Briskly, he closed the gap between them, almost stepping on her toe. To her credit, Erica didn't budge. Roger knew he too was falling. He could feel it in his brain, in his head, the looming presence of everything going wrong. This world, this lie of a life with him in it, got derailed. Suddenly, somehow, he understood what went through her mind, and it made it even worse. Erica collapsed against his chest in resignation. She clung onto him desperately, and he held her tightly, suddenly terrified that she might move away. Erica felt his head stir searchingly, slowly. His stubble brushed against her skin as he planted a long kiss on her forehead, on her temple. In that moment Roger had the decision to share himself fully.
“Erica,” He said, pushing back to look into her eyes. “I have to tell you something and I need you to really listen. I want to be with you, and I want to have you fully in my life but I can’t if you don’t listen to what I have to say.” This was it. Roger stood on a precipice and was about to bring down the final wall separating himself from Erica. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “I’m… I’m a wizard, okay?”
Erica stood motionless, staring at him in disbelief before cracking a grin. “Oh, c’mon now, you’re just taking the piss out of me.”
“No,” Roger groaned, stepping backward and digging the heels of his hands against his brow. “No, Erica, I’m being honest. I’m a wizard, alright? The photos Gwen mentioned I should pose for belong to a newspaper called the Witch Weekly and that is only because I’m a Quidditch player-”
“A what?”
“A Quidditch Player,” Roger repeated again, ignoring the interruption in his rapid stream of explanation. “It’s like… football on broomsticks I suppose. I’m pretty damn good at it so I am in the magical public eye, but I try to avoid it. I hate it, really. That isn’t the point, though. Yes, I was flirting with Gwen, who is a witch, an actress also in the magical e-”
“Let me get this straight;” Erica interrupted, a bemused smile on her face. “You want me to believe you’re a magical, flying version of Becks?”
“Well, I’m no Beckham but…” Roger digressed, shaking his head. “Look we’re getting off topic. The point is I’m a wizard. That is what this whole thing is about.”
“And a muggle is…?”
“A term we use for non-magical people.”
“I see,” Erica said, her grin widening as though she were enjoying a mildly amusing joke. “Well, when you’re done with your little Dungeons and Dragons fantas-“
“It’s not Dungeons and Dragons anything!” Roger snapped, feeling a wave of annoyance and frustration. He just wanted to make her understand, to shake her until she accepted the truth. “This is real!”
“Of course it is.” Her blue eyes rolled with exasperation following a snort of laughter. “Well, when you are ready to tell me the truth you let me know.”
How could he make her understand? Clearly Erica wouldn’t accept his answer unless there was some proof. Proof. Roger pondered for a moment actually showing her undeniable proof of magic. It would be so simple, but how would she respond? He’d heard stories of muggles becoming violent from fear and lack of understanding. The idea of having to subdue Erica, or worse, one of them getting hurt and dragging police into this already complex situation did not appeal to Roger. However, there wasn’t any other way. He walked back to the bedroom and foraged around for the wand he’d stuck in between the mattresses. There was something vision-like in the whole scenario for Roger – like an apparition, unreal. He felt vaguely as though he were watching a movie with him in it as he walked back to the living room and without word waved his wand. A book from the shelf flew off and sailed into Roger’s outstretched hand as though guided by a wire. Erica, her mouth agape, sank onto the couch.
“How…?” She asked weakly.
“It doesn’t matter how, but the fact is I can. Not just me but there are hundreds of thousands of us. We live here, right alongside your world.” Again, Roger flicked his wand and his discarded journal transformed into a small mug. “Is that enough proof?”
Erica didn’t respond. Rather she goggled at the mug then slowly shook her head.
“I… don’t understand. How did you change that boo- never mind that. How can you just hide hundreds of thousands of people running around waving wands and flying on brooms?”
“We have a government that takes care of these logistics.”
“Of course, yes, you have a government.” Erica said with an airy note as though Roger explained two plus two equals four. He frowned and walked over to the couch.
“Yes, we do. Most common regions in the world have a government which works alongside the mugg- the standard government you know. We have many, many security measures in place to stop our ways from being exposed. Sometimes, though, we are found out and certain steps are taken to correct it.”
“Steps?” Erica turned her attention fully to him.
“Spinning stories to make them muggle-worthy, charms to make our things undetectable, mind wiping and just common sense about not using magic outside of wizarding areas.”
“Of course.” She grew quiet once more. “…Why don’t you want to be found out?”
“Well, history hasn’t exactly been kind to the magical community, have they?” Roger said with a mirthless laugh. “Besides, everyone will want a magical solution to their problems.” He reached out and touched Erica’s shoulder. Much to his surprise, she leaned into his touch. “Are you alright?”
“I… I think I need some time to think.”
Roger studied her face; she looked mildly shell-shocked. Giving a nod, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Alright. I’m going to go for my morning run. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” When she didn’t respond right away, he verbally prompted her again. Erica nodded, though she seemed to have not really understood him. Standing up, Roger looked down at his girlfriend and every fiber of his being longed to properly comfort her. She looked so lost and confused. Without another word he walked to the door and stepped outside, wondering if Erica would even be home when he returned; to be honest, he wouldn’t blame her if she wasn’t.
***
Roger’s run lasted longer than usual. He’d found himself less running and more wandering around in Queens Park while lost in thought. Had he done the right thing telling Erica? Would the Ministry know that he’d broken the Statute of Secrecy? If so what were the repercussions? The realization of all that could be lost weighed heavily on him and caused a faint sick feeling in Roger’s stomach. His legs felt like lead as he walked up the steps to his apartment and opened the front door, unsure of what to expect. Much to his surprise Erica still sat on the couch, wearing a light jacket and turning a mug in her hands. She looked up at the sound of him entering and smiled. Relief flooded through Roger; she hadn’t left. All his former trepidations of staying in a relationship with Erica were erased by the scare of losing her – losing someone who could love him for him, not for his fame or the money or the social bragging rights.
“All right, then?” He asked, closing the door and walking over to her.
“Yeah. I wanted to read through the journal some more but...” She trailed off, and Roger remembered he hadn’t changed the journal back to its original form. “I-I don’t really know what to say. Part of me wants to think it is some hoax or some elaborate role playing group but you made this mug out of a book with a wave of that stick.” She drew in a deep breath and then paused. “So. I want you to show me.”
“Show you?” Roger asked, confused. What more proof could she want?
“I want you to show me this… this ‘world’ that you claim exists under my mugger nose.”
“Muggle,” Roger corrected her with a laugh, and then shook his head. “I don’t really think I should, though. I’ve already broken probably several international laws even telling you all this. I don’t know if it will be safe to actually take you somewhere.”
“What? Afraid I’ll fall off your broom?” Erica smirked, and stood up. “I’m going with you. Obviously you sneak off there often enough, so if you don’t take me today I will follow you tomorrow.”
“I’ll just disapparate.”
“You’ll what?”
“Disappear and reappear. Erm- nevermind. Erica, really, I can’t take you.”
“I’m going, Roger.” Erica glared at him, crossing her arms. The note of finality in her voice told Roger there was no getting out of this, he would have to take her. Giving a sigh of defeat and against his better judgment, he nodded.
“Alright. There is a place here in London I can take you but I can’t stress how careful you have to be. Not everyone in the wizarding world will be friendly to you. Just stay by me, okay?”
***
An hour later Roger and Erica stood outside the familiar, shabby entrance to The Leaky Cauldron. Of course, Erica’s eyes were looking between the bookstore on one side and the record store on the other.
“Why did we stop?”
“We’re here.” Roger said, confused. To him, the Leaky Cauldron stood completely visible in all its dilapidated glory. “C’mon.”
“Where? There is just some old boarded up building between the book and record shop. Seriously, Roger, where is this place?”
“You’re looking at it.” To anyone passing by it must have looked like an odd scene with the two of the bickering in front of a tumbling down shack. “Seriously, Erica, you’re not looking at it properly!”
“There is nothing to look at!” She snapped, rolling her eyes at him. “If you didn’t plan on showing me this ‘new world’ then why did you drag me to downtown London?” Roger shot a glare at her, and then walked toward the building. “Are you crazy?! Don’t go in there! It’s condemned. Come back!” He didn’t listen as he reached the front door, pulled it open and disappeared inside. Screeching a note of inexpressible annoyance, Erica ran in after him.
She stopped in the doorway, shocked by what she saw. Instead of the rotting innards of an abandoned building the setting of an old, dingy yet cozy bar bustled in front of her eyes. In the corner an old woman with a gnarled face wore rags sat hunched over at her table. Closer to the entrance a young man scribbled on a long roll of parchment paper and an owl sat hooting dolefully on the shoulder of an older man drinking deeply from a goblet at the bar. Erica began to take a step back when Roger walked over and grabbed her hand.
“C’mon.” He muttered, pulling her toward the door on the other side of the bar. The Leaky Cauldron was unusually full for an early Friday afternoon, though Roger didn’t mind as it drew less attention to them. They made it to the backdoor and exited into a small courtyard walled off by a tall brick wall.
“What was that place?” Erica laughed nervously.
“The Leaky Cauldron,” Roger said, pulling out his wand and tapping on the bricks. “It’s a pretty popular wizarding pub and one of the main entrances to Diagon Alley from muggle London.”
“Diagon Alley?” Her question was answered as the brick wall sprung to life and began parting to reveal a long, twisting, cobblestoned road packed with cramped shops and their patrons enjoying the crisp spring afternoon.
“This is Diagon Alley.” A satisfied smile played on Roger’s lips as he watched Erica; the wonders of the magical world were mirrored in her blue eyes and he felt a sense of pride toward his home, his background and his people. “Everything you’ve ever wanted to know about us is here.” This must be what it is like for muggle borns when they come here before Hogwarts. He thought with a wave of envy. Roger had always enjoyed growing up in a moderately well-to-do, pure-blood family, he’d often wondered about his real father, a muggle, and how different his life might have been if he knew him. Would he have stood here, at this very spot when he was eleven years old and marveled at the wonders of the wizarding world? Mentally shaking himself, he gave Erica’s hand a squeeze. “Alright, let’s go.”