Almost

Chapter 5: Ghouls

Lee offered to walk Katherine to the fireplaces, but she told him she'd rather apparate. As she landed in the hills of Ottery St. Catchpole, she knew it wasn't the destination he would have intended for her.

This was the first place Katherine had ever apparated too, though, and she liked to go this way as often as she could. It was still early in the afternoon and the May sun hung high in the air but was lazily sinking lower and lower. A soft breeze blew her hair off her neck as she began the short walk to the Weasley's home.

With Smithwick's tote over one shoulder and Hermione's beaded bag over the other, she took her time meandering through the hills. She wished she began to hum softly to herself, a song that had been stuck in her head for a few days. In no hurry to let the moment of calm pass, she set her bags down on the grass and unclasped her watch.

Her shrunken backpack hung, attached by its straps, from the band with two faces. It tumbled into her hand and she brought it back to size as carefully as she could. From inside, she retrieved her phone and earbuds, scanning through her library until she found the song and Stevie Wonder's voice washed over her.

"I can't believe Crawley wouldn't go for this," she muttered to herself. "I'm not taking dance lessons..."

"Excuse me, miss?"

Katherine turned quickly, dropping her backpack in the process. Unfortunately, it landed on the tote and sent Smithwick sprawling out onto the grass. He quickly untangled himself from his blanket and, startled, started jumping around.

"Smithwick!" Katherine yelled, trying to chase after him without scaring him away. She was relieved when she saw two hands clasp around him, softly scooping the black and white furball out of the grass.

"Sorry, little guy," the man said quietly. "You're okay. You're alright."

Katherine coughed, her heartrate flying, and did her best to hold her magic fiercely tight in her chest. She didn't trust it for an instant.

She quickly adjusted her face, wiping the shock and recognition from her eyes and softening her mouth to a gentle smile.

"You startled me," she said with a forced chuckle.

"Sorry," he said, scratching Smithwick between the ears. "I just was walking by and saw you with all the bags, thought you might want a hand. Not much out here, so I'm sure we're headed in the same direction. I'm Kevin, Kevin Clarke."

Katherine couldn't help but compare him with the Kevin in her head. His gold earring still gleamed in the sunlight. She could see him so clearly in her memories, leaned over a stack of receipts and absentmindedly fiddling with it when the math didn't add up on the first go. His mousy brown hair had grown out a bit, enough that he had begun putting some sort of gel in it to keep it pushed back from his eyes. But his eyes were the hardest part, just as they had been when she had last seen him—completely devoid of any recognition or recollection of her.

"Nice to meet you," she said, clearing her throat and her mind at the same time, trying to stick to the story she had used before just in case. "I'm Wren."

"And this guy?"

"Smithwick," Katherine answered, distracted as she let her magic drift to her eyes. She could see the strings of blush and teal woven in his head, the handiwork of her aunt. It was holding strong as she expected, leaving her neatly and meticulously carved out of his life.

"A beer lover, eh? I own the pub in town, we keep that one on tap." He kept his eyes on the kitten, who had started to purr and burrow into his chest. Katherine thought about one morning, when she and Kevin had sat on a hill not far from here and watched the sunrise. He still smelled like stale beer, though he must not have lit his fireplace in a while—the smell of woodsmoke was absent.