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CHAPTER TWO:
MICHAEL
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Michael Jackson sipped the last of his tea from his mug as he ambled happily back home from a morning walk among the trees on his Neverland Ranch property. He was almost at his front door in fact.
When he lowered the mug from his mouth, something caught his eye, up high near the beaming rays of an October sun. Something was falling...
Oh my god! It was a person!
Before he could do a thing, they had splashed down before his very eyes! Water went flying everywhere, soaking a good deal of his shirt, and to add insult to injury, he dropped the mug from his hand in utter shock; and of course that shattered violently at his feet as well.
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Hermione wanted to scream as she fell and flipped in the air involuntarily, causing her to miss the pavement.
Instead, she landed with a great big splash into the freezing cold water of a shallow Neverland water-fountain!
Ugh. Great landing. Not.
When she finally raised her head to see her surroundings, she took a deep breath of air, relieved that she had at least landed in the fountain right outside the front door of the residence she planned on visiting.
She had arrived safely, even if not in the optimal fashion.
Immediately she heard someone's frantic voice.
"Oh my goodness! Oh gosh, are you ok?!"
Michael had rushed over as soon as he regained the movement in his legs. It didn't take long, two brisk strides and he was at the side of the water-fountain. He could see the person was female, hunched over on all fours, breathing heavily. Thank god they had survived.
Hermione looked up.
Oh. Shit.
It was Michael Jackson.
She had crash-landed in Michael Jackson's water-fountain! Realization that she was back in the muggle world and this was not normal by anyone’s standards (even Michael’s), dawned quickly.
Pausing to stare was a very common reaction to seeing the King of Pop in the flesh. But all considering, this was very awkward for both of them now.
Michael spoke again, afraid to get any closer, as his eyes got wider. "Miss, are you ok?"
Hermione gathered her wits about her. This was not the time to be star-struck. No matter how much you never included that in your plan, and now you totally are! Oh jeez.
"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. I'm ok, thank you for asking."
She stood up, completely drenched, and Michael took a step back to keep from getting more wet than he already was. Normally he would have lent the girl a hand to step over the fountain edge, but this was not a normal situation. Instead, he watched in awe as the girl stepped out of the fountain, seemingly unabashed, and shook out her massive clumpy wet hair.
The brunette before him couldn't have been more than a teenager. A young teen at that.
When she looked back at him, she smiled.
"Well, hello. Uh, before I do anything else, I suppose it would be polite to introduce myself. My name is Hermione, Hermione Granger. Pleasure to meet you."
She put forth a hand for Michael to shake.
Michael was still in shock. He could have sworn he'd just seen his girl drop from the sky. This was so weird. But he also knew he couldn't be rude. She was talking to him, so obviously she hadn't broken any bones or anything. So he snapped himself out of his daze and answered the girl.
"Hello. I'm Michael. Michael Jackson," he said, as pleasantly as he could, and shook her cold wet hand; even with all the reservations he still had.
She smiled. "I know. Listen, before I do what I'm about to do-"
"-You're a fan?" Michael interrupted her, eyebrows raised.
He should have known. It's always a fan.
"Yes, and I'll explain everything, but before I do, I need you not to freak out for a minute."
Michael cut in again, "-Are you alone? There's no more of you that broke in?"
Hermione frowned. "I'm alone. Calm down, I'm not going to attack you."
Oh. Well, that was reassuring. There indeed was a part of him that was afraid of that. I mean, did I mention this girl had dropped from the sky?!
An "Ok" fell from Michael's lips, but it was more of a question than an acknowledgement of understanding.
"Ok," Hermione continued tentatively. "I apologize for all the water, by the way. So I'm just gonna dry us both off, ok? I'm gonna take out a wand. It's not a weapon. It's not gonna hurt."
She tried to be as forthcoming with her explanations as possible.
Michael nodded, but the color in his face that had drained on the initial shock still hadn't returned.
Hermione pulled out her wand from her jacket and made a slow swish movement with it.
"Ventus Minima," she uttered.
A warm gust of air flew out from her wand tip and surrounded them. When the wind blew over only seconds later, Michael found that they and all the ground around them were now completely dry.
Dry. From soaking to dry. Instantly.
Stunned, he looked around for witnesses. That could not have just happened. Either he was daydreaming or this was a joke of some sort.
When he faced Hermione again, he felt woozy. She tried to reach a hand out to steady him, but she never made it, as he slipped right between her fingers.
Michael Jackson had just collapsed on the cobble-stone ground before her.
Hermione sighed.
Dumbledore had warned her. Tsk tsk.
She got down on her knees, counted to five to give the man a few seconds of rest, before saying, "Ren-." Wait.
How often do people get to stand over an unconscious Michael Jackson?
The gravity of how rare and unbelievable this opportunity was washed over her. Witch or muggle, she should at least take a moment to absorb it.
There he was, seemingly asleep, with his long limbs laying at odd angles, red shirt awry, and toppled fedora hat a foot away.
Jeez, what a strange sight to behold. Except that the jerry-curl over his eye was still in place. Even Hermione's magic wasn't as potent as whatever hairspray Michael used apparently. She laughed to herself.
If she were a muggle, she would probably wonder how to take him indoors and lay him down on a couch or something.
She looked around then. Hopefully there was no one around to think she'd attacked the poor man, especially with that shattered mug on the ground nearby.
Conscience alleviated that they were alone, for now, she wondered why there wasn't in fact anyone else around. One would think that this made the situation even more unlikely, and she thanked her good graces.
With a flick of her wand and a single word, Michael's smashed tea-mug was back to its former glory and at Hermione's side. It would be a good ice-breaker maybe.
One last look at Michael.
Ok, stop staring at him. It's only Michael Jackson. Talk to him like a normal person.
When she felt ready finally, she poked him on the chest with her wand and said, "Rennervate."
Michael took a sudden breath, as if awakening from a nightmare, eyes wide open.
His gaze settled on Hermione.
The girl was still here. He was confused as to which parts of his memory were dream or reality.
He was at a complete loss of words.
"Hey", she said, breaking the silence.
"Hey."
"I fixed your mug."
He stared at her awkwardly.
"Your cup, I mean!" she corrected quickly, swinging the ceramic mug around for emphasis. "-Not your face. You know, sorry. Oh jeez..."
You'd think nothing could be stranger than pulling shrieking baby-shaped roots out of a plant pot, or giant eight-foot spiders, but this beat anything she'd ever encountered in the wizarding world. Hermione really was trying her best to act normal, to be undeterred by the situation. She put faith in the fact that Michael must have had millions of run-ins with crazy fans, and was hopefully more comfortable and adept at dealing with this kind of thing.
Michael finally cracked a smile. Then his face scrunched up in laughter, and the wave of girlish giggles washed away the awkwardness between them.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh also.
Michael started to sit up, found his fedora and shoved it back on his head, and managed to stand up. Albeit, a bit shaky, but the man was on his feet again.
He smoothed out his shirt as his giggles died down.
"How long have I been out for?"
The question bored into her as they made meaningful eye contact.
"Only about a minute. Couldn't actually let you sleep on the walkway outside your front door."
Michael laughed again. "Gosh, that would be a fright, wouldn't it?"
"Speaking of which, where is everyone? My research indicated that there are always kids running around and charity functions..."
"Your research?" Michael raised an eyebrow in jest; this girl was funny. He answered her nonetheless. "Uh, no event today. Everyone is decorating and prepping for Halloween. I'm very excited."
Michael punctuated the statement with a flexing of his knitted fingers and a ball-to-toes roll of his feet. Not to mention the grin on his face.
Hermione smiled sincerely at his bubbly personality.
"Oh good. I'm glad you're excited! You'll be even more excited when I tell you why I'm here."
"Why you broke in, you mean?" Michael corrected, but still good-naturedly. He knew that fans never did this kind of thing out of malice, only love. No reason to be too upset.
"Let's go inside and I'll tell you all about it. I'll be amazed if this won't top the best days of your life. Trust me."
Hermione seemed pretty sure of herself and Michael almost blanched again. She turned to walk, but when he didn't follow, she stopped.
"Miss Granger, was it?"
She nodded. "Hermione, yes."
"Hermione," he revised, "I think you're a bit young for me, no?"
Deer caught in highlights.
"Oh no, silly!" she declared shrilly, flailing her hands and that cup around to bat the absurd notion away, trying to keep from laughing at the same time. "I'm not talking about that!"
He pointed her with an incredulous look. That’s why most fangirls wanted personal time with him...
"You're cute, but don't flatter yourself. Just come inside so next time you collapse, you can feint on a soft couch instead."
"Riiight," he agreed sarcastically. Then he remembered her falling from the sky. (He really would have been more courtly throughout their introduction had it not been for that.) "Actually, does this have anything to do with, uh..." How to phrase this so he wouldn't sound crazier than most already thought him to be? He settled on gesturing up and down vaguely with an index finger.
Hermione understood nonetheless. "Me falling from a portkey?"
"Falling from a, pardon?"
"A portkey. I really should explain everything while you're sitting. I assure you it's for your own good."
Michael shrugged and motioned for her to go ahead towards his home. Sure, why not. She was a teenager, how much harm could she cause? If she hadn't strangled him to death in a hug yet, what could be the harm? Plus, he really needed to figure out if he had head-trauma, what-with seeing all this impossible stuff happening today.
He held the front door for Hermione to step inside. It opened to a beautifully sunny hallway, clad in wood and statues; with the major feature being a staircase almost as large as the main one at Hogwarts.
She wiped her feet courteously on the welcome-mat before stepping inside.
It was evident once inside that Halloween preparations were in full swing at Neverland. Pumpkins and ghoulish decorations were in no short supply, and there was a wonderful pumpkin and cinnamon scent wafting in from what must have been the kitchen.
"You have a beautiful home."
"Thank you. Would you like a tour?"
Tempting as that sounded, she had to decline. "No, that's ok. I'm here on business actually. Can we talk somewhere privately?"
Michael smiled kindly. "Of course," he said. Inside however, he was surprised she turned down the tour. Fans never turn down the house tour. Especially with his closet of costumes.
He really hoped that whatever business this headstrong teenager could possibly be on didn't involve her parents suing him for child endangerment. It wasn't his fault she'd fallen out of the sky on his property.
He led her to his office, but couldn't help pointing out his autographed Shirley Temple portrait along the way, and that through the library window she'd be able to see the zookeeper walk the elephant in a few minutes if she wanted to stay.
She politely declined this as well, but assured him she was indeed tempted.
Michael's office was another wooden room filled with many windows, and even more stacks of junk. One look and it was easy to see he was either a hoarder or afraid of a cleaning lady to help organize all his stuff for him; because there were piles upon piles of presents (from fans she assumed) and papers and toys, and handwritten notes taped to multiple random surfaces. It all clouded out most of the light that should have made for a very sunny room, but was in fact rather dimly lit.
Hermione encouraged him to sit on the couch while she paced. Unusual as that may be to him, he obliged her.
"So what's this business you've got planned then? You've got me curious, young lady."
She walked back to the door to shut it. Just in case. She needed to not be overheard, for his sake and for hers.
When she turned back to face him, she had a determined look on her face.
"Michael, I don't know how to say this, but I'm going to try as best as possible. Ok?" She paused. "What if I were to tell you you're not crazy, you really did see me falling out of the sky?"
He leaned forward in his seat. She had his undivided attention.
"Oh, and here's your mug." She had been holding on to it since they'd started walking.
He took it from her. "So this really was broken?"
"Yes."
"And there's obviously no trace of glue or cracks...?"
"Yup."
"You gonna tell me how you did it?" His eyebrows neared his hairline in amusement.
"I'm gonna have to if I want you to help me later today." She chuckled.
Ignoring the question of 'Help with what later today?' completely, he opted for "Awesome!" instead.
"Michael, do you believe in magic?"
He grinned joyfully. "Absolutely!"
"Not like card tricks. But real magic?" Hermione questioned.
"I believe in creating magic, yes."
"Not performing, or healing of the human condition, or rainbows, or the power of love."
Actually, since being friends with The Boy Who Lived, she'd have to retract that last example.
"You know what I mean..." She trailed off.
Michael frowned slightly. He wasn't sure what kind of answer she expected. He didn't want to be forced into admitting magic wasn't real. He touched magic every day.
"I believe in magic. It comes in many forms."
Hermione smirked at his courageous steadfastness. He wasn't wrong, and she admired that.
Ok Michael, we'll see if you really mean that.
Without further ado, she took the mug back from his hands and threw it to the ground, smashing it to pieces.
He gasped. "What are- ?"
Hermione cut him off with a flick of her wand and very calmly said, "Reparo."
The ceramic pieces that had a second ago been scattered hopelessly all over the floor, sprung into action, whirling around fitting themselves back together, and in the next second the mug lay at Michael's feet, good as new.
Fascinated, he picked it up and inspected it. Not a single crack.
He looked up at the girl holding the magic wand. A giant smile had plastered itself on Michael's face. "Wow! That's amazing! You're very good."
"Thank you."
"Can you do that again?"
"Sure. You can break it this time if you like."
Michael wasn't one to pass up that kind of invitation. He threw the large cup to the ground, and as before it shattered into more than a dozen pieces with a loud smash.
"Can you teach me how to fix it this time?"
"Unfortunately you're not a wizard, so I can't. But I can tell you how I do it."
Michael looked disappointed to hear such news, but only for a second.
"It's a combination of my wand and the spell I use." She flicked her wand the same way she had a moment ago, and repeated, "Reparo."
The cup went flying back together again. Fixed.
"Wow, really? That is so cool!"
With another wave of her wand, Hermione lit a small but bright blue fire into the cup. The flames were contained within the cup and the ceramic was still cool to the touch. She handed the flame to Michael.
"Oh wow," he exclaimed happily.
She didn't think she'd ever seen a muggle this happy over such strange occurrences.
"Bluebell flames," she explained. "Keep that one if you like. Just be careful, because water won't put it out."
Michael looked up from the small dancing flame he held, and couldn't help from smiling still. Even if this was a dream, it was amazing.
She took the mug from him and set it down on his desk. When she turned back to face him she handed him one of his own pens.
"Hold this."
Michael seemed more than amicable to holding anything she handed him as he looked on with a childlike wonderment at Hermione's actions.
Next, she took a box of chocolates off a pile of presents and transfigured it into a small fishbowl.
"Can you tell me what I'm about to turn that pen into?"
Michael had a guess. "No way!" he exclaimed incredulously, just like a child would.
He was right. With a complicated whish of her wand, Hermione turned the pen into a living wriggling orange goldfish. It sat in Michael's palm and he raised it to within an inch from his face for a closer look.
"NO. WAY," he said. When he looked back at her, she'd already filled the fishbowl with water (with no visible sink or tap in sight) and he dropped the little creature inside to watch it swim about.
"That is so cool. That is just too cool. You're amazing. I've never seen a magician this good."
"I'm a witch. Not a magician."
Michael stared blankly for a moment. "They all say it's real. You're trying to say it's actually real?"
"Yup."
Michael paused. "So you can do any trick, without setting it up first?"
"I'm still in school learning. Some stuff is impossible. Some stuff is illegal to do. And other stuff I still have yet to learn. But I can do some pretty cool stuff. Comes in really handy."
"I see. Can you by any chance turn your hair blue?"
Hermione laughed. "Um, yeah, that's simple enough. Though I wouldn't really like to have blue hair."
As a substitute for his wish, she pointed her wand at a red jacket on a mannequin a few feet away, and before Michael's very eyes the jacket had turned blue.
"Wow, coooooool!" His eyes completely lit up with joy and he hurried past Hermione to touch the fabric whose color-change he'd just witnessed.
"So, you believe me now? Magic is real."
"I KNEW IT!" he shouted suddenly and pointed a sharp index finger. "I just knew it!"
Michael was looking her in the eye with that brilliant grin of his on his face. She really seemed for real from what he could judge. Enough for him to believe her. Even if this was a dream, it was a dream come true.
Hermione chuckled. If there's any muggle that was likely to have that reaction, it was going to be Michael Jackson.
"Oh man, and you can fly too?"
"Well, no, not really. I was riding a portkey. It's a device that transports you from one place to another. If you agree to help me, you can ride one with me."
Michael was caught between being suspicious of whatever it was she was going to ask of him, which is why she was evidently here, and pure excitement over the possibility of what sounded like a teleporting device.
"That would be awesome. Too awesome," he said happily, "but I gotta ask, and I'm sure that's probably the next thing you're gonna tell me --what's the business you're here on?"
"Ok, good. I'm glad you're not kicking me out of your office so far," she chuckled and rested against Michael's large desk.
He laughed along with her.
"So the first thing you really need to understand is that magic really is real, that I'm not crazy, this isn't a dream, and you're not crazy either. Got that?"
Michael nodded enthusiastically, even if he wasn't 100% sure about it all. She seemed pretty believable so far though.
"The next thing you need to know is that I'm currently a student at one of the largest magical schools in Europe. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's located in England."
"That explains your accent."
"I'm in my third year of studies, and I've got a lot on my plate this year, including organizing our annual Halloween Ball." She paused, looking to see if he was following. "I'd really like it if you could be the performer for us this year."
Ah. So this was about a concert. She wanted a private concert apparently.
When he didn't reply, just sat back down on the couch in concentration, she took a step forward to try and explain better.
"I'm not doing it as a last resort, I promise. Ever since I got my letter to Hogwarts and found out about the wizarding world, I've wished I could bring your music with me. We have our own bands and singers, but I like you better. And I want to introduce you to a world where few know your music. And it doesn't matter to me if you can't apparate or transfigure clocks into frogs, I think you're the best."
Michael looked at her as if those were the first real words she'd spoken all morning. "You mean that?"
She had really touched him. Better than singers with real magic?
"I mean it."
"That's really kind, thank you."
He reached for her hand tentatively as she sat beside him. He tried to be brave and look her in the eye and not cry.
Better than singers with real magic.
"So what do you think about helping me put on a concert for my school tomorrow night? There's gonna be more than a thousand students and staff that have never heard of you. If there's any muggle that can knock their socks off, it's you."
Michael took some time to respond, and when he did, he giggled and blinked back a tear. "Did you just call me a muggle?"
"It means you're not a wizard or witch."
"So everyone at Hogwarts is a wizard or witch?"
"Yup."
"And they don't know who I am?"
"Nope, not really. Not unless they were born to muggles like I was, or take a very pragmatic approach to Muggle Studies. Speaking of which, your showing up to our Halloween Ball would also be my extra credit for my Muggle Studies class. So you'd really be helping me out."
"I'm guessing I'm gonna have to come up with a good excuse of why I can't be in my own home for all the Halloween festivities we're planning here..." he thought out loud.
"Not really. Don't tell, but I can turn back time to send you back and you don't have to miss a thing. No one will know you're gone if that would make it easier for you to agree to come with me."
Michael thought it over. His life here could wait for a day or two or however long this adventure would take. It could always wait, that wasn't an issue. He was more worried about performing for an audience that had no idea who he was. That was truly unique. And it was perhaps the most enticing part of it all.
"So Halloween for us muggles is the same as Halloween for the wizard world?"
"Yup, same concept. Except that we have real ghosts and eight-foot spiders and such."
"Real ghosts? Really? What about zombies?" Michael had that curious child-like look on his face again. His grin was as broad as she'd ever seen it. It was endearing.
"Yeah, real ghosts. I'll introduce you to some if you like. As for zombies, yes but not really. Inferi are not really like the undead muggles think of."
"Gosh, there's so many questions I want to ask you..."
"Well save them for later and I’ll answer as many of them as I can. If you want to do this with me, we don't have much time to plan. Halloween is tomorrow after all."
Michael chuckled. "Are you that sure that I'll agree, or that bad at planning this Ball you speak of, that you've left asking the main performer until the day before?"
Hermione frowned. "While yes, you would be the only performer, and yes, I would be sunk without you, it's not because I have poor judgment or planning that I'm coming to you the day before. Just to let you know, it took three special permissions from our Ministry of Magic to even allow me to come here or make any of it possible. And our school Headmaster was very accommodating of such a request from me. Anyone else would have laughed in my face for trying to get a muggle entertainer. It's completely unheard of, you know."
"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way. You're putting me in a position where I can't really say no, can I?"
Hermione's brows unknitted. "That wasn't the intention, but I have strong evidence of your personality to believe that there's a very good chance you would in fact agree."
Michael smiled and got to his feet. He was thinking now.
"Ok, so Halloween themed, right?"
"Yup. I want to call it the Thriller Ball. So I'm kind of hoping you'll do Thriller, as it's more than event-appropriate."
Michael smiled. "Sure thing, if you like. How many songs are we talking?"
"Maybe a handful. Up to you. No pressure to do a full concert line-up, don't worry."
"Hmm... I've been working on some new stuff which happens to fall into the Halloween theme... it wouldn't be too much to ask if I were to do a few new songs?" Michael looked hopeful.
Hermione was indeed surprised, but she didn't mind at all. New never-before-seen Michael Jackson material? That was the stuff of legend for most muggles.
"Sure, not at all. It's not like you're playing to an audience that knows what to expect from you. Fedora, sparkly glove, moonwalk... they don't know any of that stuff. Most of them. I'm sure there's gonna be about five percent that will go insane for anything new from you though."
"But they wouldn't tell, right?"
"We're bound by law to not tell anyone we exist, so I think you're safe." She laughed. "And if they do, our Magical Law Enforcement will obliviate them."
"Pardon?"
"It means they'll wipe the memory of any muggle that knows too much."
While she knew his original worry had to do with his unreleased material somehow leaking, which would indeed be a big deal in the muggle world, she quickly chose to avoid discussing the matter any further as it may involve the unpleasant discussion of his own eventual obliviation after this ordeal.
Thankfully Michael hadn't picked up on the clue. He was too busy planning in his head while pacing his office.
"Anyway, so any songs you like. And I can arrange for any effects you may want too, so think up what you want your performance to look like."
Michael turned to her. "Ok, well, first I need a microphone-"
"No, you don't. There's a spell for that."
Michael's eyebrows flew up to his hairline, as they seemed to do at his delight or surprise. "Really?"
She found it amusing how he asked, Really?
"Yes, really. It will project your voice the way a microphone normally would. Here, I'll show you."
She laid a Sound-Proofing Charm over Michael's office, and then when she was sure he wouldn't jump out of his skin at her proximity, lightly prodded his neck with her wand tip. "Sonorus."
"WHAT DOES-" Michael found himself yelling his question at her and stopped midway, trying to whisper instead. He was still really loud. "I guess this is what that does?"
"Yup. Go nuts. See how you like your voice. No one will hear. I sound-proofed your office."
He grinned. Awesome.
He started off with an easy beat-box rhythm, and Hermione recognized it instantly as the iconic beat of Billie Jean. Then Michael began adding in the lyrics also.
Holy crap, he sounded good.
Michael was pleased also. The magic amplification of his voice was perfectly tuned to his voice. With such short notice, it was a relief he wouldn't have to worry about his voice not being in top shape, because he had to admit, he sounded good.
He played around with singing a few different levels and pitches to grow more accustomed to the effect and in the end was very satisfied. Hermione sat back and enjoyed the little preview, and when he finally asked her to un-amplify his voice, he had to wave a hand in front of her face to wake her from the beautiful daydream.
"Oh, right, sorry. Quietus."
Michael cleared his throat and his voice was back to normal.
"Thank you. Wow. That is too cool."
"No problem. Anything else you need? Spotlight maybe?" It was a less than subtle hint at his usual performance of Billie Jean.
"Maybe. What do wizard performers normally do? What kind of bells and whistles get your kind of crowd going?"
Hermione frowned. That's not exactly the direction she wanted Michael's wizarding debut to go in, but it was up to him. "There's usually a lot of smoke bombs, and screeching instruments you've never heard of. And fireworks."
"I suppose we can use some of that."
"Michael, don't take this the wrong way, but I was really hoping you'd let your imagination run wild with this one. No pressure. And no need to do what we expect on stage either."
Michael smiled. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page. I don't for a second expect to do what you've seen before."
He winked at her and she felt relieved.
For the next couple hours, they talked and planned the show intensely. It was a beautiful, heartfelt collaboration. Him asking questions; her telling him how they could manage to do certain things.
She was impressed by his ability to create ideas and images she'd never even dreamt of, and they problem-solved how to make them happen.
He was completely in his element. He gestured with his hands emphatically and danced about to demonstrate different moves. He was innovating on a level that had never been accessible before. He wished all the planning of his shows could be like this. It was incredibly freeing not to be limited by gravity or physics. It opened up a plethora of unique possibilities. He was getting more and more excited the more they talked.
When Hermione finally looked at the clock, she warned him it was getting time to leave.
Michael had been talking half to himself, half to her, very quickly, spitting out ideas and plans and what-if's, and wore the biggest smile. Suddenly, the thought of their brain-storming session coming to an end was almost like heartbreak.
"Wait, you have to leave?"
"No, you're coming with me. Right?"
She frowned. He understood that he was going to come with her, right?
The part of Michael that believed this was all too much fun to be real kicked in. He didn't want to let go of this dream. It was too beautiful to be given such an opportunity, and too tragic to find out it wasn't real after all. He wanted to tell her to stay a little longer. They could plan this magic event, even if he'd never get to perform it. He could still dream about it and make it real that way.
Don't take this away. Not yet.
"Of course I'm coming."
The look on his face was disjointed from his true feelings. He felt like their time together had come to an end. There was no way that Hogwarts and wizards existed. He knew he was gullible; and even when he knew it wasn't real, still liked to absorb himself into fantasies. He lived in half a fantasy. So please, just allow him that pleasure. He wasn't hurting anyone by living that way.
Hermione took a step towards him. Something had changed, soured in him; it was recognizable.
"Hey Michael," she said, and dared to take his hand. "You know I'm serious, right?"
"Of course," he smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He squeezed her hand and she could see that he was on the verge of tears.
"There's a portkey for us, in fifteen minutes. And you're gonna spend the night in Hogwarts, and then tomorrow night we really will do the concert we've been talking about."
He looked at her. He didn't really know what to believe. But he found her insistence to be the type of optimism that makes you cry for the implausibility of its actuality. How do you crush someone's plans for a Utopia? It was crushing a part of his soul to know that she really believed in this fantasy as well. When this ended, he foresaw he would be the one hugging her goodbye as he left her behind in a mental ward. Best case, he'd have to tell her parents their daughter needed psychiatric evaluation.
"What do your parents do?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue.
"They're both dentists," she answered with a quizzical look. Why did people always ask about her parents?
"I see."
That just tied the pieces together tighter. This couldn't be real. The poor dentists' daughter was mentally ill. Or maybe he was the one that was ill. Maybe they were both sad lonely people clinging desperately to childish fantasies. He didn't like having to wake up, but either way, reality was settling in. Even after all he had seen today, and even with her story holding steadfast. Even as he looked down at his new goldfish and blue flame. He didn't know how she did all the things she did, but he knew what other people would think of him if he spoke of any of this.
Wacko Jacko.
He hoped that when he awoke in the morning, he would still have those few presents to remind him of his time with Hermione. If it wasn't for her crazy wizard stories, he could tell she was a brilliant and very intelligent young woman.
"Come on, Michael. Go grab anything you want to bring with us really quickly. We have to go soon."
She prodded him until he, heartbroken as he was, went into his closet and changed his red shirt for a more glittering jacket.
Fedora set on his head, makeup in place, hair in place, white v-neck t-shirt, black trousers, white socks, and his signature loafers on his feet. He topped it off with a beautiful new army-style jacket. It was a deep burgundy-red velvet with an extraordinary amount of gold frogging, metal accents, and gold armband as well.
He put it on for her. He wore it for her. The way he did many things for others when in fact they made him want to break down in tears. Otherwise he wouldn't have had the courage to continue this illusion they'd lived in since morning.
She complimented his choice of jacket, and settled for his hum-drum attitude, because she knew once he arrived at Hogwarts, there would be no more denying it. He would have to buck up and believe it all.
Hermione practically had to drag him to show her where the kitchen was, as they were running short on time.
There were two chefs cooking away, who nodded politely at Michael and Hermione, but kept to themselves. Hermione spotted a series of delicious-smelling pies cooling on a kitchen counter, and then spotted what she was actually looking for. The purple oven mitt was tucked into one of the oven door-handles. She excused herself as she took the item and quickly led Michael back to his office. She locked the door once more.
"Ok Michael. This is our portkey to Hogwarts. Hold on to it with me and don't let go until I tell you. Can you do that?"
"Yes." He looked ready to cry as he held in his hands the same large mitten as his new friend.
"I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?"
"I trust you," he replied as he looked into her eyes.
He trusted in the fact that she believed this to be true. And he tried to discard any false hope she had created in him of actually visiting anything called the Wizarding World.
"Ok, hold on and don't let go." She looked at the clock and counted down from five.
He closed his eyes.
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