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Dahlia was never one to let a challenge get the best of her.
She passed the obstacles defending the Sorcerer’s Stone when she was 11 (although she certainly had Hermione to thank for most of that), she taught the entire DA defensive magic after they realized that Umbridge wouldn’t, and she went back in time to save her godfather (and a hippogriff) from an unjust death. Dahlia knew that she could overcome any challenge that Fate threw at her.
That was until she met the homeless rose-crusher man.
After their initial confrontation (and subsequent meal), the man disappeared for over a week. Dahlia was nearly convinced she had made him up. However, he eventually came back with a defeated look in his eyes and a growling stomach. Every time he came back Dahlia offered him a smile, led him into the house, and cooked for them. Dahlia isn’t sure what possessed her to summon her inner Molly Weasley and keep taking care of the amnesiac that crushed her best roses, but something about him made Dahlia want to keep him around. Something about him made Dahlia truly believe that he was meant for more, so she kept feeding him and he kept coming around. Nothing about their odd arrangement changed until over a month after they first met.
By that time, Dahlia had started keeping extra food around the house in anticipation of the man’s arrival. When he showed up on her doorstep a few hours before their usual dinner time, she sent him to the shower and started gathering ingredients to make shepherd’s pie. She was so caught up in her work that she didn’t notice the man reenter the room until he started peeling the potatoes. When she finally looked in his direction, she automatically grabbed her wand and pointed it between his eyes (although she was proud to say that she stopped short of actually hexing him.) For his part, the man looked calm and unbothered; he just continued to peel the potatoes as if a crazy woman wasn’t pointing a stick at him.
“Oh, Merlin I’m sorry!” Dahlia hastily apologized with wide eyes, “You just caught me off guard.”
The man said nothing, he just continued to peel the potatoes.
So it’s a Bad Day, Dahlia thought grimly as she resumed her own cooking.
Since their meetings began, the man had what Dahlia had taken to calling Good Days and Bad Days. On Good Days, he would meet her eyes and answer her questions (although, the answer was always the same.) On Bad Days he would be withdrawn and tense, too caught up in whatever was going on in his mind to pay attention to the outside world (Dahlia wondered what he had been through, but it seemed like neither of them knew so she tried not to pry.) The man had yet to become violent with Dahlia, but that didn’t stop her from being tense on Bad Days; she was at least 67% sure that the man wouldn’t intentionally hurt her, but she couldn’t take any risks when he could potentially go after Teddy too. Hence, Dahlia made sure her wand was within easy reach. However, no amount of war instincts or defense training could have helped her handle the situation she found herself in a few hours later.
The pair were at the dining room table eating their shepherd’s pie. Teddy was staying with Mia for the night (the younger girl insisted that she wanted to spend time with her “little brother” and that she had no ulterior motive whatsoever, but Dahlia was skeptical), so the duo was alone. Dahlia had just tucked into her meal when she heard the telltale ring of the oven timer go off. Before she could blink or explain the situation to the man, he reacted. Dahlia saw him tense before he started moving. He moved quicker than Dahlia thought was humanly possible and vaulted over the table. Before she could even blink, he had tackled her to the ground. Dahlia automatically reached for her wand in her back pocket (Mad-Eye’s advice be damned) before she realized what was happening. Then she took a moment to register the situation she found herself in. The oven timer was still going off, she was on the ground with 200+ pounds of weirdly muscular (and from her position Dahlia could confirm that he was definitely muscular) homeless man on top of her, and frankly couldn’t tell if she was being attacked or not. Slowly, she moved her head from where it was tucked against the man’s chest to get a better look at his face and she paused. The man was looking towards the kitchen, alarm clearly written on his face, and his left arm was raised as if to shield the pair.
“Oh,” Dahlia breathed quietly.
Cautiously, she extracted one of her arms from the man’s iron grip and slowly brought it to his face. She laid her hand gently across his cheek, causing the man to finally rip his gaze away from the kitchen and look at her with cold, expressionless eyes.
“It’s fine,” Dahlia said clearly. “It’s just the timer in the kitchen. There’s no threat. We’re in the dining room of my house. Everyone’s fine. There’s no danger here.”
Dahlia continued to whisper assurances to the man as he slowly began to calm down. Just when she thought the situation had de-escalated, the man suddenly looked at her with wide, hunted eyes before moving as fast as he possibly could away from her. Before she could say anything, the man was gone.
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The next time the man showed up (which was a month after The Incident), Dahlia made no mention of what had happened. Judging by the man’s defensive attitude, trying to assure him that she wasn’t mad or that what he was feeling was valid would only make him leave, and Merlin knew Dahlia wanted him to stay. With that in mind, she continued to help him the only way she knew how, by giving him a warm meal and somehow safe to stay for at least a few hours.
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As months passed the man became James and he and Dahlia started to understand each other. Dahlia knew that James didn’t like loud noises or cold weather, and, if anyone coughed, he would regard them with the most concerned expression Dahlia had ever seen (she assumed that there was a story there, but James still didn’t remember much so she didn’t bother prying.) In turn, James knew that Dahlia’s favorite color was emerald green (but any sort of green light would send her into a panic), he knew that her favorite dessert was treacle tart (and he knew that she had never quite been able to perfect the recipe for it), and he knew that her family was the most important thing to her (yet he seemed unable to grasp that he was part of that family.)
After a few months of knowing each other, James started to open up to Dahlia about his past, or lack thereof. James barely remembered anything about himself or what he had been through. He seemed to be slowly regaining his memories, however, because, every time he came to see Dahlia (which was more and more frequent as time passed), he had another story to tell her. Trying her best to reciprocate the trust he placed in her, Dahlia told James about her parents, Voldemort, and the Wizarding World at large. James hadn’t seemed all that surprised at the existence of magic (although he was fascinated by the idea of flying cars) and he was a great listener. Somehow, the man Dahlia found passed out in her garden had become her closest friend and confidant. She found that she didn’t mind.
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“Jaaaaaames!” Dahlia slurred, “I have a great idea!”
James regarded Dahlia’s drunken statement with a skeptical raised brow, but Dahlia was not to be deterred. She stood up from where she had been laying on a picnic blanket splayed across the grass and faced James, who had remained seated.
“Don’t give me that look, James, this is going to be brilliant.”
Dahlia left James splayed across the grass and quickly made her way back to the house. Dahlia couldn’t quite remember whose idea it had been to get drunk and have a midnight picnic, but she still stood by the idea. She stumbled around the house for a few minutes before finally pulling her old school truck out from where she’d stashed it in the hall closet. After spending almost ten minutes rummaging around in it, she finally found what she was looking for. She quickly closed the truck, not bothering to put it back in its rightful place, and made her way back outside to James.
“You’re going to love this, James!” Dahlia assured the man and she plopped back down on the picnic blanket.
“Love what?” James asked her dryly.
“This!” Dahlia exclaimed as she handed him a small object wrapped in cloth.
James looked at her skeptically before carefully unwrapping the object. Inside the cloth was the small telescope she had purchased in the vain hope that it would help her bring up her Astronomy marks (it didn’t.) James gave her a confused look, to which she responded,
“It’s a telescope! We can look at the stars!”
Dahlia scooted closer to James on the small blanket so their shoulders were touching. She gently guided the telescope towards James’ eyes, and, when he finally looked through it, she heard his faint gasp as he took in the night sky in gorgeous detail for the first time. She spent some time pointing out the different stars and constellations that she remembered from class, but stumbled when she got to a particular one.
“That’s the Dog Star.”
James, sensing a story, looked at her with a comforting expression.
“My godfather,” Dahlia started, “was named after the Dog Star. His name was Sirius. He was the closest thing I had to a father since my dad died when I was a baby. Sirius died a few years ago. It was my fault.”
James frowned and carefully set the telescope down before turning on his side to face Dahlia. Following suit, the girl turned to face him as well.
“Did you kill him?”
“What, no!” Dahlia exclaimed. “Why would you think that? Why would I kill him? I loved him!”
“Well,” James said carefully, “if you didn’t kill him then how was it your fault?”
“I was stupid and reckless and it led to his death.”
“Did you plan his death? Did you want him to die?”
“No.”
“Were you trying to do the right thing?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s not your fault,” James said simply. “I doubt he would have wanted you to blame yourself, so you should forgive yourself, for him.”
Dahlia felt tears welling up in her eyes. Sure, Hermione, Ron, and Lupin had told her similar sentiments various times before, but something about hearing James say it made Dahlia truly believe for the first time that it wasn’t her fault. Before she could think better of it, she launched herself forward and enveloped James in a tight embrace. After tucking her face against his chest she muttered,
“Thank you, James.”
“No problem, Dahlia.”
“I’m sorry I’m a weepy drunk.”
“It’s okay.”
“Please stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
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Dahlia regarded the man in front of her with a calculating gaze. James, for his part, stood still under her scrutiny. She circled him for a few minutes before deciding that he looked presentable. She backed up and gave him a winning smile before saying,
“I think you’re officially ready for your first day on the job!”
James, in his six-foot muscular glory, stood before her in khakis and a pale yellow shirt that proudly proclaimed “Mauraders’ Flowers” on the left breast. His cold frown alarmingly contrasted his cheerful attire, but Dahlia was sure the customers would grow to love him in no time (she certainly had.)
“Mia will be here in about 15 minutes, so you won’t be alone for too long,” Dahlia told him as she got the store ready for opening time. “Mrs. Hawkings is coming in at 11:00 to pick up an order of roses, but, other than that, you shouldn’t be terribly busy. Remember, if you need anything, my number-”
“Dahlia,” James said clearly, “I have this handled.”
Dahlia gave him a fond smile before replying, “I know you do. I trust you.”
James smiled back, and Dahlia forgot how to breathe for a moment.
An hour later, Dahlia got a call from a frantic Mia telling her that James had thrown a customer through the window.