What Mad-Eye Moody said the day I met you

Concerning the title, if confused, I have neither written a fanfiction or re-invented JK's character, I have simply written a reading protagonist. And everything starts the day she meets the guy with the pink balloons....
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1. What Mad-Eye Moody said the day I met you

Ever since I learned to read, I’ve remembered past events by which book I was reading at the moment. Like back when I was seven and I my parents told me they were getting divorced, I was reading Magic’s Pawn by Mercedes Lackey, ironically enough I was in the middle of the part where Vanyel and Tylendel finds out, they are meant to be together. The only happy part in that book made me feel sick.

Or when I was eleven and they told me that my mum had crashed the car with my brother in it, I had just started reading The Fellowship of the Ring, and Bilbo was escaping the Sackville-Baggins’s and kept singing “The road goes ever on and on”. This sort of annoyed me quite a lot. The road had ended for me, but he just kept walking, like nothing had ever happened.

There was also when my dad kicked me out on my Eighteenth birthday, then I was reading Brisingr by Paolini, just where Eragon gets a new sword and he leaves Du Weldenvarden to kill Galbatorix’ armed peasants, backed by his blue, female dragon.

But most important was the day, when I sat in the park reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix with a tree in my bag – “’Well, congratulations,’ said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, ‘authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you…’” – and something pink caught my eye. It was a bouquet of balloons with a guy in the other end, frantically holding to the line while they fought to reach the sky. Personally I understood them – there looked nice up there, nicer than here anyway – but one look at his desperate expression, I sighed and rose.

“Need a hand?” I said, stretching said limb towards him.

“Yes, please!” he breathed and “thank you,” as I helped him hive them away from the path to tie them to a branch. Some of them punctured in the process, but we agreed that it was better than all of them floating away.

“What were you doing with all those anyway?” I grinned at him.

“I was supposed to deliver them to a girl, a Valentine’s gift, but I got a text from the boss to quit it and get rid of them. I reckon I could’ve let them fly, but I wanted to give them to someone else.” There was a slight pause. “So, do you want them?”

“Not really, no.” We giggled a bit, looking at the balloons. “We could also just leave them there,” I continued. “It is Valentine, people will just think it’s some sort of decoration.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, both of knowing I wasn’t, standing there in the otherwise entirely pink-free garden.

“I left my book over there,” I pointed. “I think it’s beginning to feel lonely.”

“I really have to get going anyway, but…”

“But what?”

“I’d like to see that book of yours. Want to show me another day?”


“Till tomorrow, then?”

“Sure.” He walked towards the park exit but turned to beam at me before disappearing from my sight.


I could hardly remember what I’d just read as I walked home, smiling broadly to anyone who crossed my path and not caring the least about the half-hearted, insure grins I got back. I was glad that the next thing that happened in the book wasn’t particularly happy, because it cooled me down a bit, being sad, I mean, though it didn’t take the least off my excitement.

The next morning I almost forgot wrapping The Order of the Phoenix in a plastic bag before placing it in my back-pack – I couldn’t have it injured – when I hurried out the door and ran all the way. He wasn’t there yet, but I kept my disappointment down. I hadn’t bothered with breakfast before leaving, and the grass was still wet with dew. He was probably still asleep, I thought before I sat down to read on, right beneath those few pink balloons, that had survived through the night.


I shrieked and dropped the book into my lap, where it slammed shut. “Oh, I, I didn’t mean to, I…” he said apologetically, awkwardly patting my shoulder.

“Shut up and sit down,” I said gently, and he lowered himself till he sat on the ground besides me.



I’m sitting in my white dress, my dad and the chauffeur getting impatient.

“One more time, I have to finish the last chapter,” I say, not bothering to remove my gaze from the book more than enough to see the car turn away from the church again. I chose the book carefully a couple of days ago, so I could read the last chapter of Pride and Prejudice today.

“We’re already over ten minutes late, sweetheart. Next time we drive in!” dad says, looking sternly at me. But it turns out perfectly. At the same moment we reach the church, I exclaim “done!” and the book disappears from my hand. I am shoved out of the car, and dad pulls me gently to the door, where the bride’s maids line up behind me and the kind look on my father’s face leads me towards the vicar and the guy in the other end of the pink balloons.

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