November 27th, 3 P.M.

Here was a face that not too many looked forward to seeing.  Many equated a Nero Donovan Monroe sighting as the equivalent to one of the forbidden curses.  Though not all realized the peculiar connection between Nero and death, most knew that something was very, very wrong with the 27 year old man.  Take for instance, his appearance here in Diagon Alley...lingering outside of Madam Malkin's.  Nero wore no robes and found no need for such objects.  Currently Nero had squatted down, prying at one loose cobblestone in the walkway with a short, curved blade.  After finally tearing it away from its foundation, Nero turned the stone over in his free hand, examining it from every angle.  Nero's blue eyes turned to the heavens above and his brow lowered, narrowing the gap between his upper and lower eyelids to squint up at the grey skies overhead.  It was still a rather bright day, but a storm was on the horizon.

"Come to me."

Who Nero spoke to was anyone's guess, but there was no answer.  Not yet.  The man would remain there, clad in a drab, olive shirt, a pair brown carpenter pants, brown boots, and a dark blue scarf he lifted over the bridge of his nose and wrapped around loosely to fall over his shoulders.  If not for his facial features, he would have appeared to be of Arabian heritage moreso than English.  He remained hunched down low outside of the shop, staring off blankly into space, with little bits of ink carved into the visible portions of his wrists and forearms due to his sleeves being rolled up. 

Outfit

Getting a little holiday shopping done early had always been a good thing in Moira’s mind, and she was starting at Madam Malkin’s planning to purchase a new scarf for her mother.  She was scheduled to work the overnight shift that evening and she had some time before she would be expected at St. Mungo’s.  Looking up at the sky as she walked down the sidewalk she made a note in her mind to grab an umbrella when she stopped home before work as it seemed a storm was approaching.

If she had spent a moment longer staring at the sky she might have had one of her klutzy moments and tumbled over a man crouched on the sidewalk just in front of the shop.  However, she had been lucky and started to change her path to move around him when she got a good look at his face.  She was still a few paces away from him, but she heard him say. Come to me, and it seemed he was speaking to no one in particular.

Her brow furrowed as she stopped walking watching him for a moment.  She knew him.  He was a couple years older then her, but he had been a fellow Ravenclaw while she was at Hogwarts.  The blank expression on his face confused her though…this was not how she remembered him as a teenager.  It took a moment, but his name finally entered her mind and she approached him carefully.

“Nero?” she asked.  “Nero Monroe, right?  You were in Ravenclaw back in Hogwarts?”

Normalcy was such a far cry from Nero's mind.  Shopping for a loved one or toting an umbrella for an impending storm...things like that simply did not occupy Nero's thoughts. 

"She's almost here..."

If Moira had suspected that Nero was talking to her initially, his use of the third person pronoun in her presence might have cleared that misconception up.  One might have expected Nero's stormy blue eyes to roll over toward Moira as she spoke to him, but his gaze remained unturned, unflinching.  His lips slowly curled at the corner into a somewhat off kilter, amused smile.

"You pretend not to know the one...or to have vague recollection, when all others are false.  Do you believe in the truth before you?"

Nero slowly rose to his full height, standing just over 6 feet tall.  Had he responded to her inquiries?  Finally his eyes swept to her and locked tightly in place with a cant of his head, much as a curious bird of prey would analyze its surroundings.

She was certain that when he spoke to her the confusion read quite clearly on her face.  His statement sounded more like something out of a play or Muggle movie then an everyday conversation.  Again, the thought flashed through her mind that this was not the Nero she remembered from school.  Something it seemed had happened to him, but what she couldn’t be sure.

When he stood, she took an unconscious step back.  Her flats added nothing to her five feet seven inches and she had to look up to meet his eyes which were at least five inches higher then her own.  He was watching her carefully, and she did her best to maintain her composer and hold his gaze.  Despite the way the papers felt the need to portray her; Moira was not a meek woman and refused to appear as such.

“I…don’t pretend to know anything,” she responded.

Seven years away from London and England had left her knowing very few details as to what had become of her former classmates.  There were things she knew, both magical and mundane, that could alter one’s personality.  What had happened in Nero’s case was a mystery.

“I was a few years behind you back at school.  We were in the same house…I’m Moira Randall.  I don’t know if you remember me,” she added quickly.

Moira was quite correct about Nero not being as she remembered him back in his Ravenclaw days.  Though there were very few differences about his appearance from those days, there was a heaviness that weighed about him, a hidden enigma that lay just beneath the surface. 

Nero was not at all attempting to intimidate Moira, but it would soon be clear that he simply did not know how to function in a normal social setting any longer.  His half smile dropped completely after her response and he seemed to be mulling over her words, analyzing them for truth.

"Whatever game it is you play...I'll humor you.  For now."

Perhaps Nero was not fully conscious of just how ominous he sounded when he spoke.  Perhaps he did not care to appear otherwise. 

"Names matter very little in this world.  There is little reason to distinguish one from any other."

It seemed almost a canned, readied response as if the standard fare for meeting someone new.  However...Moira wasn't someone new.  His analyzing stare seemed to peer deeper...he drew a thumb across her cheekbone, not considering how holding that little curved blade in the same hand he was bringing to her face might affect her.  Nero was rather good with a blade...and by no means even scraped over her skin with it, but it was not exactly the socially acceptable way to behave.

"A piece from the past's puzzle are you?  And what are you to teach me...Ms. 'Moira Randall'?"

It was as if Nero was humoring her by calling her by name.  Now he seemed to be searching her...seeking something from her.

She couldn’t seem to get a clear read on his intentions, and that thought sent a shiver down Moira’s spine.  His statement that he would humor her for now didn’t seem to help her comfort level either.  Yet, she held her ground.  Stubbornness was sometimes a curse for her, and she hoped this would not be one of those times, yet she couldn’t say with any real certainty.

“I don’t believe games get you anywhere in life,” she answered.

She opened her mouth to retort about the value of names when he raised his hand to her cheek, this thumb tracing across her skin.  The action itself didn’t bother her, but the realization that he was holding a blade cased her entire body to noticeably stiffen.  Whether he had meant to or not he had triggered a memory she had fought for almost a year to forget.  She was back in the States, back in Boston, with another man holding a blade.

She felt herself begin to tremble, inhaling a shaky breath.  Her eyes, however, never left his.  She didn’t move a muscle, hoping that he would soon lower the blade away from her skin.  She had escaped a blade once with only a scar and a few memories to remind her, she could only hope that she wouldn’t have to pray for such luck a second time.

“I…I do not know yet,” she answered in response to his inquiry.  “Perhaps there is something we might learn from each other.  I’ve always believed that every interaction we have with another person has some purpose even if it takes a bit of time to truly learn what that might be.”

Moira was certainly not alone in being unable to discern Nero's intentions.  She was a proud and steadfast young woman, not to mention intelligent as the Sorting Hat had proven years ago by placing her in Ravenclaw.

"Then you would do well to cease playing them, wouldn't you?"

Nero watched as Moira stiffened and trembled a bit, allowing his eyes to trail over her features almost as if absorbing that very moment and etching it into his memory.  He'd seen many looks like this over the years, but this was strange because of the vague recollection of Moira that still lay in the recesses of his mind.

"How does the lesson not know what to teach the student?"

Nero didn't seem to quite grasp how Moira was not all knowing in this regard, but little did he know that she most likely hadn't a clue what he was talking about. 

"If I am to learn patience and perseverance, then so be it."

That little hooked blade lowered and Nero canted his head again, dropping the cobblestone in his other hand to topple to the ground.  His eyes shifted to the sky mere seconds before the first few droplets began to sprinkle down on them.  The rain would quicken rather rapidly down on them both.

The blade lowered and she felt herself relax a bit, but the tension in her neck and shoulders was still there to remind her how badly that little exchange could have ended.  If she hadn’t known him in school she might have been unable to ignore the strong desire to flee and leave him to his twisted musings.  However the constant healer in her could not and when his eyes shifted to the shy she took a shaky breath before speaking again.

She opened her mouth to respond when a few light droplets hit her skin, the one that landed on her cheek making her blink a bit as she wiped it away.  The rain would soon be pouring down upon them and she didn’t fancy getting completely soaked.  She considered slipping into the shop alone and forgetting him completely, but her conscious wouldn’t let her.

“Patience and perseverance are two things I happen to be good at,” she said softly.

Slowly, tentatively she reached out to place a hand on his arm.  She wasn’t certain what his reaction would be, but the past had her putting a little more trust in him then perhaps she should have.  He had a chance to harm her a moment earlier if he wanted and he hadn’t, she hoped that would continue.  There was a voice in her mind that told her she was being foolish, but she ignored it the curiosity outweighing it.

“I’m going to duck inside before it starts to rain any harder,” she said.  “Why don’t you come with me…Perhaps we could discuss patience a bit if that is what I’m to teach.”

The healer's patience and perseverance should have been more valued, but Nero wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to fully appreciate such things.  She possessed a kindness and concern that Nero did not recognize.  Nero knew that he was not the man he once was, but he had little clue just how far removed from himself and reality he truly was.

Nero stood still as the rain sprinkled down upon his face, then lowered his eyes back to meet Moira's.  He seemed to be unaffected by the rain's increase, almost as if he was a part of the scenery more than a man being drenched.

"Those two qualities can be very worthwhile.  Perhaps I do need to increase in those attributes..."

Nero didn't quite understand why Moira wished to step inside and quirked a slender brow curiously at her as she grasped his arm.  His eyes darted down to her feminine hand's gentle touch.  It was obvious that Nero was not accustomed to touch or physical affection, yet he did not react adversely to it.

"Why does the rain affect where you go and what you do?"

Nevertheless, Nero would follow after Moira wherever she would lead him.

"As you wish."

As the rain began to fall harder she led him from the street through the doors of the shop.  They managed to escape the rain before getting too soaked and she gave a slight smile to the clerk who looked up for a brief moment before returning to whatever she had been working on at the desk.  They were probably an odd pair for the woman to see, but with the storm outside it likely wasn’t a big surprise to have people seeking shelter for a few moments.

“I suppose I simply don’t like to be completely drenched in the middle of November when the air is chilly,” she said in response to the question he had asked before she led him inside.  “Even with drying spells, I’d prefer not to.  It can be fun in the right circumstances, but I guess today isn’t really one of those days.”

She used her hand to brush a few stray damp locks of hair from her face wondering exactly what she was doing.  A less stubborn woman who didn’t have the constant desire to help people would have left him in the rain, especially after the realization that he had a blade of some sort had registered in her mind.  Yet she was here now and she would continue on and deal with the consequences later.

“Besides having to wait out the rain is a good way to learn a little patience.”

Nero was growing more curious about Moira and the "lessons" that she was to teach him.  She must have been there for a reason, a reason beyond his own current level of understanding.  This fascinated him and kept him watching her, analyzing her.  Most people would make certain never to gaze for too long at anyone, lest the awkward feeling of discomfort begin, but Nero was not most people.

"So the cold troubles you?"

Was shivering in the cold rain while a cold November chill ran through the air really so bad?  The only thing that made Nero dislike the rain whatsoever was the effect it had on traction, though that could be used to his advantage in certain scenarios.  Those scenarios were few and far between however.

"What are these circumstances of which you speak?"

Nero wasn't quite comprehending why a certain activity would be appropriate and enjoyable only under certain circumstances, while said activity was to be avoided completely under other circumstances.

"Patience...Very well."

Finally Nero allowed his eyes to wander around the shop and his new environs, giving Moira a momentary glimpse of relief from his constant stare.

“I…Well, yes,” Moira said in response to the cold, not backing down from his gaze.  “Being cold and wet…it’s not really the most comfortable experience.  Plus there’s all that shivering and teeth chattering.”

Working people as she did, she was used to the fact that some people had an intense unwavering gaze.  His, however, was much more then that.  A weaker willed woman might have been looked away, but she was not as meek as one Rita Skeeter had implied in her article in the Daily Prophet.  His question about circumstances drew her from thoughts of the evil blond reporter.

“In the summer,” she began, “when an afternoon storm rolls in.  I’ve been working outside or on a picnic with someone and the rain starts and you just don’t care because it manages to cool everything.  After being under the heat of the midday sun it’s simply a relief.  That’s one of those circumstances.”

He finally looked away from her and she felt a little relief.  She wasn’t made uncomfortable by the gaze but still the break was welcome.  He had certainly grown strange in the last few years, and presented quite the mystery to the healer.

“So, I…” she trailed off wondering if small talk would even work with him.  With a sight sigh she continued, “I haven’t seen you in a while.  I…have you been well?”

Nero seemed like a vacant, dry sponge...and every word of Moira's seemed like drops of knowledge in the vast puzzle of his mind.

"It is...unfortunate that such small inconveniences trouble you so."

Nero was not attempting cruelty, but he simply sought to understand and obviously did not.  He did not see her returned gaze as a threat, nor even a defense against his own perceived intensity.  He merely saw it as Moira's full attention was his for the taking.

"I see...Refreshment from the heat's glare."

Though the elements bothered Nero very little, he understood that extremes could prove fatal.  When forced to reminisce about times from his past, Nero himself seemed almost perplexed-as if a part of him were locked far away in the recesses of his warped mind.

"Time seems little more than a blur.  Shadows dancing across walls that no longer stand."

Now Nero was contemplating her question, seeing how it would apply to his own reality.

"There are those who fare far worse than I  in this little game...I have overcome my obstacles thus far.  And yourself?"

This seemed almost a trick question...at least in Nero's mind.  Did those other than himself truly have obstacles?  Did they have ambitions?  Did they take risks?  Did they matter or even exist outside of Nero's awareness?

She watched him for a moment while he seemed to contemplate her question.  She hadn’t meant for it be tricky for him to answer, but perhaps his response might give her a little insight into what had happened to him.  She tried to ignore the concern at seeing someone she had known so completely changed.  There were those who would probably not be amused by her curiosity if she related the story of this meeting to them later.

“Lately, I haven’t had as many obstacles to overcome myself,” she said.  “I’m cautiously optimistic that it will stay that way, although I’ve sort of learned that life will throw you for a bit of a loop when you least expect it.  The challenges make us stronger…we move on a little wiser and better able to meet the next set of obstacles.”

Life had thrown her share of harsh lessons that needed to be learned.  Some of them hadn’t stuck quite as well as they should…like being quick to trust.  But certainly underneath the strange exterior lurked the boy she had gone to school with.  She couldn’t be sure, and it perplexed her more then she cared to admit as her brown eyes met his blue again.

“But you’re right, there are certainly those who are much worse off,” she added.

Moira was analytically minded.  She was curious to a fault.  This was appearing to be more and more of a shared trait as their conversation progressed.  Nero only grew more intrigued and perplexed by the young woman as they spoke.  He seemed genuinely surprised as Moira spoke of her own obstacles.  This was giving him much to consider apparently.

"So then...by your own admission, you are weakening as we speak?"

It was an interesting item to consider.  Nero did not wish to become weak...was he to learn that he must constantly live in turmoil in order to retain his edge?  Perhaps this was yet another lesson he was to learn from Moira.  As she analyzed and bantered back and forth with Nero, the two of them gazing into one another through their deep, visual lock.

"Why do you look at me as you do?"

She seemed to be searching for something, but what was it she sought?

"What is it you seek?"