Just Like Jesse James

A response to DeadbeatAngel's "Lolita" challenge on the AFF.net forums. Title credits go to Cher. Embarrassing, I know, but it fits.
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Just Like Jesse James
Chapter 1

It was never easy to scope out my next mark. Every night, I'd be out here and every night, it seemed the pool of eligible women shrunk. Was it because I hadn't drunk enough? Or maybe because I could recognize from sight the ones I'd already had my way with. Hell, it could have even been that all the women began to stay away from here because of me. I could believe any of those, but I knew for certain that a little more beer, and the night would get a little better.

The pounding music was mere background noise to me, night after night, it was the same thing in a different order. Nothing was new to me, no sounds caught my attention anymore. When I went out on the floor with a woman, my movements were subconscious, the basic rhythms burned into my memory, easily called upon without even really thinking. I wasn't there to dance, anyway, and if I could avoid going out there, I would. The dance floor was a place where you could draw attention, where a bitter woman from two weeks ago could spot you with another woman and assume this latest catch was worth any more than she was.

Of course, I always ran that risk here, and oftentimes it delivered, an angry woman screaming at me inanely for not remembering her name, for never calling her back, for my empty words at the height of passion. Of course, over the thumping of the synth nobody could ever hear the words, and there was always a woman I could wrap around my finger with stories of her emotional abuse and how I was looking for a fresh start, only to renew the cycle with a new girl only weeks later. On the floor, however, people could hear, as an angry woman always put just a bit of a damper on the party.

So no, I didn't dance. Even when I wasn't inebriated enough to take home a catch I could regret in the morning, I reserved myself for my preferred form of dancing later in the night. Only for the rare goddess would I step onto that floor, and sadly, there had been very few of those of late.

So I sat there, some vague acquaintance by my side, as I continued to drink, knowing it would be another night of choking down this sub-standard muggle draught and a muggle girl even further below my standards. I lamented my choice to pursue muggle, as it kept me out of the wizarding world where a few quick charms on a drunk witch wouldn't attract any attention from the ministry. But alas, there was little else for me to do; I was to start teaching at Hogwarts in a few weeks, and I'd already sent in my resignation letter to my muggle desk job.

No matter how much alcohol I chugged, it wasn't to be tonight. I looked to my supposed friend, a local man of about my age, strong, black, and certainly a wizard. He claimed to have gone to school with me, even being in the same house and year, but I couldn't remember him. Eight years of self destruction robbed me of many memories of my time as a student, including most of my peers. His face and voice seemed vaguely familiar, but among the distorted worlds of the past my mind traversed, warped and tortured by alcohol abuse, were less reliable than my sense of a woman's weight when I was too drunk to stand.

Still, as much as I insisted I couldn't remember him, he was here with me nearly every night, partly out of some kinship we may have shared as teens, and partly because he hoped to get my left-overs. He stayed sober enough to drive me home, so he had his uses. Besides, with the last few days running pretty dry, I could certainly use some idle chatter over my drinks.

Just as we were getting ready to leave, something caught my eye. The bouncer would look the other way on the ID issue for a bribe, and a group of teenage girls, no more than fifteen, were on the dance floor, having a good time. That wasn't peculiar, but their manner of dress was. They carried the trademarks of wizards in the muggle world with no experience, wearing mismatched clothes that would have been out of place anywhere, let alone a club. Only one girl seemed to be dressed appropriately, using that word very loosely.

Dirty-blond hair ran down to her waist, swaying in time with her body as she danced unconsciously to the aggressive music that boomed through the dance hall. She wore a tight white tank top and tight jeans, but her attire took a turn into the sheer bizarre with the addition of a cork necklace, radish earrings, and a wand tucked behind her ear. She was clearly a witch as well, though she had some idea as to what she was doing.

I told Dean to sit back down, saying I felt like having another drink. Like the predictable patsy he was, he sat right back down. Honestly, it wasn't the drink I wanted, and when it came I barely touched it. I was honestly enthralled by the girl, my fascination growing as I watched perplexedly, trying to understand her. She exuded mystery, her distant expression not that of a coke addict too numb to express anything, but of a strange soul, so completely out of tune with others that she lived in a distant world mentally, as truly physical as she was.

Her movements were hypnotic, carried by the music into graceful motions she couldn't consciously produce. She was certainly lost in something, so her body took over itself and, free of whatever boundaries people had, truly moved. Moved in ways I've seen adults unable to move. Her lithe body entranced me, but only insofar as it contained the enigmatic soul.

I'd had romps with muggle girls before, but never had I felt such overwhelming attraction at sight. It was beyond the physical attraction of those very developed youths. It was the aura surrounding her, the intrigue about her that allured me. I had to solve it, had to understand for myself.

"Dean, why don't you go on home without me?" I asked.

"But Harry, don't you need a ride home?"

"No, I think I've found my mark, I'll be fine. Just go home and get some sleep. It's late."

"If you say so, Harry." He got up and left without a word, leaving the money for his beer and then some.

For the whole of his departure, my gaze remained fixed on the girl. I got up, moved slowly through the crowd toward her, trying not to make it obvious. I began to dance. For her, I danced.

What was wrong with me? I didn't know her, and yet for the very proximity of her, I danced. My cardinal rule had already been broken for her.

With renewed vigour I drew closer, wading through the heaving crowd, a mist of sweat about the dance floor as the girl and her friends vanished within the mass. It was getting late, so a good share of the new dancers were drunk and doing more to ward people off than attract them, which made it difficult to pass them. Still, I was determined. I would find this girl. I would know her name.

Know her name? What was I thinking? I was here to get laid, and yet all I could think of was finding out this girl's name. I was seriously messed up, wasn't I? This girl had severely messed with my mind.

Finally I found them, and I froze. Froze like I had only once before; back as a student. I vaguely remembered a pretty Asian girl and some important ball at Hogwarts, but the deeper I tried to remember, I found myself in a Potions class detention. My memory was more skewed than I thought.

I was a grown man, unable to speak to a girl ten years younger than me. I forced myself to move, but I was beaten to it. A man with about ten years over me got to her first.

"What do you say we go back to my flat and I show you what it means to be with a man, baby?" He was lecherous, drunk, and looking for sex. Like me, basically, but he seemed to have no regard for the mystery of the girl.

Was it just me? Was he oblivious to it, or was it something only I could feel? Maybe he thought her a very eccentric teen, and worked under the logic crazy girls were the best lays, which I knew from experience to be a dangerous philosophy. Still, it angered me to think someone could look upon the young beauty and not appreciate the strangeness exuding her every action.

"No, thanks. I'm just here to hang out with some friends," she said politely, sipping at a coke. Yeah, definitely underage, but at least she stayed away from alcohol. That would keep her much safer.

"That wasn't a question, girl," he snarled, grabbing her arm. "Now, why don't you come with me to my flat and fuck me?"

"Let go!" she shouted, her eyes no longer glassy and spaced out, but rather wrought with fear. I felt the feeling before as well, the knowledge that magic could save me, but to use it would be to get expelled from school. Luckily, I was an adult, not bound by the rule she was.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wand, and without flinching, aimed it at the man very subtly and muttered, "Petrificus totalus."

The man became totally stiff, his legs and arms locked at his side as he fell over, not catching anyone's attention as they all assumed it was a drunkard passing out.

I rushed over to the girl. "Are you alright?"

"What happened?" she said, totally worried she'd cast a spell somehow. "I didn't mean to..why is he on the floor?"

I showed her my wand. "It was my spell, but we should probably get out of here before he gets out of it and we have some questions to answer."

She nodded, telling her friends, whose places she was saving while they went to the bathroom, that she would fill them in later but for the moment had to leave. She turned back to me and we fled the club quickly.

When we got outside, we stopped, the warm, crisp summer air a relief from the stuffy, sweat-misted air of the club.

"Are you alright?" I asked again.

"I'm fine," she sighed, checking her arm for bruises. "Thanks for helping me back there."

"I had a problem with someone when I was a student, too, I know how it feels to be in danger, but unable to cast any magic."

"My name's Luna Lovegood."

"Are you the daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood, the editor of the Quibbler?"

"Yes, I am. And I can tell by your scar that you're Harry Potter, or should I call you Professor?"

"You're in my Defence Against the Dark Arts class?"

She nodded. "Fourth year Ravenclaw."

"So then I guess I'll see you in a few weeks, huh?" I didn't know where to go from here. Here she was; I not only knew her name, but had her alone on a fairly secluded street at around midnight; with everyone in the club, the few people outside weren't the type to watch other peoples' goings on; such was dangerous in this part of town. We were alone, and yet I had nothing to say. All that, the moving, the risking my ass casting that spell...fuck, the dancing! I danced to get to her, and now I had nothing to say?

"Yeah." She was just as lost for words as I was. Perfect; twice the discomfort.

"How are you getting home?"

"My dad set up a port key for us nearby, but we have a backup in case one of us got ill and had to go home early. I guess I'll take that one."

"Do you want me to walk you there? It's not safe for you to be out."

"That would be great, professor."

We set along down the street as my eyes got a good, up-close look at her. Her body's grace wasn't only in her dancing, her body was, in a strange way, mystically alluring. I preferred women much more developed than her, with her slight curves and small breasts, but there was a magical quality to her, something that transcended the size of her breasts, something that lay in her form on the whole, the way she moved. Her face had an elfin quality to it, and was we walked she again grew spaced out. It was through talking that I realized she existed in two worlds; the one we lived in, and a world of her own. Simultaneously she walked two sidewalks, seeing two very different scenes rolling by, while all I saw was the dingy, dark London street.

Our casual conversation revealed a few other things; the main one being that she was, indeed, very strange. Her sense of jewelry was not nearly the end of it; she talked of strange beasts and bizarre conspiracies, warning me to be careful, as no Defence Against the Dark Arts lasted more than a year in Hogwarts. Tales of a curse ran back long before I was a student, but she believed there was a force at work to ensure it stayed that way.

She was strange, but even stranger was that as we walked, I felt no urge to grab her, whisk her to my glorious flat, and have wild sex with her. That was the point of my evening, that was the point of every evening for years. And yet here I was, with a fifteen year-old, talking about nargles, walking her to a port key The whole time, my thoughts were on anything but sex. It was strange for me, but it still felt so right.

Finally, we reached the port key In the front yard of an abandoned house, a broken chair leg was Luna's ticket back home.

"Well, this is it," I said.

Luna looked like she was about to say something, but instead she looked up at me. "Professor," she began, clearly intending to say something, but instead fell silent, her head sinking down before snapping back up and catching me by total surprise.

I lost track of it all; how it happened, or how long it happened for. All I knew was that at some point after she addressed me, her lips found their way to mine, and her kiss was divine. I didn't let go, tasting the sweet nectar of her lips, my mouth burning for more to extinguish the flame within. When her soft lips pressed tightly against mine, time froze, my heart stopped beating, and I lived more in that single moment than I had my entire life. In fact, it seemed to go on just about as long. I expected to look into the broken glass on the ground and see a fifty year-old man, still locked in the spontaneous, but very passionate kiss.

Finally, as if ashamed, she pulled away. Without a word, but with enough shame upon her face for me to understand it with no words needed, she grabbed the port key and was whisked away.

Ensuring the coast was clear, I vanished as well, back to my flat.

I lay there in my bed all night, staring up at the bland stucco ceiling as the constant light and low buzz from my muted television did nothing to attract my attention. All I could think of was her kiss, the enigmatic young girl's spontaneous kiss. My covers lay half-over my body as I lay in my boxers, wrapped in pensive awe. Why had she done it? Why on earth had she kissed a man ten years older than her who would be her teacher in a few weeks? I'd just met her, and we barely exchanged enough words to consider ourselves acquaintances. And yet, with my finger resting on my lips, I could confirm that she had indeed touch them with hers. It was bizarre, and it dominated my thoughts. I didn't sleep that night. Nor the next. Instead, I found myself going through back issues of the Quibbler I had lying around, reading up on those nargle things she'd told me about.
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More to come.