Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Just playing in this sandbox.

A/N: Hello everyone. It's been what feels like a lifetime since I've written anything, nearly nine years now, and for that, I am truly sorry. Life has a way of bucking you off its back and running away from you sometimes, and sometimes we can't always get back up into the saddle. For anyone who remembers me or this story, this was originally published on Portkey on Christmas Day, 2010. Very recently, purely by luck and fate, two dedicated fans were able to get into contact with me about two of my smaller stories. This one, The Stowaway and Luna Lovegood and the Trouser Snake. Discussions were had, and for the first time in nearly a decade, I felt motivated to go dig up an old DVD backup of my original files and look at them again.

In doing so, I found the original notes and ideas I had written for both but which were never able to be incorporated into the versions that were originally published. At the time, it was just a struggle to even get version 1 of the story written and at the time, what ended up getting published was the "best I could do" at the time.

But in re-reading the story and my notes, I decided to take another crack at it now that time has healed some old wounds. So I'm happy to say that this a version 2 of the story that polishes up a few minor things but more importantly adds all of the stuff that I left out the first time. If you remember the original story, nothing really important about what you remember changes. I've simply added a bunch more of the backstory that I wasn't able to include the first time.

This story is my own special interpretation of a "songfic." Please be sure to read the postscript at the end of the story for a "special bonus" to understand how this type of songfic works. I'd suggest reading the story twice for the best effect but I'll explain in better detail at the bottom. It's well worth it, I feel. After all, the song is what inspired the story.

Special thanks:

To Polydicta, for bringing me back to "The Stowaway."

To MapleMountain, my long-time friend and beta. When I published version 1, I published quietly on my own without his review. I don't even remember why. I think I was in a time crunch to release on Christmas, and I wasn't in a good place mentally at the time anyway. This time, his keen eye and wisdom have blessed me and this story.

Summary: A mysterious green-eyed stowaway is discovered aboard a cruise ship. Why is he there? Where is he going? A sweet, romantic short story set several years after Hogwarts. First-person story told from the point of view of an outsider.

CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY

It was his eyes, really, that first captured my attention… those green eyes of his. Though, I suppose that's something of an obvious statement, as I would imagine that most anyone would say the exact same thing. It would be like saying it was the smile of the Mona Lisa that caught your attention.

But it was true… it was his eyes that caused me to take a second look at him as he approached me. I'd never seen eyes like that before.

And that was the problem.

On my second glance, our eyes met, like any two people's eyes might meet innocently as they walked past each other. Though in that moment I saw them widen for a split second, as if in recognition. Though just as fast that look faded and he then looked away as we passed by each other. It took me another couple of seconds to run through the images in my mind to confirm what I had seen but shouldn't have.

I turned around and tried to make my way back to him, but the deck was crowded and somehow I lost him amongst the sea of guests. No matter. I would find him again… it wasn't like there was anywhere for him to go. Not in the middle of the Atlantic.

Ever watchful, I always saved a spare thought for him, for those eyes, as I made my rounds. I instructed my staff to do so as well. It was a big ship, to be sure, but it was only so big. There were only so many places one could be, only so many bodies aboard, passengers and crew… 2471 to be specific.

Make that 2472.

It took two more days, but I finally found him again. What a wonderful present for me, in more ways than one. It was Christmas morning after all, just after eight o'clock. Thank goodness as I was just about out of time; we're due to make port tomorrow. Determined not to let him escape me again, I decided to make an end-run around the breakfast crowd, keeping him in my sight but staying away from the bulk of the passengers. That was how I lost him last time, in a crowd.

I watched him as I approached, watched his behavior. By all outward appearances, he looked exactly as though he fit in. He was neatly dressed, well behaved, chatted cordially with the other passengers as appropriate—nothing that suggested anything amiss.

Except for the fact that he didn't belong here.

And that more than anything else intrigued me. Why was he here? How did he get here? It wasn't like he took a left turn at Albuquerque and accidentally popped up next to the pool. No, there had to be a reason for his presence here. And I would listen to him. If his reason was good, which no one's ever was, we'd handle it accordingly. If it wasn't… well, we were equipped to handle that as well. It wasn't the first time. And it wouldn't be the last either.

Another few moments and I was now standing directly behind him. A few of the passengers he was chatting with saw me standing behind him expectantly. They made a kind apology and 'casually' disbursed.

"Excuse me, sir?" I said to him politely. He turned.

I'm pretty sure I didn't gasp, or even stand there open-jawed. But those eyes, now that they were but two feet away, certainly entranced me. The fact that they stood out so well even behind a pair of old-fashioned round spectacles was proof of how brightly they shone. Vibrant emerald, they drew me in, though only for a moment. But in that moment, I felt as though his eyes were already telling me his story.

They were wise, and experienced, though they still shone with the youth his face conveyed… he had to be maybe twenty years old, early twenties at the most. They were brilliant and sparkled, filled with energy and vitality. And yet there was a hint of weariness and sadness. Haunting… all of those curious contradictions about him seemed perfectly appropriate; not one conflicting feature seemed out of place. All of this I learned about him in the few seconds it took for those green eyes of his to glance down at my name tag and then back up to me.

And in his eyes, I could see that he too now knew my story, or at least the part that would be most relevant to him given the circumstances: he was a stowaway, and I was… you know what? Maybe it was something about his brilliant, sparkling eyes that sparked something inside me, something that lightened my mood. So yeah, just for once I'm going to fully embrace it and enjoy it, and go all Jack Webb in my inner monologue.

My name is Friday. I carry a badge.