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Bella's driving home from Olympic National Park, herbs all wrapped up in paper and stashed in a Macy's bag on the driver's seat. Ho hum. She doesn't need most of them; she's going to dry them and take them home to Phoenix where she can trade them for equally nonindigenous-to-the-Southwest botanicals. The perks of being a child of divorce.

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Rental cars don't break down. It's one of the laws of the universe: you pay an unreasonable amount of money for a car that's clean, convenient, and reliable.

That's how it's supposed to work, anyway.

The fact that Neville is standing by the road with his thumb out suggests that the universe is breaking a few rules today.
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Bella spots him from a ways away. Considers her options. Notes the stalled car on the shoulder.

Slows, stops, puts the Macy's bag on the floor. The window is already rolled down; the AC in this thing her dad borrowed for her to use this summer isn't so great. "Where're you going?" she asks.
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"Hi," he says, smiling disarmingly. "Forks? If you can even get me closer, that would be awesome. The walk's a little much from here."

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"Sure." She pops the lock. "You can be more specific, I live there. Don't kick my shopping."

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"The Miller Tree Inn," he says, climbing in. He sets his backpack between his feet - it's carrying very precious cargo that he doesn't want jostled - but carefully avoids her bag. "Thank you so much. My car broke down, I promise I have no sketchy motivations."

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"I appreciate the lack of sketchiness. The fact that you were near a stalled car did help." When he's got his seatbelt on - after a pointed pause, if necessary - she pulls back onto the road. "I'm Bella."

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Neville is very safety conscious! No pointed pause was necessary.

"Neville Longbottom," he says.
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Well, she's not trying to make it look like she recognizes the name, but.
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"I know, it's terrible," he says, though his shoulders have also gone tense.

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"And what brings you to Forks? Things do not usually bring people to Forks," says Bella.

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"Oh, I'm a botanist. The flora around here is really fascinating."

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Bella is now rather thoroughly aware that her herbs smell like herbs and neither a wizard nor a botanist will be fooled by the potpourri-related explanation she has prepared if her parents run into her collections.

She's also pretty thoroughly aware that she wouldn't be willing to pick up hitchhikers if she didn't have magic, and by a similar token wouldn't have picked up this one if she'd known he was magic.

Well, he doesn't seem to be doing anything threatening.

"There's certainly more of it here than where I live most of the year," she agrees.
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Given the plants stashed in Neville's bag, he's not about to comment on hers.

"And where is that?"
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"Phoenix. You?"

The question's automatic. She does not retract it when it's slipped out.
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He pauses for a second, considering whether it would be safer to continue to pretend that he didn't see her reaction to his name.

It would definitely be safer, he decides, but it would also be less interesting.

"I get the impression that you already know the answer to that question."
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"I have a guess. For all I know there are lots of coincidentally named people running around, but the hypothetical coincidentally named people probably wouldn't've just said that."

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"There aren't, actually. I'm one of those if-you-Google-me-it's-only-me people."

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"I never did Google you. You're not based on the right coast to come up very much, for all that I recognized the name."

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"Thus why no pseudonym," Neville says. "Lesson learned, I guess."

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"Next time you're hitchhiking you introduce yourself as John Smith, huh?"

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"I usually use Brian."

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"That works too. I wouldn't've blinked. All things considered I'd rather know, though, especially since you don't seem to be doing anything particularly intimidating."

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"Botany," Neville says, "I swear. Well, herbology. But I am a botanist."

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"Explains what you were doing in the park. I hope it's nothing too terribly deadly."

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"No, just not native to New England. You?"

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