It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman sharing a flat with a friend must be completely insane.

I share a flat with Haley Potter. Now, she’s my cousin and my best friend in the entire world, but I still regret this decision every day of my life, particularly when it’s five A.M, and Haley is skipping around belting show tunes. She’s a morning person, to the extent that I don’t believe she actually sleeps, where I’m nocturnal to the extent that if it wasn’t for Haley’s incredibly loud soprano, I don’t believe I’d ever actually wake up.

Haley can’t cook to save her life, is disorganized beyond belief, can’t be trusted to buy groceries because she always comes home with bags of clothes instead of food, and often tap-dances after midnight. To “Singin’ In The Rain.” She’s an aspiring actress, which means she’s a waitress at Madame Puddifoot’s, and generously allows me to do the cooking, cleaning, shopping and taking care of the cat. (His name is The Rum Tum Tugger. This most emphatically was not my idea.)

You see, despite the fact that Haley barely makes any money, she is the sole breadwinner in our household. Good God, I’m a housewife. Or more accurately, I’m an Auror trainee whose family does not send me nearly enough huge bundles of cash. In fact, my dad Ron Weasley, is my supervisor and mentor through Auror training, and I would recommend that whoever had that idea should be shot if it wasn’t my Uncle Harry, Head Auror, saviour of the wizarding world, all around nice guy, and Haley’s dad. Don’t blame him for that last one, though�”three out of four isn’t bad.

In any case, as part of my humiliating training, I have to keep track of my Auror-y activities, and because that’s almost as much fun as sticking forks in my eyes, I’ve decided to start up an out-and-out diary. Haley has one, too, so it should be a bonding experience. Hers is slightly different from this one, though, because it writes back. I’d explain how this works, except I have no clue.

I should probably introduce myself. Actually, I probably should’ve introduced myself earlier, but this is my first diary, so cut me some slack.

I am Emma Elizabeth Weasley, twenty-three years old, single white female, enjoys long walks on the beach, scintillating conversation, and bashing dark wizards’ brains out. I viciously support the Holyhead Harpies and basically viciously do stuff in general, according to my so-called friends.

To describe how I look, I think I should compare and contrast myself with Haley. Well, we’re both girls and tend to dress accordingly, and we both have freckles, but the similarities stop there. Haley is tiny, as in regularly-caught-in-mousetraps tiny or often-mistaken-for-an-ant tiny. Maybe not that small, but she’s only five feet, one-and-a-third inch tall (she’s very proud of that one-third inch…) and about one-and-a-third inches around as well. Okay, I’m exaggerating again,but she has the body of a thirteen-year-old boy… in a GOOD way, I hasten to add, because she’s probably reading this right now.

Haley is probably the girliest person in the world. She has three kinds of clothes�”pink clothes, sequined clothes, and pink clothes with sequins�”and a large majority of her wardrobe consists of what she likes to call ‘pockety jackets.’ These are denim jackets that she’s decorated herself with all kinds of sparkly and flouncy things, and they have many pockets that she’s stuffed full of sugar quills. She is addicted to the things, I swear.

Her hair is black and shiny and flips up at the ends around shoulder length, and she has big green eyes like a lemur. As for the rest of her face, it’s hard to see it clearly because she’s always jumping around in a hyperactive fervor. Haley is actually very smart, extremely brave, and endlessly resourceful, but I think she tries her best not to act it.

Now, me. Let’s say off the bat that I dwarf Haley, though so does the average, say, chicken. For starters, I’m five-foot-seven in flats, and while I’m of average weight, let’s just say that a lot of said weight is concentrated in… a certain area. In short, I’m very, very, very decidedly female, which I think is supposed to be a good thing, but that’s always annoyed me. Like most best friends do, I’ve always envied Haley and she’s always envied me.

I have long wavy reddish-brownish hair, probably a little more reddish than brownish, and brownish eyes that very rarely turn reddish unless I’m in a REALLY bad mood. (This is a joke, guys.) While I love clothes and makeup just as much as Haley (okay, no one loves clothes and makeup as much as Haley, but you know what I mean), I prefer to wear less pink than the average cotton candy stand and I don’t go around looking like Hannah Montana. I have nice teeth and strange eyebrows that I am constantly tending to. They’re not bushy, per se, but they have the strangest way of forming little clumps, never in the same place twice.

Aside from Haley, there are three other central members of our little group, but I’ll get into them later because they’re not as interesting or important as me. Haley’s adopted sister, Ivy, and our lovely friend, Ted Lupin, are married, the little rascals, and live in Hogsmeade like us�”though in a far nicer house. And Haley’s twin brother, Jordan, lives way off in London by himself because he’s an antisocial twit, and is high up in some crazy job that I am not at liberty to discuss at this moment, mainly because I don’t understand it. Jordan is actually a delightful person in a pedantic, obsessive-compulsive, vaguely terrifying sort of way, but don’t tell him I said that. He doesn’t respond well to compliments.

You’ve probably noticed by now that I’m in kind of a bad mood. Don’t worry, I’m usually a lot like this, and I assure you I’m just as unpleasant when I’m in a good mood. (HALEY WROTE THAT.) But seriously, heads-up, I swear a lot, but I’m using an enchanted quill that automatically replaces naughty words with a creative substitute in big boldface letters. For example, “Patrick Wormwood is a son of a billiard cue.” I’d never agree to use such a horrific device if Haley didn’t regularly burn my normal, non-censoring quills.

But in any case, the real reason why I’m so ticked off today, more than usual, is something that happened at Auror training. Between the baby pictures of me on my dads’ walls, his perpetual shouts of ‘CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’, his insistence to make me look as ridiculous as possible in front of everyone else in the effort to show impartiality, and his tendency to laugh at his own bad jokes, there’s usually a lot to complain about. But today really took the cake.

See, ever since Uncle Harry defeated Lord Voldemort like a million years ago, Auror-in has turned into a very, very popular career path. The Aurors don’t accept many new recruits, though�”they get about ten applicants a year, and they usually accept at most one a year. I got kicked out of training my first time through the process�”more on that in a minute-- so I had to go through the whole three-year training again, on the slim chance that I might be accepted into the business at all.

But the very last step of my training is my final exam, which consists of a hundred-question written test, several practical exams, and a “real-world application.” “Real-world application” means doing jobs with no real relation to Auror-ing for no pay, ostensibly to see how we’d behave in the workplace and to get dirty work done for cheapskates. Last time around, I had to work at an obscenely expensive robe shop as a guard making sure no one stole anything.

You’re probably dying to know why I was disqualified from Auror training, and I guess I’d better tell you why: I hit an elderly man in the head with a stiletto-heeled shoe because he kept calling me ‘darlin’ and regularly stared at my chest in what I’m sure he thought was a very subtle and circumspect manner.

This year’s ‘real-world application’ is worse. I’ve been teamed up with two other trainees whose last names also start with ‘W,’ neither of whom people I particularly like. We’ve been assigned to work as a combination of security guards and bodyguards for the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team, alternatively dealing with sweaty-swelled-headed athletes and crazed fans. This was my dad’s idea, and as a huge Cannons fan, he’s really excited. (Have I mentioned that I support the Harpies?)

Dad’s especially enthusiastic because the Cannons have been playing unusually well lately, and they’ve picked up a large fanbase, mostly girls. This has a lot to do with the apparently unrealistically gorgeous and inhumanly talented new Beater, Tyrone Thomas, and people who’d never even heard of the Cannons are rushing out to buy Tyrone Thomas t-shirts with his big shiny smug grin plastered across them.

Have I mentioned that Tyrone Thomas is my ex-boyfriend?

Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour:
What is this feeling, so sudden and new
I felt the moment I laid eyes on you?
My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling
My face is flushing
What is this feeling?
Fervid as a flame
Does it have a name?
Yes! LOATHING! Unadulterated loathing!
For your face, your voice, your clothing
Let’s just say, I loathe it all!
-- “What Is This Feeling?” from Wicked.

THURSDAY

I’ve decided to preserve for posterity whatever ridiculous show tune Haley uses to wake me up every morning in case I ever need to present it in front of a grand jury. I’m not even going to try to make sarcastic remarks about these songs because I’m pretty sure they make themselves.

Today was my first day working at the Chudley Cannons’ stadium. I’m writing this from a nearby ice cream parlor and spattering the pages of this journal with hot fudge, but I need it after a crazy day like today. I think the first thing I should tell you about my day was that we were required to wear neon orange robes. Neon Chudley Cannons orange. No matter how many times I say it, I can’t get over how horrific it all was. There are few colours that look worse with reddish-brownish hair than neon orange. Add to that the fact that neon orange is the colour of prison uniforms, and I think that sums up my day nicely. And from now on, I know that shade of neon orange is exactly how I’ll always imagine the fires of Niflheim.

What the Niflheim does Niflheim mean?

Mmm. I just looked it up and apparently, Niflheim is the Norse equivalent of that place you go after you die when you’re bad. You know, the opposite of Valhalla. These censoring quills are pretty weird, but at least there’s one bright spot in my day now. I love how totally non-threatening ‘Nifleheim’ sound, don’t you? It sounds like some bumbling German tourist in lederhosen drunkenly skipping around and trying to play the accordion.

Well, anyway, I have to work with two other trainees, both three years younger than me and both people who I rather wish would go to Niflheim. (Guess what my new favourite word is now?) I like to think of them as Cliopatrick, mainly because their names are, in fact, Clio and Patrick. Puns are fun.

Now, it’s true that I’ve been known to make snap judgments about people based on my first impressions, but they’re almost always right. I don’t feel ashamed about admitting it, because you can tell a lot about a person that way. For example, I know that Clio Winkley is a little skunkbag.

Clio is even shorter than Haley and almost as thin. She’s very, very, very blonde and very, very, very tan, both in a very, very, very obviously fake kind of way. And yet, she doesn’t act like someone who would be very, very, very blonde and tan�”she has this serious, overly sophisticated way about her that’s just so incredibly odd. She makes me feel stupid, even though I’m pretty sure she’s not actually very smart. She’s probably one of those people who’s just really good at making people think she is.

I’m not really sure why she wants to be an Auror, maybe because it’s mostly a “guy job” and she probably wants to meet as many guys as possible; we’re the only girls in the training program, and I wouldn’t touch any of those blokes with a twenty-foot pole, so she’s been lucky in that respect. I honestly don’t think I have ever seen her without at least one hand touching her hair, which will be interesting to see in combat situations. But the number one sign that she’ll flirt with anything that breathes is that I’ve even seen her flirt with Patrick Wormwood. And no one in her right mind would do that.

It’s not that Patrick is ugly. He’s not. He’s a perfectly normal-looking man�”average height, average weight, dark hair cropped close, glasses, neat clothes. He’s just incredibly… I won’t even try to describe him. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about him. I’ll just suffice it to say that he reminds me of an interesting cross between Uncle Percy and Uncle Pervy. (In case you were worried, I don’t actually have an uncle named Pervy... I really hope I didn’t have to tell you that.)

Today I arrived at the stadium, decked out in my Niflheim-neon orange, to be confronted by a most alarming-looking person. If you’ve ever seen the Disney movie “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” this man was Frollo without the purple dress and exciting plumed hat that should probably be on some medieval princess somewhere.

If you’ve never seen “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” then you, unlike nine-tenths of the female wizarding population, never dated Tyrone Thomas. His passion in life, other than Quidditch and snogging as many people as possible, was always films, especially wimpy films that most men wouldn’t be caught dead watching. Last time I talked to him about five years ago, he was madly obsessed with “The Princess Bride.” His dad’s Muggle-born and was always obsessed with movies himself, and so Tyrone knows even more about Muggle pop culture than Haley does. Between them, I might as well not even be a witch.

But I digress. I still have to describe this alarming-looking person for all of you lucky girls who never dated Tyrone and therefore never had to watch Disney movies. First of all, this guy was about six-foot-three and as skinny as a twig. He had short grey hair, receding slightly, with a widows’ peak that any vampire would be proud of. His cheeks were hollow enough to hold scoops of ice cream, his crooked nose was pointy enough to slice cheese and possibly diamond, and he had suspiciously red lips. His pale grey eyes looked almost white, and to add to this strange picture, he had pointy eyebrows that danced terrifyingly around his face in the strangest of ways as he spoke. Also, he was wearing pinstriped robes, which I don’t think is ever a good sign.

“I am Henderson Vaultz,” he said in a voice so short and abrupt that he probably used toenail clippers on it. “I own this stadium. There will be no jokes about ‘doing the Vaultz.’”

I think my jaw became friendly with the floor. I know for sure I will never be able to hear his name again without thinking about ‘doing the Vaultz,’ and I also know for sure that I would never have thought of that if it wasn’t for The Vaultz himself. Ick.

“You will report for duty every morning. I will alternate your guard duties. Today, Mr. Wormwood will occupy the stadium entrance, Ms. Winkley will supervise the crowd inside the stadium, and Ms. Weasley will stand guard at the entrance to the Cannons’ dressing room.”

My jaw dropped even further. Clio gave me a glare of jealousy, and I’m sure that pythons the world around were giving me similar glares, envying my jaw-unhinging abilities. Stand guard outside the dressing room? Of an all-male Quidditch team? Whose numbers include my ex-boyfriend? Nooo, thank you…

That was when Patrick spoke up. “Sir, would you really consider it entirely prudent to have a woman guarding the dressing room? Not to, of course, belittle the quite considerable talents of the lovely Ms. Weasley, but however skilled and beautiful she may be, one must acknowledge that uncomfortable and, dare I say it, improper situations could occur.”

For once in my life, I agreed with him. (Especially on the part about me being skilled and beautiful, of course.) As obsequious and creepy as he may be, one must acknowledge that he had a point and, dare I say it, a good one. Hint: If you didn’t realize I was impersonating Patrick’s weird, weird speech pattern in my last sentence, you really don’t know me at all.

Vaultz gave Patrick an ice-cold glare. It was probably the first glare he’d ever received in his life, because he looked like he was about to wet himself. “There will be no such trouble,” Vaultz snapped. “None of you are to have any contact whatsoever with the Cannons. They are athletes, and you are Aurors. You are here to do your job and they are here to do theirs, and socializing will not be necessary.”

Speaking of what’s necessary, I think breath mints definitely are, Mr. Vaultz, was the thing that I didn’t say but thought emphatically. But at the same time, I breathed a sigh of relief�”hopefully minty-fresh�”that I was at least bound by my career to ignore the athletes. People say I can be really rude sometimes. At least I had an excuse this time.

“But sir,” whined Patrick, “I understand your devotion to upholding the rules of course, but you must realize that not everyone is quite as honourable as you are. Rules may be ignored. Being trusting toward the fair sex like this encourages hanky-panky.”

What. The. Niflheim. Patrick Wormwood is only twenty years old. No twenty-year-old should say ‘hanky panky.’ No one from the twenty-first century should say ‘hanky panky.’ Or ‘fair sex.’ Or basically anything that kid says.

“There is no time for chit-chat,” Vaultz said briskly. “But breaking the rules will result in severe penalties, so I doubt these ladies will do anything so stupid. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.” And with that, he strode off, pausing only to briefly abuse the man at the hot dog counter.

Charming man.

Once he was safely out of earshot, Clio began pouting for England.

“Oh, come on,” I said quietly, “you’ll get your turn. If it helps, I’m really dreading this.”

Clio’s round brown eyes widened and she raised an eyebrow, a mannerism that Haley hates so much that I practically expected her to pop out of nowhere and smack the girl in the face. Unfortunately, this exciting event didn’t happen. “Come on yourself, Emma,” she groused. “Even you can’t possibly pretend that you’re not thrilled to hang around the Quidditch players’ dressing room.”

“Guarding it. It’s not like I’ll be standing in the doorway staring at Tyrone Thomas naked. And even if I could, I really would not want to.”

Patrick visibly blushed when I uttered the word ‘naked.’ Oh, the scandal! [Insert Victorian hand-wringing here.]

“You know that’s not true. Any girl in the world would give her wand arm to see that,” Clio informed me. “I don’t know why you insist on acting like that�”it doesn’t make you cool and mysterious.”

Why does everyone but me talk in such a weird, formal way? Seriously, I might as well be in a book.

“I don’t know why you ‘insist’ on jumping to conclusions about stuff you don’t know,” I shot back, and strode off around the corner. A second later, I turned around and popped my head back around the corner. “And by the way�”Tyrone Thomas is a terrible kisser,” I shouted before heading back. I rather hoped he heard me, wherever he was.

Guard duty was just as boring and uneventful as I had hoped it would be. For most of it, the players were out on the field anyway, so I was guarding an empty room, which was just fine with me. To use Clio’s expression, I’d give my wand arm to never have to face Tyrone again. That would be way too awkward.

I just realized, I haven’t really told you anything about Tyrone except that he’s pretty, he plays Quidditch, he likes movies, I dated him, and I regretted it. Well, I’m as a general rule not a romantic person at all. I’ve had three boyfriends in my life, and The ‘Ronester, as he likes to call himself, was my first. He was one of those guys that you see in every school in the world, the popular, good-looking jock who knew perfectly well that he was all of those things. Exactly the type of person I’ve never liked at all.

But he seemed to have taken a shine to me in our third year, and he kept doggedly pursuing me over the years, and gradually, we got to be friends. I have to admit, Tyrone can be uncannily charming and funny when he wants to be. Also very generous, and thoughtful in a slightly stupid way. I denied it for about three years, but I have to admit, I liked him a lot. He’s one of those charismatic people you can’t help but like. We started dating in sixth year and all the way through seventh year, and then a little bit after we graduated.

I’ve always had a temper, and I’ll admit that it’s gotten me into a lot of trouble. Tyrone and I always fought a lot, both as friends and as a couple; sometimes, we wouldn’t talk at all for as long as four months. But then we’d always get back together like it had never happened, and it’d be no problem.

Then we had the fight. It wasn’t even a fight, it was a discussion�”we were at a restaurant, and Tyrone ordered green beans. Only he pronounced it like ‘green beans’, and I said it was ‘green beans.’ And then all of a sudden, we started dragging up all this other stuff, like how I say pronounce ‘mischievous’ as “MISS-cha-viss,” and he says, “miss-CHEE-vee-us,” and I say ‘EN-ve-lope’ and he says, ‘AWN-ve-lope,” and I say ‘van-EL-la,’ and he says ‘van-IL-la.’ And before long, it was potayto-potahto-tomayto-tomahto-let’s-call-the-whole-thing-off.

It definitely wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. I wasn’t really mad, either�”I knew that the next day, as soon as Tyrone tentatively said ‘hi’ to me, I’d act like there’d never been any argument at all. Only it never happened.

I kept expecting him to owl me, to visit me, to send me a package, anything, but after that day, I never heard from him again. It’s been five years, and I’ve moved on�”I’ve dated two other guys, and he’s probably dated about ninety-seven other girls. It’s no big deal, but I’d rather not have to see him again.

And for the most part on the job today, I was lucky. I didn’t talk to him. I didn’t even look at him�”naked or clothed. But I did overhear him; I couldn’t help it.

I was just sitting there outside the door reading “Witch Weekly” and pretending to do some kind of job, and all of a sudden, I heard a male voice say, “Yeah, the Aurors, I heard about that. That blonde one’s kind of cute.”

“The other girl’s really fit, though,” said another, then proceeded to say something else that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. “What d’you think, Ty?”

“He likes the guy best!” shouted another voice.

I recognized the laugh that followed, and then when a sepulchrally deep and somewhat unnecessarily loud voice spoke, I could feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “Shut up, Gregg.”

“What about the girls, though?” persisted the first voice. I began to wonder if all guy conversations were like this. “How about the red-headed one?”

Tyrone let out another laugh, but this one was very different from the first. It was a short, sharp bark of a laugh, more like an icy gust of wind than something created by a human voice. “Uh yeah, she’s not bad-looking, I guess,” he said darkly, “but there’s no way I’m getting into that can of worms again. Ugh. Come on, guys, Vaultz vill vant us out there.”

I turned my back to the door and pretended not to notice as it swung open and seven men spilled out. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I watched a dark outline push haughtily past a slightly shorter man with shaggy light-brown curls and march past without looking twice at him. Wow, and now Tyrone was being a snob even to the other guys on his team. New lows for him, but somehow I wasn’t surprised.

I didn’t have to look at Tyrone as he passed to know what he looked like. His unrealistically perfect picture was on a million t-shirts, posters, mugs, and magazine covers, after all. Tall, broad-shouldered, even more well-muscled than back in school, smooth dark brown skin that always made you want to search frantically for just one zit that could prove he was human.

I knew he had slightly slanted hazel eyes and dark, expressive eyebrows and a strong chin and jaw and high cheekbones and a freakishly dazzling smile. I knew he had short, curly black hair that was always shiny with hair products and occasionally a fine fuzz across his full top lip that he was convinced passed for a mustache when it looked more like carpet lint. I didn’t need to look, and I didn’t want to look, no matter how beautiful he was supposed to be.

So I was a can of worms, was I? Good. Great. It would be a million times worse if Tyrone still thought he had a chance with me. I spent years trying to fend off his flirting before I caved in, and I didn’t want to have to go through all of that again.

The nice thing, though, about a can of worms is that it can always catch bigger fish. And there are way more fish in the sea than some self-absorbed, pretty-boy Quidditch superstar.

Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour
Why should a woman who is healthy and strong
Blubber like a baby when her man goes away?
A-weepin’ and a-wailin’ how he done her wrong
That’s one thing you’ll never hear me say!
Never gonna say that the man I lose is the only man among men.
I’ll snap my fingers to show I don’t care
I’ll buy me a brand new dress to wear
I’ll scrub my neck and I’ll wash my hair
And start in over again!
-- “Many A New Day,” from Oklahoma.

FRIDAY

I had an insanely weird dream last night. I was in this tiny room with white walls and, for some reason, Disney Princess decals. There was one small window, and the door was locked. And Patrick was in there with me, and he kept saying, “It’s only to prevent hanky-panky,” and occasionally the door would burst open and Henderson Vaultz would march in and shout, “ALL CLEAR!” and march out for no apparent reason. And then I realized that Tyrone was standing in the window staring at me and had been all along.

For some reason, this really, really scared me in the dream, and I tried to run out, but the door was locked. I was frantically jiggling the knob, and then Patrick (who I know is not this strong in real life) basically tackled me to the ground and kept shouting at me, and then Vaultz came in with Tyrone. He peeled Patrick off of me, and Patrick kept screaming and clinging onto me for some reason, and threw Tyrone in the room with me and shouted “CLEARED!” and marched out and locked the door.

And then the dream changed to a bunch of nonsense where I was lost on this cruise ship trying to find the pool, and everyone kept running around like the ship was sinking, yelling, “WE’RE OUT OF STRAWBERRY-KIWI SHERBET!” And then it was pitch-black and I was standing in a totally dark library playing Trivial Pursuit with a bunch of people I haven’t seen since school.

Well, a lot of people say dreams mean something, and if that one did, I’m just a little bit terrified. (Though it would be kind of fun to play Trivial Pursuit in the dark.) But working at the stadium, I do kind of feel like someone threw me in a little room with Tyrone, and I do kind of wish I could run out screaming.

Today was a lot better, though. We alternated jobs, so I was standing guard in the stadium ready to cattle-prod rowdy fans, Clio was stuck watching the entrance, and Patrick got the much-coveted job of guarding the locker room. Hopefully, no hanky-panky occurred.

My job also meant that I could watch a game for free, and although the Cannons have never been my favourite team, I do love Quidditch. I used to play Chaser back in school, and I wasn’t bad�”just slightly overshadowed by Tyrone, the brilliant Beater, and our Seeker/Captain Jordan Potter, the brilliant everything. (I’ll talk about him later… keep patient.) It was actually pretty fun to watch, and I was lucky�”when Clio had the same job yesterday, there wasn’t a game going on, just a practice.

The best part was when I got to use a Stunning spell on a crazed girl who tried to rip off her robes and jump into the arena. Hahaha, that was very exciting. The Cannons won the game, though, and you can imagine the cheers. I felt sorry for the opposite team�”I honestly think the only reason why the Cannons are doing so well is that their self-esteem’s improved since they’ve gotten so many fans. I don’t think Tyrone is quite as good as everyone seems to think he is; he’s talented, of course, but so’s everyone else in the big leagues.

Lunch was not much fun, though. I had a break with Cliopatrick (yes, I will keep calling them that), and I forgot to bring food. So that meant I had to buy some of those atrocious stadium nachos and a pumpkin fizz, and that meant that I had to pretend I hated them like any self-respecting woman sitting near Clio Winkley should. (“Oh, these are terrible! I wish I had some… er…salad! And other healthy things, because that’s what I usually eat! Yep!”)

The whole time, Patrick was being really weird, as in weirder than usual. He started lecturing us about what terrible people Quidditch players are and how Vaultz was right to forbid us to speak with them. I swear he used the phrase, “decadence and debauchery,” which is not a phrase you usually hear when you’re eating nachos. I came extremely, extremely close to saying, “Sunday isn’t for two more days, and if I want to hear a sermon, I’ll wait ‘till then.”

Instead, I just sat there exchanging glances with Clio and trying not to laugh. I like to alternate between ganging up with Clio against Patrick and ganging up with Patrick against Clio�”it keeps things interesting.

“I’ve realized from what I’ve seen that for some reason there seems to be something of an appeal to those of the female gender for the, as they say, ‘bad boy,’” said Patrick, implementing some air quotes. “Even intelligent woman like yourselves have been known to fall prey to such desires. I hope you’ll be able to hold your own against these men,” Patrick finished up proudly, taking the last suck of his pumpkin fizz.

I held up my hands in mock-concession, a good gesture to make at a concession stand. “Patty, I swear you will not catch me dead hanging around with people like Tyrone, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” I told him. “Though I’m not sure why you’d care.”

Clio did not giggle. In case you pegged her for the ‘giggler’ type, you’re wrong. She’s the ‘don’t-act-impressed-by-anything-that-girls-say-or-do-and-act-breathlessly-awed-by-anything-that-attractive-men-say-or-do’ type. She’ll only giggle if she’s talking to someone with a y-chromosome and nice pecs. “Patrick, you do realize that instructing us not to do something will just encourage us, don’t you?” she said in that affected way of hers, pursing her lips.

Patrick looked utterly shocked.

Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that Patrick ‘instructing’ us not to talk to the Quidditch players encouraged me, but when I did end up to talking to one a little later that day, I couldn’t help but think of Patrick’s scandalized expression.

It happened as I was leaving the stadium after the game, dodging autograph hounds on the prowl for Tyrone and covertly trying to see my reflection in any shiny-ish surfaces around to see whether my hair looked as terrible as I suspected it did. That was when I heard a voice behind me say, “You must be Emma Weasley.”

“Must I?” I said, turning around. “Hm. Guess the neon orange robes gave me away. Though at least it blends in when I spill nacho cheese on them.”

It was then that I got a good look at who I was talking to. He was wearing neon orange robes, too, but not Auror ones�” a Chudley Cannons uniform. I couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed that I’d made such an unprofessional first impression; I wanted the Quidditch players, if no one else, to take me seriously.

This particular Quidditch player was on the tallish side and on the toned-ish side, but definitely not as impressively built as Tyrone. He was tanned in a most un-Clio-ish way, and he had shaggy light-brown curls that turned up all around his head, making his head look a little bit like a buttercup. His eyes were light greenish, his face was rather girlish, and had a decent amount of decorative stubble, probably to prove that he was male. I recognized him as the man who Tyrone had shoved past on his way out of the locker room the previous day; apparently, the Chudley Cannons liked hiring pretty-boys.

“I’m Wolfgang,” he said, holding out a callused hand to be shaken. I shook it, wondering why on earth he was wasting both of our time like this. But Wolfgang is a seriously cool name, isn’t it? I never thought I’d meet a real person with a name like that… it’s right up there with names like “Thor” and “Engelbert Humperdinck” and “Balthazar” and “Anubis” and… “Niflheim.”

“I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about you from Tyrone Thomas,” he continued. “So knowing him, I figured they were probably total lies and that I’d better meet you.”

I blinked. “No, they’re probably true,” I replied. They probably were. But why was Tyrone going around saying nasty things about me? Even I have to admit that that doesn’t sound like something he’d do. Fame must’ve really gotten to his head. “But it’s nice to meet someone else who isn’t completely in love with Thomas.”

“Same here,” he said with a smile. “But I think actually knowing him helps, doesn’t it?” He sat down on top of a table, even though there were readily available chairs everywhere. “So, you’ve met The Vaultz, huh?”

“I wish I could say no,” I answered. “Have you met my other two Auror sidekicks?”

Wolfgang’s smile widened. “I think I’m going to be saying ‘same here’ a lot. I’m actually really scared of that one bloke, Wormtree or whatever his name is.”

“Well, aren’t we all?” I couldn’t help but smile as well. “So, did you play Quidditch at Hogwarts? I’m sorry, I just don’t remember you. What house were you in?”

I won’t get into the specifics of the conversation, because we ended up talking for awhile, but it turned out that Wolfgang’s father had gone to Hogwarts and his mother had gone to Durmstrang. His older brother had gone to Hogwarts, but when his father died just before Wolfgang turned eleven, his mother had insisted that Wolfgang go to Durmstrang like she had.

Wolfgang was one year younger than me and therefore hadn’t been old enough to be one of the selected students when Durmstrang came to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament in my fifth year. However, he’d heard all about the Tournament, and he remembered my name as the Hogwarts champion, which was nice. He lived in London now, he had an older brother who was a struggling musician, both of his parents were dead, he was a Chaser, and he used a good deal of his pay to try and support his brother.

We talked for about half an hour before I realized that I really needed to be getting home, lest people think I’d been mugged. “It’s been fun talking, though,” I said, gathering up my bag. “It’s good to know that not everyone in this stadium’s a certified loony.”

“I’ll see you later then, Emma,” he told me, jumping down from the table as I left. “Maybe we can go eat something sometime or something. Like food, for instance.”

I barely know Wolfgang, but I get a feeling that we’ll be friends, and my instincts are usually right. He’s a likeable, chatty kind of person, and he’s had some pretty bad things happen to him, like both parents dying, but he manages to talk about it without whining, which is definitely admirable. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to, at least, and it helps that me talking to Wolfgang deeply displeases Henderson Vaultz and Patrick Wormwood. That’s two birds with one stone.

When I got home, I just wanted to crash on the couch and pet The Rum Tugger (that’s the cat, in case you forgot) and write in this diary and maybe spend a few hours badmouthing people to Haley, who I can at least trust not to repeat things. But Haley had other plans.

As soon as I opened the door, she was standing there with her best pockety jacket and her handbag. “Ivy and Ted invited us over!” she chirped. She has the kind of voice that tends to either sound like a chirp or a squeal, even if she’s saying things like, “Wildebeests are stampeding down the street, crushing and pooping on everything in sight!” (Not that she says that type of thing often, but you get my drift.)

“What, now?” I groaned.

Haley nodded cheerily, then noticed my expression. “What, bad day at work, Ems?” she asked, a sympathetic little crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Did you run into the T-word?”

I smiled. Only Haley would refer to my ex-boyfriend in such a way. “No, it wasn’t really a bad day… I just kind of hate most of the people there. But I think I made a friend, at least.”

Haley elbowed me in the ribs. “A friiiiend? Is he a boy? Like, a boyfriiiiend?” She waggled her eyebrows up and down. Haley has interesting views concerning romance�”she’s obsessed with it when it comes to other people, always trying to be the matchmaker and gushing over who’s dating who. In her own personal life, she’s had more first dates than you can count, but she’s never had an actual serious relationship. I can’t imagine her ever settling down with anyone, and neither can she.

“Don’t get your hopes up and think I’ll get married and move out of your place anytime soon!” I shouted as I ran up the stairs to put on some clothes that weren’t neon orange so that we could go and visit Ivy and Ted.

Ivy and Ted are two of our oldest and best friends, and they live just a few blocks away, so we go over to their house pretty often, usually unannounced. It’s a good way to get a free hot meal without having to go all the way out to Godric’s Hollow where our parents live. But when Ivy and Ted actually invite us over, that usually means they have something special planned, and that’s usually fun.

And in fact, Ivy looked particularly cheerful when she answered the door to her house, all pink and blush-y. Now, Ivy and Ted are some of the most wonderful people on earth, but sometimes, it’s best not to spend too much time with them. They can be just a little bit too nice sometimes, and after awhile, they can start to rub off on you. And we certainly don’t want that, now do we?

Ivy and Ted have been together since we were about fifteen, and they’re like a little fairy-tale couple. Which is great, because Ivy’s the kind of person who deserves a happy ending�”she’s actually the biological daughter of Draco Malfoy and, clichéd-ly, has a heart of gold and all that, so she ended up in Gryffindor and was estranged from her family and the rest of the story. Haley’s parents ended up adopting Ivy in our fourth year.

Ivy is one of those classic “sweet, innocent heroine” types, always the good girl in our little group growing up. If Haley was James Potter and I was Sirius Black, then Ivy would be our Remus Lupin�”people rarely suspected she had anything to do with the trouble we always got into, even though she was usually the mastermind behind it all. But she’s so excessively nice and studious and a little bit shy, so few people have spotted that she’s got a big mischievous streak and an even bigger stubborn streak.

Maybe her appearance has a lot to do with it. She’s a pretty conservative dresser, and she’s so porcelain-doll pale that she’s always flushing like a sunburned flamingo at the slightest shift in emotion. Her white-blonde hair is as pale as a peeled banana and it’s long enough for her to sit on, and she almost always keeps it trapped in a long braid. She’s got pale grey eyes and sharp, angular features�”not exactly ‘pretty,’ but not bad-looking, either.

Haley and I stepped into the living room and sat down. Ted and Ivy can afford a lot more and better stuff than we can�”first of all, Ivy’s got all that Malfoy money, and she works in Experimental Charms and Ted’s a Healer, so they’ve got some cash to throw around.

“Hey, Ivy! Hey, Ted!” Haley squealed, bouncing up and down a little bit on the sofa like a three-year-old.

Ted smiled. “You come over here like twice a week. How are you still so excited to see me?”

“BECAUSE YOU CAN ACTUALLY COOK!” shrieked Haley, giving him a big hug.

I have to tell you about Ted. Now, I love him dearly, and he’s probably the nicest guy in the world, but I can’t for the life of me understand how anyone could want to marry him. There’s a big difference between loving Ted dearly and falling in love with him. First of all, he’s about six and a half feet tall and unbelievably skinny, with shaggy hair… so he looks a lot like a mop with a smiley face painted on. He’s all bony and pointy�”it must hurt just to hug him. I don’t know, maybe some people like that, but he’s definitely not my type.

Ted’s a werewolf, and his transformations can take a toll on his appearance, so he always looks like he’s barely gotten any sleep, and although he’s only twenty-three, there’s already a little bit of grey scattered through his light brown hair. He’s awkward and clumsy, with all of the grace of a drunk one-legged ostrich with dementia. But Ted is Ted, and he’s so unassuming and comfortable in his own skin and innately likeable, so I guess he’s got the ability to fool people into thinking he’s sexy when necessary. Also, as Haley so wisely noted, Ted ‘can actually cook.’

Speaking of which, we ate GOOD FOOD. Far better than stadium nachos, and I have to admit, I love those greasy little monstrosities. Ted had made some sort of chicken-apple-sausage type concoction and assorted yummy side dishes, and that was good. But for some reason, Ted and Ivy were both eating really fast, as if to get the meal over with, and I couldn’t help but wonder why, especially since I’m a notoriously slow eater and I felt like I was being a nuisance. Well. We found out why.

Because after all the plates were cleared, Ivy and Ted started doing their obnoxious little flirty smiles at each other and started going, “You tell!” “No, you tell!” under their breaths, like they thought we wouldn’t notice. Just when I was getting ready to smack them both on the head and screech, “Get on with it, already!” it happened.

Beaming like some kind of lottery winner and blushing yet again, Ivy smoothed down her skirt and blurted, “We’re pregnant!”

Well… two things happened at once. First of all, Haley jumped up and started screaming and jumping around and dancing and hugging and kissing people and going “OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD… MERLIN’S ARMPIT HAIR…SQUEEEEEEEE!” The second thing that happened was me sitting there in absolute shell shock, staring off into space and trying not to throw up.

I’m sorry, but it’s bad enough thinking about all the… the… the implications of married life when the two people concerned are people I’ve known since childhood. The idea of Ted Lupin and Ivy Potter doing anything more than kissing just makes me want to rake out my eyes with teeny little eye-sized rakes. Learning that Ivy’s pregnant makes such disgusting thoughts inevitable. I mean… uuurgh. I knew Ted back when he was young enough to eat worms and wet himself in public and sing soprano!

Then there’s the fact that the idea of pregnancy in general makes me feel sick. I’m never putting myself through that, that’s for sure. If I ever have the urge to have a baby inside me, then I’ll just eat one or something.

“I’m going to be a father!” Ted let us know, stating the obvious like a pro and grinning like an idiot. He put his arm around Ivy’s waist and she leaned into his shoulder in a classic display of PDA.

“Easy for you to say,” I replied, trying to sound cheery and flippant, “you’re not the one who has to actually go through all the pain and nastiness of it all.”

A normal person would groan, ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ But Ivy just smiled. “Well, aren’t you happy? Don’t you want to be an aunt?” she asked.

I gave her my most dazzling smile. “Ivy, I am absolutely thrilled,” I told her.

“Nice sarcasm,” said Ted. “It really brings out your eyes.”

“No, I’m serious!” I exclaimed. “I’m really thrilled. For once in my life, I’ll look skinny next to you!”

After this witty comment came the obligatory ten straight minutes of being informed that I’m gorgeous, etc., and when that was done, we had about twenty straight minutes of talking about things like nursery décor (I suggested black and red on the grounds that pastel is for only the most namby-pamby babies), baby names (I suggested ‘Zoltan’ or ‘Mufasa’ for a boy and ‘Harley’ or ‘Steve’ for a girl), and other assorted baby-related topics (at this point, I got so bored that I pretended I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until I was sure the coast was clear).

However, when I did come back, the Wizarding Wireless was on, and what I heard was much worse than “Oh, yes, of course we’re breast-feeding.”

What I heard was, “�”ninth werewolf attack this week, and parents are instructed not to let their children outside until the crisis is over. The feral werewolves that for years largely kept to themselves in the secluded forests for years seem to be forming a full-scale rebellion. Already, the public’s tenuously tolerance toward werewolves that has developed since Remus Lupin’s key role in the defeat of Voldemort seems to have worn off; an innocent woman known to be a werewolf was attacked by a lynch mob in her home in Leeds today, and barely escaped with her life. Anti-werewolf groups have been rapidly forming across the country as the attacks have increased. The Wizarding Wireless will bring updates on the situation as soon as we can.”

All eyes in the room turned toward Ted. The giddiness that had filled his face moments before had completely dissipated, to be replaced by a strangely dark and hollow expression that I’d never seen Ted wear before. His usually cheery, easygoing manner gone, he looked strangely old and eerily like his father.

He cleared his throat and, in the blink of an eye, looked almost exactly like his old self. Almost, but not quite. “So, who wants tea?” he said.

Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour:
There’s no business like show business, like no business I know.
Everything about it is appealing
Everything the traffic will allow.
Nowhere will you feel that happy feeling
Than when you’re stealing that extra bow!
There’s no people like show people, they smile when they are low.
Yesterday, they told you you would not go far
That night you open, and there you are!
Next day, on your dressing room, they’ve hung a star
Let’s go on with the show!
-- “No Business Like Show Business”, from Annie, Get Your Gun

SATURDAY
Yesterday, when we were visiting Mr. and Mrs. Sappy, I mean, Lupin, Ivy gave me a book. She said she felt sorry for me because I’d be sitting there being a guard everyday doing nothing, and I might as well have something to occupy my time. Well, I am not much of a reader (I only read when forced, and believe me, my mum’s always trying to force me), and I’m especially not much of a reader of books with names like “Pride and Prejudice.” But Ivy says it’s her favourite book of all time, and I think she’d be offended if I didn’t read it.

Hmm. A book about old-fashioned people getting married. I’m not surprised she likes it so much. So, I started reading it today, and from now on, in my super fancy-pants edition of my diary, I’m putting a recap of what I’ve read so far at the end of each entry. But that’s much later, because a lot happened.

WELL. I didn’t have to go to work today because it’s Saturday. I’m not sure if the Cannons have a day off, too, or an away game or something, but no one’s going to be in the stadium except Henderson Vaultz, who probably lives there. However, Haley works at Madame Puddifoot’s, and as long as there are mushy people in the world, there will always be work to do there.

Because I’m a good friend (and I wanted some free coffee), I came over to visit her during her half-hour break. Now, I’m not the biggest fan of Madame Puddifoot’s, especially the décor, but Haley thinks it’s adorable, so I try not to complain. Much. For me.

Almost as soon as I arrived and sat down at our favourite table, Haley said, “You know, you looked really not comfortable at all over at Ivy and Ted’s yesterday.”

Oh. So apparently I wasn’t that subtle. “Well, I mean, it’s a baby. And… the people having it are Ted and Ivy. What isn’t wrong with that picture? It’s like… him, and her, and… bow-chicka-bow-wow.” My arm flapped uselessly by my side as my voice trailed off. While I couldn’t exactly express my point, I did manage to attract some uncomfortable stares.

Haley laughed. “Emma, we’re twenty-three! We’re grown-ups, you know.”

I sighed. “I know… but I don’t feel like one.” Urrrgggh. I hate it when stuff like that happens. For me, my whole life, Haley has been the immature one. She’s the shrimp, the hyper one, the one who believed in Santa Claus until she was fourteen years old. She acts like she’s twelve. But ever since we were around… I don’t know, seventeen, there’ve been these times when I feel a lot less mature than her. And that just feels awkward and wrong.

“I love babies,” Haley stated. “How could anyone not? They’re so cute! I can’t wait until Ivy has hers!”

I shook my head. “No, it’ll be so boring!” I exclaimed. “People get boring when they have kids! They stop being cool and start being… parents. You heard them yesterday, talking about diapers and nurseries and names and stuff, and it only goes downhill from there. Now it’ll be all-baby all the time.”

Haley laughed again. I wish she wouldn’t laugh when I’m not being funny, but then, she’s easily amused. Suddenly, though, her expression turned serious, and she said softly, “This werewolf thing is not good, though. D’you see how empty the shop is? No one wants to leave the house because of werewolves. And people are being pretty nasty. Ivy says Ted was over at work at St. Mungo’s the other day, and there was this lady whose leg was just like bleeding like crazy�”she got it stuck through a window or something�”and she wouldn’t let Ted near her. She started screaming anytime he got close just ‘cos he’s a werewolf. They had to bring in another guy in the end, because she’d bleed to death if they didn’t.”

I felt my teeth grind, a habit mum’s always ragging me about, and I unconsciously gripped my wand. I hate how there’s always two sides of crazy extremists in every problem�”there’s the fascists and the communists, the bloodthirsty tyrants and the bloodthirsty revolutionaries, the sociopathic perverts with no morals and the bible-thumpers with no compassion, the maneating tigers and the poaachers that kill them off. I hate how everyone thinks you have to be on one side of the other�”if you’re not with the people who want to get rid of all werewolves, then you clearly support the murderous feral werewolves and what they’re doing.

People are getting hurt, and things are just going wrong. This is why I want to be an Auror. I want to have control over this�”who likes being helpless when bad things happen? I want to fight, and I’ve been training for years, and yet what am I doing now? I’m supposed to guard a stadium, when there are wizards dying everyday because of this whole werewolf thing.

I was about to say something�”well, go into a full-on rant, to be honest�”when I heard a male voice cry, “Haley Potter!” Instantly, Haley’s head whipped around and her face lit up as she noticed the two twenty-something men standing in the doorway.

The taller of the two was slightly chubby, with a mop of curly brown hair, tanned skin, round blue eyes, and an innocent, open face that out you in mind of a sheepish child. His features probably would have been strong and square-cut if their edges weren’t softened by pudge.

The shorter of the two also had curly hair, but that was where the resemblance stopped. He had a long blond ponytail of tight ringlets, a gold hoop in his left ear, and a sharp, angular appearance. Although he was not handsome, he was well-dressed and bore himself with ease and confidence. I could see that he had one blue eye and one hazel one, like David Bowie.

I didn’t recognize either of them, but apparently Haley knew at least one, because she vaulted out of her chair, screamed, “ANATOLY!” and proceeded to give the blond man a rib-crushing hug. The brown-haired man looked rather bemused, and I must have as well, because the blond one looked up at me with a little smirk and said, “Ah, I’m not so recognizable without the wire-frame specs and facial topography, am I?”

Oh, no. Anatoly Capshaw. He was one of Haley’s old friends from school, and a Slytherin. Now, I’ve never been keen on Slytherins at all�”okay, I pretty much hate them all�”but that’s not the only reason why I never liked Anatoly much. It’s the way he seems to try his hardest to be as eccentric as possible. And while it’s true that he really had alarmingly bad acne when we were back in school, that wasn’t why I didn’t recognize him. I’d just forgotten about him, and then he said ‘facial topography’ and I knew him at once. Anatoly never had many friends at all back at Hogwarts, and while he’ll tell you that it’s because he’s a Muggle-born Slytherin, I seriously doubt that’s the only reason.

“Haley, Emma, this is B.C. Quinn,” said Anatoly, gesturing theatrically toward the brown-haired man. We each shook hands, not having any clue why were doing so. “He’s probably the best pianist you’ll ever meet.”

“If that’s true, then you must not meet many pianists,” replied B.C., smiling shyly and looking a bit embarrassed at the attention. Both men took a seat at our table.

I had a vague suspicion that some kind of pitch was going on, and that it had nothing to do with me, but I wasn’t sure what it was until Anatoly said, “Anyway, Haley, I haven’t heard from you since school, but my contacts told me I’d find you here. Can’t tell you who they are, though, because I want to seem smooth and mysterious. Well, if my research is correct, you want to be a star, mmm?”

“Of course,” chirped Haley, starting to look really excited. Some people have no skills when it comes to counting chickens, and Haley’s weren’t even hatched yet.

“See, that’s just what I thought!” proclaimed Anatoly just a bit too loudly, making an expansive gesture that nearly knocked poor B.C. off of his chair. “B.C. and I have written this smashingly awesome musical that we’re trying to get produced�”he did the music, I did the words, natch�”and we, meaning of course, me, thought you might charm the powers that be into getting us a venue and a production crew and all that technical stuff that we don’t like!”

I watched B.C. suck meekly at his drink as Anatoly concluded this run-on sentence. Clearly, he was the saner of the two. “Basically,” he said, “What Anatoly’s trying to say is, we think our show might be a success if you were in it, and it might also get you some better gigs.”

“A win-win situation!” crowed Anatoly. “Unless we both lose and go bankrupt and get our reputations wrecked beyond repair! So, wanna do it?”

Haley opened her mouth, and I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to like whatever came out, so I jumped in. “Tell us about the show,” I said quickly.

Anatoly grinned and made a show of crossing his legs and folding his arms behind his head. “Why, Emma! Ever shrewd to the point of irritation! Well, essentially, it’s called Heroines, and it’s a guaranteed success because it’s a total rip-off of Evita!”

“It’s not,” B.C. assured us calmly. “It’s sort of a pop-rock opera thing… all singing, no talking. Well, I guess that’s like Evita, but it’s also like a million other shows as well. Anyway, it’s about twenty different women through history�”you know, Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, Catherine the Great, Marie Antoinette, pretty much everyone except Eva Peron. And the idea is that one actress�”hopefully you�”plays them all, with ten guys in the chorus and playing the male parts.”

“No fancy costumes, no big props, holographic projections for sets because we’re cheap like that and people will think it’s artsy!” chipped in Anatoly. “And no period language or anything. It’s a cool show, not a history documentary.”

Hmm. Okay, at least it sounded like they knew what they were doing and they weren’t just pitching a vague idea. But I’ve never been a trusting person, and Anatoly being a Slytherin didn’t help�”who knew what house that B.C. bloke was in, but he seemed like the type who’d go along with anything. “Just one question,” I said. “You’re men. Why are you doing a musical about women?”

B.C. smiled again. He had, I noticed, a reassuring smile, which he probably had to use a lot working with Anatoly. “Men don’t come to musicals,” he told me simply. “Women do.”

“We in the biz like money,” Anatoly added cheerfully. “Well! Are you done cross-examining us?”

I didn’t have time to answer because Haley jumped right in. “Never mind that. I’ll do it!”

I gaped. This did not sound good. “You haven’t even seen the script yet!” I bleated.

Haley gave me her own version of a reassuring smile, which was a lot less reassuring because I knew her. “It’s okay, Emma, Anatoly’s a friend, and�”“

“Here’s the script,” said B.C. pleasantly, pulling it seemingly out of nowhere and handing it over. “You can come over when you’re done with work and I’ll play some of the songs, and maybe teach you a few of them if you’re interested. Here’s my address.” He scribbled it down on a scrap of parchment and gave it to her as well. “Don’t feel like you need to agree to anything yet.”

“Thanks,” Haley chirped, still looking luminescent as the two men stood up to go.

Anatoly made a little bow. “Nice doing business with you, Hales,” he declared. “If it helps, you were the first conceivable person we thought of when we wrote the thing. This chap here was three years ahead of us at Hogwarts, but he remembered you… which is actually a tad creepy. Hope to see you later. Hasta la pasta.” And with that, he and his miasma of insanity and B.C. were gone.

I turned to Haley and saw that she was still beaming. I decided that for once, maybe it was better not to say anything at all.

* * * * * *

MONDAY

I knew this would happen. There’s no way I can keep a consistent journal like Haley does. I skipped a day, and I seriously doubt that this is the last time it’ll happen. Niflheim, I’ll probably end up skipping a few months at some point. It’s not like anything important happened on Sunday, but today I had to go back to work again.

For the most part, it was the same as usual. I was guarding the stadium entrance, which was incredibly dull, Patrick was in the crowd, and Clio was all smug because she got to sit outside the dressing room today. I have to admit, Ivy’s book came in handy�”P&P, as I shall call it from now on�”seems pretty slow so far, and I have to stumble all of the clumsy, old-fashioned language�”but it’s something to make fun of at the end of this entry, so you’ll have that to look forward to. Let’s just hope Ivy never sees this, because I get the impression that she takes her love of P&P as seriously as Tyrone always took “The Princess Bride” and all of his other beloved girly movies. The only really interesting thing that happened was when Vaultz slipped on a mustard packet and fell down about seventeen steps. I laughed so hard, I thought my spleen would explode.

Speaking of Tyrone, I actually had my first, and hopefully last, encounter with him today. I caught up with Wolfgang on his way out of the stadium, and we had just started to chat�”our weekends, how creepy people who are about to have a baby are, the latest news on this werewolf business�”when all of a sudden, who should I see but Tyrone Thomas himself, looking sweaty and disgruntled.

“Don’t talk to her,” he said quietly.

I burst out laughing. “Well, look at who’s descending from on high to mingle with the commoners!” I exclaimed.

“That’s from The Lion King,” Tyrone said in the same quiet, serious voice, taking a step closer.

“Yeah, you would know that,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“What, that’s a great movie. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he shrugged. “Listen, don’t talk to him. Just go home.”

I don’t take kindly to being ordered around, and it seems like everyone’s been doing just that lately. Vaultz and Patrick already made a big show about not talking to Quidditch players, and now Tyrone’s joined their little club. Great. “Being a high-and-mighty Quidditch star doesn’t give you the right to tell you what to do,” I said coolly. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“Because!” spluttered Tyrone. “Look, I mean, Vaultz is not a nice guy. He told you you’d lose your job if you got caught talking to Quidditch players, and he really will sack you.”

I pretended to gasp. “Oh my! Well, guess who else is a Quidditch player? Why, that’s right, it’s you!” Yes, I know perfectly well that I was being as obnoxious as possible, no need to tell me. I can get irritating when I’m irritated.

Tyrone sighed. “Just… watch out for yourself, okay?” he said darkly, and lumbered off, still glaring at Wolfgang. I rolled my eyes.

“Well! That was just no fun at all, wasn’t it!” I said flatly, clapping my hands together in mock-excitement. Wolfgang laughed, and we continued our conversation from where we left off as though nothing had ever happened, but I have to admit, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Tyrone had said. There was a dark significance in his voice that I knew meant more than ‘watch out, or you’ll lose your job.’ What there was not in his voice was jealousy, and if he didn’t want me to stay away from Wolfgang out of jealousy, than what could he have meant?

Wolfgang ran a hand through his shaggy curls. “Yeah, I do not have a good history with that guy,” he muttered. “And he’s not so wild about me either.”

“Why, what happened?” I asked curiously. Before I came to work at the stadium, I had a fairly dismal impression of Tyrone. After just three days working here, my regard’s gotten significantly lower, which can’t be good�”fame must have really gone to his head.

“It’s a ridiculously long and painful story,” said Wolfgang. “And if I just stood here and told you now, Vaultz is sure to notice. Tell you what, do you want to come and have dinner with me tonight and I’ll tell you then? Somewhere fun, not too expensive but not some cheapo place. Do you like Italian food?” He gave me a hopeful smile.

I knew better than to say ‘is this like a date?’ because in the past, no matter which response I got always made me uncomfortable. I’m about as romantic as a car crash, and I hate the idea of going out on date-dates until my denial’s reached its breaking point… but on the other hand, if I kind of borderline maybe like someone and they straight-out confirm that it’s not a date, then I get all irritated that they don’t like me. I just like to assume that every outing’s between friends but that the other person might not necessarily think so.

So instead of asking ‘is this like a date?’ I fidgeted with the strap of my bag and said in the most casual voice possible, “Yeah, Italian food is good. Have you ever been to Spiro’s? Little-ish place, down on�”“

“High Street? Yeah, it’s my favourite… perfect manicotti. Is seven o’ clock all right for you?” asked Wolfgang. He is definitely the most straight-forward person I’ve ever dated. Not that I’m dating him, technically, or anything. I mean, I hardly know him, or anything about him except that he’s quiiiite good-looking. But that’s not important.

“All-righty then. It’ll be fun,” I said and gave him the world’s most awkward punch on the arm. A hug didn’t seem appropriate, and I didn’t just want to walk away, so I was stuck with feeling like a total idiot. “See you then, I guess.”

Wolfgang did not comment on the awkward arm punch, which I appreciated. “Looking forward to it,” he said. As I walked off, he cupped his hands and called out to me, “DON’T WEAR ANYTHING ORANGE�”I’M SICK TO DEATH OF IT.”

“FUNNY,” I yelled back, “I WAS ABOUT TO SAY TO YOU ‘IF YOU WEAR ANYTHING ORANGE, I’M RUBBING TIRAMISU IN YOUR FACE.”

“I MAY HAVE TO WEAR ORANGE, THEN, BECAUSE THAT ACTUALLY SOUNDS REALLY FUN!” shouted Wolfgang.

It was about then that I realized that we were being so loud that Vaultz would most definitely hear us. So I tried a clever tactic and screamed at the top of my lungs, “BY THE WAY, I AM NOT AN AUROR, ESPECIALLY NOT ONE NAMED EMMA WEASLEY!”

“HOW INTERESTING, BECAUSE I’M NOT A QUIDDITCH PLAYER! AND MY NAME ISN’T WOLFGANG AT ALL!” hollered Wolfgang.

We both cracked up like total idiots as we walked out our separate ways from the stadium, but when I walked through the door, my laughter died in my throat. Tyrone was standing with his back to me, no more than twenty feet away. As I watched, Clio Winkley came sauntering out toward him. She didn’t run�”she would never run. She would walk slowly and calmly as though she approached her idol every day of her life, every hair in place and every gesture cool and rehearsed-looking. As she drew nearer, she whispered something in Tyrone’s ear that I couldn’t hear and smiled slowly.

Uurgh, Clio. How predictable she is. I didn’t stand around to see what Tyrone did. I had a not-a-date-at-all to get ready for.

* * * * * *

The restaurant was nice, but not too nice, which is good because I don’t like restaurants that are too nice. They’re expensive, the food is weird, the portions are tiny, half the menu is in some weird language like French or something, you have to wear uncomfortable clothing, and if you laugh or, say, impersonate the vacuum cleaner from Teletubbies, then people look at you funny.

The only trouble was, Wolfgang was late. Not too late, just fifteen minutes, but I’d gotten there early, and the waiters kept looking at me like, “Oh, poor thing’s been stood up.” It was humiliating. I do not get ‘stood up.’ Which I’m pretty sure isn’t good grammar anyway. Anyway, it wasn’t a big deal, and he was really apologetic. Plus, he looked extremely nice�”I’d never seen him in anything but sweaty neon-orange robes before, and dressed up, he was… he was probably worth waiting fifteen minutes for.

“It’s okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “Besides, I had something to do. My cousin Ivy gave me this book. Also, there’s this huge fat guy over there who fell asleep face-down in his spaghetti snoring really loudly, and every time he breathes in, spaghetti sauce goes up his nose, and every time he breathes out, the meatballs roll around the plate. It’s hilarious. I can’t stop watching.”

Wolfgang looked over at the snoring man and instantly had to stuff his napkin in his mouth to stop from laughing out loud. “From now on, that bloke’s name is Signore Snoré,” he announced.

“When there’s some big fat guy face-down in pizza pie, it’s Sn-or-é!” I hummed under my breath. If I was Haley, I would have burst out in full-on song, probably standing on top of the table to boot, but I’m not, so I didn’t. Once we’d both calmed down a little bit and the waitress brought our drinks, I said, “So, you promised me a big juicy story about you and Thomas… or was that just a clever ploy to get me alone?”

Wolfgang raised an eyebrow, and I cringed, half expecting Haley to spring out of nowhere and attack him. She hates it when people do that. “Well, there was that, too,” he said, “but yeah, Tyrone Thomas and Wolfgang Quinn do not mix.”

I paused with my glass halfway to my lips. “Wait, your last name’s Quinn? Any relation to B.C. Quinn, piano guy, hangs out with a creepy man named Anatoly Capshaw?”

“Yeah, he’s my brother,” said Wolfgang. “Why, do you know him?”

“Your brother!” I exclaimed. “I had no idea! Okay, I just met him two days ago. He hired Haley�”I told you all about her�”for this musical he helped write. But sorry, go on. Tell me about you and Tyrone and stuff.”

He was right�”it was a long story. I was halfway through my dinner when he was finished. But it was also an extremely interesting story. Apparently, about a month after Tyrone and I had broken up, Tyrone’s dad had married Wolfgang’s mum, and Tyrone and Wolfgang had never gotten along that well to begin with. Then, about two years ago, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas had been riding in a Muggle taxi to visit Mr. Thomas’s parents�”both of whom were Muggles�”and they’d ended up both getting killed.

“B.C. and Tyrone and I were all grown up by then, but Tyrone’s little sister Tabitha was still in school�”in fact, she still is, I think�”and so we took care of her. She was a great kid back then, but last time I saw her, she was really spoiled. In any case, Tyrone’s dad left me the Thomas’s summer house in his will, because I wanted to be a painter, and chances were I wasn’t going to make much money. Plus, B.C. had his heart set on being a musician, and he’s not that responsible with money, so I was basically supporting him.”

Funny, I’d heard Wolfgang more than once talk about how he was paying for B.C., but when I met him, he seemed like a really together person. I’d never peg him for someone who’s not responsible with money. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, having Haley work for him.

“Well, then, next thing I knew, Tyrone had sold my house to some other people and used the money to buy stuff for himself. Next thing I knew, he told me I wasn’t ever allowed back in the house,” Wolfgang finished up, spearing his manicotti vindictively.

I just sat there staring for a couple of seconds, my silence occasionally punctuated by rhythmic rumbles from Signore Snoré’s table. “I knew he was a git,” I said at last, “but I had no idea he was that bad. Why would he do something like that?”

Wolfgang shrugged. “I can tell you, but I’m going to sound really arrogant. It’s… well, Tyrone’s dad liked me better than him. And… he couldn’t take it.” He shook his head. “I sound like a prat now, don’t I? I told you.”

For some reason, one particular detail stuck in my head�”the fact that Tyrone’s father had been killed in a car accident, along with Wolfgang’s mother. I couldn’t help but remember how deeply affected Tyrone had been when his mother had died in fourth year, and the idea of him losing his father as well must have been absolutely devastating. What if he just wasn’t his normal self? What if he was so upset about his dad that he’d done something he regretted afterward, like selling Wolfgang’s house and kicking him out? I mean, that’s not very likely, but it’s still possible.

But why was I feeling sorry for Tyrone? He had basically wrecked Wolfgang’s life. He was a professional Quidditch player, pretty much any boy’s dream… but he’d always wanted to be an artist, and had to choose the profession that made more money.

Just then, I spotted something�”or rather, someone--that knocked me right out of my reverie. Strolling clear through the front door of the restaurant was Haley, looking very pink and cheery. Now, I’ll tell you, this was not entirely special. Every time one of us goes on a first date, the other one usually pops by about an hour into it, just in case it’s a total fiasco and we need an excuse to leave.

Haley once saved my life on this date with a horrible guy (his name was Nelson Blenkinsopp, and he kept picking his nose, ears, and teeth and leaving the gunk on things) by showing up at the restaurant halfway through. Once she’d established that Nelson was the creep to end all creeps, she ran up to me and informed me that “Lamarque is ill and fading fast! We have to visit him in the hospital before they pull the plug on his life support!” (I honestly have no idea where she got this, but it was brilliant.)

But it felt weird having Haley show up there tonight. First of all, it’s not like it was officially a date or anything, just a chance to get to know each other a little better. And second of all, so far I’d been enjoying this… not-particularly-a-date. If Haley didn’t have to make up some excuse to get me to leave, she’d probably decide to stick around, and I’d kind of rather not be a part of a party of three.

As Haley approached the table, I quickly flashed a thumbs-up sign to signify that there was nothing to worry about. And yet she kept coming. She looked, I noticed, quite nice�”in a short white dress, hot pink high heels, and a matching necklace--- and I couldn’t help but look down at myself to covertly compare outfits. I mean, I’d look quite ludicrous in what Haley had on, but if she’s waltzing around looking all pretty while I’m on a date… or a not-a-date… then I bloody well better look stunning.

“Well, hello!” chirped Haley, plopping herself down and beaming at us. “You must be Wolfgang!” she paused. “Are you sure you’re an athlete? You smell too good.”

In terms of entrances, this was fairly typical for Haley, but it was still mortifying. Wolfgang just smiled back. “Oh, well I’m the only person on the team who found out what the locker room showers are for. I think some of those guys got hit by one too many Bludgers.”

Haley giggled. “Anyway, I won’t keep you… I just wanted to make sure Emma’s date was going okay.” She elbowed me cheerily in the ribs. I had to bite hard on my fork to keep from going berserk.

“No, it’s okay, you can stick around for a bit,” said Wolfgang, eying me cautiously. “It’s, erm, not an official date or anything.” It was an awkward situation. Sending Haley home would somehow turn this dinner into a formal date, and the only way to avoid that was letting Haley stay and embarrass us all.

“Well, uh,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “Haley, Wolfgang; Wolfgang, Haley. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about each other.”

Wolfgang nodded. “Yeah, I heard you know my brother? B.C. Quinn ring any bells?”

Haley let out a little squeal. “Oh, that’s so cool!” she exclaimed. “I just came from rehearsal with him! He’s brilliant at piano! We should all, like, do something together sometime, the four of us or something. Anatoly can come, too.” She paused in mid-gush, looking up from beneath her eyelashes in what I’m pretty sure is called a coquettish fashion. “Has your brother said anything about me?”

“Er, no,” replied Wolfgang, now starting to fidget himself. “We, er, we’re not close. I mean, we don’t really talk�”well, sometimes I send him money. That’s about it.”

“Oh, that’s awful!” cried Haley, helping herself to a bite of my manicotti.

I snorted. Haley and her twin brother Jordan talk at best three times a year, and compared to how they were through most of school, this is downright friendly. It’s not like they have a longstanding feud or anything, but they do have polar opposite personalities, and they don’t always get along so well. Plus, she lives in Hogsmeade while Jordan lives in London�”and B.C. lives in Hogsmeade while Wolfgang lives in London�”so any displays of pity and dismay were clearly play-acting.

“Well!” I said, with all the quiet subtlety of a brass band, “this has been lovely and all, but isn’t there somewhere you have to be, Haley?”

“No, I don’t have anything planned!” chirped Haley.

I treated her to one of my first-rate death glares. “I’m quite sure you do,” I said in a low, significant voice.

Haley looked an awful lot like a deer in headlights. “Oh,” she squeaked. “Right�”of course. Er, I have to go… feed the… Rum Tum Tugger. He gets all tetchy if you don’t feed him at certain times, you know. Well, see you both later! Kisses!”

And with that, she bounded out of the restaurant, and I could at last return to my normal breathing pattern. Haley may be a lovely person, but it was extremely comforting to know that she and her fluttery eyelashes would not be back that night.

Wolfgang and I exchanged glances. Said glance may have continued a few seconds longer than what is customary. Oh Godric, he did have nice-looking eyes… all sparkly and greenish and flecked with gold, but in a very different way from the Rum Tum Tugger’s.

At last, Wolfgang said, “Well, she’s, er… she’s, er…”

“Quite the character?” I supplied.

Wolfgang laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what I was looking for. I thought you were exaggerating when you told me about her. She seems nice, though.”

“Oh, she is,” I said. “And that’s what makes it really bad, because if I yell at her, I feel bad about it. I feel like I kicked a puppy or something. Actually, that’s how it was with Tyrone, too… I always felt guilty if I got mad at him.” Ooh. Bringing up ex-boyfriends. Classy, Emma, classy. Just in case I wasn’t coming off as quite as much of a loser as I wanted to before…

Luckily, Wolfgang didn’t look particularly uncomfortable after my delightful little display of putting my foot in my mouth. “Oh yeah, he likes to have his way,” he said. He looked over both shoulders and lowered his voice as well as his head. “Confidentially, actually,” he added quietly, leaning closer, “you know this werewolf business? They’re thinking of canceling Quidditch for the rest of the season because of all of the werewolf attacks… people are scared to go out to games, and it’s dangerous besides. But Tyrone’s pretty livid about it. He really wants the season to continue, and if anything will convince the managers and Vaultz to keep having the games, it’ll be him. I honestly think he’d do anything to keep the Quidditch games going.”

“What about you?” I asked. Hmmm. Tyrone will do anything to keep playing Quidditch. I’ll be sure to keep that one in mind.

Wolfgang sighed. “Honestly? I’d miss the money if I had to lay off playing for a season. This is only my second year on the team, after all. But I think I’d rather they canceled Quidditch. I mean, this werewolf business is getting really, really bad… both sides are.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But this isn’t really dinner conversation, is it? Let’s talk about something else… this werewolf thing has been too much on our minds as it is.”

To be honest, everyone’s talking about the ‘werewolf thing’ but me. I hate thinking about it, let alone talking about it. First there was the Draco Malfoy business, then the Tancred Apple business, then the Hadrian Bellowes business. Just when things looked like they were settling down, there has to be werewolf business to boot?

But the rest of the evening was fairly nice. Dessert was yummy, the bill was not too expensive, and Wolfgang offered to walk me home before he Apparated back home to London. I drew the line at any kind of hand-holding, arm-linking, stopping in the middle of the street to snog madly and wildly, or anything else that Patrick Wormwood would call ‘hanky-panky.’ But when we stopped in front of my place, Wolfgang said, “I had a really great time.”

“Me, too,” I said. “We should do this again sometime. As long as there aren’t rampaging werewolves in the area.”

Wolfgang started to lean toward me… I’m not sure if he thought he was going to kiss me or if he just wanted a hug, but I decided not to find out and went ahead and gave him a hug. Haley was right, he did smell good. Sort of apple-y, almost.

“I guess I’ll see you back at work,” I said, grinning like an idiot. “Let’s pretend we hate each other so Vaultz doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Good plan,” said Wolfgang, hugging me one more time.

“Hey, what was that for? We hate each other, remember?” I exclaimed, laughing. “Well, see you. Unfortunately. Because I hate you.”

Still smiling for England, I stepped inside the house and immediately yanked off my outrageously uncomfortable shoes. My smile faded fairly immediately, though, when I saw Haley sitting in the kitchen window, clearly having been waiting for me to get home. Now that Wolfgang was gone, the time to be tactful was over.

“Hey!” chirped Haley, turning around.

“Hey,” I said, considerably less cheerfully. “Thanks for ruining the first date-ish type thing I’ve had in months.” A little crease appeared between Haley’s eyebrows. Ye gods, she looked genuinely confused. She is a good actress. “You know, when you were flirting like a pro over at the restaurant.”

Now Haley looked shocked and offended in that puppy-dog-like way I mentioned earlier. “I was not flirting!” she exclaimed. “I was being friendly!”

“Well, could you please do me a favour and not be ‘friendly’ with Wolfgang anymore?” I groused. For some reason, I sounded a lot like my dad, which couldn’t possibly be good.

Haley gave me her Haughty Face. “If you must know,” she said in her Haughty Voice, “I was listening to the Wizarding Wireless, and I heard there was a werewolf attack in London. A really, really bad one, down in the southernish part where Wolfgang lives. I just came to check and make sure Wolfgang was all right, because I know he had to come from London. Sorry for doing you a favour and all.”

My face softened a little bit. A werewolf attack? No wonder Wolfgang was late. I just couldn’t believe he didn’t tell me when he came in… maybe he just didn’t want to spoil the atmosphere of the evening or something? He’s never been one to whine, at least not from what I’ve seen of him.

“Hales, I’m sorry,” I said quietly, feeling a bit awkward. “I really didn’t know… This werewolf situation really bites,” I sighed. “No pun intended. I’m gonna go put my pyjamas on, okay?” Just as I was almost out of the room and nearly to the loo, I yelled over my shoulder, “Just remember to keep your paws off Wolfgang, okay?”

* * * * * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART ONE

Time for me to rip apart a classic literary masterpiece! Well, there’s a smart, sarcastic guy who’s married to an idiotic, insane, hyperactive woman. They call each other Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet, which in my opinion is the first sign of a dysfunctional relationship. Well, they’re kind of poor and they have five daughters but no sons, so they have to pimp out their daughters… I mean, find them suitable husbands. The only problem is, rich guys don’t want to marry poor girls, who are the ones who have to get married to rich guys. Catch 22.

So, Mrs. Bennet is practically wetting her pants with excitement because a rich guy named Bingley is checking out houses in the neighbourhood. Okay, now, I’ll grant that Bingley is a brilliant name, but it’s nothing to get your knickers in a twist about. She starts shrieking about how he hopes he marries one of her daughters. Never mind that she’s never heard of him, and that he might be hideous, old, retarded, chock-full of STDs, creepy, snobby, obnoxious, or that no matter how charming and handsome he may turn out to be, there’s always the chance that he’s attracted to guys and therefore off limits.

Mrs. Bennet goes on for awhile until even the author gets bored and we get to meet the five girls. There’s Jane, who’s super gorgeous, super nice, super shy, and basically an android. There’s Elizabeth, who’s apparently smart, witty, outspoken, and headstrong. I’m not really sure what ‘headstrong’ means, but it’s always being used to describe characters like Elizabeth. She’s pretty much the protagonist, as far as I can tell so far.

Then there’s Mary, who’s all serious and never smiles and is always reading and playing music and being pompous. See, you’re thinking I’m about to say she’s Jordan Potter, right? Wrong. Because unlike Jor-jums, Mary is a complete idiot who thinks she’s a genius and is really, really bad at playing music, while Jordan is a complete genius who knows he’s a genius.

Oh, and then there’s Kitty and Lydia. They’re seventeen and fifteen, but their mum is still trying to marry them off, probably because they’re so annoying, dumb, and shallow that it would be a relief to get them out of the house. Marriage is definitely not what’s on their minds, though, if you get my drift. They are a pair of little harlots (I love that word). There’s these soldiers stationed in town, and Kitty and Lydia basically don’t do anything except try to get as much soldierly loving as possible.

So, Elizabeth (the main character, in case you forgot) has a best friend named Charlotte, and she’s really nice and really smart and really rich, but unfortunately, she’s also really ugly. No one will marry her because she looks like a gargoyle’s bum. But her dad throws a big party and everyone goes to it to meet the cheerful and charming Mr. Bingley and his two evil sisters and his incredibly fit best friend, Mr. Darcy, all of whom live together. Okay, I’m already sensing that ol’ Bing-Bing is not straight.

Well, despite my suspicions otherwise, Bing-Bing is apparently smitten with the gorgeous android, Jane, and they party all night long, but Darcy won’t dance and he just stands there looking sullen and sultry, probably because his boyfriend stood him up for some girl.

So, Bing-Bing is like, “Come and dance, you moron!”

And Darcy�”which I’m pretty sure is a girl’s name�”goes, “No, you’re dancing with the only good-looking person here!”

And Bing-Bing goes, “Niflheim yes, I am! But, er, her sister’s over there… she’s fairly hot…” Yes, I always imagine him with a slightly obnoxious American accent for no apparent reason.

And Darcy goes, “WELL, I GUESS SHE’S BETTER THAN THAT PILE-OF-POO-FACED BIRD OVER THERE NEXT TO HER, BUT, ER, I’D STILL RATHER STICK FORKS IN MY EYES IF IT’S ALL THE SAME TO YOU. BY THE WAY, YOUR GIRLFRIEND SMILES TOO MUCH.”

I swear I am not making that last bit up. Darcy is actually that emo. And then he proceeds to stomp off to his emo corner for the rest of the night.

So basically, Jane falls in love with Bing-Bing, and everyone really approves of him, even though his sisters are absolute… Golden Snitches, if you get my meaning. But after everyone hears about Jerkface Girl-Name Darcy, absolutely everyone decides that they hate his guts, however gorgeous. Especially Lizzy. And Charlotte, who hates men in general. So far, Charlotte is actually my favourite character. She’s cool. And Darcy seems like a skunkbag.

Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour:
You were once my one companion
You were all that mattered.
You were once a friend and father
Then my world was shattered.
Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near.
Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed
Somehow you would be here.
-- “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again,” from The Phantom of the Opera

Well, today was probably one of the worst days of my life, and I should have known it when I went to get some breakfast and found a dead possum in the cereal box. Possums aren’t even indigenous to England, so what’s up with that anyway, huh?

But things only got progressively worse. The very first thing I saw when I stepped into the stadium was Patrick Wormwood’s face, which is bad enough as is. And then he walked right up to me and said, and I quote: “I am charmed and delighted to see you.” Human beings don’t talk like that.

“Wish I could say the same,” I muttered under my breath, making a valiant effort to get past him. But I should have known better. He’s a persistent little son of a billiard cue.

“Tell me, what interests you?” he asked, doing a brilliant job of blocking my path. Maybe he should play Keeper.

“Right now, getting to work on time is right up there,” I said, with my usual grace and tact. I probably needed coffee, but I don’t dare get dependent on it. My dad’s a complete addict when it comes to caffeine, and I’m sure I’d be even worse.

Patrick smiled. “I enjoy these spontaneous conversations whenever possible,” he informed me proudly.

“Well, thanks for warning me,” I replied, schlumping my way past and thinking dreamily to myself that if Patrick imposed another one of those ‘spontaneous conversations’ on me, I’d jump out a window. Or more likely, push him out of one. I know, I know, I sound like a horrible person, but to be honest, I don’t think Patrick was listening to a single word I said. He certainly didn’t pay attention to subtle body language like me walking swiftly away from him.

And just when I was congratulating myself on my brilliant escape, who should saunter up toward me but Clio Winkley, looking especially fake-blonde, fake-tan, and fake-friendly. “Emma!” she exclaimed in her little purr of a voice. “How are you? You know, I’ve been hearing the most interesting stories about you from Tyrone. They’re simply fascinating. It’s strange, I had absolutely no idea that you�”“

“I’ve heard some interesting stories about you, too, but I’d better not tell any of them, because this is a family environment,” I told her cheerfully, interrupting her in mid-italics. You know that little voice in the back of your head that makes rude comments that you don’t dare say out loud? I think that voice is me.

“At least the stories about me don’t start with ‘call me Ishmael,’” she replied smoothly.

Okay, I don’t even know what that means. Last time I checked, my name was definitely not Ishmael. But whatever, Clio’s never been accused of making sense before. In any case, I had a day in the stadium today, my favourite kind, and that was a bit of a relief. Yet another free game! It’s almost enough to make me start rooting for the Cannons. Just kick Tyrone off, and I’ll be screaming and waving Cannons pennants within the week.

The stands were pretty full today, and even though I didn’t get to Stun anyone, there was an exciting incident involving a couple of guys throwing popcorn at the bald heads of older wizards a few rows in front of them. I may have made a bigger deal of the situation then necessary, but it certainly worked�”no popcorn was thrown for the rest of the game. And I’m sure there was a way to reattach this kid’s arm.

(Hint: If you didn’t realize that I was joking, then you really don’t know me at all.)

In any case, it was an experience watching the Cannons play. I couldn’t help but notice Wolfgang, even as a faint orange blur on the far end of the pitch. I played Chaser in school, and I know a really good one when I see one (ie., not me). The skill in a very talented Chaser is not being good at throwing�”any schmuck can put a ball through a hoop that big. You want to be able to catch balls that no one in their right mind should�”my dad calls it ‘Sticky Fingers,’ which always sounds really gross to me. The other important thing is to always be on the defensive, and Wolfgang dodged Bludgers with the best of them. Why had I never heard of Wolfgang Quinn before? He’s really good.

It’s odd, though, the ways he and Tyrone fly are so different. You’ve got Tyrone, a big, muscular, broad-shouldered guy who looks like he shouldn’t be able to balance on his narrow little broom, and he’s flying around with insane concentration, like there’s nothing in the world except for him and the Bludgers and his club and the other players. Then you’ve got Wolfgang, who’s quick and wiry and flies like he’s in a circus, putting on a show. He’s fun to watch, playing to the audience and smiling and doing tricks. And of course, no one’s watching him, because their attention is on boring old Tyrone.

I know that Wolfgang always wanted to be an artist and took up Quidditch for the money, but he looked like he was enjoying himself so much flying around. I even saw him wink at me as he flew past, consummately unprofessional and cheesy, but still pretty cool in an uncool sort of way.

The Cannons won their game again. I think I’m a good luck charm.

Because I’m evil, I casually hung around after the match to have a bit of a chat with my pal Wolfgang. For all of Vaultz’s warnings (and Tyrone’s and Patrick’s), I’d never gotten in trouble before for talking to Quidditch players, and where better than directly after a game? Tyrone’s always totally inundated with crazed fans, of course, but Wolfgang is usually handily free. I couldn’t quite seem to find him today, though.

I hung back for awhile, staring blankly over the bleachers shining in the sun and dotted with various disgusting bits of litter, slipping into the crowd with true Auror stealth whenever I saw Clio or Patrick pass by.

Just when I was getting ready to pack up my things and head for someplace that didn’t smell like the bathroom of a cigarette factory, I spotted that familiar crown of ridiculous buttercup-shaped light brown hair from across the stadium. It had to be Wolfgang. He wasn’t alone, though�”following him was an even more familiar head of short, shiny black curls. Actually, maybe ‘chasing’ was a better word to use than ‘following,’ because Wolfgang seemed to be striding at a pace four or five notches above ‘leisurely stroll.’ As they drew nearer, I could make out snippets of what they were saying.

“…honestly, I don’t care whether werewolves [UNINTELLIGIBLE]�”“ I heard Tyrone exclaim over those intrusive mumbles you always get when you’re trying to spy on someone far away in a public place.

“Well, just because we [UNINTELLIGIBLE]�”“ the other man replied angrily. I peered at him through narrowed eyes, pretending to be very occupied with examining my nails. Yes, it was Wolfgang… I was eighty-five percent sure, at least. That buttercup-shaped hair, and that casual, drawling voice were a dead giveway. True, he wasn’t wearing his Quidditch robes, but neither was Tyrone. (Now, now, you dirty-minded readers, both of these fellows were fully clothed. Their clothes just didn’t include hideously orange Quidditch robes. Glad we established that.)

“Shh!” cautioned Tyrone. “Don’t want to tarnish your sterling-silver reputation, do we? Whoops, bad word choice there.” Now that they were drawing closer, I could hear everything Tyrone was saying, but Wolfgang�”he was definitely Wolfgang, now I could make out his features�”was a bit harder to decipher. He muttered something that sounded like, ‘banana rat snuff,’ which I seriously doubt he actually said.

And then, my cover was blown. I heard him say a word that I recognized very easily�”“Emma!”

I looked up. “Oh�”Wolfgang! Hey!” I called back, ignoring the extremely obvious Tyrone looming behind him. Now that they were this close, I could see that Tyrone was clutching a plastic bag full of some kind of round purplish-black things. They looked like little dead mice, or perhaps dog droppings, but I doubted even Tyrone was that gross.

“All I’m saying is, you’re not helping anything, and you’re definitely not making it easy for me,” Tyrone said cryptically, looking significantly at Wolfgang, and then stormed off to go get fangirled or whatever it was he did with himself.

I do happen to have a brain, so it didn’t take me long to realize that the boys had not simply been talking about Quidditch tactics. Like most people these days, they were having a chat about werewolves. And based on what Wolfgang told me when we went out to dinner together, Tyrone wanted to continue having regular Quidditch matches, no matter the cost. He’d basically just flat-out stated that he didn’t care whether werewolves savaged the entire audience, so long as he got to zoom around on a broom and look cool.

Wolfgang grimaced as he plopped down next to me. “On a lighter note,” he said, “you’re looking nice today.”

“Then that’s either a testament to my radiant natural beauty or your lying abilities. I was up ‘till three listening to Haley practice the songs from your brother’s musical over and over again. I basically just rolled out of bed and Apparated here without making any stops in between,” I said. “So, what’s up with you?”

“Well… I’m guessing you’re sick of that musical,” replied Wolfgang. “But I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to this party tonight�”you probably heard a lot about it from Haley, you know, Anatoly’s fundraiser gala thing at the Three Broomsticks?”

I certainly had heard a lot about it from Haley. Anatoly had decided that the best way to raise the funds for his show would be to hold a hot, happening party that everyone who was anyone in Hogsmeade would attend�”the catch being that you had to pay to get in.

The plan seemed to be working, because from what I’d heard, quite a lot of the people who moved in the highest circles were moving their high selves toward the Three Broomsticks to eat overpriced food and listen to Haley sing some demos with B.C. It helped that B.C. still had connections in with Tyrone. He’d signed up early on, and a whole lot of other people had been all too eager to jump on the bandwagon that he was steering.

I suddenly realized that the pattern of my fingers tapping on the bleachers was the exact same rhythm as one of the songs from that infernal musical. It had gotten to me. Blast. “I’m not so sick of the musical that I’d miss the party,” I said. “It’d beat getting murdered by Haley when she got back, at least. But I already have a free ticket from Haley… and it says I can bring a guest. How about being my guest?”

Wolfgang hesitated, then smiled. “That’d be great,” he said. “I actually haven’t bought my ticket yet.”

I squinted at him. “Wait a minute, you have to buy a ticket to a party for your own big brother’s musical? Sounds a bit cheap to me.”

“I told you,” sighed Wolfgang, “B.C. and I don’t really get along that well. I wasn’t even going to go to the party, but if I went with you, I think it’d be fun. Here I was expecting to buy two tickets… well, not expecting, I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to come, but I was prepared to buy two… if necessary… and now I get to go for free. See, this is why I hang out for you.”

“Oh, good,” I said. “I’m so sick of people who want to hang out with me because of my personality. Creeps.”

As if on cue, and no, I am not making this up, who should pop up but Patrick Wormwood. It was a sudden and unexpected arrival, like when it rains and suddenly dead worms are lying everywhere on the streets and you’re stepping on them left and right. “Oh, hello there, you two!” he chirped, standing directly between Wolfgang and me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything!”

Please move, I thought. You are entirely obscuring Wolfgang’s pretty face, and I can smell your breath from here. But what I said was, “What? Interrupting anything? Oh, you nutter, you know we’re not allowed to talk to Quidditch players! Vaultz’s rules!” I gave him a bright, sunshiny smile, though the effect may have been spoiled slightly by a subtle but insistent eye twitch.

“Yeah, I was just, er, giving her directions to the pub down the street,” Wolfgang chipped in. “I wasn’t chatting with Esme�”Emily�”whatever her name is.” And with that, he zipped out of sight as quickly as though he’d Apparated away. Traitor. How dare he leave me alone with Patrick?

Luckily for me, Patrick was not in a particularly long-winded mood and cut right to the chase of what he was going to say. Unluckily for me, what he was going to say was not something I wanted to hear at all. “Say,” he said breezily, standing a tiny bit too close, “I’ve been hearing a jolly good amount about some sort of shindig down at the Three Broomsticks tonight. Have you heard anything about that?”

“Can’t say I have,” I responded, my voice beginning to sound rather frantic. “Oh, look, is that a moth?”

Patrick ignored my clever diversionary tactics and plowed right ahead. “It sounds quite diverting!” he gushed. “Perhaps you’d like to come with me as my date, eh?”

I gulped. Oh dear. This was the type of thing that I always feared would happen but optimistically assumed Patrick would never have the guts to do. I simply stared bleakly into Patrick’s pasty, eager face and tried to form words that made a clear point without using the phrase, ‘not on your life, barfboy.’ “Patrick,” I said at last, “Patrick, darling, I already have a date for tonight. And if I’m going to be honest with you, you’re really not my… type. And I don’t think I’d be yours, either. I think I’d probably scare you once you got to know me.” Your type would be more along the lines of, say, parameciums, I thought, fervently hoping that Patrick was not a Legilimens.

Patrick did something that I never would have expected him to. He laughed. I took a step or two back and stared at him like a scientist studying some unknown alien species, and ascertained that he was still wearing a stupid smile. “Oh, I know your type!” he told me jovially, actually waggling a finger at me. “Don’t you worry, I can read you like a book! I know young ladies like to have a bit of fun and play around rejecting people when they’re too modest to say ‘yes.’ I understand completely.” He winked and tapped his nose like some kind of horrible ancient uncle.

I took another step back. “Is this some kind of ‘understanding completely’ that’s a synonym for ‘being totally clueless?’” I asked slowly. “Patrick… I don’t think you understand at all. Look, I’m being very blunt with you. I don’t want to go out with you, not tonight, not next week, not in five years.” This was immediately followed by a long, awkward silence, like some kind of boa constrictor with cerebral palsy crawling by.

“I… I see.” I watched Patrick’s brow furrow oh-so-slowly. “I… I suppose now is a bad time.”

“Basically… everytime is a bad time. I�”“

Patrick’s brow furrow had made the full transformation to a frown. “Yes,” he said. “I see. Yes. I see. Yes. I�”“

“See?” I supplied helpfully.

Patrick opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, shoved his hands into his pockets, turned around, and walked out of the stadium, turning around to look at me four or five times on the way out, which I felt was unnecessary. I could tell my ears were as red as my dad’s had ever been. That had been one of the most uncomfortable, horrific experiences of my life, and certainly the worst experience I’d ever had turning down a boy. But it was if Patrick didn’t know anything at all about human beings�”or at least, girls, which was the half of the species that mattered.

“You handled that well,” I heard a voice say quietly. I turned around to see Wolfgang standing there and almost fell down the stadium steps.

“What, you were there the whole time?” I squawked.

Wolfgang shrugged as he made his way toward me. “I couldn’t help it,” he said. “Well. Now I feel a lot more comfortable around you. Knowing how you deal with people you don’t like makes me a heck of a lot more secure in our friendship.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “You don’t think I was too harsh?” I asked, running a hand through my hair. “He looked a bit like a mouse cornered by a cat by the end of that.”

“Don’t sweat it,” said Wolfgang. “Mice don’t usually get it into their heads to ask out the cat. Ooh, look what got left here.” He held up the same plastic bag full of round dark purplish objects that I’d seen Tyrone carrying around earlier. “It looks like Tyrone forgot his snack.”

I pulled a face. “What are those?” I asked.

“Wow, you really haven’t seen Tyrone in a long time,” commented Wolfgang, casually swinging the bag around like a slingshot. “They’re prunes. It’s kind of a good-luck ritual. Whenever he wins a game, he has to eat prunes. It’s just something he does. Oh, but he hates the word ‘prune.’ He’ll scream at you if you say it.”

Prunes? That sounded really weird, even for Tyrone. “What does he call them, then?” I asked, trying to think of something clever to say. The truth was, there was nothing funnier I could say than re-stating that Tyrone liked to eat prunes.

“He… likes to call them pre-juiced plums,” Wolfgang said. “And he’s probably the only one who does. Well, enough about that, let’s get out of here. I’ll see you tonight, right?”

I smiled. “I’ll meet you there,” I told him. “I’m coming with Haley�”she’d kill me otherwise�”but I’ll wait at the door for you, so you can use my ticket. We’re probably going to be really early.”

“That’d be great,” he said. Then, he paused, his expression growing slightly more serious. “Erm, listen, Emma, I�””

But I never got to hear what exactly he was being serious about, because just then, a large, silvery rabbit hopped over toward me and began to speak. I know what you’re thinking, that the white powder I had in my tea might not have been sugar and all that, but don’t worry. You see, this large, silvery, speaking rabbit was something all too familiar to me; namely, it was Haley’s Patronus.

“Emma!” the Patronus exclaimed, bouncing up and down a little on the spot in true rabbit fashion. “Listen, get yourself home right now, okay? I need you ASAP. Sorry, but it’s really important.”

Wolfgang looked concerned as the Patronus dissipated in a puff of smoke. “That was Haley, wasn’t it? I hope she’s okay.”

I shrugged. “It’s probably nothing,” I said. “She’s always sending me Patronuses telling me to get home. I’ll Apparate back home anyway, but I bet she just wants a snack and can’t reach the shelf where I keep the cookie jar or something like that.”

This is completely true�”Haley’s notorious for getting me all worried over nothing. One day, she sent me a Patronus telling me to come quick because her vibrato was broken. Well, I had never heard the word ‘vibrato’ before, but I guessed it was either a vital part of the body or some incredibly expensive heirloom. But when I got home, everything looked fine, so I asked Haley what exactly ‘vibrato’ meant, and she said, “It’s like when you sing and your voice wiggles up and down on long notes. You know, like how opera singers’ voices do that thing? It’s like, ‘If I were king of the fore-e-e-e-e-e-est?’”

I stared blankly at her. “Wait,” I said. “Vibrato is some singing thing? And you called me here because…”

“I was singing this song from Sweeney Todd!” wailed Haley. “And I was singing, and all of a sudden, I realized my vibrato wasn’t working! My voice was going, but there was no vibrato! It was just gone! I don’t know what happened!”

I’d been staring for a good five minutes; now it was time to blink repeatedly. “Haley,” I said. “Let me get this straight. You called me home from work because of some singing problem. Me. Who knows about as much about singing as a pile of porlock poo.”

“I didn’t know what to do!” blubbered Haley. “Listen! Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird, how is it you siiiing… Whoa! Hey! It’s back! My vibrato’s back! Okay, never mind!”

And that wasn’t the only time she did something like that. She does this type of thing all the time. So I wasn’t really expecting anything to be wrong today, but I figured it would probably be best to get home even so. So I gave Wolfgang a quick little hug and Apparated home, having had a very long day and looking forward to a nice, relaxing nap.

I knew as soon as I got home, though, that something was very wrong. There was no obnoxious singing at all, no tap-dancing echoing off of the walls, no freaky vocal exercises. The windows were drawn, and the house seemed too dim and too quiet.

“Haley?” I called. “Hey!”

“In here!” came her voice from the living room, sounding rather less perky than I was used to hearing from her. It was clear why the second I stepped into the room. Ivy was lying curled up on our couch, still in her pajamas, which was rather unusual for her. Her long white blonde hair, always meticulously plaited, was today tied in a messy knot on the top of her head, and her eyes and nose looked red and swollen.

“Whoa,” I said gingerly, sitting down and courteously neglecting to mention that Ivy had usurped my usual spot. “Er… what’s wrong?”

Ivy looked up at me with big, baleful eyes that looked as though she hadn’t slept at all. “Did Haley not tell you?” she said in a small voice.

Haley sighed. “I thought it’d be better coming from you,” she replied carefully.

Oh, no. Now I could feel my heart rising in my throat and my brain going into low-key panic mode. This could not be good. Someone was dead, I knew it�”the werewolves had attacked someone, Uncle Harry, or one of my parents, or someone else we knew… Oh, no, it was Jordan, wasn’t it… He was up in London where all of the attacks had been happening lately… and I hadn’t heard from him in awhile… he had to be dead…

“It’s Ted,” Ivy told me in a strange, flat voice that sounded like a prepubescent version of her brother Jordan. “He left.”

This was certainly not what I had expected. For a moment, the words didn’t register. “Oh, good,” I sighed. “I thought Jordan died or something. You could’ve…” I stopped in my figurative tracks. “Wait, what? Ted?”

Haley nodded miserably. “Yeah, he left really early this morning. The werewolves aren’t the only ones going on rampages�”there are loads of people running around trying to kill all the werewolves because they’re just so scared. Pretty much everyone in the wizarding world knows Ted’s a werewolf, and he almost got killed yesterday in the street, except some Auror just happened to be there and straightened things out.”

“I’m an Auror trainee,” I spat. “How did I not hear about this?”

Haley ignored my question and plowed on with her story, as though she’d explode if she couldn’t finish it. “So, Ted figured things weren’t safe for him, and that people would definitely come after Ivy as well if they knew she was pregnant with his kid. So he went off to this place�”there’s this colony of werewolves somewhere, and they’re totally wild, but they’re not part of the attacks. So, Ted went out there to make sure they didn’t join up with the other werewolves, and to, you know, be a spokesperson, because the other werewolves aren’t great at talking to the press or the Ministry or whatever.”

I flopped back in my chair. I couldn’t believe it. Ted was the guy who always seemed to have fallen out of a fairy tale, always cheerful and optimistic and lovey-dovey. He was the guy you could depend on to ride up on a white steed and save the day�”always jumping in front of attackers to protect his friends, always game for anything. I couldn’t imagine him running away from any problem. In his own dorky, awkward way, Ted has always been one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. It wasn’t like him to skip out on his wife and baby and say, ‘well, go fend yourself while I hide, you hear?’

“So, basically, Ted just waltzed out and said, ‘hasta la vista, baby, you have your kid and raise it on your own while I run around naked in the forest howling at the moon with the boys?’” I clarified.

Ivy’s mouth dropped open in shock, apparently still too enamoured with the guy to stand hard truths about him. “That’s not what happened,” she said in the brittle little voice she always uses when she’s making the attempt to stick up for herself. “Both of us made the decision. We stayed up all night talking about it, and we decided it was the best thing to do.”

“And by ‘both of you,’ what you really mean is, Ted said ‘hmm, think I’ll do this,’ and you said, ‘oh, mkay, do whatever you want, because I love you. Don’t worry about me, I don’t mind being totally miserable,’” I shot back.

Ivy’s face drained of colour until she was paler than her hair, then two flaming red spots appeared on her cheeks. She looked as though someone had told her that Ted had been found dead in a hot tub in a passionate embrace with Tyrone Thomas.

“Emma!” exclaimed Haley. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I’d known you were going to be a jerk about this!”

I raised my eyebrows. “You do realize that this is Emma Weasley you’re talking about? But seriously, I’m not trying to be mean. It’s true�”Ivy always goes along with whatever Ted wants. It’s not like he’s pushy�”I mean, he basically lies down so everyone else can walk all over him�”but it’s like she’s convinced that if you love someone, your own feelings don’t matter.”

“She is sitting right here,” Ivy said quietly, looking me straight in the eyes with the Ivy Lupin equivalent of defiance.
No one spoke for a minute or two. Haley’s eyes were swimming with tears, and she was hugging her knees close, while I shifted around uncomfortably in my chair. At last, I said, “Well, time to hit the singles bars.”

Ivy smiled tautly. “What better place for a married, pregnant, tea-drinking woman?”

“Let me put it this way,” I told her, not even coming close to smiling. “What Ted’s doing is a suicide mission. If werewolf hunters don’t get him, the werewolves he’s living with will. I know that, and you know that, and Ted definitely knows that.”

“His dad survived,” Haley chipped in loyally. “Twice!”

“In a war between werewolves and wizards?” I shot back. “I don’t think so. Ted’s dead meat out there. And you’re as good as single now.”

Ivy actually stood up and walked out of the room into the kitchen, standing as erect as she could. Once she was out of view, Haley picked up a small ceramic kitten and smashed it against my eyebrow.

“What the Niflheim, Haley! You could’ve put my eye out!” I yelled.

“Oh, I feel like doing worse than that!” she snapped, though she looked about as menacing as a ceramic kitten. “What is up with you? Are you trying to make Ivy feel as horrible as possible? I honestly don’t think there’s anything worse you could’ve said.”

I glared at the floor, mainly because it wasn’t likely to hit me with a ceramic kitten. I didn’t know how to say what I felt. I was angry, angry with everyone possible�”the stupid werewolves, the stupid werewolf hunters, stupid Ted for leaving, stupid Ivy for letting him go, stupid Haley for refusing to accept the truth, stupid me for not being able to feel anything but anger in a time when I was supposed to be all sympathetic and encouraging.

I kicked the sofa so hard that I felt my foot would fall off. “I’m just trying to be realistic,” I said. “It’s better than getting Ivy’s hopes up and convincing her that Ted will come back and they’ll ride into the sunset and live happily ever after. Things never work out like that.”

Haley snorted. “Just because it didn’t work out for you and Tyrone doesn’t mean you need to get all bitter about anyone in a relationship.”

I jumped to my feet. “Don’t make this about Tyrone!” I shouted. “What’s your problem? Tyrone and I broke up five years ago. That’s ancient history.”

“So why are you shouting?” chirped Haley.

I think she was trying to playfully annoy me, but I was too mad to get annoyed, if that makes any sense. “I feel sick,” I said. “I hate Ted so much right now. And he’s not the kind of person I ever thought I’d have a good reason to hate. I’m too disgusted with him to even talk about him anymore… I don’t want to even think about it.” I got up and started making my way toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” called Haley.

“To bed,” I muttered. “I need to sleep. And I’m definitely not going to that party of yours tonight.”

Haley jumped up and followed me, and somehow managed to get in front of me and block my way to the stairs. She has the skills of a ninja sometimes. “But you have to!” she exclaimed. “What about Wolfgang?”

“Oh, Wolfgang, Schmolfgang!” I yelled. “Look, now you’re making me talk like dad again. Out of everything that’s happening, you’re worried about that? Who even cares about Wolfgang?”

“Well, for one, you do,” Haley pointed out. “And he likes you. And he’ll be waiting outside the door for you to come with his ticket. Besides, you have to hear my pretty singing, remember?”

I smirked. “Because I never get to hear that.” I rubbed my arms. “I guess I’ll go. But I’ll hate it.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Haley.

We did end up going, after several hours of moping, grumbling, Haley bashing me with creatively chosen painful objects, and lamenting the paucity of wearable things in our closets. Ivy was, naturally, allowed to stay home, though she stayed at our place�”I think her house felt too big and too empty without Ted, or something like that. Haley stayed quiet and subdued, at least, quiet and subdued for Haley (which was still the equivalent of a hyperactive and giggly Ivy), while I stomped around like a hungry ogre.

To be honest, I’m not even sure why I was so furious. I might sound completely out of my tree, up the wall, and into the bat cave, but Ted and Ivy were always… a constant. They’ve been nuts about each other since we were fourteen, probably even before then, and they’ve been the token happy little romance ever since. They were the little plastic couple on the top of the wedding cake, the couple on the sitcom, the couple straight out of a Disney movie. And now..it was like hearing the story of Cinderella every day, and then suddenly, one day, Cinderella doesn’t get the prince at the end and he marries one of the stepsisters�”it doesn’t happen. But why this upset me so much, I’ll never know.

Haley and I got ourselves over to the party, eventually at least. Frankly, I felt like coming in sweatpants and a “I’d Rather Be Fighting Dark Wizards” t-shirt. But I somehow managed to force myself to get myself all dolled up. We were, as planned, unfashionably early, so the Three Broomsticks was nearly empty except for Anatoly, B.C., and the rather friendly barman who I nonetheless could never bring myself to like as much as the one at the Hog’s Head.

Haley immediately made her presence known by rushing in and tackling both Anatoly and B.C. in huge hugs (the latter looking rather startled, as he was tuning the piano at the time and had his back to the door).

“Well!” exclaimed Anatoly, clapping his hands. “Now that our first guest’s arrived, I guess the party’s officially started! Now, where did I put your silly hat?”

I rolled my eyes at his lame attempt at humour. Little did I know that it was more than just a lame attempt. We actually all had to wear stupid-looking, cone shaped party hats with pom-poms and polka dots. This was, of course, Haley’s idea. I made a resolution not to speak with her for a week.

I sat at a table to wait for some more guests to arrive, and watched Haley chat and giggle merrily with Anatoly. B.C. was still busy at the piano, but he’d occasionally look up, smile distractedly, and get a word or two in edgewise. How does Haley manage to be so perky and animated when I’m feeling all cranky and unsociable? Is she just such a good actor that she can act all happy when she’s anything but, or is she really that different from me?

The truth is, I think Haley feels sorry for Ivy, and misses Ted, and is worried about him… but I don’t think she’s angry. I know Ivy isn’t. It’s just me, and it’s weird.

It wasn’t too long before other guests started to pour in, though it seemed like an eternity (Haley was telling a “funny” story about a little communication mishap I’d once had with a Swedish taxi driver, and I spent many an uncomfortable minute trying to figure out how to sink into the floor). For awhile, no one I knew showed up�”and assortment of oldish people, posh-looking people, vaguely familiar-looking people who drove me crazy trying to decide if I knew them or not, old school acquaintances who I desperately tried to avoid, and people wearing those scary pastel trousers that always end up getting pulled up preternaturally high.

Then, the door swung open, and who should sweep through the door but Tyrone Thomas. I couldn’t help but silently follow his trajectory around the room with his eyes, praying to myself that he didn’t come near me. For a split second, his eyes met mine, a feeling rather like getting pecked in the eye by a flamingo, and we stared for an instant, daring each other to be the one to look away first. It was me who lost the staring contest, and Tyrone headed off in the opposite direction, much to my relief.

Please get here, soon, Wolfgang, I thought to myself, jiggling my foot up and down madly. I’d chosen a seat that allowed me to see the street directly outside the pub without having to actually stand outside, and my plan was to race out and wave my ticket around at the ticket-collector-person as soon as Wolfgang showed up. But he was nowhere to be seen, and I was getting antsy. He was the reason I’d ended up coming in the first place, and if he didn’t show, I was going to be one unhappy camper.

I certainly recognized two of the next people to walk through the door, but sadly, neither of them was Wolfgang, or anything close. It was the delightful Patrick Wormwood… and Clio Winkley?

Oh Godric, he’d asked her after asking me out? And she’d said yes? Well, there’s no accounting for taste… on either side. Though I had a sneaking suspicion that going with Patrick was just Clio’s clever ploy to be in the same room as Tyrone without looking too desperate.

Wait a minute… what was that weird insult Clio used on me this morning? “At least stories about me don’t start with ‘call me Ishmael,’” or something like that… ohhhh, no. Ohhhh, no. I think I just got it. Okay, now I’m seriously annoyed. “Call me Ishmael” is the first sentence of the rather famous book that I’ve never read, called Moby Dick. It’s a book about a whale.

Nice, Clio. Nice.

I sat there watching Patrick be creepy and socially inept to various people, Clio desperately trying to evade Patrick and make her way off to the Tyrone-centric part of the party, Anatoly jovially forcing party hats on guests, Haley being inhumanly perky, B.C. being politely bewildered by his strange associates, Tyrone being Tyrone, and some guy who got hopelessly drunk and started stumbling around saying things like ‘why, mother, that shade of purple looks very becoming on your lizard fork.’

They had just begun to serve food�”on the opposite side of the room where I was sitting, naturally�”and I was salivating at the sight of the rather terrific porkchop that I’d managed to glimpse, when I glimpsed something just as interesting. Wolfgang Quinn was walking up the path, just when I’d given up hope that he’d come. I checked my watch as I made my casual way toward the door. The kid was twenty-five minutes late, and I can’t say I was overly happy with him.

I didn’t have the chance to tell him off, though. The second I stepped outside the door, he blurted out, “I’M SO SORRY. I don’t have good excuse or anything. I’m just late. If you want, I’ll… go now or something.”

“Oh, come on in, you big saddo,” I said fondly, brandishing my ticket in the ticket-taker’s face. “This guy’s my guest,” I explained. “And he better hurry up, because they’re serving food now.”

A couple of heads turned as Wolfgang and I walked past to our table, not the least B.C.’s and Tyrone’s. “Awkward awkward awkward,” I whispered as we sat down at our table. Although I was still in a bad mood because of Ted, and still annoyed with Wolfgang for being late, as soon as I got a little bit of admittedly tasty food in my belly, I began to feel a bit more cheerful. It also helped that Wolfgang was there to chat with. It’s hard to be irritated with him for too long because he’s just too likeable, darn him.

After dinner, Anatoly made some kind of incoherent speech about the musical and money and stuff. I can’t say I was really paying attention because I was busy demolishing the wonderfully gooey chocolate cake that they’d served for dessert, but my ears did perk up a little when they brought out the piano.

“This is Haley Potter!” announced Anatoly, as Haley flounced her way to the “stage” at the front of the room, all smiles, sparkles, and shiny hair. “That’s a name you’ll want to remember, because she’s definitely an up-and-coming star. She’s the one of us who’ll still hit it bigger than Godzilla even if this show flops, so you keep your eye on her. Especially right now, because she and my partner-in-crime B.C. are going to sing one of the songs from our show! So sit back, adjust your dentures, and enjoy, kiddies!”

I don’t know how people stand to listen to him. But luckily, no one had to anymore, because there was something entirely different to listen to.

“I’m no singer, so expect a much higher-calibre performance in the real musical,” B.C. apologized sheepishly as he started playing a low, rumbling riff on the piano. “This song’s called ‘Charlotte and Jean-Paul’, and I think it’s one of my favourites. Well, my favourites I helped write, that is.”

And then the singing started. Well, I have to say, it was pretty incredible, and you know I’m not a big fan of show tunes. The song was a duet between this guy named Jean-Paul Marat and this girl named Charlotte Corday, who were both radical revolutionaries during the French Revolution. Now, before you expect some kind of sappy romantic ballad, let me explain�”they were revolutionaries in opposing factions that kept killing each other. And one day, Charlotte came to Marat’s house and tricked him into giving her his hit list, and then… SHE STABBED HIM TO DEATH IN HIS BATHTUB. How awesome is that?

The song was definitely awesome�”two crazy intense different tunes going on at the same time, ending with some insane high note. And I hear Haley singing every day, but it’s not often that I get to hear her actually full-out perform. I’ve never heard her sound better, and I actually felt like standing up and geekily exclaiming, “Hey, see that girl? Yeah, I’m her best friend. I know her. Yeah. Hahaha.” As for B.C. and all of his modesty, he sounded great, too, at least to my untrained ears. His voice was kind of soft, but pretty nonetheless.

“Hey, your cousin’s good,” whispered Wolfgang, poking me in the side.

“Yeah, so’s your brother,” I replied, then decided to pull out the big guns and use my sophisticated musical vocabulary. “He has really nice vibrato.”

I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that they were together in one room, I couldn’t help but notice a certain resemblance between Wolfgang and B.C. They were both tallish and they both had tanned skin and curly brown hair, though Wolfgang’s was longer. They had the same round eyes (B.C.’s blue, Wolfgang’s green), and the same friendly, reassuring smile. They even had the same square jawline, though B.C.’s was softened and slightly hidden by his chubbiness. But somehow, Wolfgang had that factor that made people notice him and think, ‘ooh, pretty,’ while you wouldn’t look at B.C. twice- and it wasn’t just looks that did it, either.

“Hey, Wolfgang, what does B.C. stand for?” I asked.

He blinked. “Oh… I can’t believe this,” he said. “I totally forgot. He’s been B.C. since forever, and, like I said, we’re not all that close. It’s some big bear-sounding name… like Bruno or Bernard or Barnaby or something.”

“Bartholomew Christine?” I suggested. “Blueberry Cupcake? Bubba Caesario? Benedict Carlos? Bob Cat? Bruce Chuck-another-shrimp-on-the-barbie-mate?”

“What on earth are you children talking about now?” said a voice behind me. I didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was Anatoly.

I sighed. “We’re trying to figure out what B.C. stands for,” I explained flatly.

“Before Christ,” said Anatoly, then strolled off his merry way. Very helpful, that lad.

And sadly, he did not do anything to improve my mood as the evening wore on. After the performance and hearty applause were both finished, Anatoly flicked his wand and pushed the chairs and tables over to the side. “We are now going to play a rather interesting little game,” he announced. “I’ll put on some music�”nothing from our musical, don’t worry, don’t want anyone to get sick of it just yet�”“

“Too late,” I muttered.

“And we will have a dance competition, in pairs, no less! Oh, no, you little lovebirds, don’t go gallivanting off for your significant others. We’re choosing pairs in a special sort of way. Everyone, I trust you all have those really fashionable little party hats that Haley so graciously bestowed upon you? Yes? There should be number on the side, odd numbers for the men and even numbers for the womenfolk. Raise your hand now if I pegged you as the wrong gender, because I’m going to be honest, it wasn’t easy to tell with some of you.”

Mercifully, no one raised a hand. I checked the side of my hat. Mine was number four. Wolfgang’s was thirty-seven.

Anatoly flashed a smile. “Fabulous! All-righty. So, I’m going to start playing a song now, and every now and then, I’m going to pause and call out pairs of numbers, and when I call your number, you will step into the spotlight and get your groove on until I call the next number! And here’s a rule to make things just a little bit spicier�”there must be at least some physical contact! Just how much is up to you little scamps. And without further ado… here we go!”

He waved his wand again, and a song began to play. It was by a band called Basilisk Eat Hippogriff, and had the rather catchy name of “I Don’t Know If It’s Amortentia Or The Twelve Firewhiskies I Just Drank, But You Suddenly Look Really Attractive.”

“Number one!” called Anatoly. “Ooh, that’s me, let’s see which lovely lady I have the pleasure of dancing with tonight. Number eighteen!”

The ‘lovely lady’ happened to be Clio. I smirked a little bit as she walked sullenly toward the front of the room�”anyone with a brain could tell she’d been hoping to dance with Tyrone. The two of them proceeded to do one of the most awkward dances I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing (and I remember Ted and Ivy at school dances)�” Anatoly attempting some kind of disco routine while Clio nervously did some kind of booty-shaking thing.

It was actually really fun to watch the various pairs of complete strangers get up there and try to do something that looked at least vaguely like dancing. Patrick was paired with some old woman, and they did a little two-step. B.C.’s partner was a two-year-old girl, so their dance consisted of him twirling her around in circles in the air.

Everything was going just swimmingly until I heard Anatoly call out “number thirty-seven?” Wolfgang bounded up to the front of the room, all energy and excitement. “Aaaaand… number two!” Argh, not me, but that was okay�”the whole fun of the game was dancing with people you didn’t know. Unfortunately, Wolfgang did know number two. Haley skipped up and joined him, beaming from ear to ear.

Their dance was a particularly sizzling salsa number. I’m not going to lie�”it was by far the best that had been done so far. However, it was extremely… well, sexy. It was really, really sexy, just dripping with chemistry. And they both seemed to be having the time of their lives.

Wolfgang returned to his seat momentarily, flushed, a little bit sweaty and out of breath, and still grinning like he’d made the winning goal in a Quidditch match. “Well, that was really fun,” he said.

“Number four!” called Anatoly. I blinked when I heard my number, then strolled up to the front of the room. I resolved to dance at least as sensually as Haley with whoever I was paired with, even if it was an old guy… I just wanted to see if I could arouse a teeny-weeny spark of jealousy in Wolfgang. “Twenty-one!” Anatoly yelled.

And then I saw who number twenty-one was, and changed my plans entirely. Oh, blast, blast, blast…. It was Tyrone, of course. Of all the clichéd, entirely lame things that could’ve happened, it had to be Tyrone?

“So,” I said, looking at him sideways. “Looks like we have to do this.”

“What? Er, yeah,” he replied, with his usual conversational aplomb.

By now, the music had started again, and I did the first thing that came to mind�”I grabbed Tyrone’s shoulder and started up a strange little waltz-type dance.

“Uh… interesting,” said Tyrone, looking rather startled. Actually, that’s a lie, I avoided looking into his face at all costs, but I’m guessing he looked rather startled.

“I’m choosing to pretend you’re a complete stranger,” I informed Tyrone under my breath. “It makes it all the easier.”

Tyrone said nothing, which was understandable.

“Now it’s your turn to talk,” I said. “So now you get to say something about the food or the singing, or the people here, or something.”

Tyrone squinted at me sideways�”I could see it out of the corner of my eye. The weight of his hand on my waist was starting to make me extremely uncomfortable, not in the least because I remembered so well what those blocky, broomstick-callused hands felt like. It was hard to pretend I’d never met him before. “Do you always talk when you’re dancing?” he muttered.

“Oh, no, I just stare creepily at people while they’re talking to someone they like,” I replied. “You seem to like doing that, isn’t that right? Or do you not want me to open up that can of worms?”

“How about you don’t talk anymore, okay?” said Tyrone. There was nothing light or flippant about his voice. I wanted to say something back to him, just to spite him, but I could think of nothing else to say.

Besides, someone else was talking… “HELLO!” shouted Anatoly. “Hello, you two, get off the stage! I said you could sit down like a minute ago. Can you even hear a word I’m saying?”

I blinked, suddenly jolted into reality. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I scuttled back to my seat, and the feeling was just as uncomfortable as Tyrone’s hand on my waist. I could tell my ears had turned bright red again, and I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at Wolfgang when I sat down again; I was sure he was snickering at me. I sat there stewing silently as the rest of the pairs danced, counting the minutes until the party was over.

When the party wound down and everyone else was gathering their coats and hats or whatever, Wolfgang grabbed my arm. “Hey,” he said. “I get a feeling like you’re not yourself today. What’s wrong?”

“Dancing with Tyrone would do that,” I said. “And…” I couldn’t very bloody well say ‘well, you danced with my infamously flirty cousin, and you looked very into it, and I’m very insecure about these things, okay?’ So I blurted out, “Haley’s sister, Ivy? Well, she’s pregnant, and her husband�”his name’s Ted�”he went off to live with these werewolves, in this colony somewhere… he’s a werewolf, too, that’s why. And there’s this group of werewolves that live out in the wild, but they’re not part of the crazy rampaging werewolves, and those are the ones Ted’s staying with, and it’s�””

“Whoa, slow down,” said Wolfgang in a calm, rational voice. “So, he’s with that colony of wild werewolves? Yeah, I’ve heard of it before, I think. They’re not that violent, are they? I bet he’ll be okay.”

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to have to talk about this anymore. I don’t know why I even brought it up. “I don’t like it when guys think it’s totally okay to just abandon everything and run, that’s all,” I said.

Wolfgang looked very subdued. “Listen, Em, I�””

“Don’t call me ‘Em,’” I snapped, surprising even myself with the venom in my voice.

Wolfgang held up his hands as though he’d been burned. “Sorry,” he said disorientedly. “I didn’t know it’d bother you. Why�”“

“Someone else I once dated used to call me that,” I replied darkly, and ducked out of the pub before he could say anything else.


* * * * * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART TWO

Remember this book? Well! Jane gets a note inviting her to Netherfield, Bingley’s brand-spankin’ new house for dinner. (I always think that sounds dirty. “Oh, Mr. Bing-Bing, I’d love to visit your Netherfield, if you get my drift, wink-wink, nudge-nudge.”)

At first, Jane’s all excited because she gets to hang out with the Binglemeister, but then she realizes that the letter is from his diabolical sister, Caroline Bingley (more on her later), and the letter says, “My brother won’t be there, SUCKA!”

Well, Jane’s going to grab her carriage and go anyway, probably to smell Bingley’s pillows and all that good stuff, but Mrs. Bennet won’t let her take the carriage. She’s like, “Go on horseback! There’s going to be a terrible storm, and you’ll get sick and have to stay the night, hint-hint.”

It’s a win-win situation, and Jane gets really sick and has to stay at Bing-Bing’s Hot Bachelor Pad for some time. After a couple weeks, Elizabeth finally figures something’s up (told you she’s smart!) and goes to visit Jane at Netherfield (heeheehee).

Mr. Bingley’s all, “Oh, Jane’s super sick�”I have to administer personal treatment! I’m afraid you can’t go see her. But feel free to hang out with the horrible Mr. D and my two diabolical sisters.”

So Elizabeth goes and hangs out with Mr. Darcy, who sits there being sullen, and Bingley’s sisters, Caroline and Louise, who aren’t as subtle as they think they are in being snide and insulting. To make matters even more horrible, Caroline is CONSTANTLY hitting on Mr. Darcy, despite the fact that he makes it VERY OBVIOUS that he doesn’t care about her at all. She simply cannot take a hint. She thinks she’s extremely suave and intelligent and refined, though it’s plain that Mr. Darcy thinks she’s the biggest loser.

My favourite part was when Elizabeth was reading and Caroline was making fun of her for reading. Then, she started listing all of the qualities of an ‘ideal woman,’ the only kind of woman good enough for Mr. D., all of which conveniently describe her. And then Darcy speaks up and says, “AND she should actually be interested in improving her mind and reading and stuff. BURN.”

He starts reading a book, so Caroline�”are you listening-- picks up volume two of that book and starts going ‘boy, I sure do love to read! Yeah, this is good stuff!’ Then, after literally five minutes, she goes, “Hmm, I’m bored. Let’s do something else.” Yeah, books back then came in three volumes. I don’t think it’s a good idea to start on the second part of a book, especially when you’re as dumb as Caroline.

I get the idea that Mr. Darcy likes Elizabeth, but I don’t know why, because he already said she was ugly earlier. I know Elizabeth doesn’t like him, though. There was one part where Elizabeth was trying to think of some trait of Mr. Darcy’s that she could make fun of, because that’s what she likes to do. And Caroline’s just like, “OH NO, WE DON’T LAUGH AT MR. DARCY. HE’S PERFECT. HE HAS TO BE TAKEN TOTALLY SERIOUSLY AND PUT UP ON A PEDESTAL AND GENTLY TENDED LIKE A FINE PIECE OF ART.” Scary.

And Mr. Darcy just looks up and says, “Well, I don’t like talking to people I don’t know, and I don’t know anybody because I never talk to anybody. Also, on the very, very odd chance that I like someone, which isn’t often because I think I’m so much smarter and better-looking and richer and cooler than anyone else, I get annoyed with them really easily. And once I get mad at them, I never forgive them and hold grudges that fester and stew inside me until my dying day. Other than that, I’m perfect.” Nice guy, huh?

Elizabeth basically says, “Well, it’s pretty hard to laugh at that.”

And Darcy says, “Good. I hate laughter.”

And Elizabeth says, “You know, my problem with you is, you hate everyone.”

And Darcy says, “My problem with you is… you misunderstand everyone. I AM MISUNDERSTOOD, ELIZABETH. SO MISUNDERSTOOD. MY MIND IS A DANK, LONELY CAVE OF SHADOW AND DARKNESS.”

At this point, there are volts of electricity zapping forth between Elizabeth and Darcy’s fierce eye contact. And that’s when the door bursts open and Jane and Bingley come out looking suspiciously disheveled, and they’re like, “Well! Time to get going!”

Ivy says the next chapter of the book is when things start to get good. I’ll take her word for it. I hope Mr. Darcy isn’t in the rest of the book; he’s really annoying.

Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour:
Cut the cord!
Is that a man I once adored?
He’s nothing but an albatross
No great loss
Double crosser!
Forget about the boy.
Pull the plug!
Ain’t he the one who pulled the rug?
He’s lower than an alley cat
Dirty rat
And I flatter…
Forget about the boy, forget about the boy, forget about the boy!
--- “Forget About The Boy” from Thoroughly Modern Millie


Actually, I wish that “Forget About The Boy” was the most annoying song that Haley sang today. After waking me up, I heard her prance over to the pull-out couch where Ivy had stayed the night, and the little loony started chirping some strange little song,

“IIIIII-VYYYY, you look quite down
With your big sad eyes and your big fat frown.
THAAAAA world doesn’t have to be so GREEEEEEEEEEY!
IIIIIII-VYYYYY, when your life’s a mess
When you’re feeling blue, always in distress
IIIIII know how to wash that sad AWAAAAAAAAAY!”

I sat up blearily in my bed and immediately fell out as Haley started belting out the chorus at a volume loud enough to make seismic plates shift:

“PUT A BANANA IN YOUR EARRRRRRR!
PUT A RIPE BANANA RIGHT INTO YOUR FAVOURITE EAR!”

I scrambled around for earplugs, feeling they’d serve the purpose much better than bananas.

“It’s true! So true!
When it’s in, your gloom will disappear
The bad in the world is hard to hear
When in your ear a banana cheers
So go and put a banana in your EAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!”

I had never heard so many exclamation points in one place before. I could feel every hair on my body standing on end, and I began to worry about Haley’s song inducing early labour in our poor house guest. Before she could launch into the second enthusiastic verse of her song, I raced into the room, planted my hand over her mouth, and said, “If you’re trying to make Ivy feel better, that’s the best possible way to make sure she won’t.”

“Philistine,” sniffed Haley, flouncing away.

“You don’t even know what that means,” I called after her.

Ivy was sitting up in bed, her face drawn and tired and her hair disheveled. It brought me back to when the three of us all shared a dorm together, and I could tell that was what she was thinking as well. “At least I can tell I’ll never be bored here,” she said, smiling sleepily in spite of herself.

“Yeah, but you could say the same about a torture chamber,” I replied darkly.

As I got ready for work, I wondered how long Ivy would be staying with us. She couldn’t possibly stay as long as Ted was gone. What if Ted never came back? Would she never return to her nice, big, clean house? It wasn’t like I didn’t want her around, but I wasn’t sure I could stand to act sympathetic for more than a few days. That’s my problem. I’m perfectly good at feeling sympathetic, but I just can’t act it. Now, Haley’s a very good actor. Sometimes I have to wonder how much of her sympathy is acting. But then, I’ve never been into all that touchy-feely stuff, anyway.

“Whatcha thinkin’?” said a little voice in my ear as I reached up to grab the cereal out of the pantry. I started and spilled the little flakes everywhere, giving further incentive for the ants to come out of hiding.

“Holy crabcakes, Haley!” I groused, whirling around. “You scared the shaving cream out of me!”

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” commented Haley. I rolled my eyes. “You’re still annoyed with me, aren’t you?” she said quietly. “For dancing with Wolfiekins and stuff.”

Wolfiekins. That was a new one. “I guess,” I sighed, keeping my voice low. “But honestly… a lot of it’s about Ivy. Is she going to stay over here forever, or what? What if Ted doesn’t come home in nine months�”will we have his smelly, screaming baby on our hands on top of everything else?”

“Six months,” said Haley.

My forehead creased. “What?”

“Six months, not nine. Ivy was through with her first trimester before she started spreading the news that she was preggers. She and Ted had like four miscarriages before and they didn’t want to take any chances.”

That was rather shocking news, not the least of it that there had been a little creature living inside my friend’s stomach for the last three months, and I hadn’t even known it. “Oh, of course she tells you that,” I muttered.

Haley poked me in the belly button. “Well, if she even said the word ‘miscarriage’ around you, you’d start running around in circles with your fingers in your ears going ‘lalalalala, can’t hear you!’” she countered.

“Ah,” I said uneasily. Sometimes, Haley knows me far too well.

Haley’s banana song was one of those infernally catchy ones. The songs she likes tend to be. As I strolled through the gate of the stadium, I hummed it to myself, unconsciously walking in rhythm to it. The moment I stepped inside, though, my humming stopped immediately, and I froze in my tracks.

Someone was waiting for me. It was hardly a welcoming party.

“Weasley,” said Henderson Vaultz in a voice so cold, I began worrying about the likelihood of frostbite.

“Er, hello,” I said. Patrick was lurking behind Vaultz like some kind of evil hunchbacked henchman. It wasn’t a particularly good sign.

“Weasley, tell me, what was the specific number one rule of working in this stadium as an Auror trainee?” hissed Vaultz, stepping closer toward me. He didn’t give me a chance to answer, because he automatically spat, “You are not to associate with my Quidditch players in any way, in or outside of the stadium. Now, why do you think this is?”

That was a very good question. “Honestly, I’ve always wondered that myself,” I heard myself saying. Wow. That certainly wouldn’t be featured on a top ten list of the best possible things to say in my situation any time soon.
Vaultz stepped even closer, so that his pointy nose came uncomfortably close to jabbing into me like a penknife. “It is because you are trying to preserve a professional image. You are protecting my athletes; you are not trying to befriend them.” I didn’t say anything, but the truth was, Vaultz hadn’t really explained anything further. There was still no sane reason why Auror trainees and Quidditch players shouldn’t mix, but whatever. Some people are rule maniacs.

“I see,” I said politely. “Er, no offense, sir, but I’m really going to be late for work… thanks for the explanation, though…”

Vaultz gave me the iciest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen snowmen. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. “You will not be going to work. Mr. Wormwood here has informed me that you were recently seen at a party with one of the Chasers on my team, and that you have regularly spoken to him here at my stadium. Tell me, have you been consorting with Wolfgang Quinn?” Now his eyes were full of fire in addition to his icy smile. It was a dramatic image, more dramatic than the situation called for. He looked as though he thought he was working for the Spanish Inquisition, interrogating some heretic.

I rummaged frantically through my head for something I could say. This was exactly what poor Wolfgang needed, to be kicked out of his job for hanging around with me. As if he hadn’t had enough issues so far in his life. “Wolfgang Quinn? That’s a strange name, I’m sure I’d remember it… is he that guy with the kind of weird-shaped head and the unibrow?”

“This is not the time for playing games,” snapped Vaultz.

Except for Quidditch matches, of course, hahaha, I couldn’t help but add mentally. I sighed. “Look, Mr. Vaultz, I’m sorry for hanging around with Wolfgang. Don’t go sacking the guy, it’s not his fault.”

Vaultz looked as though a cupcake had just begged him not to eat a plate. (That might just have been the weirdest sentence I’ve ever written.) “I’m not entirely sure you understand,” he said. “Mr. Quinn is an athlete. He is not my concern. You, however, are under my employ.” He paused theatrically, then a stream of hard, sharp words came gushing out of his mouth, along with a little bit of saliva. “You are suspended from your position here. You will wash and return your robes by tomorrow, and you will not return to the stadium without a ticket until you receive a letter from me, informing you that your suspension is over. And if I discover that you are still maintaining connections with Mr. Quinn, then the suspension will be permanent. Understood?”

For once in my life, I was speechless. Not a single snarky comment popped into my head. Vaultz didn’t even wait for my reply, probably anticipating the scary effect he had on most people’s brains, and he marched away briskly, his usual nimbus of fury swirling around him.

Patrick was still standing there and smirking at me, looking like a blank-eyed ghoul with the sunlight glinting off of his glasses so that they looked white and opaque. At last, he opened his mouth and said, “Perhaps you should listen to directions next time. And perhaps you wish you had agreed to go to the party with me in the first place.”

I shot him a glare that made his shiny white ghoul eyes look tame by comparison. “After pulling a dirty trick like that, you’re the last person I’d want to go to any party with,” I spat, then kicked the stadium gate open and got out of there as fast as I could.

I felt the distinct sense that the bottom had dropped out of my stomach and my intestines had been French-braided. I was biting down so hard on the inside of my lip that I tasted blood. Auror training was really competitive, but trainees usually tried to stick together�”after all, one of the most important parts of the job was teamwork. Only a serious ratfink would think about turning in their fellow trainees. Patrick knew perfectly well that I’d need to complete my internship at the stadium before I’d even be considered for the Auror office. And he also knew this was my second complete time going through training after getting kicked out during my internship three years ago.

He also knew that being an Auror was the only career I’d ever imagined for myself, that it was the only career that really prized being a suicidally bold (and occasionally, homicidally bold), reckless, hotheaded risk-taker who acts on the spur of the moment. There was no way I was going to redo Auror training a third time. This was the end of the road for me if Vaultz didn’t feel like inviting me back.

And so what would I do for a job? Settle for the mundane Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Convince Ted’s dad to step down and let me teach Defense Against The Dark Arts? Janitor? Knight Bus driver? Cat breeder? Private detective? Assassin? I still couldn’t imagine myself being anything but an Auror. (Though I kind of like that last one. Maybe I’d get to wear a glamorous black leather bodysuit.)

Angsty thoughts were brewing around my head on spin cycle as I Apparated back home. If looks could inflict serious damage, then my eyes would have burned huge holes through the front door. This did not escape Haley’s notice when I stepped inside. Immediately, she opened her mouth and sang,

“EMMMM-A, you look quite down
With your big, sad eyes and your big fat frown
THAAAA world d---“

“Silencio,” I said dully, flicking my wand. Haley clutched her throat, her eyes bugging out of her head and burst into silent tears.

“Normally, I would not approve,” said Ivy with more than a little guilt in her voice, “but I have to say, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me all week.”

Haley let out a scandalized gasp and brandished two action figures at us, having apparently run out of ceramic kittens. On closer inspection, one of the action figures seemed to be that guy with the sideburns from Les Miserables, and the other was the Phantom of the Opera. Where does she get these things? I certainly don’t buy them for her.

Not really wanting my cause of death to be ‘Phantom of the Opera,’ I hastily lifted the charm and was rewarded with Haley’s shrill, angry ranting and much emphatic gesturing of musical theatre action figures. Once I was able to get a word in edgewise, I clapped my hands together and shouted, “All right, girls, pack your bags and get ready, we’re going on a trip.”

Haley and Ivy stopped in their tracks and stared at me as though I’d suggested we go to the moon.

“Look, Vaultz just sacked me for hanging out with Wolfgang. Ivy’s husband went and ran off. We need to get away from here for awhile.”

“You got sacked?” exclaimed Haley.

I rolled my eyes, not really wanting to retell the whole sordid tale. “Yeah, and I think we should go off for awhile, get our minds off all of the things that are happening lately. We can go back to Godric’s Hollow�”mum’s been begging me to visit, and they have real food. “

“You got sacked?” Haley repeated.

“Are you even listening to a word I’m saying? Yeah, I got sacked. The point is, I want to take a holiday to get my mind off of it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Ivy sighed, wearing her pinch-faced expression. “I don’t know about this, Emma. I don’t really feel like traveling.”

“You don’t feel like doing anything but lying on the couch!” I exclaimed, feeling like I was morphing into Haley. “Let’s go on an adventure, see some sights, do some stuff! You’ll feel better in no time! Come on, Ivy, you haven’t been working because the Experimental Charms Department doesn’t want to cause any harm to that fetus of yours. It’s the perfect time to take some time off! And if we go back to Godric’s Hollow, it’ll be good because your mum knows what it’s like to be pregnant�”twins twice, ick�”and she can help you out.”

I felt like my arguments were all extremely good, but Ivy still looked doubtful. “With all this werewolf stuff going on, I don’t think it’s right to just take a holiday.”

I knew exactly what she was thinking. She didn’t want to have fun when Ted was toughing it out at some ghetto werewolf campground. But having known Ivy for twelve years, I was ready to pull out the big guns. “You’re right, this whole werewolf thing is dangerous, especially since you’re carrying a werewolf’s baby right now. But your dad’s Head Auror, and guess who lives next door? The Deputy Head Auror. Godric’s Hollow’s like the safest place in England.”

Ivy smiled in spite of herself, holding up her hands in mock-surrender. “Okay, you win, Emma! But I can’t promise you I’ll be the most fun traveling companion.”

“That’s okay,” I said, grinning. “I’ll have Haley, and she’s a little bit TOO much fun. You’ll balance each other out nicely.”

That was when I realized that Haley hadn’t spoken a single word since I’d brought up the trip, strange for her. I looked over at her, and her face was thoughtful, her eyebrows furrowed and her neatly manicured fingers drumming on the countertop. “I don’t think I can go,” she said at last.

I squinted at her. “What, Haley Potter pass up a fun trip with free food, free lodging, and cute little siblings who love your singing? What alien is possessing your body?”

“Well, I want to go,” Haley replied slowly. “But I’m really busy. I’m still working at Madame Puddifoot’s, and I’m working really, really hard on the musical, and the guys are depending on me… Ani would get all upset if I missed rehearsal.”

Ani? What was up with Haley’s fascination with strange nicknames? Between Jor-jums and Tedward and Tyroonie and Wolfiekins and now this new name for Anatoly, it seemed like no one was safe. I wondered how she’d come up with a nickname for B.C.

“You’re playing the responsibility card?” I scoffed. “Haley, you’re Haley. Since when do you care about responsibility? Come on, it won’t be same without you. Much quieter. Less ceramic kittens and Les Miserables action figures. No banana songs… okay, actually, you not coming is starting to sound more and more appealing.”

I have to admit, though, as irritating as Haley can be sometimes, she is my best friend, and probably will always be, and she has that uncanny knack for making boring situations a lot more fun. It would be very different without her along. I mean, Ivy’s one of my best friends, but I can’t really think of any times I spent with her when Haley wasn’t around… we’ve just never really been all that compatible.

And I can’t help but feel that there’s another reason why Haley might want to stay behind while we went off. A reason that started with a “W” and ended with an “olfgang.”


NEXT MORNING

Did I really write that? “Started with a ‘W’ and ended with an ‘olfgang?’ Wow, I’m lame sometimes.

Well, anyway, today, Haley was helping me pack my stuff for the trip. I’d sent an owl to my parents, and they thought a visit was a great idea, especially given Ivy’s problem. We’d let her sleep late while we packed, knowing she wasn’t exactly feeling her best, and also because I wanted to have a rather private conversation with Haley.

“Er, listen,” I said, as I tried to nestle my Sneakascope into my already snugly-packed suitcase. “Haley… don’t take this the wrong way, but now I’m going away, and Vaultz says he’ll fire me permanently if I talk to Wolfgang�”“

“Don’t worry,” chirped Haley, as though reading my mind. “Wolfgang’s adorable, but he’s not my type. He looks like a girl. I like a man who looks more like one.”

I stared her. “Haley, you don’t have a ‘type.’ You like everything with a y-chromosome.”

“That is not true,” Haley informed me, pouting a little bit.

I arched an eyebrow in exactly the sort of way that she despises so much. “That kid you peer-counseled? Ted? Ted’s brother? Tyrone? Vladislav Poliokoff? Andy Yang? That Ravenclaw kid who always said ‘absolutely’? Didn’t you even like Anatoly for awhile?”

“Come on!” exclaimed Haley. “Jonas needed me. And Ted… Ted’s a sweetheart. Everyone loves Ted. And, er, have you seen his brother? He’s�”“

I cut her off mercilessly. “That Hyung-Jun guy who worked at the seafood restaurant? That you went and ate at every day even though you’re allergic? And then you got a job there? And Hyung-Jun was fired the next day? And your boss wouldn’t let you quit?”

“He had amazing eyebrows!” protested Haley. “What was I supposed to do?”

“The boy with the long hair and the fedora and the waistcoat and the skin-tight jeans with orange patches on the knees and the eye patch and the huge scar on half of his face who was eating the strawberry ice cream at Fortescue’s and then started choking and you saved his life, and then he asked me out and I said no? The Australian owl keeper with the really hairy arms who kept yelling, ‘Strewth! Love a duck!’ when the owls kept dive-bombing his privates?”

Haley was beginning to look a bit uncomfortable. I pressed on anyway.

“What about that vampire that tried to kill me in the alleyway last year?”

“HE WAS SPARKLY!”

“No, that was your diseased imagination, Haley. Bloodstained, maybe.”

“HE WAS SPARKLY!”

“Well, what about that traffic cop with the waist-length dreadlocks and the lip piercing?”

Haley stopped in mid ‘SPARKLY’ and gave me a cunning look. “Emma, you fancied him, too,” she informed me.

I sighed. “Okay, you’ve got me there. He was pretty awesome-looking. But you didn’t need to run out in the middle of traffic just to get his attention. And some of the celebrities you fancy are really, really weird.”

“They are not,” Haley protested.

“That sort of fat singer with the silly curly hair who makes all the stupid faces while he’s singing and jumps around the stage and makes every song sound impossibly cheesy?”

Haley glared suspiciously at me. “If you are referring to Michael Ball,” she said in a brisk, business-like voice, “He is the greatest man on earth and he’s fourteen times the person you’ll ever be, and I own every song he’s ever performed, and I happen to know that God sounds exactly like him.”

I shook my head in disbelief at my poor cousin’s handicapped taste in men. “Do you like anyone normal, Haley?”

“Yes, I do!” she proclaimed. “Preston L. Zyzyx!”

I blinked. “Who is that?”

“I don’t know!” announced Haley. “But I saw a picture of him, and he looks cute!”

As entertaining as our conversation was (mostly for me), all good things had to come to an end eventually. Still not entirely convinced that Haley would stay away from Wolfiekins while we were gone, I eventually ran out of names of Haley’s subjects of admiration and Ivy eventually got up.

The plan was that I would stay at my parents’ house and Ivy would stay with her parents. When we were growing up, we’d be over at each others’ houses every two seconds. With the Potters living next door to my family, a casual onlooker probably wouldn’t know which family technically inhabited which house.

I have to admit, the Potters’ house was little more entertaining than mine because I’d been an only child, and there had been five Potter kids, so some kind of exciting chaos was always going on. But now, the only Potter kids who still lived at home were Holly and Jonathan, the nine-year-old second set of twins in the family, and I hadn’t seen my parents in so long that I was almost beginning to fondly remember my dad’s rabid overprotection and my mum’s dogged insistence that I do something ‘educational.’

Ivy and I took the Floo Network over to the Potter house, knowing that my parents would be over there for breakfast. Wizard transportation is great, I swear. You can jump all over Britain in the time it takes to brush your teeth. The Muggles may have a leg up on us on pop culture, and Muggle stuff’s been getting more and more popular since Voldemort’s defeat, but we’ll always beat them when it comes to getting from place to place.

The first thing I noticed when I climbed out of the fireplace was that the big piano that had loomed in the corner of the room was gone. I didn’t have time to notice anything else in the room, because immediately, everything else was blocked by my mother jumping up and hugging me too tightly. Her enormous, poofy hair managed to obscure everything else in the room. I really, really missed that enormous, poofy hair, I have to admit.

“Well… I’m here,” I said, muffled through a mouthful of hair, as Ivy staggered out of the fireplace behind me. A cursory glance around the room showed me that my mum and dad were both there, my dad’s hair a little greyer and my mum’s taste in clothing a little worse than I had remembered, but otherwise exactly as I’d visualized the scene. Uncle Harry was sitting and trying to surreptitiously mend some kind of broken vase or knick-knack, apparently hiding this from his wife, who was in the kitchen cooking. I didn’t see Holly or Jonathan, but they were good at leaping out of the strangest places at the least-expected times.

After the usual rounds of huggings and greetings all around�”Ivy receiving rather more love, seeing as she was the one whose life had taken a dramatic turn for the worse lately�”I flopped down on the couch and said loudly, “So, Uncle Harry, what’s that blue vase thing you’re trying to fix?”

The response was instantaneous and expected. “HARRY!” came a shout from the kitchen, accompanied by the really ominous sound of Aunt Ginny loudly smacking a huge knife against the cutting board. This was followed by the really ominous sight of Aunt Ginny herself striding out of the kitchen, still holding the knife and wearing a scowl that didn’t match her ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron.

I saw my dad smirk quietly at me out of the corner of his eye, obviously trying not to laugh out loud. Uncle Harry looked considerably less pleased.

“Is that the vase that I bought for my mother’s eightieth birthday?” demanded Aunt Ginny.

“Very possibly,” Uncle Harry replied cautiously.

Aunt Ginny’s face softened. “Oh. Okay, then. That can be fixed. As long as it’s not something important,” she said, casually setting the knife down on the coffee table and taking a seat. “So, Ivy, Emma, how was your�””

She never got to finish her question, because there was a muffled ‘ow!’ from the door that led down the stairs to the basement and the sounds of a low-key scuffle. The door swung open to reveal Jonathan sprawled flat on his back, with Holly sitting on his chest. I had a feeling that they had managed to break the vase themselves and were too afraid to come out until they were positive the situation was safe.

Jonathan and Holly are twins, but they look a lot less alike than Haley and Jordan do. (Why on earth would the Potters pick names for their kids that sound so insanely similar? But then, what do you expect of a couple that named their firstborn Harriet-Lily?) The younger set of Potter twins both have red hair and features that resemble their father’s, but that’s where the resemblance ends.

Holly is several inches taller than her brother, and has short, messy hair and freckles. She’s the only one of the five Potter children to inherit her mother’s brown eyes, and she wears rectangular glasses. Nowadays, she has a stringy, awkward look about her, while Jonathan still looks soft and childish. His hair, shiny and straight like Haley’s, falls over one of his eyes and culs up slightly at the ends, giving him a pensive appearance. The lucky boy managed not to inherit the freckles that all the rest of the Weasley clan, including me, had ended up with, and he’s also lucky enough to have perfect vision.

“Oh… hi…” said Holly sheepishly, getting up off of her brother’s chest and straightening the baggy, oversized t-shirt that she wore over a pair of boys’ cargo shorts. Her mother looked at her, arching an eyebrow slightly, but apparently felt it best not to ask any questions.

“So,” said Ivy, handily changing the subject, “what happened to the piano?”

All eyes went back to Holly again. “It was an accident!” she exclaimed. That was a good enough explanation for all of us.

Holly has always been a bit rough-and-tumble, and she has some crazy ideas sometimes. She pulls stunts and goes along with dares that I even I wouldn’t be insane enough to agree to. Luckily, given the amount of things she breaks, she is also extremely good with her hands and at making things. Unluckily, she’s very much the boss of the two twins, and can get Jonathan to agree to do pretty much anything.
The best word to describe Jonathan would probably be ‘dreamy,’ though several less-polite alternatives have been suggested. He’s very, very quiet�”not shy like Ivy, just quiet�”and always has his head in the clouds, always very deep in thought. No one’s ever figured out what exactly it is that he thinks about so much, but he’s usually in his own little world. This means he’s also pretty absentminded�”his socks almost never match, if he remembers to put them on at all, and he’s always the kind of person who puts ice cream in his dresser drawer and his shirt in the freezer. Jonathan’s been known to sit in silence for hours at social events, then randomly interject some kind of totally unrelated statement out of nowhere.

But although some people mistakenly believe he’s only half there, there’s more to Jonathan than meets the eye. Some people are good at looking very attentive while not listening to a word that you say, but Jonathan takes everything in, and he never forgets a thing that he hears. And he’s much smarter than he seems. Still, it’s an undeniable fact that he’s carrying on the proud tradition of socially inept Potter boys.

I looked over at Ivy, who seemed rather sad about the piano. She’s not exactly B.C. Quinn, but she’s always been really good at playing the piano, and it’s always been something she’s liked to do.

We had an outlandishly good-tasting dinner, and it was rather more fun than my usual meals of cereal or sandwiches or food from whatever take-out place I passed. Even with no insane Haley there, the company was interesting, and it was always fun to hear what I had missed in my absence. But there was something restrained about the conversation�”all of us were very careful not to mention Ted. Ivy’s a smart girl, and I think she realized this, but it’s amazing how hard it is to reminisce without talking about Ted. He’s kind of always been there.

Looking around the table, it was easy to see which person was the most preoccupied (other than Jonathan, of course). It wasn’t Ivy�”she was involved in the conversation, trying to be as animated as she could. It was Uncle Harry, who never took his eyes off of Ivy the whole time. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him look so concerned. I wondered if there was something about the werewolf situation that he knew and we didn’t.

“So,” I said, “how does everyone feel about going to the zoo tomorrow?”

Ivy sighed. “Emma, we just got here. Do we have to go running around everywhere this soon?”

“Come on, kid, you always loved the zoo!” I exclaimed. Though come to think of it, I’m pretty sure the most exciting attraction at the zoo was always Ted. He’s a little too… enthusiastic about animals sometimes, and it’s always kind of funny to see him racing back and forth, pointing at all the different animals and shouting excitedly like a little kid.

“I think my love of zoos has died down a little since…” Ivy swallowed and added quickly, “Since fifth year, when we were chasing Tancred Apple in the zoo. It made it a bit less fun for me.” But I knew that wasn’t what she was going to say.

Something had to be done about this. We couldn’t just go on pretending Ted didn’t exist. It was downright psychotic. So after dinner, I pulled Ivy aside and decided to have a good honest chat with her.

“Look,” I said. “If you’re going to go around pretending Ted doesn’t exist, you should at least try to act like nothing’s wrong. You can’t do both, they rule each other out.”

She looked at me like I was wearing a dead gorilla on my head. “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“You never mention Ted. And it’s pretty weird. Yeah, we all know you’re mad because he left you, but why not just talk about it?”

The dead gorilla look intensified. “You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I’m not mad because he left. I told you, that was both of our decision. I’m sad because he’s not here.”

“I don’t get it,” I said blankly.

Ivy massaged her temples anxiously. “I don’t feel like myself when he’s not here,” she said. “Ted somehow makes everything…”

“Bright and sunshiney?” I suggested.

Ivy smiled weakly. “Something like that. Logically, I’m glad that he went. Emotionally, I… well… I don’t think I can explain it. And that’s why I don’t want to talk about it. You’re just so mad at him… and it’s like you think we’re on the same side or something, that if you say bad things about Ted, it’ll make me feel better. But it… it just feels like you’re insulting me.”

It was weird, I’d never looked at it that way. I’m still not really sure what she meant. But then, the relationship of Ivy and Ted is something I’ll never understand anyway.

When my mum and dad and I went back to our house next door, I couldn’t stop thinking of Ivy. But my dad had other questions. Questions that I had a feeling he’d been saving until after we got home and out of the Potters’ house.

“So,” he said. “You got sacked, huh?”

“Yes,” I replied, gritting my teeth. No need for him to bring that up. “Because of some stupid rule of Vaultz’s. I hung out with one of the Quidditch players, and he got all mad at me. So now, I have to wait for him to invite me back.”

My mother didn’t look placated by this explanation. “It doesn’t matter if the rule seems stupid,” she said. “You have to learn how to follow the rules, whether you think they’re good or not.”

“But mum!” I protested. “You can’t honestly think that anything bad can come out of me hanging around with Wolfgang.”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “This whole thing is reminding me a lot of Terrence.”

My dad squinted. “Oh, Godric. You mean the Ishfriend?”

I think I should explain about Terrence the Ishfriend. He was my first boyfriend after I broke up with Tyrone Thomas. Haley knew him from something somewhere, and she introduced us at a party, and we got along really well. Terrence’s most notable quirk was his love of the colour purple, but the other quirk, the one everyone remembered him for, was his even stronger love of the syllable ‘ish.’ He loved it so much, he used it on its own. Like, if you asked him if he was hungry, he wouldn’t say, ‘I’m hungry-ish.’ He’d say, “I’m ish.” If you asked him if he was feeling better, he’d say, “ish.”

Well, Terrence and I got to be really good friends, and then we started inviting each other everywhere. He was fun, a little sarcastic, not sappy, just an interesting person. We sent owls to each other all the time, and we were always going to visit each other, but we never did anything romantic. We weren’t an official couple. If anyone asked Terrence if we were going out, he’d say, “We’re ish.” And him stating that we were ‘ish’ was the death sentence. We couldn’t progress any further because he’d already put the stamp on it�”‘ish.’ Not just friends, not dating, just ‘ish.’

One day, I just confronted him and asked him what he really meant when he said we were ‘ish,’ and he just suddenly burst out with this huge speech about how I was everything to him and how he loved me so much or something and how he’d give anything to go past ‘ish’ or whatever. Well, we went out for two days, and Terrence randomly turned so bizarrely mushy and puppydoggish that it was actually a little weird, and more than a little disgusting.

I told the boy that I liked it better when we were ‘ish,’ and he dramatically stated that he could never return to being ish and stomped out of there and sobbed that he never wanted to see me again. It was certainly exciting.

“Wolfgang is nothing like Terrence!” I laughed. “For one, he’d never wear purple. And I don’t think he’d say ‘ish.’”

“That’s not what I meant,” said my mum. “From what you’ve said of Wolfgang, you’re not making it very clear whether you like him as a friend or as more than that. I’m sure Wolfgang doesn’t know either, but I’m beginning to get a feeling that he likes you very much, maybe a little more than you want.”

I thought briefly of his extraordinary chemistry with Haley in their sexy little salsa dance. “I don’t think there’s much risk of that,” I said as I stepped inside the house. But the Terrence metaphor was a good one. I had definitely been ish with Wolfgang, and I’m not sure what that meant on either side. Ah, well. That wasn’t important. I wasn’t allowed to talk to him ever again or whatever, so it wasn’t an issue. (Hehehe. Ish-ue. I crack myself up.)

I was sitting in the living room refolding my clothes (my mother had insisted I do so after she saw the state of the clothing I’d packed… she’s weird like that), when there was a knock on the door. This alone wasn’t so unusual. People are pretty close in my parents’ neighborhood, and there’s always someone popping over.

The door’s positioned so that people sitting in the living room can’t directly see it or vice versa, but when my dad answered the door, the voice I heard outside the door made me stop in mid-fold.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Weasley,” said a deep voice that sounded like slow-motion velvet. (Don’t even ask me what that means. It’s one of those things you have to hear to understand.) It was a nice-sounding voice, as voices went, but at the moment, I’d have preferred to hear fingernails on a blackboard. “I’m going to go away for about two weeks, and I need someone to take care of my toads for me while I’m gone. Do you think you could?”

I sat very, very still, taking care not to make any sound whatsoever. I felt like a burglar hiding in the closet of a house I was robbing, anxiously listening to the menacing-looking owner of the house tiptoeing around with a baseball bat. How come Tyrone always had to show up wherever I was these days? Did he have some kind of special evil radar or something?

“Sure,” said my dad. “I used to have a tank full of frogs when I was a kid. Here, come inside.”

Why did he say that? Why did he ask him to come inside? Didn’t he know I was in here? Did he realize what that meant?

I could hear Tyrone still talking in the entry hallway. “The bigger one is Fido, and the little one is Rover. Here’s their food, and you can give them a Fudge Fly every now and then, but not too often, because Fido’s on a diet, and Rover gets hyper when he has too much sugar. Here’s their litter box�”they’re both toilet trained�”and extra sand for that. And this is their little pool�”make sure the water’s room temperature, because Fido can’t take it if it’s hotter, and Rover doesn’t like it colder�” and there’s Rover’s special blankie. I think that’s everything.”

I couldn’t imagine anything he could have possibly forgotten. Heck, I don’t need half that much stuff for the Rum Tum Tugger. I wonder if Tyrone remembered that his pets were, in fact, toads.

“I have their schedule right here,” continued Tyrone. "Is there, like, somewhere I can sit down? This might take awhile.”

Don’t come in the living room, don’t come in the living room, don’t come in the living room, I thought frantically.

“Well, come in the living room, then!” exclaimed my dad. I groaned.

I made sure I looked extremely busy folding my clothes as Tyrone sauntered into the room, bearing large amounts of toad-related equipment. I didn’t even look up as he came into the room, though I’m sure he was staring at me, given the tone of his voice as he said, “Oh… er… you…”

“Yeah, Emma’s staying over here for awhile,” said Dad casually, somehow failing to grasp how incredibly awkward this all was. “She and Ivy decided to come visit their old parents for once in their lives.”

Tyrone let out a nervous little cough. “Maybe now’s not the best time,” he said.

“Well, I’m going to be over here for some time,” I told him briskly, still not lifting my eyes from my clothes-folding, “so I don’t think you have much choice. Might as well get it over with, if you can stand it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look around and finally sit down in the farthest possible chair from me. He related the toads’ daily schedule or some other bit of nonsense as quickly as possible, then started to get up with every appearance of wanting to high-tail it out of there. Dad didn’t seem to pick up his signals.

“So,” he asked. “How’s Tabitha doing?”

“Huh?” said Tyrone, as though he’d never heard of his own little sister before. “Oh. She’s good. It’s her seventh year, so in a few months, she’ll be on her own�”she wants to do something with the Ministry, can’t remember which Department, though. I mean, she turned seventeen a year ago, so she’s not really my responsibility anymore, according to the Ministry, but it’s not like I was going to kick her out of the house or anything.”

I made the massive effort to tear my eyes away from the laundry, and look up nonchalantly at him. The idea was to make such fierce eye contact as to intimidate him. It worked pretty well. “Yeah, you know, you wouldn’t want to get a reputation as someone who kicks people out of houses.”

Sweet Merlin, the boy looked genuinely confused. Did I need to spell it out and specifically mention that I meant when he snatched away the house that his dad had left Wolfgang? He was even less intelligent than I remembered. He was also better looking than I remembered, but that was entirely immaterial.

“Erm. So. Emma,” he said, trying to change the subject and hoping that whatever he came up with was less desperately awkward. “Do you… that is, I’m, er, sorry you got sacked. I heard about that.”

“Yeah. I guess everyone has by now,” I muttered, going back to folding things. Fierce eye contact was all very well and good, but it was starting to make my eyes water, and I certainly didn’t want to look like I was crying.

Tyrone’s eyebrows did that Thing they do. It’s not something you can describe, but if a sound effect accompanied it, it would sound like ‘TWING!’ “If it helps,” he said, “Vaultz said you were the most promising of the bunch of the trainees.”

“Sorry, but that doesn’t really help too much,” I responded. “I mean, I already knew that. It’d be like me telling you that you’re a million times more talented than the rest of your team.” His eyebrows TWING-ed again. “Oh, don’t look like that,” I said. “That’s not a compliment. It’s a fact, and I’m stating it. My opinion of you has got nothing to do with it. Haley’s an outrageously good singer, but that doesn’t stop her being annoying.”

I half expected Tyrone to say ‘I take what I can get.’ When we were at that awkward ish-stage back at Hogwarts, before we started officially dating, whenever I accidentally let slip something that could be considered a compliment he would always say, ‘I take what I can get.’ And then he’d give me that big, shiny, infuriating grin, the grin that always made my teeth itch with irritation but made it impossible for me not to smile as well.

But he certainly didn’t smile now. He got to his feet. “Right. Er. Well, I’m going to go now… thanks for taking the toads, Mr. Weasley. I’ll be back in about two weeks, so try not to kill them.”

“Well, have a good trip!” said my dad cheerily, leading him to the door as if he didn’t know where it was. “Feel free to pop by any time.”

The second the door shut behind England’s favourite Beater, I sprung into attack mode. “DAD!” I howled. “What the Niflheim was that? Why did you let that boy in our house?”

My dad smirked at me. “Boy?” he repeated. “He’s not exactly a kid, Emster.”

“I’ll have you know that he is two days younger than me,” I informed him with great dignity, ignoring the stupid pet name. “And you know what else he is? He’s my ex-boyfriend, so he probably should NOT be in our house anymore. What was he even doing around here?”

My dad frowned. “He moved to Godric’s Hollow about a year ago. I didn’t know it’d bother you so much if he came over. I mean, you two broke up, what, five years ago? I didn’t think it’d be a big deal anymore. Haven’t you gotten past that?”

“Me? Sure,” I snorted. “But Tyrone isn’t the brightest guy on the block. Once he gets an idea through that thick skull of his, it’s hard for him to let go.”

So, Tyrone had managed to earn enough money to buy a house in Godric’s Hollow. That’s really the trendy place for all the up-and-comers to get houses nowadays, ever since Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny and my parents and all the rest of the Voldemort-defeating crew all ended up here. And here I thought I was coming to Godric’s Hollow to escape from my problems.

Well, at least there’s one good part. At least Tyrone’s going to be gone for two weeks. And who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and a Nundu will eat him or something while he’s gone.

* * * * * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART THREE

Well! After Elizabeth Bennet and her android sister Jane come back from their fun excursion to Mr. Bing-Bing’s Hot Regency-Era Bachelor Pad, an interesting guest shows up at the Bennet household. And I’m using ‘interesting’ in the way you’d describe the ‘interesting’ bit of feces that somehow managed to show up in your teacup.

The bloke’s name is Mr. William Collins, but I’m going to affectionately call him ‘Bilbo,’ because I feel like it. Though perhaps ‘Gollum’ would better suit his personality. Anyway, Mr. Bilbo Collins is a distant cousin who’s going to get to inherit the house after Mr. Bennet kicks the bucket, because he didn’t have the foresight to have any sons. Bilbo’s pretty much the last guy on earth you’d want in your house, and that’s saying something, because Tyrone Thomas was at my house today.

He (Bilbo, not Tyrone) is an obsequious, blibbering toadie who happens to be some kind of priest, and he manages to turn everything into a sermon. The only person he loves even more than himself is his boss, some rich old noblewoman named Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The guy eats, sleeps, and breathes Lady Catherine, or, at least, he wishes.

The lady sent him to the Bennets’ place because she felt it’d be useful to get him off her hands for a few days, and to keep him away as long as possible, she told him to try and find a wife. I get the idea she made a hobby of sending him off to fetch impossible objects, like striped paint and diet water, and then eventually gave up after he kept succeeding and sent him to find the most impossible thing of all.

He sees Jane, and naturally, the first thing that pops into his head is, “Ooh, I’ll take two, please, in that sparkly wrapping paper.” So he runs up to Mrs. Bennet and announces, “Your daughter is outrageously gorgeous, and clearly out of my league! I’m going to marry her!”

Well, Mrs. Bennet kindly tells him that Jane is already engaging in all sorts of hanky-panky with an attractive young Bing-Bing, and Bilbo says, “Ohhh… er… did I say Jane? I meant Elizabeth! Haha! I mean, yeah, she’s not that bad, for a girl.” And from that moment on, he makes it his mission to obnoxiously stalk Elizabeth as much as possible.

It eventually gets so creepy that Elizabeth’s dad takes pity on her and suggests that the group talk a walk. And while Bilbo’s traipsing along at a snail’s pace, sermonizing like a pro, who should come prancing by but a soldier who happens to be one of the victims of the little harlot Lydia Bennet! And he has with him a really, really, really, really cute soldier named Mr. Wickham!

Mr. Wickham, besides being really, really, cute, is clever, charming, good at conversation, beautifully dressed, kind, chivalrous, witty, and has a nice bum. In short, he’s everything that Bilbo Collins is not, and everything that Mr. Emo Darcy wishes he was. He immediately takes a fancy to Elizabeth, and vice versa, and they get to chatting.

Then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, in the middle of a nice little talk, MR. DARCY comes riding by! (What is this, some kind of block party?) And he sees Mr. Wickham and he just sneers at him like he’s a mushy old banana that he accidentally trod on. And Wickham looks at him with ice dripping from his eyeballs from sheer cold, hard, hatred.

So Mr. D. goes riding off with several complimentary obscene gestures and glove-slap or two, and Elizabeth’s like, “Well… that was interesting… I knew he was a rude git, but what was that all about?”

Desperate to evade Bilbo, who’s now giving speeches about why marriage is such a jolly good idea, Elizabeth decides to talk to Wickham about Mr. Darcy. Their friendship, at this point, is pretty much based around their mutual dislike of Mr. D., because they don’t really know much else about each other, but hey, Wickham must be a good guy if Mr. D. doesn’t like him.

Turns out that Wickham was raised as Darcy’s brother, except Darcy’s dad, being a sane guy, liked Wickham better, because he wasn’t a rude git and didn’t randomly yell things like “MY MIND IS A DANK, LONELY CAVE OF SHADOW AND DARKNESS.” So Wickham wanted to grow up and be a priest (Good for him! He could get in an awesome Priest Battle with Bilbo and beat the poop out of him!), and when Mr. Darcy’s dad died, he left money for Wickham and a cute little priest house for him, but Mr. Darcy took the house and sold it to someone else because he was jealous that everyone liked the adorable Wickham more than him.

So Wickham basically went, “Dangit! Well… I want money… I guess I have to join the army now.” So this sweet, nice young bloke who just wants to become a priest has to become a soldier and kill people and go against his religious beliefs! Just because Darcy was jealous of his awesomeness!

Oh yeah, and I forgot�”remember that Lady Catherine lady that Bilbo seems to fangirl constantly? Yeah, she’s Mr. Darcy’s aunt, and apparently, Wickham says she’s one of the most obnoxious people he’s ever had the misfortune to run into. Guess it’s a family thing.

Okay, I never liked Mr. Darcy, but now I really can’t stand him. What is that guy’s problem, anyway?

Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour:
I don’t take this girl for granted
There’s no path I haven’t hewn
To her heart, no seeds unplanted
No flowers unstrewn.
But quite amazing to relate
She doesn’t want me for her mate
Which forces me to contemplate
The Maison des Lunes.
-- “Maison des Lunes” from Beauty and the Beast.

TWO WEEKS AND FOUR DAYS LATER

Yes, I’m a terrible diarist. I’m barely writing anything in this. But not much has been happening lately, so I doubt you’d want to hear it all. (Though I don’t really care what you think, as you’re only a book and don’t really have any kind of opinions.)

Now, you may ask why there’s a Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour when it’s patently obvious that we left Haley back in Hogsmeade. The truth is, I’ve gotten so used to having her around, complete with her constant singing, that it just doesn’t feel right to wake up to any noise other than show tunes. So I have commandeered her old musical alarm clock, which provides appropriately obnoxious music to keep things normal.

Well, the main reason why I haven’t written in ages is, Ivy hasn’t wanted to do much of anything, with one major exception�”every morning when the owls arrive with the post, she jumps up like there are fire ants in her knickers and eagerly paws through the mail.

And, of course, in all of these two weeks and four days, Ted never did write. If he made it to the werewolf settlement alive, his new buddies would probably look down on human things like writing. I can’t help but wonder whether they wear clothes or not down there. Ted doesn’t exactly have the ideal body for the nudist lifestyle.

Nothing I suggested could come close to making Ivy relax and have fun, even on the rare occasion that she decided to come along. I found myself spending a lot more time with Jonathan and Holly than I would have otherwise�”and a lot more time devoted to reading “Pride and Prejudice,” so you know I’ve been desperate.

So not much has happened around here for awhile, but today? Today was a different story.

After awakening to the perky, saccharine strains of “Beauty and the Beast,” I made it downstairs just in time to see my father dash out of the door like there were pumas hot on his trail. “Wow, mum, what did you say to him?” I said lightly, sitting down at the breakfast table.

My mother didn’t look amused. “He’s been called in for an emergency,” she said. “There’s been an attack… a really bad one.”

Ohhhhh, no. Last night was a full moon, and I seriously doubted that was a coincidence. “Werewolves?” I guessed, wincing.

If possible, my mum’s expression grew even more serious. “No,” she said. “Werewolf hunters. They attacked the wild colony where Ted went… apparently, it was serious. There were so many deaths, but they’re having trouble identifying the bodies, because they’re all in wolf form.”

For some reason, the first thought that popped into my head was, “Wait, so they waited for a full moon to attack the werewolves? As in, when they’re at their most dangerous? That seems a little… backward, don’t you think?”

Then the full realization sunk in, and the second thought that popped into my head was, “I need to get my bum over to Ivy’s house right now.” Still in my pyjamas, I ran out there and burst through the front door of the Potters’, uninvited and unannounced. It was one thing being cranky and unsociable to Mrs. Lupin when Haley was there as well, but when I was the only friend of Ivy’s in the area, it would be criminal not to at least be there with her if it did turn out that Ted had been killed. And given that Ted was never exactly the manliest, most aggressive guy in town, chances were slim that he’d managed to pull through.

I forced myself to think about it for a second. Ted may have been strictly Ivy’s property for the last several years, but technically, I’d already known Ted for eleven years the first time Ivy laid eyes on the boy. I’d known him since he was born. That was twenty-three straight years of laughing at his awkwardness, making disparaging comments about the ugly jumpers he always wore, stealing his food, rolling my eyes at his corny jokes, watching him eating weird things mixed into cottage cheese, pretending to gag at his overly sentimental interactions with Ivy, watching him run around on four legs, and getting covered in bruises after receiving one of frequent extremely tight hugs.

Ted may be completely ridiculous, but he’s also always been one of my very favourite people, and he’s like the sweet, dorky little brother I never really wanted. If anything happened to him, I’m fairly certain I'd completely snap. And I don’t even want to think about Ivy.

Which is not to say that I wouldn’t still hate Ted’s guts if he somehow managed to survive.

Ivy wasn’t up yet when I reached the Potter household. Aunt Ginny was sitting at the table poking at a plate of eggs without showing any signs of putting them in her mouth. “So,” she said dully. “You heard.”

“Don’t worry!” exclaimed Holly, bounding up from the basement with Jonathan floating along sleepily in tow. “If someone tried to hurt Ted, he could just chew the guy’s arm off.”

“I heard that werewolf jaws can crush a cauldron,” Jonathan added offhandedly.

“COOL!” shouted Holly. “Let’s make Ted show us next time he comes over!”

Ginny and I exchanged glances. “Maybe you two should, er, go in the backyard and practice flying,” she suggested, looking slightly panicked.

“Without dad?” asked Holly. Ginny sighed and nodded. “AWESOME!” yelled Holly, racing out the door and slamming it so loudly that I jumped.

“They can also chew through a door,” said Jonathan as he drifted out of the room, still characteristically stuck on the previous conversation topic.

Holly and Jonathan have always thought it incredibly cool to have a big sister married to a werewolf, maybe a little bit too cool. I don’t think they’ve ever actually seen Ted in his wolf form, because then they’d see the fluffy, harmless puppy he really is, but they seem to be convinced that their brother-in-law is a bloodthirsty beast out of horror stories. Usually, it’s just funny to see them suggesting Ted try crushing a cauldron with his mouth, but I had a feeling that this attitude would probably just upset Ivy today.

Speaking of Ivy, she came downstairs just seconds after Holly and Jonathan left the house, probably awakened by Holly’s award-winning door slam. I tried to gain control of my face and maneuver it into something that looked nonchalantly pleasant as she made her way toward the table.

“Well, well,” I said, as close to cheerfully as I could manage. “Someone’s starting to look a bit chunky.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘pregnant,’” Ivy said with as much dignity as she could manage. I gave her subtly swelling belly a companionable little pat as she walked past. It was weird, I’d finally gotten used to the idea of Ivy having some alien being growing inside her, but now that the bump was starting to grow visible, the whole concept was hitting me all over again.

“So, what’s wrong?” Ivy asked quietly, sitting down at the table between me and her mother.

I gave her my most innocent face. “Wrong? What do you mean?” I chirped. I may have even batted my eyelashes.

“I do have eyes,” Ivy replied, and her tone was more grave than jocular. “You came over here of your own free will this early in the morning, you’re not eating anything, Dad and Holly and Jonathan aren’t here, you haven’t said anything insulting about Ted yet, and I think you just batted your eyelashes.”

The girl was good. I opened my mouth to explain, then realized that knowing me, I’d manage to tell Ivy the bad news in the most tactless, foot-in-mouth way possible. And as charming as this trait of mine usually is, I didn’t think this was the best time.

“Last night was a full moon,” Aunt Ginny said slowly, “and some werewolf hunters got a little bit overexcited and went on to attack as many werewolves as they could… and they found the colony that Ted was supposed to have made it to. They’re still sorting through the casualties, but it looks like more than a few people didn’t make it.” Ivy instantly turned as white as paper and she gripped the table as though she would float away if she didn’t. Ginny tucked a strand of her daughter’s hair behind her ear. “Ivy… it might be nothing. We don’t know if Ted is even at the colony yet. And�””

“That’s right,” whispered Ivy, her face going tight and pinched. She looked as if she was going to throw up. “We don’t know anything about Ted, because he hasn’t written at all. For all we know, he might have died before he even made it to the colony.”

I was starting to feel incredibly, incredibly awkward being part of this scene. “Don’t… don’t start crying now,” I said weakly.

“I’m not going to cry,” Ivy replied in a very small, hard voice. Her expression clearly stated, I might need to save up my tears for later.

“Ted’s a Gryffindor,” Aunt Ginny said reassuringly. “He’s been through all kinds of battles before.”

Yeah, I thought to myself. And do you know what Ted always does in battles? He defends his friends until he’s sure everyone’s safe. He jumps in front of people to shield them from attacks. He carries people to safety. He’s a goner for sure.

Ivy’s gaze had gone hard and glassy, her face stony and impassive, and her expression tight. I could tell that she wasn’t listening to any of her mother’s reassuring words, that her thoughts were whirling at a thousand miles an hour behind that blank face.

“I’m going to make some tea,” announced Aunt Ginny, getting up to find the pot. The second she left, Ivy turned to me, and gave me a Look. You have never received a Look if you haven’t had one of Ivy’s. It’s not a dirty look, just a deep, probing look, like she’s taking a toilet plunger to your mind and dredging up things you’d rather she didn’t.

“I know you think Ted didn’t make it,” she said, so quietly that I could barely hear her.

I gave her a Look in return, this one a look of amazement. “I didn’t say anything,” I protested.

“Yes, that’s how I know,” sighed Ivy.

I was about to retaliate when an owl swooped in through the window and Ivy gave out a soft little cry and jumped to her feet. There were no letters today, but there was a Daily Prophet, and Ivy snatched it in a manner that reminded me uncannily of a cheetah pouncing on a gazelle.

I craned my neck to look at the newspaper over her shoulder, and saw the headline splashed across the page: AT LEAST TEN KILLED IN MASSACRE AT WEREWOLF SANCTUARY; MINISTRY OFFICIALS STILL IDENTIFYING BODIES. I skimmed a few sentences, but I didn’t see anything that I didn’t already know. I was just giving up on the article when Ivy gasped and suddenly burst into tears, instantly soaking the paper through.

“What is it?” I demanded, trying to get a good look at the paper. “Is it Ted?”

“Yes,” Ivy responded through her tears, sobbing softly in a really unrealistic, fictional sort of way. She pointed at a small picture of a wolf at the centre of the soggy article, captioned ”Unnamed werewolf stands guard over critically injured companion.” “That’s him! He’s okay, Emma, that’s him right there!”

I squinted doubtfully. The picture that Ivy was pointing at certainly resembled Ted in his furrier state in that it had four legs and a tail, but the same could be said of any of the other wolves pictured. “Ives,” I said gently, “Not to burst your bubble or anything, but that could be pretty much anyone.”

Ivy looked up at me with that same hard, stubborn expression. “If your picture was in the newspaper, don’t you think I’d recognize it?” she whispered.

“Well, of course you w�””

“This might sound strange to you, but I’ve been with Ted for eighty-eight full moons, and by now, I would recognize him anywhere. He just looks like… Ted to me now.” She studied the picture more closely. “He’s so skinny,” she said under her breath. “I hope he’s eating all right.”

I laughed, suddenly feeling weirdly giddy. “Erm, Ivy, you might’ve forgotten one or two things about your husband while he’s been gone,” I said. “This is Ted we’re talking about here. It’s physically impossible for him to get any skinnier than he was before.” Even Ivy let out a little chuckle, looking a thousand times more relaxed than she had just moments before.

Could Ivy really recognize a picture of Ted in wolf form? It all seemed a little hard to believe. Sure, if she saw a werewolf roaming around her house, she’d automatically know it was her husband�”what else could she expect?�”but in a lineup of fifty werewolves, would she really be able to confidently pick out which one Ted was? But she sounded so sure, so completely positive that she’d found him, and I didn’t want to believe otherwise.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Well,” I said. “I guess now the question is, if your mangy, flea-ridden husband’s all fine and dandy, why hasn’t he written yet?”

Ivy’s expression didn’t change. She looked as serene as I’d ever seen her. “I think the question is, where are those ceramic kittens when you need one?” was all she said.

* * * * * *

LATER, SAME DAY

Well, Ivy’s been in a refreshingly good mood all day�”we even got her to come on a picnic with the rest of the extended family, and we all had a great time. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to eat much at the picnic, because I was too profoundly disgusted�”see, Ivy’s been having cravings lately, and these cravings involve taking a bowl of cottage cheese and pouring ranch dressing, ketchup, vegetables, and white beans all over it.

If this sounds familiar, that’s because it’s Ted’s favourite food. The best thing about Ted’s absence has been not having to smell that horrific cottage cheese monstrosity, but I guess I don’t even have that advantage anymore.

Speaking of Ted (which is pretty much all we’ve been doing lately… and I thought we took this trip to get away?), I noticed there was a hole cut out of the newspaper when I was clearing off the table today. It doesn’t take a Seer to realize that Ivy’s holding onto the clipping of Ted’s picture in the paper (if that was indeed Ted, as she claims). I guess that’s kind of cute, but it seems a bit desperate to me. If she starts sleeping with it under her pillow or something like that, I’m definitely calling the psych ward at St. Mungo’s.

Anyway, Ivy was so happy that she and her mum decided to go off for some kind of mother-daughter spa outing, which is great; Haley’s pestered her way into giving Ivy dozens of unwanted makeovers over the years, but when Ivy actively decides to actually take care of herself, that’s always a good sign. My mum volunteered to take Holly and Jonathan to some museum or something to get them out of Aunt Ginny’s hair (though I’m not sure that’s so wise… they’re good at breaking things, and museums are traditionally full of breakables).

So what was I up to during all of this? I was gardening. My parents have many, many talents, but taking good care of our front garden is not one of them. Really, I have to wonder how mum managed to get an O in Herbology when she can’t even take care of a couple of everyday flowers. My green thumb has been going pitifully to waste back in the flat I share with Haley, so it was nice to be able to put on my dirty old gloves and resuscitate the old garden.

Some people are really surprised that I like to garden so much. I’d think it’d be pretty obvious�”after all, it’s really just glorified, grown-up playing in the dirt, which has always been a hobby of mine. And pulling weeds is surprisingly therapeutic. But the real reason why I have so much fun in the garden? My mum is notoriously, illogically compassionate toward pretty much anything alive (except, apparently, plants). This means she refuses to do anything about our garden gnome problem, so my dad and I have always de-gnomed the garden on the sly whenever Mum left the house. You’d think she’d figure it out, but it’s worked for the past twenty-three years. And in case you’ve forgotten, de-gnoming means swinging the little guys around and throwing them as far as you can. Sometimes, they make really satisfying splatting noises, though they’re also annoyingly resilient.

Anyway, I was cackling quietly to myself, having hurled a gnome a good fifty feet and into an open manhole, when I heard a twig snap behind me. I instantly froze into something that tried to resemble a ninja pose, and my head whipped around as disconcertingly as possible. This, incidentally, is my gnome-catching stance.

Upon turning around, I ascertained two things: first of all, the figure behind me was definitely not a gnome, and second of all, despite this fact, I still wished I could grab him by his head and throw him into a manhole.

“Erm, hey…” said Tyrone, burying his hands in his pockets in the universal sign language gesture for ‘AWWWWKWARD…’

“Oh,” I said cleverly. “You again.”

Tyrone chewed on his lower lip. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Er, I came to pick up my toads, so if I could just go inside and get them, that would be great…”

Wow. He could not have picked a worse time if he tried. “Well, neither of my parents are home,” I explained flatly, keeping my eyes trained on the flowerbed. “So I don’t know where they put all your toad stuff. And I don’t really have the time to look all over the house for all the different toys and stuff you brought for them, so I think you’ll have to come back later.”

“Mmm.” There was a long, long silence. For some reason, Tyrone did not walk away. I was looking down at the flowerbed, yanking out stubborn weeds with particular ferocity, but I could see the man’s shadow looming down over the yard. He had the kind of build that was good for looming. “So,” he said at last. “Gardening, huh?”

I blinked. Not exactly a brilliant conversation starter from someone who was supposed to be so cool. “Yeah. Just, you know, de-gnoming and digging up some things. It’s something I like to do sometimes.”

“I know,” blurted Tyrone. “I mean, I used to come over and help you out sometimes, remember? I once threw a gnome all the way across the street and it hit that annoying old bloke that used to live there?”

“Actually, that was me,” I informed him coolly. His memory would be skewed that way. I scrabbled hopelessly at the roots of a horribly intractable weed. It was impossible, even with gardening gloves. “I’m, er, very busy,” I said, not exactly winning any prizes for subtlety.

Somehow, Tyrone still didn’t seem to get it. He was standing there with his head cocked, just watching me play tug-of-war with the weed. “You want a trowel for that,” he said. “You’ve got to dig up the roots.”

“No, I think I can pull it,” I insisted, beginning to feel very annoyed indeed.

Tyrone plopped down right next to me, in the middle of the dirty yard and yanked on a spare pair of gardening gloves. They were my size, so they were hilariously tiny for his humongous hands, and they also happened to be covered in a print of pink hearts and watermelon slices.

I think now’s the best time for me to paint a picture of what we each looked like. I had on a grubby t-shirt in the worst possible shade of green for my complexion, reading “BIG JAFAR’S KABOB SHACK,” and a ragged pair of hideously baggy grey cut-off sweatpants. My hair was rapidly bursting free of its lumpy, lopsided ponytail, and I was barefoot, extremely sweaty, and covered with dirt.

On the other hand, we had Tyrone, who had clearly just gotten back from some big Quidditch-related media tour or something, was wearing very expensive-looking cream-coloured dress robes and nice brown leather shoes. His hair was all sleek and shiny with some kind of fancy hair product, he was wearing rather strong cologne, and he had on sunglasses. He certainly looked head-turning, especially since the Muggles in the neighbourhood would probably assume that he was cross-dressing. So in his dressy, expensive togs, the famous Tyrone Thomas just sat down in the middle of a flowerbed like he did it every day of his life.

“You can’t just pull that,” he stated matter-of-factly, giving the weed a good, hard tug. “Look, it’s not going anywhere. No offense, Emma, but I think I’m a lot stronger than you are. If I can’t get it, you know you can’t. Just get a trowel.”

He was right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t offensive. Of course the boy is stronger than me; he’s paid for clubbing flying bowling balls at people’s heads, for Merlin’s sake. There was no need to rub it in. “Well, you may be right,” I conceded, “but there’s a slight flaw in your logic. We don’t have any trowels. My dad buys like three a year, but they’re always gone whenever I need to use one. They just keep disappearing. So no good smirking about it now.”

“That is really weird,” Tyrone stated. “Maybe the gnomes steal them or something? No idea what they’d want with trowels, though.”

“My dad’s always said he thinks Trowel Trolls get them,” I said. “Don’t ask me where he gets that name, it’s just--- wait, there’s a gnome over there, grab it�”quick!”

“What gno�”AAARGH!” I stifled a laugh. Tyrone had jumped to his feet, a gnome ferociously clinging to his finger by its teeth.

I shook my head. “You’ve gotten rusty,” I said, prying the gnome off of his hand and giving it a good toss. “You’re out of practice. You come in here all high and mighty, and you can’t even grab a gnome. What, do you have special servants to catch your garden gnomes and neatly dispose of them for you?”

“Well, I’ve got a fence to keep them out,” Tyrone explained bashfully, grimacing as he shook his hand. “Eurgh, this thing is bleeding.” He stuck his finger in his mouth.

“You do realize that was just in the gnome’s mouth?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You pretty much just effectively snogged a gnome. Wait ‘till the tabloids hear about this.” I gave the finger a closer look as he hurriedly pulled it out of his mouth and grimaced. It really was starting to bleed.

“You know, I don’t think this shirt can get any worse-looking,” I said, and used my wand to sever a strip of cloth from the hem of my t-shirt. “Here, tie this around your finger for a bit ‘till it stops bleeding all over the place. You owe me.”

Tyrone looked surprised, his dark eyebrows skyrocketing up to his hairline. “Hey, thanks,” he said.

“Ehh, don’t mention it. Just try not to bleed on the garden. Mum’ll think I’ve been torturing the gnomes again,” I muttered, giving the evil weed another go. The thought was suddenly entering my mind that I was having a chat with Tyrone Thomas, a regular conversational chat. And he was being perfectly friendly, if more than a little bit annoying. It was slightly weird.

Tyrone knotted the green strip of cloth around the cut and then, looking at me sideways, said, “Actually, I’ve got a lot of garden stuff lying around my house. You can borrow a trowel or something if you want�”it’s just right around the corner. I have loads of extra ones, so if you lose it, that’s okay.”

I tried for one last futile tug, then sighed. I certainly didn’t want to look like an incompetent gardener, particularly after laughing at him for getting bitten by a gnome (which, honestly, still happens to me all the time). “Well… okay,” I said. “Thanks. Why so friendly all of a sudden?”

Tyrone shrugged. “You know, I figured we broke up five years ago, and we have some friends in common and we were working at the same place for awhile, and now we’re in the same neighbourhood, so I figured we might as well just try to get along. I’m not asking you to be my best friend or anything. But your parents are always really nice, so I thought it’d be stupid if I kept letting you scare me off. So, what do you say? A truce, just for now? Try to be just sort of civil? I mean, we are neighbours and all.”

“I guess,” I replied, rolling my eyes. I took off my garden glove and spat into my palm, mainly to gauge his reaction. He didn’t even blink, but went right ahead and spat a huge glob of saliva into his hand and held it out to be shaken. Maybe he hadn’t changed quite as much as I’d thought.

“Great,” said Tyrone. “Now I have gnome spit on one hand and yours on the other. I can’t wait to go wash now.” He glanced over at me. “So, do you want to come and pick out a trowel? Might as well just get it now when we’re both free.”

“Whatever.” I tucked my wand back inside the pocket of my horrid old sweats and wiped my disgusting hands on the front of my shirt. I might as well have blown my nose on my hair at the rate I was going. That was when I saw Tyrone’s back, and burst out laughing. There was dirt all over the back of his nice cream-coloured robes from where he’d been sitting.

Tyrone’s eyebrows did that TWING thing. “What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Tyrone,” I gasped, “don’t look now but… it looks like you’ve got a serious bowel problem.”

He grimaced and made a hopeless attempt to brush off the back of his robes. “Well, at least I don’t look like I took a bath in a septic tank.”

“Touche. Well, we’re certainly a good-looking pair. This’ll be fun for the neighbours to watch.”

Tyrone led the way to his house, while I kept up at his heels. If I tried to block it out of my head that this fellow was, in fact, Tyrone Thomas, it wasn’t so bad to be in his company. Every now and then, he would make some comment that would absolutely make me cringe, casually dropping some celebrity’s name or making some kind of baldly boastful statement, but that’s Tyrone for you.

“So,” I said, “Do you still like films?”

“Kind of obsessed, yeah,” he replied. “Do you still like… er… do you have any weird hobbies I forgot about?”

I thought about it for a minute. “Other than gardening? Erm… making fun of people? Rooting against your Quidditch team? Training to fight dark wizards? Eating food that someone else made? Pretending to hate musicals?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how I remember it,” he said, nodding. “Do�”” But he never got to finish his sentence, because all of a sudden, someone in heaven emptied his chamberpot on us.

“AGH!” I screamed. “Where did the rain come from?” Somehow, we’d managed to get ourselves trapped in the middle of a torrential downpour. The dirt that was smudged on my face and crusted on my clothes was rapidly turning into slippery, sludgy mud, and I did not enjoy it one bit. The only consolation was that Tyrone looked just as bad--his creamy robes were plastered to his skin, accentuated by a not inconsiderable amount of mud, and his hair was deflating.

Somehow, we were able to make it to Tyrone’s house, thoroughly soaked to the bone. “Well, this is it,” he said, unlocking the front door with some sort of nonverbal charm and stepping inside. I came in behind him, fully aware of the mud I was tracking onto the carpet. Honestly, I rather enjoyed doing it.

“Wow… nice place you’ve got,” I said, though this was an understatement. It was hard to wrap my brain around the concept that Tyrone had managed to buy a house just as big as my parents’, there in the middle of Godric’s Hollow, and at the age of twenty-three. I’d pegged him as the kind of guy who, once he’d made some money, would furnish his house in the most ridiculously ostentatious way possible, but I was wrong�”the furniture didn’t really match, and it was obvious that no decorator ever set foot inside the place. Still, everything looked a lot more comfortable and inviting than I would have expected.

“Thanks,” replied Tyrone. “I’m still saving up for a giraffe. Well, sit d�”actually, if it’s okay, could you not sit down?” He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work. Give me five minutes to get changed, okay?”

“What about me?” I asked, looking down at my filthy self.

Tyrone looked thoughtful. “I think a lot of my sister’s stuff is still here. You could probably fit into her clothes.”

“Oh no, I don’t�””

“No offense, but this isn’t a favour to you,” Tyrone said. “You’re… kind of messing up my carpet.”

Ah. I got the point. A couple of minutes later, Tyrone was back, wearing clean clothes and way too much cologne and bearing a t-shirt and some shorts. By the time I was done getting clean and changed, the storm outside was already letting up. Though my appearance was drastically improved, I still didn’t look great next to Tyrone, who seemed to pick out clothes based on how well they accentuated his pecs. Though the little green shorts he’d given me fit just fine, the shirt was so huge that it fell down to my knees�”I might as well have not been wearing any shorts at all. The shirt was white and slightly wrinkled, with a dark blue logo reading “SUPER MOTTS” across the front in fancy cursive.

“Sorry about the shirt,” said Tyrone, who apparently had not missed my critical expression. “I couldn’t find anything of Tabitha’s that I didn’t think she’d miss. That’s mine.”

“Ah,” I said. “And what is a ‘Super Motts?’”

Tyrone laughed. “I got it from this amateur film thing I went to forever ago. Some guy made a video about his pet dog, Motts…it was probably the worst thing I’d ever seen. When the dog was supposed to fly, you could see the guy’s hands holding him up, and the bad guy was a rubber hedgehog, and the backgrounds were all done in crayon. Well, the bloke who made the video said that the first person to run onstage and yell ‘SUPER MOTTS IS THE BEST THING I’VE SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!’ would get a free Super Motts t-shirt. So, of course I did.”

I squinted at him. I can’t say I really followed his logic. That’s like saying “I hate broccoli, so I entered a contest to get a free life’s supply of it!” But then, since when had Tyrone ever been accused of making sense? I changed the subject, remembering the real reason why I was here after all. “So,” I said. “Where are the trowels?”

“What?” Tyrone’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, trowels, trowels, trowels, right. They’re down in the basement. Sorry. This way.”

I followed him down the stairs to a basement that looked an awful lot like a sporting goods store. This was definitely a guy’s house�”a rich guy with a lot of weird hobbies.

“What colour do you want?” asked Tyrone as I surveyed the vast array of gardening implements that he had lying around.

“Godric, just how many do you have?” I asked.

Tyrone shrugged. “Hey, I like to garden.”

“I think I know what’s been happening to our trowels now,” I said, picking up one of the assorted tools and waving it around experimentally.

Tyrone help up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t look at me,” he insisted. “I only moved here a year ago. I’ve barely stolen any of your parents’ stuff yet.”

I grabbed a trowel at random and said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Ooh, Chudley Cannons orange,” grinned Tyrone. “Good choice.”

“I hate orange,” I said stiffly.

Tyrone shook his head. “It’s my favourite colour,” he informed me.

Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but there. The pleasant denial that I was actually hanging out with Tyrone was starting to wear off. Yes, he had been civil and courteous and generous. Yes, he’d helped me out a lot. But wasn’t this how Tyrone always was when he was trying to make a good impression on someone? He’d sucked up to my parents to an extent you wouldn’t believe when we’d been dating. One day, it would be lending me a trowel and a t-shirt, the next it would be paying for dinner, the next day, who knew? To use Tyrone’s own metaphor, I didn’t want to open up that can of worms again.

He had his good points, but then there were all those annoying little aspects of his character that made it fairly impossible for me to spend much time with him. He was so concerned with people’s opinions of him, so obsessed with trying to make absolutely everyone in the world adore him. He couldn’t stand criticism, inflamed at the slightest insult. He tried so hard to be macho and chivalrous and heroic in a time period where that didn’t really apply to real life. He wasn’t content with what was good and comfortable�”he had to pursue fairy tales and fantasies. And he never, never stopped in his pursuit of whatever he wanted, however impossible.

And that was only the Tyrone I’d remembered of five years before, the eighteen-year-old boy. Now he was a big-time Quidditch player, established in the world, inflated with pride, free to be rude and uncaring toward the trifling little people so long as he impressed where he so chose. With his big house and his excess money and his successful Quidditch team, he probably fancied himself some kind of minor god. Give a boy a set of six-pack abs and a fan girl or two, and he thinks he’s the king of the world.

“Look,” I said, “I think I’ll get going now. Thanks for everything.”

He smiled. “Anytime. Anyway, I’m stopping by your house later today to pick up my toads and stuff, so I guess I’ll see you then. Make sure everything’s ready, okay?”

And with that, I stepped out of Tyrone’s house, casting a charm around me to protect me from the rain and feeling slightly, inexplicably angry while somehow managing to be relieved at the same time. After avoiding and dreading Tyrone for so long, it was nice to finally get past that. But if he thought he was going to replace Wolfgang’s friendship, now that I was banned from speaking to him�”

Oh, wow. While we’re talking about Wolfgang…. Well, the second I got inside my parents’ house, I saw an envelope with my name on it, addressed in vaguely familiar handwriting. Curiously, I sat down and ripped it open.

Hey, Emma,

It’s Wolfgang. I just thought I’d send you an owl. It’s weird, the other day, I was talking with the rest of the team, and I said, “You know, I haven’t seen Emma Weasley around for a really long time.” And Gregg�”you know him, the Seeker�”he says, “Didn’t you hear? She got sacked!” Gregg’s probably the brightest player on the team, and he ends up knowing everything, so he explained it all for us.

I had no idea, and I’m really sorry I didn’t write to you sooner. I feel kind of bad, because it’s my fault. Do you have a chance of getting your job back? I know I’m not supposed to talk to you, but I don’t think an owl counts, do you? Vaultz is pretty insane, but I doubt he’s so far gone that he’s following your mail.

I tried owling your house, but I didn’t get anything. Then, I saw your cousin Haley at a game the other day. She was there with Anatoly, I think, doing some kind of thing to promote their show, and she ran up to me after the game and she told me that you were here with your parents and Ivy. Then she told me about some weird ducks she saw outside the stadium and how she likes cherry lollipops but NOT LIME, but I don’t think you need to know that. Haley’s great; you must really miss having her around!

Anyway, I feel really bad for Ivy. Tell her this stupid joke from me, and see if it cheers her up: “What’s brown and sounds like a bell? DUNG!” I have no idea why Tyrone thought it was such a good idea to volunteer Ted to go stay at that werewolf colony place right when his wife got pregnant. I told you, Tyrone wants the Quidditch season to continue no matter what, and I guess he thought Ted would help get this werewolf thing over with sooner than later. I don’t know Ted myself, but I’ve heard a lot about him, and he doesn’t sound like someone who’d turn down a proposition if he thought it would offend someone.

Speaking of Tyrone, you’re out in Godric’s Hollow, aren’t you? Tyrone lives there now�”hope you don’t run into him! That’s all you need, eesh.

Good luck�”and hopefully, see you later,
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Dionysus Willoughby Quinn

P.S. Yeah, that’s my real full name. Shut up.

P.P.S. I mean it. I see you laughing there.”

I stared at the paper in furious disbelief, and not just because Wolfgang had the most ridiculous name known to mankind. I should have been happy, getting a letter from a friend who I missed, getting to hear his stupid dung joke, knowing that he felt bad about Vaultz firing me. But then that name, Tyrone�”of course it had to be followed by something bad, didn’t it?

It didn’t make sense. Tyrone, volunteer Ted? He’d lost both of his parents. What was he doing, trying to make sure no newborn babies had any, either? I was certainly no defender of Tyrone’s, but could it have been possible that there was some mistake? After all, Wolfgang hadn’t even found out I’d been sacked until weeks after it had happened, and he hadn’t known his own brother’s full name (though if B.C.’s name was as bizarre as Wolfgang’s, then I guess that bit made sense). Wolfgang may be many wonderful things, but I have a feeling he’s a bit out of things sometimes.

But recruiting Ted�”that really was the kind of selfish thing that Tyrone would do. He’d think that as long as Ted agreed, he couldn’t be responsible for any kind of unhappiness. He wouldn’t take into consideration that Ted is the kind of cheery little chap who would gladly do anything that someone asks, just to do an acquaintance a favour.

I like Wolfgang, I really do. But how come whenever I interact with him at all, the main emotion I always seem to feel is anger? It seems like all that ever happens when I talk to him is me getting even angrier with Tyrone.

I threw down the letter, planning to change clothes as soon as humanly possible and never spare a second glance at that stupid Super Motts t-shirt again.

* * * * * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART FOUR

So, in those days, there really wasn’t anything to do except for go to balls and in between balls, people kept themselves busy by trying to find people to go with to those balls, and gossiping about who was going with who to those balls, and trying to decide what to wear to those balls.

Well, Mr. Bingley was going to have one of those balls, so naturally, everyone was all in a tizzy. And Elizabeth Bennet (our heroine, remember?) was especially thrilled because she was all eager to get funky with the dashing Mr. Wickham (remember him?). The only problem was that pesky long-standing feud between him and the emo Mr. Darcy, who always seemed to hang around Mr. Bing-Bing’s bachelor pad a little more than was suitable.

So by the time Elizabeth got to the ball, Mr. Darcy had already scared Wickham away, and there was nobody cool to hang out with. It was pretty much the worst ball ever. Elizabeth’s boring sister Mary insisted on singing and playing the piano constantly, both of which she did so terribly that several refined gentlemen were stricken with an attack of the vapours. Elizabeth’s skanky sisters, Kitty and Lydia, hit on anything that breathed and a few things that didn’t. Elizabeth’s mum went around talking extremely loudly about personal matters and the shapeliness of Mr. Darcy’s bum, while Elizabeth’s father stood in the corner getting as drunk as possible.

Oh, and worst of all, the insufferable Bilbo Collins asked Elizabeth to dance, and she was so distracted by her hideously embarrassing family that she accidentally said ‘yes.’

So here was Elizabeth, who’d been so looking forward to this ball, having what was probably the worst night of her life. And Bilbo, by the way, was the worst dancer on the face of the earth, worse than Ted Lupin.

Well, after the first couple of dances and several broken toes, Elizabeth was ranting miserably to her best friend Charlotte, who didn’t seem to be particularly sympathetic, seeing as she was as ugly as a gargoyle and had never been asked to dance in her life. When suddenly, a dark sinister figure appeared out of nowhere. You guessed it, it was Mr. Darcy!

“Mwahahahaha!” said the diabolical Mr. Darcy, swirling his black cape and twirling his evil mustache. (I don’t think he has a mustache…) “May I have this dance?”

Well, Elizabeth meant to say ‘go kill yourself,’ but it accidentally came out as ‘yes’ instead, so she was stuck. And now Bilbo was starting to look mighty attractive all of a sudden.

Darcy and Elizabeth somehow managed to get through two terribly awkward dances. And yeah, admittedly, Mr. Darcy was pretty fly for a white guy- he could dance better than just about anybody there, but it was slightly spoiled by the creepy way he was staring at Elizabeth, like he wanted to rip her to shreds and eat her on a bun with barbeque sauce. Also, Mr. Darcy was not much of a conversationalist. Every time Elizabeth tried to ask him a question, he said something like, ‘Mind your own business, vile woman-creature. Do not drag yourself into the deep, unfathomable mire of my misery.’

Oh, and Mr. Bingley’s sisters kept hanging around talking smack about Mr. Wickham, saying vaguely insulting things about his family background and his romantic history and his sideburns.

So by the time the ball was over, Elizabeth was just glad to get out of there and eager for the day to end. Ah, but the worst was yet to come! (It always is.) Because she was busy raiding the fridge or something when BILBO COLLINS ambushed her! The bloke did everything short of grabbing a piece of rope and lassoing her.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” lisped Bilbo. “I have some great news for you.”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Are you leaving?”

Bilbo thought that was just hilarious and laughed for a little longer than was socially acceptable. “No, silly! You’re going to be a dreadfully lucky woman! I’m asking you to marry me! Because, you see, marriage is an institution that I strongly approve of, from a religious and domestic standpoint, and for moral reasons, and to set an example in my parish, and I want someone to wash my soiled underthings and make me sandwiches. And you’re just the one to do it! Aren’t you thrilled?”

Strangely enough, Elizabeth wasn’t particularly. And when she explained this to Bilbo, he thought that was just hilarious as well. So Elizabeth tried unconvincingly for awhile to convince him that she was serious, culminating in getting a restraining order. This was around when Bilbo started actually taking her seriously, and he was seriously displeased. He gave her a long speech about how she was making a grave mistake, but she couldn’t hear him, on account of that restraining order.

So Bilbo Collins, at loss for something to do, ran across the street, grabbed the ugly spinster Charlotte Lucas, threw her over his shoulder, and ran off into the night for a Vegas wedding.

GODRIC, GODRIC, WHAT IS UP WITH THIS? This is ridiculous! So Charlotte couldn’t find a man and so she went off and married the first guy who asked her, in a heartbeat? And here I thought she was cool! Okay, there is absolutely nothing attractive about Bilbo Collins, and even if there was, he just asked Elizabeth to marry him five minutes before. Not to mention that they barely know each other… I mean, I wouldn’t even date someone unless I knew I’d liked him for years, let alone marry him.

I know things aren’t going well when even Pride and Prejudice is making me angry. I think I need my nap.

Haley’s Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
There was a time my feet were so solidly planted
You’d sail away, while I turned my back to the sea.
I was content, a princess asleep and enchanted
If I had dreams, then I let you dream them for me.
Back in the days when everything seemed so much clearer
Women in white, who knew what their lives held in store
Where are they now, those women who stared from the mirror?
We can never go back to before.
---“Back to Before,” from Ragtime.

I didn’t have long to stew and reflect after Wolfgang’s letter, because just then, Ivy came thundering down the stairs, her whole face aglow and her eyes a-sparkle. (Is that a word? ‘A-sparkle?’ If it is, it would definitely be one of Haley’s favorites.) “Emma!” she cried breathlessly. “I�”“ she paused. “Where did you get that shirt?” she asked, stopping in her tracks.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I muttered, glaring down at the ‘Super Motts’ emblazoned on my chest. “Well? What’s up?”

Ivy sighed and sat down in a chair opposite me, looking for all the world like a fairy tale princess, albeit a pregnant and boringly-dressed one. “Ted wrote,” she said simply, her calm, quiet voice managing to express in two words all of the emotion that Haley would in five paragraphs, lots of screams, several hugs, all kinds of dancing and jumping up and down, a few lines of spontaneous singing, and the demise of a ceramic kitten or two. It was clear she’d come over to my house to ambush me the second I came home with this fantastic news.

“No kidding?” I snatched the letter out of her hand before she could even offer it to me. Honestly, I’m not sure she was going to�”after all, the letter was rather personal, but I didn’t care. If Ivy didn’t want her private relationship with her husband out in the open, she wouldn’t be walking around with his baby sticking out of her belly.

This is what Ted’s letter said, for the most part. He’s just slightly dyslexic, so he has some trouble with spelling, and I’ll save you the trouble of deciphering his writing by editing his mistakes for him. There were also loads of cross-outs, ink-blots, and ugly margin doodles that I can’t really be bothered to replicate, but you get the general gist of it:

Dear Ivy,

How are you doing? I really, really hope you’re all right. Is your morning sickness any better? Are you eating okay? Emma isn’t being too mean to you, is she?

You probably think it’s so weird that I’m starting off the letter like this. I wanted to say I was sorry for not writing, but I couldn’t think of how to say it. I’ll try… I’m really, really, really sorry. Really really really. I‘m scared to think about how you must have felt the last couple weeks, especially since you’ve probably heard about the attack by now. I don’t have much access to what goes on in real life, so I don’t know what’s been happening in the wizard world lately.

There’s nothing to write with or write on down here at the camp (that’s what I like to call the place where I’m hanging out) and not much time for writing, either, but neither of those are good reasons. I’ve been trying really hard to blend in�”and I’m not doing a very good job of it�”and writing and doing other human stuff like that sort of bothers some of the other guys here�”that’s not an excuse, either, though. My biggest problem is, it’s hard for me to explain what it’s like here. Every time I try, I just give up. It’s so weird here, and I don’t think I can do it justice.

Ivy, I will be honest with you. I wish I was home. I really, really wish I was home. I don’t like it here at all. I mean, I bet I’ll get used to it, and I bet I’ll make friends with the other werewolves, and get everyone’s trust, but it looks like all of this is going to take awhile.

It’s definitely different here. It took me a couple days to figure out that people here don’t talk. I mean, it’s not that they can’t, they all know how to talk (except for a few who were born here and never learned), but the most you’ll get is a word or two here and there. You mostly get a lot of grunts and growls and howls. I still can’t get those sounds to come out of my mouth when I’m in human form. It’s worse than my singing, if you can believe that.

Everyone out here is so close, all one big group. ‘Personal space’ doesn’t exist, and there’s no privacy�”everything’s out in the open. It’s pretty weird for me, I have to say. You know I’m not a super outdoorsy guy, so some of the stuff we do is hard for me. I wimp out a lot. I hate the idea of hunting�”I still can’t do it. I have to share what the other guys bring back, and I still don’t like to eat it. I know, I know, I like to eat some weird foods, but raw squirrels? Raw bird? I’m not so wild about those.

Speaking of wild, most people at the camp get around on four legs, and there’s no houses or shelters or tents or beds or anything. Just outdoors. There’s nowhere to wash, so I’m pretty dirty, and I can tell I smell terrible. I’m sort of glad you can’t see me now. I bet I look disgusting!

The thing I didn’t realize when I came is, these people didn’t choose not to join the bad werewolves who’ve been rampaging around lately. These guys don’t even know that there have been attacks, period. They don’t know anything about the human world, which is weird to think about. They’re wilder than the attack werewolves, and they’d probably be a lot more dangerous if they decided to fight.

Here’s what I know about the werewolves who’ve been causing all the trouble (NOT my gang): They’re led by a man named Cassius Balthazar, who’s lived in a werewolf colony for over thirty years. Here’s the thing about his colony�”they live totally wild, like the bunch I’m staying with, but Balthazar’s buddies talk normally. They just express wolfish kinds of thoughts all rationally. Balthazar’s really, really smart, and he talks in a really civilized, sensible sort of way, so it’s pretty easy to get caught up in what he’s saying. He hates ‘humans’�”by that he means anyone who’s not a werewolf. He doesn’t believe that you can be both.

I guess I see why so many people ended up joining him. Last night, I had my first transformation without Wolfsbane Potion, and now I know why Arden Dubois was always so insecure. It’s bad, really, really bad. I didn’t want to tell you this stuff because it freaked me out a lot, but if I can’t tell you, I can’t tell anyone, and I have to tell someone. And if anyone can read this without judging me, it’s you.

Ivy, I don’t remember the last time I was so scared. It was the most horrible thing I can imagine. Basically, I was still there, like normal�”I could see everything, hear everything, think like normal�”but I was sitting in the backseat, and some crazy wolf guy was driving. And here’s the really weird part�”I was the crazy wolf guy, too. It was like I had two different brains thinking at once. And as cool as that sounds (and as much some people would love the idea of me having an extra brain) it was just weird and scary. The crazy wolf guy part didn’t think in words, or even in pictures or anything… just kind of a blur of emotions.

And then people started attacking. We couldn’t see them�”they were hiding off somewhere and shooting spells at us from far away. I was watching all of these other werewolves getting zapped all around me, and there wasn’t anything I could do. The normal part of me wanted to run away and find shelter and help a bunch of the other werewolves, but the crazy wolf guy part of me wasn’t listening.

And here’s why�”and I can’t tell you how much it disgusts me that I was even thinking something like this�”“yum, people!” Not that I’ve ever eaten any, don’t worry, but me and all the other werewolves were so excited that there were people at the end of the path that we didn’t even care that they were shooting spells that were knocking us dead. We just kept running toward where all of the spells were coming from. It was like they were all coming out of a big pizza… everyone could smell it, and we all wanted some. I don’t even know how to describe it.

Then, the biggest one of us… I don’t know his name, it’s some weird unpronounceable growl thing, but he’s about three hundred pounds in human form, and somehow, he got really close to where the people were, and they ran away. They zapped him first, but not with a Killing Curse. He was just really messed up and hurt. Me and one of the other guys dragged him back and tried to take care of him, and he’s doing okay now, but he’s still freaked out.

He’s decided he likes me, though, and he seems like he’s probably the alpha of the group, so it looks like I’m going to be a popular boy soon! Hahaha. It probably also helps that even though I’m built like a spaghetti noodle, I’m the tallest of the group, so I guess I’m a pretty intimidating-looking wolf. That’s a new one, isn’t it? You never thought anyone would call me ‘intimidating’!

Ivy, a lot of people are hurt or dead. There’s a lot of Ministry officials helping out with identifying the bodies. I was lucky, and I’m not hurt at all, but so many people are that I feel guilty. If I’d had the Wolfsbane Potion, I’d have saved as many people as I could.

Since there’s no talking going on, I have a lot of time to myself, just to think. I think about you all the time, and I miss you so much. I keep imagining coming home, just walking up the front steps and ringing the doorbell. And then you open the door and look up at me, just standing right there in front of me with that smile I love. And I like to imagine holding our baby, sitting with you and the baby on the sofa, counting its tiny little fingers and toes and not having to worry about where I’m going to get my next meal or where I’m going to sleep, or anything but you and me and the baby.

Sometimes, I imagine you and me about seventy-odd years old, sitting on a bench and watching all the different-coloured birds eating seeds we throw for them and listening to our grandkids running around screaming and laughing in the park. Your hair is bright white, and the sun’s shining off of it like some kind of halo, and you’re holding onto my wrinkly old hand and we’re laughing.

I know, I know, it’s cheesy and mushy. If anyone else was reading this (no one else is reading this, right? Right?), they’d probably be laughing their head off right now. But I keep thinking of all of the little things that I’m missing, too. Just things like standing in the kitchen cooking and hearing your voice from the next room, or waking up in the middle of the night and feeling you breathing next to me, or the nice orangey way you smell when I’m in wolf form, or in the morning after a bad transformation feeling all achy and gross and then I open my eyes, and your face right above mine is the first thing I see.

Also, I think a lot about when we were in fifth year and we’d just started dating. Remember how we were scared to touch each other? We held hands so nervously, and we weren’t really sure how to kiss, and when I glanced at you across the room in class, you blushed. We were so awkward! I mean, ‘awkward’ could basically be my middle name, but you know what I mean. I hope. Why do I get the feeling that this letter is going to end up at the wrong address?

Here’s the big thing, though�”I miss you so much, and I love you so much, and I wish I was home more than you can believe… BUT, if I had to do it again, I’d still come over here. I have a feeling they’ll need some peace-keeping soon, and when the press came today, I was kind of useful. I’m glad that Tyrone volunteered me. I wasn’t sure at first if I wanted to do it, but even though it’s worse than I thought it would be, I don’t think I could really live with myself if I didn’t go.

I can’t tell yet when I’ll be able to come home. I wish I could soon, though. Just a warning�”the second I get back, you’re getting the biggest hug you’ve ever had in your life, like it or not.

Love (you better believe it!),
Ted

P.S. This is definitely the longest thing I’ve ever written. I think my hand’s going to fall off. But my next letter will be even longer! I’ll write soon!

P.P.S. Sorry for sounding so whiny in this letter. I promise I’ll be nice and happy once you have me back home!

“You know, I didn’t really want you to read that,” sighed Ivy, as I put down the letter, looking slightly sick to my stomach.

“Yeah, I can see why,” I grumbled. “I didn’t think even Ted could get that sappy.” But I’d hardly paid attention to Ted’s gooshy outpourings�”what really riveted my attention was the second-to-last paragraph. You know, the one with the word ‘Tyrone’ in it.

So Wolfgang was right. Tyrone had put Ted up to this. That was a nice thing of him to do�”imagine this sentence uttered with a heaping spoonful or two of sarcasm poured on top. From the sound of it, he didn’t even think of asking Ted before he went and spread the word that sure, Ted Lupin would just LOVE to hang out with a bunch of savage werewolves in the middle of nowhere.

“Are you okay, Emma?” said Ivy, her brow creased. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, waving my hand airily. “It’s just… did you know that it was Tyrone who volunteered Ted?”

Ivy nodded, looking faintly surprised. “Of course,” she said. “He was talking to one of his friends who works in the Ministry, and he mentioned something about Ted. Then the friend asked if Ted would be willing to help out, and Tyrone said he was sure he would. So Tyrone and his friend came over to talk to us, and when they explained things to us, Ted decided he should go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

Ivy sighed. “I thought you’d take it the wrong way,” she said. “You’re always a bit… touchy when someone brings up Tyrone. Ted and I always managed to keep in touch with him even after you broke up, but�””

“Oh, right, right, you thought I’d take the information that it’s Tyrone’s fault that you and Ted are both miserable the wrong way. I see now,” I said. I laughed bitterly. “I think it’s naptime for me… I’m getting all cranky and bratty again. Sorry for being nasty when you’re in such a good mood. Ted’s letter was really… nice.”

“I, er, guess I’ll get back to my own house now,” Ivy said meekly. She took the letter back and gently folded it, handling it like it was some kind of priceless artifact. I never understand that girl. Ted is a nice guy and all, but he’s JUST TED! He’s nothing special, just an ordinary, average, everyday bloke. What is there to get so excited about?

Once Ivy and her letter had left, I sunk back into the chair and grabbed my temples. It was so confusing trying to get a clear picture of who Tyrone was these days. I had my memories left over from when we were dating five years ago, and I had the few brief conversations we’d had. My dad seemed to like him�”and he utterly distrusted Tyrone when we were dating, so that’s saying something�”and it was clear that Wolfgang didn’t like him at all. Ted and Ivy had kept up with him, but he seemed utterly insensitive to this whole werewolf crisis. And once you include all the insane bits of gossip about him in the tabloids, the whole thing got really out of control. So what was true? It couldn’t all be.

One thing about Tyrone is, I’m not sure I can remember him ever changing his mind… about anything. He’s always been as stubborn and hardheaded as a person can be. If he has a plan, no matter how badly it’s been going, he always sticks to it. I mean, he spent about four years trying to get me to go out with him�”he just kept doggedly pursuing me until I finally changed my mind. He probably convinced Ted to go with the werewolves in pretty much the same way�”pushing and pushing until Ted finally gave in. I doubt Ted was as susceptible to Tyrone’s big puppy dog eyes as I had been, though.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. At first, I thought it was just my pounding headache playing tricks on me, but when the knocks persisted, I came to my senses and answered it.

And then immediately wished I hadn’t.

“Hi,” said Tyrone, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Nice shirt.”

I looked down instinctively, before remembering that the shirt was, in fact, his. “Oh,” I said intelligently. “Yeah.”

“Well,” continued Tyrone, taking a step indoors without being invited. “I came for my toad stuff?”

“Oh,” I repeated. “Well. Er, it’s all over there in the living room. You can go get it from there if you want.” My voice must have sounded as impatient and humorless as I felt, because Tyrone’s eyebrows contracted slightly. This was the first step of his ‘puppy dog eyes’ routine. Ohhhh, no.

Slowly, one of those eyebrows rose up his forehead. “Well, can I have some help?” he asked.

I laughed. “You carried all of that stuff over here by yourself. You shouldn’t have any trouble taking it back with those famous biceps of yours.”

“All right, then,” said Tyrone. He looked a little bit hurt, but he didn’t say anything else on the subject. He simply stacked together all of his toad equipment and gathered it up together in his arms, seemingly trying to showcase the ‘famous biceps’ I’d mentioned as much as possible in the process.

“Could at least hold the door open for me,” he said quietly. “You’re not being too nice for someone I just lent a trowel to.”

Stiffly, I walked toward the door and opened it for him, feeling my back teeth grind in a way that couldn’t be good for them. The sight of Tyrone, the sound of his voice, the gymnastics his eyebrows were always performing, were suddenly all inexplicably, illogically repulsive. It took all of my willpower to keep from smashing in his nose, though I still couldn’t quite figure out why. It couldn’t just be because of the whole Ted thing�” that wasn’t enough to merit this sudden desire to ward him off with a garlic-scented cross.

“Hey,” said Tyrone, pausing in the door. “You still owe me for the stuff I gave you, by the way.”

I looked at him blankly. “If I’d known that I owed you anything, I wouldn’t have taken any of your ‘stuff,’” I said, my voice flatter than a squirrel on the insterstate.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing big,” Tyrone replied breezily. “I just think maybe we should go out sometime, now that the ice is broken and all. Do you want to get ice cream or something?”

I stared at him. “What?” I spat.

Tyrone looked like he’d been caught slightly off-guard. “Erm. You know, it’s been awhile, and we got along okay earlier today, so I thought we might try for it again. Just hang out, see how it goes.”

I almost laughed. Did I suddenly have some kind of magical innate force that draws boys toward me or something? And if so, was it possible to transfer this power to Haley? “Oh, is this what you meant earlier by ‘truce?’ Is this what you meant by ‘trying to be civil’ and being ‘neighbourly?’ I should’ve guessed… seeing as it’s you, it figures that ‘civility’ means ‘snogging.’”

Tyrone almost dropped his toad gear. He caught his balance and gently set it all down on the floor in front of him, then straightened up into that ramrod-straight posture that looked like it had been achieved through years of charm school. “Well, if you’re going to be like this, I don’t think I want to go get ice cream with you after all,” he said softly. “Seriously, what’s your problem, Emma? I’ve been nothing but nice.”

“You have a pretty weird definition of ‘nice’, then,” I muttered.

“I’m starting to think you have NO definition of ‘nice,’” countered Tyrone. “Why the change, Emma? We were fine earlier today. Or are you only nice when you want something from someone?”

He folded his arms and leaned back against the door frame. “Let me tell you something. I’ve been single for months now, I have a busy career, I have a little sister I’m responsible for, I’m getting a lot of attention from the press and everyone right around now. And you know I remember what a nightmare it was when we were dating before, how we’d always get into fights and break up for a couple days and get back together… but yeah, I kept telling myself all of that that it’d be crazy to ask you out, that it was a really stupid idea, but I decided to try anyway, against my better judgment. But you know, it’s starting to look like I was right.”

I shook my head in amazement. “Did you actually think that lending me a trowel and a t-shirt would be a sure-fire way to get me to leap into your arms? Did you think that’d make up for everything else?”

“And what’s this ‘everything else?’” demanded Tyrone, starting to raise his voice. His eyes flashed. “Name one annoying thing I did�”other than when we were dating, I mean. That was ages ago. Can’t you get past any of that?”

“It’s not about that!” I shouted. “Or did you think that if you were nice to me, I wouldn’t care how you treated everyone else? Do you really think I’m so selfish that I wouldn’t care what you did to Ted and Ivy?”

Tyrone’s light hazel eyes narrowed into predatory slits. “Now what are you on about?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I snapped. “You know what I mean. ‘Oh, hey, people are talking about canceling Quidditch. Can’t have that, I can’t go a couple weeks without an audience. What can I do? Oh, I know! This nice guy I know, he’s a werewolf! He’ll do anything I want! Of course he’d love to go on a dangerous mission that has like a ten percent chance of working and probably get killed in the process! So what if his wife’s pregnant, so what if he doesn’t want to go, none of that stuff is as important as me and my career.’”

Tyrone’s jaw dropped and he opened his mouth angrily to make some sort of feeble retort. I cut him off.

“If that was my only problem, I could probably stand that. But I have other reasons, you know I do. How about everything you did to Wolfgang? He told me all about that. He’s not the whining kind, but I got the picture�”what kind of excuse do you have for that?”

Tyrone looked livid. “Oh, duh, I should have guessed! The famous Wolfgang Quinn! You’re always on his side.”

“Well, who wouldn’t, after hearing about all of his issues?” I exclaimed. “Mostly thanks to you, of course!”

“His issues?” Tyrone repeated unnecessarily contemptuously. “Yeah, I’d say he has serious issues. That bloke has enough issues to start his own magazine.”

“You know what I mean!” I hissed. “Or are you going to play all innocent and pretend like you didn’t steal his house and cut him off from his property and refuse to talk to him? I’ve seen the way you treat him. You don’t care about the werewolf attacks, you don’t care about Wolfgang…”

Tyrone’s face was a strange dark greenish-purple, and his expression looked like he’d been eating tar-encrusted lemons. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me. Then at last, he opened his mouth and said in a weirdly bitter and forceful voice, even deeper than usual, “So that’s how you see me. Thanks so much for telling me. You’ve sure made me sound like a great guy.” He paused for a moment, his face contorting. “Of course, I doubt any of that would’ve even bothered you for a second if you weren’t still stuck on the past. You can’t get over anything, can you? You can’t put the past behind you.”

“Stop it!” I said sharply. My voice came out in a menacing half-growl that made me sound like I should be hanging out where Ted was, and it surprised even me.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Tyrone said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “But I like being honest, if it’s all the same to you. Me, I always tell the truth, no matter how much of an idiot I end up looking. I can’t say the same for some people I know, but I guess that’s what you�””

“You know what?” I interrupted loudly. “Shut up. I don’t care what you have to say, and I don’t care what you do. Maybe if I had proof that you care about anything and that you don’t just use people for the fun of it�”no, you know what? Never mind. You’re the last person in the world I’d want to go out with. And that includes Patrick Wormwood.”

Tyrone gave me a tight, sardonic smile, and it was such a strange-looking, unTyronish smile that I couldn’t help but stare. “Yeah, I get the picture. You’ve said enough,” he growled, picking up his toad things without ceasing to glare at me. “Well, all I can say is, I’m definitely sorry for asking you out. And I mean that in every possible way. That’s five minutes of my life I’ll never get back again. Remind me to never try pulling that again.” And with that dramatic conclusion, he somehow managed to slam the front door shut, despite the fact that his arms were full of toad equipment.

I collapsed back into a chair, feeling distinctly as though I’d just had a sudden attack of the flu and puked up all of my guts. I had the same bitter taste in my mouth, the same lightheadedness and nausea, the same chills, and the same achy, lethargic weakness. Stupid, stupid Tyrone. It was so weird to think that he’d even tried to ask me out again. That was a part of my life that was way in the past.

But that was my problem. Tyrone wasn’t the past. He was present, and he was everywhere. It seemed like whatever I did, wherever I was, that big shiny white Cheshire Cat grin of his followed me. He was like some huge dark shadow that was always looming over me. Was this some kind of a sick joke, or some test of mettle, or did he just want to get on my nerves as much as possible?

Or did he miss me?

Suddenly, my eyes went blurry. I rubbed them, but that only made it worse. I needed to lie down. But when I closed my eyes, all that I could see was Tyrone’s face. Sometimes, he looked as bitter and stiff and disgusted as he had just moments before, and I hated it. Sometimes, he was grinning and casual and relaxed, and I hated it even more. Everything he’d said to me today kept ringing in my ears�”sometimes sounding carefree and playful and laughing, sometimes sarcastic and hateful and tense, but always the same deep, mumbling drawl.

I wanted to think about anything else�”it wasn’t just that I was annoyed with Tyrone, it was that I was sick to death of him. Tyrone this, Tyrone that, Tyrone here, Tyrone there. After going five years without coming face-to-face once, I suddenly couldn’t take a single step without him popping up. When he wasn’t standing in front of me with that smirk on his face, he was in my head.

And he was just plain weird. He’d honestly seemed like he was shocked by the accusations I’d thrown at him. He’d looked all offended, all ‘who, little old me?’ It was sickening. He was so good at tricking everyone into thinking he was great that even HE’D fallen under his own spell.

Well, I’d already made that mistake. And I wasn’t about to again.

Dangit, where DID my parents keep the chocolate?

* * * * * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART FIVE

So, back to this old book… when I left off, Bilbo Collins had gotten married to that disfigured gargoyle, Charlotte Lucas, at the request of an old rich lady named Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who hoped that if Bilbo finally got some, he’d leave her alone and stop stalking her.

Finally, Elizabeth Bennet feels like she can have some peace and quiet now that Bilbo is gone, but it’s not to be, because then she gets some bad news. Remember how Elizabeth’s gorgeous older sister, Jane, had a thing for the extremely wealthy Mr. Bing-Bing, who had just moved into a house called Netherfield, with his venomous Gorgon sister and his live-in companion Mr. Darcy? Well, just after Mr. Collins’ wedding, Jane gets a letter from Mr. Bing-Bing’s sister that says:

Dear Jane,
My brother has left Netherfield FOREVER and moved to London, where you can’t get your grubby paws on him, haha!
Love,
Caroline.
P.S. By the way, did I mention that Mr. Darcy’s beautiful, rich, talented, and single sister lives in London?

Of course, Jane’s heartbroken and everything. However much Elizabeth tries to explain that there’s no way Mr. Bingley would marry Mr. Darcy’s sister, especially since he probably isn’t interested in girls at all, it only does more harm than good for some reason. So, like any sensible girl, Jane decides to stalk Mr. Bing-Bing to London and follow him around in the hopes of winning him back. This is a girl who has never been more than seven meters away from home before, so it’s quite a momentous decision.

Then, Elizabeth gets an announcement that says her darling Wickham is engaged to some girl whose father had recently died and left her a heap of money big enough to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool. And at first, Elizabeth feels like she should be upset… but she’s not. Because as much as she liked Wickham, she figures that if he wants to get married solely for money, he’s probably not her type of guy anyway. But she still feels sorry for him, because he wouldn’t be so desperate for money if it wasn’t for everything that git Mr. Darcy put him through.

Speaking of Mr. Darcy, she thinks she’s done with him for good, but she’s unfortunately mistaken. Because like garden gnomes, fanged Boomarangs, STDs, hip-huggers, and Lord Voldemort, he just keeps on coming back. When Charlotte writes to Elizabeth begging her to visit sometime and let Charlotte use her as a human shield to fend off her obnoxious husband, Elizabeth can’t help but take pity on her. But visiting Charlotte in her new house means putting up with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, a creature so horrible that she makes Mr. Collins look positively charming by comparison. Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, seeing as she’s also Mr. Darcy’s aunt.
The second Elizabeth steps into Lady Catherine’s house, this leathery old hag opens up her ungodly mouth and vomits forth this stream of rude comments that only someone as old and rich as her could ever get away with. “Well, you certainly have poor hygiene and a bad complexion. That time of the month, is it? Say, I’ve heard a lot about you. Apparently, you live in a fetid cave and were raised by wolves, and your younger sisters are aspiring ladies of the night. My, your nonexistent education has left you woefully ignorant. What a hideous dress, but I assume you can’t afford better. Your piano playing is terrible. Granted, I never learned how to play the piano, but I’m sure that if I knew how, I’d be a heck of a lot better than you are. By the way, YOU’RE RUDE. You should learn to be respectful in conversation, like me.”

And every time anyone else attempted to get a syllable in edgewise, Lady Catherine would whack them on the back of the knee with her cane with surprising strength for such and old biddy. To make things even weirder, Mr. Darcy is lurking in the shadows the whole time, staring with unblinking eyes at Elizabeth like some kind of bizarre lizard, except I think lizards have to lick their eyeballs due to their lack of eyelids, and Mr. Darcy was at least gentlemanly enough to stop short of that.

The only good part of the visit is that Darcy has a cousin named Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is lucky enough to be one of the few characters in this book with any redeeming qualities, so at least Elizabeth has someone nice to talk to. And over the next several days, Colonel Fitzwilliam shows up to visit Elizabeth several times, sometimes with Mr. Darcy, but usually mercifully without.

Then, all of a sudden, one morning, Elizabeth opens the door expecting to find Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Darcy’s standing there all alone. It’s like she’s a little kid who’s opening a Christmas present hoping to find the toy broomstick he asked for and instead he finds the corpse of his beloved pet hamster. (Man, these summaries are just getting weirder and weirder, aren’t they?)

So, Mr. Darcy takes one step into the room, comments on the weather, stands there holding his hat without moving or saying anything for a good five minutes, stares at a picture on the wall, says ‘how is your family?’, doesn’t wait for an answer, and runs away as fast as he can, leaving Elizabeth thoroughly puzzled, especially since she knows perfectly well that this guy hates her guts. What a strange, strange bloke.

Haley’s Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
And my thoughts fly apart
Can this man be believed?
Shall his sins be forgiven,
Shall his crimes be reprieved?
And must I now begin to doubt
Who never doubted all these years?
My heart is stone, but still it trembles�”
The world that I know
Is lost in shadow.
-- “Javert’s Suicide” from Les Miserables

I felt as though I’d barely slept at all, but I somehow managed to snooze away until noon, when I awoke to the cheerful strains of a song about a policeman with really big sideburns jumping off a bridge. Musicals are really weird sometimes.

But it wasn’t the lovely little ditty about a guy doing himself in that woke me up. It was the rather large owl that few in through the window, dropped a fat envelope on my face, and then hovered there, hooting expectantly. I groaned and sat up blearily, my hair looking like it had lost an epic battle with some rabid, clawed creature.

“All right, all right, what is it?” I croaked, rummaging around my bedside table for a tip I could give the owl. “Can’t let anyone sleep in peace, can you?”

Once the owl had flown away and I’d securely closed my bedroom window, I flung the envelope onto my bedside table and crawled back under my nice, warm covers. But it didn’t work�”I just couldn’t get back to sleep again. My curiosity about the letter outweighed my overall feeling of bleeearggghhness. Eventually, I forced myself to inch back to a sitting position and grab the envelope.

As soon as I ripped open the envelope, I was hit with the overpowering smell of too-strong cologne. I’d know that smell anywhere�”it smelled like Dirty Rat. More specifically, Tyrone Thomas.

Holy cannoli, did he think that I’d change my mind overnight? I thought I’d made my point exceptionally clear. I unrolled the contents of the envelope, and was slightly surprised to find a much longer scroll of parchment than I’d expected. Somehow, it was hard to imagine Tyrone just sitting there writing. It was hard to imagine Tyrone doing anything stationary, for that matter.

Rolling my sleepy eyes, I began to read. And with each sentence, I found myself waking up a little bit more.


”Dear Em Miss Weasley Listen, Emma,

Don’t worry, I’m not going to repeat anything I said to you yesterday. I won’t try to convince you to do anything�”I’ve known you long enough to know that that never works. Sorry about writing�”you’re probably sick to death of me. But there are a couple things I think you really need to know. Just try to keep an open mind when you read what I’m about to say. I swear it’s all completely true, and you know I mean it when I say that.

I’m not brilliant with words, but here’s basically what I mean. You gave two big examples of why I’m a horrible, selfish person last night. Well, I might be a horrible, selfish person, whatever. I’m not going to argue about that. I just didn’t like the reasons you picked to prove your point.

The first thing you blamed me for is making Ted and Ivy totally miserable. Yeah, I volunteered Ted to go live in the werewolf colony. I’m not going to deny that, and I’m not ashamed of it. The point is, you don’t know the whole story. I heard a bunch of rumours�”can’t tell you where�”that the werewolf hunters were planning on attacking Ted’s house. He’s probably more out in the open about being a werewolf than anyone else in England, so he was a target from the start. I didn’t want to tell Ted and Ivy, but they probably guessed without my help anyway.

If Ted went somewhere far away, there was a better chance that the werewolf hunters wouldn’t get him. All the same, it’s probably good that Ivy’s in Godric’s Hollow with you instead of at home, in case the hunters still come after a werewolf’s baby. The werewolf hunters didn’t know where Ted’s colony was when he first went off there. I don’t know how they found it, but a lot of people are saying maybe they followed Ted there, which I definitely wasn’t expecting.

I still think Ted is safer at the colony than at home, though. One more thing. You made it sound like I don’t want them to cancel Quidditch just because I want the attention. You probably heard that from Wolfgang. But here’s the real reasons why.

1. If we make a big deal about this, the werewolves and the werewolf hunters will just get bolder, knowing that we’re giving into them.

2. We have like twelve kinds of security measures in place, so the stadiums are about as safe as you can get, and they hold a lot of people. If there was an attack on the area, the people in the stadium would be safe.

3. It’s good to get people’s minds off this crazy werewolf business. Quidditch is good for that.

4. I love Quidditch! I don’t want to stop playing it! Okay, I know, it’s a lousy reason, but at least it’s not my only one.

Believe me, the last thing I want is for anyone to die. And I wouldn’t have encouraged Ted to do this whole thing if I thought his kid would have to grow up without a dad. Not to rub it in, but I’m a little orphan boy. I know what it’s like to not have parents.

The second thing’s a way bigger issue, though. Because with the Ted and Ivy thing, you just didn’t know why I did it, but with the Wolfgang thing, you were just plain wrong. That’s not your fault, though�”you got all your information from Wolfgang, and he’s not exactly the most reliable source.

What you have to realize is that Wolfgang’s never been quite right in the head. He’s got some mental problems, and no one’s really sure what�”last I heard, they were saying he might have Narcissistic Personality Disorder or something.

He’s got issues with reality in a weird way; I don’t really know what he’s got going on inside that head of his, but I don’t think he can understand that other people exist in any context that doesn’t involve him, Wolfgang. I think he feels like he’s the star of some film (sorry�”told you I’m obsessed with film) and everyone else is just a bit player who only acts in a few scenes with him. When they’re not onscreen, they don’t exist. I’m not just saying he’s arrogant, and I’m not exaggerating. He just seriously doesn’t understand that other people have their own lives.

The biggest thing with him is, he’s got no concept of the truth. Wolfgang basically thinks that if he says something, it magically becomes true. If he asked for a ham sandwich and I told him that he’d finished all the ham yesterday, he’d say he never ate any of the ham and I ate it all myself and he’d watched me finish it. He wouldn’t even be lying, exactly�”he’d say the first thing that popped into his head, and then be totally convinced that it was the perfect truth. He’d get seriously mad at me and start ‘quoting’ things I never said and trying to get me to admit I did things that I never did, just to prove his point. And if I tried telling him the real truth, he’d honestly believe I was lying and start yelling at me. And that’s just over a ham sandwich.

He never, ever admits to being wrong about anything, and he never admits that anything’s his fault�”his problems, other people’s problems, whatever. He always finds someone to blame it on�”and he’s so convinced by his own flimsy cover story that he starts hating the person for doing some terrible thing to him that never actually happened.

The weirdest thing I remember was this one time, he got in trouble for beating up a kid named Keith who lives down the street from where he used to. I mean seriously beating him up, because Keith’s nose and jaw and collarbone were pretty badly broken, and he was all scraped up and bruised.

It turned out that what happened was, when Wolfgang was about five, he picked all the flowers in Keith’s mum’s garden. B.C. and his parents and Keith and his parents all saw him do it, too. Of course, he got punished, and he kept crying and saying it was Keith that did it and telling a long, complicated story about how it all happened. He threw a huge tantrum because no one would believe him�”even though they all saw him do it.

Well, one thing about Wolfgang is, he’s got no sense of time. He doesn’t seem to notice when time passes at all. So, when he was seventeen, he saw some lady gardening and he randomly remembered the whole Keith incident, and he just stomped over to Keith’s house and started screaming at him and trying to make him confess for picking all the flowers in the garden. Of course, Keith had no idea what he was talking about, so Wolfgang beat him up. He honestly thought he had a good reason for doing it, too.

I know he’s got a problem, but that doesn’t stop me being bloody freaking mad at him whenever he does something crazy like that. And it happens all the time.

I guess I better explain from the beginning. He was always a lot of trouble, always getting into something, and apparently, his mum sent him to Durmstrang because they’re so tough there and she thought it might help him learn discipline. I get the impression that his dad, Junius, really spoiled him when he was still alive (I mean when Junius was still alive…yeah). From what I hear, even though B.C. never came right out and said it, Junius was never really that fond of B.C., because B.C. was always into music and he hated sport, and Junius was always trying to get him to ‘be a man’ or something.

Wolfgang was really upset when his dad died, and he always blamed it on his mum, even though his dad’s death was a complete accident. And Elsa, his mum, was super nice. I liked her a lot, and she was always really strict with Wolfgang, but with good reason, I think.

He didn’t have the greatest reputation over at Durmstrang. He’s smart, a lot smarter than I am, I think, but he never did any work, and he was always making trouble whenever he could. It’s not like he meant to cause problems, he just felt like, ‘Well, I’m going to do what I want instead of what I’m supposed to do, because they don’t matter, and I’m special and above the rules.’

He always had a lot of friends, but he never has them for long�”I’ll be the first one to admit it, he can be really nice and funny and easy to get along with, especially when he meets new people. But as soon as he’s sure you really like him and he doesn’t have to make a good impression, he’s not always so nice. And he can be really manipulative and selfish. One minute he’ll be screaming at you, next minute he’s apologizing and being super nice, next minute he’s ordering you around and trying to get you to ‘make it up to him’ after somehow managing to convince you (and himself) into thinking you’re the one who messed up.

It’s always been even worse with his girlfriends. He’s had a million, and they never learn�”Wolfgang always finds a way to convince everyone that he’s so misunderstood and a victim and his former girlfriends were all evil psychos. That’s why I always tried to keep you away from him, because I know the type of stuff he always ends up doing after he gets to know people. I should’ve known that would just make you want to hang out with him more than ever.

Anyways, when Elsa Quinn married my dad, my dad tried to understand Wolfgang, and he was a lot more patient with him than anyone else was�”I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that my dad’s an artist and Wolfgang is really, really good at painting and drawing. Wolfgang was always a complete jerk to Elsa, but he saw my dad like some kind of major authority figure and listened to him for some reason. Which isn’t to say he wasn’t always an inch away from getting expelled from Durmstrang every other second.

About halfway through his seventh year (we’d already graduated by them), my dad and Elsa got an owl saying that Wolfgang had gotten this girl named Svetlana pregnant. He told us that he was really sorry, that he felt like it couldn’t happen to him and that he was invincible, and that he’d been too arrogant to realize that he should have been more responsible�”it was pretty much the only time we ever heard him own up for his actions. Wolfgang said he was in love with Svetlana, and they were dropping out of school and coming back to England to get married and raise their baby. He asked for some money to help out, and he got a lot of money from Svetlana’s family, too.

Well, he came home, and he and his girlfriend seemed happy and like they were really serious�”but then, we learned that the girl wasn’t even Svetlana, she was a totally different girl named Nastasya who wasn’t pregnant at all, and Wolfgang had really come to England to run away from his responsibilities. Svetlana’s parents were crazy mad, especially since Wolfgang had already spent all the cash they sent, but somehow, he got off scot free. Around that time, he dumped Nastasya and got together with some girl named Crystal�”and Nastasya didn’t know anyone in England and didn’t know any English, only Russian and German, so Dad and Elsa had to take her in for awhile.

Meanwhile, Crystal ended up getting thrown in Azkaban for running some kind of scam to get Muggles’ money. She kept insisting she was innocent and that Wolfgang did it, and honestly, I think she was telling the truth. Wolfgang’s testimony kept changing, and around that time, he’d managed to make a lot of money.

After my dad and Elsa died, the Ministry gave the responsibility of taking care of Tabitha to me and B.C. The official reason why Wolfgang was left out of this was that he was younger and didn’t have a steady job or a steady living arrangement, but honestly, I think most people were starting to catch on by now that Wolfgang was bad news.

Tabby always pretty much idolized Wolfgang�”like my dad, she was one of the really, really small group of people who he always liked. She was about eleven when Elsa and my dad started dating, and she never saw much of Wolfgang�”she was still in school during the whole Svetlana-Nastasya-Crystal fiasco, and we never told her about any of that type of thing because we always thought she was too young. Honestly, Tabby always kind of fancied Wolfgang, so B.C. and I were always pretty careful to never leave them in a room alone together, especially as Tabby got older.

Think this all sounds like a soap opera yet? It gets worse.

Wolfgang was having an especially tough time around when Dad and Elsa died. Somehow, he always ends up wasting all of his money the day he gets it, no matter how much money he gets at a time. I think Dad knew this, so in his will, he left Wolfgang the summer house and a small-ish amount of money every month. But Wolfgang wasn’t too happy with that, because he wanted more cash to blow. I was in charge of handling the money in the family, so he told me to give him all of the money that dad left for him at once. Then he said to put the summer house up for sale (he said he could get a better house on his own) and give him all the money from it. I knew this was a really bad idea, but I did it anyway just to get him to go away.

About a month later, he came over whining that he’d run out of money and he needed some help. He told me he hadn’t sold a single painting and that someone had stolen all of his money and he’d been kicked out of his flat or something like that. I told him he was going to earn his own money and he wasn’t going to get anything more from me�”by now, I was just sick of him. He told me he wasn’t ever going to talk to me again (like that was a bad thing!) and started yelling at me and stomped out of there.

That was when he started playing Quidditch. It’s annoying how easy everything is for Wolfgang. He’s good at everything. I mean, I had to practice really hard to get this good at Quidditch, and I have to practice even harder to stay good. Wolfgang never turns up for practice and he never comes to anything on time and never puts any work in, but he’s still really good. I don’t know how come he hasn’t been sacked yet. Maybe because he’s so good.

Well, anyhow. I thought after Wolfgang’s big dramatic scene, I was really never going to see him again and that he was out of my hair. I should’ve known better, seeing as it was Wolfgang.

Last year, when Tabitha was in sixth year, she and Wolfgang somehow got to be penfriends. I didn’t know about it, but they were writing to each other a lot. Then, when Tabby was on one of her Hogsmeade weekends, she ran into Wolfgang in The Three Broomsticks. According to Tabby, he said he wanted her to come to his room (don’t know why he was staying there, but whatever) so he could show her this present he’d gotten for her seventeenth birthday�”she’d just had that about two days before.

Well, she came to his room, and you can guess what happened. I’m trusting Tabby’s side of the story, and she says that she got away before anything, you know, nasty happened, but Wolfgang’s story is that she tried to seduce him. As if anyone would believe that. But the sad thing is, a lot of people DID.

That was when I snapped. I haven’t really been able to forgive him after that, and I think you’ll agree that I had a pretty good reason. Since then, I haven’t given any kind of help at all to Wolfgang, and Tabitha hasn’t seen him since. She was really freaked out by the whole thing�”and ever since then, Wolfgang’s only said bad things about her, which doesn’t exactly help.

I should probably tell you a bit about B.C. as well, because I hear Wolfgang’s been telling some weird lies about him. B.C.’s a really good guy, maybe a little bit TOO nice, because he still gives Wolfgang money and assistance when he gets himself into some kind of idiotic problem. B.C.’s always wanted to be a composer, and he has sold some songs, but he mostly makes his money playing piano. He plays in two different churches, and he’s always doing weddings and stuff like that, and he teaches private piano lessons. Wolfgang’s been spreading around rumours that B.C.’s bad with money, but that’s all lies. B.C.’s never had to borrow money from anyone, and if he’s a bit too generous sometimes, it’s never interfered with anything. He tries to avoid Wolfgang whenever he can, though, because it’s not like he really likes shelling out his money to his ungrateful little brother.

Sorry if you’re offended by anything I said here�”I’m trying to be as honest as I can, but I can’t help feeling mad just writing this. Wolfgang’s a nasty piece of work, and if you don’t believe me, you can ask B.C., though he’ll probably tell it to you in a much gentler, more apologetic sort of way.

Again, I’m not going to try to repeat all my old mistakes or anything, but I just wanted to clear the air so you’re not the next person to have Wolfgang screw up your life. Believe me, you won’t be the first.

-- Tyrone


For some reason, my first thought was, “Wow, Tyrone’s wrist must REALLY hurt after writing all of that.”

My second thought was something a lot more like, “…?????!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!”

I flopped back down on my bed and closed my eyes, figuring the best possible thing to do would be to go back to sleep. But that was about as easy as sleeping with Haley singing in my ear.

It had to be true. No matter how much I tried to believe that it wasn’t, I had to admit, Tyrone didn’t often lie�”he was clear on that point�”and besides, he didn’t have the creativity to make up something like that.

But Wolfgang? Friendly, charming, witty Wolfgang? Somehow, I couldn’t reconcile his cheery disposition and playful banter with the type of person who’d get in screaming fits, beat up neighborhood kids, steal money, or get girls pregnant and run away to another country. It just didn’t fit.

I thought hard for a minute, trying to remember exactly what it was about Wolfgang that made me like him so much. Well… he was cute, and he was pretty good for conversation… but the biggest thing, the thing that I couldn’t quite push out of my mind, was that he didn’t like Tyrone. The more horrible things he’d said about Tyrone, the more I gravitated toward him. Of course. It had all been for my own vanity�”“see, Tyrone, you may have dumped me, but here’s someone who thinks I’m plenty attractive… oh yeah, and you hate his guts! How do you like them apples?”

And I couldn’t help but remember all sorts of little things about Wolfgang�”the way he had been noticeably late for both of our ‘dates,’ the way he couldn’t remember his own brother’s name, the way he called Tabitha ‘spoiled,’ constantly claimed B.C. was bad with money, looked uncomfortable when I talked about Ted abandoning his pregnant wife, congratulated me for turning down Patrick Wormwood so bluntly, how flirtatious he’d seemed around Haley, and above all, how he constantly badmouthed Tyrone.

All things considered, I should’ve been able to see right through him at once. So much of what he said seemed to directly contradict everything else I’d heard, and yet I always seemed to accept his word as gospel truth. And why did I trust him? Because he didn’t like Tyrone, and it was nice to have someone to spew hate with.

Talk about your pride and prejudice. I’d been guilty of both, and I didn’t even have cute regency-era costumes to make it better.

I had been a total moron. I’d let my disregard for Tyrone override anything else. Was this secretly why we weren’t allowed to talk to Quidditch players? It made a lot more sense to sack the weasel. Maybe it was about time he had to deal with some of the consequences of things that were his fault.

My body felt unpleasantly chilly, and I snuggled deeper beneath the covers. All I could think of was Wolfgang and Tyrone, Tyrone and Wolfgang, everything I knew about Tyrone and everything he’d just said about Wolfgang.

Tyrone had said that Wolfgang had a problem with reality, that he didn’t even realize that he was lying. As far as he was concerned, he thought he was the nicest guy in town, and he had no clue why bad things just happened to him. Maybe it was about time he learned.


SOME UNDETERMINED AMOUNT OF BROODING LATER


“Emma? What’s wrong?” asked Ivy for the kajillionth time.

“I told you,” I snarled. “Nothing’s the matter except for you being in my room interrupting my beauty sleep. I’m fine.”

Ivy looked up at me with a quizzical eye. “Then why are you still in bed at 3 PM?” she inquired gently.

Nnnnnnnngrrrrhhhhgh. I hauled myself up to a sitting position and threw my hair out of my eyes. “Ivy, how would you feel if someone that you thought you liked a lot turned out to be a complete and utter scumbag?”

Ivy sighed. “Don’t tell me this is about Ted again,” she said.

‘No!’ I felt like shouting. ‘Can we stop talking about Mr. Dances-With-Wolves for one second?’ But instead, I simply said, “No, Ted’s not a scumbag, he’s just a fleabitten mutt. Get your terminology straight.”

Ivy’s brow creased. “Then who is it?”

“It’s just hypothetical,” I muttered. “Call him... Ludwig.”

Ivy’s brow creased even more. “Okay,” she said slowly.

I tried to think of some words I could use to explain what I’d read without giving too much away. “Say you know this guy... call him... Santiago, or something... and he’s kind of a jerk. I mean, you don’t really know him that well, maybe you used to or something, but you haven’t seen him in awhile... and then you meet this new guy, Ludwig, and he knows T�”er, Santiago really well, and he tells you some things about Santiago that pretty much confirm what you thought. And then it turns out later that Ludwig’s the jerk and maybe Santiago isn’t, not that much, and... you don’t really know what to think anymore?”

If Ivy’s brow creased even more, I swear her face would have split down the middle. Was it even remotely possible that she didn’t know I was talking about Wolfgang and Tyrone? She certainly didn’t betray any signs of recognition.

I don’t know why I couldn’t just come right out and tell her about Tyrone’s letter. But it was...embarrassing. Ivy had only heard glowing reports of Wolfgang, and lousy ones of Tyrone, from me, at least. If I really was that grievously wrong, I’d rather be it in private.

I studied Ivy’s face for a second. “I guess I’m not good with first impressions,” I mumbled. “I definitely had some weird ones about you in first year.” I tried to think back to those ancient, blurry days, back when boys had cooties, hair wraps were cool, Jordan wore glasses and didn’t talk to anyone, and Ted was short and healthy-looking and not even remotely werewolfy. It was nearly impossible to remember, but the one image I had no trouble recalling at all was Ivy. Skinny, pinched-looking face the colour of parchment, wisps of hair escaping from her dorkily tight braid, shirt tucked in, hands folded in her lap, nails gnawed to the quick, too quiet and too grave.

Me being me, I’d been suspicious of her the second I’d laid eyes on her. The girl was a murderous psychopath’s daughter, for crying out loud, and I’d never been fond of swots, one of which Ivy certainly had to be. I seem to remember that I yelled a lot at Haley and didn’t talk to her for a few weeks, when she decided to take Ivy under her wing. And then Ted started hanging out with her as well, and I was about ready to stab a certain little Malfoy girl in the face.

Ivy looked at me inquisitively, something she was very good at. “What do you think of me now?” she said.

Way to change the subject. Which I guess was a good thing, but still, it was completely random. I squinted at Ivy for a moment, then at last, I said, “I don’t know.”

Ivy did nothing but provide me with a thoughtful nod. “Yeah, I think I’d say the same thing about you. I just… we don’t have anything in common. The only reason why we’re even friends is Haley. When she’s not here, it’s… weird.”

My mouth hung open. That was exactly the one thing that’d been flitting around my brain like some big ugly bat, ever since Ivy and I had decided to come to Godric’s Hollow.

“I know,” I said. “It’s… you’re married, you’ve got a steady job, you’re going to be a mum… and then you’ve got me, single, no job, suspended from Auror training, cringes at the word ‘baby.’ It’s like, what is there to talk about? You’re from a whole different planet.” Back in school, it was one thing, when we were at least in all the same classes and all had the same problems�”abusing the horrible Professor Zabini was always a good conversation starter.

Ivy laughed nervously. “This really is awkward,” she said. “I wish Haley was here. No offense.”

“No, I know what you mean,” I said.

“Well, what do you think she’s doing now?” mused Ivy.

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. “Probably flirting her heart out with… oh Godric…”

“What?” said Ivy.

Oh, great. Oh, wonderful. It was pretty clear that Haley had a bit of a thing for Wolfgang. My biggest problem with that was always that I happened to have a bit of a thing for Wolfgang, too, and I didn’t want Haley to lure Wolfgang over to her side. But now… now it was very, very apparent that Wolfgang was not my type. And unless Haley had a fondness for narcissistic, sociopathic, compulsive-lying, chain-seducing, money-grubbing, tantrum-throwing, girlfriend-impregnating, responsibility-abandoning gits, then I was pretty sure he wasn’t Haley’s type either. If Wolfgang tried anything, he’d have me to deal with. After all, one pregnant, abandoned friend was enough for the time being.

“Emma?” Ivy said gently.

I groaned. “Look, I really don’t feel good. I think it’d probably be best if you just left me alone for right now.”

Ivy nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I… I hope you feel better.” And with that, she was gone.

‘Wait!’ I felt like yelling. “Ask questions! Pry into my business! Demand to know more about this Ludwig and Santiago thing! What are you leaving for?”

Sometimes, when I tell people I want to be alone, I really just mean I want them to stay and bug about just why I want to be alone. I didn’t expect Ivy to actually listen to me. I think I’m too used to Haley.

I was suddenly sick of being in bed. I threw the covers off and grabbed some clothes, and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. As the hot water rushed over me, one of Haley’s annoying little showtunes kept running through my head.

”I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair
I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair
I’m gonna wash that man right outta my hair
And send him on his way!”

The song lyrics may not have been particularly insightful, but they were appropriate. I felt like basically everything I’d thought about Wolfgang was running down the drain.

Thinking about it, I realized I couldn’t have liked Wolfgang all that much�”after all, I’d immediately accepted everything Tyrone told me about him and the main emotions I felt were disgust that Wolfgang was such a jerk and disgust that I’d let him fool me. I wasn’t ‘heartbroken,’ whatever that was, I didn’t feel ‘betrayed,’ and my thoughts of Wolfgang certainly weren’t conflicted. I was simply put, done with him, and in the nick of time, given all the sordid tricks he’d pulled with all the other girls he’d run across.

I threw on my clothes and made my way downstairs… only to discover Ivy sitting in the kitchen. The second I came into view, she jumped to her feet, wearing that sparkly-eyed, flushed expression that she’s so good at.

“Wait, weren’t you just here?” I said.

Ivy laughed. “Sorry,” she said. “But you’ve got to come over�”wait ‘till you see what just showed up on our front porch!”

“Ted’s remains in a shoebox?” I guessed.

Even this didn’t dampen her mood. And if Ivy was happy enough not to do that weird brow pucker thing, then whatever showed up on the front step was probably pretty fantastic. It couldn’t be Ted in the flesh�”if it was, she wouldn’t be able to stand being away from her beloved for a split-second long enough to converse with a mere mortal like myself.

The sunlight outside was blinding when I followed Ivy out of the door. Despite the fact that I hadn’t drunk anything stronger than tea the night before, I definitely felt as though I had a hangover. However, disoriented or no, I was sure of one thing.

“There’s, er, nothing on the front step, Ivy,” I said flatly. “Unless you mean that dead leaf. In which case, I’m going back to bed.”

“Well, we took it inside,” Ivy replied as though it were obvious.

I sighed. “Look, what is it?” I asked wearily.

Ivy smiled. “I don’t know,” she said. “We’re waiting for you to find out what it is. Whatever it is, it’s big.”

“Wait,” I said. “Let me get this straight. You brought me here to see a big box. A big box that you haven’t opened yet. Which could have pretty much anything inside it.” I arched an eyebrow, an action I never would have gotten away with were Haley there. “If you open that up and a dead wolf falls out...”

Why would Ivy automatically assume that whatever was in the box was something good? It could be someone’s old garbage, or a time bomb, or a man-eating tiger shipped here by mistake instead of to the zoo. I was positive that this wouldn’t end well. Whatever it was, I’d probably have to spend the next several hours comforting Ivy. And comforting people has never been one of my particular talents.

When I stepped inside the door, I saw that Ivy had not been exaggerating when she said that the box was big. It was frankly amazing that she’d managed to drag it through the door at all; it was probably about the same size as the flat Haley and I shared back home. Ivy’s parents were both at work, but Holly and Jonathan were sitting on the floor, examining the box as if they knew what they were doing. Holly’s ear was pressed against the side of it.

“I think it’s breathing,” she said. “Maybe it’s a horse.”

“The ancient Greeks sent the Trojans a horse,” Jonathan added vaguely. “Then they jumped out and killed everyone.”

The Trojan horse had been made of wood and so didn’t exactly breathe, but minor details like this had never mattered to Jonathan. For him, this was impressively on-topic.

“I don’t like this, Ivy,” I said. “What if it is a trick? Like that Trojan horse thing Jonathan said? It’d be just like werewolf hunters to jump out like some evil jack-in-the-box and do you in.”

Ivy had always been a worrier. Why didn’t she look worried? This was serious. “We have all sorts of security charms on the house,” she reminded me. “That’s not a problem.” She looked over at the twins. “Well, do you want to open it now?”

“Heinrich Schieman unearthed Troy in the 1870’s,” Jonathan said.

“I think that means ‘yes,’” I said, somewhat flatly.

Holly jumped up and ran into the kitchen. “I’ll get one of mum’s kitchen knives!” she yelled.

“No,” Ivy said sharply, trying not to panic. “No, you won’t.”

“Here, give it to me,” I said, grabbing the knife out of my little cousin’s hand. “Ivy can open the box with magic, and if a werewolf hunter pops out, I can shank him with this.”

Honestly, I was slightly disappointed when no one jumped out when Ivy opened up the box. In all honesty, a little knife fight would probably brighten up my day. Instead, there was another box. A much smaller box, though still a lot bigger than anything I’d ever gotten for Christmas. It was wrapped in sparkly pale blue wrapping paper tied with a big red bow. On top was a small, jagged scrap of parchment, reading simply, “Ivy�”thought you could use these. Stay positive! Love, Somebody.”

Like some kind of ransom note, each word was pasted on, cut out of some magazine. It wasn’t a very reassuring sign. But Ivy ripped open the paper anyway, wide-eyed like a little kid.

I expected a bomb, or a jinx, or something terrible. What was inside was… even worse.

“Oh!” Ivy said softly. Her voice caught in her throat and made a funny noise, and then… oh good God, of course she started crying. This whole pregnancy thing was doing ridiculous things to her. I hadn’t seen so many female hormones on display since Tyrone streaked through the crowded Common Room on a dare.

Inside the box was a vast assortment of baby clothes. And on top was another note, this one reading, ”I didn’t know if it would be a boy or a girl, so I got both. You can use the ones this baby doesn’t need for any future kids!

For some reason, pregnant women have this weird thing where they instantly start finding tiny clothing adorable. Show Ivy a picture of a dead werewolf and an itsy-bitsy shoe and see which one will make her cry more. It’d be a tough contest.

Holly and Jonathan were busy wrestling as Holly attempted to tie the big red bow onto her twin’s head, so SOMEONE had to sort through the baby clothes with Ivy. Remembering our earlier chat about how we had nothing in common common, I really had no choice but to act like I cared about the clothes.

“This is crazy,” I said, grinning as Ivy held up a little purple t-shirt that said, ‘Being Cute Is Just Part Of The Job Description.’ “This baby’s going to have more clothes than I do. Haley’s going to be so jealous of that shirt. She’s going to want one in her size.”

“Then this one’s for you,” laughed Ivy, holding up another shirt that read, ‘I’d Love To Have A Battle Of Wits, But You Appear Unarmed.’ “If you ever have any kids, then this’ll be perfect. I’m not sure it really fits the… philosophy… I want to follow with raising my kids.”

I didn’t join in her Haley-esque giggles. “Oh, give it up, Ivy,” I said, shaking my head. “If you seriously think I’m ever going to have a baby…”

“You never know,” said Ivy. “Things change. I used to think I didn’t ever want to have kids, either. The only example of a mum I knew was Pansy Malfoy, and, well, she wasn’t someone I really looked up to.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ives, you have to admit that I’d be a horrible mum. Just think about it. I’d be the worst influence ever. ‘Sure, you can eat cookies for dinner, hon. Now shut up so I can concentrate on yelling at your brother.’”

“Believe me, you’d have nothing on Pansy.” It was really weird hearing Ivy calling her biological mother by her first name�”she sounded strangely cold. Her grey eyes got steely in a way that would make McGonagall proud, and her angular face got rigid. She actually looked eerily like Draco Malfoy. I don’t usually get a chilly vibe from Ivy (except when she’s in her arctic fox mode, yuk yuk yuk), but her face gets this hardened, emotionless look to it whenever she talks about Pansy Malfoy. It’s kind of unsettling, like when Haley says something intelligent.

I changed the subject hastily. “Well, it’s not really about whether I’d be a good mum or not,” I said. “It’s just, I don’t want to have to go through all that… stuff, you know?” I poked her in the belly, and she gasped. “And do you seriously think I need to get anymore irritable and hormonal?”

As I picked up and folded the next teeny-tiny little baby outfit, my hand brushed against something hard and smooth and flat. Squinting, I shifted some of the myriad outfits left in the box to the side, and it suddebly looked like there was a lot more to the present than clothes… and that only about an eighth of the box’s contents were clothes at all. Godric, I felt like Heinrich Schliemann unearthing Troy in the 1870’s.

“Hey, Ives… check this out,” I said, unceremoniously scooping up baby clothes and tossing them in a little pile on the floor.

Ivy peered over the edge of the box. “What is it?” she asked, feeling the flat mahogany surface.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But there’s no way we can pick this up out of the box. Er, Holly? Jonathan? Want to rip a big box to shreds?”

“YEAH!” came a collective shriek as the blur that was the twins quit wrestling long enough to streak over toward to the box. I swear, Holly and Jonathan are living weapons. I may have to start hiring them out as assassins or something�”they certainly murdered the packing carton. I‘ve never seen anything so thoroughly demolished in such a short period of time.

And the final present that had been waiting inside the box was a million times cooler than any baby clothes or any Trojan horse.

“It’s a piano!” exclaimed Ivy, doing an admirable job of stating the obvious. It certainly was a piano�”a brand new grand piano that must have cost ten times what the Potter’s previous one had been worth.

“Ten seconds before Niagara Falls reopens for the season,” I muttered under my breath. If Ivy didn’t start crying again, it would be a sign of the apocalypse.

“I love him so much,” whispered Ivy. “I don’t know how he could have possibly sent this over.”

I was vaguely astonished. “Wait, what?” I looked at the dreamy way Ivy was brushing the keys with her fingers. “Do you seriously think Ted sent these?”

Ivy raised her almost-transparent eyebrows. “Who else would?” she asked softly. “Who would spend that much money just for me?”

“I have a hunch,” I mumbled, though I doubt Ivy heard me. I reached over and gave the keyboard an experimental ‘plink plunk,’ then slammed my hands down and marveled at the way the horrible low banging noise echoed around the room. It was just like Tyrone’s singing.

“That’s how I broke the old piano,” said Holly offhandedly, having gone back to beating up her brother again.

I quickly withdrew my hands and said, “Ivy, let’s be honest. You and Ted do not have that much money. And it’s over in the werewolf camp. How would he even manage to buy that thing, let alone have it sent over here? Just because he loves you doesn’t mean he can defy the laws of physics.” I paused for a moment, giving special consideration to the fact that Ted likes to turn into a big shaggy wolf about twelve times a year. “At least, not that way.”

“Are you okay?” asked Ivy. “You look… flushed. But… pale, too.”

“I think I just need some fresh air,” I said, noticing that my voice sounded like it was coming from far away. My mind felt like it was coming from far away, too, like it was controlling my body from a distance. I made my way outside and sat on the steps, inhaling deeply.

Let’s see, who had a surplus of money, knew Ivy was staying with her parents, knew she needed a new piano, and, most importantly, was stark raving loony enough to do something like this. I knew someone who fit that description.

My head slumped down to my chest. I wanted to believe that Ted had sent Ivy the presents, but it was like trying to believe that a stork was the culprit responsible for Ivy’s pregnancy. (Though I guess that would be pretty cool, a half-stork baby. I guess a stork daddy wouldn’t be all THAT different from a wolf daddy.)

I was looking down blankly at the cement step below me, not really looking at anything in particular, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. My first thought was that a dog had decided Ivy’s porch made an excellent bathroom. Then, I realized that not even the cleverest dogs usually managed to seal the fruits of his labour in little plastic bags before leaving them on the porch.

Someone had, whether intentionally or not, dropped a little plastic bag with two prunes inside it. Now there was no question about who had delivered Ivy’s present.

Only one person in the entire world was crazy enough to eat prunes by choice.


EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART FIVE

So, by this point, we all know Mr. Darcy’s kind of an annoying git, right? It’s pretty clear, too, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet is NOT a fan. So, where we left off, Lizzie was staying with the disgusting little Bilbo Collins and his wife, the formerly-cool Charlotte Lucas, who happen to live next door to the biggest royal twit ever, Lady Catherine de Bourghe. And it looks like royal twitness runs in the family, because it turns out that Mr. Darcy is her nephew.

Anyway, so Elizabeth’s sitting there, minding her own business, when suddenly the door flies off the hinges and Mr. Darcy materializes in a dark poof of smoke. Before she can say anything, for example, “Wow, can’t you read the ‘thank you for not smoking’ sign?’ Darcy just strides onto the room and bellows, “HEY, I’M THINKING WE SHOULD GET MARRIED? GOOD? GOOD. OKAY, BYE.”

Elizabeth just sits there, opening and closing her mouth like a strangled fish, but she has no idea what she can possibly say in response to this nonsense. After a couple minutes of this, Darcy realizes in the tiny non-damaged portion of the bit of his brain that’s supposed to sense social cues that this isn’t really the normal response to a marriage proposal, so he makes things worse by going, “Now, I know you’re surprised, because you’re my social inferior, and your family is completely obnoxious, and you’re not really all that pretty�”I mean, sometimes when you smile, you do that weird thing where your cheeks get all big and your lip curls up and your eyes squish closed and it makes you look like a stoned chipmunk�”but I love you anyway, against my better judgment, and I’ve tried to get over this, since honestly, loving you is the stupidest thing since rubbing lemons in my eyes, so let’s just get married.”

Elizabeth stares at him for a good ten to twenty minutes, while the cogs in her brain try desperately to work out any way that could possibly make what Darcy just said make sense. But finally, she gets her wits together and says, “You know, if I wanted you to think well of me, I’d turn you down graciously and all that, but since I don’t give a bull’s horn what you think, I’ll just come right out and say, after all of the lousy things you’ve done, I’m going to have to go with ‘no.’ Sorry if I hurt your feelings, but if you think there’s so much wrong with me, it shouldn’t take you long to recover.”

“Whoa, okay, if you want to blow big chunks of attitude in my face, that’s fine by me, but can you at least tell me WHY you’re so freaked out?”

Elizabeth snorts like a hippo with play-do in its nostrils. “Well gee, it could be because you just insulted me like crazy while you were proposing. But I have even better reasons. No matter how nicely you asked me, do you think I could just up and marry someone who ruined my favorite sister’s life? Or who treated poor Mr. Wickham like dirt for so long?”

“Oh-ho, so it’s Wickham you’re into now, is it?” sneers Darcy, oozing villainy. “Well, then God help you.”

“Oh shut up, will you? It’s your fault he’s poor and unsuccessful and dependent on other people, and all you can do is laugh at him? You’re a real sweetheart, Mr. Darcy. You’re about as tender and considerate as Lord Voldemort.”

Mr. Darcy does one of those sharp inhalations of air that make your nostrils go all white and pinchy, only making him look even more like Voldemort. “So that’s what you think of me! Thanks for telling me… though I seriously doubt you wouldn’t make such a big deal about all of this if I had sugar-coated everything. But I don’t like playing into all of the gooey little fluffy fantasy that a lot of girls are into. I prefer to tell the truth.”

“Um, earth to Mr. Darcy!” yells Elizabeth, waving her arms in front of his face. “Are you even listening? Even if you proposed in a hot air balloon with a flock of doves and a chocolate waterfall, it wouldn’t make a difference. I rather jump off the Hogwarts Astronomy tower than marry you. You’re a smug git, you’re so far up yourself your feet are dangling out of your mouth, you couldn’t care less about anyone else, you’re a total snob, and even though everyone hates you, you still think you’re the bees’ knees. Believe me, in any possible parallel reality, you’re the last man in the universe I’d ever marry.”

Darcy did the Voldemort nose thing again, only this time, his lips quivered, too. “Right, that’s about enough. I get the picture.”

“Yeah, that’s right, get out of here, you lint licker.”

Darcy shook from head to foot with barely contained rage. “Who are you calling a lint licker, you cootie queen?” And with that, he stomped out of the house like a dinosaur trying to learn the foxtrot.

Oh… my… Godric. That was the most serious déjà vu I have ever experienced. That was almost exactly the discussion between Tyrone and me the other day. Get out of my head, Jane Austen!

Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
He wanted to say,
"I am not who I appear to be."
He wanted to say,
"Do not blame me for my past.
We have different lives and faces
But our hearts have common places.
This was deep inside me
And you helped me find it at last!"...
But all he said was, "I know how to blow things up!"
-- "He Wanted To Say," Ragtime.

“No, mum!” I shouted for the millionth time. “Sorry, but I am not going to a Chudley Cannons game! Period!”

“Emma, honey, your father’s friend Rolf from work had six extra tickets to the game, and if you didn’t use yours, it would be a waste,” cajoled my mother, She never calls me, ‘honey,’ unless she wants me to do something horribly unpleasant.

I sighed. “Can’t you give my ticket to Holly or Jonathan? They love the Cannons.”

My mother fixed me with a cold stare. “Emma, am I imagining things, or are you actually suggesting that we bring one twin somewhere and leave the other one at home?”

Ah. She had an excellent point. Holly and Jonathan are an extremely different species of twins than are Haley and Jordan. Holly and Jonathan are a unit. They do everything together, and they insist on having nearly everything exactly the same as each other. But this doesn’t mean they’re best friends. They still try to kill one another on average three times an hour.

“Emma, is this about Tyrone again?” my mother asked wearily. “Does he really bother you that much?”

Oh, no. For once, Tyrone’s evil deeds were the least of my worries. This time, I didn’t want to face Tyrone because I felt embarrassed. And nervous. And… guilty. Ever since reading his letter, I hadn’t been sure HOW to feel about him.

But now, I couldn’t decide who I dreaded running into more�”Tyrone or Wolfgang. And then there were all sorts of other undesirables scattered around at the Quidditch stadium, like Clio, Patrick, Vaultz (shudder!) and�”urgh�”maybe even Anatoly Capshaw, who’d apparently been hanging out at the stadium a lot lately. (Creeper.) There was not one thing that could entice me to go.

“Mum, I’m not going,” I insisted.

Long story short, I went.

* * * * *

“Ah, Henderson Vaultz’s precious stadium, home of the Chudley Cannons!” I exclaimed, throwing back my head, flinging out my arms, and inhaling deeply. “I feel home again! THAT’s the familiar smell of stale nachos, cleaning chemicals, spilled beer, and B.O. that I’m used to.”

“Oh, shut up, Emma,” groaned my dad, but Uncle Harry laughed. My dad glared at him. “Harry, you’d better cheer for the Cannons like you mean it, or I’m kicking your bum back out to the parking lot.” He flailed his arms mockingly. “Whaaaat? You can’t do this to me, I’m the Chooooosen Oooone!”

My mother buried her face in her hands. “Is it even remotely possible that we can go anywhere as a family without you two making a scene?”

“It could be worse,” Harry chimed in helpfully. “Haley could be here.”

“That’s a lovely thing to say about your own daughter,” laughed Ginny. “Ivy, this is a lesson on how not to be a parent.”

We found our seats and were ready to get this over with when a dark, ominous shadow swooped down from the sky.

“Mwahahaha!” cackled Patrick Wormwood, baring his fangs.

Okay, so it wasn’t quite like that.

“Emma!” declared Patrick Wormwood, as if I needed to be reminded what my name was. “It is most certainly a pleasure seeing you here! I have stadium duty today, so I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to catch up!”

“Oh… wonderful,” I said, my voice at a level of joy and enthusiasm that would be appropriate for a funeral. I shot a helpless glance at my family, who just smiled back at me. Gits. “So, Clio must be down at the dressing rooms. Her favourite.”

Patrick coughed in a way that was probably supposed to sound significant and worldly, but just sounded moist and disgusting. “Actually,” he said, “Clio was removed from employ quite some time ago.”

I gaped. “Vaultz sacked her as well?”

Patrick nodded grimly. “Indeed,” he said. (Who says ‘indeed?’ Well, Anatoly Capshaw does, but I can’t stand him, either. And even he only says it to further his reputation as a flamboyant goofball.) Anyway, Patrick proceeded to tell me an excessively long story with all of the gory details, about exactly how Clio managed to get her airbrush-tanned self sacked. Told in Patrick’s pompous style, it consumed the better part of an hour, but I’ll try to make it short and sweet:

So basically, Clio was guarding the door to the locker room. Three of her friends came to the game and asked for a behind-the-scenes tour, and Clio being Clio, she exercised her godlike authority and said, ‘sure, go ahead.’ And then, Clio had the brilliant idea of sneaking into the locker room that she was supposed to be guarding while the team was on the pitch… and she and her friends hid inside lockers to wait until the team started to undress. That was when they jumped out and yelled ‘surprise!’

Apparently, Clio gave the excuse that she was close, personal friends with Tyrone and he’d given her and her friends permission. Vaultz told her that what Tyrone said she could do was irrelevant and it was still horribly unprofessional, and things didn’t get any better when Tyrone paid Vaultz a visit and told him that not only did he not give Clio permission to come inside the locker room, he also barely knew her, definitely was not her friend, and was very upset by the whole incident. Needless to say, Vaultz gave her the boot.

“… and personally, I am of the opinion that she deserved everything she got,” Patrick finished up, folding his hands with satisfaction.

This was definitely the most interesting thing I’d ever heard from Patrick. “Whoa! Tyrone actually showed some backbone and told Clio off?” I said. “That’s not like him!” He really had grown up. It would be more like the old Tyrone to applaud when the girls popped out of the lockers, dramatically strip off his clothes, and then say something like, “Feel free to drop back in anytime.”

Or was it just in my imagination that he’d ever done things like that? My imagination and Wolfgang’s weird psychotic delusions? Had the sleazy Tyrone I’d hated for so long ever even existed?

Patrick looked slightly startled. “Mr. Thomas has always enjoyed a reputation for excellent sportsmanship and very professional conduct both on and off the pitch.”

Blecccch. The last thing I wanted was one of Patrick’s lectures on morals. Especially since I knew he was right. I couldn’t help but remember Tyrone’s last letter�”the one that said that he prided himself on always being honest.

“Then again, it is quite sensible for a young man to take all steps necessary to deny involvement with another female when he is in a committed relationship,” added Patrick.

Weeding through his rambling pile of annoying words, I managed to pick out the basic idea of what he was trying to say. “Tyrone has a girlfriend?” I demanded, feeling like I was going to shoot out of my seat.

Patrick nodded. “It certainly seemed so, at least. A young lady ran up to him just before the game, shouted ‘Tyroonie’ quite loudly and embraced him with evident familiarity.”

Godric, the way he talked… even Jordan would tell Patrick to take the wand out of his bum and lighten up. “Oh, that’s just Haley, then. Was she tiny and annoying with dark hair?”

“She did have dark hair, as I remember,” said Patrick, scratching his chin although I was pretty sure he was incapable of growing facial hair. “But she was about your size. And quite beautiful, actually. I do recall that she had on a lovely blue blouse with ‘TYRONE THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE’ printed across the front, if that is of any assistance to you at all. As for annoying, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know.”

No, I guess he wouldn’t know how to judge whether someone was annoying or not, since he was the standard other people based their scale of annoyance on. But that wasn’t important. When could Tyrone have gotten a girlfriend? He’d said he was single when he asked me out for ice cream. He seemed upset, too, when I said no. And after everything I’d learned, it sounded like Tyrone wasn’t as bad as I’d thought he was at all. But could he really bounce back that ridiculously fast? Did he have a waiting list of backup girlfriends stored away?

Okay, Emma, I told myself sternly, Get a grip. You’ve believed rumors and stories from other people, and look how they turned out. Have some faith in Tyrone. Wait and see if Patrick’s right before you freak out, for once in your life.

“Ah, an awkward silence,” proclaimed Patrick. “I suppose this means that I should go if I do not wish to overstay my welcome, as it were. In any case, I have appreciated this little chat greatly. I understand we were not able to say a proper goodbye when we last spoke, so I must take this opportunity to say farewell, and that hopefully, it will not be for the last time.”

“I�”“ I began.

“Why, thank you Emma. I daresay I shall miss you, too. As the immortal bard once said, parting is such sweet sorrow.” And with that, he was off, leaving me as bewildered as a fish competing in the Tour de France.

My family was speechless. Finally, my mother said, “Well… he’s certainly an interesting young man.”

“Sure,” I said, “if by ‘interesting,’ you mean ‘mind-blowingly boring.’

Ivy shook her head. “Emma,” she said slowly, “To be honest, I thought you were exaggerating when you told me about Patrick. But now… well, he’s worse than I ever expected.”

“He’s usually even worse than that,” I said glumly.

Uncle Harry shook his head slowly. “He’s like Percy and Jordan mixed together!”

We all stared at him. “Dad, what do you say about me when I’m not there?” Ivy asked anxiously.

“Well, we got to pick you,” Ginny explained. “Unfortunately, we didn’t have that choice when it came to the other four.”

I had to admit, I was not having the easiest of times concentrating on the game. I kept thinking the same two thoughts back and forth�”the incident with Ivy and the piano, and Patrick’s proclamation that Tyrone had a beautiful girlfriend. I willed myself to try to refrain from being suspicious for once in my life, but it was easier said than done. I jerked back into consciousness when I heard the resounding roar around me that was making the stadium shake.

“Who died?” I yelped, jumping to my feet and feeling around for my wand. “Did the werewolves�”“

“Now that’s the constant vigilance I like to see!” said my dad, laughing. His smile disappeared when he saw my expression. “It’s just the end of the game, Emster, not the end of the world,” he clarified. “The Cannons won by a landslide!” He glared over at Uncle Harry in a manner scarily reminiscent of my mother.

“What? Oh, erm,” spluttered Harry, as his wife nudged him with her elbow. “Er, go Cannons.”

“Pathetic,” sighed my dad. “Anyway, it was classic. Wolfgang Quinn had to fly between the rival Seeker’s arm and his broom to get to the Snitch. Didn’t even touch the other guy’s arm. It was brilliant�”that kid can get away with anything.”

I snorted. “You have no idea,” I said.


* * * * * *

After the match, my parents spotted some old friend of theirs from school�”some Irish bloke whose name I forget even though I know I’ve met him zillions of times before�”and Ivy, like every other pregnant woman in the world, had to use the bathroom at the exact time when everyone else in the stadium decided to get in line. So I was left alone to do whatever I wanted… which was, of course, to get a pretzel.

I was busy trying to decide whether I wanted it with or without that awful nacho cheese that tastes absolutely nothing like cheese but is so horribly tasty anyway, when I saw something almost all the way across the stadium that made all thoughts of cheese fly out of my head.

Of course, it was Tyrone. What were you expecting? Tyrone is everywhere these days. And with the crowds moving aside around him like he’s Moses and they’re the red sea, it was especially easy to notice him as he greeted fans and gave out autographs. He’s always been good at mingling with the public, and I think it’s for the same reason why he was always so popular in school, other than his looks and Quidditch skills�”Tyrone has this magical talent of making everyone feel like they’re special, both to him and to the world in general. It’s pretty hypnotizing until you get used to it.

Oh, who am I kidding. You never get used to it.

Anyway, it wasn’t just Tyrone’s so-sincere-that-he-had-to-be-insincere face that I noticed across the stadium. Quite the contrary. It was the face next to his, and the shoulder that his arm was draped across, and the hair that he tousled with his free hand.

There was a girl with Tyrone. A very pretty girl. Patrick wasn’t kidding�”apparently, his standards of beauty are accurate, even if none of his other standards are any good. She had smooth, dark skin, a bright smile, and a thick ponytail of black ringlets that spilled all the way down her back, and she was certainly wearing that ‘TYRONE THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE’ t-shirt that Patrick had mentioned.

Now, I’m a tall girl with a rather, erm, prominent chest, and let’s just say that balances out on the lower half, too. This girl on Tyrone’s arm could have come from the same mold as me, only she was a few years younger and, honestly, more attractive.

I couldn’t believe it. Tyrone had a girlfriend. And here I was feeling so much more charitable toward him… he really was the same irreconcilable flirt as always, complete with rebound girlfriend.

“…and she just graduated from Hogwarts two days ago!” I heard Tyrone say to a gaggle of reporters. His booming voice carried across the stadium.

Really? Really? Eurgh. Now that just borders on gross. Tyrone Thomas, a twenty-three-year-old man, dating a girl who couldn’t be any older than eighteen and who had only been part of the real wizarding world for two days? Somehow, that didn’t sound like Tyrone to me. I edged closer around the perimeter of the stadium, glad that my boring street clothes made me invisible in the crowd whereas my neon orange Auror trainee robes would have stood out like a dead moose in a tearoom. Now that I was closer, I could hear everything.

“Yeah, so looks like she’s stuck with me for the time being,” I heard Tyrone saying. “Me and my brother�”well, my step-brother, I guess I mean.”

“Stop it, Ty,” I heard the girl say. Amazingly, her voice wasn’t giggly and flirtatious. She sounded genuinely uncomfortable, and her voice was a lot softer and shyer than I’d have expected. “Reporters don’t want to hear about me. I’m just one of forty people who graduated this year. This is about you.”

Tyrone grinned. “Well, isn’t it always?” he said, laughing. “Come on, Little T, I’m proud of you. It’s my job to be proud of you, you Ravenclaw genius. You remember how Dad was when I graduated�”total mess.”

Waaaaaait a second. Now the pieces were coming together. This “Little T” wasn’t Tyrone’s girlfriend… whoa, no way… she had to be Tabitha! Shy little Tabitha Thomas. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been a scrawny, timid little thing who blended into the background everywhere she went. I guess I should have known that Tyrone’s little sister had no choice but to grow up gorgeous. No wonder Wolfgang was so creepy to her. Of course, Wolfgang’s just a creepy person…

Speak of the devil.

Because who should walk by just then but Wolfgang. I had no choice but to stay where I was�”ducking under the bleachers wouldn’t do any good. Wolfgang had already seen me.

However, he didn’t smile his cheery smile and stroll up to me with a casual ‘hey’ and a sarcastic one-liner like I’d come to expect. He just glanced at me for a second or two, and then walked right past me toward where Tyrone, Tabitha, and the reporters were holding court. He didn’t look… right. His face was too tight, his brow too furrowed, and his eyes too wild to belong to the Wolfgang that I’d thought I’d known… and he was walking at this brisk, businesslike pace that didn’t seem Wolfgangy at all, and the closer he got to the cluster around Tyrone, the faster and more purposefully he started walking.

I craned my neck to see better, as Wolfgang reached the gauntlet of reporters. And when he drew even with the Thomases, he made a point of not even gracing his stepbrother with the most minimal amount of eye contact. Instead, he turned his head toward Tabitha, glared so fiercely that his entire face was terrifyingly unrecognizable, and spat a string of extremely rude words at her. Not even under his breath, but loud enough for every reporter in the area to gasp and scribble on their notepads.

A few reporters called after him, and one even began to chase him, but Wolfgang simply smirked and Disapparated to Godric knows where.

Tabitha did not burst into tears. She may have been a bit shy, but that didn’t make her Ivy. However, Tabitha’s face turned the same peaky greenish-purple colour that Tyrone’s did when he was especially upset, and she looked like there was nothing she’d like better than to sink into the ground. “Excuse me,” she said, and quietly walked off toward the restroom. I felt like I’d intruded on a private moment, like watching Ted and Ivy kiss or Jordan rock out to The Rolling Stones in his underwear.

Tyrone coughed. “Wolfgang says a lot of things he doesn’t mean,” he said slowly. “People who know him have learned to watch out for him when he’s in a bad mood. This was a close game.”

I slunk away from where Tyrone was still making excuses. After everything Wolfgang had done, even to his own sister, Tyrone defended him. I knew Tyrone didn’t lie, but half-truths were another story.

I knew I couldn’t ignore Tyrone forever. After getting his letter, there was no way I could just go on pretending like nothing had changed… and he had to know that I believed him. But admitting I was wrong was the last thing I wanted to do. And… there was something so intimidating about seeing Tyrone face-to-face, without a good reason to hate his guts. I reached in my pocket and rummaged around with the crinkly sound of flimsy plastic, then turned resolutely… to come face to face with Wolfgang as he Apparated back into the stadium, safely hidden from the reporters.

His face was all sweetness and light again, his normal cocky smile plastered across his face, but there was still a slight wildness about his eyes that was all I could focus on. “Well, hey!” he said, perfectly calmly. “Fancy seeing you here, eh? Were you at the game?”

“Get away from me,” I said.

Wolfgang’s smile faded slightly. “What?”

“Get away from me. And don’t talk to me again, okay?”

Now, he looked so appealingly, genuinely confused and sad that it was hard to believe that such an angelic-looking person could be such a git. “What are you talking about?” he asked gently. “Who’ve you been talking to? Did you hear some weird rumour about me? I promise, I didn’t have anything to do with any of the werewolf attacks, or�””

“This isn’t about any werewolves, and you know it,” I told him, looking him straight in the eye. As placid as the rest of his face was, his eyes were only growing more and more turbulent. “It’s about Tyrone.”

Wolfgang looked as though I’d just kicked him in the face and expected him to thank me for it. “Don’t tell me you’re buying into his stories,” he pleaded, and he sounded truly upset. “Whatever he told you, it’s a lie. I never did anything to hurt anyone, and I’ve never been anything but grateful to Tyrone and Tabitha and the rest of the family.”

He honestly believes what he’s saying, I thought. He really does.

“You know what,” I said, “I don’t think you remember how to tell the truth anymore.” And with that, I stalked away, with Wolfgang gibbering incoherently behind me.

Okay, that was it. Now I DEFINITELY needed to get a pretzel.

* * * * * *

How can you possibly know what’s right before you do it? I thought to myself as I strolled away from the pretzel stand eating my lovely, lovely snack at long last. And I wasn’t just talking about whether to get nacho cheese or not, either. I was thinking about Tyrone, and how much of an idiot I’d been to him.

But how could I have known in advance that I was mistaken and that he didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated him?

You know, said a little voice at the back of my head. I think it was my conscience, but I didn’t recognize its voice. We hadn’t spoken in awhile. Maybe, just to ensure that this doesn’t happen again, you NEVER act like a jerk to other people, even if you think they deserve it? Just in case you change your mind about them and, you know, want them to NOT loathe you?

Hah. Yeah, that was likely.

I was caught between a rock and a hard place now�”whichever way I walked from the pretzel stand, Wolfgang was on one side, and Tyrone was on the other. (I think the ‘hard place’ was Tyrone’s abs.) And as tempting as it sounded, I couldn’t just hang around the pretzel stand all night long.

I let out sigh that seemed to come all the way from bits of my body so deep, I didn’t even know they were there. Well… I might as well get this over with, I thought. You have to talk to Tyrone sometime, Emma.

“All right,” I muttered stubbornly under my breath, “But I won’t apologize.”

If anyone heard me, they didn’t have long to wonder who this crazy woman was, because I was off. Past the nachos stand, past the ice cream counter, past the stand where all of the overpriced Chudley Cannons merchandise was sold, past the sleazy-looking narrow passage where the loos were located, out of the stadium, and into the sunlight, where I could see Tyrone autographing a plastic Beater’s bat that a hyperactive five-year-old was brandishing.

The five-year-old was wearing a “TYRONE THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE” shirt, too. I was genuinely concerned that my mum would be the next to buy one.

As Tyrone high-fived the hyperactive kid (a feat about as easy as high-fiving a bouncing superball) and the kid’s family dragged him away from the nice, patient Quidditch players, I took a deep breath… and advanced.

At first, Tyrone didn’t see me. Then, all of a sudden, he blinked like I’d just ridden toward him stark naked and sitting on the back of a giant lemur, and his eyes widened to at least twice their usual size. He opened his mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of it and chose instead to look as far away from me as possible.

“Hey,” I said, casually punching him in the arm like he was just any other guy in the world. “Good game.” I started to walk away, then paused in my tracks and added, “Oh, by the way, I think you dropped something.” And with that, I took the plastic bag of prunes out of my pocket and handed it to Tyrone.

He opened his mouth again, but I cut him off. “Listen, thanks, Tyrone. Ivy’s over the moon.”

And before anything else could be said, I sauntered away, smiling my best Mysterious Smile.

I went to sleep in the Super Motts t-shirt that night.

* * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART SEVEN

WELL. According to the powers that be, my last two summaries were BOTH called “Emma’s Amazing Pride and Prejudice Summary Part Five.” So, I guess that probably makes this part seven, right? Whatever, you can’t expect me to be a brilliant literature expert AND a brilliant math expert at the same time.

So, when we last left our heroes (okay, our heroine and our wretched lizard-man from the depths of Niflheim, Mr. Darcy), Mistah D had just made the world’s worst marriage proposal and Elizabeth had just turned him down like a radio that was too loud. In today’s installment, Elizabeth decides to take a walk through the woods, and�”despite the fact that the woods are humongous�”she manages to come face-to-face with Mr. Darcy lurking in the shadows.

“Boo,” he snarls, and hands her an envelope. He would probably do something else terrifying, but Lizzie hikes up her skirt and RUNS AWAY FOR HER LIFE before thousands of locusts can pour out of his mouth or lasers shoot out of his eyes or anything else he may have had in mind.

Gingerly holding the letter between two fingers like it’s a poopy diaper, Lizzie retreats to her house and , opens the letter in the hopes that it doesn’t explode. It goes something like this:

Dear Elizabeth,
Don’t worry, I won’t try to ask you out again or anything else that creeped you out so much yesterday. If you haven’t ripped up this letter into a million pieces and stuck them in a blender, I actually have something pretty important to tell you. I guess I should say I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but it would have been embarrassing for both of us, and besides, I don’t really have anything to apologize for. What I did made sense when I did them.

THING NUMBER ONE. So you tell me that Jane was crazy about my friend Mr. Bing-Bing and I ruined their happiness. But I was completely convinced she was not that into him, and I decided to spare my bud from being humiliated by getting rejected. Tell your sister for future reference that if she likes a guy, she should skank it up a little.

THING NUMBER TWO. Your family? Okay, Lizzie, even you have to admit that your family is like something from a freak show. I figured if the relationship between Jane and Bingles wasn’t a given, then I should whisk him away before he fell into that zoo. Listen, your little sisters are complete harlots-in-training. Your mum is a terrifying banshee. And even your dad’s a little crazy. I was worried that if he didn’t actually like Jane that much, your family would suck him in and start chanting “ONE OF US! ONE OF US!” and he’d be trapped forever. Now, there is nothing I have against you or your sister, and I don’t mean to be a total snob, but you do have to admit I’m right.

THING NUMBER THREE. I get if you still hate me after these first two items. But this third things’ a doozie, a multi-paragraph doozie. Sit down and don’t drink any liquids, because you WILL spit them out.

Mr. Wickham is a dirty rotten liar. I didn’t steal the house my dad left him, he sold it and gambled away the money. He had to join the military because wasted any cash he got. Any money he touched disappeared, like some reverse King Midas.

But the real reason we’re not on good terms? He tried to seduce my little sister Georgiana when she was fifteen. He just wanted her for the money, and it broke her heart. So, now do you see why I’m not a huge Wickham fan? Believe it or not, I care about my sister as much as you care about yours. Anyway, if you still hate me, that is fine by me, but I just wanted you to know the truth about Wickham and all that jazz. And if you still don’t believe me, you can talk to my cousin the Colonel, who helped raise my sister with me.

Uh, all right then. Awkwarrrrd. I guess that’s that.

Peace out,
Fitzwilliam “The Darcinator” Darcy.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

?????????????????????????????????????????

Uhhh, you might notice that this was less funny than most of my summaries? But I, uh, I’m kind of too busy being amazed that I don’t think Darcy’s supposed to be the bad guy in this book after all. I honestly did not expect that. But the way it looks to me is… Wickham’s just as much of a sleazeball as Wolfgang Quinn, and Mr. Darcy’s not all that bad after all. Like Tyrone.

I HATE MR. WICKHAM. WHAT A MAN-SKANK.

If Elizabeth flippin’ Bennet doesn’t wise up and realize that Mr. Darcy isn’t so bad, I am going to tear this book in half and feed it to wolverines.

Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
How could this feeling come again?
When I was safe at last
Calm at last
Free.
Then I look around, there he is
And the room is bright where he is
Don’t I ever learn?
No, I stand here wanting
Wanting him.
-- “Wanting” from Rags.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighbourhood. No, really. I haven’t seen such good weather in England since the enchanted ceiling back at Hogwarts. So, it being gorgeous outside and everything, I was out in the garden, doing what I do best.

I was tired of being angry, or scandalized, or horrified. I was sick of having to respond to everything that happened with insulted indignance. I just wanted to laugh and relax and stop worrying… after all, wasn’t that why I came out to Godric’s Hollow in the first place?

I’d made a mental pact with myself to go a whole day without freaking out… preferably a week, but come on, I have to be realistic! But so far, I had succeeded. I hadn’t yelled at my parents, I hadn’t made disparaging remarks about Ted to Ivy, I hadn’t jumped to conclusions about anything Tyrone did, and I hadn’t made a single nasty comment that wasn’t directed at lawn gnomes.

I stood back, brushed the dirt off my hands, and admired my handiwork. The garden beds were neat again, even the most pugnacious weeds stripped away thanks to my new neon orange trowel. The trowel trolls had steered clear since Tyrone had given it to me, probably because they realized that I could just go to Tyrone if I needed a new one, and that spoiled the fun.

Speaking of Tyrone… I glanced one more time at the garden. My mum’s maroon rosebushes were looking particularly beautiful�”miraculously, since she certainly hadn’t done anything to get them that way. But they would still look just as gorgeous with just a few blossoms missing. And who would miss them? I did a quick severing charm, gathered up the disembodied roses, and tied a bow around them with my shoelace to keep them together.

Dashing inside the house, I grabbed a scrap of parchment and a quill and scribbled, ”Tabitha�”don’t let Wolfgang get you down. He’s just a bad memory. You’re a beautiful, smart girl with a family who loves you, and he’s not worth looking back. As some lady whose name I forget said, ‘no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’ Your friend, Somebody.”

With that, I handed the roses and the note to my dad’s insane owl, Pigwidgeon 4.0�”the newest addition to a dynasty of tiny, hyperactive owls that behave like Haley.

“Hey, Piggy,” I muttered, “Take these to Tyrone’s place, okay? You know where that is.”

Pig hooted cheerily, which could either mean ‘Sure’ or ‘Haha, you wish,’ and fluttered out the window, panting slightly from carrying a bunch of roses that weighed about five times more than he did.

Speaking of letters…

I suddenly remembered something that any decent friend never would have forgotten in the first place. Ted’s letter that he’d written from the werewolf camp so many weeks ago had said that he’d write back soon, with an even longer letter. But it had been a long time, and Ivy still hadn’t gotten so much as a note that said, ‘I’m okay, love you.’ There had been nothing from Ted at all.

Looking back at the flowerbed, it seemed strange and lopsided for one rosebush to have so many flowers when the other only had a few, thanks to the bouquet I’d picked for Tabitha. I figured what the Niflheim, I might as well do something nice for Ivy for once in my life. After all, Ivy liked flowers, and it wasn’t like I was using them or anything. I severed a bunch of roses from the other bush, and snuck through the back door of the Potter house, in search of a big vase and Ivy�”in that order.

I found the vase under the kitchen sink, and Ivy sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and sitting with her back to me. With the silent stealth of the ninja I had always aspired to be, I crept up behind her and whispered, ‘boo!’

The reaction was immediate and terrifying. She screamed, the teacup went flying and hit the wall, the chair knocked over backward, and I began to laugh hysterically. Okay, so maybe I hadn’t completely turned over a new leaf.

“So much for constant vigilance,” I smirked.

Ivy was trying her hardest to not look amused, but I could tell she thought it was funny. She always had a devilish sense of humour that she didn’t seem to want other people to know about. “If that that had sent me into premature labour, I hope you’d know how to deliver a baby,” was all she said.

“Well, don’t get mad at me just yet,” I said, “because I have a little present for you.” And with that, I whipped the vase of roses out from behind my back and set it gently on the table in front of her. “You like them?”

Ivy smiled confusedly. “Of course. But… er… why?”

“Because you deserve them,” I told her simply “And also, I wanted the rosebushes to be symmetrical.”

She arched her near-transparent eyebrows. “What happened to the other rosebush? Gnomes again?”

“Er, no, I sent them to someone else who deserved them. A girl who lives down the street who keeps getting harassed by some insane creep. It’s a long story.” I settled down into a kitchen chair next to Ivy, who was admiring the roses and wisely deciding not to ask any further questions. She was smiling to herself, slightly mischievously.

“What is it now?” I asked.

Ivy laughed. “Oh, nothing. It’s just, when you said ‘it’s a long story,’ it reminded me of this really creepy story that Ted told me a while ago. He heard it from another Healer he knows who works in veterinary magic, and… well, I don’t know if I should tell it. It’s really long, and it made my flesh crawl for days.”

“Well, then, bring it on!” I exclaimed, rubbing my hands together. “I’ve got all the time in the world, and creepy stories are my favourite kind!”

Ivy’s smile grew even more mischievous. “Well, all right,” she sighed, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “So, this story is true. Ted’s friend Malachi swears it happened to him when he was first starting at St. Mungo’s. Mostly, he just dealt with things like owls with whooping cough and constipated Porlocks and things like that. But this one girl, Tara, brought in her pet boa constrictor.”

“Okay, giant snake. I can already tell this story is going to be good,” I commented.

“Anyway, Tara had this snake for years. She named it Jane.”

“Jane?” I snorted. “Kind of a wimpy name for a giant snake, if you ask me.”

“I know,” said Ivy. “And Jane was a boy snake, too. So, Tara had had Jane for years, and she loved him a lot. At first, Jane slept in a tank, but as he got bigger, he learned how to crawl out and he’d just slither all around the room. After a while, Tara just let Jane sleep with her in her bed at night.”

I recoiled. “Eurgh! What kind of a sick freak would let a dangerous animal sleep in her bed?” I looked sidelong at Ivy. “No offense,” I added hastily.

Ivy ignored the little dig at Ted and simply said, “Er, Emma, would you mind not interrupting for a bit? It kind of… ruins the flow.”

“Sorry…” I muttered.

“Well, anyway, this went on for a while, and then Tara noticed that Jane wasn’t sleeping coiled up anymore… he was stretched out lengthwise. And around that time, Jane stopped eating. No matter what Tara fed him, he wouldn’t eat a single bite, for weeks. Obviously, Tara got worried about Jane, so her mum took Jane to see Malachi for a check-up. But he did a few tests, and he said, ‘there’s nothing wrong with your snake, boa constrictors in the wild sometimes go for weeks without eating. It’s natural.’ And Tara’s mum said, ‘Oh, good, because Tara loves that snake. She even lets him sleep in her bed.’ And Malachi completely froze, and he said, ‘... wait, what?’”

Ivy’s voice lowered to a cautious whisper, and she paused dramatically for what seemed like forever. I was beginning to feel anxious… whatever was coming couldn’t be good.

“Tara’s mum repeated, ‘She lets him sleep in her bed.’ And very, very slowly, Malachi said, ‘Does he sleep coiled up or stretched out?’ Tara’s mum was confused, but she answered, ‘Well, he used to sleep coiled up, but now he does it stretched out�”he started about the same time he stopped eating.’ And she was a bit worried because Malachi actually looked scared. Then, he asked, ‘How tall is your daughter?’ Now Tara’s mum was really confused, but she said, ‘Five feet, four-and-a-half inches.’ So then Malachi said, ‘Excuse me,’ And he left the room very quickly. And when he came back, his face was so serious that Tara’s mum knew something had to be wrong.”


Aaagh…the suspense was killing me…
“He sat down, and he said, ‘In the wild, when a snake wants to eat a big animal like a pig, it’ll starve itself for a few weeks, and stretch itself out on tree branches so it’ll be long enough to eat the animal it wants to. When you brought Jane in for a check-up a few months ago, he was four feet, nine inches. He’s already stretched himself out to five feet, two inches. If you hadn’t brought him in when you did, it might have been too late.’” Ivy paused for impact. “He could have eaten Tara in her sleep.”

There was a long, scary silence. I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, and a cold shiver running down my spine, for some reason. I’d heard much scarier stories, but there was something about this one that just bothered me. “What happened to the snake?” I asked cautiously.

“They put it to sleep,” said Ivy.

I shuddered. “Poor Tara. That’s got to be really weird for her. Do you know if she was all right afterward?”

Ivy shrugged. “I really don’t know. Of course, it’s been a long time since Ted talked to Malachi, and�”” she trailed off, and suddenly, without warning, she burst into tears.

She just can’t go a day without doing that, can she? I thought madly. “Oh, Ivy, listen, I’m sure Ted’s okay,” I said, patting her awkwardly on the back. “It’s like he said, there’s really no good time for him to write. And the werewolves at the camp where he is don’t really approve of human stuff like writing, so�””

Ivy looked up at me with streaming eyes. “I’m not crying about Ted,” she managed.

“What?”

“It’s… it’s the snake,” she sobbed. “You know. I just feel so… so bad for him. He didn’t mean to do anything wrong… he just did what any snake would do. And they killed him.”

I stared at her. “Are you in your right mind?” I demanded.

“No,” she sniffed, “I’m pregnant.”

Haha, she had a point there. “Er… do you think you’d feel better if I just, er, left you alone for a bit?” I asked cautiously.

Ivy blew her nose. “I think so,” she choked.

“Good,” I said, “because even if you said no, I have to get out of here before I drown in hormones.”

Hmmm. So Operation Be-Nice-For-A-Day wasn’t a complete success, but it was a start, right?

Euuurrgh, that snake story… I never did like snakes. They really were the perfect mascot for Slytherin.

I decided that going for a walk would be a nice way to clear my head. After all, it was still a ridiculously gorgeous day outside, and Godric’s Hollow was an exceptionally pretty neighborhood to stroll around in.

Before I knew it, my feet managed to carry me down the pavement to a very familiar building without consulting my brain first. Great, thanks a lot, feet, I thought. Tyrone’s house. As if I didn’t already feel like a creepy stalker, the amount I’ve been seeing him lately. And even when he wasn’t right in front of my face, he was always at the back of my head. I just couldn’t get my mind off him.

I stared at that huge brick house he lived in, definitely more mansion than house, and I tried to imagine what could be going on inside. Tabitha was probably reading a book, smart girl that she was, with her mysterious bouquet of roses sitting on her desk. Fido and Rover, the resident toads, were probably croaking flirtatiously back and forth at one another, on a warm spring afternoon like it was. Tyrone’s owls�”he had several, given the amount of correspondence he was involved in�”were probably winging in and out of the house, dropping off fan mail and contracts and magazines and invitations to social events. And Tyrone himself… what could he be doing?

I imagined that face, so familiar to me now that every single feature and detail was permanently tattooed into my memory, bent over some trashy fan magazine, laughing that booming laugh of his and shaking his head good-naturedly at some preposterous story about him that he’d stumbled across. Or maybe he was in the kitchen, fixing up a late lunch consisting of two slices of bread and every kind of meat imaginable piled in between a gloppy soup of condiments. Or he could be in the basement, lifting weights on his little bench and singing stupid songs off-key at the top of his lungs to help him maintain a steady rhythm. Or maybe he was talking to his sister, cracking bizarre jokes and chatting on and on while she nodded patiently and tried to read. Or…

Who was I kidding? What would Tyrone, the famous popular social butterfly, be doing cooped up on a day like today? No doubt he was out at some party, or at a bar with friends, or at Quidditch practice with the rest of his team. He certainly wouldn’t be hanging around Godric’s Holl�”

“Emma?”

When I heard that deep, silky voice behind me, I completely lost my train of thought. Actually, my train of thought derailed, plunged off the side of the railroad trestle, and splashed into the waters below, killing any passengers instantly. I whirled around, gaping like an idiot and, to tell the truth, probably blushing.

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to break into my house, Emma. If you want another one of those extremely stylish Super Motts t-shirts, you can just ask.” Tyrone’s voice was as casual and nonchalant as always, like nothing had ever happened in the past seven years and we were still good friends and nothing more. But his face�”the face I couldn’t help but stare at for a second too long, although I already knew it perfectly�”said different. His eyes were too bright and too hopeful, and too cautious. I felt completely ill in every way imaginable.

“Er, I was just�””

“It’s okay!” he interrupted. There was one of those horrible awkward silences that I seem to attract all the time, but not anything like the ones that tend to happen between me and Patrick Wormwood. Tyrone shifted from foot to foot, making squishing noises in his shiny new leather shoes. “Er, listen,” he said in a much softer voice, “thanks for sending those flowers to Tabby. It made her day.”

I blinked. “How did you know it was me?” I demanded, tearing away the last shred of mystery shrouding my secret identity.

Tyrone gave me that neon white grin of his. “Come on, Emma. Your handwriting, your dad’s owl… and you’re the only person I know who ties things together with shoelaces. Didn’t you used to tie your hair up with them for years?”

I still tie my hair up with shoelaces all the time, but I figured that wasn’t anything Tyrone had to know. “Don’t worry,” he added, “your secret’s safe with me. Tabby’s convinced it was me, so obviously, I’m letting her believe it.”

“Well, you know,” I muttered, looking down at my feet, “you know what they say about one good turn…”

“It’s nothing,” Tyrone said quickly. “I mean, what I did. I’m not saying that what you did was nothing. Sorry, that came out wrong. Anyway, since we’re standing here talking, my guess is you’re speaking to me again?”

His smile was so hopeful, I couldn’t help but smile, too. “I guess so,” I replied. “But I’m rusty at this. I… I don’t know what to say.”

That was the truth. I’d spent so long trying to keep Tyrone away from me that I couldn’t remember what to do now that I wanted him to stick around. It was so much easier trying to keep people from getting attached to me than it was trying to get people to like me.

“We could talk about the weather?” suggested Tyrone. “It’s sunny, by the way, in case you didn’t notice.”

“No, I have another idea,” I said. “How about let’s start with ‘I’m sorry?’”

Tyrone blinked. “What?”

Yeah, I knew how he felt. I wasn’t expecting those words to spill out of my mouth either. But looking into that obnoxiously perfect, painfully earnest face made it impossible not to feel like a terrible person. A confused, terrible person.

“Look, I’m sorry for all of the stupid stuff I’ve ever said to you and everything else. I’m done, though, I swear.”

Tyrone’s slanting eyes grew wider than I ever thought they’d be able to. “Are you serious?”

“I’m a lot more serious than I’ve probably been in a long time,” I said. “I’m not gonna lie, you are a really good guy, and you’ve proved that a million times. You don’t deserve to be treated like… well, basically, like the way I treated you for years. And you definitely don’t deserve to have me hanging around and complicating your life.”

Tyrone’s eyes had grown so bright and intense that I had to look away. “Emma, shut up,” he said. I gaped. “I know you’re sorry. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be talking to me. Seriously, I know you hate apologizing, so just forget it. It’s not your fault you thought I was a jerk… thanks to Wolfgang, a lot of people get the wrong idea about me.”

“Did you even hear what I just said?” I asked. “I said you don’t deserve to have me hanging around. I’ve learned that the only way to stay anywhere near sane is to just leave you alone.”

“Calm down,” said Tyrone. “Emma, that’s the last thing I want.”

“Are you delusional?” I demanded.

Tyrone laughed warmly. “Hey, I’ve worked hard enough to get you to change your mind about me. I even wrote that six-page letter, and after that, my hand hurt so bad I could barely grip my Beater club. I’m not about to let all that go to waste.”

I smirked in spite of myself. “You’re just playing that same old game you used to play back at Hogwarts,” I accused him. “The Win-Me-Over game.”

Tyrone gave me a sad smile. “Maybe I am,” he said. “But back then, I didn’t even know you. I just wanted to�””

“Add me to your collection,” I finished.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, shaking his head. “Now, it’s like I got rid of the collection, and then I really started to miss one of the… collectibles, or whatever. And then I saw it at an auction, and I knew I had to at least try and get it back.”

That was probably the worst metaphor I’d ever heard in my life. And there are some pretty bad ones in this journal. “Very philosophical,” I said. “I’m impressed. Really.”

We just stood there and looked at each other stupidly for a few seconds, really not sure what to say at all.

“You know what?” announced Tyrone at last. “We’ve been standing here forever. Come on, sit down.” He bounded over to the front stoop in a few long strides, sat down on it, and patted the spot next to him. I had no choice but to comply. I settled down next to him, and realized what a perfect perch his front stoop was. I could see the whole street… including a perfect view of my parents’ house.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” remarked Tyrone, folding his arms behind his head and not being as subtle as he thought he was about flexing in the process.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to focus on the street and not him. I knew him well enough to know that this was a sneaky pick-up line of his. He knew he was a ‘nice view.’

Tyrone yawned enormously. “Hey,” he said, “we’ve done enough trying to prove how grown-up we’ve gotten since we broke up. I just want to get back to being immature and goofing off and having fun with you. Things have been a lot less… spontaneous the last five years.”

“Yeah, well, walking across a minefield is spontaneous, but I wouldn’t reminisce over that,” I pointed out. Sitting there on the front stoop, with the sunlight shining on him, Tyrone’s skin was as dark and smooth and unblemished as a ripe plum. It was a weird, weird, borderline freakish thing to think, but I couldn’t help it. We were sitting so close together, our arms almost touching, but for some reason, I was scared of shifting those extra two inches to the right and letting my skin brush his.

“So, let’s pretend all this complicated stuff never happened,” suggested Tyrone. “Turn over a new leaf, you know?”

I snorted. “We’ve turned over enough new leaves to make a whole new tree,” I said. My expression softened. “Tyrone, it’s like I said, I think you’re… cool. You try too hard sometimes, but I like that, really. But I’ve been a huge pain in the bum, and you know it.”

“I’m used to hanging around people who are huge pains in the bum,” Tyrone told me. “Believe me, you’ve got nothing on Wolfgang. And it helps that you’re a lot prettier than he is, too.”

Hmmm. I actually wasn’t so sure of that last bit. When it came to delicate feminine beauty, Wolfgang was pretty gifted. But I was surprised by how big an impact I felt when Tyrone told me I was pretty. Niflheim, I know I’m pretty. Moreover, Tyrone had been telling me as blatantly as possible since at least third year. But this time was so off the cuff and unaffected and genuine that I couldn’t help but feel strangely warm.

“You know, not a lot of people can just say stuff like that,” I pointed out.

“It’s a gift,” replied Tyrone, giving me his famous cheesy smile yet again. “But really, you’re so easy to talk to. And I don’t really know why.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Because you’re impossible to talk to. I never have any idea what I’m doing whenever you’re around.”

“No, you’re just out of practice,” said Tyrone. “Are you doing anything tomorrow? Let’s go and do something. Let’s get a really good dinner somewhere… and let’s see a movie while we’re at it. You’re the only person I know who doesn’t mind doing stupid Muggle stuff with me. What do you say?”

I almost fell over, but I decided against it, since I’d land in his lap if I did fall over.

“Er…”

“Oh, and if you’re going to ask, ‘is this like a date?’ Then yeah. Yeah, it’s a date. A fun date, nothing serious. You like to pretend like none of your dates are dates, Emma, but that’s no way to break the ice.”

He’d called me ‘Emma’ again. Tyrone almost never called me ‘Emma’ unless he was being extremely serious about something, which only happened once in a blue moon. As far as he was concerned, I was ‘Em.’ But this was the sixth time he’d called me by my real name that day, and it just added to the weirdness of the situation.

I got to my feet and held myself as straight as possible. “I want to,” I said. “But… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Tyrone was making the dreaded puppy dog face again, and I couldn’t bear to look at that pathetic expression. It was more persuasive than the Imperius curse. “Just this one time?” he asked softly.

“No,” I whispered. “Sorry.” I started to walk away, then turned back and gave him a hug. He smelled a little bit too strongly of fancy cologne, just like always, that and expensive hair gel. His body was just as warm and solid as ever�”in fact, I believe MORE solid since the last time we’d hugged. His arms fit perfectly into the curve of my waist. It was almost too comfortable. Uncomfortably comfortable.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly.

“Sure,” I replied, pulling away from him and noticing awkwardly just how close together our faces were. “Just like any other neighbours.”

Tyrone smiled wistfully. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “See you around, I guess.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

The walk back home seemed bizarrely long. I could feel Tyrone’s eyes on the back of my neck�”not like they’d been pulled out of their sockets and stuck there, but like he was watching me. Now that I knew he could see all the way to my parents’ house from his front stoop, I felt too conscious of every movement. My body was prickly and tingly from head to foot.

I did the right thing, I told myself. I was very mature and practical and sensible. But I still felt cold.

I thought back to when Tyrone had told me how easy to talk to I was. It was weird, I’d never really noticed it before, but Tyrone was… different around me. When I first met him, I just saw a preening, strutting pretty-boy jock, just the perpetual center of attention who could never have enough girls swarming around him. But that wasn’t a real person, that was a sitcom character.

I knew him as the guy who tried so hard to get people to like him and cared so much about what people thought of him that the slightest sign of rejection would upset him for weeks. He was the guy who was so stubborn and stupidly idealistic that he thought anything was possible, and honestly believed in chivalry and fairy tales. The guy who was so vain and so insecure at the same time that it was laughable, and who took criticism so badly that it was painful. But more than any of that, Tyrone was the adventurous goofball, always up for taking a risk or clowning around or embarrassing himself in public.

Other people never seem to know him that way. The Tyrone I know is the guy who flies around at midnight, singing songs from Aladdin with a Hello Kitty coin purse containing a toad hanging off the end of his broom. If ninety percent of the people he “knew” saw him doing that, they’d think he was out of his mind, but at this point, I was used to it.

Being around Tyrone was always fun. Dating him was about doing things that were fun and exciting and mischievous and adventurous and hilarious, and that was what had made our little conversation just then so uncomfortable. Because it was so serious and grown-up and straight-forward, not the silly, lighthearted banter we always used to have.

And honestly, I missed it.

I was exhausted by the time I got home. As beautiful as it was outside, I didn’t want to do anything but collapse on the sofa and think about nothing. And that was exactly what I planned to do until an owl swooped through the window and dropped a shiny gold envelope on my lap.

“Far too many notes for my taste,” I muttered under my breath and ripped it open. What was inside looked like… a poem. I read the first two lines and did a double take. This was definitely the weirdest poem I’d seen since the haiku that Jordan wrote when he was seven about a dead lizard getting eaten by bugs:

This poem’s meant to convince you, though who knows if it’ll work,
That I still want to go out, although you’ve acted like a jerk.
‘Cause five years is just way too long, and I hope you agree
Because when you’re not there, I kind of feel like I’m not me.
I’ve tried to tell you face to face, but you’ve been so elusive
My friends say I should give up, ‘cos you’re fickle and abusive.
But I miss you so much, I went and wasted all this time
To write this poem, and look up weird big words to make it rhyme.
And plus, I’ve learned my lesson; saying green beans is just wrong.
Is that enough to end this grudge that’s lasted five years long?
I miss how soft your hair is, and the way you’d smile at me
I miss the way we laughed�”it seems like ancient history.
I miss how we went flying, how we’d always nearly crash
I miss how you’d make fun of my pet toads and my mustache.
I miss how we’d see films and crack dumb jokes and everything
I miss how you’d pretend to puke when I began to sing.
I miss our conversations, and the quiet times between
If you don’t miss them, too, then Emma, you’re just really mean.
I miss the way you taste, the way you feel, the way you think
I miss how you’d start barfights when you’d had too much to drink.
I miss your awesome parents, too, especially your dad.
I miss how we’d snog publicly ‘cos it made Jordan mad.
And since I miss those things, I want to hang out like before
Let’s watch a film and eat some food�”I’ll pick you up at four.
I promise I won’t feel you up, or burp, or pick my nose
So why don’t we hang out this once, and just see how it goes?
I want to say so much that can’t be properly expressed
‘Cos Emma, to be honest, I’m a little bit obsessed.
Because you’re an adventure, and you make life fun
So don’t be scared it’ll end when we haven’t begun.
And if I said these things out loud, then I’d get laryngitis
So instead, I hired Tabitha to try and help me write this.
So now that we’re both clear and now you know the honest truth
Can we please patch things up when we’re both still in our youth?
We’ve had all those good times, flying brooms, flinging gnomes
So say yes, Emma Weasley, or I’ll write MORE POEMS!
-- Tyrone.

I stared at the poem. I read it again. I read it a third time. Okay, Tyrone really was off his rocker. Only he would put so much effort into writing an epic poem. But… it was more than just ridiculous. It made something deep inside me snap with a wistful ‘TWING’ noise. I felt like my insides had all suddenly transformed into molten chocolate. My eyes were dangerously moist.

I grabbed a quill and scrawled:

No offense, man, but that poem was kind of a mess
I’d hate to read more, so I guess I’ll say yes!
See you at four,
Emma.
P.S. You have to realize, saying ‘yes’ was hard for me to do
But the truth is that I kind of really, really miss you, too.

* * * * * *

I flung the door to the Potter house open with an ear-splitting “BANG!”

Ivy looked up from the book she was reading with a bemused expression on her face. “We should build a tunnel or something connecting our houses,” she remarked. “It would make all of this easier.”

“Hold the presses,” I said gravely. “I like Tyrone Thomas.”

Ivy actually dropped her book. “You’re kidding,” she said. “You’re not serious.”

“No, I’m totally serious,” I told her, flopping down on the couch next to her. “The first step is admitting you have a problem. I like Tyrone. A lot. Too much, probably… and I’m going out with him tomorrow.”

Ivy shook her head in amazement, causing her long blonde braid to dance from side to side. “I… this… how long has this been going on?”

I sighed. “Good question. I… honestly, I don’t think I ever stopped liking him. But I didn’t realize it until�”okay, this is way too complicated to explain it all.”

“But the last time I checked, you hated him,” Ivy reminded me. “That Quidditch game just yesterday… you didn’t even want to go because of him.”

“No, that wasn’t because of him, that was…” I let out a long, slow breath. “That was Wolfgang. And I wish I never met that son-of-a…”

“Wait, I’m really confused now,” said Ivy, a little bit helplessly. “I thought you liked Wolfgang. Didn’t you even go out with him a few times?”

I groaned. “Okay, well if you want the whole story, you get the whole story. Wolfgang told me all this bad stuff about Tyrone, and I believed him. But it turns out that he has pretty much every mental issue you can think of, plus he’s a pathological liar who gets girls pregnant and runs away to foreign countries. And Tyrone… he’s definitely the good guy. He�”“ I froze, remembering that Ivy still didn’t know who had sent her the piano. “He’s done a lot of nice things for a lot of people. And me.”

Ivy studied my face closely, wearing that starry-eyed expression she’s so good at. “I thought there was something… off about you. I just never guessed that you were in love.”

I held up my hands. “Whoa, hold it,” I said sharply. “I am not in love. Not even close. I’ve seen love, and I know I’ve never been in it, and I don’t think I ever want to be. I just want to jump on him and snog him until his lips turn purple and fall off. It’s not the same thing.”

Ivy laughed. It was a much happier, freer laugh than I’d been used to from her these past few months. “Well, he really is good-looking,” she said. “And you guys did have a good time together… when you weren’t fighting, I mean.”

I buried my head in my hands. “That was a long time ago,” I said, “But… Ivy, it’s like his face is everywhere. I can’t get him off my mind. For weeks, it’s like my mind’s turned into the Tyrone Channel and nothing else. I mean… it wasn’t like this back when we were in school and we saw each other all the time.”

Ivy’s face turned solemn and faraway. “I know what you mean,” she whispered. “It’s like that with Ted, too. Everything reminds me of him.”

Impulsively, I reached over and gave her a hug. She felt so delicate and fragile, despite her growing belly. “Tell me about you and Ted,” I said suddenly. “How did you know he was… right for you?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a tiny voice. “We were always friends, and it just kind of gradually happened. But I remember in third year, I looked over at him, and he didn’t look like a little boy anymore all of a sudden… and I tried to imagine what he’d look like when he was grown-up… and after that, I couldn’t stop imagining things about him.” She laughed. “But then… after he got bitten by that werewolf and I went to see him in St. Mungo’s… I realized how special he is. That’s when I started feeling like he was… part of me, almost.”

I looked at her skeptically. “So, you knew you were going to marry him when you were fourteen?”

Ivy chuckled softly. “No, of course not. It kind of just… went from there. But when we were in sixth year…” Her eyes clouded over. “A lot of things happened in sixth year. We both grew up a lot. And that was when I knew I loved him… so much that it hurt. Even when we were together, it hurt… because I was scared something would happen. I mean, nobody lives happily ever with the first boy they ever dated. I kept thinking, ‘when does all this end?’”

Ted and Ivy had seemed practically married for so long, it hardly made a difference at all when they actually were pronounced husband and wife. But it was still weird to hear Ivy talking about Ted like this. I still didn’t see the appeal there at all.

“Are you scared it’ll end badly?” Ivy asked me in a faraway voice. “Like last time?”

I thought about it for a minute. Two lines from Tyrone’s poem were lodged in my head like bullets. Because you’re an adventure, and you make life fun/
So don’t be scared it’ll end when we haven’t begun. I felt my eyes welling up. An ‘adventure.’ He couldn’t have said anything more heartstring pulling… he certainly knew his target well.

“No,” I said at last. “I mean, where’s the excitement in that?” I smiled to myself.

“What?”

“Ivy, he wrote me a poem. He actually sat down and wrote me a poem.”

Ivy covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, no. Was it horrible?”

“Er…well… actually, no!” I admitted. “I mean, it really wasn’t allthat bad. Can you believe it? I mean, he got his sister to help him write it, of course. It’s way better than that other one he wrote me in third year�”‘Roses are red, violets are not/You probably know this, but you’re really hot.”

Ivy went quiet again, like a hermit crab retreating into a shell or something. “Emma, I’m really happy for you,” she said, and her eyes were glistening dangerously. And with an ominous ‘splash,’ a few tears spilled over… and then the tsunami started again.

“Don’t start that now!” I demanded. “You’re going to get me going, too!”

I’m not a crying person. I haven’t cried in a very long time, not for real, at least. I mean, my eyes water… I’m only human. But I don’t actually cry. This time, though, I couldn’t help it. I cried like a baby, and we just sat there, hugging each other and crying. It was pathetic.

“Nobody mention snakes!” I choked.

And we were laughing and crying and feeling confused and excited and hopeless and hopeful and everything else possible all at once. It was so unlike me, but I hadn’t felt so much myself in a long time.

* * * * * *

I swore Ivy to secrecy about all of this. It was one thing to admit to Ivy that I’d been wrong about Tyrone. She was understanding about that kind of thing. But I didn’t want word getting out to our families.

My dad lives to embarrass me in any way possible… and even though he hated Tyrone’s guts when we were first dating, now he thought Tyrone was the best thing since sliced bread, especially since he had started helping my dad’s favorite team start winning games again. My mum is just smothering about this stuff�”she always wants to sit down and talk about emotions or something.

Aunt Ginny is pretty cool, but she’s a little bit too much of a go-getter about this kind of thing. I know she’d start egging me on to snog him and ask for all kinds of embarrassing details. And Uncle Harry is normally one of the sanest members of my family, but he’d be sure to mention something to Holly and Jonathan, who are just at the age that they find anything at all romantic both hilarious and disgusting.

Besides, they’d all told me when I broke up with Tyrone that we’d just end up getting back together, like always. I’m not exactly eager to prove them right. I hate my mum’s little ‘I told you so’ routine.

So, I’d kept quiet about my date all day. But now that the hour was fast approaching, getting ready was in order. And although Tyrone had seen me at my worst many, many times, I still wanted to look nice. It’s always a good idea to go for ‘what an attractive couple’ rather than ‘eurgh, he could do so much better.’

I’d pulled on a shortish, swingy little red dress, grabbed some gold flats, did a bit of makeup, and was just sticking in my gold hoop earrings when an owl dropped an envelope right on top of my head and gave me a stuffy-sounding hoot that didn’t sound the least bit apologetic before zipping off through the window.

Curious, I grabbed the blue-grey envelope, slit it open, and pulled out the single piece of parchment inside.

“Dear Ms. Weasley,
Your suspension from Auror training has been carefully reconsidered by the Board of Directors. After closely monitoring Wolfgang Quinn and finding minimal interaction over a span of several weeks, the Board of Directors sees fit to end your period of probation. You may return to Chudley Cannons stadium next Monday to resume work.
Sincerely,
Henderson Vaultz

Yes! I pumped my fist victoriously in the air. I honestly had not been expecting this�”in fact, I’d been so preoccupied, I’d almost forgotten about how I’d been sacked from Chudley Cannons stadium. As big a drag as working there had been, I had to finish the required hours at the stadium before I could even attempt to become a real Auror. And now being an Auror seemed like a valid possibility again.

I laughed to myself at the ridiculously perfect timing of the letter. I was forgiven for hanging out with a Quidditch player… just as I was about to go on a date with another one. That’s irony.

I grabbed my purse�”I hate purses, but I can’t live without them�”and thundered down the stairs into the sitting room where my parents were hanging out.

“Hey!” I announced. “So, I just got a letter from Vaultz, and it looks like I have a job again!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Emma!” exclaimed my mum. “Honestly, I was worried they’d forgotten about you. I wouldn’t put it past Henderson Vaultz.”

My dad looked less excited. “There’s no way they wouldn’t let you back in, Emster. I mean, your old dad’s one of the best in the business.” He squinted at me. “What are you all dressed up for, then? Going somewhere?”

“I’m just going out to celebrate,” I said lamely. “For getting my job back.”

My parents exchanged glances. “Alone?” asked my mum.

“Er… I’m stopping by the library first to take out a book,” I said. “So I’ll have something to do.”

As I fumbled for my keys in the junk drawer, I heard my dad mumble, “Wonder if that’s all she’s planning to take out.”

“Do you think she met somebody at the library?” my mum said, not as discreetly as she probably thought she was being.

“Doesn’t really seem her type though, the bookish sort,” said my dad. He paused. “You never know, though. You did meet Krum in the library… ‘course that turned out to be nothing.”

“You’d be surprised who you can find in the library,” my mum said. “You know, Casanova was a librarian.”

Urgh. Parents.

* * * * * *

I met Tyrone halfway down the pavement.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he laughed. “I was just coming by your place to pick you up!”

I smiled. “I didn’t really want to explain the whole complicated situation to my parents,” I told him. “And besides, my dad would just talk your ear off and make us miss our movie.” I paused. “What are we seeing, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tyrone, beaming like a jack-o-lantern. “Let’s be… spontaneous.”

By the way, in case you’re curious, he was wearing jeans, a white button-up shirt with the top few buttons undone, and a brown corduroy blazer with a sky-blue handkerchief sticking out of the pocket that he would certainly never use to blow his nose. Nothing too over-the-top, which was a nice change.

Anyway, we decided to take the usual route we’d come up with to use when seeing a film at the cinema just outside Godric’s Hollow. The cinema was inside a big shopping mall, so we each Apparated into the dressing rooms of a tiny, nearly forgotten hippie store that nobody ever visits. One time, Tyrone swears he Apparated into a stall that a man was already using, but the man just smiled and said, “Hi, hallucination.” That’s the other plus side of using a hippie shop, I guess. If we did run into anyone, they probably wouldn’t be as upset as normal people.

We met outside the changing rooms, where Tyrone was suddenly wearing round, rose-coloured glasses, love beads, and a tie-dyed scarf tied around his head.

“Yeah, you should definitely keep those,” I said. “It’s a good look for you. Grow an afro, and you’ll be set.”

Tyrone raised his eyebrows. “You know what? I think I will get these sunglasses. I might be able to use them for something someday.”

Before I could advise him otherwise, he strode up to the counter and announced, “Hi, can I get these in a hemp bag instead of plastic? I’m into the environment.”

The ancient, leathery-skinned bloke at the counter looked up from under his curtain of long, frizzy grey hair with bleary eyes. “Whoa, I didn’t see you come in, man,” he said.

“Ah, yeah, I think you dozed off for a minute. I decided to wait until you woke up before I tried to buy anything. Do you take credit cards?” Tyrone said brightly. So much for always being honest… but then again, giving an honest answer would be a bad idea in this case.

Luckily, the man took Tyrone’s credit card�”since he didn’t have any Muggle money on him�”and we walked out of the shop feeling very cunning and accomplished, and in my case, slightly embarrassed, since Tyrone was wearing his new sunglasses.

“Well, how do I look?” he asked silkily.

I studied his face. “Charming,” I said, “You look like you’ve got a bad case of pinkeye.”

“Well, you look… very pink,” said Tyrone. “Course, so does everything.”

When we got to the cinema, it turned out that they were having a special “I Love The Nineties” day. All ten of the movies they were showing were oldies made in the 1990’s. Now personally, I’m partial to big action movies, the kind where weird-looking guys run around trying to kill each other and escape from certain death, especially when there’s lots of stuff blowing up. So I suggested that we go see Star Wars: Episode One, because anything with the word ‘wars’ in the title and pictures of aliens on the poster can’t be too bad. Any normal guy would agree. But I was not hanging out with any normal guy�”I was hanging out with Tyrone Thomas.

“I really want to see Sense and Sensibility, though,” he said. “That’s one of my favourites.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds horrible,” I said. “Sense and Sensibility? What’s that, the sequel to Three Boring Old Spinsters Visit The Arboretum?” See, almost any normal girl in the world would be thrilled to date a reasonably masculine heterosexual guy who loves to watch sappy romantic comedies… but I guess I’m not normal either.

“Tell you what,” said Tyrone. “Let’s compromise.”

Tyrone’s idea of a compromise is the kind of compromise only a rich guy could come up with. He bought four tickets for the same time�”two to Star Wars and two to Sense and Sensibility. “So the plan is, we sneak back and forth between the two films,” he explained. “Like, if we’re watching one of them and it starts to get boring, we just go into the next theatre. And if anyone gets mad at us for sneaking back and forth, we just show them our tickets and say we’re paying customers, ‘cos we are.”

My jaw dropped. “That is completely mad,” I told him. “Let’s try it.”

We played Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine which film we’d start out with, and Tyrone won. He always wins, actually. It’s a little suspicious. But just as I suspected, the entire audience of the film was single middle-aged women, most of them wearing lumpy crocheted jumpers.

“I can tell I’m gonna love this already,” I grumbled, but I was smiling. However boring the film was, nothing was dull when Tyrone was around.

After the previews had started and Tyrone and I were munching on Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans that I had snuck in in my purse, the opening credits came up. Blah blah blah, piano music, boring pastoral scenes, typical… until I suddenly saw words flash up onscreen that made me gag on the grass-flavoured jelly bean that I was eating.

“Based on a book by Jane Austen?” I choked. “The lady who wrote Pride and Prejudice? Why am I not surprised?”

“Shh, look, it’s a dying guy,” said Tyrone, pointing at the screen.

Since we were watching two movies at once, I have no idea what the basic plot was in either one. But Star Wars had a little boy who hung around with aliens and a demonic-looking bad guy who had a red face covered in black spots. Sense and Sensibility was about two sisters in the early nineteenth century who wanted to get married but had various complications standing in the way, until they pulled out light sabers and started fighting to the death. Or maybe that was the other one. They’re kind of blurring together at this point.

The main thing I remember about Sense and Sensibility was that one of the guys, I think his name was Edward, was a total loser, and he walked like a robot. Every time he walked onscreen, I started cracking up, and all these swooning middle-aged women would give me dirty looks. It was hilarious.

“Okay, you have to admit, Sense and Sensibility was better than you thought it’d be,” Tyrone said as we walked out of the cinema and smiling innocently at the grumpy-looking guard who hadn’t been happy with us running back and forth between two theatres the whole time.

I shrugged. “I guess,” I said. “Everyone in that film was kind of annoying, but yeah, it really wasn’t bad. It’s got nothing on Star Wars, though.”

Tyrone smiled. “I told you my dad was Muggle-born, right?” he asked me. “It’s because of him that I like watching films. Anyway, when he was dating my mum, he took her to see Sense and Sensibility when it first came out. He told me he couldn’t enjoy it properly because Colonel Brandon reminded him of Snape and Elinor reminded him of Trelawney and Mrs. Palmer reminded him of Umbridge, or something like that.”

I laughed… and then I shivered. I never thought of it until Tyrone brought it up, but there was a character in that film that seemed painfully familiar to me, too. His name was Willoughby, and he was a dashing, charming guy who seemed like an all-around great guy for this girl, Marianne, until it turned out that he’d gotten some girl pregnant and run off to marry someone else. And he spent the whole film saying rude, critical things about the good guy who Marianne did end up with in the end. I guess people like Wolfgang Quinn have been around since the days of breeches and cravats.

“So, what do you want to eat?” asked Tyrone.

I raised an eyebrow. “Anything but Italian,” I said. Thinking of Wolfgang and all of the lies he’d told me on that first kind-of-a-date that we’d gone on was the last thing I wanted to do.
We ended up settling on a cute little Indian restaurant near the cinema. Now, I love a good curry�”who doesn’t?�”but apparently, it turned out that Tyrone was a real connoisseur. He even talked to the waiters in some weird Indian language and in the end, he convinced them into giving us a discount and free dessert. I have no idea what he was saying, but apparently, it worked.

“This is a side of you I didn’t know about,” I said, over the incredibly spicy chicken concoction that I was eating.

“My mum was Indian, remember?” Tyrone told me with his mouth full. “You learn a thing or two.”

He talked about his parents a lot. It was weird to think that he was an orphan… and not like Uncle Harry, either, who had never known his parents. I remembered how devastated Tyrone had been when his mum had been murdered in fourth year, and I couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for him to lose his dad just a few years later. I mean, I made little sarcastic comments about my parents all the time, and I did complain about them a lot, but of course I loved them. I don’t think I’d ever heard Tyrone say a single negative thing about his parents. The day his mum died must have completely changed his whole life.

I suddenly realized that neither of us had said anything in awhile. He was kind of staring at me funny… and actually, I was probably staring at him, too. I cleared my throat, desperately trying to think of something to say.

“Er, do you, erm, want to hear a really weird story?” I blurted. “I heard it from Ivy yesterday. It’s, er, actually pretty gross, but… do snakes bother you?”

“Okay, now I have to hear this story,” said Tyrone, leaning forward eagerly.

I smiled. “Okay, well, there was this girl named Tara, and she had a pet boa constrictor named Jane. Actually, a boy snake named Jane. And she loved Jane so much that she let him sleep with her in her bed. Well, one day�””

I broke off as I noticed a very familiar shape out of the corner of my eye. “What the…” I muttered, turning around. No, my eyes had not deceived me. Ivy Lupin was walking through the door of the restaurant.

“Is that Ivy over there?” asked Tyrone, squinting.

“Yeah, speak of the devil.” A kind of nauseating déjà vu swept over me to that infamous date with Wolfgang, when Haley had come barging into the restaurant and started flirting up a storm with him. “I hope the werewolves aren’t up to something dodgy again.”

Whatever reason Ivy was there, it couldn’t be anything good. Her face looked paler than I’d ever seen it, and so pinched and terrified that I could have sworn she’d just run into Darth Maul.

“Ivy, what is it?” I said quietly as she approached our table. I decided making a sarcastic remark was a bad idea at this time… especially if the problem was something to do with Ted.

Ivy collapsed next to me at the table, tired and out of breath. I exchanged worried glances with Tyrone, whose knuckles were starting to turn white gripping the edge of the table. “I just got this letter,” she breathed, handing me a piece of scented pale pink stationery.

“We’ve gotten more letters in the last few weeks than I’ve had in the rest of my life put together,” I muttered, unfolding it and starting to read.

Dear Whoever Gets This Letter At My House,
Hi! It’s Haley! Sorry I haven’t written or anything, but I’ve been really busy rehearsing for this musical. We got a venue, and we’re opening in a few weeks! Anyway, I’m just writing to tell you that Wolfie just proposed to me, and we’re going off to London to get MARRIED at the Ministry of Magic today!!! I AM SO EXCITED! I’ll tell you all the details soon as we get back!
Love,
Haley (By the time you get this letter, I’ll be Haley Quinn!)

I stared at the sheet of paper, feeling all of the blood drain out of my face and my heart do a backflip. I muttered an extremely bad word under my breath.

“For once, I agree with you,” Ivy said weakly.

Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
Eva, beware of the city
It’s hungry and cold, can’t be controlled, it is mad.
Those who are fools are swallowed up whole
And those who are not become what they should not
Become changed, in short, they go bad.
Eva, beware your ambition
It’s hungry and cold, can’t be controlled, will run wild.
This in a man is danger enough
But you are a woman, not even a woman
Not very much more than a child.
-- “Eva, Beware of the City,” from Evita

So much for a fun, carefree date. We all knew that it would be stupid to waste another second, so we raced back into the hippie shop, Apparated straight onto the front porch of the Potter house, and marched inside. My parents, Uncle Harry, and Aunt Ginny were gathered in the sitting room, listening to the Wizarding Wireless, while Holly and Jonathan climbed up and down the kitchen doorframe. But all heads turned in our direction as we flung open the door.

“Why�”“ began Uncle Harry, squinting confusedly at Tyrone.

“Don’t even ask,” I muttered.

Ivy cleared her throat. “Dad, we have… a serious problem. We just got a letter from Haley that says… it…” She was obviously too choked up to continue, so I took over for her before things got all messy and drawn-out.

“She says she and Wolfgang Quinn ran off to London to get married at the Ministry. And Wolfgang… is bad news. I don’t know what he’s got up his sleeve, but I seriously doubt it’s marriage.”

My mum looked incredibly perplexed. “But I thought you liked Wolfgang,” she said. “I thought he was your… ishfriend.”

“Mum, never say that word again,” I said quickly, determinedly avoiding making eye-contact with Tyrone. I coughed. “Anyway, that was a long time ago. He’s… not who I thought he was.”

Tyrone helped me out. “He’s got mental issues. And a horrible temper, and no common sense, and he’s also a compulsive liar who steals stuff and cheats people and manipulates everyone.”

“And he gets girls pregnant and runs off to different countries,” I added. “And… if personality flaws were crayons, he’d have the 96-pack, with the glow-in-the-dark and glitter ones thrown in, too.”

Tyrone nodded uncomfortably. “Yeah, he’s my stepbrother, so that’s why I’m here. I know him better than pretty much anyone else… unfortunately.”

I surveyed the four faces in front of me. My mother looked the most horrified and scandalized, while my dad’s ears had gone very red, and he looked like he wanted to pummel someone into an expertly-pureed pulp. Aunt Ginny looked like she might burst into tears, which was unusual for her, and Uncle Harry merely just looked thoughtful and confused.

“But why would Haley do a stupid thing like that?” blurted Aunt Ginny. “She barely knows Wolfgang. And she’s a smart girl. Wouldn’t she realize that there’s something wrong with him? Are you sure this isn’t a trick or… or a misunderstanding?”

I sighed. “It was her handwriting. But you’d be surprised. Wolfgang can be quite charming when he wants to be. It’s only after he gets what he wants that the… crazy shines through.”

Uncle Harry’s face lit up with understanding. “Ohhh,” he said slowly. “This is why the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wants so many Aurors and trainees at Chudley Cannons Stadium. I thought it was strange that they asked for so many more than the other stadiums. They even asked us to have select Aurors search the locker rooms and question the players every couple of days. I just thought it was because they wanted to protect you, Tyrone … But I would not be surprised if they’re waiting for something funny out of Wolfgang Quinn.”

That last part jogged my memory. “That letter from Vaultz!” I exclaimed. “It mentioned that they’ve been monitoring Wolfgang. I didn’t even think about it.”

“It looks like everything he’s done is finally catching up to him,” Tyrone said darkly.

Ivy cleared her throat. “I know this is important,” she said. “Especially since Tyrone and Emma know stuff that the Ministry will want to hear. But… what are we going to do about Haley?”

Everyone was silent for a second. We all knew that whatever was going on couldn’t be any good. But none of us had any clue what Wolfgang’s plan was, or where we might find him…

“We need to go find Haley,” said my dad. “With or without that Quinn bloke. I mean, I still can’t see her going off with him, thinking she’s going to get married. We need the whole story before we try to do anything too fancy. This doesn’t make sense.”

“This is Haley we’re talking about,” I pointed out. “Since when has she ever made sense?”

My mother looked white and frightened. “There are so many… possibilities,” she said nervously. “There’s no logical way to go about this. And London is a really big city, even just wizarding London. They could be anywhere.”

“What we need is Jordan,” Aunt Ginny said quickly. We all turned to look at her. “He knows his way around London better than any of us,” she explained, “and this is definitely one of those times when his talents will come in useful.”

Oh, yeah. Jordan’s talents. He’s a Seer, which can mean any number of different things, from a hint of extra intuition to bizarrely vivid dreams to full-out visions. But unlike some “Seers,” Jordan’s never convinced himself that he’s having a vision when it’s really just his imagination, because he doesn’t have an imagination. Jordan and Haley had never gotten along very well, but as they’ve gotten older, they’ve developed a sort of grudging respect for one another. And I knew that if anything ever happened to Haley, Jordan would be the first to come to her defense.

So we sent him a Patronus, and the rest of us kind of huddled together in a conspiratorial clump. “As soon as Jordan gets here, let’s all go to London and spread out,” said Tyrone.

“Wait, we need a plan,” said Uncle Harry. “Ron, how about you ask around at different inns and hotels, and I can check at the Ministry?”

“I’ll just look around the streets,” said Tyrone. “I mean, because I actually know Wolfgang. If anyone has to run into him, it should be me.”

“Great,” said Uncle Harry. “And Jordan… Jordan can just do whatever he wants. He’ll have his own plan worked out. Ginny, you�””

Aunt Ginny coughed. “I think I should stay here,” she said carefully. “Someone needs to keep Holly and Jonathan from killing each other.”

“Hey!” shouted Holly, flying off of the doorframe and onto the ground with a thunderous crash.

“You have a point,” said Uncle Harry, who was definitely in full-out Auror mode. “And Ivy… I’m guessing you want to stay here, too. So we’ve got it worked out.”

I jumped to my feet. “What about me?” I demanded.

My dad raised his eyebrows. “Emma, no offense, but we want to find Quinn, not violently murder him. I mean, as tempting as that is…”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I was interrupted by a quiet ‘pop’ as Jordan Potter materialized in the middle of the floor.

“You know, you could just Apparate outside the door like everyone else,” I remarked darkly.

“You could also learn how to perform the counter-charm for the Anti-Apparition enchantments on the house in the process of Apparating,” Jordan said nonchalantly, as if what he’d just done wasn’t nearly impossible.

It had been awhile since I’d talked to Jordan, about eight months, but from our two-sentence conversation, he seemed the same as ever. He was wearing plain black trousers and a black button-up shirt, his black hair was messy as always, though a little longer than it had been, and his jaw was made slightly more interesting by a faint five-o-clock shadow. He’s a shortish guy, and slightly built in a wiry sort of way, which had made him look younger than he was back when we were in school.

But now, with his unsettlingly dark green eyes, the permanent furrow he’d already carved between his eyebrows, and the straight-backed way he held himself rather than the slouch he’d once affected, he suddenly looked a lot older than I did.

“It’s so lucky you could come,” said my mum. “I know you must be busy.”

“Extremely,” he said, sitting down in the nearest chair. “But nothing as important as this. I still find it hard to believe Haley would do something as idiotic as this. Or that anyone would choose her as a victim. It’s like torturing a kitten.”

Tyrone made a deep, grunting noise in the back of his throat. “Believe me, Wolfgang has tortured kittens before.”

Jordan’s eyes lit on Tyrone, apparently noticing him for the first time. Slowly, he turned from Tyrone to me, and smirked in that annoying, patronizing way of his. “You change your mind like Haley changes clothes,” he commented.

“He’s just here as an expert,” Ivy said loyally. “To help find Wolfgang.”

Now it was time for Jordan to stare at Ivy. He didn’t even try to appear subtle. At last, he said, “I knew you were pregnant, but I had no idea how far along you were.”

Ivy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Actually, I still have four months to go,” she whispered.

As difficult to read as Jordan sometimes is, I could tell that he felt the exact same way I did�”bewildered and disgusted at the idea of Ivy, who we’d known since we were eleven, having Ted’s baby growing inside her. It was downright disturbing. But Jordan, realizing there were far more urgent issues at hand, cleared his throat and moved on. “I think it’s high time we leave,” he said. “But please tell me Emma’s not coming.”

“Why not?” I demanded. “Haley’s my best friend! I--”

“Because we want to find Quinn, not violently murder him,” said Jordan. Augh. The exact same words and everything. It was maddening.

Tyrone patted me on the shoulder. “Trust me, I wouldn’t want to subject you to Wolfgang in a really foul mood. Let’s go.” And he, Jordan, Dad, and Uncle Harry traipsed outside to try and track down Haley and Wolfgang. Sexist pigs.

“Well, Jordan hasn’t changed,” commented Aunt Ginny.

“Yeah, he’s about the only thing around here that hasn’t,” I muttered, sitting down next to Ivy and seething slightly.

Ivy sighed. “Do I really look that far along?”

“Eh, who cares, it’s only Jordan being an idiot,” I said. I stared moodily into the air. “This is so mad�”we’re just supposed to… wait here and do nothing?”

Ginny smiled tautly. “Emma, one day, you’re going to learn that you don’t always have to do everything. Sometimes, you just have to wait.” She snorted. “I had to get used to that, or I never would have been able to stay married to Harry for thirty years.”

I thought about Haley for a minute, trying to fit her into the whole equation�”sure, she could do some strange things, and she had always been one to act on a whim, but I couldn’t see her letting Wolfgang trick her into thinking they were going to get married when he had other plans.

“You know, it’s been a long time since we saw Haley,” said Ivy. “You never know, this might not be a bad thing after all. Maybe they really got to know each other, and she convinced him to start taking medicine or a potion or something that would keep him normal. Fighting a mental illness can bring people together. Maybe Wolfgang’s gotten over the worst of it, and he’s really just a nice guy at heart.” I knew she wasn’t just talking about Wolfgang. She was talking about herself and Ted now.

“I hope you’re right,” Ginny said, but she didn’t sound hopeful. Ivy’s suggestion was delusionally optimistic, even for her. In fact, it was bordering on Ted territory. And besides, it sounded to me like Wolfgang had a wide variety of small personality disorders, not one big issue that could be fixed by taking a potion.

“I think he probably killed her,” Jonathan informed me matter-of-factly.

Holly nodded. “Yeah, me, too. Wolfgang sounds like an evil name. And why else would he want to get her on her own?”

Aunt Ginny and I exchanged glances. “I’m sure that Haley is not dead,” she reassured the twins. “There’s just some confusion. Now, why don’t you go up to your rooms while we deal with this.” Holly and Jonathan actually looked disappointed, and not just about being sent to their rooms.

I stared moodily out the window, not really looking at anything in particular, just glancing at a blank patch of sky. I couldn’t help but think, none of this would have happened at all if Haley had listened to me when I told her to keep her hands off of Wolfgang.

How had it happened anyway? How had they managed to get together? Had Haley truly believed that she was dating the most perfect man in the world? And… if so, when had she realized how horribly wrong she was? Or had she not realized it yet? Was she still operating under the delusion that she was a lucky lady who was going to get married and live happily ever after with lots of astonishingly good-looking children? How would she feel if one of our dads or Tyrone or Jordan�”especially Jordan�”burst through the door, ranting and waving a wand?

As embarrassing as that image was, though, the alternative was worse, far worse. I didn’t even want to think about Haley, injured or abandoned or just emotionally hurt and baffled as to why the charming guy she’d planned on marrying had suddenly snapped.

I hardly realized that over half an hour had passed until I heard the unmistakable sound of someone Apparating outside the door. I ran to it, hoping to see Haley, but instead, I came face-to-face with a very grim-looking Tyrone. His expression alone told me that he didn’t come bearing good news.

“Well?” I demanded.

Tyrone sighed. “Let me come inside first, will you?” he said. “I need to sit down.” Ooh. That couldn’t be a good sign, either. “I found Wolfgang,” he said plainly, lowering himself into a chair and wearing the distant, haughty face that he sometimes puts on when something is really bothering him and he doesn’t feel like disclosing how much it does. I’ve always hated that face. It makes him look way too much like Professor Zabini.

“Just Wolfgang?” clarified Ivy, leaning forward anxiously. She was already as white as Tyrone’s shirt.

“Yeah,” replied Tyrone. “Completely smashed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that drunk before, which, believe me, is saying something. But anyway, he was in the Leaky Cauldron, out where anyone could see him… and he was snogging some random girl.”

I felt my heart plunge somewhere into my intestinal regions. “And you just let him go on?”

“No, ‘course not!” Tyrone replied, a little more sharply and defensively than he’d probably intended. “I walked right up to him and started asking him what he thought he was doing and where Haley was. And of course, he told me he didn’t know anyone named Haley, and then he said that he had no idea who I was, and I yelled at him, and he told me I was confused, because he’d never heard of any Quidditch player named Wolfgang Quinn and that he was a lounge singer named Jerry Sizzler. Then he swore at me, screamed at me a lot, puked on the girl, and passed out.”

I was literally speechless. That was probably the most preposterous story I’d ever heard, and it sounded unbelievable, even for Wolfgang.

“Clearly panicking,” said Aunt Ginny. “No one would toss off a ridiculous story like that unless he was really scared you were onto him and he didn’t have time to think up anything good.”

“Clearly insane, more like,” Tyrone corrected her. “You don’t know this guy. He seriously sounded like he believed what he was saying. Then again, he was really drunk. It’d probably start calling myself Jerry Sizzler, too, if I’d had as much as him.”

“Maybe it wasn’t even him?” Ivy said. “It could have actually been someone named Jerry Sizzler who looked a lot like him. It’s dark in the Leaky Cauldron, you couldn’t have seen him that clearly.”

Tyrone cupped his unnaturally square chin in his hand. “Ivy, you’re a lot smarter than me, and I know you mean to help. But there’s no way that’s possible. At all.” He saw the expressions on our faces�”mine furious, Ginny’s confused, Ivy’s pinched, white, and crumpled-looking. “Look, I’m sorry about all of this. If I just told you about Wolfgang earlier instead of letting you make your own decision about him…” He unfolded his frame from the chair, and buried Ginny in the biggest bear hug he could manage.

Aunt Ginny looked a little surprised, but after a second or two, she returned the hug with all of her might. Knowing her, she was probably already thinking of Tyrone as a family member and counting down the days before he and I unloosed a herd of knee-high spawn on the Potter household.

When Tyrone pulled away at last, he rolled back his shoulders and said, “Well, I should be going now. You haven’t heard anything yet from Harry or Ron or Jordan, have you?”

“No, nothing,” I said. When did he start calling the two top Aurors in the country by their first names? He used to call my dad ‘sir’ back when we were dating.

“Do you want a drink or anything before you go?” Ginny asked anxiously.

Tyrone grimaced. “No, thanks. After seeing Wolfgang in the Leaky Cauldron. I doubt I’ll ever be thirsty again.” And with that, he stepped outside and Disapparated.

It was weird, this whole Haley fiasco was making me miss the days when Haley and Ivy and Jordan and Ted and Tyrone and I all hung out together all the time. I never thought we’d grow apart at all. Well, Jordan was always distant�”in fact, if anything, he was friendlier these days than I’d have imagined�”but who would have guessed that I could have spent months without even seeing a glimpse of Haley or Ted, who’d been my best friends since birth?

“I have to say, Tyrone’s a lot nicer than you give him credit for,” Ginny said once Tyrone had gone. “And he’s not exactly bad-looking either. Do you think you’ll ever get back together?”

Ivy and I avoided looking at one another. “I doubt it,” said Ivy. “He’s as worried about Haley as we are, but that’s all there is.”

Ginny shook her head. “That’s too bad,” she said. “Because he’s husband material.”

That’s true, I thought to myself. Despite the reputation he had as a playboy, particularly at school, he’d somehow grown up into the kind of guy I had no trouble imagining teaching a three-foot version of himself how to throw a Quaffle and cooking on a grill outdoors and fixing things around the house. The trouble was, I was not wife material, not even by the loopiest lunatic’s standards.

It felt weird to be talking and thinking about subjects that didn’t have to do with Haley at all, but there was only so much we could say on the subject. We didn’t even know enough to speculate. So after several minutes of trying to make awkward conversation and making certain that the topic veered as far away from Tyrone as possible�”as much as I liked him, now was not the time to have that conversation�”I finally decided that the least painful thing I could do was to pull out my copy of Pride and Prejudice and try to read.

It wasn’t easy�”everything reminded me of my own issues. From the looks of things, if I was Elizabeth, Tyrone was Mr. Darcy, Ivy was Jane, Ted was Mr. Bingley, and Wolfgang was Wickham, than Haley was turning out to be Lydia.

I was actually getting kind of engrossed in all of the goings-on in the Bennett household, so much that I almost didn’t notice the large, silvery object looming outside the window until it started tapping incessantly on the glass.

“It’s Dad!” exclaimed Ivy, jumping up to open the window. A large, silver stag stuck its head through into the living room and begun to speak in Uncle Harry’s voice.

”I’m here at the Ministry. It took them awhile before they granted me access to the files, but they’ve got a record down for a Potter-Quinn wedding about three hours ago. The man at the desk said that he hardly gets people marrying at the Ministry registrar anymore, but he said they were the nicest young couple he’s seen in a long time, and that he didn’t know what I was investigating, but that they both went through a background check and came back completely clean. This is just getting more and more confusing. I’ll see you soon. “

My jaw dropped like I was Jane the snake, preparing to eat a defenseless young girl. This hadn’t been what I was expecting. I really hadn’t even considered the idea that they might have actually gotten married. Now a whole new spectrum of horrible possibilities were blooming in my brain. Harry’s news might have made me a lot more optimistic if I hadn’t heard Tyrone’s first.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” said Ginny. “Why would he marry her and then change his mind two hours later?”

“Because he’s not right in the head,” I muttered. “That’s the reason for everything he does.”

“I still think it was all a mistake and Tyrone really did meet someone named Jerry Sizzler. No one who looked that happy getting married would leave his new wife just a few hours later,” insisted Ivy, but no one even pretended to listen to her.

Ginny sighed deeply. “Maybe she got pregnant?” she suggested. I could tell that this had been her suspicion all along, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

“No,” I said. “Believe me, Wolfgang has no problem getting girls pregnant out of wedlock.” I laughed bitterly. “It’s money. That’s the only reason that makes any sense. Let’s be honest, we all know you and Uncle Harry have a lot of money. Wolfgang’s been trying to squeeze every drop of money he can out of everyone he knows for years. But it’s finally caught up to him. I mean, even Tyrone’s not giving him money anymore, and there’s no way he’s going to marry Tabby Thomas and get her money now.” I stared out the window. “He was probably trying for me first. He probably thought I’d be a great victim for his plan, until I got sacked for talking to him. Haley was the next best thing.”

“Yeah, she couldn’t be pregnant,” piped up Holly. “You can’t until after you’re married.”

Aunt Ginny looked extremely uncomfortable. “Oh, did I say pregnant? I didn’t mean pregnant, I was just…thinking about Ivy, and I said the wrong word.”

Ivy looked like she was on the verge of tears again. “I feel so bad for Haley, though. I mean, we all know her well enough to know she’d never settle down with anyone unless she really loved him. She’s never even dated anyone for more than a few weeks before.”

“I have a theory,” said Ginny. “What if Wolfgang’s not a native Brit? What he’s actually a citizen of… wherever Durmstrang is? And Haley agreed to marry him so he wouldn’t be deported�”but with the understanding that he already had a girlfriend?”

“No, that makes too much sense,” I said. “You have to stop thinking like a rational human being.”

By this point, all of our brains had basically completely broken. I tried to go back to reading Pride and Prejudice, Ivy flipped through the Daily Prophet, Ginny picked up some of the clutter on the floor, and Holly and Jonathan ran into the room and began a sort of vicious tug-of-war over a toy broomstick. But everyone observing the scene would have known automatically that our minds were all elsewhere. Well, everyone but Holly and Jonathan.

I was just about to hurl the book across the room and do something completely insane out of frustration, like painting myself blue and leaping around the room yelling, “Hooloovoo!” when Jordan Apparated less than two inches away from my chest. I yelped and almost fell out of my chair.

“Merlin’s thong, Jordan, did you have to do that?” I exclaimed.

“And here I assumed you’d appreciate hearing my news about finding Haley,” said Jordan.

I could have sworn I felt my ears actually perk up. There was a slight creaking noise as Ivy, Ginny, and I all subconsciously moved forward to the edge of our seats.

“Well?” I demanded.

The furrow between Jordan’s eyebrows deepened. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said.

“I knew it!” breathed Ivy.

“Haley never married Wolfgang Quinn. She’s at a decent inn, and she’s perfectly fine. She actually married Wolfgang’s older brother, B.C., who seems a fairly sensible person to me, even if he did ask her to run off and get married on the spur of the moment. Apparently, they’ve been dating for several months. They seem happy, though judging these things has never been one of my strong points.”

My ears completely shut off any of his words that came after ‘B.C.’ “But that doesn’t make any sense. The letter Haley wrote says that it was Wolfgang who proposed.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows condescendingly. “No, it said ‘Wolfie.’ I did tell her how misleading that was. B.C.’s real name is Beowulf Caspar, but Haley calls him Wolfie, despite the fact that his brother could feasibly have the same nickname. Haley and B.C. should be here in a few minutes.”

Everyone around me was talking at once, but I didn’t hear anything they said. My brain was whirling at thousands of miles an hour. I couldn’t possibly accept what Jordan had just told me, no matter how nonchalantly he said it. Haley, marry B.C.? Plain, uninteresting, near-silent, blends-into-the-background B.C. Quinn? I couldn’t imagine Haley�”or anyone else�”being so overcome with passion for him that she’d suddenly run off with him after only knowing him a few months.

I mean, I knew she was starring in his musical and all, but I’d always assumed that she only spent any time with him because he was Anatoly’s friend. I thought both of us saw him as Anatoly’s helpful, bland sidekick. I certainly hadn’t seen much interaction between them… and what could have changed in just a few months? Granted, I liked B.C. a lot more than Anatoly, who I’d never been able to stand, but what was it with the Potter girls and choosing to marry these unattractive, ordinary guys? It was hilarious, though, that his name was Beowulf. No wonder he went by his initials. I couldn’t think of any name worse-suited to him.

My reverie was interrupted as my dad and Uncle Harry walked in through the door, looking tired but a lot less freaked out than they had been. “Well, this has been one of the most ridiculous and confusing days of my life,” announced my dad, easing himself into a chair with a groan. “So, who is this Beowulf character anyway? She can’t have known him long, can she?”

“No, not really,” I said. “And he’s… quiet. A bit dull, actually. Not the kind of bloke you’d think would want to run off and get married at the spur of the moment. You’ll meet him soon enough, I guess. I never even had any idea that Haley liked him.”

Ivy cleared her throat. “I’ve heard a lot about him,” she said. “Haley never told me they were dating, but she was always talking about how brilliant he is, and how she couldn’t wait for me to meet him. Didn’t she say any of that to you?”

I stared at her, bug-eyed. “No,” I said slowly. “Nothing at all.” And I was supposed to be her best friend?

Ginny shook her head. “I still can’t imagine Haley being married.”

“I can’t imagine anyone named Beowulf,” said Uncle Harry. “Harriet-Lily and Beowulf Caspar Quinn… I feel sorry for whoever had to perform the wedding ceremony.”


* * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART EIGHT

So, this was back in the days when it was normal to actually take a vacation to someone else’s actual house. Because apparently, regular tourist attractions like the world’s largest ball of yarn didn’t exist, so holidays to the countryside generally involved snooping around someone else’s property. If you’re wondering why I brought it up, it’ll be useful later, I swear.

ANYWAY. Elizabeth finally left the Niflheim-hole known as The Land of Mr. Collins and went home to her almost-equally-obnoxious family. Not a whole lot has changed back home, except that the youngest and skankiest sister, Lydia, has been invited to go on a trip to Brighton with some older friends of hers (Brighton is where the military regiment’s going, because you know she loves to stalk them) and her other sister, Kitty, is having a meltdown because she can’t come along.

Luckily, Elizabeth has a sane aunt and uncle called the Gardiners. Well, when I say ‘sane,’ I guess I really mean ‘sane, apart from the whole touring-strangers’-homes’ thing that I mentioned earlier. Anyway, they invite Elizabeth to go on holiday with them to the country, a nice peaceful, relaxing trip that will allow them to creep on Mr. Darcy’s home, Pemberley (I’m disappointed. That’s not nearly as dirty-sounding a name as ‘Netherfield’), and Elizabeth decides to come along�”when she hears that Darcy will be out of town.
Hear that, kids? It’s okay to explore other people’s houses, as long as they’re out of town! What do you mean, ‘burglary?’ I’ve never heard of the word!

Anyway, as soon as Elizabeth sees how giant and beautiful and expensive Darcy’s house is, she starts feeling a bit more kindly toward Mr. Darcy. I mean, who can blame her? Everyone knows that being rich and having a great house is the best way to pick up the ladies�”so while Elizabeth daydreams about how great it would be to own this sweet pad, the only obstacle is the guy she would actually have to marry to accomplish this goal.

Luckily, there’s a slightly creepy housekeeper giving them the official Mr. Darcy tour, and she basically says, in so many words, “MR. DARCY IS THE MOST PERFECT HUMAN BEING EVER. EVERY MORNING, I COLLECT THE HAIR FROM HIS HAIRBRUSH, AND I’VE MADE A TEDDY BEAR OUT OF IT AND SLEEP WITH IT AT NIGHT. HERE’S MY OFFICIAL SHRINE WITH PICTURES OF HIM AS A BABY. WASN’T HE THE SEXIEST BABY EVER? ALSO, HE’S NOT EVEN REMOTELY PROUD OR PREJUDICED. HE’S ACTUALLY THE NICEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED. HE EVEN PROMISED HE WOULDN’T GET A RESTRAINING ORDER AGAINST ME IF I STOPPED TAKING PICTURES OF HIM IN THE BATH AND PUTTING AMORTENTIA IN HIS OATMEAL! I HAD TO PUNISH MYSELF FOR THAT, BUT IRONING MY FINGERS WAS WORTH IT FOR A MASTER AS KIND AND GOOD AND WONDERFUL AS MR… PRECCCCIOUSSSS… DARCY!”

Well, if you can’t trust a good, loyal old housekeeper, who can you trust?

As they continue their Official Darcy Tour, which included such highlights as The Chair That Darcy Left His Bum Imprint In, the Litterbin Containing An Apple That Darcy Ate Part Of, and Darcy’s Underwear Drawer, Elizabeth suddenly runs into… the Big D himself.

They have the kind of awkward conversation we’re all familiar with, which probably goes something like this:

Elizabeth: Oh… hey…

Darcy: Oh… sup?

Elizabeth: Er, not much.

Darcy: Yeah, me either.

[silence]

Elizabeth: Sorry I’m in your house. I thought you’d out of town.

Darcy: Yeah, so did I.

[Very long silence]

Elizabeth: Lol.

Darcy: Nice weather.

After this scintillating conversation, Elizabeth and party are cordially introduced to Darcy’s little sister, Georgiana, and a splendid time was had by all. And it turns out that Darcy’s actually quite a polite, friendly, normal guy, despite all the evidence to the contrary, so now Elizabeth sees nothing wrong with fantasizing about his awesome house and fabulous riches.

Okay, I just want to say one little, bitty thing before we move on. Last summary, we learned that Mr. Darcy’s first name is Fitzwilliam. FITZWILLIAM. I think I get why he acts like he’s got a wand up his bum in social situations. The poor guy gets flashbacks of being teased mercilessly for his first name. What do you call a bloke named Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilly? Fitzbill? I’d say it ‘fitz the bill’ for a generally lousy name all around.

But there’s trouble in paradise! (And no, the creepy housekeeper doesn’t try to murder Elizabeth in her sleep out of jealousy). Elizabeth gets a letter from Jane that informs her that their little sister, Lydia, eloped with Mr. Wickham while she was on her trip to Brighton.

Let me break this down: (A. We know Wickham’s an all-around loser and not a fantastic person, and that he once tried to seduce Mr. Darcy’s little sister. (B. Lydia is fifteen years old. Do you know what I was doing when I was fifteen? I was yelling ‘eww, cooties!’ whenever my hand brushed Tyrone’s, that’s what. And (C. And in the olden days when people wore unflattering empire waist gowns that made everyone look pregnant, you could be totally shunned from polite society for having such a screwed-up little sister, so this is definitely bad news. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth both feel stupid for not spreading around the news that Wolfg… I mean, Wickham, is thirty-one flavours of git, so Elizabeth goes home to be with her family, while her dad and uncle go searching for the devious little couple.

And Lydia tops it all off with a letter that says something like:

“HI, SPINSTER SISTERS! It’s me! You know, the pretty one? Anyway, I GOT ME A MAN! So long, suckaaaas! Sincerely, Lydia Bennet, soon to be Lydia Wickham (Shazaaaammm!) P.S. You’re single. Hahaha!
Oh, boy. Not that I’d want to compare Haley to a miserable creature like Lydia, but REALLY? These kinds of coincidences are not normal. I’m starting to suspect Jane Austen was a really unimaginative Seer. I wouldn’t put something like this past Jordan.

Haley’s Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
I thought home was all I'd ever want
My attic all I'd ever need.
Now nothing feels the way it was before
And I don't know how to proceed.
I only know I'm meant for something more
I've got to know if I can be
Astonishing!”
-- “Astonishing,” from Little Women the Musical


Well, sitting, waiting, reading, all of that… I’d just finished writing up my last lovely journal entry for you, when suddenly, there was an ear-splitting ‘crack!’ outside the front door, accompanied by a rather softer, more muffled-sounding noise. I didn’t even blink. There had been more Apparitions in the Potter house that day than at any respectable haunted house.

“It’s them! It’s them!” cried Holly, racing to the front door and jumping up and down.

“He’s not the same one who you thought was going to try and kill her, is he?” said Jonathan. He looked a bit let-down when he was hastily informed otherwise, but his face brightened up when Haley and B.C. burst exuberantly through the door.

They were holding hands and carrying thin suitcases, both wearing the eager, giddy, and shiny-faced expressions that I’d seen on Ivy and Ted in less complicated times. My slightly hazy memory of B.C. hadn’t failed me�”he looked just as I remembered him, with the same pleasant but unremarkable face, like Wolfgang’s but softer, more rounded, and without that sparkle of charisma and mischief that made his brother so interesting to look at.

“Hi, everyone!” squealed Haley, looking like she was going to explode from excitement. “Oh my gosh! I got married, can you believe it?” She hugged me with bone-crushing force for someone so tiny. “Auggggh, I missed you guys!” she clapped her hands together and made her rounds, hugging everyone else.

B.C. smiled warmly. One of the first things I’d really noticed about him when I first met him was that he had a very reassuring smile. It came in handy now. “I hope you weren’t too worried,” he said softly. “I didn’t even think that you might get me confused with my brother. I really should have thought of that.” He turned to Uncle Harry. “You must be Haley’s dad. It’s nice to finally meet you after hearing so much about you.” He shook Harry’s hand. “If I did have any ill intentions, I’d think twice knowing I’d have to deal with the Head Auror for the Ministry.”

I stared in amazement as he moved on to Aunt Ginny, commented on her resemblance to Haley, and gave her a hug. This was not the B.C. Quinn I remembered. This guy was a charmer. The few times I’d met B.C., he’d been quiet and self-effacing and barely said more than a few sentences. He’d even known to comment on Uncle Harry’s position as Head Auror rather than mentioning the whole Chosen One business, which never failed to get people on his good side.

“So, fill me in!” I said. “What… exactly happened here? It’s been months.”

Haley giggled, sitting down on the sofa with B.C. and curling up against him with her arms around his neck. “Oh, wow, I almost forgot! I never even gave you any of the details! Well, when we got the venue for the show, we were getting programs and marquees and everything ready, and I realized that the name I use in my first professional show has got to be the one that I use for the rest of my career, you know? So I figured we should get married before we did any of that stuff so I could be Haley Quinn in time.”

Wow, that was exactly the kind of logic I’d expect from Haley. Breathtakingly ridiculous.

B.C. grabbed Haley’s hand and stroked it with his thumb. “I promise it wasn’t as reckless as she’s making it all sound,” he added gently. “I knew I wanted to marry her, so I asked her, and then she said, ‘Let’s go do it now,’ and when I asked her why all the rush, she said the thing about the name on the marquees. And I figured, there’s no harm in going ahead and getting married, since we knew we wanted to anyway, so we did.” He ran a hand bashfully through his curly brown hair.

“I don’t know if you heard any rumors that I’m not responsible with money and things, but Wolfgang is… confused. I’ve never been in debt. I do lend a lot of money to my brother and other people, but I play piano for three churches, and I give private lessons and I play at weddings and receptions and things. I’m definitely not rich, but I’ve never had to starve, either.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I blurted. Eesh. Did I really say that? That was a bit tactless, even for me.

B.C. just laughed and said, “Yeah, food and me go way back. Exercise and me still have to get to know each other better.”

“No… I meant that… that… er, you obviously don’t have to go hungry if you can afford nice clothes like you’re wearing,” I said lamely, gesturing at his shiny shoes, tailored trousers, crisp white shirt, and the neat waistcoat he had on, which was weird and old-fashioned, but suited him nonetheless.

B.C. gave me his reassuring smile again. “Well, I’m glad you like my clothes, at least,” he said. “It’s the nicest thing I had to get married in. Sorry I misunderstood you, but I guess I’m just used to Anatoly’s jokes, especially since Haley says you have a lot in common.”

“What?” I demanded.

“You know,” said Haley. “You’re both really… blunt. And moody. And hilarious. And stubborn.”

“And predictably unpredictable,” added Jordan, who could predict a lot of things.

Gnnnrgh. Just because I shared a few personality traits with Anatoly Capshaw didn’t mean that we were at all alike. As ‘moody’ as I could be, I would definitely never talk like I thought I was from the nineteenth century, dress like I thought I was a Beatle, or move like I thought I was a fairy princess.

“So, how exactly did Jordan find you?” asked my mother.

Haley and B.C. shared a smile, the kind that comes with inside jokes. “We’d just gotten our room,” explained Haley, giggling a little, “and we were settling in, and then the door turned into dust and Jordan stomped inside with his wand out, and he started shouting, ‘I strongly suggest you do not move a single muscle, Quinn, or I may resort to violence.’ It was hilarious.”

Jordan glared. “I remember it a bit differently. When I came inside, they were snogging on the sofa, and they didn’t notice that I’d come inside until I had to get their attention by shouting.”

Haley and Jordan went on arguing for awhile, while B.C. wisely decided to approach Ivy, who had been silent for awhile, and struck up a conversation about piano and classical music. I could tell that Ivy really liked him a lot, and Haley’s parents were definitely impressed, too. My parents seemed just as fond of him, especially my mother, who seemed thrilled that a sensible, sane person had somehow found his way into this den of madness. Even Jordan, for all of his gruffness, seemed to respect B.C., and Jordan generally didn’t appreciate many people’s company.

I had to admit, Haley could have it a lot worse, and she’d dated a lot of stupid, bizarre people… but why B.C.? He was a nice guy, and a reasonably likeable guy, but so what? Maybe I was missing something. After all, Tyrone had always spoke well of him.

… Tyrone. Where was he? Everyone else who had gone off looking for Haley had come back, but why not Tyrone? It didn’t take a genius to realize that he was probably dealing with Wolfgang. Maybe he was even reporting him to the Ministry.

Suddenly, I missed Tyrone a lot. Especially after seeing Haley and B.C. together. The way they were so…huggy and smiley made me remember the huggy and smiley times I’d had with Tyrone. Even though it had only been a few hours since I’d seen Tyrone, those huggy and smiley days had been a looong time ago.

B.C. and Ivy were playing some kind of duet on the new piano, while Haley was standing behind her husband�”what a weird word�”with her arms draped around his neck, beaming like a laser gun.

And all I wanted more than anything was to be able to hold onto Tyrone’s warm, solid, cologne-saturated body that I missed so much and hear that deep, self-assured voice in my ear. I wished I could fit my hand into one of his big, callused ones and see that ‘kid in a candy shop’ expression in those sparkly hazelly eyes, the look he tended to get when we ran into each other. At least… in the old days. But would we ever get back to that point again, or was this just a little flirtation, the beginning of some awkward friendship that would still be just as unfulfilled and complicated by unsaid things even after Tyrone got married and started a family and I… became a highly influential Auror?

My gooshy thoughts were interrupted by another banging noise outside the house. I jumped slightly. My first instinct was that Tyrone had just Apparated outside the door, though I knew perfectly well that his arrival was usually announced by a sound like a sonic boom.

“Someone’s knocking at the door,” Jordan said flatly. “With no discernable sense of rhythm.” He got up to open it, but Uncle Harry held up his hand.

“It might be for me, Magruder said he wanted to meet and talk about some lockdown procedures in case werewolves attack the Ministry.” He opened the door and was immediately greeted by a very familiar voice.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Potter, listen, I’m visiting my parents for the holidays, and they just wanted me to nip over here and find out what’s making all those noises that sound like gunshots. ‘Course, I already know it’s people Apparating inside that sphere of invisibility or whatever you call it around your house, but I just want to make sure our stories match up in case they ask you,” said a very tall, thin, and extremey strange-looking girl.

“Good idea,” said Uncle Harry. “And it’s nice to see you again. How are you?”

“I’m interning at this fashion magazine. It’s cool. You’d never believe the mad things that go on there,” replied the girl. She had a face that always put me in mind of a cartoon character, a short, pointed face with all of its features taking up as much room as possible of the small amount of available space. Her brown eyes were enormous and her mouth wide, below a minuscule dash of a nose. She had a chin-length platinum blonde bob, radically shorter in the back, and streaked with hot pink.

To add to this eccentric picture, she was wearing a strapless purple minidress over green-and-yellow striped tights, with thick orange legwarmers, red high heels, and enormous green waistcoat that fell to her hips, a bright blue and red polka dotted tie, and a wide brimmed black straw hat. Her earrings looked like full-sized bananas, and her arms were covered in bangle bracelets. She wore thick-framed red glasses with no glass in them. Then again, this kind of look was perfectly normal for Giorgi Anderson, and we’d all gotten used to her. For a Muggle, she certainly didn’t look like one.

“You might as well tell your parents that I made the mistake of letting Holly and Jonathan try to help cook dinner,” said Harry. “They’d understand.”

“Thanks,” replied Giorgi. She grinned even wider. “So… can you tell me what all of the Apparition was actually all about?”

Uncle Harry exhaled slowly. “It’s a long story...” he began.

“I got married, Giorgles!” Haley squealed from the other room. “Earlier today!”

Giorgi’s skinny eyebrows shot skyward, making her look even more cartoonish than usual. “No, way! Tell me all about it! Why wasn’t I invited?” she gushed, pushing past Uncle Harry and into the living room. For a house as well-protected as the Potters’, a heck of a lot of people do tend to come in uninvited on any given day.

“So,” began Giorgi, leaning against the doorframe, “Who’s the lucky bl�”“ Her voice trailed off like the last of a can of whipped cream, and her head turned so quickly that she might have been a cobra. I could see her wide eyes growing even wider. “Jordan?” she breathed.

Jordan smiled at her from his armchair. It was a genuine smile, the kind you don’t tend to find on Jordan Potter’s face very often. “The one and only,” he said. “Well, er, actually, I suppose I’m not the one and only, as Jordan’s quite a common name�”er, yours, in fact, ignoring the spelling variant�”but I’m sure you understood my meaning.”

Giorgi didn’t even respond to Jordan’s semi-coherent babble. She just jumped up, ran over to him, and tackled him in a hug at the exact second that Jordan sprung to his feet. His arms dangled lamely at his sides, pinned down by the force of Giorgi’s hug. A good five inches taller than Jordan any day, she towered even more conspicuously over him in her high heeled shoes.

“It’s been two years, can you believe it?” exclaimed Giorgi, releasing Jordan at last. He looked rather shaken. “You look… you look really fantastic.”

“So do you,” said Jordan slowly. He had to be lying. There was no way anyone could think Giorgi looked ‘fantastic,’ unless specifically referring to Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them.

All talk of Haley’s marriage was completely forgotten, as Jordan and Giorgi sat down together and struck up a very fast-paced, excitable conversation about weird Muggle stuff that I’d never even heard of, much less understood.

I surveyed the vast assembled crowd. Now that the great mystery of what had happened to Haley was over, I had no desire to hang around that room anymore.

“Hey, I think I’ll go up to bed, okay?” I said, keeping my voice as cheery and casual as possible. “It’s been great seeing you again, Giorgi.”

Once I got to the top of the stairs, I found Haley’s old bedroom from back when we were growing up, and conjured up a cot, just like the old days. The walls were the same bright pink as always, everything sparkly and cheery and girly as ever. It was weird to think of the crazy little girl who’d slept here as anyone’s wife, let alone B.C. Quinn’s.

I grabbed one of her old teen magazines, which I’d always found horribly entertaining but never dared admit it, and settled down on my cot for a nice long brain cell-killing read. I was just partway through a very engrossing article on potions that can dramatically enhance one’s bust size for a period of twenty-four hours, when Haley stepped into the room, carrying her suitcase.

“Oh, hi Haley,” I said. “Check this out, this has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” Then, I noticed that a teenage Haley had apparently circled the potion in ink and turned down the page, so I quickly flipped to a random page and pointed at the first thing I saw.

Haley giggled. “You think deodorant is stupid?” she asked incredulously. I opened my mouth, but Haley luckily spared me from making another pathetic excuse. “What are you doing in here, anyway?” she asked. Now that was a question I could answer.

“This is my bedroom,” I said. “Well, my bedroom over here. I’m not about to take the long walk next door to my own house, not if my parents are staying here.”

Haley looked slightly embarrassed. “Erm… Ems, listen. Me and Wolfie are going to stay up here together tonight. I don’t think you’d want to be in here at the same time.”

I tried not to retch at the thought of that delightful scenario. “What, he’s staying in here?” I demanded. “With all the… fluffy pink sparkly doodads?”

“Hey, if he couldn’t put up with fluffy pink sparkly stuff, he wouldn’t have married me!” chirped Haley. Hmm. She had a point.

“Well, tell him that if he wants a bit of light reading, you’ve got some excellent material right here,” I said, holding up one of the magazines. She had drawn glittery red hearts all around the shirtless teenage wizard on the front cover.

Haley laughed and started jumping up and down on the bed, but her face grew unusually solemn before her laughter even managed to reach hysterical.’ “Listen,” she said, still jumping up and down on the bed, “Don’t, you know, take this the wrong way, but I feel like you’re not happy that I got married.”

“What, are you kidding?” I said loudly. “I’m thrilled. I’m so excited. I’m like extra-super happy.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying,” said Haley. Ugh. She was reminding me of Ivy now. Was this sixth sense something that came with being married?

“I like him fine,” I assured her. “It’s just… he’s an all right guy, but I don’t see what’s so exciting about him. Why would you want to get married to him? You’ve never even dated anyone for more than a few months. And he’s so… unremarkable.”

Haley actually stopped jumping on the bed and sat down, hugging a pillow to her chest. “He’s not unremarkable at all,” she said quietly. “He’s got this talent… it’s not like he knows how to make people do what he wants, he just makes people want the same thing he does without meaning to. And he always lets other people take the credit for everything. If you think he’s boring, that just means he fooled you, too.”

“Sounds like the same powers as Wolfgang, only he uses them for good,” I commented.

Haley didn’t say anything silly. And that was a new one. I saw what she meant about B.C.’s low-key charm�”he really could persuade people without leaving behind the memory that he’d been the one to do the persuading. “I just don’t get it, though,” I said. “Last time I saw you, it was like you were barely friends. How did all… this happen?”

Haley jumped up from the bed and twirled around. “Do you really want to know?” she asked. “It’s a long story.” Without even waiting for a reply, she did a belly flop onto the cot where I was sitting and began her story.

“It was kind of a love at first sight kind of thing. Like a fairy tale. Well, maybe not love at first sight, but I was definitely interested. You remember when we were at Madame Puddifoot’s, and then Duckling and Wolfie came in and asked me about doing their musical, right? And, you know, I was so excited to see Duckling that I wasn’t even noticing Wolfie, and then I saw him, and I kind of thought, ‘Ha, Duckling’s friend looks a tiny bit like Michael Ball! And I love that guy!’”

I pulled a face. “Ugh, Michael Ball’s the worst.”

“Only if you mean the worst at a Being Untalented And Unattractive Contest,” Haley replied staunchly. “But anyway, so we sat down, and Duckling was doing most of the talking, but Wolfie was sitting right across from me, and I looked up at him, and he just had this look in his eye. It was this look like, ‘You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met, and I’m the most interesting person you’re ever going to meet, and there’s so much about me that you should learn, and I’m going to make you want to learn it. And I know you’re going to like me, because I feel like I know you already.’ It was this super-intense look, but in sort of a gentle kind of way, and coming from this quiet, polite, innocent-looking bloke, I was just… you know. Blown away. Poof!” She beamed at me with that crazy, ‘still irrationally in love’ smile.

“And with all of the confetti and hearts and all of the other cute decorations at Madame Puddifoot’s, I just kind of knew right then that this guy was special. So when he said we could practice at his house the next day, and he smiled at me with those humongous dimples, I was like ‘sure,’ because come on, who wouldn’t want a little one-on-one time!”

I gaped at her. “So, you’re saying you decided you liked this guy because he stared creepily at you in a restaurant?”

“Yep,” sang Haley.

“And you agreed to join his musical just because you wanted to get to know B.C. better?” I demanded.

“Yepperdiddies.”

I shook my head. Suddenly, I remembered something. That night Haley interrupted my not-a-date with Wolfgang… when she was so dressed up and I thought she was flirting with Wolfgang because she kept asking if his brother had told him anything about her… she’d come straight from B.C.’s house. She never had been flirting with Wolfgang after all�”it was B.C. all the time. For once, Haley had actually met an attractive man without flirting for all she was worth.

“But yeah, as soon as I went to that practice with Wolfie, we just clicked. We just knew each other, you know? And also, those songs he wrote are so amazing! He’s such a genius, you have no idea. He does stuff with music that I can’t even explain. And, you know, I think he really understands me. I mean, he heard so much about how cute and fun and talented I am from Duckling, but as soon as we started talking, it was like we’d known each other forever. And I kind of thought that I could actually imagine getting married to him some day… just in the back of my mind. I felt like he liked me, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong, and that would just ruin everything.”

“Come on, you not saying anything?” I asked. “Normally when you like a guy, you say ‘hi, you’re a cute total stranger, let’s go out.’”

“Yeah, but that’s just crushes!” protested Haley. “That’s different! With Wolfie, I knew I wasn’t going to find another Wolfie! And he was always so busy with stuff to do with the show whenever we were out in public, so we really only talked in private. I didn’t want to tell you about it, because I had crushes on so many losers who didn’t really like me after all, and I didn’t want you to say ‘told you so,’ because you never saw the real Wolfie.

“But yeah, one day, we were rehearsing a song that had a kiss at the end, and I wasn’t really thinking, so I went and I actually kissed him, and then we started snogging, and after awhile, he just looked up at me and he said, ‘You do know I love you, right?’ And I was like, ‘Well, good, because I love you, and it would be awkward if I just snogged someone who didn’t love me back.’ And he said he’d always thought deep down that I loved him, only sometimes he thought it was actually Duckling I was after. So I told him, ‘No way, I love him to bits, but the way you love a little brother who isn’t a genius Seer or a psycho Quidditch star. If I could only pick one person to talk to for the rest of my life, it’d definitely be you.’”

This was the mushiest thing I’d heard since I’d been hit in the ear with a rotten peach.

“So, you know, we were dating for awhile, but we didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. And then, yesterday, he played me this song called ‘Your Song,’ and he told me that the first time he’d heard the song was the first day he met me, and it was stuck in his head all day, and then after that, every time he heard that song, he thought of me. He even said he tried to write a song for me, but he couldn’t think of anything better than ‘Your Song.’ And then, we were singing it, and all of a sudden, he said, ‘I think we should get married.’ So I said, ‘Let’s go do it now!’” She grinned broadly and spread out her hands, signaling the happy end of her story.

I was even more perplexed than ever now. What a… weird love story. I guess there’s something sexual about singing duets in a cramped little space or something. The way Haley put it, it sounded like Haley and B.C. fell in love with each other because they both loved music the same way or something.

“Come on, Emma, you can’t say you don’t like him after all of that,” wheedled Haley.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “No, it’s just… he’s not even good-looking or anything,” I blurted. Haley looked like I’d punched her in the face. “You have to admit, you’re biased. He’s just this average-looking kinda fat guy with a face like a little kid.”

Instead of looking even more offended, Haley just laughed. “Come off it, he’s gorgeous. And he’s not ‘fat.’ He’s just cuddly. And besides, I’m so pointy, he’d need a bit of padding on him, or he’d get bruises all over.” She smiled mischievously. “Which is why it never would have worked between me and Ted.”

I snorted. “Oh yeah, how can I forget that big crush on Ted you used to have in third year.”

Haley sighed. “Yeah, erm… actually, it wasn’t just in third year,” she said. “I just realized by fourth year that he liked Ivy and not me, so I shut up about it. But I always liked him… even after he got married. You know how it is. When I was little, I always planned on marrying Ted. He even proposed to me with that ring made out of a green pipe cleaner when we were five, remember? And he saved my life in fourth year. It wasn’t until Wolfie that I got over him all the way.”

Now I was gawking at Haley like I’d never seen her before. “You… you liked Ted?” I spluttered. “Seriously? What about all those… those vampires and owl trainers and sushi chefs you liked?”

“I tried to find other guys,” she said matter-of-factly. “Obviously, it wasn’t working out, though�”I could never do more than a few dates before. I just got bored. But it’s not like I felt too jealous of Ivy. Ted and Ivy were… they are perfect for each other. But… this sounds really dumb, but once I had Wolfie, it’s like I’d completely forgotten all about how I used to feel about Ted. I can’t even remember what it was like anymore, actually.”

I was pretty sure that this new revelation would never sink in all the way. There was no way I could imagine Haley of all people pining over anyone… especially someone like Ted.

“Haley… I had no idea,” I said softly, grabbing her hand. “I never would have even guessed. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” she exclaimed. “That was all BBC.”

I squinted. “British Broadcasting Corporation?”

Haley threw a pillow at my head. “Before B.C., silly. And this is Year One ABC.”

“You’re barking,” I told her. I smiled. “So what is it with you and mediocre-looking guys who probably can’t hold up a Beater’s bat?”

“You are so obsessed with looks!” blurted Haley almost angrily. I stared at her. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just, it’s like you can’t even understand why anyone would want to date anyone who’s not underwear model material. Maybe it’s because I’m not as pretty as you are, but it’s after I fall in love with someone that I start seeing all the cute and sexy and awesome things about him.”

“But you think everyone’s cute,” I pointed out. “You even think Anatoly’s not an eyesore. And you’re making it sound like all I care about is looks! I care a lot more about personality than looks, I’d just rather the personality come in a nice container. I have to really get to know someone before I’ll go out with him… not like you, you’d always just go by the look in some guy’s eye, or the shoes he’s wearing, or something stupid like that.”

“How many boyfriends have you had?” Haley asked me slyly.

I had a feeling she was trying to prove a point, but I wasn’t quite sure what it could be. “Four,” I said, “including the Ishfriend. Five, if you count Wolfgang. Which I sure as heck don’t.”

“And how many of them didn’t look like they could be film stars?” she asked sweetly.

Ohhhh. She had… a point, curse her. “Er… just one,” I managed. “The Ishfriend.”

“And how long did that last?” prompted Haley.

I groaned. “Two days. Okay, okay, I get it, Haley, I’m shallow and I only like guys based on looks. You happy?”

“I’m not saying you’re shallow, dum-dum,” Haley said. “I’m saying you’re confused. The first boy you ever really fancied was Tyrone, and he’s like the prettiest boy in the world. So you’ve just been looking for another Tyrone to replace him with, haven’t you?”

I made a bunch of strangled-sounding, unintelligible squeaky noises.

“Face it, Emma. You never stopped liking him. Trust me, I can tell these things. I’ve been there.”

I sighed. “Hales… you know me way too well,” I said. “But yeah, I do like Tyrone. I like him so much that it makes me feel uncomfortable… I like him so much that I even saw Sense and Sensibility with him. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that he likes me, too. But… he’s just grown up so much, and I’m still the same I was five years ago.”

Haley let out a little squeal and gave me a big hug. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” she sang. “Wolfie reckons he hasn’t heard Tyrone talk about any other girl for awhile now.”

“But it’s not just because he’s good-looking,” I said quickly. It was true, too. Tyrone’s unnaturally good looks had always been more of a source of annoyance to me than anything else. I’d never liked him until I got to know his personality, no matter how gorgeous he was. When I thought about his muscly arms or perfect smile or pretty eyes… I liked them so much because they were his, not just because they couldn’t have looked out of place on the cover of one of Haley’s magazines.

Had I really been trying to replace Tyrone with another similar model? Was that why none of my relationships had worked out… because everyone paled in comparison when it came to sheer Tyroniness?

“Don’t worry, I love me some Tyroonie, too,” Haley chirped. “And Wolfie’s lucky Tyrone’s his stepbrother, because there’s no way he’d be able to deal with Wolfgang on his own. And then, there’s the house and everything, and all the attention he got our musical, plus he’s just an all-around awesome guy, and he’s got great fashion sense.”

“Wait, what about a house?”

Haley looked like a little kid who had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “If you let Wolfie know I told you this, I will poke you very hard in the belly button,” she threatened. “But… Wolfie lived with Duckling before now, and we lived together, so we’re going to need a new place to live. And neither of us has much money�”I mean, once the show’s a smash hit, we will, but for right now, money’s kind of tight. So Tyrone went and bought us a house. I think he’s still filling out paperwork and stuff in London. Wolfie’s really touchy about money�”he’s so proud about never accepting favours and everything, so Tyrone said he could just pay him back later when he had the money, and that he’d hold us to it. But I doubt he’ll ever let us pay him back. It’s a really nice house, too… and again, one word, and I will poke you, and you will be so sad.”

Whoa. Tyrone had actually paid for a house for B.C. and Haley with his own money? How could anyone not fall for a guy like that?

“You know,” I said grudgingly, “Haley, I think you and B.C. are going to be really happy. I… I’m glad you married him.”

It was true, too. Haley was the kind of person who was almost incapable of being unhappy, and B.C. definitely seemed like the sort to go with the flow. And I was glad that she’d married him. As crazy as it seemed to me, I could tell she really did love him, and besides, I’d hate to think of Haley spending any more time daydreaming about Ted, who was very much married, and also possibly dead.

Haley hugged me as tight as a boa constrictor. “Aww, Emma!” she squealed. “You are so going to be my Maid of Honour! I’m so excited!”

I raised an eyebrow, something that usually never failed to irritate Haley. But today, she was too happy to notice. “Wait, I thought you were already married,” I pointed out.

“That was just a boring official Ministry marriage, though,” explained Haley. “But I’m HALEY! I have to put on a show don’t I? I’ve been planning my wedding since I was six years old!”

I laughed. “So you and B.C. are going to have a big wedding after all, even though you’re already married? You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

“I can, too!” announced Haley. “And we’re inviting everyone we know, and it’s in two months. And you are going to help me pick out a dress! And if you don’t come along, I’ll pick neon orange bridesmaid dresses, just to annoy you!”

Well… I can never say no to shopping, can I? Even for wedding dresses, which to my untrained eye, all look pretty much the same.

We were just about to dig out another one of Haley’s old teen magazines and laugh at all of the ugly dress robes that had been in style five years ago, when the door creaked open.

“Hummingbird? You okay?” B.C. said gently.

“Yep!” Haley lay back on the bed, smiling up at him. “Aww, come here, Panda Bear.”

Ick. Blecccch. Hummingbird and Panda Bear? That was just downright nauseating. I thought that couples referring to one another as animals was solely limited to Ted and Ivy, who had least had an excuse.

“I think I’ll go now,” I said loudly, as Haley planted herself on her new husband’s lap. “Er… I’ll talk to you later… Hummingbird.”

“Shut up!” Haley replied happily.

I replanted myself in Ivy’s old bedroom instead, which was a lot more tastefully decorated, except for the overabundance of pictures of Ted. It was actually a little scary to see so many mini-Teds grinning and waving back at me. I was still weirded out about Haley being married. I always thought of her as this girly, hyper, immature kid, not the kind of person who would ever settle down and get married. Marriage was for people like Ivy, who was pretty much a grown-up by the time she was eleven years old. Maybe it was because I’d always been so much taller and older-looking than Haley, but I felt so uncomfortable about the idea of Haley being more mature than me in any way.

I stared out the window, where the full moon was dappling the front lawn with light. I could see Tyrone’s house shining in the dark.

The full moon… I had to wonder whether Ted was alive. I didn’t want to think about it… because deep down, I was almost certain that he was dead. And Ted was a big part of my life… I didn’t think I could stand to lose that. Why was it always the good people like Ted who always ended up in dangerous situations, anyway? How come all of the obnoxious people like Wolfgang never seemed to have anything to worry about?

Whoa. Wolfgang. I felt like I’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, leaving me electrified, tingly, and shocked. How could I have not realized it before? Wolfgang was a werewolf. One of the bad ones.

He had to be. Thinking back… all of the times he’d been late coincided with one of the attacks. When I told him I didn’t want to talk to him again, he’d started blabbering about how he’d had nothing to do with the werewolf attacks, even though I hadn’t even brought that up. He’d changed the subject whenever I brought up the werewolf attacks, and I’d heard him having conversations about werewolves with Tyrone, only breaking off when he saw me coming.

And Tyrone had made a strange, cryptic comment about a ‘sterling-silver reputation,” and then he’d said, ‘ooh, bad choice of words there,’ or something like that. But most of all… when I brought up that Ted was at a werewolf reservation… he’d known what I was talking about.

Oh, Godric. I’d told Wolfgang where Ted was staying. No wonder I hadn’t heard anything from Ted. Thanks to me, the bad werewolves knew where he’d gone. Why hadn’t I thought it was odd that Wolfgang was so interested in Ted?

And… the Ministry knew about it, too. Or at least, they suspected it. They wouldn’t send Aurors to guard the stadiums and monitor his every move solely because he was known to be unreliable and unbalanced and a serial-seducer. They must have realized his connection to Cassius Balthazar’s band of werewolves.

I’d thought it was odd that he’d gone to Durmstrang while B.C. went to Hogwarts. But I remember learning in Professor Lupin’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class that werewolves are a lot more common in Central and Eastern Europe, and much more widely accepted, maybe because they had a bunch of noblemen who were werewolves back in the old days. Ted was the only werewolf in the whole school back when we were at Hogwarts, but Durmstrang always had a good number of them, from what I’d read. It’d also be a good way to keep people in England from finding out Wolfgang’s secret… shipping him away for school so his condition would be thoroughly unknown when he tried to find work in the British wizarding world.

Okay, Emma I told myself, This time, we’re not going to jump to conclusions. Because we all know what happens when you do that. Wait until Tyrone gets back, and then confront him about all of this werewolf stuff. IF Wolfgang’s a werewolf, then Tyrone will have all of the details.

Tyrone. There was no way he was still filling out paperwork for Haley and B.C.’s house. He’d found Wolfgang drunk in a pub in London, shortly before the full moon rose. There was bound to be some kind of werewolf attack in the midst… and Tyrone was trying to stop it.

I felt restless, imagining the chaos going on in London under that same round, golden moon that looked so serene and peaceful here in Godric’s Hollow.

I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew that whatever I did, there was no way I was staying cooped up in Ivy’s bedroom, looking at all of her pictures of Ted Lupin in happier days. I walked out of the room, past the open door to Haley’s bedroom, where she and B.C. were sitting on the bed and having a whispered conversation that I couldn’t hear, but that was making both of their eyes sparkle with barely contained joy. B.C. whispered something in Haley’s ear, and then they both laughed like they’d just heard the funniest joke in the world.

I quickly turned away and walked downstairs, through the kitchen where Harry and Ginny were reading over their old wedding album at the kitchen table, through the living room where my dad was sitting with my arm around my mother’s shoulder and the Wizarding Wireless was playing on full blast, past the den where Holly and Jonathan were drawing an enormous card for Haley and B.C. together, and past the study where Jordan and Giorgi (what was she still doing here?) were sitting cross-legged on the floor, while Jordan blathered in highly technical language that I couldn’t understand and Giorgi listened like she’d never heard anything so fascinating.

I felt like I was the one sock left over in the bottom of the sock drawer that doesn’t match with any of the others. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so lonely in a house full of people.

I sneaked down to the basement, where the Quidditch gear was stored. A good moonlit broomstick ride usually helped to get my mind off of whatever was troubling me… although the idea dredged up all kinds of memories of flying with Tyrone under the starry skies of the Scottish highlands. How had I never noticed back in school what a romantic setting it was, anyway?

I decided that if I was going to steal one of the Potter’s brooms, it should be Jordan’s old racing broom, firstly because it was the fastest and newest, and secondly because out of all of the Potters, he would be the most annoyed if I took his broom. But as I approached the rack of broomsticks, I suddenly felt the presence of someone behind me. I whirled around to see Ivy, sitting in the corner, breathing heavily, hands and feet dirty, and bits of leaves in her hair.

“Ivy!” I gasped. “What happened?”

“I turned into a fox,” she explained quietly. “I thought running around the neighbourhood would make me feel better.” She paused. “Sometimes… it’s easier to be an animal.”

Ohhh, no. I anticipated the violent series of sobs that racked her body by a good two seconds, and raced over and put my arm around her.

“I know how you feel,” I said.

“No. I know you’re trying to help, but you don’t.” She stared off, out the window, into the moonlight. “Ted… he promised to write. I still haven’t gotten a letter from him.”

I stroked her long, impossibly blonde hair. “I’m sure he’s okay,” I lied. “Writing would probably just give away his position.”

Ivy shook her head. “Something’s happened to Ted. I just know it,” she choked. She wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing dirt down her face. “I know I should be happy for Haley. And… I am… but… it’s just so hard, seeing them so happy like that. And it makes me so…scared. Of being alone.”

I laughed bitterly. “Well, at least we have one thing in common now,” I said. “Oh… and I’ve been reading Pride and Prejudice. It’s… good.”

“I’ve been reading another book by Jane Austen,” Ivy said, her voice quavering. “It’s called Emma.”

I blinked. “That’s a coincidence.”

“It’s about a beautiful, spoiled girl who thinks she’s never going to get married and denies the fact that she loves the man who lives down the street,” Ivy explained. “And her friend Harriet falls in love, but she doesn’t approve and tries to interfere, but everything just goes wrong. Especially when she thinks she fancies a man who turns out to be no good.”

Yikes. Who says classics aren’t relevant to modern life? This Jane Austen lady had me pegged, right down to the friend named Harriet. And if the next chapter of Pride and Prejudice is full of werewolf warfare, I’m going to sue.

*

WOW. Okay. Apparently, it’s not full of werewolf warfare. I don’t even want to get into the more miniscule details of this book right now, but basically, Mr. Darcy paid for a wedding for Wickham and Lydia, who were living (GASP) in SIN! But it’s all right now, because now they’re forced to be together for the rest of their miserable little lives.

Don’t worry, there’ll still be at least one more fabulous Pride and Prejudice summary from me to come, but frankly, I don’t want to rehash the details of Elizabeth’s family going through the hysteria of waiting to see what is to become of Lydia when I’ve just lived through it myself!

Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
Somebody hold me too close
Somebody hurt me too deep.
Somebody sit in my chair
And ruin my sleep
And make me aware
Of being alive… being alive…
---“Being Alive,” from Company.


“Werewolf attack, am I right?” I asked as I came down the stairs into the kitchen, still wearing my pyjamas. Everyone was clustered around a copy of the Daily Prophet�”apparently, it was too early for them to realize that it could easily be duplicated by magic.

“Yeah, it looks like the worst so far since t�”” My dad looked up at me over the paper, and his gingery eyebrows contracted. “What does Super Motts mean?”

I waved a hand impatiently. “Never mind that. What about the attack?”

“Well, they called us over to London at about one in the morning. Harry and I didn’t go, but we sent out some of our best men, and there was so much going on, and everyone was giving me different reports. I had to read about it in the Prophet to get the full picture,” said Dad.

Ivy nodded. “It says twelve people got bitten. Three of them died before anyone could help them, and…” Her face contorted. I rarely saw Ivy angry, and when she was, it was usually something to behold. “One of them died at St. Mungo’s because the Healer who was supposed to be tending to him refused to touch him… She didn’t want to touch his contaminated blood, you see,” she said in a hard, bitter voice. “I’d like to know which Healer that was. If Ted was still at St. Mungo’s, that never would have happened.”

“What the Prophet’s keeping quiet is that it wasn’t just the werewolves,” added Uncle Harry. “Some of the werewolf hunters are really bad news. Some of them even get paid for every werewolf they bag. They only managed to kill one of the feral werewolves, but they also got one of the women who’d just been bitten, and another man who just happened to be walking down the street with a funny scar down his cheek. They figured he was a werewolf… though nobody had any proof, and they’ll definitely never know now.”

This was all so disgusting and violent and horrible. I still couldn’t believe that all of this insanity was going on. Hearing about it was just… unreal. I wanted to say something about my suspicions where Wolfgang was regarded… but B.C. was right there in the room, and if he hadn’t disclosed to the world yet that Wolfgang was a werewolf, he probably didn’t want me to spill the beans, either. He and Haley did look a bit guilty, like they were hiding a secret, but they may have just looked that way because they’d just had their first official night of married life. I dunno.

Surveying the table, I noted that the crowd assembled was slightly smaller than it had been the night before, and not just because Tyrone still hadn’t come back from London.

“Where’s Jordan?” I asked.

My mother gave me the sort of vague shrug that meant, ‘I don’t know�”he’s Jordan.’ “He left last night,” she said. “He said he hadn’t even planned to stay once his work was done and he knew Haley was safe, but Giorgi distracted him. You know how Jordan’s always so busy with his work.” She paused. “You don’t think they…”

“Do not suggest the idea of Jordan and Giorgi getting together,” I demanded. “I have enough graphically yucky images in my head after reading that newspaper. The last thing I need to imagine is someone sticking her tongue down Jor-jums’ throat.” I stuck out my tongue. “I think I’m going back to bed.”

“Wait, Emma!” cried Haley.

I whirled around. “Yeah?” I said, not quite able to keep the anticipation out of my voice. Was this the final secret of Wolfgang’s past?

“Today’s your first day back at the stadium!” she exclaimed. “You should be getting dressed by now!”

Oh bloody Niflheim, I had almost completely forgotten about work somehow. Something as mundane as work was utterly forgettable after all of these secret affairs and shocking werewolf attacks. But then, if I was going to go through with the Auror business, I could be crushing the bad werewolves myself in just a few more months. Though hopefully, the chaos wouldn’t last any longer than a year.

I sighed. My brain felt tired, like it had just gone a million places without my body in just a few hours. I guess that was how it felt to be Jordan every day.

* * * * * *

I’d forgotten how ugly my orange trainee robes were. Oh, I remembered that they were ugly, all right, just not the degree of ugliness. It was kind of like the way I felt every time I saw Anatoly Capshaw.

It was so weird going back to work at the stadium after all of this time. There was a different guy working at the pretzel cart, who stared at me suspiciously as I passed as if he thought I was secretly a killer werewolf in disguise. Clio was gone, thanks to her skanky little prank, and in her stead, there was a brand new trainee named Zebulon Morton, who looked like the only muscles he’d never developed were those in charge of smiling.

And then, I had to re-accustom myself to the jarring sensation of seeing posters of Tyrone and merchandise with his gleaming smile splashed across them… and even worse, the small handful of postcards and mugs featuring pictures of Wolfgang. I thought of buying some up and burning them as effigies, but then again, it might look suspicious, seeing as I’d been sacked in the first place for talking to Wolfgang too much. And besides, those things were expensive. If I was going to waste my money, I might as well do it on a ‘Tyrone Thomas the Tank Engine’ t-shirt.

I was treated to a big, long explanation of how to carry out my duties from Patrick, who had evidently forgotten that I’d worked there for several months.

I had to watch over the spectators in the stadium itself, my favorite job because it meant I got to watch the match for free. Needless to say, the Cannons won. Rather more surprisingly, Wolfgang missed two easy saves and got hit with a Bludger twice. For some reason, he wasn’t up to his usual game, and I was pretty sure I knew why. The previous night had been the biggest werewolf battle of the year. Tyrone didn’t seem quite up to his usual standard, either�”if I hadn’t known better, it almost looked like he didn’t want to be there.

All right, Weasley, I thought. Think like an Auror. Constant vigilance. You know Wolfgang’s up to something. So keep your eye on him.
Once the game was over, I slipped out of the stadium as furtively as someone wearing neon orange robes could, and through a door marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only.’

That’s right, I’m Authorized Personnel, baby!” I thought gleefully. Yeah, I still got a thrill out of that. Lame, I know. It’s not like the Chamber of Secrets was beyond the door or anything, just a narrow corridor where every step echoed and spiders and cobwebs established their authority everywhere. My dad might be a very brave man, but there was no way he’d be able to stomach the Authorized Personnel Only hallway.

I heard loud laughter fill the whole corridor, bouncing off the thin, tinny walls. “…And that’s why you never bring cheese to a bath house!” roared a deep voice, evidently finishing up a particularly fascinating story.

Before I could do anything, Tyrone and the Chudley Cannons’ Seeker, a small, skinny blond man named Gregg, rounded the corner, both wearing towels around their waists. I have to say, Tyrone was not exaggerating about those abs he liked to brag about so much, although the contrast was probably a little more impressive next to Gregg.

Tyrone looked completely caught off guard for a few seconds, but quickly rearranged his face to an expression of pleasant surprise. “Fancy seeing you here, madame. Have we met?” he said in a pompous, plummy voice that reminded me of Patrick.

“No, good sir, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance before,” I replied solemnly.

“Yes, but if we had, I would ask you to give me five minutes to put on some decent clothes, and wait by the pretzel stand, and then I want to show you something really awesome.” He paused. “And… you might want to change, too. If we were going through with that plan.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And what kind of awesome thing would you want to show me?”

Tyrone gave me a mysterious smile. “You’ll see,” he said in a low voice. “At least, you would… if we’d met before.” Then he gave me that obnoxiously attractive little smirk of his and strode down the hall into the locker room, his towel slipping a llliiittle over his hips.

As the door swung shut, I heard Gregg say, “Mullroy was right, she IS fit. But back to your story, I still don’t understand why there were flamingos there in the first place. And was that guy actually hitting on you, or did he just not understand English?”

I smiled in spite of myself. Men are so weird. But… I was excited to hang out with Tyrone again. Our date had been cut short, but maybe we could continue where the last one left off.

My mind was racing like Haley in a shoe store, zipping through all kinds of things that Tyrone might want to show me. Especially after everything we’d been through last night, could it have been some secret to do with Wolfgang?

As if on cue, Wolfgang appeared around the corner, also only wearing a towel. It was like Clio’s dizziest daydreams. His body was as bronzed and symmetrical and toned and everything as you would expect�”still not a patch on Tyrone, but certainly nothing to scoff at�”but I wasn’t paying attention to his physique. I was paying attention to the two long, deep scars across his chest, like a saber-toothed tiger had tried to tear him open.

As he came near, his face froze into a mask of horror. He looked me straight in the eye and Disapparated with a noise like a thousand fireworks. Little buttercup-haired git.

I sighed and stalked out of the Authorized Personnel Only area and back into the main stadium, where I spotted two of the Chasers leaning against the wall and chatting in hushed voices.

“…don’t know who Quinn thinks he’s fooling, everyone knows where he was last night,” one of them said.

“The worst part is, he acts like he thinks he’s not been part of this mad business at all. It’d be one thing if he was trying to hide it, but it’s like he thinks he’s invincible.”

Gnnnrghhh. On one hand, this was all maddening. On the other hand, it also meant that I had more people to testify if I ever got enough definite evidence to turn in Wolfgang. But I willed myself to concentrate instead on finding a ladies’ room and changing out of my neon orange robes into jeans and a t-shirt. As I rambled over toward the pretzel stand where Tyrone had asked me to wait, the pretzel guy looked at me even more suspiciously than before.

Tyrone showed up soon enough, his hair still damp and wearing his beat-up brown leather jacket over a bright green t-shirt that read, “IF I WERE A DEMENTOR, I’D KISS YOU FIRST.”

“Cute,” I said, gesturing at his shirt.

“Of course, it’s me. What do you expect?” he replied cheerily, and extended his arm. “Hey, I don’t mean to rush you or anything, but grab my arm. We’re going places.”

I blinked. “What, side-along Apparition? Why?”

“Because I’m guessing you’ve never been where I’m going to take you,” said Tyrone. “England’s best kept secret. Well, go on, pick your favorite part of my arm already and hang on!”

I did as he asked, feeling tingly with anticipation, and maybe a bit from grabbing onto Tyrone’s arm, because I’m pathetic. When the crazy, nauseating tunnel of colours cleared, we were standing on the astroturfed ground of a gaudy, brightly-coloured park with a sign that said, “VIC’S QUIDDITCH FUN PARK.”

I laughed. “Tyrone, what is this?”

“It’s a park for kids,” he said, rather obviously. “But you’d be surprised. Big League players go here all the time for training.”

“I’m guessing that by ‘Big League Players,’ you mean you and no one else, right?” I asked.

Tyrone smiled. “Funny enough, turns out the Ballycastle Bats used to practice here the year they won the World Cup. But I just like to go here for fun. I thought you might want to check the place out with me.”

Vic’s turned out to have a series of giant mesh cage-type things where you could practice all sorts of different skills�”obviously Tyrone liked the Beater cage best, where you picked up a fairly louse spare broom that almost looked too small to carry the great Mr. Thomas, and chose a club (ranging between a tiny pink hollow plastic one to one that looked like a troll might carry it.) You picked settings for how heavy and aggressive you want the Bludgers and how hard you want them lobbed at you, and your job is to fly around whacking these Bludgers away from a bunch of pop-up blue targets (and yourself) and toward red targets.

Of course, Tyrone decided to show off and set everything to the highest setting, and even then, he couldn’t keep up. All of the blue targets were getting smashed to bits, and once a Bludger actually hit him in the shoulder, he eventually had to give up. And this is the best Beater in the Leagues today we’re talking about. So much for a kids’ fun park.

There was a Keeper cage and a Chaser cage with fairly similar ideas�”the Keeper obviously had to guard his hoops from Quaffles being hurled at him, and the Chasers had to find five other people to play with him and try to put the Quaffle through their set of hoops as much as possible. Tyrone and I found a group of four ten-year-old boys to play�”I ended up on the Blue Team and Tyrone was on the red one.

Let’s just say that the boys on my team weren’t thrilled to see that they had to play with a girl when the other team had a tough-looking muscular guy whose face happened to be on one of their t-shirts. But they didn’t realize that I had played Chaser on the Gryffindor house team for five years, and that Tyrone was too nice to try and elbow ten-year-old boys in the face, a handicap that definitely didn’t apply to me. So needless to say, the Blue Team trounced the competition.

“What now, Thomas the Tank Engine?” I chirped once the game was over.

“Hey, I’m not famous for playing Chaser,” he said. “Or for impaling kids.” He grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s do the Seeker thing. I’ve been practicing for that one!”

The Seeker game was a lot fancier than any of the others�”I could tell which position Ol’ Vic was biased toward. It was like a Muggle mini golf course, only instead of obstacles to hit a golf ball through and around, it had obstacles to fly through. The giant windmill nearly knocked my head off. I still have no idea how Tyrone managed to fit his shoulders through the tiny porthole in the fake pirate ship when I still got stuck, but needless to say, I’ve never lost anything so miserably in all my life.

“Never tell Jordan about this place,” I panted, “Or I’ll staple your lips to one of the targets in the Beater cage.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to watch that if you paid me. It’d wreck my self-esteem,” said Tyrone.

“Luckily, you’ve still got plenty of that,” I pointed out. I threw myself onto a bench. “I’m tired.”

Tyrone sat down next to me. “Do you want to go home already?” he asked, not quite able to disguise the disappointment in his voice.

“No,” I said, a little bit too quickly. “I just don’t feel like flying.”

Tyrone smiled a slow, contemplative smile. “When I asked you out that time,” he said, “The day I came to pick up my toads and stuff? And you started yelling at me? I asked if you wanted to get some ice cream? Er… just so you know, that offer, er, it still stands.”

I smiled back. “That’s a great plan,” I said. “Only… I won three of those four games, and you only did one. So… I’m thinking loser buys.”

Tyrone shook his head. “I was gonna buy for you anyway, since this is kind of a date and all, but whatever you want.” He gave me a look that could melt granite into a little puddle. “I think you really like me,” he said in this creepy, deep voice, “or you’d never go along with letting me pay for you.”

“That, or I don’t mind taking advantage of you now that I’m pretty broke and you’re suddenly rich enough to live in Godric’s Hollow,” I replied sweetly.

I knew where Fortescue’s ice cream parlor was located, but I still grabbed onto his arm to Apparate with him anyway.

According to my dad, Florean Fortescue was a brilliant wizard as well as a great ice cream man�”until Lord Voldemort captured him, though I have no idea what he’d want with an ice cream man. Maybe he wanted to find the most evil flavor of ice cream or something. But once Florean was out of the picture, his son, Flavian, took over, and while Flavian can still make excellent ice cream, he’s a bit, well, dotty. As to whether this ended up hurting or helping business, no one actually knows.

“HELLLLOOOOO, I’m Strawberry Ice Cream!” he exclaimed with a juicy-sounding lisp as we Apparated into the shop.

“Congratulations,” I said uneasily. Flavian was wearing red suspenders over his robes today for no apparent reason. With no trousers to clip them to, they dangled purposelessly in midair.

Tyrone approached the counter with his usual careless confidence. “Hi, Strawberry, how are you today?” he asked cheerfully.

“Slightly runny, but otherwise excellent!” replied Flavian.

“Great, then we’ll have two of you in large waffle cones, with one scoop of peanut butter ice cream on top of each one,” said Tyrone. “Oh, and hold the monkeys,” he added in a stage whisper with a conspiratorial wink.

I stared at him. His knack for finding the right things to say to get people to do what he wanted never ceased to amaze me.

“Hold the monkeys?” I asked once we had our ice creams and were comfortably seated at the outdoor tables.

“If you don’t say that, he’ll yell ‘MONKEY ATTACK!’ and leap onto the counter and throw your ice cream to the ground once you’ve paid for it,” he explained wearily. “It’s his new thing.” He slurped his ice cream. “So basically, the reason I took you out here and did all this fun stuff is, I have something really important I want to tell you. And I haven’t told anyone else yet… so feel special, okay?”

My heart started beating up against my ribs like a homicidal loony trying to get out of a prison cell. “Yes?”

“I got picked for England’s team in the Quidditch World Cup this year!” he practically shouted, letting everyone else in the area in on the secret. So much for me feeling special. “Not even the rest of my team knows. I leave in two days to start training for the World Cup… I can’t believe no one else on the Cannons got picked, the team’s never been better. But still… this is gonna be the coolest thing I’ve ever done. And you know I’ve done a lot cool things.”

I smiled a weird, weird smile. I mean, yeah, I was super excited for Tyrone, too… how could I not be? This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’d rooted for England every year since birth during the World Cup. It would be incredible to see one of my favorite people ever up there representing my country. But I was really hoping for a different kind of secret… one about Wolfgang, perhaps. Though I guess a declaration of love would be okay, too. And if he left for training, I wouldn’t be seeing him for a while, either…

“That… that is awesome,” I stammered. “Well done, Tyrone, that’s really great. But… how long are you gonna be away for?”

Tyrone sighed. “’Bout two months,” he said. “Just about. Longer if we make it to the finals, but I doubt that… England hasn’t won in ages. But I’m thinking if we don’t, I’ll be back in time to see Haley and B.C.’s play open… and then they’re getting married the next week, right? So I’m definitely turning up for that.”

I smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll see you then. And really, that’s fantastic. I’ll be rooting for you.” This was the moment. I took a deep breath. “Listen,” I blurted suddenly, “I know you know something about Wolfgang that you’re not telling me.”

He looked at me like I’d just nailed a dead kangaroo to my face. “Wait, what?” he spluttered, apparently trying to figure out how my train of thought had ceased to travel along the tracks and instead warped through time and space to somewhere else entirely. “I… I know a lot of things about Wolfgang. Too much. He’s kind of my stepbrother, you know. I don’t really love talking about him�”you can’t blame me.”

“Don’t play all innocent,” I said. “The Aurors are after him, waiting for him to slip up and give himself away. And there must be a better reason than him being a sleazy womanizer… and I’m pretty sure we both know what that is.”

Tyrone was silent for a moment, staring off into thin air with a pained expression on his face.

“All these werewolf attacks?” I prompted.

He sighed again. “You’re too smart for your own good sometimes,” he muttered, laying his hand on my knee. The shivers I felt weren’t JUST from his touch, for once. “I can’t talk about that. It’s not that I don’t want to or anything, but no one’s really proved anything, and the Ministry doesn’t want me spreading around stuff that might not even be true. Wolfgang can’t tell the difference between the truth and stories. Believe it or not, he’s confessed to crimes he had nothing to do with before. But yeah, I’m pretty sure it is all true.”

I nodded, closing my eyes for a second. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “I get it.”

“That’s it?” Tyrone blinked. “No going berserk? No dumping your ice cream over my head?”

“Nah.” I touched his shoulder, smiling grimly. “I get it. And besides, that’d be a waste of tasty ice cream. But don’t think this is over�”constant vigilance and all that.”

“Don’t worry about it�”go on and do all the ‘investigations’ you want, Em. I’m all for it.” Tyrone got to his feet, looking much more subdued. I felt bad for putting such a damper on the conversation�”and Wolfgang really was a living, breathing damper�”but I had to say it. I didn’t want to spend these two Tyrone-less months wondering endlessly about Wolfgang without really knowing anything, and now I finally had proof after all.

“Well… it’s getting kind of late, I guess,” Tyrone said, putting on an air of forced cheeriness. “I’m really gonna miss you these next two months, just when we’re starting to get all buddy-buddy again. You can write if you want.”

I stood up as well, coming a little closer to him. “And you can take me back home, if you want.”

Tyrone leaned in toward me, his eyes all sparkly and his lips all pursed. I felt pterodactyls flapping around inside my stomach. I closed my eyes…

“NO GARGOYLES ALLOWED!” screamed Fortescue, grabbing Tyrone by the face and shoving his head back into the nearest wall, where it bounced off with a dull thud. Fortescue stomped back into the shop, muttering something under his breath about phantom rhinoceroses.

Tyrone rubbed his skull and his jaw. “Wow. Er… I guess that’s our cue to get home.”

“The Gargoyles’ Union will hear about this,” I muttered.

* * * * * *

TWO MONTHS LATER.

Yep, two months. Two whole months. That’s two whole months without writing in this thing, two whole months without Tyrone, and two whole months back in my too-quiet little flat that I’d once shared with Haley, living all by myself and working at the stadium. For once, I think I know how Ivy felt after Ted left. And that was her husband, too, not just her somewhat-annoying best friend.

Which isn’t to say I’m not super-happy for Haley and her man, but still… these have been the two loneliest months of my life. And ‘lonely’ isn’t usually an Emma word. In fact, I normally wish most of the human race would bugger off. But still… waking up every morning alone in my flat makes me feel weirdly small.

And to top it off… I keep having dreams about Tyrone. It’s getting to the point where I wake up and I can still feel his arms around my waist, only they were never actually there to begin with. I always expect to see his face when I wake up, but instead, I’m alone. It’s getting to the point where I’m almost considering hiring Jordan to help me learn Occlumency, only I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing about how Tyrone’s stupid smile literally never leaves my brain.

The attacks have only gotten worse, and hanging around a stadium doing nothing about them made me feel both angry and guilty at the same time, not a tasty combination. Especially since I really haven’t been doing much at the stadium at all.

Wolfgang’s been on my mind a lot lately, not as much as Tyrone, but enough to ruin my daydreams at least twice a day. Now that Quidditch season wasn’t going on anymore, people with no lives would come in for tours, and athletes would sometimes come in to practice, Vaultz’s excuse for keeping us around until our internships officially came to an end. But since I was really doing nothing, I did my own part to try and catch Wolfgang in the act of something devious. I even wrote to B.C. and Haley and Ivy and Jordan, telling them to keep an eye out for him and let me know if they noticed any funny business.

You might wonder why I didn’t let my dad or Uncle Harry in on this, as they were, after all, the most respected and powerful Aurors in the country. But I know how well they do their jobs and how well they conceal what’s supposed to be top secret, even from someone with my charming long eyelashes. After the whole scene with Haley, I’m sure they have a file and a half on Wolfgang�”they’re just not telling anyone. As for Tyrone, well, I was sure he was up to much of the same stuff… hopefully he’d gotten further than I had, because I hadn’t heard anything.

Tyrone! Of course! I’d completely forgotten what day it is today. Thanks a bundle, creepy dreams. No, today’s the premiere of Haley’s musical! And Tyrone promised he’d be there!

I grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill and scrawled:

“Hey, Tyrone,
Welcome back to England! Did you miss the lovely fog, smog, and grey skies? Anyway, I never got to thank you for buying ice cream and stuff for me last time we hung out. Wanna come get ice cream with me today before the show? Or are you much too far above me after all of this press and publicity? 6 o’clock, Fortescue’s. I want to hear EVERYTHING.
-- Em.”

I’ve never had an easy time concentrating at ‘work,’ especially when ‘work’ actually meant ‘doing absolutely no work whatsoever,’ but today, the Tyronification of my brain was at its worst. Inside my mind, I kept replaying clips of the last couple times we’d hung out. I wasn’t used to being the one who ‘pursued’ him. Was it a bad sign that he wasn’t the one who’d owled me with an, “EM! I’M BACK! LET’S GO SNOG SOMEWHERE?”

It was so stupid how just thinking of him made me feel like my body had been hard-boiled, especially since I’d known the boy forever, and I was training for one of the toughest, least emotional professions out there. But I really needn’t have worried, because as I sat in the stadium, an owl dropped a letter on my head and zoomed away before I could even tip it.

It said:

Em�”Well, I’m a very, very busy man, so I’ll see if I can squeeze it in… PSYCH! I’ll be there or be square. I was starting to worry you’d forgotten all about me these two months. Silly of me, I guess. Pretty sure that’s not possible.
See you,
The ‘Ronester.

I groaned, because groans are very useful in covering up giant, dorky smiles. The ‘Ronester? I thought that nickname had been discontinued and replaced with “Thomas the Tank Engine.” If I were smart, I would have noticed that the letter was already open. But, as Jordan once coldly pointed out, “Hormones make people stupid.”

That evening, I made my grand entrance into Fortescue’s Frozen Confectionary Shoppe. Immediately upon opening the door, I almost crashed headfirst into a broad back clad in a cutaway tuxedo.

“Tyrone Vincent Thomas,” I said slowly, “What the Niflheim are you wearing?”

He turned. I barely got a glimpse of that annoyingly pretty face and shiny white teeth of his before he lifted me clear of my feet and smooshed me in an enormous bear hug. “That’s the first time you ever got my middle name right!” he yelled. “Been practicing, have you?” He set me down and looked me over, his eyebrows contracting as he took in my jeans and t-shirt.

“Yep, I know, the contours of my body are mesmerizing and all that,” I said, although I didn’t feel nearly as drily amused as I wanted him to think I was.

“Yeah, yeah, but Em… aren’t we going to a premiere right after this? I think you’re s’posed to dress up a bit. Not that I don’t love that you’re repping the Super Motts shirt or anything.”

I laughed and held up my purse. “Oh, come on, Tyrone, you think I’m going to waltz into Fortescue’s in an evening gown? It’s in here. Undetectable extension charm.” I have to say, I relished how completely lost Tyrone looked, especially since it made me look less hopelessly-swept-off-my-feet and all that.

“AHEM!” came a loud, phlegmy cough from behind us. It was exactly the sort of cough that you would not ever want anywhere near open vats of ice cream. Standing behind the counter, wiping his mouth with his dingy white sleeve, was the rather corpulent figure of Flavian Forescue, his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. He looked a lot like a disgruntled penguin. “What are you doing here? I will call the dogs,” he announced.

Tyrone quickly put on his toothiest white grin. “Hey, don’t worry. Sorry, Mr. Fortescue. We’re going to order, we just haven’t seen each other in two months, and�””

Fortescue threw back his head and let out a shrill, eardrum-piercing scream that seemed to go on for hours, puncturing ever deeper and deeper into my head. I felt like diving for under the table for cover, but heroically decided to tough it out instead, Auror-in-training that I was.

“Er, excuse me, I want to order ice cream, and it’s slightly difficult when you’re screaming your head off,” I said politely.

Fortescue held up one finger, tapped his watch, and continued his scream for four more seconds, then cleared his throat and straightened up. “Yes?”

“For me, two scoops of peanut butter fudge in a cone, with chopped peanuts, please,” I told him, then quickly threw both of my hands above my head and waggled them around. Anyone who’s been to Fortescue’s knows that if you don’t do that after ordering chopped peanuts, he will freeze in place and refuse to move for fourteen minutes.

“And I’ll take four scoops of mocha chocolate chip in a bowl with half a banana, whipped cream, and caramel sauce,” Tyrone said. “Hold the jaguars.”

Fortescue had moved on from monkeys to jaguars recently, but only when someone ordered more than two toppings. He looked slightly disappointed that both of us were used to his personal idiosyncrasies. As a matter of fact, I’d been hoping Tyrone hadn’t got the memo in his two months away.

“That’s seven Sickles, six Knuts, and four bears,” Fortescue declared. Quickly, I scooped up four gummi bears from the toppings bar and placed them in Fortescue’s sticky palm while Tyrone dug around in his wallet.

“Hold it there,” I said. “You are not paying for me this time. I asked you here. This is my treat to celebrate you coming back.”

Tyrone handed the money to Fortescue. “You know how he gets if you take too long to pay him,” he replied, winking innocently, but I knew he was trying to be all chivalrous again. I cocked my eyebrow.

“I’m onto you, slick. But I’m not complaining. More money for me.”

When Fortescue finished laboriously scooping out the ice cream, Tyrone and I sat down at a little table, upon which Tyrone immediately dug into his sundae with almost indecent enthusiasm.

“What, no ‘so how have you been?’” I noted. “Your sundae means more to you than I do. Hmmm, four scoops? Watch yourself if you want to keep up those famous abs of yours, big shot.”

“Aw, come on, this is the best I’ve ever looked, and you know it,” Tyrone said with a grin, and not even the common courtesy to look slightly ruffled. Darn that self-esteem of his. “Man, I missed these little pink plastic spoons. I love these.”

I shook my head. “Okay, well, I guess you needn’t have bothered asking me how I’ve been, because everything’s been boring and predictable and totally normal these past two months. And really lonely.”

Now Tyrone really did look startled. “Really?” he said softly.

“Oh, don’t look like that, you goofball. I was talking about Haley, not you.” I looked at him for a moment and sighed. “But I did miss you, too. More than I expected, really. I mean, it’s funny, I went without seeing you for five years, and now two months feels like…”

“Three and a half eternities?” Tyrone’s smile looked more wistful than smug now. “Yeah, you got used to having me around. Haley would say you got ‘accustomed to my face.’ Eh, it happens. You got spoiled having me around as your emotional punching bag.”

I snorted. “‘Emotional punching bag?’ Anatoly came up with that one, didn’t he? I know you, Tyrone. And unfortunately, I also know Capshaw. Don’t worry, you’re funnier.” Tyrone threw his hands up in surrender. I touched his chin, where what looked suspiciously like facial hair was sneaking along… with a matching mustache. “Ah, my old nemesis is back,” I growled.

“You know you love my mustache,” Tyrone informed me. “Anyway, I’d tell you about how I’ve been, but I know you’ve been following along every step of the way on the Wizarding Wireless. But Em, you have no idea how awesome this all was…”

We got to chatting until long after our ice creams had melted, Tyrone’s gargantuan sundae forgotten in front of him as he reenacted Quidditch plays with pink plastic spoons.

“Your sundae’s gone all melty.” I pointed out. “Remember back at Hogwarts, when we used to always mix together all kinds of random foods, and then we dared each other to eat them? That’s what it looks like.”

“I used to drink it up like this,” observed Tyrone, picking up the bowl and slurping out of it like a dog, and I almost fell out of my chair laughing. His table manners had always been lousy�”but in a tux, it was hilarious.

“THERE ARE SPOONS FOR A REASON, SIR LIONEL!” screeched Fortescue, leaping over the counter with downright spooky agility and brandishing an ice cream scooper under Tyrone’s nose. He grabbed the multiple pink plastic spoons sitting on the table and snapped them in two, then kicked them into the corner. “YOU CAN’T HAVE SPOONS IF YOU AREN’T EVEN GOING TO EAT WITH THEM, YOUR GRACE!”

While he was busy, I snatched Tyrone’s hand and yanked him out the door while Fortescue was still going postal inside. We collapsed to the ground outside, whooping with laughter. “Sir Lionel? That’s a new one. I might just have to start using it,” I giggled. “You’ll never hear the name ‘Tyrone’ again after today.”

Tyrone shook his head, still grinning. “You know, Em, you’re literally the only person who ever calls me Tyrone. Everyone calls me Ty�”well, when they’re not calling me ‘The ‘Ronester,’ that is.”

"You're the only one who calls yourself that," I pointed out. “And I know people call you ‘Ty,’ but that sounds stupid. I always liked the name ‘Tyrone.’ It sounds so… euphonious. Tyronious.”

“Now who sounds like Anatoly?” laughed Tyrone, shoving me playfully. “Okay, let’s make a deal. You’re the only person who can call me ‘Tyrone’, and I’m the only person who can call you ‘Em.’”

“Deal.” I spat on my hand and we shook hands, like old times. I couldn’t help but feel like having our spit touching was suspiciously like an indirect kiss or something weird like that. And I couldn’t help but be reminded of that time I snapped at Wolfgang for calling me ‘Em.’ At the time, I thought it was because I hated being reminded of Tyrone. But really… I think I just hated anyone but Tyrone calling me ‘Em.’ Haley was right, I really never had stopped liking him.

“Hey, any word on Wolfgang?” I asked.

Tyrone shook his head, looking slightly defeated. “No, not yet. I’m guessing you didn’t hear anything, either. Far as I know, he disappeared off the face of the earth since Quidditch season ended. And the attacks have just got worse, so you never know what’s happened to him.” He straightened his jacket. “Well… we’d better get to the theatre now, or Haley will not be happy,” he said.

Oh boy. Once again, I deflated our good mood by mentioning the ‘W’ word. “Yeah, let’s go,” I said. “Don’t splinch yourself, now. I bet that tux was expensive.”

We disappeared into the air, as the faint voice of Flavian Fortescue shrieked behind us, “I HATE KWAZY PEOPLE! THAT’S WHY I’D NEVER INVITE YOUR BROTHER TO EAT AT MY HOUSE! HE’D PARALLEL PARK IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE FOR FOUR MINUTES! FOOOOUR WHOOOOLE MINUTES! HE’S CLEARLY INSANE, HERE’S YOUR CHANGE COME AGAIN!”

For once, I almost agreed with Fortescue’s deranged ramblings. I really did hate Tyrone’s crazy step-brother. And he certainly was never eating dinner with me again.

* * * * * *

“Excuse me while I slip into something more impressive,” I said, once we landed near the theatre, holding up my beaded bag. “I’m gonna run into the shop next door and change in the loo.” A slow smile crawled across my face. “’Course, you could go on in without me, but you’re not. Does this mean I’m your date to the premiere?”

Tyrone smiled deviously. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice,” he said.

I made certain to emerge at a time when Tyrone was talking to someone else in front of the theatre so that I and they could experience the full effect of his awed reaction. Stopping mid-word would be an especially nice indication that I’d cleaned up nicely.

Sure enough, the ridiculous social butterfly himself was chatting away with a couple of perfect strangers�”Muggle strangers, by the look of them�”when I stepped into the sunlight to hear him say, “…and then, four years later, he caught a fish that was bigger than h�”“ [Insert adorable bemused stammer here].

“Hey,” I greeted him suavely. “Sorry I took so long.” For you people obsessively keeping a diary of the clothes Tyrone and I like to wear, fashion icons of the modern age that we are, I had on a long, sleek emerald green gown, and I’d done my hair and makeup in a rather dramatic, old-fashioned way that Haley had once taught me how to do. I knew Tyrone wasn’t surprised�”he’d seen me all dressed up loads of times�”but I could tell he was enjoying the view.

“Not too bad, Em,” he said, and inclined his head toward the Muggle couple. “Sorry, Emma, these are Paul and Jessie Holcombe. Paul, Jessie, this is Emma Weasley. She’s my… er…”

“Step-cousin-in-law,” I supplied, to Tyrone’s look of consternation. “My cousin Haley’s the star of the show, and his stepbrother wrote the thing.”

I could tell from their faces that they knew there was something more between me and the ‘Ronester, and furthermore, that they were not nearly as impressed by my appearance as Tyrone was.

“Anyway, hope you enjoy the show! They’ve been working on it for ages!” Tyrone finished up, and gestured politely toward the door of the theatre.

I sat down on the edge of the nearest planter and looked up at the marquee. It was so weird to see Haley’s glammed-up face splashed across the front of the building, and her name in gold lights… even weirder that her name was “HALEY P. QUINN.” That, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to.

“Don’t look like that,” said Tyrone. “You know I think you’re the fourth-most beautiful person ever. I don’t have to tell you these things anymore.”

“I know, I know, after you, your mum, and Robin Wright in The Princess Bride,” I muttered. “It’s not that.” It was that everyone around me was grown-up, successful. Even Haley had her face on a marquee… she would be a big star by morning. Less than a year ago, she was working in a coffee shop and hadn’t found a single acting job. Now she was starring in a show written for her, and she was married to boot. And Jordan was brilliantly successful, of course… and here Tyrone was, playing for England in the World Cup… And what was I? Still struggling through Auror training, same as I was five years ago.

Everyone knew Tyrone was a major success… and everyone but Tyrone could tell that we were not on the same ‘level.’ Even Muggles who had no idea who Tyrone was thought that I didn’t deserve him. Which was completely bogus and wrong, of course. I just don’t know why Mister Charm-Your-Pants-Off Thomas had to be so darn wonderful.

“I’m just wondering how it feels to be everybody’s type,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.

Tyrone laughed. “Oh Godric, Em, is that is? I’m not everybody’s type, believe it or not. I just make people think I am. Then they wonder what’s wrong with them for not thinking I’m dreamy, and then I fool them into thinking I’m gorgeous, too.” He looked off at nothing in particular. “Do looks really matter that much to you? Because I feel like you care a lot about how people look. And, you know, all good things have to come to an end sometimes. Are you still going to want to hang out with me then?”

“Of course I am,” I blurted, probably a little bit too quickly. “In fact, I’ll probably like you a lot more when you’re not totally outshining me all the time.”

He beamed at me. Oh, sweet Merlin. Did I basically just say that I want to grow old with Tyrone? Oh, heck to the no. Hopefully he didn’t realize the full implication of what he just asked me, or I am dead, I thought furiously.

I linked my arm through his. “Come on, let’s go in already. I want to get this musical thing over with.”

And with that, we made our grand entrance into the theatre, Muggle cameras snapping everywhere. I’m sure everyone was trying to figure out who we were�”Tyrone certainly looked famous, especially the way he knew just how to look at the camera for full effect, but of course nobody there would have a clue who he was. And when we finally got to our wonderful plushy red seats, located in the best part of the theatre and we thought we could relax… well, we were dead wrong.

“Well, hellooooo there, my children,” crowed Anatoly, suddenly appearing in the row behind us and draping his upper body over the space between our seats. “Fancy seeing you two sitting together here.”

“Oh, yeah, I just got two Muggles to trade their tickets with us so we could sit next to each other,” said Tyrone. (Awww, he neglected to mention that little detail to me…)

Anatoly smirked. “Well, even though I always liked you,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Tyrone’s ear, “And I never liked you,” he pointed straight at me, almost poking my eye out, “I always did have the teeniest inkling that you two would end up together again. Too much smoldering sexual tension and all that, you know. Men simply can’t resist the people who are totally flat-out bonkers wrong for them, sirens and harpies and gorgons and the like. Well, toodles, I suppose I’ll see you after the show when you feel obligated to tell me how brilliant I am, even if you don’t actually get any of the cunning wordplay.”

And with that, he vanished into the crowd, his oversized purple velvet tailcoat flapping behind him. I shuddered, “Wow, I can’t stand him,” I said. “We know the weirdest people, don’t we?”

“Ever think it’s maybe because we are some of the weirdest people?” replied Tyrone, mildly flicking through his program as the orchestra began to tune up.

Okay, I have to tell you… the show was good. Really good. And I’m not the hugest musical theatre fan�”although waking up to an alarm clock that plays a show tune every morning means that I know an awful lot more about the genre than I care to admit. Basically, the premise, like B.C. and Anatoly explained before, was that Haley would be playing twenty different great women throughout Muggle history, with a chorus of ten men to sing back-up and play all the male parts (and, in some cases, provide eye candy to the audience).

Now, I have no idea who most of the women Haley played are, not being the biggest expert on Muggles, but I will tell you, she did a fantastic job. In every scene, she seemed like a totally different person, the way she moved, the way she sounded, the way she looked, even though there was barely room for more than the most minimal costume and wig changes. And I wasn’t totally sold on the concept of the show, but the music was pretty darn good, not anywhere near as cheesy as I had expected. B.C. Quinn had a special knack for making everything sound super-epic. Even Anatoly’s writing didn’t ruin the piece for me, although he clearly thought he was a lot wittier than I did.

The audience clearly seemed to enjoy it, too, since when I yelled out raunchy, inappropriate things to Haley during her curtain call, my words got swallowed up by all of the cheers and applause.

Once the show was over, Tyrone and I used our special backstage passes to sneak back and fawn over the big star. (Haha! Authorized Personnel strikes again, baby! You know, I think if I were in a rock band, I’d call it Authorized Personnel so I could get through any door I wanted.) Haley was surrounded by a huge throng of people, most of them total strangers to me, still wearing her stage makeup and with her hair all flattened and crazy from her wig cap, but as soon as she saw Tyrone and me coming, she jumped up and gave us each a gigantic hug.

“I did it! I did it!” she sang, dancing up and down and twirling around as only a true diva would. “Did you like it? Did you think it went well? I had some phlegm going on in the first song, but I think I got over that… I hope I did all right, Wolfie’s been working so hard to make this thing a success. Well, I had fun, at least. Did you?”

I smiled, hugging her again. I had missed Haley a little bit more than made sense. “You were really amazing,” I said. “Where’s this genius husband of yours? I want to go congratulate him for writing a musical that didn’t make me fight to stay awake.”

I had never been so proud to know Haley in my whole life, but I felt that stupid stab of guilt again as I watched her tell a story about a nearly-thwarted mishap to Tyrone, who roared with laughter and slung an arm around her shoulder. “You know, you’ll be more famous than me by morning,” he told her. “It’s just wizards who know me, not a very big group. But you’ve got all the Muggles in the world! It’s the real deal, Hales. I knew you’d do it.”

I spotted the familiar curly-haired, waist-coated figure of B.C. a bit further from the epicenter of the action, modestly hanging about to the side as per usual while Anatoly put on a big show for the press and adoring fans. B.C. was talking to my Aunt Ginny, Uncle Harry, and Ivy, who was wearing a modest dress in an unflattering shade of pale pink and looking nearly ready to explode. I couldn’t imagine anyone being more pregnant and still standing up, although she was supposed to have another two months.

“Hey, how’s the real star of the night?” I asked fondly, clapping B.C. on the back.

“She’s over there, looking like she’s going to fall over from excitement,” he replied, pointing at Haley.

I laughed. “Oh, quit the big modesty act, you have to be proud. That was brilliant, B.C., really brilliant. And the last time I said that about a musical was when the Phantom of the Opera was stuck hanging upside down with his trousers off due to a technical malfunction.” I gave him a big hug. I’d come to love B.C. a lot more these past two months, even though I so rarely saw him, busy man that he was. You couldn’t not adore someone who matched Haley so weirdly perfectly, mild-mannered and astonishingly normal though he was. I think he was still terrified of me, but so much the better.

“So, are you excited for the wedding, then?” he asked. “Or is being Maid of Honor too much pressure for you?”

“I think I can manage it, now that I talked Haley out of making me wear a pink dress,” I said thoughtfully. “The worst is over, picking out lingerie and stuff with Haley. Really, I am excited, though. Just one little question… is Anatoly Best Man?”

B.C. shook his head, smiling. “I will never understand why you hate each other so much. But no, actually, he told me he didn’t want to be Best Man. He said the title would be inaccurate… don’t ask me what his real reason is, because I never know these things, but it might be your fault. Actually, Ty’s our Best Man. He’s a good guy�”Haley and I are really happy you’re seeing each other again. And I’m not just saying this because I’m his brother.”

I always thought it was really cute how B.C. and Tyrone called each other ‘brothers’ even though they were technically orphaned stepbrothers whose parents hadn’t even met until they were already grown up. Especially since I’d noticed that Tyrone made certain to call Wolfgang his ‘step-brother.’

“Hey, Wolfgang won’t be at the wedding, will he?” I asked.

Once again, I’d managed to say the magic ‘W’ word that ruined everyone’s good moods. “I doubt it,” sighed B.C. “We didn’t technically invite him, but that’s never stopped him before. Still, no one’s seen him in months. I doubt he’d resurface for something like this.”

That face of B.C.’s, how he always looked a bit like an overgrown child… he looked so disappointed that I had to pat him on the back. “Listen, sorry I brought him up. But it’s only a matter of time before he gets caught. It doesn’t take a Seer to figure out that he’s a werewolf.”

Now that face of B.C.’s did something else extraordinary. It crumpled up into the distinct expression of someone forced to talk to the village idiot. “Wolfgang isn’t a werewolf, though,” he said, and before either one of us could say anything else, he was swallowed up by a gang of reporters.

* * * * * *

It had been a good day. It had been a really, really good day. So why did I feel like bursting into hideous, mascara-wrecking tears as soon as I came home to my silent, empty apartment? For a moment, I just sat there on the sofa, looking around the room at all of the pictures on the walls of me and my friends through the years.

There we all were, same as ever. I never would have thought I’d ever see Ivy and Ted apart from one another for more than a few hours, let alone months… and I never thought I’d see Ivy slowly managing on her own to rebuild a life without Ted in it. Tyrone was even in a few of the pictures, the group shots that I didn’t have the heart to mutilate after the break-up, that trademark cocky grin on his face, wearing those stupid ‘funny’ t-shirts of his. Of course he was a Quidditch star, and of course he loved his fame and popularity… but I hadn’t counted on him having to take up so much responsibility and running with it. I certainly hadn’t planned on him turning into such a hopelessly good guy.

And then there was me. I was the only one who hadn’t changed at all. Heck, I’ve even looked about the same since I was twelve, thanks to the unpleasantly sudden miracle of puberty. I was just Emma, the amusing in small doses, the uncomfortably blunt, the one with the bad temper that everyone tolerates because they’ve gotten used to it, the one who’s so obsessed with looks that even her best friends call her out on it.

Feeling weirdly cold, I hauled myself off of the sofa and trudged off to my bedroom. But when I opened the door… I saw that my room was completely filled with colorful balloons. There was a giant sunflower sitting on my unmade bed, a bouquet of purple tulips sitting on my bedside table, red rose petals mixed in with the clothes strewn all over my floor, and a whole basket of daffodils, bottles of butterbeer, and chocolate frogs on top of my dresser. There was a note on my pillowcase that read,

Hey Em,
Just so you know, I lied, because I actually think you’re even more beautiful than Robin Wright. And almost as beautiful as my mum.
Cheers,
Tyrone.
P.S. You’ve still got nothing on me, though.
P.P.S. I never got a good-night kiss tonight, loser. Hope you like the flowers anyway.

Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
I’m getting married in the morning
Ding-dong, the bells are gonna chime.
Kick up a rumpus
But don’t lose the compass
And get me to the church
Get me to the church
For God’s sake, get me to the church on time!
-- “Get Me To The Church On Time,” from My Fair Lady

ONE WEEK LATER

Ohhhh man, Haley’s big day. I don’t know how she managed to plan out her dream wedding in just two months, but she did it, all right, and now it’s my job to describe every last sickening detail.

Because Haley and B.C. have a bunch of Muggle friends who haven’t got a clue that magic exists (see, Jordan, THAT’S how you do it!), they decided to hold their wedding at the little church in Godric’s Hollow, and then the reception in Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny’s backyard�”which meant everyone had to be on their best behavior and try to do as little magic as possible (although almost all of the preparations were done using magic, of course).

Apparently, Haley subscribes to the tradition of not letting the groom see the bride until the wedding, because she had the entire basement of the church quarantined as a ‘girls only’ zone. What the groomsmen were supposed to do before the ceremony, I have no idea, but as Maid of Honour, I had to descend to the dungeon of oestrogen.

But before I did, I had a little business to carry out.

“Hey, you’re late,” I said as the man I’d been waiting for walked calmly out of the coatroom. I knew he had Apparated into the coatroom, because he certainly hadn’t come in through the door, but as long as the Muggles were in the dark, no one was complaining.

“I am not late,” said Jordan. “My watch is perfectly accurate, so either yours is fast, or you didn’t even check yours and you feel like I’m late. But I never show up anywhere early if I can help it.”

“You don’t need to try and impress me,” I told him. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers and called me ‘Memmy.’ Listen, did you bring it?”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “Of course I did.” He handed me a small bag, which I quickly stuck inside my purse.

“And are you really sure you saw Wolfgang at the wedding in your vision?”

He rolled his eyes again, not an attractive habit. “Yes, Emma, they are visions, after all. I think I can tell the difference between them and ordinary dreams. And Wolfgang was certainly there. Of course, the irritating thing about visions is that they’re not always true, especially for someone as illogical and fickle as Wolfgang. Last night, the future might have included him turning up at the wedding, today it might not. I suggest you enjoy the wedding and put the sleuthing on hold for now.”

Oh boy, Jordan suggesting that someone else enjoy something. Now THERE was a new one. “Okay, take care, Jor-jums,” I said. “Try to have some fun yourself. I dare you to smile at least twice.”

He smiled, surprisingly sincerely. “Well, there’s one for you,” he informed me. “And let’s just say that I fully intend to have some fun, and leave it at that.” And with that, he strode off, whistling a very strange tune.

Guessing that was my cue to exit, I headed downstairs to the basement, which was a madhouse. Haley was locked away in the bathroom with her mother and some stylist lady, getting her hair and makeup perfected to their absolute best, a task that required ridiculous amounts of attention. The four other bridesmaids were all somewhere in the process of changing and getting made-up�”Ivy, Tabitha, Giorgi, and some little Muggle confusingly named Georgia. I didn’t know her, except that she was involved in the whole theatre gig.

Haley had let us all choose any kind of dress and accessories we wanted, as long as our dresses were all the same specific shade of royal blue. I’m not sure, however, that was a wise decision, since Giorgi was one of the bridesmaids. The rest of us all looked reasonably classy, even the hilariously pregnant Ivy.

But Giorgi had decided to remodel her dress. She had apparently found a short little sleeveless dress, cut it in half, and stitched it back together with bright red yarn at a crooked angle, so that one half of the hemline was much shorter than the other. She’d also cut off one of the straps, so the other side dangled loose over her shoulder, and stitched big black, white, and pink buttons down the middle. Her tights were bright yellow with orange polka dots, and she wore knee-high purple leather platform boots. Her earrings today were little dolls shaped like a bride and a groom, and she wore a giant green ribbon tied in a bow around her neck and a red fedora topped with fake flowers. For some reason, nobody else seemed upset by this.

“Hey, Ivy,” I said, trying to find room in front of the single mirror to apply my makeup, “Isn’t this weird for you? Since you got married here and all?”

She stuck the last pin into her hair. “Yeah, I guess it is,” she said. “But that was more than five years ago. And the whole thing was a lot… quieter.” She smiled. “I really can’t wait for all of the surprises Haley’s going to throw into this. You know she can’t resist putting on a show.”

There was a loud, ominous bang from inside the restroom, along with a shriek of, “WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SO UGLY TODAY?”

I laughed. “She is a bit of a diva, yeah. I seem to remember you were a little high-strung at your wedding, too.” Of course she wasn’t as theatrical about it as Haley, but she was nervous. She was shaking so bad I thought she would fall over, and I seem to remember that despite the makeup, she was a nasty shade of greenish. “If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought you were going to make a break for your house and not get married after all.”

“I just hate being the centre of attention, you know that,” she replied. “Of course, I’m getting used to it now, since perfect strangers are always coming up to me and touching my stomach and asking me about the baby.”

I shuddered. “Reason 942 why I am never having kids,” I said. “I’d just smack them across the face and tell them to mind their own dang business.”

“Your kids, or the people asking about them?” Ivy asked with a perfectly straight face. She started to powder her face, something she didn’t need to do with her flawless never-been-out-in-the-sunlight white complexion, but apparently did so that the rest of us putting on makeup wouldn’t feel bad. “Ted was even more nervous than I was, though. You know how he always was, making sure everyone was happy. If things didn’t go perfectly, he’d never get over it. I barely saw him that day, he was so busy making all the guests comfortable.”

I noted her careful use of the past tense in talking about Ted. Slowly but surely, she was really beginning to accept that there was little point in waiting up for Ted to come back. “I didn’t know Ted could get stressed out,” I said. “I thought he was ninety-nine percent pure ray of sunshine, one percent dog breath.”

Now the smile disappeared from her face entirely. “You have no idea,” she said. “The night before he left… he was in a state. He cried all night long. I promised him I’d stay up with him the whole night.”

I had no idea what to say to something like this�”it was like a peek into a terrifying alternate world where Jordan was stupid and Tyrone was shy and reserved and I was tactful. So I looked away and mumbled, “Sounds like you know all about being a mum already, then.”

I hung around the corner reading Pride and Prejudice and listening to Haley’s periodic outbursts for the next twenty or so minutes, until it was finally time for our ranks to assemble formation at the back of the church and get this thing over with.

“Man, this is weird, having someone besides me playing the piano in here,” remarked B.C., straightening his tie as he prepared to walk in. “I’ve played the piano and organ at this church for three years now…He’s good, isn’t he?”

The mystery man at the keyboard switched from whatever dull, generic background music he’d been playing to what was distinctly the title song from “Beauty and the Beast.” Personally, I thought that was a bit insulting to B.C., but it sounded pretty, and he and Tyrone did some weird, complicated secret handshake and set off down the aisle.

B.C.’s waistcoat and tie were the same shade of royal blue as all of the bridesmaids’ dresses, while Tyrone and all the other groomsmen had on bright pink waistcoats and bowties. Somehow, Tyrone made it work for him. It was a compromise based on the fact that blue was B.C.’s favorite color, pink was Haley’s, and I wasn’t going to be caught dead wearing a bubblegum pink dress. This meant that the colour scheme looked more like a baby shower than a wedding, but that was probably appropriate, since Ivy looked like she was about to give birth right there.

Next came the other men in pink, Jordan, Anatoly, and two blokes I’d never met named Douglas and Sebastian�”I think one of them was in the musical with Haley, but I’m not sure which one�”and after them, the bridesmaids walked down the aisle. I had to admit, it was really jarring and strange to be at Haley’s wedding without Ted there to drastically throw off the average height of the groomsmen. For a moment, I felt a lump in my throat… but I guess that was normal for a wedding.

Next came little Holly and Jonathan Potter. Normally, Holly would’ve been the flower girl and Jonathan the ring bearer, but because Jonathan was so absent-minded, Haley had decided it might be a smarter idea to entrust Holly with the expensive rings and let Jonathan scatter flower petals wherever he wanted.

And then it was my turn. I wish I didn’t have to walk down the whole aisle alone. It seemed so long and weird, with that sappy music playing in the background, and I couldn’t help staring into Tyrone’s eyes as he waited at the altar. It felt way too much like it was my own wedding, and I had to look down and remind myself that I wasn’t wearing white. Finally, I reached the front and took my place at the altar. Now there was just room for one more person…

The doors�”which I hadn’t noticed anyone closing�”flew open, and all of a sudden, the organ blared a sinister chord.

“DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNN, DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN DUUUUUUN!”

Oh. My. Godric. Haley was actually walking down the aisle to the Phantom of the Opera theme song. That crazy, crazy girl. Accompanied by this evil-sounding soundtrack, Haley floated serenely down the aisle, a very smart-looking Uncle Harry by her side.

You would’ve thought that someone like Haley would have wanted a massive fluffy gown to wear for her big day, the more fairy tale princess-like the better. But instead, her dress was a close-fitting, sleek strapless number that hugged every square inch of her body and made her look much less like the twelve-year-old she normally resembled, flowing out mermaidishly below the knees. She had on a tiny pink pillbox hat with a little netted veil, and her hair was pinned up except for a few little curls. Her shoes were bright pink with tiny bows on them and her pink toenails peeping through, and she was carrying a bouquet of pink zinnias, her favorite flowers. Makeup expert that she was, she’d never looked prettier or more elegant, and the giant smile on her face certainly helped. If I were a Seer like Jordan, I probably would’ve started to describe the way her aura leaped and shimmered around her, but luckily, I’m not.

“Dearly beloved,” began the vicar, stepping forward as Haley joined B.C. and squeezed his hand. “We have come together to witness the marriage of Harriet-Lily Potter and Beowulf Caspar Friedrich Apollion Brandon Quinn�””

I saw my dad and Uncle Harry fighting to hold back laughter in the audience. There was a long string of drivel about the nature of marriage and its purpose, and I looked over at Tyrone, wondering if he was thinking of The Princess Bride too. If you’ve seen the film, you know why. If not, there’s really no point in me explaining.

My feet were really starting to hurt in those stupid, pretty shoes I’d decided to wear, and the vicar decided to keep talking for an eternity. He asked B.C. if he was interested in the idea of taking Haley for various purposes, and vice versa, and then he asked Haley the same questions, and both of them said they would, as planned.

And then the vicar said, “Harriet-Lily and Beowulf Caspar, I now invite you to join hands and make your vows, in the presence of God and his people.” And all of a sudden, the pianist started playing again some thunderously sappy music, and Haley and B.C. suddenly produced microphones from where they’d been cleverly hidden inside potted plants.

“From this day on, I give myself to you,” sang B.C. Oh man… they were actually singing their vows.

“Here in my arms, you will be free.
I only want you as you are
Give me your trust
Grow old with me.”

An artful tear ran down Haley’s cheek, over her waterproof mascara, as she sang,
“I promise you to cherish and to hold
Now and as long as we both live
I'll make you laugh, I'll keep you warm
There is so much I want to give.”

And then they broke into harmony:
“You are my home
You make me strong
And in this world of strangers
I belong to someone
You are all I know
You're all I have
I won't let go.”

The song went on, through several dramatic key-changes and harmonies, and I couldn’t help but feel a little bit like I was intruding on a private moment, as though I was in a musical and I was supposed to know the words to the song. I think I recognized the tune�”unless I was mistaken, it was from a musical called The Scarlet Pimpernel that Haley used to be obsessed with�”but I doubt it was ever used as actual wedding vows before. There was more to the ceremony, of course, all of the speeches and the business of trading rings, and a frankly embarrassing kiss. I wished Ivy wouldn’t cry so much. I think it was contagious.

When the whole business was over with, we left the church with a rousing organ rendition of “All You Need Is Love” by the Beatles playing behind us, reason enough for me to high-tail it out of there. At Haley’s request, we all threw glitter at her instead of rice, which I thought was a terrible idea�”glitter is like acne. The more to try to get it off of you, the worse it gets, so all of us wedding guests would be picking glitter off of ourselves for the next millennium.

“All right, everyone! This way to the party!” screamed Haley, hiking up her skirt and skipping backward, waving her arm toward the vicinity of her parents’ house, which was right across the street.

Now, this was what I’d been looking forward to, the real reason why people still hold weddings anymore. The Potters’ backyard looked spectacular. There was a giant golden tent set up, with all of the typical magical decorations�”a waterfall, flocks of tiny golden non-pooping birds, flowers, bubbles, everything that would thoroughly perplex the Muggles. Instead of long formal tables, there were lots of little stations where people could grab food and drink at will, and cozy little chairs scattered about in clusters.

A band called He’s The Prime Minister was setting up�”more friends of B.C.’s, presumably�”and most importantly, there was a chocolate fountain!

I made a beeline toward it, gazing rapturously at the cubes of pound cake, strawberries, and marshmallows lying seductively around the fountain, but first, Uncle Harry climbed up onto the stage, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Oh great, speeches,” I muttered, plopping down next to Tyrone. “Here, make sure I don’t fall asleep, I want to make sure I’m the first person to put the chocolate fountain to use.”

Tyrone gave me one of the weirdest smiles I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen Anatoly’s. “I dunno, I doubt you’ll fall asleep during this speech,” he remarked.

Uncle Harry picked up a microphone, which promptly squealed loudly like a stuck pig. He jumped back a little, which only made the squealing worse. “Er, hi…” he said. “I’m no good at public speaking… I mean, I don’t much fancy attention�”whatever the press might tell you. Well, I’m Haley’s dad, and I just want to say, I’m so proud of both of you, Haley and B.C., and everyone who helped make all this happen. I remember when I got married, I felt sad that my parents couldn’t be there to see it. And then, when my father-in-law got up to make the toast, he wanted me to come up with him to officially welcome me into the family. And I never forgot that. So, B.C., can you come up here and make me feel less embarrassed doing all this on my own?”

Aww. Uncle Harry is so cute sometimes. And I guess he saw himself a bit in B.C., with no parents or family to celebrate his wedding with him. B.C. got up and made his way up to the stage, his head bowed meekly. “You can call me ‘Wolfie’ now, I guess,” he said. “My wife seems dead-set on that nickname, so I might as well get used to it.”

“When she’s not calling you Panda Bear!” I screamed out, to a flurry of cheers and whistles from the assembled party.

“Right, well I think I’m supposed to make a toast and get this over with,” said Harry. “Haley and B.C., I know you’re going to be happy together, and I can’t imagine a better man to take my daughter off my hands.” He held up his glass. “Here’s to prosperity!”

B.C. held up his. “Our good health and happiness!”

“And most important…” said Harry. All of a sudden, the band played a chord and Harry�”Uncle Harry, of all people, one of the least-musical men in the entire word�”sang in a somewhat off-key shouty voice, “To life, to life, l’chaim!”

“L’chaim, l’chaim to life!” sang B.C.

“I don’t believe this, this is from Fiddler on the Roof!” I hissed to Tyrone. “They’re not even Jewish!”

“Here’s to the father I’ve tried to be,” sang Harry.

“Here’s to my bride-to-be,” sang B.C.

They threw their arms around one another’s shoulders. “Drink l’chaim to life! To life, l’chaim! L’chaim, l’chaim, to life!”

They continued the song, the audience hooting and clapping along in rhythm, until suddenly, B.C. called, “Reb. Anatoly! Drinks for everyone!”

“What’s the occasion?” shouted Anatoly, vaulting up onto the stage.

“I’m taking myself a bride!” replied B.C.

“Who?”

“Harry’s eldest, Haley!”

“MAZELTOV!” screamed a terrifying number of voices, and Anatoly, B.C.’s chums Douglas and Sebastian, and JORDAN FLIPPIN’ POTTER ran up to join them onstage and sang:

“To B.C. Quinn, to Harry!
To Haley, your daughter
Your wife!
May all your futures be pleasant ones
Not like our present ones.
Drink l’chaim to life
To life, l’chaim.
L’chaim, l’chaim to life.
It takes a wedding to make us say
Let’s live another day
Drink l’chaim to life!”

And all of a sudden, they broke out into a wild, choreographed dance, spinning and leaping about with surprising dexterity and singing, “Dai-dai-dai-dai-dai-dai-dai-dai-dai!”

“Will you look at that, Tyrone? That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever s�”"

But Tyrone had mysteriously vanished into thin ai…

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHH!” belted a terrifyingly loud, powerful, and high voice. It was Tyrone. Of course it was. He had leapt onto the table, his arms spread wide. Slowly, he inched his way down the table, snapping and singing an eerie tune in Russian and gradually picking up steam.

“Za-va-scha-zarovia
Heaven bless you both, nastrovia!
To your health and may we
Live together in peaccceee!”

He joined the group of men onstage in their wild dance.

“May you both be favored with the future of your choice.
May you live to see a thousand reasons to rejoice.
Za-va-scha-zarovia
Heaven bless you both, nastrovia!
To your health and may we
Live together in peaccceee!”

The room went dead silent. When we all thought they were done and a weak smattering of confused applause began… the boys broke into a kickline!

“We’ll… raise… a… glass!
And sip a drop of Schnapps
In honour of the great good luck that favored you!
We know that when good fortune favors two such men
It stands to reason we deserve it too!
To us, and our good fortune!
Be happy, be healthy, long life!
And if our good fortune never comes
Here’s to whatever comes.
Drink l’chaaaaaaaiiiiiiimmmmmm… TO LIFE!”

“TO LIFE!” exclaimed B.C., popping the cork on a bottle of champagne.

The entire partly jumped to their feet, roaring in thunderous applause. Even I couldn’t help it. As foolish and ridiculous as the men all looked, especially given the very limited singing abilities of several of them, it was one of the most adorable, flat-out awesome things I’d seen in a long time. And I have no idea how they all managed to learn the lyrics and choreography.

Apparently, Haley was just as astonished as I was. She ran up onto the stage, snatched B.C.’s mic, gave him a theatrical fake-slap across the cheek, and declared, “Mr. Quinn, how dare you upstage me with that shocking display when I’m playing the role of a lifetime? And the rest of you gits, how could you go behind my back and do something like that without telling me? You’re all brilliant, especially you, Daddy. And Jordan, you’re the worst dancer in the world! I love you all!” And with that, she flounced back to her seat, yelling, “Let’s eat, already!”

The chocolate fountain was waiting for me. I put it out of its misery.

As I finally parted ways with the delightful chocolate fountain and nibbled at a few questionable items that included much-too-pink shrimp on crackers (guiltily feeling like I should eat SOMETHING non-desserty) Tyrone got up to make his toast.

“Hey, I’ll be a bit shorter with this toast�”sorry, no song and dance in this one�”but I’m Ty, the best man, I’m pretty sure you gathered. I’m lucky B.C.’s my brother. I never thought when my dad started dating Elsa Quinn seven years ago that one day, her nancy-boy musician son would be one of the best friends I’ve ever had, but here we are. But guess what, B.C.? I have a surprise for you. That wife of yours was my date to the Valentine’s Day Ball when we were thirteen years old. That’s right, bro, you got my sloppy seconds. But seriously, Haley, I’ve thought of you as a little sister for years now, even before I met B.C., and I think it’s awesome that you’re part of the family now. I will never forget the first time I met Haley. I was getting on the Hogwarts Express as a first year�”I didn’t know anyone, and I had no idea what I was doing, and I was really scared. Then, I saw this tiny, shrimpy little girl�”she was half my size even then, I could hardly believe she was old enough to go to Hogwarts�”she got knocked over and trampled by some older kids, so I went to help her up, and I was yelling, ‘Are you okay?’ But by the time I got there, she was already on her feet, cheery as ever, and she goes, ‘Don’t worry, I’m invincible,’ and skips away. So even then, she was totally out of her mind. Which explains why she picked B.C. over me.” He raised his glass. “To the Quinns!” he roared.

We really are all family now, I thought. I’m Haley and Jordan’s cousin, Ivy’s their adopted sister, Ted’s their brother-in-law, and now Haley’s Tyrone’s sister-in-law. The Weasley family is slowly but surely taking over the wizarding world. For some reason, the idea delighted me way too much… and I felt strangely proud of Tyrone as he gave his speech, like I was his mum or something. Definitely creepy.

As I gave up trying to eat non-chocolate food, Tyrone wandered over toward me. “Hey,” he said, tapping me on my left shoulder in a misguided attempt to trick me (although I could tell from his voice that he was actually standing to my right). “Did I do okay?”

“Your speech was a lot better than your singing,” I told him sweetly. “How did you guys learn that mad dance routine, anyway?”

“Musicians’ bachelor parties are weird. Hey, look, they’re cutting the cake!”

They certainly were. They actually had three cakes, a normal white one, a red velvet one (my favorite!), and a strawberry one, and needless to say, Haley picked the pinkest of the three for their symbolic first slice, which they proceeded to shove into one another’s faces.

“When I get married,” said Tyrone, “I’m having a double chocolate cake with Bavarian cream inside it. Also, the whole wedding’s going to be inside the Chudley Cannons stadium. And we’re saying our vows in midair, on our brooms. My pet giraffe can be the ring bearer�”I don’t have one yet, but I will.”

I laughed. “Good luck with that,” I said. “Me, I’m never getting married, but if I were, I’d definitely want a giraffe there, too.”

Tyrone’s eyebrows did that “TWING” thing they were so good at. “What do you mean, you’re not getting married? Who would want to be alone their whole life?”

“Come on, I’m Emma Weasley!” I exclaimed. “Anyone who’d want to marry me is stark raving mad! And I won’t be alone�”I have Haley and B.C. and Jordan and Ivy… and you… and other people.”

Before either of us could contribute anything to this increasingly awkward conversation, I heard a voice behind me say, “Whoa, Emma. Long time, no see.”

I turned around to see a tall man with extremely thick eyebrows and a purple tie. Oh, no. Oh, man. Oh, Merlin’s pants…

“Terrence!” I spluttered. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

It was the Ishfriend. The most awkward quasi-relationship of my life. The seemingly cool man that I dated for two days before he suddenly became unbearably, pathologically clingy and mushy.

“Yeah, I was a friend of Haley’s before we met, remember?” he said, smiling uncomfortably. “So, who’s this then?” he asked, nodding over at Tyrone as though he was blind, deaf, and mute.

Tyrone stuck out his hand to shake Terrence’s. “I’m Tyrone Thomas,” he said in his deepest, most Tyronical voice. “From the Chudley Cannons?”

“Sorry, I don’t follow Quidditch,” Terrence replied loudly, but he went a shade or four paler. He had certainly heard the name Tyrone Thomas before�”from my tales of my scumbag ex. “So… are you… together, then?”

“We’re… ish,” I said.

Terrence inhaled deeply. “Ah. Right. Cool. Fine. Great,” stammered the Great Ish himself. “Well… I hope you’ll be…happy…ish.” And with that, he stalked away, looking like he wanted to kick some babies.

Once he was gone, Tyrone turned to me, brows raised in prelude what was definitely about to be an unbearably smug one-liner.

“Oh shut up,” I said, shoving his face away. “Listen, I want to look for someone… friend of mine. I heard he’d be here, and I wanna see if he’s turned up yet. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“All right, but if I catch you snogging Terrence, never, ever talk to me again,” said Tyrone. “It would really wreck my reputation.”

I walked off, glancing around the tent. Where was Wolfgang? If he was going to crash this party, he should’ve showed up already. It seemed unlikely that he had already shown up and I’d missed him�”it was not like Wolfgang to keep a low profile. Then again, he was rarely predictable in any sense. Trying to be inconspicuous, I made a full circle around the whole tent, smiling and nodding and saying ‘hi’ to every acquaintance I passed, though I took care to avoid Terrence when I walked by him again. But nothing�”no sign of Wolfgang, neither hide nor hair of him�”which was good, because if he went around leaving clumps of his hair all over the place, that would be disgusting.

As I came back round full circle, I saw Anatoly sitting by himself in the corner, making balloon animals. It was always a bit strange to see him doing anything other than telling tall tales with extravagant hand gestures, and he resembled an unfortunate-looking child sitting there alone.

“Here, take a lemur on me and go away,” he said, thrusting a balloon lemur at me. He seemed slightly drunk.

Haley and B.C. had just begun their first dance, to the not-very-original choice of “Your Song”, and almost everyone else was clustered around, watching. But right now, I just felt like hanging out alone in a corner as well. “Elton John and Broadway,” I scoffed. “Are you sure this bloke’s interested in women?”

“You wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake,” Anatoly chortled, twisting one of his balloons. “Guess this is what Haley sees in him, eh? Someone whose interests are nearly as girly as hers.” He laughed for about eight seconds too long.

I squinted at him. “Are you okay, man?” I asked carefully.

He laughed again, wildly. “Me? Oh, I’m peachy. Superb. Fine and dandy to the extreme. I feel just as wonderful as a man’s expected to feel when one of his best friends gets married to someone he’s been in love with for years. You?”

I nearly spat out my drink. “I never thought…”

“No, I never thought you thought,” said Anatoly. “Thinking doesn’t really seem up your alley, does it? I don’t know why you’re talking to me. We hate each other, remember? I always thought your hair was ugly, by the way.”

Suddenly, I kind of liked Anatoly, for the first time ever. Maybe it was because he actually seemed sincere for once. “Thanks, I always thought yours was, too.”

“You know, I don’t always agree with what Haley likes,” proclaimed Anatoly, “but I know why she likes what she likes. I know why she likes you. And I know why she likes me. She keeps us around to snark about all of the things she likes while we secretly love them. And I don’t like you because that’s my job. There’s only room for one clown in this town.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Neither does ninety percent of the rest of what I say, under scrutiny. It just sounds pretty!” he informed me, getting to his feet and spreading his arms wide. He pirouetted like a ballerina. “Because every princess needs a court jester, you know! Bright, but shallow. Like a puddle of sunshine!”

Oh, great, now he was lapsing into that again. “Well, I’ll tell you why I don’t like you,” I said. “And it’s not for the same reason. It’s because you’re the fakest person in the entire world. You think you’re so darn charming, don’t you, Capshaw?”

“Fakest person in the entire world? Well, I do declare, how dare you?” Anatoly’s nose was almost touching mine. “If that isn’t the porcupine calling the pencil pointy? You think just because you say, rude, insulting things to people, that means you’re honest?”

I wanted to make some kind of barbed retort, but Anatoly twirled around again and leaped out of the room. Following him wasn’t worth it.
I
sighed. Midway through dancing to “Your Song,” the music had suddenly switched into the ear-splittingly annoying “Crocodile Rock,” and Haley and B.C. were doing some kind of zany choreographed dance that involved a lot of jumping around and clapping. They were so darn cute. Everything they did was cute. I hoped things stayed that way. If they went the way of Ivy and Ted, I might have to jump off a cliff.

“Everyone, join on in!” screamed Haley, beckoning to the crowds.

For a moment, everyone hung back, not too keen on being the first people to join the dance floor. Finally, Jordan marched onto the dance floor and extended his hand, and Giorgi came flying out of the crowds and plowed into him, practically knocking him over. “LET’S DO THIS THING!” she yelled, and they started dancing like maniacs. It was hard to determine whose sense of rhythm and grace was worse, since they were both pretty terrible, but they both looked like they were having a lot of fun, not something that happened all that often with Jordan. He had the best smile of anyone I knew… well, with the possible exception of Tyrone Thomas.

Suddenly feeling madly in love with everyone I knew there, I ran into the group surrounding the dance floor, located Tyrone, grabbed his hand, and pulled him out onto the floor. He beamed down at me. “Just in time, I was just about to go looking for you!” And then he pulled me close, and we were silent as I wrapped my arms around him.

As the dance floor filled up with people and my nostrils filled up with that distinctive Tyroney smell, I nestled my chin into his shoulder, remembering the last time we’d danced together. It had been at the fundraiser for B.C. and Anatoly’s musical, back before I knew there was anything at all going on between my sister and the master composer himself. That dance was one of the weirdest moments of my life, with deep-seated loathing and sexual tension French-braiding themselves into little tangles around both of us. It seemed so long ago. It was hard to believe that it had really only been five months. And my date to that shindig had been Wolfgang, of all people…

“Hey, mind if I cut in?” said a friendly, casual voice from behind me. I turned around, and there, standing right behind me on the dance floor as if nothing was amiss, was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Dionysus Willoughby Quinn of all people, in the flesh.

For someone who’d gone completely missing from society for two months, he looked clean, dapper, and dashing as always, his hair the same fastidious buttercup shape as ever.
“
Yeah, I do,” I said. Tyrone opened his mouth angrily, but I held up a finger and mouthed ‘I’ve got this.’ I turned back to Wolfgang. “Listen, step off the dance floor, we need to talk.”

He smiled his usual charming, open smile, as though nothing ever happened. “Yeah, sure, okay,” he said. “Godric, it’s been forever. How are you?”

“Fabulous,” I replied darkly. “You always were late to these things, weren’t you?”

The smile faded from his face. “I wasn’t even invited, would you believe it? My own brother didn’t tell me he was getting married. I had to find out from Gregg, the Cannons’ Seeker. I can’t believe B.C. would do something like that to me.” He shrugged. “Ah, well, now that he doesn’t need to borrow any money from me, I guess there’s no point in talking to his little bro anymore, is there? Call me a sap, but I just had to turn up, you know?”

I did know. I understood perfectly. “So how have you been?” I asked in my most polite, interested voice.
He hesitated for a moment. “Never better. Quidditch season’s over, so I’ve been doing whatever lately, you know? Here and there, traveling and stuff. Seeing the world.” His expression turned cloudy again. “Listen, Emma, I saw you dancing with Tyrone. Why on earth would you do that? You know as well as I do that he’s the biggest git this side of the Prime Meridian. I know I haven’t seen you in a while, but don’t tell me you went insane since the last time we hung out?”

Well, if that isn’t the porcupine calling the pencil pointy! crowed Anatoly’s voice in the back of my head.
“
Well, basically, Tyrone happens to be the coolest person in the world,” I explained calmly. “What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?” squawked Wolfgang, getting all worked up now. “What’s the problem? Emma, you’re gonna be an Auror. I thought you of all people would know better than to buy his lies. I came here because of you, Emma. Because I never got to tell you… I’m in love with you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I had to see you, so I could ask you… will you marry me?” He dropped down to the ground and pulled a shockingly expensive-looking diamond ring out of his pocket.

Oh. My. God. His voice had steadily risen to a full-out yell, and people were staring. Some of them, who apparently didn’t know either of us very well, were whooping and cheering, but the rest stood in stony silence.

So this was to be a performance. I’d hoped to be more subtle about it, but maybe an audience of witnesses would help. “I’ll think about it,” I said soothingly. “But I think we should get to know each other better first, though. This isn’t a ‘no.’ It’s a ‘let’s answer this question in a few months.’”

“BUT I WANT YOU NOW!” screamed Wolfgang. He placed one hand roughly on my waist, the other on my cheek, and wrenched me toward him. “You don’t understand, it’s like I’m dying without you!” There were tears forming in those big green eyes of his, starting to splash down his cheeks.

“Calm down, Wolfgang,” I said. “Here, have a drink, and let’s talk about this like civilized people.” I poured him a glass of champagne and quietly popped open the tiny bottle I had hidden in my palm. I patted him on the back and handed him the drink. “Come on, drink up. You’ll feel a lot better.”

He swallowed the glass in one and greedily handed it back to me for more. Then suddenly, his eyes went blank and his head snapped back.

“Better, huh?” I said. “Now, let’s chat. Are you a werewolf?”

“No, I am not,” he said in a strange, flat voice. “I hate werewolves. I can’t stand them. When I see a werewolf, I kill it. I get paid for it, too.”

I blinked, reeling like a fishing rod. Thanks to the Veritaserum I’d sneaked into his drink, he couldn’t help but tell the truth for the first time in his life. But the truth was not what I’d expected. B.C. had been right after all. “You’re a werewolf hunter, then?”

“Yeah, I’m the best one out there. I think I’ve killed twenty-three. When you told me about your werewolf pal out at the wild colony, I went out there and raided the place.”

How had I been so stupid? I told Wolfgang about that colony, and just a few days later, the place was destroyed. Innocent people had died because of me… Ted might have died because of me.

“Why?” I demanded, my voice shaking. I couldn’t play nice anymore.

“I… don’t know,” he said blankly. “It’s fun. It’s something to do.”

I wanted to rip him apart and feed the shreds to werewolves, but I managed to restrain myself. “But your scars�”the scars down your chest… they look like they’re from a werewolf,” I stammered.

“Yes, they are. But not from a werewolf’s teeth�”from its claws. My mum loved werewolves. She was from Germany, where they’re way more common. Her parents and one of her brothers were all werewolves. When she moved to Britain, she didn’t like how people treated werewolves. She did all kinds of charity work with them. One day, she had a werewolf couple over for dinner, and they forgot to take their potion. They mauled my father and me. I barely made it. He died.”

I took all of this in. “Is… that why you hate werewolves so much?” I asked.

"Partly, yes,” said Wolfgang. “But it’s not as important as I tell people it was. I like to try to give a reason. I don’t mind that they killed my father. He was nicer to me than anyone else, but I never really loved him. I never really loved anyone. Sometimes I think I do, but I’m always wrong.”

I stared at him, looking deep into those round, childish eyes of his, that open, almost femininely pretty face. I felt… sorry for him, I really did. There were times when I wished I didn’t have to feel, when I wished I could go without feeling guilt, or love, or self-consciousness, or doubt, or shame, or obligation. It would be so much easier. But as much as people teased me about having no conscience, Wolfgang really had none. He was a real live sociopath. His life was pitiful and empty, and he didn’t even know it.

“Wolfgang Quinn, you are under arrest,” said a man’s voice behind me. It was my Uncle Harry, stepping forward with his Auror’s badge in hand. The room broke into applause as he calmly stunned Wolfgang and murmured, “Levicorpus,” leaving his body suspended eerily off the ground. “I’ll take him down to the Ministry,” he said. “Sorry to kill the party. Everything will be just fine.”

As he vanished into the air, I collapsed into a chair and burst into tears. Tyrone rushed forward and sat down next to me, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay, Em, that was really brave. I can’t believe you pulled that off. You gave him Veritaserum, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” I sniffed, feeling my makeup turn really ugly, really fast. I had held back tears so well, so many times, but there were a million feelings crashing down on me, everything that Wolfgang couldn’t feel. I felt like I hadn’t slept in hundreds of years. “Tyrone… all those werewolves… they died because of me.”

“No, they didn’t,” he said firmly. “They died ‘cos of Wolfgang and his stupid friends.” He hugged me, his warm, solid body almost calming down my shivering, but not quite.
“But I thought… I thought you said he was a werewolf?” I stammered.

Tyrone shook his head. “No, Em, I was pretty sure from the start he was a werewolf hunter�”and I thought you thought he was one, too. I guess we just didn’t understand each other�”but it doesn’t matter now, he’s still an idiot either way.”

I hugged him even tighter. “You know,” I whispered, “I really meant what I said about you being the coolest person in the world.” Sighing, I stood up, relinquishing my hold on him, and adjusted my dress so that it didn’t look as though my chest was fighting to escape from it. Pulling myself together was probably a good idea.

Tyrone took my hand. “Well, you’re in the top ten, far as I’m concerned.”

We were both quiet for a few minutes, listening to the music still blaring in the background. It was a song I’d never heard before, a bouncy, upbeat tune that seemed weirdly incongruous with the mood.

“What do you say we dance some more?” suggested Tyrone. “Might stop everyone standing around looking ridiculous.”

I smiled weakly. “Please.”

By the time an hour had passed, things had almost returned to normal, except for my mood. I could tell B.C. was not quite himself, but whether he was happy or sad about Wolfgang’s arrest, I couldn’t tell. I suspected that he wasn’t really sure, himself.

I was sitting down, taking another crack at the chocolate fountain as Tyrone danced with Haley, when my dad plopped down next to me.

“Hey Emster,” he said, clapping me on the back. Up close, he looked extremely tired, his hair much greyer than I expected. “This is a crazy day, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “In every way, yeah. I can’t believe Uncle Harry sang and danced in front of everyone.”

My dad grinned. “Yeah, he’ll never live that one down. But… Emma…” His voice turned serious, and I realized he wasn’t just here for a chat. “Listen, that Veritaserum you gave Wolfgang�”that was brilliant and everything, but it’s also illegal. Veritaserum’s a controlled substance. Where did you get that stuff?”

“I didn’t get it anywhere dodgy. Jordan made it for me,” I protested. “And besides, it was the only way to get Wolfgang to admit the truth. He never would’ve gotten arrested, otherwise.”

“I know. Listen, if you were a full Auror, you’d be a hero. I know how much you want to be an Auror, really. But here’s what I’m thinking�”the official story is, it was my idea, and I gave you the Veritaserum to put in his cup. That way, you won’t get in trouble. Everyone here knows it was all you, but just to see things go smoothly, I think I should take the credit for this one.”

“Be my guest,” I mumbled. “Go on ahead.” I couldn’t believe my dad thought I’d care about who took credit for Wolfgang’s capture. That was the last thing I was worried about.

I watched dimly as B.C. and Haley walked to the centre of the dance floor once more, and B.C. announced, “Thank you so much for coming, everyone. It means a lot to us. Now, my bride and I should get going, or we’ll never make it on time to our evening performance of our show�”no, I’m not joking. We’re really that insane. But before we leave, there’s something we need to do.”

“If you sing the ‘so long, farewell’ song, I might puke!” I called out.

B.C. smiled. “No, not even I would subject my guests to that. Nope, what we have to do is toss the garter and the bouquet!”

Amid cheers from the audience, Haley called, “Ladies over here, gentlemen over here!” She gestured around the room as she sat down theatrically in her best diva pose. “Okay, Wolfie, it’s all yours,” she said coyly, extending her leg.
There were more hoots and catcalls as B.C. slid Haley’s garter off of her leg and held it up�”of course, it was bright pink. “Who’s the lucky man, then? Besides me, of course.” B.C. winked, wound up his arm, and tossed the garter into the throng of men.

Jordan, master Seeker that he was, seemed poised like a panther to catch it, closely following its trajectory… but at the last second, Tyrone jumped out of nowhere, knocked into him, shoved him out of the way, and snatched the garter, holding it aloft triumphantly.

“YESSSSS!” he roared. “Looks like I’m gonna be the next one married! I guess I should go buy that giraffe now, huh?”

Jordan rubbed his shoulder, looking vastly irritated and not at all amused. “You don’t need to take this so seriously, Tyrone. You’re ruining it for everyone else.”

“That’s what everyone wanted to say to you every single day at Hogwarts. Payback, methinks, was in order!” declared Anatoly, poking Jordan in the chest.

Ooh, wow. This meant everything all the more complicated. I’d been banking on Jordan catching the garter. My plan had involved grabbing the bouquet and taunting Tyrone about it, but now there was no way. But I couldn’t look like I wasn’t even trying to get the bouquet�”then it would look like I was sensitive about what people might say about me and Tyrone… which was, of course, true…

As Haley flung her bouquet of zinnias, Giorgi, taller than any human woman had the right to be, scrambled to the front of the cluster, looking as desperate as a starving madwoman. But apparently, Haley’s aim was even more horrendous than anyone had predicted, because the bundle fell short, and little Holly Potter caught it.

“What am I supposed to do with this, then?” she asked flatly, handing the bouquet back to her sister and zipping away to torment her twin brother some more.

I shook my head. “Well, Giorgi,” I said gravely, “looks like neither one of us is getting married for a long, long time.”

* * * * * *

When I got home from the wedding, I hurled my shoes against the wall and flopped down onto the sofa, massaging my feet. Let’s see… change into my pajamas, make myself a nice hot cup of cocoa, snuggle under a blanket and read Pride and Prejudice and listen to music without thinking too much… it sounded like a good idea to me.

But just as I was starting to get comfortable, there were two loud, sharp knocks at the door, like gunshots. Groaning, I got to my aching feet and pulled open the door.
Out of all of the faces in the world, the face glaring back at me was one of the last I had ever expected to see, somewhere between Lord Voldemort and Darth Maul.

“Miss Weasley,” snarled Henderson Vaultz, stepping directly past me and into my house. He strode down the hall and into the living room, sitting straight-backed in MY CHAIR. MY BLOODY CHAIR.

I hurried after him, hiding some of the clutter and two of my bras under a blanket. “Erm… sir… why… that is… why are you here, sir?”

He looked up at me from under his thin, pointy eyebrows, those icy eyes doing an excellent job of scaring the poop out of me (luckily, not literally). “Miss Weasley, I have heard some rather unusual and shocking rumors in regards to you and a certain member of my Quidditch team. While your performance has been exemplary since returning from suspension, I have been told that�””

“If this is about Wolfgang Quinn’s arrest,” I began, “My dad was the one who g�””

“Enough of this nonsense!” barked Vaultz, making a violent motion with his hand that almost knocked over one of the ceramic kittens that Haley had left behind. “Are you or are you not currently Tyrone Thomas’ girlfriend?”

I felt as though he had kicked me squarely in the chest. “No,” I said in a small, hard voice. “I’m not.”

“Do you swear you will never become Tyrone Thomas’ girlfriend?”

I gaped at him. “No way!” I exclaimed. “With all due respect, sir. You may be my boss, but you’re not in charge of my entire life. I won’t see Tyrone again for the rest of my time on the job, I promise�”I know, I know, it wouldn’t be professional�”but you can’t dictate what I want to do after that.”

Vaultz’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you speak to me with such disrespect?”

“If you want to hire Auror trainees to protect your precious stadium, you ought to expect us to dare to do pretty much anything. If not, we’d be pretty poor Aurors,” I spat.

Vaultz got to his feet and stepped toward me, leaning over me like a cobra about to strike. “I do not admire your attitude. Now let me tell you, if you are so much as seen speaking to Tyrone Thomas�”inside or outside the stadium, mind you�”you will be immediately, permanently removed from my employ. And while you, as a woman, may consider this a reasonable sacrifice, I must warn you that Thomas will lose his position as well. He will be blackballed from the entire British Quidditch league for improper conduct. This still stands for as long as Thomas remains a member of the Chudley Cannons, whatever your particular station or career at the time. Do I make myself clear?”

“Extremely,” I managed. He couldn’t make himself any clearer if he transfigured himself into a windowpane. My voice sounded faint and distant, like I was speaking from the end of a tunnel hundreds of miles away. I gripped the arms of my chair to try and prevent myself from sinking to the centre of the earth.

“Very well, then. Good day. I trust you will honor our agreement. You are so very close to becoming an Auror. I should hate to have to be… unpleasant.” And with that, Vaultz inclined his head and walked right out the door.
I’m glad he didn’t make me show him out, because I don’t think I would’ve been able to. At least, not without violently murdering him on the way out.

* * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART NINE

Lots and lots and lots of things happen in this part of the story. Geesh, finally Jane Austen’s learned how to pick up the pace, right when I was about to declare her a lost cause.

First and foremost… OH MY GOSH, MR. BINGLEY IS BACK. Okay, so Lydia and Wickham got married, came home to visit the Bennets, where Lydia strutted around bragging about how fantastic she is while Wickham grumbles around like a chained-up bear, bemoaning his hideous fate. Serves him right. Anyway, so Lydia and Wickham leave for their new home up north, where no one will hear Lydia scream when her insane husband snaps and stabs her to death. (That part’s not in the book, but I’m sure it’s heavily implied.)

Anyway, back to the big event I alluded to earlier, THE BING-BING IS BACK! The whole family goes nuts trying to prepare for the visit, and when he finally makes his grand entrance, who should be with him, but Mr. Darcy himself!

The ensuing dialogue goes something like this:

BINGLEY: Uh, hi, I was wondering if…

MRS. BENNET: (Frothing at the mouth) ZOH EM GEE! MR. BINGLEY! HOW ARE YOU DOING? WHAT’S NEW WITH YOU? HAVE A SEAT! COME RIGHT OVER HERE! WOULD YOU BE OKAY WITH SITTING UNDERNEATH JANE? YES? YES? ALL RIGHT, FEEL FREE TO HELP YOURSELF TO ALL OF OUR FOOD, BELONGINGS, AND DAUGHTERS, AND IF YOU WANT TO PUT YOUR MUDDY BOOTS UP ON OUR DINING ROOM TABLE, THAT IS FINE BY ME.

DARCY: Excuse me, if it’s not too much trouble, do you have a restroom I could use?

MRS. BENNET: NOOOOOOOOOOOO! NO, WE DO NOT, YOU MISERABLE SCUM-SUCKING SON OF A NARWHAL!

So needless to say, it’s a pretty tense and awkward visit, especially with Mrs. Bennet not getting the memo on Mr. Darcy being Really Nice Now and everybody trading bets on how many minutes it’ll take before Mr. Bingley proposes. But things only get even more awkward when the dynamic duo get up and leave, without popping any questions whatsoever.

Luckily, the next day, Bingley is back�”without his tall, dark, and handsome accessory�”and this time, he DOES propose to Jane! And she agrees! And Mr. Bennet gives him Jane’s hand! And then they hire Hertfordshire’s finest surgeons to stitch Jane’s hand back on before she dies of blood loss! (I might have made that part up.)

Anyway, Jane’s delighted to be engaged, and Elizabeth is really happy for her, but she can’t help feeling a teeny bit sorry for herself. After all, she is really into Mr. Darcy now, but after her spectacular rejection of his first proposal, it does not look like he’s risking it a second time.

Well, a week later, an unexpected guest arrives at Longbourne! Guess who? And if you guessed, “Mr. Darcy with a diamond ring,” then you are DEAD WRONG. Instead, the Darth Vader theme song from Star Wars begins to play as Mr. Darcy’s horrible aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, walks through the door.

After insulting the house, the gardens, and every single member of the Bennet family, she drops the bombshell. “So, Miss Bennet, if you prefer to be addressed like a human being�”I’m not very familiar with your species-- I’ve heard rumours implying that Mr. Darcy is going to marry you. Since I know they’re not true, I’m assuming that it was you who started them. Not only are you poor and disgusting, but ever since birth, I’ve demanded that Mr. Darcy marry his cousin, my own spectacularly inbred daughter.”

Elizabeth tries to calm her down and offer her a chair, but Lady Catherine declines, fearful that she might get some Poor on her if she touches the Bennets’ furniture. “ANYWAY,” she continues, “Tell me right now that you are not engaged to Mr. Bennet, or I shall be forced to get my footman to impale his walking stick through your eyeball and into your brain.”

“Er, I promise. I’m not engaged to him.”

“Correct. Now, promise me you will never become engaged to him, and if you answer correctly in this round, we’ll throw in a free dinette set!”

But Elizabeth refuses to promise that she will never become engaged to Darcy (go girl!) and with that, Lady Catherine stomps away, frothing and fuming madly and bellowing loud death threats fitting the general theme of ‘revenge.’

So, I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that Jane Austen has actually been reading my mind this whole time.

Haley’s Obnoxious Show Tune Du Jour
All I have to do is pretend I never knew him
On those very rare occasions when he steals into my heart.
Better to have lost him when the ties were barely binding
Better the contempt of the familiar cannot start.
It’s easy… it’s easy.
Until I think about him as he was when I last touched him
And how he would have been were I to be with him today.
Those very rare occasions don’t let up, they keep on coming
All I ever wanted, and I’m throwing it away.
It’s easy, it’s easy as life.
-- “Easy as Life” from AIDA


ONE MONTH LATER

These are the things I did in the past month without Tyrone:

* My job
* Sleeping
* Eating
* Reading
* Hanging out with my friends
* Baby-sitting Holly and Jonathan
* Gardening
* Getting everything ready for Ivy’s baby and all that
* Basically everything I always did before Tyrone and I started hanging out again.

These are the things I didn’t do in the past month without Tyrone:

* Writing in my journal
* Talking to Tyrone
* Smiling at Tyrone
* Meeting Tyrone’s eyes
* Reacting when he calls my name and runs after me
* Responding to the owls he sends me, insistently at first, then gradually less and less frequently, then not at all.
* Laughing so hard that whatever I was drinking came out of my nose
* Wearing my favorite dress
* Feeling embarrassingly giddy

I’m not one of those girls who completely shuts down and cracks without the guy she’s crazy about. I’m not one of those girls who spirals into depression and stops being useful and loses her sense of humour. I’m much too cool for that. Of course I can carry on business as usual.

But I am one of those girls who can’t help but think about Tyrone almost all the time, just, you know, certain things he said and the way he said them, what his smile looked like when he’s really completely happy, how he smells, how smooth his skin is, the feeling of his hand on mine and his breath on my neck. And I suppose I’m also the sort of girl who looks forward to hopefully catching a glimpse of him, stupidly walking around and thinking he’ll appear any second.

Sometimes, he does. Actually, sometimes, he’ll come into the stadium�”even though Quidditch season is over. At first, he did it to chase me down and ask what was going on, but now he practices there and looks at me every now and then, when he thinks I’m not looking. Vaultz seems proud of me, at least. Whoopee.

Okay, so maybe I am wallowing in self-pity a little bit, but I have good reason to feel sorry for myself. I didn’t even get to explain to Tyrone what was going on�”and needless to say, there’s no rule that Quidditch players can’t interact with Aurors, just the other way around, so I’m sure he’s been trying to figure out all this time what he did wrong, and why I suddenly don’t want to hang out with him anymore when everything’s been going so well.

So I guess in a way, I feel even sorrier for Tyrone. The poor bloke must be so confused�”at least I know all too well what’s going on. Hopefully, he puts two and two together and figures out what’s happening here. But I doubt it. The boy may be charming, but when it comes to brains, Jordan Potter he’s not.

One question that keeps nagging in the back of my head is, how long will it be until Tyrone actually gets a new girlfriend? Weeks? Months? Years? How long will it be until I don’t mind? And will I be more upset if she kind of looks like me or if she looks nothing like me? Wow, all right, come to think of it, that’s NOT just one question. But lots of questions have been nagging in the back of my head.

So it was a pretty major relief to go visit Haley and B.C. at their shiny new house to celebrate their return home from their honeymoon.

Oh, yeah, I should mention. Their musical only ran for two and a half weeks, but that’s really not so bad, considering everyone involved was a total amateur. It got fantastic reviews, but not many people saw it. Still, the reviews mean that I’m pretty sure Haley and B.C. (and what the heck, Anatoly as well) will be getting a lot more jobs sooner or later. Even if Mr. Bob Q. Average-Citizen didn’t see the show, you can bet the important people in the industry did.

You could say it was a blessing in disguise that their show closed when it did, because it meant that they got a nice two-week honeymoon. But of all of the romantic and fascinating and exotic places in the entire world they could have gone… they decided to go to Disney World. Yes, you heard me correctly.

“AIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!” screamed Haley, flinging open the door of her house and hugging me and Ivy like a mad strangler. “HI HI HI HI HI! Come right on in!” She ran up the front stairs, screaming, “WOLFIE! THEY’RE HERE!” and letting the door clang shut behind her in our faces.

I exchanged amused glances with Ivy. “Someone enjoyed honeymoon,” she said.

“Someone’s hiding upstairs from his insane wife,” I replied. “Isn’t the insane wife supposed to be the one locked away upstairs? They’re doing it wrong. Ah, well.”

We stepped inside and gave the place a look around. It was a really cute little house, not a big place, but cozy. It still had that weird just-moved-into feeling to it, as though it wasn’t really their house yet, but already it was starting to take on some distinctly Haley-esque characteristics. For example, ceramic kittens. They have this creepy habit of invading a place.

“Hi!” said B.C., running down the stairs and hugging us. He’d gotten a nice tan out of the trip, although he was lucky to have been born with the kind of naturally tan complexion that makes me fume with jealousy. “Nice to see you both again. Wow, it’s weird to be back in the real world again after two weeks.”

“Oh, trust me, living with Haley is not living in the real world,” I assured him.

He and Haley exchanged a very significant glance, laughing at some private joke that I must’ve accidentally touched on.

“Well, come on, sit down, we have presents for you!” squealed Haley. She threw herself onto the sofa and pulled out two enormous pink bags from next to it. “Oh wait, wait, first, check these thingamabobbers out!” Like an archaeologist unearthing a priceless relic, she pulled out a headband decorated with a pair of fake mouse ears, topped by a sparkly bow and a wedding veil. “And here’s Wolfie’s�”catch!” She tossed her husband a plastic top hat, sporting mouse ears sprouting from either side.

B.C. jammed his onto his head over his mass of curly hair. “Wearing these around the park meant a lot of strangers came up to us to congratulate us. Normally, I would not go for that, but it was actually kind of nice. Prince Charming had to ask my permission to take a picture kissing Haley’s hand, though.”

“He wasn’t even all that cute,” Haley informed us, rummaging around in the bag. “Now, Aladdin, that’s another story. AH! Here we go!” She pulled out two t-shirts, one pink and one blue. “Wolfie and I picked these up, too�”Undercover Prince and Undercover Princess. I thought they were adorable.” Haley’s shirt had a picture of Sleeping Beauty on it, while B.C. got one with the Beast on the front. “And Emma, Ivy, here’s yours.”

I loved mine. It was bright green and said ‘Undercover Villain,’ with a picture of the evil queen from Snow White�”always awesome, and it was sweet of them to get me something non-sappy. Ivy’s was yellow and said ‘Undercover Warrior,’ with Mulan on it. There was no way the shirt would fit now, what with the baby and everything, but she seemed to like it a lot anyway. I think she was relieved that it wasn’t princess-related, what with the whole no-Ted thing going on.

“We got something for the baby, too. It says ‘Undercover Pirate.’ Just to be safe�”we didn’t know if it’d be a girl or a boy or what. Oh, but check out these!” Haley pulled out three more shirts. “Anatoly’s is perfect�”‘Undercover Madman’ with the Mad Hatter on it. He’ll love that. But look at Jordan’s. He’s going to kill me!”

The shirt was purple with a picture of Merlin from The Sword and the Stone, and it said “Undercover Wizard.” I laughed out loud. Jordan really was trying to camouflage his identity working among Muggles, and of course no one would suspect him, but it would be brilliant to walk around with a shirt that gave away his secret identity.

“Who’s this for?” I asked, picking up an orange shirt bearing the words ‘UNDERCOVER HERO,’ over a giant picture of Hercules. I had a suspicious feeling I already knew the answer.

B.C.’s brow wrinkled. “That’s for Ty,” he said. “Actually, I’m kind of surprised you didn’t bring him over here with you. Come to think of it, last time I saw him before I left, he said he hadn’t seen you in awhile.”

I hadn’t actually mentioned to anyone yet that I wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with Tyrone. I’d come close a few times. I’d told myself it was because Ivy had enough problems as it was, and Haley and B.C. were too busy with their frenzied wedding-musical-honeymoon schedule. But honestly, I was just worried about saying it out loud. That would automatically make it real. And I didn’t want to have to think about the fact that I’d never be able to talk to him again, not until our lives have diverged in completely different directions and it’s too late for us to be… anything more than we are, basically.

“Yeah… about that…” I said. “Tyrone and I… we haven’t really been getting on lately. We haven’t been talking. It’s nothing to do with him�”he didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just, the night of the wedding, I w�””

Ivy let out a loud, anguished gasp. I stared at her. She had gone very white, whiter even than usual, and she was gripping the arms of her chair very tightly, almost elevating herself up out of the chair. A giant wet stain was spreading on the front of her skirt.

“Erm… I think… my water just broke?” she managed to say, looking down in shock.

B.C. jumped up. “Right,” he said. “We need to get you to St. Mungo’s.”

“Are you having, you know, contractions or anything?” asked Haley, who seemed thrilled by all of this excitement. “Are you going into labour?”

“No, I feel fine,” Ivy said slowly. “Just… awkward. I mean, I’ve had contractions a few times, but really mild, and nothing ever happened. But I think I should go to St. Mungo’s, just in case. If my water broke now, that probably means the baby’s coming soon…” She stood up, looking as pale as a waxwork, her eyes wide and startled-looking, the puddle slowly spreading around her feet.

I looked about frantically. “Wait, I’m confused. The baby’s not supposed to come for another month, right?”

“Ted’s mum said he came two months early,” said Ivy. “I’ll… go get cleaned up, and then… I guess we should go, then.” Her voice sounded as though she was speaking from a dream.

Ohhh, man. As she hurried off to the loo, I looked desperately between Haley and B.C. “Look, I know literally nothing about babies. At all. But I think we should go with her when she goes to hospital. I know it’s no fun having babies�”she could do with having someone along with her.”

Haley looked surprised to hear me saying something considerate. “Yeah, I think you’re right. And I’ll go send a Patronus to mum and dad so that they’ll know, and I guess I should…”

There was an ominous clunk and a muffled scream from the bathroom. “IVY?” I yelled, banging on the door. “You okay in there?

There was a horrible whimper. “Remember what I said about not having contractions?” she moaned. “… Scratch that…”

“PEOPLE!” I yelled. “Change of plans. We’re leaving now.”

“They could be false contractions?” Ivy suggested weakly, her voice muted through gritted teeth.

“I’ll get Jordan,” Haley said, jumping up at once to send another Patronus.

I tried to figure out how her train of thought could have possibly led her to that particular bizarre destination. “Wait, what? Jordan? Why?”

“Well, obviously, Ivy’s not going to be Apparating to St. Mungo’s�”you don’t want a pregnant woman splinching herself, do you? Don’t think she’d be able to concentrate properly. Floo Network’s dangerous, too… this close to being born, she might end up going somewhere and leaving the baby behind. It wouldn’t be the first time. And there’s no way the Knight Bus is a possibility. So I was thinking we need someone who can drive. And that’s Jordan.”

Tyrone can drive, too I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t going to use Ivy’s emergency as an excuse to see him again. Even I had some standards. “Haley, you’re… girly. Go in and… help Ivy with stuff,” I said lamely. I sat down next to B.C., shaking my head. “See, this is why I’m never having kids. What about you?”

“Oh, Haley and I want lots of kids. The more, the better,” he said blithely. Pshh, easy for him to say. He was a man. He didn’t have to go through all of the unthinkable trials and tribulations of being a mother.

“I have never been more relieved to be male,” announced Jordan Potter, materializing in the middle of the room with a small ‘pop.’ Oh, blast. I never liked it when Jordan and I had similar thoughts. It usually either meant I was barking mad, or else he was magically interfering with my thoughts again. Jordan looked distinctly ruffled, but that was the norm for him. “For the record, this is the second time you have called me from my extraordinarily busy schedule for some kind of family crisis. This will never happen again.”

I laughed. “Peachy to see you, too, Jor-jums. Now, don’t get all cranky. Couldn’t you have predicted all of this?

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Oh, humorous, Emma. Very amusing. You know I can’t control my visions like that. Although, what I’ve seen does tend to indicate that the baby will be a girl. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go borrow the neighbour’s car.”

“You mean you didn’t bring your own?” asked B.C.

Jordan stared at him as though he was something he’d found stuck to the underside of his shoe. “As you may have noticed,” he said, “I Apparated here. Summoning my car would have been both dangerous and foolish, and I’m sure you didn’t expect me to drive all the way here and back. Time is of the essence. If the neighbours don’t cooperate, I can always persuade them with magic. Meet outside in three minutes.” He turned and walked out the door stiffly. I resisted the impulse to pull a face at his retreating back�”he probably had eyes on the back of his head or something, anyway.

I patted my cousin-in-law on the back. “Just another thing you and the wife have in common. You both have brothers who are extremely talented gits.”

Just as Jordan predicted, exactly three minutes later�”on the dot�”there was an exasperated ‘HONK!’ from outside, and we all hurried outside, Haley and I supporting Ivy. Haley had apparently given her some kind of potion for the pain, but she was feeling a bit drowsy.

“This is so exciting!” squealed Haley, climbing into the rather dented and rusty white van that Jordan managed to have stolen from someone.

“I know…” Ivy mumbled weakly. “I’m going to be a mum…”

“Not that!” exclaimed Haley, getting all buckled in and scolding her husband for not doing the same. “We’re riding in a car! It’s been ages, hasn’t it? This is brilliant! Jordan, remember how Dad used to drive us to King’s Cross?”

Jordan gritted his teeth. “Vividly. You seemed to think the occasion required ‘car songs.’” He stomped down on the gas pedal, and we skidded off into the street.

I was a hundred percent positive that we were not going the speed limit, but I’m sure Jordan and I would have no trouble Confunding any Muggle police officer who thought they could pull us over. Either that, or Haley could cry fetchingly and reel off a dramatic speech explaining Ivy’s situation as pitifully as possible. Jordan may have chosen a non-magical career and lived most of his life like a Muggle, but when the time came for him to do magic, he went on a binge.

“You are charming the traffic lights, aren’t you?” B.C. inquired politely.

“Yes, and many of the other cars, as well,” replied Jordan. “Now please shut up. I’m not sure you appreciate how difficult it is to simultaneously manage driving, performing advanced magic, and attempting not to have a panic attack as my younger sister prepares to give birth in the back seat of a stranger’s car.”

It was kind of a creepy car, I had to admit. Some of the stains on the upholstery made me feel very uncomfortable. If Ivy did give birth in the car, the owner probably wouldn’t notice. I thought it would be wise not to question how exactly Jordan had obtained this particular car. But if a murder happened somewhere in Haley and B.C.’s neighbourhood, I’d know the first place to look.

I looked over at Ivy, her eyes clenched shut and her breathing fast and shallow. “So,” I said awkwardly, “Have any good names picked out? Do you know if it’s going to be a girl or a boy?”

“No,” Ivy said, “I didn’t want to get too attached, in case… something happened. Imagining the future, well, it hasn’t turned out too well in the past.” Then suddenly, she burst into silent tears.

“Is the pain that bad?” asked Haley. “Do you need more potion?”

“No,” whispered Ivy. “I’m fine. I’m just… scared that the baby will have to grow up without a father. I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that. Now… I can’t deny it anymore.”

An awful little silence floated over all of us, like a ghost. I knew B.C. must have felt like he was intruding on a private moment�”he’d never gotten to meet Ted. But the rest of us were all thinking the same thing: It should have been Ted sitting there beside Ivy and stroking her hair, not Haley. It should have been Ted who took her to the hospital, not Jordan. It should have been Ted who cared for her all those past months, not her parents. That tall, skinny, Ted-shaped hole in our lives would never really heal up, I realized, no matter how ‘normal’ it became to live without him.

“She won’t grow up without a father,” Jordan said suddenly, “And incidentally, the baby is almost certainly female. Just because Ted won’t be there, it doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t be willing to fill in. Think rationally, Ivy. We all clearly care very deeply for you. I, for one, intend to take my duties as an uncle very seriously.”

“So do I,” put in B.C. “And Ty. And Anatoly, too, I suppose. And your dad, and all of your uncles. That baby will have so many dads, no one will ever want to mess with it.”

“Count me in, too,” I said at last. “I’ll be a dad as well. I’ll do anything in the world, except changing diapers.”

Ivy was only crying harder, but no one tried to stop her. If there was any situation in which crying made total sense, it was this one. We drove on in silence for a few minutes, staring out the windows at the passing cars and streets and people, all of them so dull and grey and ordinary-looking.

At last, Haley said, “I think what we could use is a few car songs.”

“NO!” Jordan, Ivy and I shouted in unison.

“Sorry, Hummingbird, majority rules,” said B.C., raising an eyebrow. Haley flicked the back of his ear quite hard, and he yelped, “Ow! What was that for?”

Ahh. It was almost like old times.

* * * * * *

I paced back in forth like a crazed mountain lion in the puke-green waiting room outside the St. Mungo’s Maternity Ward, muttering colorful swear words under my breath. It had taken my mum forty-three hours to give birth to me. How long were we supposed to wait out here?

Ivy had told us that she wanted to be alone and try to rest for the time being, and I didn’t blame her�”being in a confined space with Jordan, Haley, and me all together couldn’t have done anything for her nerves. Still, I hated to think of her in there all by herself, wearing one of those stupid hospital gowns and having Healers breeze in and out to check on her personal bits.

“Please sit down before you begin frothing at the mouth, Emma,” said Jordan. “I’m going cross-eyed just looking at you, which would render the surgery I had to correct my congenital vision defects completely obsolete.”

Haley lurched in revulsion. “Wait, surgery? Like, Muggle quacks cutting into your eyeball? Ew, ew, ew, ewww! Why would you ever do a stupid thing like that?”

“Did you say ‘genital’?” I added.

Jordan made the ‘chuff’ noise that he likes to make when he’s irritated with the ignorance surrounding him. “I was not satisfied with how little progress potions and charms have made in improving eyesight. Have you ever noticed how many wizards wear glasses? And as my vision’s only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older, I thought it was high time I had it fixed. It wouldn’t do to have a blind Seer.”

I shuddered. Muggle doctors are pretty much my idea of the second-grossest thing imaginable, after Anatoly Capshaw. People poking and prodding around inside of you with their fingers, slicing you up and stitching you back together? But I did as Jordan asked and sat down, drumming my fingers impatiently.

“So, Emma, you never did get to finish your story. Why aren’t you and Ty talking?” asked B.C.

I sighed, slumping back in my uncomfortable, sticky plastic chair. “Vaultz found out that Tyrone and I were hanging out, and he got all ticked off and came to my house. He said that if I ever so much as talk to Tyrone again, he’ll sack me permanently�”and he’ll also sack Tyrone and make sure he can’t get a job with any of the major league Quidditch teams in Britain.”

Jordan’s brow furrowed even deeper than usual. “But that’s illegal!” he protested. “You have to report Vaultz.”

I shook my head. “Too risky. I’ll just keep quiet ‘till I’m done with my Auror training, and then I’ll see what I can do about it. If I slip up, they won’t give me a second chance. I got that after the whole thing with Wolfgang.”

“Does Ty know about all of this?” asked B.C.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I couldn’t tell him. I doubt he guessed it, but you never know.”

B.C. looked subdued. “I’ll have to tell him sometime, because I bet he’s really confused by all of this, then. Oh… speaking of Wolfgang, they just moved him out of St. Mungo’s and into Azkaban last week. They still don’t know what it is going on inside his brain, but they figured it wasn’t going to get any better.”

His face looked so frustrated and confused that it made me feel even more awkward than usual. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“Don’t be,” he said. “Thanks to you, this werewolf madness is finally starting to wind down. I always hoped someone would be able to help Wolfgang, but who knows, maybe this is what’s best for him. And he turned in a bunch of the other hunters, so most of them are out of the way.”

“And Cassius Balthazar, the leader of the feral werewolves, turned up dead a few days ago,” added Jordan. “Of course, I’m hardly applauding whoever murdered him, but this does mean that without a leader, the rest of the werewolves will be a lot more vulnerable.”

For the zillionth time, I thought of Ted. What had happened to him? Had he really been killed or captured? Was he so desperate to blend in that he had actually let go of his humanity and was running around completely wild? Had he been abandoned by the pack and starved to death? Or was he only kept from writing or coming home by the other wolves, still healthy and optimistic as ever? I couldn’t convince myself that that was even remotely likely, no matter how hard I tried.

I was lifted from my weighty thoughts by the sight of Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny walking into the waiting room, looking slightly shell-shocked and accompanied by…

“Er, hey,” said Tyrone.

I determinedly avoided his gaze, which I’m sure was irresistibly smoldering. It was like being in a room with a Basilisk. “What is he doing here?” I demanded, making certain to address the question to Aunt Ginny.

“I was over at the house ‘cos Harry and I were talking about this whole werewolf business, and I was giving him some background on Wolfgang,” explained Tyrone. “Then we got Haley’s Patronus. It’s not a crime is it?” I looked away, barely even registering his stupid t-shirt du jour, which read My Naughty List Is My To-Do List. “Em, what is wrong? I’ve tried to ask you so many times. The least you could do is tell me what it is I did to you. I mean, how can I apologize if I don’t even know what to be sorry for?”

So he had come with them not out of concern over Ivy, but for me. Typical Tyrone. But I couldn’t even feel remotely irritated with him because he was so darn wonderful and I missed him so stupidly much. Especially that gorgeous voice of his.

I stared down into my lap, still forcing myself to be silent, not something I’d ever been good at. In the painful little silence, Haley jumped up and exclaimed a little bit too loudly, “Oh, Tyrone! Awesome that you’re here, because I have a present for you!” She handed him the Hercules t-shirt, beaming as though nothing was weird. “And Jordan, I can’t believe I forgot to give you yours!”

Jordan looked at the purple Merlin shirt in disgust and let it flop into his lap. “How hilarious,” he said flatly. I could tell that Tyrone would have normally loved his shirt, and he tried to sound enthusiastic, but we could all tell that his heart wasn’t in it.

“Er… I’ll go in and see how Ivy’s doing, shall I?” said Aunt Ginny uncomfortably, glancing back and forth between Tyrone and me.

“I’ll come along,” volunteered Haley.

I looked around the room, realizing that if I were to leave, B.C. and Jordan might actually be able to explain to Tyone why I was treating him like a bogey-flavored Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean. “Me, too,” I said, shuddering at the thought of witnessing the gory nightmare that is childbirth.

Ivy looked surprised when we walked into the room, although I’m not sure whether she was more surprised to see that her mother had shown up or that I was actually there in the room with her.

“How are you feeling, Ives?” asked Ginny, taking her daughter’s hand.

“Better,” said Ivy, who certainly seemed a lot calmer. I’m sure the vast amounts of potion she’d taken were helping. “The Healer says I’m getting close. The baby’s coming soon.”

Ginny smoothed back Ivy’s fringe, which was plastered against her forehead with sweat. “I can’t believe you’re already having your own baby. I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of being a grandma. But you’ll be a great mum. And if I could handle having two sets of twins, this should be a piece of cake.”

“I guess it would be a dynamite cake with vomit icing and bits of glass in it, then,” I said darkly. Haley giggled. “What are you laughing for? Your hubby told me you two plan on having as many babies as possible. Get ready for lots and lots of dynamite cake in your future.”

“You are so much like Ani sometimes,” Haley told me, poking me in the belly button. “He likes to make fun of me and Wolfie all the time. But I can still tell he can’t wait to help look after our kids. You’re both gonna be their godparents.”

While Ivy was busy talking to Ginny about the supremely yucky details involved with having babies, I pulled Haley over to the corner of the room. “Listen,” I said. “About Anatoly�”I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I think it’s only fair. At your wedding, I was talking to him, and I think he was kind of drunk, but he said a few things that I don’t think he meant to say. And basically, well, I think he’s in love with you. You need to talk to the guy, because he was not happy.”

To my complete and utter surprise, Haley burst out laughing. “That is the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, Emma. Ani’s definitely not in love with me. Trust me, I know my friends.”

“Not as well as you thought, apparently. I heard him. I asked him how he was doing, and he said something like, ‘Oh, good for someone who has to watch one of his best friends get married to someone he’s been in love with for years.’ Now, I’m the last person on earth who cares about Anatoly Capshaw’s feelings, but even I had to feel bad for him.”

Haley stared at me, with something strange and sad in her eyes. “No, you don’t get it, Emma. It’s not me he’s in love with. It’s Wolfie. He told us both, awhile ago. He thought we already knew. It doesn’t change anything… but there’s nothing we can do, and he knows that. I don’t think he’s too happy with either of us right now, to be honest.”

This news should not have been surprising at all, but I was still a little bit taken aback. Why was it that I always seemed to come to the wrong conclusions about people? I had a near-flawless record of being wrong. “Strangely, this makes me respect him a bit more,” I said. “I still don’t like him, though.”

“I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t being so mean to Wolfie right now,” Haley admitted. “For some reason, he’s still being super nice to me. But he’ll get over it. He always does. He used to have a thing for Jordan back at Hogwarts.”

I whooped with laughter. “Never mind, respect is all gone!” I declared.

The small blonde Healer who seemed to be in charge of this baby-birthing mission came back into the room to check up on Ivy. After all of the usual measurements and tests and everything, she said, “The baby really is coming along. You’ll be ready to start pushing in less than an hour, and things should go quite smoothly from there.” She frowned in thought for a minute. “And would you mind if I brought in another Healer?”

Ivy nodded sleepily, her eyelids almost shut.

The door opened. A man walked into the room. And Haley immediately screamed and fainted, the small blonde healer rushing to tend to her.

“It’s… you…?” breathed Ivy, sitting bolt upright in bed as though she’d been struck by lightning.

“Ivy…” whispered Ted.

He looked like he’d been dragged through every single layer of Dante’s inferno, during a Civil War, in a hurricane. I wasn’t sure if he’d gotten even more emaciated since the last time I’d seen him or if I’d just forgotten how terrifyingly thin he was, but his Healer’s robe hung disturbingly from his frame. His hair fell past his shoulders, and he had grown a thick, shaggy beard streaked with grey�”I hadn’t even been aware that Ted was capable of growing facial hair when it wasn’t a full moon. His face was crumpled, exhausted, and scarred, a few barely-healed cuts standing out against his strangely pale skin. You’d think after months living in the great outdoors, he’d at least have a decent tan on him.

He stood there in silence, gripping the door frame as though he’d fall over if he let go�”which he probably would, given his appearance. He and Ivy stared at each other in wordless silence, and I could practically hear the sappy music swelling in the background. Nobody moved, frozen to the spot.

At last, I said loudly, “Well, took you long enough, didn’t it?”

The spell was broken. Ted almost smiled, a twisted, pained-looking expression, and he said in a voice so hoarse and gravelly that it sounded nothing like his own, “Some things haven’t changed, eh?” He stepped into the room, still keeping his eyes fixed on Ivy. “I know, it’s been forever. I was planning on going back home someday soon… then I got Tyrone’s Patronus… he said the baby was coming…” Very gingerly, he grabbed Ivy’s hand in his big, scarred one, and ran his other hand over her face and onto her belly. “I missed so much… it’s like living outside of time, there in the woods. I had no idea how long it was… do you, er, do you still want me back?”

I thought Ivy would burst into tears and declare her undying love, but instead, she looked straight up into those giant blue eyes of his, the same as ever, and said quietly, “I’ll think about it.”

For a moment, Ted looked startled, and then he broke into loud peals of laughter that sounded like a crow eating tin cans. “Don’t do that to me!” he exclaimed, shaking a finger at Ivy’s serene, angelic little smiling face. “You scared me!”

“I can’t believe it… after all this time… now, of all times…” Ivy whispered. “I mean… I look a complete mess…”

“You look even beautifuller than I remembered,” Ted informed her. “Ugh, see what half a year in the woods without talking did to me? I said ‘beautifuller.’ Godric, if Jordan was in here, he’d rip me to shreds for that one. But you are beautiful. Like, unbelievably beautiful. And how can you talk about looking like a mess when I look like a crazy drug addict hobo? I think I might have fleas. I promise I’m clean, though… Otherwise, I wouldn’t be in the delivery room to…“

“Ted?” murmured Ivy.

Ted blinked. “Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Ivy instructed him, and then she grabbed him by the face and kissed him, for what seemed like a good seventeen minutes. When they broke apart, there were tears on Ivy’s face… but I think they were actually Ted’s. “It’s like you’re back from the dead,” Ivy said quietly. “Everyone thought you were dead.”

“No, if I died, I’d make sure to write and let you know,” Ted choked, cradling Ivy and running his fingers through her hair. “Ivy, I know I said I’d write, but I couldn’t. After the attack… they’d follow the owls. They’d never let me. And any owls that landed in the camp, well, they’d probably just get eaten anyway, you know?”

Ivy kissed him again. “I don’t need to hear any of this,” she said. “It’s all over and you’re back, and I’m having your baby, that’s all I care about. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I’m never gonna leave you alone again, Ives,” Ted informed her. “I’ll always be around. You’re going to start getting really annoyed with me tagging along all the time.” He touched her stomach again. “I just love you so much…you and me, we’re going to be the best mum and dad ever. Next time we have a baby, everything’s all going to go perfect.”

“Let’s take things one step at a time, shall we?” asked Ivy, and she gripped his hand. “Are you really going to help deliver your own baby?”

“I’ll definitely try my hand,” said Ted. “I might faint somewhere along the line.”

Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, Rebekah Jane Lupin came into the world. Of all of the revolting spectacles I could possibly imagine, this was the worst, and I’d seen the revolting spectacles that Anatoly wore perched on the end of his nose.

The baby was tiny, smaller than any human being should ever be, and it didn’t so much look like either Ted or Ivy as much as it looked like a sickly bald rat with a smushed head, but Mr. and Mrs. Lupin seemed to think it was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen in their entire lives. Haley and Aunt Ginny seemed to agree, crying and cooing over the little miracle and hanging off of Ted like he was a war hero, which I guess, in a sense, he was.

I hung back at the edge of the room, partly out of post-traumatic shock after witnessing one of my best friends give birth to a pint-sized gremlin creature. I have to admit, I was impressed with how well Ivy dealt with all of it, and not just the childbirth, either. Ted was back, after six months… the way they talked, it was like they’d never been apart more than five minutes. They just clicked back into synch. I can’t believe Ivy kept her head like she did when he came back into the room. I would never be able to handle something like that so well and so… coolly and rationally.

I had thought Ted was dead. I never, ever in a million years would have expected him to walk in the door. Had Ivy really believed all along that he would come back? How could she have been so darn sure? The girl was infuriating sometimes. And Ted… I wasn’t so sure I could just welcome him back with open arms after all of this time, especially not looking the way he did. So it was Tyrone’s Patronus that had brought him back. If things really were under control, why hadn’t he come back earlier? Oh, sure, sure, I understood that the werewolf crisis was dying down, but what if it wasn’t? Would he have still come back in time for Rebekah to be born, or would he have decided the cause was more important than his family?

When everyone was all cleaned up and bundled up and ready, the floodgates opened and the men in the waiting room rushed inside to see the baby. But Ted was just as big an attraction as the bundle of joy herself.

“We named her after my dad,” Ted was saying gleefully, “Well, the initials, at least. I think she looks more like Ivy, lucky for her…” He squinted at the baby. “All right, she definitely had blonde hair ten minutes ago. Now it’s kind of reddish-brownish. Am I going crazy or what?”

“She barely has any hair,” pointed out Jordan. “It’s almost impossible to differentiate. But yes, she is a Metamorphmagus, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shook his head in disgust as Ted offered to let him hold the baby, never a fan of people touching him, especially stunted wrinkly creatures.

Haley laughed. “Another freak in the family! That’s perfect,” she said. “No offense to your mum. I never said being a freak was a bad thing. Oh, speaking of which, I never officially introduced you to my gorgeous husband! Ted, this is Wolfie! Wolfie, this is the coolest guy you’ve ever met. You’ve heard all about Ted, of course.”

Ted shook B.C.’s hand as Haley took the baby and started spewing gobble-de-gook at it, feeling its tiny fingers and toes. “It’s so awesome to meet you,” said Ted. “I have so much catching up to do. I can’t believe you got married, Haley! Man, I wish I could’ve been there.”

Amid all of the confusion and craziness and emotions and babies screaming, I noticed that Tyrone had disappeared since I’d walked into the room. It was very thoughtful of him to make things less awkward for me, not to mention less likely to get me sacked, but I was still a little bit disappointed not to see him there, especially when everyone was all emotional like this. It just made me wish I had someone to hold onto.

I must have looked forlorn, because as baby Rebekah was passed around like a plate of appetizers, Ted touched my shoulder. “Emma? Are you okay?”

“I should ask you that question,” I said, looking up into his hollow, prematurely aged face. “I know you can’t just come back into normal society and have things all the same as ever. Don’t you feel weird, you know, walking around on two legs, talking to people, wearing clothes, all that human stuff?”

Ted closed his eyes for a second. “You have no idea,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel normal again. But don’t worry about me. I won’t have time to think about my own issues�”not when there’s a baby to take care of.”

“You never thought about your own issues,” I told him. “I think it’s high time you did.”

“Er… thank you… Emma?” he said slowly, his brow creasing in confusion. “I… I guess that means you care about me or something?”

I couldn’t help myself. I threw my arms around his neck, feeling disconcertingly like I was going to crush him into dust. I could feel every bone in his body poking into me. “I was freaking out, Ted. I thought you were dead meat. When are you going to realize that you need to stop worrying about everyone else and worry about yourself, you giant idiot!” I exclaimed. “Why can’t you just be all selfish like a normal person?”

He kissed me on the forehead, something he’d never done before, but that was strangely cute, probably the two words that Ted’s fans would use to describe his bizarre appeal. “I didn’t realize how much I was gonna miss you, Emma. You’re one-of-a-kind.”

“Thank Godric for that,” I said. I looked over to where Uncle Harry was rocking the baby back and forth, wearing the kind of expression that I wasn’t quite sure I felt comfortable seeing on the face of the coolest, most hardcore dark wizard catcher in the world. “Now, hand me that gorgeous baby of yours, Lupin. It’s the least you can do after everything you’ve put me through these past months.”

* * * * *

Why did I feel so lonely lately? It was so lame, seriously. Even in the middle of a crowd full of people I love, on one of the most exciting and momentous days of my life. But after I finally went home after that long, exhausting, horrifying, fabulous day, my flat felt even more suffocating and empty than ever. And waking up the next morning was impossible.

“Well, I guess Ivy won’t be needing me around anymore,” I muttered, making myself one of my famous breakfast cheese-and-fried-tomato sandwiches. So much for all that inspirational talk about Rebekah’s battalion of supportive surrogate dads.

How could things end this easily? Ted disappears for half a year, Ivy’s all alone and miserable, then suddenly he reappears in the nick of time and Ivy goes home, happy as can be with a perfect nuclear family? I was surprised there was no poison apple or hair climbing or glass slipper involved. I was happy for them�”I really, truly was, just as I was happy for Haley and B.C. But I wasn’t sure I liked the message, that someone can just go away for months, for whatever selfless reason, and then return to find the apple of their eye waiting for them.

It’s not always that easy, I told myself. So stop with your stupid, stupid ideas that you and Tyrone have any chance of a future.

But I still couldn’t help but imagine myself in Ivy’s place, in that scary hospital room, holding a baby in my arms that was half-me, half-Tyrone. And I couldn’t help but admit that if Tyrone and I had babies, they would be fantastically attractive, second in cuteness only to baby pandas. And what do baby pandas and the imaginary Weasley-Thomas offspring have in common? They’re both white, black, and Asian! Haw-haw-hawww!

Okay, really, what has gotten into me? I have never, ever in my entire life, ever considered the possibility of things like marriage and children looming on my horizon, especially not with Tyrone involved. And that joke I just made was incredibly bad… and mildly offensive, not that that had ever bothered me before.

But at least there was one thing that could slightly brighten my mood, other than the delicious cheese and fried tomato sandwich. It was Saturday, and therefore it was Vladurday. Now, Vladurday, for you poor unfortunate souls out there who don’t know, is a programme on the Wizarding Wireless�”kind of a world news type thing, but funny and brutally honest. No target is safe on Vladurday. I started listening because I knew the host�”Vladislav Poliakoff was one of my opponents way back when I was in the Triwizard Tournament�”but I gradually got hooked on listening. It’s nice to hear someone who doesn’t sugar-coat things.

“Hello, and welcome to another mind-blowing hour of Vladurday Morning!” announced Vladislav’s crackly voice over the wireless. “For all of you who accidentally stumbled across this station, I’m Vladislav Poliakoff, and this is the most appalling excuse for news in the history of the entire world, according to German Chancellor of Charms Heinrich Gurtz himself.” When I first met him, he’d had a slight accent from whatever country the name ‘Vladislav Poliakoff’ comes from, but now he spoke with such a flawless English accent that it could only belong to a foreigner.

“Unfortunately, today’s show is going to be a lot less silly than usual, so if you would rather hear jokes about various politicians’ privates, this, for the first time ever, is not the right place. But so much has been going on with the werewolf attacks right here in the UK, I thought I should do something about it. And I have a special guest this morning, so stay tuned, because he’s a lot more interesting than me.”

Ah, a werewolf show. I couldn’t even escape this madness on Vladurday. What was the world coming to?

“So, as you’ve probably all heard, Cassius Balthazar, leader of the militant werewolves, was found dead in front of a steakhouse in London two days ago. Apparently, no one told him that stakes are deadly to vampires, not werewolves. Although too much red meat is bad for your heart, too, and we all know Balthazar has a penchant for that. Less public, though, is a bit of interesting news about the other side of the conflict, the highly controversial werewolf hunters. Although the press release is yet to officially go out, as Quidditch season won’t start up again for some time, Chudley Cannons Seeker Wolfgang Quinn was sent to Azkaban yesterday evening for his involvement with the most bloodthirsty anti-werewolf gang in all of Britain. So to chat with me about that and give some inside information as usual, here’s my special guest, a certain Mr. Tyrone “The Tank Engine” Thomas, Beater for the Chudley Cannons.”

Lame person that I am, I felt my heart flutter like a drunken butterfly as that familiar deep voice, delicious to the ears even over my crummy radio, said, “Thanks, Vlad. It’s great to see you again. It’s been years, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has. And speaking of seeing you, this is a change for you, isn’t it, any kind of media appearance that doesn’t let you show off your famous good looks?”

Tyrone laughed. “Yeah, hopefully my voice is still sexy enough that no one notices that I can barely string three words together.”

Vladislav’s voice switched to a slightly more businesslike tone. “So, anyway, you knew Wolfgang Quinn quite well, didn’t you? Can you tell us anything about the whole incident that the Daily Prophet probably won’t report?”

“Yeah, I played on the team with Wolfgang for a couple years now, but he’s also technically my step-brother, though I don’t love bringing that up at parties. So I knew him for a long time, and I know for a fact that he has some kind of serious mental issues. He’s brilliant at Quidditch, and he’s a smart bloke, but he’s always been trouble. Everyone on the team knew what he was up to, but we didn’t have any proof, so we were all waiting for him to slip up and get sacked. I mean, the stuff he said about werewolves was just disgusting. One of my best friends, he’s a werewolf�”you remember Ted Lupin, right? Really cool guy. Wolfgang even tried to have him killed, and he bragged about it to everybody, but in this weird roundabout way so that we couldn’t turn him in for it. And like eighty percent of everything he said was lies, anyway.”

There was a slightly stunned pause on the end of the radio. I’m guessing Vladislav was a little bit stunned by the uncharacteristically serious turn his programme had taken. “So, you said everyone knew he was up to no good? Was everyone really just waiting for him to slip, or do you think some people were purposely covering for him so that the Quidditch team would stay intact? He’s very good at what he does, Wolfgang Quinn.”

“Yeah, he is, but he’s terrible at the whole teamwork thing. Believe me, no one on the team would be too upset to see him go. The coach was probably going to fire him after this season anyway, since he never came to practice and caused problems all the time. But there is one person who’s on his side, and nobody’s called him out yet. That’s Henderson Vaultz, the guy who runs the stadium. He doesn’t really have anything to do with the team, but he always, you know, thinks of us as his team and all that. I think he might be a bit mad as well.”

Now THIS was an unexpected development. But if hearing Tyrone badmouth Henderson Vaultz was a surprise, what came next nearly knocked my socks off.

“The girl who actually caught Wolfgang, she’s an Auror trainee working at the stadium, and Vaultz has always been a real git to the trainees. He said at the beginning of the season that he hated having Aurors snooping around his stadium and that they wouldn’t be back after this season, so I think he was trying to annoy the trainees on purpose so the Ministry wouldn’t send them back. But he wouldn’t let the trainees talk to us at all�”they’d lose their jobs if they did-- and I think it was because he didn’t want Wolfgang to get caught. He was scared that if word got out how messed up Wolfgang was, he would get thrown off the team. Now, I don’t know if Vaultz just thinks Wolfgang’s a great Seeker or he actually hates werewolves or what, but I figure it’s worth looking into.”

Vladislav whistled. “I have to say, you must really have guts to say something like that on the wireless. Don’t you think you could lose your job?”

“Probably,” admitted Tyrone. “So that’s why I’m not going to wait around and find out. I’m quitting the Chudley Cannons today�”you heard it first here. I won’t play for them until Vaultz is either sacked, or else he changes his mind about some of his stupider policies. I owled everyone this morning. Let’s be honest, I played in the World Cup this year. There will be other teams who’ll hire me.” His voice rose even louder. “Oh, by the way, I know you’re listening to this, Emma Weasley. So I thought I should tell you, I’m completely mad about you. And it’s your fault that I’m doing something this insane, so if you don’t want to be my girlfriend now, all of my fans have the right to blame it on you.”

I didn’t stick around to listen to another word. I don’t know and I don’t care if Vladislav had any cutting remarks to make, or if Tyrone said anything else about me. I wouldn’t have been able to hear anyway, since a choir was singing in my head. I felt like bursting into song, like I was a character in one of Haley’s beloved musicals. Every love song I knew and then some was racing through my head.

I ran outside like a complete nutter, laughing out loud, and Apparated straight over to the studio. Luckily, I knew exactly where the Wizarding Wireless recorded because my dad and Uncle Harry had been on there twice, and Haley had even gone on at one point to talk about the musical. It was a little place, nothing special to look at, not far from Gringotts.

Diagon Alley was bustling with people on a nice Saturday morning like today. Good. All the better. I paced back and forth in front of the studio, gathering a few weird glances, but not a whole lot, given the general weirdness of the wizarding population in general. I blame inbreeding.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I planned to say to Tyrone when he finally came out. I tried to think up something witty to say, but my brain wasn’t working. Instead of words, it only came up with exclamation points. But I knew I had to find a way tell him what a completely wonderful human being he was, what everything he’d done for me and my family meant, how much I really, really wanted to touch every square inch of his body, that kind of thing.

The door swung open and Tyrone stepped out, squinting in the bright sunlight. My mouth was suddenly dry, which was a good thing, because otherwise I might’ve drooled. Tyrone caught sight of me, standing there in the middle of the sidewalk like a ginger traffic cone, and he squinted even more, making a weird sputtering noise for a few seconds. “Em, what in the name of Merlin’s saggy left�”“

I didn’t let him finish the sentence. Beaming like I’d never beamed before and feeling completely weightless, I ran toward him with all of my might and threw my arms around him. Words had gotten in the way of us too many times. All they ever did was cause problems. And they certainly couldn’t do what I was feeling any justice. So I didn’t use any.

Instead, I ran my fingers through his hair and down his chest, and I kissed him full on the mouth, all of the missed kisses in the past five years and all of the unspoken thoughts in the past five months piling up into one unbelievable moment.

When it was over, I stared at him defiantly, daring him with my eyes to say something as I counted every color in his irises.

In typical Tyrone fashion, he found exactly the right thing. “I might love you,” he told me quietly.

“I think you do,” I whispered, tangling his hand into mine. “I can’t imagine why. And the worst part is, I’m starting to worry I might love you, too. Kind of wrecks my plans to grow old, alone and friendless, doesn’t it?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but I took the opportunity to kiss him again.

His mustache tickled. And his lips tasted distinctly�”but not unpleasantly�”of pre-juiced plums.

Obnoxious Show Tune Playing In My Brain Du Jour
No, I never pulled her in
Still, her tenderness was everywhere.
Oh, she slipped beneath my skin
Just as if she’d always been right there.
Had she been there all along?
Was I too far gone to know
What a fool I must have been
For how could I pull her in
When I never let her go?
-- “She Was There,” The Scarlet Pimpernel

* * * * *

EMMA’S AMAZING PRIDE AND PREJUDICE SUMMARY, PART TEN

They all lived happily ever after. The end.

There’s a few blank pages at the back of this journal. And I can’t just leave them blank, can I? So, hi there. I’m Josephine Westley Thomas, but that’s ‘Joey’ to you (and everyone else). I’m fourteen, and, according to pretty much everyone who knows the rest of my family, surprisingly normal. I found my mum’s journal in a giant box in the basement, with my parents’ wedding albums and the many, many albums of my big sister as a baby. (They kind of slacked off on the photo documentation by the time I came around. Their hands were full enough with one Thomas diva, let alone two.)

Anyway, I’d planned on sneaking the journal out, reading it, and sticking it back before anybody noticed, but I should’ve known that my sixteen-year-old sister Tony would foil that scheme.

“Merlin’s pink frilly knickers, Joey!” she shouted, stopping in the doorway of my room and staring at me like she’d never seen me before. “Are you reading?”

So I’m not quite as… erm… literary as Tony. Neither is anyone else in the family. Or probably the world.

“Er, yeah,” I said, rolling over on the bed and clutching the journal. “Sign of the apocalypse, right? Listen, have you ever heard of a book called Pride and Prejudice?”

It was like I’d offered her a lifetime supply of Fortescue’s best ice cream. “SINK ME TO THE DEPTHS OF THE DEVIL!” she screamed, vaulting into the room and crash-landing on my bed. “Discovered Jane Austen, have you? Isn’t she utterly fabulous? You’re never going to be the same again, Joey. I cannot wait to talk about this book with you! Have you gotten to the part yet where she dances with Mr. Darcy? You will adore Mr. Darcy, by the way.”

I laughed. “Calm down, this isn’t Pride and Prejudice. I was just wondering. It gets mentioned in here a bunch of times.” I held up the journal. “Look what I found. This is mum’s old diary from when she was like twenty-three. You wouldn’t believe this stuff.”

Tony let out an earsplitting shriek. “Give that to me this instant!” she demanded, snatching it from me. Despite her dreamy, romantic look, all long flowy skirts and gauzy blouses and long tangled curls, she is definitely the boss of the family. Which is saying something, seeing as our mum is our mum. I can only think of one instance where she hasn’t gotten her way�”she keeps trying to get us all to call her ‘Antoinette,’ her real name. Those efforts have always failed pretty miserably. Tony likes to walk around barefoot by moonlight, sometimes singing and picking wildflowers. But it’s not because she’s a free spirit. It’s because she thinks it’s really appealing and attractive. She calls herself an ‘aesthete,’ but I feel like I probably wouldn’t agree if I knew what that meant.

She turned to a random page and read in her most theatrical voice, “‘I didn’t have to look at Tyrone as he passed to know what he looked like. His unrealistically perfect picture was on a million t-shirts, posters, mugs, and magazine covers, after all. Tall, broad-shouldered, even more well-muscled than back in school, smooth dark brown skin that always made you want to search frantically for just one zit that could prove he was human.’ This is too good!” she shouted. “Who would’ve guessed that dad used to be good-looking? Unless that’s just mum’s opinion. I mean, Aunt Ivy probably thinks Uncle Ted is sexy.” She shuddered.

I didn’t say anything, mainly because I always thought dad was good-looking. Most people do. And I don’t think Uncle Ted’s that bad, either�”he’s always kind of gaunt and tired-looking, but once you know him, you don’t notice at all.

Maybe it’s because I’m not as pretty as Tony, who definitely got our parents’ looks. I’m not saying that because I want pity or anything, but I think I ended up with all of my grandparents’ weirdest features. Luckily, I’m also not as girly as Tony (though she’s the kind of ‘girly’ that can easily snap off the personal bits of any bloke who disrespects her), so my outrageously frizzy hair, lousy skin, wonky teeth, crazy eyebrows, and goofy nose don’t bother me much. I might not be all willowy and graceful like Tony, but my body’s plenty good for playing Quidditch. I’m a Chaser for Gryffindor, and pretty darn good.

“Joey, where did you go?” exclaimed Tony, waving a jangly bangle-covered hand in front of my face. “It’s like you just floated away to some fantasy realm or something. That’s supposed to be my job. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Peachy,” I said calmly. “Now, let’s get ready for dinner. I know that takes you a year and a half. Oh, and I’ll be needing my shoes back.”

It’s Mum and Dad’s 20th anniversary today, so we’re having a party. That’s why Tony and I were hiding upstairs�”Mum gets pretty terrifying when she has to cook for a bunch of people. Our little sister Charley, who’s ten, was in the backyard, cleaning the giraffe house�”my turn was last week.

Tony hates Super Motts, our pet giraffe. She says having a giraffe is ‘vulgar’ and that he should be roaming free on the savanna. But between you and me, I think she’s just jealous because Super Motts was born the same day as her, so she has to share the attention with him on her birthdays. Also, Super Motts isn’t the brightest ungulate on the block, and that’s considering he’s the ONLY ungulate on the block. I think if he were on the savanna, he wouldn’t be doing much roaming. He’d either be lunch for a lion, or he’d be trying to mate with an especially pretty tree.

There was a horrible crash from downstairs, and the muffled sound of Mum screaming a few of her favourite words. If Dad knew I could hear, he would’ve cast a Muffliato charm around my room. I think he still sees Tony and me as his little baby girls. (Charley, not so much. She’s pretty tough. She may only be ten, but she’s as scary as Mum when she wants to be.)

As Tony went to go do makeup or whatever it is that takes her so long, I lay back on the bed and tried to imagine Mum and Dad as young people, starting up their relationship, back when Dad still had hair and was a famous Quidditch star, and Mum wasn’t even an Auror yet. (She’s second-in-command now, after a guy called Aeneas Scriggs, though she has another name for him).

It’s too hard for me to picture Mum feeling shy or uncomfortable around anyone, especially Dad. They argue all the time, although Dad tries to avoid it as much as possible, and sometimes, Tony and Charley and I used to get scared that they’d get a divorce. I think they almost thought about it once or twice, but�”and this sounds really cheesy�”I think they’ve been together so long, they don’t know how to be themselves without each other. They’re two halves of one crazy dysfunctional messed-up awesome whole.

Mum wrote in her journal that she didn’t want to get married, and that she couldn’t imagine herself having kids, that Dad was meant for those things, but she wasn’t. But I can’t imagine what she’d be like if she WASN’T a mother. A bunch of people have said that Dad’s more like a mum to us, since he stays at home and doesn’t have a job and takes care of us, but frankly, there are some areas where you just need a Mum, even when ours pretends otherwise.

I picked through my miserable array of dresses�”I keep getting taller, and none of my clothes stick around for long�”found something decent, and ran a brush pointlessly through my crazy hair as I listened through the floor to see who was arriving. It already sounded like feeding time at the zoo down there.

I smiled to myself, thinking about the fun of being crammed into one room with my bajillion cousins. I could already hear the tell-tale sounds of loud singing that told me the Quinn branch of my family was here.

By the time I ran downstairs, the whole bunch of them had taken over the living room. We’d magically expanded it to fit the number of people we were going to have over, but it was still packed. Aunt Haley, my mum’s best friend in the world, and Uncle Wolfie, my dad’s brother (well, stepbrother, but seriously, who’s counting?) are over here all the time with their five kids. Uncle Wolfie’s real name is something ridiculous, but everyone calls him Wolfie except my parents, and he writes music and plays the piano really well. Aunt Haley’s an actress and a singer, so there is ALWAYS music in their house. She’s tiny and he’s big, she’s loud and he’s quiet, but they’re still a lot alike.

At that particular moment, Aunt Haley was telling a long, complicated story to my mum, while Uncle Wolfie was helping his youngest daughter learn a song on the piano. The whole family’s musical except Jules, who’s my age and one of my best friends. He’s one of those guys who’s super-quiet and looks super-innocent, but when he says something, it’s always very witty and sarcastic. He’s short and a little bit chubby, and he has a mop of curly brown hair, so people always expect him to be a perfect angel and not, as his mum puts it, a “sass machine.”

Jules, which is short for Julian, is the middle kid. His big brother, Luc, is seventeen, and he plays Keeper for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. He’s tall and muscular-ish with reddish-gold hair, and he might’ve been born in the wrong decade, because he’d be a bit of a hippie if he could. He loves nature and wears bright colours and plays the guitar and all that. Indigo, who’s sixteen, is also in Hufflepuff, but she’s tiny and dark-haired and bespectacled, and she’s incredibly organized and put-together. She might not be human. She’s in a million clubs, and she still has time to be brilliant at the violin and the oboe.

Then there are the twins, who are twelve. Elektra’s stick-skinny with long, curly, bright red hair. She can be hyper and socially awkward, but she’s really funny and a nice kid once you get to know her. Her twin, Dorian, has great people skills and is pretty popular, but he makes sure people include Elektra in everything, even though he’s in Gryffindor and she’s in Slytherin. He’s an incredible singer and dancer, and she’s a virtuoso at the piano, so they play music together a lot. I can tell Dorian’s going to be really good-looking when he gets older, with his shiny black hair and bright blue eyes, although he doesn’t like to do typical ‘boy things.’ He’d rather play with dolls or paint his nails than play sport, but almost nobody at Hogwarts minds, because he’s the most charming kid ever. I love the whole family.

A lot less noisy is the Lupin bunch. I honestly think Aunt Ivy and Uncle Ted might be the nicest people in the world. They both work at Hogwarts, Aunt Ivy teaching Charms and Uncle Ted as the school Healer, so I see a lot of them. I don’t often get to see my cousin, Rebekah, though, now that she’s grown up and left home.

She’s writing what she calls “the definitive guide to magical beings,” though she’ll probably come up with a snappy title for it. She says it’s a crime that nobody’s written one yet, though I guess she’d be the ultimate expert in the subject�”she’s a Metamorphmagus with a werewolf dad and an Animagus mum, and she told me she dated a vampire once, though I think she was kidding. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with her. Rebekah was some kind of child prodigy, and she has kind of an odd sense of humour. For the most part, though, she’s quite down-to-earth and easy to talk to.

Rebekah’s not much at all like her eighteen-year-old brother, Henry, even though they look a lot alike (when Rebekah’s not using her Metamorphing skills, that is, which is most of the time�”she mostly just uses them to clear up the odd spot or bad hair day). They’re both tall and lanky with blue-grey eyes and short-cropped blondish hair. But Henry’s always gotten into more trouble, and not just light-hearted pranks. He always struck me as sullen and scary when I was younger, and he almost got expelled a few times.

He’s grown up a lot in the past year, though�”no time to explain any of that now�”and now he’s going into training to be an Auror, believe it or not, even though he almost failed out of Hogwarts. Honestly, I think the poor bloke just wanted some attention, being the only ‘normal’ person in a family of pleasant and charming freaks. His parents were pretty good at dealing with everything, though, I have to say.

“All right, is everyone here?” boomed my dad, bounding down the stairs and dressed in his best dark red dress robes. He rubbed his hands together. “Quinns, check, Lupins, check… oh, come on, don’t tell me Jordan forgot?”

“He said he’d be running a bit late,” Mum put in, trailing down the stairs behind him. “Apparently, there was no need bothering to explain because I wouldn’t understand the explanation anyway. Classic Jor-jums. Ah well, gives us more time to make fun of him behind his back.” She looked really pretty in her brand new sparkly turquoise robes with a deep, plunging neck that she would never let me get away with. She was even wearing lipstick, which she almost never does, and her hair was all down and flowy. There’s not much occasion for her to get dressed up in the Auror business, which is probably good, because it’s mostly men and she’d distract everybody.

“Joey, would you mind nipping into the kitchen and put some dip and crisps and veggies and everything on plates?” asked Dad. “That way, everyone will spoil their appetites and no one will have to put up with your mum’s cooking.”

Since I did as I was told, I have no idea what kind of snappy retort mum made, but knowing her, there definitely was one. By the time I emerged, though, B.C. was pounding away at the piano and Dad was singing at the top of his lungs, “SHE’S GOT A CHICKEN TO RIIIIDE! SHE’S GOT A CHICKEN TO RI-I-IDE! SHE’S GOT A CHICKEN TO RIDE, AND SHE DON’T CARE! MY BABY DONKEY!”

“And this is how you welcome me? Butchering a song by my favourite artists? I’m deeply offended,” said Uncle Jordan, suddenly materializing in the middle of the room and making his way matter-of-factly to his favourite armchair. It was already inhabited by Dorian, but he quickly took care of that with his famous Jordan Face.

Uncle Jordan works with computers, which means he pretty much lives as a Muggle, even though he’s a Seer. Somehow he manages this, I dunno how. But on the three or four times a year that he crams visiting us into his busy schedule, he goes all-out and uses every kind of magic under the sun. Apparition is one of his favourite kinds.

“You may want to move away from the fireplace,” Uncle Jordan added flatly. “My wife and son will arrive via the Floo network in approximately nine seconds. It really is inconvenient that neither of them can Apparate.”

FLSHOOOM. Sure enough, just then, Aunt Giorgi stumbled out of the fireplace, coughing slightly and followed by my best friend in the whole universe, Nigel Potter. Aunt Giorgi’s a fashion designer, not famous among normal people, but she makes stuff for celebrities all the time, which I think is fantastic. She always dresses up in the craziest clothes, but her outfit tonight was pretty low-key for her�”a long rainbow tie-dyed dress with puffy sleeves, ballet slippers, earrings that looked like tiny spinning disco balls, and a long wedding veil covered in rainbow sequins. She was wearing strings of Christmas lights around her neck and up and down her arms, and her hair, which she’d grown out almost to her waist, was sort of a soft coral pinkish colour.

“Godric, all these years, and Mum still freaks out whenever she has to take the Floo network,” muttered Nigel, brushing off his jacket and leaning up against the mantelpiece with his usual flair.

Aunt Giorgi rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you, I have nooo problem when it comes to the actual traveling bit itself. That, I don’t mind. It’s the stepping into the giant terrifying flames bit that I don’t particularly care for.”

Nigel pulled a face. “Parents,” he muttered, chucking me on the shoulder. Nigel is my favourite person ever, but I would never tell him that. Partly because he already knows it, and partly because he’s full of himself enough as it is. He’s tall and skinny with a long red ponytail and thick black glasses, but he has this way of carrying himself that makes him look almost handsome. Girls are crazy about him… bit scary, actually. He’s also brilliant at art�”painting mostly, though he can make pretty much anything�”and he has what he calls a “semi-photographic memory,” which means he’s a walking collection of random trivia and useless facts.

So, you’d think he’s perfect, and at first blush, he seems totally confident, but there is a bit of a snag. See, Nigel’s practically a Squib. He’s terrible at magic, no matter how much he tries and how hard he works. He’s not a complete Squib�”I’ve seen him manage magic lots of times�”but it seldom works out the way he expects it to, and it comes exploding out of him when he gets upset. He gets great marks on written exams and essays and everything, because he’s really bright, but he just can’t do the practical stuff.

His dad was in denial about this for a LONG time, and he always yelled at Nigel for not trying hard enough, but he’s finally come to terms with the fact that magic isn’t as easy for Nigel as it is for him. If all this troubles Nigel, though, he never shows it. I don’t dare bring it up, either. It’s… a bit awkward.

“Well, that’s everyone, then, isn’t it?” said my Mum. “The food’s all ready, so we might as well go eat it now!”

“And by ‘eat,’ she really means ‘we give long boring speeches while everyone stares longingly at their plates,’” Dad put in. “Come on in already, you know where the dining room is!”

The ninety-four-million or however many of us there were, all poured into the dining room somehow, which, like the front room, had been expanded with magic. Instead of one dining table, there were three�”one big one for adults, two smaller ones for the ‘kids.’ Like it or not, I was one of the younger kids by default, so I sat down with Jules, Nigel, Dorian, Elektra, and Charley.

“A toast!” said Uncle Wolfie, raising his glass. “To Ty and Emma, for going this long without killing each other!”

“SPEECH!” yelled Aunt Haley. “Speech, speech, speech, speech!”

“Managing to stay married to this woman for twenty years, that’s definitely something to celebrate. I deserve a circus parade,” said Dad. “Seriously, though, it’s a double edged sword, you know? It’s not just putting up with her, it’s managing not to drive her away, too. Tricky stuff, but if anyone can do it, it’s The ‘Ronester.”

Mum rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. I haven’t heard you call yourself ‘The ‘Ronester’ in decades. I thought that nickname was dead for good. You’re way too old for that particular brand of crazy.”

“Hey, youth is not an affectation, youth is an art!” piped up Tony. I could tell she was quoting Oscar Wilde from the weird old-fashioned accent she put on when she said it. She claims she doesn’t have an Oscar Wilde Voice, but she totally does.

“Don’t encourage him,” said Mum witheringly, but she was smiling. “But yeah, it’s been a rocky road these twenty years.. ‘Cos the question was, all the arguing, all the horribleness and the insanity and the radically different beliefs, is dealing with all of that worth the ridiculous amount that we’re attracted to each other? But the answer’s yes. I learned that lesson a million and twelve times over. We’ve had our fights, but nah, we can’t live without each other. It’s pathetic, the poor bloke’s stuck with me for life.”

Dad grinned. “See, I’m a romantic,” he said, “And Em’s… not. Definitely not. So being married is nothing like I ever thought it would be, but the important thing is finding someone who makes you laugh and likes having a good time. Because marriage isn’t like fairy tales. You learn all these fun facts, like my wife has really hairy toe knuckles, and she snores, and she likes to steal my boxers and wear them, and she teaches the kids swear words, and she always forgets to flush the toilet.”

“Yeah,” mum retorted, “Or that my husband secretly has a unibrow, but he plucks it so nobody will know, only he uses my tweezers because he’s too far in denial to buy his own. And he talks about food in his sleep and he sings really loud and off-key in the shower when I’m trying to sleep, and he never replaces the toilet paper, and he tapes down his man-boobs with spell-o-tape.”

Dad’s jaw dropped. “How many times do I have to tell you, Em, I don’t have man-boobs! My pecs are just on vacation, and they got some friends to house-sit for them!”

“Well, at least I accept the fact that I have hairy toes,” said Mum. “Hobbit pride!”

Noticing that this conversation was plummeting downhill fast, Dad cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he said, “After all that awesome TMI, the number one thing I had to learn about Em�”and that took me way too long�”is that you have to be patient and let her make the first move. Yeah, I’m not good at that.”

“When Tyrone wants something, he does not give up. If he thinks one day when he’s six years old that it’d be cool to have a pet giraffe, he’s still gonna want one when he’s grown up. And the problem is, when I don’t want to do something, getting me to change my mind takes forever. So it’s like tug-of-war gone mad.”

Tyrone shook his head. “Yeah, I tried to snog her once, no go. I had to wait for her to snog me. Then, when I wanted to get married, I proposed, she said no. I proposed three times, I made a total fool out of myself, and she still said no. I even got the whole Chudley Cannons team to propose with me during a game, still no. Then, when I gave up all hope, she turns around and asks me to marry her when I least expected it.”

Aunt Haley let out her famous squealing noise. “I remember that! It was the fourth night of that Princess Bride musical that Wolfie wrote! And I was playing Buttercup, and Tyrone was in the audience, and after the show was over, we all came out to bow, but then after we’d all bowed, Emma rode out onstage on a giraffe�””

“Wearing a bikini,” Dad interjected enthusiastically.

“Yeah, wearing a bikini, and the giraffe had a banner around its neck that said, ‘TYRONE, WANT TO MARRY ME? P.S. IF YOU SAY YES, YOU GET TO KEEP THE GIRAFFE.’ Aaaaagh, it was so adorable! I will never get over how cute that was!”

Dad grinned. “And I yelled, ‘AS YOU WISH!’”

Before anyone else could tell any mushy stories about my parents, though, there was a strange noise at the front door. Uncle Jordan jumped up, and so did Mum, looking her most Auror-y. We all froze for a second or two, expecting the worst, until there were three short, sharp raps at the door.

Mum groaned. “I’ll go get rid of them,” she said. “Typical.”

She walked over to the door and opened it but, before she could do anything else, a man with long curly blond hair and a top hat shoved past her and strode inside the house as if he owned the place. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you started without me! Beastly behavior!” crowed Anatoly Capshaw.

“You told us you weren’t coming, you idiot!” exclaimed Mum.

“Well, naturally! I always say I’m not coming so that people will be excited to see me when I turn up! That’s show business, you repulsive harpy!” he declared. “Now, move on out of the way so my entourage can come in.”

Anatoly is best friends with Uncle Wolfie and Aunt Haley, and one of the strangest and coolest people I’ve ever met. The whole family loves him and his weirdness, but he and Mum have always pretended to hate each other. I’m not sure why, but I’ve learned not to question either of them much. Anatoly’s had pretty much every job under the sun at some point�”he even ran away with a circus for awhile, and I heard he took on everything from lion-taming to clowning to being the ringmaster. He’s done carpentry and landscaping, he’s been a pastry chef, a zookeeper, a professional stuntman, a best-selling novelist, a farmer, a substitute teacher, a repo man, a speed skater, a roller coaster designer, and a bounty hunter, and those are just the non-wizarding ones (though, of course, he always used magic to do his jobs).

The ‘entourage’ he was talking about consisted of a Belgian astrophysicist named Franc Declerq and a three-year-old Vietnamese girl. See, Anatoly and Franc have been together for sixteen years, but Anatoly always just says, “It’s just a fling, nothing serious.” He hates the idea of committing to anything, so Franc is just Franc, nothing else. He’s small and reserved, with dark hair and a beard, and if you call him Anatoly’s ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner’ or anything else, he looks at you like you’re a three-headed baboon and says “Please don’t ever call me that again.”

They’re definitely a unit, though, and they even adopted a baby from Vietnam. She’s called Ringo Supernova Capshaw-Declercq, after Anatoly’s least-favourite Beatle and Franc’s favourite word, and she’s adorable. Anatoly once said that the only way he and Franc would ever get married was if it was the same day and time as Ringo’s wedding, just to tick her off. I bet they go through with it, too.

“Sorry about this,” Franc muttered to my mum, kissing her on the cheek. “He didn’t even tell me this was going on until fifteen minutes ago. I’d intended to get some work done, but you’re more important.”

“It’s just the sun, it can wait!” shouted Anatoly. “Honestly, the way you talk about it, you’d think the earth revolves around it!” He jabbed my mum in the ribs. “That’s a good one, eh? I really ought to write these things down!”

She rolled her eyes. “Into the dining room, the lot of you. And shut up.”

“You should’ve told us you’d be here!” Dad said, conjuring up some more chairs for the ‘entourage.’ “You missed the sing-along.”

“Of ‘She’s Got a Chicken to Ride,’” Uncle Jordan added dryly as Franc sat down next to him. (They were friends from college, and Jordan accidentally introduced Franc and Anatoly, something that Mum likes to blame him for all the time.)

“Ah, ‘She’s Got a Chicken to Ride.’ An immortal classic indeed,” Anatoly said gravely, plopping down right next to Mum. “Second only to ‘Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza.’”

Tiny, pigtailed Ringo tugged on Anatoly’s long acid green frock coat. “Ani? Who’s got a chicken to ride?” she asked quietly.

Anatoly looked down his nose at her with utmost solemnity. “Lady Mondegreen,” he said. “Now, you go sit down with all the other boys and girls. Meanwhile back at the ranch, I’ll embarrass myself in front of all of the grown-ups with my customary stream of inane drivel.”

“Okay, Ani!” she chirped, and skipped over to our table, where she knew she’d get all kinds of attention.

I kind of lost track of what the adults were talking about. I was too busy eating some pretty good food and arguing with the rest of my table. Sometime in the last few days, the Quinn branch of the family had unanimously decided that my new nickname should be ‘Joe-jums,’ and Nigel was totally in favour. Sometime while I was making my case, though, I heard Uncle Wolfie say, “Of course, back when you were dating, every witch in Britain would have given her wand arm to be Mrs. Thomas. Nobody would’ve believed it would turn out to be you.”

My Mum’s eyes flashed flashed, but I couldn’t tell whether it was in an angry way or mischievous way. It was somewhere in between. “That’s ‘Ms. Weasley’ to you, Beowulf Caspar Friedrich… whatever your name is. This is the twenty-first century.” She speared a bit of meat with the fork and pointedly swallowed it. “There’s a time and a place for everything, but if you think this is the time or place to ‘Mrs. Thomas’ me, you are sorely mistaken.”

As always, Uncle Ted was the one to break the awkward silence. “So… er… what is this stewed with the porkchops? It’s good, whatever it is.”

“It’s prunes, I think,” said Aunt Ivy, taking a careful nibble.

Mum and Dad exchanged glances and grinned like a pair of Cheshire Cats. “No,” they said in perfect unison. “It’s pre-juiced plums.”

* * * * * *

I can’t sleep tonight. I just keep reading through this journal for hours, sitting up in bed and trying to imagine Mum’s life.

Tony always has boyfriends coming out of her ears, and she always goes on about ‘being in love,’ but I’d honestly never given that kind of stuff a moment’s thought. But suddenly, I can’t stop thinking, will I ever get married? Will I ever be a mum? Will anyone ever love me so much that I’ll be having my own twentieth anniversary dinner, with all of my friends crammed together under one roof?

I keep hearing Dad’s words about finding someone to make you laugh, someone to go on crazy adventures with you. That’s the happiest ending, I think. Mum and Dad would never be content with a peaceful life. I think Dad thought he wanted a Princess Buttercup, but he couldn’t settle for anything less than an Elizabeth Bennet.

That’s why I felt like I had to tack on my own two knuts onto the end of mum’s joual. Because the way it wrapped up all seemed too perfect to me. Real life isn’t ‘happily ever after,’ and it’s a good thing, too, because if there’s not ‘happily ever after,’ it means there’s still plenty of story to go.

So I’ll just end with this, but it isn’t the end. Right now, while I’m sitting here under the covers, hoping Mum doesn’t find me and yell at me for doing underage magic (as if ‘Lumos’ even counts), I hear my parents coming up the stairs. I hear Mum laughing, and she sounds about sixteen years old. As they walk past my room, I hear Dad say, “And how are you tonight, Mrs. Thomas?”

I can see their shadows on the wall. He’s kissing her.

“Incandescently happy, duh,” she’s saying. “Or else I’d never let you get away with calling me Mrs. Thomas, you gorgeous lunatic.”

“Oh, good. Because I only say ‘Mrs. Thomas’ when I’m incandescently happy, as well,” replied Dad.

Mum laughed again. “Fire away, then.”

It’s quiet now. But if I listen really, really closely, I can hear Dad whispering, “Mrs. Thomas… Mrs. Thomas… Mrs. Thomas… Mrs. Thomas… Mrs�””

“Hang on, ‘Ronester. There’s a light on somewhere.”

Oh, Niflheim. She’s coming in h---