Author's Note: Here's the second half of what was going to be one chapter about the wedding. This is definitely the more important half, but the other part was quite necessary to set the scene. Can't leap right to a reception without having a wedding ceremony, after all. Even if the reception always is the best part of a wedding.
Chapter 17: Fair Warning
Up to that point, my tactics of merely ignoring Oliver as much as possible to avoid as much awkwardness—and perhaps conflict—had been successful. It was clear that I was going to have to take a new approach to the situation—probably the more adult approach to take. After all, I couldn't expect to sit next to Oliver through an entire meal without speaking.
"Oh, shit," I muttered to myself resignedly, looking back and forth between the two place cards, making sure they really did say "Laura Debman" and "Oliver Wood." They did, indeed, say just that. There was nothing to be done. I couldn't sit elsewhere without offending my friends. I set down my camera on the table, pulled out my chair, and used every bit of my self-control to stop myself from collapsing into the seat, defeated.
I had barely had time to start planning my revenge on Joan when movement next to me caught my attention. Oliver had pulled out his chair but was still standing, looking down at me. He was obviously caught off guard, furthering my beliefs that the whole thing had been Joan's idea. Anyone else would have given Oliver some warning. He managed a small smile before sitting down.
Ian's going to hurt himself laughing when I tell him about this, I thought. Even a part of me wanted to laugh at the two of us, set up once more by Joan and almost as at odds as we had been the first time she'd decided Oliver and I needed to spend a little time together. The part of me that wanted to laugh helped me return a polite smile.
"How are you?" I asked, not looking away from him.
"I'm all right," Oliver said. "And you?"
"I'm good."
He nodded. "I'm glad. So… work's all right?"
"Oh, yes," I said, smiling a bit more genuinely. "It's not what I ever imagined doing at the Prophet," I patted the camera sitting next to my plate, "but it's… great."
"Good."
"And you?" I asked. "Your job, I mean? …You enjoy it?"
"Of course," Oliver said. "It's Quidditch." He didn't quite meet my eyes.
"I guess I didn't need to ask," I said. I paused, realizing I'd probably sounded more hostile than I'd meant to. I added quickly, "But you're doing well. I've seen you in the papers a few times."
"Yes. They're letting me substitute in some real matches now," Oliver said, unable to keep some pride out of his voice, but able to look at me directly again. "Granted, it's only when we're so sure to win, I can't do any real damage."
"It's still really good," I said. I hesitated. "I'm glad."
"Really? Or are you just saying that?" Oliver asked.
I raised my eyebrows. I hadn't expected the conversation to go much farther than small talk and niceties. Of course, I hadn't expected to have to carry on a conversation that would last long enough to get beyond what we'd just said.
"Really," I said.
"Oh." Oliver blushed, just a little. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't seen it so often. "I'm sorry. I didn't…." He must have decided saying what he didn't do wouldn't have improved the situation.
Everyone in the room had found a place to sit, and food magically appeared on our plates. I gratefully turned to the appetizer, glad to have an excuse to delay the conversation. I turned my head to see who else was near me at the table. I recognized Adam's mother beside me. (I had seen her and her husband greet their son in the reception line.) I didn't recognize the people next to them, but they were older, so I assumed they were some of Adam's grandparents.
I ate the appetizer, which was some kind of croissant wrapped around some type of meat I didn't recognize, though I suspect that if I had known what it was, I wouldn't have eaten it. Oliver started up some small talk with Mark, and I turned my attention to the Adam's parents' conversation, which was rather uninteresting and mainly centered around the wedding that had just occurred. But, at least I felt no obligation to enter it.
"How's Percy?" Oliver asked unexpectedly.
I looked over at him to make sure he was addressing me. He was, and I frowned. "Why?"
"Why?" Oliver asked, furrowing his brow.
"Don't you read the papers?" I said.
"No," Oliver said, "but what does that have to do with Percy?"
"He's been in the paper periodically for the past year and a half."
"For what?" Oliver asked skeptically.
"Murder," I said seriously. I couldn’t resist.
"What?" Oliver said, raising his voice in surprise. "You're joking!"
"Of course I'm joking," I said, laughing at him.
"Oh." Oliver half-smiled and then gave into a bit of laughter himself. "So what was he really in the papers for?"
"Work," I said. I briefly told him about how Percy had judged the Triwizard Tournament, then had been in trouble for not noticing warning signs that there was something wrong with his boss, Crouch, and then had been promoted to assisting the Minister of Magic.
"He got promoted after getting in trouble?" Oliver asked.
I shrugged. "I guess the Ministry realized they were being unfair. No one noticed the warning signs that Crouch was under the Imperius Curse. The biggest warning sign was Crouch's almost constant absence from work, which everyone knew about."
"Still…. Not exactly like the Ministry to be that forgiving."
"No. That's what the Weasleys told him." I looked down at my plate, which had the first course on it. It occurred to me that Percy probably wouldn't want Oliver hearing about all of this, though it was a bit late to stop the story.
"I bet Percy took that well," Oliver said sarcastically.
I blew air out of my nose. "Not at all. I don't know exactly what happened. All I know is that now the family isn't speaking to him and vice versa."
"Oh." He picked up his fork to start eating. "That's too bad."
I wasn't sure if he was being sincere or not. I decided not to question him on it.
"It's been coming for a long time. Since Dan died, I think. They've always given him such a hard time…. He would have stopped talking to any other people years ago."
"He deserved most of…." Oliver trailed off and took a bite of… another meat I was unsure about.
"He's never really done anything to any of them. Percy is how he is… which is completely unlike the rest of the Weasleys. They've never understood that."
Oliver looked over. "Or they've never been able to help him loosen up."
"Either way, the family wound up in the same position. It's not their place to try to change him," I said coldly. "It's no one's place."
I picked up my own fork and tried the next dish. It was delicious, even if it was as unrecognizable to me as the appetizer. Oliver and I both turned our attention back to our meals. I didn't eavesdrop on any other conversations because, in some strange way, I knew I was still in the middle of one. I was only vaguely aware that Adam's parents were talking with the presumed grandparent nearest to them and that Mark and Adam's brother were bantering with each other.
It struck me that the discussion Oliver and I had just had about Percy hadn't been unlike any other conversation about Percy that we'd had as friends or while dating. When we got started on a subject, things seemed to go smoothly enough. It was when we stopped talking that our relationship reverted to awkwardness. After looking back on everything, I realized that our relationship always went south when Oliver and I couldn't ("wouldn't" probably would be more accurate) speak to each other. The realization made me want to ask something—anything—to restart the dialogue, but the continuing silence made all topics seem unsuitable. Finally, I resorted to the one thing I knew Oliver would willing talk about with anyone at anytime.
"Tell me about Quidditch," I said after finishing the first course (and losing my excuse not to speak at all).
Oliver had finished the first course a few minutes previously and had been intently looking at his plate, perhaps willing the next course so that the silence would be more acceptable. "What about it?" he asked, looking over at me.
I shrugged. "What you do, I guess. What's it like being on a real team?"
Oliver looked straight ahead into space, but smiled a bit. "Well… we practice a lot. There was never time for enough practice at Hogwarts, with school and all of that. At Puddlemere, when we're not playing matches, we're practicing. Hours a day."
"It doesn't get old?"
"Does it get old taking pictures every day for hours a day?" Oliver asked, shifting his gaze back to me.
"Yes," I said honestly. "Though I don't spend hours a day taking pictures. I spend hours a day looking for something worthy of having its picture taken or waiting for the Prophet to tell me about some event they're covering."
"Oh," Oliver said. "But you enjoy it?"
I smiled. "For some reason."
"I guess it's like that. Professional Quidditch is more monotonous than I'd expected, but I enjoy it, so it doesn't get old."
"And when you're not practicing?" I asked.
"We spend a lot of time traveling. Most of our games are nearby, but it still takes time to fly there."
"You fly?"
"Well… we've all got brooms."
"Why not Apparate? You can bring supplies with you."
"We could, but we've got a fair amount of equipment to bring."
"And plenty of people to Apparate with it."
"Not everyone's that comfortable with Apparition. Anyway, flying gives us time to practice formations and to, as our captain loves to point out, 'increase team bonding.'"
The concept of traveling any other way than by Apparition seemed insane to me. The Daily Prophet staff relied on the fast mode of transportation. I knew a few people at the paper who Apparated between any two places farther apart than a block.
"Seems hard to practice formations while carrying equipment."
Oliver grinned. "The Reserve team does most of the carrying equipment. The real team does most of the practicing."
Talking about Quidditch was making Oliver visibly more relaxed. I'd spent so long being angry with him for placing so much importance on Quidditch, I'd forgotten how much of Oliver was Quidditch.
"And the matches?" I asked before the dreaded silence could take over again.
Oliver laughed, a little reservedly. "I mainly help anchor down the bench."
I smiled at the joke because, despite it being true, he had been joking. "And how is that?"
"My favorite part," he said, and the honesty in his voice shocked me. He must have noticed. "Do you know what it's like to be a part of a team and to watch that team play?" he asked.
"No."
"Neither had I until a year ago. It's like… all of the stress… the pressure is gone, but you still care just as much about the outcome as the people on the field do."
"You don't wish you were out there playing?"
Oliver shrugged. "Sure, a little. It's great fun having fans cheer when I block a goal and when I help the team win. But that doesn't happen often."
I wasn't sure what to say to that. Agreeing, obviously, would have come across badly. Disagreeing would have come across as false flattery; we both knew that Oliver still didn't get to play in real matches that often, although he did very well when he was given the opportunity to prove himself. So I let the comment hang, opening up another period of silence.
"Tell me about the Daily Prophet," Oliver said after a few minutes of the two of us looking around the room, pretending as if everything was perfectly normal.
"What about it?"
"What you do."
"It's rather boring," I said, partially apologetically, partially embarrassedly.
Oliver shrugged. "Tell me anyway."
"Well… I cover Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, the two most eventless places in Great Britain. At least as far as the Prophet is concerned, anyway. As I said, I mainly go looking for things to take pictures of. Sometimes Carol, the reporter who covers my beats—do you remember Carol Browning? A year older than us? Slytherin?"
"Vaguely," Oliver said.
"Anyway, Carol tells me when she needs a picture of something specific. Most of the time, she can find a picture from the stock to go with her article."
"What do you mean?"
"Basically, I go around taking pictures of specific places and people. Say something happens at The Three Broomsticks. There are plenty of pictures of the building already taken, as well as of the people who work there. Most of our stories don't involve real events, so a generic picture of places and people work fine.
"If there is an event, it's usually preplanned… a club meeting or a competition at Hogwarts or a convention in Hogsmeade, for example. So I go to those events to take pictures. And on the rare occasion that something unplanned happens—real news—I rush to get there, praying there will still be something to take a picture of.
"As I said, it's rather boring stuff," I finished.
"Wouldn't it be easier to take a picture whenever it's needed instead of making a stock?"
"Probably, but then the dark rooms would always have too many people in them. Only the photographers who cover the big events have to develop pictures every day."
"I guess that makes sense. The job keeps you moving, then."
"Yes." I paused, then caught myself. Better to keep talking. "I get to go back to Hogwarts fairly often."
Oliver smiled. "I'm jealous."
I shook my head. "It's different when you don't go to school there. It's… it's still Hogwarts, but…. It's strange. Plus, the professors there aren't the Daily Prophet's biggest fans. It took me half of the summer to convince Hagrid that I had nothing to do with anything Rita Skeeter published about him."
"Er…."
I sighed and shook my head. "You read the paper while we were at Hogwarts."
"Because you told me which articles were worth my time."
"Do you even get the paper?" I asked.
"Yes," Oliver said quickly.
"But you don't read it?"
"Parts of it," Oliver said, getting defensive, admittedly for a good reason: I was getting rather accusatory.
"Sports," I said. I didn't have to ask. He'd been the one to tell me if any articles in that section were worth my time.
"Yes. And the comics," Oliver said. He stalled. "And I try to do the crossword." He knew that wasn't going to improve his case for not keeping up with current events. But it was another section of the paper that he could say he looked at.
"That's it?" I asked.
"No." He turned his head away a little. "I look at the pictures." He could still see me out of the corner of his left eye.
"Oh, the pictures," I said mockingly. Then I understood. "Oh." I felt my cheeks starting to get hot, and I faced my plate again, which mercifully had the second course on it. I picked up my fork. "Well… you should skim the front page sometimes."
"I do. Sometimes."
We both started eating, yet again. Despite skipping lunch, I was getting full. The lull in the conversation only lasted a minute before I had to break it. Silence is always awkward, but the pause we were entering into was so uncomfortable, I could almost physically feel it.
"Anyway," I said, "the paper reported that Hagrid is a half-giant."
Oliver didn't say anything for several moments. I'm not sure if he hadn't been expecting me to say anything and was busy trying to figure out what I'd said, or if he had lost track of the conversation we had been having before the… digression. Or maybe he was just finishing chewing before speaking. I don't know. I was still looking at my own food.
"So?" Oliver said, finally. "I thought that was rather obvious."
"Well…the paper exaggerated. Said being a half-giant made him dangerous."
"That's—"
"Preposterous. I know that," I interrupted.
"Then why did you—"
"I didn't. I didn't know anything about the article until I read it with everyone else." I looked at him so he would know I was telling the truth. "Hagrid knows that now, though I still never take his picture…. It's the only way I could think of to make him trust me."
Again, Oliver didn't respond right away. I didn't have to explain why I cared whether or not Hagrid trusted me. Oliver understood how Hagrid had helped me. He'd done the same for Oliver for a longer amount of time, after all.
"Worth it, I'd say," Oliver said.
"Definitely." I sighed. "At least it's easy to keep Hagrid out of the shots. He's always off somewhere working. It's Potter that's difficult."
"You can't take pictures of him either?"
"Harry Potter isn't… getting the best press." I passed up the chance to tell him he'd know that if he read the paper. "Potter was in the background of this picture I took for the stock. Someone printed it. The thing is that I didn't charm it when I developed it. I didn't bother… didn't think anyone would want it. Still, I used the Prophet's supplies, so I had to give them the picture. Someone at the paper took the picture and charmed it to make Potter look like the Daily Prophet thinks he is: crazy."
"I'm lost," Oliver said after taking a moment to process my ramblings.
"I promised someone I'd never charm a picture dishonestly and publish it."
"You didn't."
"The person I promised didn't know that. He wouldn't talk to me for a week. So now… I'm just not taking that kid's picture anymore. Cuffe—he's the editor—is not going to like that much when he finds out."
Oliver was smiling.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. It's just… nice of you to stand up for Potter."
I shook my head. "I'm not. I'm just not going to let them doctor my pictures."
"Well… right now that's still in Potter's favor."
"I guess," I said.
"What about Dumbledore? I've heard that the paper is being rather harsh on him," Oliver said neutrally. It was a nice change. Normally, when people mentioned how the Daily Prophet was treating Dumbledore and his campaign to let the world know of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return, they were very opinionated.
"I have to take Dumbledore's picture. And he's never tried to stop me." I shrugged. "Actually, he's always polite when I have to see him."
"That's Dumbledore."
"Yes," I agreed. "He's not there often, anyway. He gives the other photographers more of a chance to take his picture. At least the type of picture the Prophet is interested in."
"You don't believe him," Oliver said simply.
"I thought you didn't read the papers," I said, dodging the question.
Oliver smiled. "You don't have to read the papers to have heard what Dumbledore is saying about You-Know-Who."
"No," I admitted. "Do you believe him?"
Oliver didn't answer for a minute. He didn't look away, though he wasn't really looking at me. "I don't think Potter lied," he eventually said, noncommittally, his eyes focusing again.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I've never heard another explanation for how Diggory died. I've only heard the way Potter told Dumbledore it happened," Oliver said simply.
"No. I haven't either," I said slowly.
"And… I didn't get to know the people on my team well. It's what stopped me from being as good of a captain as Dan or Charlie were. But Potter wouldn't lie about something like that. Period. He wouldn't."
"I don't know why he would," I admitted.
"But you still don't believe him," Oliver said.
"Well… I don't know why he would lie, Oliver, but what he says doesn't make sense. People don't come back from the dead."
"Some argue that You-Know-Who's not a person."
I rolled my eyes. "There's a difference between being not being a good person and not being human."
"I agree. Dumbledore says that You-Know-Who never died."
I didn't answer right away. Of course, I'd read all of the reports of Dumbledore saying the same thing. There was no good response to it. "I think if You-Know-Who were back, there would be signs," I eventually said.
Oliver nodded. "I've thought about that."
"I hope they're both wrong. I'm not saying Potter and Dumbledore are lying. I just hope it's not true," I said quietly.
Oliver nodded again. He managed a thin smile. "I hope the same thing."
I smiled back. It was true that Oliver had never been good at forming relationships with the people on his Quidditch team—something Dan did naturally. In that sense, Dan was a better captain than Oliver was. I wondered if Oliver, while leading the Gryffindors, had used the skill that could make him a great captain; he could be comforting and realistic about a negative situation at the same time.
A slight increase in the chatter in the room at large and movement at the main table caught my attention. Adam and Tara were standing, presumably getting ready to walk somewhere.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Cake time," Oliver said happily. "They're going to serve the cake."
I thought Oliver simply meant that Adam and Tara were going to cut the first piece and share it—a classic photographic moment. Though they did do this, and I got a couple of damned good pictures of it, Oliver truly had meant that the couple would serve the guests. Mark, the best man, cut the cake, and Tara and Adam delivered the pieces to the guests patiently waiting at their circular tables. I sensed that it was an important tradition among the wizards, so I dutifully took several pictures. I also had an opportunity to pay more attention to who was at the wedding, which made me more appreciative of how important Tara's aunt was in the wizarding world. Several high-ranking officials in the Ministry were there, although the Minister himself was not. Many guests appeared to be wealthy. I saw more people from school, like Flint and Dave, whom I'd expected to see earlier in the day. I even caught sight of Oliver's parents, whom I hadn't expected to see. …I took that picture from a distance.
The bridal party and other guests at the main table were served last, which I guess was appropriate, seeing as they were the hosts. It worked out well for me because I could sit and eat cake with everyone else.
"This is marvelous," I said after sitting and immediately trying the cake.
"Oh, I'm glad you like it," Adam's mother said. "Tara and I worried about how it would turn out."
"You made it?"
"Naturally. The bride and future mother-in-law always make the wedding cake."
"You're kidding," I said.
"Of course not," she said, laughing. "Gives the mother-in-law a chance to see the bride's cooking skills." She winked and turned back to the conversation she'd been previously engaged in with her husband.
"That is a bizarre tradition," I said aloud to myself.
Oliver laughed. "It is rather odd, I guess. I've never thought much about it."
"I'm going to fail that test, I'm afraid," I said, going for another bite of the cake.
I could almost swear that Oliver choked a bit on his dessert. He covered it well, quickly taking a sip of wine to wash down the bite.
"Are you getting married?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant and almost managing not to fail miserably.
"No," I said quickly. "I mean, I hope eventually, but not…." I laughed. He seemed too embarrassed for me to be embarrassed by his question. "I'm not engaged, if that’s what you mean."
"Oh," Oliver said simply. He laughed a little, too. "I guess I misunderstood."
"I guess," I said, still grinning.
Oliver took another bite of cake, so I did the same. "Dating anyone?" he asked after swallowing with the aid of another sip of wine.
I swallowed the bite of cake I'd just taken. "Yes."
"You are?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes," I said, a bit defensively.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I just… Joan didn't say… I mean…."
I grinned. "You mean she's kept you up to date on what I'm up to."
Oliver smiled back. "I see I'm not the only one getting updates."
"No," I said. "Are you dating anyone?"
"No," Oliver said. "I mean… I'm not dating any one person."
"Oh, I see," I said, laughing.
He laughed, too. "That's not what I meant. I just mean I'm not dating anyone seriously."
"I know that's what you meant. I'm giving you a hard time."
He nodded, acknowledging that he knew that, too. "But you are? Dating one person, I mean?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Do I know him?" he asked, going for another sip of wine.
I decided wine wasn't the worst idea. "Um... you might."
He raised his eyebrows, surprised.
"Elliot Murphy?" I said.
"The sports reporter?" Oliver asked.
"That's him."
He blinked. "You hate the sports section."
I laughed. "That's not true."
"You never even read the sports articles I pointed out to you while we were eating breakfast at Hogwarts," Oliver said.
"I skimmed them. Anyway, I might not care much about the topic, but I like the people in the sports section. Do you know Ian Mallory?"
"Yes," Oliver said, a bit hesitantly.
"He's one of my good friends. Got me into photography."
"He's a good photographer," Oliver said. "Nice guy, too."
I laughed. "Nice enough, I guess. You'd like him. He's a lot like Percy."
"I thought you said I'd like him," Oliver interrupted.
I cocked my head and lowered my eyebrows in a mild reprimand. "He's like Percy without the reasons you don't like Percy."
"Fair enough."
"I almost agreed to bring him. I kind of wish I had, now," I said.
"Why not bring Elliot?"
"Oh, well… I didn't want to have to leave him all of the time to take pictures. It wouldn't have been very much fun for him."
"He agreed not to come anyway?" Oliver asked.
I frowned at him. "No."
Oliver looked confused for a moment and then smiled a bit. "You didn't tell him about the wedding."
"No," I said, defensively, "in order to save him from the boredom." And myself from the awkwardness… but I wouldn't admit that to Oliver. "Did you bring anyone?" I asked.
"No. As you said, it wouldn't have been much fun for anyone while I did groomsman stuff," Oliver said.
"You understand then." I took a big bite of the cake.
"But I didn't have a steady girlfriend to ask," Oliver said.
I took my time chewing before swallowing and replying, "No. You don't."
I'd made my point. We ate the rest of our cake quickly compared to everyone else. The cake was rich and the others were engaged in conversations, which slowed them all down. For the first time, the silence wasn't awkward, which I was thankful for, even if the alternative to awkwardness was mild hostility.
"Elliot is a nice guy," Oliver said after we'd both spent a few minutes sipping wine because we didn't have any wedding cake left.
I looked over at him. It had been as much of an apology as I was going to get. "He is. And he's a Puddlemere fan." It was as much of an apology as I was going to give.
Oliver smiled. Some soft music started playing. I looked around for the source but could find none.
"It's an orchestra in the other room. The sound is coming in here magically," Oliver said.
"Oh."
"What did you think about the Binding Ceremony?" he asked after a few moments.
"The Binding Ceremony?"
"What happened right after we all came in here," Oliver gestured towards the whole room. "You've never seen a Binding before, right?"
"Oh. No, I haven't. It was… amazing." I smiled and, for some reason, started blushing. I laughed to try to rid myself of the sudden embarrassment. "Where did it come from?"
"It's the traditional wizard wedding ceremony," Oliver said. "Well… part of it. Most weddings now are mostly like the Muggles' weddings. Pureblooded families still have purely wizard weddings. The Binding Ceremony's the only part worth keeping, really. It's the important part."
"Does it really do anything?" I asked. "I mean… really bind the bride and groom?"
Oliver squinted, thinking. "Kind of. Really, the spell is more for the guests. Performing the spell brings people closer together with people they don't know well."
"The whole 'Two groups of people become one community' thing?" I asked.
"Yes. Exactly. It makes people feel more like a community."
"But it does nothing for the couple?"
"It's a magical contract. It's the only way to make the Ministry acknowledge the marriage. That's why the guests perform the spell—a Muggle would be unable to. This way, the Ministry can acknowledge marriages between a Muggle and a wizard or witch."
"That makes a lot of sense," I said, rather surprised that something at the Ministry was that simple, yet logical.
"Yes," Oliver said, laughing at my amazement.
He continued to explain where some of the differences between Muggle and magical weddings came from, such as the first dance happening right after the Binding. As we talked, some of the guests started walking into the empty area of the room to dance. At first, they were just a few kids messing around. Then adults started joining in, older couples first, then younger couples. Still, there weren't enough dancers to really catch many people's attention. By then, most people were more concerned about their wine than anything else.
"Would you like to dance?" Oliver asked as we watched the people on the floor, after I'd exhausted Oliver's knowledge of wizard weddings.
I looked over at him quickly. "Me?" I asked stupidly.
Oliver laughed. "No, Mark," he said.
Mark turned away from his conversation with Evan, Adam and the girls. "Yeah, mate?"
"Nothing. Never mind," Oliver said, turning to him.
"Then why'd you say my name?" Mark muttered, turning his back on us.
Oliver faced me again. He didn't say anything for a minute, and I rather hoped he'd just forget he'd asked. "What do you say?"
Damn.
"I… don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not? For old time's sake," he said, still holding his smile.
"That's why," I muttered, going for the wine glass again. The glass never emptied, which I didn't notice until that moment.
"I don't mean anything by it, Laura," Oliver said seriously.
That hurt more than I'd thought it would have.
"Just that… neither of us brought a guest," he continued. He'd lost his smile.
"I know what you mean, and I know neither of us brought a guest," I said. "I just… don't want to dance."
He nodded once. "That's fair enough."
"Thank you for asking, though," I said. My forced and automatic politeness made me want to laugh at myself. Or maybe I wanted to cry. I wasn't sure then, and I'm not sure now.
He nodded once more. "Forget I asked."
"I'm sorry," I said, bringing a hand up to place on his forearm, but I changed my mind halfway and put my hand on my camera instead. "I should really get back to my job," I said, picking up the camera and placing the strap around my neck.
"Yeah. I understand," Oliver said. One more nod. "I'll see you later."
"Yes," I said, standing. I moved out of my chair and walked around the table and among the dancers. More and more people were joining in the festivities, which I was thankful for. It meant that I really should be with them, photographing.
You did the right thing, I told myself over and over. I knew dancing with Oliver wouldn't have turned out well. It had nothing to do with Elliot; if he would have found out I'd danced with a friend, even an ex-boyfriend, it wouldn't have bothered him. (Of course, Elliot never would have found out.) I didn't want to dance with Oliver because I knew that dancing with him wouldn't have turned out well; it hadn't turned out well after I'd danced with him the first time.
The activity on the dance floor distracted me enough to concentrate on what I came to the wedding to do: photograph the event for Adam and Tara. Soon, the newlyweds joined the dancing, which encouraged more guests to join. I forgot about everything except capturing the fun on film.
After an hour, it was obvious that I wasn't getting anything different. It was going to take me hours to develop all of the film from the wedding, and I already knew that I was going to get tired of looking at and charming the pictures of people in strange, mid-dance step poses. I stood off to the side of the dance floor to look for something worthy of having its picture taken. It was only a matter of time—probably a short amount of time—before the endless amounts of wine would start resulting in interesting events. As I surveyed the crowd, I noticed Oliver and Joan dancing. I watched for a minute. She noticed me and waved, and I waved back before turning my attention back to scoping for something photographic.
"Good evening."
I looked to my left quickly. Mr. Wood was standing beside me, watching the dancing, too. DĂ©jĂ vu struck rather hard and unpleasantly as I remembered the last time Mr. Wood had come up beside me while I watched a group of people dancing. I couldn't prevent a small groan. "Good evening," I said quickly afterwards, hoping Mr. Wood didn't notice my displeasure at seeing him. He didn't look over, so I looked back to the crowd.
"Lovely wedding," he said simply.
"Yes," I agreed, wishing he would go ahead and say what he wanted to say.
He didn't make me wait long. "I tried to warn you."
"What?" I asked confusedly, turning my head quickly.
He still watched the dance floor. "To leave him alone," Mr. Wood said, keeping his tone polite.
I hadn't expected Mr. Wood to say anything pleasant, but I was still caught off guard by being trapped in this already disagreeable conversation. I grasped for a response and decided to go with the 'It wasn't my fault' approach. "Look… no offense, but it wasn't my fault that things turned out how they did."
Mr. Wood stopped watching the dancers and finally looked at me, which was at least a little better. It made me uncomfortable when people refused to make eye contact. "You didn't see it coming?"
"No," I said bluntly. I didn't see Oliver breaking up with me for an illogical reason, I thought. "You did?"
"Of course. The relationship obviously wasn't going to last forever. The end of your schooling was the most predictable time for one of you to break it off." Still a very calm voice. It made me wonder where Oliver got his tendency to shout when he was angry.
I felt my temper rising quickly. "What do you mean it obviously wasn't going to last forever?"
"I know my son."
"I did, too."
Mr. Wood regarded me for several seconds. "Obviously not well enough."
"Obviously," I snapped. "Did you talk him into it? Into breaking up with me?"
Unexpectedly, Mr. Wood's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No." He shook his head. "He hadn't told me yet."
"That he'd made Puddlemere?" I asked.
"No. That he was dating you."
I thought about that for a few seconds, but it still wasn't making sense. "What do you mean he hadn't told you?"
"What I said."
"He tells you everything," I countered suspiciously.
"He did. But not that," Mr. Wood said. He narrowed his eyes a bit. "He never told you he hadn't told me?"
"No!" I said, my anger directing itself at another target. I scanned the crowd again. Oliver was still dancing with Joan, his back to the two of us, which was lucky for him. "But he told you after we'd broken up?"
"Yes," Mr. Wood said.
"He knew that's what you'd want to hear," I spat, my anger getting the best of me.
"Probably," Mr. Wood admitted nonchalantly.
"I'm sure you assured him that he'd made the right choice."
"He did make the right choice. For both of you. You're both doing well."
I shook my head. He'd struck a nerve when he'd told me Oliver had kept the relationship a secret from his father, the one person he told everything. Suddenly, the anger I'd felt when Oliver had broken up with me, which had almost disappeared over the course of the year, and definitely during dinner, was back. But when Oliver had broken up with me, I hadn't questioned the relationship at all—only Oliver's intelligence. Now… doubts about why he would have kept the relationship a secret leapt into my mind.
"I just wanted you to know that I tried to help you both," Mr. Wood said with that same infuriatingly calm voice.
I blew air out of my nose. "Thanks," I said before walking away. It was rude, but not undeserved. And I had to get away.
I walked out of the room and into the entryway of the large house. The entryway's ceiling was three floors up and had a large chandelier hanging from it. It was a typical entryway for a typical large house of a typical rich family. I let out my anger by continuing to mentally tear apart the room. The walls were painted pure white. Family portraits hung on the walls all of the way up, despite the fact that no one could possibly see the ones on the top. The front door was made of a very dark wood that looked out of place in the light-colored room. I've never been back to that house, but I remember the entryway quite well. In fairness, I was overly harsh on that room. But taking my anger out on the entryway let me walk back into the hall where the wedding reception was taking place and keep doing my job without being unkind to anyone who came across my path…, which did not include Oliver.
At around eleven o'clock, a high-pitched bell sounded over the music that was playing. As the bell became more noticeable, the music stopped and other bells, all with different, high pitches, joined the first. I walked through the crowd, trying to find the source of the ringing, but it wasn't easy. The guests were excited and were talking more than normal (which was saying something considering the amount of alcohol the roomful of people had gone through), and the bells didn't sound as if they were coming from one area. Eventually, I did discover one of the bells. Joan was holding a silver bell with a wooded handle over her head and ringing it energetically. Evan was nearby her, and he too had a silver bell.
"What's going on?" I asked the nearest person to me, which happened to be a young girl, who was probably about ten years old.
She looked up at me as if I was the village idiot. "The bride and groom are getting ready to leave."
"For the honeymoon?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, implying by her tone that it had been a stupid question.
"Thank you," I said, moving farther into the crowd.
It didn't take long to find Adam and Tara saying goodbye to the guests huddled around them. Tara's mother was crying a bit, but she was smiling. I'm sure I didn't as strongly feel what she was feeling, but I did understand the tears. It was a little sad to see my two friends leaving the room as husband and wife after knowing them as boyfriend and girlfriend for so long. They seemed like different people than the Gryffindors I'd sat in class with. Perhaps Oliver had been more literal about the effects of the Binding Ceremony than I'd thought. Maybe the Binding really did make the guests see the couple as one entity in a community.
My feelings didn't stop me from taking photos. And my aching back didn't stop me from reveling in the fact that as soon as they left, the rest of the guests, including me, would be free to go. Adam and Tara wouldn't care if they had pictures of the party breaking up.
I hugged Tara and Adam hurriedly right before the large group of friends, family and acquaintances pushed the couple towards the entryway and out of the front door. I instinctively looked for the white stretch limousine that should have been sitting outside of the building, waiting for the newlyweds. Nothing was waiting for Adam and Tara. They moved out from the crowd, gave the crowd a wave and Disapparated to somewhere in London to catch a Portkey to Italy. (It's crazy to attempt to Apparate that far.)
The company moved back into the house quickly. It was a rather chilly September, almost November, evening. The departing of the couple made an immediate impact on the mood of the guests. I expected that everyone would be gone by midnight. I planned to be back in my small house in Hogsmeade within half an hour.
My equipment was in a small room right off of the main entranceway. I went straight there after going back into the building. It was going to take me several minutes to put away my camera and the film I still had with me. I couldn't find the light switch in the room, so I left the door open and moved my gear close to the doorway so that I could see what I was doing. I only looked up from my task when a rare, usually drunk, person would greet me on his or her way past the room, feeling some need to praise my skills at staying out of sight or other almost backhanded 'compliments.'
I was almost ready to leave when Oliver stuck his head in the doorway. I would have already been gone if I hadn't been trying to arrange my stuff in some way that would allow me to only Apparate home once. I'd gone through the same process earlier in the day, but I was still holding out hope that it was possible to make it in one trip. Apparition wasn't difficult for me; I'd had plenty of practice while working for the Prophet. But it still takes concentration, and I was exhausted.
"Do you need help?" Oliver asked politely.
"No," I said, looking even more intently at the equipment, which at least showed me that there was no way I was going to get everything home in one trip.
"Are you leaving?" he asked.
"Yes."
He paused. "Is something wrong?"
I looked up. "No," I lied.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said impatiently.
He knew I was lying. I could tell that he knew just as easily as he could sense the lie. "OK," he said slowly, unconvinced.
"I'll come say goodbye to you all before I leave," I said, and I winced at my coldness.
So did he. "OK," he said, but he didn't leave. "I just… wanted to talk to you about something before you leave."
"Go ahead," I said.
He nodded and hesitantly stepped into the room, blocking my light. I stopped uselessly moving around my stuff and stood up as straight as I could, ignoring my back's complaints.
"I don't want to scare you," Oliver said.
I lowered my eyebrows and frowned even more than I had been. I don't know what I thought he wanted to talk about, but I certainly wasn't expecting him to scare me. I was expecting him to piss me off.
"Laura… if You-Know-Who is back, you need to be careful."
I was only more confused. "Yes," I agreed. "So do you."
He nodded in that way he did when he agreed with my statement, but when I had completely missed his point. "Everyone does," he said. "You need to be more careful than most."
"What do you mean?"
"You have access to Hogwarts," he said, "and Harry Potter's at Hogwarts."
"So is Dumbledore," I said.
"Exactly. If… if You-Know-Who wants to get to Potter, he won't be able to just walk in. You can just walk in."
"Are you saying that You-Know-Who's going to try to use me to get into Hogwarts?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
"I'm saying that it's not a bad idea, which means he very well might think about it, yes," Oliver said quickly. "You haven't thought about this," he noticed, sounding a bit surprised.
"No."
He nodded. "That's what I was worried about when you said you didn't think You-Know-Who was back."
"You've been thinking about this," I said.
"That's why Dumbledore's been trying to spread his message as much as possible," Oliver said. "So people will think about these things. I'm surprised he hasn't talked to you personally about this."
"He must not think it's—"
"He must be extraordinarily busy," Oliver interrupted. "Like I said, I'm not trying to scare you. I'm just telling you to plan for this in case it does become an issue."
"What am I going to do about it?" I asked. "If he comes and tells me to help him and I refuse, he'll kill me. If he uses the Imperius Curse, I won't be able to do anything about it. I'm dead or he uses me to get into Hogwarts. Two wonderful choices there."
Oliver shook his head. "Just… protect your house. You still live in Hogsmeade, alone?"
"Yes."
"Put up some spells to protect the house. The Ministry has a list of good ones and can help you with them. Make it so you, or anyone else, can only get in through the front door or the fireplace. Make sure you can always Disapparate from the house. Have people watching for the Imperius Curse. Like Ian. Or Elliot."
I nodded. "OK."
"OK," Oliver said, sounding relieved.
"Are you doing these things?"
"Yes," Oliver said. He smiled. "My best bet is just to stay out of everything. That's everyone's best bet."
"It's easier for you. You don't work for a newspaper," I said.
"I know. Look… if you ever need to get away fast, Apparate to my parents' house. No one would expect you to go there, and there's plenty of space to hide if it comes to that."
I thought about his offer for about two seconds. "I don't think your parents would appreciate—"
"They would never turn you away, if that's what you mean."
I wasn't so sure, and it must have shown on my face.
"They won't. Go there. Then we can help you."
"OK," I said, tears starting to enter my eyes. I forced a laugh to calm myself down. "You are scaring me a little."
"I'm sorry," Oliver said sincerely. "I just wanted to make sure you had a plan."
"I will," I promised. "Thank you, Oliver."
He smiled and nodded. "You're welcome. Ready to say goodbye to the rest of the group?"
"Yeah." I almost tripped over the equipment lying in front of me, which I'd completely forgotten about. I walked around it as gracefully as I could.
"I saw that," Oliver said, smirking a little.
"Saw what?" I asked ignorantly.
"Never mind."
I smiled. "Saw me almost fall on my face?"
He laughed. "Something like that, yes."
"Oliver?"
"Yep?" he asked.
"Why didn't you tell your dad we were dating?"
His smile faltered quite visibly. "I did."
"While we were dating," I specified.
"Oh," he said. "Does it matter?"
I thought about it for a few seconds. I wasn't angry anymore. I knew that his warning very well could save my life… maybe others' lives, as well. The issue of whether or not Oliver told his dad about our past relationship seemed pale in comparison to what everyone could be facing if what Dumbledore said was true. "No," I admitted.
"I thought he'd try to talk me out of it," Oliver said, answering my question anyway.
"Would he have?"
"He'd have tried."
"Would it have worked?"
Oliver shook his head.
"You should have told him."
"Yes," Oliver admitted.
I shrugged a little. "Oh well."
Oliver blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
Another pause. "You're not angry?"
"Not anymore." I smiled, genuinely at first, but it go more and more difficult to hold. "After all… it's done. It doesn't really matter anymore."
He looked at me carefully in the light coming from the entryway. No one was walking by anymore. I shifted a little under the scrutiny.
"No. I guess it really doesn't," Oliver said slowly.
"I'd better go say goodbye before I'm too tired to Apparate home."
Oliver followed me into the hall the reception was taking place in. Already, the crowd had significantly decreased in size. It was easy to find the rest of the bridal party standing near the main table.
"Write to us," Joan said after I'd hugged her and the rest of the girls.
"I do write when I get letters first," I said, smiling. "Write to me and you'll get a reply," I said to the group at large.
"Don't forget to come say hello sometime," Cedar said. "We work too close for you not to."
"I will. We'll plan lunch sometime."
She nodded and smiled.
"Rose and I will come, too. We're in London," Mark said, shaking my hand.
"Come with Ian to see a match sometime," Oliver said. "You might enjoy it."
I laughed. "Start reading the paper. You might learn something."
"That's a fair trade." He stepped forward and hugged me. "Be careful."
I returned the hug, but let go quickly. "I will. You, too."
I said goodbye to the group at large, walked to the small room, and Disapparated with half of my stuff directly into my living room. Oliver's warning came to mind, and I realized how unsafe it was that anyone could Apparate into the house. It didn't stop me from Apparating into the house on the second trip, predicting how much I was going to miss doing so once I followed Oliver's advice, which I did the very next day.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named showed himself to people in the Ministry of Magic, including the Minister himself, at the end of that year. The Daily Prophet retracted its statements about Potter and Dumbledore, admittedly in a very small note in the middle of an issue full of many articles that were more important. Things started getting bad for the whole nation, including the Muggles, not long afterwards. Oliver sent a brief note making sure that I'd acted upon his warning at the wedding.
Dear Oliver,
I went to the Ministry of Magic the day after the wedding and put up as many of their recommended defensive spells as I could. Ian agreed to watch for the Imperius Curse, as did Professor Dumbledore, whom I spoke to not long after you warned me about the danger I might pose to his school under the 'worst circumstances,' as he called it. He even put some more powerful spells on my house, so I should be very safe there.
Professor Dumbledore wants me to thank you for looking out for your friends and for his students.
Hope all is well,
Laura
It was the fourth or fifth draft of the letter. I didn't get a response.
Author's Note: We've crossed the three-hundred page mark. I don't know whether to put an exclamation point behind that or not.
I'm not sure when the next chapter will be done, but I am hard at work on it. The best place to look for information on when I'll update is in my responses to reviews.
Next chapter: There's a chance meeting in Diagon Alley. And that's all I'm going to say because I don't know where this next chapter is going to end. (I have a feeling it could end up like this last chapter—too long to be one single chapter.)