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.