Haley’s Annoying Show Tune Du Jour
Why should a woman who is healthy and strong
Blubber like a baby when her man goes away?
A-weepin’ and a-wailin’ how he done her wrong
That’s one thing you’ll never hear me say!
Never gonna say that the man I lose is the only man among men.
I’ll snap my fingers to show I don’t care
I’ll buy me a brand new dress to wear
I’ll scrub my neck and I’ll wash my hair
And start in over again!
-- “Many A New Day,” from Oklahoma.
FRIDAY
I had an insanely weird dream last night. I was in this tiny room with white walls and, for some reason, Disney Princess decals. There was one small window, and the door was locked. And Patrick was in there with me, and he kept saying, “It’s only to prevent hanky-panky,” and occasionally the door would burst open and Henderson Vaultz would march in and shout, “ALL CLEAR!” and march out for no apparent reason. And then I realized that Tyrone was standing in the window staring at me and had been all along.
For some reason, this really, really scared me in the dream, and I tried to run out, but the door was locked. I was frantically jiggling the knob, and then Patrick (who I know is not this strong in real life) basically tackled me to the ground and kept shouting at me, and then Vaultz came in with Tyrone. He peeled Patrick off of me, and Patrick kept screaming and clinging onto me for some reason, and threw Tyrone in the room with me and shouted “CLEARED!” and marched out and locked the door.
And then the dream changed to a bunch of nonsense where I was lost on this cruise ship trying to find the pool, and everyone kept running around like the ship was sinking, yelling, “WE’RE OUT OF STRAWBERRY-KIWI SHERBET!” And then it was pitch-black and I was standing in a totally dark library playing Trivial Pursuit with a bunch of people I haven’t seen since school.
Well, a lot of people say dreams mean something, and if that one did, I’m just a little bit terrified. (Though it would be kind of fun to play Trivial Pursuit in the dark.) But working at the stadium, I do kind of feel like someone threw me in a little room with Tyrone, and I do kind of wish I could run out screaming.
Today was a lot better, though. We alternated jobs, so I was standing guard in the stadium ready to cattle-prod rowdy fans, Clio was stuck watching the entrance, and Patrick got the much-coveted job of guarding the locker room. Hopefully, no hanky-panky occurred.
My job also meant that I could watch a game for free, and although the Cannons have never been my favourite team, I do love Quidditch. I used to play Chaser back in school, and I wasn’t bad”just slightly overshadowed by Tyrone, the brilliant Beater, and our Seeker/Captain Jordan Potter, the brilliant everything. (I’ll talk about him later… keep patient.) It was actually pretty fun to watch, and I was lucky”when Clio had the same job yesterday, there wasn’t a game going on, just a practice.
The best part was when I got to use a Stunning spell on a crazed girl who tried to rip off her robes and jump into the arena. Hahaha, that was very exciting. The Cannons won the game, though, and you can imagine the cheers. I felt sorry for the opposite team”I honestly think the only reason why the Cannons are doing so well is that their self-esteem’s improved since they’ve gotten so many fans. I don’t think Tyrone is quite as good as everyone seems to think he is; he’s talented, of course, but so’s everyone else in the big leagues.
Lunch was not much fun, though. I had a break with Cliopatrick (yes, I will keep calling them that), and I forgot to bring food. So that meant I had to buy some of those atrocious stadium nachos and a pumpkin fizz, and that meant that I had to pretend I hated them like any self-respecting woman sitting near Clio Winkley should. (“Oh, these are terrible! I wish I had some… er…salad! And other healthy things, because that’s what I usually eat! Yep!”)
The whole time, Patrick was being really weird, as in weirder than usual. He started lecturing us about what terrible people Quidditch players are and how Vaultz was right to forbid us to speak with them. I swear he used the phrase, “decadence and debauchery,” which is not a phrase you usually hear when you’re eating nachos. I came extremely, extremely close to saying, “Sunday isn’t for two more days, and if I want to hear a sermon, I’ll wait ‘till then.”
Instead, I just sat there exchanging glances with Clio and trying not to laugh. I like to alternate between ganging up with Clio against Patrick and ganging up with Patrick against Clio”it keeps things interesting.
“I’ve realized from what I’ve seen that for some reason there seems to be something of an appeal to those of the female gender for the, as they say, ‘bad boy,’” said Patrick, implementing some air quotes. “Even intelligent woman like yourselves have been known to fall prey to such desires. I hope you’ll be able to hold your own against these men,” Patrick finished up proudly, taking the last suck of his pumpkin fizz.
I held up my hands in mock-concession, a good gesture to make at a concession stand. “Patty, I swear you will not catch me dead hanging around with people like Tyrone, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” I told him. “Though I’m not sure why you’d care.”
Clio did not giggle. In case you pegged her for the ‘giggler’ type, you’re wrong. She’s the ‘don’t-act-impressed-by-anything-that-girls-say-or-do-and-act-breathlessly-awed-by-anything-that-attractive-men-say-or-do’ type. She’ll only giggle if she’s talking to someone with a y-chromosome and nice pecs. “Patrick, you do realize that instructing us not to do something will just encourage us, don’t you?” she said in that affected way of hers, pursing her lips.
Patrick looked utterly shocked.
Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that Patrick ‘instructing’ us not to talk to the Quidditch players encouraged me, but when I did end up to talking to one a little later that day, I couldn’t help but think of Patrick’s scandalized expression.
It happened as I was leaving the stadium after the game, dodging autograph hounds on the prowl for Tyrone and covertly trying to see my reflection in any shiny-ish surfaces around to see whether my hair looked as terrible as I suspected it did. That was when I heard a voice behind me say, “You must be Emma Weasley.”
“Must I?” I said, turning around. “Hm. Guess the neon orange robes gave me away. Though at least it blends in when I spill nacho cheese on them.”
It was then that I got a good look at who I was talking to. He was wearing neon orange robes, too, but not Auror ones” a Chudley Cannons uniform. I couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed that I’d made such an unprofessional first impression; I wanted the Quidditch players, if no one else, to take me seriously.
This particular Quidditch player was on the tallish side and on the toned-ish side, but definitely not as impressively built as Tyrone. He was tanned in a most un-Clio-ish way, and he had shaggy light-brown curls that turned up all around his head, making his head look a little bit like a buttercup. His eyes were light greenish, his face was rather girlish, and had a decent amount of decorative stubble, probably to prove that he was male. I recognized him as the man who Tyrone had shoved past on his way out of the locker room the previous day; apparently, the Chudley Cannons liked hiring pretty-boys.
“I’m Wolfgang,” he said, holding out a callused hand to be shaken. I shook it, wondering why on earth he was wasting both of our time like this. But Wolfgang is a seriously cool name, isn’t it? I never thought I’d meet a real person with a name like that… it’s right up there with names like “Thor” and “Engelbert Humperdinck” and “Balthazar” and “Anubis” and… “Niflheim.”
“I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about you from Tyrone Thomas,” he continued. “So knowing him, I figured they were probably total lies and that I’d better meet you.”
I blinked. “No, they’re probably true,” I replied. They probably were. But why was Tyrone going around saying nasty things about me? Even I have to admit that that doesn’t sound like something he’d do. Fame must’ve really gotten to his head. “But it’s nice to meet someone else who isn’t completely in love with Thomas.”
“Same here,” he said with a smile. “But I think actually knowing him helps, doesn’t it?” He sat down on top of a table, even though there were readily available chairs everywhere. “So, you’ve met The Vaultz, huh?”
“I wish I could say no,” I answered. “Have you met my other two Auror sidekicks?”
Wolfgang’s smile widened. “I think I’m going to be saying ‘same here’ a lot. I’m actually really scared of that one bloke, Wormtree or whatever his name is.”
“Well, aren’t we all?” I couldn’t help but smile as well. “So, did you play Quidditch at Hogwarts? I’m sorry, I just don’t remember you. What house were you in?”
I won’t get into the specifics of the conversation, because we ended up talking for awhile, but it turned out that Wolfgang’s father had gone to Hogwarts and his mother had gone to Durmstrang. His older brother had gone to Hogwarts, but when his father died just before Wolfgang turned eleven, his mother had insisted that Wolfgang go to Durmstrang like she had.
Wolfgang was one year younger than me and therefore hadn’t been old enough to be one of the selected students when Durmstrang came to Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament in my fifth year. However, he’d heard all about the Tournament, and he remembered my name as the Hogwarts champion, which was nice. He lived in London now, he had an older brother who was a struggling musician, both of his parents were dead, he was a Chaser, and he used a good deal of his pay to try and support his brother.
We talked for about half an hour before I realized that I really needed to be getting home, lest people think I’d been mugged. “It’s been fun talking, though,” I said, gathering up my bag. “It’s good to know that not everyone in this stadium’s a certified loony.”
“I’ll see you later then, Emma,” he told me, jumping down from the table as I left. “Maybe we can go eat something sometime or something. Like food, for instance.”
I barely know Wolfgang, but I get a feeling that we’ll be friends, and my instincts are usually right. He’s a likeable, chatty kind of person, and he’s had some pretty bad things happen to him, like both parents dying, but he manages to talk about it without whining, which is definitely admirable. It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to, at least, and it helps that me talking to Wolfgang deeply displeases Henderson Vaultz and Patrick Wormwood. That’s two birds with one stone.
When I got home, I just wanted to crash on the couch and pet The Rum Tugger (that’s the cat, in case you forgot) and write in this diary and maybe spend a few hours badmouthing people to Haley, who I can at least trust not to repeat things. But Haley had other plans.
As soon as I opened the door, she was standing there with her best pockety jacket and her handbag. “Ivy and Ted invited us over!” she chirped. She has the kind of voice that tends to either sound like a chirp or a squeal, even if she’s saying things like, “Wildebeests are stampeding down the street, crushing and pooping on everything in sight!” (Not that she says that type of thing often, but you get my drift.)
“What, now?” I groaned.
Haley nodded cheerily, then noticed my expression. “What, bad day at work, Ems?” she asked, a sympathetic little crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Did you run into the T-word?”
I smiled. Only Haley would refer to my ex-boyfriend in such a way. “No, it wasn’t really a bad day… I just kind of hate most of the people there. But I think I made a friend, at least.”
Haley elbowed me in the ribs. “A friiiiend? Is he a boy? Like, a boyfriiiiend?” She waggled her eyebrows up and down. Haley has interesting views concerning romance”she’s obsessed with it when it comes to other people, always trying to be the matchmaker and gushing over who’s dating who. In her own personal life, she’s had more first dates than you can count, but she’s never had an actual serious relationship. I can’t imagine her ever settling down with anyone, and neither can she.
“Don’t get your hopes up and think I’ll get married and move out of your place anytime soon!” I shouted as I ran up the stairs to put on some clothes that weren’t neon orange so that we could go and visit Ivy and Ted.
Ivy and Ted are two of our oldest and best friends, and they live just a few blocks away, so we go over to their house pretty often, usually unannounced. It’s a good way to get a free hot meal without having to go all the way out to Godric’s Hollow where our parents live. But when Ivy and Ted actually invite us over, that usually means they have something special planned, and that’s usually fun.
And in fact, Ivy looked particularly cheerful when she answered the door to her house, all pink and blush-y. Now, Ivy and Ted are some of the most wonderful people on earth, but sometimes, it’s best not to spend too much time with them. They can be just a little bit too nice sometimes, and after awhile, they can start to rub off on you. And we certainly don’t want that, now do we?
Ivy and Ted have been together since we were about fifteen, and they’re like a little fairy-tale couple. Which is great, because Ivy’s the kind of person who deserves a happy ending”she’s actually the biological daughter of Draco Malfoy and, clichéd-ly, has a heart of gold and all that, so she ended up in Gryffindor and was estranged from her family and the rest of the story. Haley’s parents ended up adopting Ivy in our fourth year.
Ivy is one of those classic “sweet, innocent heroine” types, always the good girl in our little group growing up. If Haley was James Potter and I was Sirius Black, then Ivy would be our Remus Lupin”people rarely suspected she had anything to do with the trouble we always got into, even though she was usually the mastermind behind it all. But she’s so excessively nice and studious and a little bit shy, so few people have spotted that she’s got a big mischievous streak and an even bigger stubborn streak.
Maybe her appearance has a lot to do with it. She’s a pretty conservative dresser, and she’s so porcelain-doll pale that she’s always flushing like a sunburned flamingo at the slightest shift in emotion. Her white-blonde hair is as pale as a peeled banana and it’s long enough for her to sit on, and she almost always keeps it trapped in a long braid. She’s got pale grey eyes and sharp, angular features”not exactly ‘pretty,’ but not bad-looking, either.
Haley and I stepped into the living room and sat down. Ted and Ivy can afford a lot more and better stuff than we can”first of all, Ivy’s got all that Malfoy money, and she works in Experimental Charms and Ted’s a Healer, so they’ve got some cash to throw around.
“Hey, Ivy! Hey, Ted!” Haley squealed, bouncing up and down a little bit on the sofa like a three-year-old.
Ted smiled. “You come over here like twice a week. How are you still so excited to see me?”
“BECAUSE YOU CAN ACTUALLY COOK!” shrieked Haley, giving him a big hug.
I have to tell you about Ted. Now, I love him dearly, and he’s probably the nicest guy in the world, but I can’t for the life of me understand how anyone could want to marry him. There’s a big difference between loving Ted dearly and falling in love with him. First of all, he’s about six and a half feet tall and unbelievably skinny, with shaggy hair… so he looks a lot like a mop with a smiley face painted on. He’s all bony and pointy”it must hurt just to hug him. I don’t know, maybe some people like that, but he’s definitely not my type.
Ted’s a werewolf, and his transformations can take a toll on his appearance, so he always looks like he’s barely gotten any sleep, and although he’s only twenty-three, there’s already a little bit of grey scattered through his light brown hair. He’s awkward and clumsy, with all of the grace of a drunk one-legged ostrich with dementia. But Ted is Ted, and he’s so unassuming and comfortable in his own skin and innately likeable, so I guess he’s got the ability to fool people into thinking he’s sexy when necessary. Also, as Haley so wisely noted, Ted ‘can actually cook.’
Speaking of which, we ate GOOD FOOD. Far better than stadium nachos, and I have to admit, I love those greasy little monstrosities. Ted had made some sort of chicken-apple-sausage type concoction and assorted yummy side dishes, and that was good. But for some reason, Ted and Ivy were both eating really fast, as if to get the meal over with, and I couldn’t help but wonder why, especially since I’m a notoriously slow eater and I felt like I was being a nuisance. Well. We found out why.
Because after all the plates were cleared, Ivy and Ted started doing their obnoxious little flirty smiles at each other and started going, “You tell!” “No, you tell!” under their breaths, like they thought we wouldn’t notice. Just when I was getting ready to smack them both on the head and screech, “Get on with it, already!” it happened.
Beaming like some kind of lottery winner and blushing yet again, Ivy smoothed down her skirt and blurted, “We’re pregnant!”
Well… two things happened at once. First of all, Haley jumped up and started screaming and jumping around and dancing and hugging and kissing people and going “OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD… MERLIN’S ARMPIT HAIR…SQUEEEEEEEE!” The second thing that happened was me sitting there in absolute shell shock, staring off into space and trying not to throw up.
I’m sorry, but it’s bad enough thinking about all the… the… the implications of married life when the two people concerned are people I’ve known since childhood. The idea of Ted Lupin and Ivy Potter doing anything more than kissing just makes me want to rake out my eyes with teeny little eye-sized rakes. Learning that Ivy’s pregnant makes such disgusting thoughts inevitable. I mean… uuurgh. I knew Ted back when he was young enough to eat worms and wet himself in public and sing soprano!
Then there’s the fact that the idea of pregnancy in general makes me feel sick. I’m never putting myself through that, that’s for sure. If I ever have the urge to have a baby inside me, then I’ll just eat one or something.
“I’m going to be a father!” Ted let us know, stating the obvious like a pro and grinning like an idiot. He put his arm around Ivy’s waist and she leaned into his shoulder in a classic display of PDA.
“Easy for you to say,” I replied, trying to sound cheery and flippant, “you’re not the one who has to actually go through all the pain and nastiness of it all.”
A normal person would groan, ‘Thanks for reminding me.’ But Ivy just smiled. “Well, aren’t you happy? Don’t you want to be an aunt?” she asked.
I gave her my most dazzling smile. “Ivy, I am absolutely thrilled,” I told her.
“Nice sarcasm,” said Ted. “It really brings out your eyes.”
“No, I’m serious!” I exclaimed. “I’m really thrilled. For once in my life, I’ll look skinny next to you!”
After this witty comment came the obligatory ten straight minutes of being informed that I’m gorgeous, etc., and when that was done, we had about twenty straight minutes of talking about things like nursery décor (I suggested black and red on the grounds that pastel is for only the most namby-pamby babies), baby names (I suggested ‘Zoltan’ or ‘Mufasa’ for a boy and ‘Harley’ or ‘Steve’ for a girl), and other assorted baby-related topics (at this point, I got so bored that I pretended I had to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until I was sure the coast was clear).
However, when I did come back, the Wizarding Wireless was on, and what I heard was much worse than “Oh, yes, of course we’re breast-feeding.”
What I heard was, “”ninth werewolf attack this week, and parents are instructed not to let their children outside until the crisis is over. The feral werewolves that for years largely kept to themselves in the secluded forests for years seem to be forming a full-scale rebellion. Already, the public’s tenuously tolerance toward werewolves that has developed since Remus Lupin’s key role in the defeat of Voldemort seems to have worn off; an innocent woman known to be a werewolf was attacked by a lynch mob in her home in Leeds today, and barely escaped with her life. Anti-werewolf groups have been rapidly forming across the country as the attacks have increased. The Wizarding Wireless will bring updates on the situation as soon as we can.”
All eyes in the room turned toward Ted. The giddiness that had filled his face moments before had completely dissipated, to be replaced by a strangely dark and hollow expression that I’d never seen Ted wear before. His usually cheery, easygoing manner gone, he looked strangely old and eerily like his father.
He cleared his throat and, in the blink of an eye, looked almost exactly like his old self. Almost, but not quite. “So, who wants tea?” he said.
Pride and Pre-Juiced Plums: A Potter's Pentagon Love Story by Schmerg_The_Impaler
Chapter Notes: I swear, things definitely happen later in this story... I'm sorry about the slow start. The song that I used in this chapter is from Oklahoma, by Rogers and Hammerstein.
Now, because this chapter features Ivy and Ted, and because this is from Emma's biased point of view, the portrayal of those two is a lot less flattering than what I'd normally do, especially for poor, cheesy, adorable Ted. I adore Ted, so don't kill me for the rather rude descriptions of him. Blame Emma.
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Chapter Endnotes: I like nachos. Not so fond of babies. Though I guess they're tolerable with a dash of salt and maybe a light honey-mustard glaze.
The dream Emma had was based on a dream I had, except the people in it were people I know. Even the part about Trivial Pursuit and the cruise ship.