You were once my one companion
You were all that mattered.
You were once a friend and father
Then my world was shattered.
Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near.
Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed
Somehow you would be here.
-- “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again,” from The Phantom of the Opera
Well, today was probably one of the worst days of my life, and I should have known it when I went to get some breakfast and found a dead possum in the cereal box. Possums aren’t even indigenous to England, so what’s up with that anyway, huh?
But things only got progressively worse. The very first thing I saw when I stepped into the stadium was Patrick Wormwood’s face, which is bad enough as is. And then he walked right up to me and said, and I quote: “I am charmed and delighted to see you.” Human beings don’t talk like that.
“Wish I could say the same,” I muttered under my breath, making a valiant effort to get past him. But I should have known better. He’s a persistent little son of a billiard cue.
“Tell me, what interests you?” he asked, doing a brilliant job of blocking my path. Maybe he should play Keeper.
“Right now, getting to work on time is right up there,” I said, with my usual grace and tact. I probably needed coffee, but I don’t dare get dependent on it. My dad’s a complete addict when it comes to caffeine, and I’m sure I’d be even worse.
Patrick smiled. “I enjoy these spontaneous conversations whenever possible,” he informed me proudly.
“Well, thanks for warning me,” I replied, schlumping my way past and thinking dreamily to myself that if Patrick imposed another one of those ‘spontaneous conversations’ on me, I’d jump out a window. Or more likely, push him out of one. I know, I know, I sound like a horrible person, but to be honest, I don’t think Patrick was listening to a single word I said. He certainly didn’t pay attention to subtle body language like me walking swiftly away from him.
And just when I was congratulating myself on my brilliant escape, who should saunter up toward me but Clio Winkley, looking especially fake-blonde, fake-tan, and fake-friendly. “Emma!” she exclaimed in her little purr of a voice. “How are you? You know, I’ve been hearing the most interesting stories about you from Tyrone. They’re simply fascinating. It’s strange, I had absolutely no idea that you”“
“I’ve heard some interesting stories about you, too, but I’d better not tell any of them, because this is a family environment,” I told her cheerfully, interrupting her in mid-italics. You know that little voice in the back of your head that makes rude comments that you don’t dare say out loud? I think that voice is me.
“At least the stories about me don’t start with ‘call me Ishmael,’” she replied smoothly.
Okay, I don’t even know what that means. Last time I checked, my name was definitely not Ishmael. But whatever, Clio’s never been accused of making sense before. In any case, I had a day in the stadium today, my favourite kind, and that was a bit of a relief. Yet another free game! It’s almost enough to make me start rooting for the Cannons. Just kick Tyrone off, and I’ll be screaming and waving Cannons pennants within the week.
The stands were pretty full today, and even though I didn’t get to Stun anyone, there was an exciting incident involving a couple of guys throwing popcorn at the bald heads of older wizards a few rows in front of them. I may have made a bigger deal of the situation then necessary, but it certainly worked”no popcorn was thrown for the rest of the game. And I’m sure there was a way to reattach this kid’s arm.
(Hint: If you didn’t realize that I was joking, then you really don’t know me at all.)
In any case, it was an experience watching the Cannons play. I couldn’t help but notice Wolfgang, even as a faint orange blur on the far end of the pitch. I played Chaser in school, and I know a really good one when I see one (ie., not me). The skill in a very talented Chaser is not being good at throwing”any schmuck can put a ball through a hoop that big. You want to be able to catch balls that no one in their right mind should”my dad calls it ‘Sticky Fingers,’ which always sounds really gross to me. The other important thing is to always be on the defensive, and Wolfgang dodged Bludgers with the best of them. Why had I never heard of Wolfgang Quinn before? He’s really good.
It’s odd, though, the ways he and Tyrone fly are so different. You’ve got Tyrone, a big, muscular, broad-shouldered guy who looks like he shouldn’t be able to balance on his narrow little broom, and he’s flying around with insane concentration, like there’s nothing in the world except for him and the Bludgers and his club and the other players. Then you’ve got Wolfgang, who’s quick and wiry and flies like he’s in a circus, putting on a show. He’s fun to watch, playing to the audience and smiling and doing tricks. And of course, no one’s watching him, because their attention is on boring old Tyrone.
I know that Wolfgang always wanted to be an artist and took up Quidditch for the money, but he looked like he was enjoying himself so much flying around. I even saw him wink at me as he flew past, consummately unprofessional and cheesy, but still pretty cool in an uncool sort of way.
The Cannons won their game again. I think I’m a good luck charm.
Because I’m evil, I casually hung around after the match to have a bit of a chat with my pal Wolfgang. For all of Vaultz’s warnings (and Tyrone’s and Patrick’s), I’d never gotten in trouble before for talking to Quidditch players, and where better than directly after a game? Tyrone’s always totally inundated with crazed fans, of course, but Wolfgang is usually handily free. I couldn’t quite seem to find him today, though.
I hung back for awhile, staring blankly over the bleachers shining in the sun and dotted with various disgusting bits of litter, slipping into the crowd with true Auror stealth whenever I saw Clio or Patrick pass by.
Just when I was getting ready to pack up my things and head for someplace that didn’t smell like the bathroom of a cigarette factory, I spotted that familiar crown of ridiculous buttercup-shaped light brown hair from across the stadium. It had to be Wolfgang. He wasn’t alone, though”following him was an even more familiar head of short, shiny black curls. Actually, maybe ‘chasing’ was a better word to use than ‘following,’ because Wolfgang seemed to be striding at a pace four or five notches above ‘leisurely stroll.’ As they drew nearer, I could make out snippets of what they were saying.
“…honestly, I don’t care whether werewolves [UNINTELLIGIBLE]”“ I heard Tyrone exclaim over those intrusive mumbles you always get when you’re trying to spy on someone far away in a public place.
“Well, just because we [UNINTELLIGIBLE]”“ the other man replied angrily. I peered at him through narrowed eyes, pretending to be very occupied with examining my nails. Yes, it was Wolfgang… I was eighty-five percent sure, at least. That buttercup-shaped hair, and that casual, drawling voice were a dead giveway. True, he wasn’t wearing his Quidditch robes, but neither was Tyrone. (Now, now, you dirty-minded readers, both of these fellows were fully clothed. Their clothes just didn’t include hideously orange Quidditch robes. Glad we established that.)
“Shh!” cautioned Tyrone. “Don’t want to tarnish your sterling-silver reputation, do we? Whoops, bad word choice there.” Now that they were drawing closer, I could hear everything Tyrone was saying, but Wolfgang”he was definitely Wolfgang, now I could make out his features”was a bit harder to decipher. He muttered something that sounded like, ‘banana rat snuff,’ which I seriously doubt he actually said.
And then, my cover was blown. I heard him say a word that I recognized very easily”“Emma!”
I looked up. “Oh”Wolfgang! Hey!” I called back, ignoring the extremely obvious Tyrone looming behind him. Now that they were this close, I could see that Tyrone was clutching a plastic bag full of some kind of round purplish-black things. They looked like little dead mice, or perhaps dog droppings, but I doubted even Tyrone was that gross.
“All I’m saying is, you’re not helping anything, and you’re definitely not making it easy for me,” Tyrone said cryptically, looking significantly at Wolfgang, and then stormed off to go get fangirled or whatever it was he did with himself.
I do happen to have a brain, so it didn’t take me long to realize that the boys had not simply been talking about Quidditch tactics. Like most people these days, they were having a chat about werewolves. And based on what Wolfgang told me when we went out to dinner together, Tyrone wanted to continue having regular Quidditch matches, no matter the cost. He’d basically just flat-out stated that he didn’t care whether werewolves savaged the entire audience, so long as he got to zoom around on a broom and look cool.
Wolfgang grimaced as he plopped down next to me. “On a lighter note,” he said, “you’re looking nice today.”
“Then that’s either a testament to my radiant natural beauty or your lying abilities. I was up ‘till three listening to Haley practice the songs from your brother’s musical over and over again. I basically just rolled out of bed and Apparated here without making any stops in between,” I said. “So, what’s up with you?”
“Well… I’m guessing you’re sick of that musical,” replied Wolfgang. “But I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to this party tonight”you probably heard a lot about it from Haley, you know, Anatoly’s fundraiser gala thing at the Three Broomsticks?”
I certainly had heard a lot about it from Haley. Anatoly had decided that the best way to raise the funds for his show would be to hold a hot, happening party that everyone who was anyone in Hogsmeade would attend”the catch being that you had to pay to get in.
The plan seemed to be working, because from what I’d heard, quite a lot of the people who moved in the highest circles were moving their high selves toward the Three Broomsticks to eat overpriced food and listen to Haley sing some demos with B.C. It helped that B.C. still had connections in with Tyrone. He’d signed up early on, and a whole lot of other people had been all too eager to jump on the bandwagon that he was steering.
I suddenly realized that the pattern of my fingers tapping on the bleachers was the exact same rhythm as one of the songs from that infernal musical. It had gotten to me. Blast. “I’m not so sick of the musical that I’d miss the party,” I said. “It’d beat getting murdered by Haley when she got back, at least. But I already have a free ticket from Haley… and it says I can bring a guest. How about being my guest?”
Wolfgang hesitated, then smiled. “That’d be great,” he said. “I actually haven’t bought my ticket yet.”
I squinted at him. “Wait a minute, you have to buy a ticket to a party for your own big brother’s musical? Sounds a bit cheap to me.”
“I told you,” sighed Wolfgang, “B.C. and I don’t really get along that well. I wasn’t even going to go to the party, but if I went with you, I think it’d be fun. Here I was expecting to buy two tickets… well, not expecting, I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to come, but I was prepared to buy two… if necessary… and now I get to go for free. See, this is why I hang out for you.”
“Oh, good,” I said. “I’m so sick of people who want to hang out with me because of my personality. Creeps.”
As if on cue, and no, I am not making this up, who should pop up but Patrick Wormwood. It was a sudden and unexpected arrival, like when it rains and suddenly dead worms are lying everywhere on the streets and you’re stepping on them left and right. “Oh, hello there, you two!” he chirped, standing directly between Wolfgang and me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything!”
Please move, I thought. You are entirely obscuring Wolfgang’s pretty face, and I can smell your breath from here. But what I said was, “What? Interrupting anything? Oh, you nutter, you know we’re not allowed to talk to Quidditch players! Vaultz’s rules!” I gave him a bright, sunshiny smile, though the effect may have been spoiled slightly by a subtle but insistent eye twitch.
“Yeah, I was just, er, giving her directions to the pub down the street,” Wolfgang chipped in. “I wasn’t chatting with Esme”Emily”whatever her name is.” And with that, he zipped out of sight as quickly as though he’d Apparated away. Traitor. How dare he leave me alone with Patrick?
Luckily for me, Patrick was not in a particularly long-winded mood and cut right to the chase of what he was going to say. Unluckily for me, what he was going to say was not something I wanted to hear at all. “Say,” he said breezily, standing a tiny bit too close, “I’ve been hearing a jolly good amount about some sort of shindig down at the Three Broomsticks tonight. Have you heard anything about that?”
“Can’t say I have,” I responded, my voice beginning to sound rather frantic. “Oh, look, is that a moth?”
Patrick ignored my clever diversionary tactics and plowed right ahead. “It sounds quite diverting!” he gushed. “Perhaps you’d like to come with me as my date, eh?”
I gulped. Oh dear. This was the type of thing that I always feared would happen but optimistically assumed Patrick would never have the guts to do. I simply stared bleakly into Patrick’s pasty, eager face and tried to form words that made a clear point without using the phrase, ‘not on your life, barfboy.’ “Patrick,” I said at last, “Patrick, darling, I already have a date for tonight. And if I’m going to be honest with you, you’re really not my… type. And I don’t think I’d be yours, either. I think I’d probably scare you once you got to know me.” Your type would be more along the lines of, say, parameciums, I thought, fervently hoping that Patrick was not a Legilimens.
Patrick did something that I never would have expected him to. He laughed. I took a step or two back and stared at him like a scientist studying some unknown alien species, and ascertained that he was still wearing a stupid smile. “Oh, I know your type!” he told me jovially, actually waggling a finger at me. “Don’t you worry, I can read you like a book! I know young ladies like to have a bit of fun and play around rejecting people when they’re too modest to say ‘yes.’ I understand completely.” He winked and tapped his nose like some kind of horrible ancient uncle.
I took another step back. “Is this some kind of ‘understanding completely’ that’s a synonym for ‘being totally clueless?’” I asked slowly. “Patrick… I don’t think you understand at all. Look, I’m being very blunt with you. I don’t want to go out with you, not tonight, not next week, not in five years.” This was immediately followed by a long, awkward silence, like some kind of boa constrictor with cerebral palsy crawling by.
“I… I see.” I watched Patrick’s brow furrow oh-so-slowly. “I… I suppose now is a bad time.”
“Basically… everytime is a bad time. I”“
Patrick’s brow furrow had made the full transformation to a frown. “Yes,” he said. “I see. Yes. I see. Yes. I”“
“See?” I supplied helpfully.
Patrick opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, shoved his hands into his pockets, turned around, and walked out of the stadium, turning around to look at me four or five times on the way out, which I felt was unnecessary. I could tell my ears were as red as my dad’s had ever been. That had been one of the most uncomfortable, horrific experiences of my life, and certainly the worst experience I’d ever had turning down a boy. But it was if Patrick didn’t know anything at all about human beings”or at least, girls, which was the half of the species that mattered.
“You handled that well,” I heard a voice say quietly. I turned around to see Wolfgang standing there and almost fell down the stadium steps.
“What, you were there the whole time?” I squawked.
Wolfgang shrugged as he made his way toward me. “I couldn’t help it,” he said. “Well. Now I feel a lot more comfortable around you. Knowing how you deal with people you don’t like makes me a heck of a lot more secure in our friendship.”
I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “You don’t think I was too harsh?” I asked, running a hand through my hair. “He looked a bit like a mouse cornered by a cat by the end of that.”
“Don’t sweat it,” said Wolfgang. “Mice don’t usually get it into their heads to ask out the cat. Ooh, look what got left here.” He held up the same plastic bag full of round dark purplish objects that I’d seen Tyrone carrying around earlier. “It looks like Tyrone forgot his snack.”
I pulled a face. “What are those?” I asked.
“Wow, you really haven’t seen Tyrone in a long time,” commented Wolfgang, casually swinging the bag around like a slingshot. “They’re prunes. It’s kind of a good-luck ritual. Whenever he wins a game, he has to eat prunes. It’s just something he does. Oh, but he hates the word ‘prune.’ He’ll scream at you if you say it.”
Prunes? That sounded really weird, even for Tyrone. “What does he call them, then?” I asked, trying to think of something clever to say. The truth was, there was nothing funnier I could say than re-stating that Tyrone liked to eat prunes.
“He… likes to call them pre-juiced plums,” Wolfgang said. “And he’s probably the only one who does. Well, enough about that, let’s get out of here. I’ll see you tonight, right?”
I smiled. “I’ll meet you there,” I told him. “I’m coming with Haley”she’d kill me otherwise”but I’ll wait at the door for you, so you can use my ticket. We’re probably going to be really early.”
“That’d be great,” he said. Then, he paused, his expression growing slightly more serious. “Erm, listen, Emma, I””
But I never got to hear what exactly he was being serious about, because just then, a large, silvery rabbit hopped over toward me and began to speak. I know what you’re thinking, that the white powder I had in my tea might not have been sugar and all that, but don’t worry. You see, this large, silvery, speaking rabbit was something all too familiar to me; namely, it was Haley’s Patronus.
“Emma!” the Patronus exclaimed, bouncing up and down a little on the spot in true rabbit fashion. “Listen, get yourself home right now, okay? I need you ASAP. Sorry, but it’s really important.”
Wolfgang looked concerned as the Patronus dissipated in a puff of smoke. “That was Haley, wasn’t it? I hope she’s okay.”
I shrugged. “It’s probably nothing,” I said. “She’s always sending me Patronuses telling me to get home. I’ll Apparate back home anyway, but I bet she just wants a snack and can’t reach the shelf where I keep the cookie jar or something like that.”
This is completely true”Haley’s notorious for getting me all worried over nothing. One day, she sent me a Patronus telling me to come quick because her vibrato was broken. Well, I had never heard the word ‘vibrato’ before, but I guessed it was either a vital part of the body or some incredibly expensive heirloom. But when I got home, everything looked fine, so I asked Haley what exactly ‘vibrato’ meant, and she said, “It’s like when you sing and your voice wiggles up and down on long notes. You know, like how opera singers’ voices do that thing? It’s like, ‘If I were king of the fore-e-e-e-e-e-est?’”
I stared blankly at her. “Wait,” I said. “Vibrato is some singing thing? And you called me here because…”
“I was singing this song from Sweeney Todd!” wailed Haley. “And I was singing, and all of a sudden, I realized my vibrato wasn’t working! My voice was going, but there was no vibrato! It was just gone! I don’t know what happened!”
I’d been staring for a good five minutes; now it was time to blink repeatedly. “Haley,” I said. “Let me get this straight. You called me home from work because of some singing problem. Me. Who knows about as much about singing as a pile of porlock poo.”
“I didn’t know what to do!” blubbered Haley. “Listen! Green finch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird, how is it you siiiing… Whoa! Hey! It’s back! My vibrato’s back! Okay, never mind!”
And that wasn’t the only time she did something like that. She does this type of thing all the time. So I wasn’t really expecting anything to be wrong today, but I figured it would probably be best to get home even so. So I gave Wolfgang a quick little hug and Apparated home, having had a very long day and looking forward to a nice, relaxing nap.
I knew as soon as I got home, though, that something was very wrong. There was no obnoxious singing at all, no tap-dancing echoing off of the walls, no freaky vocal exercises. The windows were drawn, and the house seemed too dim and too quiet.
“Haley?” I called. “Hey!”
“In here!” came her voice from the living room, sounding rather less perky than I was used to hearing from her. It was clear why the second I stepped into the room. Ivy was lying curled up on our couch, still in her pajamas, which was rather unusual for her. Her long white blonde hair, always meticulously plaited, was today tied in a messy knot on the top of her head, and her eyes and nose looked red and swollen.
“Whoa,” I said gingerly, sitting down and courteously neglecting to mention that Ivy had usurped my usual spot. “Er… what’s wrong?”
Ivy looked up at me with big, baleful eyes that looked as though she hadn’t slept at all. “Did Haley not tell you?” she said in a small voice.
Haley sighed. “I thought it’d be better coming from you,” she replied carefully.
Oh, no. Now I could feel my heart rising in my throat and my brain going into low-key panic mode. This could not be good. Someone was dead, I knew it”the werewolves had attacked someone, Uncle Harry, or one of my parents, or someone else we knew… Oh, no, it was Jordan, wasn’t it… He was up in London where all of the attacks had been happening lately… and I hadn’t heard from him in awhile… he had to be dead…
“It’s Ted,” Ivy told me in a strange, flat voice that sounded like a prepubescent version of her brother Jordan. “He left.”
This was certainly not what I had expected. For a moment, the words didn’t register. “Oh, good,” I sighed. “I thought Jordan died or something. You could’ve…” I stopped in my figurative tracks. “Wait, what? Ted?”
Haley nodded miserably. “Yeah, he left really early this morning. The werewolves aren’t the only ones going on rampages”there are loads of people running around trying to kill all the werewolves because they’re just so scared. Pretty much everyone in the wizarding world knows Ted’s a werewolf, and he almost got killed yesterday in the street, except some Auror just happened to be there and straightened things out.”
“I’m an Auror trainee,” I spat. “How did I not hear about this?”
Haley ignored my question and plowed on with her story, as though she’d explode if she couldn’t finish it. “So, Ted figured things weren’t safe for him, and that people would definitely come after Ivy as well if they knew she was pregnant with his kid. So he went off to this place”there’s this colony of werewolves somewhere, and they’re totally wild, but they’re not part of the attacks. So, Ted went out there to make sure they didn’t join up with the other werewolves, and to, you know, be a spokesperson, because the other werewolves aren’t great at talking to the press or the Ministry or whatever.”
I flopped back in my chair. I couldn’t believe it. Ted was the guy who always seemed to have fallen out of a fairy tale, always cheerful and optimistic and lovey-dovey. He was the guy you could depend on to ride up on a white steed and save the day”always jumping in front of attackers to protect his friends, always game for anything. I couldn’t imagine him running away from any problem. In his own dorky, awkward way, Ted has always been one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. It wasn’t like him to skip out on his wife and baby and say, ‘well, go fend yourself while I hide, you hear?’
“So, basically, Ted just waltzed out and said, ‘hasta la vista, baby, you have your kid and raise it on your own while I run around naked in the forest howling at the moon with the boys?’” I clarified.
Ivy’s mouth dropped open in shock, apparently still too enamoured with the guy to stand hard truths about him. “That’s not what happened,” she said in the brittle little voice she always uses when she’s making the attempt to stick up for herself. “Both of us made the decision. We stayed up all night talking about it, and we decided it was the best thing to do.”
“And by ‘both of you,’ what you really mean is, Ted said ‘hmm, think I’ll do this,’ and you said, ‘oh, mkay, do whatever you want, because I love you. Don’t worry about me, I don’t mind being totally miserable,’” I shot back.
Ivy’s face drained of colour until she was paler than her hair, then two flaming red spots appeared on her cheeks. She looked as though someone had told her that Ted had been found dead in a hot tub in a passionate embrace with Tyrone Thomas.
“Emma!” exclaimed Haley. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I’d known you were going to be a jerk about this!”
I raised my eyebrows. “You do realize that this is Emma Weasley you’re talking about? But seriously, I’m not trying to be mean. It’s true”Ivy always goes along with whatever Ted wants. It’s not like he’s pushy”I mean, he basically lies down so everyone else can walk all over him”but it’s like she’s convinced that if you love someone, your own feelings don’t matter.”
“She is sitting right here,” Ivy said quietly, looking me straight in the eyes with the Ivy Lupin equivalent of defiance.
No one spoke for a minute or two. Haley’s eyes were swimming with tears, and she was hugging her knees close, while I shifted around uncomfortably in my chair. At last, I said, “Well, time to hit the singles bars.”
Ivy smiled tautly. “What better place for a married, pregnant, tea-drinking woman?”
“Let me put it this way,” I told her, not even coming close to smiling. “What Ted’s doing is a suicide mission. If werewolf hunters don’t get him, the werewolves he’s living with will. I know that, and you know that, and Ted definitely knows that.”
“His dad survived,” Haley chipped in loyally. “Twice!”
“In a war between werewolves and wizards?” I shot back. “I don’t think so. Ted’s dead meat out there. And you’re as good as single now.”
Ivy actually stood up and walked out of the room into the kitchen, standing as erect as she could. Once she was out of view, Haley picked up a small ceramic kitten and smashed it against my eyebrow.
“What the Niflheim, Haley! You could’ve put my eye out!” I yelled.
“Oh, I feel like doing worse than that!” she snapped, though she looked about as menacing as a ceramic kitten. “What is up with you? Are you trying to make Ivy feel as horrible as possible? I honestly don’t think there’s anything worse you could’ve said.”
I glared at the floor, mainly because it wasn’t likely to hit me with a ceramic kitten. I didn’t know how to say what I felt. I was angry, angry with everyone possible”the stupid werewolves, the stupid werewolf hunters, stupid Ted for leaving, stupid Ivy for letting him go, stupid Haley for refusing to accept the truth, stupid me for not being able to feel anything but anger in a time when I was supposed to be all sympathetic and encouraging.
I kicked the sofa so hard that I felt my foot would fall off. “I’m just trying to be realistic,” I said. “It’s better than getting Ivy’s hopes up and convincing her that Ted will come back and they’ll ride into the sunset and live happily ever after. Things never work out like that.”
Haley snorted. “Just because it didn’t work out for you and Tyrone doesn’t mean you need to get all bitter about anyone in a relationship.”
I jumped to my feet. “Don’t make this about Tyrone!” I shouted. “What’s your problem? Tyrone and I broke up five years ago. That’s ancient history.”
“So why are you shouting?” chirped Haley.
I think she was trying to playfully annoy me, but I was too mad to get annoyed, if that makes any sense. “I feel sick,” I said. “I hate Ted so much right now. And he’s not the kind of person I ever thought I’d have a good reason to hate. I’m too disgusted with him to even talk about him anymore… I don’t want to even think about it.” I got up and started making my way toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?” called Haley.
“To bed,” I muttered. “I need to sleep. And I’m definitely not going to that party of yours tonight.”
Haley jumped up and followed me, and somehow managed to get in front of me and block my way to the stairs. She has the skills of a ninja sometimes. “But you have to!” she exclaimed. “What about Wolfgang?”
“Oh, Wolfgang, Schmolfgang!” I yelled. “Look, now you’re making me talk like dad again. Out of everything that’s happening, you’re worried about that? Who even cares about Wolfgang?”
“Well, for one, you do,” Haley pointed out. “And he likes you. And he’ll be waiting outside the door for you to come with his ticket. Besides, you have to hear my pretty singing, remember?”
I smirked. “Because I never get to hear that.” I rubbed my arms. “I guess I’ll go. But I’ll hate it.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Haley.
We did end up going, after several hours of moping, grumbling, Haley bashing me with creatively chosen painful objects, and lamenting the paucity of wearable things in our closets. Ivy was, naturally, allowed to stay home, though she stayed at our place”I think her house felt too big and too empty without Ted, or something like that. Haley stayed quiet and subdued, at least, quiet and subdued for Haley (which was still the equivalent of a hyperactive and giggly Ivy), while I stomped around like a hungry ogre.
To be honest, I’m not even sure why I was so furious. I might sound completely out of my tree, up the wall, and into the bat cave, but Ted and Ivy were always… a constant. They’ve been nuts about each other since we were fourteen, probably even before then, and they’ve been the token happy little romance ever since. They were the little plastic couple on the top of the wedding cake, the couple on the sitcom, the couple straight out of a Disney movie. And now..it was like hearing the story of Cinderella every day, and then suddenly, one day, Cinderella doesn’t get the prince at the end and he marries one of the stepsisters”it doesn’t happen. But why this upset me so much, I’ll never know.
Haley and I got ourselves over to the party, eventually at least. Frankly, I felt like coming in sweatpants and a “I’d Rather Be Fighting Dark Wizards” t-shirt. But I somehow managed to force myself to get myself all dolled up. We were, as planned, unfashionably early, so the Three Broomsticks was nearly empty except for Anatoly, B.C., and the rather friendly barman who I nonetheless could never bring myself to like as much as the one at the Hog’s Head.
Haley immediately made her presence known by rushing in and tackling both Anatoly and B.C. in huge hugs (the latter looking rather startled, as he was tuning the piano at the time and had his back to the door).
“Well!” exclaimed Anatoly, clapping his hands. “Now that our first guest’s arrived, I guess the party’s officially started! Now, where did I put your silly hat?”
I rolled my eyes at his lame attempt at humour. Little did I know that it was more than just a lame attempt. We actually all had to wear stupid-looking, cone shaped party hats with pom-poms and polka dots. This was, of course, Haley’s idea. I made a resolution not to speak with her for a week.
I sat at a table to wait for some more guests to arrive, and watched Haley chat and giggle merrily with Anatoly. B.C. was still busy at the piano, but he’d occasionally look up, smile distractedly, and get a word or two in edgewise. How does Haley manage to be so perky and animated when I’m feeling all cranky and unsociable? Is she just such a good actor that she can act all happy when she’s anything but, or is she really that different from me?
The truth is, I think Haley feels sorry for Ivy, and misses Ted, and is worried about him… but I don’t think she’s angry. I know Ivy isn’t. It’s just me, and it’s weird.
It wasn’t too long before other guests started to pour in, though it seemed like an eternity (Haley was telling a “funny” story about a little communication mishap I’d once had with a Swedish taxi driver, and I spent many an uncomfortable minute trying to figure out how to sink into the floor). For awhile, no one I knew showed up”and assortment of oldish people, posh-looking people, vaguely familiar-looking people who drove me crazy trying to decide if I knew them or not, old school acquaintances who I desperately tried to avoid, and people wearing those scary pastel trousers that always end up getting pulled up preternaturally high.
Then, the door swung open, and who should sweep through the door but Tyrone Thomas. I couldn’t help but silently follow his trajectory around the room with his eyes, praying to myself that he didn’t come near me. For a split second, his eyes met mine, a feeling rather like getting pecked in the eye by a flamingo, and we stared for an instant, daring each other to be the one to look away first. It was me who lost the staring contest, and Tyrone headed off in the opposite direction, much to my relief.
Please get here, soon, Wolfgang, I thought to myself, jiggling my foot up and down madly. I’d chosen a seat that allowed me to see the street directly outside the pub without having to actually stand outside, and my plan was to race out and wave my ticket around at the ticket-collector-person as soon as Wolfgang showed up. But he was nowhere to be seen, and I was getting antsy. He was the reason I’d ended up coming in the first place, and if he didn’t show, I was going to be one unhappy camper.
I certainly recognized two of the next people to walk through the door, but sadly, neither of them was Wolfgang, or anything close. It was the delightful Patrick Wormwood… and Clio Winkley?
Oh Godric, he’d asked her after asking me out? And she’d said yes? Well, there’s no accounting for taste… on either side. Though I had a sneaking suspicion that going with Patrick was just Clio’s clever ploy to be in the same room as Tyrone without looking too desperate.
Wait a minute… what was that weird insult Clio used on me this morning? “At least stories about me don’t start with ‘call me Ishmael,’” or something like that… ohhhh, no. Ohhhh, no. I think I just got it. Okay, now I’m seriously annoyed. “Call me Ishmael” is the first sentence of the rather famous book that I’ve never read, called Moby Dick. It’s a book about a whale.
Nice, Clio. Nice.
I sat there watching Patrick be creepy and socially inept to various people, Clio desperately trying to evade Patrick and make her way off to the Tyrone-centric part of the party, Anatoly jovially forcing party hats on guests, Haley being inhumanly perky, B.C. being politely bewildered by his strange associates, Tyrone being Tyrone, and some guy who got hopelessly drunk and started stumbling around saying things like ‘why, mother, that shade of purple looks very becoming on your lizard fork.’
They had just begun to serve food”on the opposite side of the room where I was sitting, naturally”and I was salivating at the sight of the rather terrific porkchop that I’d managed to glimpse, when I glimpsed something just as interesting. Wolfgang Quinn was walking up the path, just when I’d given up hope that he’d come. I checked my watch as I made my casual way toward the door. The kid was twenty-five minutes late, and I can’t say I was overly happy with him.
I didn’t have the chance to tell him off, though. The second I stepped outside the door, he blurted out, “I’M SO SORRY. I don’t have good excuse or anything. I’m just late. If you want, I’ll… go now or something.”
“Oh, come on in, you big saddo,” I said fondly, brandishing my ticket in the ticket-taker’s face. “This guy’s my guest,” I explained. “And he better hurry up, because they’re serving food now.”
A couple of heads turned as Wolfgang and I walked past to our table, not the least B.C.’s and Tyrone’s. “Awkward awkward awkward,” I whispered as we sat down at our table. Although I was still in a bad mood because of Ted, and still annoyed with Wolfgang for being late, as soon as I got a little bit of admittedly tasty food in my belly, I began to feel a bit more cheerful. It also helped that Wolfgang was there to chat with. It’s hard to be irritated with him for too long because he’s just too likeable, darn him.
After dinner, Anatoly made some kind of incoherent speech about the musical and money and stuff. I can’t say I was really paying attention because I was busy demolishing the wonderfully gooey chocolate cake that they’d served for dessert, but my ears did perk up a little when they brought out the piano.
“This is Haley Potter!” announced Anatoly, as Haley flounced her way to the “stage” at the front of the room, all smiles, sparkles, and shiny hair. “That’s a name you’ll want to remember, because she’s definitely an up-and-coming star. She’s the one of us who’ll still hit it bigger than Godzilla even if this show flops, so you keep your eye on her. Especially right now, because she and my partner-in-crime B.C. are going to sing one of the songs from our show! So sit back, adjust your dentures, and enjoy, kiddies!”
I don’t know how people stand to listen to him. But luckily, no one had to anymore, because there was something entirely different to listen to.
“I’m no singer, so expect a much higher-calibre performance in the real musical,” B.C. apologized sheepishly as he started playing a low, rumbling riff on the piano. “This song’s called ‘Charlotte and Jean-Paul’, and I think it’s one of my favourites. Well, my favourites I helped write, that is.”
And then the singing started. Well, I have to say, it was pretty incredible, and you know I’m not a big fan of show tunes. The song was a duet between this guy named Jean-Paul Marat and this girl named Charlotte Corday, who were both radical revolutionaries during the French Revolution. Now, before you expect some kind of sappy romantic ballad, let me explain”they were revolutionaries in opposing factions that kept killing each other. And one day, Charlotte came to Marat’s house and tricked him into giving her his hit list, and then… SHE STABBED HIM TO DEATH IN HIS BATHTUB. How awesome is that?
The song was definitely awesome”two crazy intense different tunes going on at the same time, ending with some insane high note. And I hear Haley singing every day, but it’s not often that I get to hear her actually full-out perform. I’ve never heard her sound better, and I actually felt like standing up and geekily exclaiming, “Hey, see that girl? Yeah, I’m her best friend. I know her. Yeah. Hahaha.” As for B.C. and all of his modesty, he sounded great, too, at least to my untrained ears. His voice was kind of soft, but pretty nonetheless.
“Hey, your cousin’s good,” whispered Wolfgang, poking me in the side.
“Yeah, so’s your brother,” I replied, then decided to pull out the big guns and use my sophisticated musical vocabulary. “He has really nice vibrato.”
I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that they were together in one room, I couldn’t help but notice a certain resemblance between Wolfgang and B.C. They were both tallish and they both had tanned skin and curly brown hair, though Wolfgang’s was longer. They had the same round eyes (B.C.’s blue, Wolfgang’s green), and the same friendly, reassuring smile. They even had the same square jawline, though B.C.’s was softened and slightly hidden by his chubbiness. But somehow, Wolfgang had that factor that made people notice him and think, ‘ooh, pretty,’ while you wouldn’t look at B.C. twice- and it wasn’t just looks that did it, either.
“Hey, Wolfgang, what does B.C. stand for?” I asked.
He blinked. “Oh… I can’t believe this,” he said. “I totally forgot. He’s been B.C. since forever, and, like I said, we’re not all that close. It’s some big bear-sounding name… like Bruno or Bernard or Barnaby or something.”
“Bartholomew Christine?” I suggested. “Blueberry Cupcake? Bubba Caesario? Benedict Carlos? Bob Cat? Bruce Chuck-another-shrimp-on-the-barbie-mate?”
“What on earth are you children talking about now?” said a voice behind me. I didn’t even have to turn around to know that it was Anatoly.
I sighed. “We’re trying to figure out what B.C. stands for,” I explained flatly.
“Before Christ,” said Anatoly, then strolled off his merry way. Very helpful, that lad.
And sadly, he did not do anything to improve my mood as the evening wore on. After the performance and hearty applause were both finished, Anatoly flicked his wand and pushed the chairs and tables over to the side. “We are now going to play a rather interesting little game,” he announced. “I’ll put on some music”nothing from our musical, don’t worry, don’t want anyone to get sick of it just yet”“
“Too late,” I muttered.
“And we will have a dance competition, in pairs, no less! Oh, no, you little lovebirds, don’t go gallivanting off for your significant others. We’re choosing pairs in a special sort of way. Everyone, I trust you all have those really fashionable little party hats that Haley so graciously bestowed upon you? Yes? There should be number on the side, odd numbers for the men and even numbers for the womenfolk. Raise your hand now if I pegged you as the wrong gender, because I’m going to be honest, it wasn’t easy to tell with some of you.”
Mercifully, no one raised a hand. I checked the side of my hat. Mine was number four. Wolfgang’s was thirty-seven.
Anatoly flashed a smile. “Fabulous! All-righty. So, I’m going to start playing a song now, and every now and then, I’m going to pause and call out pairs of numbers, and when I call your number, you will step into the spotlight and get your groove on until I call the next number! And here’s a rule to make things just a little bit spicier”there must be at least some physical contact! Just how much is up to you little scamps. And without further ado… here we go!”
He waved his wand again, and a song began to play. It was by a band called Basilisk Eat Hippogriff, and had the rather catchy name of “I Don’t Know If It’s Amortentia Or The Twelve Firewhiskies I Just Drank, But You Suddenly Look Really Attractive.”
“Number one!” called Anatoly. “Ooh, that’s me, let’s see which lovely lady I have the pleasure of dancing with tonight. Number eighteen!”
The ‘lovely lady’ happened to be Clio. I smirked a little bit as she walked sullenly toward the front of the room”anyone with a brain could tell she’d been hoping to dance with Tyrone. The two of them proceeded to do one of the most awkward dances I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing (and I remember Ted and Ivy at school dances)” Anatoly attempting some kind of disco routine while Clio nervously did some kind of booty-shaking thing.
It was actually really fun to watch the various pairs of complete strangers get up there and try to do something that looked at least vaguely like dancing. Patrick was paired with some old woman, and they did a little two-step. B.C.’s partner was a two-year-old girl, so their dance consisted of him twirling her around in circles in the air.
Everything was going just swimmingly until I heard Anatoly call out “number thirty-seven?” Wolfgang bounded up to the front of the room, all energy and excitement. “Aaaaand… number two!” Argh, not me, but that was okay”the whole fun of the game was dancing with people you didn’t know. Unfortunately, Wolfgang did know number two. Haley skipped up and joined him, beaming from ear to ear.
Their dance was a particularly sizzling salsa number. I’m not going to lie”it was by far the best that had been done so far. However, it was extremely… well, sexy. It was really, really sexy, just dripping with chemistry. And they both seemed to be having the time of their lives.
Wolfgang returned to his seat momentarily, flushed, a little bit sweaty and out of breath, and still grinning like he’d made the winning goal in a Quidditch match. “Well, that was really fun,” he said.
“Number four!” called Anatoly. I blinked when I heard my number, then strolled up to the front of the room. I resolved to dance at least as sensually as Haley with whoever I was paired with, even if it was an old guy… I just wanted to see if I could arouse a teeny-weeny spark of jealousy in Wolfgang. “Twenty-one!” Anatoly yelled.
And then I saw who number twenty-one was, and changed my plans entirely. Oh, blast, blast, blast…. It was Tyrone, of course. Of all the clichéd, entirely lame things that could’ve happened, it had to be Tyrone?
“So,” I said, looking at him sideways. “Looks like we have to do this.”
“What? Er, yeah,” he replied, with his usual conversational aplomb.
By now, the music had started again, and I did the first thing that came to mind”I grabbed Tyrone’s shoulder and started up a strange little waltz-type dance.
“Uh… interesting,” said Tyrone, looking rather startled. Actually, that’s a lie, I avoided looking into his face at all costs, but I’m guessing he looked rather startled.
“I’m choosing to pretend you’re a complete stranger,” I informed Tyrone under my breath. “It makes it all the easier.”
Tyrone said nothing, which was understandable.
“Now it’s your turn to talk,” I said. “So now you get to say something about the food or the singing, or the people here, or something.”
Tyrone squinted at me sideways”I could see it out of the corner of my eye. The weight of his hand on my waist was starting to make me extremely uncomfortable, not in the least because I remembered so well what those blocky, broomstick-callused hands felt like. It was hard to pretend I’d never met him before. “Do you always talk when you’re dancing?” he muttered.
“Oh, no, I just stare creepily at people while they’re talking to someone they like,” I replied. “You seem to like doing that, isn’t that right? Or do you not want me to open up that can of worms?”
“How about you don’t talk anymore, okay?” said Tyrone. There was nothing light or flippant about his voice. I wanted to say something back to him, just to spite him, but I could think of nothing else to say.
Besides, someone else was talking… “HELLO!” shouted Anatoly. “Hello, you two, get off the stage! I said you could sit down like a minute ago. Can you even hear a word I’m saying?”
I blinked, suddenly jolted into reality. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I scuttled back to my seat, and the feeling was just as uncomfortable as Tyrone’s hand on my waist. I could tell my ears had turned bright red again, and I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at Wolfgang when I sat down again; I was sure he was snickering at me. I sat there stewing silently as the rest of the pairs danced, counting the minutes until the party was over.
When the party wound down and everyone else was gathering their coats and hats or whatever, Wolfgang grabbed my arm. “Hey,” he said. “I get a feeling like you’re not yourself today. What’s wrong?”
“Dancing with Tyrone would do that,” I said. “And…” I couldn’t very bloody well say ‘well, you danced with my infamously flirty cousin, and you looked very into it, and I’m very insecure about these things, okay?’ So I blurted out, “Haley’s sister, Ivy? Well, she’s pregnant, and her husband”his name’s Ted”he went off to live with these werewolves, in this colony somewhere… he’s a werewolf, too, that’s why. And there’s this group of werewolves that live out in the wild, but they’re not part of the crazy rampaging werewolves, and those are the ones Ted’s staying with, and it’s””
“Whoa, slow down,” said Wolfgang in a calm, rational voice. “So, he’s with that colony of wild werewolves? Yeah, I’ve heard of it before, I think. They’re not that violent, are they? I bet he’ll be okay.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to have to talk about this anymore. I don’t know why I even brought it up. “I don’t like it when guys think it’s totally okay to just abandon everything and run, that’s all,” I said.
Wolfgang looked very subdued. “Listen, Em, I””
“Don’t call me ‘Em,’” I snapped, surprising even myself with the venom in my voice.
Wolfgang held up his hands as though he’d been burned. “Sorry,” he said disorientedly. “I didn’t know it’d bother you. Why”“
“Someone else I once dated used to call me that,” I replied darkly, and ducked out of the pub before he could say anything else.
Remember this book? Well! Jane gets a note inviting her to Netherfield, Bingley’s brand-spankin’ new house for dinner. (I always think that sounds dirty. “Oh, Mr. Bing-Bing, I’d love to visit your Netherfield, if you get my drift, wink-wink, nudge-nudge.”)
At first, Jane’s all excited because she gets to hang out with the Binglemeister, but then she realizes that the letter is from his diabolical sister, Caroline Bingley (more on her later), and the letter says, “My brother won’t be there, SUCKA!”
Well, Jane’s going to grab her carriage and go anyway, probably to smell Bingley’s pillows and all that good stuff, but Mrs. Bennet won’t let her take the carriage. She’s like, “Go on horseback! There’s going to be a terrible storm, and you’ll get sick and have to stay the night, hint-hint.”
It’s a win-win situation, and Jane gets really sick and has to stay at Bing-Bing’s Hot Bachelor Pad for some time. After a couple weeks, Elizabeth finally figures something’s up (told you she’s smart!) and goes to visit Jane at Netherfield (heeheehee).
Mr. Bingley’s all, “Oh, Jane’s super sick”I have to administer personal treatment! I’m afraid you can’t go see her. But feel free to hang out with the horrible Mr. D and my two diabolical sisters.”
So Elizabeth goes and hangs out with Mr. Darcy, who sits there being sullen, and Bingley’s sisters, Caroline and Louise, who aren’t as subtle as they think they are in being snide and insulting. To make matters even more horrible, Caroline is CONSTANTLY hitting on Mr. Darcy, despite the fact that he makes it VERY OBVIOUS that he doesn’t care about her at all. She simply cannot take a hint. She thinks she’s extremely suave and intelligent and refined, though it’s plain that Mr. Darcy thinks she’s the biggest loser.
My favourite part was when Elizabeth was reading and Caroline was making fun of her for reading. Then, she started listing all of the qualities of an ‘ideal woman,’ the only kind of woman good enough for Mr. D., all of which conveniently describe her. And then Darcy speaks up and says, “AND she should actually be interested in improving her mind and reading and stuff. BURN.”
He starts reading a book, so Caroline”are you listening-- picks up volume two of that book and starts going ‘boy, I sure do love to read! Yeah, this is good stuff!’ Then, after literally five minutes, she goes, “Hmm, I’m bored. Let’s do something else.” Yeah, books back then came in three volumes. I don’t think it’s a good idea to start on the second part of a book, especially when you’re as dumb as Caroline.
I get the idea that Mr. Darcy likes Elizabeth, but I don’t know why, because he already said she was ugly earlier. I know Elizabeth doesn’t like him, though. There was one part where Elizabeth was trying to think of some trait of Mr. Darcy’s that she could make fun of, because that’s what she likes to do. And Caroline’s just like, “OH NO, WE DON’T LAUGH AT MR. DARCY. HE’S PERFECT. HE HAS TO BE TAKEN TOTALLY SERIOUSLY AND PUT UP ON A PEDESTAL AND GENTLY TENDED LIKE A FINE PIECE OF ART.” Scary.
And Mr. Darcy just looks up and says, “Well, I don’t like talking to people I don’t know, and I don’t know anybody because I never talk to anybody. Also, on the very, very odd chance that I like someone, which isn’t often because I think I’m so much smarter and better-looking and richer and cooler than anyone else, I get annoyed with them really easily. And once I get mad at them, I never forgive them and hold grudges that fester and stew inside me until my dying day. Other than that, I’m perfect.” Nice guy, huh?
Elizabeth basically says, “Well, it’s pretty hard to laugh at that.”
And Darcy says, “Good. I hate laughter.”
And Elizabeth says, “You know, my problem with you is, you hate everyone.”
And Darcy says, “My problem with you is… you misunderstand everyone. I AM MISUNDERSTOOD, ELIZABETH. SO MISUNDERSTOOD. MY MIND IS A DANK, LONELY CAVE OF SHADOW AND DARKNESS.”
At this point, there are volts of electricity zapping forth between Elizabeth and Darcy’s fierce eye contact. And that’s when the door bursts open and Jane and Bingley come out looking suspiciously disheveled, and they’re like, “Well! Time to get going!”
Ivy says the next chapter of the book is when things start to get good. I’ll take her word for it. I hope Mr. Darcy isn’t in the rest of the book; he’s really annoying.