El amor en Barcelona
A/N: So! This is my first AU fic! Since I'm completely new at this, I'd like any suggestions and critique on this story! Oh, and encouragement is also received with pleasure.
I'd like to add that this "experiment" in my writing, as I like to think of it, is supposed to be a light piece. So please, no reviews of "OMG like where is Voldie! James is soooo an auror." And it's AU, my AU, and this label "AU" shall from now on cover over all non-canon-ness. Kthnx.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all the familiar faces and places and things.
Uno
Seven nineteen.
Bloody hell, I've lost track of time in the shower again. I dash madly from the bath into my room, leaving a trail of wet, splotchy footprints across the hall. Just a couple more minutes…if only I could find my…where is it this time? And why can't I ever find it when I actually need to use it!
"Gaaah!"
I shouldn't have told Catalina to go on ahead without me. She actually knows where everything is, and by "everything," I really do meaneverything. Barmy Queen of Cleanliness and Order around here. Not that it's a particularly large flat, or even "modesto" in size, as the advertisement had bragged. And as much as I complain all the time about how cramped our rooms are, I promise to dear old Merlin that I won't ever, ever complain about the size again if I find my—
There it is! Lying oh-so-innocently on the dresser, all but taunting me with a singsong-y, "I was here all along, you blind old bat!" (To which I most certainly would counter, "I am not an old bat. I'm not even old, thank you very much.")
Grabbing my wand, I expel all thoughts of rowing with a stick of wood. Now, what was I going to do with it? I can't bloody think when I'm so rushed like this. Clothes! Need. Clothes. I fly through my closet in a frenzy. My towel-wrapped hair is still spraying cold droplets all over the place, and I can practically see Catalina rolling her eyes at the wet spots everywhere.
Oh. That's why I was looking for my wand. I perform a quick drying charm on my hair, and with another twirl of the wrist, it winds itself into a bun. I love instant hairstyling charms. Now, back to the clothes. Rummaging through my clothes rack, my hand impulsively yanks at a peek of pastel green material. Light, soft dress robes, the kind that makes me think of tender shoots and sparkling summer days. Not bad, not bad at all. Since when did I own this? Oh well, no time to ponder that. I jump into them. Glancing at the mirror, I hastily dabble some light makeup on my face. Good enough. I whip my head around to check the time, and I almost start hyperventilating. I am so late. He is going to kill me.
And where is my purse?
About eight minutes later, I manage to control my panicking enough to Apparate out of the flat.
The gilded, ivory-white house flashes into my vision, with windows blazingly lit and all. A flush of conversations, mixed in with the music floating somewhere over my head, strikes me forcefully. I breathe deeply, inhaling the strong, briny smell of the ocean, and release a sigh of relief. I'm here. Better late than never. And he can't possibly notice that I'm late. I could've just been mingling; the crowd is thick. People, people, people everywhere, all along the shore and on the cushiony sand and a bit inland, where large white tents stand tall over food and drink and sleek round tables, each surrounded by four or five or seven chairs. What I would do for a house like this on the beach! Alvarez has too much money for his own good. He's the host of this party, another one of his lavish galas, another opportunity to show off and step even higher in the political world with incessant flattering of his invitees, who are all, of course, high-profile wizards and witches. Except for me.
Well, I could technically argue that I'm not exactly an invitee, only a minion under his office, and therefore forced to come to these parties and look good for Alvarez.
Anyway, I should probably be on the lookout for him. He'll call me over, like always, to some lot of hoity-toity folks, and I'll be trapped, Devil's Snare-style. The more I struggle, the more I'll have to stay. What a twisted high society. I start walking down toward the refreshments in my deliciously-comfortable-but-probably-too-casual sandals. Soft sand creeps between my toes with each step.
"Ah, there she is! ¡Oye, Evans! Where have you been?"
It's him! How does he do that, just spot me less than two minutes after arriving here, while I can't even find my wand half the time? He's with his usual crowd of high-profile officials. I force myself to grin, not grimace, and sweep over to Carlos Alvarez.
"Must have missed me," I say innocently while smiling widely at the surrounding wizards and witches. All of them are old, at least ten years older than me. I can't get away now.
"Gentlemen, this is Liliana—"
"Alvarez, please," I interrupt, cringing visibly at the Spanish version of my name. "It's Lily."
"Of course, of course!" Alvarez chuckles. "Everyone, please allow me to introduce Lily Evans, one of our Heads of the Spanish International Office of Law. Lily, this is Luiz, Ronaldo, and Elzira from the Association of National Portuguese Security, Erik, Sofia, and Andor from the Norwegian Ministry, Lorrae from the Ministry in Australia, and Dylan and Matthias from the International Federation of Warlocks."
"Very pleased to meet you all." I extend my right hand to the nearest one, who's wearing deep maroon dress robes and a matching hat. Ronaldo, right? I've forgotten already. This is going to be one long night.
I need another drink. Now. I wonder if he's finished with that pathetic excuse of a joke…
"And then!" the plump, pink-faced man exclaims. He pauses, biting back the punch line. Dramatic effect? Could be, but needless to say, it's hardly working. I hope in vain that he'll just hold that breath and shut it for the remainder of the night.
"What?" urges the woman on my right. I resist the impulse to turn my Evil Glare of Doom upon her. Why, oh why would anyone ever try to egg him on? She's the bony-faced one, with the sharp chin, hair slicked back in a ponytail, and mismatched dress robes. Verymismatched dress robes. Honestly, mauve and yellow? I don't like her one bit. She's obviously caught onto my escape plan and is trying to stall its execution.
"Then! The Auror says, 'Well, I can't, Minister, because you're sitting on it!'" Our resident joke-teller throws his round head back in a roar of laughter, spurring our small circle of an audience into chuckles, loudest of all from the bony-faced one. Genuine or polite, I really can't tell. For the sake of all good humor, I hope it's the latter. I cannot stand another second of this. I need a drink.
I nod slightly to the others and smile in what I hope to be a most gracious manner, before I slip out of the group and head toward my sanctuary. The refreshment table. I swear, I come here just for the food. I snatch another glass of light, bubbly pink punch. It slips down my throat, amazingly smooth and rich and tickles my entire mouth. The food and drink here are always delectable, as if apologizing for the company. Oh hors d'oeuvres, you almost make up for all the pain and dreadful conversation I've suffered at these parties. I reach for another appetizer, some sort of sticky fruit tart. I figure that I should reward myself for withstanding those awful jokes.
"Ahh! Lily! There you are!" I barely have time to spin around before a pair of long, tanned arms attacks me.
"Catalina!" I give a small shriek. So, so incredibly relieved am I at the moment. "Where have you been?"
"Me? Where have you been?" she accuses. I give her a look. In her airy tone, she finally says, "I've been hiding out here in the tents."
"You cow! And leave all of the boring old snores to me?"
She cocks her head and leans in with a smile. "Oh, they're not all boring old snores. Believe me, there are some good lookin' ones here tonight!"
I roll my eyes at Catalina's never-ending quest for a suitable male counterpart, but I survey the scene anyway. It's the same: well-dressed (or at least trying to be "well-dressed") and powerful wizards and witches up and down the stretch of the beach. Most of them have gray streaks in their hair and are wearing outdated dress robes. You would think that these ridiculously rich folks could at least pay someone to dress them well.
"Couldn't stomach another bad one from Goldie, huh?" Catalina snickers, nodding slightly in the direction from which I came. The same pink-faced man is wearing deep golden dress robes and, from the energetic look on his face, telling another one of his "jokes."
"I'd rather eat a Blast-Ended Skrewt." I gulp down the rest of my drink, savoring the sweet, pinching taste on my tongue, and set the emptied glass down on the table.
"What, and waste all of this lovely food?" she laughs. "Who is he, anyway? Another one Alvarez kisses up to?"
"Probably," I snort.
We watch the crowd in silence for a moment. Then, in a cluster of middle-aged women standing down by the shore, I see someone familiar. The faraway kind of familiar, like a childhood schoolmate or a striking stranger on the street. I blink, not quite believing my eyes. I blink again, and again. It's no hallucination; it's her. She's here, at the department head's annual bash. The hair, the ridiculously colourful dress robes, everything. Confusion sloshes around in my head.
What is she doing here?
"See, see, over there! There's one!" Catalina nudges my side sharply and shakes me from my stupor. "The tall, built one with the long hair. Oooh, delicioso."
"Huh? Where?" I jerk my head to the left.
"Don't be so obvious!" she exclaims quietly. "There. In the dark green." She giggles behind her hand. I make gagging noises behind my own after catching sight of him.
"He's old!" I hiss back. He looks like he's already in his late thirties, even early forties, though he has nice hair, dark and swept back, and a square jaw. Decent enough in the looks department, I suppose, if you could forget about his age for a moment. And I do approve of the dress robes.
"All right, all right, I'm going over there to talk to him!" she says excitedly. She puts her glass down, pats her intricately fixed-up hair, and walks off determinedly.
"But—but wait! I—ah…well then." She's out of earshot. Nobody can stop Catalina when she's on a mission, and for a man at that matter. But I'm so alone! Vulnerable, yet again, to the swirling currents of people around me, all threatening to suck me into their conversations. Maybe I should simply wander around, but look like I'm walking somewhere, purposefully. Yes, good plan. I start to head back down toward the ocean when I think I hear someone calling my name. I pause and look back over my shoulder. No one. I turn back around and take three steps before I hear it again. Someone is shouting my name, or I'm going nutters.
"Lily! Lily Evans! Is that you?"
I freeze. It's her. She's spotted me. The one and only Lynn Potter.