author's note: this continues to belong to Rowling and I continue to hope you like it.
Chapter Three
"Reaching Out"
Or
"A Dip in My Daydreams"
Lily Luna Potter was not the type to frequent near-claustrophobic concerts, especially not at three in the afternoon. The Three Broomsticks had been magically darkened, all outside sound obliterated. The atmosphere of the establishment was hazy and glittering, with students from thirteen to seventeen pressed together in close quarters, dancing with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tumbleweed's Hogsmeade performance had become rather a popular topic of discussion over the past couple of weeks; it was highly likely that many of the people in the crowd had never heard a single song by the band in question, but had paid the necessary Sickles ticket fee so to not be left out. Everybody seemed to be enjoying things now. Lucy was dancing with Philip Smith of Hufflepuff, Hugo kept looking hopefully in Gabbie Sterling's direction – Jeremy Peakes had asked Lily to dance about five minutes previous, but she wasn't too keen on it. Her brother was around here somewhere, with Sennen Cartwright and probably Scorpius, too, if he wasn't busy snogging his girlfriend backstage.
"Hey, you," came a voice from right behind her.
Lily turned with a start. Scorpius Malfoy stood with his arms folded, eyeing her and grinning. She mirrored his pose. "Hey, you."
Scorpius laughed. "Enjoying it?"
Lily shrugged. "I like the songs, I guess, but the entire thing's not really my cup of tea."
"Why's that?"
"I guess I'm more of a sports girl than a Tumbleweed."
He smiled, nodding. "I get that."
They stood side by side, Scorpius much taller than Lily, and surveyed the large group of people dancing and enjoying the music.
"Are you here with someone?" Scorpius asked after a quick ukulele solo by Benji Marchbanks.
Lily shook her head. "Just myself," she told him, still watching the crowd. She chuckled. "I mean, Peakes keeps asking me out, but no – that's never happened."
Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "Right – which one's Peakes?"
Lily pointed him out. "The one in red…"
"…dancing with the Harris girl?"
"More like dancing on the Harris girl," Lily muttered, at which Scorpius barked a laugh. Lily turned to him, giggling as well. "Don't have a fit, buddy. I'm always this hilarious and you'll have to keep up."
"I suppose I shall."
Suddenly very aware of their proximity and also the fact she found him obscenely good-looking, Lily averted her attention to the stage, and the band that was on it. She could feel Scorpius watching her, before he, too, looked to Tumbleweed.
"Is Patricia backstage, then?" Lily asked, after a moment of concentrating on Harrison's singing.
"Yeah – she has to keep everything going, make sure they're ready for it all. Boring stuff, really."
Lily smiled.
"Al's here, too. Andy didn't fancy it, though, so he's here with Sennen," Scorpius explained, though Lily was already aware of this. "Must've got lost somewhere in the sea of Hogwarts kids."
"Wow," said Lily. "'Hogwarts kids'? You're quick to separate."
Scorpius nudged her with his elbow. "You know what I mean."
"No I don't," Lily mocked, "I'm a Hogwarts kid!"
"Nonsense – you're not included in the mob that I was referring to."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I like you."
Lily shrugged. "Cool."
Scorpius raised his eyebrows. "You can't just say cool – I paid you a compliment!" He mimicked her shrug and put on a voice. "'Cool'."
"Scorpius – "
"'Hey, Lily, I just saved every house-elf from abusive households.' 'Cool.'"
"That's not – "
"'I literally just built a palace of licorice wands, just for you.' 'Cool.'"
"You're an idiot – "
"'I'm Scorpius Malfoy.' 'Cool.'"
Lily shoved him with her side. "You cool yet?"
"I don't know," he replied, grinning down at her, "am I?"
"No, you're not. You're very, very uncool."
"Cool."
"Oi!"
They were near collapsing with mirth, and Scorpius put an arm around Lily to steady both himself and her. She had a hand on his chest to stop herself toppling backwards. Albus and Sennen emerged from the crowd at that moment, followed by Cordelia, and Al's face went red.
"Done manhandling my sister, Scorpius?" he asked by way of greeting, and Sennen and Cordelia grinned at Lily to signify a hello.
Lily's hand slipped very consciously back to her side, and Scorpius removed his arm from where it had been wound around her, coughing pointedly. Lily rolled her eyes at Albus. "Merlin, Al, not like he's going to drop his girlfriend of four years for your seventeen-year-old sister."
It may have been the tricky lighting, but Lily noticed both boys go progressively pinker in the face. She turned her attention to Sennen and Cordelia, the former of whom she did not know very well.
"Have you seen Gabbie?" Lily asked of Cordelia, "I know she was really eager to see you when she found out you were coming."
"Oh, yeah!" said Cordelia. "I just caught up with her – she was with Hugo," she added. "Funny, I always thought there was something going on there, from the owls I received…"
Lily shrugged. "There could be, but nobody's said anything about it."
"Fred and Barbara?" Cordelia surmised.
"Hugo does keep talking about something called a 'Fred boat'," said Lily.
"Oh," said Al. "Well – that'll be it."
Sennen asked, with her eyes trailing over the crowd, undoubtedly in search of Hugo or the Ravenclaw of which they had been speaking, "is Gabbie Sterling the pretty blonde one in blue?"
"Yeah," said Cordelia, while Al pointed to where Gabbie was – as it happened – asking his cousin if he'd like to dance with her.
The five of them continued to watch on as Hugo agreed to do so, and Tumbleweed's lyrics changed from I had an inkling you'd be here tonight to There's a pool of bougainvillea in the garden, crooned and vocalized.
"Have you danced at all?" Scorpius asked Lily. "Or have you just been rejecting invitations from boys you know aren't good enough for you?"
Al raised his eyebrows. "What's this?"
Lily ignored him. "I've rejected one invitation, and trust me, it's an invitation I've been rejecting for three years. Honestly, Scorpius, you're worse than Al."
"How?" asked Albus, Scorpius, and Sennen all together, while Cordelia smiled – evidently, she had taken something from this that the others hadn't.
"Never you mind," Lily told Scorpius and Albus, before she beamed at Sennen. "I don't believe we've actually been properly introduced. I'm Lily, and I promise I don't hate everything as much as I seem to."
"Sennen," replied the girl to whom the name belonged, "I bake with Andy. Well, she bakes, I market."
"Still doing exceptionally, though, aren't you?" said Cordelia.
"Oh, hell," said Al, "I think that's a bit of an understatement."
"The Muggle newspapers say we're taking Bristol by storm," Sennen told the group. "To infinity and beyond!"
When no one seemed to have cottoned on to the allusion, she added, "That's from a Muggle film. I don't just say things like that."
"You kind of do," Al told her, "but that's why we keep you around."
"I thought it was for my impeccable taste in music!"
"No, that's usually what we've got Patricia for."
"Got me what?" came Patricia's voice. She hurried up to them through a gap in the audience, squeezing past Lily to reach Scorpius, who gave her a high-five that most of the group knew would have commonly been something more.
"Impeccable music taste," Cordelia told her. "You've got it."
"That much is true," said Patricia, nodding her head. "Have you lot been enjoying the music, then? Oh – hello, Lily," she added, perhaps realizing that she had not said anything to the younger girl.
Cordelia beamed enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah, it's been really good!"
"Sennen's in love with Harrison," Albus noted.
"I am nothing of the sort!" Sennen argued, though she said it fondly.
"I don't blame you," said Patricia, "he's quite a strapping bloke."
"Not as strapping as me, though?" Scorpius asked, smirking.
"Oh, of course not."
"Benji's pretty fit, though," Lily remarked, investigating the bass player. Albus coughed loudly. "I'm seventeen, Al, I can't pretend to be asexual just to make you happy!"
"It'd probably make it easier for Jeremy Peakes to sleep at night," Scorpius quipped.
Lily shot him a look. "Oh, get out of it!"
"So are we expecting the pitter-patter of tiny feet any time soon?"
James, fourteen minutes into an interview for the December issue of Behind The Game: A Quidditch Mag, laughed. "From me?" he asked the reporter, who nodded. James shook his head. "Certainly not, no. I'm incredibly single and unattached."
"I imagine that's good for lots of people to hear."
He looked around the room, a brightly lit chamber in a Manchester. It was a beautiful day outside, as James could tell through the open windows. They were hidden in the depths of the Muggle world, and he could hear the traffic jam outside the building.
"Well, then," said the reporter, "have you considered moving up to Montrose? You live in London – don't you?"
"Yeah," said James. He ran a few fingers along his jawline, a gesture of concentration – and he needed a shave. "I've considered it, but my life outside Quidditch is very London-based; my mates are all there, my parents' work. Plus my family's got a place, and that's where I'm living. I spend a lot of time up in Montrose, yeah, but it's just training and stuff. I mean, I practically lived seven years in Scotland while I was at Hogwarts, so it's… yeah, I'm a London kind of guy, I guess. It's more my speed."
"You say your friends are all in London – who are those, in particular?"
James smiled. "Uh… well, my cousin Fred lives there – he's working at the joke shop – and I've got blokes from the league, like Toby McDonnell from the Arrows," he paused, wondering if the next person was someone he should even include, but then he embraced his usual I'm James Sirius Potter who cares motto, and added, "Cordelia Gilbert from the Prophet's a good friend, too – London's just an easy place to be."
"Is this the girl you dated briefly when you were seventeen?"
"Ten months, yeah."
"And you're still friends?"
James nodded, a fond expression wafting over his face. "Yeah, that's about right."
Cordelia Gilbert had not taken three steps away from Ginny Potter when she was cornered by a Behind the Game: A Quidditch Mag reporter. The middle-aged man from the magazine was a senior reporter, this much was known to Cordelia – yet she could not quite understand why he would like to talk to her.
"Your boy James has said you two are friendly again, eh?"
Cordelia fought very hard to refrain from rolling her eyes. Did anyone actually want to speak to her these days, or did they just seek her out to insist she was seeing James Potter? "I severely doubt he meant it."
"So you aren't?"
"Oh, we're friends," said Cordelia, "but that's very much it. I haven't seen him in a month or so."
Her conversational partner frowned. "That's no good, is it?"
"We're both busy with our jobs," Cordelia insisted. "I've actually got to work at functions like this – and he's playing in the matches, isn't he? I don't think that's too much of a tragedy."
She began to make her way away from him – she didn't even know this man's name, and he was trying to ask her about her personal life! The gall!
"So who are you seeing now, then? Another bloke from the league?"
Cordelia stopped in her tracks. "Nobody," she replied, turning briefly back to face the unnamed reporter. "Where did you get that impression?"
"Well, you've already been out with one professional Quidditch player, I – "
" – When I was sixteen," Cordelia snapped. "That was before he even played for the Magpies! I'm going to go now, and I sincerely hope you – or another of your colleagues – will not bring up this topic again."
She sped away, her steps a little more pronounced than she had intended them to be. "The bloody nerve of these so-called 'journalists'," she muttered under her breath. Hurrying to catch up with Ginny, she ignored the reporter calling after her about whether or not her statement could be counted as a comment.
"Did somebody just insult Gwenog Jones?" Ginny asked, noticing Cordelia's disgruntled expression. (They shared a mutual admiration for the manager of the Welsh Quidditch team.)
Cordelia shook her head. "No – just invading my privacy." She half-laughed. "Normal day in the field."
Ginny made a disparaging noise. "Who was it this time? I didn't see Witch Weekly around here…" She turned away from Cordelia, her eyes scanning the room.
"No, no, no – it's not them!" said Cordelia quite quickly. "Don't worry about it, Ginny, it's honestly nothing I'm not used to by now."
They continued walking; the games were over, and Ginny had collected the statements from players while Cordelia had an interview of her own, so they made to leave with the rest of the journalists.
"D'you want to grab lunch?" Ginny asked, holding open the door of the press tent so that Cordelia could go ahead.
"Sure, that'd be lovely," said Cordelia (who was still slightly disbelieving that she was on close terms with the same Ginny Weasley she had read about as a kid). "Philomena's?"
"Yeah, it's been a while since we went."
November rolled into December with a very literal four inches of snow. The grounds of Hogwarts barely allowed for continued Quidditch practices, for it was so very cold, and even – or perhaps especially – in England, the chilly weather was whipping at noses and ankles in a manner Jack Frost would have been proud of. Barbara Weasley was curled up in her sheets on a particularly dreamlike Sunday morning, and she couldn't tell if the tingles she felt were her nerve endings reacting to the cold or if they were due to the fact that her last name was now, officially, Weasley.
She was smiling, despite being awakened by rain smattering against the thin apartment roof at seven o'clock in the morning, and she continued to smile as she felt a pair of arms pull her closer to her husband.
Her husband. Oh, goodness. That was a notion, wasn't it?
His arms were much darker than hers, and they reminded her of the Cookies-N-Cream ice cream her father had bought her as a kid when they moved under the sheets and wound around her. Fred always felt warm, which was a great benefit in this dreary weather; Barbara pressed herself back against him, hoping to close any distance between the two of them, because she disliked the cold and loved him so very much.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Fred breathed against her neck.
Barbara smiled. "'Morning."
"You know," he murmured, "this would be a lot more romantic if I didn't have about a foot of hair in my mouth right now."
She laughed, and rolled over, so that his hands fell on her shoulder blades; one of them began to trace her spine. "I'm sorry about that. I should cut it."
Fred shook his head slightly. "Don't do that – I love it. I love you."
"That'd explain the cold metal band pressed against my back right now, yeah."
"Oi, I've got your two against my heart, you know. I think we're even."
Barbara looked up at him, scruffy and unkempt. His dark red hair stuck out in all directions – she thought briefly that he looked like James with his hair like that, and then shoved the thought out of her head because the last thing she wanted to be in bed with was James Sirius Potter – and if she wasn't so enamored of him she wouldn't have loved the stubble that lined his jaw, framed his mouth. She had completely forgotten that the reason she looked up had been to tell him that having two rings pressed against his heart would probably be the most symbolic thing in the world, and that hopefully the emotion behind the two rings on her left hand would linger by his heart for many, many years; instead he had distracted her, as he so often did.
"What are you staring at, Weasley?" Fred asked, a crooked smile already beaming across his face.
"You, Weasley," replied Barbara, closing her eyes and craning her neck to kiss him.
Fred's hand moved to cup her face, and when they broke apart, he said, "I'll never get tired of that."
"I hope not."
"Oh, that's a guarantee."
Barbara nestled herself into Fred's chest and his hand once again curved around her.
"I don't want to wake up," said Barbara.
"I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but, uh – "
" – Oh, shut it! I meant I didn't want to get out of this bed. I don't. Not ever."
Fred's thumb rubbed a spot just above her ribcage, tracing circles on her skin. "Not even to go to James's place tonight?"
"Well, maybe for that," said Barbara frankly. "I imagine that'll be lots of fun."
"Felix and Elena will be there; it's been a while since we saw them."
"Oh, I've not seen Elena since before New York!"
Fred and Barbara had spent their honeymoon in New York, because Barbara had always loved the idea of it. She hadn't ever been to New York – neither of them had – but everything her Muggle father ever told her about it had made her want to go: the bright lights, the musicals – oh, yes, she especially loved those. Fred didn't understand why she dragged him to so many – over their fortnight in New York, they watched forty shows – but he was not one to complain, because he was so dizzyingly fond of her, and because he kind of liked show tunes (though it was the kind of thing he would never ever admit to James or Roxanne).
But it had been months since their honeymoon, months since their wedding, and neither could quite comprehend it. Their marriage – and both still blushed calling it that – did not seem like a real event, a real state of life; it occurred in a state where it could have been forever or it could have been a second, and no difference would have been made. However, the reality of the situation was that Barbara had seen neither Elena nor Felix since before her wedding, and the same was true for Fred.
"Rose is coming, and she's bringing her Will bloke – "
" – Will Bowen? Cordelia will like that," Barbara supposed, "they were always very good friends."
"Yes," said Fred quickly, "they're both coming, and I think Roxanne and Wood are coming – Merlin, if they snog on the couch again like last time – "
" – Then Roxanne will have to avert her eyes while her very married brother snogs his very happy wife on the couch beside." Barbara smiled up at Fred and kissed him again.
"I don't know how everyone else will like that."
"I don't think you care very much about how everyone else will like it."
Fred grinned. "You know me so well."
There was a momentary pause, and then Barbara continued counting the guests who would be in attendance. "Cordelia's coming, and so are Al and Andy – "
" – Shoot, that's a mouthful, isn't it? They'll definitely have to sort that out if they keep on seeing each other – "
" – Shut up, Fred; I'm trying to think of guests – "
" – But that's it, if I remember correctly: you, me, Felix, Elena, Rose, Bowen, Rox, Wood, Cordelia, Al, Andy? Blimey, it's a wonder James has the space in his drawing room."
"He calls it a 'drawing room'?"
"Barbs, it was once owned by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black; of course the person who's living there calls it a 'drawing room'."
Barbara rolled her eyes at him. "Alright!" she muttered, and in the next moment she had rolled not only her eyes at her husband but herself out of bed, and she began to head for the door, while Fred complained behind her.
"Why did you do that?"
"I have a job," she replied, with faux innocence. "A job which – unlike yours – does not take place downstairs. And I need to get ready for it."
Fred collapsed back into the sheets, groaning. "I wish you'd never got that stupid promotion."
"Why, because I have to work half-days on Sundays? Or because you preferred when you could say your girlfriend had a job that was sort of pronounced like A-Quack?"
"Both," he grumbled.
She laughed at him. "Good heavens, I've married a child."
"Given the month of disparity between our birthdays," said Fred, "it could be said that that is true."
Again, she laughed at him.
Cordelia was standing by James's vintage record player, from which a Beatles vinyl resounded, magically emitting not simply the same song, but every song, and she guessed that there had been something slightly illegal in its manner of possession. She had been hovering by it all evening – and, in truth, that simply meant the fifteen minutes she had been at Number Twelve. She had entered the house to I Saw Her Standing There, which transitioned into I've Just Seen A Face, and now Misery was wafting its way through the room, though the general mood of the party was vastly different to the title of the song.
Barbara and Fred were sitting on one couch, opposite James who was sprawled across the other, with his feet up on the coffee table. Felix and Elena were chatting to the newlyweds animatedly – could Barbara and Fred still be called 'newlyweds' if the wedding had taken place two months ago? Cordelia pondered this as she took a swig of the butterbeer James had offered upon her appearance at the door.
"And what are you doing over there by yourself?" Barbara exclaimed, jumping off the couch and hurrying over to where Cordelia was – admittedly – standing alone.
"I'm just appreciating Lennon," said Cordelia, at which James snorted.
Fred made rather a pointed move across the couch, so that there was space for Barbara and Cordelia both to sit, but James made an equally pointed stretching gesture and pointed – literally – to the empty space beside him. Cordelia rolled her eyes, aware that everybody (most especially Felix and Elena) was watching her reaction. She opted, as many do, for a friendly chuckle.
"First you make fun of me for liking John, then you ask me to sit with you – I don't know what you want with me, James, I really don't."
He laughed, watching her as she sat down beside him. "I wasn't making fun of you – I just don't particularly like him, myself."
Fred and Barbara continued conversation with Elena and Felix, and Cordelia replied, "Oh, neither do I. George is my favourite."
"What?" said James, as though he had just taken a bite of a pear to find it tasted like a damp sock. "Did you just say George was your favourite? How can George be your favourite?" He stared at her. "Come on, Cordelia, if you're going to have an ironic favourite, at least make it Ringo like everybody else does!"
The doorbell rang, and James jumped up to get it. "I'll keep telling you off in ten seconds, dearest."
He raced to the door, eager to get back to a conversation with Cordelia Gilbert that hopefully – for once – would not end in him mindlessly flirting with her and she talking about books or death. Upon opening said door, James discovered Christopher Wood and Fred's sister Roxanne nose-to-nose (despite a rather comical height difference) in what seemed to be a Quidditch-related argument. They were usually to be discovered this way; the couple seemed to spend their time either disputing Quidditch superiority or snogging in shrubbery. (Either way, someone ended up offended. If the latter activity was involved, this tended to be Fred.)
"Puddlemere," said James, nodding to Wood, "Holyhead," he said in the same tone, nodding to Roxanne. "Want to take this argument inside where you can drink Firewhiskey or Oak-Matured Mead?"
Roxanne patted him on the arm as she passed. "Don't mind if I do, Monty."
Wood chuckled into his hand and followed his girlfriend as James called after her, "That better not stick, Roxie, or I'll kill you!"
In less than a minute, James had returned to Cordelia's side, though he had chosen to go about getting there in the least orthodox way possible. (He had jumped over the back of the couch and scooted as close as he could get to her without being conspicuous. While Miss Gilbert had opted for butterbeer, James had not, and the Firewhiskey was liquid courage he most certainly did not need.)
"Fine. Who's your favourite, then?" demanded Cordelia, who had definitely noticed James's arm stretched along the back of the couch, and had made a mental note not to lean on it at any point because his hand would definitely be in her hair or close to it and she wasn't sure if they were back to that stage of a friendship yet. She wasn't sure if they had ever been there, to be quite honest.
"Paul," James said easily.
"Why's that?"
"He stuck around the longest, didn't he? I mean, Cynthia and Julian and all that – "
" – Can Cynthia be my favourite Beatle?" Cordelia asked.
James looked at her, and she seemed genuine. Then again, this was Cordelia, and she always seemed genuine. "I don't know if she counts. I'd like her to."
"Wanting to put her in the Beatle category might be offensive to everything she had to deal with while she was with John, though," Cordelia considered. "I don't know if I'd like to subject her to that."
"You really care about Cynthia, don't you?"
"Someone has to. Don't you?"
Yes, he did, very much. But at the same time, James could not help but think about a ride they had taken on the Knight Bus when he was seventeen, when he had told Cordelia that the Weasley boys had divided themselves into Beatles members and he himself was John. Did that make her Cynthia, then? Did he have a Yoko?
Cordelia reached over and gave James's shoulder a little shake. "Are you okay? You've spaced out on me." She laughed at his delayed reaction. (In reality, his skin seemed to be on fire, and he wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the girl or a mixture of both.) "Come on, Al and Andy aren't even here – Rose and Will aren't – and you're already sloshed."
"I am not," said James defiantly. "I've had one glass, and I'll not have anymore, if it bothers you. Come on," he added as an afterthought, "let's go and see what song we can get the vinyl to play."
What he wanted very much was not to find a song on the record player that they both liked, because those were easy to get and James liked things that required a little work; instead, he was preoccupied by Cordelia, and what he might do to have her touch him again, or vice versa. Viciously, he attempted to push the thoughts from his head. They were meant to be friends, and nothing more, and he was meant to be content with that. She certainly was.
Albus and Andy arrived a few minutes later; the latter held a cake that had James Potter's Epic House Party Thingy That Actually Isn't A Party written in the icing, which made everyone in the vicinity laugh.
"I can't take credit for it, I'm afraid," Andy admitted. "All Sennen's work."
"Who's Sennen again?" asked Elena.
"Andy's business partner," said Al, grinning slightly.
The door creaked open and Rose crept through, followed by her boyfriend Will. Rose's hair was red and Will's coat was blue, and they were an overwhelmingly ordinary couple, in that she was bossy and he was beautiful and they were both incredibly bright. Almost immediately, while James was distracted with a cake and a cousin or three, Will and Cordelia leapt into a conversation that they did not leap out of for another twenty minutes.
"So why did you invite all of us here tonight?" Barbara asked, sidling up to James after a few moments of watching him pretend not to watch Cordelia and Will. "Just a casual hangout?"
"You know me," James smirked. "I'm the king of casual."
Barbara raised her eyebrows. "I can't think of anyone more inversely qualified for that title, actually."
"Shut up, Weasley."
"You've cottoned on quickly to the change."
James laughed. "I've been preparing for it since fifth year."
"Why fifth year?"
"Niall," said James, by way of explanation. "Fred hated both your boyfriend and the homophonous river, and that's when I knew he really fancied you."
She smiled. "Do you still prefer Cordelia in a spherical room?"
"What are you on about?"
"No Corners."
"Ah. Good one. No. She is free to see who she likes, and always was."
Barbara shook her head, laughing. "Who are you trying to kid, James? I keep seeing the way you look at her; it's like there's a light flicking on in your head."
"You keep your metaphors going, Barbara. I'm sure they'll be accurate one day."
"You still don't look like the light's gone out, you know."
James half-smiled. "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out."
Barbara looked at him quizzically. "That was oddly philosophical."
"It's a Muggle song lyric," he said. "You should know better than I do."
"I'm afraid not."
James shrugged. "It'd just further your theory, anyway. She showed it to me." He pushed his empty glass toward Cordelia, who was now grinning at something Andy had just said. "It's one of the Muggle songs she likes." He swore despairingly. "Barbs, why do I remember that? Why do I care about that?"
"Get your head out of your arse," exclaimed Fred, who had just swung an arm around his wife. "This get-together was for everyone who showed up, not so all of us could give you advice on a rotation."
"Oh, shove it," James muttered. "You're just mad because you've seen Roxanne and Wood snogging in the loo."
"How in Merlin's pants – "
" – It's my house," said James. "Not a lot happens that I don't know about."
"I'd object to that," Barbara said under her breath. She couldn't have backed it up in court but she was certain there were a great deal of things James Potter did not know, even in his own house.
By half past ten, Andy and Albus had left the gathering; the former had a business to run and the latter was halfway through Auror training, with no desire to show up shattered. Roxanne and Wood followed suit shortly after, when Fred had taken to sulking about the fact a bloke he had slept in the same dormitory as for seven years was now seeking to do the same thing with his little sister (Roxanne would have none of this, and said it was either she and Chris left or she hexed Fred which she did not want to do in front of his wife and their present company).
Rose and Will departed at eleven, and perhaps it was the revelation that her closest friend at the party was leaving, but Cordelia made to do the same a few minutes later. While the rest of the group had simply Disapparated or used the Floo Network, James saw fit to make some excuse to walk Cordelia to the door.
"Always exciting with this lot," he began as soon as they had cleared the drawing room.
"I guess that's the word for it," Cordelia replied. "Feels a bit odd to be surrounded by couples, though, when you're not part of one."
"Odd?"
"No, I suppose that's not quite the word for it."
James smirked. "Cordelia, if you want to be in a couple with me, just say so."
She glared at him, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "That's not what I meant."
"I know," said James, watching her intently. They made their way down the short corridor to the door and after a couple of steps James felt compelled to add, "You know, I think it's strange that you spend more time with my mum than you do with me."
Cordelia, who had been a foot or so in front of James, stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "Oh?"
"Well, we're mates, aren't we?"
"What, and Ginny and I are best – "
" – Don't call her 'Ginny'," said James with an eyes-closed shake of his head. "She's my mum and you shouldn't be calling her 'Ginny' because that's making me feel weird."
Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "Sorry?"
"No – I mean – it's fine, it's just forcing me to think of you two as actually being friends and I can't fathom that."
She looked at him.
"I used to write her letters about dating you!"
"You did?" Cordelia laughed. "That's very cute."
James groaned. "I don't want to be cute, I want to leave you incoherent."
"You used to, a bit," she told him, chuckling. "Unfortunately, times change like the weather, and such is life."
"I liked you much more when you weren't friends with my mum."
"Oh, you like me just fine."
"But what if she tells you some embarrassing anecdote about me? Do you promise to cover your ears?"
Cordelia stared at James. "Do you honestly just think your mum and I get together to have conversations about you?"
He shrugged. "Well, maybe. You have me in common!" he added desperately, after another bemused look. "I mean, you've both – seen me – uh – or – I don't know – " He trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what great James-related similarities Cordelia and Ginny shared.
"James, you're making this weird."
"He's not trying to snog you, is he?" came Fred's overly loud voice from the threshold of the drawing room.
James and Cordelia both laughed, and the latter replied, "No, he's being moderately decent."
"Moderately?" James asked, acting insulted. "Not even 'perfectly'?"
"Well – no – you keep talking about your mum and I'm just trying to say 'good night'."
"True," he considered, and he put a hand on the doorknob so to eventually open it for her, but also in order to keep her from leaving before he had said what he wanted to say. "But with all my strange antics, I haven't turned you off this kind of stuff, have I? Because I was thinking of another one next month, just a few mates, and – "
" – Yeah," she replied. "Yeah, why not?"
"Brilliant." James cleared his throat. "Uh – yeah. Sounds good. I'll… see you then?"
"Or maybe before," said Cordelia, "considering how much you seem to casually show up in the press tent of Quidditch matches that aren't yours."
He grinned at her. "I just can't keep away."
"Oh, believe me," she replied. "I've noticed."
