I can literally feel my eyes widen. He wants to go to Hogsmeade with me? In actual, real life, someone wants to go out with me?
He snorts. "Don't give me that look. Trust me, I have no desire to go on a date with you. I just need you to walk down the main street with me a few times."
He spits out the word date so ferociously I know there's something behind it. I haven't read all that teenage fiction for nothing. This is how they always start. Boy meets girl, girl hates boy, boy engineers secret plan to get to spend more time with her while knowing with maximum angst that she'll never love him -
And I'm terrified. It's one thing reading the book. But Finnlay's actually just asked me out. Or as good as, anyway, and he hasn't given me any time to come around to the idea. I'm still genuinely on the hate side of the love-hate spectrum! This is not going according to plan!
I turn away from him. "I don't see why I need to go to Hogsmeade with you if all you want is a walk." And besides, all he did was move his hand. What was the worst that would have happened? Professor Piper would have sighed in frustration at my complete lack of a green thumb, and that would have been the end of it. He certainly doesn't deserve a whole day of my time.
"Whatever, go to Hogsmeade on your own, I don't care. Just -"
He hesitates, and I'm so fascinated that I can't bear to prod him. I'm already taking notes for my Sir Finnlay character. (I've got to stop calling him that, don't I? I highly doubt they have knights in the twenty-first century. Especially in Muggle culture. They probably got rid of knighthoods five hundred years ago.)
"Just -" He turned away, his cloak slipping down over his shoulders, but he didn't seem to notice. "I don't expect you to care. But my mother will be watching. I need her to see me with a woman before she -"
She stared at him, wide-eyed at the revelation. He had a dying mother? Suddenly a lot of things about him fell into place. She reached out, but he pushed her hand away.
"Don't give me that look," he said sharply, his eyes boring into hers. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me. Don't you dare think you understand me. You think I'm evil now? She's the only thing keeping me sane right now. So when she dies -"
I shiver, loving the way this story seems to be falling into place almost effortlessly. Oh, I can't wait to start writing. I'm desperately looking forward to the Hogsmeade weekend now.
Maybe I should steal some of that dialogue and give it to David. He's got dead parents, doesn't he? Okay, so he doesn't have to give the evil part of it -
I click my fingers. Maybe he does think he's evil. Maybe that's part of his mysterious past. And let's be honest, why would Sir Finnlay be confiding in my witch character anyway -
I look up, only to find Finnlay staring at me, a mixture of confusion and amusement on his face. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Of course I'm -" Okay, so maybe I drifted off for a bit there. It's not my fault he's such an exciting character.
The real Finnlay continues, the odd expression from before having disappeared completely. "I don't care how long this stupid walk is. As long as it's in public."
He wants to be seen with me! "Just one walk?" I say cautiously. I'm not going to betray my overflowing feelings to him, obviously. And there's a very small part of me that's wondering what's going on. I don't want this to be moving this fast. I need time to - to -
I don't know. But how am I supposed to know if I'm madly in love with him if I've barely spent ten minutes actually talking to him?
It's alright, I say to myself a little uneasily. I'm not supposed to be in love with him at this point in the story. That's the whole point of the walk. So I can spend more time with him and realise my passions for him are very different to the ones I'd imagined...
"Just one walk. Up and down the street a couple of times. Whatever you want. As long as it's in Hogsmeade."
If nothing else, I can spend more time sketching out Sir Finnlay... "Fine. I'll be in the Three Broomsticks. We can walk after lunch, I've got stuff to do in the morning."
"I'll be there at one. Don't waste my time."
Breakfast. Again. I go for fruit this morning, deciding that on the off chance Finnlay's right and breakfast has decided to curse me, it's because of all the scrambled eggs and bacon I've been eating.
Because today is Saturday, and there's no way I want any 'incidents' interrupting my Hogsmeade weekend.
Haven't heard from Teddy since his last letter. It was acceptably long, but since most of it was rambling on about his job I'm not sure it counts as interesting gossip. I tell him all about my love life, don't I? I don't see why he can't do the same.
That said I doubt there's too many eligible females out in the woods in the middle of Wales.
I'm quite proud of Teddy, actually. I told him that the first time he told us he was going to be a gamekeeper. The rest of the family was appalled, of course - he gets five NEWTS and all of them Outstandings, and he wants to be a gamekeeper?
But that's what he wanted, and that's what he's wanted since the first day of third year when Hagrid introduced them all to Skrewts. And since I am all about following your dreams (and since I realise that I'm not likely to take my own advice, and will end up writing the community pages in whatever local paper I settle for) I took it upon myself to congratulate him.
And he seemed quite pleased about it too, which was nice. Teddy's alright, when he's not painting rude words on my back in sunscreen lotion. I shudder to think of how he's dealing with responsible full-time employment.
"Ready for the big day?" Georgia takes a seat next to me, her satchel already packed with healthy snacks for the day. That's one thing she hasn't changed this year - her obsession with good health and not eating junk food. Although, as she's demonstrating right now, she always makes an exception for bacon.
Because, seriously, who wouldn't.
"Have you told Betsy yet?"
I look away. I told Georgia about it immediately, of course - and in normal circumstances I would have told Betsy, I honestly would have!
But I can't stop thinking that all her recent moodiness has something to do with Finnlay.
And given Betsy's attitude to Finnlay, is it really that surprisingly that I wouldn't want to tell her I'm seeing him today?
Shrugging, I heap some sausage onto my plate. Hogsmeade days are hard work. They can't be conquered only with fruit. "I figured I'd just say it was an accident."
"And when she finds out?" Georgia hisses from across the table.
"Finds out what?"
Betsy takes her place next to Georgia, and I try desperately to come up with an excuse.
"Finds out what?" she says again, and I'm stalling, and Georgia's giving me significant looks and raising her eyebrows at me from across the table. "Are you meeting someone today?"
I look up, startled, but Betsy's calmly eating breakfast, no sign of the weirdness of the last few days.
"Yes, you are, aren't you?" Georgia says significantly.
I wince. And just when Betsy seemed to be coming around, too! They're looking at me now, I have to say something -
And then the owls arrive, and I look desperately around for Owl in the flurry of feathers above us. Betsy gets the Daily Prophet, so if all else fails I can fake an interest in whatever the headline is today - Surrey man admits to rest of headline, you are my biggest fascination right now - but then Owl drops a letter in my lap, and I breathe a sigh of relief, refusing to look at Georgia.
I tear open the letter. It's from Teddy.
Victoire,
Yeah, you read that right. Don't get too excited. I'm only trying to get your hopes up so I can call you Vicky today in person with impunity. Three Broomsticks at ten?
T.L.
"Teddy," I say quickly, before shoving a mouthful of sausage in my mouth to avoid any awkward questions. "I'm seeing Teddy at the Three Broomsticks," I mumble. I can tell Georgia's glaring at me but right now I don't really care. One, it's a welcome excuse to not set Betsy off...
And two, I really have missed Teddy. I know it's only been a few weeks, but I saw him every day of the holidays. He's one of those people who's just... always there. Even if he is horribly embarrassing and tells your whole family you've taken up ink-sniffing.
"When'd you plan that?" Betsy asks. "You hadn't mentioned anything before now."
Well, you've sort of been avoiding me for the last week. But thanks for the thought.
"Oh, not too long ago," I say vaguely. "He wasn't sure if he could make it before now. In fact," I say quickly, pulling out the letter from my bag, "I just got the confirmation now. He wants us to meet him there at ten. I guess we'd better hurry."
Georgia takes the letter from me slowly. I can tell she thought I was making this up, but she reads the letter without comment. Finally she looks up at me. "I don't see anything in here about 'us'."
"Who else would he mean? Tom Spencer?"
She frowns. "Don't you think he just wants to see - well, you?"
She does have a point. Teddy doesn't really know Georgia and Betsy. I mean, obviously he's met them. Multiple times. They're my friends, after all, they've even come over to Shell Cottage a few times. But really he's only friends with me...
I shrug. "I guess. But you're welcome to come along anyway, I'm sure Teddy won't mind. He likes you guys."
Betsy puts down her fork. "I think what Georgia's trying to say is maybe, just maybe, your Teddy wants a little alone time with you."
Teddy? Alone time? I laugh out loud. "Teddy's just a friend," I tell them, and it's the truth. I know what you're thinking. 'Just a friend' is just as much a stereotype as loving enemies - but in Teddy's case...
Look, I meant what I said about underwear on the washing line. That's the thing about guys who could practically be your brother. They know every embarrassing secret you have, from all the times you wet your bed when you were three (dad, the traitor, actually kept a record. He SAYS it was to make Teddy feel better about his own night-time accidents. But I just know he's saving it for my twenty-first) to the crush you had on your fourth year Potions teacher (which may or may not have inspired my brief spot of attention seeking in fifth).
You can't have a romance with someone you've seen naked in the bath more times than you can count (even if all seven occasions did occur when we were eight years old. Okay, so I kept count). It's just - what's the point? You've known each other your whole lives, there's nothing new to discover, no excitement or frissons or shivers down your spine when you catch his eye across a crowded room...
And that drink he just solicitously poured you is just Uncle George's latest test product, and your face breaks out in pimples as you cautiously take a sniff.
I just - the best friend thing is not believable in the slightest. Maybe for other people. But not for me.
"Does he know that?" Georgia asks quietly.
"What is with you lot? It's just a note. Like, one line. Look. Three Broomsticks at ten. I never thought I of all people would be the one to say this, but you're reading way too much into this."
They look back at me, unblinking, like little zombie children.
I pull my backpack up from under the seat, shaking my head. "Fine. I'll go alone. And absolutely nothing will happen." Wait, I'm tempting fate. I suppose there's always the off-chance that Teddy's my love-interest-in-denial, and saying things like that is a sure way to end up in an awkward situation. "Or maybe it will. Who knows what'll happen without your supervision?"
Betsy laughs. "It's a wild place, that Three Broomsticks."
I wave goodbye good-naturedly, because I'm, well, good-natured like that. Only Georgia doesn't say anything - except with her eyes, which are throwing daggers into my burning soul.
And I should really stop mixing my metaphors.
A/N: More updates this weekend, yay for the two people actually reading this. More importantly, fixing up the last few chapters, which have featured some of the sloppiest editing I've ever done in my life. You should pull me up on this. Yell at me in a review or something ;)
