Seven
"The
wind, the rain, the storm will wash us clean again
The
wind, the rain, the storm will make us think again
The
wind, the rain, the storm will shake us up again
And
maybe we can start again."
Heather Nova, "Storm"
Orion:
She stops short for a moment, then turns to me and says sarcastically: "Ever heard of something called training camp? I wasn't lying when I told you I'd have a heavy training session before me." What's her problem? I look at her, slightly bewildered. Honestly, have I done anything wrong? I'm just waiting in front of her door. She should feel honoured.
"And that's the reason you haven't written back?" I ask, trying to sound neutral but am not feeling that way.
She rolls her eyes and for a moment I'm even more bewildered. Is there something I should know? "When you don't get letters, you usually don't write back, do you?" she replies and seems on the edge already. What?
"Wait, are you telling me you didn't get them? And I was worrying all week for nothing?" I can't help but stare at her. That's absurd. Why have I ever come here? This won't lead anywhere.
"Didn't I just say that?" she says, with a disbelieving voice and look on her face. This situation starts to become surreal. I shake my head. Why have I ever thought about coming here?
"Sorry to bother you, then. Just forget about all this. It had been a horrific week, thank you very much", I say and get up, preparing to leave. At least I should make a point here. She should know that it's important. I mean, that's what it is... important. I should have talked to someone else instead. Surely there's someone?
At first, she's too surprised to react whatsoever. I'm already on my way to the next stairway, when she suddenly bursts out. "Hey, what do you think how my week's been, huh?" she's calling after me, sounding a little angry already. Who cares about her week? I've been through hell!
I turn on my heels. "Well, enlighten me.", I say and it sounds a lot more sarcastic than I had meant it.
"And why should I? It doesn't seem as if you're overly interested in anything beside yourself.", she gives back, in a snappy voice that I draw back instinctively. Where's the Hufflepuff gone? I don't understand why she's so angry with me.
"What makes you suppose that, pray?" I reply, and could just slap myself. I'm angry, so I'm getting sarcastic. It's all gone way over my head and I could start panicking any time soon. I didn't mean to be rude on purpose. But she's provoking me, right? Who could have foreseen that she'd be so unbalanced?
And there she goes. "Because," she starts and her eyes narrow threateningly, her voice is calm and cold as ice, "ever since I've met you the first time you were acting and talking like a self-righteous bastard. Everything in the world needs to evolve around you, everyone is to be judged by your standards... to be blunt: You are just one big pain in the posterior, Yaxley."
My jaw drops. Who are you and what have you done to Lavinia? I can't believe it. This is insolence! A part of me wants to leave, quickly and forever, why should I listen to this after all? I'm surprised to hear myself speak and try hard not to show that I'm about to panic. "You start to sound just like Emerson!" Right. Mention her of all people, I think, miserably and stay where I was. Not because I chose to but because I'm unable to move.
She raises her eyebrow. This is so unnerving! "Is that supposed to be an insult? Really, Yaxley, can't you even do that right?" she says, and at first I continue staring at her. What does she mean by "doing that right"? I feel positively uncomfortable now.
"Listen, Lavinia. o.k. I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. How was your week? Mine was hell, just so you know." it bursts out of me; when all I wanted a minute ago was getting out of this mess as quick as possible. And tell me why I couldn't stop thinking about you! I must look desperate, I know it and I hate it.
I can feel her temper rise again. What's the matter now? I said I was sorry, isn't that enough? "You already said that. How often will you tell me you had a bad week, huh?" she tells me. Flat out.
"Because it's true! First that stupid interview everyone keeps on complaining about, while I'm sitting all alone in that godforsaken manor house. How I hate it! And then the thing with Emerson, oh, and now this damn article of this… this evil woman", I start ranting, oh my… When exactly did I lose control over my voice? If I didn't know better I would suspect some kind of magic behind it all. "Now, what about you? Anything to top that?" I glare at her expectantly.
Oh my… she's glaring back at me so hard that I expect to start burning the next second. On top of everything. "You're doing it again, Yaxley. Everything is about you. Everything was bad for you. Everything made you cry like a baby. My week was hell, but I'm not wailing like a Merlin-forsaken cry-baby about it. In fact, all I want to do about it now is entering my place, have a nice hot bath and go to sleep as soon as I can." It all lashes down on me. She had started calmly but got more and more excited about it, as if she had wanted to tell me this for a while but never did. Finally, she tries to look composed again.
What the hell has happened? I feel shattered. What do women have against me lately? I know when I have to admit defeat; especially when it's as obvious as this. I don't say anything anymore but decide to leave. I won't come back here for sure. How silly to think you could warm up old friendships if you don't know what had happened in between…
Just when I reach the first step of the stairway, I turn around again. "Goodbye, Lavinia. I…," I stop for a moment, what did I want to say exactly? I'm not used to be at a loss of words. "I'm leaving. Sorry to even have thought about you in the first place. Won't happen again. Promise." This is it. I try to leave.
Lavinia:
I stop again, puzzled. What the… I know I should let him just leave and be gone, but my mouth gets ahead of my brain. Again. "Hey! Hey! You're not getting away that easily, mister! And stop acting like a bloody drama queen, for Merlin's sake!"
Before he can answer, though, suddenly a door upstairs is thrown open and a voice bellows: "Will you just shut the hell up down there? There are people here who actually have work and need to bloody sleep!"
He stops dead in his tracks. I'm not sure whether it's because of my shout or the one from above, but quite frankly I don't care. Then he says in his typical sneer – this time topped with just the right amount of hinted self-pity: "Oh, why shouldn't I leave? I heard you – you made your point quite clear, thank you very much."
Exasperated I roll my eyes, relieved he can't actually see it, because he has already his back to me, and – trying to keep my voice level – say: "Oh, come on, Yaxley, you and I both know you desperately want to get something off your chest. And I want to get out of the cold. Besides hot baths after a week of heavy training are overrated anyway, as opposed to good stories. Yours seems funny enough… so… join me for a cup of tea?" McNeil… McNeil, have you lost your mind now completely? Have you gone bonkers beyond the point of no return? Why are you asking that self-centred insensitive prick of a Slytherin into your appartment?
For a moment I've got the feeling he'll go through with the leaving, but then my assessment of him proves to be true. Hiding the immediate smugness does take a little effort, to be true. "And you're not just saying that to mock me?" Isn't he a sweet one? That's the reason why I asked him in. Only… not. In truth it was his comment about "Emerson" and some article that peeked my interest. Didn't just to want to show that yet then.
I roll my eyes again, hoping he doesn't take too much offence and try to sound good-natured when I say: "No, I'm not saying that to just mock you. I'm not a two-timing Slytherin, you know."
Instead of the snappy comment I half expected he just looks a little sceptically, then sighs and nods toward my door. Without another comment, I tip the lock with my wand and open the door. When we are inside, he says with a sincerity that astounds me: "Listen, Lavinia, I'm sorry it sounded as if I didn't really want to know about your week. Honestly... why was it hell?"
For a moment I'm tempted to just brush him off again, but it's a rare occasion when Orion Yaxley shows real compassion and interest for someone else beside him, so he should get rewarded. So, during the process of throwing my bag into a corner and taking off my shoes, I say: "Worst training camp ever. I even fell off the broom once. On a totally perfect windless day. Coach decked me fair and square for that. Now, go on and have a good laugh at my expense, won't you?" I just can't help it. Even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have stopped myself before adding that. It's just… I don't want him to see how much all of that actually effects me, and so I stay with throwing on an armour of irony.
We're both done with taking off shoes and coats, and he surprises me again by actually not laughing and saying: "Why should I laugh about that? I don't suppose it's fun to fall off a broom, windless day or not." and shrugs.
Going into the living room and throwing an Incendio at the fireplace, I turn around and say: "You're damn right, it isn't. It's painful, it's dangerous and it's downright embarrassing. Most of all for someone who's been able to ride a broom before she even could walk properly." Dammit. Why am I giving away so much? And… Holy Merlin, what are all those letters doing on the floor before the window I left open for April?
Stunned I stand there in silence until he says a little surprised from behind: "You could ride a broom before you could walk?"
A little absentmindedly I say: "'Course I could. That's what you get when your grandfather is one of the best Quidditch players of his time."
He's standing beside me now, and instead of answering he says a little dryly: "Ah, there they are... my letters... the reason why you never wrote back."
I only nod then say still a little dazed: "Well… really must have been a hell of a week for you. Do you mind if I don't start reading them right away? I'm in more of a… listening mood. Short attention span and all that."
"Oh, you know, you don't have to read them... at all. It was just...," he coughs, "an act of desperation. So... never mind." Uh-huh, yes, of course. You're hiding something, and if I wasn't so terribly tired I'd bug you long enough to get it all out of you, even if I have to do it for the whole next week.
But as it is, I say: "Sure. For tonight that is. But you know, before I finally fall face first into my bed, you could tell me a little bed-time story. What exactly was that comment with Emerson about?" In an afterthought I gesture towards the armchairs in front of the fireplace and add: "You can even take a seat if you want.," and sit down myself. Aaah.
Seems I've caught him off-guard, because he first looks a little startled, then sits down and then pulls out a sheet of paper and holds it towards me, saying: "This is what happened. It basically says that I would have an affair with Emerson. Which I don't. I just met her accidentally last Thursday, and I actually don't remember much of that meeting - at all." He yawns, and suddenly looks very tired. Mh… But for now I only take the piece of paper and have a hard time refraining from laughing out loud, even at what I can see at first glance.
It's a rather long article with the headline "Not so pure Romance" – obviously referring to Linda Emerson's ground breaking non-fictional shocker on Purebloods and their hypocritical view of the world, "Not so pure" – and a picture of Linda and Yaxley showing them getting intimate. Obviously manipulated, but still highly entertaining.
And a little… wait… what's that? Jealousy? Oh. No. Not going there. To cover up my confusion, I say: "Of course. You just ran into Linda Emerson – your mortal enemy at School, only topped by Lynx Prewitt – and had what… a drinking contest?" There's another picture a little further down, this time not manipulated, where you can see that they are sitting in a pub, with several mugs and shots on the table before them.
I look at him, with an eyebrow drawn up, and he shrugs and says: "That's exactly what happened." This time I can't hold back a doubting glance. "Don't look at me like that. It went all wrong. My secretary mixed up weeks again and had sent me to an appointment to this... place and he wasn't there. I didn't know that, of course. So I went to the pub and met her there. I just wanted to talk a bit... because I had been rather lonely these days... and one thing had lead to another."
I can't quite refrain from grinning and laughing and say: "One thing. Led to another. Yaxley… if I didn't know better, I'd say you were sounding mighty ambiguous. Come on, share the whole story." In the same moment I say it, I'm not quite sure if I really want to hear the whole story. Or at least what I think the whole story is. I just hope that nothing of that is showing.
He sighs, and answers not fully honestly apalled: "I meant drinking! What did you think?" After a little hesitation he adds: "To be honest I don't remember what has happened. Only that she had proposed this stupid drinking game, you know, "never have I ever"...? And it sort of... went out of control, must have. I... I woke up in her bed the next day with a head like this." His hands indicate a size remarkably bigger than his head. "But she assured me that nothing... inappropriate... had happened that night. Of course that's not what that stupid Carrow-girl is telling everyone. Makes it look like we have had an affair... just because she had gotten hold of those tasteless old pictures. I didn't even know they still existed." He leans back in his armchair, and suddenly looks really terribly tired.
Something inside me stirs and feels really sorry for him, so after a short silence I say: "Hey, Ya… Orion. It's… pretty late, and maybe we should continue this conversation tomorrow and got to sleep now. You really should go home… " And then I remember something about him feeling lonely at the manor that had slipped past his lips a while earlier, and continue in a bout of true Hufflepuff sympathy: "Or you could… you know… take the couch and sleep here for tonight."
I wait for an answer, but after a few moments I realise that there won't be any, at least for tonight, because he's… well… having his eyes closed and the regular breathing of someone fast asleep. In the flickering light from the fire, his face looks almost serene, if only a little haggard. And who wouldn't with Lucinda "Witch Weekly Celebrity Chaser #1" Carrow harassing them? Maybe it's really been a hard week for him. I sigh.
Waking him up seems out of question now because he looked like he really needed the sleep. But he'll feel terrible if he stays there the whole night. I sigh again and get up. After I put a blanket and a cushion on the sofa and a piece of parchment beside him telling him he could use the couch if he wakes up, I finally make my way to my own bedroom. Good thing the coach gave us all a free day for tomorrow. I feel like I could sleep for at least 12 hours straight.
A/N: Lookie! It's two chapters on one evening! "Are we good? We're good!" (whoever guesses which movie quote has been altered here just a little will get an... extra cookie). Anyway: Again, we want to thank someone for the song quote, which this time is Heidelbeere, my (i.e. Rowena's) sister. We owe you, too!
And... well... here we are, introducing a plot bunny the size of... a small planetoid. At least. Its name is Linda Emerson, and as marginal as it may appear from the first glance, it's HUGE! Believe me! We caused an... avalanche or something. Rareb just told me that the Linda/Orion-drinking-scene maybe published in the near future, and that Stina (one of our reviewers, the one who "owns" Linda) will be co-writing it. Look forward to reading it (will not say "Fear it!", will not say "Fear it!", will not say...)!
Oh, and before I forget it: Reviews of course will be thoroughly appreciated and save our lives. Or something.
