Bottle Fame and Brew Glory: Costume Parties
Two days later, Russ traveled back to England by a route similar to the one that had taken him to France. McGonagall had covered for him for the extra days he'd been gone, and Moody didn't suspect a thing. McGonagall had also told Luna and the others that Russ needed to be isolated in the hospital wing for a couple of days to run tests on his arm and start a new treatment. All in all, she had dealt with the situation in a highly satisfactory way.
Dealing with Mylor Sylvanus was a slightly different matter.
"Just let me get this straight, Alastor old boy. I'm to take this delightful young man to California and show him around, and you'll foot the bill? But I thought he was from California and knew it better even than I."
"Well, Mylor old boy, there is a little snag. You see, young Russell here is harboring a deep, dark secret that we expect you to keep quiet about for a while. In fact, I can't let you go with him unless you take an Unbreakable Vow not to divulge his secret until I give you permission."
"An Unbreakable Vow about a young man's dark secret? You're making this too intriguing, Alastor. But I really don't think I'm up to it. It is rather extreme, don't you think?"
"I'm giving you a month as the traveling companion and mentor of an impressionable fifteen-year-old, and you're quibbling about a little Unbreakable Vow?"
"Well, there is that. This Vow – it only covers certain things I can't say, correct? It doesn't restrict anything I might do?"
"You wouldn't be able to write it in a note, naturally, but the Vow would cover only the specific secret."
"Give me just a teeny moment to think… I'll do it!"
The Vow was between Sylvanus and Moody, while Russ acted as Bonder. It was short and as specific as Sylvanus could wish. "Now," he said as soon as they were done, "what's the secret?"
"I'm not going to tell you," Moody said. Before Sylvanus could protest, he added, "We just wait a few minutes, and we'll show you."
"Show me? How exciting. Why do we have to wait?"
"For the Polyjuice potion to wear off." Moody's mouth twitched with suppressed laughter at the sight of Sylvanus's shocked face.
"You mean that's… not…" Sylvanus stammered.
"No, it isn't."
Even as they talked, the transformation began. Russ's features contorted a little with the strain as he grew taller, his face thinned, and his hair and eyes darkened. Within a minute, the astounded Mylor Sylvanus was facing Severus Snape.
"You! But! You're… you're that strange boy from Slytherin house who was so good at hexes. And you became a teacher. And they say you…"
"What do they say?" Snape asked sweetly.
"That you, well… oh, dear… um… yes."
"Excellent!" Moody clapped Sylvanus on the back heartily. "I see you have this secret thing down pat."
xxxxxxxxxx
"I think you're just trying to get out of doing homework," Ron complained. "Why can't the rest of us leave when school gets boring."
"Weaseling out of my classes, you mean?" responded Russ, smirking as Ron winced. "And right before the first Quidditch match of the season, too. Just as things were getting really boring."
"You know, maybe it would be better if you did leave, and stayed away awhile. It's not like you're serving any useful purpose here, is it?" Ron pouted.
"I wish I was going to San Francisco," Neville sighed.
"I wish I was going anywhere," added Luna.
"Look, I've explained why it's necessary," Russ insisted to Ron. "Once the Dark… Voldemort starts noticing Harry, we're all targets. You lot have to practice occlumency, which is hard, but I have to get memories from a place I've never been before. Right now it seems like a vacation, but it may…"
"Save my life. I know. I just wish I could save your life by taking a trip to America."
"You've been very quiet," Russ said to Hermione and Ginny.
"I just hope," said Hermione, "that there are no earthquakes while you're there. They had a nasty one a few years ago. I remember the pictures of the fires, and that motorway that collapsed."
"I'll try to stay away from earthquakes."
"Are you taking a camera?" Ginny asked.
"Want some pictures?"
"I don't know what's there to take pictures of. That bridge, I suppose. Still, it seems like you should take pictures on a vacation."
"It isn't a vacation."
"Right."
Hermione had been thinking. "Where are you staying? A month could be expensive. Do you know any wizards there?"
"I don't, but Sylvanus does. He used to have a lot of friends in San Francisco. I get the feeling a lot of them are gone now, but he's arranged for us to stay with someone. He says it's near the ocean."
"Oh!" cried Ron. "You'll be at the beach all the time! Now I really do hate you!"
Long distance apparating, though much faster than traveling by broom, was always tricky, so Russ and Sylvanus went by shorter stages across the North Atlantic and through Canada, each carrying a suitcase with some clothing. They reached San Francisco at about seven in the morning on Sunday, the twenty-sixth of October, arriving next to a Dutch windmill in the northwestern corner of Golden Gate Park. The sound of the surf was quite loud, and Russ could smell the salt in the air.
"He's in a condominium across the street," Sylvanus said, pointing to an apartment complex that was only a couple of stories tall, but seemed to take up most of a city block. "One of the first to buy when it was new, and a marvelous view of the ocean. You have no idea how much property values have gone up since then."
They rang the bell, and after a bit a voice on the intercom said, "Yes?"
"Brendon, it's Mylor. I hope we're not too early."
There was no reply except the buzzer that opened the door, and the two climbed a flight of stairs to the apartment. Brendon, a tall blond man in his mid-forties dressed in midnight blue robes, was standing in the doorway of his apartment, and looked at the two appraisingly as they approached down the hallway.
"So this is your little friend."
"Don't be tiresome, Brendon. This is business. This particular young man is Russell Moody. Russell, this is Brendon Dale. Now step aside, dear, and let us come in."
Brendon moved back and opened the door wide for them. The interior of the apartment looked like the layout for a decorating magazine – very tasteful, full of paintings and accessories, but curiously impersonal. Russ was beginning to feel odd about the whole situation.
"This particular one? Why Mylor, how many do you have?"
"Only the one, but he's changeable. You'll see in about half an hour."
"I suppose if it satisfies your desire for variety… Well, I wasn't sure about sleeping arrangements. There's the second bedroom, which is quite large really, but there's also the futon out here."
"I'll take the futon. I think Russell will be much more comfortable with a room of his own."
Brendon's eyebrows shot up at this, but he refrained from commenting. Instead he led Russ to a room off a short hallway. "Why don't you just settle in here and freshen up from your trip? The bathroom is here. Have you eaten yet? I was waiting breakfast, but I can start now. The full English thing, I imagine, with eggs and bacon. Do you drink tea or coffee?"
"Coffee, thank you," said Russ. "I hope we're not too much of a burden for you."
"No trouble at all. Anything for an old friend. Now breakfast will take a while since I actually cook it. That magic junk doesn't have the same taste – you might as well eat at McDonald's. Maybe you'd like an omelet."
"That would be very nice, thank you."
Russ was left to himself and began unpacking his things. The room was pleasant and sunny, with a view across the highway to the Pacific Ocean. As he hung some clothing in the closet and folded other things into the drawers, Russ could catch a little of the conversation from the living room.
"I must admit, you surprised me with your owl. It's been what – three years? I had half a mind to tell you what I really thought. I mean, the chutzpah!"
"Now Brendon, I know I've behaved badly, but that little episode is over and done with. This really is business, and very exciting, except I can't tell you until he gives me leave – I'll explain when the time comes. And who was I to go to when I really needed someone except you?"
"Well just to let you know, you're being tolerated. But don't expect me to entertain. I have plans already, and I'm afraid they don't include unexpected visitors."
"We'll be quiet as church mice. We have quite a bit to do, in any case, so most of the time we'll be out of your hair. You just tell us if we're any trouble." The voices faded as the two went into the kitchen.
Russ made sure to rattle the doorknob as he left the bedroom, not wanting to walk into the kitchen unannounced. "There you are," said Brendon, handing him a steaming mug of coffee. "There's sugar and cream on the table, if you like. Mylor said you were going to 'change' in half an hour. He didn't go into detail. Shall we have breakfast now or after?"
"It's about fifteen minutes, now. It's Polyjuice. I assume you know…"
"My, when you say change, you really mean change! I had no idea. We'll start breakfast cooking now, and it'll be ready when you're done."
A few minutes later Russ went back into the bedroom and reemerged as Severus.
Once again Brendon's eyebrows shot up. "Now this is more like it. Not just another pretty face. More character, more interesting. Your tastes are maturing, Mylor. Still too young for you, though."
Snape froze in the kitchen doorway, totally at a loss as to how he should respond. Brendon glanced quickly from him to Mylor, whose face had turned crimson. "Oops," said Brendon. "I seem to have made a faux pas. I take it Mylor is not your type. I see that Mylor is so far from being your type, that you've only just realized what you walked into. My apologies. Let's start again from the beginning."
Brendon wiped his hands on a towel, then extended his right hand. "I'm Brendon Dale, and I'm very pleased to meet you."
Snape took the hand. "Severus Snape. Thank you for welcoming us into your home."
"Sit down. Enjoy breakfast. And now you can tell me what brings you here, because Mylor won't."
"He can't. He took an Unbreakable Vow not to tell anyone about it without permission. There seemed to be some question about his ability to keep a secret."
"Oh, Mylor, they do have you pegged! Unbreakable Vow! Why didn't I think of that before?" Brendon's attitude toward Mylor had softened considerably.
Snape quickly explained about needing mental images of San Francisco to thwart a legilimency probe into his assumed character's mind. He didn't go into detail about Voldemort, but Brendon was no fool.
"We've been hearing some scary stories coming out of Britain. I'll just assume this is a case where 'Don't ask, don't tell' has a valid application. Now, your persona is from St. Francis Wood and goes to St. Ignatius. You'll want to move around the City as the Russell character, so we could even get you into the school by pretending we want to enroll you. That shouldn't be too hard."
They spent the rest of the morning planning.
That afternoon they went to Golden Gate Park. The first thing Russ noticed was that neither Brendon nor Mylor had any trouble blending in with muggle society. They dressed casually but neatly, and Brendon insisted on taking public transportation. "No boy can grow up in the City without knowing all about the Muni."
At first Russ wondered why they had to take an electric trolley bus when Brendon lived across the street from the park, but as they rode block after block with endless trees and bushes to their right, and got off the bus two miles farther on with no end to the park in sight, he understood. "It's a hundred seventy-four acres larger than Central Park in New York," Brendon told him.
They walked through a large rose garden while Brendon went over the history of the park, how it had been all sand dunes, and all the trees were brought from various parts of the world and planted there, how it had become a tent city after the 1906 earthquake and fire, and how many different attractions were contained in it. They rented a boat at a large lake with an island in the middle, then had a brief picnic on the island, after which they walked to the Tea Garden and the Museum area.
"They have to rebuild that one," Brendon told Russ, pointing to the Egyptian-influenced architecture of the fine arts museum. "It was too badly damaged in the last earthquake to save. By the way, you should construct the story of where you were when the '89 earthquake hit. It isn't something one forgets. Maybe a rich kid like you would have been at the World Series game at Candlestick Park, even if you were only… seven years old when it happened."
All afternoon, Russ stored up information that he would be able to review back in England with the aid of a pensieve. Gradually the enormity of what he had to do dawned on him. He had to pack fifteen years of images and information into his head, and he had just under a month to do it. Luckily, Brendon liked to talk.
That evening after dinner, a completely new problem arose.
"What are your plans for Halloween?" Mylor asked Brendon.
"You're too late. I have a date. And it's not one where I could invite you along."
"You could change your plans. This is a kind of special occasion."
"And where will you be in two months' time? Back in Britain? Friday's an important day for me, and I'm not going to ruin future hopes to cater to someone who's going to dump me and run in three or four weeks. If you want a date for Halloween, why not take him?" And Brendon nodded toward Snape.
Snape looked from one to the other. There was a surreal quality to the situation, as if part of it were a dream, and the fact that Mylor and Brendon were so natural in it had tended to neutralize his reactions. It was now, however, becoming personal. "Wait a minute," he said, "don't I have something to say about this?"
"So sorry," Mylor replied. "We forget this is new to you. Would you like to come with me on Halloween night? It's always quite a party."
"You'll excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, but no, I don't think I'll go. It's not my sort of affair, I mean… It's not the sort of party I think I'd enjoy."
"Oh, everybody enjoys it, and lots of tourists come so you wouldn't be the only one. It isn't like a party at someone's house. It's a big Halloween street fair on Castro Street. The restaurants stay open, everyone wears costumes, there's music and dancing…"
"I don't dance. And I don't have a costume."
"Yes, you do. I saw you packing. You have that lovely thing they gave you in France. You could wear that and go dressed as a wizard."
"I think you'd enjoy it," Brendon added.
That evening after they all retired for the night, Snape looked for a moment at his bedroom door, then locked it before getting into bed.
The next five days were hectic as Russ and Mylor traveled all over San Francisco. They went to Fisherman's Wharf and the Golden Gate Bridge, to the Embarcadero and the top of Twin Peaks. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito and visited the Civil War fort at the Bridge's base.
One whole day was spent wandering through St. Francis Wood, getting familiar with the streets and the houses. "We'll see about getting into one later," Mylor said. Brendon took it upon himself to decide that Russ's family were churchgoers, and selected St. Francis Episcopal with its Spanish colonial architecture. "We're going there on Sunday. There's something Lord What's-His-Name won't understand." Rich kids shop, so they visited the Market Street stores, Serramonte, and Stonestown.
By Friday afternoon, Snape was exhausted. And there were still three weeks to go. He' d let the Polyjuice wear off and was lying on the futon sofa, recuperating from a morning of riding cable cars. Brendon had left already to join his friends and his date in a big costuming pre-party party where they would make sure they all looked perfect for the night's festivities. Mylor was moping in the kitchen.
Around four o'clock, Mylor came into the living room and sat down. "I wish you'd reconsider the Halloween party," he said.
"Why is it so important to you?"
"Halloween's our biggest day. Back long ago, when we couldn't be so open about it, Halloween was the only day we could be ourselves, express ourselves with the costumes. I can't imagine being in San Francisco on Halloween and not going to the Castro District."
"I can't go to a thing like that. Don't you understand how uncomfortable I'd be? If it's just a big street fair, why don't you go by yourself?"
"Look at me. I'm over forty, I'm overweight. I'm pathetic. People like me go places like that alone when they're trying to pick someone up. Other people go places like that looking for people like me because they think we're so desperate we'll go with anyone for a night. If I go by myself, they'll be hitting on me all night, and I may get lonely enough that I'll say yes. If I'm with you, they'll leave me alone because they'll think we're together. All I want to do is have a couple of drinks, look at the costumes, listen to the music, dance a little…"
"I'm not dancing."
"Okay, no dancing. Would it help if you thought of yourself as my bodyguard?"
"I don't know…"
"Honestly, I don't want to be with you. I want to be with Brendon. He's the best thing that ever happened to me, but I was an idiot and didn't realize it. I went running off with someone else only to find out two weeks later that it was the biggest mistake of my life. I was ashamed to come back until you gave me an excuse. Now I have to get him to take me back. If I go by myself and he sees me, he'll think I'm cruising. If I'm with you – he knows that's not your world. It's like having a chaperone."
Snape sighed. Mylor looked so mournful, so pitiful, that it was impossible not to feel sorry for him. "All right," he agreed. "I'll go to the party with you."
"Great!" Mylor beamed. "You'll have a wonderful time."
October in San Francisco is not like October in northern Scotland. The weather was glorious and even well into the night the temperature would remain around a balmy sixty-five degrees. Severus wore the robes he'd been given in France with one of Brendon's formal pointed wizard's hats. Mylor borrowed a set of Brendon's robes, crimson and gold ("Forty-niner colors, you know – American football."), insisting Brendon wouldn't mind because he'd suggested the outing.
Then, around seven-thirty, Mylor headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Snape asked, suspicion rising in him.
"To the bus stop, silly. How else are we going to get there?"
"We could apparate."
"No, we couldn't. It's probably already so crowded we'd materialize into three people at once. Even if we tried several streets away, someone would see us. We can apparate back, but going there we take the bus. Come on! Lots of people will be out tonight. You'll be one of the most conservative."
He was right. Although they were the only ones in costume at the beginning of their ride, more and more revelers boarded along the way, and the Divisidero Street bus they transferred to had more costumed party goers than not. It was packed, and they had to stand.
The costumes were quite a variety, too. In addition to witches, skeletons, and devils, there was an assortment of cats, gypsies, pirates, a seventeenth century nobleman with long ringleted curls, and a small assortment of heavily made-up movies stars from the thirties and forties. Severus was beginning to feel that this wasn't so bad until the bus reached Castro Street and disgorged its passengers.
The first reveler to catch his eye was a Roman gladiator wearing sandals, a short, skirt-like garment of metal and leather strips, a metal breastplate, a helmet, and very little else. An angel walked by, dressed only in a skimpy shoulder bodice that supported a glorious six-foot long pair of feathered wings, and the tiniest, tightest garment that would keep him out of jail without really imposing modesty on him. Behind him was a tall young man with the body of an athlete wearing what looked like a baby's diaper.
Severus closed his eyes, feeling his face redden with embarrassment. "I can't stay here, Mylor. This was a mistake. Let's go back."
"No, no!" said Mylor. "You just have to get used enough to it to ignore it. Here, let's find a place to sit."
The sidewalks were full of tables and chairs, and the restaurants and cafes had their doors and windows wide open. The street was blocked to vehicles, and the party was in the street itself. Music floated down from dwellings above the shops, and the atmosphere on Castro was like a carnival from Market to 19th Street.
As Mylor steered Severus through the crowd looking for an empty table, Severus noticed a bride in a long, full white gown. The bride had a beard and mustache. That made him look more carefully at the movie stars and the chorus girls. "They're all men, aren't they?"
"Probably. If you see anyone in top hat, white tie, and tails, that's probably a woman. Here, sit here. I'll get us drinks. What would you like?"
"I really don't care."
"I'll use my judgment."
It took some time for Mylor to return with the drinks. About ten minutes after he'd gone, a soft voice whispered, "Waiting for someone?"
Severus looked up. A very pretty young woman with stunning legs dressed in a gossamer fairy's outfit complete with wings and wand was standing next to him. "I'm with a friend," Severus said. "He's gone for drinks."
"Let's hope he's a long time coming back then." She sat daintily on the empty chair and leaned across the table so he could smell the delicate scent of her perfume. "Because I just have this thing for magicians. Are you from around here?"
"No, it's my first time in San Francisco, actually. I'm a sort of a tourist."
"How sweet. I'll bet the goings-on here are all new to you."
"It is a bit of an eye-opener, I will admit."
Mylor came up then. He set down the drinks and jerked a thumb at the girl. "Move along now, fairy princess. This one's spoken for."
The 'woman's' voice dropped to a baritone. "Spoilsport," he said as he rose and flounced away. "It's getting so a girl can't have any fun anymore."
Severus rested his head on the tips of his fingers. "That was a man," he said, in shock. "I was letting a man flirt with me."
"That's what happens here. There's no harm in it."
"But he looked like a woman. A beautiful woman, in fact."
"The right makeup, the right outfit on the right person – you'd be surprised how many men look like women and how many women look like men. Check for the Adam's apple. It's a dead giveaway. And if she's wearing a ribbon choker around her neck, it's probably to hide the Adam's apple."
Severus sipped his drink. "It tastes strong. What is it?"
"Vodka martini. You've never had cocktails before, have you?"
"First time."
"Pace yourself. They catch up on you fast. Now, this is how you watch the crowd. The ones showing off their bodies, they're mostly cruising. Ignore them. Unless you're cruising too, they're not interested. Some are out just for fun, like the bride with the beard. They're for laughs. The true artists go for the complete illusion, and some are even professional entertainers in nightclubs. I like the clever costumes, the ones that are unique. The ones strolling by in the police uniforms – they're probably really police, though this party is generally very peaceful."
It took a while, and a couple of drinks, but Severus found that he could indeed ignore the more extreme costumes. He and Mylor started pointing out to each other ones they found particularly well done or unusual. One young man was made up like an old-fashioned black telephone, with a dial on his chest and a paper maché receiver resting across his head. Another wore a long, slim white gown with inflated tubes around the flared hem, and a round, crenellated white hat.
"Oh, look," cried Severus happily, "a chess piece. I get it! It's the White Queen."
"Hello, Mylor," said a passing pirate who turned out to be Brendon. "I see you convinced him to come." He looked at the martini glasses. "How many of those have you poured down him, anyway? I don't think British wizards know that a vodka martini is pretty much straight vodka."
"He'll be all right. I needed something to keep him from having a heart attack. He almost went catatonic when we got off the bus. Pull up a couple of chairs and introduce me to your friend. Severus? Severus, look. It's Brendon and his friend."
"Oh, hi, Brendon. Are you enjoying the party?"
"I see you are. This is Richard. Mylor and Severus. I'm buying this round."
"We're having martinis," said Severus. "Delightful drink. Russian, I think."
"No, you're not," Brendon said. "You're having coffee."
Brendon and Richard had arrived with a group and then separated. They were planning to stay to the end, which would be after two o'clock when the restaurants stopped serving drinks. It was now past eleven, however, and Mylor decided that Severus had had quite enough. "I think I'll take him home now."
The true effect of vodka is only felt when one tries to stand. When they got him to his feet, the others found Severus was more wobbly than they'd realized. Brendon and Mylor walked on either side of him, being careful of the arm in the sling, while Richard walked in front to keep the way clear. They weren't the only ones with a tipsy companion, and the little procession went forward in good spirits.
"Look over there," said Severus, pointing. "Soldiers fighting Indians. Should help the Indians, shouldn't we?"
What was happening was that two police officers were arresting someone in leggings and a feathered bonnet who was being disorderly. Brendon started to explain when he saw to his horror that Severus had his wand out and was aiming it at the policemen.
"Expelli-," Severus started as Brendon and Richard grabbed his right hand and wrestled it upward. "-armus!" he finished, shooting the spell harmlessly into the air.
"This is your fault," Brendon hissed to Mylor. "Get him home and into bed before he kills someone. And here – you hold onto his wand."
They found an empty doorway a couple of blocks further on, and Mylor apparated with Severus back to the apartment. There Severus fell asleep on the futon. Mylor covered him gently with a blanket, then went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and wait for Brendon to return home.
xxxxxxxxxx
"Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? I spent days wondering where you were. I even checked with the police and the county morgue."
"I left a note."
"Yes, and I found it eventually. But I only wore that outfit when I went out with you, so it took a while. Do you know who told me? Cataluña told me. I was depressed for months."
"I know it's no consolation, but he was a rat. I was miserable from the beginning, and then after two months he was gone, but I was ashamed to come back."
"I'd have slammed the door in your face."
"I wouldn't blame you…"
The soft voices filtered in from the kitchen to where Severus lay on the futon. He listened quietly for a moment, then suddenly pushed the blanket aside and clambered unsteadily to his feet. Brendon and Mylor were out in the living room in an instant helping him to the bathroom where he was sick to his stomach.
"Poor boy," Brendon murmured gently as they got him lying down in the bedroom, "you really aren't used to the fast-paced life are you? Don't worry, dear, vodka wears off after a while."
They nursed Severus all day, and by evening he was feeling well enough to have a light supper.
"We've decided you need to see more of California, so this next week we're driving you everywhere," Mylor announced. "Tomorrow after church we're going to see redwood trees."
"Driving? Not apparating?"
"If you're supposed to be a boy raised as a muggle, you have to have memories of driving around in a car."
"But…"
"Don't worry, dear," Brendon reassured him, "this is California. Here, we know how to drive."
Russ loved the church, the dark wood of the beams and pews, the adobe-like walls, the cloistered courtyard like a Spanish mission, and the beauty of the music and liturgy. "Come on," Brendon said as the congregation filed forward to the communion rail, "you have to see what it's like. Cross your arms in front of you like this and you'll get just a blessing, because you shouldn't eat or drink unless you really believe what's happening."
Russ did as he was told, fascinated by the ritual, noting that Mylor crossed his arms, but that Brendon took the wafer and wine. "Is this your church?' he asked as they stepped back into the noon sunshine.
"No. I've been here a couple of times, but more often I go to another one. This one is near where you're supposed to live, though, so this is the one you needed images of."
The trip north to the redwood grove was fun. Russ hadn't been in a car since his parents died, but his father's old car was nothing like Brendon's BMW. ("It's what every rich kid rides around in…") Nor had he ever seen trees as huge as the redwoods ("The biggest ones are much further north. Largest living things in the world. I don't count things that create new plants by sending out underground shoots.")
The next week was practically spent in the car. North to the 19th-century Russian fur-trading fort and south to Carmel and Monterey. They even drove the better part of a day to spend one night in Yosemite Valley and then drive back.
On Friday afternoon, Brendon had another surprise. "Wear your best, a suit if you have one. We're going out."
"Where?" Mylor asked.
"Why?" was Russ's question.
"The Ritz-Carlton and then the symphony. Michael Tilson Thomas is conducting. Oh, and we're going to meet your mother."
Russ put on the expensive suit and shoes he'd worn at Bill Weasley's wedding.
"My, we are elegant this evening," was Mylor's reaction. "Cat will love you."
"Cat?"
Brendon smirked. "Cataluña Belleza-Ortega. She'll tell you all about how her family's been here since Spanish mission days and how she's the rightful owner of half the Central Valley. You just ask her if it's true that the name of Lake Berryessa is a corruption of the name Belleza, and she'll love you for life."
The hotel was in the grand style, elegant and luxurious, downtown but protected from much of the noise by a traffic tunnel that diverted the cars below street level. While Brendon parked the car, Mylor took Russ to meet Cataluña in the lounge with its pale blue and rose decor and classic French furniture. She arrived some minutes after they did.
Ms. Belleza-Ortega was a handsome, dark-haired woman, impeccably dressed and completely at ease in the rich surroundings. "Ooo, we are robbing the cradle, aren't we?" was her first remark as they were introduced.
"Don't be silly, Cat. This is our mission and your job. You're going to be his mother."
"Sweet. I must have been just a child when he was born."
"Barely out of the cradle yourself, dear."
They exchanged gently barbed comments for a few minutes, then Cataluña raised her eyebrows in surprise, for Mylor's face had lit up like a sunrise. Turning, she saw that Brendon had just entered the room. As Mylor signaled to Brendon where they were sitting, Cat leaned over to Russ. "Have they been talking? Getting back together?"
"I think so."
"Good. They were always such a sweet couple."
The dining room was soft and warm with wall sconces and candlelight. There was some discussion over the menu.
"You cannot come from San Francisco and never have eaten Dungeness crab. It just isn't possible."
"We could order a tasting menu, that way he'd have small bits of a wide variety of things…"
Russ looked at the price and realized that the four of them might be spending $500.00 for one meal. It was a far cry from sleeping on church pews, and he wondered where they got the money.
"Now, dear, what does this mother of yours look like?" Russ showed her the photograph of the house and the woman. "Not too different. I can do this."
"Cat is an actress," Brendon told Russ. "And rather a good one, too. What do you have planned for us, love?"
"A friend in real estate. I've arranged this weekend to visit a couple of places in St. Francis Wood that are for sale. We can set up a whole series of vignettes in different rooms. If you like, we can bring in people from the repertory company. The children in particular are excited at the idea of staging 'real' memories."
Russ was curious. "Actors and actresses? Are they… like us? Wizards, I mean."
"No, dear, not at all. Perfectly normal theater people. What's that quaint word the British use… Midges?"
"Muggles," said Mylor.
"They know about me, of course," added Cat. "But then we're used to the unusual in the City."
"What about the International Statute of Secrecy?"
Cat laughed, a bright, silvery sound. "He's so sweet. I could just eat him up. Dear, we're in the United States. That statute is unconstitutional."
For the life of him, Russ could not think of a counter-argument.
Saturday and Sunday were like a photo shoot without the cameras. The theater group arrived at a beautiful home in St. Francis Wood with their costumes and makeup, and proceeded to stage dinners, birthday parties, quiet evenings at home, preparing school projects, a couple of parental fights, and the day the dog knocked over an expensive vase. Russ discovered that they had a Japanese maid and hired a gardening company to take care of the grounds. He was beginning to enjoy being rich. When they left the house, it was immaculate. Not a trace of their presence remained.
The rest of the week was spent in San Francisco, and Russ was taken to St. Ignatius school where Mylor discussed the possibility of enrolling him there with the school's Jesuit president, their name for a headmaster. Brendon and Russ were allowed to tour the school, which was more like a college than a high school.
Russ was beginning to wish that this was, indeed, his real life, and that Hogwarts was just a bad dream.
xxxxxxxxxx
Saturday - Sunday, November 15 - 16, 1997
By the end of that week it was raining. From Thursday through Sunday it poured without pause. "Don't complain," Brendon insisted. "This is our water for all next summer. There's an El Niño in the Pacific. We may have a good supply of rain this winter."
Saturday evening they had an early dinner at a little place near the end of Geary Boulevard that Brendon said served the best seafood in the City. "If we get there before five o'clock, we'll get a booth. After that we wait. Go as yourself, not as Russ." The restaurant didn't take reservations. If you waited, you eventually were seated. Meanwhile they served free glasses of wine to the people in line. It was a relaxed and cheerful crowd, and the fish was, indeed, superb.
They'd decided that Russ had seen all he needed to see in San Francisco. The next day he was returning to Hogwarts – alone. Mylor and Brendon were together again, to the delight of all their friends, and Mylor confessed to being happier than he'd been in all the three previous years.
"If you hadn't reminded Moody about our meeting, this wouldn't have happened. I owe you one, big time, as the Americans say. If you need anything, let us know. And if you're ever looking for a place to vacation, you're always welcome."
Sunday morning, Russ went to church again with Brendon and Mylor, then collected his suitcase and began the long series of apparations that would take him back to Moody's home in England. He arrived late in the afternoon.
"What are you doing back so soon?" was Moody's first reaction. "Couldn't take it, eh?"
"They happen to be," Snape replied, having turned back into himself for the evening, "a perfectly lovely couple, and much nicer than some of the people I know."
"Are you joking, or have you really learned to talk like that?"
"Barbarian!"
Snape and Moody spent the evening reviewing his experiences and looking through photos. "There's a lot I'll have to review in the pensieve. So much happened so fast that it was hard keeping track of it."
Early the next morning, Russ apparated with Moody back to Hogwarts. It was a cold, gray day with frost in the air, and Russ missed California more than he would admit. Things were made a bit better by the look on Luna's face when he entered the Great Hall, still in time for some breakfast.
"You're back! We weren't expecting you until next week! Did everything go all right?"
"Fabulous! Considering the circumstances, that is." Russ remembered in time that he was supposed to have gone to California for his parents' divorce proceedings. He'd spent half an hour in a lawyer's office and a quick trip to Superior Court to garner precisely those memories, but it had seemed minor in the whirl of everything else. "I think my mom's going to get custody." This last was for the benefit of the other Ravenclaws, Eledora MacAlvoy included, who were all pretending not to be listening.
"But that would mean you'd leave Hogwarts." said Luna, playing along.
"Right. And go back to California, where I belong."
xxxxxxxxxx
"What do you mean, where you belong!" Luna accosted Russ accusingly on the lawn outside the castle. The Gryffindor four approached near enough to partake of the argument. "You sound like you didn't want to come back!"
"Truth? You want the truth? I didn't!"
"Bet you enjoyed being a rich kid again! Did you eat patay di foy grass every night and ride around in a Rolls Royce!"
"I happen to like pâté de foie gras, and it was a BMW! And they were nice! They talked to each other – more important they listened to each other – and people who're different are still accepted without having to change!"
"How different?"
Russ and Luna stared at each other, tempers blazing, and neither flinched. "More different than you'll ever be," Russ answered. Then he mellowed a touch. "You'd like it in California. You'd fit right in. In California, you're perfectly normal."
"Are you?" Luna asked suddenly.
"I don't know," Russ answered. "I'd like to be."
"Are you two fighting?" asked Ron, coming up at that moment. "'Cause if you are, it's spooky. Not like you at all."
"He," declared Luna, "would like to stay in California. It appears California is better than Hogwarts. It appears California is better than Britain."
"Really?" said Ron. "How better?"
"The weather for one," Russ replied. "On Halloween it was so warm people were out in the street without any… jackets. No jackets at all. And then everyone's tolerant of everyone. I met an actress – a witch – and all the other actors knew she was a witch, and they didn't care. And the wizards there mingle with muggle society, and no one notices because they know how to do it."
Hermione was listening carefully, as was Neville.
"And they're not afraid to behave like muggles, either. We could have apparated to Yosemite, but you know something? The drive was fun. And beautiful. One of the wizards took a train across the United States once, and for three days he was totally free, totally disconnected from his normal time and space. I wish now I'd flown in an airplane so I could feel that way for ten hours, at least. There's a whole different world out there, and we're all locked into our little cubbyholes…"
"What about fighting against Voldemort?" Ginny asked accusingly. "Doesn't that mean anything?"
"That's one of the great things. They're not worried about Voldemort, but they know we are, and they were willing to help me even though it didn't affect them. They came out to help me, wizards and muggles, and they acted like I was doing them a favor by giving them the chance. You have no idea how nice people were to me."
"You know," said Hermione, "people in Britain can be nice, too."
"I suppose," Russ responded. "I mean, when I was growing up and we had problems at home, people around us helped as much as they could. It wasn't much because they were as poor as we were, but they were there to help."
"You were poor?" Hermione said. "I didn't know that."
Russ shrugged. "It's not important. But the people who helped my mother, I mean, they all knew us. We lived in the same village and grew up together. But the people in San Francisco didn't know me. They'd never seen me before."
"What about Mr. Sylvanus?" asked Neville.
"Okay, some of them knew him, and they knew his partner. So they helped me because…"
"His partner?" asked Ginny.
"Yes, Brendon. They… Mylor and Brendon… they were… friends before, and they wanted to… get back together… and…"
"This sounds complicated," Luna suggested. "Why don't we leave the details 'til later and go to class?"
"Good idea," said Russ.
So it was double Care of Magical Creatures with Hufflepuff, where Russ learned that his flobberworms had either died or gone into hibernation. The class, in any case, had advanced to studying semi-magical creatures such as snakes, spiders, and frogs, that could be used in potions or to feed to other magical creatures. Hagrid was sympathetic to Russ's problems.
Not so Professor Trelawney in Divination, who apparently took Russ's long absence as a personal affront and began to predict bizarre and painful demises for him.
"Such a truncated life line, Master Moody –" they had advanced to palmistry "– I suspect that you are not long for this world. And the head line – it is practically buried under the heart line – or is it the other way 'round now that I look at it more carefully – but in either case it is a sign of lack of contact, of isolation and antisocial tendencies. I fear you will die young and unmourned, my dear boy."
After that morning, lunch, Herbology, and Potions were a welcome relief, and by the end of the day Russ felt as if he'd never left Hogwarts, as if Brendon, Mylor, and San Francisco were all just a pleasant dream he'd had over the weekend.
xxxxxxxxxx