A/N: This—compared to my usual thing—is shockingly short. I hope it doesn't offend anyone, and it may hasten the arrival of Chapter 12.
Disclaimer: I am neither JKR nor any one of The Supremes. Sadly.
Recap: Lily agrees to de-friend James for Snape. Adam McKinnon likes Marlene Price, but Marlene's got a brat boyfriend Miles. Carlotta Meloni breaks up Frank and Alice, but Frank expresses mixed feelings about having a relationship with Carlotta. Shelley Mumps is Carlotta's best friend and the "other" Gryffindor sixth year girl.
Something a little different here today... it's kind of like a random one shot interjected into the story, and it is designed to answer all of your Who-does-Lily-Really-Love? Questions. Please review!
Chapter 11- The Trouble with Angels
Or
"You Can't Hurry Love"
Lily Evans was not in love.
Marlene Price was in love.
Donna Shacklebolt only ever said the word "love" in a derisive tone.
Mary Macdonald had experienced only a superficial kind of romantic love.
Carlotta Meloni understood the concept of love but very, very little.
Shelley Mumps was about as "in love" as the average sixteen-year-old girl is.
Alice Griffiths had spent too much time trying not to love someone.
Such was the case, and it was almost Christmas.
"I'll see you soon, then," Lily said with a smile. Severus nodded. The pair stood in the Entrance Hall, where students were gathering in preparation of the return home for the Christmas holidays.
"It would be better if you were staying," he told her. "Do you really have to go home? Who will you sit with on the train?"
"Donna and Mary are going home too," said the redhead. "Don't worry. Keep busy. Good luck on that Transfiguration homework."
"You, too."
Then Filch was calling for everyone to get into a carriage, and it was time to go. Lily rode down to the platform with Donna, Mary, and a Slytherin boy that had some sort of interest in the latter. When they reached the Hogsmeade station, Donna went to find her luggage—which had come down on a different carriage—and Lily moved along to the front for the train, depositing her luggage with Hagrid, except for the cage containing her cat.
"Lily!"
The redhead turned to see Luke hurrying towards her across the platform.
"We already said goodbye," Lily pointed out, smiling. He nodded: a more somber, less jovial nod than usual.
"I just... last time we talked... I was really..."
"It's not your fault, Luke," Lily interrupted. "It's mine. I was the one who..."
"No, Lily, wait," he interrupted. "You did what you thought was right, and even though that's had some... unexpected repercussions, I can accept it. Because I love you."
She kissed him, softly on the lips. "I'm sorry, Luke," she whispered again.
"Don't worry about it. It'll all blow over soon... my family didn't do anything wrong, and I'm sure that Lathe git will find it out as soon as he's done poking and prodding around there... there's been a mistake. I know it."
Lily nodded, wanting very much to believe him. "I wish you could come visit," she added in a lighter tone.
"I should stay close to the castle," her boyfriend replied. "My family might need me. It's sort of a difficult time... the Ministry hasn't found any proof that anything happened in storage there, but... y'know... the investigation isn't easy on anyone."
"No, I suppose not." The first whistle sounded, and Lily sighed. "I should go."
"Right. Alright." They kissed once more. "Goodbye, Flower."
"Bye, Luke."
She boarded the train, smiling sadly.
"You told your boyfriend you were the one responsible for getting his family investigated?" asked a derisive voice. Lily rolled her eyes and turned to see James Potter, boarding behind her.
"Yes, I told him," she replied coolly. "Because we have a healthy, steady relationship based on honesty and reliability. We don't feel the need to lie or play games or manipulate each other. Novel, I know..."
"Healthy and steady," echoed James, grinning. "Your enthusiasm is inspiring, Flower."
Lily faced him completely; she would have put her hands on her hips, had the cat's cage not impeded the gesture. "Luke and I have a very interesting relationship if that's what you're getting at," she informed him. "Luke is sweet and caring and funny and..."
"And," James interrupted, "I bet he's become a lot more interesting in the last few weeks, with all of this business about his family maybe dealing dark magic materials."
"Not everyone has such a twisted sense of what makes someone interesting, Potter," she replied. James simply shrugged.
"Says the girl whose best mate is Severus Snape." With that, he brushed by her in the corridor, winking as he slipped past. When he was gone, Lily entered the nearest compartment and sat down. She leaned against the window and stared out the window, her mind swimming with Luke, with Severus, and with James Potter.
Lily Evans was not in love at that moment in time. Actually, for a girl who was surprisingly wise with regards to many matters of the heart, Lily Evans failed to understand much of the whole matter as it was concerned with the men in her own life.
She was just practical enough to know that she didn't really understand love, but just naïve enough to believe that the affection she felt for one pale, black-eyed individual was responsible for her aching heart. She was just naïve enough to fail to recognize that the aching in her heart was due to the fact that this individual resisted her innocent and genuine care. She was just naïve enough to believe that it was, instead, a symptom of love: love like Anna Karenina's, or Romeo and Juliet's.
But it wasn't.
Because Lily Evans was not in love. (Not yet.)
(I Hear a Symphony)
"I'm glad you're staying, Adam," Marlene admitted, as the pair returned to Gryffindor Tower from saying their farewells in the Entrance Hall. The castle seemed so deserted, now that most of the students had been packed aboard the Hogwarts Express.
"Well," replied the other, "Mum and Dad thought they'd be back from their little world-tour expedition, but apparently they got held up in China... something about dragons Dad was mad to visit... it's more or less the story of my life, right there. Anyway, it'll nice that the nine of us aren't all holed up in the house."
"You're lucky to have six brothers and sisters," Marlene informed him. "At home, it's just me and Mum, and she's not exactly thrilling company."
"And a twelve-year-old know-it-all sister is thrilling company? I'd trade."
Marlene laughed. "So... except for three Marauders and a handful of underclassmen, we've got the castle more or less to ourselves. Whatever shall we do with all of this solitude, McKinnon?"
"Eat until we pass up, wake up, and repeat."
"And here I was looking forward to finishing up that Transfiguration assignment."
Adam grinned. "You've been hanging around too many Ravenclaws: I'm cutting you off. No one but Gryffindors for you until after Christmas. Have you got any firewhiskey?"
"I am underage, McKinnon."
"That didn't answer the question, Price."
"Well, yes, I have got some, but it's for New Years' Eve. Sirius Black made me promise I'd bring it to the bash he's throwing. I already had to lie to Miles about having any."
They were fast approaching the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Listen, Marlene," began Adam after a few seconds of silence.
"Mhm?"
"I was—there's actually something I wanted to talk to you about... for a while now."
"Password, dears?" asked the Fat Lady.
"In a minute," said Marlene politely. "What's up, Adam?" She watched him expectantly, and he found it difficult to maintain eye contact.
"The thing is..."
"Holy shit." Sirius Black had appeared through the portrait hole. "Marlene! McKinnon! Blimey—I don't suppose either of you would know what to do if someone had, say, accidentally blown up the second year dormitories?"
"...Er..."
The two exchanged looks. "We're going to go see that, right?" said Adam. Marlene nodded eagerly, and the two hurried after Sirius into the Common Room.
Marlene Price was, quite obliviously, in love. She went to bed every night, usually thinking of one boy in particular and usually wishing for something she could not put into words. She woke up and would see him at breakfast, and she would smile the kind of smile one wears when they have a particularly happy song playing in his or her head. There was a boy whose jokes made her laugh, who never failed to lift her spirits, for whom she wanted nothing but the best, and with whom she was always comfortable. In a very, very clueless fashion, Marlene Price was stumbling through love with her eyes—not closed—but on the wrong map altogether.
Because she was—in some manner—in love. But she didn't know it. (Not yet.)
(Run, Run, Run)
"Happy birthday!" cried a girl of ten, wrapping her thin arms around Donna Shackelbolt's middle and causing the older girl to tense up a bit. Platform Nine and Three Quarters was a mass of students and family members, and Donna would rather not be seen like this; she had a reputation to uphold. Anyway, she didn't really approve of "hugging."
"Hi, Bridget," Donna nonetheless replied, not quite warmly (but almost). "How are you?"
"Excellent," said the young girl called Bridget, releasing her sister and stepping back. "Kinglsey's gone around to buy a muggle magazine. He says it's important to keep up with 'what they're thinking' so we'll meet him around front."
"Where are Brice and Isaiah?" Donna asked, quite businesslike, as Bridget—a small girl, with a wiry frame and hair like Donna's—endeavored to lift her sister's trunk. Donna came to her aid.
"Aunt Dolinda is staying at the house," replied Bridget, rolling her amber colored eyes. "Don't worry—she'll be out by the time you're settled. She's been watching us in the evenings, when we're finished at the primary and Kingsley has to be at the office. It's thoroughly frustrating. You and I will have to select a new housekeeper."
Donna hid a small smile at the ten-year-old's sophisticated tone. "I'm surprised you remembered my birthday... no one ever remembers, with it so close to Christmas."
The two Shacklebolt girls made their way across Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "I always remember," corrected Bridget. "And don't act prosecuted."
"Persecuted, Bridge."
"That's what I said."
The wizard who stood by the barrier between muggle and magic Kings' Cross station nodded at the witches, and both girls walked directly through the stone wall, into muggle London.
"You know, Donna," began Bridget, as they walked along—the younger swinging her arms and watching the muggles passing by with great interest. "I think it must be very interesting to be seventeen. You can do any number of things, now, like apparate, or drink firewhiskey..."
"And what do you know about firewhiskey, Bridget Shacklebolt?" Donna demanded. Bridget shrugged, continuing to swing her arms.
"Mrs. Lockhart says..." (in a high-pitched, superior tone) "'...it is the stream that trickles along the path to iniquity.'" Bridget grinned. "I imagine that means it's a lot of fun, because everything that Mrs. Lockhart said was wrong was always the most fun... levitating the dishes, playing tag in the house, Gobstones..."
"Who in the devil is Mrs. Lockhart?" Donna asked. "And how on earth did she justify banning Gobstones?"
"She was the housekeeper who just quit."
Donna rolled her eyes. "I should have known. Kingsley hired her, after all. Why did she quit? Did you express a desire to become something other than a housewife?"
Not quite understanding the remark, Bridget shook her head. "No, it was Isaiah. He set her hair on fire."
"Of course," breathed the older witch. "Of course it was Isaiah." It was always Isaiah. "She's not pressing charges, is she?"
"Kingsley and I spoke with her," replied Bridget with dignity. "I'm glad you're home now, Donna." She slipped an arm around her sister's waist. "Even Isaiah's better behaved when you're around."
"Isaiah is always a holy terror," corrected Donna.
"He can't help it. Mrs. Lockhart said 'his lack of proper parenting has made it impossible for him to be a good little boy, and he ought to be...'"
"That's quite enough of Mrs. Lockhart," Donna cut in. "We'll have a new housekeeper... hopefully a sane one, and hopefully one who can keep Isaiah in line."
Bridget smiled. "You'll have to hire a dragon, Donna dear."
Donna Shacklebolt only ever said the word "love" in a derisive tone. She vowed that she did not believe it—that the concepts of love and marriage were invented in some past era to keep women in line. Presently, these ideas were continually propagated to keep the populous at ease: to give them something for which they might strive. But she had no intention of striving for love of the romantic (or any other) nature. She rejected the idea that it even existed. She rejected it intellectually anyway.
Because her Mum and Dad had been "in love," and they had died anyway. And Kingsley loved them all, but he still had to work ungodly hours in the auror department. And Severus Snape very clearly loved Lily Evans, but he was always hurting her. And Adam McKinnon very clearly loved Marlene Price, but Marlene did not seem to give a damn, because she was always on about Miles Stimpson (who, in turn, didn't give a damn either).
Truthfully, Donna Shacklebolt believed in love, but she derided it because she hated the whole idea: the vulnerability and helplessness and the reliance on someone else not to hurt you. Donna believed in love, but she didn't approve of any variety of it, and she certainly didn't want it. (Not yet.)
(I Want a Guy)
"More tea, Mary dear?" inquired Mrs. Macdonald, holding up the tea pot for her daughter's observation. Mary shook her head, amused by her thoroughly muggle parents' intense happiness at her arrival.
"So the classes are going well, then?" Mr. Macdonald asked, offering his daughter another scone. "I mean, the teachers are treating you alright? And your marks are still good?"
"Reasonably good," replied Mary. "Yes, everything's fine. You saw my term report, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Macdonald, "But one hardly trusts those. Your marks are always fine, of course, but I don't know how fair your teachers are. Maybe you deserve higher..."
"I get the marks that I deserve," Mary assured her parents. She had already eaten her way through a pile of scones, strawberries, and half a pot of tea. "I'm really full now," she insisted. "No more scones, or I'll positively explode."
Mrs. Macdonald began to clear the dishes from the table, stepping into the small kitchen immediately adjacent. She resembled Mary in some ways, possessing the same rich, chestnut colored hair and large hazel eyes. Unlike Mary, however, Mrs. Macdonald was a tall, lanky woman, with rough hands and strong arms: she had worked in her life. "Keeping slim, are we?" Mrs. Macdonald asked, eyebrows raised suggestively. "Is there a boy, Mary?"
"Hmm," grunted Mr. Macdonald, who possessed the smaller build Mary had inherited but—much like his wife—projected a rough-around-edges persona. "He had better treat you right, this boyfriend."
"Who said anything about 'boyfriend?'" Mary interjected at once, and then she wished she hadn't. Her father arched an eyebrow.
"You mean, you aren't actually seeing this bloke? Why not? What's wrong with him?"
"Who said there was a bloke to begin with?" asked Mary, getting defensive; still, her mind was back in the train compartment that morning... with Martin, the Slytherin boy... the way he'd touched her leg, and how he'd kissed her... like kissing wasn't all that he had on his mind. It was nice... it was fantastic, for the most part, but... no, no Martin wasn't her boyfriend.
"Oh, Mary, we didn't mean to pry," said a pacifying Mrs. Macdonald. "If you don't want to date, we more than support that. We encourage it."
"We certainly do!"
"We simply assumed that you would have someone, dear... you write about boys from time to time, and your being so pretty..."
"Mum, please." Mary found that she only ever blushed at home. "Really, it's no big deal. I have dates on occasion, but I don't have serious boyfriends."
"And that's a wise decision," said Mr. Macdonald. "You're a young, smart woman."
"A young, smart witch," agreed Mrs. Macdonald.
"Yes, that..." Mr. Macdonald went on. "And you don't want to bog yourself down, do you? You're only sixteen... no sense in not keeping your options open."
"Unless you find someone you really love," said Mrs. Macdonald. "Mary, dear, it's best you not worry about it at all."
Mary nodded. "Right, Mum, I know. Y'know, I—I reckon I'm getting a bit tired. It's been a long day, what with the train ride..." the spot on the outside of her thigh, where Martin's hand had been seemed to burn, and Mary felt suddenly guilty that her parents had no idea. "...I think I'll be turning in."
"I'll bring you in a cup of milk," said Mrs. Macdonald warmly. "Sleep well, Mary. It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back," agreed the daughter.
"I love you, Mare," said her father.
"'Love you, too, Dad."
Mary Macdonald had experienced only a one, superficial kind of romantic love, and it was very romantic and very superficial. Mary knew perfectly well that all she had to do was snap her fingers and Martin-from-Slytherin (what was his last name?) would be her boyfriend... she hadn't done the deed on the train, and he was... well, interested. Mary could always tell when they were interested enough to be a "boyfriend."
But Mary wasn't interested.
Martin was a fabulous kisser. A lot of them were fabulous kissers (many of them weren't, and they never stood a chance), but most of them simply did not spark her interest after the first snog or so... their dialogue was all so tragically trite. They all looked at her the same way: with adoration, which Mary thought must have been something like lust plus love. However, while adoration was growing dull, it was better than rejection.
She knew rejection, too. She recognized it as the look in a boy's eye, when he was mentally undressing her and already planning how he would escape later on. The rejection hurt, but it was so much more fascinating than the adoration: more fascinating, but much more dangerous. Ultimately, adoration only ever ended up hurting the adorer: not the girl he put on the pedestal.
Mary Macdonald was only familiar with one very superficial kind of romantic love, and she knew no other brand. (Not yet).
(He's Seventeen)
"Dear Frank," Carlotta tried once again. She glared at the parchment, which yielded no further inspiration, and set down her quill. Carlotta's room at home was a nice, well-decorated one and she did not have to share it, which was Carlotta's primary interest. She had been sitting at the desk without interruption for the last two hours, however, and as of yet had not figured out what she should say in her letter to Frank Longbottom.
"I reached home all right. You seemed a little hesitant to talk after the last date, and I've given you your space, even though you didn't give me any verdict about your decision. I can only hope that your silence on the matter means that you haven't given up on me all together."
Carlotta reread what she had written, then crumpled up the parchment and levitated it to the waste basket. She started again.
"Dear Frank..."
But that wasn't what she wanted either.
"Frank," she started over. No, that was too abrupt.
"Dear Frank." A brief pause, then: "I've missed you since our last date. You've been quiet, and I can understand that you need space. I'm not writing to bother you about that. I simply want to keep in touch."
Carlotta snorted and added aloud: "Because I don't trust you not to run back to your stupid ex-girlfriend... she'd be just thick enough to take you..."
"The train ride was alright... Shelley stayed at school this year, so I sat with some fifth year Ravenclaws. When we got home, before I'd even reached the door of the house, Mike Sanderville—that home-educated prat who lives next door—accosted me and asked to take me to some dance he's attending Christmas Eve in London. I almost said 'yes,' just to put him out of his misery, but my sister Eileen has been mad about him since she started home-schooling, too, and that just wouldn't be right by her. Eileen's got no self confidence, and..."
Carlotta stopped and picked up her wand, magically vanishing everything after "keep in touch." It never worked when she tried to make Frank jealous... not like it did with other blokes, anyway. He never seemed to object: it was more like a solution to some problem.
"The Carlotta Problem," she entitled it thoughtfully. She frowned, her mind drifting back towards Alice Griffiths, who was undoubtedly sitting in her dormitory thinking horrible things about Carlotta at that moment. The thought simultaneously comforted and annoyed Carlotta. She didn't like that Alice believed herself somehow better than she was, but she swelled with pride knowing that she—that she, Carlotta Meloni—had been worth losing Alice for. Frank had kissed her, knowing it could ruin his relationship with perfect girl-next-door-Alice-Griffiths and that meant something. That mean that Carlotta wasn't simply the free-love hippie girl; she was really and truly worth it.
But Carlotta couldn't write all that.
"Merry Christmas, Frank. I hope you're thinking of me, because I've been thinking about you."
Carlotta hesitated over the signature, and then, knowing that it was exactly what Alice Griffiths would have done, she finished with flourish:
"Love, Carlotta."
But of course, Carlotta Meloni understood the concept of love but very, very little. Love was sex; love was victory and a warm, happy little feeling she felt from time to time. Love had something to do with no wars... it was what they wrote songs about and why wizards dueled over witches.
Love wasn't that sappy rubbish that Alice Griffiths undoubtedly believed in: not that Carlotta really had any idea what Alice Griffiths believed... and she acknowledged this fact. It was just too easy to be Alice's opponent, most obviously because of Frank, but also because they were such... opposites. And Carlotta liked the idea of being Alice Griffiths' opposite. There was something thrillingly proper about being Alice's opposite and, all the while, trying to get what Alice already had (Stealing what Alice already had, said a voice—quickly silenced—in the back of her mind).
Carlotta understood the concept of love but very, very little, and she knew it. She didn't care. (Not yet).
(Baby Love)
The Gryffindor sixth year girls' dormitory was a lonely place just then, as Shelley Mumps observed while combing through her dishwater blond hair on the second morning of break. Marlene Price was the only other girl there, and she was always out with Adam McKinnon or with the three Marauders.
Shelley sighed. Three Marauders. Only Three.
She'd only signed up to stay at the castle because she had heard all four Marauders would be staying. But then James Potter had up and decided he was going home after all, and Shelley had learned it too late. He ought to have publicized the information a little more.
Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, Shelley stared into the mirror, but thought of James rather than her own reflection. The boy had spoken maybe fifty words to her in almost six years, but there was something magnetic about him. Everyone saw it (nearly everyone, anyway), and you could tell, because everyone loved him (nearly everyone, anyway).
Shelley Mumps certainly did, anyway.
"Hi, Shelley," said Marlene, the picture of holiday spirit that morning, as the witch flitted into the dormitory from the bathroom, where she had been putting on her make up.
"Hi, Marlene," replied Shelley. Marlene Price: now there was an interesting girl. She was pretty: quite cute really, if not absolutely stunning like Carlotta or Lily. She was tall and shapely (though she didn't think it), and her hair fell halfway down her back in golden sheets. Suddenly, Shelley felt envious, and Shelley rarely felt envious. Envy was simply something she could not afford while being best mates with Carlotta. "Where are you off to this morning?"
Shelley noted the fashionable jeans, jumper, and knee-high boots that her roommate had donned. "Snowball fight with some of the boys," replied Marlene airily, pulling her scarf and coat from her trunk. "You should come along. It'll be loads of fun. The Marauders always jazz it up... it's bound to be more of a snowball World War."
If only James Potter were there.
Shelley considered it. Then, she glanced down at the skirt she had already put on for the day. "I'm not dressed for a snowball fight," she told Marlene. "I'd better not."
Marlene pinned in some earrings. "We'll wait for you if you like, Shelley. No one will mind."
No, thought Shelley. No, then they'd get irritable and I'd be the girl that held them all up, and then Sirius Black would think I'm a bother, and he might tell James Potter that I'm a bother, and..
"I think I'd better get a start on that Transfiguration essay, actually," Shelley said. "But thank-you for the invitation."
"Come on down if you change your mind," said Marlene. "I hate to think of you all alone in the dormitory doing homework." With a smile, the blonde departed, leaving Shelley with her reflection in the mirror.
Shelley Mumps was about as "in love" as the average sixteen-year-old girl is. Shelley was "in love" with her house Quidditch Captain: she was in love with his messy hair, and the fact that he grinned crookedly, and that he just had that fantastic way about him. But of course, Shelley Mumps was not really in love with him. She was infatuated with him, and maybe that was worse, because Shelley was not vain or envious or self-conscious by nature, but when she thought of James Potter, she became all three.
It didn't matter that James barely knew her, that she clammed up when he was around, or that they had never conducted a real conversation of any important variety. Shelley was infatuated, and she had no intention of giving up on that infatuation. (Not yet).
(The Happening)
"Good morning, Alice," said Marlene cheerily, entering the seventh year girls' dormitory with a smile and four boys.
"What the bloody hell are you all doing here?" Alice demanded, setting down the book she had been reading at the window seat. "And how did you manage to get boys in here?"
"First of all," Sirius Black—one of the posse—began, "I didn't know you swore, sweet Alice. I think it's quite cute. Secondly, we managed to get in the girls' dormitory by..."
"C'mon, Sirius," interrupted Remus, "haven't you spilled enough secrets recently? This idiot..." Remus added to the others in the room: "told his date three different secret passageways around castle just so that she'd snog him."
"Did it work?" Marlene wanted to know.
Sirius shrugged. "Let's just say Shannon Prewett can do wonderful things with her tongue."
Marlene and Alice cringed. "Can someone please make me forget that I ever heard that?" whined the former. Sirius started to draw his wand, but Remus glared.
"We're getting off topic," Peter pointed out, and Adam nodded his agreement.
"Yeah," he said. "Sirius's weird and wonderful exploits with Shannon Prewett's tongue have nothing to do with our mission here, today."
Alice rolled her eyes. "If this some mad scheme to get me to come downstairs and... have a snowball fight or something equally cliché with you all, I won't do it. I'm reading."
"Oh, no," said Sirius; "We don't want you to come downstairs."
"Quite the contrary," agreed Adam.
"We want you to stay up here," said Remus.
"For the entire Christmas holiday," Peter contributed.
"Marlene will bring you meals," added Sirius.
Alice stared at them. "That's why you came up here? To tell me to stay put?"
"Also," said Marlene, "to ask you what scarring childhood event has made you so much of a masochist as to stay at Hogwarts this year?"
"It's my last year," replied the seventh year defensively; "I like Christmas at Hogwarts, and I thought I would enjoy..."
"Frank is staying, too," interrupted Marlene. Alice stared.
"Seriously?"
"Yes, dear."
She got up from the window seat. "B-b-but he never stays. He always goes home to his Mum, because... damn. Damn. That can't be possible!"
"And she continues to swear," noted Sirius. "It's truly adorable."
"It's possible and true," Remus told Alice sympathetically. "Marlene wanted to warn you, and she brought us with her. I hope we haven't startled you or any..."
"It's fine, Remus," interrupted Alice softly, clearly lost in thought. "But—how could this have happened? Good lord, I thought I'd finally be able to just go around the castle without any danger of running into him! Why would he...? Oh!" Comprehension dawned on Alice's round face; "Carlotta stayed, too, didn't she? That's it, isn't it? That's why Frank's staying?"
"No, Carlotta went home," said Adam.
"She did?"
"She did."
"But then, why...?" Alice broke off. "Marlene, why are you staring at me like that?"
Indeed, Marlene was looking at the seventh year with an expression of wide-eyed awe. "Because... b-b-because... because you said the name!" stammered Marlene. "You said the name!"
"She said what name?" chorused the four boys, puzzled.
"She said Carlotta's name!" cried Marlene, clapping her hands together excitedly. "Alice, you haven't said Carlotta's name once since this whole thing started... you haven't said her name once, and now you've just said it, and... and you didn't even notice that you said it! You're fine!"
Alice blinked. "I am fine."
"I agree," said Sirius. Remus elbowed him.
"I didn't feel anything," Alice continued. "I said Carlotta's name and didn't feel anything... not worried or angry or sad or..." She looked at the five of them. "I'm over it," announced the witch, marveling at her own words.
Marlene stepped closer. "You're over it?"
"I'm over it."
"You're completely over it?"
"I am completely over it."
Marlene began to applaud, and the others followed the suit. Alice sat down, lost to her confused musings. "Listen, thank-you guys for coming up here, but... could you give me a minute? I need to digest."
With a digestion joke from Sirius and an encouraging smile from Marlene, the five sixth years departed. Alice breathed deeply. This hardly seemed possible: after all this time, she suddenly just didn't care anymore... she didn't want to be in this stupid dormitory anymore... she wanted to be out there.
Alice Griffiths had spent too much time trying not to love someone. Because, deep down, she had always loved Frank, even when she stood there and told him they were done, and even when she'd seen him in Hogsmeade with Carlotta, and even when she'd heard he went on a date with Carlotta: Alice couldn't help but love Frank.
But now, that didn't matter. It all made sense. Loving Frank and moving on were not contradicting philosophies. Alice-and-Frank would never happen again: dwelling was pointless. Dwelling made her unhappy. Dwelling was reading that dull-as-dishwater book in the dormitory when a thick blanket of marvelous snow awaited her outside. Alice stood up.
She had spent too much time trying not to love someone, and now she saw that none of that was what counted, because she had moved on. She hadn't quite moved on from loving him (not yet), but she had moved past caring about what had already happened. She had moved past and was ready to get the hell out of this stupid, Carole-King-soundtrack-ed mood that had plagued the dormitory for months.
She was ready to look pretty and laugh; to attend post-Quidditch parties and fancy a cute bloke. She was ready to go to Hogsmeade for the sheer fun of it, and not because her friends dragged her there. The sun was shining, the snow glistened as Alice moved on that morning, and it was almost Christmas.
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A/N: And now I really want it to be Christmas damn it. Please, please review—Chapter 12, entitled "Merrily, Merrily, Merrily," arrives as soon as I'm inspired to finish it. I guess you all know where you come in.
Anonymous reviewers: anonymous (thanks so much! Glad you enjoyed and hopefully you'll enjoy this as well), Amarilla Grey (I LOVE that your favorite character is Carlotta—and as for seeing more of her, you certainly will... she's got so much more trouble to cause :-)), underbabe (thank you, you're fabulous), and deadandbreathing (that's really good of you to say; I'm flattered, and I'm very happy that you're enjoying the story!).
Reviews are celery (you burn more calories than you consume eating it).
Love and cookies,
Jewels