Chapter Eleven: Emily: The Hottie

"Are you allowed to flirt with Healers when you're married?" I asked longingly upon seeing one of the younger employees at St. Mungo's. Rose laughed, wagging her fork in my direction and leaned forward on the cafeteria table.

"Al would be disappointed." I gave a non-committal jerk.

"Nah."

"Would you want him to flirt with other girls?"

"No."

She sighed dramatically. "Demanding wife."

"Not in love with my husband."

"But you've got a baby," she declared tenderly, dropping her eyes down to my stomach. I squirmed. "Not showing yet?"

I swallowed, even though I hadn't taken a bite out of my stale tuna sandwich. "No, it's only been a few weeks."

"What are you going to name it?" she asked eagerly.

"Not sure," I said awkwardly, taking a large bite to avoid feeling so. Rose shrugged. Over the past few days while working together, she had really lightened up around me; perhaps she wasn't too worried about me coming in between her and Scorpius now that I was married? Honestly, I could say we've actually become friends.

It's a little strange, becoming friends with someone after they got together with Scorpius.

I glanced at the Hot Healer (as we dubbed him) again, taking in the perfect sight of him. Great body, fair skin, light brown hair… he looked perfect. Not to mention, he was perfectly oblivious to the many females around the cafeteria that were staring at him.

But with a guy as hot as he is, who cares?

"How old d'you think he is?" I asked absent-mindedly while chewing. Rose observed him, the dreamy look slightly less prominent in her eyes.

"I'd say around six years older."

"Six years, you reckon?" I asked thoughtfully, staring openly in his direction. "That's not bad, is it?" She kicked me lightly, and I laughed. "Calm yourself, I'm joking."

She rolled her eyes. "Scorpius is hotter." I wrinkled my nose.

"Ew, not a chance."

"He totally is."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I've seen him in diapers, Rose."

"Wouldn't you have been in diapers, too?"

"Oh, shut it," I replied, laughing along with her.

The dingy cafeteria was dull – much like most cafeterias in hospitals. If my loved one was being treated, I would hate to be sitting in this area. Grey colour schemes are not pleasing at any rate.

Rose and I just gone through our fourth morning at our work placement, and I have to say, I was really enjoying it. I'm not sure if I would have if Rose wasn't here; I mean, I do like observing Healers at work – especially one in particular – but honestly? It got boring, watching them change bandages, give injections, cast spells, etc. It was practical application that I wanted to do, and that would come later.

It's really no wonder why I loved potions class so much.

Rose and I didn't have anything in common, really. She was obsessed with Quidditch (not surprisingly, with a family like hers), but she was… girly.Not overly so, like some of my "friends" back at Hogwarts, but enough to create enough of a separation between us.

Oddly enough, however, without Rose's nerves, we got along. Really well.

I wasn't used to having real friends who were girls. Rose truly didn't want anything from me (besides Al's money, but she already got that), and because of that, it was so easy to trust this bubbly, sarcastic and feisty girl.

Funnily enough, Scorpius told me a long time ago that it's what he wanted in a girl.

(I teased him for weeks.)

Rose and I did share one thing in common: we both tend to overanalyze things.

Oh, and we like scoping for guys. Even she admitted Hot Healer was fit.

… this is rather shameful behaviour for married women, isn't it?

Whoops.

Nevertheless, Rose and I had spent the past four days giggling behind Healers' backs, commenting on the length of their trousers (you'd think this wasn't an issue, but…), rating them on a scale of one to ten (and I'm not talking about healing) and generally making snide remarks.

It's a special sort of friendship, I think.

Never thought I'd say that.

I swallowed the last bit of my sandwich and brushed some crumbs off my hands. "Alright," I said, looking around the room again, "if you were to stuck on an island with him –" I discreetly nodded towards Hot Healer "– or him –" I gestured towards a blonde-haired employee in his thirties, speaking to his wife "– or him," I indicated towards a red-head in the corner, picking at his nails. "Who would you marry, who would you rescue and who would you drown?" Rose collapsed in a git of giggles.

"My mum described this game to me, once," she said, stabbing her fork into her pasta salad. "Em, these are tough choices."

"That's the point," I said, grinning evilly. "Come on, choose." She sighed, glancing at each other them. I waited.

"He's sort of cute," she said finally, pointing to the blonde-haired man. I made a face.

"I just tested you to see if you could think of anyone but Scorpius," I said seriously, trying not to smirk, "and you failed."

A small smile made its way across her face. "You mean I passed?"

"In a way, I guess," I admitted grudgingly. In truth, I felt relieved that Rose had genuine feelings for Scorp. "But you'll look at other guys eventually."

"But it's love, Em!" she said happily, swinging an arm around my shoulders. I laughed at the glee in her voice, feeling almost jealous. "Just wait until you fall for Al; it's a great feeling, love."

I exhaled. "I am not falling in love with Al," I said for the umpteenth time, pushing my garbage into the bin before exiting the room with Rose, arm still suspended around me. "Besides, I don't understand him at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I just feel like he's hiding something," I decided after a moment of mulling it over. "I don't think he's acting happy, per se, but…" I bit my lip. "I think he's happy because he doesn't allow himself to feel anything else." Rose looked at me like I was going bonkers.

Just as well. I've been an emotional wreck lately.

She slid her arm off me and made to say something – but closed her mouth. Then opened it. And shut it again. Then dropped her jaw – again.

She kind of looks like a goldfish when she does that.

"Rose?" I teased, snapping my fingers in front of her. "You'll catch a fly in there." She immediately grinned, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"There are only three people who understand Al," Rose said in a strained voice, beginning to walk again. "Me, Lily and Aunt Ginny. And you, I suppose," she added as afterthought. I raised my eyebrows.

"I thought I didn't understand him."

"Looks like you do."

I cracked a smile. "Is there a reason they're all females?"

"I think males tend not to think about it, much," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure Uncle Harry knows, but most of the time, if they don't have to think about it, they don't."

"Predictably."

"Has Al been sleeping at night?" I felt startled.

What did sleep patterns have to do with this?

"Sort of?" I began as we turned a corner. "I mean, everyone's ministry meetings were pushed back by a bit, so I suppose that provided some sort of relief…"

"Emily…"

"Yeah, he is," I realized with a jolt. "Not right away. He likes to talk a bit about what he has to do the next day, and then he falls asleep. Except for the first night…" I faltered at Rose's smirk.

"He definitely fell asleep that first night."

"Not this again," I groaned, feeling my face heat immediately. I spotted a restroom and entered it. "I don't know how that happened, Rose!"

"His lack of shirt or the cuddling?" I cringed, not wanting to think about it.

"Both!"

"It took ages to get him to let go of you without waking him," she stated, shaking with uncontrollable laughter. I rubbed at my cheeks, and to my dismay, they only became redder. My frustration showed in the mirror.

This is how I look like around Al half the time.

Wow, attractive.

Rose clutched at the counter, giggles subsiding. "You guys are sweet. And you wonder why you're in the same position every morning."

"It's not my fault!" I whined, giving up on removing my infuriating blush. "He does it in his sleep!"

"You cuddle back."

"I do not," I insisted, hating my pale face more and more. I stripped my rubber band from my ponytail and let my hair fall to the sides of my cheeks, effectively hiding them. "Pray tell, what does this have to do with understanding Al and his sleep patterns?"

Rose was smiling dreamily as she pushed herself backwards onto the counter in between two sinks. "I wish you weren't so resistant to him, Em. He trusts you."

I snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. He keeps going on about never trusting Slytherins."

"He doesn't care about that," she said, waving a hand at me. "James put those ideas in his mind when he was younger, but last year, he set a couple of people straight about the prejudice."

My stomach felt oddly light. "He did?"

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "He was almost sorted into Slytherin."

Excuse me?

"Yeah," she repeated upon seeing my expression. "Don't tell him I told you, it's a secret." I nodded, running a hand through my hair.

"Holy crap." She laughed, and I shook my head. "No, it's just hard to imagine someone like Al in Slytherin."

"Maybe people who are sorted in Slytherin aren't always the obvious," she contemplated, speaking slowly. "There are people who are sorted because they have the qualities, but those aren't completely defined. Most people are sorted because of their family line."

Like me.

I silently agreed. "I didn't expect that."

She laughed. "Half of what comes out of his mouth is bullshit. My point is that he trusts you – it's why he's been sleeping."

"I just assumed that he…" I wanted to tell Rose what Al had told me – that he was nervous. I knew Al got nerves and took a little bit of time to get used to the idea before becoming confident again. Al was sleeping, but not particularly peacefully; he still thrashed around all the time. I had just assumed he could sleep because he wasn't as nervous anymore, with the ministry falling behind on trials and giving us more time to think.

Strangely enough, Rose's explanation made sense. I know he cared – he kept insisting, anyway – but trusting was a different matter. It was strange that he could trust me, but I could trust Rose and not him. I mean, he's my husband – what the hell is wrong with me?

I mean, I know I don't trust easy… but why can't I trust Al?

And somehow, I found myself trailing off and dropping the subject as we made our way back to our stations. I didn't tell her about Al's nerves. It wasn't like it was a secret or anything… he never said it was, and Rose is his best friend. She just shared something with me. Al would've told her he was nervous. I could've said it, and she would think nothing of it. I could've told her.

But I didn't.

"You know what sucks?" Al asked, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. "This fan." I glanced at it; we placed it on top of a muggle appliance called a microwave so it could provide some sensation of cooling down as we sat in the kitchen. We had settled ourselves across from each other on top of the stone counters, the narrow strip of tiled floor in between us.

I brought my thighs to my chest, resting my head on my knees as I look at him. "I agree. Maybe we should open the windows?"

"Probably, if I'm cooking," he joked, his eyes crinkling as he laughed. "How is it that Rose is the only one who knows how to cook around here?"

"I know how to make sandwiches," I piped up unhelpfully.

"I'd probably burn those, too."

"That explains the open windows," I said, laughing. "You don't have to heat sandwiches."

"It's not as if I'd know that," he joked again, sliding off the counter and glancing into the fridge. "At least we don't have to plan their wedding."

"So you shouldn't be complaining about cooking?" I suggested. Merriment sparkled in his eyes.

"You've never tried my cooking."

"You've never tried mine."

He closed his eyes, letting the cool air from the fridge wash over his body. "Let's have a little competition?"

I smirked. I loved competing – and winning."What kind?"

"Who can make the best meal?" I jumped off the counter and leaned over Al to peek into the fridge, seeing it full. I turned back to him.

"You're on," I told him, shaking my sweaty hand with his. I was almost a hundred percent sure that I was better than Al – so why not accept?

He paused suddenly, his hand still in mine and a suspicious expression on his face. "You're not going to poison me, are you?" It took all of my self-restraint from bursting into laughter.

Poison him? Not that it wasn't an appealing idea…

"Are would I get poison, exactly?" I teased, eyebrows raised. "Your girlfriend?"

Al gave an involuntary twitch. "Ex-girlfriend. Why would she have poison?"

"She wants to kill me." He laughed, shutting the fridge door.

"If she really wanted to kill you, she would've told the minister by now. I wonder why she hasn't," he added, searching my face for answers. I grimaced.

"I don't want to talk about it." His eyes narrowed into further suspicion.

"But you always –"

"It's too hot," I whined obnoxiously, trying not to laugh at my own ridiculous behaviour. His lips twitched, and I could tell he was thinking the same. "We've got a plan, so let's just…"

"Never talk about Holly again?" he suggested. I let out a soft laugh and nodded.

"Exactly."

"Good, I hate that bitch," he said nonchalantly, opening the fridge door again. "Merlin, this feels good..." I rolled my eyes.

"Al, you can't cook and stand in front of the fridge at the same time."

"Au contraire," he declared, pulling out his wand, "Magic will save me!" I bit my lip to stop the chuckle from bursting out.

"It's not going to work, genius. But maybe," I said, the thought suddenly bursting into my mind, "we could spread a freezing charm all over the house? Or some sort of cold air?"

He considered it. "I think Rose said that she didn't want to, because of the muggles in our neighbourhood…" My face fell as I shrugged.

"Worth a try, I guess," I said gloomily, leaning back onto the counter. "Are we going to have this competition or not?"

He didn't bother to bite back his smile this time. "You actually want to do it?"

"Of course!" I exclaimed, going back to peer into the fridge again. "Although I'm not quite sure of what I'm making…"

"You're actually excited," he said in a slightly dazed voice. I glanced sideways at him, and he was staring at me like he'd never seen me before. "This is what Rose was talking about?"

"Rose was talking about me?"

"She said you were one of the funniest people she knows," he began, "and I don't exactly see that too often. She insisted, though."

I felt flattered. "Really?"

"She also said that you were spirited." His eyes locked into mine, and I thought I saw a glimmer of triumph. "But I figured that one out for myself."

I faltered for the second time that day. "I..."

"Oh, and something about you flirting with a healer!" he added, snapping his fingers and grinning playfully.

"Shut up, I didn't –"

"Emily, I'm hurt," he teased, expression suggesting the exact opposite.

"But I really didn't –"

"And there comes that blush again!" he said happily, the triumph not only evident in his eyes, but in his voice. I cursed my red cheeks.

WHY AM I SO PASTY?

"You're going down, Potter," I growled, narrowing my eyes.

"Bring it on, Potter."

This smells good, whatever it is.

And when I say 'whatever it is', I mean that I have no idea why I just mixed all these random things in a potful of boiling hot water. It comprised of a lot of pasta sauce, chicken, broccoli, spinach, cucumbers, mushrooms, spaghetti and rice.

(I've really never cooked before. Rose has been doing the cooking for the last few days.)

But I'm doing better than Al; he couldn't figure out how to use the stove, so he's making himself… I don't even know.It's a big, grey-ish brown mess.

"I don't want to try that," I told him, eyeing the mush with apprehension. "It looks disgusting."

"Yours looks like a potion," he said moodily, not bothering to deny his epic failure in our competition. "This isn't class, you know."

"I'm just trying to win." I turned back to the stove and turned it off; the soup-ish mixture was bubbling and very close to spilling right over the edge of the pot. "Mine smells better than yours."

"Of course you'd win," he groaned, dropping his elbows onto the counter and rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. "You're female."

I rolled my eyes. "You're full of crap. Your dad cooked all the time before the wedding."

"I was joking."

"That's why I said you're full of crap," I clarified, laughing. "What did you put in that thing, anyway?"

"Potatoes, pepper… and some other stuff," he moaned, his eyes still covered with his hands. "Can I admit defeat now? I'm starving."

I smirked and set the pot on the counter next to him. "I'm not sure this is edible."

"It's food. It's what I live for," he said, not altogether joking. I pushed myself onto the counter as he grabbed two bowls and utensils. "I've never been good at potions."

"What were you good at?" I asked, lifting the lid and letting the steam escape.

"Astronomy." He sat on the counter on the other side of the pot, reaching over and grabbing a spoon to pour the soup in his bowl. "I think there was always something about the stars that fascinated me. I wrote a lot about them when I was younger."

"And now?"

He laughed, holding his bowl with two hands. "I don't write stories anymore. Just articles."

"I find it odd," I contemplated, pouring myself the reddish liquid and placing the lid back on the pot, "that you live with your head in the clouds, but write so well about reality."

"Perhaps I don't live with my head in the clouds?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"Or maybe," I considered, ignoring him, "you let those things you write about into your own private world. Is that it?"

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know. I don't think about that stuff." He took a tentative bite (or sip?) of the soup and grimaced. "Don't eat the rice."

"Got it," I confirmed, dipping my spoon in the bowl and scooping out a fair amount. "Not cooked?"

"Not exactly," he said, reaching over and spitting grains of rice in the sink. I giggled.

Bloody hell, I just giggled.

Rose must be rubbing off on me.

I put the spoon in my mouth and immediately clenched my eyes. "This is disgusting."

"Too much salt."

"Let's get rid of it," I proposed, not waiting for his approval before taking out my wand and silently Vanishing it. "I don't know how my mom learned how to cook, I never did."

He grinned weakly at me. "I'm starving."

"Italian?"

"As long as they have chocolate, I'm happy," he said cheerfully, dropping off the counter. I laughed before he turned to me, blocking the way out of the kitchen, eyes suddenly full of concern. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about the ministry? The meeting is a couple of days…"

I shook my head quickly. "No, I don't." I don't want to think about it, let alone talk.

"But –"

"We're ready," I said, trying to dodge around him, but he caught me by the side of my arms. I shrugged him off. "The law says they can't force Veritaserum on us, and we've got our story. Speaking of which, how did you not know a law your dad passed?"

His eyes narrowed, making my stomach drop. "You're changing the subject."

I ignored his accurate perception. "Your dad passed a law and you didn't –"

"My dad passed tons of laws, I can't know them all. Stop," he insisted, holding my arms more tightly this time when I attempted to duck around him. I tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't let go.

Damn him and his testosterone-powered strength! Where's my wand?

His hands were too tight around me to move my arms, so I kicked him as he spoke. "You're just not thinking about – ow – it and you'll regret it if we're suddenly not prepared – ow – and then something really bad will happen and – will you stop already?" I sighed and went limp, looking in his eyes.

"Let go of my arms."

"But we have to –" he was suddenly cut off with my knee to his groin. He fell backwards, hitting the floor with a thud.

"I told you to let go of me," I said crossly, rubbing my arms.

He moaned in pain. "Bloody Slytherin."

"I guess I made it in for a reason?" I teased, smirking and stepping out of the kitchen, crouching down beside him. "Sorry."

"You owe me so much chocolate right now…" he got out, his knuckles whitening in fists as he sat up. I laughed. I seemed to have been doing that a lot lately.

Maybe I do trust Al.

Just as the thought formed in my mind, he flicked my forehead before slowly standing and heading towards the front door. I rubbed my face and stuck my tongue out at him.

Okay, I sort of trust him.

It's a start, right?