Twenty-Six
"What exactly is butterbeer?" Vivian asked, eyeing the amber liquid curiously. It didn't look any different from ordinary beer.
"Well, it's, uh...beer, butterbeer, well, our beer, wizarding beer," Arthur Weasley eagerly volunteered an explanation.
Vivian frowned.
"So is it any different from normal, I mean, our beer, Muggle beer?" she asked, stressing the last two words.
"It's less bitter," Arthur's wife, Molly, helped out, "And very nourishing. I used to drink gallons of it when I was breastfeeding the twins."
"It contains less alcohol than Muggle beer," Minerva McGonnagal continued explaining, "That's why underage wizards are allowed to drink it."
"You can drink it warm, it's good against colds," Molly Weasley added.
"Warm?" Vivian wrinkled her nose.
"Would you like to find out what it is like and try one?" The young man called Harry Potter asked, getting up to buy another round.
"Oh, well, I don't know..."
She looked at John for advice, but he only shrugged, his face saying 'please yourself'.
"If it is low-alcohol... yes, I'll have one."
They were gathered in the back room of the 'Cauldron of Blood', the, as Shacklebolt had pointed out, newly opened only wizarding pub in Scotland outside Hogsmeade. Situated in one of the smaller streets off the Cowgate, the pub's exterior did nothing to attract potential patrons. The windows were grimy and the grey harling walls still showed the shadows of graffiti that had defied the half-hearted efforts of removal. It looked the kind of pub Vivian would never have considered entering. However, once Shacklebolt had opened the door and ushered them all inside, the impression was a completely different one: Gleaming surfaces, clean carpets, dark, polished wood and shining brass ornaments. It was only mid-afternoon, still too early for the after-work crowd. The bar was almost empty and they had the backroom to themselves, where, to Vivian's surprise a small group of people was already waiting for them, among them Molly Weasley and Poppy Pomfrey, Hagrid, Miss Granger and several other younger people like Harry Potter, obviously all former students of John's Vivian hadn't heard of so far. Despite having met most of the people before, she suddenly couldn't help feeling a bit uncomfortable, realizing that she probably was the only person on the premises without a wand.
Introductions were made and John became the centre of attention, bearing the shower of congratulations with stoic patience and even allowing Molly Weasley to draw him into an awkward embrace. With Harry Potter he exchanged a handshake and a mute nod of understanding; another young man, who had been introduced to Vivian as Neville, kept shaking John by the hand while uttering incoherent words of apology and gratitude, until Miss Granger took pity and came to John's rescue. When the first rush of congratulations was over, everybody embarked on some variety of silly, stilted small talk to overcome the embarrassment of wanting to say so much and not really knowing how to say it. However, as time and the consumption of drinks progressed, the atmosphere grew more relaxed. Even John, who had absolutely refused to drink anything stronger than tonic water, explaining that any amount of alcohol, however small, would interfere with the medication St. Mirin's had prescribed against his cramps, lost his initial reserve and seemed to enjoy the company of his fellow-wizards.
"Here you are, your butterbeer."
Harry Potter put down the half-pint in front of Vivian with a flourish.
Self-consciously aware of the fact that all the others were watching her, she lifted the glass and took a small sip.
It did taste sweet, too sweet to her taste; it certainly wouldn't make it to her list of favourite drinks, but it wasn't bad either.
"It's...interesting," she answered the unasked question of the others. They laughed and everybody returned to their interrupted conversations.
Vivian's glass was half-empty, when she started to feel strange. Something seemed to be wrong with her breathing and there were hot flushes that made her want to run outside for fresh air. She excused herself, tried to get up and edge her way past Molly and Arthur when her legs gave way and she collapsed.
The next thing she knew was that she was lying on the floor, her head resting in Molly's lap, Poppy Pomfrey's concerned face hovering a few inches above her own, while the witch felt her pulse and did some examinations with her wand.
"...nothing serious, circulatory problems. But she should stay away from magic for a while and lie down and rest..."
"I'll take her home," John retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'll fetch your car, Vivian, where are the keys?"
"Handbag."
There were sympathetic noises, nods and comments from the others. He rummaged in her bag, muttering under his breath impatiently until he finally found the keys and left.
Vivian closed her eyes, shutting out the wizarding environment, hoping that the nausea settling in the pit of her stomach would go away.
John returned and helped her outside. The cold air was a relief and Vivian felt slightly better and able to give vent to her anger.
"Those horrible wizards...I thought they were friends, but they're arrogant bastards. I was so stupid...I shouldn't have tried that butterbeer. Low-alcohol, indeed...And you...you could at least have given me a hint that this was going to be a practical joke and that this vicious stuff is so strong."
"Actually, it isn't. Nobody played tricks on you, you were not drunk, Vivian, it's just that some Muggles react extremely badly to wizarding fare. Poppy told me when you passed out. It's good that you didn't eat anything of the cauldron cakes or pumpkin snacks or tried Firewhisky..."
"Don't mention these bloody things," she groaned miserably, adjusting the seat belt more comfortably on her shoulder and resting her head against the cool glass of the side window.
John signalled and turned right.
After a long and thoughtful silence, Vivian continued in a very small voice,
"What do you mean by 'react badly'? Is it like some kind of allergy?"
"Yes, from what Poppy said, you could say so."
"Shit. And I suspected your wizard friends...I'm sorry, really sorry. So it was my fault entirely," she said bitterly.
"It wasn't your fault. You can't be blamed for the way your body reacts."
He turned his head briefly and smiled at her, giving her arm a reassuring pat.
"We're nearly there."
When they reached her flat and went inside, she was hit by a wall of stale and warm air, and with a gagging noise she made a dash for the bathroom, where she barely made it to the toilet before she was violently sick. Bent over the cold porcelain bowl, giving in to the painful contractions of her stomach, she became aware of John's presence, of his hands on her shoulders, holding her hair back.
"Go away, leave me alone," she gasped, embarrassed that he should see the mess she was in.
He didn't reply, but simply stayed, waited until the fit had passed and helped her sit on the edge of the bathtub. He handed her a damp flannel to wipe her sweaty face.
"Thanks, but I can manage," she said, glaring at him.
"Without doubt you can," he replied calmly and passed her a tooth glass full of water.
Vivian rinsed her mouth and got up.
"I don't need your help," she said, making an enormous effort to keep her teeth from chattering. All of a sudden she felt very cold.
"You can leave me alone. I'm going to bed now."
"That's a very sensible decision," he remarked, eyeing her critically. "Have you got a hot water bottle somewhere?"
"In the cupboard outside, I think," she answered willingly, suddenly finding the idea of something hot against her body very attractive, "but I...."
"I know, you can manage and want to be left alone," he finished her protest and went in search for the hot water bottle.
Vivian didn't get warm. She had deposited the hot water bottle between her icy feet; it was almost too hot for the touch, but the heat somehow would not penetrate her limbs and reach the upper parts of her body. She still shivered uncontrollably under the duvet. Where was John? She didn't hear him in the flat, had he finally complied with her wishes and left? She really hoped so, she wanted to be alone, alone with her misery. What a nuisance she had been.
A rustling noise made her stiffen and listen. Was he still there? What was he doing? Why couldn't he just go away? She buried her face in the pillow; she didn't want to see him or talk to him. She didn't want his pity, she wanted to be alone.
There was a movement behind her, the edge of the duvet was lifted and the mattress dipped as the weight of another body joined her in the bed. A warm presence approached her shivering back, a reassuring arm was wrapped around her and drew her close. Vivian wanted to protest, wanted to tell him once again that he should leave, but somehow she couldn't. His solid warmth was comforting, the gentle movements of his warm hand massaging her stomach made her relax. With a little moan of relief and surrender she changed her position, fitting herself spoon-like against his body.
"What a bloody mess," she muttered, her eyes closed, breathing deeply in time with the rhythm of his hand.
"Shshshsh...it's alright," he replied softly, his voice muffled by her hair.
"Anyway, you should be better soon; it's all out now..."
He moved and placed a kiss on her neck.
"I'm sorry I spoilt your day," she continued, still angry with herself and determined not to let herself be comforted so easily.
"You didn't spoil anything. I'd had enough of the celebrations anyway and you provided me with an excuse for leaving."
"Oh yeah, to watch a stupid woman puking her guts out," she retorted.
"Vivian, for heaven's sake, stop it."
"You were enjoying yourself at the pub, weren't you?"
"I'm still enjoying myself," he replied with a hint of amusement in his voice and allowed his hand to stray towards her nipples before coming to rest on her stomach again. She could feel him take a deep breath, and when he spoke again, he sounded grave.
"Vivian, look, you've stayed with me when I was in a state much worse than this, and you helped me and cared for me. You've always been the one in control. Now our roles are reversed, so what? I'll stay with you, no matter if you are groomed and fit or ill and dishevelled. As they say, 'for better or for worse'."
For a short moment she lay perfectly still, holding her breath. Then she slowly turned and looked at him. His face was unreadable in the fading evening light, his eyes deep and dark, meeting her gaze with unwavering sincerity.
"For better or for worse," she repeated.
His mouth twitched in confirmation.
"As in always? Forever?"
Another twitch.
"God, John, I'm so sorry!"
He sighed in mock-exasperation.
"Is this becoming something of a leitmotif? What are you sorry for now, Vivian?"
"This allergy thing...I've heard Poppy Pomphrey say that I'd better keep away from magic...does it mean...that I must keep away from you?"
He considered the question for a moment. When he answered, all mockery had vanished from his voice; he was dead serious.
"No, I don't think so. You've never shown any symptoms before, so as long as you don't develop a craving for butterbeer or cauldron cakes..."
"...chocolate frogs..."
"... chocolate frogs, whatever, you should be alright. I intent to limit my use of magic to what is absolutely inevitable, and I certainly don't intend to use magic on you. The same applies to my contact with the wizarding community in general. Contrary to my apprehensions, meeting those people again was an interesting and agreeable experience, much more agreeable than I'd expected, but I'd prefer not to encourage too close a relationship with the wizarding world. Hence, even if you...really...agreed to...stay with me you wouldn't be exposed to the dangerous influences of magic very often."
"Good, and if ever we should go to that pub again I'll stick to Diet Coke."
"Diet Coke? Hm, very sensible I suppose..."
"John?"
"Yes?"
"I think, I'm better."
"Are you?"
"Yes, definitely."
"Are you once again telling me to leave?"
"No, I'm not."
"So?"
"Could you go on enjoying yourself?"
"What? Oh...sure."
And his hand started its gentle, titillating journey across her body...
Thanks to Ms Rowling for letting me borrow characters and plot.