Twenty-Eight
"Ooh, I bet you're wondering how I knew
About your plans to make me blue
With some other guy that you knew before.
Between the two of us guys
You know I love you more."
Marvin Gaye, "I heard it through the grapevine"
Lavinia:
Here we go again. My third date in the space of a week. That's a new record, I'd say. Even if it's with the same guy. And even if none of them are really dates, at least not in my book. The first one was just eating dinner to celebrate seeing him again after such a long time, the second one was him kind of kidnapping me for lunch break and the one to come today is just two friends paying a visit to Diagon Alley together. So no pressure.
Then why the hell am I standing in front of my wardrobe and feeling the good old "I don't have anything to wear!"-despair? Really, it's not going to be a date, even if Orion thinks it is. I mean, he doesn't say he thinks it's going to be a date, but he just… lets you notice he disapproves and he thinks you're making a mistake. It's in the tone of his voice when he mentions "this date of yours" or the almost-concealed frown on his face when something about Boreas slips off my tongue.
Gah! Why do I even bother? He's just my flat-mate, just a friend. I don't have to justify any of my decisions before him. I don't even have to consider whom he considers worthy to date – or not-date – me and whom not. I'm totally free not to listen to his advice. But still… something in the way he reacted to my retelling of the first not-date threw me offside. He was behaving absolutely civil, politely asking questions about where we went, what we talked about… but it felt suspiciously like he didn't really want to hear my answers. Not because he wasn't interested in them but because he was afraid he wouldn't like them.
No. That's ridiculous, McNeil, and you know that. And you still have no idea what to wear to your next not-date. Three hours left and you're already ready to call the whole thing off because of a severe wardrobe-crisis. This really isn't like you, and you know that. So pull yourself together and just pick something to wear. Can't be that hard, really.
I heave a sigh. Maybe… I should just walk back into the living room, take a deep breath, read some of the mail that came in today and then come back and start over. Yeah. Good idea. So I walk into the living room and go over to the small stack of unread mail. Something beneath the first two letters catches my attention. It's something colourful… Now look what we've got here. This week's Witch Weekly edition, sent by my mother and with a little note attached saying "Have a look at page 13." What the…?
With a frown I open the magazine at the page my mother told me to. Sheesh, it's another Carrow-article. At first I want to shut the magazine and give my mother a good earful about stopping to send me these things but then my curiosity gets the better of me and I start to read.
No reconciliation – Yaxley files for divorce
Only two days after they had been seen kissing passionately in public at the British Magical Press Ball, the marriage of one of the most popular pureblood couples has officially failed. Orion Yaxley has filed for divorce from his wife, Bryony Maycroft-Yaxley, early this morning at the Ministry.
Lucinda Carrow reporting.
Eight years after their marriage, Orion Yaxley and Bryony Maycroft-Yaxley are to go separate ways. While neither of the two divorcees-to-be wanted to comment on the action, emotions in the pureblood society are going high. "It's a disgrace to his family", an important member of said society commented to our magazine anonymously. "I don't understand how he could do this to his poor parents' memory." Yaxleys parents were murdered six years ago in a Death Eater attack, allegedly in revenge of their refusal to join ranks with the terrorist association.
"They were glorious examples of pureblood integrity", says Crataegus Burke, president of the British Pureblood Association. "It's a pity their son is soiling their memory in such a disgracing way." The BPA is considering actions against Yaxley, should he not explain this drastic move to them convincingly. The couple is the first pureblood marriage to be dissolved in over thirty years. "We're going to make sure they're not setting a new trend by it", Burke assured his concerned fellow purebloods.
While the pureblood society is still in shock, the general public is speculating about the reasons of this unexpected move. "I suspect she hasn't been willing to endure his escapades any longer. Their public kiss at the Magical Press Ball clearly showed their efforts to sort out their differences", Jasper Brooks, acknowledged expert on the pureblood society thinks. "As Yaxley is in the stronger position after her parents have been exposed as Death Eaters, he must have refused to accept her conditions." However, Brooks isn't convinced this strategy will pay off for him. "Purebloods are expected to honour their word and not to break up marriages. It is a well known fact that many pureblood-marriages resemble business arrangements. I'm surprised that a Yaxley of all people would break with that tradition."
In any case, a new love can be excluded as reason for the divorce. Neither Yaxley nor Maycroft-Yaxley is the type of person likely to develop romantic feelings. As rumour has it that Yaxley has in fact not moved back to his family seat in Norfolk like announced, his current whereabouts remain obscure. Let's hope he's not breaking some new unsuspecting women's hearts.
So that's what Orion meant when he'd told me he didn't enjoy the New Year's Eve Ball. Why the hell didn't he just tell me he'd get a divorce? He's a pureblood, so this is no small affair for him, meaning it's pretty improbable that he just forgot about telling me. I mean… we're friends, right? And… isn't something like a divorce something you tell your friends rather than conceal it from them? What is he playing at, not telling me about it and all?
But why am I even fretting about this? And why did my heart just flip-flop at the word "divorce"? Friends, McNeil, friends; which means you're not supposed to get a kick out of him getting divorced. It means you are going to be worried for him and be sympathetic. So bloody be worried and sympathetic. Don't think "About time he did that". Worried. Sympathetic. Worried…
Bugger. Just doesn't work. Exasperated I fling the paper into the furthest corner of the room, startling April and Pleiades from their rest. Suddenly solving the wardrobe crisis doesn't seem so unappealing anymore. At least it will get my mind off this bloody divorce mess.
Or maybe not. The moment I am about to cross the hall to reach my room, the door opens and Orion comes into the hall, looking a little out of breath. Out of some strange reason I immediately put on a cheerful face, as if to conceal my excitement over the not-date and the puzzlement over the whole divorce thing and welcome him with: "Hey, been chased up the stairs by a pair of banshees looking like Lucinda Carrow?"
His first reaction is to stare at my bewildered, then he catches himself and drawls a half-absent "It would be likely at least." while hanging up his robe and taking of his shoes. Then he looks at me again, raising an eyebrow and asking in a casually interested tone: "That's how you're going on your date?"
Startled I look down myself. Yeah, well, still running around in track pants and a Magpies t-shirt, McNeil. Then I grumble: "Of course. Nothing like house rags for taking a little stroll around Diagon Alley."
He's still serious, nodding and saying: "I'm glad you've finally come to senses.", with just a hint of sarcasm attached to it.
I roll my eyes and answer: "I'll remind you of that the next time we are going out together." Then I remember the Witch Weekly article and my curiosity makes me force the issue and ask: "By the way, when did you plan on telling me you're about to become the first pureblood divorcee in over thirty years?" Okay. That sounded a bit more passive-aggressive than it was intended to.
"Oh... that." Carefully put strategic pause. I wonder what's about to come now. "You seemed so occupied with all your dates and everything lately, I didn't deem it important enough." Nhg. Should have seen this coming.
"They are not dates. And you should have learned by now that I'm always there if a friend wants to talk to me." I mean that. Ever since Christmas he really should know I'd listen to him if he wanted me to.
"I'll remind you of that if I do need to talk to you." My, my, and here I thought I was the queen of the land called Passive-Aggressiva.
"I'll be glad to be of service. Oh, by the way, you might want to have a look at the mail stack. There are a few letters for you with distinctly female handwritings on them. Seems like Carrow's latest article has made quite the impact." Let's see if he takes the bait and asks me about why I'm sifting through his mail. But I haven't been, honestly. I just saw them lying there, that's all.
He rolls his eyes. "It's a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." Err… beg pardon?
"Orion Yaxley quoting a Muggle writer? That must be one of the sure signs of the approaching Apocalypse." Oh, and I have only two and a half hours left to get ready for the date… not-date… Merlin, who am I trying to kid? This is a date, all the way through from picking me up to giving me a good-bye kiss down on the pavement after accompanying me home. Still doesn't mean I'll let Orion call them dates. Then something regarding Orion and dating Boreas comes to my mind. "Oh, and Orion… Boreas will be coming around to pick me up here today. So… I know I'm asking a lot of you, but try not to cause a scene, will you?"
"Why would I cause a scene?" he smirks and without a further word retreats to the living room to take care of his mail.
I just can't resist calling out "Because you're Orion Yaxley, stupid!" before finally disappearing into my room again.
Orion:
Why? Why the heck does she have to date this guy of all people? I can't even call something after her; she left the hall in such a hurry. As if I hadn't problems enough with my own life. I had never expected people to react so harsh... I mean, yes, I knew that purebloods weren't supposed to get divorced; who would know better than me? But I wouldn't have thought it possible that some people... other than Carrow... could make something like a state crisis out of it.
I had almost started thinking about cancelling the entire thing and get back to Bryony just for appearance's sake. But that wouldn't do... no, that's absolutely impossible. It's done, it's over. And there's no use pondering over it right now, because I have to be ready when the idiot arrives here. If my world is slowly falling apart entirely, I at least want to be sure Lavinia's doesn't. I don't want to fight a war on two fronts...
There's something fishy about this guy, Roshenkov. I'm pretty sure it's not by accident that he had found his way back into her life just weeks after me. He had made incredible claims when we were at Hogwarts, claims that could never really be proofed wrong and mysterious things started happening as soon as he had joined Slytherin house. Even if he could turn out to be harmless in the end, I'm sure he's hiding some dirty secrets... things Lavinia wouldn't approve of if she knew them.
And there goes the bell. Before Lavinia can even stir in her room and rush to the door – I'm pretty sure she's still trying to figure out what to wear on the occasion – I go there and open it.
"Ahh, Vinushka..." an enthusiastic voice is booming at me. Vinushka? I could vomit... but I have to stick to my plan whatever he says. The idiot has obviously grown even broader and more muscled and he's looking even more self-satisfied than he did at Hogwarts. "... or maybe not", his voice is now less-than-enthusiastic. He's staring at me coldly. "Obviously the wrong address."
This guy talks like a zombie, honestly. What does she see in him? I raise an eyebrow and want to tell him that he's indeed got the wrong address, but I have forgotten that Lavinia is still in her room. Or isn't, anymore. Because here she comes, storming out of the bathroom and... wait a minute! She's actually hurrying towards us in her dressing gown and her hair wrapped in a towel like a turban. Lavinia is the only person I know who would dare making such an appearance!
I'm quite speechless, when she addresses Boreas: "Oh hey, Boreas. You're a bit early..." the Russian oaf actually smiles like a lovesick dimwit and is obviously trying to say something, but Lavinia beats him to it, continuing: "I'm so sorry, but I'm not done yet. Could you wait just a few minutes? Thank you. Now, I'll just... errr... you know." With that, she's already half disappeared back into her room.
Just when I want to turn back to her admirer, I hear her calling "Behave, boys!" I roll my eyes and turn back to the dumbstruck guy in front of me. "Now... is this the address you've been looking for, sir?" I have to muster all my professionally trained cordiality to make the question appear neutral and non-committal.
"Quite so", is the cold answer. Maybe that's the Siberian influence.
I shrug and step aside. "Enter, then", I say and just as he sets foot on the floor in the hall, one of the fixtures of the hat stand gives way and several coats drop on the floor. I jump a little. WHAT was that? I throw a suspicious look at Roshenkov, but he acts surprised himself.
When I close the door behind him and silently repair the hat stand with a flick of my wand, I realise that he had brought flowers... one red rose in a bouquet of green. Again, I nearly vomit. A red rose... but it's no date at all, Lavinia. How naive someone has to be not to get that message? I'm no stranger to flower code, and red roses are about the highest compliment you can present a lady.
Maybe they don't know such subtleties in Russia... I raise an eyebrow again. "I can't recall that the Lady likes red", I say.
"And I can't recall the lady having a spokesman." There's a slightly intimidating undertone in his voice. But he'd need a lot more venom to scare me.
"In that case", I answer, "you surely don't know her very well." If Lavinia heard me, she would be very angry right now. But if I could scare this dim-witted troll away with it, I would take up with as much of her anger as she wants.
"As opposed to whom? You?" he's trying to puff up a little more and is throwing me one of those sickeningly self-confident looks of his. I can't help but smile. Dangerous territory.
"Of course I didn't realise you were living here", I say to him, not bothering to hide a mocking undertone. "Funny, isn't it? And there's me believing that this is my apartment..." Stretching the truth, Yaxley. Stretching it, yes, but I haven't been exactly lying. It's Lavinia's apartment, true, but I've been living here for some time and I've insisted on paying at least a little rent. So... it is kind of my apartment, too, for the moment.
It's obvious that our Russian hero is slowly losing his countenance. His glares are openly hostile. "Listen, Yaxley, whatever you're playing at... I know someone who'd pay a fortune for the little thing you just blabbed out." Oh! Oh! Actually, I have to give him a little credit. For a moment, he has got me... damn Carrow! I have to make her shut up on me and fast... I hope the lead I have found on her soon confirms itself, because that would effectively silence her... but I have to silence this troll here, first.
I force myself into a defiant smile: "I'm sure you do", I say and grip the handle of my wand a little firmer, you never know. "Vinushka" – I put a lot of mock emphasis on the word, what an awful nickname – "will simply adore you for that; putting the hyena back on her track... I didn't expect anything else from you."
Nothing. There's no answer to that on his part, except an absolutely icy gaze. I'm glaring back at him. We are both saved by Lavinia. She's leaving her room and slithering towards us on the parquet. She's grabbing the door frame to prevent her from falling, straightens up and after a slight cough she's smiling like nothing had just happened. "Okay, I'm good to go. Thanks for waiting. And for... not killing each other." She's obviously just realised we hadn't exactly smiled at each other in a friendly way.
Roshenkov only needs a split second to appear totally changed. With a smile he surely deems to be charming – totally overdoing it in my opinion – he's beaming at Lavinia. "I have no idea why we should be attacking each other."
I involuntarily snort, but catch myself and merely murmur: "No. No idea at all." He hasn't even heard it, because he's so fixed on Lavinia, who's putting on her shoes now and tells him to go ahead already.
But that would have been too nice, having a few moments to talk to Lavinia in private. "Oh no, I'm quite comfortable here. I'm comfortable wherever I can see you", Roshenkov is assuring her... I shiver, if only slightly. There's something creepy in his voice and in that promise, something that sounds uncomfortably like a threat.
When Lavinia has put her shoes on, I go to her and before she can put on her coat as well, I whisper: "Are you sure you want to go?" I can't hide that I'm a little worried.
"Of course I am. Will you just stop this stupid big brother thing you have suddenly going?" she's whispering back, rolling her eyes. Is she right? Am I acting like an overprotecting big brother? I can't believe she's really that blind. Hasn't she heard the creepy undertone in his voice? I risk a glance in his direction. He's standing there beside the door, hiding his obvious anger on me behind a fake smile.
"I'm only cautious", I whisper back and feel his piercing glare on me.
But Lavinia isn't. She's unsuspecting... and seemingly more annoyed with me than with him: "You're acting out of character. By the way... Did I imagine that or was something in this hall causing some noise just a few minutes ago?" She's asking almost soundlessly.
I have to leave it for now; I can see him getting impatient. That's why I lean closer to her to answer in an equally low voice: "Nothing, just a loose fixture on the hat stand." It had been odd, though, that it had dropped precisely when the Russian had put his foot in the hall... but I can't tell her that just now. "Have a nice afternoon, anyway", I continue... and before I can think clearly what I do, I place a kiss on her cheek... maybe just to appear even closer to her in Roshenkov's eyes. "Take care", I hiss and as reluctant as I feel to let her go, I still turn on my heels and go to the living room without waiting for her reaction or watching them leave.
All I hear is the door closing behind them. Suddenly, the apartment is uncomfortably silent. I let myself fall on the sofa... her smell lingers in my nose. It had been nothing; we had only been close enough a split second before I had turned around. But it had been enough...
It reminds me of Hogwarts, of this strange evening when we had been arguing over something I can't even remember now. The only time when I had been so overwhelmed with some strange attraction that I had forgotten all good senses and had kissed her. I had almost wished... it had resembled... nonsense. She had been storming out of the broom closet as soon as we had broken apart and we have never talked about it afterwards. "And that's been the sensible thing to do", I say aloud and get up again. Maybe some more research on Carrow will divert my attention.
A/N: Thanks a lot to luna for her two reviews. I do think "puffin" kind of stuck on Orion, even if Lavinia doesn't know it yet and prefers the incredibly repulsive Boreas over him. He does serve a purpose, though, so please stay with us, even if it might get even uglier than now. I can still assure you that writing him is not really a pleasure.
However, we do write this story mostly for our own entertainment so there's not much danger we might not continue it. We really mean to finish it, even it may cost us lots and lots and lots of chapters. And of course we are happy about every faithful reader, no matter how few they are.
On a side note: I just finished a little prequel (so to speak), because after listening to "Carry you home" just one time too often and watching the (incredibly sad) video I couldn't help writing the scene where Lavinia gets told about Tony's death. So... if anyone wants to read that, just say so.
