interlude
"I owe you an apology."
Peter shivers beneath the weight of Ella's stare, struck by the sincerity in the pinch of her brow and the determined set of her jaw. She's so short, he thinks with fondness. And prickly. Like a cactus. A tiny cactus.
(Peter would never win any awards for poetry, that's for sure.)
The last time they spoke to each other - well, the last time Peter spoke and Ella freaked the fuck out on him - was not a memory that he is particularly enchanted by, especially because at the time he felt like a hard-won friendship (and it was hard-won by a lot of effort on his part and a lot of tolerance on hers) had disintegrated right before his eyes.
Which was tough for him because Ella is currently, like, the only one who knows. About Peter. And Peter's Sexual Identity Crisis. Ice cream had been involved and he'd bonded to her just like that, this person who just seemed capable of rolling with the punches.
Except - well, it is somewhat humbling to learn that Ella isn't as aggressively cool as he originally thought. Humbling until she lashed out at him, however, because then it was just gut-churning bad. Worse because he could take a super educated guess as to what had happened to her with the hag; even not knowing the details, from what he'd read that day in the library, he knew it must have been gnarly. Which was why when nobody could find her, Peter had run around like a chicken without its head and aggravated Bree into accepting the new reality that, yes, hags definitely are real and one almost-probably-certainly has Ella like right now and that they should do something about it. And that hadn't even been quick on his part, because it took three days for word to reach him that Ella was gone and another two for anyone to believe him.
The hag had Ella for just over a week and did God knows what to his friend. He can't really blame her for the post-hag personality transplant, can he?
He shrugs. "You really don't though. Like, I can totally empathize with your angst, you know?"
"Don't make excuses for me," she tells him bluntly. "I've been doing enough of that myself."
Peter sighs, scratching the back of his neck. "Alright. You were kind of a dick."
"Only kind of?"
He takes in the way her mouth is twitching against a smile and snorts, easily falling back into the rhythms of their friendship. "No, you're right," he teases. "You were a major dick. Like, Tony Stark calling Steve Rogers Capsicle and then goading Bruce Banner into Hulk-level rages for his own entertainment - that's how much of a dick you were."
She rolls her eyes.
Peter grins and shuffles along beside her as the meander across campus, slowing his strides in deference to her smaller stature. He's such a beanpole, man - more height than brain cells, if anyone listened to Riley. Which is mean to say, but then again, it seems like all of Peter's favorite people are Grade-A assholes and what does that say about him, really? Other than he has a type.
They are quiet for a minute and Peter is just about to launch into a play-by-play account of how Christmas with the Martins went the previous week - which is to say, loud and many cookies were devoured - when Ella stops. Just, like, right in the middle of the sidewalk.
"What?" Peter cranes his neck, looking for what had halted their progression toward the promising warmth of the Student Center and the lovely, lovely coffee just waiting for them inside. He sees nothing, and so blinks down at Ella.
She looks downright pensive, releasing her bottom lip from the abuse of her teeth. "Peter. Has anyone told you that you're a potential?"
Peter scrunches his nose. "Well, I mean, my mom says I have tons of potential and Riley says that, too, but I don't think they mean it in the same way, like -"
"No, that's not what I'm talking about. Hold on," she interrupts seriously and then she snaps and there are faint silver sparks rising from her skin that match the brief flash of pure silver in her eerie-pale eyes and then there is stark silence. Total absence of sound. "There, now that we have some privacy, I-"
"Oh, my God," he breathes in excitement. "You totally just cast a muffling charm. You're the Half-Blood Prince, aren't you? Dude. That is so cool. I mean, like, I'm friends with Snape and even though he was totally irredeemable - but, like, don't mention that to Riley -"
"Peter."
He snaps his mouth shut with a click.
"You are a potential," she says, enunciating carefully. "Are a potential - not have potential. Do you understand the difference?"
"Uh, other than your grammar is kind of shit?"
Ella sighs. "I guess you don't know, then. Here, let me tell it to you as simply as possible. You are a potential, a human with just enough of a spark of magic burrowed beneath all of this frankly startling amount of nerd that you can become something that is more than human."
"Oh. Okay." He bobs his head for moment and then frowns when she levels him with an unimpressed look. "Right, what does that mean, exactly?"
"You could learn magic if you wanted, maybe even learn enough to become a druid or a warlock."
"You're kidding."
"I'm really not."
"That's so cool."
Ella grimaces.
Peter deflates a little. "Wait, is it not cool?"
Ella snaps her fingers again, tucking her hands into her pockets. "No, it is cool for you. Just…try not to get bitten by anything on accident."
"Well, that isn't ominous," he mutters.
A/N: It's like Blue's Clues, but without the dog. Did anyone else know Blue was a girl? My entire childhood is a lie.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot
