"So this is everything we've got so far."
Roscoe and Isaac dumped an absolute mound of brightly coloured parchment onto the bar top.
"What on earth-"
"And this is how much we've raised," Connor added, pushing not one, but three bulging money bags across the counter.
"Christ, you boys have been busy," I said, reaching out to the glossy parchment. "Are these posters?"
Two weeks had passed since the boys had last been in the Three Broomsticks getting their assignment as my Hogwarts liaisons. Since then, Lily had picked a date for the match, and Harry and Teddy had chosen their team colours – Harry's Lions were playing in purple, and Teddy's Griffins in an orange which would clash awfully with the hair of the three gingers on his team. Requests for articles for the programme, along with paid advertising slots, had been sent out and already responded to in droves. And it seemed my motley crew of troublemakers had been up to actual good for once.
"Seb drew them up. Pretty cool, aren't they?"
I picked up the one on the top of the pile. It was a drawing of Ginny, in orange robes, on a broomstick with Quaffle in hand. It was a remarkably realistic portrayal. As I watched, poster-Ginny threw the Quaffle out of shot, then caught it as it came back in from the opposite side. Weasley v Weasley was the tagline that had been chosen to advertise the game, and the boys had blazoned that heading across the top of the poster, along with details about the date, venue and ticket prices. Underneath the picture was the caption:
Ginny Potter
Gryffindor
Holyhead Harpies
"This is incredible!"
"There's one for each player. Here, this is the Prof."
Isaac pulled out one of the posters from the pile and handed it to me.
"Wow…" I breathed.
It was like I was actually watching James play. Everything about the drawing was accurate, down to the look of concentration on his face, his posture on his broom and the way his right hand gripped the Quaffle.
James Potter
Gryffindor
Falmouth Falcons
England
World Cup Winner
"We were going to put everyone's Quidditch Cup wins on their posters," Connor said, "but Gryffindor won all of the House Cups when these guys played. And so poor Malfoy's poster would have looked a bit sad. But we figured we couldn't miss off a World Cup win."
"James will be very happy about that," I mused, flicking through the rest of the posters. "I – oh, honestly, guys?"
I'd found Harry's poster. The drawing was of him reaching out to catch a Snitch. But it was the caption that had caught my eye.
Harry Potter
Gryffindor
The Boy Who Lived
Saviour of the Wizarding World
"It's all about marketing, Carly-"
"Carla!"
"-people will come from far and wide to see the Boy Who Lived playing Quidditch again! I thought that was what you wanted?"
"Well, yes, but I don't think people need reminding about Harry's credentials, he's kind of a big deal as it is."
"Well, if you don't want the posters…"
"I'll take them, I'll take them! Honestly, I swear you boys are the reason I'll never consider a career as a teacher."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Roscoe said loftily. "Anyway, there's enough here for you to put one of each player up in the pub, and the same at both Wheezes shops and the Leaky Cauldron. And there's an assortment left for shop windows round here and at Diagon Alley. We've even thrown in a giant size one of Ja – Professor Potter – for you to put up here. Think he'll like that?"
"Too much," I said dryly. "But honestly guys, this is incredible, thank you so much. I mean, the posters, I never even mentioned posters…"
"You asked us to hype," Isaac pointed out. "We are your hype men. Hey, do you need a commentator for the game because-"
"Louis is doing it," I said hurriedly, keen to avoid an unmitigated disaster. "Anyway, I'm guessing you've got posters up around the school?"
"Yep, and sales have been through the roof already. Parents are writing to their kids asking them to buy tickets in bulk. I hope you guys have thought about enlarging the stands because I don't know if we've got enough seats as it is. Anyway, takings are there." Connor gestured towards the money bags he'd placed down. "And don't worry, there's a full record of all the tickets we've sold so you can see we've not filched anything. Not that we would, this is for charity, we're not bad people."
"That's debatable," I said, collecting up the posters and money bags and depositing them all behind the bar. "This is all awesome work though, thank you so much. I know Lily will really appreciate it."
"Enough to give us a bottle of Firewhisky?"
"Get out of here."
"Are you sure you'll be okay-"
"Merlin's beard, Carla, yes I'm sure! We're running a village pub, not the London Ritz!"
I stared at James, bewildered.
"Since when do you know what the Ritz is?"
"I'm not a total ignoramus when it comes to Muggle culture, you know," James sniffed.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, okay, Lily mentioned it the other week, she got to stay there when the Assyrian Minister for Magic came for his visit – but that's beside the point. Don't you have a train to catch?"
"Yeah, in an hour. It won't take me an hour to get to London."
"It will once you've had a gossip with half the population of the Leaky," James pointed out.
He had a point.
"Have you got everything you need?"
"I think so…" I frowned, looking at the bags on the floor next to me. I'd managed to pack surprisingly lightly for my holiday this time round – or so it appeared. In reality, there was an Undetectable Extension Charm on my suitcase. I was sure this was flouting several Statute regulations, but I was hardly going to get Rose into trouble by saying anything about it.
"I'll take it downstairs for you," James volunteered.
"I can do it myself-" I began.
I had a thing about guys trying to do things like carry bags for me, when I was totally capable of doing it myself. It was as though I felt undermined, a combination of people feeling like they had to wrap me up in cotton wool because of Parky, and simply because I was a woman.
But I was also still prone to forgetting that when James offered to move something for me, he wasn't offering out of some sort of chivalrous notion that implied that I couldn't do something for myself. He was just trying to make life easier for both of us, in a way that Muggles couldn't.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said, flicking his wand lazily. My suitcase and travel bag jumped up into the air, and James steered them along the landing and down the rickety staircase, making the whole thing look effortless and normal.
Though I supposed it was normal procedure for him.
I picked Cecilia up from the settee and gave her one last hug.
"You behave yourself for James, won't you?" I said to her, holding her up at eye level.
She squeaked.
"And don't go telling him you're hungry all the time, you know he overindulges us women far too much."
I kissed her on the top of her head – although I supposed she was basically all head – and set her back down on the settee, where she wriggled about a few times before nuzzling into the cushions and closing her eyes.
I liked her most when she was asleep; that way I could almost convince myself that she was cute.
Down in the pub, James had set my bags down beside the fireplace. I said one last hurried goodbye to Daryl, Aggie, Lauren and her friend Tara, who was covering for me for the week, then crossed the room to join James.
"Got everything you need?" he asked.
"Phone, purse, passport," I ticked off mentally, as I patted about my person for the various objects in my pockets, "sanity, patience … they'll both be gone by tonight…"
James chuckled, and threw an arm round me.
"Don't be so pessimistic, you're supposed to enjoy family holidays," he reminded me. He planted a soft kiss on my forehead. "Don't miss me too much."
Out of nowhere came a sudden rush of affection; I let my handbag fall to the floor and flung my arms round his neck, burying my head in his shoulder. He reciprocated, squeezing me tightly and stroking my hair.
"It'll be fine," he murmured into my curls. "Just don't let them get to you, okay? They don't mean it, they just care about you and they don't understand."
I nodded into his shoulder.
"Don't burn the place down while I'm gone," I said.
He chuckled; I felt more than heard it.
"I'll try not to," he promised. He gave me one last squeeze, then let me go. "I'll see you Saturday," he added, pulling at one of my curls.
He helped me put my bags into the fireplace, then stood back as I stepped into the hearth. I grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the flower pot he proffered at me, and threw it down at the flames.
"The Leaky Cauldron!" I said loudly, trying not to choke on the ash.
A blur of green, and James' face was gone.
"Alright, Carly?"
Dad pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.
"Hey, Dad." Despite my reservations about the holiday, I had missed my dad, with his big hugs, cheeky grin and air of reassurance; for all my life he'd been my safety blanket, and I couldn't help but feel a bit more relaxed now I was with him, and not having to hear him scold me down the telephone.
"How was the sleeper?" he asked, letting me go and grabbing the handle of my suitcase.
I shrugged.
"As good as an overnight train is ever going to be," I said, thanking my lucky stars that in reality I'd been able to trade that option in for ten seconds in a fireplace.
"Well you'll be glad to know your mamá's cooking escudella for dinner," he said, as we headed out of the train station towards the car park. "I imagine you're hungry."
I now regretted having had a portion of Aggie's finest steak and kidney pudding for lunch. Escudella was one of my favourite dishes, and Mamá cooked it better than anyone else I knew.
"Mmm, starving," I said, trying to sound convincing.
It was odd, looking out of the car window as Dad drove back to his and Mamá's house, and not seeing snow. We had heaps of it in Hogsmeade, and I'd almost forgotten that Surrey rarely saw so much as a dusting of snow. It was as though even the climate was trying to remind me that I lived in a totally different world to my family these days.
"So what's James up to this week, while you're out with us?" Dad asked suddenly.
"Oh, he's still working," I said, turning back to face Dad. "He's tied to school holidays, he doesn't get time off 'til Easter."
"Does he not help you with your little pub, then?"
I tried to ignore the phrase 'little pub'.
"He does on Sundays, and sometimes in the evenings if he's not too tired. He gets Saturdays off if the weather's too bad to play Qu- sport, too, but I've got a few people who work there with me, so I don't really need him to help. Sometimes it's easier when he's not there trying to be useful, to be honest."
"Don't you get tired as well though?"
"Not really, there are quite a few hours in the day when there's not much happening. And everyone there is so friendly anyway, it doesn't feel like you're rushed off your feet trying to serve people. It's a lovely little community, everyone knows everyone, and it's a completely different environment to the restaurant in London. I love it, I really do."
I'd become animated with enthusiasm, as I always did when talking about the pub. Dad smiled, but I could see there was reservation beneath the grin.
"Well, so long as you're enjoying it," he said.
"But?" I prompted.
"Who said there was a but?"
"There's always a but."
Dad sighed.
"Just … don't lose sight of your long-term options."
"I don't see why you guys think this can't possibly be long-term," I said shortly, hoping that would be enough of a hint for Dad to shut down the conversation. Thankfully, he caught on and changed the subject.
"I think Johnny's going to propose to Nita," he said.
"What?"
Johnny was my sister Juanita's long-term boyfriend. They'd been together for years, and he'd been coming on family holidays with us for a while now, but I'd never considered he'd actually propose to her.
"Yeah, he says he wants to talk to me and your mother about something before the end of the week. He seemed terrified when he told us that much. I think he's going to ask us if he can ask her to marry him. Probably worried I'll say no. Reckon I should turn scary Dad on him?"
I giggled. This was the Dad I knew and loved, the cheeky, mischievous character.
"Do it," I said, "it'll keep him on his toes. Do you think he plans on asking her in Barca?"
"I reckon so," he said. "I hope so. Your mother's already hat shopping, she'll be crushed if all he wants to do is ask for her escudella recipe. She's probably told the whole family it's happening."
"Poor Mamá," I sighed.
"You'd better hope Johnny's got a ring, mind, your mother's friends are all marrying off their kids and she's starting to despair that she'll never get to do that herself. If Nita doesn't get engaged this week she'll start asking about you and James. I mean, you're closer to wedding bells than Tony is."
I pulled a face.
"I'll put in a special request with Johnny, I can't be dealing with that sort of maternal pressure. Has Tone still not managed to convince a single woman that he's remotely eligible then?"
Dad grinned.
"Ah, you know what Tone's like, he likes to think he's a free spirit. Besides, he's spending too much time worrying about his work at the moment, I don't know that he can be bothered to put the time or the energy towards his love life. Especially when he's got you and Nita to worry about."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're hardly shy retiring characters, are you? Don't go telling me you wouldn't both be judging any woman he'd bring home from the moment she walked through the front door."
"Oh, I'd be judging from far before that moment," I said. "Anyway, that's a nonsense excuse. He was judging James from the second he learned he existed. And he'll probably try to do the threatening brother talk to Johnny if he does propose."
"Yes, but that's just Tone feeling like he has to impose his clearly superior manliness all over his sisters' boyfriends. Trust me, it's a guy thing, everyone feels like it's their duty to protect their sisters. You and Nita would probably manage to scare most girls without even trying. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a girlfriend the whole time and was keeping her hidden from you two."
"Maybe he's already married," I suggested.
"Don't say that around Mamá," Dad warned.
I laughed again.
My parents lived in what I had to admit was a pretty nice house in Guildford. It felt worlds away from the quaint cottage that was the Three Broomsticks, or the ramshackle Burrow. But it was where I'd grown up, and the sight of it as we pulled into the driveway still evoked those memories of my childhood and made me feel somewhat at ease.
Mamá had obviously heard the car as we'd arrived, and by the time I'd gotten my bags out of the car she was on the front doorstep waiting for me.
"Oh, Carla, darling, it's so lovely to see you," she said as I reached her, pulling me into a huge hug. She was wearing her favourite apron, and smelled of flowery shampoo and garlic.
"I've missed you, Mamá."
She pulled away and gave me a scrutinising look.
"You've been eating too much, chica, I can see it in your cheeks," she said. "And what is this? It doesn't make you look any slimmer."
She pulled at my blue Weasley jumper.
"James' Nana knitted it for me," I said with a frown. "I like it, it's comfy."
"Come on Eva, at least let her get in the house before giving her your critique," Dad joked. "Don't you listen to your Mamá, Carly, so long as you're healthy and you're eating well that's all that matters. James is at least earning enough to keep your fridge stocked, I take it?"
"Ugh, you guys are both ridiculous." I rolled my eyes and pushed past Mamá into the house.
"Ah, Carla, you should have known this was coming. What would a trip back home be without a beauty lecture from Mamá and unwanted financial advice from Dad?"
My older sister Juanita was leant up against the kitchen doorframe, watching the proceedings with a smirk on her face. She was tall, willowy and effortlessly graceful; all traits she'd inherited from Mamá and that I was distinctly lacking in comparison. It was no wonder her boyfriend wanted to marry her.
"Oi, if you're not careful it'll be you next!" Dad joked to her as he lugged my suitcase inside.
But they didn't really have anything to critique Nita for. She certainly wasn't chubby round the cheeks, or sporting a thick knitted jumper. She could actually tell her parents about her boyfriend's successful career and healthy paycheck, and she lived close enough for them to visit her twice a month. It was clear that Mamá and Dad felt they'd got it right first time round, and that I was supposed to be more like her.
I still absolutely adored her though. It wasn't her fault that I was unfavourably compared to her. And she was my fiercest ally in the family; I could count on her a lot more than I could Antonio.
"Where are the boys?" I asked now.
Juanita rolled her eyes.
"Upstairs playing some stupid video game," she said with disdain. "But that's fine by me, it keeps them out of the way so that we can have a girly catch up over a bottle of wine."
She took my arm and steered me into the kitchen.
"It's alright, I'll take Carly's bags upstairs then shall I?" Dad called back from behind us.
"Yeah, that'll be great, thanks Dad!"
We were halfway through a second bottle of wine by the time Antonio and Johnny came down to join us, and on bottle number four by the time dinner was ready. Mamá and Dad refrained from giving me any further constructive criticism, though I was prepared for a lot of it to come in the week. Instead most of the conversation was centred around Toni, who'd apparently received a job promotion and pay rise since I'd last seen him.
"So I've booked us lads in for a round of eighteen up at the course next weekend! Bit of a celebration for us," Dad said. "James is still coming down next weekend, isn't he? I've booked all four of us in."
"Yeah – yes, he is," I said, internally cursing. Dad, being Dad, didn't ask me if James was interested in golf, or in fact if he even played. He would be working on the assumption that of course James played, because who didn't? And our local course wasn't just some casual golf course, it was Wentworth. Dad wouldn't be impressed if James turned up not looking the part – or unable to even play golf.
As soon as dinner was over I snuck away from the table to send Lily a message. I couldn't message James direct, as his mobile wouldn't get any signal until he next left Hogsmeade.
URGENT – need you to teach James about golf by next weekend!
She didn't take long to reply.
I'll pop round tomorrow night. He can borrow Kit's clubs!
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had no doubt that James would be irritatingly good at the game in no time at all. He was that sort of person. I just needed to know that he knew which way to hold a club by next weekend. If only he could play a good round, then Dad might approve of him a bit more.
I could only hope.