I do not own Harry Potter! Also, Anna's personality has some remanence of Monica from The True About Forever by Sarah Dessen, but not too much.
Sly's POV:
Chaos can help distract the mind, or that's what I've told myself to believe because past incidents leave scars that feel like they will never fully heal...
The party was bustling—for as far as these situations go—and despite our lack of Firewhiskey at the bar.
"Anna crashed into something again," Delilah grumbled in frustration. "We have about two minutes to pick up the mess before the Upper's notice." I immediately followed her with a contained sigh. I see you're confused already. To Delilah, as well as the rest of us, Uppers are "the superior, rich folk," whether that be magic or not—the sort were much the same.
"Where is she now? Is she alright?" Looking around the room, I noticed that Anna was nowhere in sight but that wasn't anything new. She usually sprinted at the slightest whiff of disaster. Unfortunately, Anna was also quite accident prone.
"She's out smoking a cig," Delilah said, rolling her eyes. "I know she gets embarrassed but come on."
"Nana just gets sensitive when making mistakes," I reasoned, trying to calm the waters of our team. "You know she doesn't mean to run off. She'll likely apologize later."
"Ya-ya. I know, Sly. It's just frustrating when we always pick up after her messes."
I nodded, sympathetically. We knelt on the floor and picked up the wine glasses that had caused a minor spill. "Thank Merlin that the carpet is not white, like the last Upper party," I whispered to Delilah. I got out the cleaner and worked at the stain, which began to fade after a few seconds.
Delilah groaned quietly, shaking her head of red curls that threatened to spill out of her bun. "I still don't understand why we cannot use magic. It would be so much easier."
The stain vanished, allowing us to breath in relief. "You know why," I responded, glancing at a man waltzing by with his younger than necessary wife. The lack of dress robes and firewiskey alluded that this Upper party was a mix of Muggles and magic folk.
Delilah sighed dramatically, "Okay, so I do know!" Then she paused, brown eyes searching for anyone listening in on us before continuing. "But you have to agree that using magic would have been so much quicker."
I nodded in agreement, but we both knew the rules. We found Anna around back, near the dumpsters with a cigarette snug between her lips. Her light blue eyes appraised us, the only charismatic feature on her outlandishly blank face. The woman had always, including throughout their years at Hogwarts together, projected an unyielding mask of boredom and languid movements.
"Potter-Weasley clan," Anna sighed, flicking the ashes of her cigarette into the nearby trash. I stood a few paces away from the curl of smoke, eyeing the cancerous stick with aversion and disapproval of her lack of environmental awareness. I really should buy her some nicotine gum or something, but it's her body.
"Great," Delilah snorted while crushing the plastic water jug in her hand that she'd intended to place into recycling. "More Upper's to worry about."
"Mhmm," Anna murmured, looking as exhausted as ever. "Simon," she continued in a breath that sounded like her last. She cast a concerned gaze over to me before adding, "And Ryan." A lead weight plummeted into my stomach, but I shrugged to act like his name had no effect on me.
Delilah darted an equally concerned look over to me, her mouth creasing into a frown. "So Potter and Weasley brought Simon along?" Delilah asked, diverting the attention from me and turned back towards Anna. "Well, at least you'll get your fill of eye candy tonight, Nana. Hopefully, it makes up for the other egotistical prats in the room…"
Anna merely nodded, slowly—as if she's conserving every ounce of energy—and then extinguished her cigarette before discarding it. She nodded at the door, silently beckoning us to return to our job. Delilah squeezed my shoulder, stated firmly that I'd be on off-floor duty, and then her quick steps took her back inside. Anna paused at the door, turning slowly to glance at me with the door to the venue partially open. "Sly," she addressed me. "Okay?"
I sighed, bracing myself for the rest of the night. "Okay," I answered, following her inside. God I hoped that'd be true, I added silently in my head. Immediately, the second we entered, there was a loud crash from the far end of the party. Delilah, Anna and I froze, silently analyzing the damage.
"Not cleaning up," Anna offered up and Delilah threw her a withering expression. I grabbed the cleaner and a rag before either of them could argue, making my way across the room. I rolled my eyes, cleaning up the area quickly, and unintentionally picking up on bits of conversation.
"So do you think she'll be here tonight?" A familiar male voice asked.
"Who?" My body stiffened, mutely cursing my luck. James Potter, Fred Weasley, and Simon were in a triangle to my right. I ignored the urge to be hypervigilant of the missing member of their group.
"Our nana," Freddy commented sarcastically. "Who do you think, James? Female, blonde, leggy, out of her mind batty, and a bit of a bint? Does that ring any bells?"
"Isabelle," James replied, heaving a big sigh after downing the drink in his hand. "I don't know, why? Does it matter?"
"She treated you like rubbish, mate. And she still does, in fact." Freddie winced as he took a long gulp of his drink. "Godric this stuff is terrible. Where is firewiskey or butterbeer when you need it, eh?"
Rhetorical question, of course, I answered in my head. This whole conversation was not intended for my ears, but you'd be surprised at how willing people are to talk about things when you're invisible. Well, not literally invisible, my Ravenclaw brain corrected me but being in catering you were intended to be invisible to the guests attending an event.
"Did you see Anna, yet, Simon?" My ears perked up at the mention of my friend's name. Well, I'll be damned. The night was looking up. Keep scrubbing, I reminded myself.
"Shut up, Freddie." Simon's quiet voice mumbled, sounding all kinds of embarassed.
"Yeah Freddie," James teased. "You wouldn't want a concussion or anything in tomorrows practice for simply uttering Anna Greengrass' name."
"I told you that was an accident," Simon said begrudgingly.
"Whatever you say, Moony."
Simon scoffed. "James, those nicknames didn't work in school and they aren't working now."
"But you've mooned over Greengrass for ages, mate," Freddie pointed out. "So the nickname does stick well to you. And I personally think I'm a Padfoot type of man, regardless of your middle name." Freddie emphasized the last bit to James Potter.
"Well I'm no Wormtail, that's for damn sure." James folded his arms in defiance. "And grandad…" There is a hint of sadness in James' tone, which caused my heart to clench. Everyone knows the Potter history, after all.
"Oh shite," Freddie cursed. "I knew she'd show up."
Curiosity got the best of me and I glanced over to the direction that Freddie was staring. Isabelle Wood was beautiful, even if she was vapid and cruel. At least that's how she'd been at Hogwarts. Her hair fell in blonde waves down her back, a red dress hugged every curve in all the right places, and her makeup was imaculate.
"James—" Fred attempted to warn him but it was too late as the woman in question joined them.
Delilah came up beside me, sensing trouble about to ensue as I felt petrified. She tugged at my arm from my space on the floor–still scrubbing–to get me away from the area, out of the attention of Isabelle and the triangle of friends.
"James," Isabelle greeted him after her heels announced her arrival. "I didn't think you'd be here."
Freddie snorted and coughed out "bullocks." Isabelle fixed him with a contemptuous glare and then turned back to James, inched closer to him. "How are you?"
"Oh come off it, Isabelle. You know how he is," Freddie said defensively. "You practically stalk the guy whenever he gets close to another female, you attention-seeking bint. You are the one who lef—"
"Freddie," James interrupted his rant. "Thats enough, please."
Isabelle, thinking she got her way, grinned triumphantly.
"What do you want, Isabelle?" The smile on her lips vanished, replaced winth a pout.
"Nothing, James," she replied coyly, which earned another snort from Freddie. "I didn't know you'd be here. Want to dance with me?"
"Why?" He sounded exhausted just asking the question.
Isabelle reached out her hand to touch his arm, her gold-tipped fingernails grazing him suggestively. "Why not? It can be like old times, J. Can't it?"
Delilah pulled on my arm, urging me away from the exchange and I started to walk away with her quietly. "Idiot," Delilah whispered and rolled her eyes. However, it seemed the whisper wasn't inaudible enough because Isabelle's eyes landed on Delilah and I. Those pretty blue eyes narrowed into slits and I knew we were screwed because we were no longer invisible to guests. Freddie, James, Simon, and Isabelle all stared at us.
"Oh how rude," Isabelle tut-tutted, analyzing our black and white work uniforms. "The help are eavesdropping on us. Don't they look familiar, though, James?" Her perfectly manicured hand lightly touched James' arm, but he was too busy staring at us curiously.
"Ainsly?"
My stomach dropped, that voice caused instant nausea and a stomach ache as it pushed into the group.
"It is you." Ryan stood there looking as fit as ever, but even though thought of being near him sickened and put me on edge. His hands shot out in attempt to touch my arm but thankfully Delilah intercepted, knocking his hand away.
I could barely stand looking at him since the last time I'd seen him… I shuddered and avoided his eyes, remembering. I'm a witch; can't I just disappear into the floor?
"Ryan," Delilah greeted in a fake excited tone. "I'm going to calmly request that you back the fuck up off of my friend, please." Then she turned to me, grabbed my arm, and gently said "let's go, Sly." Sometimes I really loved Delilah; blunt and reckless and wonderful Delilah.
I could feel his eyes burning into my back, causing my breath to hitch. I yanked myself out of Delilah's careful hands.
"I just need some air." I insisted calmly, while resisting the urge to choke on the rising bile, and rushed to the door before she could comment. My forehead kissed the brick wall as my hands desperately searched for something stable to grasp.
"Not now," my lips plead when a flash of the Forbidden Forest played behind my eyelids like the preview to a horror movie.
The night had chilled considerably in such a short amount of time. Breath escaped but refused to be inhaled again, causing my chest to ache. The world began to tip, closing in on me, and in the distance I heard the door open.
"Hey, are you alright?" A male voice asked.
"Not exactly," I choked out, falling to my knees. I couldn't breathe. My hands trembled, whether it was from the frigid air or my own thoughts I couldn't comprehend.
Someone once said that memories are just fractions of the mind. When we remember, those snippets of memories are fiddled with until we think about it in a way we feel comfortable; settling on the right way. If that is the case, memories are merely creations. And to remember...wouldn't that be to dream? While the memories themselves remain nothing more than illusions. Perhaps if I kept telling myself that piece of information, these experiences would become easier to handle.
The man knelt down next to me and placed his suit jacket around my shoulders, waiting quietly next to me. His hands grasped mine, careful and gentle.
"Okay, breathe. In. Out. In. Out," he guided me, or himself, through this dilemma. He breathed along with me, giving me a model to follow along with. "In and out, that's it."
I did as the stranger suggested, breathing deeply to compose myself before explaining my well being to the unfortunate soul having to deal with my hornets nest of a brain.
After a little longer, my eyes began to focus again and my breathing returned to normal. Thankfully, I didn't cry this time… But then my eyes met who was helping me and I jerked my hands out of his warm ones.
"James Potter?" The name hung in the silent air between us, suspended in the awkwardness of our spontaneous and unneeded reunion.
Or is this simply another fractured dream?