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24
THE STUMBLING STAG
MUSICAL MOOD FOR THIS CHAPTER: KOTA BANKS - YES
"Do you always need a reason to do something, Woodley?"
It had been a stupid idea. It occurred to me as I ran along the deserted corridor, my red gown flying behind me like I was on fire, my eyes firmly on James Potter's suit-clad back, who seemed to know exactly where he was going. I was acting like the over-emotional teenager I had never wanted to be – running from my family and their expectations – but, oddly, I also felt a new twinge of excitement - no, satisfaction - at the thought of defying them.
I was supposed to dance with my 'suitable match'. Instead, I was running away with a Potter.
"Still with me, Woodley?" James called out as we turned yet another corner, stopping so abruptly that I crashed into him.
"Obviously," I grumbled, tumbling a few steps backwards, "though I really don't know why."
The familiar lopsided smile curved his lips as he watched me rearrange the layers of my unmanageably long dress in an attempt to hide the fact that it was basically see-through.
"Do you always need a reason to do something, Woodley?"
I squinted at him for a moment, contemplating his features; they were barely visible in the dim light, just as they had been that night on the Hogwarts grounds, and my heart skidded in my chest.
"Why would you do anything without a reason?"
James shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards, and my eyes caught on the dimple in his right cheek. Someone like James Potter shouldn't have a smile like this - all warm and genuine and sweet - and I hated myself for even thinking this. "For fun," he said and my dumb heart lodged itself somewhere behind my navel as he took my hand once again and pulled me out of the corridor into a brightly lit hall.
It took me a moment to realise where we had landed until I recognised the gaudy glittering garlands that floated above the heads of the dozens of ball guests that had come here to take a break from the buzzing ballroom.
After running down all these dark corridors, we had ended up in the foyer once more – in a different, slightly more concealed corner, maybe, but still in the foyer – and I couldn't help the sinking feeling in my stomach as the full force of the anti-climax hit me.
"And I actually thought you had a plan, Potter."
To my surprise, James was still grinning. "Always so doubtful." He clicked his tongue at me and then walked off towards what looked like a deserted reception desk and – and it took me a moment to realise this – a most peculiar, seemingly random telephone booth.
With a quick look around to check if no one was watching, he casually pulled open the door of the iconic red cubicle and arched an eyebrow at me. "Are you coming, Woodley?"
I shook my head before I could even find the words to reply. If he really thought I would consent to cramming into this small, old telephone booth with him, he was dimmer than I had thought.
"You're thinking too much again," he said softly, the smile lightening as he looked straight into my eyes. It was phenominally dumb, but my heart had long abandoned the pretence that James Potter couldn't throw it off beat with a single look. He was so good at this and I knew that I should have stayed as far away from him as possible, but my eyes had locked with his, unable to look away.
Of course, he had no idea what he was asking of me.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the swell of the music and the general din of the ball spilling into the foyer. There was no harm done yet; I could just return and pretend I had simply been out here all along. Alone. I could try to arrange myself with my fate - my duty, as Grandmother would put it - and live the legacy that had been chosen for me the day I had been born.
But then I suddenly remembered; I remembered what I had long decided to forget – so fiercely that it had actually disappeared. And even though it had just been a quiet thought, a mere whisper underneath the cover of an ancient, moth eaten hat, it suddenly echoed in my head as loudly as though it had never been gone: 'Not Slytherin.'
"Let's go." I gathered up the many layers of my dress and folded myself into the telephone box with James Potter grinning wickedly as, this time, he followed my lead.
I hadn't had time to marvel over the moving phone box, nor the fact that James apparently knew that it would take us to a deserted backstreet in central London. Before I could even find my bearings, we were sailing down a brightly lit street, past partying folk donning funny glittering hats and staggering arm in arm towards the River Thames, talking about fireworks that would explode over the city in less than two hours' time.
I didn't even realise that it was freezing. With the heat of my rebellion still burning through my entire body as we moved swiftly through the crowd, I felt like my skin was on fire - a fever of sorts - and it was glorious.
"Eh beautiful! How 'bout a New Year's kiss fo' good luck," someone called out next to me and I could feel the grip of a sweaty hand on my bare arm reaching out of the roaring mass around me. But before I could even react, James had slid his arm around my waist and pulled me out of the tangle of bodies and into a sparsely lit side street.
"I could have handled it," I said quickly, partly because I didn't like the idea of James having to rescue me from a drunk's clumsy advances, but also because the feeling of his arm around my middle was making me nervous. "I don't need to be saved, you know?"
"So I've heard." He sounded thoroughly amused as he studied my defiant face. His hand was still on my waist and I wondered if he even knew that this wasn't something I did; ever. "And I didn't. I just needed you to come with me."
He turned around, finally letting go of me, and pointed at the red-lacquered door behind him above which a sooty wooden plate flashed a fading picture of a wonky sort of deer and the words 'The Stumbling Stag'. Attached to the wooden board was a lopsided sign which said in capital letters 'NO FOOD'. Right beneath the pealing print, someone had scribbled, also in capital letters, 'NO SERVICE'.
It definitely wasn't magical; in fact, nothing could ever be less magical than this run-down Muggle dive.
"I bet you take every girl here, Potter, don't you?"
"Not really," James said casually, ignoring the sarcasm in my voice. "You're special, Woodley." And with that, he pushed open the door.
A pungent mix of sour spilled beer and mouldy cloth assaulted my nose the moment I stepped into the low-slung room, causing a fleeting wave of nausea. The air was sticky and heavy with cheap aftershave that clung to the sweaty skins of the dubious figures that cowered over shadowed tables, staring down their lukewarm drinks.
Some of them had raised their heads at the disturbance of their drunken stupor, looking at me as though they weren't sure if I was real or just a figment of their inebriated minds. To be fair, I did look quite out of place, standing in the middle of this dilapidated pub in my floor-dusting ball gown.
"Um, hi," I said feebly and, not sure what exactly the protocol for such places was, I threw a small wave into the room before slipping into the only free booth, my face probably as red as my dress.
"Tell me you didn't just wave at everybody?" James laughed as he reached the table, carrying two extraordinarily full glasses of what I supposed to be Whiskey.
"Sod off." I tried hard not to laugh as well as he took the seat across from me and handed me a glass.
"What do we drink to?"
I considered the amber liquid in the dirty glass, wondering if my family had already noticed my absence. Their wrath was going to be outrageous; so was my punishment, but the thought of it only kindled the fire, goading on the sulky, defiant teenager-part of me.
"To family," I said bitterly and, in one swift movement, I had lifted the glass to my lips and emptied it in one burning gulp.
"Oh-kay," James said slowly, his eyebrows raised at the empty glass I had slammed back down on the sticky table while I was shaking with coughs. "Maybe you should slow down a bit, Woodley."
"Or maybe," I said, rising so quickly that the world around me began to spin, "I should get us more drinks."
The wooden table was scorched with ominous black marks – maybe cigarette burns – and showcased half a dozen lovers' oaths, carved into the once glossy surface to last for eternity. I ran my finger along a particularly vigorously engraved V that pierced the centre of a clumsily drawn heart, wondering about the person behind the letter.
"There you go." James had returned to the booth, placing a pint of golden liquid onto the table, obscuring the carved V. Despite my thorough protests, he had switched us from whiskey to beer after I had downed my second glass, immediately slowing down my alcohol intake. It was still enough to make my head feel light and my family blissfully far away.
"Thanks," I nipped at the stale drink and, in spite of myself, puckered my lips at the bitter taste. "I have to say, I'm kind of warming up to this place."
James grinned and took a long sip from his beer without taking his eyes off of me. "I usually come here with Freddie whenever we're stuck at some boring event in London."
"Oh no!" I cried out, feeling suddenly inexplicably sad at the thought of Freddie, sitting around at the Ministry ball all by himself. "Poor Freddie! We just left him there. You're a terrible friend, Potter."
"He'll be alright." James laughed but when he looked up again, the amused expression on his face had faded to a more serious one and his dark eyebrows furrowed. "Are you?"
I regarded his face for a long moment – a liberty I wouldn't have allowed myself if it hadn't been for my intoxicated brain – contemplating my answer.
"Sure. Why not." I took another sip of beer, watching James's eyes narrow with disbelief over the brim of my glass.
"I've said it before, but you're a shit liar, Woodley."
"I –" I bit my lip and turned the half-empty glass of beer in my warm hands. "I really don't want to talk about it."
"Why?"
"Because you wouldn't understand." A frustrated snort tumbled out of my mouth and I shook my head. James Potter with his picture perfect loving family would never understand.
"Try me," he insisted, a kind of fierce stubbornness glinting in his eyes, and I found myself once again staring into them, not sure how to stop it.
"It's just," I sighed, directing my eyes at the swirling yellow liquid in my glass rather than James's face. "You know my family..."
"Yes," he said simply, albeit sounding slightly uncomfortable, and I could only guess that he – like me – was remembering the last time we had seen each other in Hagrid's hut. "I know your family."
I looked up at him momentarily, scowling at the cold undertone I thought I had detected in his voice. It was almost instantly that I regretted having said anything to him.
"Well, they are not that horrible," I snapped, not entirely sure why I was defending my family after everything that had happened tonight.
"I didn't mean - I just. I'm sorry." James ran a hand through his dark hair, rumpling it up even more in the process. "I just thought-"
"You think all pureblood families are scum."
"Obviously," he scoffed. "That's why I'm sitting here with you, Woodley."
We glared at each other stubbornly for a couple of seconds, but then James's expression softened again and he leaned forwards a little, playing with his empty beer glass.
"Look, I just – I saw you arguing with your mum tonight before you-"
He didn't finish the sentence but I knew that he was talking about the state of panic he had found me in at the Ministry earlier. The fact that he didn't go into detail about my moment of weakness loosened the arms I had knotted in front of my chest a little and I shifted in my seat.
"My family is just frustrating sometimes. You wouldn't understand."
"Are you shitting me?" He snorted and gave me an incredulous look. "I'm the Chosen One's son. Try living up to that."
"I – I forgot," I admitted, feeling quite stupid all of a sudden; strangely it had never occurred to me that there might be some family pressure on James as well.
"I wish I could, sometimes," he said bitterly. "I'm a Potter. The entire world has been watching me since I was born, waiting for me to fuck up. I got my first spread in Witch Weekly when I was six."
I considered him for a moment - as he sat there with his rumpled white shirt and the rolled up sleeves; his eyes were searching mine as though he wasn't sure he should have told me all this and I felt an involuntary surge of understanding for Ginny Potter's reaction towards me.
"Do you remember Asher?" I heard myself say, not quite sure that my brain still had sufficient control over my vocal chords. "The guy from the Quidditch Kick-Off?"
James nodded but didn't say anything, evidently not wanting to interrupt me now that I had decided to stop snapping at him.
"Apparently I'm going to marry him."
"Wait, what?" James laughed, although it seemed more like a gesture of incomprehension than amusement. "You're joking, right?"
"I wish," I said quietly and pushed aside my glass to look at the carved V again, thinking that, even if its whittler was a sorry drunk, spending his days in a dingy dive, at least he was free to live his life as he chose. "Unfortunately my family has already decided for me."
"But..." James still looked at me like he was waiting for someone to shout 'April fools!'. "You're not going to do it. I mean, you can't."
I had told myself the exact same thing ever since I had been old enough to understand how families like mine operated. I had insisted that I would be different, that I would defy these ancient practices. But it was exactly this moment – the disbelieving look in James's eyes – that made me admit what I had known all along.
"It's what is expected of me," I said calmly in an attempt to not sound like I was falling apart. "My family is not like yours. I can't get out. I can delay it, maybe; for a couple of years so I can go to university, but-"
"Seth."
It was the first time he had called me that and I looked up at him, my breath catching in my throat. James was frowning at me as though he was searching for something in my face that would give away the lie. "You can't be serious."
I could feel a smile pull the corners of my mouth as I looked up at him. "It's fine," I said, although it wasn't, and when he opened his mouth to protest, I quickly shook my head knowing that anything he could say now would only make me feel worse. "I have to deal with this; one way or another." I sat up a little straighter and lifted my chin defiantly. "Probably for the rest of my life – but not right now. Not here. Not tonight."
For the fraction of a second I was sure he wouldn't give up. He looked positively livid, like he was keen to start a fight if only for the chance to punch something, but then he finally picked up his half-full glass and, in less than three gulps, had downed its contents completely.
"I'll get us some shots, then," he said casually and, with that, walked away towards the bar.
The world spun – wonderfully so – and I let my head fall back to gaze at the black sky beneath the glare of the streetlights, looking for stars that were invisible.
"Here," James's voice was close to my ear and I felt a sudden surge of warmth spreading through my body, reminding me that it was actually really cold outside. When I looked up at him, I realised that he had draped his jacket around my shoulders and it felt heavy in the most pleasant way.
"What about you?" I asked as I watched him walk next to me, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and his thin white shirt pressed against his chest by the wind.
"I don't mind the cold." He shrugged and I couldn't help but laugh, which seemed to come more easily with the alcohol cursing through my blood.
"What?" He asked, barely able to mask the grin on his face.
"Nothing." I gave him the most serious look I could muster. "I just thought that I could sell this to your fan club at school."
"Oh, shut up." James gave me a playful shove, which, considering my slightly wonky tread, would have probably sent me straight to the rough asphalt if he hadn't – instead of pushing me away – slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. He smelled too good, even after hours of drinking in a stuffy pub, and I felt a distinctive swooping sensation, pulling at something elemental behind my navel.
"I feel that I'm drunker than you are." I looked up at him, trusting him to steer me along the buzzing street. Judging by the obnoxious sound of the cheap plastic horns around us, it must have been shortly before midnight and I wished that I could just stay here, lost in this crowd; with James.
"That's because you are, Woodley." He laughed and I could feel the sound in his chest while he led me past an a capella group that had just struck up a wistful version of Auld Lang Syne, the words rifting along the river. His hand was still wrapped around my waist and probably it was the alcohol, but for a reckless second, I wished he would try and kiss me again.
"Do you think we'll make it in time? Before midnight, I mean." I turned my head away from the large party of girls in front of us that had initiated a false countdown which, at three, terminated in drunken giggles.
"Maybe." James looked at me and I caught a whiff of that scent again that made the fine hairs in my neck stand up. "Why?"
I watched him for a moment that was definitely too long - how he walked us along the street without any haste - and I couldn't help but think of the pretty round-faced girl that probably had been sitting around by herself all night, waiting for James Potter to return. The way she had looked at him had spoken volumes, really, and I wondered if he was ever serious about girls.
"You broke up with Fern Sterling," I said, not bothering to formulate it as a question. I would probably cringe at my bluntness in the morning when my head wasn't spinning anymore but, right now, I was blissfully fearless.
James gave me a strange look before replying, quite casually. "She wasn't my type."
"Is anyone?" I laughed as we turned the corner to a barely lit side street that was completely bare except for an old red telephone box, bearing a crooked 'out of order' sign.
James shook his head, a small smile on his face before he suddenly let go of my waist. Without his steadying hand I felt considerably less stable and it surprised me how drunk I actually was. It was almost wonderous - this floaty, warm feeling that had started in my limbs - and I felt like it should have been like this always. I shouldn't have to worry so much and just live more.
"After you."
I walked past James as he held open the door to the secret Ministry of Magic entrance, squeezing into the cubicle again with my thousand layers of red cloth taking up the space that was left, surrounding me like a sea of chiffon. It would be only seconds until I had to face reality again and some of the glorious weightlessness fizzled out at the thought of my family and Asher; a fact that all the shots in the world could have never remedied.
"James," I said quietly after he had closed the door behind him. I might have imagined it, but the expression on his face was somewhat strange when he looked up at me - a mixture of surprise and something else - and I shifted my feet. The telephone box was too small and there was barely enough space between us; one miniscule movement, and I would have ended up in his arms again. "Do you believe in love?"
He frowned, his dark amber eyes scanning my face with such intensity that I felt my cold cheeks blush. It was a weird question to ask someone but, if anyone could give me some sort of reassurance that love was simply an overrated figment of human imagination, nothing but a petty, meaningless detail, I was sure it was James Potter.
"Do you?" His voice was barely more than a scratchy whisper and my heart threw itself against my chest as he bent his head a little, leaving me to helplessly stare into his eyes. They reminded me of dark honey and of firewhiskey and I was stupidly glad they weren't green.
"I don't think I want to, really." I breathed out a shaky laugh, trying to take away some of the gravity but failed when James's lips curved into a barely discernible smile and he brought his hand up to my face. His fingers softly traced my jaw before he slid them onto my neck to hold my head in place, effectively keeping me from avoiding his gaze as it slowly travelled down from my eyes to my mouth. Around us, the windows of the telephone box had begun to mist up, blurring the view of the dark street as though it only existed in a faraway reality, suspended in time, and I thought that maybe I had stopped breathing.
I wanted to step away from him.
I also wanted to be so much closer.
James's fingertips brushed against my skin, leaving a tingling trail along my neck, and then his hand was on my waist, pushing me against the cold, fogged-up glass as he stepped into me. It was barely more than a second - his hot breath against my cheek and his nose nudging mine - and then I felt his lips, slow and deliberate, as he kissed me like I had never been kissed before.
There was a moment - one last attempt of my soggy brain to regain control over my reckless heart - and I put my hands up against his chest, pushing enough to get him to stop and pull away. He was breathing fast and heavy and I felt his heart beating against my palms; we were still too close, our bodies touching, his hands around my waist, fingers digging into my skin. There was barely a sliver of space between us and I felt my resolution slip away from me as he skimmed his lips against mine once again, pulling me into another kiss.
I could hardly think straight when I felt his tongue brush against mine and my insides tightened in the most amazing way. I knew that he was too good at this and that I was being phenomenally stupid, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. My head was spinning and the ground was moving as somewhere in the distance an orchestra of bagpipes played the solemn chorus of a familiar tune. A cluster of explosions mingled with the melancholic melody and a rainbow of colours lit up the entire city and I was snogging James Potter.
The old year had gone, the new one begun, but time had become irrelevant in this crammed old telephone box and, just for the fraction of a second, I actually allowed myself to forget about everything.
"Oi!" The urgent whisper was accompanied by a sharp rap on the glass and I jumped at the sight of Freddie Weasley's mildly amused face that stared at us through one of the windows. "Sorry to interrupt, but you might consider taking this somewhere else."
It took me a moment to catch on but, as I turned my head, I realised that we were no longer in the lonely, dark backstreet but in the middle of the brightly lit Ministry of Magic foyer, surrounded by curious onlookers who were craning their necks to get a better view at the entwined couple in the phone booth.
It hadn't only felt like the ground had been moving; it actually had.
Automatically, I dropped my hands from James's chest as I scanned the gawking crowd, a disapproving humming filling the room. Scandal laced the air and everybody seemed to lap it up hungrily as, slowly but steadily, gazes shifted towards a group of people in the front; Harry and Ginny Potter looked bemused, but their expressions were nothing in comparison to the look of utter disbelief on the Woodleys' faces.
"This is preposterous," Charlize Engelstein hissed into the buzzing silence. Next to her, Asher looked at me as though I had sucker-punched him.
"We will not be treated like this!" She threw what could only be described as a death glare at my family before grabbing her son's shoulder and steering him out of the crowd.
The Woodleys simply stood there, my parents next to my grandparents, staring at me like they were seeing me for the very first time, and I knew that I had managed what no one else had before me: I had publicly humiliated the probably proudest family in England.
A/N: The end.
No, just kidding, of course ;).
You guys, I just can't believe that this story has OVER 240 REVIEWS… Honestly, when I started 'How not to be a Woodley' I would have never expected this. At all. And I know I've said this before and it makes me sound like a really sappy old cat-lady, but you lot are just AMAZING and you inspire me and make me happy and I am so incredibly thankful to all of you who read and leave me reviews.
Having said this, I hope all of you lovelies have enjoyed this slightly shorter but all the more intense chapter and leave me lots and lots of reviews to squeal over as I am working on the next one ;).