Chapter 4: Of Plane Trips and Owls
The next morning when the group woke up, Professor Lupin was gone. He left a note on the kitchen table thanking them for their generosity and promising future visits.
"It was nice to spend the evening with such happy company and to actually sleep on a bed," he wrote in his distinctive loopy handwriting. "I'll be back, don't worry."
In the meantime, Meara was having a few problems. Letters kept coming from home begging for details. Sophia, while trusting her daughter to stay out of trouble, didn't trust the rest of the British wizarding world, especially those who were Death Eaters, to give Meara a wide berth. Meara tried reasoning with her mother ("It's one guy, he's nowhere near London, and if anything happens anywhere near me, I'll let you know!"), but it was to no avail. Sophia wanted her daughter home for a time, if only to see her once more.
The wakeup call was when several shop owners in Diagon Alley were attacked. Fred and George were both scared that poor Meara would be next, since her band was on the rise. They managed to convince the entire band that the time was right to go back to NYC and try their luck in America. Reluctantly, Meara packed her bags.
"It's only for a few months," George told her as she ran around her small flat trying to gather things together and put them in the various bags on her bed. "You'll be back, and maybe this summer killing spree will be over when you return."
Meara turned to him, green eyes flashing. "And leave you here to be mutilated by Moldy Voldy and his crew? I don't think so!" she cried, throwing a pile of shirts on the floor. George sighed.
"Look, you wouldn't be able to do anything if you stayed," he said quietly, picking up a few shirts and folding them as he spoke. "I'll feel much better if you and the band are somewhere else, somewhere far away. I don't want to live the rest of my life knowing that you had a chance to leave and didn't take it."
Meara bent down and picked up the rest of her shirts, all traces of her temper tantrum gone. "I just don't want to be halfway across the world when I find out that you've been killed," she whispered. George looked at her to see a few tears running down her cheek. "You mean so much to me. I don't want to lose you, not without a fight."
George took the clothes from her hands and placed them on the bed. He then reached over and took her face in his hands. "You're never going to lose me," he said softly, gently brushing away the tears from her cheeks. "I'm always going to be here. No crazy guy who was supposed to be dead but apparently isn't and is out to kill my brother's best friend and the object of my sister's affection is going to stop that." Meara gave a little wet laugh and looked into his deep brown eyes.
"This reminds me of The Princess Bride," she said just as softly. She then laughed a bit at George's confused face. "It's a muggle movie my mom and I were very fond of. Very funny. But at the beginning, Weasley leaves his true love, Buttercup. He tells her almost the exact same thing you just said."
George grinned. "Well, when you come back, bring the movie. We'll watch it together." He let go of her and began to fold more clothes. Meara smiled, slightly reassured that everything would be ok in the end.
As her mother was a muggle, Meara decided that it would be best to fly to New York and not scare Sophia when they all appeared in her living room. Thus, Mysterious M was accompanied to the airport by the Weasley twins and various significant others. The goodbyes were painful and lengthy, and all took place hours before the plane was to take off. Airport security was an insanely long process lately. Once on board the planes, the band talked quietly amongst themselves about how they were going to break into American music. It took the entire flight before they even came close to agreeing. Meara wanted a quiet invasion, taking small groups by storm until they had a following. Ian, Bobby, and Robert were all about trying to take the entire city of New York at once. The rest weren't partial, but were leaning more towards Meara's idea. It seemed more feasible.
To say that Sophia was happy to see her only child come off the airplane would be a gross understatement. There is no word in the English language to describe the tears, hugs, and kisses that flowed from the two women. After gathering the luggage, the band went back to the small apartment that Sophia owned. The British band members would be staying at the apartment while the others went back to their parents. Sophia was so happy to have them all back in her home. She had heard rumors of the killing spree in England and desperately wanted her daughter out of there. It had been a year since she had last seen the girl. A lot had happened in that year.
Meara was pumped over dinner for information. Who was she seeing? What was she seeing? Was he nice to her? How was London treating her? How was the band doing? Did they have many fans? The questions flew all night, mostly centering around Meara and the band.
Finally, Sophia pushed back her chair and stretched out her legs under the table. She gave Meara an appraising look and then sighed. Here sat her little girl, no longer small enough that she had to watch over her every move. Meara had grown up to be a wonderful woman.
"Is it bad over there?" she asked finally. Meara looked up from her bowl of chocolate ice cream and gave her mother a startled stare. Of all the questions she had anticipated, this was not one of them. She swallowed.
"What do you mean?" she asked, turning back to her ice cream and pretending that she had no idea what her mother was talking about. Sophia leaned forward and rested her arms on the table.
"I mean, the fighting, the murders… Is it bad? What's the situation?" she asked again, this time letting a bit of desperation leak into her voice. Meara sighed and looked back at her mother.
"Let's put it this way… The guy I'm in love with? The one you want to meet?" She paused for effect while her mother nodded. "I'm not sure if, when I get back, he's going to be alive. It's horrible over there, Mom. The paper is filled with the names of the dead, too many for proper obits. We're always surprised when people show up for our shows. The twins are shocked that the store is making so much money. You can't trust people anymore. You don't know who's against you and who's for you. You never know who's on which side. It's terrifying." Sophia's eyes were wide with fear. She shook her head, trying to shake out the images of her daughter lying dead in a ditch thanks to a wizard.
"You're staying here," she said finally. Meara gave her mother another look. "No, I mean it," she said again, trying to emphasize the fact that she didn't want her daughter in danger any longer. "The band can do just as well over here as it can over there. I don't want you to die at the hands of some crazed lunatic."
"Mom," Meara started, gently putting her hand over her mother's, "this is the life I want. I love England. I wouldn't live anywhere else. Fred and George take good care of me, as does the band. And besides, Dumbledore is on our side. He's one of the most powerful wizards there is. If he's on the side I'm on, I have nothing to worry about." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm not worried. If I die, I die. There's nothing I can do about it. Music is my life's work; I'm helping people out by giving them a distraction. Just like George." Sophia sighed.
"You're really grown up, aren't you?" she asked accusingly. Meara laughed.
"Yeah, Mom, I am," she stated frankly. Giving a small happy sigh, she looked at the rest of the band. "Did you see the twin's slogan for their new joke?" Laughter broke out as they remembered the purple sign that the twins unveiled before they departed on the plane. Sophia looked at the laughing group.
"Do I want to know?" she asked when the giggles had died down. Meara nodded.
"'Why are you worrying about You-Know-Who? You should be worrying about U-No-Poo –the constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!'" she recited, watching her mother's horrified look turn to one of mirth. As Sophia laughed, Meara began to clean up after their small mess.
That night, Meara climbed into the bed she had used all through her childhood. Sophia gently opened the door to say goodnight to her only daughter, letting a small beam of light caress the floor as she traversed the piles of suitcases. Finally, she reached the bed and sat on the edge of it.
"You're all grown up," she said quietly as her daughter blushed a bit in the dim light. Sophia sighed. "When you get that strong man to propose, or at least commit to something, bring him over here. I want to meet this mysterious red head." Meara gave a little giggle.
"A lot of people want to meet him. Do you know how many crazy love letters he's gotten from random people who've fallen in love with his jokes?" she demanded from her mother, who gave a small laugh.
"You got to him first, babe, which counts for something," she said, reaching forward and brushing some hair out of her face. "Now, go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning, bright and early, and we'll see what we can do about getting a gig for you and your friends to play at later this week." Meara nodded and sank down into the covers. Sophia carefully made her way out of the room and closed the door, leaving Meara to fall into a deep sleep.
In the wee hours of the morning, as Sophia liked to call them, Meara woke up to a troubling sound. Something, or someone, was tapping on her window with a sharp object. In New York, this could be a very, very bad sign. She rolled over and tried to ignore it, but it grew louder. Finally, tired of not sleeping, she sat up and made her way to the window. There, staring back at her from the dark night was an owl. Tawny and handsome, it pecked at her glass pane until she opened the window and let it in. The owl stuck out its right leg, begging her to take the letter off of it. She quickly set about untying the knot and letting the bird free. It flew off into the night in the direction of Central Park, making Meara think that it intended to rest a bit before making the flight back to its master. She smiled as she closed the window and then looked at the letter in her hands. The loopy handwriting on the envelope made her think that it was from Professor Lupin. She smiled again and put it on her nightstand, intending to read it first thing in the morning. She fell once again into a deep sleep.