Happy New Year!
"I never would have guessed you'd be one for curls." Harry smiled in spite of himself when he entered the container garden, carrying a bag of mulch over his shoulder, and spied the blond standing before the ornamental plant area, examining a brugmansia plant. "Did we skive off classes for the salon?"
"I beg your pardon?" the man turned around. Harry's expression morphed to one of surprise and mild embarrassment.
"Oh, pardon me. From behind, you reminded me of a friend." Harry indicated the man's long golden hair. "Are you interested in the Angel's Trumpet? As you can see, we have a number of varieties."
"They are nice, but I'm not actually in the market for ornamental plants at the moment. I understand you have an extensive apothecary."
"Oh, I don't know about that, but our selection is somewhat comprehensive. Won't you come into the shop?" Harry heaved the large bag to the side with a thump, and gestured to the man to follow him into the main shop where he rounded the counter. "So, what might I help you with?"
"I was rather hoping that you have some genepi or wormwood. I'm also looking for arnica, cicuta and myritistica fragrans—preferably whole kernels."
"That's an interesting combination of items," Harry noted as he examined his shelves, retrieving the jars of dried herbs and seeds. "The cicuta is particularly toxic. I would definitely recommend careful handling, and warn against using it in any type of culinary preparation."
"Well, I'm fairly familiar with its properties. You're pretty well-versed on your products."
"It's my job." Harry smiled as he measured each item into paper envelopes, and labeled them. "Is this all that you need?" He moved down the counter to the register.
"Did I see lemon balm in your garden?"
"Oh, yes! Would you like it fresh? I also have some dried." Harry pointed to the shelves.
"Fresh, if you don't mind." The man smiled.
Harry felt an odd tingle up his spine, and for a moment, he was certain that his scar tingled, an event that hadn't occurred in over two decades. He resisted the urge to touch his forehead, and cleared his throat.
"Right. I won't be but a moment." He hurried out to the garden and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Pure coincidence!" he quietly muttered to himself as he made his way along the gravel path to where the fragrant herb was planted. "Immobulus!" he whispered, stilling the bees that hovered around the plantings. He quickly cut several clusters of leaves and returned to the shop's interior. "Here we are!" Harry placed the envelopes containing the herbs into a small bag, and carefully wrapped the lemon balm in paper before adding it.
"Awesome!" The man tossed his hair. Again Harry was reminded of the haughty Malfoy features. He blinked several times. "Yeah, so-o how much?"
"Oh, erm right! Erm, that will be fifteen-ninety-five." Harry shook off his bewilderment. The man passed him a handful of cash, and as he retrieved change from his pocket, a coin fell to the floor and rolled beneath the flower coolers. "Oh!"
"It's fine," the man waved it off.
"You sure? It looked like a quarter to me. I can return one from the register." Harry offered.
"No big deal." The man took the bag with a nod. "Thanks."
"Thank you. Come again soon!" Harry called as the man exited.
"Are you kidding me?" Annabeth groused, running her finger down the page posted on the bulletin board beside the door of the orchestra studio.
"What?" asked Lilac as she approached with Scorpius and Saheli. Annabeth pushed through them and stormed into the studio. The trio looked back at her momentarily and turned their attention to the notices on the board, indicating the results of the placement auditions that had taken place earlier in the week.
"Yess!" Scorpius looked up to see Marcus pumping his fist. "Principal violin, baby!"
"Well done, mate! That means you're concertmaster." Scorpius congratulated him.
"And you, my friend are with me on first desk!" Marcus held up his hand, and Scorpius gave him a high-five.
"What about you guys?" Scorpius asked Lilac.
"Principal flute." She buffed her nails on her shirt.
"First desk, cello," said Saheli as they entered the anteroom to unpack their instruments.
"Maestro clearly plays favorites," asserted Annabeth.
"It was a blind audition, Annabeth," said Saheli.
"And Maestro wasn't the only person scoring," pointed out Caroline Beatty as she aligned the sections of her flute.
"Oh, right! So Malfoy just happened to get first desk?"
"Did it ever occur to you that he's just that good?" said Marcus. "After all, he's Maestro's son. He's been teaching him probably since he was old enough to hold a violin."
"My point exactly!" she exclaimed. "How do we know he wasn't coached?"
"Because Maestro is particularly strict," said Scorpius. "He's never given me an advantage in any of my studies. He may only encourage a minimum of one hour of rehearsal. However, I rehearse at least two hours a day, generally more, and a minimum four on Saturday and Sunday." Scorpius rubbed rosin along his bow.
"How do you spend your Friday nights, Annabeth?" Saheli gave her a pointed look.
"Why are you complaining anyway? You got principal second violin," noted Matthew O'Brian. He clutched his cello in one hand, grabbing his music folder and bow with the other. "Such a bitch!" he muttered, exiting the room.
"Let's go, y'all. We've only got about five minutes to warm up and tune," said Marcus.
Draco perched on the edge of the stage, assiduously scrutinizing the students as Marcus led the tuning. He had been pleasantly surprised by the level of competency shown by the vast majority of the students during the auditions. He was quite glad to have had the other instructors grading the performances as well, for Draco noted very thin margins in his scoring of various students. Marcus stepped down from the podium, and he assumed his position, paging through the score. The students immediately assumed a ready position.
"Now then, please turn to Act two, number fourteen, variation two—the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. In the absence of a celesta, Mr. Stroud, if you would please take the vibraharp, and Miss Rowan, the glockenspiel, yes?"
"Yes, Maestro." The two percussionists moved to their places. "Very good. Please pay particular attention to the tempo. Note that it is Andante ma non troppo. No need to rush. There will be dancers onstage, and the young lady moves with us." He raised his baton. "Strings."
The students began to play the bright music selection as Draco conducted with vigor. "Excellent bass clarinet!" he encouraged. "A bit smoother, mallets! More gently, strings!" He brought his baton down at the end of the piece, and raked his fingers through his hair. "That was passable," he said. "The last twenty seconds needs work. It should be very precise. Keyboard percussion, I'll be speaking with Dr. Vargas about section coaching. The keyboards stand out in this number. It is crucial that it be just right."
"Yes, Maestro," the two students nodded.
"Strings, please be mindful that you do not play Bartók pizzicato. I want a very clean and light sound. Mr. Belton, make time to work with your section on this."
"Yes, Maestro."
"Very good. Let us begin once more at the top."
"So, Potter," Jacob sat down on the locker room bench beside Albus as he bent to tie his shoes at the end of class. "You're gonna work with us, right?" he asked, his voice low. Albus sighed.
"I-I don't know. Scorpius seems to think it's a good idea." He shrugged, pulling his laces tight. "The thing is, Jacob, I'm really not as good as you think. I mean, yeah, I did a little wandless, but that was just chance. Most of the time, my spells completely backfire. Before we moved here, I set my bed on fire trying to cast a simple color change charm, and then I flooded it trying to extinguish the conflagration."
"Ooh! 'Extinguish the conflagration!'" Tucker affected a British accent and laughed, leaning against the lockers. "You're in America, Shakespeare! Why don't you stop talking like a bitch-ass member of the Royal family?" His peers laughed. Albus bit his lip and his skin prickled with goosebumps. He was immediately reminded of Sophia Zabini and her gang at Hogwarts.
"They accept us! They invited us to join them! No one has ever done that before!" Scorpius' voice echoed in his head, and Albus determinedly got to his feet.
"Actually, I rather enjoy my ability to employ my familiarity with the English lexicon rather than the vulgar derivative vocabulary which your people have bastardized over the last four centuries." Albus smiled. Jacob laughed.
"You're still a little bitch," Tucker muttered.
"Well, to use your vernacular, I may be a 'bitch', but your girl's still gagging for my cock."
"Ohhhh!" the other boys who had gathered about jeered. Tucker lunged at Albus, who held his hands out in front of him.
"You fucking—"
Flipendo!
Tucker flew backwards several feet, crashing into a bank of lockers.
"What's going on in here?" Coach Garcia shouted, entering the locker room. The boys scattered, leaving Harry, Jacob and Tucker on their own.
"Potter! He friggin' shoved me!" Tucker cried.
"I did no such thing!" Albus denied.
"Well somebody had better give me the whole story, or you're both benched tomorrow!" Coach Garcia placed his hands on his hips and looked from one boy to the other.
"The truth is Tucker was trying to jump from one row of lockers to the other," said Jacob. "He fell. Looks like he hit his head. Maybe that's why he thinks Albus did it."
"Jumping over the lockers, Parris?" Garcia gave him a reproachful look.
"But I—"
"Confundo." Jacob coughed. Tucker shuddered.
"I-I saw a guy do it on YouTube?" he said, getting unsteadily to his feet.
"You bobo!" Garcia snapped. "What if you had broken your leg? Let's go!" He pointed towards his office. "The rest of you hurry up and get dressed! I'm not writing any tardy passes!" Tucker's looked back at Albus and Jacob curiously, as he accompanied the coach to his office. "You'd better hope you don't have a concussion, bro! ¡No puedo creer que dejé Oakland por estos estúpidos niños ricos!"
"So, I guess that means you're gonna do it then?" Jacob grinned at Albus, softly punching his shoulder. "Pretty slick move with the knockback jinx, bro. Didn't look like it backfired to me." He raised a brow.
"Whatever." Albus rolled his eyes and grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder. He started for the exit.
"Wait, wait, wait, bro!" Jacob leapt into his path. "Did you really smash Bella Cain?" His eyes were wide with excited curiosity as he jogged backwards in front of him.
"Why would I hit a girl?" Albus looked at him oddly.
"No, man! Smash—you know…did you two hit it?"
"Ohh! D'you mean did we have sex?" Jacob nodded fervently. "Ugh! God no! I'm not into gi—ah—her!"
"Yeah, but you said she was gagging on it, man!"
"No-no, no. You misunderstand. I said she was gagging for it. It's an expression, like erm…wetting her knickers?"
"What?"
"It means she really wants it."
"Ohh! Like fiendin'!" Jacob snapped his fingers.
"Uh, okay, I suppose. It's rather pathetic, actually. She's always hanging around near our docks and the like."
"Well, look. I suggest you hurry and find someone to hook up with soon. You don't want to be without a date for the Homecoming Ball next month." They exited the athletic complex and hurried along one of the sidewalks that bisected the manicured lawn of the main quad. They nodded at students and teachers as they passed.
"Wha—homecoming ball?"
"Yeah, man! It's like the formal dance! Well, it's the only one that's open to all upper school grade levels. Only ninth graders ever go to the Valentine's dance, and the prom is only for Seniors and Juniors."
"Prom?"
"They don't have prom at Hogwarts?" Albus shook his head. "The only dance we ever had was the Yule Ball, and that hasn't taken place since the Triwizard Tournament in 1994. They discontinued it for the second time after, well…you know."
"Mm, gotcha." Jacob nodded, respectfully not mentioning how the ill-fated tournament gave rise to the return of Voldemort. He patted Albus' shoulder. "Well, look, man. If I were you, I'd start looking for a date now. The dance will be here before you know it."
"Right." Albus nodded, uneasily. They reached the center of the courtyard, and Jacob started off down another walkway.
"I'll let you know about that other thing we talked about," he called out. "And hey, we've got a limo for the night if you guys want to ride with!"
Harry sat down in front of the fireplace in his bedroom with a resolute sigh. He tossed a pinch of floo powder into the hearth and Ron's face appeared in the green flames.
"Well, it's about bloody time!" Ron groused.
"What can I say; it's been a bit hectic here. Business appears to be doing much better than I could have expected." Harry shrugged.
"Have you spoken with Ginny at all?" Ron asked.
"She hasn't returned any of my calls, and I tried to floo her hotel in Edfu before she left for the campsite in Kheny, but she'd closed her hearth."
"Why didn't you tell me about Horton, Harry?" Ron asked, an expression of disappointment on his face.
"I don't know. She's your sister, Ron. I…" Harry exhaled slowly. "I didn't want to put you in the middle of our marital problems."
"I just don't understand it, Harry." Ron shook his head. "Maybe you should just come home."
"I can't, Ron. I have a job to do here. I did my best to make things work for the whole family. I did. I tried to tell her it's only temporary."
"But she kind of has a point, Harry. We all abandoned her during the height of the war, and every time you go off on an assignment, for Ginny, it's like reliving the worry and uncertainty all over again."
"But it's not the same, Ron. You know that. Riddle is gone. We've managed to neutralize the Death Eaters. Do you honestly think I'd have allowed Albus to come with me—made arrangements to bring the whole family—if there was that kind of a threat?"
"Of course not, Harry, I just—it just doesn't make sense. I keep going round and round with this. Why would Ginny cheat? She says you barely pay her any attention, and did you really ask her if she'd considered Gordon's feelings?"
"Ron, she wanted me to be jealous. She said so. I can't imagine someone using me to make their spouse jealous."
"What the hell is wrong with you, Harry? You should be jealous! You should be fighting for your marriage!" Ron shouted. He opened his mouth to say more, but stopped, giving Harry a hard look. "Did you cheat on Ginny?" he asked, his voice low and accusatory. "Is that why you haven't been paying her attention?"
"Are you mad?" Harry gawked at Ron.
"Then what is it? Tell me?" Now it was Harry's turn to shout.
"I don't know, alright! I'm a myth—a legend that everyone has built up in their minds as someone who can do anything and be anything to anyone! I'm not that person! I never have been! Only no one seems to understand that!" Harry raked his hands through his hair and lowered his voice before he spoke again. "I don't know, Ron. Things just…they just aren't the same. I'm not…I'm not the same. Maybe I'm not enough for Ginny anymore."
"Harry—" Ron began. He sighed. "Never mind. What are you going to do? Get a divorce?"
"I don't know." Harry shrugged. "That's up to Ginny. Whatever she says she wants, we'll do. Just—d'you mind not mentioning this to Molly and Arthur. You know how Mum gets."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that!" Ron gave him a look of understanding. "That's one cauldron, I'm happy to stay out of."
"Thanks, mate. Listen, I'm—I'm sorry. I—" Harry faltered. He didn't know what to say.
"Yeah." Ron pursed his lips. "I'd better go."
The green flames flared a moment and returned to their normal state. Harry continued to sit in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames. He'd lied to his best friend. Cheating wasn't the reason that his wife had strayed, but the secret that he was currently keeping from them all would certainly be a new nail in their marriage's coffin.