A Fair Amount of Courage Chapter 15: Regret, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: SPOILER: It's not mine.

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews! I can never quite say how much it means to me to hear from you guys and I really appreciate that you take the time to submit feedback. Thank you! If you like to listen to music while you read, you may consider any of these for chapters 13-15: "Burning Bridges (Unreleased Demo)," "A Beautiful Mess," and "If It Kills Me" all by Jason Mraz (for the record, I don't own any of these wonderful songs). They were playing in the background while I was writing and were definitely inspiring.

Chapter 15: Regret

Dear Sophie,

I certainly hope that the reason you have not responded to my last two owls is because you are too busy snogging George to reply. However, I suspect that you're still agonizing about the whole situation and just ignoring my post. Please write soon before I begin to think that you're dying of Spattergroit.

Love,

Viv

P. S. Did you know that Gringott's wants a six hour interview?! I don't mind goblins but their trust issues are rather mind-boggling. Normally I'd turn them down, but I want that job in the most awful way.

Sophie,

Viv's not the only one who would like to hear from you (we've exchanged several letters on your lack of correspondence). Has anything changed? If you want to talk about anything, send me an owl. Send Viv one while you're at it—I think she's about to go mad.

I start my new job tomorrow. I'm rather nervous but I think it will turn out all right. I'll give you all the details next time we speak.

x.o., Alicia

Sophie!

You have all this wonderful drama going on in your life and you don't tell me?! I'm horribly offended.

All right, not really. I can understand why you didn't bring it up—you're probably thinking about it too much to want to talk about it and you know Alicia and Viv will talk to me about it anyway (by the way, hope you're not too overwhelmed by the deluge of letters Viv has apparently unleashed on your home). You already know what I think you should do so I won't tell you again.

Well, not now, anyway.

Tryouts are murder but are going rather well. Wood is sane compared to Briggs. I mean, I understand the physically demanding nature of being a professional Chaser, but really! I've never been this sore in my life.

—Angelina

Here's an ultimatum you might enjoy: if you don't sort things out yourself, I shall abscond with you to a love nest in the country. White picket fence and a lovely garden. You'll love it.

Cheers,

Fred

Sophie, I'm giving you until noon tomorrow.

—Viv

You forget I am now a wealthy man and can afford scores of love nests. As for this alleged disloyalty to my brother, I reckon you can't really tell us apart. We'll switch when you least expect it and then after a month or so, we'll come clean and you'll be forced to admit your affection for my brother. Or both of us. Either way, it all works out in the end.

F. W.

Sophia Elaine, if you do not reply soon, I shall resort to drastic measures.

—V

Sophie, this is getting ridiculous. At least send us a note that says, "I'm thinking about it" or "It's just so complicated!" or some other sort of nonsense.

The new job's going relatively well. I like my boss and most of the staff, though there are a few I could do without. Edward, one of the counselors, has taken a liking to me, which I of course cannot reciprocate because I am in a relationship and because he is over forty and constantly smells of boiled cabbage.

x.o., Alicia

I am deeply offended about these so-called 'reservations' about my plan. Really, Sophie, when have I ever steered you wrong?

F. W.

Fred tells me that the three of you are going to go live in a love nest in the country? Please respond and clarify, as I'm not certain if he is joking. Also, why is it that you've found time to respond to his letters and not mine?

Love,

Viv.

P. S. I GOT THE JOB!!!!

Ugh. Edward spent the past twenty minutes at my desk making small talk and leering at me. Had to lie and say I had to get an important owl in the post. Am hoping that if I look really busy he'll leave me be until lunch. Must find casual way to bring up serious boyfriend in conversation. Serious boyfriend who lifts weights in his spare time. Lots of weights.

Please write—am in between assignments and must look busy until tomorrow.

Odor of cabbage still lingers. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

x.o., Alicia

I'm afraid I could not keep our love a secret any longer. Went and shouted it from the rooftops—the neighbors were not pleased. Viv has remarkable hearing, though, being several miles away and all. Speaking of which, please write back to her—she's bombarded our flat with owls. And as long as I'm distributing advice, I'm going to once again recommend that you sort things out with George before I have to resort to the love nest.

Cheers,

Fred

Whoa. Evidently I missed something.

—Lee

Three weeks passed. I got a lot accomplished—I brought back The Blotter for the summer, this time with twice the number of book reviews. I cleaned and dusted every corner of Flourish and Blotts, including underneath the shelves and the high far corners of the ceiling that hadn't been done in years. I completely reorganized and rearranged my room. I got rid of several boxes of old schoolwork, clothes that didn't fit, books I didn't read any more, and other miscellany I'd collected over the years. I bought another career book and made more pages of notes. I started responding to the help wanted ads in The Daily Prophet and began a tentative search for my own flat.

It was the moments in between that bothered me the most. It was then that my mind drifted to the obvious and for that moment I lost all semblance of normality. I could eventually rein in that horrible sinking feeling in my stomach and the heavy lump in my throat and go back to whatever I was doing before, but the damage had been done at that point. Whatever resistance I had was eroding like a sand castle at high tide. It wasn't until an oddly sunny day in July that I began to understand what that would mean.

It was nearing three o'clock on a Monday and the prospect of a tea break was looming tantalizingly in front of me. I'd been minding the counter since ten that morning and I was feeling keen to get out of the shop. I stretched and rose from the stool behind the register.

"I think I'll take a tea break if that's all right."

"Go on," said Margaret, glancing up from her novel. We'd had very few customers that day, so she'd made herself comfortable on one of the step stools used to reach high shelves. "We haven't had a sale since one so take your time and enjoy the sunshine."

"All right. I'll be at Fortescue's."

Margaret gave me a startled look, her eyebrows climbing up toward her widow's peak. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

She marked her place in the book and leaned over, lowering her voice. "Shop's been boarded up for the past three days. It looked like he…left in a hurry."

I shuddered involuntarily. There had been a few disappearances since June but they were people I'd never met, just names in the newspaper, really. Suddenly, I didn't feel like venturing very far outside of Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh, I…maybe I'll just go to Escher's," I said, naming a small café only three doors down.

"Yes…that might be best."

Margaret gave me a meaningful look before going back to her book. Sobered and chilled, I gathered my things and headed out toward the front of the shop.

It was pure chance that I happened to glance out of the shop window before I left the building. My breath hitched and I quickly backed up so that I was hidden behind the Ministry poster plastered on the front window.

George Weasley was strolling casually up the street.

I risked another glance, my heart thrumming nervously in my throat and my stomach doing back flips. It wasn't like I had expected him to have changed since the last time I saw him, but I found myself taking careful note of his features as though I hadn't seen him in years. I carefully memorized the way he twisted his mouth to the side, as though he was in deep thought and how a smile still danced in the corners of his eyes.

Before I could begin to think about why I was taking such an inventory, he glanced up at the shop and I dodged back behind the poster, my heart racing wildly.

I should have gone out the back way once I saw it was him, I shouldn't have looked a second time…

"Something wrong, love?" Margaret was looking at me oddly (and I could hardly blame her, really).

"That depends," I said, rather breathlessly. "Is there a ginger haired boy walking up to the door?"

"No…he's heading up the street. Why the concern?"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "It's complicated."

I was really starting to tire of that word.

The almost-encounter with George weighed heavily on my thoughts for the rest of the day. I tried to ignore it at first—after all, I had made this gigantic effort to not think about him for the past three weeks and if I gave in all of my efforts would be a waste of time—but it quickly became apparent that I did not have that option. He occupied my thoughts, whether I liked it or not.

At first, I was angry. These past three weeks hadn't been easy—dodging both Alicia and Viv was a task in itself. I had put insurmountable effort into maintaining a semblance of normality and George had effectively shattered that when he came waltzing up Diagon Alley. Didn't he realize that when he decided to walk past the shop? Didn't he realize that I could be leaving to take my tea break or glancing up from the till? Didn't he realize that seeing him would obviously have a big effect on me and that I would agonize about it for the rest of the day?

After a moment I conceded that there was no way he could have reasonably predicted that, even if he had kept on with Divination. In fact for all he knew, seeing him had little to no effect on me—I mean, I'd only articulated that I was confused by everything. Perhaps he thought that it wouldn't bother me.

I found myself wondering about what he'd been thinking when he'd glanced up at the shop. Fred had said he wasn't angry but that didn't mean that he couldn't have looked up and thought, "Ah, yes, Flourish and Blotts, the employer of the horrible bitch who broke my heart." He couldn't have been thinking anything good, not after what I'd put him through. The ever-present lump in my throat doubled in size and a familiar nameless sour feeling invaded my stomach.

With a start I realized that the feeling wasn't exactly nameless. It had a very good name. Fred had used it back in the shop: it was regret. Pure and utterly miserable regret. And somehow, giving it a name only made it worse. Giving it a name made me realize what an idiot I'd been.

The next was little short of a nightmare.

'Distracted' was a kind descriptor. I misquoted prices and made frequent errors while ringing up customers. I accidentally charged one woman three times for the same book and had to chase her halfway down to Madam Malkin's so I could rectify the error. Margaret put me on a break after that and told me not to come back until I cleared my head. I told her that a break wasn't going to help me, that I was utterly hopeless no matter what, but I think she thought I was just being melodramatic.

Business slowed to a dead halt around half past five, right when the storm began. At that point I was nearly in tears and had been ordered by both Margaret and Kathleen to sit down behind the counter and take a few moments for myself. I had pulled out my latest career book—So You Don't Know What to Do: Careers for Confused and Educated Wizards and Witches—and was making a rather futile attempt to read to take my mind off everything. Thunder boomed ominously outside and rain clattered loudly against the roof.