I still don't own 'em.
Chapter Six: Levitating Fruitcakes and Other Yuletide Joys
"What about this one?" Rose asked, holding up a bright pink dress that reminded me of a cupcake.
"You're kidding, right?" I asked her. Rose, Lily, and I were spending quality time with our mothers gown shopping in London.
"Why not? I like it..." I looked at her dubiously.
"You'll look like a pastry."
"Well, I like pastries," she said, defensively. I shook my head as she threw the frilly disaster into the levitating basket that was following us around the shop. Lily was having similar issues finding a dress that fit her lean, muscular Seeker's figure. I abandoned Rose to help my younger cousin.
"I am so over this," Lily muttered to me. I tried to conceal a laugh. I pulled out a full-length forest-green dress.
"Try this one," I told her. She sighed.
"Whatever. The sooner I pick one, the sooner we can go somewhere else."
"Oh, the trials and tribulations of Lily Potter," I said dramatically. She stuck her tongue out at me. Our mothers were on the far side of the store, every once in a while they would suggest a dress, but mostly they just talked with one another. Lily stalked off to try on the green dress.
"Evey? Mum? What do you think?" Rose called to us. I cringed when I saw her wearing the pink monstrosity.
"I was wrong," I said, approaching her. "You don't look like a pastry...you look like a poodle." Aunt Hermione let out an involuntary snort of laughter at my comment.
"Honey, why don't you try on another one? It's very...busy, don't you think?" Rose disappeared back into the dressing room in a huff. The other mothers joined us.
When we emerged from the store and into Diagon Alley, both Lily, Rose and I sported large boxes holding our dresses. Rose had finally listened to reason and let go of the puffy pink dress.
"If you don't mind, girls," Aunt Ginny said, "I've got to stop by the shop for a few things."
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stood in the center of Diagon Alley. The inside of the shop
looked rather like a diabolical toy store. The walls, shelves, and displays were jammed full of the thousands of things he and his late twin brother had invented. A large portrait of the original Fred Weasley hung behind the font counter. Beneath it, a brass plate was hung, engraved with the words,
Fred S. Weasley
1978-1998
We found my father demonstrating the uses of Headless Hats to a group of customers. He waved when he caught sight of us, and, after ending the demonstration, called us over.
"Here for the fruitcakes, were you?" He asked. Aunt Ginny nodded.
Each year, Uncle Harry sent a fruitcake to both his Aunt and Uncle and his cousin and his family. They were Muggles, and, naturally, mortally terrified of all things magical. The fruitcakes in question did any number of things—growl, dance, disappear and reappear at random—this year's hovered behind the receiver, waiting politely to be eaten.
After picking up the fruitcakes, we aparated back to Aunt Ginny's, heavily laden with our purchases.
"Merlin! Do we have money left for food?" Uncle Harry asked good-naturedly as we popped into the sitting room. He and Uncle Ron were sitting in the overstuffed armchairs, talking. Aunt Ginny kissed him on the cheek.
"Not much, but we'll make it somehow," she replied. "Lily, put on your dress to show your father." Lily sighed and disappeared up the stairs.
Later that evening, I put my entire ball outfit on. I had a simple black silk dress that flared out into a full skirt that fell just below my knees. My shoes and clutch were silver. I was wondering whether Will would be there, when there was a knock at my door.
"Yes?" My mother entered the room, closing the door behind her.
"Do you have a minute to talk?"
"Sure." We sat on my bed. "What's up?" I asked her.
"Well, that necklace, for one...did you really buy it?" I sighed. The trouble with close-knit families is that you cannot have secrets.
"No." I said.
"Care to explain?" I really didn't, but it wasn't an actual question.
"It was a gift."
"A gift from whom?" I pressed my lips together.
"A friend," I answered lamely. Mum sighed.
"You know, you can tell me anything you want." I thought about how to word things.
"Mum...what if, when you were younger, you...went out with someone your mother wouldn't approve of?"
"What...kind of someone? Why wouldn't I approve?"
"This is hypothetical." Her eyebrows raised knowingly.
"Oh, right...well, why wouldn't I approve...hypothetically?"
"Well it doesn't have anything to do with him...it's his parents." My mother was extremely confused now.
"You mean...we—hypothetically—wouldn't approve...of his parents?" I nodded. "I don't see why they wouldn't...we're not prejudiced...I mean, they're not...can we drop this hypothetical thing?" I laughed.
"Yes, we can. But what if...you didn't like his parents?"
"Well...unless you're planning on getting married, I doubt we'd really have to deal with them much."
"Well, what if Fred didn't like him?"
"Fred would have to get over it. Honey, it's your life. Don't let anyone else live it, okay?"
"Okay." She kissed me on the forehead.
"Supper's in an hour." She left me to ponder what she'd said.
On Christmas Eve, Teddy came over. After Hogwarts, he began studying to be an Auror, like his parents had been. He currently resided in a flat in London, but visited us frequently. Dinner was quite an event that evening—it was our year to host. All through the meal, Teddy kept us entertained with stories of the trouble he caused around London with his friends. Grandma and Grandpa Weasley had aparated over early in the afternoon. Gran was determined to "help" my mother prepare supper, which had ended in Mum being shooed from the kitchen and Gran doing virtually everything. After the dishes had taken themselves into the kitchen, we sat around the tree popping Wizard Crackers and drinking cocoa. It was past ten when the others finally retired to their own homes, and Teddy made his way up to the spare bedroom.
A short time later, I lay on my bed, Will's present resting on my stomach. I stared at it for quite some time, before I heard the grandfather clock—a refurbished Muggle one that had been a wedding present to my parents from Grandpa Weasley—sound twelve times.
I sat up stalk-straight, as if I had been shocked, and delicately unwrapped the gift, being sure not to tear the paper. I pulled the lid off of a white box and revealed—a pewter compact mirror. I frowned in confusion. Was Will trying to tell me something here? Cautiously, I flipped open the compact. In the bottom part was a small note.
E-
So we can talk outside of the secret study.
-W
Even more confused, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. As I watched, my reflection rippled and changed...until I was staring at Will's face.
"Evey?" The mirror asked.
"Will?" Will's reflection grinned.
"I thought you might cheat and open it at midnight." It dawned at me that this was a two-way mirror.
"And I suppose you did the noble thing and waited?"
"Well, not exactly," he said sheepishly, lifting up my unwrapped gift: the sketch of him I had done that day at the lake shore, finished in enchanted watercolors, so that he moved and talked.
"Ah. Well...do you like it? It was my first-ever attempt at water colors, and I was afraid that I wasn't doing the water justice, but I was-"
"Evey."
"Huh?"
"I love it." A smile somehow forced its way onto my lips.
"I...love yours, too."
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas." It was strange, talking to him through the mirror, without being able to feel him there.
"So," I began, "how's your break?" He rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Boring, cold, dull...several other adjectives come to mind, but I hate to say them out loud. How's yours?"
"Not bad, I guess. Mostly family stuff. We went shopping, decorated the tree, terrorized irate Muggles...the usual. Rose is planning on dragging me through several bookstores throughout Diagon Alley next week, but I'm sure I shouldn't be complaining...what's wrong?" His face had grown troubled. He seemed to hesitate before answering.
"Evey, will you promise me something?" I nodded slowly, uneasy at his tone. "Don't...go anywhere alone. I mean, without...a group of people you know...strong witches and wizards, like your parents."
"Why?" I demanded.
"It's just...there's...I don't know. Something's coming, and I don't want you to get caught off-guard. That's all." An unpleasant silence followed as I attempted to work out what he was trying to tell me. "Listen, let's talk about something else. What...do you think you're getting for Christmas?" I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Evey, please?"
"What? You just told me I was in mortal peril, and now I'm supposed to make polite conversation?" He sighed.
"You're not in...I mean, I just...listen, I've...I've got to go." I tried not to let the hurt register on my face.
"Oh." I could barely hear myself.
"Just...promise me that you'll be safe, alright?" I nodded morosely. "Evey...I..." his head jerked up at a sound. He mouthed one last word: "Promise?"
"I promise." I whispered. His reflection melted into my own, and I saw the strange mixture of fright, confusion, anger, and sadness that was splashed across my face. Closing the compact, I placed it in my bedside table, then switched off my lamp and lay in the darkness without bothering to change.
"Evey! Wake up, it's-oh! You're awake! Come downstairs, then." Fred bounded back down the stairs. I had not slept. At six I had changed into fresh jeans and zipped a hooded sweatshirt over a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. Every few minutes, I would remove the mirror from my nightstand, open it, and stare. After a few seconds, I would close it and replace it. Never once did I see anyone else's reflection but my own.
Fred burst into my room at seven, and I dutifully marched downstairs, where our presents sat under the tree. I tried to forget about the conversation the previous night, but it seemed to hover above me like a dark cloud. I did my best to put on a smile as I tore through the brightly wrapped paper, and no one seemed to notice anything lacking in my mood or my answering "Happy Christmas"es.
A half-hour later, a pile of assorted gifts was at my feet. A large bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, a mandatory Weasley Christmas Sweater, a book entitled The Art of Magic: Wizard and Witch Paintings and Techniques Through the Ages (from Rose), an enormous box of Wizard Firecrackers, more magical watercolors, and a shrinking portable easel, among various other things. It wasn't long before Rose burst through the door and ushered me to her own house to show off her enormous stack of new books.
A while later, Lily, Fred, James and Hugo had disappeared outside to try out their new Quidditch gear. Albus was absorbed in a game of Wizard's Chess with his father, and Rose and I found ourselves in my room, feeding Roxie bits of leftover ham and talking.
"So," Rose said, trying to sound nonchalant, "Did...Will...get you anything?" I pursed my lips.
"Yes." I said, curtly.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing...we just...I don't know." I sighed.
"You guys had a fight." It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "Um...how?"
"Two-way mirror. His present to me." I slumped over on the bed, the familiar morose feeling settling upon me again.
"You...you really like him, don't you?" Rose said. I only nodded. "Oh. What was it about? The fight, I mean. Um...you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Rose lowered her eyes.
"Of course I want to, Rosie. You're the only one I can really talk to, anyway. It wasn't really a fight, it's just that...I think he's hiding something." Her eyes lit up with curiosity.
"Why do you think that?"
"He...he told me to be careful, and not to go anywhere without an adult, like I'm in mortal danger or something, and then he wouldn't tell me why. And whenever I ask him about his...his past, or what happened our first night back, he just shuts down. It's so...aggravating. I don't know what to do."
"Do you think his parents found out? And they hold a grudge and they would...you know...send someone out to...?" She left the end of the sentence dangling. I almost laughed.
"The Malfoys are extremely proud and short-tempered—well, most of them are, at least—but I doubt they would resort to violence just because they didn't approve of their son's...friend." I still couldn't bring myself to add a prefix to the word 'friend.' It didn't seem real. "It must be something else. He seemed so...agitated, and that's unlike him. I don't know what's going on, Rose, but whatever it is, it's big, and I'm in danger, and I know nothing about it." Rose was out of theories, and a sense of—as silly as it seemed—impending doom had settled upon us.