Toodleoo
In the end I decided to scrap the whole crazed fan idea. In retrospect it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. After I'd calmed down slightly (Al and Rose were still alive, in case you were wondering) and vanished the gaudy junk from my face and body, I settled on the couch to come up with a new plan.
I only had twenty-two minutes and fifty-eight seconds before we would have to leave for the stadium. Unfortunately, we couldn't just Apparate there (Muggle place and all), but luckily Black (to my utter surprise) had offered to drive us when he'd heard that it was for Daisy.
Rose and Al were keeping well away from me, warily giving me a two-meter berth every time they entered the living room. I'd fully taken it over by now, scribbled-on scrolls of parchment scattered across his couch and quills piled on his sleek glass coffee table. I sighed, stretching out my legs - and upending several stacks of rolled parchments onto the dark wooden floor - and picking up another article that quoted Freya Grey.
Freya Grey was thirty years old and quite scary from the looks of it (she also had a biting attitude that shone through every single interview she'd done). She was very sensitive about her young age (it wasn't every thirty year old who managed to obtain such a high position, after all) and was a bit of an introvert, only leaving her flat to attend the Manchester United games. Thank Merlin for Rose's researching skills; she'd been traveling to and from the library all afternoon in search of the Muggle archives and newspaper clippings (I still hadn't fully forgiven her for the whole clown thing though).
I glanced at the clock on the white wall opposite me; sixteen minutes thirty-two seconds left. I sighed, pulling my legs up to my chest and resting my chin on my knees. Think, Numberita. Think.
My eyes drifted absent-mindedly to the Daily Prophet lying unread on the coffee table. There was another nasty article about me – this one claimed I was "mentally unhinged" and a "social anarchist" – by the nasty bitterweed Rita Skeeter. Stupid journalist – what happened to the whole ideal of getting the truth known to the people? Luckily the articles were still fairly small (today's front page issue was about Teddy, who was still missing - though most people just believed he was off vacationing in Bermuda again like the last time he'd disappeared without a word), and I hadn't received any outward glares. Yet.
Wait. Journalist. I straightened, leaning forward and tapping my fingers against my chin thoughtfully. What if Al and I posed as sports journalists who were sent by our newspaper to cover the match…that would get us into the box. Then I paused, my brows furrowing a bit as Numberita thought some more – from the sounds of it, Grey hated journalists. She probably wouldn't take too kindly to a bunch of strange reporters interrogating her as she tried to watch the game.
That would be where Rose could come in! She could pose as some wealthy girl visiting from the countryside – she could wear some of the old jewels I'd managed to take with me as relics of the hated days – who was looking for some worthy cause to donate in. Grey would have to speak to her; no one turned down the prospect of money. Al and I could be sitting just close enough to hear their conversation and to intervene if things went wrong.
Which they wouldn't. Hopefully.
My plan set (and just in time – I had only eleven minutes to pitch the idea and force Rose into suitable attire), I leaped to my feet and ran toward the kitchen.
"Rose! Al!" I bellowed, careening into the sunlit room.
Al didn't bother looking up from his perch at the table, too engrossed in his book (101 Hexes to Use in Times of Great Need) to react to my yells. Rose was chewing an apple absent-mindedly, loose dark auburn curls brushing against her cheek elegantly – I smiled, rubbing my hands together (what? It was what all the Muggle villa-er, masterminds did!). Yes, I thought. She would make a fantastic lady.
Besides, I needed payback for the whole clown incident.
So I opened my mouth and told them my plan in a rush of excited words and gestures, only pausing for air and to send Lady Bacon back to my flat to retrieve the last of my pureblood jewelry (university was expensive - I'd needed to sell off the bulk of it to cover my tuition fees...and my brownie habit).
When I finally finished speaking, Al and Rose stared at me with expressions that were a mix between horror and contemplation.
"You…you…you want us to what?" Rose finally managed. To his credit, Al appeared to be seriously considering the idea. He frowned slightly, working his lower lip between his teeth as he thought.
"It could work," he said slowly. I resisted the urge to shout, "WOO!" I was still angry with him for laughing at me, after all.
Rose turned on him, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. "You can't be serious. She wants you to impersonate journalists – I'm pretty sure that's breaking a dozen laws right there, by the way, and me to – to – to falsely lead this poor doctor into thinking I'm going to give her thousands of pounds that I do not have!"
Al shrugged, turning to me with a rakish grin. I flushed a bit at his intense gaze. "It's very Slytherin of you," he said approvingly. Rose huffed, throwing her apple core down in disgust.
"Please, Rose. It's for Daisy," I wheedled. She hesitated, clearly torn between her morals and the prospect of helping the house elf.
"The poor house elf who even now is probably wondering what her fate will be…" Al added, adopting a mournful expression and shaking his head slowly.
She threw her hands in the air. "Fine, I can see when I'm outnumbered," she relented.
I thrust a hand out to meet Al's midway in a jubilant high five, flashing a triumphant grin that was echoed on his own face.
Then I froze, realising that my hand for some reason was not moving away from his and why was my hand stuck to his –
Al looked just as shocked as I did and was now tugging at my hand, wrenching me forward so that I collided against his chest.
"What?" he muttered, his brows furrowing. "Let go!" he said indignantly, glaring down at me. Did he think I wanted my hand to be attached to him?
I scowled up at him. "You prat, I'm not doing this!"
His mouth mirrored mine. "Well, if you're not, then who-"
Our eyes narrowed at the same time, two heads of black and brown hair whipping around to glare at one innocently whistling redhead.
"Rose," Al began menacingly, his left hand reaching for his wand.
She smiled sweetly. "Oh, don't worry! It'll wear off soon. I hope."
Ignoring our half-strangled protests, she added hurriedly, "Well, I'd better go visit Dominique and borrow some more suiting clothes for this role you two so thoughtfully pushed me into. I'll be back in time for Black's arrival – bye!"
I exchanged a horrified look with Al before rushing forward, dragging Al with me as I reached forward-
The Weasley Apparated away with a mischievous wink and a wave.
Shoot.
Well, maybe Al wouldn't make this too bad. Maybe we could be mature adults about this and-
"Your hand is all sweaty," Al pointed out.
Or not.
"It's your hand that's doing that!" I said (it wasn't. My hands did sweat a lot when I was nervous).
He raised an eyebrow at that, not even deigning to give me a proper response to my weak comeback. I sighed heavily. Unfortunately, I hadn't seen Rose's hand motions - and the crafty witch had cast the spell silently - so I had no idea what counterspell to use. And, honestly, I couldn't waste any of the precious time I had until the match to research possible spells - besides, something told me Al wouldn't be up for downing the various potions Numberita could think of that might sever the connection.
"Well, at least it's not our wand hands!" I tried. Thank Merlin we had opposite dominant hands.
He ignored me (git), instead pulling me forward to the kitchen table.
"We should make the reporter IDs," he said. I nodded, extracting my wand from my pocket and eying the thick sheets of cardboard on the dark wood.
"Okay…"
More silence.
"Do you have any idea what a reporter ID looks like?" I asked finally after we had both stared at the paper for a good two minutes and forty-one seconds.
"…no."
Great. Well, this was going fantastically well.
Lady Bacon tapped at the window (note to self: give her extra owl treats tonight; I'd made her travel far too much today), and I leaped up to open it. I was yanked back suddenly by my left hand, and my shoulder wrenched painfully before I fell to the floor with a hard smack, pulling Al down with me. He yelled in protest, and I kicked reflexively (what? You would too if you'd grown up with your twin brother having a most unfortunate habit of waking you up in the mornings by throwing heavy objects on your chest), colliding into his leg as he landed on top of me.
Oof. The bloke was heavy.
"Gerroff me," I said through a mouthful of Al's shirt. My nose was quite squashed underneath his chest, and my left arm was twisted uncomfortably upwards, my fingers still intertwined with his right hand.
"I'm trying to," I heard him mutter under his breath (git). He slowly got off me, reaching down to help me up.
I sniffed, accepting his hand grudgingly, and made my way over to the window with as much dignity as I could muster. If owls could laugh, I would swear that Lady Bacon was fairly roaring with mirth. When I let her in, she hooted excitedly, swatting me a few times with her broad wings.
"Oh, shut up, owl," I said crossly, taking the heavy package from her leg. "Or I'll rethink the whole extra owl treat thing."
That quieted her, and she threw me a wounded look before flapping away without a backward glance.
"You really have a way with animals," came Al's observation from behind me. I didn't answer, instead stomping down on his toes – "Ow!" – as I made my way back to the table. Opening the package carefully (the smart owl had gotten the right package, thank Merlin), I watched with a slightly troubled expression as the last of my jewels – a silver necklace dripping with diamonds and a pair of delicate emerald earrings befitting of a Slytherin – pooled from within the brown paper.
Al whistled softly, coming up to stand next to me. It was odd, but I found his presence oddly…comforting. I pushed down my unease at the sight of such obvious reminders of my old life, of my troubles, and briskly shoved them back into the package.
"They're gaudy pieces of trash," Al offered. I smiled weakly up at him, appreciating his effort at cheering me up.
"That they are," I said softly (they really weren't - well, the necklace was a bit much. The earrings, however, were gorgeous...not that I would admit that to the aunt who had given them to me and then proceeded to pretend I didn't exist after it turned out I didn't fit her definition of a refined Slytherin). Then I shook myself back to attention and scooped up the cardboard briskly.
"Now, to create these IDs…"
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Four minutes and two seconds later Rose Weasley returned looking like she'd just stepped from the covers of some high-end fashion magazine. Her hair was straightened and pulled back into an elegant bun, a few tendrils of wavy hair looking for all the world like molten fire trailing down to brush the tops of her slender shoulders. She was wearing a stylish black dress and short heels.
The effect, however, was somewhat ruined by the disgruntled scowl firmly planted on her face. She stomped into the flat, flinging her bag onto the couch.
"Don't ask," she muttered. "Victoire was at Dominique's."
Ah. That explained it. As a fledgling fashion designer and major supermodel, Victoire was the epitome of all things high fashion. She'd probably jumped at the chance of dressing up Rose Weasley (who, while not opposed to makeup and that sort of thing, rarely did so due to her hectic schedule).
I wordlessly handed her the package containing the jewelry, and her eyes widened when she peered inside.
"A-Adela…are you sure-"
I cut her off with a firm nod. "Yeah. For Daisy, right?"
She nodded, a guilty expression stealing across her face as she glanced down at my left hand (which was still firmly stuck to Al's right).
Withdrawing her wand smoothly from a hidden pocket in the dress, she waved it at our joined hands. Our hands fell apart, and I felt an odd sense of loss as I massaged my left hand carefully.
Rose slipped on the jewelry carefully. "Well, Merlin knows I'll be the target for any pickpockets!" she joked in a weak attempt at humour.
Al didn't say anything, but I saw his form tense a bit – he was still wearing the sleek black Auror uniform, and he clearly felt it was his duty to prevent harm from coming to either of us. I reached over to poke his rib. He looked down in surprise.
"Oi. You're not alone, you know," I pointed out softly.
He blinked before making a visible effort to relax.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I'm not." Then I was caught again, staring at his dark green eyes and wishing that they weren't so bloody pretty and that I didn't feel so jittery whenever I was near him-
A car honked outside, breaking me from my trance. I flushed, looking away quickly and muttering something about checking who it was before dashing to the living room window (yeah, there was a window in the kitchen, but I needed space to gather myself). An expensive-looking black car waited silently outside. Figures. Cain would be the type to own a car that looked like it came out of a mob boss movie.
"It's Cain," I said to my companions, grabbing the IDs off of the table (they looked pretty good, if I did say so myself) and clipping it to my white blouse.
Rose nodded. "Game on?" she offered.
I nodded. "Game on."
When we'd reached the car and all piled in (the interior was just as nice as the exterior, all new-smelling leather and gleaming silver and black finishes), Cain stifled a laugh.
"Is it Halloween? Am I missing something here?" he finally managed, his eyes darting from the scowling Al to the stiff-looking Weasley to my hair (which was pulled back in a painfully severe ponytail). I narrowed my eyes. "Sod off, old man," I returned flippantly. I was sitting in the passenger seat and thus had the best access to Cain if the need came to whack him with a certain wooden bat.
He gaped at me. "Old – old man?" he spluttered. I shrugged casually.
"Yeah. You're always going off about how we're all 'young'uns.' So what does that make you but an old man?" I returned evenly.
He stared at me for another three seconds before whistling under his breath.
"God, Adela. When did you become such a bad as-" he began.
"HURRY UP WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" I bellowed impatiently. We were already a full minute and thirty-two seconds behind schedule.
"And it's ruined," I heard him mutter. I ignored him (with quite a lot of maturity on my part), staring at his hands as he gripped the leather wheel. I'd only been in a Muggle car six times in my life, and each time was a fascinating experience. Numberita wondered briefly on the mechanics behind the car – what powered it if not magic? Note to self: research cars.
"So, this is for Daisy, right?" he finally asked.
"Yeah. I have Elise looking into it as well, but I figured I might as well do something too."
The car jerked slightly, and Al let out a noise of protest from the back.
I eyed Black shrewdly; his pale eyes were widened and his mouth was open slightly in shock.
"E-Elise?" he finally made out.
I narrowed my eyes. Well, they had been in the same year at Hogwarts. They must have known each other...but how close was this relationship for Black to react so comically?
"Yes, Elise. How do you know her?"
He swallowed, struggling to regain his composure, his eyes still firmly fixed on the road.
"We...we were friends," he said haltingly.
Right. And Rose and Scorpius were just acquaintances.
"Codswallop," I said. He scowled.
"Be quiet, young 'un," he warned. I decided to take pity on him - he was, after all, driving us - and quieted. But not before filing the information in Numberita for later analysis.
It was a long twenty-six minute drive to the stadium. When we finally arrived, Cain wished us good luck before telling us to get out of his car quickly because "we had already infected it with our young hormones" and "God did we know how long it was going to take for him to fix it." I rolled my eyes at that, recognising it as Cain's own unique brand of surly affection, and thanked him before climbing out of the car.
"For Daisy!" he called out before driving away.
"For Daisy," I echoed softly. Then I set my shoulders and, adjusting the reporter ID on my shirt, put on a confident smile.
"Rose, you go ahead. We'll meet you there," I said. She nodded, her freckled face set determinedly.
"Right."
Then I turned to Al. "Ready?"
He smirked. "Am I ever not ready?" he returned.
I rolled my eyes. Well, I was fairly asking for that one. Ignoring Al's quip, I began my walk to the admissions turnstile. Handing my ticket in (and concealing my reporter ID with a deft movement of my hand), I pretended to listen attentively as the usher pointed out our seats – distant specks at the other side of the field – to us.
"Thank you," I said, accepting our ticket stubs. The employee smiled at me, and Numberita distractedly estimated him to be around my age, perhaps a few years older. He had white-blonde hair and friendly blue eyes. His hand lingered a bit on the stubs, and I glanced down in confusion before meeting his eyes again.
"No problem. Hey – if you want to see the locker rooms after the game, perhaps I could show you around," he offered. Huh? I stared at him in disbelief for sixteen long seconds before he cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Or, er, you don't have to if you don't want to…" his voice trailed off as his cheeks reddened endearingly.
"Uh-" I began, Numberita at a loss for words.
The scent of pine trees drifted over as Al approached behind me, slinging a warm arm over my shoulders and pulling me close. I flushed immediately, gaping up at him. What was he doing?
"Bea! There you are!" he said warmly, smiling down at me with such obvious adoration shining from his eyes that my mouth was left dry and my heart pounding. Then he looked up, doing a double take as he saw the usher – who was looking away determinedly by now.
"Oh! Who's this?" he asked in feigned confusion.
My heart went out to the employee; he looked quite uncomfortable, and I out of all people could empathize with wanting desperately to escape an awkward situation. So I extracted myself from Al's grasp and said, "Oh, A-Adam." I turned to the employee.
"Sorry about that, Adam's just a bit clingy because his boyfriend's overseas," I explained. I felt Al stiffen behind me, and I knew he was probably contemplating hexing me. The boy smiled at me.
"Oh, okay. So…do you want to se-"
Gah. Right – I had forgotten about this awkward situation in my haste to make him feel better.
"OH! CLARABELLA'S CALLING ME! TOODLEOO, GOTTA POOF!" I bellowed, practically pushing past him in my haste to escape.
Right. So maybe my method wasn't ideal, but it certainly was better than humiliating the poor bloke. Besides, it wasn't every day that someone showed such obvious interest in me; I'd be lying if I said it wasn't flattering.
Al soon caught up with me, and he yanked me behind the corner leading to the snack bar.
Uh oh.
He glowered at me, his green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
"You," he began, practically spitting the word.
"Now, Adam, don't take out your anger on me. I know you miss your boyfriend but-" I couldn't help but say (what? It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!).
He stepped forward, and I swallowed thickly; we were now a scant three centimeters apart, and he leaned down so our noses almost brushed.
Double uh oh.
"Boyfriend, my foot," he muttered. Then he reached down to cup my cheeks with two searingly hot hands and –
Kissed me.
Author Note: ehehehehehehe
As always, all reviews will be returned with a teaser of the next chapter c;
I've also updated a new chapter to Outtakes as a gift to The Hazel Purple Skyline for being my 300th reviewer! :D