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34

RECKLESS THRILLS

MUSICAL MOOD :

LAUREN WEINTRAUB - NOT LIKE I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU

"You're a git, Potter"

"I'm just trying to save you from marrying your second cousin."

I hadn't winced when Pierre had dragged his brush through my hair without any regard for tangles and knots. Now that he was trying to force my hair into a neat updo, however, cursing under his breath as yet another strand detached itself from the twisted knot, biting my lip was all I could do to keep myself from complaining. He would go in with the hairspray any minute, shellacking the blonde strands into an unmoving sculpture that would sit on top of my head like a rigid bird's nest all night. Even worse, however, was the circlet of golden leaves aunt Helen had brought up earlier for Pierre to work into the hairdo. I was going to look like an idiot.

A flashy idiot.

"That will do," a clipped voice said behind us and I looked up to see my mother in the mirror. She was standing in the door frame in a sleek, grey dress, blood-red lips and a simple yet elegant updo that had none of the gaudy flair mine had.

"Mrs. Woodley," Pierre said, lowering his head in a small bow as my mother approached the dresser. He didn't even protest as she held out her hand, and handed her the brush, his head still bent.

"I think the bride needs attending to."

"Of course, Mrs. Woodley." He practically bowed out of the room, which was almost comical, especially when he missed the door and bumped into the wall. My mother, however, didn't seem to notice as she began to remove the dozens of pins that had forced my hair into this ridiculous shape, taking them out one by one. "Have you cut your hair again?"

I contemplated lying for a second, falling back into the familiar pattern, but somehow it didn't feel quite right anymore.

"Katie trimmed it a bit," I said, watching her face for traces of disapproval, but, as usual, her Woodley poker face was on point. She simply nodded and began to run her fingers through my hair, detangling the wavy strands softly in the process.

"How is everything?"

"Okay." I watched her fingers weaving through my shortish hair in the mirror, remembering how she had used to comb it when I had been little; pulling at the strands without mercy. "I'm handling it."

She stopped and looked up, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Obviously, 'okay' wasn't quite the word to describe the situation; I still stood accused of brewing at least one illegal potion and my classmates, who were convinced that I had drugged James Potter with a powerful love potion, continued to give me sidelong glances in the hallways, whispering about 'that Woodley girl'.

"You know that if you need help-" My mother didn't finish her sentence – maybe she couldn't - but it was implied: I wasn't alone.

"I know, mum," I said quietly. "Thank you."

She smiled as she pulled my hair back, tugging it behind my ears. "I think you should leave it like that."

I frowned at my image, contemplating the soft waves that barely reached past my chin. "I don't think aunt Helen would approve."

"Oh please," Mum said as she picked up the dainty golden circlet from the dresser and placed it on top of my head, frowning at the crown-like structure with obvious dislike. "With all that sparkle and glitter I doubt that she will see anything without sunglasses. Honestly, no taste, this woman."

The once splendid church was a ruin now. After centuries of disuse, nature had taken it back. Vines and other greenery were crawling up the stone walls, snaking through the pointed windows and spilling over the ledges into the nave. In between the poison ivy, delicate blue flowers were nestled into the crevices of the walls, fluttering in the salty breeze as the low evening light poured in from all sides, pooling on the cracked stone floor.

Generations of Woodleys had gotten married here, in this old church at the cliffs of Dover. It wasn't faith that tied my family to this particular place, though; it was tradition. A tradition that – legend had it – reached back to the early 11th century, when one of our ancestors had founded a village and built this very church. And even though the village was long gone and the church a ruin, our family still returned.

Today, the church had been decorated to perfection, of course; hundreds of candles floated beneath the ceiling among garlands of pastel flowers. The stone pews were blooming with bouquets of roses and golden leaves, dripping to the floor to frame the glittering aisle. Soft music was drifting through the domed structure, mingling with the shuffling of hundreds of feet as the nave filled with people.

I leaned forwards so that I could glance behind the stone pillar to sneak a peek at the ever-growing crowd. My heartbeat stumbled and I tightened my grip on the small bouquet in my hands as the sheer awkwardness of the entire situation hit me with full force.

"Relax," Vala said and I turned back to look at her. She was wearing the same gauzy, glittery dress as me but looked infinitely more comfortable in the slinky low-back number. "Here." She pulled a thin, metal flask out of her bouquet and held it out to me. "Helps with the nerves."

I frowned at the flask. Obviously, it wouldn't be very smart to drink alcohol when I was already struggling to not walk like a duck in my heels. Then again, I was a scantily dressed bridesmaid at a wedding that had almost been my own. "Okay, give it to me."

I took the flask and unscrewed the top, accidentally inhaling a strong whiff of Fire Whiskey. "Merlin's pants," I coughed and turned away from the flask, spilling a bit of the amber liquid on the floor.

"Bottoms up, cousin," Vala sang and I shuddered as I lifted the flask to my mouth and took a long sip, feeling the instant sensation of warmth rushing from my stomach to my limbs.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Cassie snapped as she came around the corner, the many layers of white tulle swiping the floor behind her. She looked like she had been wrapped up in cotton wool and then doused in a vat of glitter. "I swear, if one of you trips and ruins the ceremony, I will curse you into oblivion."

"Calm down, Cass." Vala rolled her eyes as she took the flask and stuffed it back into the bouquet. She had just managed to rearrange the flowers around it, when suddenly an excited voice called out "Ladies!" and Laurie, the quirky wedding planner, flitted around the corner, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide.

"The music has started," she trilled, ignoring that the two clipboards that were hovering above her head had started bumping into each other. "Vala, Elizabeth? Are you ready, loves?"

"Um-" I said, still feeling the heat of the Fire Whiskey in my extremities, but Laurie had already pushed me forwards, her voice reaching entirely new heights as she shouted "Aaaand…we're walking!".

"I can't believe great-aunt Euphemia brought her cat." Vala wrinkled her nose as a pudgy woman in a wide-brimmed, feather-topped head had taken a seat near us, holding what looked like a massive ball of fur on her lap.

"It's a kneazle."

"What?"

"Sir Windermere is a kneazle, not a cat," I said and, seeing my cousin's blank look, added, "they have pointier ears?"

Vala frowned at my lame attempt at mimicking cat-ears with my hands, skewing the uncomfortably pointy headpiece in the process. In my defence, I had had two glasses of Champagne on an entirely empty stomach.

"And she looks so normal…"

"Oh, shut up," I said and tried to straighten the circlet again. Grandmother was sitting only three seats away from me and the last thing I needed was a lecture on improper conduct. I had done so well too, keeping a straight face all through the avalanche of speeches that had all more or less been varieties of the same story: the heartfelt tale of how Asher had been intended to marry someone else, but had been smitten the moment he had seen Cassie at the Hogwarts Quidditch Kick-Off.

It was a riveting story, really.

"Dear Merlin almighty." Vala had leaned over, away from her sister who was chugging champagne like it was water, to whisper into my ear.

"What?"

"Henry Pennington is here." She gestured towards a small group of girls that had clustered around a tall guy with dark blond hair and incredible cheekbones. "And boy has he grown into those ears."

"What are you talking about?" I laughed as I watched my cousin empty her champagne flute with one gulp.

"I'm going in!" She practically jumped up from her chair, adjusted the dress and stuck out her chest, before stalking off towards the dance floor.

I watched Vala's slightly wobbly retreat, feeling a subtle wave of abandonment; without her, I had to fend for myself. Literally. Pureblood weddings were the mecca of shameless matchmaking and, while I was sure that my family would not try to betrothe me behind my back again any time soon, the other respectable families with sons of high breeding and marriageable age might not have gotten the memo.

Resigned to spending the entirety of the evening in exactly this chair, I allowed the waiter to refill my glass and leaned back to take in the scene around me; festoons of lights and candles floated in the air above white-clothed tables, emitting occasional sparks of glitter that showered the mingling guests. Dancing couples were twirling across the dancefloor, basking in the glowing light, and, even though I had told myself that I wouldn't, I briefly thought of James Potter.

It was because of that – at least I told myself so – that my heart skipped a beat when I suddenly saw him across the dance floor, standing at the bar in deep conversation with the same girl from New Year's Eve. She laughed at something he must have said and leaned in, putting her hand on his arm in such a familiar way that it was painful to watch. I quickly looked away, hoping that the constricted feeling in my chest would ebb away eventually as I took deep, steadying breaths.

His name was almost like a curse, as though thinking of him had invoked his physical presence.

Of course, James Potter was here. With a beautiful girl. After all, my life was a great cosmic joke.

I had no idea how I had ended up here, but there I was, sitting on a barstool, cradling a gin fizz, surrounded by a whole group of boys who all seemed to be fascinated by the most boring aspects of my life. Of course, the eligible bachelors had found me - mostly thanks to Vala, who had dragged me along to the bar after dinner, just to abandon me as soon as I had turned away to order my drink - but I still tried to convince myself that I was enjoying the attention. Mostly, however, I just wanted to forget that James Potter was around somewhere.

Our looks had crossed several times in the course of the evening, but neither of us had given any sign of recognition. It was what I had wanted all year; for things to go back to normal, for James Potter to be no more than a vaguely familiar classmate who I would roll my eyes about from a distance.

But he just wasn't. James wasn't a stranger anymore, no matter how much I pretended that my heart didn't spasm violently whenever I saw him in the crowd. Our last encounter in detention had not ended on a friendly note and I had also spotted Ginny Potter who was probably still convinced that I had poisoned one son and drugged the other, yet, I couldn't stop looking for him in the swaying mass of people. And, though I was telling myself that I was only making sure he wasn't close, I could barely focus on anything but him.

"Woodley."

I started when I heard his voice and turned my head, forgetting for a second that I was supposed to feign rapt attention at Gregory Archer's many achievements in Nogtail hunting. James Potter had casually pushed Charles Dolohov out of the way to stand right behind me, close enough for me to feel his body heat, and I swallowed as I tried to pretend that I didn't notice; that his proximity didn't do anything to me.

His hands were fisted in the pockets of his suit trousers and he grinned as he nodded his head towards the swaying couples behind us. "Come on. Let's dance."

My pulse picked up dramatically, probably out of anger. It was such an arrogant assumption; that he just had to show up and everybody would drop everything as though I had been waiting around for him all night.

"No, thank you. I'm in the middle of a conversation as you can see." I turned away from him again, making a point of looking expectantly at Gregory Archer who seemed thoroughly confused but immediately complied and tried to pick up where James had interrupted him before.

Out of the corner of my eye, though, I saw James's crooked grin as he leaned in, his breath brushing against my neck as he whispered: "You know that you are vaguely related to at least three fourths of these clodpoles, right?"

I could feel the patchy blush bloom on my neck and cheeks but I refused to look at him. Mostly because, besides the familiar urge to hex him, I wasn't nearly as upset with him as I should have been. After all, he was ruining everything and, judging by the stupid smirk on his face, he was enjoying it thoroughly.

"If you'll excuse me," I said as composedly as possible and threw a half-hearted smile at the boys before I slid from my barstool as elegantly as my dress allowed. I couldn't stay here. Not when Potter was obviously hellbent on making me look like an idiot.

"You're a git, Potter," I hissed as I walked past him, shoving my shoulder into his arm for emphasis. Unfortunately, I was severely slowed down by my shoes which kept sinking into the gravel and James had no trouble keeping up.

"I'm just trying to save you from marrying your second cousin." He said it like he always did; like it was all a stupid game. But it wasn't and I shook my head as I continued to push my way through the dancing couples, earning a few reproachful glances.

"Woodley, come on, where are you going?" He called out behind me and I felt a fresh wave of frustration that helped to drown out this other very alarming thing that seemed to keep happening around him; all dizzying and fluttery and I really didn't want to think about it too much.

"What are you even doing here?" I didn't realise it when I spun around - that he would be close - and my legs seemed to forget how to operate for a second as I found myself practically flush against James.

He looked down at me, frowning for a second before the smile was back in place and he shrugged. "Well, it's a wedding."

"It's my cousin's wedding." I took a deliberate step back from him but it wasn't nearly enough. My eyes kept catching on his features; the faint dimple in his cheek, his amber eyes, the small birthmark just underneath his left ear, the set of his broad shoulders in the black suit jacket.

It was annoying, really.

"So?" He raised a dark eyebrow at me as though I was the one who wasn't making any sense and it was infuriating.

"So, why are you here?" I didn't even try to keep the irritation out of my voice. A new song had started up and the first beats were trailed by a wave of cheering that swept over the hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes like a tidal wave.

"I like weddings?" James gave me one of his half-smiles that were disgustingly charming but I'd had enough.

"You're sloshed. I can't talk to you." I pushed past him, not entirely sure where I was going, but he grabbed my arm from behind and pulled me back.

"Macmillan owns the Daily Prophet. He's my mother's boss."

I had turned to face him again, my arms still crossed as I considered him for a moment. He didn't look smug or amused anymore. There was a tense set to his jaw and his eyebrows were pulled into a frown as he held my gaze and something behind my navel pulled taut.

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

His expression flickered again, the easy nonchalance gone for barely a second before he reassembled his smile and shrugged. "Angelica's mum works for the Prophet too and she made her come. I offered to come along to keep her company."

"Oh. Right." I tried to keep my tone neutral, even though my heart had possibly wedged itself between my vocal chords. "Angelica Longbottom." Something had clicked; the pretty girl was Professor Longbottom's daughter. I had seen pictures of her in his office before but I hadn't made the connection until now.

Of course that's who he'd be with.

"She goes to school in Rabenstein so I don't see her that often."

"Right. Well," I said, still feeling the pressure building in my throat. "You make a lovely couple."

I didn't know why I had said it - maybe a tiny part of me wanted to hear him say that they weren't - but James just frowned.

At least I had wiped the stupid smirk off his face for good.

"Well," I managed to smile, even though I suddenly felt ridiculous in my glittery getup and the golden circlet that was digging uncomfortably into my head. "Enjoy your evening."

"Woodley, wait!" He was coming after me again, colliding with a few people as he followed me across the dancefloor, and then reached for my arm once more.

"OK, what do you want from me?" I whipped around, my voice drowning in the music that was considerably louder than it had been at the edge of the dancefloor. My head was spinning and I had lost all sense of direction as moving bodies kept bumping into me from all sides.

James stood there in his black suit and bow-tie, his hair windswept as always and the lump in my throat was threatening to suffocate me. I felt like an idiot, the mortification from our last encounter still prickling in my bones. "I swear to Circe, if this is about bloody potions again I'm going to hex you."

James's frown deepened as he stared at me like he was trying to make sense of what I had just said. But I didn't wait this time. Before he could so much as open his mouth, I had torn my arm from his grip and then turned away, walking as fast as my sparkly heels allowed.

The air was buzzing around me; the conversations had grown in volume, matching the music, and laughter seemed to come more easily. Algy Willoughby was leaning over the table, his tie pooling on the table as he tried to engage me in fuzzy reminiscences about our kindergarten days, and all I could do was wonder if his nose looked somewhat like my Grandfather's. It was pathetic how I kept trying to convince myself that I couldn't care less about James Potter when he could get under my skin like this.

"Do I have something in my face?"

"Hm, what?" I snapped out of my thoughts, feeling uncomfortably hot all of a sudden.

Algy smiled. "You were frowning at me."

"Oh, um, no. I was just-" I looked around, hoping for inspiration on how to possibly explain my weird behaviour when, suddenly, I saw James from the corner of my eyes, slightly unsteady, pushing his way across the dancefloor. "I was – I need to use the loo."

Feeling momentarily reckless, I jumped up from my chair, leaving back a befuddled Algy who just shouted after me, "I'll wait here then!"

There must have been something fundamentally wrong with me. After all, there was no other explanation for why on earth I would act this stupidly. The entire evening, I had been trying to avoid James Potter and now I was chasing after him across the dance floor like the lovesick stalker he had once accused me of being.

"This is pathetic. I am pathetic," I mumbled to myself as I stopped abruptly, trying to get my bearings. The air was suddenly cold and moist, seeping through the thin fabric of my dress and I shivered involuntarily. Only a few metres in front of me, James was making for the church that now lay quite abandoned at the edge of the cliffs like the half caved-in ruin that it was.

Of course, the smart thing would have been to just turn around - go back to Algy Willoughby and wait for this shitty day to finally end. Unfortunately, that dumb, unreasonable voice inside me that I had come to associate with James was egging me on.

"Oh, go after him, love."

I spun around, staring perplexedly at great-aunt Euphemia who was standing beside me, cradling her enormous kneazle in one hand and a pitcher-sized wine glass in the other.

"What?"

"The boy, dear," she said as though it should have been obvious and then tipped her glass towards James for emphasis, spilling half her wine in the process.

"Oh, no." I tried to laugh, like the mere idea of what she was implying was ridiculous, but my voice was nothing but treacherous nervous breaths. "I'm not- It's not-" I trailed off, realising that the old lady had already lost interest in the conversation. She was mumbling to the cat-like creature in her arms and, as I watched her, I suddenly realised that it wasn't some strange voice that goaded me against my better judgement.

I wanted this.

I wanted to go after him.

As much as I had tried to deny it - to Katie, to myself - there was something there. And, if now wasn't the time to throw all caution to the wind - now that I was wearing this ridiculously expensive, glittery dress and James Potter had shown up to a wedding he wasn't supposed to be at and had asked me to dance - then I would probably never find the courage to admit this to myself ever again.

Moonlight flooded the decaying chapel, the pale light reflected in the last traces of sparkling confetti on the floor. Having been filled with bright lights and chattering people before, the empty ruin seemed strangely lonely all of a sudden, a feeling that was only heightened by the soft crashing of waves against the steep cliffs. The only disturbance was Trixie, my grandparents' house-elf, who was steadily sweeping up the glitter on the floor, unperturbed by our presence.

James had wandered into the nave and leaned against one of the pews, crushing the bouquet of flowers that were still fastened to it. He seemed to struggle with his balance as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a cigarette, sticking it into his mouth.

"Are you okay?" I asked without thinking, my voice still echoing from the high ceiling as I walked towards him.

James looked up, first towards Trixie and – realising that it hadn't been her who had spoken – at me. He frowned and removed the cigarette, twirling it in his hands.

"Where have you left all the hopefuls?"

"What?"

"Your gentlemen callers." He snorted, the expression on his face unfamiliar and strangely cold. The last time he had looked at me like this had been the very first time we had spoken to each other; when he had told me to start a Potter fan-club on the Quidditch pitch. "Have you made your pick already or are you going to string the poor lads along for much longer?"

"Oh, sod off." I wrapped my arms around my body for warmth and pretended to observe Trixie who had begun to magic all the flowers into a pile in front of the stone altar. The church wasn't within the bewitched area so there was no heating charm to uphold the illusion of a warm summer night and the icy tone in James's voice didn't help either.

Clearly, this wasn't quite going the way I had imagined it.

"Don't tell me you're pissed because I crashed the meat market before." He still sounded like he was amused by all of this - like none of it really mattered all that much to him - and I remembered what it had felt like before, when he had just been that boy who I'd see lounging in the sunny courtyard from the corner of my eye, laughing with his friends. He'd been a stranger then.

He felt like a stranger now.

"I was having a good time until you came along." I tried to imitate his remote nonchalance but it felt wrong; all of it. For all the times I had cursed his stupid lopsided grins, I really wished he would smile at me now. Just once. Just a little bit.

"Oh, come on." James gave a mocking snort before shaking his head. "A few months ago you had a panic attack because your parents found you a boyfriend and, all of a sudden, you're completely fine with being auctioned off to the richest arsehole?"

"That is not fair!" I could feel my jaw clench as my voice came out strangled and unnatural. It was a low blow to remind me of this moment of weakness – when I had been unguarded and vulnerable – even in the middle of an argument, but his audacity to judge me like this was even worse.

"For fuck's sake, Woodley, why are you being so naïve?" He had pushed himself away from the pew, sweeping a stack of hymnals from the ledge in the process which tumbled to the floor. He didn't seem to notice, though, as he took a step towards me, reducing the distance between us to barely a few millimetres.

For an irrational second, I thought he was going to kiss me but, instead, the expression on his face hardened. "What do you think? That these pricks are seriously interested in you? You come with a considerable dowry and a fucking pureblood legacy. That's what they're after."

The blow had come so unexpectedly that it took me a moment to feel its impact. James's breath smelled of alcohol but his face was cold, his features unmoving; this wasn't a drunken blunder, he'd wanted to wound and the bullet had hit home.

Complete silence settled around us as even Trixie stopped dead in her tracks, her wrinkly face turning towards us.

"I – I didn't mean that." James sounded almost surprised, his eyes wide as he tried to reach out, but I swerved and shook my head.

"Sure." My voice was throaty, not like my own, yet it was all I could do, holding on to the last shreds of composure.

"No, Seth -"

"I have to get back to the party." I cut across his lame attempts at explaining himself. I didn't want to hear it – anything – and so I mustered the last ounce of dignity I had left and walked away, leaving James Potter behind.

I peeled another piece of butterbeer label off and rolled it into a tight pellet of which I had created a small mountain already. I probably looked as pathetic as I felt, sitting alone at a forsaken table in the corner, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to go home, take off this glittery dress, and sleep.

"Elizabeth Woodley."

It took me a second to register that someone had addressed me; a tall, handsome guy around my age had stopped at the table, giving me a wide smile that extended all the way to his green eyes, crinkling the skin around them.

Henry Pennington really had grown into those ears.

"Why on earth are you sitting here alone?" He continued when I had failed to answer, and - without waiting for an invitation - took the empty seat next to me, his eyes never leaving my face.

"I'm enjoying my own company." I shrugged, not feeling particularly keen on conducting proper small talk at the moment. I had hoped to wait out the final hours of the festivities in my lonely corner, unperturbed by anybody, but Henry didn't seem to get the hint.

"It's been like, what, six or seven years?"

I nodded, unable to suppress a smile at the memory. "My Grandfather's 70th birthday. You snitched on me after I jumped into that puddle to ruin my poofy dress."

"Well, obviously I was a little shit back then," he said as he leaned in, his eyes flitting to my nose and mouth for the fraction of a second, "I swear, I'm much nicer now."

I could feel my cheeks blush instantly, which I tried to cover up by unhooking my hair from behind my ears. I wasn't entirely sure, but it almost seemed as though Henry Pennington was flirting with me.

"Um, where have you left my cousin?"

If Katie had been here, she would have definitely rolled her eyes at my absolute incompetence, but after everything that had happened tonight, I wasn't feeling particularly flirty.

"Oh, Vala's found a worthy distraction," Henry said easily, nodding towards the dancefloor, where I instantly spotted her, entwined with a dark-haired boy.

"Is that Gregory Archer?"

"Mhm."

"I can't believe it!" I said a bit louder than I had intended to. "That blockhead asked me for my number just an hour ago!"

Henry laughed. "Well, you would have only broken his heart anyway,"

For a moment, I actually considered going for something cool and nonchalant, but the day had taken its toll on me and I was tired of keeping up the pretence of being a Woodley.

"Are you sure? Because, as I see it, he's having the time of his life while I'm sitting here, making sad paper balls out of bottle labels."

A grin spread across Henry's face before he suddenly got up from his chair. For a second, I thought I had succeeded in frightening him away, but, to my surprise, he held out his hand to me. "May I have this dance?"

"What?"

"I would really like to dance with you."

"But -" I tried to comprehend this - to understand what was going on - but my brain was completely blank. Hadn't he seen the paper pellets, the crooked crown, the smudged make-up?

"Come on, just one dance." He was still holding his hand out to me and, when I finally took it, he pulled me up so fast that I tumbled into him.

As I looked up, Henry smiled. "Just so you know, by the time the song ends, our families have probably arranged our wedding."

"What are you talking about?" I laughed, but when he nodded towards a group of people at the edge of the dancefloor, my face fell immediately: my mother and father were in deep conversation with a well-dressed couple I knew to be Hortensia and Titus Pennington, casting frequent glances at us. "Oh, great."

"Don't worry, it'll be grand; fireworks, doves. I'll even buy you one of those floating paper lanterns that you can light with a candle," Henry said, diffusing what could have been an awkward situation, and I could barely stifle a laugh as I let him take me to the middle of the dancefloor where the last couples were swaying to a slow beat, refusing to accept that this evening was coming to an end.