(OotP) CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: So What?
Ollie,
Enclosed is the advertisement for a little debut I'm having at the Slippery Snitch this Saturday. Word on the street is that my label found me thanks to a mysterious, handsome Quidditch player slipping them a demo of mine, so thanks for that.
I should have written sooner to thank you, but honestly, things have been pretty chaotic lately. Still, I hope you might find time in your schedule to make an appearance. Seeing your face in the crowd might just be the highlight of my month.
I'd be happy to promise you a dance and a drink afterwards, if it's any incentive.
Hope you're doing well, and hope to see you Saturday.
Ellie
Ellie stared down at the envelope in her hand as Woodstock nipped impatiently at her fingertips. Don't do it, her inner voice told her. Don't send it.
Sure, she owed him a thank-you. It had been a kind gesture, especially coming from someone she had used as a rebound from someone else.
But this was more than a thank-you. It was an invitation.
"You okay?" Liam asked her. He had walked her to the Owlery, though she hadn't mentioned who her letter was for.
"Y… yeah," she stammered, tying the letter to Woodstock's leg before she could change her mind and turning to smile at him. "Sorry."
If she was being honest with herself, Liam was a big part of why she had sent the letter to Oliver. Her feelings for Liam were becoming more complicated by the day, and she had a feeling his for her were, as well.
It wasn't a good idea.
Not only was he too close to Cedric for the very guilt and pain Fred had left her for not to be an issue, but he was also just… too kind. Too innocent.
Not like Oliver.
"I found another book about rare charms throughout history," he told her as they walked back to the castle. "So far no mention of our Perelli friend, but I'm optimistic."
They had made several visits to the library over the winter holiday, attempting to find more information about the person who had the Perelli charm before Ellie, but hadn't managed to find anything.
"Great," she said with a feeble smile, trying to avoid thinking about the nosebleed she'd had that morning.
"Noel got me a pass to come with you on Saturday," he added. "So I'll get to see you play."
She did her best not to react to that, either, though it made her want to turn right back around and stop Woodstock from delivering the letter. Whatever she was planning to do with Oliver, she didn't want Liam to witness.
But what was done was done, and frankly, if it scared Liam off, it would be for his own good.
After two hours of rehearsing both her music and her dancing with a band that was so different from the Weasleys, it made her heart ache, Noel announced that she was properly prepared for her show and that it was time to focus on "the aesthetics."
Which, she learned a few minutes later, basically meant transforming her into a prettier human.
They started small—waxing, which was much less painful than the non-magic kind; teeth whitening, which was much faster than the non-magic kind; and a manicure/pedicure, which was much more flawless than the non-magic kind.
But it got complicated from there.
"Ellie," Noel said, guiding her with a hand so far down the small of her back that she had to resist the urge to slap his hand away, "this is Rosalina Margot, our stylist. She's prepared some options for you to wear tonight, and we're going to need you to choose one of them."
Ellie smiled a forced, uncomfortable smile as Rosalina rolled over a rack of pre-selected clothing options. They weren't altogether cringe-worthy from a stylistic perspective, but they were alarmingly revealing.
"I'm sixteen years old," she told Rosalina as she lifted a blood-red corset from the rack and showed it to her. "Am I even legally allowed to wear this?"
Rosalina and Noel exchanged an amused look at that.
"If you want to become a star, you're going to have to tap into your sex appeal," Noel told Ellie. "Which won't be difficult, seeing as you have it in spades."
Ellie grimaced at that, but she knew better than to argue with him; that ship had long since sailed. Instead, she continued roaming the rack until she found something she could bear to be seen in: a black crop top that laced up in the front, a pair of black, leather shorts, and a set of thigh-high, black tights.
"Sexy," Rosalina said when she had finished, "but too much black." She reached into a large, wooden case resting on a nearby desk and fished out several bright pink accessories. "These will help. More importantly, though… Have you considered colouring your hair?"
Ellie's hands flew instinctively to her long, dark hair. She had never had any desire to colour it. "What colour are we talking here?"
"Pink, obviously. Would go great with your complexion—as long as we kept a nice, dark coat of liner on those light eyes—and would help offset all the black."
Pink hair? The thought made Ellie queasy.
"It doesn't immediately mean you're pop trash, Ellie," said Noel, chuckling. "We see it in our punk rock artists as often as we see it in our pop stars. The important thing is that it makes people notice you—and remember you."
She knew he was probably right, but that was strangers. What would her friends think of her—her family?
What would Fred think?
She pictured him and George catching sight of her pink hair in a stray newspaper and sharing a laugh about it.
"Remember when you were madly in love with her?" George asked in her head.
"Ah, how the mighty have fallen," quipped Fred.
More than dissuading her, though, it angered her.
It angered her enough to say yes.
Ellie had never been to a nightclub before—Muggle or magical—so she didn't have much to compare the Slippery Snitch to. But as soon as she set foot backstage, she was overwhelmed with the realization that the place was huge.
"They're all here for me?" she whispered to Noel as she peeked through the wings to the crowd below. It wasn't the sort of place to have curtains.
"Well, it's a Saturday night, babe," said Noel with a chuckle; "some of them are probably just here to have fun. But if it makes you feel better, I've never seen the place so crowded."
It certainly did not make her feel better.
What was she doing? Despite looking relatively innocent on the rack, her outfit was so revealing, she could hardly stand it. The thought that Sirius, Molly, or any number of the other adults who had looked out for her over the years might see her wearing something like this made her want to run for the hills.
And the song? After all the beautiful and emotional songs she had written, was she really going to step onto that stage—with pink hair, no less—and sing a pop song written by a Muggle superstar?
"Don't call her that," Liam snapped at his brother. He took Ellie by the hands and guided her away from Noel. "Hey," he said softly. When she didn't look at him, he reached out to tilt her chin up. "Hey."
What was he doing? Why was he touching her like this? They didn't have that kind of friendship, did they?
"You don't have to do this," he told her. "It's not too late to change your mind. But you also have nothing to be ashamed of if you do."
"Really?" she asked him, gesturing to the ridiculous outfit and the even more ridiculous hair. "Nothing?"
But he didn't miss a beat. "You look incredible, Ellie. No one's going to laugh at you—believe me."
She sighed, running a hand through her magically coloured hair. "The reasons I gave for wanting to do this—wanting to have more of a voice to the public—they weren't entirely true, Li."
He smiled sadly. "I know."
"You do?"
"Of course, I do. Do you think I didn't notice the timing—you coming up with this brilliant idea so soon after you received that letter from George?"
"But…" She bit her lip. "Then why did you help me?"
"Because I saw how badly Fred hurt you, Ellie. Because you had every right to want to hurt him back. And if doing this helps you move on, then you deserve to do it without being judged or questioned."
Would doing this help her move on? Was moving on the same thing as hurting him?
Did it matter? She had to do something.
So she took a deep breath and said, "Okay. I'm ready."
As Ellie stood on that stage, facing a sea of strangers and singing her heart out about not needing Fred Weasley because she was a rock star now, she decided that she had made the right choice.
But she also decided that it wasn't helping her move on.
It felt good, but in the worst way—as if she had discovered a new and dangerous drug. It wasn't supposed to feel good. She was lying—lying about how she looked and how she felt—and everyone who mattered knew it.
Which meant the fact that it still felt good rendered her a psychopath.
Toward the end of the song—specifically, during the two most honest lines of the song, I gave you life, I gave my all; you weren't there, you let me fall—she caught a glimpse of someone in the front row. He was tall and broad, with the sort of handsome, good-natured face that made you look twice.
And when she did look twice, she realized that she knew that face—at least, had known it several years ago.
It was Oliver.
When the song was over, Ellie barely registered the cheering, screaming crowd. Her eyes were locked onto his—Oliver's—the ones that were staring right back at her with an expression of undeniable lust.
That was what she needed. Not this strange, genuine tenderness and desire for connection that was starting to radiate from Liam. Good, old-fashioned lust.
"That was amazing," Liam told her when she stepped backstage. He spread his arms for a hug, and she accepted, but pulled almost immediately away; it, like so much else about him, reminded her a little too much of both Fred and Cedric.
"Thanks," she said, offering him a weak smile. "Listen… I think I'm going to stay here awhile."
"Really?" he asked, looking confused. "We have that curfew, though. Supposed to be back in Dumbledore's office by nine."
"I know." How was she supposed to say this without hurting him? If she did hurt him, would it really be the worst thing in the world? Better that than she break his heart later. "Look, I've got a friend in the audience I haven't seen in a really long time, and I want to catch up. I'm sure Noel can come up with some written excuse to give you, if you don't mind taking it with you."
If her words pained him at all, he had an impressive knack for hiding it. "If that's what you want, sure," he said with a hard-to-read smile. "Just be safe, okay?"
"I will," she promised him.
Oliver had never been her best decision, but he had always kept her safe.
"Well, well," Oliver said when she approached him on the dance floor a few minutes later. "That was quite the performance, Miss Black. And quite the hair."
"Shut up," she said, shoving him playfully. "How bad is it, really?"
"Well," he said, reaching out to touch the long, bubble gum strands, "it's so sexy that you had every bloke in the club drooling, if that answers your question. Myself included. Some of the girls, too."
Her cheeks burned with both embarrassment and pleasure as she tried to remember how to formulate words. "I, er… Shall we grab a drink?"
"Love to," Oliver said cheerfully, moving swiftly and confidently to sweep a hand against her lower back as he guided her toward the bar. Unlike with Noel, his hand maintained a respectful distance—though it certainly did the trick of turning her cheeks even pinker.
"Two firewhiskeys, please," he said to the bartender when they reached the bar. He snuck another glance at Ellie, then added, "Doubles."
Ellie glanced at the bartender, curious whether he might card her, but he didn't seem to think twice about it. In fact, when Oliver reached into his pocket for payment, the bartender even waved a hand and said, "On the house. Screw the Ministry."
Ellie's eyes bulged as Oliver grinned, thanked him, and handed Ellie her drink.
"To reunions," he said as he lifted his own drink in cheers.
"To reunions," she said as she clinked hers against it.
And with that, they drank.
The next few hours were an even better escape than Ellie's performance had been. She and Oliver drank, danced, laughed, and flirted mercilessly as the night went on. And the best part? He didn't mention Fred.
It was so easy to forget Fred with Oliver. It was easy to forget all of it—all the pain and guilt and regret. With him, she was just a kid again—just that awkward, gangly girl who was about to receive her first kiss.
Somewhere around midnight, Ollie spun Ellie around to face him, bringing her so close to him that they were nearly nose-to-nose.
But rather than kiss her, he backed away from her with an odd look on her face.
"Ellie," he said. "Have you developed a stimulant problem you'd like to tell me about?"
"What?" she asked. Then, realizing where his gaze was pointed, she reached for her nose.
It was bleeding again.
"Shit," she muttered, attempting to wipe it with the back of her hand. But it didn't remotely do the trick.
"Do you want to go to mine?" he asked her, sounding hesitant for the first time all night. "Just… to get cleaned up and all. It's nowhere near here, but I could Apparate us."
She knew, on some level, what this could mean. Oliver wasn't a boy anymore; he was barely even a teenager anymore. In all likelihood, he had expectations now—the sort of expectations men had when they invited women home with them.
And yet… it didn't scare her.
Dancing and drinking with Oliver had felt good—not the twisted, bad kind of good performing So What? had felt like, but actually good. It soothed her pain, it made her forget, and it still somehow felt… real.
And she wasn't ready for it to end.
"Yeah," she said, reaching out to take his hand. "Let's go."
I know, I know - no one wants Ellie to move even farther away from Fred. (And I know of one reader in particular who REALLY can't stand Oliver!) But Fred's not exactly making it easy for her to wait around for him, is he? The next chapter, "The Oliver Interlude," is a highly emotional and (in my opinion) moving one that I think you'll like whether you like Oliver or not. Make sure not to miss it, and don't forget to review and follow if you're enjoying the story!
