Tpov
I walked down the narrow street, avoiding eye contact with anyone I passed. While technically the lane was wide enough for cars, it looked as if the residents and shop owners had taken over, store fronts and stalls spilling out over the sidewalk and onto the pavement.
I hadn't quite figured out which parts of the city belonged to the magical community, and which part belonged to the muggles, no-majes I guess… But this particular block seemed to be some sort of middle ground. As if the area's non-magical residents were somewhat aware of the magic that was around them, even if they couldn't quite explain what it was, or where it was coming from.
"Amulet?" a dodgy looking woman in a stall asked, thrusting a necklace into my path which I avoided. "Or maybe a protection spell? The city is a dangerous place darling. Lots of things could happen to a pretty girl like you."
I ignored her and kept walking, blind to the offers of love potions and charms for prosperity or good fortune set up by peddlers who clearly knew nothing about magic, obviously relying on a customer base with the same level of ignorance.
I'd made it halfway through the street before something finally caught my attention. A delicate instrument, polished to the point of almost glowing in what little light had made it between the tall, crumbling buildings lining the street. Astrological signs were stamped into the silver around the rim, constellations and planetary symbols engraved into many rings that rotated within the mechanism, allowing them to align with a different house.
"You've got a good eye." A voice said with interest.
I looked up to see a young man, likely a year or two older than me, leaning against the door frame of what appeared to be a tiny psychic space, a poster for palm readings next to a window with bars over the glass. He was tall, fairly attractive with dark brown hair, the color of coffee, and warm brown eyes that were looking at me with speculation.
"Interested in astrology?" He continued straightening up, his tone persuasive. "This is a pretty rare piece of equipment, but I might be willing to part with it for a good deal to someone who actually knows how to use it."
It took almost everything I had not to roll my eyes.
"I'm interested in a lot of things." I said. "But not counterfeit goods."
His eyebrows darted up.
"The houses are misaligned." I said, gesturing towards the offending symbols. "That's why you're selling it right? This thing is useless."
He grinned.
"Alright, you caught me." He admitted putting his hands up in surrender, his eyes glittering with amusement. "Wish you'd been there when I bought the damn thing."
I shrugged as if to say 'what can you do?' and continued to walk, surprised and unnerved when he hopped off the steps leading up to his door and started after me.
"What do you want?" I asked agitated, wondering if I was going to have to curse him and the smirk he shot me had me figuring he caught the gist of what I was thinking.
"Nothing, I'm just not used to having someone so educated in this part of town. It's not often I find a kindred spirit."
I said nothing to this hoping the silence would eventually shake him off, but he seemed undeterred.
"Interested in a reading?"
"From a fraud who can't do basic astrology?"
"We all have our gifts sweetheart." He said and I felt my face pinch in irritation at the term. "Astrology might not be my strong point, but I'm good at other things."
"That sentence is distressing." I said frowning which seemed to amuse him. "Fine." I continued, mostly to get rid of him as clearly incivility wasn't going to. "I'll let you do a reading, but I'm not paying for anything."
"Alright." He chuckled, gesturing for me to lead the way towards the shop and I hesitated, wondering what sort of situation I was getting myself into before walking up the steps into a small, cluttered room.
"Michael the Magnificent." I read dispassionately, spotting a stack of muggle business cards on a nearby shelf and he grinned.
"It's catchy, sticks in people's minds."
I snorted a laugh, but continued to glance around the space.
It looked like most places devoted to tricking patrons with little to no experience with divination into thinking the business was credible. I could smell sage burning, as well as a mixture of herbs dangling in small, decorative bags in random places from the ceiling. Most of the posters tacked to the wall were utter nonsense, but I was surprised to see that some of the texts littered along various surfaces in the room appeared to be the genuine article, and the ball resting on a low table in the center of room appeared to be made of actual crystal, not glass. Even the tarot cards laid out in front of it seemed to be legitimate.
"This looks expensive." I said running my fingertips over the crystal, watching his reaction, wondering if he saw anything in it.
"It was." He said easily, gesturing to one of the stools on either sides of the table. "Please."
I sat and was surprised when he stepped through a curtain of glass beads only to come back holding two mismatched cups, steam rising from behind the rim.
"What's in this?" I asked glancing cautiously at the contents of the cup, surprised at the powerful rush of recognition that washed over me as I caught a familiar scent of herbs and spices.
"Vervain." He said, as if this should be significant to me and it was.
A flash of apprehension went through me as I immediately set the cup on the table between us, and, suppressing a torrent of unwelcome memories, some of which were not mine alone, said.
"You're not reading my tea leaves."
"You don't have to drink it." He said with a shrug, holding out his hand, his expression expectant.
I hesitated for a moment, before extending my right, palm up.
"Interesting." He said taking it and frowning as he examined the lines.
"Is it?" I asked vaguely, I was surprised, however, when he didn't immediately answer.
"It is." He said eventually, angling my palm, the frown deepening. "Your heart line is a fractured mess, no continuity at all."
He paused continuing to examine my hand and the look of genuine concentration that crossed his expression caused a flash of apprehension to go through me.
"Your fate line is strong, but muddled, splinters overlapping in a way I've never seen before, and the sun line is all but non-existent." He looked up, his brow furrowed and I was surprised to see he looked concerned. "I can't get anything from this. It's chaos."
"What a shock." I said pulling my hand from his. "The man who can't figure out basic astronomy is struggling with low level palmistry."
"I'm serious." He said frowning. "This is not normal." He gestured towards my hand. "Are you in some sort of transition in life? Or going through a major event?"
"I hate to break it to you," I said standing. "But I think you're just not that good of a psychic."
I started walking towards the door, but a shock of anger and fear shot through me when he grabbed my wrist.
"You know it's helpful in readings if you're honest about which is your dominant hand."
A thrill of fear went through me as he turned my left palm up.
"Same thing here." He said darkly. "The sun line has almost completely vanished, the heart line is at least connected on this one but still a complete mess. The fate line though, might be the deepest I've ever seen. Common in seers." He said lifting his own left hand and he was right, like my right, the fate line was fractured. "But our relationship with fate isn't entirely just our own, is it?"
I stared at him.
"You have the sight?" I asked incredulously and he nodded in agreement before looking back at my palm which was still in his right hand, but his grip had relaxed, barely holding it in place.
I turned it over revealing a deep groove that slashed through his palm, mirroring the one on my left.
"I do." He confirmed tilting his head as he considered me, still with that maddeningly interested expression. "Though not as much, I suspect, as you."
…
I tapped the kettle with my wand and leaned against the counter, glancing at my watch feeling restless.
"I hate waiting." I muttered crossing my arms over my chest and looking at the door to my apartment.
The knock came right as the kettle started to whistle, just as I'd known it would. I tapped it a second time before straightening up and walking towards the door.
The moment it opened, there was a loud squeal of excitement and my vision was obscured by a whirl of flame bright hair as I was tackled into a hug.
"Tara oh my goooooooood!"
"Blimey Faye." I said voice tight as she continued to crush my ribcage. "Yes, it's good to see you too."
"Ugh I forgot, you're totally repressed." She said rolling her eyes as she let me go and frowned, brushing a curl out of her face as she frowned at me. "What are you wearing?"
"Clothes." I said crossing my arms over my chest and frowning at her many bracelets and layers of clothes in bright patterns. "For an adult."
"That's right, you have a job." She said in distaste stepping into the apartment and dropping her bag next to the door. Unable to help myself, I lifted it to the hook above on the wall.
"What's with this place?" she asked sounding a little disturbed glancing around the room, as if the off-white walls and coordination between the decor and different types of furniture was alien to her. Then again, it probably was. "Where's all your stuff?"
"Relax." I said with a quelling tone.
I shut the door and poked it with the tip of my wand. Immediately, the room shifted from a modern apartment that looked perfectly at home heart of muggle London, to something drastically different.
Thick rugs lined the floorboards which had lost their polish, the couch and chairs were replaced with a low table in the living area surrounded by cushions and muggle bean bags. Star charts and tapestries lined the wall, along with posters of astrological signs and long drapes of fabric that spanned across the room.
"Much better." She said sighing happily and sinking into a cushion. "So." She continued giving me a shrewd look as I handed her a steaming mug. "I hear you have a job for me."
Her expression brightened as she took a sip.
"Is this dandelion root?"
"Naturally."
"You remembered." She said sounding touched and I couldn't help but grin a little.
"Of course, I did." I said amused as she took another sip and sunk further in the cushion with a satisfied wiggle. "You only drank all of it every time I bought some."
"Then you should have stopped buying it," she chuckled both her tone and shrug unrepentant.
Despite moving north to escape an extremely rough home life as the only magical member of her family, Faye had never entirely lost the accent she'd grown up with in the American south. Fiery red hair, bright blue eyes, and a face like a veela, despite the lack of magical connection in her family, Faye drew attention where ever she went. Even since I'd known her as practically a kid. It was clear that at nineteen and more striking than ever, this about her hadn't changed.
She smiled a little, taking another sip, clearly lost in a sense of nostalgia as she glanced around the room. She snapped her fingers at a stick of incense which immediately started to burn. It filled the apartment with a smokey perfume that brought back memories of tarot cards, and crowded city streets.
"I dunno why you left T." she said wistfully on a sigh as she considered me.
"My time in New York was always temporary."
"I know." She said shrugging, but her expression was stubborn. "But we had a good thing going. I don't see why you were in such a hurry to end it."
"I had things to take care of back home." I said sitting on a stool, back to the counter so I could face her. "People to take care of."
"Right." She said sourly, clearly unhappy with this reasoning, and, as if unable to help herself, continued. "I will never understand this absurd compulsion of yours on being grounded." She said shaking her head. "You didn't even marry the guy." She shot me a look. "You did what you could for his family. Why bother coming back? A talent like yours, you could do whatever you want, go where ever you want. You wouldn't have to worry about money. Besides, from what I've heard it's not like you need it."
"I'm not a fortune teller."
At this she let out a surprised laugh.
"What's wrong with fortune tellers?" she asked raising an eyebrow, her expression amused.
"Nothing." I said with another shrug. "I'm just not one."
"You're right." She said frowning. "You could be so much more."
"Faye-" I started shaking my head, but she cut me off.
"Don't look at me like that Tara, you know it's true." She said frowning. "Do you know how many of us wish we could see like you do?"
"You can see like I do." I pointed out and she shook her head.
"I can see a little." She said her eyes narrowing. "But you? You had, probably still have, a once in a generation talent, a real gift. But all you ever want to do is hide it."
I didn't answer this but looked away, well aware she was continuing to scrutinize me with her gaze.
"That's why you asked me to help you with this right? Because you don't want your friends-"
"Co-workers." I corrected and she rolled her eyes.
"Whatever, you don't want them to know what you are, right?"
"It's not that simple, Faye." I muttered and she let out a frustrated huff then looked around the apartment again, her expression troubled.
"I really don't understand why you wanted to come back." She said quietly. "Illusion magic on your apartment, writing under fake names."
"We used to use fake names all the time." I reminded her.
"You know what I mean." She said in exasperation and while I did, I didn't go as far as to admit it.
What would it help? It wasn't going to change anything.
"What kind of life is that Tara?" she asked. "Constantly lying about who you are, what you can do?"
"Can we get back on topic?" I asked stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest. "The job." I pressed. "Do you want it?"
"What exactly would I be doing again?" she asked frowning.
"Consulting mostly." I said with a shrug and when her expression went skeptical, I continued. "It's easy money. Just read through the articles, answer some questions and break down some basic practices, correct any common misconceptions and warn against tactics used in the business to trick people out of their money."
"Like we used to do." She said raising an eyebrow. "Like, all the time."
I sighed.
"Yes." I said reluctantly.
She seemed to think on this for a moment, then shrugged.
"I think I'll pass."
"What?" I asked incredulously. "Faye, this job is easy. It practically does itself."
"It sounds boring." She complained. "And unlike you, I'm still apart of the community." She pointed out. "I don't think the rest of the seers out there would be happy if I went on record spilling secrets of the trade. I'd be a pariah."
"Who cares?" I asked indignantly and she rolled her eyes. "This is real money, not whatever you can dupe out of some teenager who wants you to teach her how to use fake tarot cards some prat sold her last Tuesday."
"I don't care about money." She shrugged. "It's not an incentive. And besides, the person who sold her those tarot cards was probably me!"
She laughed and I shook my head, letting out a slow breath.
"God what happened to you, T?" she asked letting out another laugh, sounding as incredulous as I felt. "You used to be so much cooler."
"Cooler?" I asked feeling my eyebrows jump and she nodded.
"Yeah. Why on earth would I want to let myself get stuck in London, hide who I am to fit in with boring, miserable people like you do, when I can use what you taught me, and go and do whatever I want? The same things, I might add, that you want to expose to the wider magical community and ruin for all of us."
"I taught you how to see." I argued. "Not how to grift."
"And somehow, you were still better at it than everyone else." She said with a smirk.
"And your content with that?" I asked my arms locking tighter at this accusation. "Aimlessly wandering around the world, selling fortunes to whoever wants to hear them? Real or fabricated?"
"Yes." She said with a shrug. "I am fine with who I am Tara. And unlike you, I haven't developed a complex about it."
"You sound absolutely mad."
"Look in a mirror T." she said unfazed. "I'm not the one disguising psychic insight as connections in the media world, and lives in an apartment with a split personality."
She gestured towards the cushions around her and I couldn't help but feel a bit of resentment as I looked at her.
"So it's a no then?"
"To the job? Hell no."
"So then why'd you agree to meet with me Faye?" I asked frowning. "If you don't want the job, why bother coming at all?"
"To meet with a friend I haven't seen in years, and have a free place to crash in one of the most expensive cities in the world." she said as if this was obvious. "Portkeys to Paris are a lot cheaper and easier to find in London than they are in New York. There's one leaving in a few days."
She smiled at me expectantly and I sighed. Seer or not, I should have seen that one coming.
"Fine. You can stay here."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She squealed getting to her feet and pulling me into a second bone crushing hug. "You're the best!"
She clapped her hands and her bag flew from the hook, making a heavy thud as it hit the counter, and her arm disappeared implausibly far into the fabric.
"I promise I'll be totally out of the way while you do your whole article writing stuff." She continued pulling random items out of the bag including a tooth brush, a sleeping bag, and what looked like a week's worth of clothes that experience told me would be strew across the apartment within hours. "You won't even notice me."
"I seriously doubt that." I muttered as she continued to unpack.
"You know who you should ask," she started, pulling out a tuft of dried herbs tied together. "About this whole job thing?"
"Who?"
"Michael."
"Michael?" I asked incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm not." She said shaking her head and poking the bundle with her wand, causing the edges to burn.
"Michael is a charlatan."
"Yeah, which is why he's kind of perfect for what you want. He knows all the tricks. Plus he's a fellow exile, he doesn't care what other seer's think." She shot me a significant look. "You and I both know he only got so good at the game because he actually did knew what he was doing."
"Isn't he like… insanely busy now?" I stalled frowning as she blew on the herb pile and tendrils of smoke curled towards the ceiling. "I doubt he wants to talk to me."
"I'm pretty sure Michael always wants to talk to you Tara." She said quietly, shooting me a sidelong look. "And I think you know that."
"Maybe." I said distractedly. "I'm sorry, but are you seriously saging right now?" I asked as she held up the bundle waving it back and forth in wide arcs as she paced the room.
"Uh huh."
"In my apartment?"
"Yeah." She said flatly. "I'm sorry Tara but you're like a tangled mess of energies right now, and you know how that disrupts my resonance with the metaphysical."
"Ok, fine, whatever." I said rolling my eyes and she narrowed her own before pointing and saying.
"See? Complex."
"I'm going to get ready for bed." I said shaking my head, unable to help but smile a little as she continued to meander around the room. "You just make yourself a nest or something." I said glancing around at all the cushions. "And no séances."
"And how else am I supposed to connect with your dead spirit?" she asked pointedly.
"Through a formal written request. Best if it's notarized." I shot back before turning and walking towards the bathroom.
"You were more fun in New York!" she called after me, but I waved her off.
"Yeah, yeah."
I grinned and tapped my wand to the wall, reverting the apartment to the muggle appliances and she let out an outraged cry.
"TARA!"
I laughed, but figured she was probably right, so, after a long shower, likely to put off doing what I knew I had to, I pushed several article drafts to the side on my desk and sat, grabbing a pen and frowned, wondering how to start a letter to someone you hadn't spoken to for years.
I decided to be upfront about it. Treat it like a consulting offer like I had with Faye.
'It didn't have to be awkward.' I thought a little anxiously as I signed the letter and folded it into an envelope. 'Who knows? It might be nice to reconnect.'
It didn't stop the flood of relief that went through me the second my adorably tiny barred owl swooped in through my bedroom window, dark eyes looking at me expectantly when she saw the letter on my desk.
"Hi Snitch." I said smiling and scratching her feathers just above the wing joint, her favorite spot. "You ready for a really long flight?"
Her head tilted, clearly meaning for me to elaborate as I held up the envelope. She clamped the parchment in her beak and ruffled her feathers, as if to shake them before a long journey.
"Do you remember Michael?" I asked and she blinked which I assumed meant yes. "Do you think you can find him?"
Without warning she darted out of the window in a blur of feathers, changing direction seemingly at random and I grinned, remembering why I had named her as I had. The owl was the fastest I'd ever seen, but seemed to want to take every possible detour.
I hesitated for a moment, looking out over the city before reaching up to shut my window when a dark shape down the street caused me to hesitate.
It rocketed towards my apartment, momentum apparently faster than it's wings could keep up with as when I backed hastily away, the bird smacked onto my bed and bounced off in a way that was almost comical if I wasn't so concerned for the creature.
"What the-" I started in shock.
There was no way Michael could have responded this quickly, even if he'd been in the city.
"You ok?" I asked as the bird hopped to its feet, dropping a letter at mine and staring up at me with wide, somewhat manic yellow eyes.
"Bludger?" I asked incredulously when I realized I recognized the screech owl.
He hooted happily, staring pointedly at the letter until I picked it up, then fluttered to Snitch's cage, a space he was familiar with and promptly tucked his head under his wing, apparently expecting to take a nice long nap.
"You have to be kidding me." I said incredulously, turning the envelope over and dropping it with a shout of surprise when I saw the hand writing on the other side.
'What is happening?' I thought staring at the letter in horror, a part of me half expecting it to explode though it wasn't a howler.
How was it possible that in less than a week all of my past and current lives just suddenly decided to collide.
"Tara?" Faye's voice called from the living room. "Your vibrations are all twisted up again, am I going to have to sage in there too?"
Shaking my head, I decided to leave the letter where it was and stepped out of my bedroom to see that Faye had commandeered my coffee table, a misty sphere propped on what looked like a pillar of carved dragon bone.
"What are you doing?" I asked as she frowned into the crystal, her gaze distant, a pencil darting across a sketch pad resting on the table.
"Attuning to whatever is disrupting your mental clarity." She said continuing to sketch, a face forming first as an outline, but rapidly gaining detail with each dash of the point.
It was a unique skill of Faye's, one that I'd never seen before we'd met, but had come to appreciate over the years. While not much of an artist in her everyday life, when looking at the world with her inner eye, she didn't just see more of the world. She could bring it back with her, recreate what she saw as she saw it. The further she looked, the more detailed it was.
"I've never seen your energies so chaotic," she mumbled, closing her eyes as the pencil continued to dart across the page. "This cannot be healthy."
She opened her eyes and looked at the page, and I felt a rising sense of horror occupy my body, replacing my stomach which had fallen through the floor.
"Wow he's gorgeous." She smiled examining the sketch with approval. "Who is this?" She asked holding it up for me to see the unmistakably familiar face, before her eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh my god." Her eyes darted to me as she hissed. "Is this the former fiancé?"
"No." I said shaking my head and sinking on to the couch thinking of the letter that was currently unopened on my bedroom floor. "No, that's not Neil."
"Well then who is it?" she asked frowning, obviously confused.
I wasn't surprised Faye had managed to avoid any and all mentions of one of the most famous quidditch players in the country. She didn't live here after all, and she tended to live outside what most people considered normal magical society. And despite it leading to some of her more eccentric behavior, I found I was grateful for her lack of awareness at the moment.
"His name is Oliver." I said tonelessly looking at the picture, uncertain what to do about it. Any of this. "I have to go to a quidditch game with him tomorrow."
Opov
It occurred to me only after I was standing outside the blank door of what looked like a nice, but fairly normal apartment, that I probably could have just met Tara at the quidditch game. But Alicia had said we should just follow her and Tara's usual routine before a Harpies game, which included walking from Tara's apartment to a muggle sports bar for a drink before the game. Thankfully, I had had the foresight to nix the manicure.
The door opened just as I'd lifted a hand to knock, catching me off guard and I was surprised by a brief flash of vibrant colors, and the smell of Jasmine before Tara, apparently wanting to keep the door as closed as possible started sliding between it and the fame out into the hall.
"Were you just standing there waiting?" I asked skeptically.
"I heard you coming down the hall."
I frowned, ethereal music I would not have guessed she'd owned swelling from what I assumed was a living area, greatly under cutting her point and she almost winced.
"Seriously?" I asked.
"I have a house guest."
"Is that him?" A distinctly American accent asked excitedly before the door flew open and I was forced to stagger back as a tall, willowy figure tackled me in an embrace.
"You must be Oliver!" the girl said brightly, bottomless blue eyes glittering excitedly as she threw a stunning smile at me. "Oh my god it's so nice to meet you."
"Faye." Tara said quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"My name is Faye." She said happily tightening her strangle hold while I stood there, completely confused as to why she'd accosted me, almost as if this was an introduction she'd been looking forward to. "I'm Tara's favorite little sister."
"I don't have a sister Faye." Tara said still not looking up. "Or any siblings."
Faye seemed undeterred however because she continued as she relaxed her grip. "She practically raised me."
This did get Tara's attention.
"We lived together for a bit." she corrected as Fay practically wriggled with excitement.
"You have to tell me everything about you. Tara says you like sports or something?" she frowned, as if trying to remember a distant conversation from a hazy night. "Are you left handed or right handed?" she asked curiously reaching for my wrist and I jerked back automatically.
"What-" she started, a flash of obvious confusion crossing her expression, but Tara had intervened.
"Faye." Tara warned quietly, swatting her hand out of the air as if reprimanding a a toddler, and the girl shot her a hurt expression. "Back off. His hands are very valuable..."
"Why?" she asked her eyes going wide before darting back to me. "Are you like an artist or a musician or something? Oh my god, after the game you and Tara should meet me at this art show I'm going to tonight. Ok technically it's not a show and it's an abandoned station in the underground. But I heard The Weird Sisters might be playing a private reunion show, and they put pixie dust in the drinks." She grinned. "It's amazing."
"We're probably not going to have time…" Tara started.
"No that's the great thing, it doesn't start until three."
"In the morning?" I asked raising an eyebrow and she jumped on the opening.
"Yeah," she nodded eagerly. "The game will probably be over by then, right?"
"Faye, we have to go we're running late." Tara said clearly trying to move the conversation along and the girl narrowed her eyes at Tara.
"Liar." She said in a sing song voice. "You're never late to anything."
"Remember that chocolate frog card I said you couldn't read until after I left?"
"Yeah."
"Go read it."
"But-"
"Go."
"Fiiiiiiiine." She said in exasperation shooting me a side long look clearly meant to say 'Can you believe her?'
She all but skipped back into the apartment and Tara let out an exhausted sigh before glancing at me.
"We should probably leave." She said as the door started to close.
"You don't want to say good bye to your friend?" I asked.
Just as the door was about to shut however, her friend squawked.
"A quidditch player?!"
"Still want to hang around?" Tara asked with a meaningful expression and jogging towards a door a bit down the hall, opening it to reveal a set of stairs.
I followed after her, neither of us seeming to want to talk as we descended several floors, she surprised me however, when, as we stepped out onto the sidewalk, she glanced up at me and asked.
"How's your head?"
The question seemed genuine and it caught me a little off guard. So off guard, I couldn't think of anything sarcastic in response.
"It's alright." I said honestly. "Still not entirely thrilled about loud noises or bright lights."
"Good thing we're going to a quidditch match." She said dryly, but grinned a little as she looked back down the street and I let out a hollow laugh.
"And your friend's event." I smirked and she rolled her eyes.
"Right." she said sarcastically, sounding far from impressed with the joke. "Didn't you have to get approval from an agent and like three team managers just to be seen in public before the tournament? Like you're going to Faye's party."
"Technically she said it was an art show," I pointed out. "Though it sounded horrendously illegal."
"I wouldn't be surprised." She muttered.
"What does pixie dust in a drink even do?" I asked no one in particular, but she surprised me by actually having an answer.
"Makes you levitate if you drink enough of it."
"You sound like you know this from experience."
The look she shot me was sour.
"I've had to latch a rope around and drag Faye out of a club more than once." She said then scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "And might have been dragged out once or twice myself…"
"Really?" I asked glancing down at her in interest and it was clear in her expression she was trying to maintain an air of dignity as she responded with.
"I was young."
"Was?" I asked skeptically. "You don't look that old to me."
As far as I knew, Tara had been in Alyssa's year, only two behind my own. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five.
"Younger." She said emphasizing the second part of the word, and I tried to picture a younger Tara, several years ago, maybe her friend's age, going out to night clubs and making a prat of herself on magical drinks needing to be wrangled by friends to make sure she got home alright.
The image just didn't come to me. From what little I remembered her at school she'd been quiet, muted even. In fact, I wasn't sure I remembered her talking… ever.
"Just say what's on your mind." She said sounding resigned and I glanced down at her again only to find she was looking determinedly at the street ahead.
"Your apartment is not quite what I expected." I said thinking back to what little I'd seen of it. The colors and strange music. "It's very loud. In every sense of the word."
"Including house guests?" she asked giving me a sidelong look and I failed to hide a grin as she turned reaching towards a polished wooden door, a pane of glass through the center showing a dimly lit room with screens glowing around the dining space.
"Especially house guests." I agreed, suddenly remembering what her friend had said when insisting she was Tara's little sister. "What did she mean when she said you practically raised her?" I asked hesitating as she held open the door for me.
"Faye likes to exaggerate." Tara said with a dismissive gesture. "Her parents are No-Majges, they didn't really understand about the whole magic thing. Wouldn't let her go to school, it was kind of a bad situation. She ran away and made it up to New York where she crossed paths with me and a friend of mine."
She shrugged.
"And you took her in." I said realizing what Faye must have meant. "But wait." I said quickly doing the math. "If you two ran into each other in New York, that was when you were over in America, right?"
"Obviously…" she said frowning as if trying to understand why I was asking the question.
"So, you couldn't have been older than she is now?"
"What's your point, Oliver?" she asked a little impatiently and I stared at her.
I'd pictured Tara's trip to America as some sort of rich kid's tour of the world tradition, going to all the major cities, having her family fund a lavish expedition while the turmoil worked itself out back home. How on earth had Tara been in a position to take in a scared, untrained witch when she was barely an adult herself?
"What exactly were you doing over there in America?" I asked uncertainly and she sighed.
"I did what I had to." She said and while it sounded impatient, as was her expression, she'd looked away and there was a distant, almost hunted look in her eyes.
"What-"
"I'm the one who's supposed to be asking questions here, Oliver." She reminded me waving to the open door. "No one cares what I was up to across the pond. Now are you going into the pub or not? Because you're making me look like a moron just standing here."
I wanted to snap a retort, but then remembered she had just admitted to quite literally housing an abandoned kid and thought better of it, realizing that maybe, Tara's reluctance to talk about her past might have been more justified than I'd originally realized.
I stepped into the pub realizing Tara must have been pretty familiar with the place as she headed straight for the bar.
"A bit nicer than a diner." I remarked looking around the room bemused, recognizing none of the sports on the screens. "I feel so posh."
She rolled her eyes and nodded towards one behind the bar.
"You'll probably be most interested in that one." She said as several players in absurd looking uniforms darted smoothly across the screen.
"Why are they all built like ogres?" I asked in alarm, a bit disconcerted at how easily such hulking figures glided passed each other.
"It's hockey." She explained with a grin. "They all have to wear pads for protection. It's an extremely physical sport, surprisingly similar to quidditch considering the muggles came up with it. You'll see."
"Is that ice on the ground?" I asked incredulously and she nodded.
"Yup."
"Why on earth are they- why did he just chuck his gloves off like that?" I asked in surprise and she laughed.
"Because he wants to hit that other guy."
"They can do that?" I asked curiously and she smirked.
"Told you you'd like it."
I watched, flummoxed as the two men started swinging, and before I could start to ask what the rules of the game were, a bottle slid across the bar.
I reached for it on reflex, but was surprised when Tara had already picked it up without so much as a glance from the screen.
She grinned a little when she caught my expression, then winked at the bar tender who was watching us surreptitiously from the till at the end of the counter.
"Not quite, Pete."
"One day I'm going to get you T." He said as she nodded towards me and a second bottle came our way, this one settling in front of me.
"If that's the case then you'd probably have a drink spilled over your bar. So I'm not quite sure what you're trying to accomplish here." She shot back sounding amused.
He waved and made a dismissive gesture, and I watched the interaction a little fascinated. I'd gotten the impression that Tara was quite rigid, the sort of person who wouldn't fit in in a lot of places, but that didn't seem to be the case here.
Pete smiled and approached our seats, smirking slightly as he glanced at me then back at Tara, and when he spoke, his tone was good natured.
"About time you finally brought a date around here. I was starting to think the only one you could get was Alicia."
"Just because she's not here doesn't mean I'm giving you her number." She said narrowing her eyes at him, but she looked amused rather than annoyed, her expression unusually lighthearted.
"Ah you're killing me mate." He said shaking his head. "She's gorgeous."
"She doesn't have a phone."
He let out a scoff at this clearly indicating disbelief and Tara shot him a tolerant look. It was clear she and Pete were friendly and strangely, I didn't know what to make of it. Feeling a bit awkward and like a third wheel in the conversation, I took a swig of my drink as they spoke.
"Besides," she continued. "This isn't a date. I'm working."
"Working?" his eyes darted towards me and the drink in her hand. "Are you trying to get sacked?"
"Very funny." She said sarcastically, then looked at me. "I think we should grab a table."
"You'll be back T," Pete said with a smirk as she slid off her chair and started making her way to one of the high tops. "You always are."
She acknowledged the statement with a wave and he chuckled.
I hesitated for a moment, grabbed my drink and followed her, slightly distracted by the hockey match still playing at the bar. She was right, it was interesting even if I didn't totally understand the game.
"You seem to have a fondness for muggle establishments." I said looking away from the screen as it went an advertisement, and looking at Tara. "Surprising, considering your family."
She seemed to think on that one, clearly wondering if it was a jab, but to my surprise, appeared to give me the benefit of the doubt.
"I enjoy a certain amount of anonymity in my work." She said neutrally with a shrug. "I find it helpful not to frequent places me or my contacts might be recognized."
"You're a Selwyn." I said in disbelief.
"That means nothing to muggles." She pointed out. "The magical community is extremely insular." She continued. "It doesn't mix with the muggle world, in fact, it actively avoids it."
"Well, for good reason." I pointed out and she shrugged, appearing as if she had no opinion on this one way or the other.
"Either way, there's a lot of distance between the two worlds which, personally, I find useful to exploit. You're unlikely to run into a goblin at a muggle pub if you want to talk to someone that works with Gringotts. Or overzealous quidditch fans."
She gave me a meaningful look before glancing back at the hockey game, wincing as one of the players was slammed into the walls of the rink.
"I could talk politics, celebrity scandals, smuggling dragon eggs. I doubt a single person here would so much as blink at the information, let alone know what to do with it if they did find it strange." She let out a brief, humorless laugh. "I could probably plot the assassination of the Minister of Magic right here in this pub and it would never get back to the Ministry."
"So this is what you do?" I asked raising an eyebrow, looking away from the game and at Tara. "Drift between the magic and non-magical communities whenever it suits you?"
"No one expects a Selwyn at a muggle pub." She pointed out. "Considering how much you seem to hate attention off the pitch, I'm surprised you don't."
I frowned at this, looking around the room briefly realizing that it was kind of nice being able to sit at a bar, relatively assured that no one here was likely to know my name or what I did for a living.
"How long have you been doing this?" I asked with interest, well aware that even if her branch of the Selwyn family hadn't been actual Death Eaters themselves, they still probably wouldn't have been happy with a daughter that seemed quite comfortable existing in and around the muggle world. "I mean not coming here specifically." I explained when her eyes darted to mine, their expression unreadable. "But just…"
The sentence sort of died, however, she seemed to understand what I was asking, even if I couldn't quite figure it out myself.
"The world isn't nearly as straight forward as either wizards or muggles would like to think it is." She said cryptically. "None of its black and white, and I've found my life is easiest navigating through shades of gray people like to ignore."
"Do you know how dodgey that makes you sound?" I asked but she seemed unabashed.
"It's not my fault I can see things others can't."
"Now you just sound like a know it all." I said skeptically and she looked at me, something calculated in her expression.
"The Harpies are going to lose tonight." She said eventually and I nearly gagged on my drink.
"Excuse me?"
"They are."
"They're second in the league, playing the Cannons who are dead last." I said incredulously.
"Dunno what to tell you Oliver." She shrugged. "They're going to lose."
"The Harpies have the best seeker in the country." I pointed out, continuing when she appeared unconvinced. "I would know Tara, I play with her on the national team. And the Cannon's are playing with a reserve while their best chaser has Dragon flu."
"You seem pretty certain." She said in mock seriousness causing me to feel even more indignant.
"Believe it or not, I do know what I'm talking about when it comes to quidditch."
She seemed to think on this response and then grinned.
"Alright, if you're so sure let's make a wager."
"A wager?" I asked skeptically.
"Yeah, five hundred galleons?" she asked and while even just a few years ago I would have spat out my drink at this, now I simply narrowed my eyes.
"I know how rich your family is." I said and she rolled her eyes. "I'll bet that sort of money means nothing to you."
"Says the athlete." She scoffed. "I bet you make in a month what I make in a year."
"No one's forcing you to work for an independent paper." I reminded her.
"Fine, be a bore." She said both her tone and expression superior. "But if you don't want to bet money, what about something else?"
"Like what?" I asked skeptically and when she smiled, there was an edge to it that was almost wicked.
I didn't know what was more alarming, how comfortable she seemed with that expression, or how well it suited her.
"If the Harpies win tonight, I promise that after this stupid article arrangement we have to get through for the world cup, I'll stop writing about you."
"You're joking."
"I'm not." She said shaking her head.
"You really mean that?"
"Not one line." She insisted and I hesitated, surprised at how tempted I was by this offer, and yet…
"What if they lose?" I asked and while a minute ago, I wouldn't have thought it possible, her grin seemed seemed to sharpen, something sinister glittering in her eyes.
"What happened to the confidence Oliver?"
"Just tell me the terms." I said impatiently and she smirked.
"You agree to a bio piece. And I mean a true bio piece, not this career guff I'm having to write over the summer." She said with distaste. "I mean all the little details from toy broom sticks, ex-girlfriends, embarrassing stories from when you were a kid." Her smile returned. "And of course, baby photos."
"What? Why?" I asked.
"Because it makes you uncomfortable and I find that amusing." She said as if this was the most natural thing in the world and I stared at her.
"Should I be concerned you seemed so fixated on my suffering?"
"If you really know as much about quidditch as you think you do it shouldn't matter, right?" she asked raising an eyebrow and I frowned.
"This feels like a trick." I said hesitantly and she made an exasperated noise.
"It's a bet Oliver, you don't have to take it."
I looked at Tara, trying to figure out what she was thinking but her expression gave nothing away.
'What does it matter?' I thought in frustration.
I figured even if the Harpies did win tonight, Tara's opinion about me as a person had been fixed long ago, nothing that happened tonight was going to change that.
'There's no way the Cannons are beating the Harpies anyways.' I thought.
"Fine." I said with a shrug, reaching across the table to shake on the agreement. Her offer to stop writing about me might be worth it if nothing else. "I'll take the bet."
As if unable to help herself, she glanced at my hand but quickly looked away, as if she thought she shouldn't have.
"But I want you to answer something first."
She'd leaned forward but hesitated at the statement, and I was surprised to see a flash of apprehension dart across her expression, though for the life of me, I couldn't figure out as to why.
"What?" she asked and her eyes were guarded when they met mine.
"Did you mean it, what you wrote in that article for The Prophet. The one that your boss stole? Or did you only write what you thought would look good in print?"
It took her a fair amount of time to answer the question, far more than I thought it should have. And when she did, the wording of her response appeared to be very intentional.
"I don't write anything I don't mean, Oliver."
"The article said I could end up being one of the best keepers England's seen in a generation, maybe more than one."
"And I meant it." She said without hesitation.
"Do you still think that?" I asked uncertainly.
I didn't know why I cared what Tara thought. I knew I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it, I did. And it nearly drove me up the wall when again, she seemed to want to take her time before giving an answer. Her eyes narrowed a little, and her expression was calculated when she finally did.
"I think you're under a lot of pressure, Oliver." She said. "I don't think anyone would argue you're one of the best keepers going into this tournament. But you've had a rough go of it the last few weeks, and keepers can't afford to make mistakes like other players. They're last person in front of the goal. Mess ups cost points. But you know that." She said perceptively. "You're a veteran on the team at this point and England has a real chance at winning the cup this summer. I think you're well aware of how many eyes are on you at the moment. The issue here isn't one of skill but mentality." She continued her expression considering. "The world knows you're a good player. But tournaments like this, they tend to be a bit of a crucible for high profile names. Some players can handle it, some completely implode. The same people can do different things depending on where they are in their career."
"And what?" I asked indignantly, feeling a bit insulted. "You think I'm going to go out there and the moment the tournament starts, just fall apart?"
It wasn't as if I'd gotten to where I was in my career just off of luck…
"I think." She said shooting me a meaning full expression before sliding out of her chair and grabbing our bottles, causing me to realize they were both empty. "You are an internationally recognized athlete who is spending a Friday night fixated on the opinion of a sports writer in a tiny paper, who hasn't played a day of serious quidditch in her life."
I wasn't exactly sure what my expression did at this statement, but one of her eyebrows jumped up when she caught it.
"You're the professional here Oliver." She pointed out. "You shouldn't care this much about what I think. And it concerns me that you do."
She turned and I watched her cross the room and lean against the bar, getting the attention of Pete who brought her another round of drinks.
I couldn't hear what he said to her, but whatever it was, it was accompanied by a glance at our table and a smirk.
The look she shot him in response was mordant.
Suddenly, without any sort of warning, there was a flash of movement and Tara ducked right as Pete lunged forward. My heart lurched into my throat as for one wild moment, I thought he was trying to attack her.
The reality was much... stranger.
Tara's arm shot up grabbing what looked like a rubber hose out of his hand and spraying him with the contents.
I felt my mouth fall open slightly and though the pub hadn't been very full, the hum of conversation came to a halt as she leaned further over the bar, continuing to dowse Pete who'd taken a step back and put his hands up to block the spray.
People were laughing now and began to applaud as she dropped the hose. Jeers started as Pete shook out his hair which was sopping wet along with his shirt and he laughed pretending to bow as Tara shook her head and grabbed the drinks, before rolling her eyes and walking back to the table.
It wasn't until she drew level with me that I realized I was standing, my chair a few feet behind me though strangely, I didn't remember getting out of it.
"Every week…" she muttered as Pete continued to chuckle toweling off his hair and changing into a dry shirt he'd apparently had ready under the bar.
"That happens every week?" I asked incredulously and she shrugged.
"Reliably enough." She said cryptically, but when it was clear I wanted more detail she added. "I've got a pretty fast reaction time. He's determined to catch me off guard at some point. Most people here are used to it."
I stared at her for a moment, not entirely sure how to process this information as she glanced back at the hockey game.
"That is very weird." I said and again, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug, apparently unconcerned.
"Weird things tend to happen to me."
"Really?" I asked with interest and she nodded.
It wasn't polite to admit, but the impression I'd gotten from Tara from our brief acquaintance was of someone who didn't do all that much. Quiet, irritable, and spent most of her time examining other people lives to write about and criticize rather than live her own, but as I glanced back at the bar where Pete was laughing with what appeared to be one of the regulars, I realized that this didn't seem to be the case.
The impression was reinforced when another round of drinks made it to our table sent from a group of men in the corner watching a football game.
"Don't encourage her Bill." Pete said in exasperation as Tara lifted the glass in acknowledgement, and a man retorted.
"You got what you deserved lad."
Pete made an aggravated gesture, but laughed and I looked back at Tara who's smile was just the slightest bit self-satisfied as she watched the game.
It had me wondering if, maybe, around other people Tara wasn't nearly as rigid as she was around me. It would certainly make her friendship with Alicia make more sense. And, well, pretty much everything about her relationship with Faye.
"What?" she asked her eyes darting to me and I realized I'd been staring at her.
"Nothing." I said looking away, scrambling to cover the awkward moment and saying. "I just realized something."
"Which is?"
I grinned.
"You said I know more about quidditch than you do."
"I didn't say-" she started, but I cut her off.
"I'm the professional, remember?" I reminded.
"That doesn't mean you know more about quidditch." She said stubbornly and I let out an indignant noise.
"It doesn't?"
"No." she shook her head. "But you probably know yourself better than anyone would, I mean, I hope you would." She frowned. "And only you really know if you're in a place to handle the stress of such a major tournament."
"Seems pretty clear to me that you don't think I am."
"I dunno. You did manage to captain a team with a certain boy who lived who managed to test that title each year like clockwork." She argued, her tone surprisingly reasonable. "You must have some sort of stress tolerance."
"I do not know how Harry is still alive." I said rubbing my face in aggravation at the memories and she laughed a little before fixing her gaze on her hands that were clasped around the drink in front of her, seemingly forcing herself to speak.
"You're a good player, Oliver." She said quietly. "You always have been. You'll be fine."