Opov
I shook my head as I ducked into the changing room off the pitch, having no idea where I went wrong. All weekend I'd been pouring over diagrams and reading through books, reviewing articles getting ready for our next game, and while I was excited Alicia was getting an opportunity to be on the pitch, it came at the cost of one of our best players…
It wasn't that Alicia was a bad player. We'd been friends for a long time, and I knew that she was, in fact, quite good. But she wasn't connecting with her fellow chasers up front, and her shots had been unusually off target. And really, I didn't know where this was coming from. It was the same thing that had happened during trials, and honestly, it had been a bit of a blow to see. I'd expected to have no questions about whether or not she should be on the team. Now I wasn't sure what to think.
What was going on with her?
Knowing we only had one practice before our game with Hufflepuff and determined to figure it out, I didn't bother to change but faced the chalk board that had a diagram of the pitch as well as several arrows and players names across it, ready to stare at it all night until some sort of inspiration hit me only to frown.
"What the-?" I started when I realized that the handwriting on the chalk board was not only my own.
Someone, I had no idea who, must have snuck into the changing room while we were practicing and made a couple of edits to my formation as well as leaving a few notes explaining them. But the most significant change, was the one with the least amount of justification attached. A strike through both Alicia and Angelina's name's and an arrow that clearly indicated that they should switch places on the pitch.
Resting on the chalk tray in front of the board, was a folded over piece of parchment with 'Oliver' written in the same neat lettering that was scattered around the board.
Confused, I picked up the parchment and unfolded it only to almost drop it in surprise. It was only four words, but they were significant, carrying the weight of information that I knew was going to impact the entire season. Something so obvious, I couldn't believe that I'd overlooked it.
'Alicia is left-handed.'
…
"People are happy." Mallory said, evidently satisfied as the sound of pages ruffled in the background, and I glanced down at the pocket watch in my hand, her expression so smug, if she was a cat she would have purred. "The article with The Quill was a massive hit. They're reprinting."
"Already?" I asked continuing to walk down Diagon Alley, glancing at the numbers along the shops. "It's been two days."
"What can I say? I'm good at my job." She said congratulating herself and I frowned.
"You do realize you didn't write the article, right Mal? I asked and she rolled her eyes, but ignored the question.
"People are raving about the interview. Sales for merchandise with your name and number are sky rocketing. Even for Puddlemere. The manager is thrilled."
"That is a load off my mind." I said sarcastically and she frowned.
"It should be Oliver." She insisted. "This is good news. Your little girlfriend at The Quill made you look fantastic, and I got the run down from how the interview went."
She shot me a dark look.
"You were a nightmare to work with."
"So was she."
"You should be thanking her." She said shaking her head. "One article and she's changed the conversation about you entirely. In a good way."
"Did you forget she was a major reason why people were talking poorly about me in the first place?" I asked Mallory and she let out a sigh, as if to indicate I was hopeless. "I'm not going to thank someone for doing their job. She wrote a positive article. That's what she was supposed to do."
"You are hopeless." She said in exasperation. "Luckily, I know this about you and already sent her flowers in your name."
"Alright." I said frowning.
I didn't know much about Tara, but she didn't seem like a 'flowers' sort of person.
"Try to behave yourself today." She warned as I finally spotted the building I was looking for, surprised at how small it was.
"She was the one who started throwing food."
"Did you deserve it."
I thought back on the conversation and frowned.
"Honestly? I don't think so."
"I'm not sure you're a reliable source." She said skeptically. "Either way, play nice. Everyone's happy with you at the moment. Don't mess it up."
"Fine." I said with a sigh.
"Your coaches sent me some things you need to sign, photo graphs, equipment, that sort of thing. They're doing a charity auction or something. I'm still getting the details. Speaking of which, dust off your dress robes. You're going to a charity auction."
"When did I agree to this?" I asked frowning.
"You didn't. But the whole team is required to go, I'll send the details with Bludger later tonight." She then smirked. "Want to know something hilarious?"
"With that expression, probably not." I said hesitantly and she practically cackled.
"Guess which family is expected to be one of the major donors?"
"Who?" I asked and her smile when she responded was wicked.
"The Selwyns."
Though I'd stopped walking, it felt as if I'd just run face first into a wall.
"You're kidding."
"I'm not." She chortled. "The family has been throwing money to just about every cause that comes anywhere near their orbit, probably trying to buy some distance between today and their unsavory past."
"Think our friend is going to be there?" I asked glancing anxiously at the door in front of me and Mallory seemed to think.
"I doubt it." she said with a shrug. "I asked about them, didn't get specific obviously, but it sounds like their daughter doesn't appear in the public much in any sort of official capacity for the family. No idea why. But it wouldn't surprise me if she wants to keep a low profile considering what she does."
"Good." I said frowning, wondering why this didn't feel as much of a relief as I thought it would be. "Speaking of Selwyns, I've got to go."
"Alright. I'll see you at the training field later. Remember, low flying only. Feet stay on the ground when the bludgers come out. Healer's orders."
"I know, I know." I said waving this off and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at me before nodding. "Talk to you later."
"Bye Oliver."
I closed the watch and frowned for a moment, wondering why I felt so unsettled.
I didn't like the idea of that charity event. Well, more really I didn't like the idea of going to the event. Making a mental note to ask Mallory if I could get away with just making a donation, I stepped towards the door only to jump when it opened just as I'd reached for the handle.
"Merlin, you're like some sort of ghoul guarding an entry way." I said heart pounding in shock as Tara raised an eyebrow. "Do you always just stand by doors waiting for people to walk through them?"
"I saw you." she said irritably, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding towards the window next to the door. "You were just standing there not doing anything."
"I was talking to someone." I said and her eyes darted behind me at what, judging by her expression, was an empty street.
"Right." She said dragging the word out just long enough to express her disbelief and I scowled.
She gestured for me to step through the door, holding it at an awkward angle. At first, I'd thought she'd done it to annoy me, making it difficult to walk through but when I stepped into the room, I saw the reason.
The place was absolutely packed with piles of parchment, and papers stacked in every available space.
Three desks were shoved haphazardly into the space, where ever they could fit it looked like while things like books and printer ink hopped on and off furniture apparently as needed.
"This place looks like it was designed for fairies." I said in surprise, feeling suddenly massive amongst the clutter.
"We're an independent paper." Said a voice to my left, and I looked to see a tall young man with fair hair glancing up from what looked like an endless scroll of numbers. "And rent in the city isn't cheap."
"What? Your benefactor here doesn't help pay the bills?" I asked nodding towards Tara who sat at the desk jammed against his and frowned at me. "Glad you like the flowers." I continued nodding towards the vase, that was sitting not on Tara's crowded work space, but one by the door.
"I react to mallow flower." She said with a sigh. "Your agent has strange taste in arrangements."
"My agent?"
"You don't honestly expect me to believe that's your hand writing, do you?" she asked and I looked at the card attached to the vase to see neat, looping letters, the Thank You written in particularly elegant script.
"This is everything I'd hoped it would be." The man said grinning, his eyes darting back and forth between Tara and I, an amused glint in his eye that had me suspecting that he and Tara were more friends than coworkers, and he was enjoying her frustration. Again, I got that strange, unsettled feeling. Like I was out of my element. Though I wasn't sure why.
"You don't like flowers?" I asked mentally scoring a point for myself and determined to gloat to Mallory.
"Alcohol or chocolate, Oliver." She said making a note on what looked like a very marked up planner, as a door at the far end of the room opened, and a second man, with curly brown hair and glasses stepped out into the room.
"She's in such a bad mood." Her desk mate said almost gleefully, and the man shot Tara a warning look before turning to me.
"You must be Oliver." He said extending a hand for me to shake as he crossed the room. "I'm Ed. I'm the primary editor for The Quill."
"You're the only editor, unless you know how to make galleons appear out of thin air." Tara's friend said frowning at the ledgers he'd been studying before glancing up. "I'm Malcom by the way. The brains of the operation."
Tara snorted at this and he threw a paper weight at her.
She caught it without looking up.
"You really do have good reflexes." I said and she shot me a glance I couldn't read.
"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. With the first article being a success we should work out the logistics for how a series would work over the summer."
"I take it I'm still over ruled on this." Tara muttered.
"Yes." Both of her coworker snapped.
"You don't get to complain T." Ed said frowning at her. "You are getting some of the best seats to all of England's games in the tournament as a part of this arrangement, for free."
I saw she was weighing a retort, my guess was to point out she could have probably paid for those tickets herself, but clearly decided against it.
"You're coming to all of the games?" I asked looking at Tara who smiled, but it was clear there was no real enjoyment behind it.
It was obvious, with what she said next, what her issue was.
"I'm traveling with the team."
"The idea." Ed cut in quickly no doubt seeking to smooth the situation as he caught my expression. "Is to get an insider look into the tournament. All the details readers don't normally get to see, travel, logistics, team interactions off the pitch. It's never been done before, and we think-"
"This is the biggest tournament of my career." I said incredulously, gesturing to Tara. "Do you know how aggravating she is?"
"We do." Malcom muttered ducking as a roll of parchment sailed towards him from across the desks.
"I don't want her around all the time. It'll mess with my head."
"She'll only be there as an observer." Ed argued, his tone placating. "Tara's good at blending in where ever she is. You probably won't even notice her."
"Oh I highly doubt that."
"And she's promised not to write anything critical through the duration of the tournament. Haven't you Tara." He said his tone significant and she sighed.
"Yes." She muttered, clearly unhappy about this and Ed, obviously the peacemaker among this lot, shot her a stern look before turning back to me.
"Wouldn't it be better to know that whatever The Quill is writing about you over the summer, it's positive?"
Before I could answer, the door opened behind me as a short girl in sunny yellow robes stepped into the room.
She wasn't familiar, but the person who's hand she was holding was.
"Oliver." Healer Allen said smiling, though obviously surprised, and the girls eyes went wide. "What are you doing here?"
"You know Oliver Wood?" the girl asked sounding amazed.
"Allen was the one who patched me up after my last game." I said shaking the Healers hand and she beamed at him.
"Really?" she asked sounding so impressed, I was starting to wonder if hearts were going to form in her eyes, and when I glanced at Tara, who's expression was a little exasperated, I figured her mind was on a similar train of thought.
It was this question, though, that had me realizing however Tara had found out about me being grounded, it probably wasn't through Allen if even his girlfriend hadn't known who he'd been treating.
"That's so cool," she said brightly, then looking at Tara, seemingly unable to help adding. "My boyfriend heals professional quidditch players."
Anyone else, and it would have sounded arrogant. Like she was boasting. But not this girl. She just looked ridiculously proud of her partner.
Maybe that was why, surprisingly, Tara didn't call her out on it. Just shot her as much of a smile as she could manage, and said.
"Super cool, Nel."
The girl giggled and then turned back to her desk only to be brought up short by the flower arrangement sitting on it.
"Oh." She said excitedly then shooting Allen a smile and reaching for the card, which, I unfortunately didn't remember had my name on it, until after both the girl and Allen looked at me.
She looked simply confused while his eyebrows shot up, clearly waiting for some sort of explanation.
"Those were for Tara." I said hastily, realizing how poorly I'd chosen my words only after her mouth had fallen open and Allen looked stunned.
Clearly he must have known who Tara was at this point, and remembered my dislike for her articles about me.
"I mean. They're not for her." I said feeling as if I was only digging deeper into the verbal hole I'd trapped myself in. "For the article. I-"
"His agent sent them." Tara said sounding exhausted, her eyes closed as she pinched the space between them in frustration. Something I was realizing she seemed to do a lot.
"Beautiful." Malcom said putting his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair, his grin highly amused. "Magnificent. I could watch this train wreck all day."
Tara shot him a glare, and looked about to say something in retaliation when her expression suddenly went blank.
"You good, T?" Malcom asked waving to get her attention, but she didn't seem to notice it. "Tara?"
She blinked, then leaned forward on her desk putting her face in her hands.
"For the love of Merlin." She muttered sounding stressed.
"Everything ok over there?" Ed asked and Tara nodded, not looking up from her palms.
"Yeah." She muttered. "For now."
I wanted to ask her what she meant by this, but before I got the chance, the door burst open slamming into a rack of papers that crashed heavily to the ground.
Everyone but Tara turned at the commotion, and I winced at the sunlight streaming in from the street as a tall, exuberantly dressed man with dark hair and a smile so charismatic, I knew instantly not to trust a word he said, stepped into the room.
"Why?" Tara muttered, still not looking up as the man spread his arms wide.
As he did, I noticed an intricate design inked on the inside of his palm, symbols and circles overlapping. But almost as soon as I spotted it, the man clapped his hands together.
"As I live and breathe." He said and I was surprised to hear that like Tara's friend, his accent was American. "Tara Selwyn. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."
Immediately, everyone looked at Tara, eyes darting occasionally back to the man with the feathered earing, and sharp business robes adorned with brightly colored, expensive looking scarves patterned with shimmering gold thread.
"Hi, Michael." Tara said rubbing her face in apparent exasperation and something about the name must have clicked with her coworker because she smiled.
"You must be my correspondent." She said eagerly, rushing forward hand out stretched. "I'm Nelly, I'll be your contact for the articles. I-"
But she cut herself off, clearly surprised when instead of shaking her hand, he kissed it and with an exaggerated bow said.
"Indeed I am. Michael the Magnificent at your service."
"Perfect." Malcom, who seemed invested in the drama at this point, said tapping his desk with his wand only for a bowl of popcorn to appear on it.
"What is going on here?" I asked, noticing that when the man let go of Nelly's hand, the pattern had vanished.
"Nel is doing a series about Divination." Malcom said through a mouth full of food. "Tara said she'd help her find a consultant for the articles."
"You know two psychics?" I asked glancing at Tara, who'd finally looked up.
She'd frowned at the term, where as Michael looked insulted.
"Psychic?" he snorted. "Only no-majes use that term seriously."
"He doesn't know the difference Michael." Tara said her tone quelling. "Let it go."
"Tara knows everyone." Malcom said with a smirk while Ed, seemingly having shaken off his initial shock at the man's entrance, remembered he was the one in charge.
"Thank you for coming Michael." He said his tone professional as he extended a hand. "We really appreciate your help. Especially on short notice."
"Of course, of course." He said easily, striding forward waving a hand nonchalantly, while the other drifted into his pocket.
The room, already crowded with three people and their desks, was uncomfortably full at this point and I had to step back to allow Michael to approach Ed. As he did, he took his hand from his pocket, palm brushing casually against Tara's, as he stepped past her desk. The contact so brief, I was sure only I had noticed it. Or the fluid, almost practiced motion in which something seemed to slide out of his hand into hers. In the half second he'd crossed my line of sight on his way to talk to Ed, whatever it was had vanished, and Tara's hand was back on her desk, empty.
What had I just witnessed?
I glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else had spotted the exchange, but was unsurprised for some reason when it was clear no one had.
I glanced at Tara who was watching the conversation between Ed and Michael, but seemed to feel my gaze because when she looked at me, she raised an eyebrow.
"What?" she asked sounding genuinely irritated she'd caught me staring at her, and her expression was so convincingly unperturbed, it almost made me question what I'd seen. But it was my job to be able to read people, especially their body language, noticing the tiniest shift in movement from one second to the next. Especially their hands. Anything that might tell me where a chaser was aiming their next shot.
Tara's reactions might have been quick, but not nearly fast enough for someone like me to miss.
"Nothing." I said narrowing my eyes at her. "You just have… interesting friends."
"I've been saying it for years." Malcom said and I glanced at him, realizing I'd all but forgotten about his existence or the rest of the room while I'd been trying to figure out what had just gone down. "Though in this case, I think the term friend might not exactly be the right word were looking for."
He smirked and Tara shot him a look.
"Watch it." she said darkly and his smirk grew.
"I'd like to get started right away if possible." Nelly said drawing my attention back to the exuberant new comer. "I've scouted out a couple of shops that sell divination supplies, and a place further down the street that offers readings for customers. Then I thought we could go to lunch afterwards and discuss what we found."
"Sounds excellent." Michael said enthusiastically, and it sounded genuine, but while Nelly beamed at him, I still couldn't help but feel something was a little off with this guy.
'And what was it that he'd handed to Tara?' a voice asked in the back of my mind. 'And why didn't they want anyone to know about it?'
"You want to come?" Nelly asked looking at Tara, probably as she appeared to be friends with Michael, but to my surprise, Tara shook her head.
"Can't, meeting with Oliver remember?"
Her tone was casual enough, still I couldn't help but think I was being used as an excuse. This feeling was furthered as I said.
"Actually, that sounds sort of interesting."
Tara shot me a look, but Michael didn't hesitate.
"Great, shall we?" he asked offering his arm to Nelly while Tara shot me a 'look what you've done' sort of expression.
"Blimey, this is like, the worst day ever for you, isn't it?" Malcom said his tone somewhat awed as he looked at Tara from across their desks.
"You don't seem that sympathetic."
"I'm not." He said brightly. "I'm decidedly entertained."
She made an irritated noise, but stood and grabbed her bag, making sure to shoot me another meaningful look making it clear she was blaming me for her current situation.
"Why exactly did you get us roped into this?" she asked as we followed Nelly and Michael back onto the street.
"Well jeez, let's think." I said thoughtfully. "What was it you said the other day? Because it makes you uncomfortable, and I find that amusing."
He had engaged Nelly into some sort of anecdote, his arms sweeping in wide, dramatic gestures as he spoke and her expression was hard to read as she watched him. Her gaze looked far away however.
"So." I said feeling slightly awkward, though I wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe because I was intruding on some sort of reminiscence of hers. "You dated a psychic?"
"Seer." She corrected automatically. "And not really."
I raised an eyebrow at this and she added.
"It's complicated."
"This guy seems sort of shady." I said as with another gesture, he almost took off a nearby witch's hat as he walked passed. "Is he legitimate? Can he really see the future or-"
"Michael has the sight." She assured me. "His gift isn't all that powerful, but he's talented. Makes up for a lot."
"If he's so talented, how come I've never heard of him?" I asked skeptically, turning at the shop Nelly had just disappeared into and looking at Tara who frowned.
"Because." She said clearly debating on exactly what she wanted to say here. "He makes almost all of his money in the muggle world."
Tpov
"I don't see anything." Faye groaned dejectedly, letting her head fall onto her arms folded on the table in front of the misty sphere that I was sure, to her, remained stubbornly blank.
"That's because this." I said frowning at the ball and examining it, and looking over at the almost identical artifact on the shelf behind me. "Is made of glass."
"I dunno how you tell the difference." Faye muttered sounding exhausted. "It's not like I see anything in the other one."
"You'll get there." Michael assured her stepping into the tiny back room of the shop, and putting a brief, comforting hand on her shoulder causing her to jump.
By the time she'd looked up however, he'd already let her go.
The space, usually crowded with only one person let alone three, was beyond capacity at this point and when I turned to speak to him, I was unsurprised to find myself addressing not really Michael so much as his chest, which was less than a foot away.
"Why do you even have this?" I asked holding the counterfeit crystal ball between us and frowning up at him, uncertain if I was irritated or amused at the grin he shot back. "It's useless."
Michael had a tendency to collect fake or substandard magical artifacts used in divination. The collection of counterfeits was almost impressive at this point, especially as he generally could identify the real thing. Personally, I didn't care what people spent their money on, but it did make training someone as new to the art as Faye quite confusing. She hadn't yet learned to tell them apart.
"I have it." he said reaching between us and taking the artifact, his hands lingering on mine for longer than was probably needed for the item to change hands. "In case enterprising customers who can't tell the difference, take a liking to it, and decide to take it home."
"Great." Faye sighed her head flopping back to the table. "I'm no better at this than a no-maj."
"It's confusing her." I said stubbornly crossing my arms over my chest and frowning up at Michael. "How's she supposed to learn anything if she doesn't even know what she's supposed to be using?"
"She'll figure it out." He said easily. "It's been what? A few weeks?" he asked and we glanced at Faye, who's forehead remained firmly planted to the table. "You're worrying too much about this Tara." He said touching the bottom of my chin, causing me to look at him, his tone reassuring as his eyes met mine.
It was strange having this level of familiarity with anyone, let alone someone like Michael. Tall, good looking, and who's life was constantly integrated with the metaphysical. I'd never felt this level of comfortable around anyone before, including my family or even with Neil. It had happened so quickly, I hadn't even realized when it started before it was already to late to stop. Then Faye had turned up, and suddenly, it was as if we'd formed a little family in a matter of weeks. Somehow, in a life time of feeling separated or out of tune with the rest of the world, in a place so far away from everything I'd known, I'd managed to find a place to fit.
"It doesn't come as easily to the rest of us as it does to you." He said softly and I felt a jolt of something cold go through me.
"I didn't say it was-" I started, but he cut me off.
"Besides, it doesn't matter if you see anything if you can read the people in the room." He continued making his way back towards the front of the shop. "Which is a talent you're honing quite nicely."
At this, Faye's head snapped up and she was grinning. She froze her expression wary as he ruffled her bright hair, but she didn't shy away which I figured was progress.
Faye didn't like people touching her. In fact, Michael was one of the few people she allowed any sort of physical contact, and of that select number, he was the only man.
"Let's work on your cold reading techniques." He said and she eagerly hopped out of her seat and followed him through the door, and frowning, I did the same.
"For the record." I said as he stepped out onto the street to 'people watch' as he called it, but I knew was to practice his uncanny ability to pick up on minute details of a person to gain information about them. Something, he was right, Faye was becoming rather adept at, at an unsettlingly rapid pace. "I'm not okay with this. Tricking muggles out of their money."
"It's not just muggles." He said mocking both the word and my accent, and Faye laughed. "And trick is rather an ugly word for it don't you think?"
"You're lying to people." I said and he waved this away, making a dismissive noise.
"It's not my fault most people don't understand how rare it is to get anything concrete out of every day psychic insight. And that it hardly ever happens on demand. And don't look at me like that. You are an exception, not the rule Biscuit."
"I hate it when you call me that."
"Then call them cookies like a normal person." Faye muttered and I glowered at her.
"We're providing a service." Michael said easily.
"By telling people what they want to hear?"
"Exactly. It's harmless. And do you really think people want to pay for bad news?" He asked sitting on a lawn chair by the building steps and patting the mismatched chair next to him that Faye eagerly dropped into. "It's comforting. People don't go to psychics without some sort of goal in mind. We make them feel better about what ever might be bothering them."
"I think the only one making themselves feel better about the situation is you." I said sourly.
"I think he's right Tara." Faye said unexpectedly which I figured was progress. Even a week ago she would have been too terrified to contradict an adults opinion to say anything even if directly asked. "It's not like we're lying about actual prophecy. Besides, who is it hurting?"
I didn't answer this which Michael seemed to take as an invitation.
"It's not realistic to have actual insight for every customer that walks through that door. And if it was, we'd be charging a lot more." He pointed out. "You are the only person I've ever met that could even possibly come close to meeting that sort of demand. You can't force this sort of thing." He said sitting back in his chair and putting his arms behind his head, seemingly at complete ease. "At least this way people feel like they don't leave empty handed."
Unwanted memories darted across my mind, dark eyes glittering in the low light of a hazy sphere, as I strained to force the images clearer, hands shaking, head pounding as they slipped out of focus, shadows eating away at the corner of my vision as I forced myself to push, knowing who was on the end of the wand that was pointed at me from across the table.
"You can." I said without really meaning to, sitting on the steps as both Michael and Faye turned to look at me.
"What?" he asked leaning closer, as if to hear me better and I didn't answer at first, but looked out over the street where people were pushing passed each other in the limited space. Commuters impatiently bowling over tourists and residents that were looking over the pseudo magical rubbish that littered the stalls and blankets that were spilling out over the pavement in front of the buildings. Ours included.
"You can, learn to force them." I said quietly, still looking over the street, not seeing it, but flashes of a life years ago. One I'd hoped to, by now, have forgotten. "But you're right. It's probably best not to try to."
….
"That can't be legal." Oliver said as we stepped into the shop behind Michael and Nelly, and I'd explained generally how Michael had made a fortune in the muggle world. Just how profitable the ability to glimpse in the future could be in things like the stock market and investing in new technologies on the ground floor.
"Take it up with the government if you want," I said with a shrug. The shop was cluttered, as these spaces tended to be with a wide array of magical items for sale. Crystal balls glittered in cabinets and on shelves along the wall, while bins of herbs were stacked haphazardly where ever there was space. An assortment of teas and small bags for poultices were arranged on a counter at the back of the room where it looked as if employees handled purchases. "But there's no law preventing it."
Under the counter was a glass display case of smaller items, jeweled trinkets decorated with astrological signs and constellations, as well as practical things like tarot cards and rune stones.
A part of me was tempted to have a look, see if there was anything worthwhile, when Oliver's question brought me back to the present.
"Using magic to influence the muggle economy?"
"He's not influencing it." I pointed out. "He's just… ahead of the trends."
He frowned, an expression I realized was starting to become familiar to me at this point before saying.
"That sounds like cheating."
"I didn't say it wasn't." I said shrugging again. "It's just not illegal. There's no law saying you can't give muggles financial advice, or use magic to make money in their world. Just that they can't find out how you're doing it. And muggles tend not to address magic in their own laws. Granted," I added with an allowing gesture. "I don't think the community was too happy with Michael when he started advising muggles, but frankly, he has so much of their money I don't think he cares."
"The community?" he asked sounding confused and I debated how to answer the question.
"Seers might not be the most traceable population, but they tend to keep a certain amount of contact amongst themselves." I said neutrally, running a hand automatically over a highly polished sphere I knew had to be glass and continued walking amongst the shelves. "There's codes of conduct just like in any subculture. Norms and niceties that are supposed to be observed. From what I can tell, Michael selling his services to the muggles sort of blew up his relationships across the pond."
"Doesn't look too upset about it." he observed glancing over his shoulder to look at Michael who appeared entirely relaxed, clearly enjoying the attention of a captivated audience in Nelly as I was sure he was explaining the difference between materials in the orbs around the shop, and how to spot the real thing.
"That, I think, might be one of the few things we agree about." I said amused and he looked back at me.
"You seem to know a lot about this." He accused and while his expression was suspicious, his tone wasn't. He sounded curious.
"I had a fair amount of proximity to it in the states."
"I cannot picture that." He said shaking his head and it surprised me.
"Picture what?"
"You, living with seers." His brow furrowed and I felt myself frown a little, feeling rather insulted though I wasn't sure why. The impression wasn't helped when he hesitated for a moment, and continued. "Don't take this the wrong way Tara, but you seem kind of tightly wound."
He nodded back to Michael who'd burst into a roar of laughter at a question Nelly had asked, clearly startling her and I let my gaze linger on the pair for just a moment longer before turning back to Oliver.
"You know, I'm tempted to ask how I'm supposed to take that the right way." I said frowning.
"Your friend just seems a bit… animated." He said pausing before the description, clearly debating on the proper adjective that should be used so as not to offend me. "Your new roommate as well."
"As opposed to me, who is not animated?" I asked raising an eyebrow and it was his turn to shrug.
"Well… yeah." He said as if this should have been obvious and I felt my brow furrow a little, uncertain how to interpret this assessment of me. "You seem like a pretty practical person."
"So boring?" I asked and he shook his head.
"I didn't say that."
"You might as well have." I muttered walking towards the tea assortment and to my surprise, he followed.
"Practical doesn't mean boring." He insisted and I felt I wasn't exactly helping his point as I debated the merits of jasmine and chamomile tea to myself. "It just means practical."
"Oliver, we barely know each other," I said uncertain as to why I felt a bit nettled at this point. "How on earth would you know if I'm practical or not?"
"Well, by pretty much everything about you." he said and I looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He took it as a cue to elaborate. "The way you talk, the way you dress, the fact you use muggle pens and paper frequently in your work because it's faster than ink and quill and less of a mess, also note books take up less space than parchment."
I frowned at this characterization of myself, uncertain if I was disturbed on how much Oliver had managed to pick up on me after a few breif encounters or the fact it was scarily accurate."
You don't like flowers as gifts," he continued following me as I scanned the assortment. "You yourself said you'd prefer to have something to eat or drink both of which have a function."
"I didn't say I didn't like flowers." I said stubbornly, but when he shot me a skeptical look I relented. "Fine. They're a stupid gift, all they do is die."
"See." He said grinning a little. "Practical."
"And what's wrong with the way I dress?" I asked looking down at my outfit.
I liked my clothes. I knew I spent far too much on them, but I liked liking what I wore. Sure the current set of business robes I was wearing weren't the most comfortable thing in my closet, but they were trendy, and professional. Didn't get in the way if I had to do any spell work or reach for something in the office, and despite the fact my boots had heels and were adorable they were actually pretty comfortable. I bet I could out run almost anyone in them.
Well… maybe not Oliver. But he was an athlete so that didn't count.
"Nothing." He said and it sounded sincere.
"Then why'd you bring it up?"
"Ok before you bite my head off, I'd like to point out that your coworker is dressed like a dandelion and your friend is wearing so many scarves, if the wind picks, up he might actually achieve flight."
This I didn't have an answer for and I glanced at Michael and Nelly, realizing that both fit in quite naturally with the eclectic atmosphere of the shop, and that Oliver might have a point. I was surprised to find that I had to work a bit to fight the smile that threatened to crack as I pictured Michael being carried off down the alley by a heavy breeze.
"I think yellow suits her." I said stubbornly and to my surprise, Oliver smiled a little, I guess possibly finding it admirable I was sticking up for my friend.
"Maybe so," he allowed. "It's still a very eye catching ensemble over there."
I managed not to laugh at the comment, but this time was unable to suppress a grin.
"You know you're not being very nice right now Oliver."
"Thought you didn't care about being nice."
"Professionally? No." I said giving him a look. "But you of all people should know that. You plan on being nice to other players on the pitch just so people will like you?"
"No." He agreed.
"Just because I take my job seriously doesn't mean I can't be nice in other areas of my life."
"I suppose not." He agreed but something about his tone had me narrowing my eyes at him.
"You don't believe me?"
"I just haven't seen much of your nice side." He said quietly and while his tone was neutral, the comment stung. I didn't know if he'd noticed, but it wasn't much of a consolation when he added. "Though Alicia said you did used to help people a lot at school."
Neither of us seemed to know what to say at this point, but his mention about helping people and school had me feeling quite uncomfortable, and my thoughts turned to the letter that remained unopened, sitting on my nightstand back in my apartment.
"Why are you so mean to me, anyways?" He asked pulling me back to the present, not looking at me, but at Michael and Nelly, who were examining an oversized diagram of the human hand, the lines labeled along with several guides related to palmistry ranging from beginner to advanced. "And don't say you were just doing your job. I'm not an idiot Tara, the level of frustration in your articles is something personal and I've no idea why."
I didn't answer this and it seemed to unsettle him.
"Did I do something to offend you or something?" he pressed. "You can be honest, I won't tell your boss. Really I just want to know."
I took several seconds in which I knew he was watching me, but didn't give him the satisfaction of looking up. Really, I didn't know what to say to this. Yeah, maybe I was a bit harsher on Oliver than other players that I covered in my articles, but it was no worse than any other person I'd taken issue with in my other stories.
I couldn't really deny that he did have a point, however. Usually, when I was tearing into someone in the papers, it was because they were a bad person who'd done a significant amount of damage. Who could have gotten people hurt. Really, the only person Oliver had ever risked hurting was himself, either physically or in his career.
But maybe that was why it bothered me so much.
"You mean apart from wanting to help you prevent making bad decisions and injuring yourself?"
"Yes." He said stubbornly and I glanced at him, feeling an eyebrow dart up. "I'll admit, you're right about some stuff Critical but you can say something I did was stupid without calling me names."
I grinned a little at the obvious reference to the sports column, but felt it fade rather quickly and hesitated for a second longer before saying.
"Did you ever think, that maybe I don't like you, because you weren't all that nice to me, Oliver?" I asked and his expression clouded, clearly confused.
"What? Back at school?" He asked incredulously. "Because we weren't even in the same year, and I don't remember ever talking to you back at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised." I said quietly and he frowned.
"What is that supposed to mean?" He asked obviously affronted and I felt a twinge of something unpleasant flair inside my chest, but I wasn't sure what it was.
Before I could even start trying to figure it out, Nelly's voice called from the other side of the shop.
"Tara, you have to come see this."
She sounded excited and I was more than happy to take the excuse to end the conversation with Oliver.
Avoiding his eye, I crossed the room to see she was bent over the dome of a glittering instrument, metallic powder shimmering within the glass, reflecting in a dull bronze glow that rippled as something disturbed the contents, like wind shifting sand.
"What is this?" I asked a little surprised I didn't already know.
"It's apparently supposed to help analyze dreams." She said eagerly. "If you have trouble remembering them."
Without really meaning to, I glanced at Michael who's eyes were on me and I knew that, like me, he was remembering, years ago, just how many nights I'd woken up confused, disoriented, sometimes screaming. Just how many dreams I would have loved to forget.
"Why would anyone want that?" I asked stiffly, crossing my arms over my chest and walking away well aware that they were all looking at me.
Unable to help myself, I glanced at Oliver before looking away and walking towards the astrology section.
Oliver, however, must have been curious because he'd drifted over to the instrument and was leaning over it with Nelly. A flash of gold told me that whatever magic that thing used was now in effect, well aware that Michael would eventually be crossing the distance I put more between us before he did.
"So." He muttered as I drifted my fingertips over decks of tarot cards before pausing over what I figured was probably the only legitimate set in the entire shop and picking them up, mostly to have something to do. "That's him, is it?"
"That's not the fiancé." I said rolling my eyes in exasperation, remembering Faye's interest in Oliver before the game.
"I didn't ask if that was the fiancé." He said smoothly, arms crossing over his chest as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he gave Oliver an assessing glance. "That's the quidditch player, isn't it?" he asked astutely.
I didn't answer the question, but felt my stomach drop through the floor all the same.
"The reason you never cared if Neil eventually left."
"Of course, I cared." I said quietly. "I just… saw it coming."
That didn't mean it didn't hurt.
"He doesn't know, does he?" Michael asked something savvy but also incredulous in his tone. "About any of it. About you."
"No, and I expect you to keep it that way thank you." I said shooting him a look and he seemed incensed.
"You're really not going to tell him then?" he asked softly.
"No."
"T…" he started in exasperation, but I cut him off.
"I tried to." I admitted not even sure as to why, feeling my throat go oddly tight at the words. "After Neil had left and before Will…"
But I cut myself off as my voice faltered, refusing to be upset about it. I already had to worry about the future, I didn't need to be reliving the past either.
"I take it, it didn't go so well?" He asked quietly and I let out a humorless laugh, trying to push away an unwelcome memory.
Of being sixteen, heart racing, walking up to a tall boy in scarlet robes Neil's letter crushed into a ball in my pocket, one from Oliver pressed between the book I was carrying, that, looking back, was obvious he hadn't even realized had gone to me. The question echoing through me as he walked away, wishing I could fold in on myself as easily as Neil's crumpled apologies.
'I'm sorry, but do you even play quidditch?'
"Have you ever stood in front of someone and realized that they're not looking at you, but through you?" I asked quietly.
To my surprise, Michael grinned a bit at this, but it wasn't the sort of smile he'd used around customers back in New York, but after the shop was closed. When Faye had already passed out in the bed upstairs leaving me either the couch or the floor, and we traded stories of growing up with the sight, and how strange it was to live in a world being the only ones who could see things where the rest of the population was essentially blind. It was smaller, gentler, and far more genuine, but it looked a bit sad this time. And just like he would back then, he reached out, almost absentmindedly, and touched the bottom of my chin, and when his eyes met mine, he said.
"Yeah Tara, I do."
It was so familiar to me, it didn't even feel strange despite how much time had passed. I guess a part of me had thought it would, but it hadn't then, and it didn't now. I guess, maybe, it never would.
"So then you get it?" I asked quietly but he shook his head, letting his hand fall to his side.
"No."
"But-"
"I said I know how it felt. Not that I agree with you."
I didn't answer this and his eyes drifted to Oliver, narrowing slightly as he frowned.
"He's rather well known, isn't he?" he asked. "Your quidditch player?"
"He's not my quidditch player." I said annoyed. "And yes." I said scratching the back of my head a bit awkwardly when I realized Oliver must have spotted Michael and I before he'd let me go, because his eyebrows had shot up as he looked back at the instrument in front of him that Nelly appeared to be transfixed by.
Great. Not that I'd thought his opinion of me could have gone any lower, but now he probably think's I'm dating a source.
'What does it matter?' A voice asked tonelessly in the back of my mind. 'It's only for one summer. Who cares what Oliver thinks?'
He already disliked me and besides, after the Cup I'd never have to see him anyways.
"He's… er, extremely well known." I continued and Michael nodded, clearly understanding by this I meant that Oliver was very famous.
He smirked.
"Well, you and I both know how much you love attention."
"Right." I said rolling my eyes and he let out an amused laugh.
"Well, you can ignore him." Michael shrugged calling my attention back to him. "But that doesn't seem to be working out for you all that well."
"Shut up." I started irritated and he grinned.
"You haven't changed at all Tara, have you?" he asked crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against a cabinet that housed a display of tea cups ranging from glass to delicate porcelain, decorated with gold and other precious metals.
He shot me an interested look, lowering his voice before continuing with.
"You know I don't think I've ever seen a seer more determined to defy fate."
"Fate is just an outcome Michael. Like everything else." I said quietly looking back at the cards. "And like everything else, it rapidly shifts and changes with every action, and every choice people make every day. The fact we happen to see one outcome in one point of time is just that. Information. You don't have to act on it. As much as you'd like to convince people," I glanced at him and his eyebrows shot up. "Nothing is truly predetermined."
"Bit of a paradox, isn't it?" he asked playfully and I shook my head, somewhat annoyed.
I wouldn't deny that the sight was useful, but just because you could see potential futures didn't mean you should base your whole life off of it. Michael understood this, and, for the most part, we'd been able to teach that to Faye, but I knew, deep down, neither she nor Michael truly understood my resentment when it came to having this sort of insight. Why, for the most part, I kept the people around me in the dark.
"But don't you think." He continued following me as I continued to browse the shop. "That even the fact people have the sight is evidence that somethings are inevitable Tara?" he asked lowering his voice again as he leaned closer. "The fact that were here, with the ability to help people with that information, guide them with that insight, might not be a sign that somethings are supposed to happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about destiny." He said something fervent in his expression. "And our part in it. People meant to be somewhere or do something, in our role in getting them there. Making sure that it does."
"Yes, I'm sure destiny is what is filling your bank account with muggle money Michael." I said sarcastically, continuing to walk among the displays.
"Do you really think it was a coincidence you turned up in New York almost exactly when Faye did?" he pressed quickly. "That two people with the sight connected at just the right moment to be able to help a scared little girl, one who desperately needed training?"
"Faye isn't the only frightened little girl in history who needed a teacher." I said darkly. "And you and I both know you don't have to have the sight to teach someone how to use it."
The excitement that was glittering in his eyes died at this and he looked away.
"Tara," he started softly. "If you're talking about Will-"
"Of course I'm talking about Will."
"That guy was a psycho."
"And what?" I asked raising an eyebrow. "He was just an instrument of destiny? Something that was supposed to happen?" I felt a stab of bitterness go through me at the words. "Did the ends justify the means with that monster, because he got good results?"
The words were acerbic by the end and it took a moment before Michael responded, and he wouldn't look at me when he did.
"You know I don't think that." He said quietly.
"Yeah, well, it's nice to talk about destiny when it's all working out for you, isn't it?" I asked stiffly. "When it makes you money. Makes you special or important, people clamoring for your attention and time."
I looked away, feeling anger coursing through me, cold and unendingly bitter.
"It's not as fun when you're living in hell." I said darkly. "When everyone around you is saying it doesn't matter what you feel, that this was what you were meant for. And that there's no way out."