Hi all! Hope you like the latest update. As always thanks for the positive support
~SHB
Opov
It seemed obvious to me that no matter how much Tara wanted to down play her relationship with Michael, or whatever she wanted to call it, that the two had some sort of history, even if it was one she seemed eager to put behind her. Maybe even forget.
I wasn't completely sold on this however, judging by the obvious familiarity between the two and by the fact that when I looked up from the instrument and over at them, they seemed to be in the middle of some sort of 'moment.'
It was strange, and I was surprised at how much space witnessing it took up in my thoughts. Tara didn't seem to be the sort of person to enjoy public affection, or tolerate any affection really. Honestly, until now I wouldn't have been surprised if Tara handled ex-boyfriends the way she handled interviews, a firm hand shake and a strategy to tackle an interaction as efficiently as possible.
What was not surprising was that it didn't seem to last long. In fact, things appeared pretty tense between the two by the time we left the shop, letting Nelly and Michael get on with their interview.
I expected her to be a bit of a nightmare as something clearly had set her off, but instead, Tara had gone in the opposite direction. As we set up an outline of potential interview dates and topics she grew further remote, ignoring jokes or jibes in the conversation, obviously tightening the lid on her emotions rather than risk letting them slip out.
"You know, I can't believe I'm saying this." I muttered as Tara yet again ignored me for her date book as she continued to scribble each of our interviews in the squares by hand, something I knew she normally would have done with a tap of her wand. "But I think I prefer it when you have feelings."
She ignored this, continuing to write and I looked around the room, relishing in the normalcy of it all.
We'd gone back to the muggle diner, convincing me that her habit of meeting in muggle places was one I'd start to adopt. No one was bothering us here, asking for pictures or an autograph. No one came up to me asking about my injuries, or strategy in the world cup, well, no one but Tara I guess. But at least she was consistent, a known entity that was continually a thorn in my side no matter where we were.
"So," I said turning back to the table, finding myself in an unusually good mood now that I'd realized I was being left alone in public. "What's going on with you and your boyfriend?" I asked unable to help but poke the dragon a bit. "Mr. Mystical or whatever he calls himself. You looked pretty cross with him back at the shop."
She continued to write and I plucked a chip from her plate, again earning no reaction.
"He must like you a lot to drop everything and cross an ocean just like that."
Nothing.
I frowned taking a bite of my sandwich planning my next approach.
"Did things end on bad terms or something? Was he emotionally unavailable, wait, no that's probably you."
There was a slight hesitation in the movement of her pen and I pounced as she continued to write.
"What does someone like you see in a bloke like him anyways?" I wondered aloud, figuring as she scratched out a mistake on one of her little calendar squares that I was making progress. "Was he a good kisser or something? A bad kisser? Or…"
I let the word hang a little awkwardly and finally, she took the bait.
"Oh my god do you ever stop talking?" Tara snapped looking up from her planner and I grinned.
"There she is." I said and she rolled her eyes.
"What do you want, Oliver?" she asked sounding frustrated. "Besides to annoy me, or is that the goal?"
"That's part of it." I said with a shrug.
She let out an irritated breath and looked back at her work
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry." I said lightly. I wasn't sorry, not really. The whole point had been to get her talking, but I guess I did feel a bit bad for darkening her mood. "I was only trying to start a conversation."
"Why?" she asked stiffly. "We don't like each other. What else is there to talk about?"
"True." I agreed. "But that doesn't mean I don't find you interesting."
At this she looked up, and while her expression was wary, an emotion I couldn't quite place flashed behind her eyes. It didn't match what she said however.
"You're kidding."
"No." I said shrugging, realizing as I said it was true.
"I thought you thought I was boring."
"I said practical." I pointed out. "Not boring."
"Practical." She repeated, as if she was starting a list. "Unanimated, tightly wound, aggravating. Anything else you want to call me Oliver?" she asked angrily.
"Interesting." I said with a shrug and again, that strange emotion flashed in her eyes, and this time, it seemed to leave her with little to say. "Besides, you're hardly one to point the finger about name calling, aren't you critical?" I asked and she sighed.
"Fair enough." She said quietly but flipped her planner shut. "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"
"What's it like?" I asked curiously and she raised an eyebrow at the question. "Living with seers I mean. I don't think I've ever met one, apart from Mr. Melodrama." I amended and that earned a bit of a smile. "I don't know much about them, but I thought they were supposed to be rare. Though it seems you can't be shot of them."
She hesitated for a moment looking at me cautiously, clearly debating what to say or if she should even say it, to my surprise however, she did answer the question.
"Messy." She said surprising me. "It's a bit like living with nifflers, lots of shiny little trinkets everywhere. Most seers have their preferred methods, and if you live with more than one, the artifacts tend to start piling up. And no," she added. "Michael and I weren't together."
"Right." I said skeptically. "Not on account of his lack for trying I'm sure."
She rolled her eyes again and I grinned.
"Learn anything interesting?" I asked remembering the way she'd taken my hand at the Harpies game, and the weight of her gaze as she'd studied it.
It occurred to me that at that point, she could have said anything and I would have believed it, despite not really being sure I believed in the practice of palm reading, or much in divination at all. I knew seers were out there, and the power that they had was real, but for most people, this sort of thing, it was a shot in the dark. Made up mostly. In fact, that was exactly what her friend appeared to be writing about in her article she was interviewing Michael for.
But none of that had seemed to matter at the time, nor did it seem to matter now. And it surprised me, just how curious I was for the answer to this question. And also, the shot of anticipation that went through me went she smiled.
"Quidditch is better here in England." She then smirked. "The players are more interesting."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Who said I was talking about you Oliver?" she said primly opening her planner again, obviously to gain the upper hand in the conversation but the act was lost as she was unable to hold back a slight grin.
"Fair point. But if the papers are to believe, we're not just interesting, but gorgeous as well." I said and she rolled her eyes before taking a sip of her water. "Just maybe not all that smart."
She let out a surprised laugh that had her coughing up half her drink.
"Classy." I said certain her high profile family would have been horrified by such a display and relishing in the thought.
"One paper." She pointed out as she continued to struggle for air.
"More like one writer." I countered. "But who knows. Maybe she'll come around."
"Maybe." She said quietly and there was a pause that was a bit awkward and I figured that, like me, Tara wasn't quite sure what to do with herself now that the hostility between the two of us had lowered a bit.
It felt as though neither of us really knew what to say.
"Probably not though, right?" I asked raising an eyebrow and it looked as if she was unable to hide an amused grin in response.
"No, probably not."
"Well at least I know what to expect." I said with a sigh and a bit of an exaggerated shrug.
Silence fell between us again and, having no idea what possessed me to ask, I broke it with.
"Are you going to the auction this week?"
"The what?" she asked sounding genuinely confused as I scrambled to remember the details of my conversation with Mallory earlier.
"My agent," I said feeling a little awkward. "She's sending over a bunch of stuff I have to sign for some sort of charity event I'm apparently supposed to be at. She mentioned your family was probably going to be there."
"Oh, that." She said her tone a little flat as understanding crossed her expression.
"So you were invited?"
"My parents were invited." She said shooting me a look. "Trust me, even if my name was on that list no one cares about me. They're the ones with the money. Besides, why do you care?" she asked raising an eyebrow. "From what it sounds like you and the team are the guests of honor. I'm sure you'll be far too busy being fawned over to be worried about anything else."
"Guest?" I asked with a laugh. "Of honor? Please Critical, I'm the product." I continued bitterly. "Trotted out to be stared at like an animal in a zoo."
"As opposed to a quidditch game, where people also pay to stare at you…" she said her brow furrowing and I shrugged.
"I like quidditch."
"Fair enough." she agreed putting her planner in a bag and shooting me a pointed look. "But don't worry. You can rest easy knowing that I won't be there to bother you."
This didn't assure me however, and I was surprised to feel a surge of disappointment run through me at the knowledge.
She must have noticed, because she frowned.
"What?"
"Nothing." I said shaking my head, only realizing the words were true as I said them. "Nothing, I just, I guess a part of me hoped you would be there."
"You're kidding." She said bluntly, but her expression was surprised.
"No." I said honestly. "I'm not."
"Why?"
She sounded as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing, and to be honest, so was I.
"I dunno." I said with a shrug. "Don't get me wrong Critical, I know we're not friends, but I hate these sort of things, and it seems like the sort of thing you might be familiar with." I continued feeling a bit like I was rambling as I tried to sort what was going through my mind. "I dunno." I repeated feeling a little awkward. "I guess reading the article, I got to see what things are like when you were on my side, you know?"
I looked away well aware how stupid this sounded, feeling a bit pathetic. A grown man asking a colleague to all but hold his hand because he couldn't handle a bit of attention. One who didn't even like him.
"It wasn't the worst thing in the world." I said quietly. "I guess I just thought… I dunno, if you were there, and we'd both agreed to back off each other for a bit, well, maybe it would help."
I expected her to laugh at this, not just at the statement but at me, but was surprised when I glanced back that her expression had drawn into a frown, not as if she was upset by the suggestion, but as if she was considering it. And it was that expression that had me starting to think that maybe, Alicia wasn't wrong to think that her friend was someone who typically tried to help people.
"Forget I mentioned it." I said awkwardly, suddenly regretting the entire conversation. "I'm sure you have better things to do."
"No actually," she said with a humorless laugh. "I don't. I don't have much of a life." She added when I sent her a skeptical look.
"Me either." I pointed out.
I knew some of my team members, especially in the national league, had reputations for partying and partners, the sorts of things she'd suggested they didn't want to talk about in interviews, but apart from my issues with the press, compared to most of my colleagues, I was a pretty boring person. I didn't like attention, or going out. I had a feeling it was why I didn't have a girlfriend not to talk about. There weren't a lot of people that were well known, that were willing to go to such extreme lengths for my preferred level of privacy.
Then again, I was sitting across from a Selwyn who, as far as I could tell, frequented almost exclusively muggle society to be left alone, and didn't use her family's name, or money to influence her career. And that influence alone could have gotten her, and her paper, some extremely powerful connections.
"This is kind of a weird request, Oliver." She said her tone uncertain, and it sounded different, almost as if it had lost some of its edge.
I wasn't exactly sure why, but something about it felt a little familiar, and I had to stop myself from shaking my head to clear my thoughts as I struggled to come up with what felt like a distant memory, only to draw somewhat of a blank.
"If you don't want to go-"
"It's not that." She said shaking her head then seemed to rethink the statement. "Ok, it's not only that. It just puts me in kind of an awkward position."
"With work?" I asked figuring both the team and the paper would be happy about this turn of events.
"With my family." She countered. "I sort of try to avoid doing anything like this and I doubt we'd even get to talk that much." She continued her expression a little wary. "Seeing as my Mum will be trying to marry me off to any eligible bachelor that comes within five feet of me."
"Ah." I said unable to help but grin a little at this and she shrugged. "Yeah I can see why you might want to avoid this sort of thing."
She nodded and I frowned.
"Are they quidditch fans?"
"Yeah, well my dad is, but you don't want to talk to them." She said as if this should have been obvious and it was her turn to look away, her expression awkward and strangely… ashamed. "Trust me, you really don't. Don't get me wrong, they'd love to be seen with you. Famous quidditch player, hero from the Battle of Hogwarts, notoriously exclusive when it comes to who he associates with."
"I guess that would look pretty good for them, huh?" I said dispassionately. "A walking character reference."
"Oh they'd be the fastest friends you'd ever had." She said dryly. "And they're not above going through me to get that. To salvage what little of the family's reputation they can." she let out another sigh. "Even if I did show up Oliver, you wouldn't want to be anywhere near me. Not really."
"Surely there's some sort of middle ground." I said feeling my brow furrow. "If you told them it was for work-"
At this she let out a laugh of what sounded like genuine amusement, but when she smiled, it was bland.
"That's adorable."
"What is?"
"That you think they give an ounce of thought towards my career." She answered and I wasn't quite sure what was stranger to me. What she'd said, or how she'd said it.
"They don't care about your job?"
"No." she said shaking her head. "In fact, I think my mother is rather appalled at the fact I have one. And I'm sure my father still thinks I'm at 'The Prophet' based on his offer to 'have a word with the editor' when I'm ready to 'stop faffing about in the minor columns and write some real news.'"
"What?" I asked incredulously and she nodded.
"Yeah."
"But you're good at your job." I said indignantly. "Like, really good." I pressed, continuing when all she did was shrug. "I'm serious Tara." I said frowning. "Those curse breakers almost certainly would have died if you hadn't told the world they were missing, and don't try and tell me it wasn't you who wrote it, or the one about the unspeakables in the ministry."
I looked at her, incensed.
"Are you seriously telling me that they don't know that was you?"
"No." she said grabbing a napkin off the table and ripping it absentmindedly into strips. Probably to avoid having to look at anything else. "And I don't plan on telling them either, seeing as I've been witness to more than one rant at Sunday lunch with my parents and their friends about the impudent little toe rags who want to 'play politics' at 'The Quill'."
She put quotes around the phrase and I had to admit, I felt a little sorry for Tara. I suddenly found myself regretting my initial reaction to finding out she was a Selwyn.
She didn't seem anything like the rest of them.
"Blimey." I muttered stunned. "I'm sorry but you're right." I continued shaking my head. "I don't want anything to do with that."
"Yeah." She said quietly and I frowned, understanding why Tara wanted to avoid the event, but still, somewhat inexplicably wanting her to be there.
"What if you told them we were friends?" I asked and she frowned.
"What?"
"I need someone to talk to and to keep me from looking like a prat, right?"
"Right."
"And you need something to keep your parents and any potential suitors your Mum might want to throw at you away, right?"
"I guess."
"Well, what if we tell people were friends." I said with a shrug. "Not good friends, but we can pretend to run into each other. I get to look like I'm mingling with the donors, and you have an excuse not to talk to your parents." I said with a shrug. "Works for everyone. No one has to know it has anything to do with work, we both know Alicia." I added. "Plus, everyone would see me talking to a Selwyn. I reckon that would buy you enough good will to avoid Sunday lunches for what, three, four months?"
I expected her to roll her eyes at this, maybe get offended, but was surprised to see her smile.
"Dream bigger Oliver. I plan to cash those optics until boxing day."
"I better look like a saint in your next article." I said smirking.
"Then I want permission to post photos with the articles." She challenged and I hesitated momentarily before saying.
"Alright. But on one condition."
"What is it?" she asked skeptically and I paused, debating if I actually wanted to ask what I was about to before throwing caution to the wind and saying.
"What was it that your friend gave you, back at the office. When you thought no one was looking?"
At this, her eyebrows darted up and her expression was tricky to read.
She didn't answer for a moment, and just as I thought she was about to deny it, or simply not respond, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bag of what looked like dark blue silk, astrological symbols dotted in silver and gold along the fabric that was drawn shut with a shimmering ribbon.
She chucked it on the table nodding towards the pouch and I frowned.
It was obvious she meant for me to take a look at the contents and it surprised me, seeing as they'd gone to some lengths not to have it spotted by the others earlier.
"Go on." She said as slowly, I reached for the bag, wondering what on earth could be inside it, figuring it was probably something exciting like an heirloom or maybe a valuable artifact with significance to the seer community with which she seemed inexplicably connected.
Instead, what I found was a soft pile of what looked like dried herbs, a powerful fragrance hitting me almost the moment the bag was unsealed.
"Tea?" I asked in confusion and she laughed.
"Tea." She confirmed.
"I don't get it." I said pushing the bag back towards her and she picked it up, still appearing amused.
"I like tea." She said shrugging and I stared at her incredulously.
"Yeah, but what was the point in hiding it?" I asked. "And why did he have to bring it from overseas? You couldn't just pop down to the shop and get your own?"
"Who says he didn't buy it from the shop?"
"If he did then why would you hide it?"
"Maybe I don't want to share." She countered returning the bag to her pocket and I frowned.
"You're really not going to tell me?" I asked and she shrugged.
"You asked what Michael brought me," she pointed out. "Not why."
A week ago, I would have snapped a retort. Said something sarcastic and it probably would have turned into an argument, and while I did have a couple things in mind, for some reason I let it go.
Almost immediately I was glad I did.
"I'll ask my mum about the auction." She said putting her bag over her shoulder, clearly indicating the meeting was at an end. "But I'll need to leave now if so. Maybe we can work it into the next article if it ends up being interesting."
"Alright."
She stood, still grinning a little bit as she exited the diner, and again I watched her through the window as she walked down the street. It was only after she'd turned the corner and vanished that it occurred to me that Tara had probably been messing with me at the end of our conversation, something I wasn't quite sure how to react to.
A week ago, I wasn't sure if a playful side to Tara existed let alone that I would ever see it, but as I finished my lunch alone, I reflected back not just on my interactions with Tara, but the people around her. Alicia, not just a friend of hers, but mine as well. One who staunchly defended her, and had vouched for her character when I'd been against working with her. The bar tender and the regulars at the sports bar, so used to what looked like a pretty spirited back and forth between the two. Faye and Nelly, who seemed to look up to her like a role model if not an older sister. Malcom who was obviously comfortable teasing someone he considered a friend, while her editor seemed to be Tara's version of my friendship with Alicia. Not just a friend, but a confidant, an extension of your moral conscious, whose job It was to correct you when you know what you're doing is wrong.
You didn't have these sorts of relationships with the people around you if they didn't like you, care about you. That you didn't give them something back in your own way. And what I was starting to see was that Tara's way of giving back to the people around her was quiet. Encouragement at the right moment when someone was wavering, or an olive branch when they needed help. Maybe it was just harder to see sometimes because she was so loud about trying to give people what they deserved in the opposite direction.
I reflected on this throughout the day going between practice, a follow up at the hospital and my usual meetings with Mallory and the team.
It wasn't until I'd gotten home and tossed my keys on the counter that I realized just how busy the day had been, but also, that it had been a good one. The first good day I'd had in a while.
I guess maybe that was why I wasn't all that surprised when I saw the little owl at my window later that night, and that the handwriting on the letter she was holding was familiar. Even after all this time.
"Hey Snitch." I said with a grin, as she hopped through the window, cooing happily as I scratched behind her wings and took the letter. "Been a bit hasn't it? How've you been?"
She didn't answer of course, only blinked her wide round eyes at me before swiveling her head, probably looking for bludger.
"He's in the den." I said nodding towards my bedroom door and she must have understood at least some of it in part because she let out a hoot and took off towards the hall, no doubt to visit him in his cage.
I couldn't deny the swell of excitement that went through me as I turned over the letter, feeling a jolt of recognition as I spotted my name written in neat, pretty letters. The kind of writing you saw printed on invitations for important events.
I sat on the bed, tapping the lamp on the table beside it with my wand.
It switched on and when I opened the letter, I felt my heart sink when I saw that it was a somewhat of a short response. It picked up however, when I actually read it.
Oliver,
Alright, hippogriff in the room. You're famous. You're famous and you're reaching out to what is, essentially, a complete stranger.
Did at any point this ever seem like it might be a bad idea to you? Because it feels like it should have. I know this makes me kind of a hypocrite, but didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?
To answer your question, no. I didn't end up marrying him, something my parents are still probably furious about to this day.
I smiled a little at this, electing not to question why as I continued to read.
I'd ask what you've been up to over the last few years, but it seems as if the whole world already knows. The World Cup right? Be honest, are you freaking out? Because that seems like something most people would freak out over. I dunno.
I guess you can take some comfort in knowing at least this time your seeker isn't having to split their attention with saving the wizarding world. At least, I hope she's not. Based on what I assume is going to be a busy summer for you lot I've no idea when she'd find the time.
I let out a laugh at this, picturing Kitty's expression if told this information figuring she'd probably be thrilled to hear she was in for some sort of world saving adventure.
I have to be honest, I was a little surprised to receive your letter. Is this what people do when they become a quidditch player? Reach out to old pen pals? Because frankly, that seems like a terrible idea. Your signature is worth a lot more these days, as well your private thoughts. What if I'd turned out to be a complete prat or something and tried to sell it to the papers? Or spread lies about you? You should probably be more cautious about this sort of thing in the future. Hopefully that bludger didn't knock all the sense out of you.
Wishing you well, and you eventually gain some sort instinct of self-preservation,
~ Totally not a prat
P.S. Who am I kidding. You've never been one to do the sensible thing before. Why would you start now?
Still grinning, I read the letter several times unable to banish the smile as I crossed the room to my desk and sat, taking several moments as I considered my response.
Eventually, however, I grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment and started my reply.
'Dear Totally not a prat…'
Tpov
"So," Alicia said shooting me a significant look over the desk between us as I tilted her tea cup back and forth, looking for any symbols or patterns I might recognized. "Spot anything interesting? Am I meeting the love of my life? Is he handsome?"
"You'd better hope he doesn't look like that." I said gesturing towards a blob that looked a bit like a pile of dragon dung and we both had to cover our laughs.
It was our first Divination lesson, a subject we'd chosen to take together for our third year and while I'd been a little excited for it over the summer, from the moment I'd climbed up the ladder into the classroom I'd had reservations, but at least I'd be with Alicia.
"Guess we better start looking for signs that he'll be rich."
I stifled another laugh as Professor Trelawney, passed by our table and looked down, obviously having noticed.
I'd expected to feel a connection with her, seeing as she was the Divination teacher after all, for her maybe to recognize another seer right on sight. The reality was I hadn't felt anything, and neither had she apparently as she continued to walk among the desks having barely spared me a glance.
Alicia raised her eyebrows at me and I grinned, biting back another laugh as she waggled her eyebrows, obviously entertained by Trelawney's rather eccentric appearance but it didn't totally quell the sinking feeling in my stomach. I'd never met another seer before. It wasn't all that surprising seeing as the gift was rare but still, I expected to feel… something.
Was it odd that I didn't? Was something wrong with me?
My anxieties were interrupted by a loud scream and the crashing sound of scraping wood and shattered china.
Alarmed, I looked at Alicia whose eyes had gone wide. We stood hastily rushing over with the rest of the class towards the commotion only to see Professor Trelawney had staggered into a desk as she reared back from one of the students, her expression horrified as she pointed, hand shaking, at the cup in front of them.
"A cross." She said her voice trembling as she gestured towards the girl who's face had gone pale. "A symbol of death."
Suddenly, she lunged forward and picked up the cup muttering frantically to herself as she examined the cup, tilting it at different angles.
"A sickle." She whispered. "Pain and sorrow. The blade, a justified terror." She let out a wail. "Oh my dear, you are in danger, very grave danger."
Together the class leaned forward to look at the omens and I braced myself, ready for the accompanying dread I'd come to expect in a reading with bad signs only to feel… nothing.
I frowned, squinting at the symbols as Trelawney continued.
"I'm afraid my child that the thing you most fear, it will destroy you."
The girl, a Hufflepuff who's name I'd never learned, dissolved into tears while I looked between her and the cup, completely confused.
'That's not what it says.' I thought frowning.
Not only could I not see the symbols she was talking about, but the ones I could see were relatively positive. Indications of luck and a turbulent time now passed.
I caught Alicia's eye and by her expression, I could tell she'd spotted my uncertainty. She looked a bit skeptical herself, and her expression only darkened when, as she continued around the room Trelawney continued to see terrible, and in my opinion, fictitious omens.
"She's a fraud!" I said incredulously pacing along the shore of the lake where I'd asked Neil to meet me after lessons.
"I still can't believe you told the little lion cub you had the sight." He muttered shaking his head and I glared at him.
"Neil that is so not the point of this conversation." I snapped and he raised his palms in surrender. "She was wrong about everything! I'm not going to learn anything from her this year."
He frowned at this, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out over the lake, then back at me.
"Well," he said sounding as if he wasn't quite sure what to say. "What do you think you should do about it?"
"I don't know." I said honestly. "I wrote to my parents straight after the lesson, and my Mum says she's looking into getting a tutor but I have a bad feeling about it."
My mother, more than anyone, had an interest in honing my talent for the sight, seeing as it was inherited from her side of the family. Sometimes I found myself wondering if she somewhat resented the fact it hadn't been passed to her.
"Did you see anything?" he asked sounding concerned and I shook my head.
"No." I admitted a little begrudgingly. "And I don't know why. It's just a feeling, you know?"
He continued to look troubled however and seemed to think before he responded.
"Maybe it's not just a feeling." He said eventually. "You said you knew something was off with Trelawney from the start, right? Well, maybe this is more of the same." He shrugged. "Considering what you can do, I don't think it's unreasonable to trust your instincts."
"Maybe." I said with a sigh. "It all just seems so foggy and unclear."
This was what Trelawney was supposed to be helping with. Teaching me how to control my abilities, to make them less confusing, disruptive to my daily life. It wasn't easy to keep up in lessons when you were constantly losing track of reality around you, trying to sort out what was real, what had happened, and what might eventually be.
"Sometimes it feels like I'm never going to get control of this." I said quietly looking out over the water.
I felt his arm settle around me, and leaned closer as he tightened his hold.
"You will." He assured me. "And then you and I are going to make an obscene profit off of quidditch bets, and tell the ministry to stuff it when they ask where the money is coming from."
I laughed.
"I don't think I really need to tell you this, but that's extremely illegal."
"Who cares?" he asked with a smirk. "We'll just bribe anyone who wants to chuck us in Azkaban, besides, you'll see it coming."
I leaned my head against his shoulder.
"You'll figure it out mate." he assured me. "And you know I'll be here to help."
...
It wasn't until I'd shut the door of the apartment and locked it that I realized Faye must have been out because while several of her things were strewn about the apartment, her bag was gone.
Frowning, I tapped the wall with my wand and the space reverted to its natural state. Cushions littering the floor that I just wanted to fall face first into and sleep, I hesitated however, when again, it struck me that for the first time in a while, I was alone in the apartment.
I dropped my bag on the counter along with the invitation I'd suffered through a dinner with the Parkinsons for, only to find myself staring at the card feeling a little conflicted, wondering why I'd even agreed to go.
I glanced around, then, tired but determined to take advantage of the empty apartment I walked towards the stove, summoning a strainer and a mug, poking the kettle with my wand, and reaching into my pocket, pulling out the small bag Michael had handed me in the office earlier, constellations printed in shimmering thread on a deep blue background.
'This isn't a good idea.' I thought anxiously, opening the bag, going through the motions as the familiar sent of sickeningly sweet herbs washed over me.
But that didn't stop me from measuring out its contents, filling the strainer, and dropping it in the mug, the water going from a rich red brown to almost black in a matter of seconds as it was poured.
'Why am I doing this?' I thought knowing damn well that there were plenty of reasons, and the fact I didn't want to deal with them was exactly why.
Was this really the solution though?
I knew it wasn't. And all of the sudden, I was caught by an overwhelming urge to take the cup and dump it down the sink, chuck the bag out the window and set Faye on Michael telling him to never entertain my idiotic requests again. But the moment passed and before I could reason myself out of it, I brought the cup to my lips, taking several scalding sips, the burnt sour flavor a contrast to the sugary smell and cloyingly sweet after taste.
I almost gagged and set the cup down, coughing a little as I winced.
I didn't remember it tasting that bad.
I shuddered before taking the mug and walking over to one of the cushions, settling in, watching dark and misty figures flicker in and out of existence of Faye's crystal ball which was sitting on the table in the center of the room
I continued to take tiny, occasional sips of the tea, frowning as the minutes passed and the figures continued to shift in and out of vaguely recognizable shapes, but after a quarter of an hour, I was starting to wonder if Michael had been messing with me, or the tea no longer worked when a familiar face flashed across the surface of the crystal ball. The one that matched Faye's sketch that was still next to it.
"Great." I muttered rubbing my eyes, feeling exhausted and a little slow.
Of course, after the longest day ever because of Oliver, one of the reasons I wanted to get away from my life, he has to just go ahead and turn up in the middle my apartment in the exact manner that I was trying to block myself from.
Wondering what on earth he was doing there, I leaned forward trying to get a clearer picture of the quidditch player when it started to fade.
'Odd.' I thought, the word echoing in my mind slightly as a strangely clouded sensation started to take over my mind.
I squinted at the image as it started to blurr and suddenly, when I blinked, it was gone.
"What?" I started confused, trying to mentally push further into the mist swirling in front of me, only to feel as if I hit a wall.
A shroud fell over the part of my mind that was always turning. Always shifting and revolving, searching for and receiving signals from the metaphysical world. Only, it was as if it had been turned off.
Confused, I looked around, but when my vision fell on the tea cup, I realized what had happened.
"Oh thank Merlin." I sighed falling back onto a cushion, feeling as if I were sinking into it, for once my body feeling completely relaxed. My mind quiet.
My existence blissfully blank.
I wasn't sure how long I sat like that, eyes closed, my brain utterly quiet, but it must have been a while because eventually the door opened and when I looked over at it, I saw Faye stepping into the apartment.
She was supposed to leave days ago, but had decided to stay in town for a bit longer as she'd met an 'extremely cute Italian seer and his family' on holiday, and it had taken several talks to explain why she could not bring random strangers into my apartment.
'I have got to get her out of here before I head overseas.' I thought vaguely as she wrinkled her nose. 'Otherwise I was going to come back to a divination den.'
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked her tone disapproving.
"If you don't like it you can leave." I said unwilling to get sucked into an argument and she frowned.
"I see Michael is in town."
Her tone was cool and I felt a stab of irritation go through me.
"What makes you think that?" I asked knowing exactly why she thought it and she grimaced.
"He's the only one stupid enough to give that to you." she glowered at the bag on the counter. "None of the rest of us would."
I lifted my mug in a mockery of a toast and she frowned, her nose wrinkling again.
"Gah, I hate that stuff. Why are you blinding yourself?"
I didn't answer her and her eyes darted towards the page on which she'd sketched Oliver.
"Is it because of him?"
"For once I have no interest in seeing the future." I said darkly. "I'm already in for an awful summer. No need to go through it twice."
"Oh no Tara," she said sarcastically. "You have to spend the summer on vacation, watching quidditch games and spending all your time around a gorgeous athlete. I feel so bad for you."
"You and me both Faye." I agreed and she frowned.
"I forgot how awkward you are around cute men." She said with distaste. "It's such a waste. So many of them like you."
She adjusted her bag and reached for the door, opening it and making to step into the hall.
"Where are you going?" I asked and she snorted.
"If you want to block your sight fine, but I'm not gonna sit around and cloud mine by inhaling the fumes."
"You have to drink it Faye."
"Whatever." She said rolling her eyes and stepping out into the hall. "I don't want to be involved. I'm going to go find Michael and yell at him."
"Have fun!" I said waiving after her and when the door swung shut, it slammed a little harder than usual telling me Faye was more irritated than she was letting on.
I shrugged and settled back into the pillow ready to enjoy a night of mental peace and quiet for once when my eyes fell over Faye's sketch on the table.
I looked at it for a moment, not entirely sure why I was so fixated on the image, my thoughts feeling disjointed and unconnected when slowly, I remembered the letter that was sitting on my desk, both unopened and unanswered.
I'd planned on ignoring it, figuring no good could come of reading what was in it, let alone responding. Strangely though, right now, I didn't seem to care.
I got up and walked towards my room, the process seeming to take a bit longer than usual, as for once, I didn't feel the need to get anything done quickly. There was no input from the future to react to. No information to make decisions off of. No insight only I had, to prevent every day disaster inflicted on other people.
My brain was as boring, mundane, and in the present as everyone else's in the world at the moment. It was wonderful, and I didn't want to rush that.
I crossed to my desk and opened the letter, deciding, even before I unfolded the parchment that I would respond. I would respond and I would do it tonight, before I could over think it or receive any sort of warning or information that would influence my decision or change my mind. It would be my choice and mine alone, and if it was stupid, well that was too bad. And reveling in this fact, I began to read, enjoying the idea that for once, I had no idea what was coming. And I didn't want to.