by niika at the-dark-arts

Chapter Seven: When The Fairytale Ends And The Story Begins...

Monday morning started off on the wrong foot: everything was a step behind; I woke up late; had the right books for the wrong lessons; spilt tea down my jumper, and a plethora of other things including falling over twice, which is enough for you to get a picture of how horrendous my day was.

It wasn’t until Alchemy that things ironed themselves out quite nicely and began to fit the routine of an actual day, as if the day had been sprinting ahead of me and now I had finally caught up. Alchemy was no dip in the pool; it was diving into the sea, a deep cold frosty sea, raging in a storm. I was barely keeping myself afloat in this class, surrounded by genii. I am still awfully impressed with myself for knowing the grammatically correct plural of the word genius.

It wasn’t necessarily the best time for me to receive a note from Mr. E, but I had no choice in the matter. I tried to do read it carefully in such a way the professor wouldn’t notice.

The flowers were wonderful, but not as wonderful as you. (Does this sound like I’m trying to hard?)

This was different from the others, it was the first note from Mr. E that wasn’t just a romantic note that could have been stolen from the mind of someone more romantic: this was him, this was real, this was witty and funny, yet heartwarming. This – dare I say it - was Prince Charming material.

I had a question: could I reply? How would I send the reply to him?

Using my quill, I quickly scribbled down a response, each ‘i’ dotted with a heart an each ‘a’ or ‘o’ filled with a swirl.

It depends; do you feel you’re trying to hard? Anyway, more importantly who are you?

Heat rose to my ears as I felt a sense of panic wash through my body; what was I doing, replying? This was something I needed Cal or Jordan’s consultation on doing first. Then, I mulled it over -  while trying to take some notes as the professor whizzed through her lecture, leaving me behind once again -  I technically could sort this out on my own. I didn’t always need their help, they would be proud if I took control of my own life for once.

I glanced over to the note, and a new one was its place; some extremely complex magic was being used to make these notes.

I thought you’d never ask.

Hastily, I grabbed my quill and wrote a response:

I’m dying to know: who are you? You confuse me, you pull at my heart but I don’t know who you are. Are you a girl? Are you serious? Are you just pulling my leg? Because if you are I would rather die slowly and savour my last minutes.

The last line didn’t make much sense without the historical context: Adam had told me once that the term ‘pulling your legs’ comes from, which interestingly was what your friends would do as you were being hung - as in sentenced to death - since pulling your legs would speed up your death and thus making it more merciful. It was absolutely barbaric and brutal, and anything remotely like that happened in the past, that’s why I admire Harry Potter so much: despite all the adversity and evil in the world around him, he did not succumb and he succeeded.

I have no intention to kill you, quite the opposite really. Yes, I’m a guy. You know who I am. I don’t really like pulling other people's legs literally, only in a metaphorical sense. Opinions on this class?

This parchment appearing and disappearing was a complex spell, I looked up to see who was writing, but everyone was frantically writing and looking down, meaning that anyone in this class, possibly other classes could be Mr.E.

Me: I don’t like legs anywhere except attached to my hips. So, you’re a joker? I’ll assume we’re in the same class, thanks for narrowing it down for me, to all fourteen of you. As for this class, you presence unnerves me; otherwise it’s quite enjoyable.

Mr. E: I guess you could call me a joker, if you wanted to. Fourteen guys is still quite a hefty list - you have any ideas?

Me: You know what you seem more of a torturer/taunter bully figure. Stop pulling at my legs and tell me who you are!

Mr. E: You’re a lot braver and snarkier on paper than you are with your words. Care to explain?

Me: What’s there to explain? Sometimes it’s difficult to say what you’re thinking, but it’s easy to write it down. Also, for all I know this is one big twisted joke, so I can say what I like. And you call me shy in real life; you don’t have the guts to tell me who you are?

Mr. E: Whoa, a heck of a lot feistier on paper! I prefer you in real life to be honest.

Me: And I don’t trust you, who are you?

I never got a reply.

It had been difficult to come across as stronger than I was; to put my guard up in away to not fall into his throwaway charm and his witty one-liners. He was real, he had proved it in his conversation and he preferred the real me, the shy head-stuck-in-clouds Lonnie, than the brave sarcastic action-taking Lonnie. Lonnie! would have gone and met Robin and found out who her secret admirer was. Lonnie! was beautiful and bold and didn’t take any no nonsense. Lonnie! was a lot like Ajoke, something that seems nice but deep down is not really want you want or who you want to be.

And Mr. E, whoever the creeper was, agreed with me, which was fantastic. He was okay, maybe he was the boy with the simple smile, who would poke me and remind me to breathe. I could see it, he wasn’t that bad, he could make me laugh, he would let me think, he would hold my hand, there was only one problem. Who was he?

He wasn’t Fred.

After a nudge from Jordan, I submerged myself back into the lesson, quickly swept away in a world of new terminology and technical jargon which left me gasping for air, barely breaking the surface of the sea.

The lesson drew to an end, and as I stood up another note appeared. I closed my ears and took a deep breath: the note radiated importance. Jordan looked at me sceptically as she hadn’t noticed my conversation with Mr. E.

Meet me in the kitchens at lunchtime.

Slyly, I hid the note into my textbook.

“What was that?” Jordan asked.

“Nothing,” I said as she moved on.

I didn’t understand why I had lied to her. I never lied to Jordan, to Cal sometimes, to avoid a rant or general drama, but never had I felt the need to lie to Jordan. She never judged, she gave you chance after chance. Naturally, I assumed she would forgive me, she always did. It was funny that people thought I was the nicest in our trio, when it was clearly Jordan.

~*~

People are always judging other people, by their clothes, by their appearance, their accent, their…everything and anything. Even when someone is trying to befriend you, they judge you with all the wrong criteria.

The whole point of getting to know someone is understand them, learning how to feel what they feel, to empathise and sympathise.

I don’t want to be a whiny teenager and scream to the heavens about how I’m misunderstood; but let’s face it everyone is, everyone is misunderstood and made out to be something they are not.

~*~

Slinking away from an ultra friendly Jordan was extremely difficult; she always wants to help and do everything with you unfortunately Lonnie! ended up lying claiming she needed to have moment alone and she was going to go to the Owlery (a place Jordan detests) in order to send a letter.

She frowned at me and made her own way to lunch. The guilt for lying rolled in and quickly infected my mind, leaving me panicked for my entire journey to the kitchen. Fortunately, this distracted me from panicking over the identity of Mr. E.

I stepped into the kitchen, warily; fidgeting my fingers to an extent I had never done before. My eyelids spasmed, constantly flickering open and closed, my body shivered. Lonnie! wouldn’t have been scared, she would have strolled in, grabbed Mr. E and kissed him senselessly, Lonnie! was a Gryffindor at heart. I, however, do not have any similar traits to my alter-ego, I was meek. I slowly snuck into the kitchen, where the house elves were in a mad panic, preparing lunch.

Bless their little souls, and their tiny socks.

But in amongst their flurry and panic, they had set out a table for two in the middle of the kitchen. I pulled the chair, which made a horrendous squeak and sat down.

And I waited.

Twisted my fingers, contemplated growing my short cropped hair to look more like a princess, decided that a short cut like snow white was fitting for my hair colour, and tried balancing my unicorn hair and rosewood wand on my nose; and only then did he walk in. Of course he walked in. I closed my eyes, grabbed my heart.

“Hey Lonnie,” he said and I blanched.

Fred. Fred Weasley. He ran a hand through his hair and thank god, I was sitting because my legs would have crumpled to the floor in pure confusion.

He bit the edge of the lip, alarmed by my reaction.

Nervous, excited and scared at all at once, Lonnie! tries to take control of the situation, but even she can’t be bold and brave all the time.

“I was hoping it was you,” I croaked.

He smiled, a genuine smile that spread across his face like an upside down rainbow. An overtly cheesy smile which made no attempt to be sexy; it was just a smile, the smile.

Oxygen filled my lungs and I exhaled.

He sat down.

I grinned.

“Why?” I asked. He wasn’t supposed to have heard that; he wrinkled his nose and began speaking.

“Well, I first saw you in the wedding, wearing that blue dress and you looked really pretty. I couldn’t stop noticing you, I couldn’t deal with not knowing you.”

He took a deep breath.

“My sister said that you’re the kind of girl who would appreciate that sort of thing and Robin had said that Jordan thought you would appreciate a romantic gesture, so the two of them helped me.”

Wait, that meant that Jordan knew! She knew all along about the identity of Mr. E; even when she coined him as Mr. E, she knew it was Fred. I felt oddly betrayed and confused, but what she had done wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It as just so out of character for Jordan to do anything behind anyone’s back.

He gave me a moment to digest what he was saying before he spoke again, “I guess you confirmed my crush on you when we spoke. You’re really sweet and nice, and it was nice to talk to you, just you, and I was wondering if you would go out with me?”

I leaned across the table, as did he. Excitement took over and with a squeal, a jump and goofy grin; of course I said, “Yes.”

I stood up, throwing myself at him, I only reached under his chin, and he wrapped his muscular arms around me.

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday, I rejected you for you?" I said, confusing myself.

"I asked you just to see if you would have acknowledged the notes, and I was going to tell you, and then Roxanne burst into tears."

"And then Roxanne burst into tears," I repeated slowly.

He nodded.

"Is she better?" I asked and he nodded.

"That's good because whenever I cry to my brother, the situation is dire."

"Brother?" He asked, raising an eyebrow

"Older brother, Adam, was a chaser for Ravenclaw a few years back, now a hot shot in the Auror department, works with your uncles.”

"Hmm."

"Any other siblings?" He asked.

"Nope," I answered popping my 'p' with such power, Fred let out a chuckle.

~*~

While she's certainly not my favourite princess, I'm a lot like Aurora: Sleeping Beauty. I'm wistful and dreamy, and I've met my Prince Charming in my dreams. We've had our difficulty getting together, even though we've doubted each other's true identities, the battle against maleficent (or in my case teen angst and drama) has been won.

And out of all the princes, Prince Phillip is certainly the most charming of all the princes. He sweeps Aurora off her feet like no other; he's suave in a way that is practically unfathomable.

A happily ever after with him will be full of smiles and laughter and I can't quite for mine to start.

~*~

I felt lost, lost in a haze of excitement, thrill and fear. What now? What was going to happen next? I’d never been someone’s girlfriend before, I was unsure of what the job description entailed. I was a lip virgin; I hadn’t even kissed a boy let alone been out to Hogsmeade with one. Setting my fears aside, and after completely losing my appetite to an adrenaline rush, I sprinted to the common room, which was only next-door.

Dear Imagination,
How happy is a happily ever after?
-Lonnie

I needed to tell Cal and Jordan (who apparently already seemed to know what was going on).

Conveniently and because my friends were extremely predictable, they were sat in the common room playing wizard’s chess.

“You’d never guess,” I squealed as I jumped up and down over and over in front of them.

They looked at me knowingly, with big smiles painted on their faces.

My friends were evil, but leg-ends.

“You guys knew?” I shrieked mixing anger with enthusiasm.

“Sworn to secrecy,” Cal said, tapping her nose.

“But you,” I started, pointing at Cal, “you made out that you didn’t like him and you threw me off, you knew I knew it was him and you -.”

Cal cut me off, with a laugh.

“Society has given Weasley a skewed belief that romance needs to be overly sweeping, big and bold, and secret, so he doesn’t face any rejection. And it seems it’s worked for him,” she grinned, “Congrats, Lon!”

Jordan leapt up and hugged me, “Sorry, I didn’t say anything, but look at how well all this has ended.”

Swept up in the cliché and the idea of having my very own Prince Charming, I corrected her, “It’s only the beginning; the fairytale has ended, but the stories about to start.”

“Wise words,” Cal mused.

We burst out into a fit of giggles.

A few minutes afterwards or ‘later’, the tone of the conversation had become far more serious.

“You think they’re secretly dating, as in actually sneaking around behind James’s back and you know, doing stuff?” I asked.

“The amount of sexual tension radiating between the two of them has to have been tapped, for a lack of better words,” Cal responded.

“It’s suspicious. James is the most intelligent out of the three of them, maybe he’s noticed as well; he’s probably a bit too reserved to say anything,” Jordan said.

“Maybe that’s his blind spot, romance,” Cal said and then added, “Like Lonnie’s is school work and mine is flowers, which aren’t that important anyway.”

I shoved her playfully, I noted a bit of Lonnie! coming through and tucked it back inside of me: the braver side of me was un-pleasurable and something that needed to be kept inside. I didn’t want to be like Ajoke, I didn’t want to have a boyfriend and then probably, maybe (because we’re unsurely sure) mess around with his best friend.

We eventually noticed the time - we had five minutes to get to lessons: I had Herbology and the other two had whatever they had. I hadn’t learnt mine timetable let alone theirs.

“Hey Lonnie!” Fred called out to me.

“Hi,” I said shyly.

We were silent for a couple of moments as we started walking to Herbology. I felt special like all the other girls who got their boyfriends to walk them to lessons and if he was wonderfully chivalrous like Fred, he’d offer to hold your bag on your behalf. I declined, feeling slightly embarrassed and nervous. I was perpetually in a state of feeling nervous.

“Twenty questions,” he offered.

I nodded, “You start.”  

“Favourite colour and why?”

“It changes quite frequently, I like sky blue because, I dunno, it’s the sky.”

“It’s the sky?”

“You’re down to eighteen questions, don’t waste another,” I teased.

“Full name?”

“Linnea Agatha Davis; my parents are quite pretentious.”

“I like it,” he said, as first year almost collided with him, “Where do you live?”

“Wiltshire,” I said.

“Ah, so you live in one of those great big mansions?”

“You’ll never know,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

This was always an area of sensitivity: my parents’ wealth, their great abundance of wealth. My father was from an extremely wealthy muggle family, so he inherited all of that and decided to open a chain of apothecaries. As for my mother, she was wealthy as hell as child and inherited it all, despite the fact my great-aunt and great-uncle were staunch death eaters,-so bad that they received Dark Marks. This was a fact known by very few people; my mother had done her best to disassociate herself from anything like it.

He continued asking me questions until we reached the greenhouse five minutes late; we received a glowering glace from Professor Longbottom before continuing with our work.

Throughout the lesson, Fred and I kept rubbing shoulders and sending each other secret playful yet totally meaningful glances.