honourbyname | Some AU-y type thing scene ... yes.

Entry tags:

Some AU-y type thing scene ... yes.

Albus' brother, James, has a girlfriend.

Like - an actual girlfriend: not the bird-girl he doesn't like, and not Cora.

This, to him, is the strangest concept of all - that Cora isn't James' girlfriend.

They practically spend all of their time joined at the hip; at least that's how Albus sees it. Which is probably why it seems a little strange to him to find Cora in his bedroom when he steps in.

"... erm. Hi, Cora."

[note: James is 18, Albus and Cora are 17 - both in their last years of school. James works in his uncle's shop for now, which is how he came to meet Gwen Copplestone.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Generally speaking, Cora likes James' girls.

They're usually pretty and nice and stuff. Perfectly fine girl-shaped things. Most of 'em are totally cool.

But, then, most of them don't come home with him. Not home with him instead of her. Eating Mrs. Potter's food and complimenting Lily's hair and sticking around, being all pretty and nice and stuff while she was stuck writing stupid essays about World War II and glaring holes into her wall.

Which, by the way, totally sucks.

So when she shoves herself through the Boy's Door and slams it shut in his face, abandoning him to talk to somebody (anybody!) else about how pretty and nice Gwen smells, it isn't his room that she tosses herself into.

She kinda isn't that stupid. And James wouldn't just barge into Albus' room. Not like she would, anyway.

Her head tips back at the sound of the door opening, managing to look not even remotely guilty about having stolen one of his pillows for where she's sacked out on his floor, "Hi, Albus. How's it goin'?"

What? Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

Albus slowly closes the door behind him.

"Fine?" he tries. It really shouldn't sound as much like a question as it does, which makes him clear his throat and try again.

"Um. Good."

Confused, but good.

He starts forward to tidy things up a bit.

(He really didn't expect company, even if it is Cora, and his room has been left in a state of disarray.)

"Erm. How are you, then?"

Okay, now she feels a bit guilty. For, y'know, the barging. There's probably some sort of general rule of etiquette for this sort of thing, but she really can't manage to summon it up offhand.

So she blinks instead, chews on her lower lip.

"You don't gotta -" she waves a hand, encompassing the whole room with the gesture. "'less you want help, or something?"

A hand scrubs through her hair, tugging out a snag, "M'okay. Nothin' too exciting, really. Just - waitin' for graduation."

"Oh. Um. It probably should be cleaned up anyway," Albus says weakly.

It's true; his mum will eventually catch on to the epic mess that is his room (in all honesty, however, Albus' room isn't as messy as he thinks it is) and berate him about it.

He shoves a couple of books back into an acceptable-looking stack, then takes his wand (willow, 11", dragon heartstring) out for the rest of the things. Being seventeen definitely has its perks, the Trace being taken off him being one of them.

"That's right," he says. "We both graduate this year, don't we?"

Somehow Albus doesn't think the reason Cora has come to his room is to discuss graduation plans, however.

Well, no. Cora has come to his room to mope. And to hide from her best friend. But mostly to mope and steal his pillows.

It seemed like a solid plan at the time.

She laughs when his room proceeds to start cleaning itself (wizards) and hums a quiet bar of 'Spoonful of Sugar' to herself, waggling her fingers at his dresser in an approximation of imaginary magic. The whole thing never ceases to be incredibly neat. No matter how many times she sees it.

"Yup! Almost," she grins, rueful and amused. "Then I get t'deal with the whole fallout from not wantin' to go to Uni. S'gonna be totally awesome."

Albus only vaguely notes the humming, but being a wizard with very little in the way of Muggle pop culture (aside from what little he gets at Milliways and from Cora), he doesn't connect the song to anything.

He doesn't actually recognize it either.

Room fully cleaned, Albus puts his wand away and sits on the edge of his bed, better for conversing.

"Oh. Um. You don't want to go to university?"

But Mary Poppins is a classic! Not to mention the fact that it's completely fantastic. And who else but wizards could just jump into chalk drawings? After seeing portraits, she's totally developed a solid theory on how Mary Poppins is related to Headmistress McGonagall.

Anyway! Back to her inability to be anything other than a crippling disappointment to people who expect better from her.

"Not really," she shrugs, shifting herself to sit Indian-style and pulling the pillow onto her lap. "I mean, I ain't really all that good at book-smart stuff. Figure I might as well get myself a job or somethin'. Be useful?"

Albus nods, frowning just a little.

"Well, that's true," he says, glancing from her to his (ever-growing) collection of Muggle literature he'd collected over the years. "I mean, um. Not everyone's suited to academia. James never was, really. And um. There's nothing wrong with that.

"But your family want you to go?"

"Ain't really talked to 'em about it yet."

She toys with her hair again, twisting a section around her fingers (nervous habits) and tugging almost absentmindedly, smile twisted into something sheepish now. She normally isn't this much of a chicken about things. But she's totally the opposite of big on actions that might, in any way, let her da' down.

A snort, "Ain't really talked to anybody about it yet."

"Oh."

Albus presses his mouth into a thin line.

"Well, um. I won't tell anyone," he assures her. "Promise."

"S'okay," she laughs, waving a hand dismissively. "You don't have to zip your lips or nothin'. Boy's busy. And I'll talk to my da' eventually."

She will.

Or her body language will give her away before she manages to work up the nerve.

Albus nods.

"Um. Right.

"Speaking of which ... um. Why aren't you downstairs with James and Gwen?"

"Cause I like my intestines on the inside."

She grins.

"I mean, only so much a girl can take before she's forced to start vomitin' up rainbows."

"- what?"

Albus starts to laugh.

"So - um. I take it you ... don't think terribly much of her, then?"

"Don't think I could think about her if I wanted to. Pretty sure the Boy uses it all up 'fore we even hit noon and nobody else even gets a chance."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners, smile crooked.

"Nah, she's nice. She really is. And pretty."

It's pretty much the most resigned list of compliments that have ever been given.

"Mmhmm."

Albus' laughter subsides.

"She is nice. And um. Pretty," he agrees. "She also graduated from Hogwarts a year before James did, and with honours too, I think. My parents seem to like her a lot, anyway."

Honours.

Her shoulders bristle briefly, up about her ears for a moment before relaxing in a stiff slide, and she lets out a (strange, inhuman) noise that could probably be categorized as something between a whine and a huff.

"And she's smart now, too?"

Albus watches her for a moment, but doesn't say anything about the way her actions speak much louder than her words.

He's known her for long enough to tell some of the signs. Obviously not as well as his older brother, but he's relatively well-versed too. (Or, he likes to think so, anyway.)

"Well," he says, "um. There are different sorts of smart, you know. And - um. You're still his best friend."

Oh, she knows. Definitely, totally knows. Honest. She's pretty much giving off tells like nobody's business, which is disappointing for someone who knows how to speak in them. Fluently.

It's like the abnormal person equivalent of failing English.

"There's only one kinda smart with honours, Albus," she quips, flopping onto her back with a noisy thump. "An' that don't mean nothin' when you got a mate."

Albus' expression is slightly wry, but still mostly sympathetic.

It quickly becomes something like curiousity as he sits up a little bit straighter, a frown on his face.

"Um. Could I ask you a question, Cora?"

She tilts her head just enough to be able to peer up at him without attempting to look through her own shoulder.

X-ray vision. Not one of her standard features.

"Yeah, 'course you can."

Albus has to gear himself up just a little bit before he can ask her what he wants to.

After all, it's really quite a personal question.

And may be just a little embarrassing too, depending on the answer.

(Besides, Albus hardly counts himself as even remotely good at any of this stuff.)

"Um. D'you ... fancy him? My brother."

She wriggles a bit, shoulders shifting against the carpeting and nose twitching briefly up on one side.

And then she thinks.

It's not a very long think. But she's of the opinion that it deserves some actual thinking to go into it. This whole response thing. Especially when it's so - It's all right there, as far as questions go.

"I ain't never really - I mean, before -" a breath, all short and laughter-colored. "Yeah. Guess so, a bit."

Direct deserves direct. You give back what you're given.

I knew it, Albus thinks.

He has enough good sense not to say it aloud, though. He wouldn't want to embarrass Cora, after all.

He likes Cora. A lot. And if he had his way, he'd absolutely want her and James to get together. (But matchmaking is absolutely not his purpose here! Honestly.)

He shifts a little too. The springs of his mattress give a quiet screech of protest. "You - um. Never told him though, yeah?"

The look she gives him is pure, undiluted disbelief at the fact that such a question was even posed. You don't just - just tell people things like that. Especially not your best friend.

It'd be kind of astronomically stupid.

An eyebrow quirks upward, "I ain't the kinda girl he takes out on dates."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject