What Can You Teach Me?
“Fuck David Bowie, marry Rick Springfield, kill Davy Jones,” Marlene says.
“Well there you go,” Mary says matter-of-factly. “That’s the only right answer.”
We’re almost to Hogsmeade, and they’ve been having variations on this same conversation for the entire walk.
“I like Davy Jones,” I say.
Marlene gives a shout of laughter, her breath fogging in the cold air. “Of course you do.”
“Hey!” I say. “He’s kind of cute, even if his music is inane.”
“Cute enough to kill David Bowie?” Mary says, giving me a very serious look.
“Or Rick Springfield,” Marlene adds. “But then what are you going to do, marry Bowie? He’s way too unstable for that.”
I tear a leaf off a tree we walk past and fold it between my fingers. “Okay fine, I’ll kill Davy. But I’m going to be sad about it.”
“No one said you couldn’t mourn,” Mary says cheerfully. “Okay here’s another: Potter, Lupin, and Black.”
Marlene bursts into laughter. “You’re joking.”
I make an exaggerated gagging sound. “There is no way I’m answering that.”
“Come on, it’s hypothetical!” Mary says. “Plus, they’re kind of fit this year.”
I groan. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”
Mary grins. “Oh, come on, Lil—”
“Okay, I have my answer,” Marlene interrupts. “Ready? Fuck Black, marry Potter, kill Lupin.”
I’m flabbergasted. “Are you kidding me?”
“Sorry!” She shrugs guiltily. “We’ve got limited options, love. Someone’s gotta go.”
“I think I agree actually,” Mary says.
“You’re completely wrong,” I say. “Marry Lupin, kill Potter, obviously.”
“I thought you weren’t going to answer,” Marlene points out.
“Well someone has to stick up for Remus,” I say. “Absolute marriage material.”
“I don’t know,” Mary says thoughtfully. “I kind of think Potter would be a good dad.”
I snort. “Why, because he’s still a child himself?”
“Well, kind of.”
“God, no,” I say. “Men don’t get to stay immature all their lives and have us reward them for it. I’m marrying Remus completely.”
“Well, you have yours and I have mine,” Mary says.
Marlene laughs. “And Black is for everyone.”
“Hey, Marlene.”
It’s Dorcas coming up behind us, her dark curly hair blowing in the breeze.
“Hey,” Marlene says, smiling widely. “Are you going into town?”
“Yeah.” Dorcas is wearing dark lipstick, and her big brown eyes are framed by shiny makeup. “Wanna get a butterbeer with me?”
“Sure,” Marlene says, doing an excellent job of acting casual. She glances at Mary and me and widens her eyes quickly before turning back to Dorcas. “Let’s go.”
And then they’re gone, turning right to the Three Broomsticks while Mary and I continue straight. I try not to feel too abandoned at how quickly Marlene leaves us. Mary never says anything about it, but I wonder if she feels the same way. I suppose she abandoned us first. I’m just the last to go.
We head to Tomes and Scrolls to browse. They don’t carry muggle fiction, so there’s not much for me, but Mary likes the magazines. I leave her at the front and wander the tall, narrow aisles, running a finger along the weathered spines. Everything smells old in here. When I pull my hand away, there’s a thick layer of dust on the tip of my finger.
I’m rubbing it off my hands when I turn the corner and nearly run straight into someone. I take a startled step back and see it’s Potter.
He’s grinning. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say, returning his cheeriness with a scowl. “Do you even know how to read?”
“You’re the one dressed for farm labour.” He reaches out with one hand and unhooks the strap of my overalls before I can stop him.
“Stop that.” I slap his hand away, my face feeling hot, and redo the buckle. I really like these overalls, so of course Potter would find some way to make me feel bad about it. God forbid a girl take a fashion risk around here!
He’s still smiling when I look up, like ruining my day has made his.
“And what do you think of my outfit?” he says, stepping back and cocking his hip in a ridiculous pose. He’s wearing a dark blue cable knit jumper under the same creamy jacket and jeans that flare out a little bit at the bottom. I have the urge to snap his glasses in half.
“I’m not your personal style critic, Potter,” I say, even as I critique his style in my head. It’s surprisingly trendy, I admit. Still a bit posh for me, but I suppose that’s just who he is.
“Pity,” he says, frowning, “I put this one together just for you.”
Before I can respond, a loud whisper of “I told you so” comes from around the corner. I follow the sound, Potter at my heels, to find two first year Gryffindors huddled against the shelves. Jimmy Manes freezes putting a few coins in Carl Lichtenstein’s hands.
“Told you what?” Potter says from behind me.
“That you’re friends,” Carl says.
“We’re not,” I say immediately, at the same time as Potter says, “Of course we are.”
I give him a look of horror. “No we’re not.”
He throws an arm around my shoulder. “Best of friends. Pay up, Jimmy.”
Carl breaks out into a grin and holds out his palm. “Ha! Pay up, Jimmy.”
Glumly, Jimmy empties the rest of his pocket. “Could’ve sworn she hates you,” he mutters.
Potter gives Carl a high five over my shoulder and they run off. I shove his arm away and shudder.
He’s unperturbed.
“We are not friends,” I say, taking off down the aisle.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
I let out a sigh and walk faster, but he’s following me as I wind through to the front of the store.
“Fooled Jimmy and Carl too,” he adds.
I glance over my shoulder at him. “Amazing! You should try theatre.”
At last, I see Mary standing at the magazine rack. “There you are,” I say in relief.
She turns around, making a confused face at my desperation. “Ready to go?”
I stop abruptly by her side and turn around, looking Potter dead in the eyes. “We’ll never be friends, Potter. And I’m still killing you.”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“Come on.” I leap at Mary and grab her hand. “Let’s go.”
I pull her out of the store and hurry a few metres down the street, glancing behind me to see if Potter’s still following. He’s not, so I slow my pace.
“What was that?” Mary demands, catching up to me.
“Prefect business.”
“Sounds more like you’re bullying him.”
“Those are the same thing.”
She laughs like I’m being ridiculous. “Have you thought about being nicer, Lily? What has he done to you lately?”
I give her a look like Are you kidding?
“Besides the chess fiasco,” she adds.
“There is no besides!” I reply. “He’s despicable.”
She sighs. “Whatever, it’s your funeral. Let’s get butterbeer.”
We make our way to the Three Broomsticks and find a table in the back. It’s a zoo inside—all the seats full except ours and the clink of glasses and laughter at an ear-splitting level. Mary orders us butterbeers and we sip them slowly, talking about class and homework and Fran Fletcher’s new haircut.
“I can’t believe she let Holly do it,” Mary says. “I would never let you cut my hair. No offence.”
I laugh. “None taken. My hands are the shakiest of the shaky.”
Her eyes light up. “Can I cut your hair?”
“Do I need it?”
“No, but wouldn’t it be so fun? I think you could rock a bob.”
I stare at her in alarm. “A bob?”
She grins mischievously. “Or a fringe.”
“A fringe! God no, never.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Well, it would just look terrible on me.”
“I think you could—”
“Mary!” Somebody calls suddenly.
We look to the doorway, where Patrick is standing with two of his friends, Eddie and the one whose name I can never remember. He waves, grinning widely, and Mary waves back, and then they’re all three coming over to our table.
I groan internally. Patrick’s alright, but his friends are a bit thick in the head.
They all pull up chairs and everything gets a lot louder, and suddenly the conversation has run away from me. Whether it’s that I’ve lost the urge to interject, or that I couldn’t get a word in if I wanted to, I’m not sure, but either way, I don’t have anything to say and I don’t say anything. Mary seems perfectly comfortable with Pat’s arm around the back of her chair, and it sends a sharp pain through my stomach. I’m inclined to chalk it up to annoyance at his and his friends' overbearing presence, but it feels a little like jealousy too. Maybe I just want somebody to put their arm around the back of my chair like that. There’s nobody who would.
“Come on, you’re gonna be late,” Marlene says to me as soon as my eyes are open. She’s standing in front of the mirror doing her lipstick.
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“Half seven,” Mary says from the other side of me.
“What?” I sit up straight. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“We tried, babes,” Marlene says. She swipes her finger along the bottom of her lip to clean up the excess and turns around to face me. She doesn’t usually wear it on a school day, I think groggily. Then I remember Dorcas’ dark lipstick behind us on the path yesterday, and the hours we spent debriefing their day together late last night. That must be why my head feels like a bowling ball.
She rubs her cherry red lips together. “Now up, or I’m going to breakfast without you.”
“We’ll wait,” Mary says more kindly, “just be fast.”
Ten minutes later, I’m pulling on my jumper and slamming the door shut behind me, jogging to catch up with them as they stroll down the hall.
Mary hands me my bag. “I just think that’s a bit over the top.”
“Tell that to Potter,” Marlene says with an eye roll. “He’s a dictator.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Quidditch,” Marlene answers. “We’re having practice every afternoon this week plus all day on Saturday.”
“What? Why?”
She sighs. “The first game is this weekend.”
“That just seems ridiculous,” Mary says. “Haven’t you been practising all term?”
“It’s only October,” Marlene says. “And there are new people on the team... Hey.” She nudges me. “Maybe you should come watch us practise. You know, for Tommy.”
“Hush!” I say, glancing around. The corridor’s nearly empty with everyone already at breakfast, but you can’t be too careful with the rumour mill around here. “And no, I don’t think I can subject myself to that much quidditch. Even if it is for a good cause.”
Mary laughs. “A good cause.”
“Hey, don’t think I don’t remember all the Hufflepuff quidditch practices you used to drag us to last year,” I say. “Was that for a good cause?”
“That was so Marlene could report back to Potter about their playing,” she answers with an innocent grin.
“Leave me out of this one, girls,” Marlene says, skipping ahead. “I would never watch quidditch for a man.” She throws her arms out and spins down the hall. “Enlighten yourselves!”
I’m so unenlightened, it’s shameful. When I come out of the Potions classroom to see Tommy waiting for me, my heart skips about three beats. It doesn’t matter that we walk together every day. I’m still painfully excited every time.
“Hey,” he says as we start walking. “How was your weekend?”
“It was alright,” I answer with a sigh. “The Ancient Runes homework kind of did me in.”
“Thank god I’m not in Ancient Runes, then,” he says. “If even you think it’s hard...”
I let out an embarrassed laugh at the compliment, but I don’t know how to respond. I guess he’s come to the conclusion that I’m smart or something, but I don’t know where he got it from, considering all I do in Care of Magical Creatures is pathetically attempt to flirt with him and fail.
“How was your weekend?” I ask, changing the subject. We leave the courtyard and start down the grassy hill.
“I discovered something.”
I glance over at him to see a flash of that wide, movie star smile.
“What?”
“I have to show it to you,” he says mysteriously. “Later.”
“What? You can’t leave me in suspense like that,” I protest.
“I know.” He laughs. “It’ll be worth it, promise.”
That sends my heart stumbling.
“So unfair,” I say, but I have to bite down hard to keep from grinning.
I wait for the big reveal all day but it never comes, so I decide to take matters into my own hands. I catch up with Tommy as we’re leaving the Great Hall after dinner, though it takes a few minutes to work up the courage to say something. Just make a noise, I tell myself. Just start the word and then you’ll have no choice but to finish it.
“Hey,” I say at last.
He turns around, surprised. “Hi.”
I quicken my pace to match his. “What do you have to show me?”
“Oh.” He grins. “What are you doing now?”
“Um, nothing,” I say quickly. “Well, following you.”
“Perfect.”
He cuts through the crowd of students flowing out of the entryway and heads up a narrow winding staircase. I hurry to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I ask. The stairwell is empty, and my voice echoes off the flagstone.
He glances back at me mischievously. “If I told you, what would be the fun in that?”
I’m rendered speechless.
His long legs make light work of the steps, and I watch him race up them from behind. The way his brown hair falls in perfect waves down to his shoulders, his easy, inexplicably cool walk. God, he puts the rest of us to shame.
“Give me a hint,” I say as we pass the fourth floor. “This staircase does end at some point.”
“Alright, that’s where we’re going.”
I gape at him. “The seventh floor? I should’ve worn my hiking boots.”
He laughs. “It’s worth it.”
He stops a few steps above me and waits for me to catch up, then continues.
At last, we reach the top of the stairwell and turn into the corridor. It’s completely empty, and lit only dimly by a torch at the other end.
“Lumos,” he says, lighting the end of his wand.
I follow him to the end of the corridor until he stops in front of a tapestry of a unicorn.
“It’s lovely, but you know I’ve seen this before,” I say.
“Have some patience,” he says with a laugh.
He pivots and walks a few metres back down the corridor, then turns again and comes back to me.
I frown at him. “What—”
Before I can finish my sentence, there’s suddenly a loud scraping noise coming from the opposite wall. As it continues, a large set of wooden double doors begins to appear in the stone.
“What?” I repeat under my breath.
The noise stops, and Tommy pulls open one of the doors.
“After you.”
Hesitantly, I go in. The room is big, with grand stone pillars and lush velvet carpeting underneath my feet. Bookshelves line the walls and a few rows of armchairs on one side face a grand piano on the other. A few mismatched lamps scattered around the room give it a warm glow.
I let out a soft breath. “What is this?”
I turn around to see Tommy shrugging.
“I just found it the other day,” he says, walking in behind me. “I thought we could start your piano lessons.”
He wants to spend time with me! I try not to freak out.
“Oh, right,” I say. Casually, as if I haven’t been dreaming about this very moment for the last month.
I walk over to the piano and sit down on the bench. “What can you teach me?”
He comes over and sits down next to me. Not touching, but still. My chest is pounding. My hands are shaking. I tuck them underneath my thighs.
“Hmm, let’s see,” he says, putting his hands on the shiny keys. “‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game?’”
I give him a confused glance. “What?”
He looks at me and laughs. “Is that just an American thing? I thought it was a famous song.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” I say. “How does it go?”
He hits a few notes. “Take me out to the ball game,” he sings. “Take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack—”
“What on earth is cracker jack?” I interrupt.
He laughs again. “You guys are so funny here. It’s a baseball song.”
“Oh,” I say with a nod. “We don’t play baseball.”
“Or quodpot,” he adds.
“I find it hard to believe that’s a real thing,” I say. “Everything you’ve told me about it seems fake.”
He grins. “Don’t you think quidditch would sound fake if you’d never heard of it?”
“Hmm,” I say.
For a moment, there’s silence, and then he stands up. “Anyway, I’ve gotta finish the Defence Against the Dark Arts paper. I just wanted to show you.”
I stand up and follow him to the door, wracking my brain for a way to make sure our plotline doesn’t end here. “We should come back,” I say weakly.
He holds the door open for me. “Yeah.”