[Serenata] hello, alone {Valentine}

The late-August sun felt much too warm on her skin as she edged out of the Leaky Cauldron and strode briskly through Muggle London, her heart hammering relentlessly in her ears, and her tongue feeling so thick she thought she might vomit. It was Keela’s last weekend home before the start of term (how in Merlin’s name was she going to be a Seventh Year already…) after having spent the past two months at the Academy Anansi in the Caribbean.
But that wasn’t why her nerves were tautly-strung bowstrings.

No; the real reason was that she’d received a note from none other than Valentine Pym earlier in the week, completely out of the blue, asking her to meet up that weekend if she was willing. To talk. Whatever the hell that meant, because they certainly hadn’t done much of it over the past several months. Since the dome came down, really. She had been so surprised to hear from him at all hat she wasn’t quite sure how to respond at first, but ultimately settled for addressing only what he’d asked: if there was any place in particular she preferred. She was in Dublin and he in Sheffield, but since it would feel odd for him to come to her or vice-versa, she suggested they meet in London – there was an excellent tea and coffee shop around the corner from St. Mungo’s called Serenata, had he been there? Keela had deliberately not suggested Diagon Alley, for the very last thing she wanted was to be surrounded by their gossiping schoolmates while she and Val had a potentially likely awkward conversation. He had agreed, and they had once again lapsed into the familiar silence for the remaining few days.

And now the day had come.
And she still hadn’t decided if she wanted to kiss him or punch him or run away or throw up or maybe even all of the above.

Fortunately, she had escaped notice in the Leaky Cauldron – she’d needed to Floo there because it was too far to Apparate from Dublin – and had furthermore made it to the front door of Serenata without being flagged down by someone she knew. Thank Merlin. Summoning what resolve she still possessed, the Irish witch took a deep breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. She tried her hardest not to sift through the small crowd of patrons with too much voracity, lest she come across as desperate. When she did see him, though, – for his profile was unmistakable to her eye at this point in their friendship, however they defined it – a shock of recognition tore through her: from her fingertips, straight down her spine, and into her toes, and her stomach knotted reflexively. The nauseated feeling came back.
But he hadn’t seen her just yet – at least, she didn’t think so. Good.

Cracking her knuckles anxiously, heart in her throat, she made her way as nonchalantly as possible to the two-person table he had chosen along the far wall. The approach felt like an eternity but she did in fact make it, slender fingers gripping the shoulder-strap of her purse white-knuckled in some attempt to ground herself. Despite her nerves, though, seeing him lit up her very pink (sunburn only, she’d told herself stubbornly), very freckled face with a characteristic crooked smile.

“Hi,” she greeted casually, sliding into the empty chair opposite him. Keela bit her lip, suddenly feeling more than a bit silly.
“Er… how are things?”


@Valentine Pym

She emerged through the throng; immediately separate, immediately unlike the rest. As she had always been. It was as if time had slowed, and he couldn’t help but stare, despite the obvious rudeness. Keela looked different; not just the colour of her skin; she appeared more adult, changed and revealed to him as something more; something complete and for a moment, Valentine felt immediately unfit for the young woman who was making her way before him. And when she smiled, it immediately released him from all the anxiety and all the tension that had built up; all the caustic disquiet and the angst, pouring away as if he was an upturned bottle, and as she sat before him, it was impossible for him not to smile in return.

He had thought for weeks about requesting this very meeting; about any way to see her again; something to brace him and keep him aligned; something to correct the selfishness that had led him to that island of loneliness he had experienced in the second half of the last school year.  And each time he came to the conclusion that it was actually a terrible idea. And yet, when he could take it no longer, and the dread of September approached, he knew that needed to see her. But, to achieve exactly what, he did not know. To have deliberately ignored her for nearly half the term, then suddenly to demand her presence - was that not more the of same selfishness?  What could he say to her? Explain that he had turned into more of a coward than he had ever fully knew? That this whole Hogwarts thing was appearing to be taking slightly more of a toll on him than he wanted? Or to get to the heart of the matter; how was he possibly supposed to continue this way; with Keela as his friend and the person who laughed most at his jokes; and at the same time the one person that both terrified and bewildered him. The first thing he thought about in the morning and the last thing before he fell asleep at night.

He managed to send the note mid August, his recklessness for once overriding his natural caution, and her quick response both ruined and made his day.

And here she was, sitting in front of him, and it was as if nothing had happened; like they were back in school and there had been no fire, no dome. No death. If only he could hold this moment, and go back and fix things.

“Things are . . .  really good, thanks. I mean, for . . .”

He was interrupted by a waitress, who cordially asked if they wanted anything. Valentine politely let Keela order first, before requesting a coffee for himself. The waitress smiled, told them it would be with them quickly, and scuttled off into the throng of the cafe. The intrusion had momentarily broken his trail of thought, and it looks several seconds for him to refocus.  Beyond the couple, the world seemed unimportant, just a mass of noise and nothingness. To Valentine, this was all that mattered now.

“I mean, it’s been good.” He gestured to his eye, which was sporting an impressive yellowing bruise. “Muggle sports. I took an elbow to the face last Saturday.” And with that, he grinned.

He stopped, unsure of how exactly to continue, and for a moment he simply sat motionless and examined her face; looking for any sign of discontentment or anger.

“It’s  . . . nice to see you again.”

She could have been petty.

She could have refused to answer his owl in silent defiance. She could have replied with passive-aggression, as she’d seen so very many girls her age do when they wanted something out of someone. She could have made him chase after her. It may have given her some selfish satisfaction... but that wasn’t her at all. She was blunt, direct, honest. None of this wishy-washy beating-around-the-bush. Keela Doyle wasn’t one to play petty games.
Though she had seriously considered it, for a moment. Who exactly did he think he was, to essentially ignore her completely since March at least, and then owl her out of the blue asking to meet up? She had been angry, that spring. Hurt. Were they not friends? Did friends not lean on one another for support? Did he not trust her?

Did he not feel the same about her as she did about him?

It took her few days to realize the magnitude of her hypocrisy. For she had done the very same thing to poor Terry in Third Year – to all of her friends, really, until Zara had the backbone and gall and equally stubborn willpower to wrench her out of her self-pitying spiral. And then she and Terry’d had the row of the century about it in the Common Room – Merlin, was that two years ago now? – when the years of pent-up tension and unspoken jealousy finally forced their way through the weakening crack in their relationship. Fortunately, things had improved once the initial flood of emotion had subsided, and they had been able to move past the whole thing and turn over a new leaf.
It was easy to forget; it had been so long ago, and she was different now. Stronger, certainly. A bit less bullheadedly proud. A bit more cognizant of the fact that it was okay to turn to others when she felt like everything was crumbling around her.
Perhaps Valentine hadn’t yet experienced that for himself. And perhaps now he had, and had come to the same conclusion that Keela herself had those few years earlier. And that had been the basis for her straightforward agreement to the meeting.

Had she been right to give him space and effectively allow him to avoid her, though? Or should she have done what Zara had done for her and dive down with him, dragging him back up to the surface kicking and screaming? What unsettled her was that she wasn’t quite sure; she and Val had been friends for years, but she had only recently gotten to know him on a different dimension than the sort of intermediate-level friends they had become. Taking a direct approach might have helped more quickly – or it could have driven him away further. Perhaps now she would find out.

Part of her – the insufferably proud part – struggled with having decided to send a same-day response to his note. Did he think her desperate, to have answered so quickly? Perhaps. Was she desperate?
Keela had forcibly quelled that consideration. She wouldn’t have responded any differently had it been Jess or Zara; why would she question her motives just because it was Val?
Well that was a bit of a stupid question, really, because the obvious difference was that she most assuredly had more-than-friends feelings for the Sheffield native, and for some time now. Keela had sorely missed having him around, through the remainder of the spring as well as over the summer. From the rock-climbing to Quidditch training with Circenn Teague himself, she wished he had been there to share the experiences with her.

All she knew was that she missed her friend, at the very least, and wanted him back. And any doubts she’d had about the hastiness of her reply all but evaporated when she’d caught him watching her. A warm flush crept up her neck, and once again she thanked the blazing Caribbean sun for having the foresight to look out for her on this endeavor. And for her own foresight in not having this meeting somewhere in Diagon Alley.

The waitress appeared then and – ever the gentleman – Val gestured for her to order first. She chose an Earl Grey, and barely heard the short redhead’s next words before she bustled off. Her heartbeat was thrumming in her ears again, and she had been so immersed in the cozy feeling of content that the ring of a rather sallow-looking yellow around one of his gray-green eyes had escaped her otherwise-scrupulous notice entirely until he’d pointed it out. Her own pale blue gaze widened in surprise, then narrowed again as she returned his grin. Quidditch had left her no stranger to bruises, though she hadn’t yet sported a black eye.
“Impressive,” she commented, stroking her chin in playful contemplation. “Did all the neighborhood kids give you a wide berth after that?”

And then he was watching her again, contemplative. Her cheeks grew warm and her pulse quickened. Keela felt the urge to break the silence – not uncomfortable, though not without some degree of tension – but bit her tongue. He had asked her to be here; she should at least attempt to let him direct the conversation without interjecting.

“It’s… nice to see you again.”

The frank sincerity of this simple statement sent a warm flood of relief through her, mingled with pure satisfaction. She wasn’t quite sure what sort of profound statement she’d been expecting, but she was pleased with this.
“It's good to see you, too,” she replied quietly, meaning it. But her stomach gave an odd swooping sensation, and she felt the reflexive urge to hide her raw emotion behind her dry humor. Keela quirked an eyebrow and gave him a playful smile.
“About damn time.”

There was another pregnant pause, and Keela deliberated once again about whether or not to break it.
‘Just the once, to keep things moving.’
“Do anything else this summer aside from roll around in the dirt and take elbows to the face?”

To sit there and answer her question truthfully would have been trite; as if nothing had happened and they were really just what they had always pretended to be on the surface - namely, silly school friends who had no real interest in the currents and the turns in each others life, bar polite conversations. But of course that was not how Valentine considered Keela, making his remoteness all the more inappropriate. And yet she was sitting there, beautiful and sublime, and giving him one of her smiles that made everything temporarily alright, and he had to fight himself to overcome this salve of hers.

“I didn’t do too much this summer, actually, just sort of, relaxed a bit. You know, less magic, more football, that kind of thing.” He didn’t want to talk about it much, because it was largely a solitary couple of months. And to dwell on his solitude would have been selfish and dull; he did not wish to come across like one of those overly serious moribund berks that spent their teenage years wringing their hands and feeling sorry for themselves, even if, as he had come to realise over the summer, he had become more like this than he could have ever expected to. And now he had to look away from Keela’s blue eyes; create that disconnection that would allow him to momentarily escape from his cowardice. In the end, it took the arrival of their drinks, and the fleeting presence of their highly efficient waitress to allow him that opportunity.

The waitress walked off, and Valentine found himself looking at the edge of his coffee cup, as the couple drowned within their own silence, cushioned by the chatter of the other patrons around them.

“I just wanted to say I’m very sorry. About being an idiot. And going so quiet.” He looked up at Keela, and his face was open to her; no smile, no cheeky glint in his grey eyes, no threat of a witty comeback or retort or any of their usual defence mechanisms, which at once would bring them together and perpetually hold them apart. This was Valentine, perhaps for the very first time, being completely open with his friend.

He looked away once more, at nothing in particular, but he was somewhat uneasy with seeing a change in her face. What if, he thought with growing terror, she was looking bemused, or if her blue eyes were distorted with anger. Sure, maybe he’d have to take it; take the blow and move on, that was the risk with being truthful, with saying sorry; that Keela might have no time or patience for him, or even willingness for forgiveness.

“Last year sort of, well, messed me up,” he continued, his voice lower than usual, because admitting weakness was not something he was particularly used to. “I mean, well, it was hard, for us all I’m sure, I don’t want to make out like I had it harder than anyone else, because I didn’t,” and he realised he was making excuses for himself already. I’m alright, really. Don’t worry about me, it’s just a graze. It’s not my own blood, even. And perhaps, he considered as he stared into the throng whilst trying to ignore Keela’s resolute, steadfast gaze, it was all these excuses that had got him into this rut in the first place.

“I’d never experienced anything like that, and I don’t want to again.” He stopped talking for a moment, suddenly afraid that his voice might break, and surely that would bring the end of the world. He swallowed hard, still thinking of the most decent, most bloody english way to phrase it without sounding inherently useless in her eyes.

“I didn’t want you to think of me as, well, weak. So it seemed a good idea not to spend much time with you. To not spend much time with anyone, if I’m honest. I’m not used to feeling like that. But it was stupid, I know that. I’m sorry for being so cold. I just wanted to explain to you, before we go back . . . there.”

“How delightfully mundane,” she teased gently. “That’s the one where they kick the ball around and try to get it into the net, yeah?” Being an athlete herself, Keela was perpetually intrigued by just how many different sports Muggles had come up with, while wizards seemed to have… well, mostly just Quidditch and its analogs.

They lapsed into silence again; but it didn’t feel quite right. Val wasn’t an extraordinarily talkative person, but he always had something about him – be it a mischievous glint in his eye, a quirk of his lips, or a raised eyebrow – that seemed to emit a sort of spark or an energy about him that was easy to pick up on, even when he wasn’t speaking.
She didn’t feel that now, and it concerned her.

Keela shifted slightly, unsure how exactly to interpret this. For want of something to do with her hands, she reached for her drink and attempted the smallest sip, – though it was still much too hot to drink – watching him over the rim of her teacup. His own gaze was fixated on his coffee, and an invisible hand squeezed abruptly around Keela’s heart as she began to register the mixture of emotions etched into her friend’s expression. Dimly, she noticed her own shoulders had begun to ache; she hadn’t even noticed that her subconscious tension had her sitting up straight as a ramrod, her shoulders nearly up around her ears (or so it felt). Keela took a deep breath in and out, disguising the exhale as an attempt to cool her tea further as she made herself relax into a more natural posture.

“I just wanted to say I’m very sorry. About being an idiot. And going so quiet.”

He looked up at her then – and the bottom promptly fell out of her stomach. She blinked.
Even when they had worked side-by-side to save that First Year at the beginning of last term, in the midst of the chaos, he’d had his guard up. No doubt he’d been afraid – all four of them had – but he had stripped off his own shirt, whipped out his gravity knife, and plunged into action with every ounce of certainty. But even then he’d managed to infuse his sense of humor; to convey his concerns without quite letting on just how uneasy he actually was. To hide behind a witty comment or smirk, like she herself so often.
Now his expression was completely open, naked to her. Normally his witticisms and expressions were anchors for her; and now, devoid of them, the ground was falling away beneath her feet. It was utterly foreign, incredibly intimate – and yet perhaps the first emotion she was able to actually pinpoint was relief. She had expected an apology, or at least some sort of explanation… but she truthfully hadn’t imagined the depth of the raw sincerity behind it. And if she was being honest, he had conveyed enough with that simple look that he really didn’t even need to go on.

A thrill of a sensation she couldn’t quite describe shot down her spine; and for once in her life, Keela Doyle had quite forgotten how to speak. But that was alright; she didn’t need to say anything just yet. She hardly even dared to breathe for fear of disrupting him. He wasn’t looking at her now, but she nodded along in silent affirmation as he spoke. Her mind stalled and spun intermittently, a pang of empathy stabbing her in the gut as he vocalized many of the feelings that she herself had harbored; some from this past term, and some from the Battle and its aftermath.
He stopped abruptly for a moment, and the invisible hand around her heart was back. She couldn’t recall a time that she had ached to provide some semblance of comfort as desperately as she did right now. It was a bone-deep ache; dredging up old and recent memories, some of which she’d hoped she’d quelled for good. Keela was an intensely proud person herself; she knew all too well how devastating it felt to be exposed, to be vulnerable. Her throat felt much too tight, but she somehow managed to unstick it by the time he had said what he’d wanted to.

For a moment, she let the curtain of silence fall; so he’d know she had truly listened and heard him, and wasn’t just waiting to jump in with her own input. With considerable effort, she stepped out from behind the screen of sarcasm and lightheartedness that was her own defense, baring herself to him just as he had done to her. It was the strangest feeling; foreign, but oddly secure.

“Hey,” she began, in hopes of convincing him to look at her again; and softly so that he wouldn’t hear her voice quake if it decided to betray her. Her gaze flicked briefly to the table, where his hand was resting innocently; she had the wild urge to reach for it for emphasis, but barely refrained. Her skin felt electric.
“D’you know how many students are alive today because of you?” She let the rhetorical question hang for a heartbeat. “I know one is; and I doubt that’s the end of it. You are not weak,” she told him firmly, her pale blue gaze insistent.

Keela hesitated for a moment, deliberating. Should she tell him that she’d gone through the same sort of cycle after the Battle, and (inadvertently) taken it out on Terry? That had been her tentative plan; but suddenly it didn’t feel quite right. She put aside the details for the moment.

“If I’ve learned anything at all since the end of the War… it’s that people cope with things in different ways. I went through something similar after the Battle,” she acknowledged with a nod in his direction. “I shut people out – until one of those people was as bullheaded as I was and finally got through to me.” Keela smirked automatically at the memory; thank goodness for Zara, indeed.

“Last year was f***ing awful,” she added darkly, her tone suddenly bitter with a surge of remembrance. She remembered something that one of her cousins had told her, then, and it had brought some solace.

‘It might seem like everyone else is going about their business, fine and dandy. You think you’re the only one who feels so lost, only because it doesn’t look like anyone else is struggling. But believe me, lass: they are. You’re never really alone.’

“Really, though, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t rattled. It’s just, well, different for everyone. Fear, doubt… I buried mine,” she added quietly, idly stirring her tea. She wasn’t sure if what she was saying was helping at all or only serving to drive him away; but there was something about shared experiences that bore telling.
“Not saying it’s right, mind… but I thought that if I stayed busy enough, in bloody survival mode” – her hands clenched involuntarily at this – “all the time… then there wouldn’t any time to think about it. Because if I did, I might just crumble.”
Keela looked up sharply at that, finding his familiar gray gaze, and took a breath. Not a soul outside of her immediate family knew when she was about to tell him.
“I hardly got out of bed for almost a week-and-a-half when I got home in March. Mum was really worried… kept asking me if she should take me to St. Mungo’s to get checked out. The truth of it was I just felt drained. Once I was out of that environment, it’s like I just… well, crumbled.”

Not wanting to continue on about herself, she let the last comment hang for a few heartbeats. Her gaze dropped to the table again, lingering briefly on her now-cold tea before casting across to his hand, still in the same position. Tentatively, she reached out and gave it a light squeeze – like she had done just before they’d entered the Gauntlet together. Her fingers tingled with the sensation.
“Really, it’s alright,” she told him quietly, in acknowledgement of his apologies. “Thanks for telling me. It… really means a lot.” Merlin, why was she so bad at this? She had hidden behind her defenses for so long that she’d nearly forgotten how to communicate real, unmasked emotion like a normal person. She hoped to anything it didn’t come across as disingenuous.

But then regret was a viper, coiling and uncoiling in the pit of her stomach. What sort of friend had she been, to have let him struggle? Everything she had rationalized and weighed logically over the past few months had all crumbled to ash in these few moments, leaving her only with the aching wish that she had actually done something; even if it had driven him away. Val might not blame her for it - but she blamed herself. She had left him to struggle, whatever her perceived good intentions.

“I’m sorry, too,” she added quietly. “I should have done more.”

She would let him take that or leave it. A significantly more comfortable – at least to the Quidditch Captain – silence descended, and she let it linger for a few long moments.

But then she couldn’t help herself, and broke into a genuine grin.
“To be frank… I'm just glad to see you. And that you don’t, well, hate me or anything after—” She cut herself off, suddenly sheepish. ‘...after I inadvertently took you down at the New Year’s bonfire.’ Merlin, it had sounded much more playful in her head…
“Er, after everything that's happened,” she finished lamely, waving a hand vaguely and desperately trying to quell the dull flush that had begun to creep up her neck.

Immediately he regretted what he had said, for Keela was staring at him in the strangest way. She had been nodding, in the same way that someone nods along before they say the most negative thing imaginable, or they deliver the rollicking that they had been planning all along. And to be fair to the blonde opposite him, how could he blame her? It felt strangely pleasant though; to get this off his chest; to admit to his failings to her as her fellow student; as her companion; as her friend. She could storm off now, and at least he would be settled with himself. He had done the right thing; an as much as one could after his behaviour the last six months.

However, when she finally opened her mouth; what she conveyed to him was beautiful. Her words were comforting; they were offering him a hand up; stability in this continual storm that was stirring around and around inside his soul. She flattered him; incorrectly, but Valentine did not intervene because he wanted to be selfish and bathe in her words. His throat was tight and he could not understand himself why; but Keela didn’t hate him after all, and suddenly all was right with the world.

And he realised one other incredibly important fact that proceeded to hit him in a different way; like a cold splash across his face. Keela explained how she herself had suffered; had been affected; how she had felt alone and damaged by the dome. And this nearly crushed him, for he never knew. She was Keela Doyle, a veritable rock in a Gryffindor uniform. She was immovable, and the storms of life surely would flow around her. And to think of Keela in any way shaken; in any way fractured or bruised; well that stung worst of all. And for him not to have given her a helping hand, because he had been so self absorbed; so concerned with licking his own wounds and feeling pitiful for himself - that was nearly as bad as causing her the pain himself.

And yet, this was what he needed, perhaps. To see that the world was not Valentine Pym and his woes, with everyone else an actor that entered stage left, playing their part and departing swiftly afterwards. He needed to feel their pain too, because if one thing was stronger than his own self pity and sadness at how the world had given him a stacked deck last year, was the idea that he could somehow, anyhow, alleviate her pain. And that was something he had been too selfish to see.

Keela continued talking, again, her kindness to him nearly offensive. She said she was sorry, and he immediately blurted out “No, you can’t say that, you’re so wrong,” and he was smiling at her for some reason. Perhaps because suddenly he realised that she was in his boat, or he in hers, and together they would have enough ballast to keep the stupid thing upright in the waves.

And before he knew it; because it was purely an unconscious action; she was touching his hand, and, again involuntarily, he took it and he gripped it tightly in return because it was their anchor, and he had no other way to indicate how much this meant to him. And it felt real, and made everything else fall into the background, fading away like the smoke from an extinguished fire.

He laughed at her comment on the bonfire incident; he could not help himself. “No,” he answered between guffaws, “I don’t hate you for that. I didn’t mind that too much, actually,” he replied, before instantly regretting it. Directly an image of Keela in her red dress from the previous Hallowe’en popped into the head boy’s head, and he automatically returned her blush, as if his brain was trying its level best to make him as uncomfortable as possible in her presence.

Still holding her hand, he continued. “I’m just glad you’ll be there, Keela. Next year, I mean. I wouldn’t go back again otherwise.”

“No, you can’t say that, you’re so wrong.”

She stared at him for the span of a heartbeat, surprised by the outburst, but almost as quickly gave him a rueful smile.
“Oi, you had your apology… miscommunication tends to involve two people, yeah? You said you messed up because you shut me out; I messed up because I didn’t kick down the door.”

To her profound relief, he didn’t reject her touch; and when his fingers closed tightly over hers, she felt the most peculiar shockwave shoot up her arm and straight into her gut. Her pulse fluttered in her throat again, and she hoped to Merlin her palms hadn’t begun to sweat. She felt lightheaded for the instant that the shockwave traveled – and then his face before her sharpened acutely into focus, and she felt inexplicably grounded. Her heart rate slowed, but now thudded insistently against her ribcage, not quite ready to disengage from the effect of the endorphins.

He hadn’t yet let go her hand.
Which was fantastic, really, because she most certainly didn’t want him to.

And then he was laughing, and she pretended to scowl at him.
‘Merlin, be a fence.’ **
She hadn’t even specified the event in question and he had still known what she was referencing; which, if she was being honest, actually sort of pleased her. She certainly hadn’t forgotten it in a hurry: it was reassuring that he hadn’t either. And that he was not, in fact, displeased by it. His whoops of mirth sent the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding out in a rush and she couldn’t hold back a giggle, feeling almost giddy all over again with the warm sense of relief. She hadn’t heard him laugh like that in a long time, easily since the beginning of last term. Before or after the Gauntlet? She couldn’t quite remember; only that it had been far too long. It gave her goosebumps all over again to hear.
She had her friend back.

“Though, if I'm remembering correctly” – at this, she extracted her spoon from her now-cold tea with her free hand and jabbed it in his direction – “it was your fault for turning us into dominos in the first place, hmm?”

“I didn’t mind that too much, actually.”

Now it was his turn to blush, and she suddenly had the sensation that her chest was much too tight. But before she knew it, she was grinning.
“I can’t say I really minded, either. Though I would have felt pretty bad if I’d ended up breaking your nose or something.”

Before she could say much more on the subject, his fingers contracted slightly on hers and she instinctively squeezed back.
“I’m just glad you’ll be there, Keela. Next year, I mean. I wouldn’t go back again otherwise.”
The sound of her name on his lips sent another swooping sensation through her stomach, and his addendum curled itself around her heart and squeezed tightly. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, because she wasn’t entirely sure how he’d meant it. Was it coming from a pure friend perspective? Or did he mean it in that way? Did it really even make a difference in the here-and-now?! The pair of usually-guarded Gryffindors were really seeing each other, completely unshrouded.
For a girl who infinitely preferred directness, she was sure doing a lot of overanalyzing.

She wanted to comfort him. Say something to the effect of ‘I don’t think you’d give up quite so easily’ – except that was the opposite of what he’d just baldly confessed to her, which certainly didn’t feel like the right approach. Keela offered him a lopsided grin instead.

“Well, we’re that much tougher now, yeah? Besides, how are we going to win the Quidditch Cup otherwise? I need you.”

The last three words slipped out quite without her conscious notice; it was a few heartbeats before she’d processed the dual implication. She opened her mouth to clarify (‘we need you’), to ameliorate potential awkwardness – but promptly closed it again when she acknowledged that she had meant it both ways. She needed him for Quidditch, sure; but it was in his lack of presence during the better part of the spring and all of the summer that she fully appreciated how much she relied his friendship. How many times had she turned to tell him part of a bizarre dream she’d had the other night, or hear the perfect setup for one of his snide comments: only to turn and not seen him, or listened for and not heard him? She’d lost count, and wasn’t intending to keep a tally again.

She still hadn’t moved her hand.


** all credit goes to @Toya for introducing me to a variation of this expression xD

@Gavin let me know if you want me to edit this at all <33 maybe another post each and we can call it a wrap?

He didn’t reply to her comment. He could only give her the warmest smile in response. She had said it all, so much more eloquently than he could have ever put it. With a few simple words, she had defined their partnership; what it meant fundamentally to be Keela and Val.

A strange relief was coursing through him; relief that she still liked him; that she was still there and had not stormed off into the streets of London. Relief that she had also felt down, felt frightened, felt tortured. Relief that he wasn’t alone through all of this. His own stupidity and autarchic self-reliance was also, perhaps now more than ever, displayed clearly in all it’s ridiculousness to him. Valentine who would never share a problem, who wanted to be permanently in control and permanently reliable to every human being on the face of the Earth, had more than anything been planning a route to his own premature destruction - no man could be an island, after all. His own dark emotions during this summer had frightened him enough to see that clearly. And it took Keela; of course it took Keela, who else; to pull the curtains back and guide him towards the truth.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Good, sorted,” he said with a huge smile. He didn’t want to wallow on. There was a directness to being around Keela; she wasn’t one for moping or for over-the-top post-game analysis. Her practicality was bracing, and resonated with his own. They had, he thought, cleared the air, perhaps more so than he could have ever predicted, and it had emboldened him. Hogwarts could be a slog at times, and the previous year had been more of a horror show than anything else, but with Keela by his side, together they could tackle anything that would come their way. Apart from Ancient Runes homework - that would destroy even the hardest of men.

“You’re right,” he replied, his voice calmer now, and with more life in his eyes than he had the past few months. “We’re better, now. I wish we hadn’t have had to go through it, but we did, and we’re better for it.” He paused, as if deep in serious thought. “And naturally we’re going to win the Quidditch Cup; the alternative is unthinkable,” and unable to keep up the sombre visage, he burst out laughing.

He eventually managed to gather himself enough to take a large sip of his cooling coffee, before nearly choking himself when he suddenly realised he actually had something to tell her. “Oh God Keela, something terrible happened actually. Seriously. Last Tuesday - I got an owl from the school - they want to make me Head Boy . . .”

He looked at her, his face a picture of abject confusion. “I mean,” he continued, slowly shaking his head, “why would they do something like that? Someone’s seriously taking the piss up there . . .”

“Sorted,” she agreed, a wide grin of her own crinkling her freckled complexion.

“Of course I'm right,” she teased, giving him a jaunty wink. Keela could have sworn she watched the flame re-kindle in his gray-green eyes, bringing back their familiar warmth and light, banishing the glassy dullness that had been his barrier to the world. She’d done that. She’d helped bring him back. She hadn’t failed him – not completely.
She wouldn’t let it get this far out of control again.

“Mmm, you bet your Sheffield arse we’re gonna.”
He burst out laughing, then, splintering his serious façade. Keela hid her own smile behind her teacup and waggled her eyebrows – her absolute favorite mode of expression – at him instead. She found herself watching his expression, greedily taking in the rush of vivacity that restored his features from the lined and tired expressions she had become accustomed to over the past few months. Her gaze lingered on his lips, usually always quirked with their latest sarcastic comment, now stretched in a genuine laugh.
It was bloody good to have him back.
Acutely, and as abruptly as though she’d touched a hot stove, she had the overpoweringly impulsive desire to feel his lips on hers. In the middle of Serenata. With other patrons in the immediate vicinity.
Her heart rate quickened. She could totally do it. It wasn’t like she hadn’t considered it before… she certainly hadn’t planned anything, but it had crossed her mind once or twice. Their table was narrow. She hadn’t seen anyone they knew in the shop. All she’d need to do was just lean across the table and—

But then his tone changed abruptly, and it was though a weight had dropped in her stomach – until he dramatically reached the end of his sentence.

Her eyes went round.

“WHAT?!” she yelped, eliciting a startled look from the gentleman adjacent to them. She couldn’t care less, however.
“Seriously? Val, that’s bloody brilliant. Well done!” she glowed, winking again. “McGonagall must really like you. Or it’s forgery…”
The blonde didn’t often behave outwardly excited, and she certainly wasn’t the squealing time normally; but today hadn’t exactly been a normal day. She was also relieved that Val had brought it up, since she had similar news of her own.

“Y’know, I wasn’t joking when I said I needed you. As it so happens, you have the privileged honor of taking tea” – pale blue eyes slid over to his mug – “or coffee, whatever, with your Quidditch Captain.” She raised her eyebrows dramatically. “Clem and I’ll hold a fair tryout, of course, but…” Keela paused, a crooked smile curling her lip. “I could really use a Keeper. The ‘Head Boy’ qualifier is certainly a nice touch.”