viva forever [barbara]

saturday 15th february, 2003

A large pink box sat on the table across from Mary, ribbons spilling over the sides and a big bow on top. Babs was turning fifteen, which absolutely boggled Mary’s mind. It felt like yesterday she’d first laid eyes on her best friend’s baby sister -- who had been quite literally a baby -- in Hogsmeade over the summer holidays. Now they were back in Hogsmeade, a lot closer than Mary could ever have anticipated them being.

Barbara’s birthday was usually bittersweet for Mary -- for Barbara too, probably. Mary had always tried to be careful not to step beyond the role of ‘big sister’s best friend’, but it was harder as the years passed to get a firm grasp on where that began and ended. Mary knew that if Florence was still with them Mary wouldn’t be quite so invested in Barbara’s life, quite so determined to get the day off work to make sure she could spend the day with a fifteen-year-old -- but she would take Florence being here for both of them over having a sort-of adopted sister in a heartbeat.

Merlin, she was going to have to reapply her makeup if she kept thinking about Florence. Barbara entered at this point, and Mary felt another wave of tears threaten to creep out from the corners of her smiling eyes. She looked like Florence. Smaller than she’d been at the same age, but the same hair and features -- or at least, Mary thought so. It had been long enough that it was getting hard to remember how Florence had looked in school, or how she’d looked after it. Was it possible Mary was forcing Florence’s memory to fit Barbara as she grew?

As the blonde schoolgirl approached Mary stood, grinning widely. “Happy Birthday!” She opened her arms out to pull the petite witch into a tight hug. It was a few days too early, officially, but she’d had to work with what Hogwarts gave her, and it had given her the weekend that closest lined up with Valentine’s Day, so Mary was happy to have had an excuse not to drink herself into a terrible hangover last night. Well, mostly.

Mary sat down, gesturing for Barbara to do the same. She wasted no time before prodding the box in Barbara’s direction. “Go on,” she grinned. “No idea what teenage girls are into these days--” she lied, as though she herself was not an overgrown teenage girl, "-- so no pressure if you don't like them." Inside the box were a pair of Ugg boots, like all the muggles were wearing now. Or, the famous and fashion-conscious ones anyway. She hadn't seen Madge in a pair at least.


@Barbara Gibson

The first thing she spotted as she stepped into the restaurant was the box— pink and big and keenly noticeable, all frills and ribbons. And, just past it, Mary— Barbie broke into a sheepish, wide grin and hurried across, accepted the warm hug, sat with just a tiny flounce across from her— “Sorry,” she said automatically. “Am I late?” She didn’t own a watch— she wasn’t yet seventeen and anyway, she had yet to see a watch she could stand to own. Perhaps Barbara was doomed to be the sort of witch who never knew the time.

As she was smoothing her skirt over her knees, her companion pushed the box closer; Barbara half-stood to pull it tentatively closer, to tug at the ribbons until she could make sense of the knots. “You shouldn’t have!” she insisted, because that was the polite thing to insist, but she couldn’t help her pleased grin, which dropped slightly as she realised that the present was brown. Once they’d been extricated from the tissue she was consoled— they may have been brown but they were soft and charming; they looked much more comfortable than any of the shoes she owned already. “They’re so quaint,” she said excitedly— “Is this what Muggles are wearing now?” There weren’t any zippers; she’d have to figure it out on her own. No way was she going to ask Mary how to put them on and look like an idiot.

In her head Barbara ran through a list of the Muggle clothes she owned— she didn’t imagine that these boots would look too good without tights or trousers, and she didn’t think she owned any trousers, so tights would have to do. (Drearily she mused that there was so little time left in the year for tights, before she remembered she wore tights to dance every weekend.)

“Thank you, thank you,” she remembered to say, a little belatedly; she fought back the urge to try them on immediately, and contented herself with sticking one hand into it, to feel the white fluff. There was not much she could do to fight back the silly smile it gave her; she withdrew her hand hastily and straightened her skirt again.

Barbara wasn’t totally stupid; she knew that the reason Mary still tried so hard to be a part of her life was Florence, Florence, Florence. If Florence had been alive Mary would hang around with her, and Barbie would tag along after, like she’d used to. (Sometimes she felt like her very existence made it impossible for Mary to cope with their loss and move on— but Barbie would never have the strength to end whatever this weird, weird friendship had become. Selfishly, she couldn’t help clinging to who she still had.)

She pushed it out of her mind. “So….” she said, drawing the word out as she weighed her options. The fact that Mary was visiting her on Valentine’s Day suggested that there was not a man in the picture, but she asked anyway— “What’s new with you?” with a pointed quirk of her eyebrows. Then, just in case she was correct and there was not a man, she added, “Catching any bad guys?”

“Not at all,” Mary smiled widely, not willing to inform Barbie that she was in fact at least ten minutes late – the Auror would love to live in a world as yet unaffected by routine and schedules, beyond that of a school timetable, and wasn't in a hurry to encourage her young friend to grow up too quickly, if she hadn't already.

Mary waved her off. “Oh, I absolutely did – not every day someone turns fifteen!” She grinned, excited because Babs was excited. Her face fell slightly as Barbie’s did, but recovered expertly before the girl met her eyes. “Oh, yeah, all the rage with the Muggles at the moment,” she reassured her. “Very comfortable, so I’m told. Thought they might be good for popping on after dancing,” she ventured. “Or, whenever you want. Thinking of getting myself a pair, actually.” They did look very comfortable, but Mary didn’t know if it was worth investing in her own pair for the express purpose of wearing them around her flat. She didn't think Dominic – much less Eris Rosier – would much appreciate her wearing them in the office.

“You’re very welcome.” Mary sipped at her tea, then smiled again as she watched Barbara; she was such a gorgeous little girl– young woman, now, almost. It crossed Mary's mind that their 'friendship' might alter somewhat in the coming years, as Barbie grew up and became more independent and didn't need someone like Mary dragging up the past over and over with her presence. It was nearing the point where this relationship would be a selfish exercise on Mary's part, rather than a generous one, but she was reluctant to admit to it.

A quizzical eyebrow rose – she knew what Barbie was asking even if she wasn’t asking it directly. Mary supposed she was a Ravenclaw, after all. She cleared her throat softly, wishing she did indeed have someone new to talk about. “Nothing really,” she said breezily, “same old, same old. Working late, takeaways – all very glamorous.” Wasn’t it just – but it was worth it, always.

The tall witch laughed softly; bad guys. “Oh, daily,” she joked with a small eye roll. Then, “A few,” she added more seriously. “You know I’d love to tell you all about it,” she said, resting her chin on her fist, elbow on the table. "I'll just have to wait until you join the team," she teased; she didn't honestly know what Barbie wanted to do post-Hogwarts, but she hoped she wouldn't feel like she had to do anything – she didn't need to fill any shoes, other than her own.

Mary sat up straighter. “What about you? No bad boys I hope,” she smirked, waving absently at the waitress to grab her attention so that Barbie could order a drink. “Might have to get you to give me some tips, hm?”

As Barbie saw it, there wasn’t much glamour at all in working late and takeaways; she resisted the urge to ask if Mary could cook and said, instead, gravely serious, “Ah, yes.” She grinned as soon as she’d said it, and added despite herself, “Aren’t your twenties the best time of your life! My parents used to say so.” Her parents said little of the sort, lately -- Florence hadn’t made it to twenty. Barbara cleared her throat sheepishly.

“Oh, is it always classified!” she said, grateful that Mary had moved on. “If I read the papers, would I know?” She raised her eyebrows; she wouldn’t read the papers either way, they were really terribly dull -- but surely Mary would know if her exploits were famous at all.

She faltered a bit -- surely nothing about her could possibly have led Mary to think that she was suitable for a career as an Auror, right? -- and just laughed instead of responding, covering her mouth with both hands. She gathered herself quickly -- “There is a boy,” she said, pleased at having an excuse to bring him up, “And he’s not bad at all, actually.”

Of course Barbara was glad for an excuse to elaborate, so she added, “His name is Owain and he’s one of the ones from the ballet, I don’t reckon I’ve got any good tips. Be friends for ten years, maybe.”

The waitress turned up; Mary was going to pay, so Barbie forewent her usual order of water and got a butterbeer. Foam on her upper lip, she said happily, “We’re going on a date, after this. For Valentine’s Day.” It was unfortunately smug -- she dialed her glee back and added, more seriously, “You’ve just got to hang in there and wait, I reckon. It’ll all work out.” This was roughly what she’d done, and it’d worked for her -- and, of course, Mary was an Auror and tall, grown-up, smart, beautiful. Surely she needed even less luck than Barbara had.

“Are they?” Mary grinned. “Poor me,” she added, thinking if this was the best she was going to get that her later years were going to be truly abysmal. “I’ll have to spice things up a bit then,” she smirked.

“Well, not all of it,” she admitted, wary of letting Barbara know too much – she could know that Mary was an Auror, that she spent her days hunting down dangerous witches and wizards, but she couldn’t know that sometimes those witches and wizards were within the Ministry itself. “Possibly,” she said slowly, stretching the word out with a grin on her lips. “I’ll let you know if I’m ever quoted for a comment or something,” she offered, her grin widening. She couldn’t imagine Rosier – or Dominic for that matter – ever trusting her to speak on behalf of the Department.

Mary watched the girl across from her, searching her face; Babs didn’t make her feelings difficult to unearth. Mary pushed her lips together in a low pout, eyebrows raised – go on. “A boy,” she repeated, trying exceedingly hard not to grin too soon.

“Owain.” From the ballet. She didn’t know whether to smile or be concerned – but Babs looked happy, didn’t she?

Mary laughed, not unkindly. “Be friends for ten years?” She propped her jaw on her fist, elbow on the table as she looked wistfully into the distance – dramatic as always – sighing. “I don’t think I’ve known any boys for ten years, let alone been friends with them.” She faltered briefly, thought of @Harlan Bellamy – but that was a very different kind of friendship, the kind best not mentioned in present company. She cleared her throat to clear her own mind, sitting back up and reaching for her tea. She set the cup back on its saucer and pointed at her teapot to the waitress, ordering a refill.

She turned back to Barbara. “A date?!” she beamed, “Oh, now I’m very jealous,” she grinned mischievously. Mary didn’t miss the way her younger friend attempted to soften the blow, offer some sage advice. “Hang in there, you say?” She smiled softly. “I will,” she replied, topping up her cup with fresh tea, steam wisping up from the surface. “So where is Owain taking you?” she asked politely, slipping into the realm of teenage gossip far too easily.

“You do!” said Barbara -- she had to live vicariously through somebody’s twenties, and Eileen from ballet was not especially forthcoming about any of the misadventures she had, if indeed she was having any. Mary was as good as it got, she imagined, the exact kind of twenty-something who had misadventures. She didn’t have a steady boyfriend and didn’t seem to have many hobbies and lived with her best friend -- what else could she be doing?

Other than her job, which Barbara remembered a moment later was certainly busy and prestigious enough to eat up time. Mary was always a little coy about her exploits at work, newspaper quote worthy or not -- Barbie suspected it was because she liked the drama.

“If you did,” said Barbie earnestly, “I’d cut it out for my wall.” She didn’t think Mary’d been inside her house since the funeral, much less her bedroom -- she hastened to elaborate. “I’ve got clippings, dried flowers, photographs, programmes, just taped up, it’s not a thing. But it’s, you know, you’d be on my wall.”

“You must have known boys in school,” she admonished Mary, chin crinkled to keep from smiling. (Ten years ago Mary had been her age, since Mary was Florence’s age -- and she thought she remembered Florence knowing boys at the time. Of course, Barbie herself had been four, and didn’t remember much.) She sipped her butterbeer and followed Mary’s gaze to the waitress, glanced back up and smiled. “Oh stop,” she said, pleased. “Well, we’re going to the Unicorn and Thistle and then we’re going to Honeydukes to get chocolate. For Valentine’s day.”

This felt like too much about herself but she couldn’t shut herself up; she added, “He’s very funny. But he doesn’t take his classes very seriously.” This was said as though it were a grave misstep, which she didn’t mean, so she lightened her tone a little and said, “I think that’s a boy thing -- it’s kind of sweet.”

Mary felt a gush of adoration well up through her core at the prospect of being put on the wall. “Well, then I’ll have to try and do something newsworthy, won’t I?” she grinned.

“Oh, I did,” she admitted with a few quick, fervent nods, “but they were like, gross boys.” She pulled a rather over the top ‘yuck’ face. Most of them had been, anyway, and it wasn’t like she had kept in touch with any of them. The boys she hadn’t thought were gross, well, they hadn’t been interested in Mary.

Oh, stop. Mary drew back and picked up her tea, smirking before taking a sip. “Not Madam Puddifoots?” she asked curiously (that was the usual go-to for romantic rendezvous wasn’t it? Or it had been in her day). “Good choice, sensible,” she nodded again, approvingly.

‘Well I had assumed it was all for Valentine’s Day, yes,“ she rolled her eyes teasingly. It was what her flatmate and best friend -- the third member of their original trio, back when they had been at Hogwarts -- was doing later today too. Mary wondered if perhaps she should have tried a little bit harder to get her own date so that she wasn’t the only person she knew without one.

Her smile widened as she leant forward again, head propped up on her fist once more. Mary nodded along. “Definitely a boy thing,” the older witch agreed. “But if he’s funny and he looks after you, that’s what matters,” she offered sagely. “Is he cute?” Mary asked, then; “Does he have an older brother?” she grinned.

“I’m sure you will,” Barbara assured Mary. She was thrilling a bit inside at being able to point it out in the paper and tell Owain and Soléy, that witch knew my sister. At any rate she imagined that anything Mary did would seem newsworthy to her. There was little Barbie did of any note when compared to Auror cases and criminals.

Not for the first time she was overcome with the desire to grow up already -- two years seemed awfully long to wait for adulthood and she couldn’t wait to be doing, you know, whatever it was that Mary was already bored with. It would all get dull eventually but when she was seventeen she was excited to drink it in for the first time: cheap alcohol and the Knight Bus at midnight and faulty romance and taxes and everything else she was too young for and still daunted by.

Glamorous it wouldn’t be -- but, oh, so exciting.

“Most boys are gross,” she agreed. “Even Owain is, a little.” A little more than a little, truthfully, but Barbara was anxious for Mary to think of her boyfriend as a good and worthy match. Someone had to pass judgment on him and she’d rather it was Mary with a high opinion than, say, her mother with a poor one.

She admitted, though, “I think he wouldn’t like Madam Puddifoot’s once he’d been inside. He’s very polite, so he wouldn’t say so -- but, you know.” Barbara was not going to destroy her budding relationship because she wanted to have heart graffiti to tape to her wall; if that meant she was to go to the Unicorn and Thistle instead, well, needs must.

Mary leaned in eagerly; Barbie felt the familiar twinge of insubordinate glee, that they were being so frank with each other. “The very cutest,” she said. “No brothers, though. He has got a sister, and a pile of cousins beside.” She tried to think of any of the cousins Owain had ever mentioned, but drew a blank -- she shrugged and took a sip of butterbeer, smudged her mouth carefully with her napkin.

“You’re right, they are.” Mary grinned. Oh, what a world Barbie had ahead of her. Mary could only hope that she wouldn’t have to kiss quite so many frogs as she was before finding her prince -- but one had to live a little before settling down forever, didn’t they? “Is he?” she laughed. “Well, good, they’ve got to be at least a little bit gross or they wouldn’t be boys.”

The Auror smiled and leaned in as if divulging a great secret. “To be honest, it’s a bit overdone. I like pink, but, taking you somewhere a bit different, maybe he’s trying to be a bit different, you know?” She winked and sat back in her seat, drinking from her teacup with a smirk on her lips. “Wonderful that he’s polite though, you can’t overrate good manners.”

Mary grinned when Babs said Owain from the ballet was very cute. “Adorable,” she said quietly, more to herself than to her young friend. Barbie was a pretty girl, and looks weren’t everything but it was hard to focus on someone’s personality when their tongue was down your throat. Mary was all about balance. “Oh, that is a pity.” She turned the corners of her mouth down to express her disappointment. “Maybe you can ask him if any of his cousins are good looking and single?” she joked. “Maybe we can be distantly related one day.”

“I guess,” said Barbara, almost begrudgingly. Charming though it was, that boys were so universally boyish, it still wasn’t entirely endearing.

Mary thought Madam Puddifoot’s was a little overdone -- Barbara grinned sheepishly. “It seems most girls think that, these days,” she pouted, “I’m just old-fashioned, I reckon.” This was said with great mourning -- there was nothing Barbie hated more than feeling prissy and frivolous, but she’d have to be pretty stupid not to recognise how often she fell into it by default.

She certainly had no intention of actually asking Owain about any of his cute, older cousins -- not in the least because she’d have to explain why, and my dead sister’s former best friend is single at twenty-four would be a difficult sell, but she nodded earnestly anyway: “Of course!”

So Mary wouldn’t get her hopes too high, though, she tilted her head to one side: “You must have better people to ask than me. What about Caitlin?” Caitlin Lynch, as Barbara remembered her, also had plenty of cousins, and was more age-appropriate -- but of course, she hadn’t seen Caitlin in years.

Everybody moved from their grief differently, obviously. Barbara had grown up around grieving people, in one way or another, and knew it truly enough. She and Mary had grown closer; Caitlin must have gone the other way, must have found a different source of comfort. “How is Caitlin?” she asked, a little more timidly. “You still live together, right?”

Babs looked rather forlorn. “Nothing wrong with old-fashioned, darling,” Mary smiled reassuringly. “You wouldn’t want to be one of those girls who might as well be a boy? Drinking beer and being vulgar at Quidditch matches.” She wrinkled her nose. “Boys don’t want girls who act like boys, well, not proper grown up boys anyway. Men. They want a lady.” Seemed the more immature men did, sometimes, want the cool girl but that that was often because it meant she wouldn’t call them out on their bullshit.

“Good, owl me immediately if there’s anyone that sounds promising,” Mary smirked jovially, obviously not expecting nor anticipating her fifteen year old friend set her up on a date.

“Oh,” she sighed dramatically, “Caitlin is far more successful at getting dates for herself.” Mary sipped at her drink, grinning cheekily. “But no, you’re right, she has been trying -- I just work very odd hours so really, it’s hard to meet anyone.” The Auror had wondered -- very briefly -- whether she ought to reconsider her career, but she loved what she did too much to want to stop, and surely the right man wouldn’t want her to stop doing something she loved. And she was only twenty-four, she still had six years (give or take) before she had to worry.

Mary drank again before replying, understanding that Caitlin had not kept in touch with their dead friend’s little sister to quite the same level Mary had -- if at all. “She’s good,” the Arabian witch smiled. “Yeah, still in the same flat. You’ll have to come visit some time,” Mary grinned over the lip of her teacup. “Maybe in the summer, we can go shopping or something for the day? If you think your parents will be okay with it.”

Barbie had always been a little enamoured by the girls who might as well be a boy -- her sister, for all her balletic grace and well-bred etiquette, had been something of a vulgar beer-drinker. It wasn’t appealing enough that she wanted to be one, of course, but Merlin, her childhood, ladylike and old-fashioned, had been rather drab. She twisted her mouth dourly, reached for her butterbeer with both hands and pulled it closer to her, tilting her head to regard it.

On second thought, she couldn’t tell if Mary was including herself in that definition of what good men wanted, but (she scrunched her nose with amusement) it clearly didn’t matter what men were attracted to Mary, considering none of them were here today.

“Immediately,” she promised, her lips barely quirked in a smile. She would go forth and do absolutely nothing, she knew -- the one twenty-something man she knew well would be of no help to Mary, or any other witch.

There wasn’t a lot to say on the subject of Caitlin Lynch -- Barbara didn’t know much about her, except what their mothers shared in the occasional letter, or what Mary said every now and then -- so she sat mutely; then she was so thrilled by the invitation to visit Mary that she forgot for a moment that she was meant to reply, sitting openmouthed.

“Oh, please,” she said, “I’d love that! And my mum likes you -- there shouldn’t be any problem. Il’ll write her as soon as I get back to the castle.” She brushed her hands businesslike over her skirt; they would have to go to a Muggle shop, of course -- Barbara, though woefully not five feet yet, had gotten too big for anything her sister had bought her five years ago, even the massive engulfing jackets, and was not even nearly tall enough to fit into her sister’s things. (She’d experimented with a suede jacket a few months ago; it had been so ill-fitted that she’d cried and sworn off suede.)

The bell over the restaurant door jingled and Barbara cast a cursory glance over; she looked apologetically back at Mary, unable to hide her glee. Owain had dressed himself up a little -- at once she felt less ridiculous for her dress and her hair ribbon. “That’s him,” she said in a stage whisper; she raised her eyebrows, inviting Mary to pass judgment in the few moments before Owain made his way over.

She got up and brushed her skirt down, hastily shoveled ribbons and tissue paper and soft brown boots into the box Mary had given her -- “Thank you so much,” she said, and gave her friend a quick, awkward, one-armed hug good-bye. On her way out she swung her hips a little to watch her skirt swish around her legs; though she managed only a cursory glance over her shoulder, she thought she saw Mary smile.

[out]

Mary grinned into her tea, pleased that Barbie was interested. Again, the fact she was fostering a friendship with someone almost ten years her junior was a little concerning to an outsider looking in, but it wasn’t something she wanted to give up any time soon. In fact, the older Barbie got, the easier it was to relate to her. In the year following Florence’s death, it had been difficult. Many a stunted silence and awkward going-through-the-motions, but if anything Flo’s baby sister had given Mary something positive to look forward to in between her serious day job and her dire relationship status.

Their catchups now were a lot less forced, at any rate.

“Of course, you just work out when suits you and your parents. I’ve got a lot of annual leave, apparently, so I can use some of that if it’s not already my rostered day off.” She smiled, setting her cup down. The over-door bell tingled and Barbie’s attention was drawn to it -- or rather, whomever must have entered. Mary grinned at Babs’ reaction before subtly turning to have a look.

Well, he had time to grow into those ears.

Mary turned back to her young friend. “Very cute,” she said in an approving tone. “You better go then.” Barbie had already gotten to her feet and made her way around the table for a goodbye hug. “You’re welcome. Don’t forget to ask your parents,” Mary reminded her, “about the sleepover.” But she was already halfway to her beau. The Auror gazed after her, propping her chin on her fist and smiling fondly.


END