Who: Ernie Macmillan and Ainsley Galbraith What: Post-Celtic Match, Ernie and Ainsley get drunk and tell secrets When: Thursday 15 March, late evening Where: Arthur Seat, Edinburgh Warnings: None really
Ernie could still vaguely remember the match, but since there had been a pub - the only Muggle pub he knew in Glasgow - followed by dinner in Edinburgh, another Muggle pub, and now they were sitting at the top of Arthur’s Seat, something purchased wrapped in paper, looking out over Edinburgh.
“You know,” Ernie said as he gazed onto the twinkling lights visible just under the cloud cover, “I got to go up in the Millenium Eye in London - do you know of that? I wish I would have gone up at night. Muggle things are always more beautiful at night. Maybe everything is.”
A slightly rueful smile tugged at her mouth, and she glanced over at Ernie before looking back again. “Aye, ‘tis. But to your question, no, I’ve not been, but I heard it mentioned around Christmas, and my mum took a lunch break to go look at it a couple of weeks back.” Ainsley leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her legs, knees pulled practically to her chest. “Did you go with your mate Justin?”
Ernie shook his head as he swallowed his latest sip and then handed it over to Ainsley for a sip. “No, I went with Georgi Draganov and his brother Miro. He came to visit from Sofia, Bulgaria. Do you know Georgi? He plays for Montrose. I guess he’s famous now with that whole Seeker bit, but if you know Georgi, just think of the opposite of Georgi and that’s his brother Miro. Slav. Miroslav,” Ernie gave more than was asked. “Justin went with Monte Cameron because it was romantic. I think it was their first date. Second. Something.”
She gave him a delighted grin. “I’ve met Georgi! It was around Christmas! We both had wandered into a lingerie shop in Montrose by mistake. Poor lamb, I thought he was going to combust. He helped me do some shopping after I saved him from a particularly militant shop lady. Granted, I had to pretend to be his girlfriend… or was it fiance? Whichever way. It was a good laugh.”
Ainsley mused a little on the latter bit as she took a pull on the offered bottle; that would explain the closeness she’d seen the two lads display. “Imagine it’s well romantic, yeah? Though not, I suppose, in the company of two brothers. Still a sight during the day, though, yeah?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that imagery - the thought of Georgi in a lingerie shop, looking at the underthings like they were snakes made him hold his stomach to keep upright. Eventually it died down
“Mm. You should take Fraser up there. He’ll appreciate the view and the structural engineering. And it would be romantic.” He smiled at Ainsley. “I like you. You and him. You’re fun without being only fun, you know?”
Glancing down at the bottle, she felt her brows knit in thought. “Trying to work out how I’m not not only fun. Unless it’s down to this sodding curse business.” And then suddenly she was shouting out into the night. “Which we will not talk about anymore, because I don’t want to cock up this night like I’ve almost cocked up my life!”
Ainsley took another rather aggressive pull of the bottle, and then handed it back. “But, yes, I like me and him too. And you. How’re you getting on with your TV magic, then?”
Ernie made a dramatic sound as he leaned back against the dirt and looked up at the sky.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. You have layers. Adventurous. Brave. Fit. Fun. Layers. That’s what I mean. Fun but not only fun.” He took the bottle back and then looked at the lip. “What did you ask?” He took a deep sip of the bottle.
“You,” she unfolded herself to look back at him, and stabbed an unsteady finger in his direction, “forgot ridiculously melodramatic. But I'll forgive you this time. This time.”
She had almost derailed herself from her original question, and it took laying back on the cool grass to gaze up at the sky to recall it. “Your telly experiment thing. What's going on with it? You the new, whatsit, Edison or whatever?”
“I’m doing it tomorrow. Turning in the bloody patents to the patents. Ludicrous.” He took another drink because he felt the butterflies attempt to stir and he didn’t want to feel that way right now. “I don’t know… I just wanted something that didn’t exist. And I made it exist and now it exists and I feel like… I dunno. I’m not cut out for the press. Or television.”
“‘s not ludicrous! ‘s brilliant is what it is.” Ainsley looked over at him, fixing him with a sympathetic look. “Could always do it anonymously"- she was pretty sure that came out as an intelligible word- “or work out how t’make yourself Unplottable. Could be your next next big thing.”
Ernie laughed and found that he continued to laugh, that it was spilling out of him instead of the butterflies, that it made his stomach hurt how much he was laughing at the prospect of hiding this invention when he had already told a bunch of people, that his family knew and that it was going to be the thing, he thought, that protected him from complete disownment.
The cool grass on his cheek felt nice as the giggles finally drained out of him, his glasses askew.
“I already know what my next big big thing is. But thanks for that. Unplottable.” He giggled a little more.
Ainsley grinned up at the heavens, pleased to have been able to make him laugh; she accepted full credit for it, and ignored the alcohol bit out of spite. Except maybe not the actual alcohol bit, which she stole from him while he was prone with giggles and took a self-congratulatory swig. “Next big thing, Ernie. Just remember who your muse was, when you're enjoying the spoils of your fame an’ fortune. Unplottably, of course.”
His brows furrowed slightly at the muse comment and he imagined, for a few moments, that it wasn’t Ainsley lying on the grass alongside him but Georgi, smiling his lopsided smile, his ear sticking out like a daisy. Georgi would reach across and put his hand on his cheek and tell him that he could do anything he put his mind to, that he was the smartest man he ever met and he would figure this out. He would help him anyway he could and Ernie would say that the best way he could do that, the best way, was to let him curl into his arms and breathe him in.
Ernie tried to wipe away the dreamy look from his face that had just fallen over him at the musing and sighed deeply. “Imma test it. At Montrose. During a practice. Put the whole shebang together.”
For a second, Ainsley caught this certain look on Ernie's face, and it seemed familiar. However, she had other matters to comment on first. “I'd say you should test it at Portree, but we'd find a way to break it. ‘s what we do best, yeah? Lions, dragons, ‘s all the same. We'll rip you apart in the end.”
She paused, and then made a face, because that had gotten much darker than she'd intended. Time for an ill-advised, but well meaning subject change! “So, does that look have a name?”
“Were you in Gryffindor when you were in school?” he asked, eyes downcast, patently not answering her second question.
“Ravenclaw,” she replied on the back of a flat look, “so that's not gonna work on me.”
“Then why’d you say--” Ernie frowned and then righted his glasses - maybe he’d read wrong. He was quiet for awhile, reaching out to tear a bit of paper at the bottle. “Mm. Yes. The look has a name. Unspeakable. Ha, unspeakable. Almost had a job there,” Ernie chuckled, then hiccuped.
“Pride of Portree, tied up with the whole MacFusty-ness of it all. Lions and dragons,” Ainsley clarified. She stretched her arms back, and then hooked her hands behind her head, quiet for a moment as she considered what he'd said. “Won't unspeakable, or can't unspeakable? Seems a world of difference between the two.”
“Is there?” he asked, tearing another strip of the bag away from the bottle. “Mm. It’s not an Unbreakable Vow. But it is someone… someone who is very taken. Very taken. And I am very taken with them. And…”
Ernie’s eyes closed slightly as he let the sentiment linger until the next words were gone from his mind. “It’s nice to see Fraser happy. Fraser is perfect. He deserves to be happy.”
A frown passed over Ainsley's face as she looked at his profile. An ache settled in her chest, especially when he brought up Fraser again. “You're deflecting, but it's okay. It's not like I'm not a master of it or anything.”
She freed a hand to pluck at the grass at her side, looking back into the clouds passing overhead. “He does. Deserve that.” Sitting up slightly, she reached over and stole the bottle from him. The drink that she took next was not a sip. Liquid Gryffindor; she could borrow some courage for a time. “I don't know if he can get that from me.”
A beat. “I tried to kiss Mel at Sunday's game.” Another beat. “I'm still cursed. Fraser knows. He…” Shuddered breath. “He's perfect. He deserves to be happy.”
Ernie’s eyes opened when she took the bottle back and when she replied, he rose up, eyes wide.
“You did what?” he asked, gawking openly at her.
“Tried to kiss Mel,” she repeated with a pained expression, and absolutely not looking at Ernie. She hadn’t known any of these lads before three months ago, and now she seemed to be inextricably entangled. Hard to say which way this could go. Maybe impossible. Ainsley took another long drink. “Touched his hand, felt a connection. Tried to kiss him. Literally the worst.”
Ernie looked at the pain expression, the words feeding across his vision and were almost meaningless compared to her disappointment.
“Was it really the curse?” he asked gently, eyebrows still dipped in curiosity.
Yes should have been her immediate response. Ainsley knew this. The word was in her mouth, but couldn’t make it past her teeth. Her thoughts strayed- traitorous things- went to things she’d been trying to ignore. She wanted to say ‘yes’, but what came out was, “It should be. It is. It needs to be. He deserves to be happy. Both he. You he, too.”
“Did he… put you off? You said tried… did you miss?” Ernie asked, scooting his butt closer and taking the bottle from her temporarily to set it aside.
She huffed a laugh, but there was only a minimal amount of real humour in it. “He pulled away. Said he’d been affected too. So it doesn’t matter either way. It’s down to the fucking curse, innit.”
Ernie raised an eyebrow. “Is it? Do you want it to be?” he asked as he reached over and picked up the bottle to take a sip. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation, but now that it was started, he felt obligated to explore it. Not just on behalf of his cousins, but because Ainsley had made a concerted effort to get to know him and he really did like her.
A groan that started somewhere in the region of her toenails built slowly as Ainsley pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, until it left her in a frustrated (if strangled) shout. Once she’d gotten that out of her system, she sat up, took the bottle back, and drank some more. Maybe if she did that enough, she could scatter her thoughts so that they wouldn’t come bubbling out of her to someone who was fucking related to the issue. “I shouldn’t. I want Fraser. I choose Fraser. And yet…
“Can you invent something to make all of this go away? ‘Cause that would be really helpful now.”
“Mmmm, someone already has,” he said, and he wiggled the bottle of alcohol in front of her before offering it. “Spell damage is spell damage. There is only learning to live with it. Anything else only hurts you more.”
Examining the bottle, Ainsley went thoughtful for a few seconds. The moment passed, and she drank again. She passed it back. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
“Yeah, you can ask Fraser and Mel about that some time. Behind the floppy hair and eccentric inventor charm, I am a problem and a half,” Ernie chuckled darkly as he took a sip. “But… you know… wishing for things to be different doesn’t make them so. Not in this case. Can… can I ask what the lingering symptoms are?”
“Deflection,” she sing-songed. “Though I’ll allow it for now, given that I’m pissed and not up to my normal level of nosiness when it comes to my friends. And you are, you know, my friend. And you are also assuming, optimistically, that both lads won’t be well shot of me by the time all of this blows over. If it ever does. Merlin, they’ll probably be shot of me anyway. Be drummed out of BIQL. Have to lick my wounds in Brazil.”
Well, now that had been said aloud.
“But to your question: you can ask, but the effects aren’t nearly as interesting as the resulting consequences: insomnia, recurring dreams, repetitive thoughts- one might call them obsessive, if one were being at all self-reflective- half-recalled foreign memories. I’ve got the first one taken care of, finally, but I nearly lost the chance to play this past game because Mel decided to run his mouth about it to Meaghan-bloody-McCormack, and then she turned around and told the whole bloody team. Witch got herself benched for a second game ‘cause of that.” Ainsley stopped, because there was a part of that she felt certain that she shouldn’t have said aloud. “Quid talk stays between us, yeah? Please. It gets out that I said any of that, I’ll likely get worse than a benching.”
“Literally the only thing anyone expects me to do for Montrose is occasionally show up to things dressed in black and white. I won’t… of course I won’t. I think… I think you should give them some optimism. I think… I know that it’s not all as lost as you think. And if Fraser won’t stay with you through your troubles, he’s not worth your time. As much as it pains me to say.” He paused a moment, bringing his knees to his chest and leaning over them to look down on her. “You asked me once why I was doing all of this, inventing a television broadcast system. Before you got eaten by a book. It’s because… I got hexed by a couple of things during the war that interacted badly. And while I cannot complain because I am alive and cognisant and all of my faculties intact and that is more than I can say about some of my friends… if not for a few very expensive devices I would have zero participation in wizarding society. Nobody knows British Sign Language, the wireless system cannot produce a signal clear enough for text conversion, I have boatloads of money so that I can get an item available designed by the Japanese that’ll recognize when someone is calling my name at least in a raucous crowd which, thank Merlin for that,” Ernie rolled his eyes, “and it’s not remotely enough. And it sucks. I hate it. I hate talking about it, I hate that it’s true, I hate… but.”
He paused, sucking on the inside of his lip.
“I forgot what I was going to say,” he admitted, tapping his fingers on his knee. “Something. I don’t know.”
Oh.
Realising she’d been staring at him during the start of his explanation, Ainsley had quickly shifted her gaze to the heavens again. It was easier to contain her mounting horror and her sympathy and her useless apologies, or at least to keep it from crossing her face. Guilt twisted her insides; her own time during the war had been insultingly frivolous. But this wasn’t about her. Even the book curse seemed so stupid to her in that moment, so very inconsequential.
“I can’t begin to imagine,” she finally managed to say. Ernie had just confessed to being effectively, if not completely deaf, and there had been this initial and irrational urge to speak more loudly. But that was stupid and unnecessary. If she was in his shoes, she knew she’d want to be treated normally. “fuck.”, she muttered, because maybe she could imagine, if only on a tinier scale, what with her own recent troubles. Not that that even began to remotely compare. “fuck. Can we just agree to get pissed off our heads for the night, and forget the fucking world?”
Except… “The game couldn’t have been much fun for you, but I’m glad you made it out.” She pulled a bit of a face. “Sorry, that probably seems really presumptuous. What I should have said was: ‘I’m glad you made it out. You’ll have to come to another.’”
He raised the bottle to her and smiled. “Good save there. The game was fun - I really did enjoy it. And I’ll ask less stupid questions the next time around.” Taking another sip to quell the tight feeling in his stomach, he handed the bottle back to her. “But I’m not going to tell you the other thing. The thing you asked earlier. Be grateful for that bit,” he laughed, stretching his legs back out.
“Despite what you might think about us, there are absolutely no stupid questions to a Ravenclaw. The only thing stupid would be not to ask.” She raised up just enough to take a more moderate sip, and then settled the bottle between them. “And the cruelest thing you could do to a Ravenclaw is dangle knowledge in front of them, and then not divulge it. Tease.”
She grinned up at the sky, then, amused at a sudden thought. “We finish off that bottle tonight before meandering home, and chances are I won’t remember half of what you tell me anyway.” Ainsley snorted. “Or you make me your Secret-Keeper.”
“An Unbreakable Vow? It’s not a state secret,” Ernie laughed. “We’d better get down off this mountain then before you forget how to walk.”
“Just because there’s,” she squinted up at him, “three of you sitting there just now doesn’t mean I’m not perfectly capable of Apparating to my ghost home. I ‘spose caution might dictate Floo, though, but when have you ever known a Quidditcher to apply caution to their lives?”
“I think Floo is the way to go, m’dear. There’s… there’s a point in a phonebooth at Holyrood. Used to use it to go to Justin’s. Come on,” he said, getting onto his knees and pushing himself carefully to standing. “Let’s try not to die on the way down.”
Ainsley gave an inelegant snort as she sat up (and absolutely did not sway in place, thank you very much). “‘s it bigger on the inside, then?” She stood with far more grace than the sheer amount of alcohol that they had consumed should have allowed, and stretched her arms out to the heavens before dropping them again. Coming to his side, she looped an arm in his and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks for suggesting this. ‘s been great getting to know you better. An’ to have someone listen to me whinge. If you ever… If you ever want to talk about that Look, well, I’ll be here.”