WHO: Anthony Goldstein & Tracey Davis. WHEN: Wednesday, May 3rd to Saturday, May 6th. WHERE: St. Mungo's and Tracey's bedroom. SUMMARY: Four vignettes. WARNINGS: Pain potion talk. Mentions of male anatomy.
“They’re not letting people who aren’t family stay for that long,” she said, passing him over yet another tray with yet another bowl of soup. “So just for the sake of consistency, you should know that we’re engaged.”
Anthony eyed his soup for a moment before sliding his gaze over to his girlfriend. “You told the healers that we’re engaged?” As he asked his question, he raised an eyebrow.
“Your father told the healers that we were engaged, actually,” Tracey corrected matter-of-factly. “I fall under ‘family’ that way, see? They looked skeptical but then I started telling them things about you, so they decided that they’d heard enough to believe me.”
“That does sound like something my Dad would say,” he admitted as he took ahold of his spoon. Anthony then dipped it into the soup, but did nothing more than lazily stir it, pushing the chunks of vegetables from left to right. “Though how did you explain the lack of ring? I look like a real cheapskate here.”
“Easy. We got engaged while we were at school, and you were going to take me out so that we could select the ring together as a celebration for completing our NEWTs.” She leaned back, observing him. “Though I think what clinched it was when I told one of the mediwizards that your left testicle was slightly larger than your right.”
He snorted. “You let the mediwizards think we were doing bad things in those hallowed halls? Tracey...”
“All right, so I didn’t really tell them that. You’re one perfectly balanced individual, I’m sure.” She flashed him a grin. “I told them what form your patronus takes, how you broke your arm when you were eight, how you demonstrated that a human could crawl through an aorta on our first date - you know, stuff that I would obviously need to know you well for.”
Letting go of the spoon, Anthony plucked one of the paper napkins from the tray and immediately ripped a strip from the folded length. He then began to twist it and once satisfied formed it into a ring with the ends forming a makeshift ball. Satisfied, he then held it out to Tracey.
“The left testicle hangs slightly lower than the right in almost seventy percent of men.”
“And what a romantic proposal that is, Anthony Goldstein.” She smirked and accepted the ring. “It’s no pebble. But it’s the nicest fake proposal I’ve ever received, definitely.”
Nodding, Anthony turned his attention back to his soup. The spoon was once again picked up and the vegetables were once again pushed around the bowl. “Well now if someone tries to question you about out upcoming nuptials, you can just show them that as proof.”
“I can,” she concurred. Much like the ‘dead leaf art,’ as silly a thing as this was, she would be keeping it. The bowl received a dismissive look. “I know that it’s standard hospital fare. But they could at least give you something else, considering.”
Once again, Anthony snorted. “You would think someone would have mentioned we might have an aversion to liquid meals.”
“For a while I thought that I’d never eat soup again, but eh, I’m not going to let them ruin that for me.” Tracey shrugged. “Instead, when everyone’s out I’m going to get my father to make me the nicest, richest, least Carrow soup ever. And then I am going to consume every last drop of it.”
“Well get him to make it and send some over for me,” he said as he let go of the spoon once again. “It’s the least my future father-in-law could do for me and all.”
* * *
Tracey was on her way back from visiting Ritchie when she heard her boyfriend’s voice echoing down the hall, sounding animated and something far from depressed. Reaching the doorway, the source of his good cheer was apparent. Perched on the visitor’s chair was a glamorous looking witch that Tracey recognised as Patsy Boot, It Girl extraordinaire and mother of bespectacled Anthony Best Friend, Terry. She smiled as the blonde hailed her with an energetic hug, exchanged a few pleasantries, then Patsy Boot was on her way.
Turning to Anthony, she rose an eyebrow in the direction of the now empty hall. “Way out of your league, you know.”
He hadn’t been sure if he wanted to see Ms. Boot given his condition and the condition of her son, but the visit from his OG crush had proved had proved to be more uplifting than he had expected. Over the past few days, it was one of the few times Anthony had manage to feel normal for a few fleeting moments. Yet, the visit from Terry’s mum was nothing compared to the flurry of feelings he felt when Tracey came into view and for once in his life he was happy to see the older woman leave.
“Well. I already managed one woman out of my league,” he joked.
“Now you’re just being fucking greedy.” Tracey slumped into the vacated chair. “Got you a comic, by the way. The second years milling around the gift shop told me this was a good one.” She passed it over. “Something about a Squib whose father is a hitwizard and who solves crimes with the help of her pet Kneazle—seems kind of droll but the art is pretty.”
Anthony smiled in order to cover up the fact that his statement had been a serious one. “This must be a new story,” he said as he took hold of the thin book. “All they seemed to have when I was younger was that damn Martin Miggs. Plus some ones from Japan Terry liked to read. And the Muggle ones, but those were all people with superpowers.”
“So Muggles who can do wandless magic?” Tracey frowned. Those kinds of stories made her wonder just how much crossover there had been between their world and the Muggle one before the Statute of Secrecy had come into being, whether some nuggets of fact still remained buried as myth and legend in the collective subconscious of Muggle culture. They did recognize Merlin as a figure, after all. “And at least that one has a positive depiction of a Squib, I suppose. Though I don’t know how realistic it is that a 13 year old is able to solve a bunch of crimes that experienced officers of the law couldn’t figure out.”
“Well they can really only do specific things. Like one might be able to walk through walls or one might be really strong. And it’s not so much magic as it is genetic or radioactive spider bites.” Now that he said it out loud, those origins did sound rather silly. “And to be fair a bunch of kids just did better than the DMLE ever did over the past few years. So.”
“We did,” she concurred, and there was a determined set to her jaw. “We really fucking did.” As if dislodging some thought, she gave her head a shake and shifted over, perching on the mattress next to him. “Now then. I’ve actually never read a comic before.”
“Well then. No better time to start,” he said as one arm went around her and he slowly opened to comic.
***
“No. No. No. I'm serious. Just think about,” Anthony insisted because he had taken a rather large dose of pain potion a half-an-hour prior. “If Cinderella’s shoe fit perfectly, how did it fall off? The entire story hinges on an improbable event because in doing so, it negates previous accounts. So what's the truth? Just really think about it, Tracey.”
“It’s a fairy tale, Anthony. Logic is already out the window.” Tracey set down her book on the small bedside table. “Some slippers, it depends on how high the front of her shoe came up past her toes. Some you can still see the top of the gaps between your toes, and those slip off easily. Also her slippers were made a glass. Not exactly a material that moulds to your foot.”
Anthony shook his head, which made the room feel like it was spinning for a moment. “But it fit perfect. Perfect!” One of his arms flailed as if to drive the point home. “Perfect implies it wouldn't slip off. The entire story is a sham.”
“I’d say that the shoe isn’t the larger issue.” She grinned, placing a hand on his shoulder to nudge him back against his pillow. “You have this downtrodden so-called ‘heroine’ who just takes everything that’s thrown at her, and it’s depicted as being a positive character trait? One, she’s awarded for it, and two, she receives the prince as her reward. How about getting her a job so she could run her whole step-family into the ground, or a sword so she could run them through?”
“Shoes are always the issue, Tracey.” Her boyfriend actually had no idea what exactly he meant by that, but he was sure it sounded deep and interesting. “And you know what? If a fairy godmother gave me pretty clothes and promised me a life better than my own, plus a hot prince? I would probably take the deal. Living your best life is a great revenge.”
“But she put up with it for years and years.” In spite of the fact that she knew Anthony was rationally a few Knuts short of a Sickle at the moment, it was hard not to argue. “And she just sat around and wrung her hands until someone else got her out of that mess. And that prince only gave her the time of day because she was beautiful. Do Muggle fairy tales have any females in them who are the remotest bit self-rescuing?”
Anthony smiled. “My dear. I don’t think either of us are considering the social or economical situations of non-noble women in seventeenth century Muggle France. Italy? No, France. I’m sure. I’m also no expert, but I’m sure there are similar backgrounds on both subjects and I will find a Muggle library when I’m better to research it.”
“It’s bullshit,” said Tracey squarely. “Seems like either the stepmother was independently wealthy, or she married into wealth, so the money should have been Cinderella’s by right of blood. Plus if the birds fucking stopped singing to hear her songs instead and she was so wonderful that she farted out roses, wouldn’t the local townspeople have been fine with it if her stepmother and stepsisters never woke up one morning? Some ladies of leisure can simply not hold their arsenic and so forth. This pathetic, stupid story encourages women to stay in their ‘place’ and teaches them that you have to be beautiful to be rewarded, that you shouldn’t bother to try and save yourself or cultivate the skills to do so because someone else will appear from out of nowhere and do it for you.”
His smile morphed into a goofy grin and he reached out to let his fingers brush against her cheek. “Your skin is really soft and you’re really smart and your hair always smells nice.”
“And you,” she countered, leaning forward so that his hand fell to the back of her neck, “are completely out of your own head at the moment and have appalling taste in fairy tale footwear, Anthony Goldstein.”
* * *
He probably should have informed Tracey that he was coming over to her place, but it had been a rather spur of the moment decision. So much so that Anthony hadn’t even bothered to change out of his Star Wars sleep pants before grabbing his crutches and apparating into her room. It was empty. Disappointed, he made his way to her bed, sat down on the edge, and promptly flopped backwards with a rather loud sigh that coincided with the opening of her bedroom door.
“Hey, Tracey,” Anthony said as he turned his head in the direction of the door. “Just thought I would drop on by and see what you were up to.”
Tracey took her wand with her everywhere these days. Even to the bathroom. She only needed a split second to see that there was someone in her room before her wand flew up and some very scary looking blasts blossomed from the end of it, dissipating with another flick when she recognised who it was.
“Salazar’s saggy bollock, Goldstein,” she managed, taking a steadying breath and sliding her wand back up the sleeve of her bathrobe. “Make some noise or something next time, will you?”
Anthony frowned. “Well I didn’t exactly think making a sudden and loud noise was the correct course of action here,” he said as he leaned up on his elbows. “Nice bathrobe.”
“Thank you,” she said drily, still willing her heartbeat to resume normal levels. “It’s my sexy one. Nice pants.”
Anthony smirked. “It’s very sexy. Has a slight naughty mid-level Ministry job vibe to it. And thank you.”
“Whatever.” Tracey rolled her eyes. She turned off the main light, hung up her bathrobe on a hook behind the door and began to dry her hair, a gust of air coming out of her wand as she waved it up and down its length. “So did you just come by to give me a goodnight kiss, or are you staying over?”
With the smirk on his face, he reclined back onto the mattress, though his gaze remained on Tracey and her less modest sleeping attire. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “Just wanted to see you and honestly didn’t think much past that.”
“Well, hello.” She made a theatrical full-body turn, then walked over to perch on the edge of the bed next to him, still drying her hair. “You can stay over, I suppose. It’s not every night that I get Ravenclaw Keepers Apparating right into my bedroom and shit. Just don’t go wandering around downstairs in the morning without a shirt or Mum will hex you into next Thursday.”
“Tracey. Please.” Looking up at her, he reached out his hand to let his fingers briefly run along the fabric of her shorts. “We both know I’m not going to be randomly wandering about with this contraption on my leg. Shirt or no shirt.”
“Right,” she nodded, not minding the way his hand felt on her bare leg at all. “Well. How about you just lie down in whatever way’s most comfortable for you, and I’ll just work around it?”
The smirk returned as he pushed himself up onto his hands and began to scoot backwards on the bed. “You realize that sounded way beyond naughty mid-level Ministry level, right?”
“Oh, shut up.” Tracey waited for him to get settled, then knelt on the edge of the mattress, extending an arm across to him. “I’m going to climb over the other side of you so I’m against the wall. Give me a hand over, will you?”
“But of course,” he said as he hands went to her waist in order to help her move. “The healers would be happy you’re not doing anything to jostle their hard work and all.”
A brief chuckle at that. “Sweet dreams,” she murmured, then leaned down to brush her lips over his.
As his lips pressed against hers, one of his hands moved to the side of her face. Anthony held onto the kiss a few seconds longer than he imagined Tracey anticipated before pulling away from her. “Thank you,” he said after another moment had passed.
“You’re welcome.” She lay on her designated side, tugging the blankets up over the both of them. But her hand reached out to curve loosely beneath his, and it remained there, even as her breathing slowed and she fell asleep, leaving Anthony awake with nothing more than his thoughts.