Second Meeting The boys had been back at school for a week before Julian agreed to meet William Welles at a coffee shop in one of the magical districts, a span of time long enough to let everything settle back to the way it had been before John and Joe's visit but not long enough for the weather to shift even slightly toward spring. Even inside the comparative warmth of the café, Julian shivered when she took her gloves off and made no move to unbutton her coat or unwind the scarf from around her neck, though she couldn’t honestly say she thought she would have really wanted to remove them even if she had not still felt the cold straight through her black trousers every time the door opened. The extra items were not, after all, just for warmth. The gray scarf, black-and-gray houndstooth coat, dress pants, and dark shoes made her look a bit like a bank intern and made her feel composed and a little distant. It was not exactly date attire and that was exactly the point.
At her house, on the desk in her bedroom, there was a nearly blank sheet of parchment. Julian had written a date, now three days past, on it, written the word Dear on it, and then stopped. Her first thought had been to send Charlie the whole story, such as it was, her second thought had been to write to Willow or Gemma to see if either of them would take pity on an old roommate and dish out some dirt about the Family Welles, and her third had been to wonder if she was overreacting to even think there was a story to tell anyone, at least at this point. Only later, after she’d decided not to write anyone just yet, had it occurred to her that if there was a story, it might not be one she wanted to tell, and that it had taken her three thoughts to get to that point scared her a little.
Julian had dated (well, kissed from time to time over different periods of time; she wouldn’t really call Kevin or Danny people she’d had proper relationships with) two boys in her neighborhood since she’d learned to smarten herself up a bit more than was strictly necessary for decency, so while she thought it would always be odd to think of it in such terms, she could not reasonably argue that she was wholly unattractive, at least not when she had her face on. If William was interested in her (and while sending flowers to every girl one danced with might be a thing, she doubted asking all the ones who sent thank-you notes if they would be interested in second, more private meetings was also a thing), it was actually possible that he was interested in her because he found her attractive, a thought that she had to admit was…nice. Odd, but nice. The problem, though, was that he’d known who she was and why she had intruded on his social circle before he had ever spoken to her, and realistically, that meant she couldn’t just operate under the assumption that he aspired to nothing more nefarious than awkward attempts to initiate sex and could not be completely confident of her ability to put him in his place if it turned out he needed a sharp reminder of the definition of the common word 'no' the way she could with Muggle boys. In the magical world, she was the one at a disadvantage, the one who could pretty much count on not being the stronger party, and that was uncomfortable for her. She had to keep her guard up until she was sure of what he wanted and why he had chosen to involve her in it.
She purchased tea and, out of sheer nerves, added sugar and milk even though she had hardly ever taken sugar since the regrettable incident in the first half of her fourth year - Orwell was no favorite of hers, but he did have a point about it being oddly easy to become unaccustomed to sweetening one's tea. As she stirred, another blast of cold hit her legs and now-bare hands and she saw a flash of light, she assumed reflected from the door, just before….
“Miss Umland!”
Julian nearly spilled tea down her front in her surprise and barely noticed as she recognized the voice of her maybe-suitor and smiled involuntarily. One hand wandered toward her hair before she snatched it down again.
“Hello,” she said. “You know, as much as I appreciate you remembering my real name, at this point, um, you really can call me Julian.”
All said too fast, with pauses in all the wrong places and too many words. This was not the foot she wanted to start off on no matter what was going on. He didn’t appear fazed. A tiny, tiny part of her became more suspicious.
“At this point?” he asked.
Julian tried to say the composed words she was thinking instead of stammering through inferior ones the way she usually did. “We just came here for each other’s company, didn't we?” she asked. “I don’t usually do that with people who call me Miss Umland.” Julian chuckled a little. “Really, the only people who call me Miss Umland are official ones and professors.”
In other words, the witches and wizards she interacted with, at least outside her own family. The precise manners of most fully-immersed wizards were certainly at least partially a holdover from the time period in which wizards had gone into hiding, but they did serve some practical purposes when almost everyone in any given conversation could do at least some real damage with a word and in some cases a quite simple gesture. Emotional distance and stylized social interactions led to fewer duels and grudges that went on through many long-lived generations and so on. Julian guessed she was gambling a little by throwing that out the window, but…it felt right, somehow. It was always easier to play dumber than she was than it was to play smarter than she was, and she had realized that she didn’t know enough about his world to convincingly play smarter than she was on the night they’d met. It was much easier to pretend she didn’t even know that she was kind of violating his social conventions.
William appeared to think about what she’d said for a few seconds, then smiled. Julian wished he wouldn’t do that. It was distracting. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Julian, then.” Even the way he pronounced her name was a little distracting. Julian wondered what was wrong with her. She had always been in much better control of her thoughts with Kevin and Danny…. “Did you like the flowers? You didn’t say in your note.”
Julian smiled, too. “I did like them,” she said. “I was…very surprised by them, though.”
Part of her wished she hadn’t said that. It was dreadful to even tell someone that she thought their gift had not been entirely appropriate, much less to be so suspicious about why the person had sent it to her. It just felt wrong. It seemed like something that would be rude even if it didn’t involve a hot guy she very much wanted to think might really like her and it was just not how she was supposed to treat people. She had, however, been sent to school in a different country just to keep her away from people in his world, and that was the kind of thing that could make as much of an impression on a girl as a pretty face. If she got into trouble, her whole family could suffer along with her. She never forgot that for a moment.
William looked just a little embarrassed. He had, she’d noticed, very expressive features, not the politely blank mask she had expected to see on everyone in his group. “It wasn’t too much, was it?” he asked.
“Maybe just a little,” said Julian. “At least – “ she flushed. “My parents seemed to think I must have been slipping around with someone behind their backs for months or something.” Which, in a way, she had, but not the one they’d thought, so that didn’t count. "Not that you were someone I'd just met."
“I hope I didn’t cause any trouble,” said William, looking mildly alarmed.
“You didn’t,” said Julian quickly. She didn't know what he was thinking - it could be anything from fear of making a bad impression to fear of unwashed savages; neither side of society seemed to see the other as quite civilized or safe to approach without an abundance of caution and maybe a large weapon or six - but either way, it wasn't really what she had meant to imply. “I am an adult, M – William. They were just curious. Like I was, really.” She waited expectantly for an answer.
There was a moment’s pause. “Honestly,” said William finally, “it was the most reasonable thing I could think of that might inspire you to write me a thank-you note.” Julian half-raised an eyebrow. “So I could respond to it and reiterate that I really would like to see you again,” he clarified.
Julian felt warm all over, half from the flattery and half from embarrassment. “Well,” she managed. “Mission accomplished.”