I'm A Word Nerd--Please Accept Me, AU

Hello there. I've been working on my college apps all day so I thought I should take a bit of a break. 

I saw a picture of Dumbledore on tumblr earlier this week that made me go and search for the movie clip on YouTube from which it was taken. It's from the fifth movie, Order of the Phoenix, Harry's trial scene. Anyway, in the video below, at 1:12, Dumbledore implores Fudge "to see reason" because "the evidence that the Dark Lord has returned is incontrovertible."

At first, I was all, "Silly Dumbledore, making up your own words!" But I looked it up and Google has defined it as "not able to be denied or disputed," which the proof of Voldemort's return in the fifth installment clearly is.

How silly of me to doubt Dumbledore and his well-stocked mental lexicon. Clearly, his long flowing beard, thoughtful blue eyes, and fair share of wrinkles are all incontrovertible evidence of his wisdom and experience.

Incontrovertible--my new favorite word. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore.


The continuation of the story, as promised.


THIS IS ALL NICOLE


I shrieked with delight and I reached out my arms in front of me as I ran toward the now open front door. But Carson’s arm snaked around my waist and held me back. Jeez.

            “Who are you?” Carson demanded, holding me close to his side. His voice shook a little bit. I rolled my eyes as I heard that all-too-familiar chuckle in response.

            “Don’t you recognize your old piano teacher?”

            I grinned, but I heard Carson suck in his breath.

            “Is it really you?,” he whispered, his grip tightening.

            “Yes, dear,” the woman said patiently. “It’s really me.”

            I tried to wriggle free of Carson’s grip but he tightened his hold again. “How?” he demanded.

            I sighed exasperatedly. “Carson! Stop asking her questions!”

            “It’s okay, love,” smiled Mrs. Fields. “If I remember correctly, Carson has always been our little skeptic.” She turned to him, “I promised both of you that I would come back when you need me the most. I’m here to keep that promise, Carson.”

            I waited for Carson to let me go but he didn’t. Right when I was about to stomp on his foot so that he would, his grip suddenly loosened and I bounded forward, straight into Mrs. Fields’ arms. She still smelled exactly the same, a comforting aroma of both cinnamon and Downy fabric softener. My arms encircled her wide waist and her curly white hair tickled my neck as she laughed and hugged me tightly.

            “Come here, Carson,” she chuckled. “Give me a hug, too.” I turned around when I didn’t immediately feel Carson press against me from behind. He stood there, motionless, both rakes at his side, a small smile beginning to dance on his lips. His eyes were shiny.

            “You could have given us some sort of message beforehand, you know,” he said, finally walking over to wrap his wide arms around me and Mrs. Fields.

            “Well, then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, now, would it?”

            For the first time in ten years, I felt truly safe and happy, sandwiched between two of the best people I know: Carson and my former piano teacher, Mrs. Fields. She was a short woman, but she was still a bit taller than me, exactly Carson’s height. She always kept her curly hair short. When she was younger, her hair was a rich chocolate brown. Now, almost all of it was white. But her brown eyes were as chocolaty as ever, warm and kind. She had deep wrinkles on the edges of her eyes and deep dimples from smiling too much (though she would always say that there’s no such thing). Her fingers were long and thin, quick and lithe on the piano but calculating and meticulous with a paintbrush. She was wearing her signature flowery button-down dress and, of course, a Fields classic: a paint-splattered apron. Even the blue veins on her wrists and arms, the ones whose patterns Carson and I had traced playfully as children, were still there under her now translucent skin. She radiated so much happiness that I couldn’t help but feel light and warm. Even Carson, who isn’t a big smiler, had a huge silly grin on his face. He and I refused to let go so Mrs. Fields herded us into the house with much urging and pushing.

            “I can’t believe you kept up the house.” Mrs. Fields started fixing up some coffee as Carson raced upstairs to put our backpack in the third bedroom. “I half expected coming back to it empty and filled with cobwebs and mice!”

            Carson took the stairs two at a time, leaping over the bottom three steps and landing in front of the kitchen’s doorway with a loud grunt. “There was even food in the fridge and in the cupboards!” Mrs. Fields laughed as she took out some coffee cups.

            “We take turns stocking up in here, but we try to not leave any perishable food,” I said, pulling myself up on the kitchen counter near the sink.

            “I brought in some milk just yesterday,” Carson added. He pulled out a chair from under the quaint kitchen table.

            “Oh that’s right,” Mrs. Fields seemed to remember something, “Carson, why don’t you get some of that milk then so that you can pour yourselves a glass each?” She started to put away two of the coffee cups she had taken out, keeping one for herself.

            Carson didn’t move. We looked at each other and smiled. Mrs. Fields must have noticed because she looked up, the coffee pot in her hand halfway to her own cup, the one with the pink flower that Carson had made for her in ceramics class years ago. “What is it?” she asked, her brows scrunching in confusion.

            “Mrs. Fields,” Carson began. “I don’t know how to tell you this but…we drink coffee now.”

            She put down the coffee pot. “No, you do not! Children do not drink coffee.” She shook her head, her curly powdery white hair quivering in the fluorescent light.

            “Mrs. Fields,” I said this time, “We’re seventeen now, not nine.”

            The realization dawned on her. “Ohhhh, right,” Mrs. Fields rolled her eyes, “Silly me forgot it’s been nine years that I’ve been here.” She poured two more cups of coffee and Carson stood up to help her carry them to the table. “I mean, ten years. Which reminds me. Happy birthday to you two!”

            “Yay,” Carson sighed, stirring his coffee. I hopped off the counter and joined them, avoiding Mrs. Fields’ eyes.

            “What?” she asked, stirring cream into her steaming cup. “Don’t tell me you’re not ready for this.”

            “Well,” I began, dumping my fifth serving of liquid cream into my coffee, “we don’t really know what we’re supposed to be ready for.” I reached for a sixth one when Mrs. Fields gently slapped my hand.

            “Nic, that’s not coffee with cream anymore. It’s cream with coffee.”

            Carson smiled. “You should see her at Starbucks, Mrs. Fields,” he said. “She’s the famous latte macchiato girl.” He nudged my foot with his under the table. I kicked him in the knee and he stifled an “Ow!”

            “Better than you, from what I hear,” Mrs. Fields tutted. “You’re the famous caffé macchiato boy. And I notice you’re drinking your coffee black.” She sipped her coffee silently and smiled. I stuck my tongue out at Carson.

            “From what you hear?” Carson looked at Mrs. Fields. “You’ve been keeping track of us?”

            “Of course I have! I’ve been keeping an eye on my favorite pupils.” She winked. I beamed pointedly at Carson who only scowled at me. “Now, what’s this business about not knowing what you’re ready for? Hasn’t Dark told you anything?”

            I almost choked on my drink. “You know Dark?” I asked.

            “Everyone knows Dark, love. Or rather, Dark knows everyone.”

            “The only thing he’s ever said about our 17^th is the whole ‘never be friends again’ deal,” Carson explained. “Which is impossible.” I nodded enthusiastically as Carson continued, “And the losing and gaining thing just doesn’t make any sense.”

            “Essentially, nothing changes,” I affirmed. “Nothing happens, right?”

            Mrs. Fields sighed. “I’m not allowed to say. But know this: there is a choice. You two have to remember that. The two of you always have a choice independent of the other’s, you hear?” She went back to her coffee. “No matter how much Dark or I tell you that we’ve been working to get you both to this point, you do have complete control in the very end. The least I can really do is be here until the very moment the two of you make your choices.”

            “What choices?” I asked, suddenly reminded of the one thing Dark told me not to tell anyone about, not even Carson.

            Mrs. Fields looked at me. Well, more like through me. “I think you know what it is, Nicole. Carson, here, will have to look just a bit harder.”

            Carson nodded grimly. “I’m working on it,” he spoke to his now empty cup. I stared at the top of his head.

            “Are you?” Mrs. Fields said quietly. She paused, then got up and brought the coffee pot back to the table. Carson held up his cup for a refill as I continued to look at him.

            “Do you know something that I don’t?” I asked.

            Carson looked up and Mrs. Fields turned to the sink, her back toward us. He sighed and said, “Dark told me not to tell you anything.”

            I paused, then sighed a loud sigh of relief. “Well, that makes me feel less guilty!” Carson tilted his head in confusion. “Dark told me something, too, and told me not to tell you about it,” I explained.

            “Was it direct?” he asked.

            “No. Dark almost always speaks in riddles, especially when it’s important. Why?”

            “Huh? Oh nothing.” Carson returned to his cup, pushing his glasses up.

            “Why, did he tell you something straightforwardly?”

            Carson shook his head, his eyes still on his coffee. He pushed his glasses up again.

            “Well,” Mrs. Fields said loudly, breaking the silence. “What do you usually do here now on your birthdays? I remember making crazy s’mores and rice krispies for your 5^th and having a Harry Potter movie marathon for your 8^th, but I’m not sure if you two kept up things like that after I left. Should I disappear for a while to leave you two alone?” She did that weird dancing eyebrow thing.

            We both looked up at her, then at each other. But I saw that that was too awkward (Carson’s face was pinker than a baby’s freshly slapped behind) so we quickly looked back at Mrs. Fields again.

            “Um, we’re not, ahh,” Carson stammered.

            “We’re best friends, Mrs. Fields, remember?” I smiled at her. For some reason, the idea of Carson and I being a thing always amused me. It didn’t matter if it came from family, friends, or even strangers. The idea that people think Carson and I are or could ever be a couple makes me laugh.

            Mrs. Fields looked at Carson, who was now intently staring at his coffee cup, willing to drown himself in it in embarrassment. “Right,” she said. “I remember perfectly.” She rolled her eyes before pausing in the doorway. “Okay, well, I may be dead and all, but I still need some rest. So let’s save the stories and explanations for tomorrow, shall we?”

            “Good night, Mrs. Fields,” I smiled. It felt so good to be able to say that again without the emptiness I had carried in my heart for the past eight years.

Risks taken: 11 

Hugs: 1

Current food cravings/obsessions: oreos and milk

Playlist(s) of the Week: "Adorbs" and "Add 30 Years and Some Free JDs Ice Cream"

Also, Merry Christmas! :)