So, guys. I know. I KNOW. It's been a ridiculously long time, and I am SO SO SO sorry about that. But Ally tells me she wants her story told again, so we're going to try this again.

You can envision whoever you want, Julz. Whatever makes you happy. And YES... Ally is occasionally unexpectedly wise for a teenager obsessed with Harry Potter (but like... who isn't?).

I hope your subscription still works.

More Al in this one. Lots more Al.

I agree... they ARE adorable. Thanks for being patient with me, love.

<3<3<3 Thank you!

Me too. I adore Al, which is always dangerous. Don't love your own characters... makes them harder to leave behind.

Yes, and now you had to wait forever even more. Thanks for your patience.

***



Day 2, Part 5

I feel like I can't stress enough how confusing boys are, although I've mentioned it ad nauseum already. It bears repeating, though, if only to highlight the really interesting fact that once Al and I get started talking, it just keeps getting easier and easier. Confusing as boys are, confusing as Al is usually, talking to him today doesn't seem to be the panic-inducing experience I would have expected. Probably helps that he looks just the way I always pictured Harry, so I can sort of pretend that I'm having a chat with someone who's been one of my best friends since I was a little kid and my parents read the books out loud to me. I bet they regret that, by the way... introducing me to Harry and company.

It also helps that Al isn't playing weird games. And that he occasionally leans in when he's talking or laughing, and it doesn't feel like a big invasion of space. It does feel warm and fluttery, but in a nice way. So we lay on the sand and watch the kids slowly invade the lake. First on the docks, then in the shallows, and then the water begins to crowd with canoes. We're not alone anymore. A few teenagers spread out towels on our beach to sunbathe, and some gulls harass us from a distance in hopes that we'll buy off their silence with food.

Not going to happen. We don't have any food, although I start to get hungry as lunch nears.

It doesn't start easy, though, these conversations with boys. Not even the boy I feel like I've known for years.

"What... is the name of your school?" I ask, trying really hard not to waggle my eyebrows at him like we're speaking in code.

"Why? You think you've heard of it? You think we play each other in sports?" Al laughs at me, but I press on. One of these questions will work, and I'll get confirmation one way or the other that he's the son of Harry Potter. I just have to come up with the right question, and then ask it in such a way that he doesn't see right through me. The thing about being the son of Harry Potter is that he would KNOW he's the son of Harry Potter. I bet he's very well rehearsed in responding to probing questions. As famous as his father was in the Wizarding world, Al must be a billion times more famous. Son of Famous Person. It's a wonder he's so normal and well-adjusted.

Or he appears to be, at least.

I try another question.

"What is your spirit animal?" That would be just like a Patronus, right? Genius question, because he can interpret it any way he wants. My Ravenclaw star is climbing again.

He laughs, though, which does not inspire confidence. "You're so peculiar. Can't you just ask me what type of books I like to read or something normal?" I suppose being peculiar is a step up from being weird. And peculiar in a British accent was almost as good as not-weird-at-all. So he didn't like my questions. We have all week for me to figure out who he is... I can be subtle. I can ease into this.

"What.... type of books do you read?" My eyebrow goes way up, like I know I just asked a really original question. It works, and he laughs again, and this time, it isn't at me. It's with me.

He lists off a bunch of best sellers, stuff I've heard of but obviously haven't read because they don't have a wizard named Harry Potter in them. I nod, though, because I've heard of them.

"What about you? What type of books do you read?"

Now this is a tricky question. Does it play in my favor for him to know that I'm well-versed in the world of Harry Potter? Or will that make him even more hesitant to open up with me? And if I'm completely and totally wrong about all this, then does this answer even really matter? Maybe he's not into Harry Potter. Maybe he'll think it's babyish. "Oh, you know... same as you. Isn't that funny?"

"Liar," he smiles and shakes his head. "What about music? What music do you listen to?"

Besides W-Rock, of course? "I like old stuff. Classic rock. The Beatles. Rolling Stones."

"Are you trying to impress me by knowing about British bands?"

"Are they British? I had no idea." He swats a hand at my leg, but I manage not to jump at the contact. "What about you, hmm? Impress me with your musical tastes, since mine is obviously not up to your standards."

"No, the Beatles are good. I like them, I guess," Al props up on his elbows and watches a canoe creep toward our shoreline, scattering our flock of birds. "I just like harder stuff. Really manly music... thrash metal, for sure."

"Liar," I mimic his tone from earlier, and he bursts out laughing. "You like the Spice Girls. I know you do. Tell me what you want, what you really really want."

"You must only know British bands. And old ones, at that. D'you know that the Spice Girls aren't even a band anymore?"

"I do, but how did you know?" I stick out my tongue, which is a very mature move, but Al seems to find it endearing enough. He makes a grab for it and ends up cupping my face in his hand. Not in the romantic way, of course, but in the awkward 'look, I've got my hand wrapped around your face accidentally' sort of way. You know how it is.

"I don't know how you do moves in England, but this does not appear to be working," I mumble through his hand, and he shifts it slightly to allow me breathing and talking privileges. "Can't smooch through your hand, can you?"

That is a stupid thing to say. There was no weird romantic tension between us, definitely no indication that he wants to smooch me, through his hand or otherwise, and now he's giving me an odd look and removing his hand from my face and...

"ALLY." I swear to you that I am literally picked up from behind by an arm snaking around my middle, and then Armpit the Brave attempts to wander off with me under said arm. As if I'm some sort of football he plans to toss later. He grumbled under his breath, and I can't see anything because my hair is in my face and I'm having trouble catching my breath.

"Put. Me. Down," I wriggle helplessly, but Brad doesn't set me down until we're off the beach and on the path. "Do you have to embarrass me in front of Al? Are you getting paid to do it, or is it just an amusing way you spend your time? Have you considered seeking help for your obviously psychotic desire to ruin my life?" Maybe I'm a bit loud, but I'm also VERY ticked off. Al was looking and leaning and touching my face, only to watch me be dragged away under Brad's arm. UNDER HIS ARM.

"You're ruining everyone's vacation, Ally. Ruining. D'you like that? Running off all the time and acting like a totally crazy person even when you're around. You think anyone enjoys having to go looking for you because you climbed out a window rather than face Mom and Dad this morning?"

"You climbed out a window?" Al must have followed us, and he appears at my elbow with a mildly interested expression on his face.

"Keep walking, Romeo," Brad growls, and Al, chivalrous and gallant, shrugs and wanders away. My... hero? Or something.

"You're a ruiner, Brad. A life ruiner."

"And you're a drama queen. No one's perfect." He hooks his hand around my arm and begins to drag me back toward the cottage. "It's lunch time, anyway. You were going to come back for lunch. I know you... you can't go without a meal."

"I believe you also just called me fat."

"I called you hungry. Does everything have to be a fight?" Actually, everything does have to be a fight. That's how we roll in the Cope family.

Also, how we roll in the Cope family... "Are Mom and Dad mad?"

He sighs and lets go of my arm. The relief only lasts a minute, because then he throws his arm around my neck so that my face is pressed against his arm pit itself. Life is no longer worth living. "No, they're not mad."

"Didn't you tell them about the window?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

He's silent for a while. "You're a problem, Ally, but you're my problem. Besides, I started to think you'd been punished enough. Can you just stop running off and ending up alone with strange boys? Please?"

That seemed fair.