Still Delicate

Confessions

He's wandering around my living room, looking at things. I didn't even invite him in, yet here he is. I'm scanning the room for any sign of magic. Ollie has stayed in her basket, but is growling at Brian with obvious contempt – Crups don't like Muggles, after all. If I hadn't ordered her to stay, she'd be chewing on his cord jeans by now. Also, I'm fairly sure he'd find it strange that my 'Jack Russell' has a forked tail.

"Was there something you wanted?" I ask, not bothering to mask my obvious rudeness. His showing up here isn't just awkward, it's completely inappropriate. I'm also getting increasingly nervous about the Mimbulus Mimbletonia on the mantle and the moving picture in the corner. I just hope he doesn't notice. "How did you even find out where I live?"

"Looked it up in the school records," he shrugs, as if it's completely normal to do such a thing.

"Well that's not creepy at all," I say dryly.

"I should've known you were fake-naming me," he says, clearly not bothering to beat around the bush, "I mean the 'Susanna Ryan' thing was quite believable, but you could have come up with something a bit more realistic than Scorpius."

I couldn't make it up if I tried. "Actually –"

"Scorpius, who's married to Daisy," he continues, "Do they happen to live on Sesame Street?"

I can't figure out if he's being sarcastic. Apparently it doesn't take one to know one. I have no idea where Sesame Street is, because I'm so rubbish with street names, but I'd hate for him to know that. Geography is one of my many weaknesses. "Eh, no they live on Holden Street..." I trail off when he gives me a look. I don't get it.

"Look, I just thought I'd clear the air between us," says Brian seriously, running a hand through his curly brown hair, sort of nervously.

"The air is clear," I answer immediately, "And by the way, I wasn't the only one fake-naming people, Richard."

"I technically wasn't fake-naming you," he tells me, "My name is Richard Brian McDonald, just everybody calls me Brian because my Dad's name is Richard too."

"Well, as nice as it is to hear the family history, I have work to do," I say impolitely, "So is there something you wanted?"

He raises his eyebrows. I now feel like a bitch. As if I haven't had a stressful enough day with finding out that both my son and my...Scorpius...have dyslexia, I really don't need this self-righteous muppet coming in here, making me feel bad in my own house.

"I really enjoyed talking with you on New Years," he says. I nearly snort, but I manage to restrain myself. I don't think I've heard a more blatant lie since Molly told me she only weighs six stone. "I was just wondering if you wanted to..."

"Look, Richard – or Brian, or whatever you're calling yourself," I hold up a hand to stop him from interrupting my interruption, "I'm not looking for a relationship, and although I acknowledge that you're a decent looking bloke, I'm really not attracted to you."

"But –"

"And I'm sure you're a very nice person," I go on, "And I'm sure you'd make a very good boyfriend, but I think I need to nip this in the bud now – I'm about as sexually attracted to you as I am to a slice of bread."

"Are you finished?" he asks and I nod, realising I may have been a bit harsh – again. "I wasn't going to ask you out. No offence or anything, but you're not my type."

"Then what are you doing here?" I ask exasperatedly.

"I have an information pack on dyslexia for you," he says, pulling a large brown envelope out of a bag, "And I just wanted to let you know that if you want to talk about it – or anything, really – my number's on the envelope." He hands the pack to me. "You rushed out of the school so quickly I didn't get the chance to give it to you." I look at him suspiciously. In my twenty-two and a half years on this planet, I've come to realise that men are nevernice to you for no reason. And they certainly don't give you their number just for a chat.