The Tale of Jamie Devereaux

I See No Men Here

Chapter Twenty-Four: I See No Men Here

Loren Bruce was devastated. She looked down at the letter written by her daughter only to be told that Jamie Devereaux would not be coming home for Christmas that year. While Minerva had prepared Loren for this, it hit the single mother hard knowing that it would be even longer until she saw her daughter. The dark-haired muggle lightly pet the school owl, most of which chose to stay a little longer at the Bruce house in order to receive the good snacks that Loren would give them. Always choosing to look on the bright-side, Loren was anticipating even more news about the Triwizard tournament and Cedric Diggory—as well as a new Fleur Delacour—adventures.

She had prematurely created a sweater for Cedric that declared "Triwizard Champion" in bold gold letters. It was a dark blue and would look great on the handsome seventeen year old. Loren also had prepared for Jamie to spend her Christmas with Minerva McGonagall and so would be sending Jamie's presents to Minerva, as well as some for the Transfiguration Professor.

The muggle woman looked around her small, quaint house and felt a pang of loneliness. She had always wanted a large family, and wished she could have given it to Jamie. Loren had grown up as an only child and imagined what it would be like to have four or five children, always laughing or screaming or talking over one another. At one point she had wanted enough kids to create her own football team. Truthfully, Loren was not that old. She had had Jamie at twenty, and was now thirty-six. Men often looked her way, but with Jamie being a witch and the confusion of her Veela blood, it didn't seem fair to attempt to introduce a man into her life.

With one hand petting the Hogwarts owl, Loren wrote a long, jokingly dramatic, letter to her daughter. Afterwards, she pulled fresh brownies out of the oven, gave one to the owl—which she only started doing when one of the owls had stolen a brownie from her hand. When that had happened, Loren immediately called a veterinarian and asked if the owl would die. After making sure it didn't leave for three hours and was still safe, Loren Bruce had begun giving any owl who wanted one, a brownie for their time.

Sitting at her kitchen table, Loren watched the barn owl fly off in whatever direction Hogwarts was, the medium sized box clutched tightly in its talons.

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The Hogwarts castle was buzzing with excitement for the Yule ball. Everywhere there were girls comparing their dresses, boys agonizing about who they would ask, and people whispering about who is taking who. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students were infiltrating Hogwarts and, as the mysterious newcomers, almost every Hogwarts witch was fantasizing about being asked by them. Jamie Devereaux Bruce was not one of these students. In vain, most of her fantasies consisted of a certain loud-mouthed red-head asking her to the ball and finally apologizing for every prat-ish thing he had done in the past six months, specifically. Not a blanket apology, but an in-depth sorrowful apology that would be detailed and numbered and preferably in chronological order. Possibly even beginning with the pincher from their first year. His apology, in these fantasies, would always illicit a reassuring smile from the little blonde that would then reluctantly admit that maybe she had been partially at fault. And then he would tug her hair, call her Jamison and they would not end up happily ever after because even if he took her to the dance she would not be able to date him.

Shaking off the scene she had constructed in her head, Jamie focused on her potion. Trying to avoid, once again, looking at the vein in Fred Weasley's hand as he handled his ingredients. Even the way he moved was so polarizing to Jamie Devereaux. He would grip things and hold them tightly, whereas Jamie's small hands seemed to hardly touch the objects she handled. With a rush, the little blonde was taken back to the time that Fred had gripped the back of her neck. The hair on the same spot he had touched seemed to stand up on end.