The mirror in his bathroom told him he was unkempt. Literally told him.
Whenever he faced a mirror, the reflection it gave back was that of a youth who had dark bags under the eyes, hollow cheeks, and a straggly beard. The troubling thing about the one at home was that, having been charmed by some idiot who had apparently thought a wisecracking mirror was the best thing since Cauldron Cakes, and then permanently attached to the wall by an equally moronic landlord, it took the liberty of commenting on the state of that reflection. Even worse, no Silencing Charm worked on it.
“Get a shave, young man!” it would occasionally say, its voice loud and tone sharp. “You are beginning to resemble a hairy animal.”
Ernie’s reply was always a brief, silent glare. He couldn’t care less about being presentable. After the fervent heroism of the battle and the immediate sense of relief and pride that had followed the victory, all that remained were the nightmare of dead bodies; dead bodies, and screams, and bangs, and smoke, and rubble, and blood, and funerals. Plenty of funerals.
Nobody had escaped unscathed, but people had recovered and moved on. Meanwhile, he had lagged behind. Instead of recovering, he had begun to lose weight; he also kept a shaggy head, let facial hair run amok, slept less, and ate little. He had got in sync with this non-routine so much that he’d even moved out in order to spare his parents the horror of having to deal with it.
And so it was that he had come to cover the mirror at home with a piece of cloth so that it didn’t have to see him, and use the one in the lavatory at Level 3 of the Ministry. Being devoid of the power of speech, it allowed Ernie to glaze over his general appearance. After having washed his hands and thrown his face a cursory glance, he walked out of the toilet and made his way back into the office of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.
As usual, he felt some of the older members stare at him as he walked back to his cubicle. No doubt they saw a war hero gone to seed. It bothered him, not because they could be thinking any less of him, but that they were still not used to it.
Of course, he hadn’t been like that when he’d first joined the office two years before as soon as the war had got over. During those first few months, he’d been Ernie MacMillan, former Hufflepuff Prefect and loyal member of Dumbledore’s Army, receiver of ten O.W.L.s and six N.E.W.T.s. He had secured the job even before he had given his late N.E.W.T.s in November. He had been the Ernie that his friends and family were familiar with.
But that Ernie had also disappeared a few months into the job and got replaced by the current version. His co-workers, however, seemed unable to accept the new-and-not-improved Ernie, as was evident in the shaking of their heads when they saw him, the all-too-sympathetic smiles, and the constant offer of drinks and company, even blind dates.
The only person who didn’t seem to give a damn was Mandy Brocklehurst, who had joined six months before. She was already known to him, having been a Ravenclaw in his year, and even though she hadn’t been a DA member, she had fought in the battle of Hogwarts. It was possible that these conditions helped her understand him better than the others, although neither of them ever broached the subject during their conversations.
Mandy had gradually become the only person whom he would describe as a “friend”. He had purposefully grown apart from Justin and Hannah, but Mandy was different. She had recently arrived in his life, so he didn’t have to justify his lifestyle to her. Besides, she was good company. She was blunt, funny, and up till then, she hadn’t shown the need to display commiserations towards him.
It was, thus, that he was more pleased than annoyed when he found her sitting in his chair when he reached his cubicle, nibbling at the end of a quill.
“Do you like the taste of wood?” he asked her.
“It’s chocolate-flavoured,” she said, biting off the end. “Honeydukes is always outdoing itself.”
He nodded in reply and perched at the end of his desk. “What brings you here this morning?”
“Christmas.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s Christmas in a week,” she elaborated as she her glasses up her nose. “In case you couldn’t tell by the tiny Father Christmases zooming around the Ministry, the large tree at the Atrium, the ludicrous decorations all over the place, the carols breaking out randomly, the “”
“All right, all right! I get it,” said Ernie, waving his hands in protest. “What about it?”
“What are your plans?”
“I don’t have any,” answered Ernie with a shrug. “I wasn’t planning to celebrate it.”
“Like Morgana’s flappy petticoat you aren’t,” retorted Mandy.
“Excuse me?”
“What? Never heard of a petticoat before?”
“No “ I have… I mean, I wasn’t talking about that. I really am not going to celebrate Christmas.”
“Don’t be such a poo,” said Mandy. “We are going to do it together.”
“Excuse me?”
Mandy rolled her eyes and stood up. “MacMillan, honestly, you’re giving your old house a bad name.”
“You said we are doing Christmas together.”
“So I did.”
“Well…I mean,” said Ernie, struggling to convey his mixed feelings of incredulity and outrage, “how can you just decide this by yourself? What if I don’t want to?”
“You have no choice,” said Mandy firmly. “I’m coming over with food and a bottle of wine.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“On the contrary, I do.” She picked up a register from his desk and showed it to him. It was the one in which they kept records of the employees’ contact details.
“How in Helga’s cup did you get your hands on that?”
“Jenkins, the records guy owed me a favour,” replied Mandy in a satisfied-sort-of-way. “Anyway, the important thing is that you can’t escape this. It’s like fate, MacMillan.”
Ernie was by now slowly getting annoyed. “Look, Mandy,” he said in a quiet voice, standing up and facing her, “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your sympathy. I want to be left alone.”
“You think I’m doing this for charity?” she asked.
“You have other friends,” he said simply.
“So do you. You have Justin and Hannah.” Her hands were now on her hips, and she looked quite determined. “But you have been avoiding them, haven’t you?”
“I don’t have to discuss my personal issues with you right now, thanks.”
The comment made her shoulders sag, and for a while she didn’t say anything. “Okay,” she said finally, and Ernie was surprised to see the sadness in her eyes. “I’m sorry I ever made this suggestion. I had no right.”
Picking up the register, she made to leave, but he found himself stopping her. “I…” he began, and then stopped.
She raised her eyebrows in question.
“All right, you can come to my place,” he said grudgingly. “But don’t expect to have fun.”
She beamed.
“Scourgify.”
Magic had a lot to do with intent and force. For instance, a firm Scouring Charm could clean half the room in one go; performed without concentration, it would achieve only a fifth of that result. This was why Ernie, sprawled on his sofa, had been repeating his for the last ten minutes to get rid of a tea-stain on the carpet and failing at it.
The better part of his flat was now presentable, although not as clean and tidy as it could have been. He didn’t mind. It was just that he was conflicted about the tea-stain; it was rather visible on the pale green carpet which his mother had gifted him, and he didn’t want to remove the carpet either. And yet, he couldn’t gather the will to vanish it successfully.
The door-bell rang. He directed his wand at the door and opened it. Mandy was standing outside, holding a basket. That wasn’t what his eyes were on, though. She was wearing a well-fitting grey Muggle trench-coat, tall black shoes, and her glasses were missing. Her blond hair, which was usually styled after McGonagall’s tight bun, was now draped over her face and shoulders, falling in soft waves.
He gulped and sat up, instantly alert.
“Chivalry is dead, of course,” she said before walking in and kicking the door shut with her right foot.
“I “ I “ ”
“Move your arse now, Ernie, good heavens.” She set the basket down on a table. “I brought wine and éclairs.”
“Where are your glasses?”
“Oh, that.” She proceeded to take off her coat; she was clad in a lime green dress which accentuated curves Ernie never knew she had. “I’m wearing contacts.”
“Pardon?”
“Contact lenses,” she said, sitting down on the sofa to his left. “Muggle invention. They’re like glasses, only small enough to cover the cornea.”
“Handy,” he mumbled, unable to take his eyes off her no matter how much he wanted to look away.
“What have you been up to all afternoon?”
He cleared his throat. “Cleaned up the place a bit. Haven’t had guests in a while.”
“Mmmm…”
“Only “ you see that stain in the carpet?”
“Where?”
“A bit off your feet to the left.”
“Oh…yeah, I see it.”
“It won’t go.”
“Which charm did you use?”
“Scouring.”
“Let me try.”
“Certainly.”
He watched her get up to take her wand out of her coat pocket. He supposed he should say or do something other than the things he was saying and doing at that moment, but his brain felt a bit mushy. He could think of nothing to break the lull in the conversation, and remained sitting in the same position when she had returned with her wand.
“Scourgify,” she said in a determined voice.
The stain vanished.
“Wow,” said Ernie.
She winked at him.
“Uh…Listen,” he said, instantly getting up. “I’ll go to the kitchen and get us some food.”
“Sure.”
The first thing he did when he reached the kitchen was to blow a low whistle. There was no doubt about it: Mandy was looking beautiful that night. The thought made him uncomfortable and excited, though he supposed he shouldn’t start entertaining any hope. Not that he was up for much excitement of the sexual kind; he didn’t fancy himself an expert in that area. He was almost a virgin. His first, and only, time had been with a friend in greenhouse seven while on detention during seventh year. The encounter had been hurried, blurry, and neither of them had considered repeating it.
His train of thought was interrupted as Mandy joined him in the kitchen.
“What are you looking for?” she asked him.
“Uh “ plates,” he replied, taking two out of the holder.
“Did you cook?” She sounded amused.
“I made some Spaghetti Bolognese,” he said.
“Mmmm…sounds good. Here, let me get those plates.”
“Thanks.”
He caught a whiff of her perfume as she took the plates from him “ grapefruit, and a hint of violet. He had to stop himself from leaning in and smelling more of the scent, but she saved him the trouble by walking out into the drawing room.
“Damn,” he muttered. Then, with a brief shake of his head, he picked up the casserole and followed her.
“Glasses?” she asked. “And cutlery?”
“Oh yes…”
Five minutes later, the two of them were seated, ready to eat.
“This is good,” she said. “Where did you learn how to cook?”
“I never learnt,” he said. “I just took the recipes from mum and tried them out.”
They ate silently for a while. Then, she spoke up. “You know,” she said, her voice tentative, “this isn’t the impression I had of you at school. You were such a pompous prick I thought you grew up in a manor, being served by house-elves and whatnot.”
“You thought me the Hufflepuff version of Draco Malfoy?”
“Something like that.”
The conversation died again as Ernie, instead of replying, ruminated on why her words didn’t offend him as they should have. “We didn’t live in a manor,” he said at last. “My grandfather lost it when my dad was a kid. That didn’t change their old school mannerism, though, and I grew into it.”
“Ahh,” she said. “Sorry to hear that.”
“That’s all right.” He paused, and then asked, “I was embarrassing, wasn’t I?”
“A little too eager to prove yourself, I think.”
“You don’t mince words, do you?” he asked.
“What purpose would that serve?”
He laughed.
“You’ve changed a lot, Ernie. The old you would have bristled.”
They got up a few minutes later. After the dirty dishes had been dumped into the sink, they returned to the sofas for more wine.
“This is nice,” said Ernie, tasting an éclair.
“An aunt got them from Geneva.” She took off her shoes and settled herself on her sofa with her legs propped up on the table. Using her wand, she levitated an éclair straight into her mouth, and then closed her eyes as she savoured the taste.
Normally, Ernie would ask people to get their feet off his table “ or any table, to be honest, but he didn’t mind Mandy doing it so much. Everything she did seemed to be a natural extension of herself. He was more bothered by the endlessness of the bare legs stretched out in front of him. Bothered “ not in a way that would make him object to it, but bothered just the same.
“I never knew who you went out with back at school,” she said.
After pouring some wine into his glass, he replied, “That’s because I didn’t go out with anybody.”
“Oh?” She sat up straight, eyes narrowed. “Are you…gay?”
He nearly choked on his drink. “What? No!”
She looked relieved as she leaned back on the sofa again.
“Just unsuccessful with the witching side of the wizarding world.”
“The witching side of the wizarding world!” she repeated. “Why not the ‘witching side of the magical world’, you sexist pig?”
“What?” he asked. “That’s the expression everybody uses.”
“It’s annoying,” she snapped. “High time we stopped thinking man gave birth to the blooming universe.”
Bewildered, he blinked.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“You’re the oddest person I’ve ever met, Mandy, and I have met Luna Lovegood.”
“Dear old Loony,” she said, suddenly giggling. “Wonder what she is doing right now.”
“Luna,” he corrected. “There’s no need to call her ‘Loony’.”
“Relax,” she said. “Everybody in Ravenclaw called her by that name, and I actually liked her.”
“Couldn’t tell.”
“Oh c’mon, Ernie.” Taking her legs off the table, she moved closer to him. “You were in the DA together, weren’t you?”
He nodded.
“I was unaware of the group’s existence during fifth year,” she said. “Not until Edgecombe started sporting those vicious pimples, anyway. Padma apparently asked Su and Lisa to join, you know, but not Morag and me because we were both related to suspected Death-Eaters, she with Avery, and me with Nott. Su and Lisa refused, but swore not to tell anyone else.”
“Would the two of you have joined during fifth year, given the chance?”
“I don’t know about Morag, but I would have.”
“What about seventh-year?”
“Well, Padma just disappeared, didn’t she? Plus, I was never particularly close to her. I didn’t know how to contact you.”
“You fought, though,” said Ernie, wishing they hadn’t started this discussion. “So, you’re redeemed in my eyes.”
“Good to know that.”
“What about you?” he asked to change the topic. “Who were you with at Hogwarts?”
“Kevin Entwhistle,” she replied without hesitation. “He was in our year.”
“I vaguely remember him.”
“Started going out in sixth year, dated into seventh year, and then broke up with him because he didn’t fight but chose to run with the kids.”
“I see.”
“He was the one I lost my virginity to,” she said with a grimace.
“Are you unhappy with that thought?”
“Deeply.”
Chuckling, he refilled their glasses with wine.
“So…”
“Mmm?”
“You seriously cannot be a virgin.” When he merely shook his head in reply, she continued. “Who was it then, MacMillan? Out with it!”
He sighed. “I can’t believe I am having this conversation with you right now, Mandy. I wasn’t even willing to have company tonight.”
“I only want to cheer you up a bit.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because…”
She got up, sat down next to him, and drawing his face closer towards her, kissed him softly. He responded a first; even though the move had surprised him, he found that kissing a girl he was attracted to was a pleasant thing. However, something inside him made him draw back.
“Sorry,” he mumbled apologetically. “But, Mandy, not like this.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t…I don’t want you to kiss me, or…or do stuff to me because you…”
She waited.
“Because you pity me.” Once he had said it, his voice grew stronger. “I am fine, to be honest. I know I don’t look it, but I am fine.”
“Bloody hell!” she cried, making him jump. “Stop behaving as though you are the only one who’s been affected by that bloody battle.”
Before he could argue further, she started to unzip her dress. He shut his eyes on an impulse and scooted away from her.
“No need to panic,” she said irritably, “I’m wearing a brassiere.”
“Considering the fact that I haven’t seen a girl in her undergarments in my entire life,” he said hoarsely, “I’d have to-”
“Open your eyes, you saintly prat.”
He shook his head vehemently.
“Please, Ernie. Look at me.”
Something about her voice made him gather enough courage to obey her. The first thing he saw “ probably because he had been prepared for it “ was her bra. It was black and looked like it was made of satin. More importantly, it held up two lovely, perky breasts.
Then, his jaw dropped as his eyes fell on the network of deep brown scars imprinted on her skin; they started from below her chest, and seemed to run straight into her abdomen. In any case, they were visible down to the point where the dress had fallen.
“What happened?” he whispered.
“I…don’t remember,” she said. “I was duelling, then I fell unconscious. All I know is that…when I woke up in St. Mungo, I had these.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he truly felt bad.
“Don’t be.” She slowly zipped up her dress. For some reason, she avoided his gaze as she spoke. “I wasn’t planning to show you this horror, but you asked for it.”
It was then that Ernie, for the first time in his life, made an attempt at comforting a girl. He awkwardly held her hand and squeezed it. “You “ you’re still beautiful in spite of them,” he murmured.
“Now who’s being charitable?”
She tried to smile, but Ernie could see her eyes it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m just stating something I believe to be true,” he said, puffing out his chest a little. It made her laugh.
“But…do you or do you not pity me?” he asked her.
“Is it offensive if I do?”
“Then…you do.”
“It’s not as simple as that, Ernie,” she said. Now, her hands were over his, rubbing them gently. “Of course, I pity you. You don’t laugh, you don’t take pride in yourself, you’ve withdrawn from people whom you’ve been with for seven years, people whom you fought with in a deadly battle. You don’t take care of yourself and you look like a mess.”
Unable to deny anything, he let her continue.
“That’s not the only reason why I’m here, though.”
“Really?” he asked, his heart heavy because he wanted it to be true.
“I like you,” she said. Her hands had ceased massaging, and she pinned him in a steady gaze. “You calm me.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you do. I feel secure around you, and it might be something which has risen out of selfishness because… we’re two damaged remnants of a war. And I know that you won’t judge me, or my…”
She stopped, looked away, and didn’t speak up again for a while.
“Did Kevin leave you for those scars?” he asked.
“I did the leaving part,” she said. “There was no way I was going to welcome him back after he proved himself to be a pathetic coward. Besides, do you think a person who doesn’t have the guts to face a battle wouldn’t wince at battle scars?”
“No,” he said.
“I won’t deny that I’m not sometimes ashamed of the hideousness which is now my front,” she went on. “No matter how hard I try not to be bitter about it, I often wish I hadn’t got them. But there they are, you know. And I just…”
As her voice broke, Ernie, without thinking too much about it, drew her closer and hugged her. She sniffled a little, but appeared to be struggling not to break down completely.
“I think it’s good to weep without restraint once in a while,” he said pleasantly.
She giggled. “It’s not in my nature to weep,” she said as she pulled back from his embrace. He watched the tears ran down her cheeks. Then, he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped them off her face. There was something thrilling about having the ability to do all of this with a girl comfortably, and it wasn’t like he had had any experience. The thought helped lift his mood.
“Let me see those scars again,” he said.
She didn’t seem to believe him, so he reached over and began to pull the zip down her back. So many emotions attacked him during that few seconds it took to perform this task; he found it infinitely arousing to be undressing a girl, yet between the lightheadedness and the heat that was filling up his entire body, there was also the awareness that he was helping somebody heal. There was no rush in him as he let her sleeves fall off her shoulder, as he breathed in her scent, as he kissed her neck lightly, and as his fingers traced the numerous scars.
“Are you sure you want to?” she murmured.
When he looked at her, she was blushing, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. He felt his knees tremble, and he remembered he was nervous of the whole situation he was in. Yet, he also knew his nervousness had nothing to do with fear, or self-pity, or disgust, or anything of that sort. It was the kind of nervousness that one experienced when he had, for instance, given an excellent paper, and couldn’t wait to hear the results.
“Yes,” he said, “because, funnily enough, you calm me, too.”
Ernie would never forget the smile that lit up on her face as he said this, would never forget the fierceness with which she kissed him, even though he’d never remember how long that kiss had lasted. But afterwards, he did make her lie down, he did press his lips upon every single scar that he could see, he did take off the black satin bra and he did make love to her with a passion he hadn’t known he had in him. It was nothing like the confusing encounter which he had had with Susan in greenhouse seven, an encounter that had ruined their friendship; on the other hand, it cemented his relationship with Mandy, and he felt something in him wake up from dormancy.
“What do we do now?” he asked her as they lay on the hastily-enlarged sofa, spent.
“Start living again, I reckon,” she answered.
“Maybe, I should say hello to Justin and Hannah, you know.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“Will this make my nightmares stop?”
She propped herself up on an elbow and caressed his jaw. “Is that what has been bothering you?”
“I saw too many people dying in front of me,” he said. “The nightmares came months later.”
“They will go away,” she assured him with a light peck on his cheek. “I promise.”
Half an hour later, when she had fallen into sleep, he got up and walked to the bathroom.
“About time,” snapped the mirror as soon as Ernie had removed the cloth. “What’s with that smirk?”
Without bothering to answer, Ernie slathered some shaving-cream on, picked up a razor, and wiped his face clean of the beard which had caused the rift between him and his mirror.
“Happy?” he asked. “From now on, this might be a regular show.”
“Delighted,” replied the mirror. “Must be a really charming girl.”
He laughed. “She is. Good night, then.”
“Good night.”