Love Actually in the Potterverse

At first, even though he rationally knew that Katie had left him, or rather made it so that there was no other option but for him to leave her, there had been denial. This couldn't really be happening. He and Katie had been rock-solid. She had never given him any reason to be unhappy with her, and as far as he could tell, she had felt likewise about him.

Then there had been shock. They had been the dream couple. Tall, athletic Oliver and pretty, blond Katie. Where had all this come from? What had caused it? And more importantly, could he have done anything to fix it?

Then there came grief. Merged with - not followed by or following - anger. How could she do this to him? He wasn't done with this! The relationship was well-short of its expiry date as far as he was concerned. How could he have no say in this? He thought it had been a democracy. They had laughed together. He had made her laugh. He had told her things that he had never told anyone else. Surely there must have been something there for her. Surely it couldn't have all been one-sided. She must have felt something too. How could that have changed? How could she just end things like this? How dare she? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

Though the heavy, numbing sensation within his skull and the dull pain in his chest made him feel as though he and his hurt were the only things that were real, cut off from such mundane needs as warmth and companionship and money and food, he became vaguely aware of a knot of hunger building in his stomach. The self-preservation instinct that had served him well during his career as a professional Quidditch player took over and he decided that he would have to make himself food. Surprisingly, he had been eating during the last week. Not that he had been enjoying or savouring his food or investing the time and care that he would normally in its preparation. The best house elf in the world could have invested hours in its preparation and he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between the best cordon bleu in the world and a sheet of soggy cardboard. No, these days for him food had only one purpose. Survival.

Footsteps sounded on the cobbled path outside and he burrowed deeper into his covers. Gabrielle must be coming. Gabrielle, the little French girl with her perky curls and brisk, business-like manner that belied her flamboyant Gallic gestures and her artistic flair. He had seen sketches in her workbook and he could tell even with his untrained eye that she was onto something. Marcus had told him that she considered cleaning for another man a fair exchange for an opportunity to sketch the beautiful Tuscan countryside.

And she could cook. After giving his slim frame a critical once-over, she had once roasted a chicken for him. It had been like an English roast chicken but somehow not, with exotic herbs and rich flavours that teased his taste buds. He would have enjoyed it had he been more in-sorts, but with more pressing things on his mind he had done no more than distantly note the moist, juicy flesh and subtle spices as if he was watching someone seated across from him in a restaurant savouring it. Chicken had been Katie's favourite. Had been Katie's favourite. Funny how when you broke up with someone, you thought and spoke of them in the past tense, as if they were dead.

The following Monday when Gabrielle had returned, she had found the chicken preserved almost in its entirety in the fridge. She had clucked and tut-tutted, giving Oliver narrow-eyed sidelong looks, then picked up the tray and dumped its contents into the bin, all the while muttering something under her breath in French that didn't seem all that complementary. Oliver had felt bad about the chicken. He had ached to say something to her, to try and explain to her that it wasn't her or her cooking and that, really, he appreciated the gesture; it was just that he was going through a very difficult time right now. But when not writing, he wasn't particularly verbose in English, and the lack of a common tongue between them just made things impossible.

Oliver twitched into wakefulness with the realisation that something was not quite right. Instead of continuing to echo to the front door, her footsteps had stopped. What was she doing?

"Oliver, please get up," a familiar male voice requested through the windowpane.

"Oliver isn't here right now." The prone form burrowed deeper into the covers, trying to block out the insistent rapping on the window. "He died of a broken heart." Even though his numb state Oliver winced at how trite he sounded. Not that he ever had any dignity as far as Marcus Flint was concerned, who was the only person that could possibly be visiting him at this far-flung location.

"So who am I talking to now, your vengeful spirit?" the voice countered scornfully. "Listen, Gabrielle is worried about you. She spoke to Fleur, who spoke to Bill, who spoke to me. So I came to see you."

"Why were you talking to Bill Weasley?" Oliver yawned. "I thought you didn't care to associate with that family."

"I don't really have a choice. He's my brother, you twit." Oliver jerked into a sitting position and flung open the curtains. Ron Weasley's indignant face appeared against the glass. "And what exactly do you mean by that family, eh?"

"Flint's words, not mine," Oliver shrugged. "Don't take it personally. Slytherins aren't known for having good judgment with people."

"You got that right," Ron muttered. "Are you going to let me in or not?"

"I suppose," Oliver shrugged.

Minutes later Ron was sitting before the fire, ridding himself of the last of his shivers with a steaming mug of Horlicks cupped between his hands. Oliver was still in his pyjamas. His head topped a cocoon of heavy quilting that was wrapped around him, like an extremely scruffy butterfly that had started metamorphous but couldn't be arsed finishing it. "So, we didn't have much contact, but I was at Hogwarts around the same time as you," Ron was saying. "Replaced you as Keeper, in fact." He looked up hopefully. "Did you ever come to any of the games? Did you see me play? What did you think?"

"No offence, Ron, but I really don't care," Oliver said dourly. "Everytime I think back to Quidditch during school, I think of Katie. And then takes all the joy of any past memories away from me. However, if you want a recommendation to Puddlemere United, I can write you one."

"No, I'm quite happy in my current job, thanks," Ron said. "But actually, that's what I came to talk to you about. Gabrielle asked me through Fleur, who asked me through Bill, to talk to you. She's worried about you, see."

"Gabrielle's worried about me?" Oliver blinked. "About what?"

"About Katie."

"Well, if she wanted to find out how she was, she should have asked that bloke she was fucking when I walked in on them when I went back to my flat to get changed before Harry and Hermione's wedding," Oliver spat out. Ron's eyebrows rose. "Do give my regards to the lovely couple, will you?" he added wryly.

"Um, right," Ron said diffidently. "Will do. But it's not that I want to talk to you about - well, Gabrielle wanted me to talk to you about - not Katie exactly, but the effect that she's having on you. Break-ups are crap enough as it is," having found his groove, he plowed on, "but when you're famous and everyone wants a piece of you and won't leave you alone to lick your wounds, they're downright shitty. And because of my profession I have a unique perspective on what you're going through."

"So you want an exclusive, is that it?" Oliver's dark eyes flashed fire. "No fucking doing. You can bloody well stuff out of here, mate."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, just pull your head out of your arse for one minute, will you? I don't want to interview you, you egotistical prat. Personally I'm finding the Tornados and their eight match winning streak a lot more interesting than B-grade celebrities and their sordid love lives, and besides, you're not even my beat. I'm here to help you."

"Well, I don't want to be helped," Oliver declared obstinately. "I want to be left alone."

"Christ on a bike, if you continue acting like this, you'll be well on your way to getting what you want," Ron swore. "Are you Gryffindor or not? Get a fucking grip, mate. You can't let your world fall apart because the girl you want isn't interested. You have to keep on going."

"Why?" Oliver asked miserably.

"Because you just do," Ron insisted. "Anyway, what I came to say is that when you're a celebrity and you act like you have something to hide, people are going to try and find out what it is. If people get the impression that you're broken-hearted, then they're going to pay someone like me a lot of money to get to the bottom of it. The public is fascinated by celebrities who hide themselves away, recluses. You can't go hiding yourself away and inviting people onto you like this. So if you want to be left alone, you have to act as though everything is normal. Conduct a few interviews. Pass the whole thing off as one big joke. Be seen on the arm of some singer or actress. Even if your heart's not really in it, if you want to be left in peace, it will do the trick. And maybe if you act as though everything is okay, you'll do it so well that you'll eventually trick yourself into believing that everything really is okay."

"Thing is, Ron, I don't really give a stuff about my dignity and how the public see me. Okay?"

"Well, perhaps you should," Ron told him. "We're Gryffindors, after all. Grow some balls, mate."

"You don't know what it feels like," Oliver said miserably.

"Au contraire, as Gabrielle may say, I know exactly what it feels like. So don't go on as if you are the only person on the face of this planet to ever have your heart broken, because you're not. You're nothing special. I mean, at least you got to have the one that you wanted. Just get over yourself."

"Right. Sorry," Oliver said. He sat staring into the embers of the fire that Ron had lit, then looked up suddenly. "It's Harry, isn't it?"

"What?" Ron blinked.

"Never mind."

"You know," Ron began slowly, "for a writer you are incredibly unperceptive."

"I know," Oliver said. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking clearly at the moment." He ran his hands through his hair.

"Well, if you seriously thought for one second that I fancied Harry, then you not thinking clearly is the understatement of the year," Ron shrugged. He got to his feet and stood looking down at Oliver for a second. "I can't make you feel better. But I can feed you. You hungry?"

Oliver gave Ron an assessing look. His stomach was making an insistent rumble. "Do you know how to cook?"

"I lived with Seamus for a year."

"Does he know how to cook?"

"No, I just thought I'd throw that in just for the sake of it even though it has nothing to do with the present conversation. Of course he knows how to cook, you daft bugger. Why do you think I'd mention it if he didn't? He's a fucking chef. So, you hungry or what?"

Oliver hesitated. He was going through a phase where he was just beginning to very occasionally feel like company again but not really want to talk to anyone. The two didn't really go together - and Ron seemed like a talker at the best of times. On the other hand, cooking himself a decent breakfast felt like a task of Herculean proportions and he just wasn't up to it at the moment. It would be nice to be looked after. "Yes, actually I am," he said. And smiled. It didn't feel genuine, but it was a start.

* * * * *

Fu-Fudge.

As she rounded the corner, running as best as she could on heels that sunk into the carpet, Lavender mentally altered the mid-formed swearword to something a lot less offensive. Since after all, she was in the employment of the Minister now, and it would not do to let her tongue run amok in its usual fashion. Plus, fudge was offensive to no-one and nothing. Except her hips, that was. That diet she had tried in October had lasted only as long as she had stayed on it. And with the approach of the holiday season and all the gluttony that came with it, she feared for the future of her waistline, she truly did. A line of people materialised suddenly ahead of her and she skidded to a halt, crashing into the arms of a barrel-chested waist-coated man who could only be the Minister's butler.

Penelope Clearwater turned and fixed Lavender with a hard stare. "You're late."

"I know." Lavender was busy with the readjustment of the hem of her skirt.

"You were meant to be here thirty minutes ago-"

"I know," Lavender cut her off mid-tirade. Both women glowered at each other. Any further thought they may have had to contribute remained unvoiced as footsteps approached.

* * * * *

"Nymphadora?" came the voice which proceeded the knock at the door. "In ten."

"It's Tonks, damn it, Tonks," the actress in question muttered, but without its usual force since all her energy was concentrated on struggling into her corset. It was a period piece detailing the supposed love affair between Godfrey Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw, and she had the female lead.

A second knock came at the door, and Tonks' spiky pink hair all but bristled. "That was a short ten minutes!"

"Wotcher, Tonks!" the voice belonging to the knocker called through the door.

Despite the corset boning digging into her ribcage, Tonks grinned. "Wotcher, Cho!" she called back, greeting her agent and friend. "Come in and give me a hand with this thing, will you? No wonder people thought that women during our founders' time were weak. They couldn't breathe."

"You got that right." The door opened and closed, and Tonks inhaled sharply as Cho Chang's fingers tugged on the bodice. "Sorry about that. They certainly had a high pain threshold back then, didn't they? Is that too tight?"

"It will have to do," Tonks gulped. A mischievous grin spread across her face. "You don't think we could get Macmillan into one of these, do you?"

"I doubt it," Cho shrugged. "We'd certainly have some fun trying though." The smile left her face. "Um, that was what Ernie wanted me to talk to you about, actually. He said that during the last shot, you were looking a little, well-"

"Porky?" Tonks suggested.

"Rubenesque is the word I'd use," Cho said delicately. Her cheeks had gone pink.

"I bet it's not the one he used though," Tonks scowled. The deepening of Cho's blush confirmed this to be the case. "Oh, don't you look embarrassed. I know you're just the messenger. The nerve of him. I'm thinner that the majority of women outside of the industry! Pompous git."

"Perhaps he just thought that with your, um, "ability," it's not such a huge demand to make," Cho suggested apologetically.

"Oh, don't defend him. You're too nice. He's a prima donna and you know it." Ernie Macmillan was also a young and precociously talented up-and-coming director. Which was probably why he was a prima donna. The problem with being a metamorphagous was that she was hardly ever tempted to be herself. After all, why show up for a date looking like her when she could go as Claudia Schiffer or Penelope Cruz? But as resentful as she felt about her talent sometimes, she had to concede that it had helped her out a lot in her current career. She had played everything from a six year old werewolf (her Golden Centaur-nominated role) to Cornelius Fudge in a dramatic reproduction of the late Minister of Magic's life.

Sighing, she walked over the full-length mirror and screwed up her face in concentration. Seconds later elbow-length blonde curls cascaded down her back and green eyes blinked back at her. And she had successfully fulfilled Ernie's request and was now a full dress size smaller.

"Um, Tonks?" Cho was at her elbow. "You know, I don't think Ernie meant to go smaller everywhere."

"I can believe that," Tonks muttered. A second screwed up face later, and a full bust strained at her bodice. She looked at Cho and realised that her manager was struggling not to laugh. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Cho giggled. "You're right, he is a git. But you look constipated when you do that."

Tonks made the face a third time and laughed along with her. It really did look silly. "I thought it was fashionable for women to have flat chests in Rowena's time. Apparently men thought they were sexy."

"I can't believe there was ever a time men thought flat chests were sexy," Cho shook her head. "You know, perhaps that's a point you'd want to raise with Ernie since he strives for historical accuracy." They looked at each other and laughed. Ernie had a very creative way of interpreting the facts, with an emphasis on "interpretation."

The earlier knock repeated itself. "Nymphadora, you're on."

"Coming," Tonks called back. The boning prodded at her, and she yelped. "Here's hoping I pass out five minutes into production."

Cho was looking at her as if she had suggested they both fly Hippogriffs to the moon. "Why don't you just make your waist smaller, if it's such a problem?"

"Right." Tonks' face in the mirror now wore a sheepish grin. "I was about to suggest that." Cho snorted in disbelief. She shrunk her waist several inches and basked in a now leisurely deep breath. "Let's go."

"Today you're doing the scene in which Salazar Slytherin propositions you in the school library," Cho debriefed her as they walked to the set, Tonks holding her skirts up out of the mud. Among other things, Rowena was said to be responsible for breaking up the famous Godfrey/Salazar friendship. According to History Macmillan, that was. Salazar was played by Lee Jordan, a school chum of Fred and George Weasley and a one-time member of the Order of the Phoenix. Tonks rather liked Lee, and not just because she was certain it was he who had leviated Blast-Ended Skrewts into Ernie's trailer. "You know, the one where you run away from him and he tears your skirts. "And I have been told that Lee ate an onion when he found out what scene you'd be doing, so don't say I didn't warn you."

"Really?" Tonks brightened. As they walked past the crew's food table, she reached out and grabbed a fistful of garlic bread. "Just a friendly reminder that he's only the second biggest practical joker on the set," she explained at Cho's shocked expression, then crammed the bread into her mouth. Soon it would be Lee's turn to make a face.

Ernie was holding court when they arrived. In between shrieks that he had ordered strawberry tea, not strawberry flavoured black tea, he was moaning to his assistant, "Susan, I can't take this anymore!" Susan Bones was patting his hand in a soothing manner, yet shared a wry look with Tonks and Cho when they arrived.

"Ah, Nymphadora." Ernie was all smiles upon noticing his star actress. "How is my leading lady?"

"Awaiting to be ravished by Salazar Slytherin." For her part, Tonks could only maintain her smile by picturing a cream pie being thrown at the director's head. "Where is he?"

Ernie moaned and buried his face in his hands. "There's a slight problem," Susan said by way of explanation. "Wardrobe ran out of fabric for Lee Jordan's costume and the second batch only came in yesterday afternoon. They worked through the night, but they were unable to finish it in time for shooting today. You'll have to do the love scene with Godfrey Gryffindor."

Gr-reat. Tonks was now doubly grateful she had downsized her stomach and upsized, er, her feminine wiles. Despite whatever Witches Weekly had gushed about her being the luckiest witch in Britain when it revealed who her male co-stars were, love scenes were the pits. Not that she minded being in the all-together with an attractive male. She just wasn't entirely comfortable being in the all-together with an attractive male when fifty members of the crew were hovering around and a camera was positioned inches from her face and the less, er, G-rated areas of her body.

"So what's the problem?" she asked. "Just get Smith in here and we'll shoot." She had intended the garlic breath for Lee, but it wouldn't go entirely to waste on Zacharias. Sometimes she wished the lanky blond Hufflepuff would get shot in a way that had nothing to do with a camera.

"Zacharias is no longer with us." Susan had to raise her voice over a second moan from Ernie.

"He's kicked the bucket?" Tonks suggested hopefully. Cho gave her a pained look.

"No." The slight smile on Susan's face hinted that she may have shared Tonks' wish. "He's left the film. He's decided to revive his singing career."

"Singing career?" Tonks repeated. "You're too kind. Oh yes, I quite agree," she deadpanned after yet another wail from Ernie. "In his case being a one-hit wonder was still one hit too many. His voice is a terrible tragedy to revisit upon the wizarding world, especially with the festive season approaching. Now, now, Ernie. There's no need to fret. I'll tell you what - when his new single is released I'll buy you some earplugs. Wondrous Muggle invention - very effective. I couldn't have survived a live-in relationship with Viktor Krum without my pair." Cho, who had started to drink the rejected strawberry flavoured tea, choked into her cup.

"But we've done quite well given the situation," Susan said. "We've found someone to play Godfrey. An unknown, but very talented. And with a reputation of being easy to work with." Was it her imagination or did Susan give Ernie a sidelong look after that last part? Tonks sighed inwardly. Now she was going to have to kiss someone she'd never met, let alone talked to, before. It was a funny profession.

"And he still hasn't arrived on set!" Ernie bawled.

"His manager only finalised the contract this morning," his assistant hastened to reassure him. If Susan ever left her present job, she would be well-qualified for a position in the United Wizarding Nations. "I'm sure he'll arrive as soon as he's able. He's very punctual."

"I don't care if he's punctual!" Ernie burst out. "I want him on set now!" Tonks and Cho shared a look. Susan recommenced the patting of Ernie's shoulder. "Susan, do you not realise what a catastrophe this is?" Ernie spun around and grabbed her wrist. "To have an unknown male in the lead of a big budget film is career suicide! How will I ever justify this to the studios? How will I-"

There was a loud crack, making the three women jump and Ernie shriek and topple backwards in his director's chair. A stockily-built wizard stood before them, blinking hooded blue eyes quizzically. It took Tonks a few moments to recognise him, and even then it was only from Weasley family portraits, never from an in-the-flesh meeting. "Charlie?"

Charlie Weasley bent down and pulled Ernie to his feet, who sniffed and began brushing off his coat sleeves. "Should I know you from somewhere?" he asked once his attention had turned to her.

"No, but I feel as though we have met before, I've heard so much about you," Tonks chattered on eagerly. Cho and Susan exchanged bemused looks. "I was in the Order with your brother, and you too, although we've never met personally. And I know Fred and George, and Ron, and Ginny - she's a great kid. Yes, I feel as though I have met you."

"Er-" Charlie stuttered.

"Tonks, you're in costume," Cho reminded her helpfully.

"Oops," Tonks grinned. To Charlie, she explained, "The name's Tonks. I'm a metamorphagous, meaning I can change my appearance at will without the aid of potions. Like an amagus, except I can only change into another human, not an animal. And also unlike them, we're born, not made, but the training is still very difficult."

"Yes, I do believe she helped you out numerous times in her years as an Order member." Tragically, Ernie had started up again. "And now she devotes her talent to the still higher art of acting."

Again, Tonks only maintained her equilibrium by picturing a cream pie crashing into Ernie's head.

"So, let's roll, shall we?" the director suggested breezily.

"Er, now?" Tonks blinked.

"Yes, why not?" Ernie continued. "Let's do a little rehearsal now to make sure that Cameron here-"

"Charlie," the second Weasley interceded quietly.

"-has chemistry with my leading lady."

"But I haven't even seen the script for this scene yet," Charlie pointed out.

"Oh, don't worry about that, there's hardly any dialogue in this scene," Ernie assured him. Charlie looked more anxious. Tonks smiled inwardly. Evidently the boy did have some knowledge of the industry. "And I know your costume hasn't been altered yet, but never fear, your clothes won't be staying on very long. Now, no pressure, I just want to see how you two get along - Rosmerta," he called over his shoulder, "once the costume is ready, take Cameron into the make-up tent and make sure that he has no blemishes on his derriere."

Charlie blanched.

"Just relax, man," said a familiar voice that made Tonk's heart sink into her stomach. "Think of it as an on-the-job perk."

"Lee, what are you doing here?" she said bluntly without even turning around. "You're not on until this evening."

"Oh, but darling, I'm never off," Lee said in a fake-showbiz schmaltz. Under duress, he had foregone his customary dreadlocks for ringlets for the role. "And I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Just adlib for now, Cameron," Ernie instructed, easing back onto his throne-like director's chair and idly shooing them into position. "The words are only secondary in importance for this scene. Aaaaannnd...action!"

Tonks as Rowena was standing by the fireplace holding a book. Charlie as Godfrey approached. Tonks very much as Tonks inclined her head slightly, suggesting that Charlie look at her book. Charlie did so, saw the script nestled in the pages and gave her a grateful look.

"I'm surprised to find you alone," he said.

"I'm always alone," Tonks said.

"But you're always surrounded by people. People who adore you."

According to her interpretation of the script, Tonks laid the book flat on the table and turned around to face Charlie for emphasis. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ernie nodding approvingly. "I can't imagine a predicament in which one feels more alone."

"And do you feel alone now?" Charlie was closer to her now. His stockiness was deceptive. He was actually quite tall, like most of the Weasley clan.

"I may do," she said coyly. "Come closer."

"Now?"

He had moved closer still. She could see little gold specks in his dark eyes. She already liked his earthly, honest interpretation of Godfrey better than Zacharias's aloof aristocrat. "Less so," she said. She had lowered her chin demurely, but in the manner of a woman who wanted it to be cupped and raised for a kiss. Their bodies were parallel to each other.

Suddenly Charlie took her shoulders and pulled her roughly towards him. This time Tonks's eyes widened in genuine shock - she wasn't expecting that from him. "Now?" His voice was gruff with frustrated passion. Tonks hesitated. "I don't want you to ever feel alone again, Rowena."

"I never feel alone when I'm with you, Godfrey," she said, and kissed him.

It wasn't the spark, the sharp edge of passion that Ernie insisted had existed between the two founders. It was coming in from the cold and gradually unfolding and surrendering to the comforting warmth of a slow, steady fire. Charlie's stubble tickled against her lips. She felt a tingle in her stomach that had nothing to do with her acting ability. This could be the start of a fruitful working relationship...

"Cut!" Ernie called. Tonks gave him a resentful look. "Brilliant, absolutely brilliant! You'll have every couple in a long-term relationship wanting to perform the Avada Kedavra curse on themselves with that display of raw chemistry. The most convincing cinematic pairing since Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh..." He broke up abruptly since the male half of the most convincing cinematic pairing since Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh had staggered away and thrown up.

Tonks was flabbergasted. Was she that bad of a kisser? She'd never had any complaints from Viktor, or Zacharias, or Luna - okay, so that last one was a joke. Behind her Cho was making strangled noises. Then realisation hit. "Bloody Merlin, the garlic! Oh, I'm so sorry, Charlie! I thought I was shooting with Lee today, and Cho told me that he'd eaten onions, and - I'm really, really sorry!" Behind her Lee was inconsolable with laughter. "And you will be too!" she snapped at him.

"It's okay." Charlie still looked decidedly green. "Think nothing of it."

"Talk about suffering for your art," Lee chortled.

"Okay, er, well-" For the first Tonks had seen since shooting, Ernie actually looked embarrassed "-uh, everyone take ten, and get something to eat!"

"And Tonks can take some Tic Tacs," Lee quipped. Tonks was near the colour of one of the garish hues her hair regularly took on. She wanted to die...