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~Chapter 16: Old Friends and New Friends~

Neville and Ron spent nearly four hours in the hotel bar, though the time didn't seem nearly that long to them. Ron caught Neville up on everything that had happened at home that summer, and they reminisced about their school days, adventures and misadventures in the Auror office, and other good times past.

Later on back at his flat, Neville began to realize exactly how strongly he missed his home, despite the fact that he truly enjoyed each day he spent in New York. He also realized that in ten days he would finally be home. Almost instinctively, he began compiling a mental list of things to do with Emily and sights to show her. Perhaps they would be able to fit in a show in the West End before returning to the U.S. Would they have time to get up to Hogsmeade?

It would be at least an hour before Emily got off work, so Neville filled the time by recording observations about the five Project 242 plants he was currently growing under varying conditions. He kept having to shoo Trevor away from the one doused in sugar water.

Ninety minutes later, he was starting to feel just slightly worried when he heard the door open at last.

"Guess what, guess what, guess what!" Emily cried.

"What?" he called, standing up from the kitchen table carefully so as not to disturb the fledgling plants.

"I can't even believe it!" she laughed gleefully. He could tell from her voice that she was now standing right behind him, but when he turned around, no one was there.

"Em? Where are you?"

"What do you mean? I'm right in front of you." Her voice sounded puzzled.

There was a sudden shimmer in the air, and Neville grinned and picked up his wand.

"What's funny? Neville, I don't get it..."

"Darling," he chuckled. "Finite Incantatem."

Emily's indignant face appeared, followed by the rest of her, as if an invisible sticker had been slowly peeled away from thin air.

"You were so excited you forgot to lift your Disillusionment Charm," Neville explained, and her look turned sheepish.

"Sorry about that. I cast the charm just inside the subway station and literally ran all the way to your door because –" her face lit up and her tone changed back to one of excitement – "Ann got fired!"

"No way!" Neville exclaimed.

"Yes!" Emily bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to contain her energy. "I never have to work with that mean, nasty, miserable woman ever again!"

"What happened?" Neville asked, taking her hand and leading her over to the couch. "Tell me everything!"

"She's been steadily pissing off Omar ever since he got promoted to manager in March," she said, unhooking her Junior's bow tie and pulling it out from under the collar of her shirt. "Our old manager liked Ann for some reason and let her get away with a lot of little stuff, and he was completely oblivious to how cruelly she treated everyone. Omar knew she was still doing the same stupid things, but she was really careful for a while, and he never managed to catch her actually breaking the rules. It was always another employee's word against hers.

"Well, today Ann was in a hell of a mood because yesterday she auditioned for Phantom of the Opera for probably the fifth time, and she missed the cut by one spot. And the person who got that spot is our newest server at Junior's, this really sweet, talented girl named Melissa, who just moved to New York about a month ago. Ann was in rare form from the moment she came in, saying that Melissa didn't deserve the part and insinuating that she'd bribed the casting director, and Omar finally said if he heard one more word about it, Ann would get a formal reprimand for creating a hostile work environment.

"Towards the end of the night, when business was dying down, I saw Ann corner Melissa in the bakery, so I went and got Omar. He heard everything she said, plus he saw her steal a black-and-white cookie out of the case, and he fired her right there! I shouldn't be so happy about it," she said, still grinning from ear to ear, "but I can't help it!"

"You've got every right to be thrilled," Neville insisted. "Merlin's beard, I feel like celebrating! The shop is off to a smashing start, I got to see one of my best mates tonight, and my crime-fighting girlfriend just defeated her arch-enemy!" He waved his wand and a pair of butterbeers soared across the room from the tiny kitchen.

"Crime-fighting," Emily snorted as she caught one of the bottles and unscrewed its cap. "You're a nutter."

"A nutter?" he laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah. You're crazy."

"That's entirely possible. I just can't believe you used the word 'nutter.'"

She giggled in disbelief. "You don't even care that I'm questioning your mental faculties; you're just stunned that I spoke British to you."

"English, love," he corrected. "British isn't a language."

Emily grinned mischievously as he took a swig of butterbeer. "No, English is what I speak. I can't help it if you've had a bad influence on my vocabulary."

"Preposterous!" he spluttered with mock indignation. "We invented the language! Where do I come from? England! You speak...er...Americanish!"

"Really? 'Americanish?'" she said wryly, leaning in to wipe a drop of butterbeer from his cheek. "I suppose that's better than 'United Statesish' or something."

Neville slipped an arm around her waist and cradled the back of her head with his other hand, keeping her face close to his. "Of course it is," he chuckled, before parting her lips with a kiss.

Emily responded eagerly, fueled by their playful argument, and they kissed each other passionately.

After several minutes, Neville pulled back just enough to say breathlessly, "Now, see this that we're doing here? It's called 'snogging.' Snogging's an English word."

Somehow her dark eyes managed to be both amused and seductive at the same time. "I don't care if it's Gobbledegook," she murmured, closing the space between them so her lips brushed his as she spoke. "Let's just keep it going."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and allowed his hand to stray down to the button at her collarbone.

"Yes ma'am," he whispered, sliding the plastic button through the fabric as he kissed her again. He felt her smile against his mouth and took it as a sign of encouragement to move on to the second button...and the third...and the fourth...

Saturday evening found Neville standing before the mirror in his bedroom, whistling jauntily to himself as he adjusted the collar of his dress robes. Emily would be down in just a few minutes, and then they would set off to the gala in Merlin's Square. They had not been out together since resolving their fight, and Neville was very much looking forward to a fun evening to celebrate not only the success of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes but also his and Emily's new commitment to each other.

As he tucked his wand into his pocket, a silvery chipmunk scampered in through the open window. "Sorry, I got out of work way late," it said in Emily's voice. "I just got home. I'm getting ready as quickly as I can. Feel free to come up and let yourself in."

Neville sighed and checked his reflection one last time. Hopefully, this would only be a minor setback, though he couldn't help but recall the number of times he'd heard Ron complain about how long Hermione took to get ready to go places. Having grown up without sisters or his mother at home, he was rather oblivious to standard feminine routines. Gran just piled her hair on top of her head and jammed her vulture hat down over it.

He went up to Emily's flat and found her in the bathroom, twisting her curls together with a sweet-smelling potion and pinning them elegantly behind her head.

"Sorry," she said again, peeking over her shoulder. "Enchanted Reads was an absolute madhouse today – I think the New England Academy of Magic sent out its lists of schoolbooks this week – and two people on the shift after mine called in sick and two more decided to show up late. I thought my manager was going to have an aneurysm!"

"It's okay," Neville replied. "I'm not terribly worried. It's not as if any of the Weasleys are known for their punctuality – well, Percy is. He's a bit obnoxious about it, actually."

"Percy is the one immediately older than George, right?" Emily asked, pulling open a drawer of cosmetics.

"Yes! Good memory," he said.

"I'm trying to learn. Hopefully by the wedding I'll be able to keep track of everyone."

"Trust me, they will be extremely impressed if you can do that." He grinned. "If Fred were still alive, he and George would trade identities every time you spoke to them."

"I might have guessed as much," she chuckled, applying eyeliner with careful, even strokes. "By the way, have you told your grandmother that I'm coming home with you?"

Neville sighed and leaned against the door frame. "No. Not yet. I keep intending to write to her, but I don't know what to say."

"You'll figure it out. I have complete faith in you," she promised. "But the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be."

"I know, I know," he said as she stepped away from the mirror and kissed his cheek before hurrying across the hall to her bedroom.

"I just have to get dressed," she called over the rustle of fabric and click of hangers from inside her closet.

Minutes later, Emily reappeared wearing magenta dress robes trimmed with silver crystals. "Lace me up?" she asked, turning around to reveal a complicated pattern of crisscrossing ribbons.

"Er, okay," Neville said uncertainly. "How do I...?"

"Just tug on the laces till they're tight and then tie a bow. It's just like tying your shoes," she assured him.

"Okay." After a bit of fumbling, he asked, "How's that?"

She twisted her torso from side to side. "Perfect!"

She turned around and looked Neville up and down. "Merlin, I have a sexy boyfriend!"

"And I have an utterly gorgeous girlfriend," he said, smiling. "Are you ready?"

"Yep," she said, taking his hand, and they Disapparated.

They reappeared on the sidewalk in front of the Wizarding City Hall, an enormous marble building with smooth, round columns and high, arched windows. A banner in an eye-watering shade of fuchsia had been hung from the balustrade, welcoming guests of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and a carpet of the same color ran up the center of the wide, stone front steps.

Emily blinked. "Well, they certainly have style," she commented.

Neville laughed. "You have no idea!"

They joined a steady stream of ostentatiously dressed wizards and witches making their way up the ridiculous purple carpet. After giving their names at the door, they were directed into a grand ballroom off the main hall.

Ethereal crystal chandeliers sparkled around the room, illuminating overhead frescoes of dragons and reflecting off the gleaming, wood-paneled walls. Waitstaff in silver ties and pinstriped vests glided by with small trays of hors d'oeuvres. A dance floor had been set up on the far side of the room, bordered by a band playing generically jazzy music, and a well-stocked bar stood in the opposite corner.

Neville could see Ron and George standing near the bar, shaking hands with a cluster of stuffy-looking older people. Ron happened to look up and catch Neville's eye, and he jerked his head as if to say, Get over here and save us!

Neville grinned. "I think Ron wants to see us. He never was one for small talk."

"Let's go!" Emily said, lacing her fingers through his. "I cannot wait to meet your friends!"

Neville led the way across the ballroom, and they stopped a few feet from the group gathered around the Weasleys. George's face lit up as he saw them out of the corner of his eye.

"Excuse us, please, ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "but we must go and greet the most promising young herbologist of our age!"

"Bollocks," Neville chuckled as Emily grinned and squeezed his hand.

George and Ron managed to extricate themselves from their admirers and hurried over to their friend.

"Good to see you, mate!" George exclaimed as he and Neville threw their arms around each other. "How've you been?"

"Excellent!" Neville said enthusiastically, stepping back and gesturing to the beautiful woman by his side. "George, Ron, I'd like you to meet Emily."

"So glad to meet you," Ron said, shaking her hand, and George did the same. "We've heard a lot about you."

"All good, I hope," she said, raising her eyebrows at Neville.

He smiled back and wrapped his arm around her waist. "There's nothing else to tell."

"You're sweet." Turning back to Ron and George, she said, "I've heard quite a bit about you two as well."

"Definitely not all good," George laughed.

She shrugged. "Depends on your definition of 'good.'"

A tall, willowy, blond witch in red robes approached the little group. "Excuse me, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said, "but it's probably time to welcome the guests."

George glanced at his watch. "Yes, you're right. Sorry," he said, winking at Emily and Neville. "My empire awaits."

"Who's that?" Neville asked as George strode away with the tall woman.

"That's Amanda, the girl we've hired to be in charge of our public relations here in America," Ron explained. "She really does a smashing job. I keep telling her to call me 'Ron,' but she insists on calling me 'Mr. Weasley.' If you'll pardon me, I probably ought to go up there with George."

Neville shook his head in amusement as Ron walked away. "I still can't get over the idea of Ron being a businessman."

"I'm not sure he's used to the idea either," Emily observed as they accepted delicate cream puffs from a waiter who paused in front of them.

They joined the four hundred or so people around them and moved up toward the front of the room, where George was standing behind an ornately carved podium that hadn't been there a few minutes previously.

George pointed his wand at his throat to amplify his voice and began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Thank you so much for being here this evening. My name is George Weasley. My late brother Fred and I first imagined opening our own joke shop when we were kids playing with a make-your-own-potions kit in our bedroom in the south of England. We opened our first Weasley's Wizard Wheezes location in London in 1996, but we never dreamed that in six short years the company would have four thriving stores in the U.K. and one about to open here in Manhattan.

"Thanks to your generous support, our business has grown so much that I've had to recruit my brother Ron, along with a dedicated team of employees, to help me manage everything. We hope you will continue to support Weasley's Wizard Wheezes by attending the grand opening of our newest location, just one block east of here, on Monday. Please accept our gratitude as you enjoy tonight's gala, and remember – if this life of parties and champagne ever gets too dull for you, come see what surprises are in store for you at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!"

A rumble of laughter echoed around the room beneath the polite applause that followed George's speech. He and Ron were immediately engulfed by a crowd of businessmen wanting to shake their hands.

"Looks like they're going to be busy for a while," Neville commented. "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be lovely," Emily replied.

They made their way over to the bar and discovered that a small buffet of hors d'oeuvres had been set up nearby. They ordered their drinks, filled little plates with canapés and miniature pastries, and settled at one of the tall tables scattered around the back of the room.

Emily was looking around the hall in amazement. "This shindig is seriously like a who's who of New York," she said. "That's the regional governor over there, talking to that little woman with the long hair, and that's the main announcer for Wizarding NYC Radio standing by the bar, and I think I've seen about six of those dumb socialites they're always writing about in the society pages of the Phoenix Daily."

"I think half the German National Quidditch Team is out on the dance floor right now," Neville added. "I wonder what they're doing over here?"

She shrugged. "Probably just visiting the city. It's all about social politics here in New York. You have to invite certain people to certain things or risk being shunned by everyone else."

"I bet Ron loves that," Neville said sarcastically. "But just think – someday you'll have more of these invitations than you can accept! All the wizards and Muggles will want the biggest Broadway star at their parties."

She grinned. "I love your optimism. I'm shooting for a supporting role at a New Jersey regional theater first, though."

"Is that where you're auditioning on Friday?"

She nodded. "They're looking for non-union people to fill out their cast for A Christmas Carol."

"The Charles Dickens book?" Neville asked. "I didn't know that was a play."

"It's a musical, actually. Oh, here come Ron and George."

The Weasleys joined them at their table, beers in hand.

"Very nice speech," Emily said to George.

"Thanks," he said. "I thought it was a bit dry, myself, but old rich people tend not to share my sense of humor."

"Who are all these people?" Neville asked. "We were just talking about your impressive guest list."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Amanda and her assistant handled the invitations. We don't even know most of the people here." He paused. "Do you think it would be bad form to ask for an autograph from Teodor Gibon, the German Keeper, at my own party?"

George shrugged. "Just say you're getting it for your nephew."

"We haven't got a nephew," Ron pointed out.

"Oh. Right. Well, Teddy's close enough, and it's not like Gibon'll know anyway."

Ron nodded. "Good point."

"To get back to your question, Neville," George said, "most of the young people here were invited because it would have been socially unacceptable not to do so. Most of the older people are investors who probably have no intentions of actually using our products but were impressed with our success in London and Hogsmeade and thought we presented a profitable opportunity. We've also got people who represent various companies with whom we've contracted for one thing or another."

"Well, we're awfully honored to be invited as well," Emily said.

"Believe me, we're very glad you're here," Ron assured her. "We hardly know anyone else here in New York on a non-business basis."

"How are you going to run the Merlin's Square store, then?" Neville asked. "Are you going to divide your time between here and home or manage from afar?"

"We'll mostly be at home, since we have so many more stores there," George said. "We hand-picked a really great management team to handle this location, and they've been fantastic through this entire process.

"That's good," Neville said as the band struck up a familiar tune by the famous Muggle Frank Sinatra.

"Emily, would you like to dance?" Ron asked, offering her his hand.

"Sure! There's never really a time when I wouldn't like to dance," she admitted.

"Watch out, he'll step on your toes!" George called after them as they made their way to the dance floor.

Ron didn't turn around but responded with a choice hand gesture, causing Neville, Emily, and George to burst out laughing.

"Ron's actually a really great business partner," George said when he could speak again. "He's not used to how dull some of it can be, though, so he gets annoyed with shop talk when we're not actually working."

"Why doesn't this surprise me?" Neville asked, recalling Ron's frustration at Hermione's constant litanies about homework during their school days.

"I know," George snorted. "Fred, surprisingly enough, really had the head for business and didn't mind handling some of the more mundane bits. I wish I could spend all my time on the creative aspects, but I'm getting used to doing the rest of it too. It's just getting to be too much for me to handle, though, so I'm trying to get Ron to come on board full-time."

"It's incredible how fast the company is growing," said Neville. "Eight years ago you were testing new inventions on first years and publicizing your products by giving me trick candies when I wasn't expecting them."

George grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry about that, mate."

"I don't think I turned out any worse for the wear because of a few Canary Creams," Neville chuckled.

"They obviously didn't keep you from finding an amazing girlfriend," George observed. "I hope you hang onto her!"

"No worries there; I'm hers for as long as she'll have me. Speaking of, what's this I hear about you and Angelina getting together?"

George rolled his eyes. "I'm sure whatever rot Ron has told you is a gross exaggeration. Yes, Angelina and I have started seeing each other, but we're keeping it very casual. We've both got a lot of...baggage to deal with."

Neville nodded understandingly. "Fair enough."

Emily and Ron returned from their dance, and George's eyes widened in feigned surprise. "Blimey, Emily's still walking! Did she use Wingardium Leviosa on you, Ron?"

"Shut it. I only stepped on her once," Ron said proudly.

"He's really not a bad dancer at all. And he didn't pay me to say that," she said, cutting off George's next remark with a cheeky smile.

George raised his eyebrows at Neville. "She's also good at Occlumency."

"She's brilliant," Neville said, kissing her temple.

Emily laughed. "Just a lucky guess. I'm going to get another drink; would anybody like anything?"

The men all declined politely. Neville watched her walk away, marveling still at how she could grow more beautiful every single day.

"Neville," Ron said. "Quit staring at her arse."

He whipped his head around, flushing automatically. "I wasn't!" he protested as George roared with laughter.

"You definitely were!"

"I'm sure she has a very nice arse, but please show some decorum in front of our important guests!" George admonished, trying and failing to put on a serious face.

"Why am I friends with you prats again?" Neville sighed.

In spite of himself, he looked back at Emily again. She was wearing a look of extreme skepticism as she listened to the man standing next to her at the bar. He was expensively dressed, with thick, perfectly coiffed golden hair. Something in his overly-wide grin and the way he was leaning toward Emily made Neville uncomfortable.

"Who's that bloke at the bar?" he asked.

"No idea, but he looks like a git," Ron said. "Who the hell buys light purple dress robes? I feel like I've seen him somewhere, though."

"He's the junior assistant to one of our packaging manufacturers or something," George said. "He sat in on some meeting this week, but I don't think you were there, Ron."

"She's not happy," Neville murmured, watching as Emily yanked her glass from the bartender's hand and marched back to her friends.

"What happened?" George asked incredulously as she slammed her drink down on their table.

"That slime ball," she snarled, "actually used the line 'I bet you could do some real magic with my wand!'"

"Don't look now..." Ron muttered.

Neville immediately positioned himself between Emily and the approaching man in lilac robes, wrapping his arm securely around her waist. Ron was right; there was something disconcertingly familiar about the cocky stranger.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, smiling broadly. "I was hoping –"

"Who the hell are you?" Ron snapped.

"My name is Algernon Lockhart, personal assistant to –"

"Lockhart," George interrupted coldly. "Any relation to Gilderoy?"

"Why, yes! My dear uncle was my guide and mentor before his heroically tragic accident –"

"What do you want?" George asked, glancing at Ron, who seemed unable to speak but whose hands were making vague strangling motions.

"I merely wanted to ensure I hadn't upset your lovely friend," he said, sipping his martini and leering at Emily. "I sincerely hope she did not misconstrue my invitation to dance."

"You bastard –" Neville spat, reaching for his wand.

"Cool it, Neville," George said with forced evenness in his voice. "Lockhart, I suggest you get far, far away from Miss Edwards, and quickly. And if you come anywhere near her again, you can explain to your boss how he lost one of the most lucrative clients he's ever signed."

Lockhart's smile vanished; his face was suddenly ashen. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it sharply and brushed past Ron.

Ron's hand was lightning-fast, but Neville still saw him drop something into the martini glass as it went by.

"He's more of a scumbag than his uncle," Ron said loudly.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked Emily, relaxing his grip slightly on her left hip.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so," she said. "What a horrible human being. Thank you all for –"

There was a sudden commotion several yards away. Lockhart had apparently collapsed to the floor, unconscious, before he'd even taken fifteen steps.

"Fainting Fancy?" Neville asked mildly.

Ron grinned. "Just the orange part."

"And now we scatter from the scene," George advised.

Neville and Emily moved quickly away, their arms still around each other.

"Are you really all right?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"I'm angry. I kind of feel violated," she admitted. "But I'm okay."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No. He never touched me."

"Good. I'd go back there and kill him if he had," Neville growled.

"No killing," she said. "I'd be perfectly happy if you'd knock out all his damn teeth, though."

"With pleasure." He pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I am so sorry that just happened to you. I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, but I wish I could go everywhere with you to protect you from the creepy bastards of the world."

"Believe me, I appreciate the sentiment. And I love you for it." She stretched up to kiss him softly.

A gentle waltz began to play, and Neville stepped back and held out his hand. "Emily, I would be honored if you would dance with me."

"Absolutely," she said, taking his hand and leading him onto the dance floor.

He placed his other hand on her waist and stepped off, guiding her easily among the other couples.

"You're quite good at this," she observed.

He smiled. "You sound surprised."

"A little. I didn't really figure you for the ballroom type."

"I'm a mysterious man of hidden talents," he said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully and leading her into a spin without missing a beat.

Two swing tunes and three line dances later, Emily was flushed and wide-eyed.

"Okay, seriously: Where did you learn to dance like this?" she exclaimed.

"I used to sneak out of bed as a little kid and watch Gran and my great-aunts and -uncles. The piano would play song after song, and they'd dance for hours." He looked away. "Then I'd run and jump under the covers before I got caught and imagine I knew a pretty girl who wanted to dance with me."

"Neville," she said, and he glanced at her, embarrassed, "that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

He shrugged. "I got lonely sometimes."

A slow song began, and she twined her arms around his neck. "I want to dance with you," she whispered. "I'll dance with you every night for the rest of my life."

He smiled as he took hold of her waist. "I may hold you to that."

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he held her tightly as they rotated slowly, oblivious to everyone and everything around them.

"I can't help falling in love with you," Emily sang along softly.

"I love you so much, Em," he murmured, and when she looked up he kissed her tenderly, feeling the same rush in his veins as he had that night on the deck of the Empire State Building.

"Hold me forever," she whispered.

He smiled contentedly. "Okay."

The song came to an end, and Neville and Emily took hands without a word and wended their way among the other couples to the edge of the dance floor. He felt it was simply time to go home, and she seemed to sense it too. He felt a warmth inside that had nothing to do with dancing and everything to do with her fingers gently curved around his. He put his arm around her again as they scanned the room for the Weasleys. George was once more surrounded by investors; Ron was speaking intently with the long-haired witch who had been talking with the regional governor earlier in the evening.

"We'll see them very soon at the wedding," Neville said lightly.

Emily nodded. "Okay."

They turned to leave and were nearly to the door when someone called their names. Ron was hurrying behind them, followed by the long-haired woman.

"Sorry, guys," Ron said, "but I didn't want you to leave without meeting Iris Muñoz, who knows everyone in New York and –" he grinned at Emily – "is one of the most successful theatrical agents in the business, or so she tells me."

"I am," she insisted, poking Ron in the elbow. "Ronal' here tells me you are a grea' actor who ees down on her luck."

Neville guessed her accent was from central Spain, having once done a mission there as an Auror. She was quite petite, with a wide stripe of bleached blond through one side of her frizzy brown hair.

"I have been a little disappointed lately, yes," Emily said. "I feel like my perfect audition is out there, but I just can't find it."

Iris was looking Emily up and down. "You are a dancer, no? You carry yourself very well. You speak clearly. You haff wonderful hair. You should come to my office on Monday at ten. Ronal' will send you the address. Breeng your headshots and your papers and we will talk."

Emily's eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Wow. Thank you! Thank you so much! Monday at ten! I'll be there. Thank you!"

Iris smiled, crinkling the corners of her dark eyes. "You're welcome, bella." Then she turned to Neville. "Now go on, take your beautiful girl and celebrate!"

-.-.-.-.-

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think.

-A Chocolate Frog