Buddy Holly

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SiJie3Z7DG8

Dad said I missed her when I came down for breakfast. Mum was pissed. It was a real laff. Anyway dont suppose you have a photo of Ronnie. The way things are goin Piersll be camping out on the lawn to wait for your friend to come down the road next year. Reckon Dennis an Gordon mite join him. Also did you go in my room cos some of my tapes are missin an Mum swears she dint throw them –

"Very subtle and nonchalant, Dudders," Heather mumbled. She balled her brother's letter up and tossed it in her trunk, valiantly resisting the urge to light it up with an Incendio. Her owl hooted. "No, not you, dear." From her robes, she fished out her Walkman and slipped in the tape she'd filched from Dudley's bedroom. As the music began to play, she threw herself back in her chair and put her besocked feet up on her desk.

What's with these homies dissin' my girl?
Why do they gotta front?
What did we ever do to these guys
That made them so violent?
Woo-hoo, but you know I'm yours
Woo-hoo, and I know you're mine
Woo-hoo, and that's for all time

"– can't believe what Chelsea sees in Polkiss. He's pathetic." Heather pitched backwards, balancing on her chair's two back-legs, and preened under Gillian's expression of polite interest. "You know he's the one who started calling my brother Big D?"

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Heather reached into her robes. "Oh, also. This," she declared, dumping the tape on the table, "is shit."

Ronnie, Alya and Gillian stared at it. Around them, the Three Broomsticks heaved with activity. Every few seconds, the bell by the door would ring to announce the arrival or departure of a new student (or group of students). Gillian took a long draw from her Butterbeer, glanced around the table, and pocketed the tape with a shrug. "I'll take it."

Oo-ee-oo, I look just like Buddy Holly
Oh-oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore
I don't care what they say about us anyway
I don't care 'bout that

"Ollivander."

"Forsyte." Ollivander thrust the tape back into Gillian's hand. "Not really my speed."

"Yeah, whatever." Gillian slipped the tape into her robes and extended her hand again. "That's fifty tapes I've lent you already. Your Charms textbook?"

Ollivander scoffed. "Fifty's hardly anything."

"Okay, well, my two hundred back-issues of Mad? My eight hundred back-issues of 2000 AD? My collection of trade paperbacks?" Gillian started to count them off on her fingers. "Watchmen. V for Vendetta." There was a loud scoff as Barlowe passed by. Gillian and Ollivander both ignored her. "The Killing Joke. Marvels. The Dark Knight Returns."

"It's a family heirloom," Ollivander whined.

"Look, do you want to know what happens to Morpheus or not?"

"Oh, fine." With an entirely unnecessary flourish, Ollivander produced the book that Ronnie had been salivating after for the past six months. "But you're only getting a week," he threatened.

Don't you ever fear, I'm always near
I know that you need help
Your tongue is twisted, your eyes are slit
You need a guardian
Woo-hoo, and you know I'm yours
Woo-hoo, and I know you're mine
Woo-hoo, and that's for all of time

Ronnie actually licked her lips as Gillian slid the textbook across the table, the tape positioned neatly atop its cover. Alya snatched it up before anyone could say anything and pushed her chair back. "You three have fun," she said, drawing a hiss from the librarian's desk. "I'm going for a drive."

Heather stood up. "Take me with you."

"You sure? I'm going to be playing your brother's shite tape."

Heather lowered her voice as they set a course for Gryffindor Tower. "Just drop me off somewhere. I've got a new batch of love potions and an appointment in Dublin." As she disappeared into her common room, Alya leaned against the wall, arms folded, and waited. A gang of boys walked past. One of them called out to her. She sneered.

"Whitehorn."

"Bulgaria."

"It's Bulgakova." Though she wasn't going to complain about a comparison to Krum, no matter how tangential it was.

"Yeah, whatever. Hey, have you considered switching to Keeper? I'd like to beat someone else to the Snitch for a change."

Alya flipped him off, looped her arm neatly through Heather's as she stepped out from behind the Fat Lady, and half-dragged her down to the stables. "привет, Vlad," she said, pinching her nose shut to block out her troll's horrid stench. She tried to hose him down every week, but the smell seemed to be getting worse, not better. Heather retched into her sleeve as they drove out into the autumn evening. Alya slipped the tape into her stereo.

As her Bugatti's wheels left the ground, Heather shrugged out of her robes. She'd paired her leggings with an oversized v-neck sweater over a turtleneck. "It's actually not that bad," she commented, biting her lip in concentration as she snapped her fingers. There was a trick to it; she managed to light Alya's cigarette right before the wind started wreaking havoc on her hair. "No, it's just that one song. The one with the riff, you know the one. I can't remember the name."

Alya grunted and slid her sunglasses on. The sun was low enough in the sky that she could look at it out of the corner of her eye. "You think any of those purebloods have been run over by a Bugatti before?"

Heather glanced at her and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Probably not."

Alya grunted, fingers flexing on the wheel. Changing gears, she took them down to a patch of grass and left the engine running. "We've got Defense tomorrow. Don't forget."

"Fuckin' hell, Travers again." Heather dismounted, gave Alya a jaunty two-fingered salute, and disappeared with a pop.

Alya got back into her Bugatti, lit herself another cigarette, and turned the volume all the way up. It wasn't a bad song.

Ooh-wee-ooh, I look just like Buddy Holly
Oh, oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore
I don't care what they say about us anyway
I don't care 'bout that
I don't care 'bout that

"We should probably wake her up," Gillian murmured.

Heather had snuck back into Hogwarts successfully, but she'd dozed off in Defense according to Alya. Veronica poked her mop of dark hair and received only a snore in response. Alya had already gone off for Quidditch, but she'd dropped off Heather's brother's tape before leaving. "Perhaps when it's time for dinner," Veronica murmured. "Listen, about that Arithmancy matrix on page ninety-six…"

She didn't finish her sentence. Gillian had stilled, bright eyes dulling, as a presence emerged from the shelves behind them. Veronica didn't bother turning around; she knew what she'd see.

Fortunately for them, Deimos Black only had eyes for the boy in the corner. As his brother's flunkies sniggered, he plucked Zachary Oceanborough's quill out of his trembling hand and snapped it in two, then spat in his inkwell for good measure. Veronica couldn't hear what he was saying, but she gathered it was most likely some trash about blood purity. He'd done it to her too in the past. Only he hadn't been insulting her blood status.

Heather blinked blearily and yawned. Gillian slid a note across the table. Don't, it said.

Veronica managed to restrain herself until Deimos and company had drifted elsewhere. Then she went to Oceanborough's table and cast a quick Reparo on his quill. He looked up at her with suspiciously bright eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

Veronica beamed down at him. "Anytime," she said. "Us mudbloods have to stick together." This she delivered in a bright, carrying voice, drowning out the librarian's hiss and the Slytherins' sniggers. She paused for a moment to let her words sink in, then strolled back to Gillian and Heather with her head held high. She had no idea how her "Veela allure" worked, but there were times where she could feel its aftereffects. This was one of those times.

"Should've been in Gryffindor," Heather said admiringly. Instead of answering, Veronica shot her a thin smile and gathered up her books. On a whim, she plucked the tape from where it had been lying beside Heather's unfinished History essay.

"I'll leave you to it," she told Gillian, gesturing at Ollivander's textbook, and headed back to her dorms. She tried not to look like she was in a rush. For all that the Blacks were horrid and vicious, they were also traditional to a fault. They wouldn't barge into the girl's dorms even if they had a damned good reason. She sidestepped Gaunt on her way down to the dungeons, pretended not to notice the house-elf plotting in the corner, and entered her sanctuary with a sigh of relief. Then she retreated behind her bed canopy and triple-warded the curtains. As she began to bring her breathing back under control, she pulled out her Walkman, lay on her back, and stared at the ceiling, fingers interlocked over her stomach. The music throbbed in her ears.

Ooh-wee-ooh, I look just like Buddy Holly
Oh, oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore
I don't care what they say about us anyway
I don't care 'bout that
I don't care 'bout that
I don't care 'bout that
I don't care 'bout that

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Pub: 05 Jun 2025 12:44 UTC

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