i've seen sunny days

.

“Why would anyone want to study feet,” Dawn scrunched up her nose, turning to the next booth that had caught Greta’s eye. “Do you think you could take me with you next time? I think that’s just a few electives. I took the Herbology one this year, it was pretty interesting.”

“Don’t you want a foot specialist if you ever have something wrong concerning your feet? I can’t imagine a dermatologist telling me why my toenails grow so dang slow. I’m real thankful for feet specialists.” Greta plucked a flyer from the booth, where a chef was settled behind a stove cooking up something Greta had never seen before, but it sure smelt magical. Her eyes scanned the parchment, a full on grin breaking out across her face. “No, Dawn, they’re offering a real course next semester! Wow...” She didn’t know why her heart raced so excitedly. Maybe because academically inclined was not something Greta had always been. It’s why she’d missed out on the entire Uni phase with her friends from Primary. But this, it gave her something to ponder. Her smile never faltered.

.

“People study that?” Dawn was now intrigued by the booth, more so for wanting to know about her own aura than as a career. It seemed like every week she still learnt something new about this world she lived in. “Has any of the stuff they told you ever come true?”

“I was beside myself, too, until I learned all of the sorts of things Wizards study! Well, Muggles, too, honestly. You can be a studier of feet, or horseshoes, or-or-- or feet. Anything, really.” Greta adjusted the pastel purple bag over her shoulder, looking down at Dawn. “I don’t know about true so much as it gives me a general direction to work. A gentle push. Tara’s told me many times my aura’s a yellow color. She says it can mean undying optimism, the amount that it shows. And she always seems rather impressed I’m consistent.” Greta shrugged, “Oh, I dunno what I’m talking about now that I’m saying it out loud, but I suppose knowing my optimism means something to somebody, I keep it up. It’s my secret weapon?” Her blue eyes were glued to the chef’s booth now. “A culinary program at Hogwarts?”

Dawn looked at the booth in question. Instead of moving closer, lest she had to listen to another spiel on another career that didn’t answer her, she asked, “What’s an Aurologist?”

“A studier of auras and such. Everyone has one.” Whatever ‘and such’ implied. “I’ve been to a psychic, a seer, and I’ve met Tara the Aurologist many times. The things you learn and the people you meet in the industry.” Greta shrugged her shoulders, marveling at another nearby booth now.

“I have an Aurologist! She’s very insightful and the reason I invested in a pair of clogs.”

Florence nodded, credit was important but Greta quickly ran with the idea. “ I’m sure it would be wonderful! Best dressed wixen around and when people ask at your shows you can proudly say that it’s a Greta Catchlove Original.” Florence smiled brightly. It was such a satisfying feeling knowing that you worked hard for something.

“You know what? You’re getting the very first Greta Catchlove Original. I’m imagining the most perfect thing. I can’t say what yet -- that’d be a spoiler and I know most people are not kind to those. I figured that out the hard way telling ma da what happened on Doctor Who.”

Stepping into the role of her friend, Evan, from the WADA was the greatest acting opportunity she could have fallen into. Of course, it did cost a hefty penny (both for the Polyjuice and convincing Evan of her plan). Greta had stood in front of the mirror all morning, speaking her lines, wiggling her eyebrows, flexing her new muscles. She had an audition later this afternoon as Evan. However, was she even passing as him? She took this question to Diagon, mocking her walk and other body language after figures there. Eventually, she saw a familiar face -- and greeted her without realizing she was not Greta. 

“Hi Florence!”

.

“I believe in you.” Asher wasn’t answering her question, not really. It had nothing to do with any singular belief in any one person. Above all else, Asher was beginning to understand that something far nastier than hate had begun to fester in his veins. Hope. And not the kind that was attached solely to Greta in the way that love might force itself out. No. No, this was much deeper than that, down to the marrow of his battered bones.

.

“I think everyone’s crazier than they lot on, and to me, well, this sounds relatively harmless.” She could be doing far worse than pretending to be another person. “Go to any decent potions shop, and they’ll have it. The stuff isn’t cheap, but apparently that isn’t a problem.”

“That easy?” She replied, eyes widening (if at all possible). There was nothing that screamed inexperienced more than two Bambi eyes. And that was one of the number of reasons she was going to go through with this scheme. Greta asked a final question, “Do you believe in me?” 

.

What Asher wanted to tell Greta was that she wouldn’t much like the world once she realized that her blood alone was cause for concern. That to many, most of whom he might call friend, her appearance didn’t matter much when her lineage spoke for itself. Instead, Asher kept quiet, knowing better than to bring another darker topic into an already delicate situation. “Sounds like you’re just interested in playing a different character for a while.”

“You don’t think I’m out of my mind, then?” Greta was sure she didn’t, but any reassurance would do some help at the moment. She blinked at him, two hopeful eyes, “Do you have any idea how to get your hands on polyjuice potion? I can pay.” A small price in the long run.

.

Florence understood the hesitation. The need to save and be responsible with your money. People assumed because of her family that she never wanted for anything, but she worked for everything that she had and beyond that people could believe what they wanted about her. “With that attitude only good things will come.” Florence smiled. “Manifest it for yourself— though— have you ever thought perhaps to make your own?” She asked curiously. “Your own fantastic line of any print you want.”

“Bright idea!” She did sew a fair bit, wand and wandless. “I suppose my one and only hesitance is this designer deserves all of the credit.” It could be a loose inspiration, of course. Greta had never thought about designing her own clothes before. It suddenly sounded like the most exciting thing in the world. “Oh, but I could come up with something I’ve always imagined, too.”

Florence listened with a soft smile on her face. That was certainly something that she liked to believe, every individual person had their own unique qualities that made them exactly who they were. “I think you should get it.” She nodded, eyeing the article. “No harm in treating yourself, and if you’ve wanted it for some time then clearly it will be well loved.”

.

It had to be more complicated than that, huh? Greta’s life was as simple as see something nice and purchase it then and there. No qualms about it, no regrets. But with no promise of a fulfilling acting career ahead and with the realization that if she wanted to live comfortably in the here and now, there would be no giving up modelling anytime in the near future. She had to decide between a free summer and a job. A job that would always pay for zebra printed skirts. But were zebra printed skirts enough to fill her heart’s space? Certainly not.

Greta kept her reply simple, a small shrug and kind smile, “One day I’ll have a zebra skirt of my own. I can’t afford it today.”

.

“I know I wouldn’t be treated the same.” There was no point in pretending otherwise. Lighter skin. A less recognizable face. Asher might actually have a real chance in the world, instead of a box that he found himself being painted into. 

“Sometimes I feel as though my parents shielded me from the truth of the world and it’s made me somewhat ignorant and a little naïve. And I don’t know if this is another naïve thing of me to do because it also feels like the first time I can know the truth and at least I’m not hiding myself from it anymore.” Greta’s sigh was shaky. “I guess what I’m saying is, I need to see it for myself that this world isn’t perfect. I don’t need to be protected.” It was something she was tired of.

.

“Hold on.” He had to make sure he was fully understanding just what Greta was looking to do. “You want to become someone else just to see if you’ve get treated the same way?”

“Have you never wondered the same thing about yourself?” And as wizards, they had the ability to experience this. “It’s not just me, is it?”

.

“I’m an excellent accomplice,” Asher replied, pulling out of the hug to see her face better. It was a private joke he should never have been making, but he was learning that there was more to life than just guilt. Than seeking out forgiveness as if that really changed anything.

“For my own piece of mind, I need to know this. How differently would I be treated if I were different?” If she weren’t a blonde, or if she had a smaller chest, or if her voice was deeper and her body language stronger. What about Greta now screamed naïve? “I don’t expect to be cast in a starring role. I just want to know if I’d get the truth. If I weren’t me.”

.

He took another step forward, wrapping her securely in his arms. Why did people lie? Asher lied a thousand times a day, most times without even realizing it. One could say he was even addicted to the act. Every lie necessitating another lie. Even now, wasn’t being with Greta, in the grand scheme of things, the worst lie of all? Asher brushed off the thoughts as though they were cobwebs.

“They lie because they think they know what’s best. But the truth is, they don’t know you. They don’t know how much you can take.” So prove them wrong. Both he and Greta could take steps towards announcing to the world that they wouldn’t take their lives sitting down. “You’re not going to keep feeling like this for forever. Someone will hire you, because they’re smart, and they recognize talent.”

.

“I have an idea, one the opposite of sane,” Greta whispered after a moment of silence, right into Asher’s ear. “But well meaning and I’ll need some help.”

.

Asher might have snorted at her question had he decided quickly that now wasn’t the time for him to delve into his unending cynicism that tried its best to smother out any hope he had to offer. This was about Greta, not him, and Asher wanted to listen. His own life, while having more tragedy than most, did not give him a right to parade around his troubles as though no one could have it worse. “What feedback did they give? Was any of it constructive?” There was little he knew about the performing arts. But from one simple look at Greta, how could someone not want her on a production?

“They were all very, very kind. It stuck out to me. Were they only saying things to be nice? They loved how clear my voice was and I know I stumbled over some pronunciations, yet they still said I was very articulate. How come people lie? Don’t they know it makes things tougher, trying to save face?” These were words she never thought she’d speak. “I’m not going to break.”