Fantastic Hearts and When to Trust Them (2)

Birthday

Celia's tea was going cold as she stared down at Tina's paper the next morning, watching the narrow, sharp-jawed Wizard Prime Minister assuring the reporters probably gathered before him that the case of the illegal Portkeys and vanishing Muggles was well under control.

Two more people had vanished though. One had reappeared in the middle of a busy street in Spain. The other had arrived in the middle of a rumbling herd of dairy cows. The first the Wizards were able to recover. The second had not survived.

"Would a Portkey still kidnap you if it wasn't touching your skin?" Celia asked Newt as he climbed out of his case with the front of his waistcoat, hands and shirtsleeves dripping in pale blue goo.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm wondering if I should wear gloves to and from class."

He stood at the sink and tried to grip the small, shell buttons of his waistcoat. "I'm not sure; I've never tried it."

"Worth a shot then," she decided, and stood, whisking the hand towel from the oven handle and scraping it down his front to clear most of the goop away. "You'll never be able to grip those tiny buttons with those greasy hands. Hold on." She wadded up the first towel and put it in the sink, then nudged him back and retrieved a second from underneath it for his hands.

"Thank you," he said, distractedly wiping them. He knew better than to try to smear the goo off, scraping it instead. "The wifflewings are sick."

"Ah." She took the second towel from him. "You got a magic to clean this up, or a soap?"

"I have a powder that'll clean everything eventually," he said, wandering toward his bedroom. "It just has to soak for a few hours."

"Careful not to get that on anything else!"

"Careful not to forget who's been living on his own just as long as you have!"

Celia chortled, and started filling the sink.

Tina finally opened the door from the guest room and ambled into the bathroom. "This is supposed to be a vacation," she groaned.

"It's eight O'clock!" Celia retorted.

"We were up until one," Tina said through the bathroom door.

Celia only shrugged.

Celia had only just remembered to shuck her gloves when she took her place between Curtis and Madhavi, Mr. Brandish bustling into the room with a number of piping bags and various nozzles to fit on the ends.

"We're practicing decorative frosting today, and it's going to be one our trickier days, but I encourage you to experiment and find out what methods work best for you. I took the firmer cakes from my son's introductory baking class for us to practice on. Some of you will be sharing. Incidentally, happy birthday, Celia."

Celia looked up from where she was stuffing her gloves into her purse. "I beg your pardon?"

He raised expectant eyebrows at her. "Your application says today is your birthday?"

"What day is it?"

Her classmates were beginning to chuckle now. "June twenty-sixth," Andre supplied, and Celia rolled her eyes.

"Gracious me. Thank you, Mr. Brandish, you're exactly right."

He rolled his eyes right back at her and clapped. "All right—gather around. We're starting with flat, straight ribbons. Don't snort—they're harder than you think."