See You Next Year

POV Oliver

"Pete, drive! Now!" Oliver urged, as if the car were their getaway vehicle. "Hurry up, she's coming!"

"I'm trying! This piece of junk won't start!" Peter said, sounding just as panicked. Apparently he was every bit as aware as Oliver that they were both dead if Margaret caught them.

"God—no, Buddha, please!" Oliver prayed as he saw Margaret coming out through the door.

As if one of them had actually heard him, the car coughed to life with a loud bang. But before Peter could pull away, Margaret yanked the door open and climbed into the back seat beside Oliver.

"Were you two just trying to leave without me?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

"What are you talking about…" Oliver began, but he was interrupted before he could feed the old bat some excuse.

"The boss ordered me to!" Peter immediately blurted out, trying to save his own neck even if it meant throwing his little boss under the bus.

Oliver stared at him in disbelief as Margaret's gaze snapped towards him.

"Give me the card," she demanded, holding out her hand.

"But Grandmother, how am I supposed to buy your Christmas present and keep it a surprise?" he pleaded.

Margaret said nothing. She simply looked at him and waited for him to hand over the bank card.

"Boss?" Peter asked with perfect innocence, glancing into the rear-view mirror. "So we're not going to Mercedes after all?"

Before Oliver could answer, Margaret's gaze shot towards him again.

"Of course we're not going to Mercedes. Why would we? Our car still runs perfectly well!"

Peter looked at her through the mirror—skeptical or simply disbelieving, Oliver couldn't quite tell.

One thing he did know for certain: Peter was an almost two-metre-tall coward.

Maybe I should've been a little more thorough when hiring a bodyguard.

"But I wanted to buy you a new one for Christmas," he explained, putting on his best wounded expression. "Pete thought it was a brilliant idea too."

Two can play that game, my friend.

"Is that so?" she asked, searching for Peter's eyes in the mirror.

Peter suddenly seemed very busy fiddling with something on the radio—which was unfortunate, considering the thing had probably stopped working before Oliver was even born.

"Peter, you're the adult out of the two of you. You shouldn't be encouraging him when he comes up with ridiculous ideas like that," she scolded, while Oliver did his best not to laugh out loud.

"Sorry, Sister!" Peter said, pausing briefly. "So… Mayfair?"

Margaret frowned.

"Margaret, we are not starting this again. Filming is almost over, I'll be getting the rest of my salary soon, and I made more than enough from Qualcomm," Oliver said before she could object.

She looked at him for a moment, then seemed to decide to let it go.

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The rest of the drive was surprisingly quiet. It was only when the roads widened, the façades became more elegant and the shop windows noticeably more expensive that Oliver started paying attention again.

Peter glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.

"Good luck with the card, Boss."

"Not a chance—you're coming with me," Oliver said. "We seriously need to work on your wardrobe. It's bad enough that the car looks shabby. My bodyguard doesn't need to as well."

Peter looked at him as though Oliver had personally insulted his entire wardrobe.

Well, technically, I did.

A little later, they turned into Savile Row, a narrow street in the heart of Mayfair that had been known for generations for some of the finest tailors in London.

They parked the car and continued on foot towards one of the shops. Chris had recommended the place to Oliver and told him he might as well have a few smarter clothes made there for the upcoming promotional appearances.

On the way, Oliver noticed people looking at them and, for a moment, wondered why they were attracting so much attention. The first Harry Potter trailer would not even be released for another few months.

Ah. This has nothing to do with me.

He looked to his right at Margaret, then to his left at Peter. A nun, an almost two-metre-tall giant and a ten-year-old boy walking between them.

Oliver had to admit they looked like the beginning of a very strange joke.

[IMAGE]

***

December 22, 2000 | Leavesden Studios, England

POV Oliver

The scene itself was actually simple.

"Action!"

[Hermione knelt beside Ron and watched Harry, who had already taken several steps away. "Harry!" she called after him, worry clear in her voice.]

[Harry stopped and turned back towards Hermione. The tension was still plainly visible on his face.]

["You can do it," Hermione said. "You're a great wizard."]

Emma barely managed to keep a straight face. Oliver knew that look well enough by now.

Ever since they had first met, he had practically made it his mission to tease and provoke her whenever he got the chance. Back then, mostly because she had annoyed the hell out of him. Emma, naturally, had quickly learned to fire back.

Over the years, it had developed into their own particular dynamic: one of them took a shot, the other fired straight back. Neither of them would ever willingly speak to each other the way Harry and Hermione did.

Which made scenes like this considerably harder.

Still, Oliver pulled himself together and carried on.

[Harry looked at her for a moment, visibly a little embarrassed by the compliment. "Not as good as you."]

Emma's mouth twitched at first, then she finally broke character and started laughing.

"Cut!" Chris called.

Emma walked over to him, curled one hand into a fist and punched him in the shoulder. "I can't do it! How am I supposed to stay serious when you suddenly look that stupid? That doesn't suit you at all!"

Oliver raised his hands in surrender. "What am I supposed to do? It says I'm meant to look embarrassed!"

A few people on set began to laugh, while Emma gave Oliver a look that made it fairly clear he would be better off keeping any further comments to himself.

Chris remained serious. "Again."

On the next attempt, Emma actually managed to keep a straight face. Oliver could still see the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, but this time she made it all the way through.

"Cut!" Chris called. He checked the monitor one more time and nodded. "That's a wrap on Emma and Oliver until after Christmas."

Their final take of the year was done. For Oliver, that meant a few days off before filming continued in January.

But there was still one thing he had to do first.

"Emma!" he called after her before she could disappear. "I've got something for you."

Emma stopped and watched him suspiciously as Oliver ran over to Sister Margaret. A moment later, he returned carrying a neatly wrapped box.

"Here. Your Christmas present," he said, handing it to her with exactly the same look Harry had just given Hermione—purely to provoke her.

She looked at him and seemed torn for a moment between hitting him for making fun of her again and wondering what he had got her this time.

"Thanks?" she said eventually, taking the box from him. "I hope it isn't another fountain pen or a book," she added, giving him a warning look.

Apparently she had not been particularly impressed with his previous Christmas presents.

Still a brat—even complaining about presents!

"Princess, if you don't want it, you can always give it back," he told her, watching her carefully.

She immediately pulled the box a little closer.

"I didn't say I didn't want it," she protested, already picking at the wrapping paper.

"Not now," Oliver stopped her. "You open it on Christmas. Like you're supposed to."

Emma pulled a face but reluctantly left the paper alone. "Fine. But if there's another book in there—"

"Merry Christmas, Emma," Oliver interrupted.

Her complaint died in her throat. For a moment, she simply looked at him before a smile slowly spread across her face.

"You too, Olli."

Then she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. Oliver returned the hug while Emma still held the box in one hand.

"See you next year," she said quietly.

"See you next year, Emma."