Soul Sisters

Claire Bishop was not an easy woman to track down, but Elsie was a much sneakier and more resourceful woman than people gave her credit for. She may have claimed to only be a pretty face and a killer body, but there was some cleverness beneath the surface. She was about as clever as she needed to be in order to survive and to pursue all that delighted her. And because she had recently had more opportunities to fight for her survival, her intelligence really had been brought out. So tracking down the blonde recluse had not been much of an issue.

She jumped through the same hoops she had around their graduation from Durmstrang. She had requested to move into the apartment with Claire – it was in a magical complex that could change based on the needs of the occupants – and had forged Claire’s names on all the papers, like the good friend she was. The rent had been paid, the wallpaper had been picked, and all other arrangements made. Elsie waited for Ministry hours to enter her new home, Claire’s London apartment, begin her settlement before her Soul Sister got off work.

Magic lengthened the hallway and added another bedroom and bathroom – magic done by the landlord, of course, for Elsie could barely move an armchair, let alone create a room. She unpacked, flirted with the landlord so he would expand her closet space, and explored the apartment. It was larger than their last one, and had less Claire charm. Everything was perfectly in its place. A little known fact about Claire was that she had always been much too exhausted to keep her space at home organized and neat. But the rooms were close to barren and it looked like none of Claire’s books or hobbies had been touched. In fact, there was still a lot in boxes. Elsie had unpacked more than Claire had.

There was only one thing to do in a time like this – go shopping.


It had been a long day at work. Claire had put out several fires (only three of which were metaphorical), had to fire one bratty intern, had to scold an entire team of people who had failed yet again, and had received an inordinate amount of sass from her own second in command, who typically never stepped out of her place.  Worst yet, there had been no real challenges. All of this had tested her pride and her patience, but nothing had pushed her mind or her soul in any way that could give her the taste of fulfillment. She almost wished she had run into Fred Weasley – at least an exchange with him could have inspired some interest out of her.

As she walked down the hallway to her apartment, a horrid smell entered her nose. Someone had somehow burnt fruit. She did not know how it was possible. She kept walking, finding that the smell was getting stronger as she neared the door to her apartment. Her heart pounded. What had someone done? Broken in, make a fruit salad and set her apartment on fire? It sounded ridiculous, like a prank the aforementioned Weasley man might make if he lost all sense of what was too far. Claire wasted no time searching for her keys. As she neared the door, she swiped the air with her wand and the door flew open and she stepped inside.

And there was her best friend, holding a blackened pie in her hands, a party hat on her head. The entire apartment had been redecorated in bright colors that did not match, with all of their favorite things strewn about the apartment. Posters of their favorite bands had been pinned to the walls. There were about a zillion candles, all of which had a different smell. There were books piled everywhere, along with board games, and frilly throw pillows. A blanket fort had been erected in the corner and junk food galore sat in a large basket in the center of said fort. There was even a life-size cut out of their favorite singer, Colin Cornell.  Elsie smiled and held out the pie. “Welcome home, lover.”

Claire took all of this in, her mouth open ever so slightly. Her eyes finally fell upon what was her best friend, a happy brunette smiling with the expectancy of what had happened the last time they had been in this situation. Shopping bags had been dropped, the girls had screamed, thrown arms around each other, and jumped up and down, fulfilling every cliché set before them. Claire could see this expectation in Elsie, but she was not the sort to jump up and down in glee anymore. Claire had aged so much without her best friend, and now she was being beckoned back into youth, and her tired, old body could not do it.

“Hi Elsie,” Claire said, her voice echoing the exhaustion she felt. She dropped her gaze and set down her purse, before slipping off her jacket. Elsie watched with confusion as her best friend hung up her coat and set her purse in the closet. Elsie ticked her head. “I made you a strawberry pie. It’s burnt but the inside should be nice and gooey. Besides, we like our crust crispy.”

“I ate already, thank you, “ Claire said, walking into the room. She began to pick up the strewn books and board games and set them up in the bookshelf. Elsie stared. “You don’t want pie?” Claire continued putting everything away. “I don’t.”

“We have ice cream.”

“No thanks.”

Something was drastically wrong with Claire Bishop. Elsie watched her friend sort the books for a moment before she tried one last time. “I made brownies. Undercooked them, so they’re nice and gooey.”

“No thanks. I’m full.”

The pie went flying and landed against the wall. Elsie had launched herself through the air and now landed on Claire, who let out a shriek. Elsie threw her friend over and pinned her down, her wand pointed at the blonde girl. “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BEST FRIEND?!”

“ELSIE, GET OFF ME, YOU OAF! IT’S ME.”

“NO, IT IS NOT. CLAIRE WOULD BE EXCITED TO SEE ME. CLAIRE WOULD EAT BEFORE SHE CLEANED. AND CLAIRE IS NEVER TOO FULL FOR BROWNIES.”

“GET OFF ME, YOU INSUFFERABLE IDIOT.”

“YOU PRETENTIOUS POOP-HEAD.”

“YOU SHIT-FOR-BRAINS-“

“STUCK UP-“

“UNSTABLE-“

“GREAT-SMELLING-“

“THAT WASN’T AN INSULT!”

“WELL I’M SORRY, BUT YOUR PERFUME IS LOVELY!”

Claire threw her friend off of her and Elsie rolled away. The girls glared at each other, heaving breaths. Claire jerked her head at Elsie’s wand. “Put that away. What were you planning on doing to me with it anyway? Poking me with it?”

Elsie glared. “Yes.”

Claire scoffed and pushed herself up, carefully brushing herself off. Elsie stumbled to stand as well, and the two girls began adjusting themselves and their hair, glancing in the reflective surfaces to make sure their makeup was still intact and that they still looked as beautiful as ever. They shot each other glares once they were certain that they had made full recoveries and crossed their arms. Elsie broke the silence first. “Look. I’m just… I’m moving back. And I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

The truth had come out. Elsie, the goofball who could bounce back from any insult or tease, was almost looking hurt by her friends’ distance. She was running from her own demons, sure, but she had hoped to help Claire escape some of the loneliness she had so often expressed was getting her down. And now, Claire seemed wholly uninterested in having her best friend around. And now Claire was feeling horrible, because she was happy to see Elsie, but she had been so afraid that this was a trick, or that Elsie wasn’t staying, or that her hopes would be brought up for nothing. And because she had been so scared, she had hurt the feelings of the unsinkable Elsie Norton.

And Claire Bishop burst into tears.

Elsie ran to her friend quickly, throwing her arms around her. The two girls hugged tightly as Claire cried and shook. Crying because her only contacts in the country had married each other. Crying because she was lying to and spying on everyone she met. Crying because she probably hated the only person here she could call a friend. Crying because she had never wanted to be a lonely person, but she would not let herself be anything but. And crying because despite how horrible she was, she had a friend who always loved her, and she felt so unworthy.

“I’m glad you’re here, Elsie,” Claire choked out.

“I’m glad to be back with you,” Elsie said back, her voice almost singing to comfort her friend. After a few moments, Claire got control over her sobs and managed to swallow and look up at Elsie.

“I wish you hadn’t thrown that pie.”

“I wasn’t lying about the brownies.”

The girls giggled. And the night was spent eating their weight in brownies, drinking their volume in wine, and talking nonstop about plans foiled and plans not yet made. And hope abounded in the now-tackily decorated apartment.