Fall in love in a weekwe get by

I opened my eyes. She blinked. Did you want to wipe them like children do, or… or maybe cry? No. Fuck the tears.

The openwork arc of the Arbor Bridge was reflected in the blue bay. Large and small boats cut through the water surface sparkling with sunlight, yachts were white, tourists were noisy around. The roof of the Opera, like sails inflated by the wind, shone under the bright sun.

My stupid, idiotic dream. Sydney.

Dougal's hands were still on his shoulders. I leaned my back against him and threw my head back. He looked at the bay, at the bridge, at the white sails of the yachts.

– Sabella said that, right? – I whispered.

“She only confirmed suspicions.” Mind reading is not one of my talents. But I remembered your dream. And you mentioned Sydney several times. At first glance it looks good. I've been here twice. I saw nothing but the reception area and the lecture hall.

“Then we’ll watch it together.” Only… It seems like it makes sense to practice magic. Too hot. I'll try to make myself a summer dress. I hope I don't end up naked in the middle of the embankment.

– The likelihood of a successful outcome is minimal, but I’ll back it up. Imagine something simple with a secure top. Straps are details, they can let you down.

I imagined my wool dress brightening, the wool giving way to fine cotton, the long sleeves disappearing, leaving my arms exposed. No need for straps. Simple straight cut sleeveless. It couldn't be simpler. Light, flowing, let the wind pick it up and play with the hem. The fabric flapping around her legs. I lowered my eyes. White flowing fabric, too thin, translucent, but it’s not scary, even so. The main thing is that I succeeded. Happened!

In a wave of courage, I turned the shoes into sandals and out of nothing created a wide-brimmed hat, white, with a scarlet ribbon tied in a lush bow.

“You’re making progress,” Dougal assessed. – Now don’t forget to slowly feed it all with magic, otherwise it will dissipate at the most inopportune moment.

He himself changed from a black suit to light beige trousers and a thin white shirt with short sleeves and an open collar. The spectacle, I must say, was amazing. Because I couldn’t even imagine him in anything similar. In response to my stunned look, he only raised an eyebrow.

– What?

– Gorgeous! – I answered with feeling. – How come the students haven’t torn you up for souvenirs?

“I’m angry and intimidating, I love to humiliate people, I cook poisons of any complexity with my eyes closed, and getting a pass from me the first time is like hitting the jackpot.” This happens once in a lifetime only to the luckiest. What kind of students are you talking about?

I burst out laughing. Indeed, it was worth remembering him in that laboratory. And the cow eyes of the girls pressing questions on the golden-haired and smiling Herr Wolger. And even Charlotte's complaints.

– Are they all idiots?

– There are pleasant exceptions. But these exceptions are busy with the intensive acquisition of knowledge, and not with delusional dreams about teachers.

A group of tourists passed by, and I grabbed Dougal’s arm, suddenly afraid that the crowd would separate us. It was noisy and perhaps too crowded. Circular Quay, one of Sydney's main attractions.

At the pier, boats rocked on the waves, large and small, and very tiny, just for two.

– Shall we go for a ride? – I asked.

– Let's.

We made an agreement with the owner of a tiny white boat, a young guy with a big smile. Dougal counted out the payment, jumped into the boat from the pier, and offered me his hand.

I remembered my dream. There was the same boat there, and I was sorry that Dougal was not nearby. Now he was. Another wish come true and probably some “incredible probability.” “Perhaps,” I thought cautiously, as if I was afraid of frightening off the hope that had suddenly spread its wings, “the ending of the dream in reality will be different? Without the blue tones that smack of hopelessness and disappointment?”

The boat rushed across the bay, leaving a white foamy trail. The hot, salty wind hit my face and tried to rip my hat off my head. I held it with one hand and grabbed Dougal’s elbow with the other. He held me by the waist, tightly, as if he was afraid that he would be carried away by the wind. And he asked about all sorts of nonsense that now for some reason seemed important.

– Oatmeal or bacon?

– Bacon, of course! – I was indignant.

– Harmful and fraught with obesity.

– Somehow I’ll survive! Surely there are ways, and if not, you will invent a suitable potion for the occasion.

– Keep Chester company.

– And Mrs. Ferguson's pies!

– What about heels? The belly will outweigh. You already have a migrating center of gravity.

– I’ll buy some sneakers. I’ll run to work in the morning instead of the portal.

– And fall into all the puddles you come across? It's rainy in Britain, you know.

– I will work on myself. Regular training works wonders. I know, I checked!