Emily Verdaine wasn't tall. That was the first thing that struck most people upon meeting her. She wasn't tall; she was small enough to get easily lost in crowds. Eventually she would get found again; by her parents, her brothers or her teachers as she got so frequently lost in their company. So far in her life, this skill had not paid her well. It wasn't a desirable trait, not something one would be thrilled to pass on to one's children, not something to be proud of.
And yet, in this moment, Emily could not think of something she wanted to do more, just to slip back to the recesses of a crowd, alone again.
Emily cringed as people turned to look at her, encouraging smiles and eager eyes did nothing to quell the squirming in her gut, or the sudden moisture in her eyes. Her mouth was moving but her voice didn't want to work. All her life, she had wanted to be unnoticeable Emily, until of course, Rolanda had flown into her life. All blonde bombshell and combat ready Rolanda Hooch. Who was gazing at her with such a look of admiration she wanted to cry.
And Rolanda? She just carried on gazing at her with a hopeful smile, outstretched arm and a sonorus-ed voice.
Today's halftime show was not a normal one.
[She remembered when she had first met Rolanda. On the steps of Ravenclaw tower, with Rolanda going down and her ascending for the first time in her teenaged life. Rolanda had given an easy smile and a wink and she had smiled at the floor at this brazen flirting. Hogwarts was a far flung castle from her clean and light Beauxbatons Academy.]
"Well?" Rolanda's smile was as bright as ever, her eyes twinkling at their liveliest,
"Um…I…" Emily gulped at the air, feeling her brother, Samuel, nudge her keenly, "I…I…"
[She remembered her brother nudging her the same way in the last month of her first English winter term,
"She likes you, y'know." He had said, gazing at her, his chin in his hand,
"Be quiet." Her sister had scolded him, whacking him with her Paris Magicien,
And she had turned, blushing, toward the window where she caught Rolanda waving at her from the midst of a snowball fight with her siblings, and then being hit in the side of the head by the tightly compacted snow. Emily giggled softly.]
Emily shut her mouth, blinking her eyes hard. Rolanda couldn't be doing this to her, Rolanda couldn't be showing her off to thousands of spectators like some sort of creature to be admired. Emily choked a sob behind her gloved hand and began to move toward the stairs, pushing people apart as she walked.
The crowd began to murmur, behind their gloves, out of the corners of their mouths, into neighbour's waiting ears. And above her, Emily could hear the mumbles of the players and out of the corner of her eye she saw the English seeker and one German beater fly to Rolanda. She didn't know if it was her nonexistent pride or her waning Ravenclaw logic that made her feet shuffle a little faster and her pushes a little more vicious to get herself away from that horrible situation.
[She remembered her sorting. The all-eyes-on-you feeling that huge hall gave her. The reassuring glances of her professors. And then, later in the school term, the pleasant fluttering feeling of wanting eyes following her. When she was a little more Gryffindor when she hitched her skirt up slightly higher or let her tie a little looser and undid her buttons a little lower when she knew Rolanda watched her in the evening. Because she was 16 and full of faux-confidence, it was just a shame that at 17 that same faux-confidence had led her to the library and then subsequently to a quiet corner and her first kiss.]
She supposed that if Rolanda had asked her in private, with perhaps a few close friends that she would have agreed. But here, with the agitated buzzing of the crowd and the boxed-in feeling the packed stadium gave her, the proposal in hand left her furious.
She stopped suddenly as Rolanda clattered to the steps in front of her, pushing her broom into the arms of some spectator and holding her hands out, pleading her to stop and think. Words like 'sorry' and 'I didn't mean…' repeating themselves over and over again. Emily pushes at the hands and disregards the words.
[She remembered her first kiss. When she had disappeared from her dorm in an unusual display of confidence and crept along those cold stone corridors towards the library. She knew Rolanda was still awake, still studying for those all important NEWTs to get her into the Holyhead Harpies.
'It might be quidditch,' Rolanda had said 'But they expect 5 E's at least.'
And that had been that. Rolanda had requested special dispensation to stay late in the library and Emily had only caught glimpses of her well known acquaintance for the past week. But tonight, she was desperate to change that. Maybe it was the butterbeer. Maybe it was an instinct to soothe and protect her closest 'friend' after her crushing defeat against Gryffindor last Saturday.
Whatever it was, Emily wanted to act on it. And quickly too, before she changed her mind.
So she kept up her brisk pace and did her best not to look back too many times until she reached the library. And then, when she stood on shaking legs outside the magnificent doors, she took a steadying breath, and then pushed with all her might so the double doors opened in graceful arcs. Before she could come to her senses she made into the library on swift feet to find Rolanda.
It was just before she rounded the corner into the Herbology books that she found her. Rolanda was hunched over a large book on Transfiguration, her weakest subject, Emily knew. Before she interrupted the usually manic girl, Emily took a few seconds to undo the second button on her shirt and loosen her blue and bronze tie.
Emily cleared her throat and took two sure steps forwards, mindful to walk into the light where she could be seen.
The effect was instantaneous, Rolanda's head shot up, the bottle of ink shot off the end of the table and several of her heavy books went flying. All Emily could do was stand as Rolanda apologised profusely for the spilled ink ('Entirely my fault, I'm sorry') and for startling her ('I'll be ready next time. God, I'm sorry for my uselessness, you know? I mean you would expect a better reaction, wouldn't you? Tuh.')
And then Emily had grown restless on her short legs and literally dived at Rolanda as she was righting the ink pot. Needless to say, minutes later, the ink pot was then turned over again as Emily was hoisted on to the desk as Rolanda (grace-under-pressure Rolanda) had taken charge of Emily's first brush with lust.]
Emily pushed forward against Rolanda's arms, brushing scarlet silk quidditch robes on her way down the steps. It was a long walk across the pitch with thousands of angry eyes on her figure. Emily didn't know where she was headed, just away. Away from the crowd, away from Rolanda, away from that breathtaking engagement ring. Maybe she would go back to France, back to Beauxbatons, back to the life she had left behind as a scared 15 year old.
It was strange. Emily had been walking in no particular direction and yet she had led herself right to the England changing rooms, right to the door that would lead her into a place of…of…Rolanda.
[Emily thought of That Summer. After NEWTs, the last night in the castle, when she and Rolanda had stayed up as late as they could, and eventually fallen asleep in the Hufflepuff common room. It wasn't a room Emily had spent much time in, but when she had been invited to have a drink with Rolanda's friends and family, and allowed to invite her own family too, she hadn't known how to refuse.
So it was down in the cool space under the castle that Emily had woken up with an arm wrapped around Rolanda, and another reaching toward her little brother. It was early, early enough that it was still dark outside the castle. So, reaching for her robes and school bag, Emily had resolved to spend her final morning in the astronomy tower. Legs dangling over the edge into thin air, Emily had allowed herself one final moment of solitude before she went across the sea. Back to Flanders fields, and Flanders mud, and Flanders dying boys.]
She sat under the peg labelled 'R. HOOCH' and leant back against the tiled wall, against the white shirt and shin length skirt of Rolanda's. She closed her eyes and thought of a time when love meant everything and public approval and self confidence meant nothing to either of them.
["Eughh! The mud in this place!" Rolanda surveyed the trench the three of them stood in. Abandoned, for sure, but still adorned with soldier's personal items and signs directing people to Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus.
"What did you expect? A bloody welcome mat?" The snub-nosed man next to them was already covered in clinging mud, glaring at the map in his hands before thrusting it at Emily,
Emily could remember the clarity in which she saw the war for the first time. The entire Why Are We Here's back home had been right, Emily could see no point in this war.
Home. Now that was a funny thing. Emily's first 'home' had been in the south of France, her current home was back in drizzly London.
It was a comparison she didn't want to think of.]
She heard running footsteps toward the changing room. Emily closed her eyes and tried to block them out. Hoping, praying it wasn't Rolanda, Emily slid further in her seat and called a feeble "Who's zere?"
There was muttering from the outside of the door, and then the squeaking of hinges and the white-as-a-sheet face of Rolanda peered around the divide in the centre of the room,
"Hello." Rolanda said, brief smile and a lame sort of wave, from where she was sat Emily could see the tear stains on her cheeks and fresh tears in her eyes,
"Listen, I'm sorry for springing that on you. I know, I know you hate crowds, I know you hate feeling lost and, I just…" Rolanda looked away from her, biting her lip hard and swallowing, she gave a shaky breath and continued,
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it like that. I should have waited for you. I'm sorry." Through Rolanda's speech, Emily was shaking her head, slowly at first and then vigorously,
"Don't apologise. Eet was my fault. I am so sorry." Rolanda was blinking hard again, pushing her hands through her blonde shingled bob, and gulping, staring hard at the wall,
"If…If you wanted to leave you can, I'm sure they'll have a portkey…or…or a floo somewhere…" Emily nodded, still staring at Rolanda,
"Je suis desole…" She murmured, reaching for Rolanda's hand,
"Hooch!" A scarlet-clad boy she remembered as Sumner burst into the room, breathing heavily, "Hooch, I'm sorry, but Sal says he's putting Andrews on if you aren't back out there by second half kickoff." Emily felt sorry for him, he did look truly sorry for interrupting,
Rolanda sighed heavily, dragging herself to her feet, giving Emily a fleeting glance, before heading to the door,
"Stay and watch if you'd like, if not…well, just tell the transport desk you're Hooch's girl, they'll let you through." Rolanda wiped her eyes again, speaking with a thick voice, and slipped through the door without a backwards glance.
[Emily remembered the morning of the match. When Rolanda had been a bundle of jangling nerves, unable to sit or eat. And how, when Emily had ordered her to sit, Rolanda looked like she wanted to say something meaningful. Emily dismissed that moment as one of nerve induced panic.
She remembered standing next to Rolanda before the team flew off for the start of the match. Watching as Rolanda ran through the last minute checks and then started to bounce on the balls of her feet. She remembered taking hold of Rolanda's scarlet robes to still her movement and kissing her like it was the last time.
She remembered the second the whistle had blown that there was a gaggle of about four England players in the centre of the pitch, talking intensely about something, before they all nodded and three of them clapped Rolanda on the back. Rolanda checked her pocket for something, kicked off the ground and started to climb so she was level with Emily's row. And then, with a final shake of her arms, Rolanda looked Emily straight in the eye, and pointed directly into the crowd.
It was like some horrible nightmare Emily had once dreamt. All around the stadium there were gasps, as the words 'WILL YOU MARRY ME?' appeared in the crowd, followed by much cheering, and Samuel's excited face in her periphery vision.
Emily had never felt so lost.]
Emily began her trek to the stadium entrance, down what seemed like a mile of stairs, and then past the ground floor entrances to the pitch.
Something exciting was obviously about to happen. She could see the tension in the crowd, and hear the desperateness in their screams. She headed to the edge of the crowd, just to see another near impossible shot from Rolanda go through the centre hoop. The crowd screamed their approval. There were more screams and suddenly people pointed wildly in the air, no doubt at the seekers,
As she gazed at all of the pleading faces in the crowd, and then at Rolanda's manager and then at her own siblings she remembered the times she had felt utterly lost.
[On an English train when she was 15, surrounded by rowdy English kids, with only her siblings for company.
On a wooden stool while a hat read her deepest darkest thoughts.
In a crowded common room as her peers settled down to their own friends.
Sitting on an old table in a dark corner of the library as she lost herself in lust and young love.
And then…Then there was that fateful day in Flanders fields. Standing in cool October air as planes buzzed overhead, and Rolanda set off into oblivion armed with a broomstick and her wand.
She had known then it was an insane risk to take. A stupid stunt to perform. But then to the people she was taking orders from it was probably one calculated risk amongst thousands of calculated risks.
But she had taken the spare broom in hand, kicked off from the frozen earth and flown into the smoke filled and barbed wire tripped no man's land. All in the name of love. It had been when she had arrived back at their trench, to the relief of her teammates and to the surprising anger of Rolanda. Emily hadn't expected it, she had expected relief and tears. But not Rolanda's white-hot indignant rage.
"What if you had died? What then, hmmm? You would have me alone all for the sake of some bloody foreign war!" and then Rolanda was striding toward her, putting a hand in the hair at the base of her neck and fisting another into the lapel of her woollen trench coat, pushing her roughly against the wall of the trench and kissing her.
Kissing her like she was dying.
Kissing her like she was breathing.
Kissing her hard enough to bruise and taking the breath from her lungs and making her head tingle down her spine and all the way to her toes. Just like her older sister had said kissing was supposed to be like.
She realised then it was love, and love was a little bit like being lost a sea. But if love meant feeling like she was losing herself, Emily would have thrown away her principles while she was standing in that frozen ditch.]
It was to a cacophony of sound that Emily turned round, and half-walked half-ran to the edge of the pitch, checking there were no spectacular dives going on, she walked to the centre of the pitch and looked up to the mass of scarlet-clad players hugging each other in the air. A ripple of mumbling ran through the crowd as people realised just who was standing underneath the Quidditch World Champions, 1922. It became real when Rolanda saw her, and flew down to her, half-smiling, holding the huge silver cup under one arm.
"You came back!" was her excited exclamation, Emily was quite sure that the ground could have swallowed them both up in that instant and Rolanda would still be smiling.
"I did come back. " Emily embraced Rolanda, feeling Rolanda cling to her, one handed,
"I'm so happy!" Rolanda grinned even wider and waved to the cheering crowd, Emily tucked herself into Rolanda's side, wrapping an arm around her middle and leaning her head on her shoulder,
"You know, eef you ever wanted to propose again…" Emily began, feeling Rolanda's body tense under her arm,
"Are you serious?" Rolanda murmured softly, still waving energetically,
"Very serious." Emily replied, pulling away so she could look Rolanda directly in the eyes,
"…okay." Rolanda whispered, handing the ridiculous silverware to an eager teammate,
Rolanda reached to the pocket of her robes, pulling out a small black box. opening the box, she knelt on the torn up grass of the World Cup stadium, feeling the crowd go quiet around them, each individual waiting with bated breath, Emily could feel herself welling up,
It was, as she finally allowed herself to cry a few tears, that short Emily Verdain choked out a weak:
"Yes..!" and kissed her new fiancée with all the courage of a Gryffindor to the sounds of thunderous applause from both sides of the divided stadium.
In that moment Emily could remember all the times she had been lost, but surprisingly, allowing herself to be in love felt like being found.