Seven-Ted
'Not one single thing! Not one!'
'Calm down, Victoire, this isn't even your problem...'
We are sat in the library, poring over piles and piles of dusty volumes, and all of them, I am afraid to say, are about werewolves. We've been searching all morning, and we've found nothing on the question of werewolf children suffering at all. In fact, this bothers me the least out of the two of us, and Victoire is the one flipping feverishly through yellowing pages. I'm not sure why, but the fact we aren't any closer to finding out whether I'm a werewolf doesn't bother me; instead it's been taken over by the rush of affection for Victoire, because she is sat next to me, helping me, she isn't repulsed by me, she still wants to be with me, and that means more than anything.
'Of course it's my problem, I want to help you! Ted, are you listening?'
'What – yeah,' I say quickly, snapping back to the present; I cringe inwardly because I realise I must have been staring at Victoire with that stupid gormless expression.
'Well, anyway, there isn't anything in The Origin, Anatomy and Lifestyle Habits of Werewolves about werewolf children...see, I don't know, because I don't think werewolves usually have children...'
'Yeah, because no one in their right minds would even want to go near them,' I mutter. 'Makes me some sort of special case, doesn't it?'
Victoire shoots me a look before heaving the next heavy book towards her.
'Right, maybe this one will be better...Ted, could you pass me that quill, I want to make a list of all the books we've looked in...'
'I had to be the one with a werewolf for a father, didn't I?' I burst out angrily, unable to stop myself, as I snatch up a nearby quill. Victoire takes it with a scandalised look.
'Don't say that, Teddy! Your father was really brave, you know Uncle Harry told you – '
'He also wanted to run off with Harry and leave my mum to look after me, d'you remember when he told us that?'
Victoire doesn't say anything, but she riffles a couple of pages in the next book with more force than necessary. It's then that I remember we needn't be in here at all if she hadn't suggested researching what happened to me last night, and I suddenly feel a pang of guilt.
'Sorry,' I say quietly. 'I appreciate you doing all this for me, I just think it's a bit pointless – it's pretty obvious werewolves don't have kids.'
'They do,' Victoire nods. 'Your dad did. And if he did, it's possible someone else did, I mean, your dad can't have been the only decent werewolf – '
I snort.
'– and you can bet that if someone loved them and had a baby with them then it would be written down somewhere, wouldn't it?' Victoire tells me, ignoring my interruption. 'If it happened a long time ago it would be recorded – I bet werewolf children are incredibly rare – '
'I wonder why?' I ask sardonically.
'Teddy, please stop being so negative,' Victoire says sharply. 'I understand and everything, but I'm trying to make things better in case you haven't noticed.'
'Right, right, sorry!' I say hastily, shoving scraps of old parchment and an ink bottle out of the way to make room. 'Right, give me a book, I'll start looking...'
'You can start in Hairy Snout, Human Heart,' Victoire says, pleased that I'm participating. 'Try chapter three.' She pushes a thick leather-bound book in front of me, decorated with a picture of a man with a simpering wolf's head holding a rose out to nobody in particular.
'Lovely,' I say grimly.
'So did McGonagall corner you this morning, then?' Victoire asks a few minutes later.
'Yeah,' I say resentfully. 'She seemed really suspicious as well, but I told her I'd been finishing homework and was in bed way before the Hogsmeade break-in. I reckon Bletchley's tipped her off,' I add savagely, so that I almost tear the page I'm turning.
'He's an idiot,' Victoire says, dipping her quill into an ink pot with a flourish. 'I didn't get asked about it, I got Lucida to cover for me, but I caught McGonagall giving me a look at breakfast, so yeah, you're probably right.'
'Should I go and say something?'
'No way, that just proves you're paranoid that Bletchley's said something and then you look even guiltier. Just leave it.'
'Yeah...you don't think it was that prefect that could've seen me, though?'
Victoire studies me, puzzled. I'd told her that I'd managed to trick Cauldwell into thinking Peeves had upturned a load of desks in a nearby classroom, when actually a good Levitation Charm had just about done it, enabling me to slip back to the common room just in time.
'No – well, I thought you said you'd got rid of him – '
'I did, I did!' I assure her. 'But, well, he could have seen me, I suppose...'
'I don't think so,' says Victoire, shaking her head.
Seconds later, I hear someone walking up behind me, and Victoire is looking up at them disgustedly. I whip around to see Bletchley standing and staring smugly at both of us.
'Having a nice morning, are we?' he says pleasantly. 'Not feeling too tired after your little midnight break-in?'
'Shut it, Liam,' Victoire says warningly.
'I know it was you, Ted!' Bletchley hisses. 'And you were with him, Vic – d'you realise how stupid it is trying to break into Hogsmeade? You could get the whole of Gryffindor banned – '
'You – '
But just before I am about to reply, seething, another voice speaks first, and she sounds angrier than ever.
'It has absolutely nothing to do with you,' Victoire snarls. 'And even if it was us, which you have no proof of, by the way – it wasn't your place to tell McGonagall. D'you think any of us would have done it if it were you? And don't say that you told her because you were worried,' she adds irritably, as Bletchley opens his mouth to reply, 'because you clearly weren't – you just wanted to see us get in trouble. Which is what makes you the most disgusting, pathetic little piece of scum I've ever met. Oh, and don't call me Vic. In fact I'd rather you just stayed away from me. Now get out of the library before I have to force you.'
I stare, astonished, at Victoire, who is stood up with her hands balled into fists and her face contorted in hatred. I can't even make a comment of my own; neither, it seems, can Bletchley; he stares at Victoire looking as though he cannot believe the words have come from her. Finally, he gains the ability to speak.
'Fine!' he shouts, his arms flailing so wildly that spare parchment flutters off our desk. 'Fine then, Victoire, but you'll be eating your words soon – you think you're so cool with Teddy Lupin, don't you, well it's obvious he's only with you because he can't get anyone his own ag– '
His words were cut off sharply by a loud bang; Victoire and I had both cast a hex at exactly the same moment and as a result Bletchley is blasted off his feet; arms windmilling, he lands on the library floor with a thud, flat on his back.
I'm pounding with adrenaline and hot fury; I look at Victoire, who has a fiery look in her pale blue eyes that shows she is clearly very pissed off. Yet, the corners of her mouth are twitching as though she is suppressing a laugh.
'What did you use?' I ask, as though we hadn't just blasted someone into near-unconsciousness and are merely talking about the weather.
'Stinging Jinx,' Victoire says in the same light, pleasant tone. 'You?'
'Furnunculus Curse,' I reply casually. 'Wonder what the effects are...'
But exactly what the effects are, we don't find out, for the scrawny librarian Madam Pince has just rounded a corner, and halted at the two of us standing, thoroughly unperturbed, next to Bletchley sprawled on the ground. She has a stunned look on her vulture-like face.
'What...have you done...to this student?' she says in a deadly whisper, clutching her heart as though she might faint.
'Time to go, I think,' I say out of the corner of my mouth.
Hastily, we stuff our quills, ink and parchment into our bags, and then disappear behind a narrow bookcase, leaving Madam Pince too stunned to act and Bletchley heaving himself up off the ground.
'Now we've really done it,' Victoire murmurs, although I can hear the smile in her voice.
'I've done worse,' I say reasonably. 'Hey, that was an impressive speech there. I've never seen you so feisty. I think I like it.'
'I can't help it when I get angry,' Victoire shrugs, dipping effortlessly to avoid a book floating above her head as it returned to its shelf.
'Although, what happened to "just leave it"?' I say knowingly, giving her a raised eyebrow.
Victoire giggles.
