With a Little Help from My Friends ~ by Lucy Lupin
* * * * *
Author's Note: As you may have been reading about in my bio notes, I have been cleaning up the previous ten chapters and have made some minor changes. I will briefly list them here to save you from re-reading the entire fic. Without further ado, here they are:
1. Minerva McGonagall is now Diana McGonagall, the head girl. Minerva the Hogwarts teacher is her aunt and teaches Arithmancy at Hogwarts. I did this because I now believe how I had things originally is an unnecessary canon change.
2. Quentin Snape is now Blair Zabini. I did this because I decided it was unrealistic to have Sirius, Remus and Severus all with siblings ten years older than they are, which is a huge and unusual age gap.
3. Headmaster Kyte is no more. I have made Armando Dippet the headmaster. This is, again, another change to make things more canon.
4. After re-reading OotP I decided Kingsley Shacklebolt is really quite young, so I have invented Winston Shacklebolt and made him a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team instead.
And thanks to Catherine for giving me a much-needed kick up the arse where this is concerned.
Disclaimer: I own Thierry Delacour. That is quite enough.
* * * * *
Chapter Eleven: What Thierry did in Divination
Veronica couldn't sleep, but it wasn't a bad lack of sleep. That was one of the best things about a new relationship. She could go to bed at two and then jump up four hours later, completely refreshed and ready to face the day. This morning she decided to face this particular day by doing a quick spin around the Quidditch pitch. Slipping into her uniform then pulling her thick dark hair into a ponytail, she went downstairs.
She wasn't the only early riser. Thierry was seated alone at one of the long tables. He was still in his sweatpants and t-shirt, the clothes that he slept in, with his school robe thrown hastily on top of the ensemble and his head resting on a textbook. At first glance he looked asleep, but when Veronica walked around the table, she saw that his eyes were indeed open, but staring blankly at the wall ahead of him. "What time did you get up?" she asked.
"I 'ave been down 'ere tout la nuit," Thierry responded dully. She could see little pepper marks of stubble on his chin and what looked suspiciously like a spot of drool blurring the writing on his text page. "Bastard Divination assignment. Bastard Professeur Trelawney."
"Thierry, being not only French but part-Veela, you don't give many opportunities for me to say things like this, so I'm going to take the chance now," Veronica began. Thierry raised his head and looked at her quizzically. "You truly look like shit," she told him.
Thierry scowled as she began to giggle. "You weell notice zat I nevair tell you zat you look like shit," he said. "Zat ees because you give me many opportunities to say zat." Veronica continued to giggle. She knew that Thierry didn't really think she ugly. They just had the kind of friendship where they could insult each other and know it meant nothing. "Yer 'Ufflepuff, 'e weell not agree weeth moi, mais I 'ave always said ze 'Ufflepuffs sont imbeciles."
"He's not stupid," Veronica said. "He's actually pretty smart. He got two Outstandings and three Exceeds Expectations last year on his OWLs last year."
"Weell, ze 'Ufflepuffs exceed expectations joost by passin' zeir classes," Thierry grinned. Veronica glared at him. "Okay, 'e seems like a nice boy. 'E killed Trelawney, so zat eez enough to endaire 'im to me."
"He only killed Trelawney in a game," Veronica pointed out. "She's still alive, you know."
"Drat," Thierry said.
Veronica pulled up a chair next to Thierry's elbow. He yawned and ran a hand through his hair. "You want help with that?" she asked.
"Trelawney wants 'elp, not moi," Thierry said darkly. Veronica fought back a smile.
"You know, she isn't particularly fond of you," she said. "You might get a higher mark if you predicted that something nasty would happen to you."
"'Ow about eef I said I would lose ze Quidditch Cup to Slytherin an' keeled myself ze next day?" Thierry suggested.
"I don't think suicide really counts as a prediction because it's something that you can plan," Veronica said. "A prediction is more something you can't have any control over, such as it raining tomorrow morning."
"Zat 'as nevair stopped 'er," Thierry muttered. "Yer should 'ear 'er een class. "Oh, I do declare! I have foreseen that I will be drinking out of a green teacup today, and here I am, very much drinking out a green teacup," an', "Ooh, I put on pink underwear today, just as I predicted." Oose choice was eet ter wear pink underwear? Ze grande fraud."
"As much as I think I would hate Divination," Veronica mused, "I almost wish I had taken it instead of Arithmancy, just to see the two of you sniping at each other. But then my average might suffer since it is my best subject and I can't see myself putting in the effort-" ("pah," said Thierry) "-required to do well in Divination. Well, if you can't do anything more to your homework, you're welcome to join me outside. I can charm the Quaffle to fly at the hoops, but it's a bit less predictable if someone else can actually throw it at me."
"Peut-etre some odaire time," Thierry told her. A malevolent grin stretched across his face and he began to scratch frantically on a piece of parchment. "I 'ave an idea pour mes devoirs. Zis weell make ze old bat's 'air curl."
"Perhaps it might be wise if I don't inquire further," Veronica said. "I am a prefect after all." She picked up her broom and strode towards the common room exit.
* * * * *
"What is that thing?" Molly demanded. "How come I didn't get anything from home?"
"Because I wrote and asked for it, stupid," Rhiannon said, eagerly pealing open the large parcel. "It's my costume for the Halloween Ball. You can never plan too far in advance for these things."
"And does Mum know that the ball is open to only fifth years and above, and the only way a younger student can get there is to be invited by someone-" Molly's mouth creased in disapproval "-older?"
"No, she doesn't." Rhiannon now had an expression on her face similar to her sister's. "And it had better stay that way."
"Or else what?" Molly demanded. "What are you going to do, pipsqueak, drag me behind Hagrid's hut and break my kneecaps?"
"No," Rhiannon said stoutly, "but I'll tell Mum that you like a boy!"
"At her age I don't think your mother will really be too surprised," Zachary said gently to Rhiannon, then turned his head and grinned at the red-faced Molly. "But the rest of us will be very interested in hearing more about this."
"You do that," Molly hissed, "and I'll tell Herbie Jordan that you stuff your bra!"
Now it was Rhiannon's turn to blush.
Owl postage had arrived as usual over breakfast. Thierry was the most popular. He had received three owls, including a letter from his own, Emmanuel, and retreated back behind his soup bowl-sized mug of black coffee, his brown eyes sliding across the pages as Emmanuel pecked at his croissant.
"What are you wearing to the ball?" Zachary asked Molly, quickly seeking to diffuse a sibling confrontation.
"I have no idea," Molly admitted. While her family wasn't in dire financial straits, they couldn't exactly afford to blow money on every whim and fancy of their five daughters. "I was thinking of making something myself, and it will have be something I can wear again. There's no point in spending all that money on fabric for something I can only wear once." But it would be fun, a little voice told her.
"Why don't you go as a princess?" Holly Wood suggested. "That way you can charm the dress a different colour and wear it to another ball. They're bound to have one more before you graduate."
"No, but a princess isn't scary," Florean Fortescue, a friend of Herbie's, persisted. Molly smiled at the very different train of thought of a young boy. "I know! You could go as a hag. That way all you need to do is wear dark clothing and wrap a bunch of rags around your head. It won't cost anything at all."
"My word." Molly turned to the second year in surprise. "What an astute young businessman you are. You could run your own shop with a mind like that."
Florean grinned. "Well, I did think about opening my own ice cream store," he said bashfully. "That would be the coolest-"
"Both literally and figuratively speaking," Zachary said, catching Molly's eye.
"And Molly wouldn't need much of a costume to go as a hag," Herbie quipped, causing Rhiannon to shriek with laughter. Zachary quickly grabbed Molly's pumpkin juice before she could fling it at him.
Arthur was looking at Emmanuel thoughtfully. "Have you ever wondered what happens to the owls when it's not breakfast?" he asked.
Holly looked at him as if he was daft. "They stay in the owlery," she said. "Everyone knows that."
"No, what I mean is," Arthur persisted, "what happens to them in between arriving at Hogwarts with their messages and delivering them to us at breakfast time? I mean, I'm sure that everyone who has ever corresponded with a Hogwarts student hasn't timed the release of their owl just so it arrives right at breakfast." Everyone else stared dumbfounded at him. "Well, I thought it was a valid question," he said, sounding slightly touchy.
"Arthur, it's a great question," Zachary Lupin hastened to reassure him. "I'm just amazed that you're the first to ask it."
"I've thought about that before," Cameron Bell, the reserve Keeper, admitted, "but I think that's because my mum's a Muggle. Coming from a pureblood background, it's easier to take things like that for granted, I guess."
"Arthurs a pureblood wizard," Molly pointed out sharply.
"Arthur has always been particularly good at - how do the Muggles say it - thinking beyond the square," Diana defended her male counterpart. "How you did not get into Ravenclaw is beyond me."
"Well," Arthur began. The tips of his ears were pink and he was starting to stammer slightly. Thierry was grinning a broad I told you so at him, not doubt remembering last week's heated conversation. "The hat did consider placing me there, but it said I was too much of a nonconformist and, well, here I am."
"Ze 'at considaired puttin' me zere too," Thierry added, "but eet said I lacked certain qualities."
"Like what?" Veronica said.
"Like ze ability to get ma assignments completed on time," Thierry grinned.
The rest of the group laughed, but Diana, predictably, gave him a disdainful look. "I too was almost placed in Ravenclaw," she said, "but the hat put him in Gryffindor for reasons quite contrasting Thierry's. It said it was worrying about me studying too much and that I needed to-" her nostrils thinned in indignation "-live it up more." Thierry snorted into his coffee.
"I was almost put into another house," Veronica admitted, "but that was Hufflepuff, not Ravenclaw."
"So that's where it comes from," Molly teased her. Veronica blushed.
"Who're your letters from?" Herbie demanded.
"Herbie, don't be impolite," Molly scolded him. "That's Thierry's business, not yours."
"Eet ees alright," Thierry waved her indignation away idly. "Actualement, eet is vair much ees business. Yer may remembaire 'ow I was goin' to write to ze odaire Quidditch captains requestin' a friendly. Well, zey 'ave responded." He scanned the contents of the now-opened envelops. "Ze Ravenclaw garcon, Alistair Bell, 'e said "non," mais zat ees to be expected. Ze Ravenclaws, ils sont tres conservatifs. Ze odaire two, Amos Diggory et Jeremias Bole, zey said "oui"."
"What does pee have to do with a Quidditch match?" Herbie frowned.
"Oui means "yes" in French, you big dolt," Molly told him. Herbie rolled his eyes at her back. Once again Arthur noticed the absence of Lucille, who would have translated Thierry's rambling in an instant.
"Thierry, you do realise why the Slytherins would agree to play us," Veronica said worriedly. "I mean, given that this is the first year we've had girls on the team." Holly Wood and Rhiannon Morag looked at each other anxiously.
"Veronica, I am a man." Thierry gave Veronica an ironic smile. "I know 'ow zeir minds work. Non, we weell be playin' 'Ufflepuff. Zey weell give us a good game, mais zey play fair."
Holly and Rhiannon cheered. Veronica's stomach did a strange loop. The Hufflepuff friendly meant that she would be playing against William, even more so now that she had found out he was a Chaser, not a Beater as she had first suspected. She had always felt competitive against her older brother, but this was worse than a brother. Never until this moment had she fully appreciated what house rivalry meant. She had never slacked off during practices, but now she resolved to work harder still.
* * * * *
It was a Monday afternoon and, as usual, Arthur was flustered. Despite their earlier reserve – if not animosity - the French contingent of Lucille's family had warmed to him after he had sang, and he had found himself enjoying the party more than he had expected. And much more than he had ought to. He raised a hand to his forehead, wincing as he rubbed it regretfully. When he arrived back yesterday evening, he had planned on asking Thierry for a hangover remedy, but the wily Frenchman was nowhere to be found. Somehow he didn't think Professor Dumbledore would be so forthcoming with one this time. It was with no small amount of relief that he greeted his final class of the day – Divination.
Unsurprisingly, since he had climbed up the ladder early, only one other student was there. Very surprisingly, the student was Monsieur Thierry Delacour. Thierry, who did not bother to hide his disdain for the class, was more often than not late and unlike Arthur, who used Divination as an easy pass to bolster his transcript, seemed to do minimal work on his assignments.
Which was why it was all the more surprising to see him with his head bent over a scroll, lips moving and quill scratching frantically in concentration.
"What are you writing?" Arthur asked, moving closer to Thierry and leaning over his shoulder.
Thierry smirked and moved his hand away. Behind his glasses Arthur's eyes widened. "Oh no, Thierry," he said. "You can't possibly hand that in to her. You'll get detention, or worse, expelled."
"Pah," Thierry was dismissive. "Veronica said Trelawney would like eet eef I wrote zat something bad ees goin' ter 'appen ter moi, an' so I wrote zat something bad ees goin' ter 'appen to moi. Zis ees zee wors' theeng I can possibly teenk of."
"Oh, I don't agree," Arthur said stoutly. "Expulsion two weeks into your NEWT year will be much worse than that."
Thierry turned and gave Arthur a pitying look. "Arthur," he began, "notheeng ees wors' zan zis. Eef yer don' teenk so, yer really need to leeve a leetle."
"You're hopeless," Arthur muttered. He sighed and returned to his seat, pulling out his own prediction chart.
As the minutes until the start of class trickled away, more students entered the room. First two Slytherin students, whispering among themselves, came in and took the cushions in the corner of the room. Next came a Ravenclaw girl whose name Arthur still didn't know. She sneaked a sidelong look at Thierry then with studied casualness, claimed the table behind him. All the while the objection of her attention whipped his quill along the surface of his parchment, oblivious to all around him. Finally the jangle of bracelets signalled the approach of Professor Clarity Trelawney.
"Good afternoon class," she shrilled as she swept through the room. "I hope everyone had an enjoyable weekend, except for the poor unfortunate Frank Longbottom, of whom I foresaw a broken ankle and a concussion in the tea leaves." Thierry snorted, but didn't raise his head from his work. Trelawney's eye, uncharacteristically sharp when it came to Thierry, fell upon him. "Mister Delacour, I do not recall allowing homework to be completed during class hours."
"Ah, but a sudden premonition 'as come upon moi," Thierry enthused. Arthur hid his grin behind his hand. "An' besides, deadlines an' schedules are implements of zee mundane an' 'ave no bearings upon zose weeth zee gift. The innaire eye cannot see upon command."
There were a few scattered giggles from the rest of the class, including the girl behind Thierry. "I had predicted that the less worthy in this class would find means to delay their homework," Trelawney said, facing Thierry but with her voice deliberately loud to catch the attention of the rest of the class. "Put down your quill this instant, Mister Delacour. I forsee a detention in your future."
"Zat ees un miracle," Thierry breathed, wide-eyed, "especialement since yer give out ze detentions." There were some nervous giggles from the back of the room. Thierry had been covertly scathing of Trelawney's psychic ability before, but never this openly and this rudely. Arthur shook his head worriedly.
Trelawney gave Thierry look through her rose-tinted spectacles, who smiled blithely back at her and put his quill down on his tabletop. "Today we will continue our study of tea leaves," the professor continued, her voice higher than usual. "Miss Fleet and Mister Appleby, if you would please hand out the teacups and tealeaves? And do take care to distribute the pink cups, not the lavender. I have a strong premonition that the lavender would be prone to breakage today, and I am rather fond of them."
The two Hufflepuffs dexterously went around the room as Trelawney droned on, distributing cups and leaves. "Professor," a blond Ravenclaw said, inclining one hand, "I was reading through my notes last night and I came upon something that may interest you."
"Yes, dear?" Trelawney purred, positively flushing. Imelda Page was a member of the "Divination Groupies," or so Thierry had derogatorily christened the trio of girls who worshipped the clouds the Divination teacher had her head in. Arthur didn't think much of them either. Funny how supposedly smart people could lack so little common sense.
"Well, Professor," Imelda continued, drawing herself up prissily, "on the first day of term I documented you saying that an unfortunate death would befall a member of our class. No one has died yet, but I was thinking, and I came to the realisation that when you say a death will befall someone, it doesn't necessary mean that it will happen to them, just that they'll be affected by it." She paused expectantly.
"Yes, dear?" Trelawney encouraged.
"Well, Professor," the girl's voice rose with encouragement, "isn't Lucille Black one of your students?"
Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat. Surely not. Surely even she wouldn't have such little respect towards her own students-
"Why, yes, dear." Professor Trelawney was trying to look sorrowful, but her eyes were gleaming with pride. "I did predict that such a sorrow would befall one of my students. Unfortunately, it is not the role of a Seer to meddle with such gifts-"
There was a crash as Thierry casually jabbed his cup with his elbow and sent it crashing to the floor. "Well, Professeur," he said coldly, "you predicted, I believe, zat ze lavendaire cups would be more prone ter breakage, yet zis ees a pink one. What do yer say about zat?"
"I, er, well," Trelawney warbled, taking a step back.
Thierry suddenly pushed back his chair and loomed over her. "Yer deed not predict ze death of Lucille's modaire," he snarled. "Yer deed not predict zat ze lavendaire cups would be ze ones broken. Well, maybe yer deed, but I undeed yer prediction by breaking one consciously. Predictions are only predictions an' are not facts unless zey come true. Anytheeng can be undone, anytheeng." He took a step towards her, then another. Trelawney backed away until she was against her desk. "Do not evaire profit from ze death and misery of odaires. 'Ave some respect for ze dead."
"So you admit to destroying school property deliberately then?" Trelawney's face was white and her voice was trembling. "I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour in my class. Detention, Mister Delacour."
"Yer cannot give moi detention eef I am no longaire a member of yer class," Thierry snapped. He stomped back to his desk and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I'm goin'. An' I'm not comin' back. Zis class is merde." He swung one last scowl in Trelawney's direction then crawled down the ladder.
As it was slow going descending the ladder, abrupt departure from Trelawney's classroom was hard to manage, yet somehow Thierry pulled it off. The rest of the class was left gazing silently, fearfully at each other. "Well, then," Trelawney squeaked, "since it appears that neither of my teacups are safe for usage, I now propose that you record the predictions of your classmates and see how many of them are correct."
Not "happened," Arthur thought bitterly to himself as he reached for his quill, "correct." It would never occur to her that the study of Divination itself could be faulty. Trelawney randomly flicked through the assignments that a student had earlier collected, reading aloud from each. "I predict that I will get an "O" on this assignment – we shall see, Norrington – I predict that next Tuesday, I will ask Heather Stratton to the Halloween Ball." The rest of the class tittered, and the redhaired girl in question blushed. "I predict that Mark Appleby will ask me to the Halloween Ball, and that I will say yes." Heather looked across the room at Mark and nodded, still blushing furiously. The class broke into applause.
"Well now, well, that's two predictions correct already," Trelawney murmured absently. Arthur smiled. Fortunately the majority of the seventh years did not take Divination as seriously as Imelda Page and her coven, as the class would be a very dull place indeed. "Ah, this looks to be an interesting one: I predict that next week, I will become omnipotent." The class exchanged bemused looks. A few giggled.
The Ravenclaw girl, who was sitting behind where Thierry had once sat, was doing something very interesting. After Trelawney had read out the prediction about becoming omnipotent, she had quietly raised her hand in the air, and had kept it raised despite Trelawney's failure to recognise her. If anything, this failure seemed to make her more determined. When it became apparent that the girl would not take her hand down, she snapped, "Well, yes, dear, but I thought that my instructions were quite clear."
"I understand your instructions perfectly," the girl said. Her voice was soft but firm. The rest of the class was watching her with interest, and Arthur realised that he had never heard her talk before. "But I think you read out one of the predictions wrong."
"I assure you that is not that case," Trelawney said flippantly. "I may be rather advanced in years, but the inner eye only improves, not deteriorates, with age."
"But I'm not talking about your inner eye, Professor." The girl was obviously uncomfortable by the attention that she was unused to, but determined to continue. "I was sitting behind Thierry Delacour when he made that prediction, and that is not what I read. If you want us to check the validity of these predictions, we should really make sure that what we write down is accurate."
"Girl, it may very well be that you are mistaken." This time Trelawney did not bother to hide the impatience in her voice. "It could be possible that since Mister Delacour is not a mother tongue speaker, that he misspelt the word, and that what he wrote down may not be what he actually intended."
"The French and English languages share the same alphabet," the girl persisted obstinately, "and Thierry has always been a good speller, and his written work is articulate, therefore I am certain he knows what he is talking about. He did not say omnipotent, Professor, he said impotent."
It was a good ten minutes before Trelawney could restore the class to order. Below the trapdoor a certain Frenchman snickered, then made a mental note to find out the identity of the girl who called out, "Wands on being the one to help test his prediction!"
* * * * *
The two weeks leading up to the Hufflepuff friendly flew by faster than anyone would have wanted them to, particularly in the Gryffindor camp. They had been a blur of early morning Quidditch practices followed by later nights scurrying through books and homework. Judging by how tired William had been lately, the Hufflepuffs had been practicing a lot too, but whenever Veronica tried to uncover details he only tapped her on the nose and made a joke about "fraternising with the enemy." Yet in spite of the long hours committed, she still felt that they had not had enough time playing together, enough of an understanding among each other to do themselves justice. Thierry still had to yell at Molly to pull her arm back far enough to get the necessary power on the long shots she made with her bat.
She awoke to a sunlit morning on match day. She had half-hoped it would be wet and rainy so that less people would show up to watch them, but following its trend with giving her sodden days when she had planned an outing to the beach, the weather had betrayed her. Sighing, she heaved herself out of bed and began to pull on her uniform.
No one could each much at breakfast that morning. The usually jovial Herbie listlessly poked his eggs around his plate and there were more than a few red eyes down their end of the table. The Hufflepuffs in contrast looked as though the Halloween Ball had come a month early, playfully shoving each other and shouting jokes down the length of their table.
"Sort of makes you wish Lucille was here, don't it?" Molly muttered next to her, staring down at a half-eaten piece of toast on her plate. "She'd tell us that we're just as good as they are, and that women have a better sense of equilibrium anyway because we have a lower sense of gravity."
"We're not worse than they are because we're women," Veronica mumbled. "We're worse because we just are, that's all."
"Now Veronica Verity Vector, I won't here any of that talk," Molly said, but even her lectures lacked their usual force. "We're playing to win, and that's that." In front of Veronica the milk in her tea had grown a skin.
Half an hour later they were in the changing room in front of a subdued Thierry. "Now, everyone," he began, "I 'ave been watchin' yer train since ze start of ze term an' I want yer to know zat despite what 'appens today, yer 'ave come a long way an' yer should be proud."
"He thinks we're going to lose," Herbie surmised next to Veronica. She couldn't think of much to say to disagree.
The roar of the crowd was overpowering as they flew out into the stadium. She could see large pockets of scarlet and yellow among them, but not just the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had turned out. She could guess whom the neutral houses – and even some members of her own – would be supporting. Why couldn't I have been the type of girl to wear aprons and bake cookies? she wondered dismally. Anything was better than this potential humiliation.
Below her Madame Hooch strode out onto the pitch, the box containing the four different balls under her arm. She gave her customary speech requesting a nice, clean game from all of them and then under her supervision, Thierry and Amos Diggory shook hands. Amos smiled at Thierry as he did so, then his eyes drifted over to share the same smile with Molly as she hovered on the left of the pitch. Even from this distance she could see Molly was bright red. She shook her head. The last thing they needed was a Beater with a crush on the opposition's best Chaser.
The game started out well with Thierry stretching out an arm to snatch the Quaffle from Chaser Rickett and going on a mazy run that eluded the opposing players, but was tipped off-balance by a Bludger that Molly should have reached easily and his gripped loosened sufficiently to allow William to snatch the Quaffle out of his hands. Then Belmaine thumbled an easy throw that Thierry had managed to intercept. Then Molly hit a Bludger aimed to spin the Hufflepuff Keeper off-course but only succeeded in preventing Holly from scoring the first goal of the match. Then Winston conceded a stupid penalty and the floor was hers. Finally, a chance to put things to right instead of helplessly watching others make mistakes. Amos hovered before her, then tossed the Quaffle to William and zoomed to the left. Her boyfriend would be taking the penalty.
Veronica swallowed nervously. She had saved penalties before, but that was against teammates she had practiced against for almost a month, people whose style and play she knew like the grip of her wand. But William, particularly with their relative lack of experience, was an enigma to her. He had given her leeway in other areas of their lives. They weren't a couple who could be accused of taking each other for granted. But as she had realised during her short-lived Assassins participation, his game play allowed no room for compromise.
He dummied the ball, causing her to dive to her left. Too late she saw that the Quaffle had not completely left his hand, and then he instead slammed it home to her right, with her hopelessly off-course and deeply embarrassed. William was beaming as much as the teammates who surrounded him for a congratulatory hug, but gave her a brief apologetic smile before returning to his position. Veronica felt too numb to react.
"Bettaire luck next time," Thierry said, clapping her on the shoulder.
But she did not have better luck the next time, nor the time after that. The goals were going in one end but not the other. Thierry had put away two penalties near the start of the game, but when it became apparent that Veronica was nearly incapable of keeping them out, succumbed to pressure and missed two sitters. She became convinced that the only reason why Thierry had not subbed her was because he knew what a further blow to her confidence it would be. It reached the point when Herbie Jordan could not win the game for them, merely do damage control, and she was very relieved that Hufflepuff had only won by ten points when he finally caught the Snitch.
There was very little animosity between the two houses, and the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs mingled together on the pitch after the match. Instead of handshakes Veronica received hugs from the players in yellow, which were well-intended but served only to reinforce her perception that she had not only been the worst player on the pitch, but had caused her team to lose. William was the last to reach her. "I was terrible," she muttered into his shoulder.
"You weren't that bad," he said. "You were hopelessly exposed for a lot of the open-play goals, and towards the end of it you were starting to get a hand to the penalties, which shows that not only were you improving and learning to read play better, but that you never gave up. That takes a lot of strength. You can definitely improve. Merlin, my first Quidditch match I was out cold in two minutes!"
Veronica frowned; he had never told her that. "What happened?" she asked. "Did someone hit a Bludger at you?"
"No, I knocked myself out with my own bat," William told her. "You can't fool me, Veronica, I know that wasn't really a cough! See, you may laugh but if I can now put four penalties past you in a game, you can learn to keep just as many of them out."
Veronica stopped smiling. "It was only three," she said. "I should know. I had to pick every single one of them off the ground." She went silent and looked away.
William cupped her chin and gently pushed her head up to face him. "Perhaps it was just three," he said. "Due to conflicts of interest I can't really tell you what areas of your game you need to improve, but a lot of it is in your head and if it's mental, it can always be fixed. Good night, Miss Vector." He gave her a kiss on the lips and walked away.
Scattered cheers and applause broke out from the Hufflepuff players and supporters still around her. She realised she was grinning. That was the first time William had ever kissed her in public. He had stopped at the sound of clapping and was now pink-cheeked. Her natural good humour restored, she swooped into a mocking bow for the benefit of those who had witnessed the kiss then caught up to Thierry, schooling her face into a more sombre expression as she did so.
Thankfully (although not in the case of the rest of the team), Thierry repeated what William had said and berated the Beaters for not protecting her and going too far forward to support the Chasers. Molly's lower lip was trembling by the time he finished. He then told Herbie off for not being decisive enough with his play - citing an incident where he could have grabbed the Snitch when it was hovering above Belmaine's head and Gryffindor was only forty points behind - and Holly for being too selfish with hers.
"I am goin' ter switch yer positions," he snapped. "There ees nothin' else ter do weeth a Chaser oo nevair wants ter pass ze Quaffle. At least as a Seekaire, yer meant to think seulement of yerself, which weell be vair easy for you, 'Olly!" The new Seeker burst into tears. Thierry looked as though he was unsure whether to be angry with Holly or himself, then muttered a curse and put his arm around her.
After Holly's hysterics Thierry toned his talk down a notch, and the rest of them left looking disappointed, but not distraught. The two now alone, Thierry gave Veronica a wry, rueful smile. "It was a good move switching Herbie and Holly," she acknowledged. "For all his boastfulness Herbie is a team player - he'll be great supporting the other Chasers - and we need someone single-minded to be a Seeker. Herbie was paying too much attention to everything else that was going on. Holly would have got the Snitch that time it was near Belmaine. She wouldn't have cared if she poked his eye out."
Thierry laughed. "Oui, zat an' she's a bettaire flier. I am sorry les autres deed not cover yer aujourd'hui. I would 'ave prefered eef we 'ad played against Ravenclaw today, but ze captaine said les filles did not belong on the field, an' what can yer do zen?"
"So Alistair Bell was the captain who said "no" to you?" Veronica said. Thierry nodded. "Well, I'm surprised by that," she continued. "I thought he would be a bit less conservative considering that he and Lucille were a couple once."
There was a thud as the Quaffle slipped from Thierry's fingers. "Quoi?"
"At the start of our sixth year, remember?" Veronica continued, blithely unaware of the purple shade Thierry's face had turned as she bent down to retrieve the Quaffle. "They went out for two months." She made to pass Thierry the ball, then saw the expression on his face. "I thought you knew this already."
"Oh, non." Thierry's face had darkened further. "She does not see fit to tell moi of such theengs."
"Yeah, I can't remember why they broke up," Veronica watching Thierry's face carefully as she spoke. "What's up with you?"
"No," Thierry shook his head and gave a disbelieving laugh. "Lucille would not 'ave a boyfriend. She's small an' pushy an' far too loud."
"She's also very beautiful," Veronica challenged him. "And she's funny, and intelligent, and kind. You know, just because you're not aware of all those things, it doesn't mean that no other guys are."
"Fonny?" Thierry repeated. "Fonny dans la tete, zat ees. An' she's miserable tout le temps-"
"She's not always miserable," Veronica defended her friend sharply. "And you haven't exactly made her time here easier for her, you know-"
"She insults moi, I insult 'er," Thierry protested. "Eet is all 'er doin'."
"You honestly don't have a clue, do you." It was a statement, not a question. Veronica's face was turning a shade to rival Thierry's. "You're so blind you can't see what's right in front of you!" She threw the Quaffle angrily back at him and marched from the room.
Thierry hurled the Quaffle against the wall, catching it just before the force of his throw rebounded it back in his face. He took a deep breath and threw the ball again in a more stable manner. What does Veronica care? he demanded to himself as the ball thudded against the wall. What does she know about, anyway? The answer came back to him, unbidden. Everything.
There was the sound of footsteps running up the stairs outside. Thierry caught the Quaffle and spun around, unsure if he would face a furious or repentant Veronica and trying to quickly brace himself for both. But it was not Veronica who flung open the doorway, but her Hufflepuff boyfriend. "Arthur sent me to tell you," he puffed, pushing damp blond curls off his forehead. "I caught him in the hall - Lucille's back."
* * * * *
I have decided not to respond individually to reviews anymore because it takes up too much space (over three thousand words before I edited the last ten chapters). But I have really appreciated all of them and if you ever have any questions, email me and I'll be happy to respond. Sorry for the wait and Merry Christmas!
