With a Little Help from My Friends by Lucy Lupin
Author's Note: I'm aiming to get this finished before Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I don't have any exams this semester, so if I write a chapter ever two/three days, it's a doable task.
Additionally I would like to warn you off this and the next few chapters because of questionable content regarding eating disorders, if this subject disturbs you. What I've written still fits within guidelines and isn't very graphic, nor a big part of each chapter, but nevertheless I wanted to caution you in case you are or have been personally affected by them. If you want to avoid these chapters but would like to continue reading this fic, email me and I'll contact you when this part is over. Finally, I would like to clarify that this part of the fic is not written from personal experience and if you don't find it compatible with the reality of having an eating disorder, then it probably isn't. I will however try to deal with the subject matter as sensitively as possible.
Chapter Thirteen: Wearing Masks
She sat in the library clutching the rejected paper, her body inert with the double-whammy of helplessness and despair. She knew that no matter how many candles she burned over late-night assignments that seemed to take her peers a fraction of the time, how thoroughly she prepared for class and poured over Potions manuals, that the sadistic Slytherin-favouring Finch would always find something to catch her up. Pride prevented her from asking someone like Diana, Arthur or Thierry for help, and a lack of it from standing up to the Potions master and exchanging poison with poison, as Thierry was wont to do. True, his sharp tongue had landed him in more than a few detention halls, but at least he could still hold his head high. She wasn't as talented as him, never had been, and was never given a chance to be, due to her own perceived lack of intelligence and know-how. She only wanted one thing - one small, little thing - that would distinguish her from her nauseatingly brilliant family.
It was true that others saw her as being intelligent. She saw that not so much as her being "smart," but rather "smart at playing smart." She didn't get good marks because she was truly worth them, but because she worked three times as hard as anyone else. She worried that she would eventually be caught out. And exposed. A dumb girl masquerading at intelligence in a mask that her father's wealth and prestige had afforded, and indeed, cost, her.
Sometimes she wondered what exposure would cost her, what would happen if one day she tore off the mask and displayed what lay underneath to the rest of the school, indeed, the world. In some ways it would be a relief, for she was not only dumb, but mute also, with this mask, her true features stifled underneath. At times it was so much of a burden to keep the mask in place, for its elastic was fraying from years of use and the weight of the porcelain was causing the painted face to slide further down her own. Sometimes she thought how nice it would be to be free of its weight, to watch it go crashing towards the floor and eventually splinter into a thousand pieces. But shards hurt if you stepped on them. And secrets were secrets because they were meant to be.
No, she would never, could never compete. She would keep this mask on for as long as it would stay on, until the porcelain chipped, the paint withered and faded, until the elastic securing it to her face would snap, or was snapped off for her. And she had the feeling as her NEWT year inched closer, that the elastic was wearing dangerously thin.
Sighing, she quietly replaced her scroll on the desk and snapped her neck from side to side, giving herself the rare luxury of a break. Thierry was the one that she feared the most. Thierry, she felt, was the one who would see beyond the mask at the flawed, chipped creation underneath. And what killed her was that she knew he would treat her not with scorn, but pity, when pity was what would strangle her because pity was what you felt for those who were beneath you. And she was beneath him, which was why that, despite being in the same group of friends and after all these years, she had never approached him with how she felt about him. True, she hated him for caring. But she hated herself worse for caring back.
At the sudden utterance of her name she jumped. Alistair Bell from Ravenclaw was sitting a few table behind her, asking if she had done the Arithmancy homework yet, when she knew as well as anyone that asking someone if they had finished a set of homework was as good as asking them for help. A Ravenclaw asking for her assistance! She allowed herself to bask in the moment before eventually replying, "Yes," trying to ignore the way the lie sat in the back of her throat.
"Already?" Alistair's face brightened, impressed. "Would you mind if I took a quick look at it then? I won't copy it, I just need a bit of direction, you know."
Without even bothering to give him the impression that she had considered his request, she gave him a curt, "No."
Alistair looked taken aback, but politely maintained a pleasant facial expression. "Fair enough," he said amicably. "Wouldn't want me ruining all your hard work, would you? Completely understandable. Well then, would you like to just take a look at mine and give me some feedback on what I've done so far? I've only done two and a half scrolls," he rushed on, seeing her hesitate, "but I'd like to know if it's what he's after. You don't have to give me the right answers if you like, but if you could just tell me I've done anything wrong-"
"No," she said flatly.
For a moment Alistair's face flushed with his efforts of trying to contain his temper, then it gradually drew taunt, his lips in a thin, hard line. "Well, then," he said in a voice husky with unreleased anger, "I suppose I'd best be off now! I've evidently been given my marching orders!" He stood, dumping his texts into his bag with quick, angry movements. She watched silently. Eventually he heaved the now-brimming bag into his shoulder. He was about to leave, but instead stopped and said, almost as an afterthought, "You know, there may come a time when even you need someone's help. Just think about that for a minute."
Her chin jerked upright. "I will never need anyone's help."
Alistair seemed about to say something, but thought better of it. Instead he stalked out of the room as quickly as his heavy bag would allow him, leaving her alone with her dark thoughts.
She wiped her sweating palms on her skirt and exhaled slowly, carefully. Alistair had done two and a half scrolls already. She hadn't even started. She had pushed the intricate assignment to the back of her mental recesses, postponing its public airing as long as possible. In truth it was far too difficult for her. That she couldn't control. But there was something she could. Some painful, dulling, even comforting secret that was all her own, that was so awful that no one would suspect or discover it.
Slowly she rose to her feet, checking the presence of the beech and unicorn hair wand in her cloak pocket. The bathrooms near the dungeons were always deserted, and would most definitely be at this cold, still time of night.
Earlier that day
The Halloween Ball, or what Diana McGonagall had scornfully termed "the silly season," was gaining ground on time. It soon became impossible to talk about, or concentrate on, anything else. Thierry came uncharacteristically close to ending one Quidditch training session early due to lack of focus, verbally lamenting the day that he had ever let girls onto the team. Holly Wood had told him that he would make a smashing pirate and giggled.
"Money permitting, I'd like to go as something that truly makes everyone drop their wands," Molly mused over lunch one day. "You know, something really scary. Although according to Lucille, girls in high school don't really dress the same way for Halloween parties as they did when they were younger."
"But it's true," the girl in question insisted. "They use the occasion as an excuse to wear as little as possible so that they can get all the boys to look at them. You should see what Imelda Page is planning to wear. It would make my bikini look like a turn-of-the-century nun's habit, Molly."
"Lucille, is Imelda Page the sort of person that you would want to emulate?" Veronica asked. Lucille shook her head vehemently. "So why do you want to copy her costume?"
"Because I don't want to let her get ahead, that's all."
"There's a difference between getting gaped up and getting a man's attention," Veronica continued with studied patience. "But if you really want to outdo her and make yourself look like an even bigger twit, I suggest making a Hair Lengthening potion and going as Lady Godiva. I'm sure Noir would be willing to co operate."
Lucille turned bright red. Thierry smirked. "I don't think I'll go to the Halloween Ball after all," she declared loftily. "I strive to be beyond such trivialities."
Everyone looked at each other mutely, except for Thierry, who rolled his eyes. "Pah. I don't see why I should pay too much attention ter a girl who eats 'er banana with a knife an' fork."
The girl who ate her banana with a knife and fork looked slightly chagrined, but wasn't about to give up. "I believe that every household should have a knife specifically for eating fruit with," she said.
"Oh stop bein' so fat-'eaded," Thierry scoffed. Three sets of eyes swivelled back to the Frenchman, shocked that he would talk to Lucille in such a way. "We don't care about such stuff zese days. Au contraire, eef yer silverware 'as a knife fer cuttin' fruit een eet, zat means zat ze set ees not inherited. C'est un sign of ze nouveau-riche, non?"
"Well it may come as a shock to you, but I don't particularly care what you think of me," Lucille said breezily. "I'd rather waste my time and energy caring what someone who actually has some influence over my future thinks, like Professor McGonagall. We get our Transfiguration essays back from her today, Molly."
"Lucille, please. I don't want my appetite spoiled." Molly had stayed up past midnight for three evenings in a row to try to get the essay completed. "We've been through this already. We handed in the assignment a week ago. We spent many hours in the library researching it. Zachary Lupin blames it on his migraine. I had to rewrite my entire antithesis at the last minute because I realised that I'd misquoted a source. We really don't want to go through the whole assignment again."
"Speaking of food, are you going to eat your steak?" Roy Connolly asked Lucille.
"I don't think so," she said with a theatrical shudder. "English food just feels so heavy. I swear I've put on four pounds already since being back. Do you think they'll allow some French-trained house elves into Hogwarts to freshen the cuisine, Zachary?"
"Anything is possible," the prefect said diplomatically.
"So, I take it you're going with Will?"
It was now a mere two weeks prior to the ball, and the common room was strangely deserted. Now that everyone had sorted out the finer details of their costumes - everyone barring Lucille, that was, who was spitting pixies after a fifth year Hufflepuff had "nabbed and pilfered" her idea of going as the queen chess piece - attention had shifted to the far more vexing manner of who was going with whom, rather than as what. It turned out that, aside from those with prior commitments, costumes had been the easier part.
"Yeah," Veronica made a face as she stretched out on the floor over her Transfiguration textbook. "We were going to go as two of the founders but then Heather Stratton and Mark Appleby beat us to it. I guess it's pretty appropriate since Mark is a Gryffindor and Heather is a Hufflepuff, they're at least the right genders for their founders. So I'm going as a Veela."
"But that was my-" Lucille started, then broke off under the collective gazes of her three friends. "Nothing," she muttered.
"As for Will," Veronica continued, "what he's going as, I've got no idea."
"Have you asked him?"
"Yeah, but he won't tell me. He says it's a secret. That more than a little disturbs me. Aren't girlfriends supposed to have the right to check over their boyfriend's outfit before they go to an event together, to prevent the boyfriend from turning up in something absolutely horrendous and humiliating them?"
"Well I suppose with it being Halloween, it won't matter too much if he turns up in something horrendous," Molly said. Veronica still didn't look convinced.
"It must be exciting, your first official event as a couple," Lucille said, a little wistfully.
"Well, yeah, but at the same time it does take something away from it," Veronica mused. "Knowing who you're going to go with already isn't have as fun."
"Fun?" Molly squeaked.
"But don't you kind of enjoy those nerves, when there's fella you've got your eye on and you're really hoping that he'll ask you, and you're on tenterhooks because you're not sure what is feelings are?"
"Er, if you say so," Molly said.
"If you feel that way, then you could propose a swap with Clarice Appleby," Zachary popped up over his copy of Advanced Arithmancy to suggest. "She's been complaining about a similar thing during Astronomy. She's with Sylvian Davies, the Ravenclaw prefect."
"Tempting, but somehow I don't think Will would go along with that," Veronica said glumly. "Guess I'll just have to put up with him." She undermined her declaration by giving Zachary a sidelong wink. "What about you, Thierry? Who are you going as?"
"Yeah." Lucille had lowered her magazine and was eyeing them with studied disinterest. "Who are you going with?"
"Lucille, I asked Thierry who he was going as, not with," Veronica pointed out.
"Oh," Lucille said.
"Weel, ter ansaire both of yer questions," Thierry stretched languidly in his chair, "I am goin' as a charactaire from a Muggale book. As ter oo I am goin' weeth, I 'ave not asked 'er yet, but zere was une fille tres charmante in ma Divination class, weel, ma old Divination class, who said zat she would be prepared ter 'elp moi weeth a prediction, an' once I find ze identity of cette fille, I weel be 'appy to ask 'er."
"Really?" Lucille said with a dangerously cool etiquette. "What exactly did she offer to help you out with, pray tell?"
Thierry's smile widened to catlike proportions. "Let's joost say zat eef I were ter tell yer, I would not be a gentleman."
"Well, you're not a gentleman anyway, so you may as well tell me," Lucille insisted.
Thierry scowled and started to half-rise from his chair. "Myself, I'm going as a hag," Molly said quickly to diffuse the argument. "Although if Amos Diggory asks me, I'll have to go as something prettier."
"Well, I'd suggest the Grey Lady, but that's who I'm going as," Lucille said, shooting a look at Veronica. "It's my second idea anyway. I would just die if someone turned up in the same costume as me."
"Hasn't he asked you yet?" Veronica asked Molly.
"No, he hasn't," Molly sighed, "and it's getting awfully close to crunch time, if you ask me. What if he shows up in something that completely clashes with my own outfit? At this rate we're going to run out of time to try and co ordinate."
"If you want to go that badly, just ask him," Lucille suggested.
"Oh no, I couldn't possibly do that," Molly said, looking scandalised. "I mean, asking a fella to a ball an' all. What would everyone think of me?"
"Well, I would be fine with asking someone to go with me," Lucille began haughtily, "but as I have already been asked to the ball by someone, there was no need."
"Zis ees what I 'ear whenevaire yer open yer mouth," Thierry rapped out. "Me-me-me-me-me-me-me-I-I-I-I-I-I-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. Yer not a very interestin' topic of conversation, in case you 'aven't noticed."
Lucille, now extremely red-faced, opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out. She snatched up her books and stormed out of the room.
"Could you try to be a little bit nicer to her, Thierry?" Molly wheedled. "I know she's not normally quite this bad, but this last month has been a trying time for her. Couldn't you just count to ten or something?"
"No, Molly, eet eez precisely because she eez not normally zis bad zat I cannot allow 'er to continue," Thierry said firmly. "She 'as picked up some bad 'abits an' eet 'as ter stop. I know ce n'est pas facile, but eef we allow 'er to continue like zis, we are doin' 'er a disservice an' we are not bein' 'er friends. True friends tell ze truth when zey need ter, even eef eet 'urts."
"That being said, you don't have to provoke her by flinging other girls into her face," Veronica told him. "You know how she feels about you."
"How she feels about moi?" Thierry echoed. "She theenks zat because I am not a pureblood, I am not worthy of 'er time! Yer must 'ave figured zat out yerself, from listenin' ter tout 'er drivel at ze dinnairetable."
"So how do I get Amos Diggory to ask me to the Halloween Ball?" Molly interceded. Thierry and Veronica, mid-debate, turned to face her. "C'mon guys, I'm getting desperate here."
"Unfortunately, Molly, if you take this option, there's really nothing else you can do but sit on your arse and wait for him to make the move," Veronica said. "I'm sorry, babe, but that's how it is."
As the week dragged on Molly grew increasingly more vexed. She waited for chance encounters and rushed "hi"s in the hallway to deepen into something else, to lead to a "May I speak with you for a minute?" But nothing ever happened. And whenever she saw him conversing in the hall with a pretty girl, her stomach would clench up, fearing that her chance was about to be ruined.
Her thoughts were following this sombre train when Arthur accosted her on the way to the Great Hall after Transfiguration. "Molly, could I have a word?"
"Of course," Molly said, standing to the side to allow other students in the busy hallway to pass. "Actually, I have something to talk to you about too. Could you do me a favour?"
"I'd love to," Arthur said automatically, committing a cardinal sin when it came to answering requests for a favour. Thierry had chided him on that point a number of times, saying he should at least find out what the favour was before responding in the affirmative. "Oo knows," the Frenchman had said breezily. "Yer might end up on yer knees in front of a Slytherin female, an' zat would not do at all."
Thierry was right.
"Oh, I'm so happy you agreed," Molly enthused. "I've been going out of my wits, trying to figure out what I'll do for a date to the ball."
"Oh, oh, yes, certainly," Arthur babbled, his heart doing a canter. Molly Morag had just asked him to the Halloween Ball. "Only too happy to help out a friend."
"Great, because you're the perfect choice. I wouldn't dream of asking anyone else. I mean, I'd trust you with any secret. So when you next see Amos Diggory, I'd appreciate it if you could find out whether he has a date to the ball or not and whether he's interested in asking me - without letting on that I'm interested, of course."
"What?" Arthur blinked.
"Well, I couldn't possibly ask him, I'm not that kind of girl," Molly said huffily. "I bet Lucille asked her date and Veronica asked William Zjablomej, but I believe in the old-fashion things. To an extent."
"Molly, Veronica and Will probably never even needed to ask each other to the ball," Arthur pointed out delicately. "They are an item, after all."
"Well, I bet she would have asked him had they not been a couple," Molly continued. "Some girls these days are so forward."
"Yes, like the ones who play as Beaters on their house Quidditch team," Arthur agreed.
Molly smiled sheepishly.
"For real, Molly, I don't know what to do to help you," Arthur admitted. "I don't know the guy that well. He's not a prefect, he's not in our house and he isn't in any of my classes. We do say "hello" when we see each other, but our conversation rarely goes beyond that. If I suddenly take an in-depth interest in his life he may think it's strange. Why don't you ask Veronica and Will? They know him better, and Will is on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. If you catch him at lunchtime he could ask him during their practice this evening."
"But he knows that Veronica and I are really good friends, and if she talks to him its because she knows that I like him, and if he asks her then he knows that he's her boyfriend and that he's probably asking him because she asked him to and the reason why she asked him to is because she knows that I like him and then he'll know that I like him and it will be so embarrassing!" Molly burst out. "If he ever found out that I liked him I'd die."
"I thought that was the whole point," Arthur said. Molly blanched. "So, if I am to understand correctly, you like Amos Diggory-" Molly made frantic hushing motions - frantic and unnecessary, as there was no one near them "-and you want him to accompany you to the Halloween Ball, but you don't want him to find out that you like him?"
Molly nodded wide-eyed.
"That makes absolutely no sense," Arthur told her.
"I know, I know," Molly assured him, "and I know that if anything's ever going to happen between Amos and me he'll have to find out at some point that I've taken a shine to him, but I just can't bear it, you know? Well, I'm sure you don't know. I'm a coward when it comes to this sort of thing, Arthur, but you're so strong and brave. You would never like someone and not tell them, wouldn't you?"
Arthur drew himself up to his full six feet and half an inch and eyed her levelly. "Actually, Molly, I would," he said.
