With a Little Help from My Friends by Lucy Lupin

Chapter Fifteen: All Hallow's Eve

"Imogen Page! It was bloody fucking Imogen Page!"

Alongside Molly in the confines of the senior girls' bathroom, Veronica pursed her lips at the sixth year's uncharacteristic profanity-laden tirade, but said nothing. She had heard at lunchtime yesterday about her and Lucille's falling out and gathered that the two were still not on speaking terms, otherwise Molly would have found someone else to let off steam to within the past twenty-four hours.

"And Thierry's asked out some Ravenclaw seventh year so he's off the market too." In her temper Molly squeezed the tube too hard and blobbed toothpaste over her hand. "Damn it."

"Molly, Thierry did not ask her out, he asked her to the ball," Veronica explained tiredly. "They are not an item; she is simply attending as his date."

"Well, it makes no difference to me. He's still off the market as far as this dance is concerned," Molly grumbled. "Perhaps I really should go as a hag. I may not even need a costume. All the fellas seem to think I'm enough of one as it is."

"Aw, come of it now, Molly." Veronica stroked a padded brush through her straight, shiny locks. "It was just bad luck. I'm sure there were plenty who wanted to ask you, but the word in the halls is that you were waiting for Amos Diggory to ask you. They probably either didn't want to take some girl that some other bloke had already got a claim on, or assumed that you wouldn't have been interested. No one wants to be second best, after all."

"Yeah, you're probably right - as usual," Molly shrugged. "It's not that I so much want a date in itself, it's just that it will be embarrassing not having one when everyone else does."

"Oh yes, especially when they give out the "I'm single, dateless and desperate" signs to wear at the door," Veronica sympathised. Molly stared wide-eyed at her. "I'm kidding. Anyway, it's not like everyone's going to stick to their dates all evening like SuperFast Gum. Most people are only going with dates that they asked just for the sake of having dates and will ditch at the first available opportunity so that they can spend the evening with their friends. For that matter you're welcome to pass the time with Will and I. I won't have him for every dance. He may seem graceful airborne, but when you try to get him to follow a tune, it's as if he's got four feet. Four feet stepping on my toes all at once." She winced. "Besides, Arthur will be roped in with Diana for sentry duty - he'll be available to chat with for most of the evening."

"I don't want to be the third wheel," Molly muttered.

"You won't be a third wheel," Veronica smiled gently down at her. "A third wheel is someone who is not wanted. Will and I would love to have your company."

"Oh." Molly fiddled with the cap of her toothpaste, feeling strangely touched. "Thank you."

A pair of heels clicked over the stones outside, then the door swung open to admit Lucille. "What are you doing here?" Molly snapped.

"Well this is my bathroom too, in case you haven't noticed," Lucille said. She appeared blasé, but her hands were shaking as she put her vanity case down on top of the sink.

"It's just that I finding it better now that we're not talking, that's all," Molly declared. Veronica glanced from one girl to the other with vexation.

"You're not talking to me, to be exact." Lucille lent down to splash water over her face. Molly looked as thought she would have liked to push her head under the tap. "But if you want to be that way, fine. I just won't be able to tell you that Rhiannon's waiting to talk to you in our dormitory - and she's in a right snitch too."

Molly fixed her with a glare. "We're not talking, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Lucille rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well, since we're not talking, it's hardly possible for us to be partners in Herbology or Potions or, well, pretty much any other class we take together. So I hope you don't mind that I've already asked Belmaine Burnett to be my new partner. You really shouldn't. I'd think you'd be well-used to other girls stealing men from under your wand by now."

Veronica stepped in between the two girls to stop the conflict from escalating further. "Come on, you two, you're almost of age. I shouldn't have to tell you to grow up. Anyway, I'm about done here, Mol, if you want to walk back to the common room together to talk to Rhiannon."

"Oh yes, you would be about done," Lucille grumbled.

Veronica swung back to her. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out," Lucille exhaled with an air of thinly-concealed exasperation.

"Come on," Veronica said bracingly to Molly, who was opening her mouth for a retort, and ushered her out the door. "She's in one of her "poor pitiful me" moods and gets her power from getting a response out of you. I know it's not easy, but it would be better to keep your temper." Molly shrugged.

They walked the rest of the way back to their common room in silence, Molly lost in her thoughts and Veronica not wanted to intrude on them. When they reached the girls' wing Rhiannon gave Veronica a curt nod and slammed the door shut behind the two of them. Veronica went to wait at her desk, leaving the door open.

From the hall came the sound of raised voices. Rhiannon came bounding out, her schoolbag rebounding off her hips and flinging against the stone wall with the force of her temper. A minute or so later Molly emerged. "Well, at least one of my problems is solved. I now have a costume to wear to the ball. Rhiannon isn't going."

"What?" Veronica put down her quill and turned to face her. "But she was so keen on it."

"Well, someone dobbed into Ma and Da that in order to attend, she would have to go with an older date. Needless to say, they weren't too happy about it. So just now at breakfast they sent her a Howler saying that not only couldn't she go, but that they didn't want her costume to go to waste, so she has to give it to me. She bawled me out just now because she thinks that I was the one who wrote to our folks. I would do no such thing. I wasn't happy about her going to the ball-like, especially when she wrote home asking for a costume so soon after we had textbooks bought for us for the new school year, but I would have been there to keep an eye on her. I wouldn't have said anything - honest!"

"I believe you sweets. Calm down."

"Yeah, but Rhiannon doesn't. She's no longer talking to me. Too bad it didn't stop her screaming at me for ten minutes in there. It appears to be "Let's Not Talk To Molly" week for everyone. Except Lucius Malfoy. It would be wonderful if he started celebrating "Let's Not Talk To Molly" week."

"Is he giving you trouble again?"

"No, not really. I think having Amos come up at him all those Saturdays ago at Hogsmeades called him off at bit, but after the ball I'll have that protection removed. When he sees him there with Imelda Page he'll know that he no longer cares for me and that I'm fair game."

"You're not fair game. You've got Thierry to look after you, and me, and the rest of the Quidditch team. And Will's just as much your friend as he is my boyfriend, he won't let anything happen to you. Plus from what I've seen, you handle yourself against him pretty well. You're certainly developing a mean right arm from all our practices."

Molly smiled.

She wasn't smiling during Herbology. In lieu of their usual spot three rows down from the front, Lucille was seated near the back with Belmaine. Molly could sense her trying to catch her eye as she passed by, but she kept her eyes averted. The seat next to Zachary was vacant. She still wasn't very happy with him from yesterday but took it. She couldn't afford to alienate anymore of her friends.

During class Professor Haricot had them working in groups of three, detailing the properties of Translucent Toadstools. Molly and Zachary got put with Blair Zabini. The two boys worked together civilly enough, yet gave each other long, hard looks when they thought Molly wasn't looking. When Zachary went to the tray at the front of the room to get a new species, Molly mustered up her courage enough to confront Blair over it. "What's with you two?" she demanded. "You've been giving each other such looks that I feel as though I might catch fire sitting between the pair of you."

Molly thought that all she would get was a sardonic response for her troubles, but instead Blair replaced his quill in the inkpot and turned to face her. He looked - dare she think it - unguarded. "The teachers and prefects have been playing a game of Assassins," he said. "About half the players have been eliminated. Of course, during meetings they tell us the number eliminated without naming anyone, but we figure it out. And even thought they're not allowed, I suspect your side has an alliance. That, and there's the small matter of your house allowing women onto their team."

"So I suppose you don't think I should be playing, do you?" Molly challenged.

"No, but I don't think anyone else should be playing, for that matter," Blair responded levelly. "It's a barbaric sport that only encourages rivalry and nastiness between the houses."

"Oh," Molly said. It wasn't her opinion, but it made sense. Perhaps she had misjudged him.

"So the ball's this weekend, isn't it?" Blair said.

"Yes," Molly said, surprised. She had never known Blair to say more than necessary.

"I wasn't going to attend, but I was told that as a prefect, it was compulsory for me to do so," Blair continued, rolling his eyes skyward. "The call of duty. I'd rather gouge my eyes out with the point of my wand."

"Oh come on, you're exaggerating," Molly told him. "I'm sure it won't be that bad. Diana and her aunt run a pretty tight ship, and none of the silly junior students will be going. I know of a few third years who have dates, but not that many."

"Well, I suppose you're right," Blair admitted reluctantly. "And I suppose you have some Gryffindor lined up to take."

"Actually, I'm not taking anyone," Molly said without thinking.

"Excellent. Then you can go with me," Blair said abruptly. "Would you?"

Molly was too shocked to do more than nod a response. She sent a fierce look of her own to Zachary over at the toadstool table. This was all his fault.

Blair, having accomplished what he'd needed to, saw no further need for conversation and said nothing the rest of class. While that was fine by Molly, who felt awkward and embarrassed by their earlier exchange, she really hoped he wouldn't be this taciturn durng the Halloween Ball or else it would be a very dull evening indeed. Zachary, she was too cross with to do more than make monosyllablic grunts at his attempts to engage her in idle chit-chat. Her remaining three classes passed in similar fashion. Finally it was lunchtime, when she could return to her room to collect her afternoon books and have some peace and quiet to pull her thoughts together. Storming down the hall, she flung the door to the sixth year girls' dorm open. "Ouch," someone said.

Molly peeked around the door. Huddled in the corner with her arms around her knees was Holly Wood. "What are you doing down there?" she asked.

Holly grinned at her sheepishly. "Well, since Frank Longbottom's been talking for ages about how he's going to the ball, I assumed that he already had a date," she began. "When all along he hasn't. And now he's sitting on my bed in my dorm, and for once he's wearing his school tie, and he has a bunch of flowers - and Molly, he wants to ask me as his date! I can't go back to my dorm every again! Can I sleep on the end of your bed tonight?" she added hopefully.

Holly did not quite get the sympathetic reaction she was hoping for. "Holly Wood, you go back downstairs and tell that poor boy that you'll go as his date right now," Molly ordered.

"Fine," Holly pouted, dropping her sorrowful façade. She leapt to her feet and marched out of the room. Several seconds later Veronica arrived outside her door. She gave Holly's departing back a strange long and rose her eyebrow enquiringly at Molly.

"Don't ask," Molly said.

"Don't tell," Veronica responded. "Should I talk to you outside or something, because it seems as though you seem to be getting into an argument with everyone who comes into this room."

"Arguments of which I'm not the instigator, Circe's honour," Molly said, flopping onto her bed with a sigh. "However, I do now have a date to go along with my costume. Blair Zabini."

Veronica's mouth fell open.

"Yes, I have been reduced to taking a Slytherin to the ball," Molly continued. "I'd rather just take myself, to be honest."

"You can't judge a person by their house," Veronica said philosophically. "Though I'm surprised he asked you, to be honest. I thought he would ask someone else-"

"Rich?" Molly cut in acidly.

"-From the same house as him," Veronica finished tiredly. "Look, I appreciate that you've having problems with Lucille, but for Merlin's sake, don't take it out on the rest of us. Her and Thierry and most of the Slytherin's may be from wealthy old-blood families, but you're not the only one who doesn't have money to burn. Arthur's family doesn't have that much of it, and us Vectors, we're okay now that my older has left home and started working, but when we were both at Hogwarts we had to pinch every Sickle. But in case you haven't noticed, money's never really come into our friendship. The only one that it really matters to is you."

"Perhaps you should pass that onto Lucille," Molly muttered. "I'm really sorry I've been snappy with you, Muffin. I've just been at the tip of my wand lately, with homework and Quidditch practices and then all this stress about costumes and dates-"

"Well now, that's two less things you've got to worry about," Veronica said briskly. "However, what we do have to worry about is what the blazes are we going to do with the king-sized box of Many-Flavoured Beans my brother sent me by Owl this morning?"

"You're joking," Molly breathed.

"No, I'm not," Veronica countered. "Took both his and my owl to carry the bloody thing. I was wondering why Trinket had been missing for nearly a week. Accio box!" A large box skidded into the doorway to rest at Veronica's feet. The Gryffindor Keeper was a tall girl, and the box almost reached her knees.

Molly looked at it and made a whimpering noise. "Do you realise that I have to squeeze into Rhiannon's costume - and she's two inches smaller in the waist than I am?" Veronica grinned broadly. "You evil little cow."

"I'll just have to help then, won't I?" Veronica shrugged. "It's too good to waste. Come on now, think of all the starving witches in Africa."

"Well, if it's for charity-" Molly said. She dug her fingers into the box and yanked out a handful. "Ew, tar."

"Get it off me, Lucille!"

"Well, if you'd only made sure that you'd varnished the wood and taken all the splinters off it before I'd charmed it on, it wouldn't hurt so much," Lucille gritted her teeth and flicked through the book of spells. It was the night of the Halloween Ball and she was assisting one of the younger boys with his pirate costume, which had turned out horribly wrong. "Outfits take careful planning and consideration. You don't just throw on any old thing and run out the door - particular when it's a ball costume. Ah, here we are. Fake wooden legs - oops, there's no counter charm."

"But it hurts, Lucille." Frank Longbottom sunk onto his bed, his eyepatch askew as he gripped his fake appendage.

"I know it does, sweetie, but I can't find a counter charm for it anywhere in here. Maybe if I tried to tug it off…" Frank's eyes widened in horror and he shrunk away from her. "Er, maybe not. You know, you seem to get hit by a leg-locking curse by Lucius Malfoy at the start of every school year. And Rhiannon Morag tells me that during Transfiguration yesterday, you managed to cast the Tapdancing Hex on yourself. Maybe you and leg charms of any form just don't mix."

"I know, I know," Frank said miserably. Tears were building up in his big blue eyes. "But don't go to Madame Pomfrey! I've gotten so many points off Gryffindor already this semester that most of the seventh year boys have stopped talking to me."

Lucille ran a hand through her hair. Unlike her usual thick wavy brown locks, this for today was charmed into a platinum bob. It had taken her nearly forty-five minutes to get it like that. Unfortunately in anticipation of both the Halloween Ball and the Howlers from home demanding why a wizard and witch's son now had a lion's tail, the Hogwarts students had been forbidden to cast appearance-altering spells upon themselves - on pain of a warning expulsion note and fifty points removed for the student's house. While there was some room for leeway - certain students had ordered special enhancements from costume stores - she somehow doubted that there was any room for misinterpretation in this scenario. "Okay, I'll tell you what," she said eventually. "I'll go up to the senior boys' floor and ask if any of them know the counter charm. In the meantime, don't go anywhere." Frank looked down at his leg then back up at her skeptically. "Alright, so you're not exactly going anywhere. But just try to relax in the meantime, okay? I'll be back soon." She closed the door behind her and raced up the stairs as quickly as her boots would allow.

With the lateness of the month the clocks had been set back an hour and the large bay window at the top of the boys' wing was already darkened, little spots of stars peppering the sky. Lucille stopped and looked around, deciding which room to try first. A door across the landing was flung open and a vacuum of noise exploded. The boys evidently had a Silencing Ward in place. Winston Shacklebolt staggered out on cloven feet, dry-retching. Lucille marched up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Where's Thierry?"

"What?" Winston inclined his horned head towards her. She could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath.

"Where's Thierry?" Lucille strained to make herself understood with the cacophony emerging from the fifth year boys dorm. Several decades worth of fifth year boys, by the sound of things.

"Hairy?" Winston beamed proudly down at her. "Yeah, it took me ages to make the right combination of Fake Werewolf Toothwrencher. Pretty convincing, don't you think? And as for the legs, well, they were another story-"

"THIERRY DELACOUR!" Lucille screamed into his ear.

"Alright, alright, keep your skirt on," Winston grumbled, clutching his head theatrically. "He's in there." A pitcher full of Butterbeer came sailing between them and combusted against the wall. "Er, somewhere," he amended. "Think I better go in there with you." He scooped his arms around Lucille and dumped her onto his shoulder. "You'd best be careful, Missy. I'm a Satyr and I don't think I can keep my animal instincts under control." He gave her a playful whack on the arse and she yelped.

The fifth year boys' dormitory would make the owlery look like a clean, civilised place. Chairs had been tumbled over and books thrown to the floor. Those stacks that remained perched atop of desks had mugs of Butterbeer, shots of Manticore Green Label vodka and various other poisons balanced precariously on top. And it wasn't just the boys doing their OWL year inside. The two senior years, evidently deciding that they didn't want to clean up their own bedrooms come the morning after, had made themselves at home there. Mark Appleby, Ben Thomas and another seventh year whose name she couldn't remember sat underneath one window, playing a very drunken version of Exploding Snap. Roy Connolly was feeding Firewhiskey to Belmaine Burnett, whose head was half-detached from his head. Winston put her down on. "Any of youse lot seen Thierry?" he roared. Roy accidentally spilt Firewhiskey on Belmaine's ruffle. Both collapsed in loud guffaws.

Lucille raised her fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle. The boys stopped, shocked at the sudden high-pitched noise, then even more shocked when they realised whom it had issued from.

"Why do yer want me?"

"Yeah?" Roy stepped forward and puffed out his chest. "Why not me?"

"Outside," Thierry said, giving Lucille's elbow a push. As they left she heard the clatter of Winston's hooves as he attempted to do a drunken Scottish jig, much to the amusement of the other boys. "Weell, what eez eet? Does ma fathaire make enough money pour yer ter talk ter me now?"

For once Lucille managed not to rise. "It's Frank Longbottom," she said. "I Morphed his leg with a wooden pirate's leg, only he forgot to take the splinters out of it beforehand and now it's hurting him and I can't get it off."

Thierry swore. "Yer fortunate I deed not start drinkin' already," he said, glowering down at her. "I der not know ze counter charm off ze top of ma 'ead, mais eef I look at ze originale, I may be able ter figure eet out. Zis may take a while."

"Oi Delacour, get your kit on and start drinking with us!" Belmaine cried.

"Pas maintenant," Thierry said. "I 'ave some business to attend ter downstairds." The boys started whistling and cheering. "An' ma Firewhiskey bettair steel be zere when I come back." He strode off.

The remaining senior boys gave each other startled looks. "Er, I think that was his Firewhiskey we started on at five oclock," Winston ventured.

"Oops," Roy said.

"You two are such fucking pansies," Belmaine said lightly. "Just get him drunk on something else and tell him he drank the bottle all by himself but was too pissed to remember."

The other two stared at him incrediously. "Are you off your fucking rocker, mate?" Roy demanded. "Have you ever tried getting Thierry Delacour drunk? Don't know whether it's because of that blimey Veela constitution of his or what, but it just don't happen. I mean, I'm Irish, and he can bloody near drink me under the table."

"I saw him drinking with Hagrid one afternoon," Winston ventured.

"Oh dear god," Belmaine blanched.

"Yeah, you know what this is, mate?" Roy said. "This is us up shit creek without a fucking wand, mate."

"Oi, watch your language, you bloody coarse Leprechaun," Winston said, clipping him over the air. "We've got company present."

"That we do," Belmaine said, giving Lucille an appreciative look-over. "Aye, we could give him her!"

"What?" Lucille shrieked.

"Yeah, he has proven himself to be a leg man," Roy agreed enthusiastically. "And this one's a blond to boot."

"Oh, grow up, the lot of you," Lucille snapped. "I'm not yours to give anyway."

There was the sound of thumping and cursing from the hallway. Algernon Longbottom appeared, dragging a large, battered-looking suitcase up with him. "Oi, listen up, youse lot," he puffed. "I managed to fit two first years into this baby. Get pretty docile after a Butterbeer or two, don't they?" He hefted the suitcase into one corner and flopped onto his bed. "Think I need a drink meself actually. Fuck, I'm bored."

The three boys standing looked at the discarded suitcase. They looked at Lucille. They looked at each other. They grinned wolfishly.

"Alors Monsieur Longbottom, yer 'ave a wooden leg?" Thierry poked his head through the doorway of the third year boy's dorm, grinning in a friendly matter. Frank nodded up at him miserably. "Ah, no matter. Eets bettair zan 'avin' a wooden tete. Unlike zat fool frere of yers, 'e definitely 'as one." Frank giggled. "Now, what can I do fer yer?"

"It's me leg," Frank said. "Lucille cast the Morphing Charm on it - and she did a real good job like - but I forgot to take the splinters off first, and now they're digging into me and I'm having a real time getting it off."

"Pah. Women. What do zey know?" Thierry winked at him. "Now, lets 'ave a look. Ah, c'est aussi simple. All I 'ave ter do eez reconjugate' ze tense an' alter ze infix et voila!" He waved his wand with a grand flourish and Frank gazed in wonder at his now splinter-free leg. "Regardes, c'est parfait." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a candy. "'Ere, 'ave zis. Eet weel put 'air on yer chest."

"I don't need a lolly," Frank said indignantly. "I'm not a first year."

"Can I 'ave it back zen?"

"No," said Frank, peeling off the wrapper and popping it into his mouth.

"Alors, ma work 'ere eez done zen," Thierry said, sliding his wand back into his pocket. "Now eet should be fine, joost don' go close ter any fires. 'Ave a good night Monsier Longbottom."

As he winded his way back up the stairwell to the senior boys' floor, Thierry smiled to himself. Evidently, as Frank Longbottom was too young to go to the ball without a more senior date, the fuss was over a woman. Poor boy. Any girl that expected you to alter your appearance significantly, even if it was just for one night, wasn't worth it. There was noise coming from the seventh years' dorm, loud noise. Those idiots hadn't replaced the Silencing Ward.

The party appeared to be in full swing. Godfrey Gryffindor - or Mark Appleby - was doing an Irish jig over the top of a prone Ben Thomas, the Muggleborn student snoring away blissfully on the dorm floor. Algernon Longbottom was perched on suitcase and Belmaine Burnett and Roy Connolly were knocking back Goblin Screwers without any apparent restraint.

"Look, Cam," Winston Shacklebolt had his arm around - and in his drunken state was leaning heavily against - Cameron Bell, who was wearing a tight top with a short red, white and blue pleated skirt, "you're wasting your time, mate. No one is ever going to get your costume."

"Yeah? Well the people who actually bother coming to Muggle Studies will," the reserve Keeper shot back indignantly. "That American Sports lecture made all of the crap we have to learn for OWLs worthwhile, I tell you."

"Yeah, but all I'm saying is that sometimes you're too bloody clever for your own good," Winston slurred. He took a step forward and almost lost his footing on the beer-slicked floor, his hooves doing a sort of tap-dance as he struggled to keep his balance. "What's the point of a joke if no one gets it? The only person who's ever fucking going to get it is Professor Cantrell, and I'm sure that's not what he wanted us to get out of Muggle Studies."

"Aw, how would you bloody well know?" Cameron challenged him. "You never go there!"

"Heads up, Delacour's back," Roy nudged Belmaine. The two boys scooted in front of what had been converted into the drink's cabinet, shame-faced grins plastered on their faces. "Thierry!"

"Our best friend!" Belmaine added.

Thierry looked from one beaming boy to the other. Suspicion darkened his brow. "Where's ma Firewhiskey?"

Roy and Belmaine shared glances. Winston and Cameron shushed up. Algernon Longbottom, oblivious to the scene unfolding around him, continued to sit on his suitcase and quietly guzzle Butterbeer. "Well, you see, Thierry," Mark began, "we were drinking, then we ran out. And we needed Firewhiskey to mix Goblin Screwers. So we thought, "well, Thierry's such a capital bloke, he won't mind if we have a few nips of it." You don't mind, do you?"

Thierry looked from one housemate to another. All beamed innocently back at him, except Longbottom, who continued to knock back Butterbeer. "Er, I suppose not," he said grudgingly. "Joost geeve me what's left an' I weel finish eet off mah-self."

"Er, Thierry," Roy spoke up, "the thing is that we intended to save half for you all along. However, since your half was at the top of the bottle, we had to drink it in order to get to our half."

"WHAT?" Thierry roared.

"But we got a little something for you," Belmaine interceded hurriedly. "Just a little token of how appreciation. It's almost equal to a bottle of Firewhiskey. Say something, Blondie." He went over to the suitcase Longbottom was sitting on and gave it a kick. The suitcase yelped. "Whoops, my foot slipped. Didn't mean to kick you that hard."

Blondie? Thierry thought back and realised that Lucille hadn't left the room after him. A horrified understanding dawned on his face. "Git out of ma way!" he cried, rushing over to open the case.

Out of the opened wafted the scent of stale socks. A decidedly green Lucille sat up and gulped in fresh air. "I never want to look at another pair of socks for as long as I live," she said weakly, leaning against Thierry. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Yer don' stuff Gryffindor girls into suitcases!" the Frenchman turned furiously on his housemates. "Yer stuff Slytherin boys down ze toilets, but Gryffindor girls, nevair!"

"Oh, but we put plenty of straw in there with her," Winston said. His inebriation was beginning to wear off and he now looked a little shame-faced. "We thought it would be a good laugh, didn't we, lads?"

"You thought it would be a good laugh," Cameron said pointedly. "I was out of the room."

"Yer put straw een avec 'ampsters!" Thierry yelled. "Zis ees une fille! Are yer tout stupid or sometheeng?"

"Er, Thierry?" Lucille said feebly, tugging at his shirt.

Thierry looked down at her. He noticed how pale she was, plus the way she had her lips clamped together. He leapt to his feet and raced her over to the open window just in time.

"See?" Roy turned triumphantly to Algernon. "You fucking stink, Longbottom."

"Thank you," Lucille said groggily, wiping off her face with the towel Cameron Bell handed to her. She looked up at him. "You're a cheerleader!"

"Whoo-hoo! Own it! Fucking own it!" Cameron punched his fist in the air and did a victory dance around the room, walloping Winston in the back. "Did you all hear that! She got it, and she's not even a Muggleborn! Take that and shove it down your throats! You're my man, Lucille!" Thierry, who had one arm wrapped protectively around her waist, gave him a scornful look. "Er, in a manner of speaking," he amended himself sheepishly.

"Too much Firewhiskey," Thierry said philosophically, closing the window and pulling Lucille away.

"Here, this will help to steady your stomach," Winston said, slipping a Goblin Screwer into her hand.

"I'm not drinking that!" Lucille said with an indignant look. "I'm not from the Hogsmeades slums. That's no drink for a lady. I'd like a Veela Slipper, with extra Rosehip Schnapps and Fairydust."

"Ooh, the lady knows her drinks," Winston drawled. "One Veela Slipper coming up."

"You can't 'ave zat," Thierry hissed once Winston had clattered away. "Yer joost threw up."

"You're right; he hasn't put any ice in it!" Lucille said, scandalised. "Winston, on the rocks, please!"

"Lucille, zat's no way for a lady to behave," Thierry told her.

"Yeah, well, I'm getting a bit sick of people telling me how I should or shouldn't behave," Lucille said, shaking off his hand in a feisty manner. "I'm going to live it up for once. I won't be able to do that much longer, you know. Wait, how many grams of fat does this have in it?" she asked as Winston handed her the cocktail. "Oh, who cares? I'll deal with it later. Bottoms up." The boys applauded as she downed the glass.

Thierry shook his head. "Yer goin' ter be legless."

"In this dress? I hope not," she said coquettishly, glancing down at the red shift that barely surpassed her thighs. "Mark, do you think I'm legless?"

"Certainly not," he said, winking at her. Thierry scowled.

"Oh, that reminds me," she said, stabbing his chest with a fingernail enamelled in a pearly white. "Actually, I have something that I want to show you. Will you come back to my room with me?"

The boys made low whistling noises. Thierry gave the nearest one a slight push, who in his drunkeness staggered backwards and almost lost his balance. "Exactement quoi?" he asked.

He soon wished he hadn't. "It's a surprise," Lucille giggled. The cocktail was affecting her quickly and she didn't seem aware of how her innocuous phrases could be turned by the drunken, dirty mind of a teenaged boy. Sure enough, Belmaine and Roy both rose their eyebrows at each other and grinned.

"Outside," he said, touching her elbow. The contact spurred her into movement and she left, snatching up his hand so that he was half-dragged along with her.

"Alright, dude," Roy said, grabbing his arm as he walked past. "After what Shacklebolt put in that thing, tonight you're going to get laid - or barfed on."

"Va-t-en," Thierry shrugged him off.

"Well, I never!" he heard Belmaine say indignantly behind him. "I Illusioned my head so that it looks like its half-off my neck, and he didn't say a bloody word!"

Once in the hall Lucille eased her grip so that it was now he who was holding her hand. Her small, white hand rested in his larger, darker palm like a half-tame animal that might bolt at any minute, at the slightest of movement. That the two of them were now alone seemed to have shocked some of her earlier bravado out of her. They were silent the rest of the way to the girls' dorm.

The sixth year girls' room looked like the backstage area of a show. Garish costumes had been flung over beds and peeked out of drawers that threatened to tumble out of their chests and tubes of cosmetics lay scattered across the cabinets. Thierry tripped over an upturned heel and swore.

"Looks like the senior boys aren't the only ones who have been drinking," Lucille commented, spying the empty bottle of Lilywine on one chest. It wasn't hard to pick her bed, the one with all the Beatles posters and newspaper clippings pasted above it. He had never felt so comforted by the sight of those four beaming faces, a testament to how the girl had not yet been completely done over by pureblood mania. She walked over it and bent over to begin to rummage through the chest at the foot of it. Thierry saw a sliver of baby blue underwear peeking up from beneath her hem. He didn't look away quite quickly enough to prevent the memory being branded on his brain. "If they haven't got into my Spiced Honeycomb Liqueur, I'll be able to offer your something. Aha!" She pulled a bottle triumphantly from her chest. "Would you like a finger?"

Why, you're being very nice to me, Thierry thought sourly. My father must indeed be making enough money for you to talk to me again, despite my unfortunate half-bred heritage. He shrugged off his eternal dialogue. Lucille was making an effort. Alright, cherie. As long as you behave yourself, I'll play nice. I won't start anything. But have a care that you don't, because I may well just finish it. "No thank yer," he said. "I steel 'ave ter cast a 'Air-Lengthening Charm, an' I can't do zat as peesed as a merman."

Lucille's face fell. That's when he realised that she wasn't offering him a drink, but a chance to rescue their friendship. She cast the Scourgifying Charm on one of the glasses littered around the Lilywine bottle and poured a finger into it. "Please?" she said. "It's special Spiced Honeycomb Liqueur from the south of France." Her hazel eyes rose up. Met his. "I happen to like French things," she added huskily.

Thierry took the proffered glass. Their fingers crackled together. "Me too," he said. "Especially French things that have been diluted." He didn't take his eyes off her.

Lucille stayed locked. Oh Merlin, we're doing - what is it that the Ravenclaws call it - eyefucking? We're eyefucking, she realised. She didn't want to be the one to look away, but one of them had to. Or did they? Then other thoughts began to push through the sensation of being undressed, caressed by a pair of dark eyes. Her father. Her family. Her duty. Her date. "Your present!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as if he had just thought of it. "I haven't given it to you yet. It's what I brought you here for, after all."

Is it? Thierry thought, but because beyond her smile she was pale and shaking, he let his thoughts remain thoughts. "But you're all out," she realised, giving his glass a mournful look. "I'm a terrible hostess. A second finger? Here, this will get you up near where I am. I'll have one too. Bottoms up."

"Ah, yes," Thierry said. Lucille had bent over the chest and was rummaging around for something. "Bottoms up." He loosened his tie awkwardly.

"Here it is," Lucille's head thankfully re-emerged. She was clutching a folded piece of fabric. She crossed the room to him. "Well, hold out your hand, mon garcon. It won't bite you." The head-and-hip tilt, the cheeky smile was in place, but her voice was high with nerves. You don't fool me, he thought. You've never fooled me.

He held out his hand. He unfolded the gift. Nestled inside was a band of gold with scarlet stitching on top spelling out the word captain. "What is this?"

"It's a captain's armband," Lucille explained, sliding her weight from one foot to another. "All the Muggle footballers wear them. I set out about to make it for you over the holidays, as soon as I knew that you had the captaincy, but the thing is, I didn't know how to sew. I'll understand it if you don't like it. It is rather amateurish."

"C'est parfait," Thierry said, sliding the band into his pocket. "I never thought that you took an interest in my Quidditch. Je l'aime. Merci."

"Surprise," Lucille smiled dryly. She slid her hands into the hip pockets of her dress and bit her lip self-consciously. "Another drink?"

"No thank you," Thierry said. "And you've had too much yourself."

Lucille was watching him oddly. "You don't always speak with an accent, you know."

"Vraiment?" Surprise registered on Thierry's face. "Je n'en ai pas su."

"Maybe it's because you try too hard," Lucille continued. "If you just relax and let it come to you, it will." She looked up at him. "We're actually getting along. I didn't realise it could be so easy."

"There's no reason why it should be anything else." His fingers threaded through hers.

Lucille ran a hand through her short blonde 'do and exhaled raggedly. "I wish we didn't have to go to the ball tonight," she burst out. "I want to stay here. I want the rest of the world not to exist. That nothing beyond that wall was real." Her eyes were brimming over.

"Then stay here," Thierry said soothingly. He had never seen her this openly agitated before. "Forget the ball. We don't have to go. We have Spiced Honeycomb Liqueur. What more do we need?"

Lucille gave a watery laugh at his weak joke. "I'm a Black. I have responsibilities to attend to. Duties. I'm sorry, Thierry."

"Oh, really?" he shot back, some of his familiar irritation beginning to return. "Et what about yer duty ter yerself? Do yer git a look-een? Does anyone een yer family care what yer want?"

Lucille smiled sadly at him. "I'm the least of my priorities. Have a good night, Thierry."