With a Little Help from My Friends by Lucy Lupin
Author's Notes: This chapter is dedicated to Kasey Rider, who begged me to put Thierry and Lucille out of their misery. It doesn't quite happen in this chapter, but the path is laid. See the power of reviewing, people?
Chapter Nineteen is nowhere near complete and will take a while to come along.
Disclaimer: Still own nothing. And I snagged a one-liner each from Ang Lee and Grey's Anatomy.
Chapter Eighteen: In the Groundskeeper's Hut
She had gone down to the dungeons. She remembered that much. She had needed to get away, to do something that would reclaim some semblance of control overher situation. She remembered that as well. But after that things had gotten confused. There had been a shout, a scuffle – and the roaring in her ears as she had pitched towards the ground and the black had closed in around her.
But it was no longer black. Sunlight was peeking under her closed lids. She attempted to raise her head and groaned.
"Don't move," someone said cautiously above her. Warm breath fanned her forehead. She became slowly aware that she was being carried, cradled in study arms. "You had a nasty knock. Just relax and breathe slowly. Do you remember what your name is?"
"Lucille Elodie Black," Lucille said hollowly. She tried to piece together what had happened moments before, but the fragments were dancing just out of her reach.
"Good. And where are you, Lucille?"
"Hogwarts." A jolt of panic shot through her stomach. "I still am, aren't I?"
"Yes, you are," the voice reassured her. "We're in the Hogwarts grounds, to be more exact. And I'm taking you to Hagrid's hut." There was something vaguely familiar about the voice. Memories swatted her, blurred remembrances of fumbling in the dark, of trying to shake off hands that slivered around the edge of her hemline. She cried out and attempted to struggle out of the arms.
"Easy there," the speaker said, pulling her closer to him and resting his chin on top of her head in a way that effectively ended the resistance. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm from Gryffindor house, just like you. The common room password is magnolia." Lucille relaxed a notch. "Don't be afraid, Lucille. I'm watching over you."
Lucille drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of the solidness of the arms under her, the leaves crunching away beneath her companion's feet. Then she heard a muttered charm and felt herself drift upwards, without gravity up several stone steps leading to a door. "Alohomora," her companion said, then his footsteps changed from stone to wood. Her chin rolled helplessly forward as he set her down in a chair. A wand tip was laid against the back of her head, a second charm cast. She felt something cool spread along her scalp and her vision and her thoughts gradually cleared. Her dullness was replaced by panic.
The cluttered, oversized surroundings told her that she was indeed in Hagrid's - the groundskeeper's - hut. And Thierry Delacour was standing in front of her.
Lucille inhaled sharply and attempted to rise to her feet. Thierry waylaid her with a curt "stay put" that worked as well as a Stunning Charm. "You hit your head as you fell over. I still haven't ruled out the possibility of a concussion."
Her stomach twisted into knots. The roaring sound in her ears from earlier was returning. This wasn't supposed to happen. No one was supposed to know. In a world where she was increasingly losing autonomy, where even the choice of who to marry had been taken from her, this was meant to be her secret, the one last thing she had to herself. It took most of her remaining willpower to raise her head, to look him in the eye and brace herself for the diatribe. But his expression didn't change. It became clear that he was waiting for her to speak. "How...how did you know where to find me?" she managed to eventually ask.
"I found Sylvian Davies lying outside the door of the prefects' bathroom and revived him." Thierry stated this matter-of-factly enough, but there was a gleam in his eyes, a tightness in the set of his mouth that warned Lucille to tread carefully. Very carefully. "He said that a second year Slytherin boy with curly light brown hair that came down to his shoulder had hexed him after he'd threatened to report him to his house head for being found in the bathroom. He was most indignant about it, saying he was going to deduct points off Slytherin house at every available opportunity for this outrage. I didn't see fit to clarify matters." The voice sounded amused but the eyes continued to gleam with heat. Lucille knew not to be fooled by the voice. "I knew that you had charmed your hair the previous night and it would be returning to its natural state. I had nothing else to go on, but somehow I just had a hunch. So I followed you to what I knew would be the least-used bathroom in the school, and voila, here we are."
Something else hit Lucille then, the contrast of the French voila with the English speech. "You don't have an accent anymore."
Thierry crossed to the side of the room, leaning against the side of the massive fireplace and crossing his arms. There was an air of satisfaction to his smile. "That I don't."
Lucille risked a quick flick of her eyes around the room. Thierry was across the other side of the room. She was the closest to the door, which didn't appear to be locked. Which was fortunate because there was no way she could have slid that heavy bolt out of place. Maybe if she got him to drop his guard enough, she could run off. If only her knees weren't shaking so much. "Are we speaking in French?" she asked cautiously.
"My, aren't we optimistic?" An amused smile quirked at Thierry's lips. "Sadly, one month in France doesn't not a bilingual person make. But seven years in Britain can. The language one of us is currently conversing in, my dear, is the Queen's English."
Lucille's mouth dropped open. "You've been able to speak without an accent for all this time?"
"Oui, bien sur, mademoiselle." Thierry's grin reminded her of a cat in some Muggle story she had once read, Malice in Wonderland or something. "Well, for the last few years at least. If you had read my written work, you may have realised that I'm a lot more fluent than what people think. Everyone thinks you're either sexy or dumb when you speak with an accent. Gets both the teachers and the birds that way, ma cherie."
"You could have at least told Arthur," she said reproachfully.
"A girl needs her secrets."
"He's your best friend. He wouldn't have told anyone."
"Oh really?" Thierry's sleek black eyebrow was raised scornfully. "And have him babbling it out the next time Molly leant down in a low-cut blouse in front of him? Try "no"."
"Does Arthur like Molly?"
"Yes." Surprised amusement filled Thierry's eyes. "Where have you been the last year?"
"Are you still a male?"
"Most definitely."
"Just checking. Maybe I didn't bang my head quite that hard then."
"Would you like proof?"
"Most definitely not." She rubbed her forehead dazedly. It was so much to take in. As if she didn't have enough to think about already. "So let me get this straight. You now speak both French and English better than me?"
"Yah," Thierry shrugged.
"Well, that makes sense. You've always been able to do everything better than me - except wear miniskirts." There was both pride and resentment in the last sentence.
"You never know. Are you sure you don't want proof that I'm still a male? You know, I have deceived you about some rather "big" things that you've only just found out about? Can you really afford to risk it?"
"I'll take my chances," Lucille said sourly. "So why the change?"
"My feigned Gallic charms don't seem to be working on you as well as the many - er, several others before." The grin told her the slip of the tongue had been deliberate. "Which could be why I spend more time thinking about you than I do about them. I thought you would take me more seriously if I spoke without an accent. You see, Lucille, I have some things to say to you."
"Maybe some other time," Lucille said with feigned indifference. Hippogriffs were doing a stampede in her stomach. "I have to finish my Potions assignment."
"That can wait." Thierry folded his arms across his chest. Bad sign. "Your health can't."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The whistling in her ears rose to a sharp pitch.
"Don't play the fool with me, Lucille. You're not one and neither am I. I know what I saw."
The mask. Crashing to the floor. Lucille raised her head, surprised by how calm she felt. Calm, and a queer sense of relief, as if an ongoing responsibility had finally and unexpectedly been removed from her. "Unfortunately you did see. And as you said, you're not an idiot."
"I still don't know why you did it."
"I wouldn't know where to begin," she told him defiantly.
"Try me." Thierry was just as defiant. "We have all weekend."
Lucille looked up at him. She didn't want to say anything. Talking about it would only make things harder, more real, but she could sense that Thierry wouldn't let her leave unless she gave him something. "Mum," she tossed out. "The remarriage. Sirius. Regulus. My marks. It's the only thing I have any control over, that I can rely upon."
Thierry stroked the beginnings of a beard thoughtfully. She had only just noticed that he was growing one. The shadows made him look more sinister, like a noble beast that was on the side of good but not quite tame. She recommenced her study of the wall. "So, let me get this straight," he said finally. "You feel under pressure because you have too many things going on in your life and not enough energy or strength to cope with them. You needed an outlet. So, to create that outlet, you started to do something that robs you of what little energy and strength you do have, making it even harder for you to deal with the demands of your schooling and you new family and creating even more stress, which makes you vomit more. Am I right?" She didn't respond. "Lucille, answer the question."
"Yes."
"Why did you do it?"
"I already told you."
"But why that particular thing? There are other ways to give yourself some space, other options available to you. Armando Dippet drinks. Molly sews. Arthur makes Muggle equipment. I play Quidditch."
His last remark had her on her feet. "I know what else you do to relieve stress!"
"And what is that, Lucille?"
"You have sex! With schoolgirls, even the fourteen year olds!"
Thierry threw back his head and laughed. Lucille picked up a mug to throw at him, but he caught her wrist in time. "Yes, Lucille, I do have sex. And I have been doing so for quite some time. But never with fourteen-year-old girls, not even when I was that age myself. And I have never got anyone pregnant nor slept with someone who I knew really cared about me if that was all I wanted from her. Diana McGonagall, for example."
"But you did sleep with her." But the fire was going out of her, replaced by doubt and taking its energy with it. Pride needled at her, but she sat back down. It was preferable to fainting.
"Excuse me? Lucille, give me enough credit to at least be a gentleman to the point where I remember the names of the girls that I've slept with."
"Yes, you did sleep with her. The morning of Arthur's stripshow, remember? Even though I haven't had your eons of experience, I'm not a complete innocent. I know what it means when you went through almost an entire bottle of Firewhiskey with Arthur, then said you had to do something really unpleasant, then locked yourself in Diana's room with her for almost an hour."
"It was thirty-seven minutes and twelve seconds."
"So, you keep track of things. Quite a casanova, aren't you?"
"Well, then," Thierry said thinly, "I don't see why I should bother to explain to you what really went on between Diana and myself when you seem to think you have such a good idea it's as if you were there yourself."
"So spare me. I'd rather not know." Once again Lucille rose from her chair and turned her back to him, wobbling slightly. Thierry caught her elbow. "Don't touch me."
"You know what, Lucille? Since you seem to be so set on destroying yourself and clearly don't know what's the best for you, I really don't see why I should pay too much attention to what you want. So I'll touch you all I like."
"I'll scream."
"Go ahead. Hagrid's away on business for Dumbledore. The only other people who ever come down here are our friends - and yes, you do still have them despite your best efforts to get rid of them - and they would heartily approve of what I'm doing. And to prove you don't know as much as you think you do, we weren't having sex. We were playing chess."
Lucille goggled. "That was why you needed to drink?"
"Yes. It's the world's most boring game, and Diana doesn't even use Wizarding Chess." Thierry winced. "She says the talking pieces are too much of a distraction. I figured if I was drunk, it would go more quickly."
"Oh," Lucille said. Now she really couldn't look at his face. "I'm sorry."
"So you should be. And I don't think Diana would be too impressed to learn your feelings on her reputation."
Something about what Thierry had said earlier fell into place. "Are you keeping me here the whole weekend?"
"Yes, and as you may or may not recall, Monday is the birthday of one of our founders and therefore a public holiday. So our absences will most likely go unnoticed until Tuesday morning. You see, Lucille, I'm going to keep you here for as long as it takes to get you straightened out, and I can do a lot in three days." Lucille's hand went to her pocket. Thierry noticed the gesture. "Oh no, you won't get any help from there. While you were unconscious, I took the liberty of owling your wand to my father, who will shortly be performing very strong, complex hexes on it to stop you from casting certain spells. That's your biggest resource, gone. So you now have little choice but to deal with what's really bothering you."
"You have no right to do this." Thierry remained unmoved. "Why are you doing this?"
"In battle, the best tactic to defeat your enemy is to cut off all his resources and starve him out. Except in your case I'm only trying to starve you out metaphorically. You've done enough of the other kind as it is. What I'm starving out is the cause of all this."
Lucille raised her chin defiantly. She slid her hands under her thighs to hide their trembling, which would have undone the effect. "You're not scaring me."
"Oh, I haven't even started yet." Lucille gulped visibly. Thierry gave her a humourless smile. "You know who my enemies are, Lucille? Anyone who tries to hurt those I care about. And from the moment I learned you were doing this to yourself, you became my enemy. No one does this to my Lucille, not even Lucille herself. It's your choice, cherie. You can have me as a friend, or you can have me as an enemy. I strongly recommend you choose the former. I can be a very formidable enemy, Lucille." He stopped and stared at her. "You're as white as the underbelly of a Hippogriff," he realised. "I don't want to hurt you, girl. I'm trying to help you."
He didn't want to hurt her, but he wanted to help her. She wanted to laugh out loud, but she was worried that it would turn to tears. Don't you realise, Thierry? she thought desperately. They're one and the same. And while he only had concern for her as a friend and not in the way that she wanted, they would never be anything else. It's impossible for you to do anything other than hurt me. You can't give me what I need. "Again, why are you doing this?"
"Because I care."
"Lucky you," Lucille said blithely. Her heart constricted in a desperate plea for him to stop talking like this. But she could be as hard as stone on the outside. That was all she had left. "Are they going to give you a Merlin First Class Order for that or what?"
Thierry's eyes darkened. "You watch your tongue, or I will put you over my knee and paddle your hide like the infantile little first year you are currently being."
Lucille was started to feel very afraid. What was wrong with him? He was changing on her faster than a Polyjuice Potion, and with no idea of what she would be dealing with, she had no idea how to build her defences.
Thierry was eyeing her levelly. She waited for him to unleash a fresh torrent of scorn on her, but instead her knelt before and took her hand. "Lucille," he said gently, "you have lost your mother. And with the remarriage, you've as good as lost your father. Your father still loves you, Lucille, but he can no longer recognise what is best for you. He has been poisoned against you. You are concerned about your younger brother but feel powerless to do anything to help him. You are struggling at school. You are slowly distancing yourself from the people who would help you. And now you have this problem with food when you seem to think that gaining control over it will solve all your troubles. With all of this, is it any wonder that you are finding it difficult to cope?"
Lucille's chin lifted proudly. Some of the hardness had gone back into her eyes. "I don't want your pity," she spat out.
"I'm not offering you my pity!" Thierry cried, losing some of his self-control.
"Shut up, Thierry," Lucille pleaded. Somehow she was on her feet again. "Don't pretend that you care. Unless you can give me what I want, just get out. I don't want to hear it." But an ache that had nothing to do with hunger pains said otherwise.
"And what do you want, Lucille?" Thierry asked coolly.
"I just said it. I want you to get out."
"Really, Lucille?" Thierry had moved closer to her. Her gaze was level with his chest. "Because I'm not feeling that right now. Tell me that you want to be who you're on your way to becoming. Tell me that you want to marry that pureblood maniac bastard, and if I believe you, then I'll leave. But I don't think that I will be leaving despite what you say. Because I know that it's not what you want."
Lucille turned away and studied a crack in the floor. How innocuous floorboards looked, how perfectly plain and laid out and ordinary their lives seemed. Despite getting trodden over all the time, it seemed like a preferable existence. But something had broken free inside of her. She was due to be married in June. Her family wouldn't even wait until after she graduated. She still had those last months, and she could no longer pretend. "Do you know what I really want, Thierry?" Her voice was quavering, husky with unshed tears. "Well, I don't either, but I know what I don't want. I don't want what everyone thinks I do, to grow up in a beautiful house with beautiful clothes and a vault in Gringotts filled with piles of Galleons and beautiful, gleaming diamonds. I don't want to be poor either, but the solution is worse than the problem. I don't want to marry into the kind of family that would give me all of those things because it's just not worth it. And I don't want to be forced into marrying someone that I don't want to marry. But I have no choice. And I don't want you to make things so difficult for me. I don't want you to bring me here and try to stop me from doing my duty and marrying Maugrim and have compassion and concern for me and be unselfish and everything else that a friend should be. I don't want you to be my friend because that's all you'll ever be and it's just not good enough and it hurts. I don't want to want something that I can never have. I don't want to look at you, and be reminded that no matter how much I hate you, I still love you at the same time."
"Lucille," Thierry's face was as white as she felt, "are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes, you stupid, thick twat." Her words came out in braying sobs. "I love you and I've always loved you and even though I absolutely hate you for it I'll continue to love you!" Then, the last of her dignity gone, she sank into her chair and howled. Her upcoming nupitals to someone who had nearly raped her notwithstanding, she knew that her life could sink no lower than this. For years she had fought to keep this from Thierry, had kept the depth of her feelings hidden from him, and now all that effort was wasted, gone as if it had never existed. This was truly her worst moment.
"But you were always so horrid to me." Thierry was looking down on her shaking form as if he was looking at her truly for the first time. "Whenever I was polite to you, even if I was just asking how your last class was, you always responded with scorn. You started all the hostility. I was never anything but friendly and your answer was to treat me like crap."
"That's exactly it," Lucille bawled. "I didn't want you to be friendly. I didn't want to be your friend. You've never treated me how I've wanted you to. You've only ever acted towards me in the same way you do towards Molly, and Veronica, and Arthur, and then you just go and throw these other girls in my face! And I tried to do the same to you by going out with Alistair Bell but it didn't have any affect on you at all. I was disappointed, but I knew it was expecting too much. Have you ever noticed that I'm generally nice to anyone but you and wondered why that was? No, you haven't, because it only would have occurred to you to examine my behaviour if you had shared my feelings, but because you don't, you just dismissed them in the same way that you dismissed me. Oh Thierry, I don't blame you. I can see that you're a good person, which makes it all the more difficult. But it just hurts so much, you know?"
"Actually, I do, Lucille," Thierry said darkly.
"I never dreamed I could have you. I'm not a complete idiot. You were this beautiful enigmatic being and I was just difficult, awkward Lucille with her stupid crush on John Lennon and her Beatles obsession. I don't blame you for not wanting to be with me. I wouldn't either. Alistair didn't. I'm too much work. My family's bloodline and money is the only reason why I'm able to be wed at all. I'm unsuitable for anyone in any other way-"
"Lucille," Thierry said, "shut up."
Lucille's crying broke off abruptly. She stared up at him, open-mouthed and red-eyed.
Thierry knelt down before her. "I won't tolerate that kind of talk about you from anyone. Especially you. If you believe what you just said about yourself, then you're wrong. And if Alistair Bell believes it, then he's an even bigger idiot that I thought."
"No, he's not," Lucille hiccupped. "He's in Ravenclaw, he's really pretty smart. He only got two Acceptables in his OWLs, and the rest were Exceeds Expectations and Outstandings."
"Alistair exceeded my expectations by having enough taste to ask you out in the first place," Thierry insisted. "And the only other outstanding thing about him is how he's proof of what I've been insisting for years, that the Ravenclaws are smart in terms of getting information out of books and regurgitating it on exams for the teachers to wet themselves over, but are stupid in all other areas of their lives. In fact, the only acceptable thing about how he broke it off with youwas that he put you back on the market. You're right about one thing. I shouldn't make fun of him for that. I should make him best man at my wedding."
"What are you talking about?" Lucille asked.
"When you were talking about how I'm trying to stop you from marrying Maugrim, you accused me of being unselfish," Thierry said slowly. "But the truth is that I am actually being very selfish and doing this for completely selfish reasons. It's not just you marrying Maugrim that I don't like the idea of. Bastard that he is, I would feel as strongly if you had announced your engagement to Alistair Bell. Or Amos Diggory. Or Zachary Lupin. Or even my best friend Arthur Weasley."
"But you like Amos." Lucille was frowning in bewilderment. "And Arthur's like your brother. You two would both die and kill for each other."
"That's true," Thierry agreed grimly. "But if he ever crossed me in this way, well, the door to our friendship would be closed forever. See, what all of those blokes have in common is that they aren't me." He cleared his throat before he spoke again. "Even if he's the most wonderful wizard in the world, I wouldn't care. I object to you marrying anyone who isn't me."
Lucille's mouth dropped open. She was still hiccupping and red faced, but it was muted. They stared at each other for a long time. "You never said anything," she finally responded. "All these years, and I never suspected."
"Who was I to try?" Thierry said bitterly. "Your family are like royalty among purebloods. I'm just some foreign half-bred."
"You're wizard enough for me," Lucille said throatily. "And I promise that you'll never have any reason to object to me marrying anyone who isn't you. If you've have me, that is."
"Of course I will," Thierry said. Then somehow she was on her feet and in his arms and he was kissing the hell out of her. She had never seen the appeal when Veronica had gushed about Will, but suddenly possessed a very acute understanding of what all the fuss was about. She felt light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with her lack of sustenance. This was wonderful. Then Thierry's mouth was cruelly removed from her own and he was laying her down on Hagrid's gigantic bed and staring down at her with horror. "I'm sorry, Lucille," he stammered. "I'd forgotten how sick you were. I shouldn't have done that. I haven't hurt you, have I?"
"It's a good hurt," she shrugged. "You'll just have to kiss me better, won't you?" He obliged, but in a more restrained manner than before, his lips brushing gently over hers as he was careful not to put any of his weight on her. When he was done she shifted over and made room for him next to her and he curled up next to her on the patched quilt. "I'll have to write to my father and tell him that the wedding's off. Oh Merlin!" She jerked into a sitting position and burst into a fresh spurt of tears. "I have to marry Quentin Maugrim," she choked. "It's an arranged marriage. I know your dad's side of the family aren't really traditional, but among the traditional pureblood wizarding families, they're very common. And if I don't do it, then I just know that my father will never let me see Sirius or Regulus again, and then they'll become little pureblood obsessed maniacs like the rest of my family and I'd have lost everything. I couldn't bear to lose my brothers, Thierry. I've already lost my mother. I'd rather that they were dead that like the rest of them. I'd rather be dead than like the rest of them. All that talk about pureblood values, it was just because I was trying to talk myself into it. I thought it wouldn't make things so bad if I could believe what I was saying. But I couldn't. Oh Thierry, I just miss her so much."
"I know you do, cherie." Thierry enveloped the now docile girl in his arms. She sank almost gratefully against him.
"She wouldn't have let things get this far. She would have known what to do in this situation."
"And so will you. She taught you well."
"I don't want to marry Maugrim. I wish there was another way. But if I don't, I'll lose my brothers." She wiped her cheeks with her shirtsleeve and fought to keep her voice steady. "They are my family, after all."
Thierry gazed down at her. She was trying so hard to be brave. Even before he had met her, he had seen her as a first year waiting to board the Hogwarts Express and trying so hard not to appear out of her depth. Even then there had been something about that pretty, little girl with her air of melancholy that had made him want to wish her every happiness. And now that happiness was being threatened and despite her insistence that she could manage, he knew that this was too much for her. Her happiness was being threatened, and he was her last chance. He had the idea that the next minute was to be the most important in his life and that he had to weigh his words very carefully. "So the main reason why you've decided to marry Maugrim is so you can stay in contact with your brothers and have them grow up with our ideals?" he asked.
"It's the only reason." Lucille's eyes glowed emphatically.
"Well, don't you think that by marrying into another old family and adopting their way of life on the surface, you'll only encourage them to be the same? The way I see it, if someone they loved and valued went against the family, they'll start to wonder why and maybe even come up with the same solution that you did. Besides, your family won't ever be the only influence that they'll ever have in their lives. When they're eleven they'll go to Hogwarts, and do you think that Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall will start addressing people like Sarah Phelps as mudbloods?" Lucille gave a weak smile. "I know of so many students from families like yours that came to school and changed their minds once they actually met a Muggleborn and saw what they could do. The only way anyone who thinks differently will ever change, Lucille, is if intelligent people like Dumbledore and McGonagall and you start speaking out about it and show them another way to live. You can start with your own family." He was feeling short of breath. He looked at Lucille, wondering if he had gone too far.
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes." This second time, it was firmer. "I see what I have to do now. I suppose I've known all along, which is why it was so difficult. I won't marry Maugrim. I'll write a note home telling them. I don't dare to tell them in person; I wouldn't put it past her to make me marry himanywayand convince my father that it's for my own good. How dare she force her way into our family and try to alter our way of life? I think that the biggest reason why she's so obsessed about other wizards' bloodlines is that she's trying to hide the truth of her own. She's a half-blood, you see. That doesn't matter to me, but evidently it does to her. Well, that old hag will soon find that even though my mother's dead, she's not the only feminine influence left in our household. I will go against her every step of the way!" Her hands had clenched into fists and she was breathing rapidly and shallowly. She forced her stomach to unclench and realised how hungry she was. She could still feel the old demons taunting her, but could now see a point when she could control them, not the other way around.
Thierry was watching her carefully. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
She nodded diffidently. "Is there anything we could eat here?"
"Hagrid usually keeps his larder well-stocked. I'm sure I could whip something up. Other than those biscuits of his you could cut a diamond on, that is." Lucille laughed. "Us Frenchman are a little less lost around the kitchen than our English equivalents."
"A stew sounds nice," Lucille echoed. It wouldn't be easy, but she was going to lick her plate clean and dedicate every mouthful to her fight against her darling, beloved stepmother. The bitch. "I've been eating only a little, and making myself throw up when I eat more than a little," she found herself saying. "I don't want to. I know it's stupid, that it's bad for me, that it not only won't make any of my problems go away, but that it will create new ones. But I can't help it. It feels like being thin is the only thing that I'm good at, and that food is the only thing in my life that I still have control over. This is too big for me, Thierry. I need help. I need your help." She had always thought that it signalled a weakness to ask for help, but now she realised that this wasn't so. Nothing that took this much courage could be seen as weak. Her arms still felt shaky but her head was clear with purpose. It came to her that she had never felt more like a Gryffindor.
Thierry gazed down at her. She felt very exposed. She wasn't naked, but she may as well be. She felt her cheeks grow hot. "You look tired," he said. "Still beautiful, but very tired. And you've gotten so thin. We'll have to do something about that. You won't be able to get better here, when you're worried about your NEWTs and have Maugrim and his friends stalking your every move. I think you have to leave."
"No!" she sobbed, clutching at his arm. They had only just got together and now he wanted her to go. It was just too cruel.
Thierry bent down to hug her and let her tears wet his cheeks. "I'm not talking about you going back home," he said gently. "Or staying with strangers. My mother is a qualified MediWitch, or MediVeela, as the case may be." Lucille could see that he was trying, so she rewarded him with a watery smile. "You could always get permission to stay with her. She'll take care of you. Since you're not of age you would normally need your parents' permission, but Madame Pomfrey can overrule them if she feels you need treatment. She will overrule them. She's always been an advocate of the students."
"But your mother doesn't know me either."
"She knows of you."
"What exactly have you told her?" Thierry's impish grin answered her. "Bastard. No, out with it. What did you tell her? Did you tell her about the flying lessons? Halloween? Ooh, you are an absolute bloody bastard." Now she was grinning too. She couldn't recall the last time she had genuinely smiled. For an instant she wasn't a girl who had just lost her mother, whose father had been turned away from her, but a normal sixteen year old worrying about what her boy- boyfriend? fiancé? future husband? - had said about her to his mother. Then she thought of her own mother and her grin faded. "It hurts how much I miss her, Thierry. It's an actual physical ache."
"Cry if you need to," Thierry said. The bones of her back felt fragile beneath his hand, encased by a bare minimum of flesh.
"Thank you, but I should be fine. I just wish I had someone to talk about her with who knew her as well as I did. I wonder where she is now, and what's she thinking. I wonder if she's proud of me."
"Well, I'm proud of you, and I'm the most difficult person around to please. What you did today was bloody difficult. It can be hard enough to help someone else sometimes, but to admit when you need it yourself - you were very brave. And for what it's worth, I miss her too."
Lucille looked up at him in surprise. "You barely knew her."
"I knew her through you. You made her come alive for me with your stories of her. When you and Molly were talking at breakfast I was only pretending to read my copy of The Daily Prophet. You didn't use to talk to me or tell me anything about yourself and I treasured every Sickle of information you unintentionally threw out. So I feel as though I knew her. As long as you have your memories of her, she won't ever truly leave you. She'll always be there guiding you through her past actions and her advice. You can always learn from her."
"I wish I had more than just memories."
"I know. Well, I don't, actually. But I can try to help you with whatever you ask."
"Will you be going to your mother's with me?" she asked hopefully.
"I don't think so, Lucille." She felt her smile slide of her face and fought to retain it. "I can see them letting you off school, but not me," he continued hurriedly. "You could always stay at school. But I think you realise yourself that if you want to get better, you need a change of environment and to stay with a medical professional."
"That's it." She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "I can't leave Hogwarts. There's my schoolwork, and right before my NEWTs year. I'll never catch-"
Thierry cut off the flow of words by pressing a finger to her lips. "That's not important. Your health is your top priority. Your schoolwork is something that can be stopped. In the long run what does it matter if you pass your NEWTs a year later than most of your friends? Besides, it may not even come to that. If your recovery goes well, my mother could tutor you at home. And you can go Hogsmeades on weekends. We'll see each other then. Trust me, you'll love my mother. She'll make you part of the family."
"But what about my brothers? There's a Hogsmeades weekend coming up and I was planning to visit. I can't leave them alone at a time like this."
"You're no good to them in this state," Thierry said gently. Which was probably what her dear loving stepmother had wanted all along. "You need to go away and get better. Believe me, it will probably be better if you're not in the school when your parents-"
"My father and my bitch of a stepmother," Lucille corrected firmly.
"-Your father and your bitch of a stepmother-" Thierry adjusted, and was rewarded by a smile "-find out that you're not going through with the marriage. This will give you time to decide what to do next. My mother is a good person to talk to. Well, she's fierce and she's a Veela, but she's good, Lucille. Once my mother decides to get herself involved in your life, your stepmother's days will be numbered. And as for what to do about Sirius and Regulus and making sure that you won't have to marry Maugrim, well, Arthur and I will be able to help with that. Can you remember a single time when the two of us put our heads together and weren't able to come up with something?" Lucille shook her head. "Then let your friends help you. We'll goto visitDumbledore in the morning and see about when you can leave to go to my mother's. He's expecting us."
Lucille exhaled and laid her head against Thierry's shoulder. Just hours ago she had been unable to see a way out. It will still be difficult, but it would be possible. Normally she would have been angry that all these discussions had gone on about her away from her hearing, that these plans had been put in place without her knowledge and consent. But now she just felt cared for – and something more. There was still a chance of a normal life. There was still the dream of marrying someone who she actually loved. She knew that she had things to worry about that should have been more important, other issues to deal with first, but she knew with absolute, bone-deep certainty that it wasn't too late for them.
Now Thierry was disentangling himself from her and slowly easing himself to his feet. "I'm going to make you some food now," he said. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep in the meantime?"
"I don't know," she admitted. Then felt bad, because he looked so worried. "I can try. But I don't know if I can relax. My head is spinning with so many things."
"I may be able to help," Thierry said, crouching on the bed next to her. His hands slid under the hem of her borrowed shirt and he began to pull it upwards. Panicked, her hands jerked towards his to stop its ascendancy, but he gave her such a reassuring smile that she returned them to her sides. "Don't worry, I'm just going to give you a stomach massage. It's what my mother does to help my nephew after he's eaten. Because if a baby's upset, it takes seven hours for its food to fully digest. This helps them to relax." He began to trace his fingers from thewaistband of her shorts to just below her bra in gentle, steady strokes. "You're so tiny that I can't even use my thumb. Merlin, how skinny you've gotten. My mother is a very good cook though. You're going to be in good hands, Lucille…"
He was an uncle? Lucille hadn't even known that. The only person she knew who was an uncle of a similar age was her own Uncle Alphard, and he had clearly been an accident. She suddenly realised what a vast amount there was left to discover about her future husband. She found that she was excited about her future, and that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to look forward to things rather than dread them. And that although she had always sought to be independent and look after herself – and still sought that – that it was rather nice to have people to step in when it all got a bit too much for her to deal with on her own. There was a Beatles lyric along those lines, but she couldn't quite place it. Her eyes gradually drifted shut.
Author's Note: Yeah, I said it wouldn't get resolved in this chapter. I lied. Lucille and Thierry had other ideas. And who else wants to marry him? Come here and pollute my bloodline, you sexy half-breed, you ;-)
