Saturday morning came and Courfeyrac was extremely pissed off.
Well 'extremely pissed off' was in fact a bit of an understatement. How could Jehan want to make everyone miserable, just because he was in a bad mood... And that's another thing: when was Jehan ever, repeat ever, in a bad mood? What did it take to put him in a bad mood? In fact if it had been in any other situation Courfeyrac would have been curious at what the trigger had been. But right now he was just plain annoyed. Jehan was a close friend... Probably one of his best friends. He hated being without him, but at the same time the brunette was far too stubborn to back down from an argument like he'd had with the poet the other day.
If fact he had been almost impressed with him for holding his ground like that, well, almost.
But that wasn't the worst of it: their friends had taken sides. Okay, not all of them had, but some had most definitely chosen who to hang around with, namely Combeferre. The very thought of the Ravenclaw prefect made him huff slightly, still half asleep.
He was just so fucking perfect! He was basically just Enjolras, but not quite as good-looking.
If he was being honest with himself, then Courfeyrac would admit that main reason he was getting annoyed at the Ravenclaw was because he hated the idea of Combeferre and Jehan hanging around together. But this was Courfeyrac; it was unusual for him to be honest to other people, yet alone himself. It wasn't that he purposely wanted to lie to people in order to cause them pain, it was more that he thought telling white lies was a good was of protecting people from the painful truth.
For example a parent might tell their child that the tales of Beedle the Bard are true, so that the child might have a happy time living in comfortable fiction than dealing with harsh realities.
Or how Courfeyrac would tell his girlfriends that he loved them completely, because then that would spare them the pain of knowing that he hardly liked them at all.
Or perhaps, well maybe... A person might even tell themselves that they don't care about someone, so they don't have to deal with the painful truth of realising their feelings for that someone just a little bit too late...
Not that that has anything to do with Courfeyrac, because Courfeyrac didn't care about Jehan! ...Or at least, that's what he told himself.
Shaking his head Courfeyrac sat up, groaning slightly. He always did this; whenever he felt angry or upset he would wake up really early. Which he hated, like, really hated; mornings were made to be slept through!
But at least this gave him the chance to avoid Jehan, he would not give the blond the satisfaction of knowing that Courfeyrac was ignoring him.
So, against all better judgement, the Hufflepuff got up and realised the other thing that had been worrying him: quidditch. The first match of the season, Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff.
Pressing his tired eyes into is palms, Courfeyrac let out another groan, the birds were singing, singing for Merlins sake! How early was it?
Not daring to look at the clock in their dormitory, Courfeyrac shed his t-shirt before rummaging around in his trunk to find a clean set of clothes.
Once dressed, he walked quickly out of the room, pausing slightly at Jehans bed, and inspecting the smaller boy.
He slept on his side, curled up into a ball the covers pulled around him, strands of blond hair hanging lose from his braid. Framing his face perfectly, the stray bits of hair casting faint shadows which criss-crossed across his face. In sleep, Jehan seemed more serious, his delicate features were wiped of that little shimmer of light. His full lips were drawn into a small frown, his eyelashes trailed down onto his pale cheeks.
Courfeyrac had an instantaneous urge to touch the others porcelain skin, but, once again, he resisted. With no one around to impress or entertain, Courfeyrac allowed his smile to falter. The usually happy face was now marred by a frown, uncertainty and confusion etching themselves onto his own features.
Woken from his trance by one of Marius' ungodly snores, Courfeyrac swiftly departed the dormitory. Jehan was nothing to him.
The common room was just as quiet as his dorm had been, not a single thing moved, aside from the slow rise and fall of one of the seconds year's cat's chest.
But for once in his life Courfeyrac didn't want to socialise; he just wanted to be by himself. Why? What the hell was wrong with him? Was this all because of his stupid little fight with Jehan? The little poet didn't mean that much to him!
Bloody hell he really had gotten up early! Courfeyrac had reached the great hall to find that even their great and fearless leader had not yet risen. And that, by anyone's standards, was pretty bloody early.
Courfeyrac had eaten in silence, staring avidly at the table in front of him; with no friends to hang around with, time went much slower.
But when people finally began to file into the hall to eat, murmuring excitedly about the oncoming match, the Hufflepuff once again felt a need to separate himself from everyone else.
So once he'd finished he quickly got up, intending on going to the stadium early and train a little before the match.
But just as the curly haired boy reached the polished wooden doors, he just spotted his friends coming down the marble staircase.
"Good luck Marius! I just know you'll be great!" Jehan squeaked as he and Marius walked together into the great hall, Combeferre and Joly just behind them, also looking care-free. Combeferre sped up slightly whispering something to Jehan making the blond grin and giggle. Courfeyrac huffed, still half concealed between the stone pillars before slouching down towards the quidditch pitch.
Dark thoughts swirled around Courfeyracs head as the youth crossed the lawn. Finally admitting to himself that Combeferre was probably at the top of his 'Hate list' right now.
It was just... Jehan was his, not like that, but he was his best friend. Jehan was special, just like his relationship to Jehan was special, and Courfeyrac didn't like, want, or appreciate Combeferre sticking his nose into their business.
But that didn't mean anything! Like he said: his relationship with the poet was special.
In fact it was perfectly natural that Courfeyrac should want Jehan to be careful, or to make sure he didn't get hurt, or to punch Combeferre around his annoying face if he dared do anything wrong!
Well, maybe not the last one, but the others were nothing less than a healthy display of emotion for a friend.
But... No! Jehan can't like Combeferre! He just can't!
Jehan needs someone less... Less nice! Wait, that doesn't even make sense! Or does it?
Courfeyrac quickly occupied himself with getting into the changing rooms, you see that is why he should never be given any responsibilities: he confused himself on a daily basis.
He was still moody, though...
No! Jehan would not win this, no fucking way! I'm gonna beat him at his own game! I'll be the nicest, happiest Courfeyrac possible, and then everyone else will see that I'm not effected by Jehan's temper tantrums!
Yes, that was a good plan, Courfeyrac decided. Throwing his broom carelessly to one side, the dark haired boy sprung towards the door knowing that Marius had a habit of getting to the changing rooms early.
When his friend finally did arrive, Courfeyrac was waiting at the entrance, grinning as wide as was physically possible.
"Courfeyrac..." Marius raised his eyebrows in disbelief at his friends Cheshire grin "Are- are you in pain or something?"
Ignoring his friends comment Courfeyrac forced himself to continue in a voice that was even more positive than normal "So, are you looking forward to the match?"
"Yeah, but Potter always gets way too competitive," Marius said half-heartedly fiddling with the hem of his jumper.
"Ah well,"Courfeyrac replied, yawning as he spoke "We'll be able to win, besides we can't have you losing in front of that girl of yours" Courfeyrac finished with a wink, deternmined to act naturally. His smile growing as he caught Marius' look; halfway between annoyance and a blush.
"Besides," Courfeyrac, continued changing the subject, as they returned to the changing room and began to get into their quidditch kits "Gryffindor may be tough, but they're not the hardest"
"You mean Slytherin?" Marius asked off-handedly
"Yeah!" Courfeyrac snorted.
Marius lent against his broomstick and said "You know, the only reason you don't like Slytherin is because Scorpius was the only beater to ever knock you off your broom,"
"Hey! I had my back turned, so it doesn't count!... And besides, I got him back for that," the dark haired boy finished evilly.
Marius simply rolled his eyes as Courfeyrac continued "And, anyway I wasn't talking about him; Albus is actually a pretty good seeker and don't get me started on that Thenardier girl,"
"Eponine" Marius corrected.
"Whatever, she's too good a chaser for her own good; I've never seen anyone make a clean sweep 5 go that fast!" Courfeyrac ranted, picking up his comet 269 and attempting to yank out a stray twig. Casting a murderous glare at Marius' Nimbus 2000, he muttered something about Marius being a rich boy.
But before his friend could retort, the door banged open, revealing the Hufflepuff captain, a tall seventh year girl, who at the moment looked very annoyed.
Courfeyrac jumped round so quickly he almost dropped his broom; now would be a perfect opportunity to show that he was the same-old Courfeyrac as before. His face grew into a seductive grin, before he leant against the wall "Hey blondie, you're looking well this morning, very well in fact. Has anyone ever told you that you're very attractive?" to which the captain replied by up sticking her middle finger at him.
By the time the two boys were in their canary yellow kit, the rest of the team had joined them and were preparing for the match. Courfeyrac was watching two of the chasers, Ava and Chetta, chatting as they waited to start, as the captain matched up to the two boys ready to talk tactics.
"Ok, Marius, Rose Weasley has a strong throw, but isn't all that good at doing clever tricks with the quaffle, she'll go for the obvious shot, so even if you can't make a clean save, just knock it out of the way." The captain said briskly, before turning to Courfeyrac "I know that you dislike James so your job is easy; he needs to be kept as busy as possible, so you're going to target him,"
"Challenge accepted," Courfeyrac smirked, spinning his beaters bat in his hand.
As he did so a cheer rose from the stadiums, evidently the Gryffindor team had entered the pitch.
Scowling, the Hufflepuff captain grabbed her broom and matched onto the pitch, determined not to be outdone by the Gyffindor team.
"Courfeyrac, come on!" Marius hissed at his friend. For half a second Courfeyrac had been occupied with thoughts of Jehans strange anger. He shook himself slightly, though he had tried to push the poet from his mind but that damn blond just kept worming his way back into Courfeyracs mind. Well, if they won- which they were going to- then the after party would be a perfect time to make up with Jehan.
Courfeyrac just couldn't stand being without his best friend, even if he had been the one to start the argument.
Smiling slightly at the thought, Courfeyrac snatched his wind-beaten broomstick, and sped after the rest of the team who already heading out of the tent and onto the pitch.
The roar that rose from the Hufflepuff side of the stands was immense. Courfeyracs ears were ringing, as he and the rest of the Hufflepuff puff team continued across the grass. The cluster of red robes stood out against the cheering fans, James Potter easily recognisable, clutching his beaters bat.
When it came to quidditch, James and Courfeyrac matched each other in both skill and strength, each match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff turned into a contest of which beater was best.
His captains words echoed in Courfeyracs head 'you're going to target him' the dark haired boy smirked, tightening his grip on his own bat, as the two captains shook hands.
"Right, mount your brooms," the referee ordered. As the players prepared to begin, she continued "Now, I want a nice clean game!"
The professor hissed, releasing the snitch. In the distance Courfeyrac could vaguely make out the commentator, but he was far too focused on the maroon quaffle held by the referee.
There was a short sharp blast off a whistle, and fourteen sets of feet kicked off the grounds.
~ ~ ~
"Enjolras, over here!" Combeferre called. He and Joly were sat towards the back of the stands. The sixth years had climbed to the highest stand, meaning that only the front few rows were occupied, so the three were sitting on their own row, in the Ravenclaw box. As it was one of the stands for Ravenclaw there was a mixture of supporters for both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, but the three boys all borrowed Hufflepuff scarfs for the occasion. Even Enjolras, but that was only because the Gryffindor team contained a Potter and two Weasleys, therefore he was obviously choosing his friends team rather than that of his own house.
"You're just in time, the match started two minutes ago," Combeferre continued as his friends sat down next to him. As Enjolras looked across the pitch he could see steaks of red and yellow speeding through the air in pursuit of the maroon quaffle. After a second of squinting the blond made out Courfeyrac, speeding through the air, his bat raised. Even as Enjolras watched, his friends sent an expertly aimed bludger at one of the Gryffindor chasers, who had to swerve out of the way to avoid it.
Turning back to his friends, Enjolras asked "Where's Jehan?". The poet was missing from the group.
Combeferre gestured to the stand opposite "I think he wanted some quiet time, but Cosette's checking on him."
Combeferre let the group fall into a comfortable silence, but his mind was racing with thoughts of Jehan and Courfeyrac. He felt sorry for Jehan, he truly did. It must be awful to love someone as careless and oblivious as Courfeyrac. Not that he ever meant to be, but somehow he still managed...
And yet Combeferre knew what he had seen: Courfeyrac had looked genuinely jealous of Combeferre and Jehan before charms, and as if to confirm Combeferres suspicions, Courfeyrac had been a lot colder towards him for the rest of the previous day.
It just didn't seem fair, Combeferre thought. Though he didn't know as much, or was nearly as observant as his friends, Enjolras was also contemplating yesterdays argument. Though Enjolras was terrible as understanding social issues, even he had noticed the tension in the group, but not just between Courfeyrac and Jehan, but also between Courfeyrac and Combeferre. But Enjolras couldn't for the life of him understand why.
The blond was about to enquire further when Joly let out a whine "Oh, what if Courf falls off his broom!"
"Oh Joly stop worrying, Courfeyrac may be clumsy, it he's not an idiot," Ferre soothed.
"Are we thinking of the same person?" Enjolras asked slyly.
"How many other Courfeyracs do you know?" Combeferre replied dryly, as Joly dove deeper into a panic attack
Turning his attention away from the sound of Combeferre reasoning with Joly, Enjolras refocused his attention on the match.
Hufflepuff was winning, but only by one point.
The commentator, Lorcan Scymander, was talking so fast that it was a strain to make out individual words "- and Weasley's got the quaffle, he's going to go for a- No he's been hit by a bludger! Hufflepuff beater, Pute managed to hit Weasley, he's dropped the quaffle, picked up by Bowring of Hufflepuff, she's headed for the posts, and- ohhhh that's got to hurt! Now she's dropped the quaffle, and the other Wealseys got it, she's right up close to the post now, she shoots! But it's saved! A truly spectacular save from Pontmercy!"
Even Enjolras couldn't help but grin at that; after last seasons spectacular defeat to Slytherin, Marius had vowed to practise every day of the summer, and apparently it had paid off.
Combeferre gave a polite clap, before resuming conversation "So how did you do in the start of term transfiguration test?"
"All correct" Enjolras said proudly.
"What about you, Joly?"
"Erm, I didn't do too well on mine..." Joly muttered, hanging his head in shame.
Enjolras frowned, it wasn't like Joly to do badly in a test.
Combeferre just half-smiled "Oh, weren't you feeling well?" He commented innocently.
"Something like that," the hypochondriac replied quietly.
Enjolras was just about to ask if something was wrong, when Combeferre stood up in his seat. "Hey, Eponine! Do you want to sit with us?" Enjolras turned to see a pair of sixth years walking up the side of the seats a little way from them. The girl, Enjolras presumed was Eponine looked shocked upon being addressed, she quickly looked around to check there wasn't anyone else around, before deciding to make her way up to where the three of them were sitting.
The girl had almost reached the seat next to Enjolras when she suddenly stopped and pushed the boy behind her forward, thereby forcing the other sixth year, who looked even more awkward than his friend to sit next to Enjolras.
Looking sideways Enjolras observed the two brunettes. The girl was short and thin with tanned skin. Her dark eyes observed the group from beneath unruly dark curls, which fell onto her shoulders. While she couldn't really be described as pretty, she was certainly striking and attractive. The boy, on the other hand, was handsome; he had been blessed with good looks, just not the drive to look after them. His inky black hair formed wild curls, that fell carelessly across his forehead, his features were classically shaped, but his skin was a sickly pale colour, aside from the dark circles beneath his blue eyes.
Enjolras, vaguely recognised the two Slytherins, and gave the pair polite hello, before allowing Combeferre to speak "This is Eponine, she's my potions partner," he said nodding toward the girl who nodded "and, you're Grantaire, right?" Ferre asked kindly. The boy in question stared at the floor muttering a yes.
Joly opened his mouth to reply but before he could the stadium erupted into cheers around them.
"-and that was a fabulous point for Hufflepuff! They're now thirty points ahead of Gryffindor, but it's still an awfully close match!"
Couferac circled the pitch, slightly above the other players, his teeth, gritted. Hufflepuff may be winning, but the scores were much too close for his liking, and neither teams seeker had shown any indication of seeing the snitch.
A bludger hurtled towards him, without hesitation Courfeyrac sent it back up the pitch, hopefully to peruse a Gryffindor player.
Still frowning, the Hufflepuff urged his broom forward, weaving his way between other players- Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs alike.
Rose Weasley caught his eyes, she was soaring towards the Hufflepuff goalposts. Cursing, Courfeyrac took chase. However before he managed to get to her she threw the quaffle at the centre goalpost.
Seemingly from nowhere Marius appeared, diving towards the maroon ball, knocking it away just in time.
A cheer erupted from the stadium, and even Courfeyrac let out a small sigh of relief, but it was a short lived.
A bludger zoomed past him, inches from his face. Courf jerked sideways out of instinct, as the jet black ball shot past him. Heart pounding he turned to see James Potter hovering several meters from him smirking at almost hitting the other teams beater.
Courfeyrac opened his mouth, about to yell an obscene string of curse words at the other player, when he realised that the two seekers had gone into a dive, both tearing after a tiny glitter of gold.
Courfeyracs eyes searched desperately for a bludger to hit at the seekers. One was right at the other end of the pitch, but one was just several feet above him.
Yes! The Gryffindor seeker was in the perfect range for him to hit!
Spinning his entire body around, Courfeyrac sped upwards as fast as his battered broomstick would allow. He raised his bat, ready to hit.
Now only a metre away, the brunette lashed out with his arm, the heavy wooden bat slammed into the bludger, the sound echoing through the stadium as the bludger zoomed directly towards the Gryffindor seeker.
Satisfied Courfeyrac pulled his broom to a halt, but before he could see the result of his shot, something slammed into his head.
Agony exploded across his face.
Blood spurted down his robes as a sickening crack echoed inside Courfeyracs head. The force of the impact forced him backwards, his hands groped in midair, desperate for something to hold onto. The outraged roar of the crowd split his skull like a knife.
Wincing away from the pounding in his head, he slipped sideways into nothingness.
"They've seen the snitch!" The shriek from the second year, sat three rows in front of them snapped the sixth years out of their conversation about squib rights (which Grantaire had actually had a useful input in).
The pair of seekers merged into a blur of red and yellow.
Enjolras turned his eyes to Courfeyrac, the beater heading straight towards one of the bludgers, obviously about to hit it towards the Gryffindor seeker.
"He won't get it," Eponine muttered in disbelief.
"He will," Combeferre said knowingly, Courfeyrac really did have spectacular aim, and a natural talent for quidditch.
As if to prove him right Courfeyrac reached the bludger and smashed his bat into the ball sending it towards the Gryffindor player in a perfectly straight line.
But just as Courfeyrac slowed down, something caught Enjolras' eye: James Potter was was soaring towards the Hufflepuff beater, his bat out-streatched. What in Merlins name is that idiot doing?
A gasp escaped the marble mans lips as Enjolras leapt to his feet. James' bat had just hit Courfeyrac, hit him straight in the face, deliberately!
His friend was so high up that Enjolras couldn't see the extent of damage that the thick wooden club had done. But he most defiantly saw his friend wobble sideways, stranded for a second in limbo, before his body crumpled sideways and he fell.
"Told you he'd fall."
"Joly, now is really not the best time to be pedantic," Combeferre said, trying not to keep the snarl out of his voice.
Courfeyrac was lying in a bed in the hospital wing, his friends all cramped into the tiny area around his bed, even Eponine and Grantaire were there, although they were waiting awkwardly by the door.
Enjolras, Combeferre, and Joly stood on one side of the bed, Jehan, Cosette and Marius on the other side.
Though Jehan hadn't done anything to cause Courfeyrac to end up lying in the hospital wing, unconscious, he still felt incredibly responsible: the last thing he'd said to Courf was that he couldn't tell him what to do when, in fact, Jehan would do absolutely anything for the curly haired man who he would forever adore.
It was just lucky that someone had cast a cushioning charm, otherwise who knew how bad the injuries could be?
Right now though, Courfeyrac still looked dreadful; already a huge purple bruise had blossomed across his forehead, stretching into a horrific black eye. His nose had been broken very badly spraying blood across his entire face, though the school matron had fixed his noise in an instant, the scarlet stains still blotted his tanned skin and quidditch robes.
Madam Pomfrey had said that he would be totally fine in just a few days at most, but that she would want he to stay in the hospital wing for at least one night in case of concussion.
But either way he should be waking up soon.
"Can't believe Potter got away with that!" Marius growled outraged "'I was trying to hit the bludger but he just got in the way, and I didn't see him in time' yeah right, Courf had already hit the bludger halfway up the pitch! He did that on purpose!"
"That's just what he's like, Potter is nothing more than an arrogant, petty, spoilt little brat!" Enjolras retorted - one of the few things that he and Marius agreed on was a mutual hatred for James Potter.
"Shh!" Cosette urged her boyfriend as he opened his mouth to continue ranting "He's waking up!"
It was true, as she spoke, the boy lying before them stirred slightly, before letting out a groan "I know I've said it before, but I really am gonna stop drinking,"
The entire group let out a collective sigh - not even getting hit round the head by a wooden bat could change Courfeyrac.
Enjolras was the first to recover "Courfeyrac, you moron! Don't joke about this, you could have died!"
"And then you would be forced to carry on without me! Oh, your life would be so dull!" The boy joked, sitting up with enormous effort. His face looked ten times worse; almost a quarter of his face was lost beneath swollen skin which had turned a nasty shade of purple.
Something of this must have showed on his friends faces, because the injured boy suddenly looked worried "What, why are you looking at me like that?"
In response, Cosette drew a small mirror from the inside of her robes and handed it to him.
"My face! My beautiful face! How am I gonna get laid now!? I've lost my bang-ability!"
"It's good to see you've got your priorities sorted out," Combeferre joked quietly.
At this Courfeyrac actually dipped his head slightly, his curls falling across his face, covering the worst of the injury, as he grinned. Then his eyes focused in Jehan.
"Well, it's nice to see you again," Courfeyrac said impassively. Jehans face filled with guilt.
The rest of the group quickly sensed a change in the atmosphere at Courfs beside, and left, muttering excuses of homework. Or rather everyone caught on but Enjolras, who had to be dragged out by Combeferre, leaving the two Hufflepuffs in an awkward silence.
"Courfeyrac, I-" Jehan looked like a deer caught in the headlights, as he stuttered over his apology "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to be, well, mean, I just I didn't feel good, but that's no excuse and I..." He fell into silence from one look at Courfeyrac, and stared intently at his feet.
"You finished yet?"
Jehan gulped, about to attempt another stuttered apology, when Courfeyrac laced his arm around Jehans delicate waist and pulled him onto the bed, so Jehan was sitting on the bed next to Courfeyrac.
The dark haired boy looked up, grinning, as always, but this time it was more of a sad, apologetic smile "I shouldn't have said that you're not allowed bad days, everyone feels down at some point. You shouldn't bottle it all up for our sake."
Jehan was still staring at his shoes.
"So, are we okay?"
The poet didn't answer immediately "I thought you were going to die. When I saw you falling-" Jehan shook his head, unable to express in words what that experience would do to him. As he continued, Courfeyrac was unable to keep a small flare of happiness from rising in his chest "I didn't want you to get hurt, especially after we'd been arguing, you're... You're the nicest person I know. I really care about you." The poets words were so heart felt that he didn't even blush.
"I care about you too, you know," Courfeyrac replied. Despite his fatigue, and the enormous amount of effort it took, the dark haired boy placed his rough hand onto Jehan's delicate one.
"So are we okay?" Courfeyrac asked again. From the look on Jehans face, you'd have thought he was a blind man seeing light for the first time.
Without answering the smaller boy flung his arms around the other and hugged him as tightly as he could.
Courfeyrac ignored the pain this caused; it was worth it.
"Em, Jehan, Madame Pomfrey, says that we need to go and let Courfeyrac rest a while," Combeferre was stood just inside the doorway, evidently sent back to retrieve the poet.
"Okay," Jehan turned back to Courfeyrac, his eyes shining with concern "Can I come and see you tomorrow?" Courfeyrac had a hard time keeping the smug look from his face: Jehan wanted to stay with him, not Combeferre.
"Of course," the dark haired boy said as coolly as possibly, turning his eyes dramatically to the ceiling.
Without warning, Jehan, once again lent down and wrapped his small arms around Courfeyracs broad shoulders. Despite the increasing pain in his chest, Courfeyrac was unable to stop a little flutter of happiness growing bigger and bigger within him at having the poet back.
"Just get better soon Courf," he muttered shyly before turning and scurrying towards Combeferre, who was waiting at the oak doors of the hospital, smiling for some reason Courfeyrac couldn't understand.
But for the first time Courfeyrac didn't care that Jehan was going off with Combeferre, or anyone else for that matter, because he knew that the little blond poet still belonged to him.