Author's note: CW: VERBAL CHILD ABUSE
having some really cheery chapters here, aren't we? again, be kind to yourself and ask for help if you need it <3
𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁
September 5, 1993
The teams were escorted off the pitch hastily with everyone else, and Elodie couldn't focus. She felt like she was a bucket of heavy, cold, water being dragged up slowly from a well.
Fred and George were calling her, but their shouts seemed fuzzy and far off. The voice was gone; meaning the worst was over. But the scream was still reverberating around her mind like an echo in a parking garage, and the image of Harry falling from the sky scorched into her mind.
He had been taken to the hospital wing, of course, and that was where Elodie was planning on going.
She made a beeline through the thick crowd of people towards the stairs, and reached the large wooden doors of the hospital just as Ron and Hermione did.
"Elodie." Someone called.
"Elodie!" Hermione was waving a hand in front of her face. "Are you alright?"
She shook her head, zoning in on their voices. "Ron. Hermione. S-Splendid. Are they letting us see him?"
"I'd sure hope so!" Fred was climbing the stairs behind them.
"Ron, what is it you've got in your arms? Surely you and 'Mione aren't with child?!" George popped out behind his twin, grinning at a small bundle of blankets Ron was clutching.
Ron's ears turned a brilliant shade of red, and he rolled his eyes at his brother. "It's Harry's broomstick, if you must know. Fell into the Whomping Willow."
Fred, George, and Elodie winced collectively. Ron was holding out the bundle-which, to be fair, did look slightly like a baby at a far distance. Harry's perfect, trusty Nimbus 2000 was in shambles.
"Oh no!" Katie gasped, clearly slightly out of breath from running up the stairs. Alicia was following behind her.
"If you would please keep it down-oh. You're all on the team, aren't you?" Madame Pomfrey stuck her head out of the doors.
"Can we see him?" Hermione asked eagerly.
"Yes, I suppose, dear." The healer sighed, admitting them into the wing.
Harry was laying unconscious in one of the cots, a sharp cut on his arm and his face three shades paler than usual.
"Oh, blimey, he looks awful." Ron whispered fearfully.
"I mean, he did fall nearly 500 meters..." Elodie reasoned, staring down at her helpless teammate.
"Yeah, Ron, let's push you off the astronomy tower and see how you look." Fred snorted.
"Probably a right sight better than he normally does." Harry's sarcastic voice was weak, and his green eyes looked dull and half-open.
"Harry! Are you alright?" Hermione asked immediately, crouching down to put a hand on his forehead.
"I'm alright, 'Mione." Harry gave a strained laugh. "Did we win?"
Oh. Nobody really felt like explaining their loss to Harry, especially not in the state he was in. Ron was still standing in the back, clutching the bundle of sticks in his arms like he would rather confess undying love for Snape than show his best friend what had happened to his beloved broomstick.
"No one blames you, Harry." Hermione started nervously.
"The dementors were there, and you fell off your broom... Dumbledore was furious, you should've seen it."
"Anyways, Cedric came to his senses enough to catch the snitch before they started attacking him."
"Ah, bloody hell." Harry slapped a palm to his face, looking thoroughly disappointed in himself.
"It's not your fault, mate, the dementors were never supposed to be there in the first place!" Ron piped up.
"Ron... what is that?" Harry pointed to the bundle in his arms.
"Right. Okay. Well. You see," Ron stuttered.
He didn't seem able to spit it out, so Hermione was tasked with explaining about the broomstick's unfortunate run-in with the willow tree, and everything that came after.
Meanwhile, Elodie replayed everything in her head. She remembered the nasty little voice in her head, and what it had said. She was sure now that she didn't want to die, but surely some of the words rang true.
Hadn't they lost the game? Hadn't it partially been her fault?
Her mother hadn't wanted her, and certainly Snape's greatest fantasy was a world without Elodie.
And Fred-the voice had been so incontrovertible about his feelings. And it must've been right, or he wouldn't have been cozied up with Romilda not twenty hours beforehand.
Merlin, why couldn't she fancy someone coherent?
"That's enough for today, all of you, out!" The strict voice of Madame Pomfrey woke Elodie out of her reveries.
Harry looked very tired, so they all followed her directions and headed groggily back to the Gryffindor tower. Fred and George were trying their absolute hardest to cheer everyone up with every available joke, but it was a futile effort, especially when it came to Elodie.
Her mind was still clogged with useless, defeatist thoughts, though she managed to lightly chuckle when others did, or contribute vacuous comments to the conversation.
None of them went to dinner that night, and Elodie was quite keen on going to bed as soon as possible. She had long since perfected the art of escapism through sleep.
However, when she finally fell into a restless slumber, Elodie was afflicted with something she hadn't had in a very, very long time. Nightmares.
A small girl was standing on a cheap tile counter, stringing Christmas lights along the length of the kitchen. This was a gift for her mother, who might spend Christmas day with her, if she was extra good.
"Elodie, I'm 'ome." Her mother called, wearily. She still had a thick French accent, even after living in England for nearly 10 years.
"Mummy, look what I did with the lights!" The young girl squealed, accidentally kicking over a stained wine glass out of excitement.
"Fuck, girl, look 'vat you did! Nettoie ça! Maintenant!"
Elodie's mother often yelled in French, when she was angry. The little girl didn't speak the language, as she had never been taught, but "clean it up!" and "now!" were recognizable phrases, as they were so often directed towards her.
She climbed down from the counter, ashamed, and started picking up the glass shards in her delicate, youthful, fingers.
"Bête." Her mother muttered impatiently.
Stupid.
Usually, Elodie didn't mind being called names, but today her words had a special sting- she had been sent home from school today with a D- on her maths test and a slap on the wrist for picking flowers in the garden instead of going to class.
Elodie felt her fist tighten painfully around the wine glass, anger bubbling to the surface of her mind.
The large plastic star atop the Christmas tree fizzled out and shattered, polyethylene shrapnel flying across the room. One shard almost hit her mother in the eye.
Elodie must have explained a thousand times that no, she hadn't made it happen and that no, she didn't know how the star had exploded. Her mother wasn't having it.
She kept muttering about how Elodie would turn out "just like him."
Elodie, even with her D- in maths, was smart enough to know her mother was talking about her father. She never spoke about it, but the other kids at school whispered rumors about where the freak girl's absentee father might be.
"I'll betcha anything he's one of those lazy wazzocks selling crack in an alleyway."
"But I heard he was in a mental hospital, up in Berkshire."
Elodie had almost been convinced they were right, and payed a fruitless visit to Broadmoor Hospital just a couple weeks back. They had turned her away at the door. Her mother had found out right after-the guards had called her, and Elodie had never seen her so furious. "Never, ever, go looking for that man." She had screamed.
Now, the small girl cowered before her mother, watching her face contort with anger.
The dreamlike state of her mother disappeared, and was replaced by a huge, cloaked, dementor. Its long fingers outstretched, it crept towards her, reaching for her neck-
Elodie awoke in a panicked sweat, choking back a scream. Her roommates all slept soundly around her, and she hugged her midriff tightly, desperately wishing someone else was there to hold her.
"Le faible." Her mother would've said, had Elodie come to her with a bad dream. Weak.
She got out of bed, unable to shake the paranoid, quakey feeling she always got after nightmares.
The common room was dark, the last few embers of the fire burning feebly in the pit. Elodie sat on the couch, endeavoring not to cry. What was she even upset about, anyhow? The dream was a memory, it was far gone in the past. She was being stupid.
Bête, Elodie.
"Els? What are you doing down here?"
Elodie swiveled around, trying to see the dark figure standing in the stairwell. Her tired eyesight could only make out a crop of red hair.
"Hello... you." She said lamely, unsure if it was Fred or George.
"The first time Elodie Florence wasn't able to tell us apart. I'm offended, honestly."
The octave was unmistakably lower.
"Don't be silly, Fred."
"Aha! That's my girl."
Her stomach gave a familiar lurch. Agrippa's sake, this was never going to get easier, was it? "Shove off. Why're you down here, anyway?" She tried to smile as he sat down across from her on the couch.
"Heard you get up. Bad dream? You look pale." He frowned.
"Yeah, something like that." Elodie sighed. "Get back to your girlfriend, now, I'll be fine."
"Ah, she's asleep, won't miss me." Fred clucked.
Elodie shrugged, trying to give off the impression of indifference.
"So?"
"So what?"
"What was the dream about?"
"Lay off, nosy, what were you dreaming about?" Elodie retorted. She had no intention whatsoever of relaying the events of her nightmare.
"Ah, it was a great one." Fred beamed, looking up at the ceiling like he was trying to remember. "I was in this crazy utopia, and I had this best friend, and she actually told me things."
Elodie kicked his foot.
"Just don't fancy going through it again, tosser."
"Fair, fair."
"Right."
"Yep."
A couple moments of silence passed between the two.
"Are you sure? I mean, I'm a great listener." He prodded her.
"It was about my mother. Satisfied?" Elodie snapped, not wanting to be pushed farther.
Fred knew that was a sore subject, and didn't press on. Elodie sent him a half-thankful smile.
"Want to sleep here? You could come in my lap, like we used to as kids." He patted his thigh affably.
Elodie felt the heat in her cheeks rise. Oh, why did he have to be so lovely?
"God, why do you do that?" She blurted, avoiding his eye.
"Do what?" Fred frowned.
Elodie couldn't think of a reasonable thing to say that wouldn't give her away, give everything away.
"Nothing. Anyways, I bet Romilda's wondering where you are, maybe she'd rather be your lap-warmer."
"Elodie."
"What?!"
"Come here, ya tart. Merlin, so grumpy. I'm not putting up with your rubbish tonight, you need a hug." He pulled her playfully into his arms, enveloping Elodie into a bear hug.
She could feel herself unravel at his embrace, comforted by the pressure. His hair flopped in her face, and she could smell the homey, spiced smell of his sweater.
What are you doing to me, Fred Weasley?