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Warnings: more of the idiots, this time they’re being cute.
February 1897
Now that she had been at Hogwarts long enough to have made friends, Héloïse’s birthday was shaping up to be far better than the year before. The festivities had started at precisely midnight, with Gwen and Siobhan staying up long into the early hours to celebrate with her, and once they awoke at sunrise, they had warmed themselves against the cold February morning with hot chocolate whilst Héloïse opened the small flurry of gifts and letters from her grandmother and other friends.
“Look like someone else has something for you,” whispered Gwen, nodding her head in the direction of the entrance. Héloïse looked up from the book of folktales she had been given by Henry and followed Glen’s line of sight to see that Jim Hexley was making his way towards them, the corner of an envelope poking out of his breast pocket.
Héloïse’s heart gave a small flutter. She had not even told Jim that it was her birthday, but it appeared that he had discovered the fact himself, and gone to the effort of finding or making a card or small gift for her. The very idea of the gesture made her lips curve upwards, but as she directed her smile at Jim himself, he stopped abruptly in his path, jerked his head, and turned and sped away, leaving the Great Hall entirely.
“Oh,” said Héloïse, her smile faltering and chest tightening. Shiv and Gwen both exchanged looks of confusion and concern.
“What a strange man,” Shiv muttered. “Matilda, are you-”
“I am alright.”
“Are you sure? You seem-”
“I have said this already, no?” Héloïse said, sharper than she had intended. She took a breath and returned to her book. “I am content.”
This was, of course, untrue. She had been perfectly content until several moments earlier, but now she was confused, disappointed, and more than anything, frustrated. After all, she had been having a perfectly wonderful birthday until a few moments previously. She had several friends to celebrate with, why was she so upset over just one of them not joining in?
Still, Shiv and Gwen did not push the matter, and so they spent the rest of breakfast quietly drinking hot chocolate and tea, until they were joined by a rather windswept-looking Ivy Anders, who took the seat next to Gwen with her wide eyes fixed on the pile of gifts in the centre of the table.
“Oh my,” she said breathlessly. “Someone has a lot of admirers!”
Shiv wrinkled her nose. “What are you havering about?”
“The gifts, of course. It is Saint Valentine’s Day, after all.”
“Aye, but these aren’t Valentines. They’re for Matilda’s birthday.”
“It’s your birthday?” Ivy turned to Héloïse, who nodded her head silently. Ivy beamed at her. “Many happy returns. Are you having a party?”
“I do not think so, no.”
“Well, that simply will not do. We shall have a tea party later. Greenhouse One at three o’clock? I’ll prepare the refreshments. What sort of cakes are your favourite?”
The look in Ivy’s eyes was earnest, and when Héloïse looked at Gwen and Shiv, they were already nodding their heads in agreement. Héloïse sighed. She had never really liked parties, but she did not want to be ungrateful, either.
“Chocolate,” she told Ivy. “If it pleases you.”
And so, just before three o’clock, the Ravenclaw girls bundled themselves in cloaks and scarves and made their way down to the greenhouses. Inside the first one, several banners had been strung up across the large windows and between the plants, and the workbenches had been cleared of plant pots and soil to make way for several large plates of sandwiches, cakes, and pastries. Héloïse’s eyes widened. She had not expected Ivy to have arranged quite so much in the space of only a few hours.
Héloïse found herself enjoying the party far more than she had expected, too. It was as if Ivy had known that she did not like large crowds, as the group of students gathered in the greenhouse was relatively small, mainly consisting of the other Ravenclaw girls, Henry Lovecraft, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, Bradford Pendleton, the girls from Adelia and Carolyn’s dormitory, and Jim’s sister Ethel Hexley and her friend Selene. There was only one person not in attendance who Héloïse would have liked to have been there, and that was Jim himself.
“I am afraid that I haven’t the foggiest where my brother is,” Ethel told her, unprompted and through a mouthful of scone. “I expect that he is off sulking somewhere. But really, it is no loss. He is a frightful bore at parties, even more so than the rest of the time. I hope that you are not too disappointed. I should not be if I were you.”
With that, Ethel stuffed the rest of the scone in her mouth and left to have an argument with Lysander Mercury, leaving Héloïse alone, and quite disappointed. Perhaps Jim had not known that morning that it was her birthday, but surely he must have known by now? Ivy was his cousin, and Ethel was here, and Lysander and Maxwell, so why was he not?
Several pots of tea later, the sandwich supply had dwindled, and still there was no sign of Jim Hexley. With each passing minute, Héloïse’s sense of disappointment grew, until, with the sun setting and less than half an hour before the party was due to finish, the door of the greenhouse swung open, and Jim stepped inside, his cheeks flushed pink, fingers gripping the lapels of his coat, and eyes fixed on his shoes.
“Jimmy, you made it!” Ivy exclaimed, picking up a pastry and rushing towards him. “Here, you must try one of these. It’s a pain au chocolat."
Ivy rose onto her tiptoes to mutter something to Jim as she handed him the plate of pastry, and Héloïse averted her eyes. It was strange, but although she had been upset at Jim’s absence and had felt a swelling sensation in her chest at his arrival, this was now giving way to a deep annoyance at his lateness, which she decided to show by stubbornly refusing to talk to him now that he was present.
The party finished without her saying a single word to Jim. Once it was over, however, she stayed to help Ivy tidy up the plates and teacups, and left the greenhouse only to find him waiting outside.
“Sorry, I… I did not wish to give you a fright,” said Jim. Héloïse pursed her lips tightly and said nothing in response. He cleared his throat. “I, um… Happy birthday.”
Héloïse exhaled through her nose before answering, “Thank you.”
“I… I am sorry that I did not wish… that I did not say anything to you earlier today. I did not know that it was your birthday, I thought… Well, I would have said if I had known.”
“Oh,” said Héloïse.
“And I am sorry for my… that I was late to your party,” Jim continued. “I, um, had to… I did not wish to arrive empty-handed. I, er, wanted to get you a gift.”
He reached inside his coat, and pulled out a scroll of pale parchment tied with brown string. Héloïse frowned.
“This is for me?”
“Yes. I am sorry that it is not… Well, it is the best that I could do at short notice. I am afraid that it is not much of a present. It is not framed, but I can always get a frame later if you would like. You may not want one, though, because it is not all that good...”
Héloïse unscrolled the parchment, her eyebrows still furrowed. As it rolled open, it revealed a pencil sketch of a girl with dark hair tumbling over her shoulder in graceful curls, deep concentration etched into her dainty facial features, and dark, curious eyes. The portrait did not move like the ones on the walls at Hogwarts, but every now and then, it seemed that the girl in the drawing’s hair lifted slightly, as if moved by a gentle breeze, and her eyes seemed to sparkle as if they had caught in the light.
“Not so good?” said Héloïse, incredulous. “Jim, this is more than good. It is…” She tilted her head. “Is this me? This girl in the picture?”
Jim nodded. “Yes. It is supposed to be you, anyway. I, er, did not quite manage to capture… The likeness, it is not quite perfect. Something about it - I don’t know what - is, um, not quite right, I know.”
“No. This is not it,” Héloïse shook her head. “I can see that this is me, but…”
“But?”
“But you have made me look beautiful.”
“That’s because you are beautiful.”
Héloïse looked up at Jim, unable to hold back a smile. He had not stuttered at all, and for one single moment that seemed to last an eternity, he held her gaze unwaveringly, his face passive and the look in his eyes sincere.
She felt herself start to blush, and in that moment, the world - like her cheeks - seemed to glow in the hues of soft roses, just as beautiful as she was in the picture Jim had drawn of her.
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A/N: Jim finally takes action, but is it too little, too late?
OCs featured/mentioned: Ivy Anders and Shiv Llewelyn @kc-and-co
Warnings: the idiots in love are back again. This time, there’s a misunderstanding.
February 1897
Dear Héloïse,
I am writing to you today in order to express my feelings of deep affection and endearment towards you, and to put forward an offer of courtship - more specifically, my courtship of yourself.
Jim sighed crossly before scrunching up the sheet of parchment in front of him, throwing it into the fireplace, and placing his head in his hands. This was hopeless. He was hopeless.
Ever since receiving Héloïse’s Christmas gift, Jim had been considering his feelings for her, and had come to the conclusion that he did indeed wish to court her. However, having never courted anyone before, he had not known how to go about it; and with the alarming rate at which rumours tended to spread around the school, he did not feel comfortable seeking advice on the matter from any of his peers. After all, he couldn’t bear to even think what Ethel would do and say if she were to get wind of his ambition, and it would hardly be romantic for Héloïse to hear about his feelings from others rather than from him telling her himself. But how to tell her without his nerves getting the better of him and words failing him entirely?
Finally, and thankfully, an idea came to Jim at the beginning of February. Saint Valentine’s Day was approaching, and therein lay his opportunity. It was traditional to send letters conveying messages of one’s secret affection to one’s sweetheart, and this is what he would do. Not only would it be fittingly romantic, but also, his stammer and nerves could not prevent him from expressing himself in writing. It was perfect.
Or so Jim had thought, until he had finally sat down to write his letter the night before Saint Valentine’s Day, and found himself unable to set his words down on paper. He had suspected that he would be unable to speak them out loud, but now it seemed that he could not even write about his feelings.
He groaned and lifted his head. There was nothing for it but to try again. And so, he picked up his quill and dipped it into his inkpot, before starting over on a fresh piece of parchment.
Dear Héloïse,
Jim shook his head. No. That would not do. If he was to make the effort to write with feeling to Héloïse, he should make the effort to write to her in her own language. A wave of his wand, and the parchment was clean once more.
Cher Héloïse,
Was that right? Jim wasn’t sure. He tried again.
Cherre Héloïse,
That still looked wrong. Jim sighed again, wishing that he had persevered with Brady’s French tuition. He used his wand to vanish the last two letters, then re-conjure them, then vanish them again, before deciding that he was better off leaving the word out altogether. He took a deep breath, took a look at the starry night sky outside the window, and tried again.
Héloïse,
I do not know whether or not the feast of Saint Valentine is celebrated in France, but here, we mark the occasion by sending letters of affection to those we care about, particularly to those who do not know the depth of our affections. Until now, I have never felt the need to write to anyone, for never before have I felt such deep affection that it has inspired such a letter, but this year that has changed, and so I have decided to write a single letter - this.
Perhaps if I had more eloquence and more nerve, if I were bolder and had no impediment, I would be able to tell you about my feelings myself, to look you in the eye and speak them out loud, but alas, I am not. If I were, I should tell you how beautiful you are, how clever, how whenever you are not near, I long to see your face, and when you are silent I long to hear your voice. How whenever you are sad, my heart seems to ache with you, and whenever you smile, it feels like the morning sun rising with the dawn.
I wish I could tell you all this and more, but my character prevents it. Please, let me assure you that my inability to express myself to you directly is due to cowardice, but not insincerity. I may not be bold, but I am true, and truly I am
Ever yours,
Jim.
He placed his quill down and read the letter. It was not perfect, as he had hoped it would be, but it was good enough for him. Hopefully, it would be good enough for Héloïse, too. He sealed the letter, made his way to the dormitory, and placed the letter under his pillow.
After a fitful night of sleep, Jim awoke to a beam of bright sunlight entering the dormitory through the window and shining on his face. He realised now that had been wrong to write that Héloïse’s smile was like the morning sun; he knew which of those two things he would prefer to wake up to.
The shocking impropriety of his own thoughts caused him to sit upright, suddenly awake, and he quickly checked beneath his pillow to ensure that the letter was still safely there. It was, but then, why would it not have been? After all, the dormitory was empty, both Maxwell and Lysander already at Quidditch practice. Jim was alone, which meant that it was now or never.
As quickly as he could with his trembling fingers, Jim dressed himself, checking his reflection in the mirror by the door of the dormitory before he left it. He looked presentable, at least, and so he made his way up to the Great Hall, his handwritten letter tucked into his left breast pocket.
The Great Hall looked as it usually did, the enchanted ceiling a pale lilac with the snowy sunrise, a hundred candles floating beneath it, and four tables stretching the length of the Hall, each one adorned with cloths of either yellow, red, green, or blue. At one end of the blue-decked table, Jim picked out the red-haired head of Siobhan Llewelyn, and as Shiv leant forward to whisper to the person sitting opposite her, she revealed Héloïse sitting on her other side, her black curls falling gracefully over her shoulders and dark eyes sparkling in the morning light. Jim swallowed, his mouth bone dry, and forced his feet to carry himself towards her.
As he did, his heart sank, for as he drew closer to where Héloïse was sitting with the other two girls, he was able to make out several unwrapped boxes, a greetings card, and a few letters, all strewn across the table in front of Héloïse.
Of course, Jim realised. How could he have been so stupid? Héloïse was beautiful, and clever, and wonderful. How could he have presumed that he would be the only one wishing to court her? How could he have thought that she would desire his affection when she could have the affection of anyone she chose?
All of a sudden, the heartfelt letter in his pocket seemed so redundant, so painfully insignificant. Jim could not bear to give it to her, to see it among the other tokens of affection that Héloïse had been given. And so, when Héloïse made eye contact with him and smiled, he did no more than nod in response before turning and walking out of the Great Hall without so much as greeting her.
Miserable, Jim returned to the Hufflepuff Common Room, and placed the letter in the same place as he had thrown all his previous attempts: in the fireplace.
He watched the parchment crumple and blacken and burn, the light of the fire stinging his eyes nearly to the point of watering. He did not know how long he sat at the fireside for, but eventually he was interrupted by the arrival of the Lysander, Maxwell, and the rest of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, along with his cousin Ivy. As soon as Ivy’s eyes met his, her face fell, and she joined him in front of the fire.
“Whatever is the matter, Jimmy?”
“I… Nothing. I am quite well, Ivy. Do not fret about me.”
The look in Ivy’s eyes made it quite clear that she was fretting, but she sighed and smiled at him.
“Very well, Jim. I shall not ask you what is wrong,” she said. “However, I shall propose a way to cheer you up.”
“I’m not… I am in no need of cheering, Ivy.”
“I can see that you are. And even if you were not, I think you would enjoy what I have in mind. A party,”
Jim frowned. “I do not like parties.”
“Not even a birthday party?”
“Whose birthday is it?”
“Really? You don’t know?” Ivy asked, and Jim shook his head. “Why, it’s Héloïse’s birthday.”
“Héloïse Perrault?”
“Who else? I thought that you would have known, Jim, the two of you are friends, are you not?”
“We are, but…” Jim’s voice tailed off, and he looked at the fireplace in horror. He had made a terrible error, he knew that now. “I didn’t know! I… I did not even say good morning to her at breakfast, I left and I came back here and then…”
“Well, that is no matter, Jim. You can say all you want to say to her at the party.”
But Jim couldn’t say all that he wanted to say. He had only just managed to write all that he wanted to say, and now he had burned the letter holding all his words.
But he could not tell Ivy that, of course, so instead he told her: “I have not a present to give her.”
“I am sure that she will not mind.”
“But I did not give her one for Christmas, and she gave me that sketchbook, and now…”
“Then why don’t you sketch something for her?” Ivy suggested. “You have a couple of hours until you need to be there, after all. She is always spending time at the Astronomy tower. Maybe you could draw the view from there, or something like that? Or you could get her something little. She likes chocolate.” Jim said nothing, and Ivy sighed and stood up. “Very well. But believe me, Jim, you will be better showing up empty handed than not going at all.”
With that, Ivy walked away in the direction of the dormitories, leaving Jim alone with the last dying embers of what he had intended to give to Héloïse.
A blush rose to the old woman’s cheeks as the images faded into the mist. “You asked,” she reminded me.
“Ok, we can go back to quidditch,” I laughed, holding my hands up in defeat.
“I thought that if anyone could understand my choice to move to Wales, it would be you. You understand the importance of love and quidditch. The Cannons are everything to you!” Ivy Anders begged her father to see her reasoning. Whether he approved or not, she was off on her greatest adventure. “You said I always had your support. I thought I was so lucky!”
Dismayed but worn down, her father relented. “I said I would support your decision to chase your dreams, Ivy. Not a boy.” Though he enjoyed his bond with his son-in-law-to-be, he knew what the life of a professional quidditch player was like and that he wanted his daughter to have no part of the grueling schedule. The thought of his little girl moving across the sea only to be left alone for six months of the year pained him. Knowing he had done the same to her mother in their early years of marriage hurt even worse. “I do not wish to see you get hurt.”
“Nothing could hurt me worse than keeping me confined to the sunflower fields and cow pastures of Chuddley. I want to see the world. I want to see parties in Puddlemere, events in Edinburgh, and soirees in Saigon. Please, daddy, do not take that chance from me,” she pleaded.
Ivy had never had any trouble expressing her desires. He was proud of her for that but confounded by her choice to give up acting for a life as a quidditch wife. Even if she had been a seeker, herself, he would have had apprehensions about seeing her off to Caerphilly. Slowly, he unhooked the golden snitch pin from his lapel and placed it in his daughter’s hand without uttering a word of defeat.
“That’s the closest I’m ever getting to a snitch again, isn’t it?” she frowned, taking the pin.
Shaking his head, he pinned the snitch to Ivy’s robes. “No, my girl. To remind you that you will always have something to chase. You have my blessing to go to Caerphilly, but never to give up on your dreams.”
Summary: The Hufflepuffs have a boating party, and Ophelia hatches a cunning plan.
OCs featured/mentioned: Ivy Anders and Bradford Pendleton @kc-and-co, Henry of Alderly @gaygryffindorgal, Maxwell Pembroke @unfortunate-arrow, Lysander Mercury @slytherindisaster, Jesse Seymour @endlessly-cursed, Selene Fraser and Alan the Ferret @lifeofkaze
Warnings: schemes.
May 1896
The sun was high in the sky and the spring bulbs had finished blooming. The castle grounds were beautiful at this time of year, but even as she wandered, Ophelia kept close to the paths. She had but one summer dress, and she did not wish to dirty it in the grass, especially not with so many eligible young men outside enjoying the warm weather.
Today, she had her heart set on going to the lake. At their most recent Art Society meeting, Jim Hexley and Lysander Mercury had invited Bradford Pendleton to join a boating party with the Hufflepuffs, and Ophelia had taken it upon herself to venture down to the lake to watch. Though she despised getting wet, she had heard rumours that one of Jim and Lysander’s companions, one Mr Henry Alderly, was not just a young gentleman of fortune, but of nobility. She simply had to see his regal behaviour for herself.
When she reached the lake, she found that she need not join in with the boats after all. On the shore, a girl she recognised as Jim Hexley’s cousin Ivy Anders had set up a picnic of small triangular sandwiches, delicately iced biscuits, and hot tea, and was watching the others lark about in the boats.
“Hello, Ophelia,” she said, immediately drawing a china plate out of the hamper in front of her. “Would you like a scone?”
Ophelia accepted the plate, which now had on it a small cake topped with cream and jam, and carefully took a seat next to Ivy on her gingham blanket.
“Thank you, Miss Anders,” she replied, in the clipped accent she had learned how to imitate from years of sharing a dormitory with Adelia and Carolyn. “This looks rather delightful.”
“You are too kind. I should eat it quickly, if I were you, before my cousin gets wind that I’m serving them and eats the whole lot.”
“I cannot imagine that Jeremiah would do such a thing,” said Ophelia, frowning deeply. Jim Hexley may have been somewhat of a bumpkin, but he had always behaved with perfect courtesy. It was a shame, really; if only he were richer, he might make a fine husband himself. And his family connections - though not as formidable as those of Bradford Pendleton or Henry Alderly - were quite proper.
“I do not mean Jimmy,” Ivy muttered darkly, and her eyes drifted across to a boat in the middle of the lake where two girls were balancing with their feet on the gunwhale, a ferret sitting atop one of their heads.
Ophelia made what she assumed was a sympathetic noise. She had forgotten about Jim Hexley’s twin sister Ethel. Perhaps his family connections were not quite so proper, after all. She really was far better off sticking to her plan, and trying her luck with Henry Alderly. She didn’t suppose that any member of the British aristocracy would have a sister who behaved in such an unladylike fashion as Ethel Hexley.
She smiled demurely as she nibbled on the scone, watching another of the boats, this one containing several of the Hufflepuff boys.
“Pray, Miss Anders,” she said, in a voice that she hoped sounded as if it only contained a trace of curiosity. “I do not think that I know all of your friends. Who is that in the boat with your cousin and Mr Mercury?”
“That tall one is Max,” Ivy informed her, her cheeks flushing slightly pink. “Maxwell Pembroke. He’s the Seeker for our house Quidditch team, I’m sure you knew that.” Ophelia did not know, but she nodded her head, and Ivy continued, “Next to him you have Jesse Seymour, and then that is Henry Alderly. You know, he’s a distant cousin of Queen Victoria.”
“Is he really?”
Ophelia continued to watch the boys with feigned indifference, though in truth, she was taking great interest in the comportment of Mr Alderly. Lord Alderly? Duke? Prince? She would have to find this out. In her head she ran through the possible titles, before deciding that Viscountess Ophelia had the nicest ring to it. Now all she had to do was convince Henry Alderly to give her a ring of her own, preferably one that glittered prettily in the light, like the brooches Marigold liked to wear. But how to get a royal gentleman to notice her?
The answer came to her quickly. She had read more than enough books to know that an honourable gentleman would always come to the aid of a lady in need. And so, as Ivy finished unpacking the picnic and the boats landed, Ophelia rose to her feet. She waited until the boating party had gathered on the shore and Henry Alderly was in close vicinity before she implemented her cunning plan.
“It is rather hot today, is it not?” she said, loudly enough for Queen Victoria’s distant cousin to hear her, all the while fanning herself gently with one hand. “It’s enough to make one feel quite light-headed.”
When no one replied, Ophelia decided to wait a few moments longer. Soon, the conversation around her came to a slight lull, and she seized her opportunity. With a loud sigh, she brought the back of her hand to her forehead and dropped to the floor, where she lay motionless with her eyes closed.
That had definitely caught someone’s attention at least, for above her, she could hear voices.
“Oh dear! She has fainted!”
“It must be the heat!”
“Should we take her to the Hospital Wing?”
Ophelia kept her eyes closed, trying not to smile to herself. Her plan had worked perfectly. Hopefully, Henry Alderly would now offer to carry her to the Hospital Wing as part of his royal duty.
“Maybe we should try to wake her first.”
“Excellent idea. Does anyone have any smelling salts?”
“Why would anyone bring smelling salts to the lake, Lysander?”
“In case someone faints!”
“We don’t need smelling salts. I have something even better. Quickly, move!”
Suddenly, a foul stench pierced Ophelia’s nostrils, making her retch slightly. The game being up, she opened her eyes and found herself looking directly at the minky-furred hindquarters of a ferret. She shrieked.
“Excellent work, Selly! You woke her up!” declared Ethel Hexley, taking the ferret away from Ophelia at last. “And excellent work by you as well, Alan. You really are such a very clever ferret.”
Ophelia spluttered as Ivy Anders eased her into a seated position and pressed a glass of apple juice into her hands.
“Here, drink this,” she told her, before turning to the boys. “Would you all please give her some air?”
And with that, the boys backed away, including Henry Alderly. Ophelia frowned. Her wonderful plan had not been so wonderful after all. She would have to try again another day.
For now, though, she would concentrate on getting the smell of ferret out of her hair.
