Never A Tale Of More Woe

Act Two: In Which Our Heroine Attends A Quidditch Match

Anna lay in bed, staring blindly through the gothic window next to her dressing table. She had thrown off the bed covers some time during the night, and was now covered only by a linen sheet and her nightrail. To her left was her cat, Nicodemus, purring away as she stroked him with an idle hand. It was summer, and the fresh warmth of May was making way for the hotter weather in June, and for most of the Hogwarts students this brought with it the promise of summer holidays; long idle days doing nothing. Anna, however, found herself wishing it was still winter, because this summer would be the end of it all. This summer, she would be returning to Harrogate and her father, never to return. This summer she would have to turn her back on the wizarding world.

Nicodemus yowled as he was unceremoniously dumped off the bed, Anna deciding that she had had enough woolgathering. Leave Hogwarts she must, but there was no point in ruining her last term over it. She dressed quickly, having adapted over to the seven years she had been at school to the point where she could manage it in five minutes - and, more to the point, without the assistance of the maid, which scandalised the few Muggle friends she had.

She was just fastening the buttons that ran down the front of her soft cotton dress, when the door to her chamber swung open violently and Amelia waltzed in. Literally. She spun round three times and then collapsed, dizzily, onto Anna's bed. Nicodemus, once more disturbed, uttered an indignant meow, and disappeared behind the wardrobe, but Anna just rolled her eyes.

"What has got into you?" she asked, adjusting her collar in the mirror.

"Have you heard the news?"

"Not knowing which news you mean, I can't say. Do get up, won't you? You'll crease your dress."

"Oh, bother the dress. I don't see why we can't just wear trousers like the boys!" She ignored Anna's horrified "Amelia!" and carried on, "Anyway, I meant the news about the ball."

"What ball?" Amelia grinned. She loved being the first to tell people things.

"The Head Master has decreed it: after the Quidditch match, and the award ceremony, the top three years will be having an impromptu ball. Oh, and the Halliday Quartet will provide the music, and we'll all waltz…" She tailed off, flopping back down on the bed, humming to herself. Anna, well aware of where her friend's thoughts were - a seventh year Gryffindor had caught her eye earlier in the year, and she had been pursuing him with great tenacity - smiled and threw the embroidery stranded on the dresser at her.

"Get up! I refuse to have you spend the morning daydreaming in my chamber!" Amelia ignored her, eyeing the embroidery with disfavour.

"Anna, what is this?"

"Sewing." She snatched back the maltreated fabric, covered in a multitude of little crosses, none of which were particularly uniform.

"Looks deadly dull." Anna sighed. Amelia was a dear, she really was, but she and tact were barely on speaking terms.

"It is. And before you ask why I bother," pre-empting Amelia's next question, "my father likes me to. My mother used to embroider a lot, you see, and I think he likes it."

"Your father likes anything that makes you seem like a Muggle," pointed out Amelia, truthfully. Anna shrugged.

"I know. But it makes him happy, so…"

"You can't make everyone happy, Anna. Golly! Look at the time! We'd better run, or we'll be late for breakfast." She leaped up and dashed out of the room, Anna following at a more sedate pace, her expression thoughtful. Perhaps if she'd been more determined when she was younger, her father would accept the fact that she was, and always would be, a witch more easily. But she hated to see him unhappy, and so she had always behaved with the utmost propriety at home, always doing as she was told, never rebutting the assumption that when she had finished at Hogwarts she would return home and pick up the strands of her former life, never -

"Look where you're going, Chartwell." She closed her eyes, willing the voice to go away. It didn't. "Still need those pinafores, I see."

"Thornton," she paused, hoping for inspiration to strike her so she could utter a setdown worthy of a Ravenclaw, "why don't you just go off and die." Inspiration had failed her, and she sounded like a first year Gryffindor in the throes of her first feud with a Slytherin. Marvellous. Just when she needed to sound as cutting as was humanly possible, she came out with "why don't you just go off and die." The urge to kick Thornton, greatly diminished from yesterday, was suddenly back with a vengeance, but she couldn't give in - not standing in the entrance of the Great Hall, with half the students already watching them curiously. She had to content herself with swishing past him coolly, a supercilious sniff her only acknowledgement of his existence. She stalked down the Ravenclaw table until she reached her seat, Amelia already half way through breakfast on her right, and Theo Marchpane pouring out pumpkin juice on her left.

"Isn't Max simply divine?" sighed Amelia, looking over Anna's shoulder.

"Only if you're thinking of Bacchus."

"Beautiful?" Anna snorted.

"I was thinking more along the lines of debauched, corrupt and insane."

"Wasn't that Caligula?" asked Theo, passing the pumpkin juice.

"He just thought he was divine." Anna thought for a moment. "Actually, that one works as well." Amelia looked at her curiously.

"Why do you dislike him so much? I think he's quite nice, really."

"Amelia! You know what his sort's like! All this pure-blood nonsense, and thinking they're so much better, and looking down on everyone else. And he's a bully," she added defiantly.

"Max? Are you sure?" Anna stared at Theo.

"What do you mean, Am I sure? Of course I am. He was being perfectly beastly to this poor first year, and -"

"Albus."

"What?"

"Short, red hair, glasses? Always looks as if he's up to some mischief?"

"Well, yes, actually."

"That's Albus. He and Max know each other. They've got this running feud going. Last week, Albus put frogs in Max's bed. God knows how he got into the Slytherins' wing, but he did. Anyway, Max hit the roof. He's probably planning a suitable revenge right now."

"Oh, I don't think that's what he's planning at the moment." Amelia's knowing tone grated on Anna, and she scowled.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"Oh, go and boil your head!" She stood up, now in a thoroughly bad mood, and stomped towards the exit. Matters were not improved when she snagged the skirt of her dress on a table, making a small tear in the flower-patterned fabric. As it was one of her favourites, she was nearly in tears as she left the hall, cross that she'd spoiled her dress, cross at Amelia and Theo, cross that she'd have to go home to Harrogate and talk to old ladies drinking horrible water, cross at Max Thornton.

Unfortunately for Max, he chose that moment to approach her again.

"Look here, Chartwell, I'm sorry if I -"

"Oh, leave me alone!"

"I just -"

"I hate you! Go away!" She made to storm past him, but he caught her arm.

"Look, all I wanted was to… Are you crying?" Anna sniffed.

"No."

"Yes, you are."

"Oh, all right, I am. Happy now?" She looked very woebegone standing there, and Max almost smiled, until he realised that she would probably take it the wrong way. He took her arm, and pulled her into one of the window recesses, then whipped a handkerchief from his pocket, and carefully wiped under her eyes.

"What's the matter?" Anna's chin wobbled at the gentle tone in his voice, and she found herself wanting to tell him all her problems, but pride stopped her. She shrugged stiffly.

"Oh, you know. Problems. The usual sort of thing, I'm afraid." He didn't push her, but handed her the handkerchief.

"Well, whenever you want to talk about them - your problems, I mean - I'm always around." And he walked off, leaving her standing there, clutching his handkerchief.

But not for long, as a couple of minutes later both Theo and Amelia came out of the hall, talking quietly to each other. As soon as Theo saw her, he pulled Amelia along, until the pair were standing in front of their friend.

"We're sorry we teased you and will you still be friends and come to the Quidditch match with us?" Amelia spoke in a long rush, and Anna laughed - a somewhat watery laugh, it must be said, but it reassured her friends, and Amelia tucked one hand in Theo's arm and the other in Anna's and all three went back to Ravenclaw common room.

The Quidditch match scheduled for that afternoon was between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, and would be a fairly short matter, as everyone knew the Hufflepuff team was the worst team Hogwarts had seen in about a decade. Slytherin, on the other hand, was a good team, and they were determined to win this match, as it would put them ahead on Gryffindor on points, and, as it was the last match of the year, it would win them the Quidditch Cup. The Ravenclaws, for whom Quidditch was not that important (with the exception of Randolph Quirke, their captain), were fairly impartial as to the result, and it was a light-hearted group who made its way to the Quidditch stands. Very soon the match was underway.

"And it's Ambley from Hufflepuff with the Quaffle…he's making good time to the Slytherin goals…ooh, neatly deflected Bludger there by Alexander, best we've seen from him all year…and - ouch! That's a foul! Blatant foul on the Hufflepuff player…no, the referee's letting it go, and it's Thornton with the Quaffle…heading up to the Hufflepuff goals…to Edmonton….to Hewitt…back to Thornton, they're really flying, these three…where's the Goalkeeper? Where's Forrester? Ah, too late! Thornton scores! Ten points to Slytherin!"

The match continued in much the same vein for the next hour or so, until the score stood at one hundred and thirty to forty in Slytherin's favour, with no sign of the Snitch, though the teams' seekers were zig-zagging furiously across the pitch, in the hope of catching that glint of gold.

Amelia exhaled gustily. "It's going to be ages," she said dolefully. "And it's not even exciting."

"Slytherin are too good," agreed Theo. "Takes the fun out." Anna didn't say anything. She was too busy trying to use a cleaning charm to get mud out of the hem of her skirts.

"Now it's Hewitt, making a break for the goals…where are the Hufflepuff Chasers? Where's the defence? Where's…He's seen the Snitch! Camberwell's diving for the Snitch!…the Hufflepuff Beaters have seen him too…Alexander whacks it to McVitie..McVitie aims at Camberwell…he'll be knocked off…and there's Thornton!…Thornton's off! The Slytherin captain is off and out for the count!"

Hubbub ensued, with Hufflepuffs coming down to land, the Slytherins doing the same, the Slytherins looking threateningly at the Hufflepuffs, the Hufflepuffs hastily mounting their brooms again and hovering six feet in the air, the referee and school nurse bustling around Max Thornton, Max, lying there, looking quite happy at all the attention.

Of course, in the Ravenclaw stand, they were oblivious to this: attention was firmly focussed on seventh year Anna Chartwell and her horrified shriek of, "Max!" She had leapt out of her seat, all thoughts of muddy hems forgotten, her hand flying to her mouth in shock, and remained that way, her heart beating loudly in her chest, until the nurse had looked up from Max and nodded to the crowd in general. Then Anna became aware of the people around her, staring at her in curiosity, and in the case of her best friends, outright amusement.

"Hate him, do you?" Amelia asked sweetly. Anna abandoned all dignity, gave into the impulse, and kicked her, which unfortunately a) didn't hurt her at all through two petticoats and her dress, and b) just made her smile all the more smug.

"He could have been seriously hurt," she explained defiantly. "It was simple human compassion." This was in the most pompous tones she could muster, but it still had little noticeable effect on Amelia, who continued to grin at her like an escapee from Bedlam.

"Nobody screeches like that out of human compassion," Theo pointed out kindly, which contribution merely resulted in his being kicked as well. Anna was nothing if not fair.

"You are both callous brutes," she said calmly, though there was a red flush on her cheeks. "If you don't care that one of our school-mates could have been killed, I do. I'm going to see if he's all right."

"Of course he's all right - look, he's getting back on his broom!" But Theo was talking to thin air, because Anna had already whisked herself down the rickety wooden steps to the bottom of the stands, and thence to the side of the pitch where the Slytherin team were gathered. Hewitt nudged Camberwell, who elbowed Edmonton, who kicked his captain in the ankle. Max Thornton turned round, ready and willing to deal Edmonton one where it would hurt, to find a blushing Anna Chartwell in front of him, twisting her fingers together.

"I - er - I just came to check that you were all right," she said hesitantly. Max grinned. This was the life. They were on track for winning the Quidditch Cup, not to mention the House Cup; life stretched out before him in glorious technicolour; and the prettiest girl he knew was concerned that he'd almost been bludgeoned to death. In every cloud there was a lining of silver, as his completely insane and yet cliché-ridden grandmother had always said. He almost flexed his biceps at her in general enthusiasm.

"I'm fine." He nodded at her.

"That's good." She nodded back at him.

They looked at each other, and nodded a bit more. Then she gestured vaguely in the direction of the impatiently-waiting Slytherin team. "Well, you'd better…"

"Yes." Max gestured vaguely in the direction of the Ravenclaw stand. "And you'd better…"

"Yes." They nodded at each other once again, and then, almost in concert, turned their backs, and returned to their previous positions. Yes, thought Max, as he flew a quick loop-the-loop. This was the life indeed.

Act Three: In Which Our Heroine Dances The Waltz