title reference | outfit

"Look, it's been fu-- fair." Lou admitted, staring straight into the eyes of... the red quaffle. "But you're being a bit of a prat, really, aren't you?" She winced with seeming apology-- almost a smile, or a cute wrinkle of her nose. She supposed it would be easiest that way. No use exploding over spilt whiskey. She'd done enough of that in the past two weeks, what with George and Edmund at each other's throats, and George's useless ex weeping all over Lou's boyfriend.

She nodded, giving herself a passing grade as she mindlessly turned the ball in her gloveless palms, humming the pre-match tune that always meant a game was about to start on the Wireless.

She'd told Edmund to meet her here, in the locker rooms, where she could be loud, if she needed to be. She'd been tempted to do it halfway between Gryffindor and Ravenclaws towers on the seventh floor, but she thought the professors rather fancied their windows after they'd been restored post-battle some mere decade ago.

It was raining dragons outside, but Lou stuck her to her plan. Enough was enough. She wanted it over with before she changed her mind, as Edmund's face was like to make her do. A prat he might have been where George was concerned, but he was also a rather adorable, charming, flirty thing and a damn good snog. She'd grown attached to him, and not just physically. But she couldn't take this anymore. They were about to graduate, and who needed all that weight of a boyfriend who hated her own flesh blood, and whose bandy-legged sidekick in short skirts never seemed to stop... existing?

Lou paced back and forth, mentally hexing herself so that she might look more like a Gryffindor, more like a Carter, and less like a sappy loser.

Outfit

Edmund was nervous. Things had changed with Lou, and they'd become unbearably distant. Of course, some blame did belong with the boyfriend of the relationship - he hated George more than anything, and his friendship with Waker had become questionable. Edmund knew that the slightest bit of gossip travelled through Hogwarts quicker than Laney Irving on a Firebolt, and the image of the Head Girl sat on his lap crying tears of anguish into his collar would've set many tongues wagging. Lou must have heard about it, and his guilt was becoming unbearable. He'd never physically cheated on his girlfriend, but the mere thought of lusting after another girl was exceedingly dangerous.

And so, with a timid and heavy heart, Edmund travelled to the decided meeting point: the locker rooms near the Quidditch pitch. The impending sense of teenage doom and heartbreak was everywhere, and Edmund knew exactly what was coming. He'd already mentally prepared to counter her claims, however his motivation was more reconciliatory than competitive. Edmund didn't want to win Lou in an argument, he just wanted her back like they used to be; constant banter, constant kisses, constant longing. And he'd messed it all up.

He slowly crept into the locker room and saw her pacing up and down the locker room. She looked so serious, so little like the Lou he adored, yet he just wanted to blurt out a long-winded apology to save the argument that was going to occur. He'd already got in touch with Clarissa for some sisterly (and female) advice, and whilst she did think her brother had acted in a rather annoying (and so typically adolescent) way, she'd told him not to worry, that Lou wouldn't mind if he explained himself. Seeing his girlfriend now just made Edmund's heart sink - it seemed that she did indeed mind, and she minded an incredible amount.

"Hey..." he managed to say, and flashed her a smile, but there was none of the usual Edmund Klint swagger. The wide-eyed boy looked nervous. Taking a few steps forward to face her, he placed a hand on her waist, lightly kissing her cheek. It was a bold move, but Edmund couldn't help himself. "Is everything... alright?"

Obviously not.

Lou turned like a frigid ghost in his grasp, seeping through the cracks and chilling the room as she tried to compose a face for the coming event. Her mind was like bad traffic: ugly and crowded. When she saw his beautiful brown eyes, always more hunger-inducing chocolate, and those lips-- exquisite, perfectly made-- she wanted to smack herself. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to fall down and cry and laugh and cry some more and tell him how bloody stupid she was, how sorry she was for thinking she had any right to break up with him, to break his heart. Instead, her arm found their way to her elbows, crossing themselves even within Edmund's hold.

She was staring at him for an uncomfortably long stretch now, puzzling over him, her awkward face and defensive stance completely un-Emmylou-like. She swore her cheek stung where he'd kissed her. It was going to haunt her. She wanted to pull a pillow over her face and groan, like she often did when someone's banshee alarm went off an hour early... or an hour after she and Quinn has stopped giggling and conspiring under covers long enough to catch a cat nap. Poor Grace, it was no wonder she looked so exhausted of late.

Her face had answered his question; there was no doubt about it. His own was... wary... even as she'd turned to face him. He knew. Somehow, he knew.

"No," she said simply, finally letting her arms drop to her sides, and wiggling lightly away from his hand. "It hasn't been for a while, has it?" She tried to gauge how he'd been feeling. Maybe it would make this easier. "Edmund... I--" She stopped, let out a loud breath, her mouth closed. "This is a bad time for us to be rowing. I don't want to go into N.E.W.T.s imagining you there at the end of my wand while I cast whatever nasty spell they want me to do for them. I want to do this the proper way and be done with it."

She twitched. It was all she could do not to wince. It hadn't sounded so cow-like in her head. They certainly weren't the words she'd practiced. Those had left when he'd stepped into the room. Maybe he wouldn't care... maybe he felt the same. Yes. That was it. She told herself that, clung to the idea, ran with it and didn't look back. All while she stood perfectly still.

She made no attempt to even make contact with Edmund, her arms barricading him from any sense of warmth or affinity with his girlfriend. Edmund winced, as if physically pained by Lou's brutal rebuff, wide-eyes peering into hers searching. His laps parted for a second, as if searching for the right words to say, but nothing would come out. He half-expected Lou to burst out laughing, to give him a nudge and tell him that she was merely joking and just wanted to keep the Ravenclaw on his toes.

But, for poor Edmund, the punchline never came. This wasn't a joke; it was the golden boy's first taste of just how painful life could get. He wasn't used to losing, and he certainly wasn't used to being left behind for a girl he truly cared for. Lou wasn't like the rest; she wasn't the girl who'd shared a few fumbles in the dark, the girl he'd taken out a few times and got bored, or the girl Edmund absent-mindedly flirted with over a pile of Arithmancy textbooks. Lou meant so much more than that.

As she begun her speech that Edmund presumed was all pre-meditated, he bit down on his bottom lip, hard. One of his hands sunk into his pocket whilst the other immediately grabbed one of hers, nervous, affectionate fingers refusing to let her go.
"I'm s-sorry, Lou," he stammered, a dastardly lump forming in the back of his throat as his voice was on the brink of cracking. "I'm really sorry. I know I've been rubbish, man, I've been shit recently, and all that business with Waker and George, I was just mad, and I didn't realise how much of an idiot I was being." The desperation in his voice was unbearable, even for Edmund, so only Merlin could know how difficult it was for Lou. He began to ramble, his voice picking up in speed, his hand still clasping hers. "You know you mean more to me than anyone, Lou, I can change, I promise. I can change."

A fleeting silence fell upon them, and Edmund sighed, his eyes glancing down at the floor. He didn't want Lou to see him cry. Nobody other than his parents had ever seen him cry. He swallowed, hard, and his eyes flicked back up to meet hers. Large marbles of tears had begun to appear on the bottom lids of two deliciously brown eyes.

"Please, Lou," he almost whispered, shaking his head swiftly. "Please don't do this."

Emmylou winced, looking down at the space between their feet. It was so much easier than looking at his face. She didn't have to imagine tears, because she'd never seen him cry. She couldn't fathom it, really. But his voice...

"Edmund, don't kick yourself over it. It's not just you. I mean, yeah, you've been a bit... well, I can't have you and George at each other's throats. It's nice that you want to change, but I'm not so sure people do... not in a couple of hours, anyway. I don't have time to stand around waiting for you to change, and you don't have time either. You need to pass your exams and get out of this place. If you want to crawl up Nolan's skirt, go for it. I can't stop you anymore. This is not working for me."

She knew how cruel she sounded, she was fully aware of it now, though she hadn't been a moment ago. But she couldn't stop herself. Sometimes all of that Gryffindor pride and bravery welled up and gushed out in the worst possible way; now was one of those times.

She looked up finally, catching his eye. She wanted to hex herself again, but she stood still. Reaching out gingerly, feet still planted in place, she touched his arm. "It hurts me, too," she murmured. "You think I want to break your heart? You think I want to see you cry and know that it's my fault? But you're Edmund Klint. You can't tell me in a week's time you won't be wooing some new girl from your fan club. You'll have forgotten my name." She tried to smile, to be cheerful about the prospect, but she felt like a prat. The idea of someone being able to really break his heart was amazing, and she took solace in pretending to believe that she wasn't special enough to do it. But he was crying... The awkward grin was short-lived, and slipped from her face like the tears on his cheeks.

She stepped closer, tightening her grip on his arm, and raised herself to the level of his cheek. "Don't change," she whispered. Even if he'd been a tosser, she liked him the way he was, and Emily Louise Carter had no business telling people to be more moral, more cordial. She moved away again, biting her lip, giving him one more look, and turned her back to him. She felt the sting in her own eyes now. She tried to keep her voice smooth. "Might want to go before the rain gets worse, yeah?"

Edmund lost his cool. Ever since he met Lou, it had become a worryingly regular occurrence. The Ravenclaw heartbreaker had melted, and it made him even angrier. The mention of 'crawling up Nolan's skirt' caused the boy to shake his head vigorously, teeth gritted in confusion. How could she be so... optimistic? Had he meant nothing? A thick and clear tear drop fell from his left eye, only to be hastily wiped away with the back of his hand.
"I don't want Waker, it's not like that," he muttered, his voice brimming with frustration. "It was George, he just made me mad about - it's not the point, anyway." Edmund's train of thought was hurtling three hundred miles per hour across several tracks and landscapes; the poor boy just couldn't think straight. It was all far too hazy and desperate. "I want you, nobody else."

He listened to her vocal reasoning intently, trying to find a snag or snare in every single word, trying to find an unwritten rule or clause to convince her to take him back. No matter how hard he paid attention, Lou was flawless. She'd planned this, and it made him feel ten times worse. The awkward grin that appeared on her face made Edmund want to snap his beloved broomstick over his own head. She drove him insane.
"Don't smile," he immediately replied, his voice raising a little in volume. "Just - don't smile, it's not funny, Lou." Edmund took a few steps back, turning away from her momentarily with both hands placed behind his head. He took a few deep breaths, feeling a sudden pang of crimson and heat stir in his face. Spinning back round, Edmund squinted, still trying to get his head around her sudden change of heart. "Am I just a big joke to you? Just some guy you picked up before exams got a little heavy?" his wide eyes met hers, searching for some sort of answer or resolution. "We're good together, Lou, we have good stuff here." He sunk down to a nearby bench, staring at the wall opposite. He swallowed, hard, her whisper still ringing in his ear.

Edmund ignored her suggestion to leave, not daring to look at her; the thought of her face made him want to explode. He sighed, resting his feet on the opposite bench, hands interlocked.
"I'll go in a bit," came his reply, blank and monotonous. Edmund was quite aware his eyes were still crammed with tears, and only Lou had permission to view the Ravenclaw in this state. "I don't want the lads to see me like this." Leon, Thatcher and the others would probably find Edmund's sadness understandable, but he still had a reputation to uphold. Being down was acceptable, being tearful however, was not.

Edmund didn't speak for a minute, which seemed to last for a millennium. The silence was unbearable. She was not his girlfriend, and there was no way he could even fathom the territory of 'just friends'. A thought was immediately conjured in his mind.

"Is there somebody else?" Edmund asked, finally turning his eyes to hers. The frustration, the fleeting anger had disappeared, leaving behind a boyish innocence that only somebody like Edmund could experience in an identical situation.

Lou could feel her peachy hues turning colors they usually didn't know-- washed-out rose, burn grapefruit, brick. Edmund's voice was dangerously quiet, his words more cutting than any spell. How could silly syllables hurt so bad? How could Lou hurt him so bad? Worse, she knew he was being perfectly honest, frightfully blunt through the tears and raw throat.

Her smiles did little to mask the kaleidoscope of colors in her cheeks, or the pathetic flame flicker that was her grin, there and gone.

She winced. "I'm not--" But she was. She was smiling. Because she thought it would help, thought it would calm him down, calm herself down. It only served to be stupid, cowish, cruel. It made her feel like she was looking at herself break up with Edmund in a fun house mirror. It wasn't real, but it was. It was all around her, inescapable, distorted but true, perfectly horrible.

"I don't want the lads to see me like this."

As she wandered away, a sigh escaped her, and Emmylou closed her eyes, her fingers finding their way to her heart. She grazed it, and let arms collapse to her sides like straw limbs. It hurt to breathe when she heard him say such a silly, boyish, prideful thing. It was so stubborn! So Edmund. It was part of why she fancied him so much: he put her own pride in check. Now she was swallowing both their pride.

"Is there somebody else?"

Eyes snapping open, wide and wider still, Emmy spun on her heels as if she could Apparate here in the locker rooms. Hogwarts rules surely didn't apply to such embarrassing situations! "What?" She asked accusingly, clearly offended, her own voice rising an octave, as if someone had shot helium down her throat from the tip of their wand. She sounded like a house-elf and looked like Woolfolk on a Pink Wednesday, when the new lab rat 'charity project' had accidentally shown up in pee yellow.

"Of course not!"

She took a step closer, shaking her head with absurd energy. She pointed a hand at him, but her arm seemed to be made of jelly and muscle spasms. "Do you think I'm some tart because I snogged you in a broom closet of twelve? Sorry, I'm not a prude like some girls, but that doesn't mean I've gone and cheated on you during my study breaks. If I'm not with you, I'm with Grace, Fauna, Quinn... Ruby... You-" know that. She could feel the color rising in her cheeks again, and suddenly her eyes couldn't stand to look at him. Ruby. Well, that was just silly. Pretend. She'd been mad, so she'd invited Ruby to marry her by the lake side. But it was as harmless as a tea party with teddy bears. Wasn't it?

Her heart was bouncing as if it had been subjected to a bumpy broom ride on one of the school's ancient models. She pursed her lips to one side, a new frown sprouting. "I just think we should see other people," she said cautiously, trying a new tactic. She decided she would avoid the prior accusation, pretend it hadn't happened. "This is... this is getting too serious." So what if she looked at other boys... or girls? It didn't mean she acted on it! She wanted Edmund, just Edmund (as far as she was willing to admit to herself). But she knew she couldn't be with him... not now... not when they were close to...

Adulthood? Something more serious than Lou had ever contemplated?

"Besides, my reputation pales to yours," she charged, though she wasn't quite sure whether it was true. She crossed her arms, stubbornness written in her face. Both Lou and Edmund were known as flirts... and neither had seemed to have a very lengthy 'relationship' in all their years at Hogwarts. This seemed the easiest way out, the great escape. But now she felt cornered, and her only way out meant soppy shoes.

Edmund glanced up, his glum face instantly transforming into something far more ferocious. How did she dare take the almost sacred moral high ground? How could she be angered by Edmund after everything that had escaped her devilish, heart-breaking lips? He rose to his feet, taking a few steps forward to meet the barrage of accusations Lou had created. He winced, biting down on his bottom lip as a few tears tumbled down blotchy, reddened cheeks - cheeks that had grazed hers, that had been blessed with stolen kisses.

"Don't even try to find a reason to be angry at me," he murmured, his cracked voice taking on a boyish, prideful growl. She'd already reduced the ice cool king to a mere puddle - this, Edmund couldn't take. "Don't even try shifting some of the blame on me so you feel less guilty." He shook his head, a scowl painted all over his face. Panged with frustration, he resumed his seat on the bench once more, his weary head rested in trembling fingers. "You can't blame me for asking: all of a sudden, you don't want to be with me, when aside from one, tiny, minor issue, we're great for one another." Edmund looked up, his eyes silently pleading. "You know we are."

"I just think we should see other people."

Rolling his head back, a defeated laugh leaped from Edmund's throat. The Ravenclaw closed his eyes, grinning momentarily before giving a long, drawn-out sigh: it was useless arguing with her. "So, there is somebody else then." The fleeting aggression had evaporated, leaving a quiet residue of melancholy failure that seemed to wash over every inch of the locker room.

Getting to his feet for a final time, Edmund shrugged, hands falling into his pockets. He gazed at Lou for a minute, giving her a smile. It felt like a farewell of sorts, and his expression could sing a thousand words: there was something he wanted to say, but it refused to fall from his tongue. Finally, Edmund's lips parted, but the level of restraint in his throat could've almost killed him.

"I-if there is someone," he almost murmured, taking a moment to pause. "Then I don't want to know who it is, just, don't let me find out. If you honestly don't want me anymore, then I'll leave you alone. Might be a bit hard for me to get my head round, like." Edmund smirked, eyes falling to the floor as an awkward hand ran through his hair. "But it's something I'll just have to accept."

He took another deep breath, frowning momentarily and kicking the wooden legs of a nearby bench lightly. Edmund relaxed as he leant against the wall, nodding as if trying to reason with himself, as if hastily finding the right thing to say. "Do you really want this?" The question sounded more like an ultimatum, and the finality within Edmund's voice was endlessly apparent. They both knew that it was going to be their last exchanged, if not forever, then for a very, very long time. Edmund was already aware of her answer, but the question needed to be asked.

Lou swished her lips to one side. He'd caught her. She tried to swallow it, crossed her arms, and knitted her brows. "I thought the reason I was breaking it off is because I am angry..." She tried stubbornly, but it was no use. And she supposed he was right, but she wasn't about to admit it. Not here, not now, not ever.

When had the locker room become so small?

"The fact is, Edmund, I am blaming you-- and me. Both of us. We grew apart. The end, alright? You're a Ravenclaw, you're smart. You'll figure it out." There. She regained her voice, her composure, her lionish brazenness. "And whether there's someone else or not, it doesn't change anything," she added, dropping her hands, letting them flex, and then holding them out at her sides, fingers stretching over hips. "But, for the record, there isn't anyone. I just think we should look for new things. No big deal..."

No, it was a huge deal.

She sighed, letting her arms drop again. She looked rather like a scarecrow: limp limbs, messy hair, leggy. A crow could have pecked her eyes, and it would have made no difference at all. They were nearly red from trying not to be. "There's no one else! Just go. Go." She was about to lose it, Emmy. He was doing her head in. She was spinning in her mind's eyes, and there was Edmund-- sad, and handsome, and pathetic in the adorable, tragic way of a boy who was showing his real heart. And she was squashing it.

"Do you really want this?"

She sighed heavily, taking a step toward him. She watched him for a long moment. Her throat began to close so that Lou was sure she'd begin to choke any moment. But she didn't. Which made it worse. "I'll go," she murmured, so softly that she barely heard herself. It was her way of answering him. Of not answering him. Of disappearing because he wouldn't.

She took more steps, more sure steps, but this time she passed right by him and didn't stop until she was standing in the rain. She didn't really want this, not really.