Enough ((Charlie))

[Ivy Tunstall]

((Set in late March! Around two weeks after Hufflepuff Quidditch Practice.))

The winter seemed to have extended into an already long overdue spring, and although warm sunshine and friendly blue skies seemed to pop up every now and then as a reminder that it was almost her birthday, Ivy couldn't really believe it, swamped as these hints were by the much longer spells of gloomy grey sky. The grass was still in its half-hearted winter green rather than showing the vibrancy it would take on when it was given more light and mixed with less mud. There was also the fact that it wasn't rain which came out of those grey clouds, but rather sleet, or worse, massive hailstones (Ivy didn't much like hailstorms). When sometimes she woke up to find the roofs partially covered in icy snow, or ventured outside to find frost on the newly-opening magnolia buds, the idea that it was past the spring equinox became, quite frankly, laughable. Yes, she'd seen the pink and white cherry blossom - heck, she'd even seen an absolutely massive bee harvesting a stunted magical hyacinth - but she'd also had to call off a Quidditch practice because it was sleeting (yes, sleeting) heavily and she'd reckoned that her team would play better without pneumonia. Whoever dared hope that spring was here was a fool, plainly ridiculous though its not having arrived yet was.

Needless to say, while the days were busy denying the occupants of Hogwarts their expected warmth, the nights were bitterly cold. Out on late night Prefect duty, Ivy was wearing a massive, shapeless wool jumper which had belonged to her father (he'd made her take it to Hogwarts with her in second year when he was sending her back to school after Christmas with a miserable cold). That was underneath her thickest woollen cloak, which wasn't quite big enough for her anymore. If she put on any more assortments of layers, she would stop being recognisable as a human shape altogether, and appear merely to be a rotund bundle of laundry, or something of the sort, albeit with a Prefect badge pinned on the front of her cloak. Ivy chuckled a little to herself as she imagined some miscreant's dismay at finding themselves put in detention by a bundle of woollen clothing.

It was the first time that Ivy had laughed while by herself in a couple of weeks. She had been a little preoccupied. It was also the first time that she'd shared her Prefect duty with Charlie in a couple of weeks. She'd swapped with Sophia last week, as coincidentally the fifth year's Astronomy class had been rearranged and had suddenly clashed with her prearranged Prefect duty slot. Ivy, of course, had been all too happy to sort the situation out for her friend, although it was debatable whether Charlie would have been quite as delighted with her eagerness to avoid him. Possibly he would, since things had hardly been easy. Ivy had been unusually taciturn over the past two weeks - of course, she was always quite reserved, but not to the point that her mealtime conversation (addressed directly to Charlie, at any rate) was limited to 'Excuse me' if she sneezed or choked or anything of the sort, and to 'Please could you pass the water, Charlie?' She had also been quite silent whilst they were working on their homework, which was often a companionable time for the group of friends - she'd taken to working in a corner of the library on her own much more often (then again, they were very busy and it was more productive), and even to retreating to the privacy of her dormitory for the activities of revision, consolidatory extra reading or therapeutic staring into space.

The whole situation (still unacknowledged as a situation) had begun with one of the first Quidditch matches of the half term, with some members of the team still failing to move on from the fact that victory had been snatched away from them by Gryffindor, at the very last minute. Ivy had somewhat suspected that Charlie might be one of those struggling to move past the defeat, but she hadn't been prepared for his... disdain when she tried to get him to focus on the practice and had also showed her concern for him at the time. Not to mention the lack of co-operation. Maybe he'd misunderstood her concern, but... well, Ivy wasn't used to misunderstanding between her and Charlie - he always seemed to know what she meant so well. She was deeply hurt whenever she remembered the look that he'd given her in the Quidditch practice; but still whenever she thought about it she couldn't understand it.

Ivy hadn't been silent because she was resentful, but rather because she was afraid of getting the same sort of response again. She had avoided saying much to Charlie lest her words somehow offend him as they had somehow done before. It was an incredibly lonely situation for her (even though it might be of her own making): to not be sure whether the person who mattered most to her wanted to hear anything she had to say. He was the person who mattered most to her now; she'd known that for a long time, but it was not until now, when she was unsure whether she'd done something to damage the friendship, that she had realised just how much she cared about him. That was why something seemed to be tugging at her heart now that they seemed to be pulling apart; something telling her that it wasn't right and that she couldn't go on like this. She didn't want to, either. She was simply afraid that, if he was still in a bad mood with her as he had seemed to be during that Quidditch practice, she would make it worse instead.

Ivy and Charlie had, theoretically, been carrying out their Prefect rounds together. In practice, Ivy had put a few yards between her and Charlie and was strolling along on her own, seemingly perfectly content. It was now just after half eleven, she found with a glance at her watch. They were patrolling near the Astronomy tower in case anybody tried to slip away from there after a lesson, rather than going straight back to their Common Room. This Prefect shift finished at midnight, after which policing the corridors was left entirely to the caretaker and Professors, and Ivy was glad of the impending end to this cold and awkward situation. She glanced back at Charlie regretfully. He didn't look quite as physically cold as she felt, but he wasn't looking up and she wasn't able to meet his eyes or guess what he was thinking. She looked ahead again and sighed. This was no use. This wasn't how friends should be.

"Charlie..." she called out to get his attention, very softly and timidly, before she stopped, startled by the echo that she'd tried to avoid by speaking quietly. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie..." the walls echoed, the sound first amplified and then growing ever fainter. Ivy blushed because her voice sounded silly in echoes. There was a window set quite high up in the wall of the corridor, with a seat that you could clamber onto if you used a narrow, uneven stone step to get half of the way up. Ivy climbed up carefully and shuffled across to the other side so as to leave plenty of room for Charlie to get up safely. "Can we talk a bit?" she asked, her voice muffled now that its echoes were confined to the niche that the window seat was set into, rather than the whole corridor. She stared down at her legs which she was swinging to keep herself warm, and wouldn't speak further until Charlie had joined her. Then she looked up at her best friend expectantly, her expression one of very brittle composure.

"Charlie," she repeated, looking down as she started to speak because she wasn't comfortable with letting him see her weakness right now, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I did to annoy you so much, but I'm sorry for it. Please... can we not go on like this? I..." - here her voice started wavering slightly - "... I can't go on like this. I don't want to lose your friendship." She looked back up at him as she said these last words, her eyes wide, dark and very serious. She felt very vulnerable waiting for his reply: of course he would be reasonable about it - he was Charlie - but she had just humbled herself to him and that put her heart in the power of someone who perhaps didn't realise how much influence he already had over it.

[Charles Driscoll H7]

Charles had never bothered to learn what Prefects did before he was appointed one since he’d never imagined he’d be chosen by the school administration to be a Prefect. He’d been quite chuffed when he got the badge over the summer, and especially delighted to learn that Ivy had too. If it had been up to him he’d have chosen her, for reserved as she was, Charles had no doubt that Ivy could be assertive when she wanted to, and that she had a good head on her shoulders. She wasn’t the sort of person that would favour her friends or forget about rules when it came to them. It took real strength of character to do that, and seeing her do that helped when he had to it. It was quite a struggle for a person like him who tried so hard to be accepted among his peers at Hogwarts. But six years at Hogwarts hadn’t passed by without Charles growing as a person.

The part of being Prefect he enjoyed was preparing for events such as Christmas at Hogwarts and things of the sort, rule enforcement he didn’t look forward to that much. He’d just recently had to confiscate a Playwitch edition he found a young Ravenclaw reading – well perhaps browsing was a better word – in one of the boys’ bathrooms. Charles hadn’t had to deal the boy any punishment, his mortification at being caught he’d decided was quite enough punishment. Filch had stared transfixed at the cover when Charles turned it in - which was quite fortunate since Charles hadn’t had to give any explanation as to how he had come across it, and had escaped the room before Filch demanded any. He had to stifle a snigger though when he looked behind him as he left quietly, only to find that the old caretaker was still gaping at the cover, which depicted a witch with a broom and nothing else strategically placed over her body.

But as he patrolled the corridors right now he wasn’t thinking about duty or setting a good example or anything like that. Ironically enough he was glad for the duty, because today it meant he had the school to himself and he didn’t feel like he was waiting for the day to end so he could run to his dorms instead of looking to find a place in Hogwarts where he could be alone. He glanced at Ivy’s back and held back a sigh. The first time he’d seen the broken girl that had been hiding for so long inside Ivy seemed far. Like Charles Ivy had had a lot to get over, a lot to face, and a lot to accept about herself. When Charles had first learnt the truth about her he’d been worried for days that her mother might somehow come back into Ivy’s life and torment her once again or somehow find a way to hurt Ivy and make her doubt herself. But he didn’t know or how the shift had exactly occurred but he knew that they were stronger – both of them – and even if her mother did somehow come back into the picture for Ivy she might hurt her but not break her. Charles was not the same person who had lain for almost a week on the couch in his living room, feeling like his whole family had disappeared in an instant. And Ivy wasn’t the girl who’d been scared to go into her father’s bedroom and feel like she had no roots. Their families had been a starting point – and he liked to think that in each other they’d found more than just friendship – they’d found the family they wanted.

Quidditch wasn’t the only thing worrying him. He was also worried about Samantha whose letters had been more cheerful as of late but she never mentioned plans for the future. He hated having to be far from her this year – they had spent so much time avoiding each other at Hogwarts and now they actually liked each other he couldn’t see her at all. Sometimes it took just one thing to go wrong in your life to darken your world and make you dwell on everything else you were worried about. That was what was weighing on his mind at the moment. And Samantha was a subject he really didn’t want to discuss with Ivy, even though it wasn’t something that instantly changed her as it once had.

He was a little shaken when he heard the echo of her voice and looked at her to see what was in her eyes. He hadn’t been prepared to talk to her tonight at all. He felt remorseful at her few words and realised for the first time how his behaviour must have appeared to her. He’d been too wrapped up in himself to notice that she’d cared about his being so quiet over the past days. He’d thought he could get away with staying silent till after the upcoming match with Slytherin. “I’m sorry Ivy, it’s not you, I promise it isn’t,” he said. He resolved himself to that fact that he was going to give some sort of explanation. He stared at her for a few long moments, and then took a deep breath and found himself tripping over what he was trying to express. “This is just something I have to go through. I suppose you think it’s about you because I’m so used to telling my best friend everything and this is something I can’t talk to you about and so I get irritated when I’m around you. You’re used to seeing me never care about what people are saying or thinking about me – I got over the whole his-sister’s-in-Azkaban-and-his-father-made-his-fortune-all-out-of-the-Dark-Arts-and-his-mother-killed-herself-she-was-so-humiliated phase and everyone looking at me like I was supposed to break down any second. But it seems like I finally distance myself from that and everyone’s talking about how I lost Hufflepuff the match when you were all doing so well. And I don’t want to talk to you about that. I don’t want to talk about what makes me still want to play the next game, because frankly it isn’t any good brave reason like “I’m going to show them” or “I know I can win the next time” or “you win some and you lose some”,” he said. This brutal honesty was embarrassing and frustrating him. In his haste to say something he had said too much. “I feel small because I can’t be a good sport or go to that ‘I’m-perfect- just-the-way-I-am’ place I thought I could always go to,” he admitted finally. Damn it. And on top of all that I’ve never let you down before.

Standing so close to Ivy was also surprisingly rattling him for some reason. “I have to admit I’m a little annoyed though that you look like a potato with two chopsticks stuck into its bottom. People are going to find difficulty taking us seriously if we try to deal out any punishment s or take away points,” he said, attempting to inject levity into their tense conversation.

[Ivy Tunstall]

Ivy tugged at her hair as she waited for Charlie to justify his first statement, a nervous habit that you wouldn't catch her satisfying nearly so much nowadays as she used to. Still, it got a fair few tugs today, and hard ones too. She was angry with herself for the fact that her eyes were prickling and she found that right now she wanted just to snap at Charlie - the person whom she cared so much for - and turn her back on him so that she could cry quietly to herself, not humiliate herself in front of someone who 'got irritated when he was around her'. He surely hadn't intended to hurt her further, but that phrase cut her to the core. How, then, was she supposed to ameliorate that sorry situation? It seemed unfair that she should be a source of irritation to him when he'd assured her that it wasn't her fault. She would have accepted it if he'd explained what part of the blame lay with her – at least she could have done something about it. As it was, she was hard pressed to take in what he was saying subsequent to that – he’d given her enough ill-thought-out phrases to haunt her for months.

She didn’t look up at Charlie as he came out with a tirade about the preconceptions people had used to view him with after Samantha had used an Unforgivable Curse. Ivy of course had trouble letting go of hugely hurtful things like that – far more than Charlie did – but she didn’t approve of mentioning them like that, preferring just to let it sink into her subconscious forgetfulness, if that was at all possible. Something that she carried around with her, private from everyone else. Charlie wasn’t like that. ‘I suppose you think it’s about you’, he’d said – most unjustly, her feelings told her in indignation. ‘No, it seems to be very much about you,’ she was tempted to interrupt. The bitter thought certainly came to mind, but she bit her tongue. She weighed her words before she spoke – even when her temper had been provoked as it had now – and she wasn’t of the temperament to cause hurt from hasty words that she hadn’t actually meant.

He had finally finished spilling out things that she probably hadn’t wanted to hear. At least they’d talked to each other. Her throat constricting, she took a small calming breath that she breathed out with a little “Humph.” She refused to look towards him for a minute or so, wiping away the tears glistening on her cheeks with an impotent anger. Finally, she sniffed a little to herself and deigned to reply. “Is there anything you do want to talk to me about?” she asked, very quietly, mild but deadly serious. The awkward silence fuelled her anger. “Because if playing Quidditch is going to make you feel ‘irritated’ just by being in my presence, do you think it’s worth that? It’s not worth it for me,” she observed thoughtfully. “But it’s your decision, don’t worry,” she continued on quickly, glaring at him, “I’m not going to intervene in any petty way and not let you play because of my own personal feelings. You’re the most experienced Seeker we’ve got so it wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the team – if you can’t produce the goods I don’t think anyone else can.” She sighed. “But if that’s what’s making us so repugnant to each other, please for goodness sake…” ‘Get a grip’, she thought, “…don’t,” she told him, almost as forcefully. “Don’t be like that,” she pleaded.

Vanity was not one of Ivy's weaknesses, but she was a member of the female species and she completely failed to see the humour in his teasing about her excessive clothing. It was a wholly inappropriate time to poke fun at her, so it just came across to her as being cruel. “Well, I'm sorry for prioritising warmth over attractiveness,” she retorted sarcastically. “I didn't know you cared. Somehow, I don't think they'd take me seriously if my teeth were chattering as I tried to take points either.” She gave him a level look, her eyes flashing angrily. In all honesty, she was somewhat hurt that he'd chosen to describe her in that way - for some reason it mattered to her that he thought a little better of her than that she looked like a strange combination of a giant spud and oriental eating implements. She frowned to herself and attempted to give a more measured response:
“If you would prefer, I can put on another couple of pairs of trousers and imitate a sausage instead.”

[Charles Driscoll H7]

Ivy’s anger had been pent up for a long time and he’d been oblivious to it, but now it hit him with the force of a tidal wave. Charles had just verbalised what he was feeling without much consideration for Ivy, taking it for granted that she would forgive him. The combination of frustration and self-pity he’d been feeling were replaced by shock. He stared at Ivy completely taken aback; her attempts at self-composure hurting him since he knew that the faint hints he had come to recognise usually masked a great deal of pain. And they weren’t really remaining faint – when she looked at him he felt his heart drop into his stomach. This was so much worse than losing the match. “Well this is exactly why I shut up – I knew I’d put my foot in my mouth the moment I opened it. I’m not irritated at you Ivy, I’m irritated at myself and it gets worse when I’m around you. I can’t fix it and you can’t fix it and we’ll have to – ” Charles clapped his hand over his mouth because he could sense he was only making things worse.

He stood up, and his eyes prickled and he felt his face warm up. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. He spread his arms in a desperate gesture, then let them hang by his sides. “Of course I want to talk to you… I’ve just been preoccupied. I wasn’t intentionally ignoring you. I should have been more careful, I know this meant just as much to you but I’d rather lose a hundred matches than lose your friendship,” he said sincerely. He smiled suddenly, because simply saying that out loud was a reminder of how lucky they were to share what they had. “Thanks for having faith in me,” he said quietly after a few moments, his face solemn. “Repugnant,” he repeated faintly, looking away and shaking his head, the word almost leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

[Ivy Tunstall]

Charlie stared back and as she met his eyes with her own glare, her chest burned with desperate emotions: anger and hurt and something else, something that recognised her friend in the eyes of this person who was coming out with so many things the Charlie she knew wouldn't usually say. She didn't want to be arguing with her best friend and all the positive regard she held him in battled with her current anger, mixing into acute mental pain. It hurt to fight with someone whom you loved - that was the only word strong enough for how she felt, although she wasn't analysing it consciously so the feeling wasn't verbalised - and Ivy couldn't stand the pain of being reminded about what he was to her, so she broke eye contact before it made her want to weep. "No don't - don't be like that," she murmured, as he continued talking, her voice sticking in her throat. "I meant that, those sorts of words," she said, louder, as Charlie had suddenly stopped speaking and she didn't know why. "I wish you didn't feel like... that, please, I don't want to hear any more if that's the way that I somehow make you feel because I can't do anything to change it and I don't want things to be like that. Please stop."

Her long plea had been unnecessary, because Charlie had already shut up. He'd also stood up, and Ivy watched him fearfully, wondering whether he was going to walk off and leave her all alone. He didn't do that, though - instead he apologised, for the first time in their conversation leaving himself unjustified. Ivy couldn't see the colour in his cheeks because it was too dark, but the tone of his voice suggested that he did care, that he did mean it. She jumped down from the high windowseat, jarring her knees, and faced him, meeting his eyes with a somewhat less hostile look. "I'm sorry too," she replied, "I'm sorry but I don't know how to believe you - after everything you've just said, I can't believe that you do want to talk to me if I do just make everything worse." She couldn't smile back at him, and she heard him repeat an ugly word that she'd used before.

"Yes, repugnant, Charles," she said, rounding on him, "I do find what you've said repugnant - you could specialise in saying completely the wrong thing - and apparently my appearance is repugnant." She sighed, deflating as her anger subsided. "I am sorry," she told Charlie, stepping up to him, seeking physical closeness because she needed his support. She buried her face in the warm clothing of his shoulder and hit him weakly on the chest a couple of times as her uncurling fists came to rest there, her body wracked with silent sobs. She was already emotionally exhausted, and she remained dry-eyed, but couldn't help shaking as the anger and offence died away and she was left with only the hollow feeling from just having argued. She knew now that it wasn't something she could afford to do with Charlie too often - it was still him she wanted to turn to for comfort even when they'd just had a disagreement.

After a long while, when she had cried her emotion out, she hugged him slowly and tentatively, grateful to be able to feel that no words were needed to express the fact that she was ready for them to forgive each other. They couldn't change how or why the tension between them had arisen; they'd just have to move on past it. Ivy was ready to do that. She gave Charlie a weak smile, and then looked down to survey her figure, or current lack thereof. She was squishy.
"Do-do I really look like a potato?" she asked him half-anxiously.