like weeds [séverin]

early september, 2003

Elsa left Mademoiselle Bonaccord’s office red-faced. She hadn’t yet (only a few days into the term) worked up the courage (or whatever it was -- she wasn’t a coward, things were just awkward after how they’d been left before the summer) to tell Séverin that she’d opted to make him her Co-Captain, but their Head of House had assumed Severin already knew -- and furthermore, assumed he knew that Elsa had had a say in it -- which was doubly mortifying when she’d dragged the two of them into her office to discuss plans for the Quidditch team and their practices this year.

Elsa didn’t want to return to the common room upon being released because he’d be there, along with the rest of their house and she definitely didn't want him making a scene (good or bad reaction, she wasn’t sure yet -- she’d kept facing forward, avoiding his gaze, the entire time they’d been sat with Professor Bonaccord).

The German witch made her way down the sweeping staircases, across the atrium, out to the manicured gardens where the sun was just starting to lose the heat of the day. She walked (stomped) along the gravel -- loud enough that she didn’t hear any other footsteps -- to sit on the edge of the grand fountain. She closed her eyes for a second, hands balled into fists atop her knees, and breathed in and then out. It was fine. She’d go back up when it was closer to dark and go straight to her room, he’d probably forget all about it after a night’s sleep.

She opened her eyes -- the distinct feeling that she was under observation -- and Séverin was right there, staring at her. Schiesse. He must have followed her from Bonaccord’s office. “What?” she snapped, feeling unfairly caught out for the second time in only a few minutes.


@Séverin Desrosiers

Séverin had been marginally annoyed to have been replaced from the Quidditch Captain position, but he also wasn’t that upset. It was a wound to his pride, but other than that he didn’t care much for being captain anyway and wasn’t sad about the extra free time he would have. Should he even play quidditch this year? Maybe they should see how well they did without him. Of course, when he made his way into Professor Bonaccord’s office, he had no idea what was going to happen. He had no inclination that he would be named co-Captain. Seeing that Elsa was made captain came as no shock, but him being co-Captain, after last year, and then her choosing him, was a whole new concept. For a moment, even Séverin was speechless. He recovered quickly, talking to Professor Bonaccord as though he had known the whole time—she clearly suspected as much—but when the talk was over, rather than going to the common room, he followed Elsa.

Things had been left in a strange place last year. He had tried too hard, come on too strong, and scared her away. Yet, by the end of the year even his cruelty had seemed to be forgiven to some degree. A lingering kiss was his memory of their last meeting, and he admittedly felt torn on it. He had his own taste of romance over the summer, and wondered if she had as well. It wasn’t something he wanted to tell her, and to that end it felt a bit as though he had been cheating on her… hadn’t they specifically not been together? That was how he had rationalized his relationship with Circe. Regardless, that was a different topic for a different day. For today….

“You picked me as co-Captain.” He reminded. “After last year? Why?” He demanded. He kept it to himself that he had considered not playing at all just to spite her. Of course he would play now, he couldn’t let her down when she put faith into him.

Duh, she wanted to say, but bit her tongue; she was scowling up at him because it was easier to be mad at him than at herself. She supposed it was stupid of her not to comprehend that Séverin would find out at some point, and that when he did he would want to know why -- and maybe she had known, but she had been too preoccupied with everything else on her mind to sit and work it out.

“Because,” Elsa said, turning her head away to look out at the gardens instead of at him. She had her reasons: he was a great player, he kept the team on their toes, and, as much as she loathed to admit it and it didn’t make any sense for her to, she trusted him. She wondered if she really ought to, given everything, but when she’d been asked to pick a Co-Captain he had been the first person to pop into mind, and she’d tried (really) to convince herself that someone else would be a better choice, but… he had won out every time.

Elsa shrugged one shoulder, her hands gripping the edge of the fountain on which she was sat. “You’re a good Keeper.” Hesitantly, she glanced back up at him. She wished he wouldn’t loom over her like that -- he was stupidly tall enough as it was (had he grown even taller over the summer? He looked different, somehow). “You picked me last year,” she added, a weak attempt at making this more of a I’ll scratch your back sort of arrangement in the event he was going to lord it over her.

He was a good keeper. Everyone knew it, but was that enough reason to put him partially in charge? He had been a terrible captain. He wasn’t good at leading. She knew that first-hand, but she ahd chosen him anyway. “Well, of course I picked you. I needed someone to do the heavy lifting while I slacked off.” He teased. “But seriously, you deserve this. After last year, I would’ve thought you wouldn’t even want me to play with you, let alone be your second.” He shrugged.

“Regardless, I accept. I’ll do my best for you, you know.” He offered, his voice firm but a little kinder than it usually was. He missed her over the summer. He didn’t know how to express that, and didn’t really want to bring up the summer regardless. So, instead, he bit his lip.

“Did you want to do the same student service we did last year?” He asked. “The quidditch supplies desperately need organizing, again, and it’ll go quickly if we do it together.” He offered. “We can discuss practice plans and strategies, too.”

With the way Séverin had been last year she hadn’t expected him to make a joke -- although she supposed it was self-deprecating, so maybe it wasn’t so out of character for the boy (man?) he had become. Elsa offered him a soft smirk in reply, figuring this was still better than him outright bemoaning how useless he was. Her expression shifted again when he grew more serious -- more sombre. She almost rolled her eyes but tried to focus on the compliment that had been in there. “Well, it’s not like I had a lot of options,” she said after a moment, hoping to stay in that space rather than revert to him being all depressing again -- she’d rather him angry than pathetic.

He still wasn’t moving to sit beside her. Elsa glanced up at him again as he promised--was he promising?--to do his best. She nodded and looked away, hoping her cheeks weren’t noticeably pinker in the evening light.

He spoke again--which was sort of a surprise in itself, their seemingly having a proper conversation--and Elsa looked up at him wide eyed. Was he asking her sincerely, as a friend, or was he trying to find a new version of ‘English lessons’? The thought caused her to frown softly (not because she wasn’t interested, but there were other things to consider). “I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet,” she said, avoiding giving him an answer. 

The German witch smoothed her hands down her skirt and she let out a breath. “Séverin,” she started, then hesitated, scuffing her shoe along the ground from where she was sat. “This is our last year, I have to focus,” she met his gaze, “I need to get on a team.”

Severin really didn’t know how to handle Elsa. Everything he tried seemed wrong, but he had started to give up on impressing her and just go back to the way things used to be. While this was a struggle—he was still wildly attracted to her—he had kind of decided that it wasn’t worth it to worry. While he had a glimmer of hope their student service might have turned out the way it did last semester, that wasn’t the reason he asked. He was interested in the quidditch thing. Especially with Valerian getting mousquetaire, he needed some kind of leadership role to spite him. Co-captain would do. All the glory of a position of power with none of the actual work he had put in last term.
 
He considered her last statement briefly. He knew she wanted to go pro, and he wondered if he would be interested in trying that for himself. He had a bad reputation for being a sore loser (which he was), and wasn’t the most sportsman like. Even so, he was a good, skilled player.  He could’ve probably gotten a spot as a reserve somewhere he liked… but was that what he wanted?
 
He had always thought he might like being an auror. He had told Circe he considered transferring to the United Kingdom, just to get away from Mylene’s (and his parents’) shadow. He could’ve easily gotten a job at the French ministry, but he wasn’t interested in his name paving his way. He wanted to do it himself; he was prideful in that way. “You really are serious about this quidditch business, aren’t you?” He asked, not surprised but more intrigued. “You’ll be good, I know it. What teams are you looking at?” He wondered. “I was thinking of moving after I graduate, though I don’t plan on going pro.” He admitted. “I’ve always wanted to be an auror, so I suppose it’s time I start applying for that.” He sighed.
 
“We’re both busy this year.” He explained his reasoning. “I get the hint. Still, if you ever want to talk shop…”

Séverin wasn’t saying much of anything, and Elsa wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. She wished he would just sit down instead of looming over her like that.

She glanced up at him. Of course she was serious. She opened her mouth to say so, but he spoke again, and she blinked at his groin (he was still just standing there). Elsa was about to answer him but hesitated just long enough for him to keep talking, making up for all the not-talking just before. An Auror? The witch didn’t hide her surprise. Not that she didn’t think Séverin was capable, academically -- it was more his temperament that might not be best suited, but then she’d considered the same career path if Quidditch didn’t work out— ”Is that really what you want?” she asked curiously -- not because she didn’t believe him, but it occurred to her they had never really talked about this, or much of anything outside of Quidditch and snogging.

He was being remarkably laidback about her soft rebuttal and it was making her feel a little guilty. “I’m not saying we can’t be friends,” were they friends? She supposed they could be. “I just wanted to be upfront about my priorities.” And he wasn’t the top one, was essentially what she was telling him, but she wasn’t trying to be mean or to upset him. It was just the facts. After finding out what she had about her parents, the last thing she wanted was to put a stupid crush above her entire future.

Before he could interrupt again, she blurted out: “I’m moving to England.” Or Scotland, or Wales, or Ireland. “The British League has the most opportunities,” she explained, avoiding his gaze -- remembered her eye-level was at his crotch and turned her head to the side.

Séverin didn’t want to sit down. Standing there put him a head above her, and made him feel as though he had some semblance of control over what was going on, when effectively she was telling him she wasn’t interested anymore and didn’t want to even talk about getting back together. He knew this, but hearing it annoyed him a bit. He knew they had other priorities, of course, but he had hoped to have a future with her in it. Of course, he was stupid to think his first crush could be his forever crush and maybe he was right to try to find another girl. He doubted things would continue on with Circe, but maybe he shouldn’t feel so guilty.

“Of course, I understand that.” He did, too. She was making sense, as annoyed as he was by it. “Actually, I was planning on moving to the United Kingdom as well. I’m too much a shoo-in here, with my family and the like. I want to build something for myself, and going across the channel sounds perfect for that. Besides, I just went this summer, and it was quite nice there. I spent time with a friend.” He didn’t continue, though a tiny part of him wanted to tell her to see if she would react at all. Petty, he decided to. “She and I got on fairly well, too, though I doubt we’ll keep seeing one-another.”

He wanted to keep talking, but instead he took a few steps away so she wasn’t face-first into his crotch, and let the words settle.

He didn’t answer her about being an Auror--if that was what he really wanted--so Elsa made the assumption that Séverin had just said it to try and impress her. Eyeroll.

He understood. The German witch nodded, then stopped suddenly when he announced his own plans to move. She frowned up at him. “What?” she asked, confused. Of all the places he could strike out on his own, he had to pick England? Somewhere, she was glad to hear it -- it wasn’t like she never wanted to see him again once they finished school, but it seemed silly of him not to take advantage of the headstart he’d get at the French Ministry.

But before she could think to tell him so, Sévérin was still harping on about his summer holiday, with his friend. Elsa thought nothing of it at first--surely he must have some friends, somewhere--until he said she. Her head snapped to look up at him before she could think to be more discreet. She gripped at the concrete edge of the fountain, her knuckles just barely turning white. “You’ve been seeing someone?” she asked, unable to help herself.

Did it really count as seeing someone, really? They had been talking for awhile, though not dating at all. They shared a kiss during her best friend’s birthday party. He went back to her place and they kissed more. He was fine with this, even as clothes started coming off—until she reached for the clasp of his trousers, and then be just about fell off the bed in shock.  He apologized a good bit for his nerves, but the moment was over now and she felt rather rejected, or so he thought. He wasn’t reay for anything so very close to sex, no matter what it was she really intended to do. The thought of a nude woman was enough to make him sweat and his stomach to turn into knots. It just wasn’t something he knew how to handle. 
 
He noticed her barely-white knuckles grippin the seat, and knew he had bothered her. He didn’t know if he should be sad or proud of this. There was so much between that was left unsaid, but whose fault was that? He liked her and told her. She knew how he felt about the matter. She was the one who didn’t want there to be anything between them anymore, so why be jealous? Yes, he knew it would have annoyed her… but that wasn’t why he did it. He did it to try to move on, try to find someone else. 
 
“Can you call it seeing one-another if it only happened once?” He asked, though he didn’t expand on what happened. Elsa had an imagination and could use it for all he cared. Let her think the worst. “Regardless, we didn’t continue it when I left, and I doubt very much we will pick it up again. What does it matter to you?” He wondered, looking her directly in the eye. 

Elsa’s shoulders hunched together like a cat as she glared up at Séverin, awaiting his answer -- which he didn’t really give her, asking her a question of his own instead: Can you call it seeing one-another if it only happened once?

Her stare intensified. What happened once? Kissing? More than kissing? Unintentionally, Elsa’s focus drifted to his crotch--still very much in her line of sight--before she forced herself to look back up at his face. He didn’t continue it, whatever it was -- was that supposed to make her feel better? Worse?

What did it matter to her? “It doesn’t,” she said quickly -- too quickly to be convincing. But she refused to ask him for details, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. If she thought about it though, she knew he came on strong -- that was the whole problem, for her, but that probably wasn’t an issue for other girls. Evidently, if he was telling the truth.

“I just don’t want your focus elsewhere,” she said after a moment, before her eyes widened a little. “Not on the team, I mean.” Elsa got to her feet and brushed past Séverin, pausing on his other side and turning back to face him. “This might be a game for you but this is my future.”