The scream in the screen of green burned into his ears as the simple joyous yell of the mass of maroon pressed against him like a physical force. Not that he wasn’t used to it. Whatever was said about supposed equal houses, and camaraderie, none of the other houses, on a whole, really ever wanted Slytherin to win over the brave and noble Gryffindor. Not that that rule applied to everybody. Turning his broom in his usual pre-match spin around the feel, he noticed a smiling, waving face; though his older sister was wearing the colours of her house, her hair was, from root to tip, a brilliant, iridescent shade of green. A quick grin flashed over Louis’ face, the action surprisingly nature on the normally sullen face. Even if her dorm-mates, and the normally fairly tolerant Connor, wore scowls, and kept on shooting furtive looks at the shade, she took no mind. He could always rely on her.
If only all of his family was. His eyes wandered as he passed the Ravenclaw section of the stands, and he noticed that, as usual, Victoire had neglected to support his side. She was covered from head to toe in gold and the deepest of reds; even teasing out her hair and doing catlike makeup, so there was no mistaking in which side she favored. To add insult to the subtle, and nastily pointed injury, she reached over, whispering into the ear of the large, and rather brutish boy besides her. He looked up, and they had a good laugh together about something or another. The laughter was not pleasant laughter, and rather louder than it needed to be. The boy was a substitute keeper for Gryffindor; a player that was only benched because of his temper issues and low scores in coursework. He did not like Louis; in fact, his deep-seated dislike for him surpassed even the fact he was a Slytherin. No, he had done something unforgivable, in the Roland’s views, something he could not possibly ever fix, even if he wanted.
Louis existed, and was quite by accident, better than Roland at everything. Even worse, he wasn’t conceited enough to mention it. It was the air of silent superiority, or rather, the assumed air, for, if he was to be completely honest, the fact that his sister would take interest in somebody so openly unappealing disquieted him more than the actuality of him. She had shot him the briefest of looks before whispering. He flew over Dominique, and found she too, was staring at Victoire in shock. Louis didn’t need to talk to her to know what she was thinking. “She’s doing it again. Manipulating, kissing the lips with the tongue she used to lie. When will she learn? Hearts are not to be skewered and roasted; they aren’t a delicacy like the escargot mother serves. Nor are they to be pinned to boards like exotic butterflies, to be hung up on her wall for company.” He had just shaken his head then, not wanting to be involved. As usual, Dominique had been right. Victoire had not only stepped over the line; she had tried to wipe it away, as if it was drawn with chalk.
He swung his broom into position, catching the eyes of the captain. Louis nodded curtly; Eileen had winked at him, her curly hair already unbelievably messy, and they were off. He focused fully on the game for a while, but his mind slowly wandered. The problem with his team was that they were too good for him. The beaters, Boyle and Blakefield, hurtled around like the Bludgers, knocking a shuddering fourth year from her broom with the wind they created. She was close to the ground, which was a piece of luck for both sides, but that was worth a chance to the goal. He batted away the ball with little thought; he had only to look at the third year, and her confidence fell away like a hollow shell. It wasn’t deliberate, simply the feeling he gave most people. His eyes were deep, almost always hidden beneath deep brows and a brooding expression he wore the way most people wear their favorite item of clothing. His height, and his upright position and poise, could hardly help. Even at his age, he was towering above the rest of his family, and showed no signs of stopping. On his broom, now, it wasn’t too bad, as the majority of the length was in his legs, but he gave the impression of a huge, magisterial bird; the sort that might feature as a judge in a child’s book.
Louis didn’t suffer from nerves, and like his Dominique, he tended to ignore what people said. His stemmed not from a larger consideration of the ethereal, but rather that he had figured out earlier on in life than most that, if you listened to others, you wouldn’t ever be able to get much done. It wasn’t to say he never cared for anybody’s opinion, just that he had to know them for a long time before it really counted. Which might explain his close bond to Dominique, who had found him rather sweet, if smelly and loud, from the moment he has born, and remained a dotty, and all together welcome present in his life. Victoire, who had distained the rather new and whole distraction from her, had tried to throw him into the ocean by Seashell cottage. Dominique had caught her; taking her older sister by surprise in her agression to protect the small bundle. She bit her, scratching and screaming for the first time in her life to get them away from the baby. From that time on, Dominique had decided that Victoire was not to be trusted, with her secrets, and the beauty in the world that only she could see. She had shared it, instead, with Louis, in light touches, and sweet smelling flowers she would leave around his crib when she could.
Fleur, completely unused to a separate and silent set of daughters, had once tried to bring them back to friendship, but entering into the nursery, and seeing the gifts, had realized that things were changing. It was with the singular love, and the faint and impossible memory of the harshness of the eldest, that had made Louis so sullen at first. He had realized, upon sweeping down the halls of Hogwarts in his brand-new robes, that people would leave him alone if he simply made himself both menacing and impressive enough. If they saw him soften around Dominique, or the smile that had plastered itself over his face when Viktor came to visit, it was all the better; it stopped them from fearing him entirely. For not having a heart, even if it was just an act, scares people into negative action.
Louis shook himself quickly, having to dive in front of the largest of hoops. In the labyrinth of his thoughts, he almost let the quaffle slip through his fingers, pulling it towards him by sheer luck. He heard Dominique’s alto singing out for him, over-powering all other voices. The words weren’t clear, but she was obviously happy. A rather upset, and gruff sounding voice cut hers off. She must have been magically modifying her voice. But there wasn’t time to think of that now. There was quidditch to play, and people to support. Surely Dominique wouldn’t begrudge him this game.
