This was everything he'd been too afraid to think about.
It was everything he had liked about being with Elsie, the ease of it, no need for an endgame, no need for declarations or public arrangements or responsibility. Tybalt could almost convince himself of this, that that was all he had liked.
But if, if tonight was the end of that - what was he supposed to do, find some other girl to sneak around with until they got caught, too? It was not as though pretty unmarried brunettes were in short supply. Wasn't that half the point of being a quidditch player, anyway? Stumbling into the paths of girls like that at parties like this? (Tyb was sure he'd thought so, at fifteen.)
That was what he would have to do, from here on out. Mrs. Cavanaugh seemed sure that things would change for Elsie, too. It was far easier imagining Elsie's future, because she'd go on happily enough with her library work or something equally as clever and bookish, and then would meet someone as clever and bookish and out of the blue she would find herself utterly in love with him and then maybe she wouldn't mind the thought of marriage any more. With that man, financial support wouldn't be a question. Nothing would be a question.
All Tybalt had to face was questions. What did he want? "That," he confessed before he even knew what exactly he was saying, just thinking sheepishly of being married and a house full of children and... "Her," Tyb said quietly, staring vacantly at a patch of air. "She's my best friend." And if she married someone else - by the time he could even consider marriage, properly - how would they still be able to see each other? Would they be able to settle back into being old friends? Reminisce about school and quietly erase the past few years? None of it would be the same.
But - and he was sure Elsie's cousin would tell him this plainly - that future wasn't even a possibility, and clearly not while he was living a life in the moment, clearly not without the sacrifices on his part. It happened all the time - men stopped playing quidditch, took up a Ministry career, saved up to provide for a family. He wasn't special. He wasn't exempt. He...
He took a swig of Firewhiskey, as if liquid courage would be enough to convince himself he could make that sort of commitment. "I - I don't know."
It was everything he had liked about being with Elsie, the ease of it, no need for an endgame, no need for declarations or public arrangements or responsibility. Tybalt could almost convince himself of this, that that was all he had liked.
But if, if tonight was the end of that - what was he supposed to do, find some other girl to sneak around with until they got caught, too? It was not as though pretty unmarried brunettes were in short supply. Wasn't that half the point of being a quidditch player, anyway? Stumbling into the paths of girls like that at parties like this? (Tyb was sure he'd thought so, at fifteen.)
That was what he would have to do, from here on out. Mrs. Cavanaugh seemed sure that things would change for Elsie, too. It was far easier imagining Elsie's future, because she'd go on happily enough with her library work or something equally as clever and bookish, and then would meet someone as clever and bookish and out of the blue she would find herself utterly in love with him and then maybe she wouldn't mind the thought of marriage any more. With that man, financial support wouldn't be a question. Nothing would be a question.
All Tybalt had to face was questions. What did he want? "That," he confessed before he even knew what exactly he was saying, just thinking sheepishly of being married and a house full of children and... "Her," Tyb said quietly, staring vacantly at a patch of air. "She's my best friend." And if she married someone else - by the time he could even consider marriage, properly - how would they still be able to see each other? Would they be able to settle back into being old friends? Reminisce about school and quietly erase the past few years? None of it would be the same.
But - and he was sure Elsie's cousin would tell him this plainly - that future wasn't even a possibility, and clearly not while he was living a life in the moment, clearly not without the sacrifices on his part. It happened all the time - men stopped playing quidditch, took up a Ministry career, saved up to provide for a family. He wasn't special. He wasn't exempt. He...
He took a swig of Firewhiskey, as if liquid courage would be enough to convince himself he could make that sort of commitment. "I - I don't know."
