chapter twelve,
heart to heart

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

DETENTION IS, AS ALWAYS, AGONISINGLY TEDIOUS.

  The grandfather clock mocks them from behind Sprout's desk, clicking and chiming to make them go mad while they're confined to the classroom for hours on end. Tangerine streaks across the sky above their heads, slashing the atmosphere to ribbons as pink seeps from the horizon. There's dirt deep beneath Daphne's fingernails by the time she's scraped the ceramic off the ground, the Snapping Snowdrop she rescued from the floor nearly biting a chunk out of her arm.

  Her eyes keep flicking between clock face and the distant hills as they stretch with shadows, fearing that she'll be stuck in here until after dark. Flecks of frost are even growing over the glass ceiling, foretelling a freezing winter ahead of them, and that just makes Daphne nervous about going home for the impending Christmas holidays because though she'd prefer to stay at school, Stevie insists that they should be with their family. Even if that means spending some uncomfortable quality time with her dad, who she hadn't spoken to since the start of term. She's only doing it for Stevie, really.

  Daphne digresses. Her mind tends to wander when she gets bored, and it doesn't look as if she's leaving her detention anytime soon. Pardon her French, but she's sure to have grey fucking hairs by the time she gets out of this bloomin' greenhouse! Time moves at a snail's pace in there, honestly.

   She sighs dramatically, hoisting herself to her feet and dusting her hands on her dungarees. Lily peers up at her with a lackadaisical expression, quirking a brow. 

   "What are you doing?" she asks. "We still have to tidy this all up before Sprout comes back."

"We need to talk," Daphne declares. If she doesn't distract herself from the black hole of thoughts in her brain, she'll go mental.

Lily drops her dustpan and brush, rising to her feet so she can meet her eyes. ( She's a few inches too short to quite make it, so Daphne has to tilt her head down to make it less awkward. It still is, of course. )

"Fine," she huffs. "Let's talk."

Daphne scratches her neck. "Er, really? I was hoping there'd be more protesting. I don't really know where to start."

All she gets is a look of disbelief in return.

She lifts her hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Alright! Well, um, I can't stop thinking about what happened at Halloween even though you told me to forget about it — which was so out of order, mind you. Really, Evans, how am I supposed to have a lovely heart to heart with the girl I li— the, um, girl that tutors me and just not do anything about it?"

Her eyes blow wide before they narrow into slits. "It was embarrassing. I was all blubbery and completely humiliated myself. It's not always about you, Charpentier."

  "I never said that it was. Being vulnerable isn't a bad thing, Lily," Daphne says softly. "It was good that you spoke to me about it."

  She shifts from side to side uneasily, folding her arms as though it'll shield her. "Well, I disagree," she forces out bluntly.

  "Yeah, that's your Aquarius placements talking."

  "What?"

  "Nevermind."

  Lily shakes her head. "The point is, I only asked you to forget about it because it was a low point for me. That's all."

  "You're so frustrating," Daphne groans. "And a rubbish liar," she adds unnecessarily.

  "What do you want me to bloody do about it, then?" Lily scoffs, saying sarcastically, "How can I make it up to you?"

  "I dunno," she says angrily, nose to nose with her. She doesn't really know why she asks it, but it comes out of the blue and she can't stop it from happening. "Go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"What?"

"Go to Hogsmeade with me?" Daphne repeats unsurely. She starting to feel really stupid.

  "Fine!"

  "Fine? Great! I'll see you on Saturday at one?" Daphne snaps.

"Fucking fabulous!" Lily shouts, spinning on her heel and striding straight out of the greenhouse.

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

DAPHNE'S HEART IS RACING.

  Her head feels all fizzy with the aftershocks of her impulsivity. She took it upon herself to finish the neglected cleaning up because she's oh so gracious and let herself be swallowed up by the intrusive thoughts she's been trying to run from. Although, she mostly spent her time by mentally kicking herself for being such a twat. So, the usual!

  She managed to escape before the stars could completely come out, scrambling up the hill to the castle until the dreaded greenhouse was a mere dust particle in the distance. The stone walls are surprisingly insulated and Daphne finds herself rolling up her jumper's sleeves, the warmth soothing the goosebumps on her flesh. Portraits have their eyes fixed on her as she trudges up the tower, a frown on her face as their whispers reach her ears. She'll never get used to that horrible feeling of being watched all the time.

Her feet lead her around sharp corners and up steep staircases until she finds herself standing before a classroom, starkly out of place in her muggle clothes. Daphne lifts her fist to knock, her rings clunking against the hardwood.

  "Come in," a voice calls. She obliges.

  Professor Acheron is lurking behind her desk, raven hair in ringlets and her lips painted a startling crimson. She's rifling through an abundance of paperwork, wiry half moon glasses twined over her nose bridge as she works in silence. Candlelight paints the sharp contours of her face in darkness, a subtle regality rolling off her in waves. She's not helping her case against the vampire allegations, Daphne thinks to herself.

  "Daphne," she says, peering over at her pensively. "What can I do for you?"

"Just came for a chat, really," Daphne admits as she inspects her trainers with interest. "You said your door was always open."

"Of course. Take a seat, I don't bite."

  She has to cover up her laughter with a cough, pulling out an ornate chair to sit twiddling her thumbs as Acheron files through her papers. The stained glass windows peer down at her from every angle, moping in eternity as leftover raindrops slide from their haunting eyes. Way to kill the mood.

  Professor Acheron puts her work to one side. "Would you care for some tea?" she asks politely.

  Daphne feels a bit pressured. Acheron has piercing eyes, almost feline. She finds herself nodding before she can even decide what to say.

  "Tea would be lovely," she squeaks. "Do you have chamomile?" She doesn't have time to wonder if she's pushing her luck or not.

Acheron nods noncommittally, wrapped up in the labyrinth of her own mind as she flicks an enchanted kettle on to boil, procuring two mugs from thin air. The one given to Daphne is warm to the touch, as if it's just been dunked in hot soapy water. It has the sweetest little pumpkins on it and a teabag full of chamomile blossoms sinking to the very bottom.

  While her teacher is preoccupied, she finds herself perusing the various trinkets and artefacts surrounding her. Look, in Daphne's defence: being nosy is second nature to her — it's in her blood! So, when her eye snags on a framed photograph with a face suspiciously similar to her own in the centre, she can't help but asking about it.

"Is that from when you were in school?" Daphne says absentmindedly, pointing at the moving picture.

Acheron hums. "Class of 1960."

That makes Daphne's insides twist. If it really is her mother in the photograph, she herself would only have been born a month or two after. She hadn't ever realised how young her mum was when she had her, and it makes the beaming face in front of her all the much harder to stare at.

"Why didn't you go to Durmstrang?" Daphne prompts. She's desperate to change the subject.  "If you don't mind me asking."

"I did," Acheron says simply. "For a term. I grew up in Kyrenia, but my mána moved us to Belgium for her work during my first year. I attended Beauxbatons up until I left for a university in Orléans."

She grins. "What house were you in? I was Papillonlisse."

  "Ah, I was in Ombrelune."

  Daphne sips her tea, the warm chamomile soothing her mind. She rubs her thumb over her fluorite necklace, hesitating before she speaks again.

  "My mother," she says slowly, unsure, "she's in the photo. Were you friends?"

  "So many questions, Daphne."

  Her cheeks heat up. "Sorry, miss."

  "I'm only winding you up," Acheron laughs. "There's no need to look at me as if I've grown a second head."

  Daphne's first instinct is to apologise again, but she manages to choke it back before she can be chided.

  Acheron smiles wistfully. "Louise? Yes, she was a good friend of mine once."

  The past tense stings more than it really should. "What happened with you two? Why didn't I know you when I was younger?""

"Nothing sour. We just grew up, is all." Her eyes grow blank. "Now, enough about me. What did you really come in here to talk to me about?"

  "I needed to talk to someone, I suppose," Daphne answers. "Exam stress and everything. It's all a bit much."

"Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with that," Acheron says. "You're never alone, Daphne. Remember that. Everyone in your year feels apprehensive around the time of their exams, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

  She's at a loss for words. "Merlin, does this school need a guidance teacher," she replies eventually.

  Acheron breathes a laugh, and for a moment Daphne feels as if she's losing her mind, because suddenly Acheron has a face like her own and eyes like an ocean. For a moment, fleeting and insane, Daphne sees her mother through a pair of grieving eyes — though it's only in the small things about Acheron that makes her like Louise: her warm smile or the nonchalant kindness that makes her so easy to talk to. Emotion washes through her thickly and before she registers what she's doing, her chair is scraping against the floorboards and she's wobbling about gawkily to her feet.

  "This has been fun. Oh, gosh, is that the time?" Daphne blurts, looking at her wrist. She isn't wearing a watch. "Well! See you period three, miss."

  Before Acheron has the chance to say anything, she's already slipped through a crack in the door as if she's a shadow, bereaved tears beading at her eyes. She doesn't know why the thought even crossed her mind, to be honest. Maybe it was remembering Louise that did it for her, or simply hearing words of encouragement made her eyes water. Tomorrow's class will be uncomfortable, there's no doubt about that, but that's the least of her worries at the moment.

  God, she really has to see a grief counsellor or something.

author's note!

communication 🥰

i felt like i hadn't brought up acheron in ages and didn't want to neglect her lol!! this just gives us a bit more info on the connections between her and daph

i was low-key grasping at straws near the end so idk what i was waffling about

side note are guidance teachers only a scottish thing bc i never hear anyone talk abt them 😭 like ig americans have guidance counsellors but other than that