chapter fourteen,
flâneur

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

THERE'S A FRENCH PHRASE THAT DAPHNE coined off of her grand-mère, one that's been on her mind a lot recently.

Flâneur. It's used to describe someone that simply strolls around, observing life and all of the surrounding world in a manner that's aimless but enjoyable. An idle person that relaxes into a nonchalant and unbothered lifestyle without any hassle — it just comes naturally. Devil may care. Unbothered. Daphne has always felt that this perfectly describes her cousin, Evan, which is why seeing him so inexplicably off makes her heart ache. Change usually sends a chill through her, but there's something even more morbid about the difference in him.

  Evan looks like Hell, and that's her putting it nicely. He's gaunt, a worryingly pale husk of the boy he was a few weeks ago. Amaranthine craters bruise his under eyes, a galaxy of blue veins and insomniac's pomegranate piercing into his fair skin. There's a glassy film over his irises, as if he's staring at something that isn't there — caught up in his own little world with no way to reach him. An unlit cigarette hangs limply from his mouth, but the ash scorched on his jumper sleeve indicates that it isn't his first.

"Oh. You found me," he says when he spots her creeping up the stairs. He doesn't turn to face her. "Well done."

"I know you too well," she replies, folding her arms over her chest defensively. Her first guess had been the Astronomy Tower, and it appears that she guessed correctly.

"Have you got a light?" Evan asks hoarsely. "Don't tell me you've come to see me without bringing a light, cousin."

Daphne swings her legs over the side of the balcony, resting her chin upon the railing so that she can get a better look at the landscape. The rising sun only makes his pallid face more carved with shadow. She flicks open her ancient 'I Heart New York!' lighter begrudgingly. It always stung to use it, memories of their mother surfacing with the sparking flame. ( She'd brought it back from a business trip years ago. Daphne had to toughen up — she couldn't even handle a worthless souvenir without her mascara running. ) Evan eyes it sorrowfully but he lights his cig all the same, polluting the air with its wispy smoke.

"Where've you been?" she prompts gently. "I haven't seen you in ages."

Evan sighs hollowly. "Grand-mère called me out of school for something... important."

Her heart leaps into her throat. "Important?" Daphne frowns. "Is she alright? What happened—"

"Listen," he cuts her off, "I can't talk about it. She swore me to secrecy and whatnot. But I promise that she's okay."

"Pinkie promise?"

He scoffs, smiling. "We're not five—"

"Don't be a cunt and pinkie promise me right now, Rosier, or so help me, God, I'll get you."

He obliges.

"I'm worried about you," she says quietly.

"About little old me?" he grins.

"Evan, I'm not joking."

  "Boo," he huffs. "You're so boring."

  Her glare is sharp enough to draw blood.

  "Merlin, I'm fine," he reassures. "It's really nothing at all. Probably just sleep deprivation or something like that."

   Daphne's frown harshens. "Why? Have you been having trouble sleeping?"

  "Are you my GP?"

  "Evan."

  "I'm not an insomniac, Daphne — it's only a few late nights here and there. You don't have to look at me as if I've got dragon pox."

  So many worries press at her brain, but she just seals her lips because she can tell that he's going to dance around her questions all day. Honeysuckle light begins to swathe the landscape, painting the fir trees a delicate green and twinkling on the snowy mountaintops. Daphne clutches the howlite in her pocket fearfully, tracing over the skeletal contours of his face in disbelief. He's totally going to give her a heart attack one day!

  Daphne focuses back on the smudging sunrise, eyes heavy with worry. "Il y a aura des jours meilleurs. Tout ira bien."

  He laughs bitterly. "Ce n'est que le debùt."

  She shifts uncomfortably. His words strike a cord in her, unearthing a stabbing gut feeing that something horrible is going to happen.

  Evan knows something that she doesn't, and it's slowly driving her insane.

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  THEY WALK DOWN TO THE STATION around noon, trudging through the heavy snow and breathing out clouds of fog. It's a winter wonderland outside; the Forbidden Forest dusted in white, the Black Lake frozen over completely and the castle covered in decorations and frost as if it's come straight out of a snow globe.

  Daphne's arms feel jellylike from the weight of her suitcase, her muscles growing syrupy and weak the longer she drags it uphill. ( Merlin, she didn't remember packing a bloody Quidditch Stadium in her bags! ) Yet, that's all the least of her worries when she turns and sees Evan almost sleepwalking — eyes glazed over like the ice underfoot, his shaped eyebrows furrowed in concentration despite the empty look encompassing him.

  She stops altogether, resting her hand on his arm gently to bring him back to earth. He flinches away from her, bringing it up to his chest defensively, eyes blown wide.

  "Evan, you have to tell me what's wrong," Daphne insists. "You're scaring me."

  His mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. "I—," Evan's voice cracks. "I really can't."

  She goes to say something, but another voice wails over her own.

"Oi, Rosier!"

  "Shite," he breathes. He swerves around to face her, hugging her tight. "Sorry, Daph. I have to go. I'll see you for Christmas Day, I promise. Take care, love."

He's swept off into a crowd of his friends before she can get the last word in. It's all of the really nasty boys in her year, she notices. A few months ago, he wouldn't have given them the light of day — but here he is, arms around Mulciber and Antonin Dolohov, laughing as if they've been best friends for ages.

Daphne scoffs. Typical.

   She begins to walk the other way, sliding through the slush and ice to reach the far end of the train. Snow flurries collect in her hair, weaving through the strands like snowdrops in a meadow. The cold is beginning to get to her, so a tidal wave of relief washes over her when she spots her sister, making a beeline for the sliding doors Stevie had just stepped through.

  The warmth of the train is a shock, combatting the frosty season seamlessly. She has to power walk past a good few compartments to get to Stevie, who's already miles ahead of her looking for the rest of their group. Daphne's so focused on reaching her sister, that she doesn't pay any mind to who she's about to knock into until it's too late.

  A boy with mousy hair bashes shoulders with her. After thinking hard, she pairs a name to his face and realises that it's Peter Pettigrew, looking oddly alone since he's separated from his conjoined triplets.

"Sorry," Daphne says, smiling apologetically. "Didn't see you there."

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs. "Oh, wait! Have you seen that cousin of yours about?"

"He's just gone that way," she answers, gesturing over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Er, nothing," Peter rushes out, the cogs spinning frantically in his brain. "He sits next to me in History of Magic, and I need help on the homework. That's all!" He laughs nervously.

"Okay," she says slowly, sceptically. "I hope you find him then."

"Aw, cheers, Daphne."

And then they simply walk in the opposite direction, his strange behaviour a distant memory of five minutes ago that she's going to forget like that.

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

  CIAN AND ROGER ARE ENGAGED IN a match of Blackjack by the time she finds them, using the floor as a table as Stevie sits with Sunny on the cushioned seats like normal people. ( Daphne means that in a very pointed way. Boys are complete weirdos. )

She sits down opposite the girls and Romeo jumps into her lap, his three tails wagging in delight. The train has begun to move, the countryside whisking past the windows in quick succession.

"We're gonna have to take him to a vet soon," Stevie remarks. "He's not a puppy anymore. The Ministry says that we have to get rid of his tails so that muggles don't notice him."

"What?" Daphne exclaims. "We can't just mutilate the poor little guy like that! Why can't we just put a charm on his tails so that muggles can't see them or something? Isn't that what they did with Hogwarts?"

"I guess," she reasons. "We can ask dad later."

That makes her scowl even more, scratching under Romeo's chin to distract herself. Cian shouts loudly whenever Roger wins, and he's taken to throwing the cards all around the compartment in a fit of rage. He's a bit of a sore loser — it's why his head of year suggested that he try out for Beater to let off some steam, but he's still as temperamental as usual, only with more calloused hands.

"I hate this game," he declares. "Let's do something else.

Roger chortles. "Such as?"

"Well, we could always, y'know, talk to each other?" Sunny says, playing with the loose thread on her baby pink sleeve.

"There's a thought," Stevie mutters.

Daphne decides to bite the bullet. "Has anyone else noticed how off Evan's been acting?"

Radio silence.

"What do you mean, Daph?" Stevie asks.

"He's been all funny recently," she insists. "He wasn't in school for ages, he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks and he's not hanging about with his old friends anymore — now he's cutting about with Avery and Mulciber and fucking Dolohov."

Romeo whines, hiding his nose in the crook of her arm.

  "Yeah, I did sort of notice that," Roger says. "It's out of character for him, but I reckon he'll just be stressed about something meaningless. You know how dramatic he is."

  "Yeah," Daphne agrees half heartedly. "Probably."

"I think you're tired, mon petit chou." Stevie leans over, clasping her hands in her own. "You should get some rest."

  "I'm not the tired one—"

  Stevie shushes her. Daphne scowls.

  Eventually, she retaliates and falls asleep with the sunset pressing against her drowsy eyes.

author's note!

short chapter where barely anything happens yippee

the snow motivated me to start writing christmas chapters hooray 🎉

i feel like sunny is a bit irrelevant to the plot just now but i promise she'll be rlly important soon(ish) !!!