chapter fifteen,
joyeux noël

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

TO SAY THE VERY LEAST, DAPHNE wouldn't use 'overjoyed' to describe how she's currently feeling.

  Don't get her wrong — she adores Christmas! It's one of her favourite holidays, adorned in twinkling lights, sparkly baubles and scratchy tinsel ( the feeling of it makes her skin crawl, but she likes it all the same. ) In her opinion, the world always seems a little bit brighter around Christmas, despite the shorter days and bitter cold. Nothing beats the night sky during winter, alight with all the constellations that hide away when summer is blanketing the earth. Really, she adores the holidays.

  She's just not too keen on spending it with her dad, of all people.

Atlas has been treading on eggshells around her, just like he has been ever since they moved in with him. He's said a whopping two proper sentences to her — which is progress, believe it or not! Since those groundbreaking moments, Daphne's been holed up in her room to spite him, listening to record after record as the world passes by and before she knows it, it's already Christmas Eve. Yet, in their tiny house with the rain and sleet pouring outside, she hardly feels festive at all.

  Romeo lifts his head from where it's resting on her ribcage, his ears perking up at the sound of footsteps in the hall, wagging his tails in delight. She knows that her sister's come to be a mediator, but she'd rather sit and stare at the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling than do any more communication with her dad.

  Stevie raps the door with her fist, her rings scraping against the wood. "Dad says dinner's almost ready."

"Why can't he come and tell me himself?"

She hesitates. "He didn't think you'd want to speak to him."

"Ding, ding, ding! Congratulations," Daphne says with a taxidermy smile. It sours as she drops her head back down on her pillow. "He finally guessed correctly."

"Oh, give him a break. You know he's trying hard to make you feel comfortable."

"No," she replies. "We could be in Lyon right now with our actual family, at home." She can't believe that she misses her rotten old grandmother. Daphne just yearns for something familiar.

  "He is our actual family. Please come downstairs," Stevie pleads. "You have to eat something. It's getting late."

  "I—"

  "Do it for me," she says. "If you're doing it for anyone, do it for me."

  Daphne sits up, looking her dead in the eye. What stares back at her breaks her heart into shards — a worried girl trying to look out for everyone in the midst of her own problems.

  "I should be the one taking care of you," Daphne whispers. "I'm sorry, mon coquelicot."

Stevie's lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. She offers her hand for Daphne to take, and she obliges, allowing herself to be shepherded into the hall and down the stairs.

The house is simple, covered in bittersweet family photos, tacky rugs and creaky floorboards. It's undeniably messy — scattered in official Ministry documents that really should've been filed away and piles of discarded post. It's a surprise they manage to wade through all of the rubbish Atlas has yet to tidy up, but she tries not to think about it. Romeo bounds after them, his claws clicking like a metronome as they hurry down the stairs. She slips about in her fluffy slippers, bones crackling with every sharp corner Stevie swerves her around.

  "Slow down, you twat!" Daphne laughs. "I near enough broke my bloody ankle there."

  "I've finally gotten you up," Stevie calls over her shoulder mirthfully. "I'm not risking letting you go."

  But any of the clemency that the sisters shared in the winding hallways is snuffed out like a candle when they step into the dining room.

  It's the same as all the other rooms, too big to be cozy but not big enough to feel grand. The wallpaper is old fashioned, the same kind of emerald as Daphne's school tie, and none of the chairs at the table match. He has a strange taste in furniture. Speaking of the devil, Atlas is sat twiddling his thumbs at the far end of the table with a weird expression on his face. It looks as if he doesn't know what to say to her, so he doesn't say anything at all.

Daphne begrudgingly sits opposite Stevie and makes sure to shuffle her chair further away from Atlas. She pokes at the food on her plate when it's placed in front of her, stabbing through a roast potato with her fork as if it's wronged her.

Atlas clears his throat. "How's school been?" he chances.

"Fine," she says curtly.

  He peers at her apprehensively, but chooses not to say anything else.

  Stevie's eyes flit between the two. "Dad, didn't you say that Uncle Asclepius is coming round for Christmas? That'll be nice."

  "Oh, um, yes—"

  "What about Grandmère?"

  It's like everything freezes when she says that. Even Romeo stills from where he's sat under the table, eyes darting between them wildly.

  "I'm not... expecting her to be here," he says slowly. "England is too far away for her to come and visit at the drop of a hat, I'm afraid."

Daphne scoffs. "Well, it's not like I got a say in moving here. I miss France."

  He sends her an impatient look. This is how most of their conversations go.

  "Don't be a child. It isn't safe for you in France," Atlas says, temper beginning to unfurl. "This is your home now."

  "This isn't my home," she seethes. "It never has been."

His eyes soften. "Phee—"

"Don't call me that! You treat me like I'm made out of glass and you're trying to act like mum isn't dead!" she shouts, slamming her hands on the table. "Stop pretending that everything's okay and be a fucking father!"

  "Daphne!" Stevie cries. "Hold on—"

  But she's already fled out the front door.

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

  SHE DOESN'T REALLY KNOW WHERE she's heading, just that she has to get out of there and fast.

Before she's had the chance to take a step back or, y'know, evaluate the situation — her mind is ablaze and suddenly her feet are swept out from under her and she's lying on a pile of slush in her pyjamas, winded from the sudden crash landing.

Oh. Oh, dear.

She has a sneaky feeling that she's just apparated somewhere very far away. The urge to be sick washes over her, but she fights it away so that she can gather her bearings. Maybe I shouldn't have reacted so explosively, Daphne thinks wisely, rubbing at a bruise on her shin.

The sky is thick with smoggy clouds, too dense to properly see any stars or the gibbous moon. A labyrinthine neighbourhood surrounds her with rows of identical houses, every road leading to nowhere. Chimneys break the skyline, excessively tall for the rickety roofs they roost on. There's the odd corner shop here and there, surrounded in rain soaked rubbish such as newspapers and empty pot noodle. A frozen river runs past a block of tenements — the most lifelike part of the town, even if it's silenced by a sheet of ice.

  Daphne guesses that she's landed in Cokeworth, judging from Lily's passive descriptions of the buildings and grimy shops. Suddenly, she feels incredibly vulnerable, all alone in an unfamiliar place that she's essentially heard exclusively bad things about.

The only thing she can really do is walk, so that's exactly what she does. Daphne hoists herself to her feet and begins to trek through the watery snow that bites through the fabric of her slippers. She folds her arms over her chest, shivering in the cold. Luckily, the longer that she walks for, the less sooty the houses begin to become, and more greenery can be seen in the tiny patches of garden or even in the weeds that burst through the cracks of the pavement and soldier through the frost. That's good enough for Daphne.

A flicker of hope ignites in her chest. There's a semi-detached house at the end of the crescent, the wobbly car that she remembers Lily getting a lift from at the station sat in the driveway. It has window boxes covered in snow and withered flowers that pine for the springtime, as well as a distinctive set of little garden ornaments that she remembers Lily fondly mentioning once or twice. ( They were hand painted by her sister, Petunia, and herself before they had a falling out. The details aren't very important, but they were significant enough to Lily that Daphne remembers all about them. )

  Daphne speeds up the pavement in her soggy slippers. She looks around for something to throw, eyes zeroing in on a small mound of pebbles. She grimaces at the flecks of mud that they leave on her hands, but nonetheless starts to pelt them at the window that leads to Lily's bedroom. She hopes.

  A light flickers on, warm and amber. The shadowy outline of a familiar girl approaches the glass, grogginess outlined in her glare. But when she spots Daphne, her expression shifts to one of shock. Awkwardly, Daphne lifts her hand and waves.

  She pushes the window open. "What on earth are you doing here?" Lily whisper shouts.

  "It's complicated," Daphne says sheepishly.

  "Hold on, how did you get here? I live bloody ages away from you."

  "I apparated," she admits.

  "You what? Do you not know how dangerous that is? We don't properly know how yet! We've only done a few flippin' classes—"

  "Please stop lecturing me, Evans. I'm here in one piece, aren't I?"

  "Christ's sake," Lily mutters, pressing a hand to her forehead as if she's soothing a migraine. She thinks, hard. "Alright. Come up."

  "What?"

"You're freezing your tits off out there. Come up here before you get hypothermia."

"Aw, it's good to know you're looking out for my tits," Daphne cloys. "No, seriously, how am I supposed to get all the way up there?"

  "There's ivy growing up to the window on my mum's old rose trellis. Climb up."

  "Can I not use the front door?"

  "And wake up my entire house? No chance."

  "What if I fall?"

  "Try not to."

  Daphne scoffs. "That's encouraging."

  She approaches the front of their house, hooking her foot into one of the diamond shaped notches and hoisting herself up. Her fingertips nestle into the thick ivy vines as she creeps closer to the windowsill, heart dropping whenever the leaves sway from side to side unsteadily. When she finally reaches the top, she whacks her head against the window, nearly losing her footing and falling backwards if it weren't for Lily grabbing onto her at the last second. ( Not her best moment, she'll admit. )

  "Take your slippers off, heathen," Lily demands. "I don't want mud in my bedroom, thanks."

  "Yeah, yeah," Daphne replies, rubbing her head where she'd bumped it.

She frowns. "Why didn't you bring shoes, anyways?"

"Well, I wasn't exactly planning on running out in the middle of dinner."

Lily's eyes grow gentle and Daphne feels her heart melt like warm butter. "It's a bit late to be having your dinner, is it not?" she thinks out loud. "I mean— no offence, but it's nearly quarter to eleven."

Daphne gives her a bizarre look. "None taken. I mean, it's not like I'm being neglected or anything. No, um, my... dad works as a dragon handler for the Ministry, so he was working late tonight. Stevie wanted to wait on him before we had anything to eat, 'cause she felt bad."

She musters a soft smile. "Sorry for the interrogation, by the way. I just wasn't expecting to see you."

"The feeling is mutual," she says. "Thanks for letting me inside."

"Oh, don't be daft," Lily scolds. "I wasn't about to let you catch your death and have to roam the earth in snoopy pyjamas."

"Don't slag off my snoopy pyjamas."

They sit down on Lily's bed, the warm blankets a shock from the bitter weather outside. Daphne fiddles with her mother's ring, twisting it around until the skin on her finger is red and raw.

"What happened?" Lily asks tenderly.

Daphne sighs. "It wasn't even that big a deal. I got into a stupid argument with my dad over nothing and left because it was the first thing I thought of. I let myself get too emotional, that's all."

"Oh, Daph," she sympathises. "What was the argument about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was homesick and I took it out on him. I've been doing that a lot, really. He's trying his best, I get that, but I just— I resent him for not being there when I was growing up, I suppose." She takes a deep breath. "Merlin, I don't know what to do."

Lily studies her quietly. "Honestly?"

Daphne nods encouragingly.

"I think that you should go home and make up with him," she advises. "There's no use moping about here when you could be bettering things. It sounds like he just wants you to feel comfortable, and that he really does love you. Maybe he doesn't go about showing it in the right ways, but mistakes are what make us human. Even if you aren't ready to completely mend your relationship, that's okay. Start off with baby steps and I think it'll really pay off."

"Yeah," Daphne says, tears beading in the corner of her eye. "Merlin, that helped more than you think. Thanks, Lily,"

Lily inches closer, wiping the tear tracks off of her face soothingly. "Don't worry about it, my lovely."

Daphne stares at her. She stares back.

Before either of them can register what's happening, they're both leaning in, fading into each other as the world quietens around them. Daphne loosely wraps an arm around her, revelling in the softness of her lips as her free hand intertwines with the one cradling her face. It's tentative, a bit unsure as they wade through uncharted waters. Maybe they'll wake up and regret it, but that doesn't matter when they're there and Daphne's heart is thrumming with a feeling she's never experienced and it's real. So real. Maybe they'll wake up and regret it, but that just makes Daphne kiss her harder.

They only break away when they hear movement outside, coming from down the hall.

"Oh, shite!" Lily exclaims. "That's my dad. You have to go! Can you manage apparating yourself home? 'Cause, it's either that or you hide in my wardrobe."

She grimaces. "I can handle it, I think. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Definitely. Don't forget that you're supposed to show me the sights of Liverpool at some point, Daphne."

"Darling, you really aren't missing out."

The floorboards outside begin to creak.

Daphne scrambles over to the window. "Er— Cheerio! Thanks for the help. I'll see you later."

"Christ, you're mental." Lily rolls her eyes. Her cheeks are still flushed. "Bye, bye, now."

The second that her dad swings the door open, Daphne's already disappeared into the night, leaving only traces of her perfume as a memory.

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

DAPHNE CAN'T QUITE BELIEVE THAT this entire night has actually happened.

After apparating back to the post office just down the road from her dad's... from her house, the walk uphill is a long, contemplative one. Her thoughts are tangled up between how she's going to apologise to Atlas and how she's planning on dealing with her feelings for Lily Evans. That kiss made her lose her mind completely, and it was barely more than a prolonged peck. She really has to get her act together.

When she reaches the front door, she finds it unlocked. Pushing into the hallway, tracking snow inside with her, she's still trying to think of something to say.

Words fail her even further when Atlas steps out of the living room, face worried by stress. He brightens when he spots his daughter, a heartbreaking expression taking him over.

  "Daphne," Atlas breathes. "I was worried sick—"

  She rushes forwards and locks him in a hug, burying her face in his ridiculous, moth eaten jumper.

  "I'm sorry, dad," she mutters.

"Don't apologise," he replies, hesitating before he returns the hug. "I shouldn't have gotten angry at you."

"No, it wasn't your fault," she insists. "You've been trying your best to make the both of us happy and I've just been such a nightmare."

"Let's say that neither of you are to blame and leave it at that," Stevie says abruptly from where she's sat on the stairs.

Daphne practically sprints up to suffocate her in a bear hug. "I'm so sorry for leaving."

"It's okay! Calm down," Stevie chuckles. "You were only gone for an hour and a half anyways. Now, why do you look all flushed? I can tell it's not from the cold." She has a cheeky glint in her eye, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Her eyes widen "I'll tell you later," Daphne murmurs.

"Why the change of heart?" Atlas asks from the bottom of the staircase.

Daphne blanches. "Oh," she laughs nervously. "No reason. I just had a long think and decided you didn't deserve the way I've been talking to you, I suppose."

"Check you," Stevie nudges her. "All grown up and mature."

"Oh, piss off."

Atlas frowns. "Gosh, love, you look frozen to the bone. I'll go and pop the kettle on."

Stevie guides her into the living room, where the fire's roaring and there's a phone book strewn on the table. Daphne feels like crying when she realises that they've been trying to phone around and find her. Her sister clasps her hand comfortingly. Of course, they've only just settled in the living room when a knock sounds at the door.

"I'll get it," Daphne says, sauntering back down the hallway.

She swings the door open, wearing a grin that makes her cheeks ache. Though, there's something amidst the snow that makes it falter.

"Grandmére?"

author's note!

this chapter is all over the place lmaoo

i gave up at the end i have no effort to spare 🙏🙏