chapter sixteen,
unexpected visitor

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

DAPHNE THINKS THAT A PUNCH TO the gut would be less surprising than seeing Margaux Charpentier on her doorstep.

She stands there in distaste, surveying the house as if it's the single most hideous thing she's ever seen. Her chestnut hair is neatly curled to frame her face, a great fur coat layered over her designer clothes. Lips of rouge, a complexion almost completely free of imperfections. Yes, it's definitely her grandmother. Even though Daphne had brought her up earlier, she hadn't expected her to flippin' materialise in front of their house! She's not exactly Bloody Mary!

In an attempt to cover up her shock, she tries to think of something to say.

  "Je suis heureuse de te voir!" Daphne blurts nervously.

Margaux scoffs. "Et mon cul c'est du poulet."

  She falters. "Entrez, entrez. Joyeux noël."

  Her grandmother makes a cryptic remark under her breath, shaking the slush off of her stilettos and straight onto the door mat. Margaux clears her throat pointedly and Daphne rushes forward to take her snow-flecked coat and gloves.

  "Je vous en prie," Daphne mutters wryly.

  Her grandmother's glare pierces straight through her and she swallows thickly, shifting from side to side.

  "C'était quoi ça?"

  "Rien, grandmére."

  "Who is it?" Stevie calls curiously. She comes around the corner and instantly freezes in her tracks, stood like a statue. "Oh— Bonsoir, grandmére."

  "Bonsoir, Stephanie," Margaux says sharply. "Où est ton père?"

  "Dans la cuisine," she stammers.

  "Ici?" she gestures at the door to the kitchen.

  Daphne and Stevie nod rapidly.

Her heels click against the tile, face fixed in a cutting glare and spine as straight as a pin. The two of them hover at the door nervously, Daphne clutching onto Stevie's shoulder with enough force to turn her knuckles ivory.

"Who was that at the door?" he asks.

When nobody answers, Atlas pokes his head around the fridge curiously. All the colour drains from his face when he spots his mother-in-law standing before him, looking positively unhappy to see him! Well, Ex mother-in-law? It's complicated.

  "Margaux!" he squeaks. "Whatever are you doing here?"

  She looks him up and down. "I have to speak with you," she says eventually, her English flawless but carrying a heavy accent.

  "Oh." He looks to his daughters for help. "Very good. Er, the girls can show you to the sitting room. How do you like your tea, Margaux?"

  "Black," she says curtly, turning to look at Daphne and Stevie expectantly.

  Stevie steps on Daphne's foot pointedly.

  "Ow! Oh, um, the sitting room's just through here, Grandmére," she says through gritted teeth. "Follow us."

  She manages to shepherd her in front of the fire without any snarky comments, but her silence just makes them all feel more self conscious rather than if she'd just speak her mind. Margaux eyes the tacky decor with evident distaste, not to mention the mess and occasional sprinkle of dust ( Mon dieu! ). After an overbearing five minutes of quiet, Atlas finally comes in to set a tray on the coffee table, cups of tea and biscuits amidst the piles of magazines and post. Yet, him being there doesn't actually prompt Margaux to start talking — she's never liked their father, and he's always been terrified of her. When the silence draws on for too long, Daphne finally snaps.

"Grandmére, you can't just patch us for months and then show up out of the blue!" she rages. "No sign that you were still, I don't know, alive? Not even a letter? Where have you been?"

"Pleure un coup, tu pisseras moins!"

Daphne fumes. "Réponds-moi!"

"Grandmére, please," Stevie interjects. "Daphne just wants to know that you're okay. We want to know that you're okay."

  "Don't enable her, Stephanie," Margaux sneers. "It's clear that she's forgotten her place."

Atlas decides to change the topic. "What did you have to speak with me about?"

"It concerns all three of you really," she says. She has to take a deep breath before she can continue. "It's come to my attention that Evan has become involved with the wrong people."

  Stevie begins to choke on her chocolate digestive. Daphne thumps her on the back.

"I knew something was wrong with him," Daphne mutters. "How serious is it?"

"Very," she answers gravely. "I'm sure you've read about the uprising of the Dark Lord in the papers?"

"Yes, well, it's been happening for years." Atlas frowns. "Hang on, you're not saying that Evan's run off to become a Death Eater?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. My son, the boy's father, has become... loyal to their cause in recent years. Evan was properly initiated only a month or two ago. That side of our family is now refusing to communicate with me, and I believe it's due to my resistance of the Dark Lord's rule." She pauses. "The French Ministry is officially remaining 'neutral' in regards of the war, but it's clear that there's corruption. Atlas, I think it's time for us to tell them."

Stevie furrows her eyebrows. "Tell us what?"

"Well? Shall I tell them, or do you want to do the honours?" Margaux asks him.

Atlas darts his eyes between his daughters, closing his eyes and sucking in a breath. "I will."

  "Tell us what?" she repeats with a raised voice.

  "About the Order of the Phoenix." He takes a while to say anything more, twiddling his thumbs nervously. "It's an organisation run by your headmaster, chock full of aurors and anyone that wants to make a bleedin' difference. We've been fighting against the Dark Lord for as long as he's been in his reign of terror, I suppose. Your mother and I were members before she passed away. But, Margaux, I don't see the point in telling them anything. It's far too dangerous."

  "It's time. If the Dark Lord is recruiting people their age, then we should initiate them before he can sink his claws in."

  Daphne scoffs. "What sort of logic is that?"

  "She's right. You're being irrational," Stevie interjects. "Really, Grandmére, can you hear yourself?"

  "In war, rationality means very little to me," she says darkly. "This is the second war I've had to see through, and the moldus demonstrated how all conditions change in conflict. They were recruiting boys your age without batting an eye."

  "And that was wrong!" Daphne cries. "Majority of those muggle boys died, far from home, traumatised and alone. I won't let you do that to Stevie — she's barely sixteen."

  "What of yourself?"

  "I'm sorry?"

  She purses her lips. "You heard me. Why are you so quick to protect your sister, yet there aren't any concerns for your own safety? I can see it in your eyes, Daphne. You want to join."

  Atlas grimaces. "That's enough, Margaux. We shouldn't be discussing this in the first place."

  "Don't be such a coward," she spits. "Let them make up their own minds."

The tea's gone cold.

  Daphne runs her hands through her hair, wincing when they get caught in the tangles. Her mind is going into overdrive from all the information that's been rocketed into her brain, even the fleeting mention of Louise being apart of this dodgy Order muddling up her emotions. Suddenly, she doesn't feel very Christmassy at all.

"Excuse me," she whispers, fleeing from the living room and legging it up the stairs, taking it two steps at a time. A lump begins to form in her throat.

  Merlin, does she need to talk to Lily again.

author's note!

short chapter but still important

this fic is wayyyy more fast paced than i had anticipated but tbh i'm too impatient to slow down atp