chapter six,
rainy sundays

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

DAPHNE LONGS FOR LYON.

  She dreams of the scorching summers and la Fête des lumières in December, yearning for the markets under the amber sun or even another night lighting the sputtering candles on her grandmére's windowsill. She wishes she could go back to the bakery near their flat that serves the best macarons on the planet: to go to the old bookshop for one last time in search of Jane Austen novels. She'll even settle for the eerie train station tucked away on the far side of the city that sped her and Stevie toward Beauxbatons at the start of every school year. Merlin, does she miss Lyon. Perhaps she's biased because it is her home town after all, but in her defence the food is so much nicer and it's an awful lot warmer.

  Daphne groans miserably into her pillow at the thought. She grieves for the life she once had.

  The Slytherin dorms rustle with an energy that she lacks — alarm clocks buzzing, water from the lake lapping at the windows, the odd bit of idle chitchat filling the silence as the four other girls prepare for the day. Her chestnut hair tangles over her face in knots and tickle her nose uncomfortably. She can vaguely hear Tatum Rowle asking to borrow her hair straightener but can't form proper words through her cloak of grogginess: the best she can do is a weak thumbs up.

  "Are you coming to breakfast, Daph?" one of the other girls, Lihua Xiao, calls over her shoulder. Her pretty eyes glitter like Swarovski diamonds and Daphne can't help but think that she's really fit.

  "I'll be down in a minute," she waves her off as nicely as possible, every word muffled by her pillow.

  "Suit yourself," Lihua shrugs, rosy lips smiling cheerily. She turns back to her friends and the four of them clamber out of the dormitory, leaving Daphne alone with her thoughts.

She lets herself lie in disruptive silence, her heart beating in time with the water at the slightly algae encrusted window. Lyon reminds her of grandmére, which just makes her frustrated. Too tired to scorn or swear about her grandmother, Daphne just begins to let her mind wander and think about possibilities of where that wild woman even is. Their last goodbye before she was carted off to her dad's in Liverpool was too brief, too formal — admittedly, an urgency that she'd never before seen had been swallowing Margaux Charpentier whole, picking the porcelain façade from her complexion to leave her terrors bare to the world.

( Stevie insists that it was only because she was sad to see the two of them go, but Daphne knew that miserable old gorgon could never be that emotional over her. Maybe Stevie, but never her. )

Dread begins to boil in her. She searches every crevice of her memory for an answer, tracing the patterns on the ceiling as if the roof is withholding the truth from her. What was serious enough that she couldn't be told about it — that made her steely grandmother panicked and paranoid. Fear picks at her brain viciously because the only reason for grandmére's ( of all people ) anxiety would have to be something utterly life threatening.

  What's eating Margaux Charpentier?

   Well, who can really say?

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

"MERLIN, FOR ONCE YOU COULD AT least try to be on time," Lily snaps, playing with the ruffles of her quill.

  Rain patters on the window pane, the world outside as bleak as it had been for the past month or so. The musty smell of books has become a familiar foe of hers after all of the hours wasted at that same table with that same lethal redhead. She routinely slings her bag onto the floor with a clunk, her mother's old grimoire gently knocking against her thick bundle of tarot cards. A lone rook caws solemnly outside, sheltering under an overhanging tree branch as the heavens part above him.

She wants to pour her heart out there and then. To open up and tell Lily about every little thing that's been weighing her down and making her late: to hand her heart over to her without caring whether or not she'll rip it to shreds. To maybe even tell her that she doesn't hate her as much as she likes to let on.

Instead, she opts for:

"It's almost like I'd rather be anywhere else. Imagine that!"

She rolls her mossy eyes. "I'm being dead serious, though. We've got to cover the entire Mermish Civil War before next Thursday."

"Sound," Daphne grumbles, clutching at the orange calcite around her neck. "Mermaids are always at each others throats. Nobody needs to do a History exam to tell you that."

"History's one of your worst subjects, Charpentier. If you keep being so negative about it then you'll never get better."

"I can't bloody focus when the teacher is so unbearable to listen to! I'm nearly asleep on my desk every lesson."

"Yeah, well, it's not like that's my fault!"

  "T'es chiant, connasse," she mutters.

  "You know I can't understand French—"

  "Ladies!" a third voice interrupts.

  In an almost comical unison, they both whip their heads to the side in shock, the company unexpected due to the library being practically empty. Daphne furrows her brows and sets down her quill at the sight of two boys advancing towards them.

They're nothing out of the ordinary: both similar heights and having two pretty faces that aren't exactly unfamiliar to her. The first boy has unruly curls that've been ruffled about to look windswept, a wiry pair of glasses twined over his nose bridge. His simple polo neck is tucked into a pair of flares, the sleeves rolled up to show off his bronze forearms, scarlet converse poking out from beneath the sea of denim. The second boy looks less put together — although he manages to pull it off — with a Led Zeppelin t-shirt engulfing him and mismatched jewellery dressing him from head to toe. He has a relaxed air about him, a poorly concealed carton of cigarettes jutting from his pocket and his locs pulled up into a casual ponytail.

"What do you want, Potter?" Lily says nervously.

  Daphne sagely wonders if she even knows how to use people's first names.

"Don't sound so scared, Lily flower," James says cheerily, pulling up a chair to sit with them. "We're only being friendly."

His friend snickers. Daphne can't quite remember his name. "Yeah, and that doesn't sound creepy at all," he jokes.

"Dickhead," James mutters, but there's no malice in his voice. "Anyway, we're only here to give you two lovely ladies an invitation."

"Well, of course. Why else would you be in the library?" Lily snarks. Daphne chokes back her laughter.

She can't conceal her curiosity. "Invitation for what?" Daphne prompts when she's positive she won't burst out laughing.

"We're so glad you asked," James beams. "Sirius and I—" that's what his name is— "are planning a little party for Halloween next weekend if you fancy coming along."

"And we're even willing to make an exception for Slytherins," Sirius adds on, "just so long as you all play nice."

"I don't bite," Daphne grins. "Not unless you ask nicely."

He laughs at that, but James seems too enraptured with Lily to pay attention. She feels something... irritable pang at her heart when she sees how just lovesick he looks.

"So, what do you think, love?" he asks her. "Are you gonna come along?"

( If you listen closely, the sound of Daphne's blood boiling can be heard. Though she can't put her finger on why. )

She grimaces. "Don't call me that." Daphne can almost see the cogs turning in her head as she mulls over his question. "I mean, Marlene's already going to drag me along no matter what I say. So, yeah, I'll be there," Lily says in defeat.

"Fantastic!" James grins.

"What about you, Daphne?" Sirius questions.

She hesitates. "Oh, why not."

"It's a costume party, by the way," James tacks on cheerfully. "Don't forget to come all dressed up."

Lily quietly groans into her palms.

"This has been fun," Daphne pipes up tentatively. Gods forbid she ever came off as rude. "But I sort of have to get a move on, 'cause I'm meeting my mates soon, so..."

Sirius puts his hands up apologetically. "We're just about to go. See you two at the party, then?"

"Yes, yes," Lily dismisses, the usual edge in her voice dissipating. "Run along."

As they disappear through the maze of bookshelves, Daphne turns to Lily with a worried expression.

"What have I gotten myself to agree to, exactly?"

"Oh, you don't even know the half of it."

- - - ⊱✿⊰ - - -

HOGSMEADE IS HARDLY VISIBLE under the thick downpour that splashes against the cobblestone roads, wedging broad puddles in the most inconvenient places and totally swamping the grassy flowerbeds in mud. The main street still manages to be mobbed with crowds of people, the town only marginally quieter with the rain ushering people into the cosy warmth of all the shops.

  Daphne crowds under a tiny blue brolly with Cian and Roger on either side of her, the rain soaking into her shoulders and wetting the ends of her hair — luckily it wasn't hard to keep it poised at the right height, as Cian is only slightly taller than her and Roger is a fair bit shorter.

  By the time they make it into the Three Broomsticks, Daphne's bag is heavy with art supplies and her purse is far lighter, the jingle of coins in her pocket growing suspiciously quieter. She will admit that she's a bit of a compulsive shopper, but everyone has an Achilles heel! It's not her fault that there was a tempting 25% off sale at Prudence's Painting Emporium.

  She shakes the raindrops off her umbrella before she dares to wipe her feet and step onto the wooden floorboards: her manners prevailing over that desperation to get inside where it's roasting. The bell jingles pleasantly above her head, and almost as if she could sense her presence, Daphne's eyes instantly latch onto her little sister. She's sat at a table in the very far corner, her friend Susannah Shafiq by her side. Stevie waves the trio over frantically with a blinding smile hurting her cheeks as a wobbling butter beer sloshes about in her fingertips.

  "Alright, Daph?" she raises her voice above all the surrounding noise, her smile as warm as the sun.

  "Hello," Susannah pipes up shyly. Her doe eyes are dusted with glittery pink eyeshadow and everything about her is sweet enough to induce a toothache.

   Cian disappears to get them all drinks because Daphne wouldn't shut up about how she's gasping for a cup of tea for the entire walk over, leaving the four of them to chat amongst themselves.

  "Did I mention that there's a Halloween party next weekend?" Daphne says as she slides into the booth. "Those daft Gryffindor boys are throwing it."

  "Far out," Roger nods enthusiastically. "Trust me, those lot throw the best parties."

  Something that Daphne learned about Roger over the past few months is that he watches too many American movies — he likes to throw phrases he's heard into his sentences whenever he can, even if they sound out of place with his Leeds accent.

  Stevie clicks her fingers together triumphantly. "We should do a group costume!"

  Cian sits down, a wince on his face. "I'll pass on that," he interjects. "We'd look like absolute dafties."

  "Do you have a better idea, then?" she huffs.

  Before Cian gets a chance to defend himself, Roger jumps in. "Don't worry about him. He just wants to look his best because he fancies that Lupin boy."

  "Don't say that so loudly," he snaps in a hurry, cheeks colouring scarlet as he looks over his shoulder rapidly. "You know what some people are like, mate."

  "Sorry," Roger whispers, fiddling with the sunglasses on his head. He insisted on wearing them despite the downpour outside.

  Susannah, or Sunny as she prefers to be called, clears her throat to take the heat off of them. "I dunno if I'll come," she admits. "I'm not the biggest fan of parties."

  Stevie gasps like she's been slapped. "There's no way we're letting you stay behind. You heard Roger, they're the best parties ever!"

  "But I won't have anything to wear," she reminds her.

  "You can borrow off me, my lovely. It'll be so worth it, I promise."

  She gives in eventually, but Daphne is too enraptured with the grainy dregs leaving shapes at the bottom of her cup. Her eyebrows knit together in concentration as she squints at the leftover tea leaves twisting together against the aureate china. It's strange, because she hadn't even done the proper procedure to get a reading, and yet the message is clear — perhaps it's a sign that she desperately needs to see this omen. She can just about make out the shape of a cloud.

  A cloud. Her breath catches in her throat.

  Trouble.
 

author's note

eek i'm so excited to write the next few chapters!!!

take a shot every time i use a question mark in this chapter and you'll be pished by the end of it lmaooo

this was more of a filler chapter than anything and tbh i think the next one will be too but i promise it gets fun after that lol 😋