𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 - 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞

❃ chapter two

❃

Cold water splashed refreshingly against her face, waking her tired senses that early morning.

Silver rings accompanied pearl earrings and a diamond necklace as she sped out of the downstairs powder room, into the main hall of the Greengrass Residence where everyone's luggage resided.

Maybelle and Pansy had been staying at the Greengrass Residence for the past eight nights, awaiting their long travels to platform 9 and ¾. Each day consisted of dumping bubble bath into the third floor hot tub, bingewatching Full House which Pansy had very excitedly recommended, and snarfing down every flavor of icecream that was inside the kitchen's extensively large freezer.

Nights were spent smoking on the rooftop, gazing out over the rich estate, Daphne's muggle Porsche sitting still and unused in the smoothed pebble driveway.

It took nearly fifteen minutes for her to wrestle Astoria away from the trapdoor after screaming, "Mum, I smell weed!", only for Daphne to profusely slam it in her face, black locks of hair getting stuck between the hinges.

There was a lot of scolding that night.

Summer break had ended far too soon, the three girls piled into Daphne's bedroom on blown up mattresses covered in throw pillows and knit blankets.

Maybelle had only received mail from two of her classmates, Naevah and Theodore. Blaise would leave the occasional note in his sister's letters, but Draco hadn't sent a word. She didn't expect him to, nor did she want him to.

She didn't feel like dealing with his constant bickering.

They had never seen eye to eye, every conversation ending in a handful of harmful words and crossed arms, followed by an awkward silence and one of them storming away in the opposite direction.

Daphne insisted it was sexual tension.

It was merely tension to Maybelle; unwanted, undesirable tension.

She believed him to be an arrogant piece of shite that could reside on the bottom of somebody's shoe sole, and nobody would be able to tell the difference between him, and a bit of old chewed bubblegum.

Mr. Greengrass heaved each bag into the enlarged trunk, Daphne scowling as her little sister took the front passengers seat.

"You can't take shotgun, I'm two years older than you," she yelled at Astoria, watching as her father kissed her mother on the cheek, goodbye.

"Let her sit, Daphne. You can all pile in the back. Another word from you and I'll make you sit in the middle,"

She huffed, opening the car door with a frown.

"I'll take the hump, don't worry about it ma'am," Pansy shuffled in between us, wrapping her arms around our shoulders, resting her feet on the compartment console.

"Daph's room still smells like fucking weed," Astoria plugged her nose jokingly, sticking her tongue out at her sister.

"Language," her mother seethed, slapping her shoulder lightly.

"So she can smoke weed but I can't say 'fuck'? What kind of fucking rule is that?"

Mrs. Greengrass rolled her eyes as the girls began to bicker, beginning the drive to King's Cross Station.

"At least I didn't fail potions last year."

"At least I don't have to use hair gel to slick back a pony tail-"