The Fools Who Dream

Chapter 2

Perhaps Euphemia took pity on Cynthia after her 'upchucking' – as Sirius so kindly put it – because half an hour later, she was sat on the stairs, curled up with her knees hugged to her chest, her hair in a beautiful straight plait that almost reached her waist. Her face was still pale, and her stomach was now grumbling, as all the food she'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours had now been vanished by Rivey.

Fleamont stood, in his suit and leaning on his cane, in the front hall, next to Euphemia, and the three of them were waiting for the two boys to finish getting ready.

"Are you going to throw up again?" asked Fleamont, looking to Cynthia.

"It was their fault." said Cynthia hoarsely; her throat was raw after she'd thrown up twice more – she hadn't thought there was anything left after the first time.

"Nonsense." he said calmly. "You probably ate something funny last night."

"But I didn't eat anything last night!" she cried, tears brimming in her eyes again. "You made sure of that!"

"Cynthia, don't argue with me." said Fleamont firmly. "You're just being silly now."

Cynthia squeezed her eyes tight shut and leaned her head against the banister, but despite her best efforts, a small tear leaked out of her eyes and trickled down her cheek.

"Come on boys, we'll be late!" Euphemia called up the stairs. She simply ignored her daughter's shaking shoulders.

There was a loud thundering from upstairs, like hundreds of elephants running through the halls, and James and Sirius pounded down the stairs with their trunks in hand; James 'accidentally' knocked his trunk into Cynthia's back as he came down.

"Are we finally ready to go then?" asked Fleamont, sighing.

"Ready." said James, letting go of his trunk and allowing it to fall to the ground with a thud.

"Well then, James, you and Sirius will have to go with your mother, and I'll take Cynthia." said Fleamont. "I can't carry all of that luggage, not with my leg."

"Okay Dad." said James, grinning. "Want me to take Cynthia's trunk?"

"You're such a good boy dear." said Euphemia fondly, kissing his cheek. "Come along then, let's get going."

"Cynthia can carry her own trunk." said Fleamont firmly. "Come here, Cynthia, we need to leave."

"I heard you, I'm not deaf." muttered Cynthia irritably, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

"I'm getting to the end of my tether with you these past few days." snapped Fleamont, taking a step forward towards her. "You have been rude, insolent, impertinent, disobedient -"

"Don't those all just mean the same thing?" said Cynthia before she even realised her mouth was open.

Fleamont lost his temper. It was very rare for him to, but now, he was just fed up with her attitude. He reached out a hand, so quickly it seemed like a blur, and slapped her across the face with a loud, echoing sound that made them all fall silent.

Cynthia's head had been jerked to the side, and there was now an ugly red hand mark on her face from where he had hit her, and she stared at him in shock.

He may had gotten angry before, but he had never struck her properly on the face.

"Apologise." he demanded. "For all of your behaviour. Now."

"I'm sorry." she whispered tearfully. "I'm sorry for all my behaviour."

"Good." he said. "Now, we can go."