what's next
A/N:
Well, would you look at that! 70k reads, thank you!
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December 28th, 1995
"I CAN SEE why you took her in, Molly," Remus said.
Sirius nodded in agreement, "Muggles can be horrifying, too."
"What kind of a father..."
Sirius sighed. The event made him recall unwanted memories of his childhood, when he too became a victim of his parents' violence and supremacist ideology. Daisy came from a Muggle family and he came from an anti-Muggle one, but the two were like two peas from one same pod.
Robbed of their freedom to choose their stand and be who they wanted to be.
Running away at the age of sixteen. Saved by their best friends.
He turned to look at Daisy, laughing as she sat by the dining table, surrounded by Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and Ron, while the seventeen-year-old twins performed a series of simple magic tricks. He noticed how she winced every once in a while and tried to hide it from her peers.
"Wotcher."
Tonks, in all her half-pink-half-purple hair glory, walked into the room and headed immediately for Mrs. Weasley's batter on the table. "Wow, this looks delicious!"
"Tonks! What are you doing here?"
"There's a party, right?"
"Dinner party!"
"Nah, I'm kidding," Tonks said, "Moody sent me to take some documents from upstairs. Hello, Sirius. Remus."
Sirius immediately returned the loud hello while Lupin's was something between a murmur and an incomprehensible mumble.
"Is that the Flower girl?" Tonks said, gesturing with her chin.
"Oh, shall I introduce you two?" Mrs. Weasley said, patting her palms against her apron to clean them, "I'm getting old! Preparing a feast for twelve people is starting to get exhausting! Daisy usually helps at the Burrow, but she's in no condition..."
"Later's fine, at dinner. I have to hurry, anyway," Tonks shrugged. "Are you coming to get Arthur yourself?"
"No, no, I'm gonna be stuck here in the kitchen. Bill is taking care of the discharge."
"Alright," Tonks took one last dip in the delicious sauce and licked her finger clean, "Godspeed! I better go —bye, people. Bye, Remus!"
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December 28th, 1995
THERE WERE TOO many delicious food and choices of drink —juices, beers, teas, coffees, wines— laid out on the table, circling a three-tiered cake with white and pink frostings.
"Molly, dear— this is too much—"
"Really not— necessary, Mrs. Weasley—"
But Mrs. Weasley still made Mr. Weasley wear a tall, purple paper crown and Daisy a yellow one.
Fred and George, stuck to the hip with Daisy since morning, took the liberty to introduce her to everyone, saying, "This is the long, lost Weasley kid."
The former particularly enjoyed keeping her by his side as she enjoyed the festive evening. He kept on filling her plate with food he knew she loved. He nimbly helped whenever she wanted to stand up or sit back down. He fussed over her pain whenever Tonks used her Metamorphmagus skill and made her laugh too hard.
"This is— wonderful! This is how a party— should be!" Daisy exclaimed, laughing over the background noise.
The Louvre Gala was 1000 times more extravagant and expensive than this, but Daisy would choose this ambience 1000 times over and over again. She loved the setting, the menu, the drinks, and above all, the people.
Don't get her wrong. She loved her friends, and she knew she could actually enjoy any event if there weren't any prying adults around. But this crowd...
Daisy looked at George and Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill... Even these people she just met today and yesterday: Tonks, Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Jones, Fletcher... They weren't trying to be the best in the room or faking perfection. They just wanted to have a good time.
And with them, she felt free to have her own definition of good time, too.
Daisy leaned to the person on her right and said loudly, "Do you often— have parties like— this here?"
"No, not really," Fred replied, "We had one when Harry was acquitted by the Ministry, and another one when Ron and Hermione were made Prefects... That's all."
"Wait— What?!" Daisy's eyes lit up and she turned to look at Ron, three seats away. "Ronald?"
Ron looked startled at first. He froze on his position —teeth sunk into the flesh of a chicken thigh, back hunched— then said, "What?"
"You're this— year's Prefect?"
"Y— Yeah," Then the boy's ears turned red. "Y'know, it's getting offensive. Why does everyone find that so hard to believe?"
"Why didn't— you tell me?"
He shrugged, "Slipped my mind."
"That's a momentous— accomplishment! It's a big— deal, and after all— you've been through, you deserve it. Congratulations!"
"Uh— Well, thanks! Really!"
"Here— have my crown."
"Nope. Keep it."
"You're just looking for a way to take this thing off, aren't you?" Fred asked teasingly, flicking the yellow paper above her head.
"No..." Daisy said, pressing a smile.
"Want anything to drink?"
"Pumpkin fizz, please."
"Just kidding. You're only allowed to have tea. Comin' right up."
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December 28th, 1995
LATER THAT NIGHT, the adults ended the party with some hush-hush brief. Something about surveillance and partners.
With both parents occupied, Fred and George stayed in Daisy's room (which was the library, since she still had a tough time walking up the stairs) and conversed freely like they usually did at the Burrow.
"Diagon Alley— definitely."
"We thought the same thing!" George exclaimed, "But there is no vacant space there. And the earliest contract will expire in 2000, assuming no force majure happen beforehand."
"You-Know-Who might be considered as force majure. But I don't exactly want him to reign either," Fred shrugged.
"So sale's— been good?"
"Wonderful! Not as much as we hope for, but order keeps on coming."
"We figure customers will eventually come when there are more choices."
Daisy nodded, "Have you— made a— Gantt chart?"
"...No. What's a gun chart?"
"Here," she gestured for them to hand her their undecipherable scribbles, then drew a line with her shaky hand. "Your to-do— includes— searching for— a store— finish Skiving— Snackbox— make run— away aids— find love— potion suppliers— what else?"
"Oh, I got it. You mean we should list down what we're gonna do next consecutively, right?" George guessed, "Hang on..."
"By the by— Georgie," Daisy scooted closer to him, "How's Ms. Alicia?"
George jerked his hand so abruptly, the pen created an unwanted line across the page.
"Huh?" Fred asked, "What about Alicia?"
George turned to glare at Daisy and made a dramatic shushing motion. But then he whispered with a wink, "Taking it slow."
"Alicia Spinnet? Our friend Alicia from school?"
Daisy smiled toothily, nodding, "Wise. Just not— too slow."
"What is it?" Fred demanded, "What's going on? George! Dee!"
"Nothing!" George said in a higher pitch, "Fred, you should write it down. I'm making a mess."
Fred glared at George in scrutiny, then at Daisy, but took over the paper anyway.
After nearly an hour of laughter, jokes, and discussion, Mrs. Weasley opened the door.
"Homework," Fred said without missing a beat. He didn't even lift his head off the paper.
"Yes, yes, sure." Like magic, Mrs. Weasley's tone turned as soft as honey. "Daisy, dear, we'd like to talk to you for a second. Can you walk?"
"Oh— of course," Daisy said, turning serious.
Fred and George didn't dare to ask if they could listen in. Wordlessly, they stood on either side of Daisy and helped her up, each one holding one of her arms, because they were gonna listen in the conversation anyway.
They followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.
Sirius and Mr. Weasley were the only ones left there.
Plates and cutleries were washing themselves in the sink and the broom was sweeping by itself, as if there were invisible puppeteers operating them.
"Daisy! Silly me, I haven't talked much to you since I got here."
"Mr. Weasley!" Daisy limped over and circled her good arm around his shoulders. "I missed— you! And I am— very glad that— you've— recovered well."
"Oh, I missed you more! Molly and I are terribly sorry for not telling you that we still stayed mostly at the Burrow —as we said, you're safer that way."
"I under— stand."
"You lost a lot of weight!"
"Oh, no," Daisy chuckled, "I've been well. But I do missed— Mrs. Weasley's— excellent cooking."
"Hey Dad," The twin chorused.
"Alright, let's cut to the chase. Are you two— of course you're staying. Accio tea." Six cups of tea came zooming at them and Mrs. Weasley pushed one closer towards Daisy. "Have some tea, dear."
She waited until the young girl took a sip before beginning, "Daisy, we are very glad to have you here and, personally, I want you to stay with us forever. But we have to rationally talk about what's next... Ah, not we, you. You have to decide about what's next."
Daisy nodded slowly, "Do I— Do I have to— go back?"
"No!" Mrs. Weasley said hurriedly, "No, no. However, you should have a word with your father and your good friend, Lucy. And there's also the matter of your unfinished education..."
Daisy looked down and toyed with her fingers.
Fred interjected, "Y— You can take a year off, right? Why don't you take a year off?"
"Do you have any money to pay for your tuition?" George asked, looking at her. "Is your Dad willing to pay?"
"Take your time to think. I know it's a tough decision," Mrs. Weasley said softly.
Mr. Weasley continued, "How about a few days? After you sort your thought, you can contact your family and friend with... what did Tonks say it was— p— palphone? Payphone? And if you don't want to go back, you can stay here, with Sirius."
Daisy looked up at the said man with wide, inquiring eyes.
Sirius stuttered awkwardly, "You can stay. You— you should stay." Any remaining hint of him being a mass murderer immediately dispersed into thin air.
"He would love the company," Mrs. Weasley smiled.
"I know this place doesn't exactly say holiday, and we can't leave to grab a bite or travel whenever we want to," Sirius faltered, "And there's Kreacher, and Buckbeak, and creepy portraits of my ancestors..."
"But you will be safe here. From your father, and from You-Know-Who."
"What about— you? Will you two— stay here?" Daisy asked Mrs. Weasley.
"We'll be staying at the Burrow, dear. But I promise you, we will visit all the time."
"Don't worry," Sirius said jokingly, "I don't bite. I just bark."
Daisy turned quiet once more, consumed by the whirlwind of her intricate thoughts. She took another sip of tea with her shaky hand... and thought of her future. Of Cambridge and Engineering, and Lucy and Vincent and Taylor... Of her father, who was still her father after all... Of Ms. Sloan, and the science competition trophy on her desk, and the makeshift flying broom she had kept hidden in the Burrow's warehouse.
There was this book she read, called the Alchemist, and it talked about a belief that at a certain point in our lives, we lose control of what's happening to us, and our lives become controlled by fate.
That's the world's greatest lie.
It said that people are capable, at any time in their lives, of doing what they dreamed of. That there was nothing to hold her back except herself.
And that when she wanted something, the whole universe would conspire to help her.
She wanted to believe, but the facts now seemed to stand against her dream, and she felt incredibly lost.
Not just lost, but also alone. She couldn't rely on someone else to make the decision for her.
Not just alone, but also confused. Could this place be considered as her comfort zone, or not? Should she stay, return, or leave?
Could she stay?
Really?