chapter two,
where on earth is evan rosier?
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BEFORE SHE LEFT FOR ENGLAND, Daphne's grandmother had given her two simple instructions; and she has already managed to defy them both.
Number 1: don't make a fool of yourself.
N'y pense même pas — don't even think about it, she had said sternly. Daphne recalls how she had shuddered under the strict gaze of the one and only Margaux Charpentier, right before she clung onto an ancient Portkey like it was her lifeline, her knobbly knees rattling together as though she were an admonished child. Their family's spectacular reputation is the dearest thing in that crone's hollow heart, and there would be a particularly colourful howler sent Daphne's way if anything went wrong! ( Yikes ). Now that she takes the time to think about it, Daphne hates to admit that she doesn't miss her good old grandmother as much as she probably should. Je t'aime, grand-mère!
Yet, in all the hullabaloo of the station, and the Hogwarts Express, and the school itself, Daphne has managed to embarrass herself in ways she had never thought to be imaginable. Being sorted amongst a squeaky pack of First Years was mortifying enough as a bloody sixteen year old, but she had tripped her own shoelaces more than she had breathed and had been humiliated by a poltergeist extensively: so, she just has to watch as her own clumsiness seals her fate, paving the way to a very early grave. Daphne could see it now: a mossy headstone reading, death by Margaux Charpentier — it was slow and painful!
Number 2: find Evan Rosier immediately.
The Rosiers are dearly beloved relatives on her mother's side, but Daphne would be lying if she said that she could remember anything remotely important about Evan, apart from his impressive talent for sending them annual Christmas cards. She had last seen him on a summer holiday when she was about five, and had fallen out with him rather quickly after he chased her around the orchards with an unnaturally large garden spider on a stick that he had found. After that, she refused to talk to him for the rest of the summer — she had nightmares for weeks!
However, Daphne has since then managed to work out that arachnophobia lasts a lifetime and Evan Rosier is ( pardon her French ) fucking impossible to track down, especially when every bloody corridor in Hogwarts is near enough identical.
Her silver and emerald tie is unfamiliar and asphyxiating as she saunters through the halls like a tourist, Stevie at her side and a tired looking Roger wandering a bit further behind — Cian had, of course, turned up his nose and shoved his face back into his pillow ( Roger's words, not her own ), making it clear that his sleep is far more important than helping them. Daphne is beginning to agree.
The sun is just skimming the grand munros outside, dustings of melting snow cresting their peaks. Cobwebs are spun in the crevices of the faded stained glass windows, glistening with morning dew and condensation from the prismatic glass. A number of ghosts mill through the halls with a certain coldness hanging around them, intangible and grey, mystified in the haze of a distant afterlife as they drag about their life's purpose like shackles. Portraits snore away unashamedly in their aureate frames, oil-painting reflections of ancient people lost in history's never ending labyrinth. A vague waxing moon curves in a cradle of misty morning clouds, the enchanting light of it diminishing as the sun parades across the sky — it'll be gone by first period, swathed in silken cerulean and lost in a hidden cosmos.
Romeo pokes his fluffy little head out of Stevie's bag, yawning heartily.
"Are you certain he'll be up yet, Roger?" Daphne asks, eyeing the face of her watch strangely.
Roger waves his hand dismissively. "Oh, yeah. He always gets up dead early to have a smoke before the prefects can find him."
"He sounds completely out of his mind," Stevie murmurs, rubbing her turquoise eyes with fervour.
He beams at her, pearly teeth glittering. "I'm sure it runs in the family."
The Great Hall is deserted, those four long tables that stretch the length of the grand room empty. Birds whistle and coo in the vast courtyards outside — a distant whisper from the faraway world managing to slip inside and echo before it sputtered out. Silence is palpable, their clicking shoes being the only other noise brave enough to pierce through the veil of quiet that had been cast over the room. Despite all this eerie stillness, a lanky figure is hunched over at the centre of the Slytherin table, poking his fork at a full plate as he read the Daily Prophet with interest.
His honey curls lay over his forehead in carefully styled chaos, eyes the same sparkling cerulean as Stevie's. Although regality curves around his sharp features, that same boyishness from before is still evident in the smattering of freckles over his nose and the enchanting warmth of his dimples. He leaps to his feet when he spots them, a smile made of stardust playing on his lips as he greets them jovially. Evan's robes are askew, but he hardly lets it bother him as he throws his arms wide, inviting and welcoming.
"Ah, there are my favourite cousins!"
"And your only cousins," Stevie reminds him pointedly.
"Details, details. I was wondering where you'd run off to after the feast yesterday," he went on. "Our good old grandmother owled me just the other night to tell me that I need to keep an eye out for you two."
He gives them both a hasty kiss on each cheek, embracing them in a death grip and muttering kind small talk in French.
"Come and sit," Evan insists, his grin never fading from his face as he beckons them over to his side. "Merlin, Roger, I haven't seen you in yonks. How are you doing?"
"Oh, y'know. The usual."
"Spectacular." He claps his hands together, silver rings clicking together. "Now, what can I do for you lovely ladies?"
Daphne picks up a goblet of orange juice, swirling it's contents around absentmindedly. "Well, you get to be my tour guide for the next term, you lucky duck," she says happily, showing off her green tie.
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to tip me extra."
"In your wildest dreams, Rosier."
Evan redirects his focus to Stevie. "How about you, love? Have you got someone to show you about?"
"One of the girls in my dorm said she'd be more than happy to help me find my classes — her name's Sunny," she replies, slipping a piece of bacon to Romeo under the table.
A knowing look dawns on Roger's face. "The Shafiq girl," he adds helpfully.
Evan nods, before turning toward Daphne and brandishing that award winning smile. "So, what are your thoughts on double Potions first thing?"
Daphne groans in response.
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HALFWAY THROUGH FIRST PERIOD, Daphne decides that Beauxbatons and Hogwarts are nothing alike.
They're both enchanting in their own special ways, but nothing could compare with her old home-away-from-home. Beauxbatons is a lavish chateau of pearly stone and sapphire tiles tucked away in the Pyrenees mountains, swathed in prosperous rose gardens that have been charmed to never wilt. Inside, there are grand ballrooms for all of their seasonal dances, and a winding labyrinth of wine cellars beneath the school withholding all the fine drinks for special occasions. There are even stables full of stunning Abraxan winged horses behind the castle, along with a looping track for the horse-riding elective the academy offers. ( It sounds really posh, she knows, but don't hold that against her ).
Then it hits her: Daphne actually misses Beauxbatons. She misses the little dorm room that she shared with a lovely girl called Étiennette, with it's lavender scent and stunning architecture. She misses how sometimes they would go skiing behind the school before the summer holidays officially began, tumbling down the glittering snow that lay in a blanket across the hills. Merlin, she even finds herself missing the classes she always claimed to despise — particularly Philosophy and Art History.
Daphne's beginning to think that she may be experiencing a little bit of homesickness.
As she tears away from her daydream, she focuses on the cauldron bubbling away on her desk, the St. John's-wort that Evan had added turning it a buttery yellow. He's sat on her left, evenly dicing up a bat wing with a scrunched nose.
"Are you sure you don't want to have a go at chopping this?" he asks, his voice strained as crimson spatters his blade.
"You're alright, Ev," Daphne replies a bit too quickly, snatching up a jar of pine needles and sprinkling them in the concoction to busy herself.
He eyes her, frowning. "Er, is it supposed to turn that colour?"
The potion has turned a garish orange, spurting smoky sparks and smelling vaguely of singed hair. It bubbles suspiciously as it turns the bumpy sides of the cauldron scalding hot.
"Oh, merde," she murmurs, pulling her goggles off of her eyes. "I've gone and added too much pine."
"I don't actually think the recipe calls for any pine at all," Evan worries.
"I'm sorry," she mopes, twisting her hair anxiously around her finger. "I never took Potions after third year, I haven't a clue what I'm doing."
He peers into their textbook, running his fingertip along the confusing method that's scrawled on the yellowing pages. "Was it not part of the curriculum?" he wonders aloud.
"It wasn't mandatory," Daphne says. "I swapped it for Art when I got the chance. Painting with magic is such a blast."
"I can imagine," Evan mutters dryly. "Here, tear up some lemon balm and see if that does any good."
She purses her lips and pulls her goggles back over her eyes, the glass fogged up by the steam rolling off of their healing potion's syrupy surface. When her hand grazes the dish holding all the herbs, it skims the cold metal and she feels her heart sink — it's completely empty.
"Bugger," Daphne grimaces. "Hold on, Ev, I'll be back."
It's stuffy in the Potions classroom, the air intoxicated by the smell of more successful results mingling with their own disastrous creation. ( Very Frankenstein of them ! ). There's a large chalkboard at the front with a diagram depicting a squiggly conical flask and an ingredients list scrawled in Professor Slughorn's loopy handwriting. Animated chatter swarms in the nooks and crannies of the small classroom, nestling into the cracked stone walls. The ancient stools are rickety and the tables are all graffitied, rogue bits of chewing gum glued to the undersides of the desks. Shelves brimming with encyclopaedias and textbooks line the walls where the storage units don't tower, casting shadows along the ground under the pale candlelight.
When Daphne gets to the cabinets at the back, a girl is already stood at the scales, measuring a sprinkling of billywig antennae. Her auburn hair is wrangled in twin plaits that curl around her waist, a myriad of potential flyaways clipped in place by kaleidoscopic clips. Makeup dusts her soft features: eyeshadow dances over her lids, lipgloss stains her full lips fuchsia. There are ladders in her tights and a uneven stitches in her massive crochet jumper but that doesn't take away from the enrapturing malachite of her eyes, nor the rosiness of her pretty face.
Their hands brush when Daphne reaches for a tiny spatula, stares snapping to one another. She has the prettiest eyes. Why am I so drawn to her eyes? When she opens her mouth to apologise, the Gryffindor beats her to it.
"Oh, um, sorry," pretty girl squeaks, her complexion going as red as her hair. She stands for a moment, fumbling with the antennae in her palms nervously before she scurries back to her waiting partner.
Puzzled, Daphne finishes up with her measurements before wandering back to her seat and sprinkles a handful of lemon balm into the potion. Suddenly, it bursts a balloon of fire into the air, a shriek spiralling from her lips. Daphne bangs her forehead against the desk in defeat, her exasperated groans muffled.
"I'm doomed."
Evan pats her shoulder sympathetically.
"We'll work on it, love."
author's note!
so it's been nearly a month... sorry 😍
this chapter is so boring and the writing sort of gets worse near the end but i wanted to get this out quickly to make up for how long it's been 😭😭
anyway when i was writing this i had just watched eurovision ( which was ages ago bc i take centuries to write ) and it was such a letdown that sweden won omgggg it was rigged!!! finland should've won and i will die on this hill ty very much