chapter eleven,
herbology
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DAPHNE'S MANAGED TO AVOID LILY for almost two weeks.
The entire situation hangs awkwardly in the air between them, both of them secretly itching to splinter the silence. She knows that it was never really her problem in the first place and that she should've minded her own bloody beeswax, but she supposes that there's no use regretting the past.
She tries not to be bothered by the way Lily stares at her from afar as though she has the plague or something — key word, tries. Daphne can't exactly remember liking her all that much when she was hurling insults at her over their history notes, but it feels gut wrenchingly odd knowing that she doesn't have that now. Their desk in the library has been abandoned every weekend since the incident; her top marks are even beginning to plummet without Lily's help, though she'd never dare admit it.
The crisp leaves have almost completely drifted off the trees and torrential weather's still sweeping the school grounds, skies streaked grey as downpours become scarily frequent. Wind whistles through the hollow bones of the school, drifting over the withering grounds for one last hurrah before the ice begins to settle. Daphne sits ( ignoring the task at hand ) and watches the glass ceiling of the greenhouse in morbid curiosity, wondering if it'll collapse under the weight of the rain.
She's quickly brought back to reality by her teacher whittling on about something treacherously boring. Daphne catches something about doing plant maintenance for an entire period and has to restrain herself from banging her head against her gnarled desk. A frown tugs at her face when she spots the dark spots freshly inked on her potted plant, reaching for the bottled concoction on her right. Green bubbles fizz around angrily within the glass, the droplets sparking on the blemishes beginning to wash away the splotches. She spritzes it one time too many and the flower wriggles it's orange petals, beginning to nip at her gloved hands in thorny protest.
Daphne groans. "What's wrong with this plant?" she wonders aloud. "How does yours like you so much?"
"I dunno," Roger replies. "I'm naturally charismatic. Have you tried asking it nicely?"
"Didn't really work. We're having a bit of a disagreement at the moment."
"Of course," he sympathises. "I understand how difficult plant-human relationships can be. Have you considered counselling?"
Daphne inspects the weeping cut on her fingertip. "I might have to."
There's commotion on the parallel side of the greenhouse, laughter bubbling from the quiet abyss. Heads turn to look up from their flowers, because arguably anything is more interesting than the work before them. Surprisingly, it's none other than Lily Evans and Mary McDonald at the centre of attention, giggling into their palms over something Mary's said. They can only try and stifle their hysteria when a shadow looms over them, demerits imminent in their futures.
"Miss Evans," Professor Sprout sighs. "If you can't work with Miss McDonald, I'm afraid you'll have to be moved." She coasts her earthy eyes around the room.
Mary groans. "Professor, can we not have another chance?"
"That was your third chance, I'm afraid. Miss Evans, please swap seats with Mr Sato."
Daphne's heart leaps into her mouth. Her eyes jump onto Lily's, but quickly swerve onto the tabletop. She can feel her palms sweating as her footsteps round the length of all the desks, the horrible squeal of a stool being pulled out next to her signalling that Lily has in fact been moved next to her and she's not trapped in a complex nightmare.
It's awkward. Very awkward.
Daphne peeks through her hair meekly, studying the girl next to her. Her green eyes are creased in concentration, eyebrows knitted together as she attacks her plant with a little device that vaguely resembles a hedge trimmer. It's hard to tell what she's thinking, but Daphne lingers on her pretty features for a few moments longer than necessary. To deduce what's going on in her head, obviously!
"Are you just going to gawk at me for the next twenty minutes?" Lily mutters. "Or is there something you have to say."
"I'm not gawking," Daphne says defensively.
"You're totally gawking."
"Piss off, Evans!"
A prolonged beat of silence. More like a semibreve, really.
"Is there?"
Daphne looks up. "Is there what?"
"Anything you want to say to me."
"Nothing comes to mind," she replies dryly, narrowing her eyes.
Lily hesitates. "I'm sorry."
"What on earth are you sorry about?" Daphne exclaims. "You haven't done anything wrong."
"Well, I don't know!" she answers. "I'm sorry you had to deal with me when I was all upset. You didn't have to. It's made everything go all weird, as well."
"Don't be dense, Lily," Daphne says a bit too defensively. "It was nothing. I was just trying to be nice."
She pinches the bridge of her nose. "No— I didn't mean it like that—"
Lily throws her hands up in exasperation when she can't think of the right words, nicking her arm on a gardening tool next to her and slicing open a gash. This ultimately knocks a plant pot over and causes an almost comical domino effect — a sea of spilled soil and fractured terracotta soon sprawling over the floors. She hisses in pain, clutching at her arm as blood splotches like ink over her hand.
Their demise is written in the clicking of Professor Sprout's boots. When she arrives at the crime scene, she rubs at her face with her gardening gloves and looks as if she's trying not to burst a blood vessel. Her crow's feet scrunch up as she squints down at the mess of her classroom, a sigh rattling from deep within her chest.
"Miss Evans, Miss Charpentier," Professor Sprout says almost knowingly. "You'll have to come and tidy this mess up in after school detention. I expected more from you, ladies."
Daphne blows hair out of her face exasperatedly. "Wonderful," she mutters under her breath. "Just wonderful."
authors note!
i can't write drama
this feels clunky i can't explain
it but we move xxxx
i'm off for the october week so i'll hopefully be able to post more often but i'm notorious for not doing that 😍