Falmouth Falcons
CHASER 1: Patented Daydream Charms (not suitable for wizards under 16)
(nursery rhyme) Hush, Little Baby ;
desk ;
hypothetical
930 words
Delphi has always wondered what she wanted most in the world. Unlike the Oracle of Delphi, she was lost.
Drifting, aimless, almost blind, like someone shipwrecked in the middle of the sea—crying so much that she could no longer tell if it was salt and seawater that was preventing her from seeing or her own tears.
She wanted nothing. She cared for nothing. She couldn't understand anything. Her foster mother had taught her the formers, but not the latter.
Despite her namesake, she could divine nothing. Nothing about people, or herself. She's never been able to tell why, exactly, people felt things. No, she wasn't a sociopath. At least, she didn't think so. It was just, it was as if there was an ocean separating her and people. Their actions were seen through the bend of water, and incomprehensible for it. She didn't understand why they grew green with jealousy, why they did horrible things to each other and themselves.
She just didn't.
Maybe it was because she had never had much to begin with—that could explain why jealousy stumped her. Her foster mother was pragmatic to her bones. She never cared for frivolous things like toys and new clothes. Their house was a stark, skeletal white, and three quarters of it was empty. The rest were the beds and essential utilities like the sink.
As for the way people enjoyed destroying themselves, well, Delphi has never liked pain. She wouldn't wish it on even her foster mother, Madame Rowle. So the way people relished it and rolled in it was doubly mysterious.
Perhaps, her ignorance was what led her to this: a box labelled, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' Patented Daydream Charms.
Trying her best to comprehend hadn't worked. The girl she attempted it on had stormed away after shouting, "LEAVE ME ALONE!"
So drifting further instead may allow her to progress. Or let her give up, at last.
'I'm so tired of trying and failing,' Delphi thought and opened the box.
Either way, there was nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
She was so lonely. Her imaginary friend had abandoned her years ago. How could it get even worse?
Maybe, she thought morbidly, her daydream would be of dying. It was a hypothetical situation, but it could happen. She'd sleepwalk right to the top of the astronomy tower and fall off the face of the earth.
No one would stop her. Besides, she was practically half-ghost already. Half dead. Half drowned.
Too depressed to think any further, Delphi downed the bottle and dreamed.
She awoke at home, in her room. There was someone singing.
"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird."
Delphi glanced around the house and realised it wasn't home exactly. Her room was barren as a winter tree. Colourless walls and bedsheets.
This room was something out of Alice in Wonderland. The walls were brightly coloured: sky blue next to an eye-watering neon yellow. The bed was striped red, and there were shelves and shelves overflowing with books. To her delight, she discovered that not all of them were worn, second-hand textbooks. There were frivolous fiction books as well.
There were purple rabbits hopping about on her ceiling and swarms of iridescent butterflies of all the colours of the rainbow flitting across it.
Even her desk was different. It had carvings of birds, hearts, trees, and words on it. Her original one was clean as a scavenged bone.
Another line of the song resounded from outside her room, and Delphi froze.
"And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring."
The singer had a sonorous voice, deep and rough, like a man's, but still recognisably feminine. Strangely enough, Delphi was reminded of her mother.
"And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's gonna buy you a looking glass."
She stepped outside the room, as if in a trance, and followed the sound to the kitchen door where she paused.
"And if that looking glass is broke, Mama's gonna buy you a billy goat,"
'Just a daydream. Just a daydream,' Delphi thought. It couldn't hurt her to open the door.
She pushed it open.
"And if that billy goat won't pull, Mama's gonna buy you a cart and a bull."
Euphemia Rowle stopped chopping the vegetables and turned to smile at her.
Delphi felt utterly lost.
How could this be her daydream? This woman who—
Hugged her.
"Welcome home, Dearest Delphi," her mother said.
Pressed against her bosom, Delphi could hear the steady pounding of her mother's heart. Her embrace was tight, almost harsh, but still tender. Her face was tough, almost masculine looking with that strong, set jaw, but loving. It was Euphemia Rowle, except with 'Madame' replaced with 'Mother.'
"And if that cart and bull turn over, Mama's gonna buy you a dog named Rover," her mother sang softly.
This was her greatest wish: for Euphemia Rowle to become a mother. It was pathetic. And yet, here she was, leaning into that hug. Embracing the dream.
"And if that dog named Rover won't bark, Mama's gonna buy you a horse and a cart."
Somehow, Delphi felt simultaneously ashamed and euphoric.
"And if that horse and cart fall down, you'll still be the sweetest little baby in town."
Then the Augurey began to cry. It rained. A flood washed everything away.
And she woke up, crying, grasping an empty bottle of daydreams.