Author's Notes: T for strong language and for non-explicit sexual situations in later chapters. A special thanks to respitechristopher and Sara Winters for their love of Daria Morgendorffer, as it sort of inspired the dynamic between Daphne and Astoria in this part. I own nothing.
iv. don't say yes
"Don't say it!"
Michael raises his eyebrow at Daphne's semi-winking stare.
"But—"
"Don't, Mikey."
"Oi! Can this 'Mikey' business," he says, with a smirk. She bites her lip, and Michael can't help but think she's stifling a smile.
He wrinkles his nose at her, and he spits out his answer. "Yes!"
"No! No, no . . . a thousand times no!" Daphne sighs, exasperated but laughing. She throws her head back and slouches in her chair at their library table. She starts hitting her head with her book lightly. Michael can't help but smile — after all, he's the one who's driven her to this playful madness.
"How long have we been here now?" Daphne rubs her eyes, still grinning.
Michael checks the hovering hourglass the library uses to keep time. "It's only been two hours."
She sits back up. "Well, it feels like eight." She glares at him, but in a teasing manner. "And how many weeks have we been meeting now?"
"Only three."
She breathes out and shakes her head, but she continues to smirk. "I'll speak slower this time, and maybe — just maybe — the relevance of the number seven in the Agrippan and Chaldean methods will finally sink into that thick skull of yours!" And she taps at his head, his shaggy hair shaking as she does so.
He laughs in earnest.
"Perhaps I'm a lost cause," he says, swatting at her hand and grinning. "I'm too much of a creative thinker for Arithmancy!" He crosses his arms and he bows his head. "I defer to your mental precision."
Daphne gives him a flat look, but the corners of her mouth twitch ever so slightly.
"Okay, so, once again. The Agrippan Method uses a number set—"
"Daphne!"
She turns around as a girl who shares her eyes, but who's taller, thinner, and more polished in appearance than Daphne, strides gracefully towards their table.
"Astoria? What do you need?" Her voice has a sharp edge to it. "And keep your voice down. Pince'll have our heads!"
"Father sent us letters." Astoria ignores Daphne's command entirely; she speaks in the same volume as before. "Yours came with mine."
Daphne frowns. "Why didn't he just send one to me directly?"
"How would I know?" Astoria huffs. Michael thinks she looks increasingly haughty. "I'm not a mind reader!" She takes one look at Michael and her nostrils flare slightly. "Can I ask what you're doing here, Daphne?"
Michael watches as she narrows her eyes. "We're studying. Now, can you go away?"
Astoria hisses and spins around, reminding Michael an awful lot of Daphne that first day just outside the Arithmancy classroom. "You two sisters, huh?"
Daphne glares at him and opens the letter. She reads it for a few moments, then sneers, and then crumples it into a little ball and tosses it into her bag.
"Bad news?"
Michael winces as Daphne stares at him, her eyes sharp and angry. However, her face falls after a moment. "Just more about how I'm not living up to the Greengrass name and legacy." She gives him a rueful little grin and chuckles quietly. "I'm the big family disappointment."
He leans forward. "I'm sorry. Uh, do you . . . well," he screws his face up, "need to talk?"
Daphne pauses. And then she takes a breath. "It's just that I'm never really on the same page as the rest of them."
"Really?"
She nods. "They're very pro-pure-blood, anti- . . . well, anything else. I'm not really into all that shit. They want me to marry a nice pure-blood wizard." She smirks. "I keep telling them I'm a lesbian—"
"You-you're a . . . you're n-not, though, right?"
Michael hates it when he's nervous and he trips over his tongue.
"Of course not! I just like seeing the looks on their faces when I say it. That's why I've got a horribly nasty mouth too. Mother says I need to talk more like a proper witch. I tell her to fuck off."
He chortles at her very matter-of-fact tone.
"But they want me to marry pure and not taint our bloodlines." She regards him, steadily, even as her face colors. "I'd rather not be fussed about it. Pure-blood's fine, but I'm not ruling out others." She turns her head towards the direction Astoria walked and hums sadly. "She used to be better, y'know. When she was younger. More carefree. More fun. Astoria got to Hogwarts, and it's been all about her image, associating with the right people, her appearance. Lately, she just seems to be all about Mummy and Daddy's approval." Her eyes drop to the floor.
"So you're okay with Muggle-borns?"
Daphne shrugs. "Don't really see the big deal about them."
"Er," and suddenly, Michael isn't sure whether he wanted to know the answer to the question, but he asks anyway. "What about Harry Potter?"
She rolls her eyes and snorts again. "Please! If I ever saw an idiot with a knack for getting themselves in trouble, it's Potter."
Michael whistles. "Tell me how you really feel."
"Do you believe him?"
He looks at her and nods. "I do."
"W-were you . . ." she speaks haltingly, as if she doesn't really want to know, but she continues to speak, "were you a part of that club last year . . . y'know? The defense club—"
"Well," he shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, "I studied defense with some friends. Is that what you mean?"
Daphne nods but regards him carefully, as if she knows he's holding back.
