Chapter 18 - Don't Panic
July 5th, 1992 (Sunday)
Location: Granger's House - Heathgate, Hampstead
"So what was different about the trip to ZSL?" Meissa asks lowly, her hands working on taming back her hair.
"Your behavior," Daphne states flatly before she reaches over and helps the other girl with the braids. Instead of choosing to gather Meissa's hair into a single braid she decides to split her hair into smaller, manageable braids that essentially combines into a larger one. A part of her is surprised that Meissa is actually allowing her to do this.
"The… child," Meissa mutters, glancing at the blonde as she continues to braid her hair.
A part of her still couldn't believe she had been acting so… unlike herself. She wants to utterly reject this - deny that it's ever a thing.
But then she remembers. The odd random things she would wake up to. Toys - long since packed away - spread out before her in some elaborate scene. Pillows stacked and covered by blankets. Well read, dog eared, children's books left open on a random page.
She can't deny something that is inherently true.
"Not so much a child," Hermione remarks idly, leaving her seat to pull free a book from a shelf.
It's unclear if it's a book that relates back to their conversation.
She hopes so.
"How else would you describe this."
Hermione gives the irritated Slytherin a reproachful look for the tone. With an indignant huff the girl returns to her seat with the book in hand, "I don't always have an answer, you know."
The pair exchange heated glares at each other until Daphne intervenes with a soft sigh.
"She's only trying to help," she murmurs, tapping her friend's head in a light reprimand, "Go easy on her ok?"
Meissa mutters darkly but, without further prompting, makes a small apologetic noise.
Hermione didn't press for something more concrete - she's familiar with this particular tick in the dark haired girl's. It'd take a lot to convince the other girl of being wrong about something - even more to even admit and then offer an apology.
After a long moment Meissa lets a long exhale escape her, her shoulders dropping slightly as Daphne continues to braid her hair. Already half of her long hair has been braided back.
"What do we do now?" she asks softly.
"Plan?" Hermione suggests.
"For what?" Daphne asks as she starts another small braid.
Hermione makes a sound that indicates she is unsure. Meissa doesn't really have a response since she's still unnerved by the gaps in her memories - a part of her wondering why she never sought an answer sooner.
"… I need to adjust the plans for the week," Hermione announces after a long moment of silence, turning a page in her book. She has an irritated expression on her face - a person doesn't have to be a genius to realize that she's bothered by the fact that she forgot to account for Meissa's tendency for migraines.
"We don't know all of my triggers," Meissa points out.
"Well, we do know about the migraines."
"You can't just bundle me up."
"None of us is suggesting that."
"You might not be."
Meissa jabs an elbow back at the blond for that remark. The slight tug of her hair was the only reprimand she got for that. That and a giggle for the reaction.
"I don't need to be babied."
Her voice was not at all petulant.
Nope.
An arm slides over her shoulder before a head rests on her shoulder. A side eye confirms that it's Daphne and - she can't keep a goofy smile off her face - the blond looks content. An easy smile is on the other girl's face, her pale blue eyes shining in the low light of the attic, strands of pale blond hair slightly obscuring her face.
It's hard to try and be angry at her.
"At the very least we can make sure that we avoid things that could trigger an…" Hermione pauses as she tries to think of the right word.
"Episode."
"That's as good as we'll probably get," Daphne remarks as she drapes the finished braid over a shoulder, starting on yet another.
Hermione rolls her eyes at them before she gets out a notebook and scribbles a few things down.
"So we know that the triggers are… sensory overloads," the Gryffindor remarks as she writes, "Extreme cases of anger." Hermione glances up at the other girls at this. A puzzled expression fliting across her face as she narrows her eyes just a bit. "Why does extreme anger trigger a black out?"
She only gets a shrug from the raven-haired girl.
"Not really helpful," she remarks idly but went back to writing down notes about what she knows.
"Sorry."
Hermione rolls her eyes at her friends but went back to writing her notes.
Daphne continued to braid the long unruly raven hair.
None of them noticed the door to the attic softly closing.
~MJB~
In the guestroom, Meissa has made herself comfortable on the corner of the bed, hunch over her notes. The tip of her pen scratching out numbers as she calculates the distance, the sizes, the amounts - just about everything she would need to know.
With a grumble she scratches at her left shoulder, almost twisting around to get to the scarring there. The itch there has been driving her insane for the last few hours - since the issue of her blackouts came to light. To most people it seems like she's scratching at nothing. But beneath all the glamours on her, is a white patterned scar that has been a source of irritation for nearly four years now. Time still hasn't taken away the worse of the scarring - it may never fade away and it's something she loathes with every fiber of her being.
"Hey," she hears before she becomes too absorbed with her memories.
A slight shudder escapes her before she bundles the emotions and the thoughts into a ball and drops them away into a pool.
She'll have to clear them out at some point.
But that point is not now. She's not sure when that point will ever come.
Without looking she knows it's Daphne - returning from the loo most likely - so she doesn't flinch at the sudden contact on her shoulder. Right at the spot she was trying to scratch, the blonde's nails digging slightly into her skin.
"Itchy?" the blond asks as she settles down on the couch, lightly scratching at the spot. Getting a mixed reaction from the raven-haired girl.
"Yeah," she mutters, shifting slightly so that the other girl wasn't right on top of the scarring. Now that the immediate itch was settled she could concentrate on her notes. On one of the pages she has an array that is meant for the nexus in the house - she needs to figure out where the bloody hell that is. On another page is the array for the northern portion of the property.
"What are you working on?" she hears Daphne ask just before she feels the weight of the blonde's head settling onto her shoulder.
She tilts the notebook up so Daphne could see.
It's a bare bone sketch of a rune array. The array is basically a circle consisting of small runes in a repeating pattern of protection, shield, ward, and conceal. In the center of the array is the elemental symbol associated with the North - an inverted triangle with a horizontal line through the middle.
There's room for improvement.
"Impressive," Daphne remarks as she studies the sketches. "Do you plan on taking Ancient Runes?" she asks out of curiosity, reaching out a hand to turn the page.
"It's one of my options," she agrees mildly.
"What other classes are you considering?"
"Magical creatures."
Daphne makes a noise of disagreement before sighing. "Okay."
"Also, Arithmancy."
"You and numbers," Daphne mutters fondly, moving away from the raven-haired girl with a huff.
She sticks her tongue out at the blonde before getting up to put away her things. Finding herself grateful that she has already replaced her earrings with the old set - sleeping with an actual feather earring is too cumbersome.
"What about you? What classes are you thinking of?"
"I'll join you for the care of magical creatures… other than that I don't really know."
"Mm… we have another year before we have to sign up for the classes," Meissa yawns, turning off the main lights for Daphne to switch on the nightstand's lamp. With the aid of the lamp's low light, she makes her way to the bed, claiming the side farthest from the door.
The bed's big enough for them to have some space. Crawling under the blankets Meissa pulls the blankets up to her shoulders. A part of her feels she needs to shy away - a large part of her, a growing part, has been slowly becoming uneasy with all the constant contact. Two whole days of nothing but contact and she feels like she has to fight the crawling sensation beneath her skin.
She dreads even poking the pools - of releasing the emotions and sorting through them properly.
Her Uncle Sev would have her head if she doesn't sort through them any time soon.