Five days until the Cup, twelve days until school. She could get through that. It was less than two weeks, and she'd be leaving for the cup in four days, anyway. Three, if she didn't count that day. She'd be away for two days for the cup, so it was more like ten days until school. She could make shopping for her school supplies take an entire day, so it was really more like nine days. She could make it nine days. Then, it was 103 days until her seventeenth birthday, and 679 days until the last day of term of her 7th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry .
Poppy Selwyn, who was sixteen and the only child of Amelia and Antony Selwyn of the proud and noble house of Selwyn, twirled a fine, silver band between her fingers, eyes raking lazily over the four hallmarks along the inner band. 5, 12, 103, and 679 shined with soft, green illumination against the polished silver. She checked the countdowns enough to never have to look, but still, she did. Several times a day, as if it would make the time move faster, that she'd suddenly look down and see 0, 0, 0, and 0, but to her dismay, her excessive checking had yet to bring the nights any faster.
That night was a night she'd like to move particularly quickly, but feared that time, yet again, would display its aptitude for trudging by as slowly as possible at exactly the moments she hoped it wouldn't. It was the night of her mother's End of Summer Gala. Poppy had once looked forward to it every year. It served as a wonderful excuse to play dress up, dance the night away, and imagine exactly how her life would be when she finally grew up. But, then she did. She grew up and filled out, and what once had been a fantasy became a nightmarish excuse for her mother to attempt to trade her away to some other Pureblood family with promises of marriage and plenty of pureblood babies.
It had first occurred to Poppy around age eight that muggles couldn't be that bad. They made wonderful things! And without magic! The music she heard while traveling London, the art, the architecture, all of their own sort of magic; science, engineering, instruments they played with their own hands and mouths. How could they be so bad if they had magic of their own? This, of course, led to more questions. Would a half blood or a muggle born then not be even more magical? If they had both?!
Wonder quickly turned to anger and cynicism as Poppy grew older, met muggle-borns and half-bloods, and learned a less-biased version of the history she'd so lovingly been taught growing up. Anger and cynicism became resentment, as it so often does, but the panic? The panic was the most recent of all. It had set in the previous summer, when the playful discussions by parents at the End of Summer Gala about which of their children should marry became very real discussions of the continuations of bloodlines and the logistics of arranged marriages. It was a nightmare Poppy didn't know she had until she was already in it. So 364 days prior to that night, after overhearing her mother's oh so casual conversations with just about every set of parents with a son from the age of thirteen to thirty, Poppy made the decision. On the day of her graduation, June 30th, 1996, instead of boarding the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross, Poppy Selwyn would pack her trunk, slip away from the Hogsmeade station, and run. And she had 678 days to figure out where.
"Poppy, dearest, Mipha has finished steaming your dress, are you-"
"-Mother!" Poppy shoved the ring back on her finger before quickly tugging her bathrobe closed, "Knock! Please-"
"-Guests will begin to arrive in an hour! Why aren't you ready?" Poppy's mother scolded, hooking the hanger holding Poppy's dress over her door. She began moving through her room and tidying things, taking the book from Poppy's nightstand to the bookshelf, straightening the knick knacks on her shelf, and the like.
"I'll be ready in an hour, mother. It won't take long." Poppy began pulling the rollers from her hair and setting them on her dressing table. By the fourth roller, her mother swept behind her and began jerking rollers from her head, apparently unsatisfied with Poppy's progress. It took all sixteen years of stoicism and poise Poppy had learned from her upbringing to not show the pain or annoyance in her face. Instead, she picked up the lip liner from her dressing table and began filling in her lips.
"I have to admit I'm a little shocked you aren't bringing a date tonight," her mother said, her reflection looking none-too-shocked whatsoever.
Poppy dabbed at her lip with her ring finger, softening the sharp burgundy line. "Adrian is my date, mother-"
"-Adrian is your excuse, Poppy Marie. Don't think I don't see it-" Poppy made a rather unflattering face in their mirror as her mother looked down and reached for the comb on her dressing table. "-What are you going to do once he finds a proper witch to marry?"
"Oh, I don't know…" Poppy dabbed a matching shade of lipstick over her bottom lip, pressing her lips together. "Become an ugly old hag with fifteen cats, I s'pose." She filled in her cupid's bow before clicking the lipstick bullet closed and setting it aside.
Poppy's mother pursed her lips, her strokes with the comb through Poppy's dark hair proving to be no more gentle than her work with the rollers. "New Year's Ball. You bring a date, or I will find one for you-"
"-Done," Poppy shrugged. She brushed powder over her forehead and down her nose, ignoring the frustrating building behind her mother's eyes.
"A suitable date, Poppy," her mother replied in a pinched voice.
"What's suitable, mother? A second cousin?" Poppy feigned innocence in her words as her mother turned red, the angry, mottled flush reaching down her neck.
"Bring a date, or I will bring one for you. You'll be of age in a few month's time, and I don't think I need to remind you that I do not need your permission-"
"-Permission to what, mother? To sell me off to the highest bidder? Just like you were?-"
"-I loved your father-"
"-Then I'm sure you will offer me the same opportunity, mother. To let me love who I will-"
"-It's not that simple, darling," her mother's tone changed to syrupy sweet, her face pulling into an awkward smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "You know it's not that simple. You have a duty to this family. To yourself. And I expect you to fulfill it, or I will ensure that you do."
A hard, painful lump formed in the back of Poppy's throat, cutting off any reply she may have had for the woman. Any number of quips or protests or insults she could have tossed back, any level of pleading she could have done to appeal to the shreds of her mother that must actually love her. She'd never quite spelled it out so bluntly before; find a husband, or I will. Poppy blinked back tears, finally jerking the comb from her mother's hand.
"You look beautiful, Poppy," her mother chimed, still fussing over her hair despite no longer having the comb, "I'll give you until graduation, okay? I am reasonable, after all. If you find your little love match you're so set on within one of the pureblood families at school, I won't interfere, alright?" She set a cool hand on Poppy's shoulder, waiting until Poppy met her eye in the mirror. "Is that a compromise you can live with?"
Poppy nodded, still unable to work any words over top of that painful knot in her throat.
"Good," her mother sighed, offering a hand for Poppy to shake.
Poppy hesitated. It wasn't an offer of any kindness or of any reconciliation. It would be binding. Shaking her mother's hand was as good as signing a magical contract, one she wouldn't so easily be able to escape. She sucked in a deep breath, turning to face her mother. Her mother was ruthless, but nowhere near as clever as Poppy. If anyone could find their way out, it was her, so she did what she had to in that moment. Poppy took her hand, shaking once before dropping it and turning back to the mirror.
679 days. Poppy could make it that long. She didn't have much of a choice not to.
It was a beautiful night, that much she couldn't deny. Darkness had cooled the hot, muggy air of late August, just as Autumn would do to summer in a few short weeks. The skies were clear, littered with stars, the moon shining nearly full among them. Twelve days from that night, she'd be back at Hogwarts, watching the stars from the Astronomy tower, but, for the night, she could watch them from her perch in the old English oak, listening to the soft, muffled music from the party inside.
Poppy took a draw from a cigarette she'd nicked from another partygoer's coat pocket. Why they needed a coat in the summer heat was beyond her. To be fair, it was a nice mink, but bloody hell, it was August. Everyone here was rich, no one needed a bloody mink to prove it.
"Poppy, you have to come down."
Poppy stubbed out her cigarette, tucking the butt into a divot in the tree before leaning over a branch in front of her. Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin boy in her year and just about the only person at the party she could tolerate, stood at the base of the tree, dressed in smart, black dress robes, staring up at her.
"C'mon. Your mother is throwing a proper fit in there about you not dancing with anyone tonight."
"Sounds like her," Poppy replied, craning her head back toward the sky. "Tell her I'm dancing with Draco," she pointed up at the constellation overhead.
"Clever," Adrian drawled, "now come down."
Poppy huffed, swinging herself down onto a lower branch before jumping to the ground. Adrian caught her waist, offering an unnecessary, steadying hand as she straightened. He handed her a pair of black heels, the shoes she'd discarded before climbing into the tree, and offered his arm. She snatched the shoes from him, swatting his arm away with her other hand before storming off.
"When are you going to start bringing a date to these things?" Adrian teased, following her up the path to her home.
"When I find a bloke who's not listed on my bloody family tree."
Adrian laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "I'm not."
"Think you might be."
Adrian threw his head back in laughter, stilling as Poppy stepped off the grass and leaned down to put on her heels. "C'mon, one dance to please your mum, then we'll drink until shagging your cousin til death do you part doesn't sound so bad."
"Eugh," Poppy's face twisted with disgust, "not enough firewhiskey in the country for that."
The party was, admittedly, beautiful, just like the night. The ballroom had been transformed over the course of the week, the normally-sterile white marble glowing with reflections of lights in soft whites, pinks and yellows. Charmed ivy covered the walls and hung from the ceiling, littered with tiny glowing orbs of light and blooms of white flowers. The whole room smelled of jasmine, all of it giving the feeling of a moonlit walk through the most magical garden one could imagine. A symphony of charmed instruments played in the corner, filling the floor with soft, classical music to accompany sterile, well-rehearsed dances, and a massive pyramid of crystal glasses ran with endless punch. Serving trays of even more crystal glasses housing various cocktails or piles of hors d'oeuvres floated about, stopping with a simple wave of a hand from a passerby. It all was lavish, expensive, and utterly boring.
"Poppy! Dearest!" Poppy's mother found her forearms with her hands, holding her daughter away from her and running her gaze over Poppy. It would have looked warm and affectionate, or as warm and affectionate as purebloods tended to be, to any onlookers. It wasn't, of course, her mothers long nails digging into her skin as she pulled her close, whispering into her ear. "Where the hell have you-have you been smoking again?!"
"Poppy was on a walk with me, Mrs. Selwyn, just for a spot of fresh air. We ended up downwind of some cigarette smoke before we returned," Adrian offered, gently placing a hand on Poppy's mid-back, "but if you don't mind, I'd love to have a dance with your lovely daughter."
Poppy gave a forced smile, tugging her arm free and offering her hand dramatically to Adrian. He took it, leading her away from her seething mother.
"Reckon she bought it?" Adrian asked, turning to take her waist as they stepped onto the dance floor.
"Not a chance." Poppy replied, glancing back at her mother before she rested a hand on his shoulder. "Not a bloody chance."
"Ah, well. We're out of here in two weeks." Adrian led them in soft, sweeping steps across the floor, until they were out of the view of her mother's prying eyes.
"Twelve days, actually," Poppy corrected, "Thank Morgana for that."
"She's going to marry me off," Poppy let out a cloud of smoke, passing the spliff to Adrian.
The party had begun to wind down after several hours, and after Poppy and Adrian had danced to her mother's satisfaction and drank to their own, they finally excused themselves. Her mother, of course, would be thrilled at the prospect of her daughter bedding a Pucey instead of using him as an excuse, as she'd so elegantly put it, so when she saw them creeping up the stairs to Poppy's room, her mother did nothing to stop them.
"Hasn't that always been her plan?" Adrian replied, his voice a bit pinched from holding in a lungful of smoke. He passed the spliff back to Poppy, leaning over her balcony to watch drunk party goers crossing the lawn together.
"Yeah," Poppy watched the tip smolder for a moment before bringing it to her lips. "...She's just never spelled it out so plainly before. Told me I had until graduation. And that she didn't need my permission."
Adrian's face twisted with disgust. "Barbaric," he hissed, taking the spliff back from her.
"You're telling me." Poppy reached back and unzipped her dress, letting out a contented sigh now that she could finally breathe properly again.
"We could always…Y'know…" Adrian turned his head to meet her eye.
Poppy cocked an eyebrow at him. "Pucey, I'm begging you not to make some grandiose confession of your love right now."
Adrian snorted, passing back the spliff. "No. No offense, you're beautiful, Pop. But ah…I've only got eyes for one witch."
"Daphne?" Poppy tilted her head, a look of faux-sympathy crossing her face.
Adrian shot out a hand, playfully batting at her shoulder. "Come here," he grumbled, his hand trailing down her arm, "I want to see something."
Poppy rolled her eyes, stepping into his embrace. She held the spliff over the edge of the balcony as Adrian pressed his lips to hers. He was a good kisser, that was never the issue. And should they both end up on a path to an arranged marriage, they always had each other. But as she kissed him back, she knew he felt the same as she did.
It was fine. It just wasn't what either of them wanted past the occasional night together. It was fine, Poppy and Adrian. It just wasn't real.