Chapter 10 – An eventful Summer
Daphne, cradling Jingles in her arms, and Tracey stepped off the train and onto the platform, their eyes scanning the crowd for their parents. They spotted them standing a short distance away, engaged in friendly conversation.
As the girls approached, the parents' attention shifted to their daughters. They exchanged warm greetings, and Daphne's mother asked, her voice cool and controlled, "So, how was your year at Hogwarts, girls?"
Tracey enthusiastically replied, "It was amazing! We learned so much, and we made some great friends."
Daphne chimed in, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Indeed. I'm proud to say that I finished at the top of our class."
Her father raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips but with a coldness in his tone. "Impressive, Daphne. We always knew you had the potential to excel."
During the conversation, Daphne's mother glanced at the cat nestled in her daughter's arms and raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "And who might this be, Daphne?" she inquired with a hint of disapproval in her tone.
Daphne, a faint smile gracing her lips, introduced Jingles to both sets of parents. "This is Jingles," she said simply. "He's been our loyal companion and friend throughout the school year. He lives at Hogwarts but follows his favourite student home during the summer holidays."
Tracey's parents beamed at the sight of the black cat with striking blue eyes. They eagerly reached out to stroke his fur, clearly pleased to meet their daughter's new feline friend. However, Daphne's parents, though they maintained polite smiles, had a flicker of disapproval hidden in their eyes. It was evident that they were not thrilled with Jingles staying with them for the summer, but they masked their displeasure well.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the families made their way towards the floo stations. Daphne and Tracey hugged each other tightly, promising to write and visit during the summer. Their parents echoed the sentiment, sharing warm handshakes and well-wishes.
As they said their goodbyes, Tracey mentioned, "I hope you can stay with us for the rest of the summer, Daphne, after our family vacation. It would be so much fun!"
Daphne, still cradling Jingles in her arms, gave Tracey a small nod and stepped into the green flames of the floo network and called out her family's address. Moments later, she emerged in the elegant fireplace of her family's manor, her parents following closely behind. The moment they arrived, Flixie, the family's house-elf, appeared with a soft crack and immediately took Daphne's trunk to neatly sort her belongings.
Astoria, Daphne's younger sister, entered the room, her expression cold as she regarded her older sibling. "You're back," she said icily, her gaze flicking to the cat nestled in Daphne's arms.
Before Daphne could reply, her father ushered her into the sitting room. His face was a storm of anger and disappointment, barely contained beneath a veneer of calm. "How could you bring that creature into our home, Daphne?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with menace.
Daphne held her ground, meeting her father's gaze without flinching. "Father, Jingles chose me, not the other way around. He is not mine; he is Hogwarts property. If anything were to happen to him, the school would know."
Her father's eyes flashed dangerously. "Do not take that tone with me, young lady," he snarled, taking a step towards her. Daphne felt a tremor of fear run down her spine, but she did not allow it to show.
Before he could say anything more, Daphne quickly added, "I have a letter from Lord Davis, Father." This caught her father's attention, his anger momentarily forgotten as his eyes flicked to the wax-sealed letter in her hand.
"Give it to me," he ordered, his voice softer now but still firm. Daphne handed him the letter, her hand shaking ever so slightly. Her father's expression shifted to one of curiosity as he scanned its contents, the anger still simmering beneath the surface.
Her father read the letter in silence for a few moments before nodding slowly. "Very well," he conceded, folding the parchment and tucking it into his pocket. "I will send a reply to Lord Davis right away." He looked at Daphne, his eyes cold and calculating. "But do not think I am doing this for you, Daphne. This is about maintaining good relations with Lord Davis, not indulging your whims." He smirked cruelly, adding, "Besides, it'll be good to have you out of the house for a while, so I don't have to deal with you."
With that, her father pulled another letter from his pocket, this one bearing the Hogwarts crest. "It seems the school has informed us that you received an award for defeating a troll and saving two other students," he said, his voice dripping with scepticism. "I find it hard to believe that you could have done such a thing without some... assistance."
He fixed her with a piercing stare. "Tell me, Daphne, would one of these students happen to be one of the 'friends' Tracey mentioned earlier?"
The tension in the grand sitting room became palpable as Daphne braced herself for the gruelling conversation that was about to take place. "Yes, Father," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper against the oppressive silence. "I saved Hermione Granger and Tracey from the troll. Tracey and I... we've grown close to Hermione since that incident."
Her father's lips thinned, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he mulled over her words. "Granger," he echoed, the name rolling off his tongue like a distasteful word. "Does this Granger girl have any connection to Hector Dagworth-Granger, the famed potioneer?"
Caught in the crosshairs of her father's piercing scrutiny, Daphne faltered, the question catching her off guard. She couldn't tell him the truth about Hermione. "I'm not certain, Father," she lied, keeping her expression carefully composed, betraying no hint of the anxiety coiling within her. "We've never spoken about her family lineage."
A low, disdainful grunt rumbled in her father's throat as he gave her a hard, unsparing look. "You'd do well to find out," he snapped, the edge in his voice cutting through the tense silence. "We can't afford to associate with undesirables." His gaze hardened further, scepticism burning in his eyes like a cold fire. "And don't think I've forgotten about that troll incident. You expect me to believe that you, a child in her first year at Hogwarts, managed to best a fully grown mountain troll?" His tone was biting, the words laced with unspoken accusations and disdain.
She hesitated for a moment before adding, "It was pure luck that I defeated the troll, Father. I cast a Protego Charm to protect myself, and the troll stumbled into a giant mirror, causing shards of glass to pierce its eyes and kill it." As she spoke, Daphne couldn't help but think of Harry and their growing friendship. She decided to keep that connection hidden for now, knowing that she would have to come up with a plan to ensure Astoria wouldn't reveal her secret the following year.
Her father raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly did you know how to cast a Protego Charm? That's not typically taught to first-year students."
Every muscle in Daphne's body coiled tighter as she squared her shoulders, drawing in a sharp breath. Her eyes remained focused on her father, the icy gleam in his eyes sending a chill down her spine. "I...I found it in the Hogwarts library, Father," she began, her voice steady but quiet. She could feel the prickling heat of his stare, like a predator sizing up its prey. "It was the only spell I knew that...that could save me in that moment."
Her father's scrutinizing gaze held her captive, his piercing eyes seeming to delve into her very soul. Then, his expression darkened, a storm brewing in his steely eyes as his jaw tightened "And you expect me to swallow that? That convenient little tale?" His voice was a low growl, the words seething through gritted teeth.
His anger was a palpable force in the room, the air growing heavy and stifling as he leaned forward, his face shadowed and menacing. "How many times," he roared, the fury in his voice making Daphne flinch, "do I have to drill it into that thick skull of yours? You are NOT to keep secrets from me!" His breath hitched, his eyes blazing with unmasked rage.
In a flash, her father's hand shot up, poised to strike her. But before he could make contact, Jingles hissed loudly from Daphne's arms, baring his sharp teeth and staring menacingly at her father. The sudden display of aggression caught him off guard, and he hesitated, his hand frozen mid-air.
Daphne took advantage of the momentary distraction, clutching Jingles tighter and stepping back. She could feel her heart racing, but she knew she had to stand her ground if she wanted to protect both herself and her friendships.
Daphne's father's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, his hand slowly lowering as he eyed the protective feline in her arms. His lips tightened into a thin line, a clear sign of his brewing anger. "Go to your room, Daphne," he said, each word laced with a hard edge of command.
A lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down, maintaining her defiant gaze. With a nod, she turned on her heel, Jingles secure in her arms, and began the climb up the grand staircase towards her room.
As she ascended, the house seemed to hold its breath, the silence echoing around her. She paused before her bedroom door, her hand hovering over the handle.
Finally, she pushed open the door, the familiar scent of lavender and parchment greeting her. Her room was meticulously tidy, each item in its designated place. The walls were a soft, clinical white, adorned with empty picture frames. Her four-poster bed was neatly made, the plush purple duvet unwrinkled. A grand window overlooking the Greengrass estate, the only source of warmth in the room.
Once inside, she closed the door gently, her eyes meeting Jingles'. "The door," she began, her voice soft, "it's enchanted. It only allows me to enter... not to leave." She began to stare out of the window. "If I need to use the bathroom, I have to call for Flixie." Her fingers lightly stroked Jingles' fur, the reality of her confinement settling in once again.
Jingles, his blue eyes shining with unwavering determination, nudged his head against Daphne's hand. "I will protect you, Daphne," he communicated his promise through their bond. A moment of silence passed before he shifted his weight, his stomach growling audibly. "Food?" he asked, his gaze shifting to a pleading one.
Daphne sighed, her fingers gently stroking Jingles' glossy fur. "We'll have to wait until after dinner," she explained, her voice holding a tinge of resignation. "Father, Mother, and Astoria will eat first, and we'll get what's left. I just hope there'll be enough for you."
As the hours trickled by, Daphne tried to occupy her mind with a solitary game of chess, her movements slow and calculated. The silence of her room was only broken by the soft pop of a house-elf's arrival. Flixie appeared with a tray laden with scraps from the family's dinner. Daphne's stomach growled at the sight, a stark reminder of her own hunger.
"Is there any food for Jingles?" Daphne inquired, her gaze meeting the elf's. Flixie wrung her hands, a nervous look crossing her features.
"Master said Daphne and Jingles must share," Flixie responded in her quavering voice. "Master said this is enough."
Indignation flashed in Daphne's eyes. "This is barely enough for me alone, Flixie!" The house-elf's ears drooped at her sharp words, and she murmured a feeble apology before disappearing with a pop.
Jingles, however, seemed unfazed by their predicament. His response came through their bond, calm and reassuring, "It's fine, Daphne. I'll hunt outside for food." His tone held no accusation, only a comforting resolve that helped to soothe the storm brewing within Daphne.
Daphne hesitated, a frown creasing her forehead. "Are you sure, Jingles?" Her question was laced with concern, not doubt, her eyes mirroring the worry that echoed in her voice.
The feline reassured her through their bond, his conviction unyielding. "I'm sure, Daphne. Just open the window for me."
With a heavy sigh, Daphne moved towards the window, unlatching it to allow Jingles access to the outside world. He carefully manoeuvred his way onto the windowsill, then gracefully descended down the side of the manor, his movements lithe and precise.
The grounds were teeming with life under the moonlight, and Jingles found himself in the unfamiliar territory of hunting. Birds fluttered in the trees above, mice scurried in the underbrush, but despite his best efforts, he couldn't catch any of them. The realisation that hunting was much more difficult than he had anticipated hit him hard.
Resigned to his unsuccessful hunting attempts, he opted for the only available alternative - eating some grass. The taste was far from appetizing, but his hunger dictated his choices. He was determined not to take any food away from Daphne.
After consuming what he could stomach of the grass, he retraced his steps back to the manor, scaling the walls with practised ease. He slipped through the open window, his silhouette framed against the moonlit sky.
Jingles landed silently on the floor of Daphne's room. He shook his fur out, the chill of the night still clinging to him. Daphne's face lit up as he entered, the worry lines that had etched themselves on her forehead smoothing out.
"Did the hunt go well, Jingles?" she asked, her eyes showing her concern and curiosity. She bit her lower lip, a habit she had whenever she felt anxious.
Jingles met her gaze, his blue eyes shimmering in the room's dim light. "It went fine, Daphne," he replied, his voice smooth and reassuring. He then added, playfully, "Next time, I might even bring a mouse back for you."
A soft laugh escaped Daphne's lips, breaking the tension that had settled in the room. It was a small moment of levity, a brief pause in the face of adversity. But as his gaze landed on the half-eaten plate of leftovers, a question formed in his eyes.
"I... I kept some aside. Just in case you needed it," Daphne confessed, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. She twisted her fingers in her lap, a silent admission of her concern for him.
With a reassuring purr, Jingles nudged her foot gently. "You should finish it, Daphne. I'm not hungry," he lied, his concern for her outweighing his own discomfort.
With a grateful nod, Daphne turned her attention back to the plate. She slowly picked at the food, her movements methodical. The room was shrouded in a comforting silence, punctuated only by Jingles' purring and Daphne's soft sighs of contentment.
As the evening shadows deepened, Daphne finished her meal and pushed aside the empty plate. Together, she and Jingles nestled onto her modest bed, their bodies curled up close for warmth and comfort. As the quiet of the night fell around them, they drifted into sleep, their dreams a shared escape from the confines of their reality.
The following day unfurled in a similar pattern. Locked within the stark walls of her room, Daphne and Jingles spent the day in quiet companionship. The room was filled with the soft rustle of pages turning and the quiet padding of Jingles' paws as he moved around the room. When hunger stirred, Jingles would slip out of the window, his hunting expeditions as fruitless as the previous day.
A break in their routine came in the form of Astoria, Daphne's younger sister. Her arrival was unannounced, the door opening to reveal her standing in the hallway. Astoria's eyes flickered with interest when they landed on Jingles, but as they moved to Daphne, they turned frosty, a chilling indifference replacing her initial curiosity.
Over their mental connection, Daphne told Jingles, "Be nice to her, even if she acts like a complete prat." Jingles sent a pulse of understanding, his blue eyes locking with Daphne's in silent agreement.
Astoria then stepped forward, reaching out to scoop Jingles into her arms. Her fingers traced gentle patterns through his fur, her face softening in a way Daphne hadn't seen in many years. "What's his favourite food?" she asked, her gaze never leaving the purring feline.
Daphne's answer was simple, "Cooked beef." A flicker of a smile touched her lips, knowing that Jingles would be thrilled at the prospect of a proper meal.
Astoria's gaze finally met Daphne's, but her eyes were as icy as ever. "I'll see to it that he gets some after dinner," she said, her tone sharp and cutting. With that, she turned, her robes swirling around her as she left, leaving behind the promise of a meal and the icy sting of her indifference.
As the long afternoon waned into evening, Daphne and Jingles found solace in the quiet companionship offered by their chess matches and shared stories from Daphne's books. The rich, tantalising aroma of dinner, emanating from the kitchen below, wafted into the room, a cruel reminder of the feast they were excluded from.
When the door to Daphne's room creaked open, heralding the arrival of Astoria, Daphne was seated cross-legged on the floor. An empty plate, a mere reminder of her sparse meal, lay before her. Astoria, graceful as ever, entered the room. The rich smell of cooked beef filled the air as she placed a small bowl of it on the floor.
The aroma made Jingles' nostrils flare, and he didn't waste any time. The purrs that emanated from him as he devoured the meal were loud and content, like a motor running smoothly. Astoria watched him eat with a soft, affectionate smile, her fingers gently stroking his fur, eliciting more purrs from him.
Daphne found herself watching this scene unfold, an odd sensation bubbling up inside her. Gratitude? She decided to voice it, the words laced with a surprising sincerity, "Thank you, Astoria." Her sister seemed taken aback, her icy blue eyes widening slightly. But she didn't respond, her gaze turning frosty as it met Daphne's. With a final pat on Jingles' back, she stood up and left the room, her departure as cold as her entrance.
The moment the door shut behind Astoria, Jingles ceased his feasting. He nudged the half-eaten bowl towards Daphne, his eyes meeting hers. "Daphne, you need to eat this," he told her through their bond, his tone firm. She shook her head, insisting he finish his treat.
But Jingles was adamant. "You need more food, Daphne," he argued, his eyes softening with concern. "It's wrong, how little you're getting. I can manage. I can hunt outside." His words, although reassuring, carried an undeniable truth that made Daphne relent.
With a resigned sigh, she picked up a piece of beef, savouring the rich, juicy flavour that exploded in her mouth. As she slowly worked through the bowl, the room was filled with the soft sounds of her contented munching. When only one piece remained, she held it out to Jingles, demanding he have the last bite. After a moment's hesitation, he complied, snapping up the piece with a satisfied purr.
~~~o~~~
The days bled into each other like watercolours, the monotony of confinement providing no distinction between them. Then, a letter from Tracey pierced the dreariness. It was an invitation to spend an afternoon in Diagon Alley, a breath of fresh air for Daphne, albeit a fleeting one before Tracey's family vacation. Daphne was heartened by the news that her father had agreed to let her and Jingles spend the rest of the summer with the Davises.
As the days passed, more letters fluttered through the window, all from Tracey, a lifeline in her otherwise dreary existence. One of them held a secret message from Hermione, a brief note, brimming with concern for Daphne's wellbeing. Each word was a balm to Daphne's lonely heart.
Simultaneously, a creeping unease had settled over Daphne. Jingles was not himself. His sides had started to hollow, his once lustrous coat dulling. His eyes, usually vibrant and alert, appeared weary. When she finally confronted him, he confessed with a drop of his ears and a resigned flick of his tail. His hunting endeavours had been futile, his diet reduced to mere grass. Daphne's heart squeezed painfully at his admission. She immediately declared that they were to share the leftovers equally. Jingles, weakened by hunger, didn't muster his usual stubbornness to argue.
Days rolled into weeks, with each tick of the clock echoing the promise of their upcoming liberation. The anticipation hung heavy in the air of her room, a tangible entity, a beacon guiding them towards their impending freedom. The much-anticipated day finally dawned. The early morning sun streamed through the window, casting hopeful shadows on the walls of her room. Today marked the end of Tracey's vacation, and with it, the beginning of their sojourn at the Davis' estate. A smile tugged at the corners of Daphne's lips, a rare occurrence in her confined world, bringing a spark of life into her otherwise muted existence.
The sound of footsteps echoed outside the door before it opened. Her father stood there, his stern gaze sweeping over the room, landing on Daphne. "Start packing," he ordered. She moved mechanically to her cupboard, gathering her sparse belongings. His voice, cold and authoritative, filled the room again. "I expect you to cease associating with Mudbloods and any other undesirable individuals when you return to school, Daphne." His words hung heavy in the room, a harsh reminder of the vast gulf between their worlds.
Packing didn't take long as she never fully unpacked. Her father's words still echoed in her ears, a bitter aftertaste to their brief interaction. As she closed the trunk with a resolute click, she felt a strange sense of closure.
She carried her belongings to the family's fireplace, her parents and Astoria watching her in icy silence. Her mother's voice sliced through the cold air. "Don't cause any trouble, Daphne," she warned, her voice like frostbite. Astoria's gaze, meanwhile, was fixed on Jingles, her interest in the feline apparent, but her indifference towards her sister was equally stark.
Stepping into the fireplace, she called out her destination, "The Davis Estate!" The world twisted and spun around her in a cyclone of colours and blurred images. The dizzying journey through the Floo Network ended with her stepping out into the Davis' living room, a space radiating warmth and inviting homeliness, the stark contrast to the sterile confines of her room at the Greengrass Manor not lost on her.
Tracey was there, greeting her with open arms and a wide, infectious smile. The young witch now had a tan, a testament to the French beaches' generous sunshine. The hug was long and comforting, a physical reassurance that Daphne was no longer alone. The intimacy of the simple act caused Daphne's heart to flutter with relief, an emotion that also mirrored in her wide, grateful eyes.
Pulling away from the hug, Tracey turned her attention to Jingles, who was calmly observing the exchange. She extended a hand to the feline, her fingers gently scratching behind his ears. A purr of approval echoed in the room, and Daphne found herself smiling at the scene unfolding before her.
As they moved towards the dining table, the tantalising aroma of home-cooked food wafted through the room, making Daphne's stomach grumble in anticipation. Dinner was already set, and to her immense relief, a bowl of cooked beef was placed next to her chair for Jingles. The sight of the hearty meal was a stark contrast to the sparse leftovers she had been surviving on, the sight triggering a lump in her throat.
They dug into their meal, the flavours of the Davis' family cooking wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. Daphne closed her eyes, savouring each bite as if it were a luxury. Across the table, Jingles, too, was enjoying his meal, his purrs of contentment harmonising with the soft clinks of cutlery against the plates.
The highlight of the evening, however, was still to come. After dinner, Tracey decided to introduce Jingles to Daisy, the Davis family cat. The two felines approached each other with a combination of curiosity and respect, their cautious interaction observed by the two witches with bated breath. The sight of Jingles and Daisy sniffing each other and then settling into a peaceful coexistence brought a sense of joy and tranquillity to the room. It was a heartwarming spectacle, a beacon of hope in their otherwise turbulent lives, and Daphne found herself cherishing every moment of it.
~~~o~~~
The tranquil atmosphere of the Davis Estate was abruptly broken by the subtle hum of an approaching car. A sleek, modern vehicle slid into the gravel driveway, the sun glinting off its polished surface. Out stepped Hermione Granger, their anticipated guest, her brown curls bobbing with her every movement.
Daphne had been anxiously awaiting Hermione's arrival. However, the sight of her friend, usually full of vigour and inquisitiveness, now carrying an expression veiled with worry, was like a cold bucket of water dousing Daphne's fervour.
"Hello, Hermione," Daphne greeted, her voice carrying a practised neutrality as she tried to overlook the knot of concern constricting her stomach. Tracey echoed the greeting, her typically sunny face now mirroring Daphne's unease.
"Hi Daphne, Tracey," Hermione responded, her voice laden with the burden of her silent worries. Her eyes, which usually sparkled with intelligence and delight, were now shadowed with a deep concern that sent a chilling shudder down Daphne's spine.
Exiting the car, Hermione's parents followed her, their polite smiles revealing their own curiosity about their daughter's friends. Mr. and Mrs. Davis approached the couple, their warm greetings setting the stage for a short, courteous conversation between them. They exchanged a few pleasant words about the weather, their daughters, and their shared interest in their well-being.
Dispensing with further formalities, the girls retreated to the comfortable familiarity of Tracey's room. The peaceful environment, coupled with the soft hum of the Davis household in the background, provided a comforting atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the tension prickling the air.
Once the door clicked shut, Hermione wasted no time. "Harry hasn't replied to any of my letters this summer," she blurted out, her hands wringing the hem of her jumper. Her voice, usually firm and confident, trembled slightly, betraying her fear.
Daphne felt a cold jolt at Hermione's words. Her mind was instantly filled with nightmarish scenarios involving Harry and his Muggle relatives. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she swallowed her fear, her gaze steady. "We need to do something," she stated, her tone resolute.
Around the room, the girls huddled together, their minds racing as they brainstormed possible solutions. Hermione, ever the pragmatic one, suggested, "Perhaps, we should find a way to discreetly check on him. Ensuring he's alright without raising any suspicions."
Daphne shook her head, her face etched with determination. "A check-up won't be enough, Hermione. If his relatives have done something, we need to get him out of there."
It was then that Jingles, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the corner of the room, interjected. "I could use Daphne's magic to apparate us there, and then to apparate him out."
Hermione's eyes widened at this, her mind spinning with the potential consequences of underage and unlicensed apparition. "But Jingles, the Trace! The Ministry will know if we use magic."
Jingles then revealed a secret about the Trace - a fact that seemed to turn their predicament on its head. "The Trace is tied to your wands, not you. It detects magic within a three-metre radius. If we leave without a wand, I can use magic without being detected."
Tracey turned to face Jingles, scepticism hardening her normally soft features. "Jingles, are you sure about that?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "I thought the Trace was bound to a person, not their wand."
The black cat's blue eyes shimmered with conviction as he sat upright, drawing the attention of the room. "I assure you, Tracey, I am quite certain," he responded with a nod. "My first favourite, Melanie Fawley, found herself in a difficult situation because of my magic."
He began to recount a tale from long ago, his tail swishing rhythmically against the plush carpet. "Melanie loved flowers. One day, while we were walking through a muggle park, I found a beautiful bud that had yet to open. I couldn't resist making it bloom for her."
Jingles fell into a momentary silence, his gaze drifting away from the group and settling on the window.
"Upon our return home, a warning from the Ministry was waiting for her, citing her for the use of underage magic. She confessed to her father that it had been me who had used magic, and he explained how the Trace actually worked. The Ministry's Trace detects magic within a three-metre radius around the individual's wand, not the person."
Daphne broke the thoughtful silence, her eyes reflective and serious. "So, Jingles, your idea could work," she noted, her fingers fiddling with a lock of her hair. "But there's the issue of Harry's wand. The Trace would still pick up any magic we used around him."
Hermione's eyes were lost in thought, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her chin. Suddenly, her face brightened as if a light bulb had flicked on inside her head. "What if Harry gave his wand to Hedwig?" she proposed excitedly. "She could fly it over here, away from the Dursleys' house. Then, no magic would be detected by the Trace."
Jingles seemed to snap back to the present, turning his gaze back to the group. "That's a brilliant idea, Hermione," he praised, his tail swishing in approval.
However, Hermione wasn't quite convinced. "But Jingles, are you sure about this apparition thing?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry. "I've read about the dangers, you know, like splinching."
Jingles looked untroubled by Hermione's concern. "I've seen the class on apparition over a hundred times," he stated confidently. "Never tried it myself, but I believe I've got the gist of it."
Daphne joined in to bolster his claim, her gaze steady and serious. "If Jingles is confident, then I trust him," she declared firmly.
Tracey raised the next concern. "But what about the magical power required?" she asked, casting a concerned glance at Daphne. "I don't think you'd have enough for both apparitions, Daphne."
Jingles nodded in agreement, his eyes meeting Tracey's. "You're correct, Tracey. Daphne will need to recharge her magical reserves, " he said. "But that shouldn't be a problem. We can simply hide under Harry's Invisibility Cloak until she's ready."
The girls exchanged uneasy glances, each one processing the potential risks and rewards. Finally, they agreed, giving their consent to the daring plan.
"All right," Hermione said, her voice shaking slightly. "Daphne and Jingles will go alone, retrieve Harry, send Hedwig away with his wand, pack his things, and then apparate back once Daphne's magic is restored."
Tracey then stood up, her eyes reflecting a fierce determination. "While you two are off rescuing Harry," she said, looking at Daphne and Jingles, "I'll talk to my parents about him staying here for the rest of the summer. They might not like it, but hopefully, they'll understand once they hear about his situation." She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the difficult conversation ahead. "Plus," Tracey said, a spark of mischief twinkling in her eyes, "By the time I spill the beans, Harry will already be halfway here. They won't have any choice but to go along with it!" She finished, her lips curling into a cheeky smirk, brimming with confidence.
~~~o~~~
As the hours of the afternoon dwindled away, an almost palpable tension hung over the Davis estate, a stark contrast to the idyllic surroundings. The grand manor house, with its dignified façade softened by gently curling ivy, served as a silent witness to the girls' anxious anticipation. The beautifully manicured gardens, brimming with vibrant flowers and towering trees, provided a serene backdrop to their worries.
Their tour of the estate was more a distraction than a leisurely activity. Tracey, ever the effervescent guide, led Hermione and Daphne around the sprawling grounds. While Daphne moved with an ease born of familiarity, Hermione's gaze flitted around, taking in the elegant Victorian architecture and expansive gardens with awe.
Upon stepping back into the manor, the girls were greeted by high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and opulent furnishings - a testament to the Davis family's affluence. Yet, it was Tracey's room that captured their attention most. A haven of comfort amidst grandeur, the room was spacious and welcoming, its pastel hues and casual clutter making it feel truly lived-in. An assortment of books, mementos, and photographs lined the shelves, telling silent stories of the room's occupant.
In the corner of the room, Tracey's bed sat adorned with colourful cushions, while a mattress lay on the floor, Daphne's usual spot during her visits. To accommodate Hermione, they moved furniture around, adding a second mattress to the arrangement. Their shared living quarters now set, the room exuded a sense of camaraderie, albeit underscored by their shared worry for Harry.
As dusk began to paint the sky with shades of twilight, Daphne changed into casual clothes, her demeanour radiating quiet resolve. She met Jingles' intense gaze. The moment she handed her wand to Tracey, a tangible wave of determination swept over them. The room hummed with unspoken promises - they would bring Harry back, no matter what.
"Jingles, what's our next move?" Daphne asked, her voice steady yet holding a hint of uncertainty. She stood straight, her shoulders slightly tensed, her face a mask of calm determination. The soft glow from the bedside lamp accentuated her sharp features, casting long shadows that danced on the walls of Tracey's room.
Jingles sat poised at her feet. His tail curled neatly around his paws, the tip twitching slightly betraying a hint of nervousness. "Rest your hand on my back," he replied, his voice emanating calm assurance, though the slight tremble of his whiskers indicated his own unease.
Nodding in understanding, Daphne bent down to Jingles' level, her hand gently coming to rest on the cat's soft, warm fur. Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm echoing in her ears. "Let's go," she whispered, her voice a mere breath of air, carrying the weight of resolve.
"Be careful," Hermione and Tracey called out almost in unison, their voices wavering with worry. Hermione wrung her hands, biting her lip, her brown eyes filled with apprehension. Tracey stood by the window, her gaze locked on her friend, her fingers absently fiddling with the hem of her shirt.
In the next moment, Jingles disapparated, taking Daphne along. The sensation was overwhelming, and unlike anything Daphne had ever experienced. It felt as if she were being squeezed through an incredibly tight tube, her body compressed to a minuscule size. The air around her whirled violently, and the world around her seemed to lose all sense of direction. Her surroundings blurred into a chaotic mess of colours and shapes, and she felt a cold, tingling sensation envelop her entire body.
The sound of her own heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears as the sensation of weightlessness took hold, her stomach flipping uneasily. It was as if she were freefalling through an endless void, the coldness seeping into her bones and her senses scrambled by the disorienting experience.
Then, as abruptly as it had started, it ended. They arrived in an alleyway, the sights of multiple bins swimming into focus around her. The sudden cessation of the disorienting sensation was too much for Daphne. Her knees buckled under her, and she fell onto the cold stone, nausea roiling in her stomach. She retched, her body convulsing with the effort as the contents of her stomach spilled onto the ground.
Beside her, Jingles seemed to be faring no better. His usually graceful form was hunched over, his fur bristling as he fought to keep his own stomach in check. His blue eyes were wide and slightly glassy, indicating that the journey had been just as disorienting for him.
They had barely had a moment to gather their bearings when a figure, a man by his voice, staggered into view. The stench of cheap alcohol wafted from him, mixing with the cool night air. His laughter was raucous and coarse, cutting through the quiet stillness of the night like a knife.
"Well, what do we have here?" he slurred, the words rolling off his tongue with a disgusting sort of glee. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around Daphne's wrist with a grip that was far too strong for someone so intoxicated.
He let out a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with a disturbing mixture of mischief and malice. "Looks like I'm gonna have some fun tonight," he crooned, the words causing a shiver of fear to run down Daphne's spine.
With a surge of desperation, Daphne kicked and punched, trying to break free from the man's grasp. But her body was still reeling from the apparition, leaving her weak and disoriented. Her efforts were feeble at best, barely leaving an impact on the man's hulking figure.
Suddenly, Jingles was at her side, his black fur brushing against her leg. His blue eyes blazed with an intensity that made her heart stutter. In one swift movement, he raised his paw, the air around him crackling with energy. A red streak of light shot from his paw, hitting the man square in the chest. He was thrown backwards, landing in front of a bin in the alleyway, knocked out cold.
As he lay there, unconscious, Daphne gave him a swift kick, her anger momentarily overcoming her fear. Inside her, a whirlwind of emotions raged. Fear, anger, embarrassment, vulnerability – each one crashing into her with the force of a hurricane.
"Daphne," Jingles' voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. She looked down at him, his eyes steady and serious. "We need to focus on the mission."
She nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Her magical core felt strained, the energy within it nearly depleted. She didn't have much magic left, but they had a mission to accomplish. Steadying herself, she took a deep breath and turned her focus back to the task at hand: rescuing Harry.
With a newfound determination, Daphne and Jingles navigated their way through the quiet streets of Little Whinging, the houses looming like silent sentinels in the darkness. Soon, they arrived at Privet Drive, the shape of the Dursleys' house came into view, its silhouette stark against the moonlit sky.
As they approached the front door, Jingles gave a low murmur, his voice resounding within the confines of Daphne's mind. "Pick me up, Daphne. Hold me close. I'll cast a Disillusionment Charm and unlock the door."
Nodding, Daphne bent down and scooped him into her arms, his fur warm against her skin. He nuzzled against her as his paw began to glow with a soft, ethereal light. The world around them seemed to blur and distort as if seen through a veil of mist, the edges of their forms blending seamlessly into the surroundings.
Jingles then focused on the door, his paw still glowing, and a soft click echoed in the night, the sound disproportionately loud in the quiet street. Carefully, Daphne reached out and pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest.
Once inside, Jingles raised his paw again, he softly hissed "Revelio." A pulse of magic spread out from his paw, like ripples in a pond, sweeping through the house. A faint glow appeared from the top of the stairs, a beacon in the gloom.
With Jingles held closely to her chest, Daphne tiptoed up the stairs, each step creaking under her weight. The glow grew stronger as they neared, finally pinpointing at a door.
A locked door.
But a simple lock was no match for Jingles. He extended his paw once more, casting an Unlocking Charm. The lock clicked open obediently, and carefully, Daphne pushed open the door, the room beyond enveloped in darkness.
With a soft click, the door to Harry's room closed behind them. Daphne's knees buckled, her strength wavering as she sank to the carpeted floor. Jingles slipped from her loosened grip, his black fur dancing in an invisible breeze as he landed softly on the carpet. Daphne's magical reserves had been syphoned to the last drop.
The rustling stirred the room's solitary resident. Harry, who had been lost in a fretful sleep, jerked awake. His emerald eyes blinked open, reflecting the dim moonlight filtering through the barred window. "Daphne? Jingles?" His voice sounded rough, laced with confusion. He squinted at them, as though he were trying to determine whether they were real or just figments of a strange dream.
"We came to rescue you, Harry," Daphne managed to say, her voice thin but resolute. Her gaze fell upon Harry's gaunt face and frail figure, alarm creeping into her heart. His glasses sat askew on his nose, hiding the dark circles under his eyes. "You look... thin, Harry. Haven't they been feeding you?"
A ghost of a smile flitted across Harry's face, but his eyes carried a haunted look. He shook his head. "Not really, Daphne," he admitted, dropping his gaze to his hands. He then unravelled the strange tale of his summer, how a house-elf named Dobby had intercepted his letters, wreaked havoc on his uncle's dinner party, and nearly got him expelled from Hogwarts for a magic-induced catastrophe.
Listening to his story, Daphne's brows knitted together in confusion. "Why would anyone send their house-elf to do such a thing?" she wondered aloud. Shaking off her puzzlement, she instructed, "Give your wand to Hedwig and instruct her to fly to Tracey. We need to start packing your things."
"But Hedwig can't leave," Harry protested, pointing towards the window where iron bars stood as grim sentinels.
Jingles, who had been quietly observing the scene, finally spoke up, his voice echoing within Daphne's mind. "The bars won't be a problem. Harry, stand in the corner with your wand. Daphne, do you think you have regenerated enough magic power for a simple transfiguration?"
With a determined nod, Daphne carefully picked up Jingles. His paw began to glow, casting an eerie light on the carpet, and one of the bars transformed into pliable rubber. She tugged at it, stretching it aside to create a sizable gap.
Hedwig, her brilliant eyes reflecting intelligence and understanding, graciously accepted Harry's wand in her beak. With a swift leap and a powerful flap of her wings, she took off, disappearing into the night. Harry and Daphne then quickly packed his trunk, efficiently tucking away his clothes and books. Once done, they both slumped atop it, exhaustion etching lines into their faces. Jingles nestled comfortably between them, his blue eyes glinting with a sense of accomplishment.
The lull of their hushed conversation was abruptly interrupted by a soft, curious plop that echoed ominously in the room. The house-elf Dobby materialised before them, his round eyes, reminiscent of tennis balls, bulging at the sight of Daphne and Jingles. His gaze flitted back and forth between the two unexpected visitors, his lips trembling with an amalgamation of surprise and anxiety.
"Who you is?" Dobby's high-pitched voice was a mere squeak, a whisper that danced on the edge of audibility, yet seemed to bounce off the walls in the silent room. The question hung heavily in the air, his small, gnarled hands twisted anxiously into the hem of his ragged pillowcase tunic. "And what is you doing here?"
"We're friends of Harry," Daphne responded, her voice unwavering despite the unanticipated intrusion. Her eyes met Dobby's with a resolute glint. "We're here to get him out of this...place."
Dobby's bulbous eyes brimmed with unshed tears, his bat-like ears twitching in distress as his hands wrung together in a desperate rhythm. His reply was choked with emotion, "Dobby cannot let Harry Potter go back to Hogwarts this year. It is too dangerous, sir."
Harry's brows furrowed, concern etching deep lines on his forehead as he shifted on his trunk. "Why is it too dangerous, Dobby?" His voice was soft, laced with curiosity that was underscored by a palpable sense of alarm.
"Dobby...Dobby cannot say, sir," the house-elf responded, his ears drooping in what seemed like genuine remorse. His voice was barely a whisper, laden with unspoken secrets. "Dobby is so sorry."
With a sudden move that belied his small stature, he thrust his arm forward, sending Harry's bedside lamp careening over the edge of the drawer. The sharp, resonating crash of shattering glass pierced the silence of the room, reverberating in their ears. As abruptly as he had appeared, Dobby vanished, his exit marked by another soft plop, leaving behind a room filled with stunned silence, the echo of broken glass, and the distant sound of an enraged voice.
"BOY!" Uncle Vernon's shout cut through the stillness, a loud, unmistakable roar that bounced off the walls, growing louder and closer with each passing second.
A sudden wave of panic washed over them as the deep, irate roar of Uncle Vernon echoed ominously in the room. Jingles' mind spun into overdrive, his thoughts ricocheting like sparks in a chaotic frenzy. "Harry, Daphne, both of you, put a hand on my back," he instructed, his mental voice imbued with an urgency that sent shivers down their spines. "Grab the trunk tightly with the other."
Their hands met awkwardly on Jingles' back, their fingers intertwining in a hasty scramble, their grips tightened around the trunk. Time seemed to dilate as the door was violently flung open, Uncle Vernon looming in the threshold, his face a mask of livid fury.
Just as Uncle Vernon lunged, Jingles started glowing with an ethereal, white light. A sound akin to glass shattering echoed in the room, followed by a sensation akin to being yanked forward by an invisible string from the navel. The room spun, the world blurred, and the next thing they knew, they were outside the Davis Estate.
Daphne's eyes adjusted to the soft, moonlit glow, but she felt a sudden pang of anxiety as she noticed the absence of the familiar bond with Jingles. She spun around to see Jingles sprawled on the trunk, motionless. Her heart sank, and she rushed to pick him up, relief washing over her as she felt his tiny heart pulsating against her palm.
"What happened?" Harry's voice broke the silence, his green eyes wide with concern as he looked at the unconscious Jingles.
"If only I had been stronger," Daphne murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes were moist, a mixture of relief and self-blame shimmering in them. She thought back to the confrontation with the men, how Jingles had to step in, how he had to use more of her magic to protect her. She couldn't help but think that if she hadn't been so weak, if she could have defended herself, maybe Jingles wouldn't have had to overextend his own magic to apparate them.
The sound of shattering glass echoed in her memory, the sound that had reverberated just before they apparated. A chilling thought crossed her mind - Jingles' magical core might have been damaged. "Harry, we have to get inside quickly," she instructed, her voice strained with worry. "Tracey's mum is a healer."
With a nod, Harry hefted his trunk, and together, under the soft moonlight, they dashed towards the Davis Estate, their hearts pounding with a mix of relief and worry.
~~~o~~~
The atmosphere in the Davis Estate's living room was thick with tension. Tracey was standing before her parents, her back straight and her chin held high, though her knuckles were white where her fingers clung to her skirt.
Her mother, Mrs. Davis, a tall, dignified woman with long chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes, was pacing back and forth, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Mr. Davis, an imposing figure with a stern countenance, was sitting in his favourite armchair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"Tracey, you are far too young to have boys over, especially during the night," Mr. Davis said, his deep voice filled with sternness. "This isn't proper behaviour for a young lady."
"But, Mum, Dad, you don't understand!" Tracey protested, her voice echoing through the room. "Harry isn't just any boy. He's my friend, our friend, and he's in trouble. He's being mistreated at his relatives' house."
She could see her parents exchange a glance, their brows furrowed in concern. "He could stay in one of the guest rooms," she quickly added, "far away from mine. There will be no unbecoming behaviour, I promise."
Just then, their house elf, Tippy, appeared with a soft 'pop'. His large, bat-like ears twitched as he announced, "Master, Mistress, there are visitors at the front door."
Mr. Davis rose from his chair, smoothing down his waistcoat as he walked towards the entrance, Mrs. Davis following suit. As the front door creaked open, Daphne and Harry stepped into the glow of the hallway, the former cradling Jingles in her arms.
The sight of Harry, skinny and underfed, his clothes hanging off him as if he were a scarecrow, and his glasses sitting crooked on his nose, immediately silenced any protests that Mr. and Mrs. Davis had prepared. His appearance was a painful reminder of the tales of mistreatment Tracey had shared.
Mr. Davis cleared his throat, composing himself as he turned to Tippy. "Prepare a room for Mr. Potter, Tippy."
Daphne, her arms trembling slightly from holding Jingles, looked up at Mrs. Davis, her eyes pleading. "Please, Mrs. Davis, can you check Jingles? He...he might have damaged his magical core."
Mrs. Davis raised an eyebrow, but the urgency in Daphne's voice caught her attention. She remembered that Jingles wasn't an ordinary cat, but a magical one. With a brisk nod, she ushered them into the dining room. "Place him on the table, dear," she instructed Daphne. "We'll see what we can do."
The stairs creaked under Hermione's descent, her brown eyes growing wide with surprise as she rounded the corner into the dining room. The sight of Harry caused her to let out a soft gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. "Harry!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap her arms tightly around him. His frail frame was startling, the hug seeming to encompass his whole body. "I was so worried about you!" she said, pulling back to look at him, her hands cupping his face. "You look...terrible, Harry."
All the while, Mrs. Davis was hovering over Jingles, her wand moving in complex patterns as she cast a series of diagnostic spells. The glimmering light from her wand reflected in her worried eyes. Daisy, the family's tawny cat, sat on the table too, her ears perked up, and her green eyes wide as she watched the proceedings, her tail twitching nervously.
"Hmm...this is odd," Mrs. Davis murmured, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised the results of one of her spells. With a quick flick of her wand, she cast another spell, one that revealed the bonds between beings. Two strands appeared, linking Daphne and Jingles. One was a vibrant golden hue, shimmering like liquid sunlight, while the other was a cool blue, glowing softly.
"The golden one is most likely the bond from the plea we made," Daphne explained, her voice shaking slightly. "The blue one... Jingles mentioned it, but he doesn't know what it is either."
"I understand," Mrs. Davis responded, her eyes softening as she acknowledged Daphne's explanation about the bonds. "The golden one would indeed be from your plea. The blue one, however, is unfamiliar." Her voice trailed off, her attention refocusing on the magical cat lying on the table.
She continued after a moment, her tone grave. "Jingles' magical core is in danger because of a shattered lock. It's causing potential havoc within him." She held Daphne's gaze, her eyes mirroring the worry etched on the young girl's face. "This type of lock is typically placed on a toddler who is experiencing too many spurts of accidental magic."
A hush fell over the room at her words, the seriousness of the situation sinking in. Then, Mrs. Davis straightened her back, looking at each of the youngsters in turn. "It's late," she said, her voice firm yet gentle. "You all need to get to bed. I need to focus and do my best for Jingles."
As they began to leave, Daphne stopped at the doorway, her eyes lingering on Jingles. She turned back to Mrs. Davis, her plea coming out in a rush, "Please, do everything you can for him. He's saved us so many times... it's our turn to save him. It's my fault that he is in this state, if only I had been stronger."
Mrs. Davis gave Daphne a nod of reassurance. "I promise, Daphne. I'll do everything within my power to help him," she said, her words ringing with determination. She decided to hold off her inquiry about what happened until the morning.
When the room was finally empty of its young occupants, Mrs. Davis turned to her husband, her face pale. "Jingles' core... it's about the strength of an average 5th-year student," she said, her voice a whisper in the quiet room. "I'm worried about what that could mean for the children."
Mr. Davis considered her words, his brows furrowing. He remembered the stories Tracey had told them about Jingles, about the positive effect the cat had on Daphne. "We have to trust them," he finally decided. "Jingles is important to them, especially to Daphne."
Nodding in agreement, Mrs. Davis lifted her wand again, casting the spell to remove the lock from Jingles' magical core. As she did, a rush of magic filled the room, swirling around Jingles, and for a moment, he glowed with a soft, radiant light. The magic settled, and all that remained was the silence of the room and the hope that Jingles would pull through.
~~~o~~~
As they bid each other good night, the girls watched Harry preparing to follow Tippy towards his assigned guest room. Tracey, her face illuminated by the soft candlelight, turned towards them with a thoughtful look. Her gaze fell on Harry, taking in his haggard appearance and his clothes that hung loosely on his thin frame.
"Tippy," she called out, her voice ringing through the quiet hallway. Her brown eyes sparkled with determination, her brows furrowed in concern. "Make sure Harry gets a snack, okay? He looks like he could use some food."
Tippy, ever the obedient house elf, bobbed his head in acknowledgment, a small, understanding smile on his face. Harry, caught by surprise, glanced at Tracey with a mixture of gratitude and astonishment. He nodded towards her, a small, appreciative smile gracing his lips. His green eyes, despite the exhaustion they held, sparkled with a newfound warmth.
With Harry now in Tippy's capable hands, the girls retreated to Tracey's room. The air within was heavy, filled with the residual anxiety and anticipation from the events of the evening. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from a single bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room, adding to the quiet, sombre mood.
As they readied themselves for bed, their conversation was muted, their words carrying a weight they normally didn't. They moved with a kind of cautious gentleness, their actions slow and thoughtful. Each of them crawled into their respective beds, the sheets cool against their tired bodies, the softness of the pillows a balm to their troubled minds.
Just as the silence started to settle in, it was broken by Daphne's voice. It was like a ray of sunlight cutting through a cloudy sky, her tone noticeably brighter, "I can feel Jingles again," she announced, her words flooding the room with relief. A radiant smile spread across her face, illuminating her features with joy, "I think he's getting better."
The news acted like a soothing balm over their fraught nerves, lifting the weight off their hearts. Their faces lit up, mirroring Daphne's smile, their eyes shining with relief and a touch of exhaustion. As this wave of tranquillity washed over them, their eyes began to droop, the pull of sleep becoming too hard to resist. One by one, they surrendered to the comforting embrace of sleep, their breaths synchronising with the quiet rhythm of the night, hopeful for the brighter dawn that awaited them.
~~~o~~~
Immersed within the depths of his own consciousness, Jingles felt a swell of power course through him, a sensation akin to a roaring tide. It was dizzying, electrifying, and somewhat daunting. He felt himself expanding, as though his essence was reaching further than ever before. His senses were heightened; his thoughts were unclouded, and a newfound strength pulsed within him.
Suddenly, his consciousness was yanked towards a memory, Halloween, 1981. The memory was no longer fogged by time, but it wasn't a seamless recollection either. The scene unfolded in disjointed fragments, like a film reel missing frames. He found himself inside a child's room, a delicate palette of pastel colours painting the surroundings. His attention was immediately drawn towards the crib at the centre, within which a baby boy lay, a tuft of black hair atop his head and striking green eyes. It was unmistakably Harry.
The air carried the playful mewing of a kitten, a sound that tugged at his heart. His eyes fell upon a tiny black kitten near the crib, engrossed in a game with a toy mouse. Around its neck was a red collar, from which hung a golden tag that read "Jingles." His own name.
However, as he scrutinised the kitten more closely, an anomaly arose. Its eyes, instead of his own deep blue, were a vibrant, fiery yellow. His fur bristled, a wave of uncertainty flooding him.
The tranquillity was abruptly shattered. An explosion boomed, followed by a blinding rush of green light. A woman's terrified scream ricocheted off the walls, her voice filled with desperate fear: "Harry!"
Jingles awoke with a start, his fur standing on end, his heart pounding like a drum. He found himself in a plush cat bed that smelled comfortingly of Daisy. His mind was a whirlwind, the memory's clarity disconcerting. Were his eyes originally a different colour? Or had what he seen in the Mirror of Erised been the truth all along? He knew he would have to share this revelation with the others. No more secrets.
Summoning his newfound resolve, Jingles rose and padded his way towards Tracey's room, only to find the door firmly shut, and no cat flap in sight. A pang of longing coursed through him; he needed the comforting presence of Daphne. As he looked at his paw, he could almost see the magical energy swirling within him. He raised his paw towards the door, focusing his magic, and was stunned when the door swung open effortlessly. He had never been capable of such magic before.
Once inside the room, he spotted Daphne on her mattress, her chest rising and falling rhythmically in sleep. He hopped onto the mattress and nestled against her, her body warm and comforting against his fur. Daphne's arms instinctively curled around him, pulling him closer. With the hum of her heartbeat against his ear, Jingles let himself drift back into sleep, his mind filled with questions and revelations to be mulled over another day.
