CHAPTER 31: MRS. ETIQUETTE
The sky above Beauxbatons was just beginning to be covered with dark clouds when the first gusts of wind started swirling the colorful leaves of the trees throughout the region where the school was established. In the distance, the rumbling of an approaching storm could be heard, occasionally interrupted by the songs of a few birds still delaying their migration to warmer southern lands. Meanwhile, the first raindrops irregularly fell on the smooth and previously shiny surfaces of the school's windows, behind which a few hundred students were busy listening to their lessons, too preoccupied to pay attention to the climatic changes glimpsed beyond the school grounds.
Among them, Daphné stood out from her classmates. Unlike her usual self, focused on diligently transcribing everything Madame Beaumont uttered onto her parchment, she listened instead of watching the signs heralding autumn, occasionally disturbing her concentration.
A sigh escaped her lips as she briefly reminisced about her escapades outside the building on a hot summer day, a far cry from the gloomy weather that discouraged venturing outside unless one didn't mind the consequences it could have on appearance. A mere stray hair out of place might draw the entire Beauxbatons teaching staff, led by Madame Beaumont, to pounce on her around a corner. So, for a trace of mud on the uniform… it was better not to even consider it.
Nevertheless, despite the gray sky, Daphné couldn't help but regret the few weeks of sunshine she and the other students had enjoyed in September and October. Lounging on the grass, sipping fruit juices graciously provided by the school's kitchens, relaxing afternoons spent on a bench marveling at the moving sculptures in Beauxbatons' gardens, or the numerous fairies playfully untying their hair or mischievously taking hats and hanging them on the pointed rooftops of the school—these moments seemed so distant now. Yet, Daphné still held onto the bitter taste of days and pleasures gone by, unlikely to return anytime soon.
"Stupid quill," grumbled her best friend beside her, cursing the hole just made in her parchment.
Daphné suppressed the urge to smile, primarily concerned with not attracting their teacher's attention, especially to avoid appearing complicit in Tracey's mischief in Madame Beaumont's eyes. A single smile, in Madame Beaumont's view, would signify acceptance of the offense and encouragement. With Tracey having already produced two smiles within a few seconds, she was fortunate not to have been noticed by their teacher, too absorbed in conveying the latest points of the etiquette treaty she wished to instill in her students, both inside and outside the school.
Tracey had quickly become the life of their class, the one who made all her classmates laugh with her absent-mindedness and daily cheerfulness. Cordelia Duprès was the only one who dared confront her, Daphné, and Lucie on the first day. Apart from her, others didn't particularly appreciate Tracey's cheerful disposition, especially Madame Beaumont, who, given her role as a teacher of manners and etiquette alongside spells, saw in her student the opposite of what she tried to instill.
However, Tracey's behavior in class was compensated by her relatively good academic results in most subjects. Her best friend also showed promise in charms and arithmancy, despite never appearing particularly fond of mathematics. Meanwhile, Daphné excelled in transfiguration, potions, and the dueling workshops provided by the school. Each could compensate for the other's shortcomings, although Harry's fiancée didn't really need help in any subject.
On the other hand, Lucie, sitting to the right of Daphné at the moment, couldn't boast the same ease in the courses she attended. Like Nicolas for Harry, Lucie had been raised in a very rural environment, where school frequently took a backseat during harvest or planting seasons. Consequently, her education was minimal. She could barely distinguish between the letters of the alphabet, recognize most basic words in French spelling, and read a few sentences in Latin.
Her proficiency in religion was the only area where she could claim parity with her classmates. This was primarily because her extremely superstitious parents, upon witnessing a few episodes of accidental magic from her, believed her to be a sinner, a cursed being destined for the flames of hell that not even an exorcist could save. In light of the inefficacy of their exorcism methods, her parents initiated her into devotion and saint worship, making her memorize every verse of the gospels, urging her to diligently observe fasting and prayer, and even inviting her to repent and atone for her sins by self-mutilating with corsets equipped with small hooks that cut her skin with the slightest movement.
It was only with the appearance of Madame Maxime in their home that the Desmoulins family understood that their daughter was not possessed by a demon but simply a witch with supernatural powers she needed to learn to control and use. Her parents immediately stopped all practices they had employed until then to "save" their daughter from the torment they believed awaited her. However, to protect her siblings from the same fate, Lucie now lived apart from her family, secluded in the miserable stable adjoining their property, with only the family cow and a few poultry for company.
Lucie had been very reluctant to reveal this, never having had the chance to speak freely to anyone due to her belief that she was a monster, let alone to girls her age. It was only when she was certain of Daphné and Tracey's trust and the sympathy they showed her since they met that she shared her story, despite shedding continuous tears and fearing their possible negative judgment regarding the burden she carried. At least, this confession had tightened the bonds among the three of them, and now their confidences were numerous, especially when they were together in their room.
In a way, Lucie became a younger sister to watch over, to protect from a world she scarcely knew and for which she was barely prepared. Daphné admitted it was both amusing and instructive to educate her friend in the subtleties of magic and correct her behavior. Perhaps it was preparing her in some way for her future role as a mother, in which case she could claim a certain success.
However, nothing seemed to remedy Lucie's religious devotion, bordering on hysteria. Despite the advice Daphné tried to give her, she quickly realized she had no power over it. Lucie persisted in praying prostrate on the floor, murmuring strange words, imploring her God to save her soul and rid her of the evil within her. When she occasionally sat with others, she swayed back and forth while reciting every prayer in her repertoire—a behavior that made the other students find her particularly peculiar, occasionally questioning her mental state.
A nudge on her side snapped Daphné out of her thoughts. Upon turning to Tracey to inquire about the reason behind the gesture, she understood from Tracey's expression that she must have been staring at Lucie for too long, neglecting to note down what Madame Beaumont was dictating. Blushing slightly, Daphné immediately refocused on her parchment, the tip of her quill gracefully swirling on the surface, though the frenzy of its owner occasionally resulted in small ink splatters.
"On whom could I have copied if even my best friend no longer takes notes from 'Madame Étiquette'?" Tracey asked mischievously. "Losing interest in a class isn't like you, Daphné..."
"Quiet!" she replied softly, though she couldn't deny the truth in Tracey's words.
Indeed, it was not her habit to ignore a class to such an extent, especially when it involved Madame Beaumont, or as Tracey liked to call her, Madame Étiquette. Truthfully, Daphné was among the top students in her year, owing much of her education to the teachings she had received prior. Some teachers had quickly formed an idea of their student's level during the first sessions, and by general consensus, Daphné Greengrass seemed destined to be a brilliant student, contributing to Beauxbatons' academic reputation. Even Madame Beaumont, usually sparing in compliments and reserved in her relationship with her students, occasionally offered some well-phrased compliments, polite smiles, or friendly gestures toward her, much to the envy of many other students. Thankfully, Madame Beaumont hadn't noticed her lapse in attention; otherwise, her privileged position as a student might have been severely compromised.
"Miss, correct your posture!" their teacher exclaimed, fixing her hawk-like eyes on one of the students who immediately stiffened. "This is a classroom, not a tavern!"
Madame Beaumont took advantage of the moment to fix her gaze on the guilty student for long seconds, as was customary for her. This way, she ensured that the culprit felt deep guilt and shame, intensified by the oppressive silence that often descended when she reprimanded a student. The result was always achieved, and the greatest fear of girls entering this class for another lesson with their teacher was giving her a reason to chastise them in front of a group of over 40 students.
In the three months at Beauxbatons, Daphné had formed a more precise idea of this woman, and the least that could be said about her was that her first impression had been accurate. With an authority never matched, Madame Beaumont was not someone to anger, and even the slightest deviation from the rules resulted in sanctions commensurate with the mistake made. For the moment, Daphné hadn't incurred her wrath and hoped never to encounter it.
Impartial in her judgments, Madame Beaumont didn't hesitate to administer exemplary punishment to a well-born student to make them understand never to repeat the same mistake. Even girls from dukes, marquises, or counts might be assigned tasks like scrubbing latrines or cleaning stables, depending on the gravity of their offense. However, Daphné had observed that these same privileged girls received some sort of leniency, a lightening of punishment, which contrasted with the extreme strictness faced by more modest students like Lucie. Thus, for the same mistake, there seemed to be double indulgence toward the wealthiest or those from ancient noble families. Daphné even supposed that the relative leniency with which Madame Beaumont treated her might be linked to her future engagement to Harry, even though her future mother-in-law had insisted on no leniency toward her to correct her behavior more effectively and address any possible missteps she might still make.
Simultaneously, as announced at the beginning of the year, Madame Beaumont supervised their promotion with the clear intention of identifying the most deserving students capable of ascending the different ranks before their final exams and obtaining their diploma in their last year, separating those who simply didn't belong within Beauxbatons' walls. With her keen eye, the deputy headmistress had already managed to send two students home who had unfortunately displeased her. Many might criticize such a system, but the excellence demanded by the school for the image it wished to convey of its institution certainly didn't allow for any failure or for a black sheep to slip through the cracks and tarnish its reputation. The students had long since resigned themselves to this reality.
Discipline began early in the morning at the break of dawn, or even earlier, when they had to quickly descend to the dining hall for breakfast. Even in pajamas and dressing gowns, every student had to maintain impeccable behavior and absolutely refrain from yawning in public. Madame Beaumont, already dressed and properly groomed, established order and discipline without any leniency for the still half-asleep students. Subsequently, after showering, came the clothing inspection, and woe to anyone attempting to evade it. A simple delay during this challenging session earned the offender a more humiliating public reprimand than anything else.
Similarly, the room inspections just before activities commenced were never pleasant. A mere speck of dust escaped from the room cleaning, a mound of hair hidden under the rug, a garment improperly stored in the wardrobe, or even a fold in the middle of the sheets resulted in a new rearrangement for the inspected room, made more challenging by Madame Beaumont herself embarrassing the room with a wave of her wand.
Only the classes were quieter for the students, especially the first years who could breathe and enjoy the school more peacefully. But to do so, they had to avoid their teacher of good manners in the corridors, which quickly became difficult when she appeared seemingly out of nowhere to chastise any student who made even the smallest infraction against the rules. Rumor had it that Madame Beaumont knew all the secret passages of the school, but another, more absurd rumor attributed to her the ability to pass through walls and hear even from afar the slightest disparaging comment about her. This was why she so easily caught the imprudent ones attempting to defy her authority.
It was only in the evenings that their vice-headmistress occasionally showed herself to be more pleasant, allowing students wishing to join her in her apartments to share a small snack, usually consisting of tea or, in the best cases, hot chocolate accompanied by a drop of cognac. However, this moment of intimacy was reserved for the most deserving students—those who had caught Madame Beaumont's attention through their academic results or behavior. These gatherings, involving students of all ages, were a mark of success, a way for others to see if they had managed to attract this woman's attention to gain the right to stay up later in her company, or if they still needed to work hard to achieve it, somewhat akin to a sign indicating that those not participating needed to make further progress to succeed in this school.
Daphné had been quickly invited to Madame Beaumont's place and, pushed into responding to the letters she sent to Marie-Louise, she had realized how much more charming her teacher could be in a small gathering. The only trouble was that Tracey and Lucie had not yet reached the same level of acceptability in Madame Beaumont's eyes, and there were moments when Daphné found herself getting bored. Hence, she avoided going too often, preferring instead to excuse her absence by claiming to help her friends and assist them in improving. It was hard to tell if she believed her half-lie, but Madame Beaumont had never questioned her word.
"Maybe this contributes to the image she has of me," she thought, turning her gaze towards her teacher. "Perhaps her good opinion of me partly comes from the belief that I spend my evenings helping Lucie and Tracey... I won't complain about it, though."
Considering that Madame Beaumont could eventually connect her with the connections she had cultivated within the Ministry of Magic and the main magical organizations in France, it had to be admitted that being in her good graces could have its advantages in the future. If this could benefit her, it could also serve the interests of her fiancé and future husband... A very enticing prospect indeed, which gave her something to think about regarding her future encounters with Madame Beaumont.
"...For a woman, speaking of her husband, she may call him by his name in front of people of low quality, adding 'Monsieur' if he himself is of low condition," Madame Beaumont's composed and clear voice was heard. "But in the presence of eminent persons, one must simply say 'my husband.'"
"Take good notes, Daphné," Tracey murmured, suppressing her urge to burst into laughter. "Harry will never forgive you for daring to call him by his name in front of our most illustrious guests."
"That's totally his style," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Knowing him, he might even lock me up for life in a dungeon for such a breach of conduct."
"A woman must refrain from simply saying 'Monsieur' when speaking of her husband," Madame Beaumont continued, apparently without noticing the brief conversation between two of her students. "It is a mistake often encountered among the bourgeois..."
Daphné found it quite curious. How complicated it was to assimilate all these subtleties of language! Why couldn't people just call each other by their first names? That could have avoided all these constraints... Even her parents didn't address each other with formalities like "Mister, my husband" or "Madame, my wife" in public... The French certainly made life unnecessarily complicated over trivial matters.
"P-Professor Beaumont?" suddenly called a young girl named Marie de Frénouville, raising her hand.
A few gasps were heard, but all were quickly interrupted by the sharp sound of their teacher closing her book abruptly to fix a stern gaze on the unfortunate student who dared interrupt her class. Daphné and Tracey exchanged a brief glance, both knowing perfectly well what would happen to their classmate. Indeed, moments later, Madame Beaumont addressed her with a voice as cutting as a blade:
"And who do you think you are to have the audacity to disrupt my class, Mademoiselle? Did I not strongly recommend during our first session that you should not dare to do so?"
"But I..."
"Silence," she said, in a tone effective enough to immediately silence her. "There is no time for questions as I have not yet decided if there is. Remember: I am the teacher here, tasked with instilling in you values, notions, and even a morality that will help you flourish and become accomplished women, impeccable citizens, and perfect wives. My time is therefore precious, and I do not wish to waste it on unnecessary and untimely interruptions if I am to impart all the knowledge I possess."
Heading towards her desk, Madame Beaumont waited to be behind it to face the entire class, though her gaze still frequently fell upon poor Marie de Frénouville, now hunched over her desk.
"I did not overlook your raised hand, Mademoiselle," she indicated. "However, if you had correctly read the 'treatise on civility' that was part of your purchases for your first year in this establishment, you would have known in advance that you should wait for me to give you the floor, whether by a simple glance or a remark directed at you, to speak and disrupt this class. Patience is the mistress of virtue, a virtue that you seem to lack, my dear."
Then, with a wry smile that foretold to all the students the arrival of a punishment, Madame Beaumont stopped beating around the bush and went straight to the purpose of her moralizing vindication:
"You will come to see me in my quarters this evening after evening prayer," she said, calmly reopening her manual. "You will copy as many times as I deem necessary the passage from the treatise recounting what I have just told you, so that you never forget it. I will decide the duration of your punishment myself, but know that there is a stack of assignments awaiting correction on my desk, so needless to say, this could last all night."
Beside her, Daphné clearly heard Tracey gulp loudly, and she herself felt a relatively limited compassion towards Marie: Although the punishment seemed severe in her eyes, it was perfectly reasonable, according to Madame Beaumont's logic, to punish her student for this transgression, and in that, there was nothing to contest. As for daring to challenge one of her decisions... Daphné preferred not to even think about it.
The class finally resumed quickly, in the silence that characterized it so well. Madame Beaumont continued to enumerate all the rules governing the behavior a woman should adopt towards her husband and how she should address or speak of him to others, always with a form of docility and submission that seemed fitting for a lady according to the author of this treatise. Daphné didn't entirely agree with all the rules and advice formulated by it, especially when it came to being so obedient towards a man who had all the rights over her and could, in the event of repudiation, leave her in total destitution. And all this with the blessing of the law! There were certainly things to reconsider in this country, and even though she knew for sure that Harry would never treat her in the same manner as men strictly adhering to the codes of conduct governing relations between men and women, she couldn't be as certain for all the other young girls she knew. As for the author of this treatise, this misogynistic and sexist man on the edges didn't even deserve her attention.
However, much to her dismay and far too late for her realization, it wasn't the same for Tracey. The mandatory readings recommended by Madame Beaumont had always been scandalous and subject to her numerous criticisms, and once again, she couldn't help but express her thoughts a bit too loudly... just a few steps away from their teacher:
"What nonsense!" she muttered, angrily dipping her pen into the inkwell.
Once again, the book held by Madame Beaumont was abruptly closed, and at the sound, Tracey suddenly raised her head, eyes slightly widened. The subsequent sound of footsteps immediately caused her nervous tic of nervously wringing her hands, a gesture that once could have been easily concealed by manipulating her doll. But Tracey was no longer a little girl, and the problem that was about to arise was of a completely different level than accidentally breaking a vase. She didn't even need to turn her head to her right to notice the presence of her teacher by her side, her crimson robe folds perfectly suitable.
"Did I hear correctly, young lady?" Madame Beaumont addressed her in a voice much colder than before. "Not content with being unruly in the corridors and dormitories, you now dare to disturb my class with vulgar oaths! Where did you think you were, acting in such a manner?"
"I-I beg your pardon, Professor," she apologized flatly, lowering her gaze. "My thoughts escaped me so much that I didn't realize I had voiced them aloud before you made me understand..."
Madame Beaumont did not respond immediately, instead choosing to turn away from her to return once again behind her desk. However, as soon as she turned back, her gaze immediately focused on Tracey, giving her the appearance of a bird of prey ready to swoop down on its victim. Each student now held their breath, anticipating another reprimand session, but to everyone's surprise, her tone was much more amicable than with Marie, though there was still a hint of menace that didn't bode well:
"I do not blame you for questioning the principles I teach: You are within your right and free to do so. However, I do not tolerate any misbehavior in my class. When you are invited to attend my class, the principle is to consider everything I say as right and not open to any reply in any way. Therefore, you will kindly keep such remarks to yourself in this room and express them openly in your quarters. Impoliteness has no place here, especially when resorting to such oaths. Oh, speaking of which, could you remind me of the article specifically addressing such an obscenity, or is that too much to ask?"
Faced with this request, Tracey seemed rather perplexed and lost, and even looking towards Daphné didn't provide her with a reason for this sudden question. However, she didn't relent, and after a deep breath, she tried to recall the vague memories she had of the text:
"In all our discourse, we must abstain from swearing, which is a vice into which many fall due to a wicked habit, thinking thereby to give more credibility to what they say... And... And when one is forbidden to swear, it even means excluding those oaths that mean nothing, being certain that neither one nor the other are from well-bred people, and that when one swears in front of a person of quality, and particularly in front of... Hm... In front of ladies, one loses respect for nothing more," she recited, ultimately sounding almost bored.
For that moment, Daphné praised her best friend's memorization abilities at length, but while she held great respect for her at that moment, a glance towards Madame Beaumont assured her that the same couldn't be said on the teacher's end.
"And what do you have to say about that?" she said, never ceasing to intensely gaze at Tracey.
"That I did not respect this prohibition, that what I just did is not worthy of my standing, that I might have offended your sensibilities and those of some young ladies of a higher rank than mine, and consequently, I have lost your respect?" Tracey enumerated, glancing around to see if she had indeed shocked her classmates.
"Failing to hold your tongue, I am pleased to see that you have not lost your analytical sense," her teacher replied. "However, this cannot go unpunished, and you will agree with me that you require a sanction commensurate with your offense."
"Oh, Heavens," Tracey muttered bitterly.
Madame Beaumont seemed not to have heard her, a stroke of luck for her, otherwise, the punishment could have been much heavier.
"I want to see on my desk by tomorrow morning the civility rule you have just recited copied as many times as there are words in it," she declared, relishing Tracey's horrified expression. "I want no smudges, no erasures, no corrections, no folds. The writing should be neat, perfectly straight, and legible. Also, refrain from attempting any copying spell or any other method to significantly lighten your workload: I will easily find out if you had the audacity to do so, and believe me, I will not be as lenient as I am now."
"But we already have a lot of assignments for the week..." Tracey pleaded uselessly, playing her final card.
"That matters little to me," Madame Beaumont assured, disregarding the air of pity Tracey was attempting to display. "You will understand that it is important not to postpone our lessons and work but to do them as soon as we have them to avoid increasing our workload. Take your friend Miss Greengrass as an example: Assignments are always submitted on time, well done, and sufficiently worked on to enable her to obtain the best grades in the subjects I teach."
All heads immediately turned towards Daphné, but she concealed her embarrassment behind a mask of impassiveness that many classmates envied. Not even a blush appeared on her skin, glowing with its brilliant whiteness, while her eyes remained fixed on Professor Beaumont's figure. The teacher seemed satisfied with her student's reaction, as a slight smile appeared on her face, revealing her perfectly aligned and white teeth, a luxury that few could boast of having.
The school bells suddenly rang, a sign that the current classes were finally ending. However, not a single student moved or even attempted to pack their books into their bags, preferring instead to focus their attention on their teacher, who, despite the noise coming from the school's bell tower, remained immobile in front of her students, casting a warning look for anyone daring to leave her class at that moment. Madame Beaumont had assured them from the first class that "the bell here was her," and therefore, her students only left her class when she decided. It was better not to try to leave as it was among the numerous grievances that infuriated their teacher and resulted in one of the severest punishments in the school for the implicated student.
"You may leave," she finally said as her students discreetly and silently packed their belongings. "In our next class, we will study the art of proper table manners, a concept sorely lacking among most of you when we gather in the dining hall. Miss Frénouville, please stay a moment."
Daphné could clearly hear a sigh coming from the concerned student, but fortunately, the surrounding commotion spared Marie from another reprimand from Professor Beaumont. However, she had to wait for each student to approach the teacher and gracefully greet her with a curtsy before having a one-on-one with her teacher, a meeting that unfortunately for Daphné didn't seem to start until she exited the classroom as the last one, making sure to close the door behind her.
Tracey and Lucie were already waiting, the former casually leaning against the wall as she amused herself by making her school bag twirl under the astonished gaze of her Muggle-born friend.
"Isn't it forbidden to use magic in the corridors?" Daphné questioned in a falsely skeptical tone upon seeing her perform small acrobatics with her bag.
"I was hesitating between that or sealing Madame Beaumont's classroom door with a bit of glue and my wand," she replied, calmly shaking the said object. "I think the first option posed fewer risks..."
"Stop that immediately, or you'll get into trouble again," warned her friend. "Actually, you would mostly get us into trouble," she corrected, gesturing with her head towards Lucie and herself.
Tracey didn't respond, but she eventually agreed to stop her little trick by quickly stowing her wand back into the holster fixed to her arm. The levitation spell stopped on its own, but the bag, now threatening to fall heavily to the ground, was caught at the last moment by its owner, who wasted no time in slinging the strap over her shoulder while humming quietly.
"Well, let's go in joy and good humor to our wonderful History of Magic class!" she declared cheerfully, leading the way. "I heard from a friend at Hogwarts that their professor still teaches about goblin wars! If they knew it wasn't even in Beauxbatons' curriculum, I'm sure their enrollments would increase considerably!"
"That wouldn't be a bad thing considering the more comprehensive and demanding education given here," argued Daphné. "Most of the spells and curses taught in first year at Beauxbatons are only taught in fourth year at Hogwarts, and even then, they are only taught in theory."
Lucie, who knew nothing about Hogwarts, preferred to change the subject rather than listen without being able to participate in a debate:
"So, how did you find this new lesson?" she asked them cheerfully as they passed by a window with a perfect view of the real tennis court located below. "I didn't imagine one had to watch their way of speaking even in front of people of a lower rank! Well... Few people besides day laborers and beggars can consider themselves of a lower social status than mine..."
"That will change," assured Daphné with a knowing smile. "Thanks to the education that Beauxbatons provides and the school's support in all administrative and relational processes you undertake, you might find a good match later on. The respectable wizarding families in this country know very well that they will find well-educated young ladies at this school, likely to be excellent wives for their sons, especially when the students graduate after seven years of study: It is primarily a sign of self-accomplishment and proof, if one is needed, that the education is now complete. Even a lawyer could suit you, or even just an attorney."
"And even if you don't find happiness on that front, there are plenty of positions available at the Ministry of Magic here, and employers have no reservations about hiring a woman for any job," added Tracey.
"Except maybe for the position of auror..." objected Daphné, shaking her head slightly. "It will be a long time before mindsets change and people believe that a woman can have as much capability as a man for such a physically demanding position."
All three nodded, convinced that in many respects, their skills could easily match those of the male gender. And even if physical strength was their greatest weakness, intellect and patience compensated fully for their shortcomings. At least, that's what they thought...
"But aside from that, what did you think of the class?" Lucie asked again. "Was I the only one who found it fascinating?"
"That class was... interesting," Daphné finally muttered, taking another corridor.
"Interesting?" Tracey repeated incredulously. "I see no interest in it for myself other than conditioning for a role that doesn't suit me."
"You don't want to get married?" Lucie asked, catching up to them.
"Not now," she replied firmly. "And if that were to happen, I don't want to play the decorative piece for a husband who would never let me go out or pursue the activities I desire. Just imagine, we can't even have our own savings! If I needed money, I'd be reduced to begging a man who would have complete authority over me! I much prefer the freedom I have at the moment."
"Every man is different," Daphné reminded her, briefly thinking of her own fiancé. "You might find the right one in the future and change your mind."
"But not all men are like Gabriel either," she said.
"This Gabriel must be really special if you keep comparing him to other boys," Lucie argued, looking between her friends.
"You have no idea," Tracey affirmed smugly. "Daphné wouldn't trade him for anything, and I have to admit, neither would I if I were in her place."
Daphné nodded, truly happy to have found the right match. Who would have thought that a simple sharing of pastries and a few childish games would lead her to her future husband? Fate could be so strange at times...
"Daphné!" a voice suddenly called from behind. "Oh, Daphné!"
Though tempted to run as far as possible from the corridor rather than face the person practically shouting her name, Daphné reluctantly turned around, her impassive mask back on, suppressing the urge to grumble upon seeing the person she detested most in the world: Cordelia. She was trying to catch up as quickly as possible, struggling to maintain her dignity due to repeatedly tripping over her long skirt. Nicole and Suzanne followed closely, their lumbering gait looking even more ridiculous as they tried to keep pace with Cordelia, but their lumberjack-like build was enough to deter any giggles from the students, even the older ones. Tracey, who never did anything like everyone else, didn't bother feeling intimidated by these two giants and openly chuckled, even when the three girls stood in front of them.
"You're quite difficult to catch!" Cordelia declared in a surprisingly polite tone. "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to talk to you before our next class!"
"Have you learned nothing from Madame Beaumont?" Tracey asked in a falsely indignant tone. "Isn't it against etiquette to call out people's names in such a manner?"
"Mind your own business, Davis," she retorted, looking at her as if a bug had landed on her shoe. "I'm not talking to you but to your friend."
"What do you want by calling me out in the middle of this corridor?" Daphné inquired, her voice cold.
Cordelia seemed unfazed by Daphné's unfriendly tone; on the contrary, a mysterious enigmatic smile slowly appeared on her face as she scrutinized her interlocutor, eyes full of mischief.
"It seems we've started off on the wrong foot," she began, still wearing that calculating look.
"It was about time you noticed," commented Tracey, chuckling slightly. "The school year started over three months ago."
Cordelia pretended not to hear, but Daphné and the others could easily see the tension building.
"Cordelia Duprès, daughter of Citizen Duprès, in charge of regulating trade on the road between Paris and Lyon for the Ministry of the Interior, at your service, princess," she announced, accompanying her words with a curious curtsey that raised Daphné's eyebrow. "I would be absolutely delighted to accompany you to our next class, if you would allow it, and my dear friends will be happy to carry your bag during the journey. We could take this opportunity to get to know each other better and cease this silly war between us to establish a healthier, friendlier relationship..."
Although she knew it all too well, Daphné doubted more and more the sincerity of this girl who, as recently as yesterday, had the audacity to mock her friends and make derogatory remarks about her English origins and the possibility of her providing information to the British government to undermine the French republic; there was probably no one more paranoid in this school than Cordelia Duprès.
"We could even consider discussing your relocation to rooms more suitable for your status, princess," she continued, mistakenly thinking that Daphné's silence was encouraging. "It's not conceivable for a young lady promised to one of the country's greatest fortunes to sleep with... commoners or people from the lower classes..."
The last sentence was more directed at Lucie and Tracey, which she didn't hesitate to glare at with a menacing look, almost ordering them to disappear immediately. Tracey, in return, met her gaze with a mocking grin, which made Cordelia slightly blush with fury, unaware that their room was far from the hovel she imagined they all slept in. However, Lucie, who persistently never defended herself against the attacks from someone who had made her a target due to her very humble origins, seemed to have understood the message and was already turning away... before Daphné's hand stopped her by firmly resting on her shoulder.
"I don't think I want to get to know you more than I do now, Cordelia," she said, meeting her gaze. "Honestly, you don't seem to be a very commendable person, and while I might try to forget your past behavior, I can't forgive your actions towards me and my friends. Moreover, the 'lower classes' happen to be much better company than yours, so I'd rather sleep among them."
"Watch your words, Greengrass," Cordelia threatened immediately, losing all respect for her. "My offer of friendship won't be extended again, and if you wish to later establish close contacts with the French bourgeoisie, you'd better come to your senses and distance yourself from the undesirable to get closer to people of a much higher standing."
"Oh, but I was just about to do that!" affirmed Daphné before clinging to her friends' arms. "Shall we, girls? It's better to stay away from the undesirable, as the concerned party just pointed out so accurately."
And with that, all three of them left without looking back, only waiting to be sufficiently far away before bursting into loud laughter, only halted when a passing teacher scolded them for a good five minutes.
"Merlin, I'll remember the look on her face for a long time!" chuckled Tracey once the teacher had left. "For a moment, it seemed like she'd spotted a Chinese Fireball in the corridor!"
"What's a Fireball?" Lucie immediately inquired, looking intrigued.
"A dragon," explained Tracey, before engaging in a lengthy debate with her about the existence of dragons worldwide and the multitude of species that could be observed.
Daphné remained silent throughout the conversation. While her now-famous mask of impassiveness reappeared on her face, her mind lingered on Cordelia's words. Had she gone too far? Should she take her threats seriously? For a moment, she feared she had made a grave mistake by definitively alienating this girl. Yet, at the same time, she imagined Harry reacting in a similar manner if faced with a similar situation. Weren't her two best friends themselves from an extremely humble background? Hadn't he himself created a rival in the form of Auguste Boulanger, just like Cordelia from the bourgeois milieu? Their situations intersected in some ways, although Harry had the advantage of more easily recognizing which relationship or connection would be useful for his future. He knew who had enough influence through their name or popularity alone to use it to his advantage and revive the power that followed his family name.
Now, it was hoped that the Duprès family didn't wield as much influence as Cordelia claimed over the bourgeoisie. It was better to make sure of it, using the same tactics as her fiancé to gain the favor of as many Beauxbatons girls as possible: kindness, solicitude, affability, and courtesy. Her circle of friends would likely grow very soon, but she preferred that to a campaign of slander launched by her now-rival, which could isolate her from the school and have repercussions on the relationships Harry could build with certain families.
The sudden arrival of a falcon in the corridor made her lift her head. Observing it keenly, she recognized Archimedes, Harry's bird, by the white feathers on its chest and the peculiar pattern around its eyes. The bird also spotted her, and after a few wing beats, it calmly perched on her shoulder, its right claw holding a thin cord attached to a sealed envelope with wax, bearing elegant writing formed with numerous loops, easily discernible to her.
"Who's it from?" Lucie asked, looking at the bird that Daphné absentmindedly caressed while freeing it from its package. "Is it a magical bird too?"
"Not really," replied Tracey, smiling. "It's just a Peregrine falcon, but it's been trained to deliver and send letters to someone, like some birds of prey, and this one happens to belong to our dear friend's fiancé."
"Oh," she breathed simply, never taking her eyes off the animal. "I suppose it's good news," she added, noticing the small smile creeping onto Daphné's face.
Lost in her thoughts, Daphné then noticed the both amused and teasing looks from her two friends. Quickly examining her reflection in the window next to her, she realized with shame that she wore a slightly silly expression, making her look like a silly girl just because her beloved had written to her. Yet only God knew how much she had been awaiting this letter. The last one was more than a month ago, and now she cherished the envelope in her hands as if she'd been handed a newborn baby. Her fiancé had been so busy lately that she hadn't dared to send him a letter, not even to tell him about her conflicts with Cordelia, her thoughts on her classes, or her impressions of the teachers—topics she thought might be uninteresting to Harry. Yet, she would have given anything to write lengthy missives to him, to express on paper all the feelings that welled up in her each day and the moments she spent in this school, to narrate Tracey's jokes, knowing he would enjoy them, or simply to convey through words the feelings she had for him, the difficult separation from her family, loved ones, and familiar surroundings, and the gradual adjustment she was encountering in this institution... Oh yes, all of that in a single letter. As she unsealed the envelope to free the remarkable and thick parchment inside, she already began to imagine how she would start her reply.
"You can go rest in the aviary, my good friend," she said to Archimedes. "I'll come see you once I've composed a response that suits me and is worthy of its recipient."
The bird responded with a shrill cry. Then, after spreading its wings, it exerted a gentle pressure on her shoulder before taking off, giving her a small caress on the cheek as it passed by. Daphné's lips curved into a light smile at this gesture, but her concentration was now focused on the content of the letter she was beginning to read in complete silence.
"So, what's the letter about?" Tracey immediately inquired, stepping closer.
"It's about his visit to Paris and meeting with Monsieur Bonaparte," she quickly murmured, skimming through the few details she had read.
"Really!?" her friend exclaimed, looking surprised. "By Merlin, did he actually speak to him?"
"Apparently so, but I don't know all the details yet," she said, unfurling the surprisingly long parchment in front of her as if to convey that she couldn't read it all in just a few seconds.
Tracey was about to reply, but a reminder of the late hour and the possible delay they might incur for their next class brought them back to reality, putting Daphné's news on the back burner. The celebrations could wait a few more hours, and as she rolled up the parchment again, Daphné now aspired to quickly finish this day to finally know in detail the latest adventures of her fiancé... And especially to tell him hers. An evening of writing awaited her, but when it came to Harry, Daphné was ready to sacrifice a bit of her sleep time or even her homework; there was no better distraction in her eyes.
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