𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬 [𝖍.𝖌]

one | fun times

𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜—𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞
𝐤𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐝—𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

[30 august, 1992]

"Almost done," reassured Dahlia, poking an inky needle into Julie's skin gently. She was inking the last layer of a snake that laid on the inside of her wrist.

"It hurts," complained the Hufflepuff, burying her face into a pillow. "How much longer? I don't want Mum to find us in here."

As soon as April and Richard had found out about the Chamber of Secrets, they had initially (and understandably, but unfairly) forbade Julie and Dahlia to go to Hogwarts for their second and third years respectively. But as the summer had progressed along the girls' expert wheedling and subtle prodding, they had finally allowed them to return, just in time for the term owl to arrive.

Dahlia still hadn't told them about her and Julie's involvement. She was sure it would come to bite her in the arse later, but it was a problem for future her. She was going to Hogwarts, and she wouldn't do anything to endanger that.

This summer alone had seen lots of changes. Julie had changed remarkably, and who she was now was a stark difference compared to who she had been at the start of her first year. She'd shot up four inches, and her frizzy chestnut had calmed into natural waves. She'd started wearing mascara, and was a lot more rebellious. Dahlia liked to think that it was her own doing.

But that wasn't all that had changed. Julie was harder now, more judgemental than she had been. She'd grown up way too fast emotionally, and Dahlia felt like she'd failed somehow, to keep Julie safe from the world. But if she ever told the younger girl that, she'd immediately have a fit and tell the fiery-haired witch to shove off.

April had started keeping the kitchen window open day and night. Both Julie and Dahlia had owls, and they both corresponded with their friends quite often. A little way into July, both friend groups had been discussing Percy's recent promotion to Head Boy, and multiple owls had crashed into the window throughout the night. April was so fed up that she'd propped it open, and now there was a feeding station of crushed mice and a water bowl for any owls that came to their house.

Meanwhile, Richard had been having fun with their adjustment to incorporate magic into their lives. The excited older man had gotten their house registered for the Floo Network and now they kept a pot of green Floo powder on their fireplace mantle. In his joy, Richard had used it once to get to work. Not only had he not gotten to work, he had popped out into the closest wizard's house (scaring the magic shit out of them), but he had had to walk all the way back home. Poor him.

And Dahlia? She changed a little. She'd been working out, and in accordance, her body had become very lean. Her face had lost almost all of its baby fat, and she now had a chiselled jaw and high cheekbones. Her curly hair had darkened just a smidge, and she'd grown much taller as well, standing at about one hundred sixty-eight centimetres. A fact she was very proud of since Harry was about one hundred sixty-five.

But she'd also been having nightmares frequently. Just the normal ones, like smoky Voldemort and fire and the weird recurring topless witch dream. But now she couldn't stop dreaming about the basilisk—and the horrifying effect it had on her. Madam Pomfrey had healed her three months ago, but Dahlia now had scars on her ears—and sometimes they rang violently and she kept checking her eyes and ears for blood. She woke up in a cold sweat almost every night, half expecting to be deaf.

And the tar. Dahlia couldn't swim in pools and lakes or go to the beach anymore, or dunk her head in any liquid. She didn't wear mascara anymore because she could barely wash her face. She hadn't told anyone.