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chapter four, lily of the valley
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DAPHNE IS VERY LATE.
In all fairness, she's not exactly revered for her superb time keeping, so who can blame her for skills she doesn't have? Only the great talents and beauties of the world know the divine art of being fashionably late to just about everything — the secret is that everyone else is simply early. Besides, the mechanisms on her godforsaken alarm clock had gone all wonky ever since she hexed it in a fit of early morning rage about a week before. ( And she may or may not believe that all schoolwork is heinous and has been putting off her tutoring sessions to the best of her ability ).
Her watch tells her that it's around eleven o'clock, but it always reads a few minutes later than it should so she quickens her pace. The halls are almost completely deserted, which Daphne supposes is working in her favour because her hair is twisted into a disheveled bun at the nape of her neck and yesterday's mascara smudges stickily beneath her eyes. When she woke up a good twenty or so minutes before, she chucked on the first jumper she could find, a flowy green skirt that skims her ankles and a pair of doc martens that she had yet to break in. She's in agony!
Romeo nips at her heels, following her bouncily down the corridor with scuttling paws and a waggling tail. Daphne presumes that he's been following her about because Stevie is still sleeping in a near comatose state, but she isn't too certain on what the library's policy for animals is, so she scoops him off the ground and wedges him in her bag, the top unlatched slightly so his little brown nose can poke out. The jingling of his collar against her various trinkets still garners the unwanted attention of Madam Pince, but Daphne likes to think that she's done a fantastic job of hiding him. She throws her a smile for good measure.
Hogwarts has a library that wasn't nearly as austerely organised or frighteningly clean as the one Daphne is accustomed to, but it still has an inviting warmth that she's grateful for. There's constantly a pungent smell of ancient parchment, and buttery light from the dusty lamps illuminates the shadowy nooks and crannies where the sun fails to reach. Wizened marble busts follow the every move of whoever strolls past, their mouths clamped down for everyone's sake whilst their eyes glare with unmistakable venom.
