mess it up! // theo nott

i. sleepyhead

"Daph," a voice calls

"Daphne," there it is again.

She could hear faint voices. Calls of her name sound like they're being shouted from a hundred miles away in a big flower field. But Daphne doesn't budge.

"Miss Lupin-Black!"

She hears this one - loud and clear. A shout of a woman. An angry one. It sounds closer, clearer. Daphne finally opens her eyes. She hadn't even realized they were closed at all - that they were, as she often says it, resting. Daphne scans her surroundings. She's no longer at the flower field, instead she's in transfiguration, with Professor McGonagall in front of her.

Daphne flinches. But then quickly, she collects herself and sits straight. Sweetly, she flashes that famous Lupin-Black smile to Professor McGonagall. A smile that she has undoubtedly seen more than once.

"And what were you dreaming about, Miss Lupin-Black?"

Daphne smiles. She's about to tell McGonagall about the flower field, the little cottage in the middle of it. How she saw so many birds flying around, and how she loved them. She doesn't even like birds! But they were sweet, and she could hear them singing, chirping. The one good dream she's had in a while.

But Daphne stops herself when she looks at McGonagall again. The Professor's eyes sharp on her, her expression unchanged, not a smile, not even a smirk. McGonagall stares down, Daphne looks up. She could see the disappointment in her, but Daphne could also sense that she was far from surprised.

She had fallen asleep - again. This has got to be the the third, fourth time? Daphne's lost count at this point. She wishes she had a good reason, like she was up all night studying or finally reading the letters her dads had been sending her since the start of term. But she did not get nearly enough sleep because she lost track of time at that party the Hufflepuffs threw last night.

She seals her mouth shut. McGonagall raises her eyebrows. "Well?" she asks. "It's very unlike you to not share with the class, Miss Lupin-Black."

Aside from sleeping, Daphne also likes to talk. Her dads used to say that she was just an overly excited little girl, and she'd grew out of it. But she never did, and even now that she's turned 17, Daphne Lupin-Black is still a chatty young woman. There's just so much she could talk about.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she apologizes. Now she's looking down at her empty notebook, not even a drop of ink has touched it. Professor McGonagall shakes her head, and picks it up. She examines Daphne's notebook, and sighs.

"I want to have a word with you after class," McGonagall says, and the bell rings.

"This has got to stop, Daph," Ron scolds, whispering to her as he shoves his books into his bag. She's heard this a million times by now. Daphne, get your shit together. That's what they all say. What Harry says, what Hermione says, what Ron says. She's pretty sure it would be what her dads say if they knew.

Daphne wasn't always like this. There were times where she was the one who raised her hand in class, times where her notebook was full of useful scribbles, times where she didn't have to close her eyes to see a scenery as beautiful as that flower field. She huffs, nodding to Ron. She knows. She knows that this has to stop. She watches as the other students scurry away, racing to get the best sandwiches at the Great Hall. Daphne winces, her head hurts like hell.

"I'll see you at the table, okay?" Ron places his bag over his shoulder, says his polite goodbyes to McGonagall, and exits the class. When he does, the door shuts itself, on McGonagall's command.

"Is there something that's bothering you, Miss Lupin-Black?" McGonagall asks. "This has been the fifth time you've fallen asleep in my class. Is transfiguration just horribly boring to you?"