SUNDAYS
“What is she doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
I really don’t know why she was here. In all places.
Roger Davies asked himself again and again why Y/F/N was here in the Art Institute of Chicago but then again, it was really beautiful to look at and not go visit it in your lifetime.
The painting. Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte. A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte.
Y/N stood there examining the piece with her bright Y/E/C eyes with her glasses on which Roger had never seen. Her Y/H/C hair was tied in a loose knot, tendrils falling down her face. She wasn’t wearing her usual robes and the Hogwarts school uniform. She was wearing a lilac dress cut above the knees. It wasn’t chilly in the museum, but she wore a semi-sheer white button-down shirt, tied on the waist and had white sneakers on. She looked like she could be a part of the painting.
Roger Davies never seen Y/N in muggle clothes ever but then again, he never looked at her like that before.
It seems in the past six years of Roger’s existence in Hogwarts, him and Y/N never seemed to get along. It was always rivalry that prevail over them. Educational rivalry.
Roger Davies has been the top student of the Ravenclaw house. He is also a Quidditch player and later promoted as Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. He got to be a prefect in his second year and is nominated as Head Boy in his last school year. He was the bread and butter of his house. He could’ve been the best of his batch, unbeatable even, except for her.
Y/F/N was just like him. The top of her class. The ace in the Y/H house. A fine seeker of the Y/H Quidditch team, being a reserved for their team since her first year. She was offered the position of captain but turned it down to focus on her studies. A prefect just like him. The only student Professor Snape trusts. A member of the Duelling club. All in all, she was the epitome of Roger Davies.
Unfortunately, it annoyed the living hell out of him. She was always one step ahead. Time to time, Roger would beat her in every way he can: from how to execute the Animagus charm perfectly in Transfiguration class to who gets to eat a pile of pancakes first in the Great Hall. It annoyed Roger that somehow, someone was better than him. It became evident to Y/N as well that the feeling was mutual. It fueled her while she sees her name below Roger’s and vice versa to an extent that they had to go to the Headmaster to debate on who’s right to one question on one of their O.W.Ls.
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“Why can’t you just admit that I am right?!”
“Oh please Y/N, they day I admit you’re right is when the earth is destroyed by Winky the house-elf!” Roger debated with Y/N in their Potions class for hours on end. “My brew of the Scintillation Solution is far more superior than yours.”
“It is not!”
“Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Davies, must we really need to discuss this?” Professor Snape grieved at his desk. “I have given you both the highest score for the potion and yet here you are again to debate on something as menial as this?!”
“YES!” both replied. Professor Snape groveled in his seat. If he only knew how competitive Y/N and Roger were before, then he would’ve just minded his own business and yet here he was stuck at his desk after finishing his last class with the two. He thought to himself how menacing of a professor he was with the others but as smart as they were, Y/L/N and Davies could never succumb to Snape’s wrath for a high grade.
“It says a pinch of Valerian root and Davies was handling mounds of it in his brew!” Y/N stated.
“I will never make such mistakes in my entire life, Professor! Besides, Miss Y/L/N was putting a ton of Scarab Beetles as if we're on a shortage crisis. It says on the book three beetles not three thousand, Y/N.” Roger debated.
“Fascinating, you understand English!”
“And you can’t!”
“ENOUGH!” The professor bellowed, the chandelier above them shook from his voice, “Y/L/N. Davies. You have brewed to perfection the Scintillation Solution but if you continue bickering nonsense here in my class, even the slightest huff, I will deduct one hundred points to your houses and reprimand you with two weeks of detention.”
“But sir -.” They complained.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.” And with that, Roger and Y/N escaped the dark room and into the corridor without a single word. As they parted ways, Eddie Carmichael, Rogers's bestfriend, was waiting for him.
“Ah, another lover’s quarrel.” He commented to a frowning Roger.
“Shut it, will ya?” Roger elbowed his ribs, “I can’t believe I almost got deducted house points because of that brat! I mean I know I’m good-looking but there are other ways to get my attention and not ruin my academic value. ”
“One, don’t flatter yourself.” Eddie butted in, “Second, I think that ‘brat’ keeps you grounded. I, for one, like how she fights with you. God knows how annoying you get when you get the last laugh. Plus, she's pretty.”
“Hey!”
“All I’m saying is you and Y/N are a match made in heaven. Like those enemies to lovers type of things.” Roger looked at his friend, worried as he spoke those words. “I’m reading those romance novels Marietta owns, shut up.”
“We are enemies alright. Hatred is the living embodiment of what you think we have.”
“Hatred is a strong word, Roger, but I do think you have strong feelings for her. Maybe even love!”
“Ugh - kill me if I ever admit to liking her.”
“No promises.”
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“Hey, are you going to stand there, staring at her in spite or shall we continue?” Eddie asked him, trying to get Rogers’s attention.
“Yep, coming!” Roger replied.
“Again, why was she here?”
“Stop asking me that, Ed.” He nudged his friend, “Of all places, she chose this. Miles and miles away.”
“Stalker?” his friend laughed; Roger followed suit. “Though you can admit she does look pretty in muggle clothing.”
He didn’t reply. He thought about her still in that pale violet dress, looking up at the same pastel painting intently. He never noticed that when she smiles, her cheeks became fuller, and her eyes squint in joy. She looked soft and surreal surrounded by all the works of multiple artists made portraying their own definition of beauty. Y/N was different in the muggle world and yet those were the things he could’ve seen while they were in school.
He thought about how she tied her hair up like today. Y/N tied her hair just like that when she’s in the fields, near the Black Lake, when she reads, he thought. He imagined the color lilac which Roger realized was everywhere in all Y/N’s things. Maybe that’s her favorite color, he assumed. Her glasses. There was one time, the time I bumped into her in the middle of the night, she had glasses on, he remembered. Somehow in Roger Davies’ mind, he remembered the night they were both in the courtyard just admiring the stars in the clear sky. They weren’t together but they gazed the same constellations at the same time and place.
Roger didn’t realize but they were near the exit already.
“Roger! Eddie!” Cho Chang yelled outside to them. The rest of the Ravenclaws were waiting for them in the open space.
Roger looked back at the Hallway and at his peers again.
“C’mon, you two, what are you still waiting for?” Cho urged them, “There’s this café that we would like to go. They say they have the best pancakes in the world.”
“Better than Madam Puddifoot’s!” Marietta Edgecombe chimed in.
Pancakes. Roger laughed at the thought of pancakes. Of all the silly things in the world, the thought of pancakes and how Y/N gobbled a stack of them before would make his heart backflip.
“What’s his deal?” Cho asked.
“Well, we bumped into his archnemesis.” Eddie explained.
“Y/F/N is here?” Marietta urged. “Out of places, Y/N decided to go her on this day? Must be fate!”
“Or stalking.” Eddie joked again. The banter made Roger think about Y/N more and the image of her and the painting of La Grande Jatte.
“I’m going back to the museum.” He finally spoke and immediately turned around to the entrance of the building. “You go on ahead! I’ll just catch up.”
“Wait, why?” Eddie asked.
“To see if she’s really a stalker!” Roger smiled and ran to the marbled floors once more.
He took the steps of the stairs two at a time. This wasn’t as long and winding as it was a moment ago, he thought. Wait, I forgot where the painting was!
Was it on this floor?
Maybe it was on the third?
Or on the basement?
Maybe, it wasn’t in this building and you, Roger Davies, were hallucinating!
Then there it was. As he remembered it, with all its glory, but Y/N was missing. He looked around the room, in every nook and cranny, and failed miserably to find her. Maybe she exited the building in a different route, Roger hung in dismay. Flustered, he steadied his breathing and returned to the painting again and see what the fuss was about.
Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte by George Seurat.
The painting was made in the pointillist technique depicting a Sunday afternoon in France in the 1800s. It was really something to look at. Curious, he looked at the painting Y/N immensely studied and yet he could only appreciate the technique of it all. The logic.
“Stalker?” Suddenly, a voice broke his stupor. He looked to his side and saw her. Y/F/N. She smirked her usual self at him.
“I could say the same thing.” He smiled and that made his heart skip a beat. What was this? He thought.
“Your favorite?”
“No, just admiring for a friend.”
“I see.” Y/N turned and stared at the painting again and asked, “But seriously, why are you here?”
Roger looked at her and saw her cheeks were full again with the smile she held. The light refracting from the windows touched her face, causing tiny flecks of rainbows kiss her skin. He didn’t realize that he wasn’t blinking until his eyes got dry.
“Visiting the Art Institute of Chicago. The rest of the Ravenclaws wanted to go around the world to see places before heading to Hogwarts for our final year. I chose this.” He explained, breathlessly. “I mean it’s either here or in Times Square and I’m not the hustle-and-bustle type of guy.”
“I know you aren’t. You are more of the all-hell-broke-loose-if-I-don’t-get-a-perfect-score-in-every-test-kind-of-guy.”
“Yep, that’s me. You look decent in muggle clothes, Y/N. Very different from the look you give every time I beat you in dueling in Charms.”
“Thank you!” Y/N replied sarcastically, curtsying to him. “You are also looking dapper with your pale blue button-down shirt, coat, and slacks. Very Oxford. I must admit that I like you here than seeing your bruised ego as I tear you on the Quidditch field.”
“I like you too, Y/N” He let those words hung his lips. They smiled in response and continued to stay in silence, admiring the painting once more though Roger couldn’t concentrate. Y/N and Roger had been in close contact before, a little bit too comfortable even. One time, Y/N tackled Roger on the Quidditch field. This was different. The distance between them was miles away compared before but it felt like electricity was running through the space. It felt like wildfire. It made Roger crazy how close yet so far he was from her. How he wanted for the distance to disappear and touch her.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Y/N's hand hung to her side. Roger desperately reached out and finally, their fingers grazed. His heart fluttered, his body went jelly and his face felt warm.
Y/N was caught by surprise and as Roger looked at her response, she was the same: Y/F/N was flustered and red. She quickly turned around and stared at the painting once more.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He nodded in response, unable to let words out or his mouth would betray him if he did.
“The painter really showed the beauty of harmony.”
“He did? It literally says it was just a normal Sunday afternoon in France.” Roger replied and pointed at the figures in the painting. “How can someone, like the woman who was walking her monkey in the heat, would depict harmony?”
“Exactly, Davies.” Y/N chimed which made Roger smile, “It was that simple. Sundays were the days to escape the heat and noise of the city so normally, people of all shapes and sizes would go to parks such as this. The artist, Sir George Seurat, shows the simplicity of life that even differences in class, position, and perspective simply fade for one day. That all of this, all material things in life, didn’t matter for just one fleeting moment. Sort of like us, here in this room.”
Roger looked at Y/N and he didn’t realize that she was already raising her head to talk to her. They were only a few inches apart.
“What is it?” she asked her acquaintance. Roger looked at her with no words, almost, I daresay, affectionate of some sort. She looked at him with curious eyes and that made him pursed his lips and squint his eyes.
Suddenly her heart sank at the thought.
“Oh no, don’t tell - I’m wrong?” she concluded, “For Dumbledore’s sake, Roger, don’t you dare just stand there and not say anything. You think what I said is rubbish, right? I know that look of yours and that means you disagree with me. Ugh, why can’t you just say it outright: You are wrong, Y/F/N. and let’s debate on the whole ordeal like we used to! My god, I thought you’d be different here but I was - !”
“You’re right."
“What?” Y/N couldn’t believe it. She was right. For the first time, Roger Davies said Y/N was right, “Say what?”
“Y/N, you are right.”
“Say that again, please.” She begged of him, “I need to hear it one more time.”
Roger chuckled softly and walk closer to Y/N. As he leaned in, smiling, Y/N could smell his scent of Driftwood and leather, like how the books she read at the Black Lake would smell. How snuffing pancakes in morning would taste. How debating on the perfection of Scintillation Solution brew would feel. How the potential of loving him, Roger Davies, would be. “My Y/F/N, you are completely and absolutely right. “
They were so close that Y/N didn’t realize that she was leaning in closer as well. Her heart stopped as he asked one thing “there’s just one thing I needed to ask, why would it be just Sundays?”
“I’m sorry?”
“This moment.”
“I mean, that’s how Sir George explained his painting and other -.”
He chuckled again which made Y/N’s heart flutter. Roger looked deep into his eyes and smiled.
“I mean us, here. Why would we stop this?”
“I-I don’t understand.” She does.
“I think – no – I have strong feelings for you, Y/N, and it’s strange that I do, somehow.” Roger explained, “We weren’t the best of mates, hell, we trample ourselves if we must, but I think it must be fate that we weren’t because I would never ever change anything between us just to be friends with you.”
“Roger…”
“Yes, I’ve fallen quite hard over you and it’s stupid that I just realized that in this room, with this painting, with you.
She couldn’t believe it either. Those words were something she didn’t expect from Roger Davies… but she yearned for his affection, his candor, him. Just him. Y/N's feelings were the same and she cannot hide it any longer. The more she shoved the thought of him and his annoying counterattacks, his quidditch skills, his dueling techniques and every minute thing he does, the more her heart craved for him. The fact that she was there was pure coincidence and how nonchalant she wanted to stay with her distant aunt in Chicago for the past weeks.
However, this was fate. If her aunt didn’t have an appointment with the Ministry of Magic, then they would’ve been somewhere else. If she was an hour late, then Y/N wouldn’t have known Roger was there. If she didn’t stop and looked at the Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte by George Seurat, then they wouldn’t be talking. And if she didn’t look and longed for that certain Sunday with Roger Davies as she studied the painting, then she could have hesitated, even for one second, what she was about to say next.
“Then let’s not.” She finally spoke, “I mean, we can go back to our robes and uniforms and be our spiteful selves, but I don’t want to. Roger, I think that possibly maybe I’ve fallen for you, too.”
“You’re not certain?” he asked playfully, holding her chin. Y/N jumped from his touch.
“Well, we need to debate on it, for sure.”
“Definitely.” Then with fate calling them, Roger leaned in and kissed Y/N passionately. It was confusion, the unknown, and the breaking of normalcy when they’ll arrive on the train Hogwarts on the last year that scared them, but it was the longing as well that made Y/N and Roger want this. Whatever this is. Roger never wanted to let Y/N go and neither did she. The moment felt right. Their Sunday. They parted their lips to breathe and leaned with their foreheads, laughing softly.
“Finally, we agree on something.”
“Agreed.”