Getaway Car

DAPHNE BLACK GROANED as she roamed within the seemingly endless hallway of the train, her grey eyes searching through its compartments to find her childhood friends with an urgency she had never felt before. Her judgment was clouded as her heart began to thump through her ears, the noise of the wind whispering to the quivering child beneath her cold exterior.

     Daphne's thoughts waltzed back to her friends. Where were they? The grey-eyed girl's mind couldn't comprehend a reality in which they would've abandoned her.

     She shook the thoughts away from her head. To her, the weight of her trunk was greater than any worry that could haunt her thoughts. She was growing tired and needed to settle down. That was her grounding thought. And in an almost twist of fate, her eyes wandered down to the compartment habited with two redhead boys.

     Daphne Black's mind had set its claws on the empty seat beckoning her to rest. And with that, the young girl pulled her lips into the warmest smile she could muster as her muscles ached to rest.

     "Hi," said Daphne as the boys turned to look at the blonde girl through the door as her lips moved into the mimicry of a smile. "Mind if I join you two? The rest of the compartments seem rather crowded."

     "Not at all," said the younger twin, seemingly enraptured. "Right, Fred?"

     "Yeah, sure," replied the older twin, raising his brow to his twin before turning back to the blonde at the door. "Need a hand with that?"

     "That would be delightful."

     Fred Weasley shot up from his seat with his brother as they dragged the trunk inside. George's giddy expression faltered as the weight of the grey-eyed witch's luggage suddenly jolted through his ribs.

     "Put your whole house into this, have you?" spoke George as Daphne's face broke into the tiniest bit of a grin, almost suddenly as if life had decided to burst through her cold, clouded eyes — a glow to the mercurial grey that blinked owlishly at the boys.

     "It's better to be overpacked than to have missing things around."

     "True," said Fred as the young boys took the seat across from Daphne's. "Is this your first year?"

     "Yeah. I reckon it's the same with you two."

     "Yeah!" said the older twin. Then, he stretched his hand for Daphne to shake. "I'm Fred Weasley. And this starstruck git next to me is my brother, George Weasley."

     Daphne Black found herself giggling like a little kid as she shook Fred Weasley's hand, the tug on her lips melting the stiff and calculated tone of her poise. "I'm Daphne Black."

THE DARK CLOUDS hanging over the castle were a mirror to my thoughts as I found myself dragging my feet to the trophy room. The stairs were endless, lit up by the dying force of a torch, almost a measure to chastise the green and silver-adorned kids locked up in the dungeons.

     Then I reached the room, and Weasley was nowhere to be seen. Of course, I thought. He was late. And I was left with his debris all by myself.

     My hand shook with anger as I grabbed the cloth lying on the floor, and I heard a metal cup fall down to the cold floor. A fresh swell of rage thundered through my veins — within the very blood that carried the scent of Sirius Black. The thought of his name alone shattered each and every one of my bones that tried to be something. It shattered the prospect of my happy childhood. And I felt almost helpless as the illusion of my perfection drained from me. And the worst part of it all was that I did not know why I was angry in the first place.

     Then I scrubbed, scrubbed my worries off, scrubbed the man that haunted the whispers on the halls, scrubbed the stupid jokes of George Weasley off my thoughts.

     Then he appeared at the door with that stupid grin of his.

     "Finally, Mr Weasley has decided to grace me with his absoluteness," I said as George watched me with that grin still intact on his lips. "Stars know how much I hoped the Giant Squid to swallow you to save me."

     "Hello to you, too," George strolled through the pile left by him while shaking his head. "Always the epitome of politeness you are, Black.”

     “So I’ve been told, but never with such sarcasm,” I replied blatantly, but it appeared that each word that left my mouth seemed to amuse Weasley.

     "Wow, this place looks worse than it was yesterday," said Weasley.

     "I wonder why," I retorted. "Just grab a cloth and start fixing your mistake, Weasley."

     George Weasley, for once, listened to me and started mimicking my movements. He remained silent, I remember, for a record time of ten seconds before he opened his mouth to say; "You still haven't answered me, you know."

     "What is it now?" I replied with a roll of my eyes.

     "You haven't answered why you hate me so much?"

     "Now you are throwing false accusations at me, are you, Weasley? Might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg."

     "Tsk, tsk, that's not an answer," George tutted. "You're avoiding the question."

     “Drop it, Weasley.”

     George flashed that charming grin of his. “C’mon, Black! Can’t a man wonder how a girl could possibly hate a face like mine?”

     “I don’t know — have you ever heard of this thing called ‘mirror’?”

     “Ouch,” George pressed his hand to his heart. “You’re right. It must be difficult for Fred to look in the mirror and be reminded that I am the fitter twin.”

     “You’re so full of yourself.”

     “Says you.”

     “Well, I am a Black.”

     “And I’m a Weasley. What’s the point?”

     “Just drop it.”

     “Why are you so dramatic about it? All I did was to ask an innocent question.”

     "You know what, fine! I'll give your answer," I said as I felt the previous surge of fury thump through my veins. He had a startling innocence on his face, like a tiny snowdrop rising through the piles of ice on a stormy day, and it made resentment tighten its grip on my reddening face. "Do you remember second-year? Your infamous Dungbomb joke near the dungeons? Remember how I was the one that got caught in it, the explosion?"

     I saw George's grin falter. "Well, yes —"

     "Do you also remember how it destroyed my mother's necklace? The only thing left of her?" I spoke, my voice louder, nails sunk into my palm. "That was my only reminder of the woman I can't remember. No pictures, no letters, nothing! Just a name and a necklace, and now it's just a name. Do you know how hard it is to lose something so dear to you?"

     "Daphne, I — we never meant to hurt you. It was supposed to be a harmless joke. Hell, had I known it was you walking through that corridor —"

     "Shut it, Weasley. You're jokes are never harmless. Maybe to you, or your Gryffindor friends, they aren't, but for the rest of us, they're bloody annoying! And you’ve been so bloody annoying ever since I got placed into Slytherin that I can’t look at your face without yearning to hex it," Then my voice husked to a dangerously calm tone. "None of that matters now. Okay, look, let's make a deal. You stay silent for the rest of this torture, and I'll stay out of your way. I won't hex you, nor your brother, at least until this is over. It is a reasonable agreement. Afterwards, you can return to poking all the fun this bloody place has. You can continue being a killjoy. And I promise to never set foot near you ever again."

     It was a good thing that grandmother wasn’t there to witness my sudden outburst. I do not know whether she would’ve lost it at my temper or my sudden loss of decency with the choice of words. Or perhaps she would’ve been the most furious at the fact that I was talking to a Weasley. A red-headed, crestfallen, annoying git that looked ready to apologise for the rest of the evening —

     “I’m sorry,” spoke George slowly, as if calculating my reaction. “I didn’t know that I had hurt you so much. And I’m — I think I’ll —“

     I was shocked to find George Weasley fiddling around with words. He always appeared to be so proud and so loud about it that I felt my anger dissolve into a newfound feeling of curiosity.

     “Actually, I think I like that deal,” said George Weasley finally. There was an unreadable scrunch on his face, red strands falling to bury his eyes.

     “Good,” I replied, there was an ominous twist in my stomach. “Then we have a deal.”

     George Weasley nodded as if he was a ploy of an invisible string.

     Then I saw a head of brown emerging through the door. “Wotcher, George,” spoke Professor Lupin with a kind smile, yet it was difficult to miss the curious squint in his sunken eyes. “Wotcher, Daphne.”

     I gave the Professor a quick nod before lowering my gaze back to the clutched cloth in my hand. I went back to polishing the cup, and he continued to talk to Weasley.

     "How are you doing, George? A nasty accident that was yesterday."

     "Madam Pomfrey patched me back to one piece in a breeze, Professor. I suppose she got used to my frequent residencies by now," replied George, but his usual cockiness was suddenly absent from the flow of his voice.

     "Oh, definitely. A miracle she is to this school," said Professor Lupin. "Very well then, I wanted to check up on you after yesterday's accident, George. Seeing as you are fine, I reckon I should get going — I would hate to spoil Severus' detention."

     "Right, of course, Professor. Nothing to worry about here. We're doing splendidly," responded George, his voice tarring the very sound of the wind pounding down the windows.

     Then Professor Lupin faded to the lengthy corridor, and the wails of the rain waned as the pale crescent moon shimmered like a silvery claw in the night sky. Silenced prevailed upon us, and no glances were stolen under the dim light bouncing through the dusty cups. George Weasley was keeping his word.

     But as I walked to the Great Hall the following morning, I caught myself blabbering to the blonde prefect. And I recalled the events of the evening, and words flew through my lips with such an urgency that would’ve left anyone rattled.

     “— And he kept a statue silence. Can you believe that? The George Weasley and silence? Together in a sentence?”

     Crystal thoughtfully hummed as I rambled through my frustration. “I think it’s nice of him to act upon your wish. You know, I am as shocked as you are that he kept his mouth shut the whole day,” said Crystal.

     “I know!”

     “But, have you considered — oh, I don’t know — that you might have been a tad too harsh?”

     “What? Of course not!”

     “Daphne, even I didn’t know it was your mother’s necklace,” Crystal sighed. “Look, Weasley seems to care about you enough to apologise. And he had apologised profoundly at that time, too, I remember. I think the issue here’s that you wreaked your bottled-up anger on him.”

     My eyes widened. “Merlin’s bloody balls. You can’t seriously be defending George Weasley.”

     “I’m not defending anyone, Daphne. I’m just pointing out the elephant in the room,” Crystal stopped on her track and grabbed me by my shoulders as if wishing to engrave the words plummeting down her lips to my head. “I understand that you’ve spent your whole life under a chunk of lies and deceit — and I understand that they never taught you how to cope with emotions, but you have to recognise how that affects you and people around you.”

     “Now that’s what I call harsh —“

     “— Let me finish —“

     I gaped at the blonde girl, watching as she furrowed her brows.

     “You’re just so irritatingly private, and I can respect that — I have respected that — but it has gotten to a point where it feels like I am talking to the ghost of a person that you don’t feel like a corporal witch at all. Your walls are so high above it’s virtually impossible to see you, the real you. And the actual Daphne Black is so repressed behind those walls that her bottled-up feelings have started to hurt others.”

     She watched for a reaction, and I gave her none. It felt as if my tongue had suddenly knotted itself.

     “Look, my point is that you’re actively pushing people out of your life without meaning. You created the rift with Cassius. Involuntarily, sure, but this pent-up anger hurts you and the people around you. Don’t get me wrong; I find it curious that George Weasley’s so affectionate towards you, although I reckon that’s a topic for another day.

     “I suppose I made my point clear.” I stared at her like a kid getting scolded by her parents, and she flashed a smile. “Let’s go — I’m starving! And I can’t function in double Potions without food in my system.”

     I gawked at her, and she dragged me into the Great Hall, forcing food into my stomach.

     The day went by as Crystal’s words echoed through my head. I realised that she was right, that I was too lost, too deep within my secrets, that I was blowing off the people surrounding me. And I realised that I enjoyed how Crystal liked to throw around witty lines more than I noticed.

     “Okay, so, as we’re approaching ‘Torture with Weasley’ day three, I need you to watch out for how he approaches you.”

     “Are you still nagging me with Weasley?” I asked as we sat on a dark green sofa near the crunches of the fireplace. “I’m telling you, nothing’s going on between us.”

     “I doubt that.”

     “Crystal!” I hissed quietly. “Quit parading his name around mine. It would —“

     “— ruin your reputation? And positively start the next biggest gossip of the castle?”

     “Precisely! The stakes are too high for a boy like him.”

     “I don’t know,” Crystal smirked as her prefect badge glimmered. “George does clean up nicely.”

     I gave her a blank stare. “Do you even know which is which?”

     “Nope,” said Crystal. “But you do.”

     “Only because I spent a whole bloody train ride with them. Once, Crystal. It happened once, in our first year! Stop giving me that look.”

     “What look?” Crystal leaned onto the armrest as her smirk grew wider. “All I’m saying’s that you’re running late to your detention as in… now!”

     I jolted from the sofa as I glanced at the clock on the wall. Shit, I thought. I was late. But then again, it was near impossible to keep track of time as we sat underneath the Black Lake.

     “Have fun, Daphne!” yelled Crystal with a knowing slur as I ran to the entrance to the dungeons.

     “I don't appreciate the insinuation, Sullivan!” I yelled back.

     And then I was in front of the trophy room. George Weasley was already inside, bent over a bulky silver cup. For once, I was the tardy one. And he didn’t swirl his attention from cleaning to me. And it was surprising, for I was known to make heads turn whenever I entered a room, heavily amplified after Sirius Black’s escape. For once, he was not bothering me with that impish look of his, and he was keeping his word. So I decided to keep mine.

     It was nearing ten o’clock in the evening, the curfew time, and I had this tingling soreness surging through my limbs that I decided I was done! I was stuck in this unbearable cycle of eating, studying, scrubbing and sleeping for the last three days with a ginger repulsion. My blood rippled with frustration, and I heard a silver cup whacking to the cold floor.

     “I can’t take this anymore,” I rose to my feet with a huff, “I’m done! I’m going to be bloody mental if I scrub any more of these trophies.”

     George snorted. He muttered something under his breath, but I failed to catch it.

     “What?” I asked peevishly.

     “Nothing.”

     “Whatever,” I rose to my feet. “I’m off to the library.”

     “What — why?” asked George.

     “To find a spell, Weasley, that way I can fix this in a snap,” I said with a snap of my fingers, looking at him in disbelief. “Honestly, if you were any slower, you'd be going backwards.”

     Irritation flared through his face. “Right, and you are planning to run up to the library, find a home spells book, locate a silver dusting spell, learn it, and then run back here and perform it with a snap of your fingers in the span of… what… five minutes? Give or take.”

     When he worded it out as such, I realised that I might be in need of another ten minutes.

     “More or less,” I said. “But you have a point. I need about ten more to do it properly.”

     George looked at me with annoyance. “This is completely mental. Besides, there’s no way you’ll make it to the library without me.”

     “Oh, great Salazar, will you do the gallant sacrifice and show me the way to the library?”

     “Are you done?” A frown flickered through George’s face.

     “I — what?” I asked.

     “I asked, are you done? I can’t distinguish the sounds coming from the corridor while you’re running your mouth like that.”

     George kneeled next to the door and placed his left ear on it.