What might one find on a list of important things to do before a lengthy absence?
In practice — anything at all. But personally, I considered it important to see Daphne, take a walk, and all of that sort of thing. And I simply wanted to. For precisely these reasons, on the morning of the tenth of July, I wrote her a short letter and sent it with Khrustik. The reply came back almost immediately, and by noon I was standing at the gates of her house. With pastries from her favourite confectioner's. More new additions to the menu — they really do spoil those with a sweet tooth, they do.
I'd dressed simply — comfortable, but neat and presentable. And most importantly: no jeans. No particular variety had been invented in that department yet, and what did exist was somehow too American, too bright, always in shades of blue or navy, and stiff besides, as though carved from stone. Why had I suddenly started thinking about clothes?
Daphne came out — practically glided out — through the small gate set into the main gates, at precisely the time mentioned in the letter. Pleased, smiling, and altogether...
— Hello, — without any of the masks or particular reserve she habitually wore in public, Daphne hugged me and kissed me.
— And I'm glad to see you.
— I can tell.
— Is it that obvious?
— It shows in the details. Come on.
Daphne pulled me by the hand, and we entered the estate grounds, strolling along the garden paths towards the large garden. There really was space to roam here.
— In the details, you say, — I smiled. — If one thinks about it, that's true enough.
— Thinking is our distinguishing trait, — Daphne placed her hand in the crook of my elbow. — Pansy complains we think too much as it is. Some people even find our relationship a bit strange.
— And you?
Daphne pressed a little closer, steering us at the same time towards a spacious, solidly built wooden gazebo.
— I'm quite content with this pace, — she answered, adding more quietly: — Though it can be difficult to fall asleep at night.
That was said in a rather particular tone — clearly borrowed from somewhere, but entirely genuine — and I could almost swear I heard the sound of her father grinding his teeth from somewhere inside the house.
— They say there's an excellent traditional remedy for that particular problem, — I nodded gravely, barely concealing my smile. — Tried and tested. Though applying it in your parents' house would risk bringing on an episode of uncontrolled fury in your father.
— Your mere mention brings on one of those, — Daphne smiled.
We walked beneath the wide-spreading crowns of the trees, dense enough to cast proper shade, yet open enough that shafts of sunlight could play through it in shifting, unpredictable patterns — appearing, disappearing, appearing again.
— Though you're right about that, — Daphne continued as we reached the gazebo and settled at a table on one side.
A house-elf appeared beside us in clean clothing — which, in essence, consisted of a single pillowcase worn in the manner of a toga.
— Arrange some tea for us, — Daphne asked, and the house-elf vanished.
I'd barely had time to produce the box of pastries when a tea service and plates appeared on the table, and the air filled immediately with the aroma of excellent tea.
— You wrote that you're going away for a while.
— Yes. My parents have arranged a trip somewhere. They haven't said where yet, — I used magic to transfer the pastries onto a large plate, while Daphne poured tea into the cups. — Would you like to come?
— You've asked a question that has no correct answer, — Daphne smirked. — My, my — using our own weapons against us girls. But in all seriousness, a family holiday ought to remain a family affair. We'll be heading off on a short trip of our own soon enough. It's more a matter of combining necessity with leisure, actually, but that's beside the point. So my answer is — yes, I'd like to, but I won't be coming.
— You know, sometimes I listen to you, watch you, and think to myself: how fortunate I am that my girlfriend actually knows how to think.
— You'd be surprised, — Daphne deliberated over which pastry to try first, chose one, and placed it on her plate, eyes gleaming with predatory anticipation. — Many people know how to think. Just not about the right things, not always, not in the right way — and on top of that, they pretend to be helpless little blonde things incapable of surviving on their own.
— Oh, I can imagine, — I selected a pastry for myself as well.
A breeze — cool and warm all at once — drifted through the shade of the gazebo, while the sun continued its whimsical play of light and shadow through the trees.
— Whatever sort of boy he might be, he wants to feel like some kind of protector for his girl, — I continued the thought. — Like she's safe behind a stone wall. So girls try to seem a little less clever than the boys they're interested in — a little simpler, a little more helpless, a little more feminine — confusing femininity with affected infantilism. Other variations of personal dysfunction we'll leave aside for now.
— Oh, they exist, — Daphne, despite her considerable attention being devoted to the pastries and tea, remained engaged in the conversation. — McLaggen from Gryffindor, for instance. His face is a catalogue of unpleasant traits, and as a finishing touch — the manner of some sort of loutish seducer. Revolting. Only someone cut from the same cloth in female form would ever look twice at him.
— And each would think they'd won, done the seducing, and could toss the other aside once bored.
— Precisely, — Daphne nodded, lifting a piece of pastry on her spoon, then pausing for a moment in thought. — How did we even end up on this topic?
— That's just how it all works.
Having finished our first pastries, we took a pause from eating.
— So you're also heading off somewhere with family? — I asked, to keep the conversation going.
— Yes. I'd actually been meaning to write to you in the last few days — as a reason to meet.
— Do you need a reason?
— Perhaps, — Daphne gave a vague little shrug. — Upbringing makes its mark, I suppose. Unplanned meetings like this remind me of some sort of Gryffindor haphazardness. I even envy them a little — their looseness in certain matters. They want something, it flares up, they dash off, they make a mess of things. And then, apparently, they sort out the consequences — mournfully, but pleased with themselves for the impulsiveness all the same.
— You know, — I took out my wand and Transfigured two small notebooks from thin air, binding the Transfiguration, making it permanent, then layering Protean Charms on them. — We could use a means of instant communication.
— How did I never think of that? — Daphne took one of the notebooks in her hands. — I'll definitely write.
— As will I. It's curious — why have I almost never seen things like this for sale?
— Seventh year, standard curriculum. Supposedly everyone ought to be able to manage it — it's standard practice.
And so we sat. We ate pastries, took occasional walks around the garden. No one disturbed us, though I was aware the whole time not only of the house-elf's presence, but of someone from the house watching periodically. Well — neither of us was overstepping, though we didn't let go of each other for a moment.
By the end, Daphne remarked that a whole month — perhaps a little more — without being able to see each other saddened her. An idea came to me then — a rather inspired one, though it might not work at all. I crafted a small pendant with an integrated magical array of the kind I used in the little spiders. It activated at Daphne's will and in case of danger, transmitting to me a visual picture of everything around her. It was possible that the phoenix's power might be sufficient for a transfer even between countries, and for that I would need a precise picture of wherever Daphne happened to be. Then again, the phoenix might not have enough strength — though that seemed unlikely; both it and I were bottomless sources of energy, and everything else came down to the strength of mind.
Naturally, I explained the pendant's function to Daphne. She looked thoroughly intrigued by the prospect, and we agreed to write through the notebooks and test it properly once we were in different countries — if only to know whether it worked or not.
Near the end of our visit, Astoria emerged from the house, discovered that I'd brought delicious pastries, took offence upon learning they'd all been eaten without her, and retired with a dignified toss of her chin to attend to her own affairs. And on that note — a parting of farewells, a couple of kisses, and mutual good wishes — Daphne and I said our goodbyes, and I headed home. There were still things to pack, preparations to make, and so on. And yet there is something to these unhurried relationships, there really is. Yes, without a doubt. But one is beginning to want something more — not in any hormonal or physical sense, but in the mind.
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