5 Dec 2024, 21:26
Stress Fractures
JUNE SELWYN
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Date: December 21, 2024 | @Finnegan Connor | Dialogue: X
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[quote]The train home for winter holidays was never as crowded as the ride at beginning or end of term, thank Merlin. June slipped into one of the first compartments, an empty one, and slung her satchel onto one of the benches haphazardly. "Colloportus," she pointed her wand at the door as she heard a latch lock. It wasn't much and was easily undone, but would hopefully deter anyone from joining her. There were plenty other places for people to go. June needed peace and quiet to sort through her thoughts.
She perched on the bench, facing toward the front of the train, face visible to passers-by. Slowly tracing the grains of her wand with her finger, June began to think.
First, she thought of home. Which had been empty. For some time now.
The large manor that had housed dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings in its prime was now occupied by a father, a daughter, and occasionally a fish. Phinehas wasn't involved in pureblood society much, so there were no events to be held, no guests to entertain. Boring, it was. Quite boring.
Louise Beaumont had truly torn down what remained of the Selwyn lineage. Damn that woman. No male to carry on the name, a reputation tarnished, and a home empty. A daughter crushed. A husband betrayed. A family no more. She had done more to her own name, for certain, but it was a blemish on the Selwyn name. Less of a mistake and more a reason to pity. Weakness, it was, the same way you'd regard a hurt kitten.
She thought of her research.
She had learned next to nothing about what she was searching for, even with her special permission to read restricted books under the watch of the librarian. It seemed the rumoured curse on the Basiliks wasn't even something possible to do with magic, at least with what had been recorded in books, anyway.
Yet June had learned much about dark magic itself. Mostly quite nauseating descriptions of the victims of dark wizards, or evils committed by wix who were alumni of her own house. But she had learned that there was much, much more to magic than was taught in Charms or Defence Against the Dark Arts or History of Magic classes. Much more. A small itch had appeared in the back of June's mind, the desire to learn more. For what reason, June wasn't quite sure yet. She hoped it would reveal itself in due time.
And then, June thought of her friends.
The prefect was coming to terms with the fact that perhaps she was, indeed, the issue. Fated to never hold more than a small handful of companions. She wasn't completely unlikable, that was for certain. Maggie enjoyed spending time with her, Avery had been a welcome grounding presence since he entered her life. And others were happy to be acquainted with her; Vale, Avery, her racing team, Monica. Was it truly so wrong to embrace that? What did it mean to embrace it?
Yes, the woes of teenagehood had been thrown heavily on the blue-eyed Slytherin. The unshakable fear that "Something is wrong with me." And yet, June was not yet sure if this feeling was something dreadful or something to be leveraged. Something wrong meant something different, something unique, perhaps something to be feared or desired.
A tough current to navigate, it was. It was in this headspace, eyebrows furrowed in deep, determined thought, wand in hand, that June happened to look up.
And she saw him looking right back.
5 Dec 2024, 23:55
Stress Fractures
𝓕 I N N E G A Nx𝓒 O N N O R
３ＲＤ ＹＥＡＲＧＲＹＦＦＩＮＤＯＲStress Fractures 21st of December 2024
At first, he hadn’t even realized it was her because she had been looking down and her blonde tresses, like spun gold, had hid her features. All he’d noticed was a mostly empty compartment because that was what he'd been keeping an eye out for.
But it was her, the girl he'd succesfully avoided for the better part of a month by now.
June.
For a moment, he thought he might get away with it, slipping past her unnoticed. Her posture was as calm and precise as it had ever been: back straight, shoulders square, the collar of her pristine robes neatly, too neatlty pressed. Even in solitude she had impossibly impeccable standards.
Yet she looked older too, as if the short while since their falling-out had widened the gap, aging her even her further away from him.
Behind her, through the frost-webbed window, the countryside streaked past in a blur of dull greys and whites, but he couldn’t pretend that was what he was looking at. When her eyes, pale as ice and flecked with grey, lifted and locked onto his it was like snagging his shirt on a sagging chainlink fence, sharp metal bits ripping through cloth and cutting the skin. He'd been caught.
A thought came out of nowhere, pathetic and useless, but no less true because of it. She has very pretty eyes. . . They were a shock of pale blue and for the shortest while, he was cast back to their first ever meeting back when he'd thought he stood a chance. There was something haunting in them now, something that was at once inviting and foreboding, something cold and piercing which he'd never seen before, beautiful and terrifying to behold. Behind those eyes he could already see her mind at work, dissecting him, though her face betrayed nothing.
His hand fell limply from the door handle, fingers tightening instead around the strap of his schoolbag. He was suddenly keenly aware of every unruly tuft of hair sticking out at odd angles, every bit of mussed, dark-brown playing at black. Without meaning to he quickly raked his hand through his hair, little use though it was. What was even the point? They'd never be together, she'd made that plenty clear. They weren't friends anymore anyway, so why did he bother trying to fix his gawky apperance? He sighed inwardly. The pale reflection of himself in the compartment door showed a boy woefully caught off guard.
She probably thought him some childish, bothersome kid who she was glad to be rid of. Like Wendy, she had all grown up, while Peter remained hopelessly stuck, unsure if he'd grown at all. He vaguely wondered what had become of the thimble he'd once gifted her.
Finnegan didn’t know how long he stayed like that, staring at her through the glass. Seconds? Minutes? It was probably no more than a few seconds, long enough for there to be no mistaking it for some cursory glance, but too short to say all he wanted to. Their gazes had met, their eyes had locked, and for a second it seemed like they were playing a game of chicken, daring the other to be the first to pull away.
He couldn't rightly tell who broke the connection first, that would require looking back up at her, and there was no way on God's green earth that was going to happen. He'd shut the door on their friendship with such force that it had come off its hinges, and to come crawling back to her would spell death for his ego.
He forced his legs back into motion and nearly tripped when he shoved his way past a pair of second-years, only to stop again two paces later, just out of sight. He leaned back against the wood paneling of the train, his chest heavy with melancholy. The pounding of his heart felt too loud, like it might bang against the thin walls and betray him. He tilted his head back, puffed his cheeks and stared at the ceiling with burning eyes.
It would be better to move on, make himself scarce before she would go to check if he'd really left. He could not let her see him like this, murky-eyed and feeling like he was being turned into a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle consisting only of conflicting, mismatched bits.
"He's a dweeby chocolate bar lip smacking nerd" - Evelynn Decipio