"And it only hurts when I'm breathing,
My heart only breaks when it's beating,
My dreams only die when I'm dreaming,
So, I hold my breath, to forget..."
Marcus was well in his right to question the motives of individuals he didn’t know well. It was what kept him alive before, and although age had arguably made him kinder it didn’t particularly make him stupid. That’s why when he saw the other relax at his words he was curious about why she seemed to. However, people rarely actually told another person their true intentions.
So he’d play it by ear listening to her request and couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow slightly after all he lived in Hogsmeade. It wouldn’t be hard at all. “I actually live near that pub. I can’t give you all the information yet, but I do know the establishment you are asking about. Give me a moment to write things down..”
Marcus sat up slightly as he wrote down the things she did ask for, deciding in that moment that he would actually take up the job. “I should have the rest of the information in a few days, Ms. Dagna. Although you would probably like the conformation with a picture and for me to be sure, I believe the man that purchased the bar after the late Rosmerta died was an Irish man named Patrick - although I’d have to confirm his last name. Since the death of the previous owner was so - public and heartbreaking, a lot of people around there were pretty surprised when there was a new owner. Would you like to meet again when I’m done or would you like me to send you a folder with the information instead? I know I don’t know why you want to know this information, but sometimes learning things can be an emotional experience and I do wish to respect your privacy in such moments.”
“...an Irish man named Patrick”
It took everything she had for Hilda to hold it together, but growing up in the Dagna household, she’d had practice. She heard Marcus mention that he would have to confirm the last name, but Hilda already knew, it was him.
“Meeting again would be preferable.” Marcus was spot on; seeing a picture of him was guaranteed to be an emotional experienced. However, Hilda couldn’t risk him sending such sensitive, objective proof to Malfoy Manor. What if one of the house elves got a hold of it? If they discarded it, that would be a merciful outcome. The worst would be if they gave the folder to Narcissa or, somehow even worse, her sweet cousin. Hilda couldn’t risk a photo of her husband falling into any hands other than her own.
“Feel free to contact the manor to set up our next meeting, though. I believe you already have the necessary contact information from working with Narcissa?” Hilda phrased it as a question to be polite, but she already knew the answer.
How she managed to get more hungover drinking wine with an old friend than she did after a night of drinking games was beyond her. But here she was, sprawled out on the bed, one arm dangling off the edge and the other draped across her forehead. She heard Hilda and the sharp crack as one of her elves disapparated, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge either of them.
“I think I’m dying,” she whined in response. “I’m dying dead. I think my soul left my body shortly after we opened that third bottle of red and it’s hovering above us, somewhere near the ceiling.” But when Hilda brought her the potion she groaned and sat up, the sheet falling onto her legs. “Thank you. I apologize, you might not know this about me, but I’m a touch dramatic. What did we even do last night? I feel like I got hit by a hippogriff.”
“Um –” she glanced at the curtains, squinting to try to judge how bright it was outside. “Maybe it’s better to wait just a bit. Come sit with me.”
Hilda laughed as Aliya mused about her soul leaving her body. She didn’t currently feel the same thanks to mommy-brain, but she knew the feeling well. Back in her - God, it felt weird, but it was true - back in her early twenties, she’d had many a morning where she wasn’t if she was ever going to recover. Hilda often ended up going out again and repeating the entire process again the next morning.
A touch dramatic? Aliya? Never. Hilda couldn’t say anything in response though, prior to Patrick she was just as much of a princess, if not more. At her friend’s insistence, Hilda climbed into the bed with her. Like many beds in the house, it was a king, so there was more than enough room for both of them.
“We, somehow, drank three bottles of red wine and,” Hilda considered how to phrase the next bit “we talked. A lot.” It would be impolite to outright ask, but as bits and pieces of the night refreshed in her mind, she became curious.
“And waiting is probably best.” Hilda glanced at the curtains. They were fully closed, but light still peeked through at the edges. If Aliya wanted, Hilda could charm the light dimmer, but unless she requested it, she thought a bit of sunlight might do her friend some good.
To say that Odette hated St. Mungo’s was an understatement. She avoided it at any cost, preferring potions, or home remedies. But sometimes, the hospital was inevitable. She sat there, calmly, or, as calmly as she could given the situation at hand, given the increasingly loud baby across the waiting room. Odette wasn’t super annoyed, babies scream, after all, but when you had a relatively large secret you needed to keep under wraps, a restless baby only served to make things more tense. The least she could do was try to diffuse the situation.
She smiled across the room. “He’s, uh, quite cute.” Odette offered, before adding. “He is a he, right?” Dammit. Odette wasn’t good with kids.
@hildaxdf
To say Seamus didn’t like visits to the doctor was an understatement. Back in Ireland, for all of their pregnancy and infant medical needs, they either visited the small doctor’s office in town or were lucky to have home visits from their pediatrician.
As soon as Hilda knew she was pregnant with Seamus, she knew her pregnancy plan was going to involve a witch midwife. There was no way come hell or high water that she was going to deliver her precious, first-born son in a muggle hospital. So, while she was pregnant she found a witch midwife for the delivery and that witch then connected her to a magical pediatrician who did house calls for Seamus’s first year of check ups. She and Patrick had taken him to a local muggle doctor a couple of times when the pediatrician wasn’t available, but Hilda did her best to avoid those trips.
When she arrived in England, Narcissa connected her to a local pediatrician that also did house calls, but when they weren’t available, the back up was St. Mungo’s.
“He is a he,” Hilda laughed out of exhaustion more than anything else. “And his name is Seamus.”
Hilda raised her hand to brush a stray hair from Seamus’s forehead, caressing his head in an attempt to calm him down. “I am so sorry about the crying. He’s been irritable all day, which is why we’re here. I think it might be a cold, because he’s been sneezing a bit too, but I don’t want to give him anything just in case I’m wrong.”
Aliya was one of the few people from her childhood who was currently speaking to her, so when she suggested they have a girls’ night in, catching up and drinking wine, Hilda leapt at the opportunity.
The plan was to open a bottle of red and be pampered the whole night by doting house elves as they discussed the fun they had each gotten up to since they’d last met. However, one bottle turned into two, and then into three, and things took an interesting turn. As it turns out, when two petite women drink nearly three bottles of wine by themselves, they tend to blabber and end up spilling secrets their sober selves very much intended to keep to hidden. In addition, neither of them could remember quite how much they told the other person through their slurred speech.
Though a house elf had made up the tray and brought it to Hilda, the witch took it the final six feet from the doorway to the bed where Aliya lay recovering. Both of them drank a significant amount, but Aliya ended up having more than Hilda as Hilda’s “mother” insticts kicked in and reminded her that if she drank too much, she wasn’t going to be fully on top of her mothering game the next day.
“Here,” Hilda sat on the edge of the bed and handed Aliya small potion bottle and a glass of water. “These should hopefully help.”
Hilda was itching to ask for some clarification on what Aliya had told her last night, but she decided to hold off at least until Aliya was capapble of sitting up. “Do you want me to open the blinds, or should we wait a bit?”
Edith was curious but did not interrupt the woman’s ritual as she placed a bag on the counter and revealed the item she needed repaired. It felt like she was being let in on a top secret assignment, one that only the two of them were to know about. When Edith saw what was inside the bag, her heart broke for the child that it belonged to. No one should have to go through life with their most treasured possessions being broken. “Oh, I see… hello there, Buttons,” she greeted the bear, politely, with a soft smile. Her attitude toward the request changed suddenly from being willing to try, to feeling a need to succeed. Patching up clothing was one thing, but a teddy bear? Well, that would require a bit more patience and skill, though she was determined.
There didn’t seem to be too much damage, on the bright side, and seeing as how the woman still obtained the missing stuffing, putting it back in shouldn’t be a problem at all. “How old is your son?” Edith asked, curiously, as she looked up at the woman.
The tone of her voice didn’t bother Edith in the slightest, as she could tell that the woman was just a concerned mother who wanted her child’s toy fixed. There was no need to question why it couldn’t be done with magic, as it didn’t matter. Edith could fix it. Looking around the store, she furrowed her brows for a moment. “Alright… I never do this, but…” She walked out from behind the counter to the door, momentarily locking the store and putting up the closed until further notice sign. “Come with me. We’ll need to preform an emergency surgery.”
Edith ushered the woman to follow her into the back. While it was likely against store policy, it had been slow all day, and she was the only one working at the time. Out back, she cleared off her work bench that normally housed other magical objects, and draped a cloth over it. She was aware that the mother did not want her to use magic on the bear, but she would need to transfigure a few objects in order to make a needle and thread. “Lay him down. Gently, of course,” she instructed, whipping up the correct materials.
From the woman’s tone to the way she addressed the bear, Hilda felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Upon entering the store, she wasn’t sure if whoever helped her was going to take her request seriously and treat the situation with the delicacy it required, but this woman clearly would.
“He just turned one in April.” Hilda smiled as she thought of her son. Nothing mattered more to her in the world, and her current determination to get Buttons fixed was proof of that.
The woman leaving her post behind the counter brought Hilda pause for a moment. While she didn’t doubt it was to help, she wasn’t sure how. When the woman turned around and ushered her into the back of the store, what was happening became clear, and Hilda couldn’t have been more thankful for it. With just as much care as she had unvieled him, Hilda wraped up Buttons again so that he could be safely transported to the operating table.
Though Hilda usually didn’t care to be given instructions, especially by a stranger, under the special circumstances, she couldn’t have cared less. Just as she had on the store counter, Hilda set down the bag and slowly lowered the sides, revealing the injured Buttons. After the sides of the bag rested on the table, Hilda took several steps backward, giving the surgeon the space she needed to work.
Hilda watched as the woman prepared her tools and began to work. Hilda’s shoulders instinctively tensed as she first touched the bear, but relaxed after she saw how much care the woman put into handling her son’s beloved best friend. She knew she shouldn’t be worried, the woman had given her no reason to be, but she couldn’t help it. On top of being one of her son’s favourite toys, Buttons was one of the few pieces of Patrick’s family that Hilda and Seamus had left; she couldn’t let anything happen to him.
“I’m guessing you don’t get a lot of requests like this?”
Hilda was undeniably a lady and Patrick felt amazed that not only was she talking to him, but that she was willing to go along with him to see the sights. It made Patrick feel rather proud of himself that he managed to catch the interest of such a worldly lady and he couldn’t help but be fascinated as he listened to her stories. She still sounded like a fairy princess to him, a child from a world of magic, and Patrick couldn’t erase the sense of wonder that fell over him at the idea even though he himself had magic.
There was something charming about the fact that she still had some of the same experiences growing up that he did. It seemed that whether they were born knowing they had magic or not, all children played between and there was an odd feeling of fondness in knowing that this beautiful woman ran around as a child pretending to be a princess when she so clearly was one. Patrick had played pretend as a child, too, and it gave him delight to be able to show her some of the places that he’d dreamed of as a child, the places that he’d believed were magic before he even knew he possessed such a thing.
As they finished they drinks and made to leave, Patrick made sure to grab the door for her and debating on if he should tell her. “Do you really want to know, or do you want to be surprised?” He asked, offering her his hand. “It’s faster if we apparate and don’t worry, I promise I won’t let you get splinched.”
He didn’t actually know if she would trust him to apparate them both, but it would be the faster way to get to the cliffs since even if you traveled by car, the cliffs were nearly an hour away. If she wasn’t comfortable with it, at least Patrick had a back-up plan in the form of the abbey, although looking at Hilda didn’t much make him think of old ruins and crumbling castles. No, she deserved to see something made up of natural beauty and Patrick wiggled his fingers at her in invitation.
Hilda knew she shouldn’t. Apperating with a man she barely knew in a place she wasn’t familiar with was a bundle of red flags screaming at her to notice them. What if he was taking her somewhere dangerous. However, the chances he was a darker wizard than the men her parents wanted her to marry her was unlikely. Even if he had the best intentions, he could be terrible at appearating. He said he wouldn’t let her get splinched, but what if he was a terrible judge of his own abilities?
Without trying, Hilda quieted the worried voices in her head. They were voices she probably needed to be louder, especially in times like these, but instead, rhyme prevailed over reason. Soft, romantic melodies swirled in her head as she imagined her knight in shining armour sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away. The poetic idea of him holding her, high up somewhere, and calming her down after her heart raced from the adrenaline intoxicated her.
As he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers, adventure begged Hilda to seize it. She reached out, held his hand in her own, and took a step towards him. “Surprise me.”
Nate wouldn’t say he a kid whisperer but they seemed to like him enough. Maybe it was his facial expressions or his hair, but they tended to focus on him when he was out and point at him. Sometimes they even giggled and seemed to enjoy him twitching his nose at them like a bunny.
He wasn’t really doing anything at the moment, Nic having gone out of sight while he waited for him to get back, so when he saw a small kiddo crying he couldn’t help but focus on him. He didn’t get super close but started making funny faces at the kiddo until he heard him starting to giggle and stop crying.
He hadn’t even really realized the mother had figured it out, and was almost weary after the run-in with Lia. After all, he wasn’t trying to do anything weird he just figured the kid was fussing and thought it would be a bit of a lark.
Still he didn’t look tense and when she said thank you Nate nodded and laugh. “Sorry it’s something my brother used to do to me when we were little so I figured it might work. I’m glad he was amused.”
Now if only he could stay amused for the rest of the night, that would be a miracle. Hilda was unfortunately confident that as soon as the stranger left she’d have a crying baby again in no time. She didn’t think Seamus qualified for as a toddler yet, but now she wondered. She’d have to figure it out later so she’d know when to make the switch.
“Don’t apologize.” Hilda waved off his admission. “You’re doing more to help me right now than my boyfriend is, so...”
Yeah, maybe Hilda was a little bit angry, and that combined with the vein of pettiness that had run through her since she was a girl resulted now, as it often did, with passive aggresion. She could’ve also noted how Caleb wasn’t even around to hear her concerns, but he the fact that he wasn’t there meant her words wouldn’t sting the man she wished they would.
Her husband also wasn’t around to help her, but that was her own fault.
“I’m Hilda Dagna, by the way. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”
If she was less dignified, Hilda would’ve huffed as she struggled to push the pram forward. On top of being crowded and dirty, the fair grounds were bumpy, and while they might have been ideal for grown children, they weren’t ideal for children who still need to be pushed around by their parents.
Hilda’s annoyance was doubled by the fact that she wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone. Caleb was supposed to be there with her, taking over the pram pushing duties from time to time, but he had disappeared soon after they arrived. From the way he focused so intently on her and seemingly ignored their surroundings from the moment they stepped foot on the fair grounds, she had the feeling he’d left to escape the fair itself rather than her, but the realization didn’t lessen her feelings abandonment any.
Hilda would’ve loved to have had been attending the fair with Narcissa or Liliana. At least then she would’ve gotten to gossip and bond over the troubles of pram pushing on uneven ground. However, Caleb felt that the fair would be a good public outing for them, especially since they hadn’t had one in a while. The papers could get a picture of them strolling around together, doting over Seamus, among the rest of the people. It would be a good look. Only for that to happen, Caleb would have to come back to her.
Hilda had only spent a couple of minutes pushing the pram by herself before she gave up with the muggle method and charmed the damn thing to levitate. If she was going to do it alone, she was going to do it her way. She didn’t care if it seemed prissy. When it came down to it, she was prissy, and it was easier to lean into it than it was to push a pram over uneven ground.
However, in the end the levitation seemed to matter little. Even though the pram was moving along evenly and effortlessly now, the upset Seamus felt from the bumps wasn’t going to be soothed by the fix in consistency.
It was in that moment that a stranger ambushed Hilda with help. Though he wasn’t much younger than herself, his messy hair and the silly faces he made at Seamus caused Hilda to think of him as a young man. An instinctual part of her wanted to shoo him away - he was a stranger who had gotten closer to her son than she was normally comfortable with. However, the silly faces were working in calming Seamus down, and with Caleb having already abandoned her, leaving her alone in the bustling, dirty landscape that was the fair, she decided she wasn’t going to to turn away the help.
“Thank you, for calming him down,” Hilda smiled. “He seems to really like the faces.”
This one was tough to refute, because it was partially true. If Hilda could choose, she would’ve chosen Patrick in her family’s homes across Europe over Patrick in Ireland, but she couldn’t. It was Patrick in Ireland, or no Patrick at all. So she chose Ireland.
The charm of the island had grown on her over time, but it was more her love for Patrick than anything else. When she was with him, she loved more than she ever could have without him. She loved so much it couldn’t be contained to just him. The love Hilda felt when she was with Patrick permeated to every other part of her life; it changed how she felt walking down the street and how she felt when she woke up in the morning. It changed how she saw the world.
You left your husband because he couldn't get you off
Hilda - her thoughts stopped. She was so offended by the mere suggestion she couldn’t think. That wasn’t even close to the reason she left. How could someone think that was the reason she left? More than anything, anger stirred in her at the thought someone would think that about Patrick.
Send a 🙌 and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse.
This means any minor ‘background character’ in my Muse’s life, such as a relative, coworker, friend, rival, etc. that they interact with in their personal canon.
Hilda sat, staring at the cluttered vanity, unable to focus on any item long enough to decide what to do with it. It was him. He’d left Ireland. Though she was confident it was him when she’d first met with Marcus, he confirmed it a month ago with a moving photograph. Since then, Hilda hadn’t been able to push the thought from her mind. He’d left Ireland, but not for her or Seamus. He didn’t want to find them.
Either that or he was utterly incompetent, and unfortunately Hilda knew the latter wasn’t true. She hadn’t made herself hard to find. She was living at Malfoy Manor, dating a high profile socialite - she had made herself an incredibly public figure. Patrick had to know where she was. People who she’d never even met before knew where she was.
And yet, he hadn’t even sent a letter. He’d managed to buy a pub, establish a new life for himself, but he hadn’t managed to find the time, or perhaps the energy, to send her a fucking letter. Hilda was aware that he could say the same thing about her not leaving him a note on New Year’s Eve, but over the last month, she rationalized that the two situations were different. She’d extemporized, acting irrationally, overwhelmed by emotion. He’d been living in Hogsmeade for months.
As tears began to trickle down her face, Hilda reached for one of the monogrammed handkerchiefs on the vanity. It was still damp from the last round of tears, but so were the rest of them.
Whether she was ready or not, it was time to face the familiar mix of guilt, anger, and heartbreak that had bubbled on the surface of her mind for the past month. Deep down she knew that it was all her fault, that if she hadn’t run away none of this would be happening, but she wasn’t strong enough to face that. Instead, she’d fed herself that lie that both of them were to blame. She was wrong for running away, for taking Seamus from him, but Patrick was equally to blame for not chasing after her.
The question Hilda now faced was what to do. In the complicated maze she had landed herself in, what were her next steps going to be? Did she leave him alone and move forward with her life? She knew she could never move on from him, the day Hilda met Patrick a part of her knew she was going to love him forever, but if he didn’t want to see her, then she was going to have to move forward.
Or did she reach out to him? Hilda’s anger told her not to, that if he hadn’t bothered to send a letter by now, that he didn’t deserve her sending him one. However, Hilda had never been one to be controlled by her anger. More often than not, she was controlled by her heart, and right now, her broken heart ached to see him again. She didn’t want to be drying her own tears, she wanted Patrick to gently brush them off her face before kissing her to make things better. She wanted him to hold her and tell her that things were going to be okay. She wanted to crawl into bed and feel safe, because she knew that the next morning he would be lying in bed next to her, probably snoring as she leaned over to give him a wake-up kiss.
More than anything, Hilda wanted to her old problems back. She wanted to complain to him that the toilet wasn’t flushing right, and berate him when he tried to fix it even though the last three times he tried to fix it he only made it worse. She wanted to yell at him that they were out of milk yet again and that he needed to pick some up from the store, knowing that unless she went with him or wrote him a list, he’d probably forget. She wanted the worst thing in the world to be that he’d come home drunk from the bar with a black eye, and not the fact that she woke up every morning and rolled over to find an empty pillow where her husband was supposed to be. The only exceptions were when Caleb slept over, but those mornings were worse. Those mornings she was harshly reminded how lightning in a bottle doesn’t happen twice.
Hilda knew that walking into the pub was out of the question, so the closest she was going to get to seeing him again, to telling him that she still loved him, was sending him a letter. However, with the precarious situation she’d gotten herself into, Hilda couldn’t simply write him a letter. The risks were too high. If it got intercepted and people found out, she could be killed. Worse, something could happen to Seamus. If she wanted to do this, and in that moment her heart begged her to, she had to be smart about it.
Once her tears had dried, Hilda did her best to clear her head and focus on the items in front of her. Whatever she chose had to be small enough that the letter wouldn’t stand out. It had to look like a regular, unimportant piece of mail, and one that couldn’t be traced back to her.
After half an hour of careful consideration, Hilda chose to seal a photograph of Seamus, a sickle, just like the one he gave her on their first date, and a toy train inside of a plain, white envelope.
The photograph of Seamus was from his first birthday. No one else was in it, but the influences of Hilda and Narcissa were everywhere. From Seamus’s brand new birthday outfit to the meticulous decorations in the background, the two women spared no expense. To top it off, a fancy, magic cake was placed in front of him. The moving photograph was of him smashing his hands through the frosting to get the first bite of the cake.
The toy train looked harmless enough to anyone who didn’t know it’s meaning, but it meant so much. The red and black paint had once been shiny, but was now chipped and worn from use. Though the Hogwarts Express had a very different design, Patrick’s father didn’t realize that and figured he was gifting his grandson a toy that brought together the two different sides of his family. Hilda had been too touched to tell him that the Hogwarts Express looked nothing like that and that Durmstrang students didn’t arrive at school by train.
Before she sealed the envelope, Hilda took her regular perfume and sprayed several pumps inside. Even during their toughest times, Patrick had always made sure she’d had a bottle. She never asked, knowing that with the life they lead it was way more than they could afford, but he always found a way.
On the front of the envelope, Hilda wrote Patrick’s name in messily scribbled block letters. Prior to meeting Patrick, Hilda’s handwriting had been a thoughtful cursive script that her childhood private tutor had taught her. However, after marrying Patrick, Hilda’s life became far too busy to care about what her handwriting looked like. There were housework and errands that needed to be done, and even if she did charm the broom and dustpan to do it for her, she still had to take the time to charm them. When she was rushedly putting together a shopping list to run to the store before it closed, she didn’t have time to be thoughtful about each character she wrote.
She also scribbled on the front the pub’s address. Hilda intentionally left off a return address, knowing that it was better the letter get lost than returned to Malfoy Manor. To fit the items in the letter without making it bulky, Hilda put a simple charm on the envelope. After that, all that was left to do was send it off.
Rather than send it from Malfoy Manor, Hilda went to the nearest Owl Postal Office. She couldn’t risk any of the workers seeing what she was sending, so she sweetly convinced the clerk into letting her take an owl just outside of town to send off the letter on her own.
Hilda thought she would feel torn as the owl flew off into the distance. She thought she would immediately second guess her decision, but she didn’t. She only wished she was delivering the letter to Patrick in person.
He wasn’t sure why he wanted her to keep the sickle so badly, but it felt important to him and not quite for the reason he said. It wasn’t that he wanted Patrick to remember a small town on her travels, he wanted her to remember him. He didn’t know if there was any chance of that since she seemed like the sort of woman with sickles to spare and who never counted her galleons, but that didn’t stop him.
Even if she never thought of him again after that day, she was worth the sickle.
Everything was a broad spectrum, but Patrick wasn’t stupid enough to think that just because she carried herself like a princess didn’t mean she couldn’t have troubles. He’d seen a black and white movie before where a princess managed to sneak away from her guardians one night and spend the next few days being treated to a normal life by a reporter she met while the castle said that she was ill. She returned to her royal duties in the end, but she’d also declared that Rome was her favorite place on her royal tour and Patrick was charmed by the idea that he could make Ireland, Count Clare, into something memorable for her.
Maybe that way she’d come back.
Smiling in pleasure, Patrick nodded a couple times before tipping his head to one side. “How do you feel about heights?”
While he knew that he was from a small town that didn’t have much to offer, it was still home and that meant that Patrick knew the best things about it, knew about the ruins of castles and more importantly, knew that the most famous attraction County Clare had to offer was the cliffs of Moher. He had options depending on Hilda’s comfort zone and Patrick took a sip of his drink before adding, “How about I show you some of the attractions after your wine?”
“That sounds perfect.” She hadn’t eaten much that day, so a glass of wine might actually help if heights were going to be involved with whatever Patrick had planned.
When she was younger her father had made each of them learn how to fly, for two reasons. First, though he didn’t expect any of his daughters to be quidditch players, he thought it was a necessary skill to have in case of emergency, like learning how to swim. Second, he knew they taught flying at Durmstrang and how incompetent those who weren’t capable looked. Dagnas were never allowed to look out of their depth.
After finishing her first-year class at Durmstrang, Hilda rarely flew, and if she did, she never went too high. She was fine flying to the tops of buildings, but she didn’t care for anything above that.
“And I’m fine with heights,” she lied. Hilda knew she wasn’t doing herself any favours by lying, but she didn’t want to hinder whatever Patrick had planned. Besides, if she ended up being scared, Hilda was sure Patrick wouldn’t mind holding her to make her feel safe.
It wasn’t long before Betsy brought over their drinks, still refusing to speak to Hilda. Not that Hilda minded, there was far more interesting conversation just across the table from her.
She wasn’t sure if it was the conversation or the wine, but time flew by. Patrick recounted narrowly escaping mermaids in the Black Lake while Hilda listened, waiting on every word, before he turned the conversation on her, somehow getting her to talk about her family. Not yet sure what his opinions on blood purity and the dark arts were, Hilda stuck to lighter topics. She’d just finished telling him about how she and her siblings used to run around the estate gardens, pretending to be famous duellers and princesses, when she realized she’d already finished her wine.
In no time at all, Betsy was over to grab their glasses from them, not so subtly giving off the impression that she wanted them to leave. Hilda followed Patrick’s lead, put on her three-quarter-length coat, and made her way towards the door. Though she usually fluffed up the fur trim of her coat at night, once she was outside she found the temperature hadn’t dropped as much was expecting it to.
