chelsea corner (filial) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-01-07 11:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | chelsea corner |
WHO: Chelsea and Michael Corner
WHAT: Winter break
WHEN: December 23-January 7
WHERE: Everywhere
I. december 23. Michael didn't look much different from when she'd dropped him off at the beginning of the school year. Maybe he'd grown a little taller — he was always getting taller lately — but he just looked like her brother. She had to berate herself for this line of thought — as if months of everything at Hogwarts would be reflected in some changed appearance. Plastering on a smile, Chelsea waited until he said goodbye to his friends before letting him know she was there. He turned around with a surprised smile and a big hug — that was different, but she didn't want to draw attention to it — wherein she squeezed back just as tightly. "I'm so glad to see you," he said, relief in his voice. Her smile became more genuine, though no less worried. "I knew you'd miss me," she teased, letting him lead the way out in an attempt to check to see if anything was noticeably different about him. Michael's hands were out of sight and she frowned. He rolled his eyes — a very Michael response. "Call it a lapse of judgement. Is Dad outside?" "Nope," she said. "I... well, I wasn't sure if you wanted him to know everything about... if you didn't want to answer any —" Michael looked grateful. Chelsea wanted to pull him aside and demand answers. "No, that's a good idea, Chels. You always know what to do." He passed through the barrier in a flash and she refrained from sighing. If only. II. december 25. When Michael blearily trudged down to the kitchen Christmas morning, Chelsea had already made a tray of bian rou. Unable to sleep, she'd woken up early, crept downstairs, banked on the fact that both her brother and her father were heavy sleepers, and got to work. She liked the monotony of it: peeling, folding, placing of the wrapper. Repeat. It was easier to focus on that process than to stress herself out about what to do about the Hogwarts situation. "It's like half nine," Michael said, by way of greeting as he blinked away the sleep from his eyes. He grabbed a glass of water and drank it all, looking a lot more awake than he had a second ago. Chelsea laughed at him and waited for him to sit down, because she knew he would. He picked up a wrapper and got to work. She didn't ask how he knew when he interrupted their silence because it was probably written on her face. "They made me write I won't disobey my superiors," Michael said, almost nonchalantly. Chelsea sucked in a breath. "It was weird because I didn't think they knew what superiors meant but —" "Michael —" He went on, still in that infuriatingly calm, even good-humored way that was really unlike him. She wondered when he'd stopped being that angry, brash kid she always had to keep an eye on. Probably sometime between the detentions. "And another time, I do not support Muggleborns, but you know, the other word —" "Michael, you don't —" "And," he said, louder, head lifting to make eye contact with her and she saw that he needed to say all of this. "They do this to the kids too." You're a kid too, she wanted to say. She didn't; instead, "You can just —" "That's not up to me, Chelsea." They were silent again until Chelsea, decisively, said, "You're not going back." "You know I can't do that." "No, I know that things could happen, but it doesn't mean you can't. We have to be careful and, and it'd be worth it so that you're not there and —" "I'm not leaving everyone there!" "I'm not leaving you there!" Angrily, Michael reached for another wrapper and viciously put one together, nearly tossing it onto the half-filled tray. Chelsea glared at him until she felt the force of it fade away. Why was she angry with him? He wasn't wrong. "I'm going back," he said, a while later. It was resigned, but determined, stubborn. Chelsea bit back every immediate objection she had. She had two weeks to change his mind. "Pass the wrappers," she said. He did. III. january 1. "Shouldn't you be at least pretending you're not going to throw a party the second I leave?" "I told you," Michael said, as he began setting up snack bowls and then rearranging them and then returning them back to their original positions, "it's not a party." "Oh, I'm sorry, your soiree. Your gala. Your fete. Get together. Shindig. Stop me before I run out of words." "You forgot revelry," he helpfully pointed out. "Your revelry." "Thanks. But for your information, it's a we survived school so far, so let's get together and get drunk… party." She still wasn't comfortable with how easily he talked about it and made it clear with a quelling look. He just grinned at her. "I'm going to stay and chaperone." "People will think I'm so uncool," he protested with a grimace. "They deserve to know the truth." "Not until I've graduated, they don't." "That's soon!" If only it was sooner. "Who's coming over?" Michael tossed some napkins onto the table. "Just some friends. Terry, Anthony, you know. Some other Ravenclaws. Some Gryffindors, some Hufflepuffs." He shifted. "I'm very popular, Chelsea." "Don't worry, I've heard." "That's an insinuating tone. Why are you using your insinuating tone?" "Oh, I don't know, maybe because of someone whose name rhymes with Fomilda Pane?" "Glomilda Bane is completely obsessed with me." She laughed dryly. "If you're inviting Romilda over, I'll have to stay and supervise." "Great, I'll have to tell her why she can't come over now." Chelsea crossed her arms at his joke. "I'm sure she'll survive. Do you need anything?" "Yes. For you to not supervise us." She made a face at him and he copied it. "Only if you promise to clean up the mess you'll make and to call dad tonight and tell him you're turning his house into a bacchanal." He raised three fingers and saluted. "Wizard scout's honor. I'll even use those exact words." IV. january 4. There were just two days left before Michael had to go back and Chelsea was nowhere near convincing him to stay home. She'd brought up the subject once every few days and he'd always shut it down. It was hard to argue with someone who already had his mind made up. So she focused on getting him prepared — even if he, somehow, came around and decided not to go back to school, she wanted him to know some spells he wasn't learning in school. Chelsea had even unearthed her notes from her NEWTS-level DADA classes and studied up on healing spells for the occasion. Quizzing him came easily; both of them took to spellwork without trouble and he had always liked memorization. They turned the living room into a practice area and told their father that it was to practice for NEWTs. She was sure he didn't believe it, but he let them go on with it anyways. "You need to twist your wrist the other way for that curse to work," she advised after their latest practice and he followed her direction, miming the movement without his wand in hand. "What happens if I do it the other way?" "It backfires on you." He cringed at the thought. "D'you think I can teach the Carrows that and have it backfire on them instead?" "I'd rather you not attempt it." He clearly disagreed. "In fact, you should only use these spells when absolutely necessary, not just because you want to retaliate against them." "Oh boy," Michael said with a sigh, pulling himself up onto the couch, "Here's another lecture." "Yes, and you'll listen to me." "I don't have much of a choice about it, so go ahead." "Well, now you've really taken the enjoyment out of it." "Oh no…" "Michael." "Chelsea." "Promise me you'll stay out of trouble —" He made a noise of protest. "As much as you can." "Remember how Aunt Grace always says to never make promises you can't keep?" "Your best sister Chelsea says to make it a promise you can keep then." "I w— fine, I'll try my best. But I'm not making a promise." "I just —" "I know, Chelsea." V. january 7. When the train finally left the station, Chelsea took in a deep breath and counted to ten. She didn't realize until she started walking away that she'd left nail marks on her skin where she'd clutched her hands. |