Wixtraordinaire

Time: End of April Place: Paris Status: Self-Para, @fletchermundungus

A knock.

“Just a moment, please!”

Another knock. 

“Mon chéri, I’m almost ready I promise.”

Another knock, more insistent.

Lu sighed and went to open the door. “Your desires truly must be urg-...”

Atlas. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes and no cigarette between his lips. But Atlas all the same. “Can I come in?”

“It’s twelve francs.”

“To talk.”

“Seven francs.”

He didn’t smile. But also didn’t sigh and fidget. Just looked at them. They straightened and went back inside to finish dressing, leaving the door open for him to follow and close it behind him. It was a shabby little room. Dark and dirty of the type that no cleaning could undust it and neither the small window nor the lamp on the bedside table could lighten it up. But it was in a good borough, right in the center of Paris where the poorest but also the richest of men walked. And Lu knew how to economise. Save money and elicit pity in their clients until their ticket out was a golden one, one way, to places so beautiful they couldn’t even dream them up.

A lot of people made the mistake to assume that just because Dedalus liked to talk that also meant he couldn’t listen. And he could certainly understand why they’d assume that, of course; he liked attention, and being to listened to – it didn’t matter if he was actually heard – and it seemed natural to come to the conclusion that he wasn’t looking for conversationalists but rather an audience. It made sense. It just wasn’t true. And so as Lu painted with words what someone had painted with colours many years ago, he listened, and he heard.

He didn’t mind that this myth really was one he had heard before. He was much less ready to dismiss them than Lu themself appeared to be, but he didn’t interrupt to say that. In fact, he didn’t want to interrupt at all, not for the longest time. He was perfectly content to let them talk and talk and paint. Until it stopped being a painting and it stopped being pretty. Until Lu was honest and real. Then Dedalus’ face twisted into a frown once again.

He wasn’t sure he liked this interpretation. If anything, it made this god seem all the more cruel for it. His creations had been wishless, yes, but they hadn’t been aware of that. And Dedalus very much disagreed with Lu’s claim that they hadn’t been truly happy; they had been. They hadn’t known any other type of happiness existed, and making them aware of that and of so much else was the furthest thing from an act of kindness. In fact, Dedalus thought it was a product of all the flaws of their god; a punishment they hadn’t earned, a punishment he’d cast on them because they’d been too flawless. Lu had said it themself: And if they were flawed then maybe because, well, because he himself was flawed, and because he needed them to be flawed as well. It seemed to Dedalus that not even the gods were immune to envy and pride.

“You don’t sound crazy.” They did, a little bit, but he would never punish honesty with disagreement and derision. “He really does have to be incredibly clever, doesn’t he? This boy. If he’s figured all this out. Do you think it’s easier for children to see the truth? Their judgement isn’t yet clouded by all the things that drive adults and distract them so terribly. Then again,” A smile tugged at his lips, not one of mockery but almost one of a shared secret, even though no secrets had been shared. “You managed to find god even despite all these distractions, didn’t you?” But their feelings seemed to have been more in line with his own, back when they’d been at Beauxbaton. Maybe there truly was a truth to the way children perceived things. Maybe once you grew up, you just started seeking consolation more than truth. It was very ironic, he knew, but that too seemed to fit.

Either way, it didn’t matter. He was glad, truly, that Lu had found something to believe in, true or not. Hells, who was to say what was true? All Dedalus did know for a fact was that whatever peace they’d found in this painting, in this belief, it seemed to elude him something awful. He glanced back at boy in the painting. His smile which had seemed so… childlike before, mischievous, but still in that endearing childish way, now just looked mocking.

“Very romantic,” he agreed and with it he also agreed to let Lu lead them both away from this painting and from all the words and introspections they’d left in front of it. He let them lead him elsewhere, to this John the Baptist, to other paintings and exhibits he couldn’t for the life of him remember the names of. By the time they led him out of the Louvre too, he felt as though he’d spent a lifetime in it.

And naturally, he was sure to fill in the quiet moments of their walk towards their next destination with his impressions of their first stop. “Well, that was absolutely marvellous! A wonderful beginning to a wonderful trip! And do you know what? Do you? It was even better than I imagined! And I imagined it to be incredible to begin with! If you were hoping to dissuade me from the clichés, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. In fact, I’m looking forward to all the other clichés even more now! What’s next on the list? Is it dinner? I hope it is, I’m famished! And I was also promised ghosts and a moonlit walk by the river, I remember that much at least so don’t even think about skipping those. Now, you didn’t mention anything about stopping at a bar or two on the way back, but I assumed that was a given. I wasn’t wrong, was I?”

//

It was a fun time, Paris. And as the day passed, then the night, then the next day, Lu left their memories of England behind more and more and began seeing this city no longer as the tourist trap that it all was but as their own future. Wine was drunk and strangers were flirted with, and while the two of them continued working through their itinerary, Dedalus became less and less their companion and more and more their little accessory, Lu’s excuse to roam the city and get to know it anew. Perhaps an accessory which reminded them to discover it thoroughly and through his eyes of excitement and wonder. Just like when Lu had been just nineteen and the world had been new and undiscovered, only that now Lu already knew it all and thus also knew what they were looking for, so they needed Dedalus, new to all this, to be new to all this as well.

On the third and last night, Lu got dressed again long after they’d gotten to bed, and left. They returned in the morning, right before the breakfast platter was brought to their room, and their smile was easy and fearless.

“Last day, mon beau,” they said, falling down on Dedalus’ bed. They finished their breakfast and packed, had champagne and looked over the sunny landscape of this oh so terrible city one last time while Dedalus monologued about ideas about their next big themed party, and Lu listened to with delight. It was good, wasn’t it? The best of all in the best of worlds.

Then Lu got out their portkey, which would activate at the last chime of noon. Their luggage in hand (now much more than what they’d arrived here with) they crowded around it and Lu hummed. “You’re a terrible delight, Dedalus Diggle, I hope you never forget that or doubt I believe it. If smiles could be counted in calories, I’d have gained too many pounds thanks to you, and I resent you for it. Hate you, truly.” But of course they said it with a cheeky wink and then the bells chimed noon.

The sound was beautiful and not at all as crushing and final as Lu thought it should be. Both pressed their fingers against the key, this old tattered wristwatch which Lu had dragged all around the world and enchanted a billion times, sometimes enchanting it anew after as much as three whole months in a new country, sometimes enchanting it anew after as little as only a week, but always enchanting it for their own selfish reasons, their own desperate escape. Six months they’d been in England now, the country of rain and delightful smiles; what a marvel. The bells chimed on and Lu realised -- or perhaps just admitted it to themselves -- that most of their happiness there was Dedalus’ doing. Did he know? Did he care?

Then the last chime sounded and Lu pulled their hand away.

At first they wanted to look away to miss this, to make sure to never remember it, but now they’d admitted it to themselves, and followed this inexplicable pull Dedalus had had on them for all this time. A pull to see those wide-open, glistening eyes one last time and grant them a smile. Honey-sweet and never-true, because without it, there were only tears, weren’t there?

And then Dedalus was gone.

Now that was something people rarely tended to accuse him of, cynicism. How strange it was. How odd. Dedalus fought the urge to cross his arms. “Well, yes,” he agreed, if somewhat petulant. “But also no. I love the concept of a book like that, naturally, but in reality I fear I would lose interest in it less than fifty pages in. It’s one thing knowing they’re happy – I’m all for it! I love happy! But reading hundreds upon hundreds of pages of it? Well. I suppose I’d rather live it than read about it.” Then again, he hardly considered himself a book lover in the first place. In his head, people like that had to love all kinds of books, all the time, and unfortunately, his own draw to literature tended to be rather fickle and inconsistent. “Now, if there was still conflict but one that came from an outside source and was completely unrelated to our happy couple, that’s different. I would love a story where adventures and danger and uncertainty still happen, but in the middle of it all, we also have our happy couple supporting each other and being… well. Happy. Then again. Would I? Oh, I don’t know, you’re asking me the most difficult of questions here.”

He did like hearing that he’d been right though. It was up there with his all-time favourite things to hear, really. “Of course, of course. And half the surprise would be the costume itself, anyway! I’d like to think at least some people would show a bit of ingenuity in their interpretations. So for example instead of this dark, edgy Hades you’re envisioning, maybe something more avant-garde!” He didn’t know what that something would be, but it wasn’t on him to figure it out, was it? He had to think of his own lovely golden armour – and on the topic of Achilles and Aphrodite, he had to briefly go over the old myths before throwing Lu a teasing grin. “Should I expect you to be planning my demise then? Actually, if I see one single arrow at that party I am absolutely leaving.” And in case it wasn’t clear enough, he tried to look at Lu very seriously as he added, “This is a threat. A grave threat. You feel adequately threatened and especially impressed right now. And inevitably charmed too, of course, but if you’re not constantly charmed by me then I don’t have the time nor the words to express how utterly disappointed I am.”

The announcement that Alaric was now considered an arch-nemesis of Lu’s – and by extension of Dedalus’ as well – was met with the most muted surprise possible. He couldn’t even muster a raised eyebrow, was how very much unfazed Dedalus was by the news. “Three weeks,” he repeated the only part that was actually a little surprising, tone cheery as ever. “And two more! Must’ve been a serious one this time. And you know what, for that I’ll be as cold towards him as the Antarctic itself! I’ll even go a step further and make that seven minutes instead!” He would do no such thing, but he suspected that much was already obvious. Just as it was obvious that writing to Marlene was the best solution to Lu’s problem; Dedalus was glad they were in agreement on that too. He nodded along, pleased. “Good. You’ll see, she’ll have Dostoevsky all healed up and ready to go in no time!” However, he didn’t actually know much more than Lu did on the topic of Marlene’s past and so all he could offer in response was a light shrug. It was a complicated topic, to him personally, how much the past mattered, but in this particular case he was very much of the opinion it didn’t. “Does it matter who she might’ve been? She’s Marlene now, is all that counts.”

“Does that not apply to all books, thought?” Lu asked, curious. “Are the stories we tell and want to learn about not full of adventures and people and decisions we’d never have in our own lives?” A hum as they pondered if there were many books telling stories similar to Dedalus’ life. There were some, of course, that spoke of upper class society in all its excess but… well. None of them had a Dedalus in them. Their attention was drawn back into the now as Dedalus went on, and they found themself nodding along, then pausing along, then tilting their head along, then laughing along, following the motions of Dedalus’ words. “Tell me, mon cher, this is not you admitting that you don’t actually believe in a life-long romance, is it? Or is it? Do you think all love must go through steps of hardship and eventually end?” 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Lu sighed, “I just don’t trust most of those night-minded people.” Just because they enjoyed their stay in Britain didn’t mean they were fond of everyone here. Some of them really did have the brightness of a broken light bulb. Dedalus, however, wasn’t one of them, and Lu suddenly pitied it when he so cleverly reminded them of the end of Achilles and Aphrodite’s story. “I’m trembling!” they declared, nodding with terror and submission on their face at the threats -- and also a delicate hand beautifully placed on their cheek just to adequately complete the picture of being threatened. Then impressed. Then-- “Oh, that’s too much!” they sighed once more, dropping their hand. “I can’t do everything at once! My heart’s only so big, one emotion at the time, two, at most! Look, threatened, impressed or charmed: choose what you want from your Aphrodite, and I’ll oblige. Who knows, we just might rewrite history. However, I must remind you that while I don’t allow weapons in my house anyway, and this includes arrows, swords and spears, I do very much allow their euphemisms, welcome them, really, and depending on which emotion you pick, I’m not sure I can protect you from them.” And there it was again, Lu’s very honey sweet and cheeky smile, accompanied by a last pat to Dostoevsky’s neck and then an elegant turn on their heels to head back inside.

“The best way to live,” he agreed easily even as he disagreed profoundly. In fact, what they’d described sounded like the polar opposite of what he strived for. He didn’t want to be appalling, he wanted to be liked and praised. Which, he supposed, was part of the reason he was agreeing with Lu now; it was hardly a secret that their care and praise, in particular, ranked higher than most everyone else’s. “And best of all, you end up with so many personality traits too! Not to judge, but some people could use a couple more of those if you ask me. Dreadfully dull and unimaginative!” He paused as a thought occurred to him and immediately let out a loud laugh. “Do you think then that, following your logic, if one insulted them enough, that would fix it? Well, isn’t that a thought! What a gesture of goodwill it would be!”

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow they would both be very mysterious, and shallow, and whatever else wonderful terrible qualities people loved to attribute to them. And maybe they would also be those things today too, but they would have to wait to see how the rest of the day unfolded; tomorrow, meanwhile, was still distant enough that Dedalus could speak about it with certainty. The same certainty, ironically enough, that Lu used to speak about the past, about Da Vinci and his lover. And although Dedalus took great joy in the uncomfortable looks their audience exchanged – because the moment they’d inserted themselves, however inadvertently, into his and Lu’s Paris adventure, they’d become nothing but extras – he was also hanging on Lu’s every word. “Is it here? This John painting? Can we see it too? Holy sin is my favourite kind, you know this.” They seemed to have other plans for the two of them however, and Dedalus happily let himself be led away. Not before addressing the couple, though; people always tended to get all the more flustered when they were addressed directly. Something about putting a feeling into words and all that. “Have a good day!”

It was always such a lovely thing, whenever people shared their favourites, be it art or music or food or even colour. Dedalus had always thought there was a sort of honesty in that that maybe most tended to overlook – which in turn made it all the more honest. He loved it. And this was no exception, naturally. Their favourite painting in the whole of France, they’d said. “He does indeed. Is that why you like it so much?” It was a beautiful piece, granted, but it was still only paint on a canvas so far; he was waiting for Lu to turn it into more.

Lu laughed. “I fear too few people know that personality comes at a high price. A price you don’t know when or how you’re paying it, but you will have to be willing to pay. And most people aren’t willing. They’re careful and thus without personality.” And while they did not dwell to explain what they meant, Dedalus’ guess wasn’t all too off. Was almost exactly right, really. For once, they did not reply, just kept striding through the halls.

“Because he’s clever? Oh, I don’t know. You do know how dear stupid people are to me.” Their head was turning to Dedalus but their eyes couldn’t detach themselves from the boy’s grin. “I think it’s the reason why he’s clever.” 

“You know, some more pitiful Muggles believe in this story about the creation of the world and the first humans. In this story, their God created the whole world, just like this,” they snapped their fingers, “out of thin air, and then he created man, and he made him in his image, so flawless and, I don’t know. With a cock.” The hand that had snapped did a vague gesture and they looked like they were trying not to laugh. “And then he gave the man a companion, which of course was a woman, and he gave the two of them this marvellous, marvellous garden. Just this gigantic oasis full of beauty where they were wishlessly happy. Lovely of him, don’t you think? But, take note, in this garden, he planted a tree and the tree had the most delicious fruits on them, beautiful to look at and of a beautiful smell -- and yet he told the man and his cockless companion: whatever you do, don’t eat from this tree. Simple, yes? And at first they obeyed, yes? And they were happy and they were wishless. But! Behold! Soon a demon appeared and tempted the woman and told her, ma belle, come and try from this fruit, it’s the most delicious fruit you’ll ever taste. I like to imagine this demon like a Rockefeller capitalist because his advertisement must’ve been top-notch because the woman ended up giving in and tried from the fruit.”

This time they did manage to glance at Dedalus, almost dismissing themself. “Oh, you’ve probably heard about this story a million times, it’s such an classic, I always forget your knowledge on mythology isn’t half as bad as most people. I’ll make it short: the woman tries the fruit, and the god is so terribly angry. So, so terribly angry that he kicks them out of the garden and down to earth where they are doomed to wander a desert for a loooong while and suffer and eventually start mankind. The end. Now, the reason why I’m thinking about this right now is because I-... He-...” They faltered. Pursing their lips, they pondered, unsure how to actually tie their thoughts together. “Well-... Hm…” And then they had an idea.

“So! Once upon a time, I told this story to my friend Michel, yes? At Beauxbaton. We were just occupying our time and I told him this story and he was really, really upset. He thought this god is stupid. He said, well, if this god didn’t want the humans to try from the tree, why would he put it in the garden in the first place? And then he didn’t even give them a second chance! He was mean and evil and didn’t actually want his creations to be happy. And, tu sais, I thought like this too, for a really long time. Thought that any Muggle who actually thinks him the good guy is probably a terrible human being who knows nothing about compassion. Of course, I myself never believed in this god of theirs, but, well, I  thought if I did, I’d be really angry with him. A god that is too proud to save us from the suffering he himself brought upon us... That if I died and got into this heaven of his, I’d slap him, hard, right across his face, just so he could feel guilty for a while.” They smiled. “Naturally, I’d let him make it up to me by buying me some nice shoes.”

They looked back at the painting and their thoughts got lost somewhere between the layers of paint. “And then I saw this painting.” The cheeky smile. The finger pinching the stem. The pear. The tray. And slowly as they took in the fabric and oil of the painting, their smile ebbed away. “And I thought…” Their words were slower now, no longer self-dissmissive or aiming for entertainment. 

“God created everything, in this story, yes? This garden and the tree but also earth and the demon. And he created the humans. And if they were flawed then maybe because, well, because he himself was flawed, and because he needed them to be flawed as well. When he planted that tree and created the demon to entice them to eat from the fruits, he didn’t do it to test their loyalty to him. He knew they wouldn’t pass the test. He wanted them to not pass the test. He wanted them to go down to earth and-, and fight for their lives, and begin to create for themselves, create art and offspring, overcome hardship, and hurt because-... Because only then they’d be able to know what happiness actually is.” Frowning, they wrapped their arms around themself, took a breath that sounded almost stubborn, almost petulant. “Because happiness is what happens when you get just a step closer to a wish coming true, no? Happiness is being able to dream and wish. So-, so this wishless garden, it wasn’t heaven, it was hell. Earth is heaven.” No? Was this not it? Was this not the thing everyone always seemed to miss? The fact that it was never about achieving a dream, but about steadily creating new ones,  to never cease wishing and to ravish each step it took to get closer. Wishless happiness was not the truest form of happiness, it was happiness without drive. It was blind. It was lonely. 

. . .

I try to change my ways I feel like I'm the villain in some crappy play The book has long been written but I'd rather be Just about anyone else but me, I hope you see

It doesn't mean I'm not a fighter It's just that I wanna be a little lighter Spent so long fixing things I've done I've got holes in all my pockets Even those holes, they've got pockets Hiding things that'll never see the sun

I'm taking off, going to Rio I'm getting lost to find an alter-ego It could be Paris or Berlin I don't care what state I'm in

Gonna leave it all behind Maybe I'll be myself when I'm somebody else

This is not an invitation I'm going to Rio This is not a conversation Say goodbye to me, oh

Maybe in ten years time You'll receive a letter from some random guy You'll like him so much better, but then you will see He's not a stranger it's only me

Go put your best dress on, I'll meet you at your door and maybe tonight's just the night to take chances. I've waited this whole week to sweep you off your feet and I swear I won't let you go 'til we're dancing.

I think we danced last night 'til 3 in the morning in the kitchen with Marvin and Ella and Louis. Maybe I'm wrong but I swear I'm right, I think we danced last night.

Come on, look, don't be shy. You know I'll treat you right. And we'll danced through the morning while everyone's sleeping. And if you get too tired? Just rest your lips on mine. And lovers don't just have to kiss in the evening.

Yeah I think we danced last night

I know you're scared So am I But I'll try To be light as a feather on my feet as we're dancing through the street. Yeah I'll hold you tight I won't let you go tonight.

I miss the place that I called home I miss the place, where I was gonna grow So I tapped my red shoes to bring me back Cause my old house is what I'd lack

Cause there was no place like home Yeah, there was no place like home

I found my time but I lost my youth I played the game but forgot the clues You can evict me, my life, It's still there

Now that I lost my home, I could go anywhere There was no place like home

Trying to think of a way to get started Stutter, my full train of thought just departed Taste of Mezcal on my breath Let me get this off your chest Open my mind, but the gems falling out

Make you lose control Oh girl, I've got that silvertongue Drives you into delirium Got that silvertongue

Oh, I'm addicted to madness, but what can I say? I'm addicted to pennies, but what can I do? I got my silvertongue Clothes on the floor, but the bed's on the ceiling Slurring my lines, but I'm nailing the meaning

Sirius opened his mouth to comment, but it ended up hanging that way for a moment. “What a power move,” he eventually blurted, imagining it for himself. Lu was right. There was a certain quality to things when you tried to picture exactly as they’d been, but he did enjoy what was left to the imagination. He didn’t know the client’s face or anything about him, but Sirius could picture the expression Lu must have left him with easily enough.

He watched the quill with interest when it appeared, but from the angle of the parchment, Sirius missed whatever tacky comment the quill had written. A shame really. He was always curious for quips like that, but he had a sinking suspicion that even if he asked, Lu wouldn’t sure. Instead he raised an eyebrow at them. “I feel like there’s an opening there. Is it one you’d like me to take?” As soon as he’d sent them, Sirius heard the innuendo in his words, but he managed to keep his face in that semi-flirty mimicry innocence. 

“Occasionally things have to stay the same.” Sirius had intended it to be just a quip, but with everything else going on, it slipped just an edge of desperation into his voice. After James, the idea of other things staying the same wounded like something he achingly needed. Sirius wasn’t sure how long he’d get it, but surely the universe wouldn’t be too cruel to him until he’d had time to get his feet back under him. He couldn’t even flirt properly right now.

Lu being Lu did of course expect a sort of reaction to their story, but what Sirius gave them as just utterly delightful. They laughed. “Thank you very much, I thought so too.” 

Lu’s smile turned honey-sweet at Sirus’ teasing. Leaning forward, they placed a finger to his knee, looking up at him with a matching expression of flirty innocence and innocent flirt. “Take it to do what with it? You know how easily bored I am when my time isn’t filled to its full potential.” A more genuine hum. “Seeing how you’re going to take a bar-job at Ganymede’s, I suppose you haven’t gotten rich over night, hm?”

It was easy to wave their question off with a quick laugh. “Of course there’s a reason, and that’s because they’ll be boringly, disgustingly happy for the rest of the story and no one will want to read pages upon pages about that. And you can’t tell me that I’m wrong either because what happens after a book closes is up to personal interpretation, and I’m a person, and I interpret it, and therefore I can’t be wrong. Ha.” Consequently, that did also mean that he wasn’t entirely right either, that Lu’s own interpretation was just as right, but he didn’t focus on that part. “If you ask me, which you did, tragedy is horribly overrated and romanticised anyway.” Except when it led to a party, of course. Dedalus looked up at Lu with a grin to match theirs. “Absolutely fantastic! Oh, I can’t wait to see how everybody else dresses up too! Will we have an overabundance of Herculeses, do you reckon, or perhaps Zeuses?”

He made a very important discovery, however, while he listened to them talk to the horse; Lu’s voice was equally compelling in any language. It drew you in, stole all your focus, and that was interesting, really, because usually focusing with such intensity on something you didn’t understand was difficult if not impossible, but they made it look easy. In fact, Dedalus almost startled when they turned to speak to him again. “Well, of course I know the McKinnons! I went to school with Alaric, Marlene’s brother. Same year, same house, it would be impossible not to know him. And you know how it goes, once you know somebody you practically know their entire family!” Not exactly, but much better than saying that he and Marlene were both in the same illegal organisation. “We’re not that close, really, Marlene and I, but she’s never struck me as the type of person who would get angry over something like this, was my point. From what I’ve seen, she’s absolutely lovely!”

“A cynic!” Lu exclaimed, hands clasping their own cheeks in shock. “Everyone, we have a cynic amongst us!” Everyone -- meaning the horses -- gave Lu only a mere twitch of their ears though. “Dedalus, mon cher, mon rosier, mon soleil, is it true? Would you really not eagerly read a whole book about two happy people in love with no conflict or at least no conflict that doesn’t resolve itself quickly and healthily?! Because, oh! I’ve been dreaming of such a book my whole life! I long for such romance, I crave the kitsch!” And his comment about tragedies, too, earned a stern -- but of course very playful -- tut of the tongue. “You have to say that, you’re English.”

They laughed. Oh, how easy the fret over Dostoevsky’s pain had been pushed aside. “I fear you’re right, oh non, oh non, oh non, terribly right… Perhaps we should have everyone tell us who they’re coming as in they’re RSVP. It would take the surprise away for us but would indeed make sure that not every edgy and overly emotional manchild shows up as Hades, Lord of the Underworld.” A pause. “I’d be securing Aphrodite for myself right away, of course.” Perhaps a Boticelli type of rendition, with the long hair and indeed rather stark naked.

Our lives are stories, waiting to be told In search of silver linings, we discovered gold And judgment taught us that our hearts were wrong But they're the ones that we'll look down upon

The rules say our emotions don't comply But we'll defy the rules until we die

So lets be sinners to be saints And lets be winners by mistake

You showed me feelings I've never felt before We're making enemies, knocking on the devil's door But how can you expect me not to eat, When the forbidden fruit tastes so sweet?

Our hearts are too ruthless to break Lets start fires for heavens sake

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. I'm standin' here outside your door. I hate to wake you up to say goodbye.

But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn. The taxi's waitin', he's blowin' his horn. Already I'm so lonesome I could die.

So kiss me and smile for me Tell me that you'll wait for me Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leavin' on a jet plane Don't know when I'll be back again Oh babe, I hate to go

. . .

Now the time has come to leave you One more time let me kiss you Then close your eyes and I'll be on my way

Dream about the days to come When I won't have to leave alone About the times, I won't have to say:

“Oh, but perish the thought I’d ever be anything but generous with my voice! I’d never keep it to myself, words and songs and all! And if that means that by tomorrow I may have exhausted some part of it… well then, I’ll take whispers over silence if I must. No notes, no letters, only whispers! And besides, it would make us seem terribly secretive and mysterious, don’t you think? It would be great fun.” As usual, there was truth to his jokes, and the truth of how free he was with his voice felt particularly meaningful because he wasn’t keeping it to himself now either, even as he stared at Lu for a moment, silent. Rather, he feared they’d stolen it, much like they’d stolen the hand he hadn’t quite realised he’d been waving around. Stolen, in the sense that it wasn’t really stolen at all. Stolen, as in freely given. And only with the twirl did they decide to give it back. “Let me guess,” he laughed along as well, because what could Dedalus do if not adapt to people’s mood? “So shallow that you’re practically a puddle? So heartless that not only do you not have one but you collect others’ too? So manipulative that even you yourself believe your intentions are true? Yes, those are exactly the sort of rumours I’ve had the pleasure to grow used to hearing; a riot, they are! But that would be the first I hear of adding them to a business card. Truly innovative, I approve!”

Being wrong in the Louvre was a reward in and of itself, and to Dedalus, this was a concept so strange that they’d already passed half the exhibits by the time he remembered and allowed himself to appreciate them. Cosy, Lu had nodded, but Dedalus only shook his head. “Gryffindors,” he laughed, made sure to pay special attention on the way back, and then laughed some more. “Would you prefer he only had one instead? Or maybe three! One would just sit there, sowing doubt in the hearts of his enemies. Does he have a friend waiting nearby? Is he perhaps so proficient with this gun weapon that he can switch them as he pleases? They wouldn’t know and by the time they found out it would be too late.” Oh, if only war truly was this fickle to be defeated by quip and jest. If only.

However the Mona Lisa, and Dedalus felt quite terrible even to simply think this, was actually a lot smaller than he’d expected. She was still very impressive, of course! Very skilfully painted! Just… small. Perhaps a little underwhelming. Which Lu must’ve known, naturally, and it made a bit more sense now, why they’d been so vehemently against the clichés. But they also stayed true to their word; with just one extra comment, they turned the ordinary into extraordinary and Dedalus’ laugh, loud and sudden, was very poorly disguised as a cough. He tried not to grin too much and pointedly avoided glancing at the couple as he spoke up, the very picture of unassuming innocence. “Oh, was he now? Care to elaborate on that?” Another chuckle broke through. “Please do.”

Lu laughed and laughed at those nonsense images Dedalus managed to conjure with each new word of his. It was particularly amazing how they somehow still managed to make sense anyway. “I always wanted to be mysterious,” Lu nodded, eagerly, which was as true as it wasn’t. Sure, being mysterious had some drama to it, but really, they really did love how honest their new life allowed them to be. “A dirty, dirty puddle that kids and particularly childish adults love jumping around in, exactly!” They didn’t comment on what Dedalus said about hearts. Lu was extraordinarily careful to keep away from other people’s hearts. They’d witnessed one too many times how painful it was to forcefully detach yourself from someone your heart had begun clinging to, and while they loved having a good time, and were, by nature, someone extremely romantic, they also didn’t want to cause hurt. If you got hurt because of love, then for good reasons. Like Achilles and his prophecy, what the two of them talked about once, but not because one of the pair just happened to be fickle and selfish. “And is that not what makes life so wonderful? Reappropriating the insults you receive and turning them into personality traits? To live a life so intently that it becomes appalling to others? Bliss!” 

“Maybe. Or maybe he has a serious nose-picking addiction, and the painter got so fed-up seeing it happen during the painting-process, that he gave him a second gun to make it a somewhat more climatic scene.” For a while, as they roamed through the first floor of the old castle, Lu wondered how many of those faces had been fidgeting models, how many had laughed and sighed and deeply conversed with the artist while they were crafting what was now considered high art. How many normal people had made it into a museum and would be baffled to learn of it. In a way, it fit with what they had to say about Da Vinci. “There’s one painting called John the Baptist, who is, ah, someone important in the Muggle mythology, like, reverently important. He stands somewhat like this,” they mimicked the famous painting, with John smirking and pointing at something the viewer could not see. “The model is, well, was, Da Vinci’s lover. Some say he was also the one who modelled for the Mona Lisa here, but I’d not be too sure about that. But the point is, I’ve always thought Da Vinci was just painting a whimsical little moment of his lover, maybe over the course of a weekend where they had way too much sex, you know, painting between meals and fellatio and cigarettes, and then he wanted to sell it but realised it wouldn’t be very appropriate to say what it was really showing. So he just called it after this holy person and, voilà, sold. And now very serious, chaste people look at this child of sin and consider it a masterpiece of holiness.” 

When I look back, boy, I must've been green Boppin' in the country, fishin' in the stream Lookin' for an answer, tryin' to find a sign Until I saw your city lights, honey, I was blind They said, "Get back, honky cat Better get back to the woods" Well, I quit those days and my redneck ways, and I Oh, the change is gonna do me good!

"You better get back, honky cat" Livin' in the city ain't where it's at It's like tryin' to find gold in a, a silver mine It's like tryin' to drink whiskey, oh, from a bottle of wine Well, I read some books and I read some magazines About those a-high-class a-ladies down in a-New Orleans And all the a-folks back home, well, they said I was a fool “Oh, "Believe in the Lord" is the golden rule”

“A tadpole!” His laugh was as much a product of surprise as it was of delight. “Not as far as I’m aware, but who knows, maybe that’s part of the enchantment! I’ll be sure to let you know either way!”

The tragedy bit, however, sounded decidedly less fun than they tried to make it out to be; he liked his romance happy and perfect, thank you very much. Which, frankly, might’ve been part of the reason his relationships all seemed to go so poorly, but that was certainly an idea he’d never entertained. “Well. I would prefer to win a war with my lover by side, alive and well, actually. Achilles can have the tragedy. Did wonders for him, clearly.” The idea of a Greek heroes party was fantastic, though, and Dedalus’ eyes lit up. “Oh, you absolutely must! I’ll help! And I’d gladly help with your costume too.”

He still didn’t entirely see the supposed melancholy in Dostoevsky’s eyes, but his heart clenched in sympathy at Lu’s forlorn tone. “I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean to,” he chimed in immediately, not entirely sure how to assuage their guilt but determined to do it nonetheless. “It was an accident, after all, you couldn’t have known what would happen. Unless you’ve got a Seer somewhere in your family tree, but even then, these things are very uncertain!” His own frown completely melted at the mention of Marlene, however. “Oh, is this Marlene’s horse? Well, that’s alright then! I’m sure she would understand too! She’s been taking care of horses for Merlin knows how many years, I’m sure she’s seen it all! And cases much, much worse than this too, I’d bet! And if you still burn in flames of shame regardless, I’ll personally be sure to put them out. I’m afraid I’ve grown too fond of you to say goodbye just yet.”

Between the third of March, yesterday spent vegetating and trying to resume their life, and today finding out about Dostoevsky’s broken wing, Lu hadn’t thought anything would quite be able to bring a proper smile back on their lips. Little had they calculated into this the sound of  Dedalus’ laugh. What a fool they were.

“Oh, not just a happy end, but a happy ever after? You don’t think there’s a reason romance novels all end with the lovers first kiss, then?” Lu asked, intrigued. They chuckled, and the melody fit the garden quite well. “Heroes truly are born from tragedy.” And there was a lot to be said about martyrs, but they focused on the party instead. “Of course you’d be glad to,” they grinned. “I have a few things to attend to until mid March, but after that I’m quite free.  You know how it goes: set a date, and it’s a date.” As long other people were involved as well… 

Agatha Coraline Lorraine:  30cm. Siren-hair core. Elm wood. Rather bendy.

Agatha Coraline Lorraine

is Beauxbaton’s own wandmaker. She provides every new student (at the age of 10) with their own wand for free once they pass their entry exam. Testing their creativity, strength, endurance and motivation, she determines the best wood, length and core. You can buy a new one at any time, though they’re rather pricey and take a while to be made -- as each new wand is hand-crafted for you. It’s not uncommon that students upon graduating buy a new wand, or get bought one by their parents as a gift. She also tends to broken wands and generally helps adjusting students’ hands to their grip over the years. Lu, being the valedictorian of their year, was offered a new wand for free as a prize, but Lu declined. After all, it was this wand that had gotten them so far.

Siren-hair core

is not an unusual core in France. The rivers that cross the country are famous for being inhabited by sailor-luring sirens. They’re known for being both of great dignity and beauty as well as being fiercely ambitious. Wand-owners with that core are usually known to be similar. 

Elm Wood

“The unfounded belief that only pure-bloods can produce magic from elm wands was undoubtedly started by some elm wand owner seeking to prove his own blood credentials, for I have known perfect matches of elm wands who are Muggle-borns. The truth is that elm wands prefer owners with presence, magical dexterity and a certain native dignity. Of all wand woods, elm, in my experience, produces the fewest accidents, the least foolish errors, and the most elegant charms and spells; these are sophisticated wands, capable of highly advanced magic in the right hands (which, again, makes it highly desirable to those who espouse the pure-blood philosophy).” says Ollivander, and Lorraine would probably agree. 

Rather bendy.