A Hard Day's Knight || Daisy and Tilden
The radio had been right about the weather. It was hot. The sun was bearing down on the secluded wizarding village with relish and Tilden was simply happy to be standing in the shade. Figures, derobed, moved along the streets at a lethargic pace, using their hats to waft sweaty faces. Gaggles of children, parentless, raced around with boundless energy. (The sun did that to children, it seemed. His sister was exactly the same.) Summer had come to even the northern hills of Scotland and, as usual, people couldnât wait until it was gone. Tilden, certainly, had always worked better in the cold.Â
Fingers tapping against the shaded wall of the Three Broomsticks, the brunet nodded a pleasant hello to two figures entering the pub. Mr and MrsâŚ, what was it, Nott? Friends of his parents. Well, bugger. While he was hardly expecting anonymity in a place such as the Broomsticks, he hardly needed people reporting directly to his parents. Not that they cared much. After a âheatedâ exchange at dinner that consisted mostly of sighs and heavy pauses, Tilden got the sense that his mother was fearful he was going to die âan old bachelor, married to his workâ. She was half-right, at least- He was married to his work.
Daisy Hookum. Coincidentally, a name his mother knew. They went back a long way, she and Tilden. Hardly intimately, of course, but events, social evenings, things that required wearing a tie, they were both there, mostly. Both suffering through them in their own ways. Tilden at the food table and Daisy⌠well Tilden had no idea. Hadnât ever taken notice of her really. (He remembered the day he had realised that she was thirteen when he was eighteen, the age she was now. It had been a pretty rubbish day.)
And then suddenly he had noticed her, with her red hair swept out of her porcelain face. She had James Potter on her arm and, by God, they had looked marvelous together. At a sudden tug of his consciousness, he pulled his eyes from a shop selling trays and trays of oddly coloured sweets towards his left. Eyes and mouth softened as Tilden indulged in a broad grin. Her skin was still porcelain, gaze as direct as ever. âHello, you.â he said gently, fingers itching to run along a delicate wrist.
