every breaking wave. [tag; agatha]

if you go, if you go your way and I go mine
are we so, are we so helpless against the tide?

Spring.

A time of pastel colours, flowers, new beginnings. Or so Isla had been lead to believe. She was sat in a café in Hogsmeade by herself on a table near the window. It was pretty full. It was a Saturday which meant no matter where she went, the place was filled with students. The snow had melted and it was a beautiful, sunshiny day. A cloudless cobalt blue sky stretched overhead as far as the eye could see but it was still nippy.

Isla had been here for hours. She took the first carriage in and came straight here. It was a nice place. Homely, warm, filled with delicious smells of cake and coffee and the wonderful sound of chatter and clinking glasses. Agatha's visit couldn't come soon enough. Their mother was great and the family so warm and loving but no one understood her the way her eldest sister did. She was having boy troubles but not in the traditional sense. It was just…a troublesome boy.

Why she was still replaying everything, she'd never really know. Her bright blonde hair was out loose in gentle waves, underneath a hat and her jewel toned outfit. She wasn't quite ready to let go of winter just yet. Girls were wearing floral prints and pastel hues but Isla remained stiffly in her cable knits and boots.

It was around eleven in the morning and she'd been nursing an untouched and now stone cold cup of tea for over an hour. Her pale fingers were wrapped around it, the comforting warmth of the china had now disappeared. Next to her, there was a large slab of coffee and walnut cake which remained also untouched. When Agatha showed up, she could always say she'd bought it for her. In actual fact, she'd been up for cake when she first arrived but watching groups of friends walk by, arm in arm, it sort of turned her stomach. She was suddenly realising how utterly and painfully unpopular she was. Her only friend was Isabella and she was sure the brunette was just her friend out of pity.

It'd be easier to focus on Aggie's problems than on her own. How was London? Her flat? Her job? Was she dating anyone? Did she miss home? Because home missed her. Everyone had been together at Christmas and it'd been really great but it wasn't the same now that the kids were growing and splintering off. Isla wasn't sure if she was comfortable with the large Scottish home being horribly empty. Their parents seemed fine. Both George and Agatha were happy and settled but why couldn't they see that the family was fracturing?

Her large blue eyes fell down to her recently mended sketch book. It looked fine. The only sign that Camm had so carelessly torn it was the slight bump on the spine of the book that she'd been unable to erase. The book didn't feel the same any more. The pages were stiff and unyielding now. The drop on the floor seemed to have also knocked the life right out of her.

Isla picked up her pen and pressed it to the cream pages before she stopped. Every time she tried to draw, Camm's voice appeared. All these drawings are a waste of time he'd told her. Fairyland. The word resonated with her and she was unable to properly shake it off. She remembered his face, so red, so angry. He'd been furious with her. Feeling her stomach turn and nausea set in, she dropped her pen and slammed the book shut, pushing it away from her across the table as she quickly sat on her hands. Her eyes were wild as she swallowed quickly. What if he'd broken her? What if he'd tarnished the only thing she loved?

Turning her head, Isla scanned the busy street for the familiar blonde hair that belonged to her sister. She needed Aggie and she needed her badly, even if they didn't talk. She was utterly pathetic. She needed a hug, she needed cake, she needed someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

She was late.

Or... was she? Agatha Henderson was really, extremely terrible at keeping time, if she was being completely, 100% honest. Things like dates and times, birthdays and parties and anniversaries and - oh, Merlin. What if she got married one day and forgot not only the wedding, but the anniversary as well? That'd  be mighty awkward for both her and her husband. Perhaps, Aggie thought, it was time to get a planner. Although, she wondered if maybe she would forget about the planner, forget that it even existed and just neglect all of her responsibilities, every last one.

Pulling her sweater up higher on her shoulder, Aggie let out a soft sigh. The neck was far too stretched out to actually stay on her shoulders properly, and instead fell off. It left her shoulder cold and her bra strap hanging out - that was just inappropriate, Aggie thought. She couldn't go into Hogsmeade like that, there were children there. And children, little thirteen year olds, didn't need to see that.

Agatha picked her wand up from the end of the bed, feeling her sweater slide off her shoulder once more. The witch fixed it for what seemed like the millionth time before she picked up her bag: a nice, kind of old, kind of patchy brown bag that could absolutely, positively hold everything that she'd wanted it to hold. It had her keys in it, her wand, a few other things she might need here and there, a few wrappers from old bakeries she'd visited on her way home from work. Truth be told, her purse was an absolute mess. Aggie didn't mind one bit, though. It really made her purse hers, plus, she figured, if anyone tried to steal it, they'd have a heck of a time finding anything important.

Despite the fact that she had almost everything in her flat, in her bag, Aggie was missing something. She was always missing something, it seemed. A good memory was what she was missing, if only she had something to remind her of the important things. Agatha had her wand, her keys, she was properly dressed in a sweater and a skirt and some nice knee socks, she had the little brown paper bag filled with different things she'd intended to give Isla, she'd had her nice little shoes and - wait a minute.

Turning around quickly, Agatha spotted the little brown paper bag, filled with different colored pastel ribbons and an assortment of drawing quills, with an assortment of different inks, including a color changing one she'd found on the back shelf of some crazy art shop. She was sure her younger sister would love it, and if she didn't, Aggie supposed she could just take it back and find her better ink.

After shoving the smaller bag into her satchel, Agatha checked once more to make sure she'd looked fine, before apparating into Hogsmeade, near the little cafe she was to meet her sister at. She'd walked, briskly, towards it, a smile on her face once she'd spotted the familiar yellow hair Isla possesed. "Sorry for keeping you waiting," Aggie slid into the chair across from Isla, letting her bag fall to the ground beside the table. "Is this your sketch book?" She inquired, picking up the pad of paper on the table. Agatha eyed it for a moment before setting it down, giving her sister a smile. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long, I got caught up at home and... yeah."

Dropping her eyes to the dark wooden table, Isla nervously twisted her slim fingers together. Isla needed to talk. The only thing was, she was unable and unwilling to do so. She was a nice girl but she tended to be too quiet, too shy, too prickly. It was a wonder she had any friends at all really. The cheerful sounds of the café wafted around her; the smell of coffee, gentle chatter, the clinking of plates and glasses. She felt horribly disembodied and misplaced all of a sudden. Like she wasn't really here at all.

Looking up sharply, she offered Agatha a quick smile. Isla stood, pushing her chair back, her arms extended as though to embrace her sister in a hug but she decided against it quickly. Instead, she dropped her hands awkwardly and clenched and unclenched her hands into fists. She dug her nails into her soft palms and the sudden pain caused sort of helped her to focus again. "Oh you didn't," she said quickly, her soft Scottish accent sounding quiet. Did Aggie even know how comforting her presence was? Her sister could have turned up a week late and she'd still be happy to see her.

Feeling awkward, the Hufflepuff sat back down, nervously adjusting her hair. Was that her sketch book? "Oh," Isla said gently, a look of hurt flitting across her unusual face for the briefest of moments. She shrugged casually as she looked away, leaving the book untouched on the table top. "Don't worry about it," came the off-handed reply. Lately, she couldn't bare to touch it. Everything just came screaming back to her. Callously, she brushed it aside so it dropped sadly into the vacant seat next to her and out of view.

"No no," the sixth year said quickly with a brief smile. In fact, she had been waiting but that wasn't Agatha's fault. She'd purposely gotten there way too early so she could think and nothing good could come of it. Her sister was an observant girl. She'd probably seen the untouched cup of tea and slice of cake and the way she'd handled her precious sketch book was highly irregular. "You're right on him," she insisted. Caught up with things at home? Isla frowned. Oh. Right. Yeah. London was her home now. Not Edinburgh.

"How is everything?" She asked. "Are you coming home for Easter?" The words were out of the blonde's mouth before she could stop them and her fingers dug into the sides of her chair, waiting for the answer with bated breath. Agatha needed to come home. George would be there but she couldn't really talk to her older brother about teenage boys. Laura was only eight. She was more concerned with colouring in. And her mum? Isla would rather die than explain her feelings to their mother.

"Do you want some tea?" Isla asked quickly, jumping her to feet and grabbing her purse. "I'll get you some tea," she blabbered before practically sprinting away. She was acting weird and it was showing. She was jittery and twitchy and she felt a bit sick. Regardless, she returned a little while later, juggling a variety of plates and cups. She rested a teapot in the centre of the table before doling out cups and saucers for them both and depositing a large slice of Aggie's favourite cake down in front of her, forgetting that she'd already purchased one an hour before. Isla was not the forgetful type.

Dutifully, she poured cups of tea, her fingers shaking a little as a spot of the warm brown liquid veered off course. "Ow," she hissed, hastily sucking her injured thumb before filling the other cup with her left hand easily and adding some milk to her own cup. "I'm so glad to see you," Isla finally admitted with a relieved sigh, her slender shoulders slumping as they did so. "I actually bought you some flowers," she said with a small smile, finally meeting the other girl's eyes. "But I totally forgot about them. I'm so sorry. I'm forgetting a lot of things lately," Isla whispered with a deep frown, tangling a hand in her long blonde hair.

If Agatha didn't know better, she would say something was up. Something odd was up with Isla, starting from the fact that she'd lowered her arms instead of giving her a hug. It didn't bother the blonde any, however, and she was just happy to see her little sister in the flesh. "Oh, alright!" Agatha's voice was much more chipper and louder than her sister's - something was definitely up. But the former Hufflepuff wasn't going to ask Isla about it - she'd figured that if her sister had wanted her to know what happened, she would tell her.

"Everything's good!" She nodded, pushing her hair behind her shoulder as she situated herself in her seat, crossing her legs under the table and making sure not to hit Isla's leg with her foot. "And of course I am. It wouldn't really be a family dinner if I didn't show up, now would it?" Aggie asked, a smile forming on her face, almost as if she was trying to comfort her sister (and for the record - she was).

Before Aggie could stop Isla, she had not only offered to buy the twenty year old tea, but she'd gone to get it, too. Agatha was fine without tea - she'd just wanted to sit and talk to her sister about whatever was bothering her (or whatever she'd wanted to talk about, really, Aggie wasn't gonna push it), and how school was going and whether or not they'd been doing well with the House Cup. Aggie wondered if Isla had wanted to be distracted with little irrelevant questions about things that, well, didn't really matter, or what she wanted to do. She supposed they might be able to go shopping, if they wanted.

Agatha's smile turned to a frown as she watched Isla struggle with the tea - there was definitely something wrong. The former Hufflepuff wasn't just going to leave it anymore, she thought. As she feigned a smile when Isla had told her about the flowers, Aggie leaned forward, getting closer to her little sister. "Oh, don't worry about it! It's fine, I'm sure they were lovely." Agatha smiled.

"Is something the matter?" Agatha asked in her most comforting, soft voice. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" The blonde asked, her brows furrowing as she met the eyes of her sister. "If something's wrong, I can definitely beat someone up or something." The girl jokingly offered, letting herself laugh a bit before she sombered back up. "But really," Agatha reached out to stop Isla playing with her hair, raising her eyebrows as she gripped Isla's one hand with her own. "You can tell me anything."

Anxiety.

That was what she was feeling suddenly. Her mouth was dry and there was a weird pain that felt like it was cracking her face in half, right down the middle. Honestly? Isla didn't want to talk. She was very uncomfortable talking about her feelings and she was the black sheep of the family in that respect. The Hendersons were a close, loving bunch but when upset, rather than run into the arms of her loved ones, she became a bit distant. She preferred to lick her wounds in private. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Was it possible for Agatha to just…guess what the matter was?

Isla smiled softly. She didn't doubt for one second that everything in Aggie's life really was "good". Honestly? She was a little bit jealous. Usually a happy-go-lucky kinda girl, the blonde became horribly possessive and brooding when unhappy and she was determined to shake it off. What happened with Camm probably wasn't even that bad and she was making it worse. People fought with friends all the time, right? Except…Isla hadn't really had a fight. She'd just let herself be humiliated.

She hadn't realised how utterly bereft she felt in Camm's absence. Oh sure, they're been civil and friendly but they both had better friends, closer friends so why was she feeling so hard done by? The Hufflepuff looked up and offered her older sister another smile, this one decidedly brighter and more genuine. She missed home. She missed Aggie. She missed her bed. She missed Rufus, the yappy little Jack Russell that lived next door. "That'll be nice," she offered softly, wondering if their mother would make an Easter egg hunt. They were all too old for it now but she'd secretly really enjoyed running around the back garden like a loon, looking for chocolate.

The searing pain of her thumb had lessened from an angry burn to a dull ache and she pressed it hard against the cold porcelain dish which held her untouched cake, the cold easing the pain just a little. Not normally a clumsy girl, she felt like her world was collapsing around her. Her sketchbook was left unattended, carelessly pushed aside from her across the table. "They were your favourite," the Scottish girl offered, feeling suddenly upset about the forgotten flowers. Little things seemed to be really getting to her lately for some reason. Her head was a mess and her emotions wee bubbling so close to the surface, waiting to break.

Aggie's sudden question made Isla jerk.

Was something the matter? The shorter blonde began to panic and it showed. The colour drained from her face and her already impossibly large eyes widened considerably. Was she that transparent? "N-no," she managed to stammer, folding her lips together into a thin line swiftly as though attempting to stop the truth from escaping them. The fact that her sister was so sweet and so supportive just made her feel so much worse. "I know," she replied in a shaky voice. "I'm fine." Fine. Eh. Depended on the day, really.

Well! That was that. The jig was up. The soft, warm fingers of her sister had closed around her own, stopping her from completing her hair tangling. She didn't have anywhere else to hide. The offer of beating someone up, though appreciated, was ignored. She forced herself to swallow. Her problems were just teenagery; pointless and really not that earth shattering at all. Isla was visibly struggling to hold herself together. She looked like she was in pain. Her journal was fine but it offered no advice, no peace of mind like Aggie would.

All of a sudden, Isla exploded. Without warning, she let out a noise that was half way between a gasp and a sob. People around their table were shooting the pair confused and curious looks. Tears were flowing freely as she blubbered, her porcelain skin marred by tear tracks that dripped sadly off the end of her nose and fell into her untouched cup of tea. "I-I-I--" Isla began, her slender body visibly shaking as she fought for control through wracked sobs. She'd never been a particularly pretty crier.

"I had a f-fight with C-Camm," she tried to explain as she gasped, crying harder. "I was just m-m-minding my own business in the common room. I was drawing and he must have had a bad day and he was so nasty!" The Hufflepuff wailed horribly. "He s-s-said that I was living in my own fairy world and that my drawings were sh-shit and that I was a day dreamer and he was so angry with me," she told Aggie, her eyes large and innocent, making her look like she was a lost five year old. "His voice," she said, her own cracking. "Was s-so-so terse and mean and I didn't do anything!"

Hearing it all out in the open did make it sound a bit pathetic but it was really affecting her now. "And he threw my journal," Isla told Agatha, looking impossibly morose as though her ex-friend chucking her journal was some sort of cardinal sin. "He broke it," she explained as her full lower lip wobbled sadly. "And he's not spoken to me since I really don't know what I did to make him hate me so much," she whispered.