viridislumos

[viridislumos]

june 2nd | elevator trouble

LOCATION : ministry TIME : 2nd of june FEATURING : @rebuildeds

Daphne Greengrass did not do elevators. At least not Ministry ones—those strange brass contraptions with their haunted squeaks, suspicious jolts, and the ghost of someone's forgotten lunch eternally lingering in the corner. But her heels were sore, her shift at St Mungo’s had ended only an hour before, and her hair was doing something unspeakable in the reflection of the polished metal wall. So: the lift it was.

She had just pressed the button for the Atrium when the doors shuddered, sighed dramatically, and slid open again with a ding far too cheery for anyone's good.

In stepped a man who looked far too... solidly normal for this place. No sparking scrolls in hand, no phoenix feathers sticking out of his collar, no cursed artefacts jangling in a tote bag. Just a tie, a kind face, and what appeared to be—dear Merlin—a sandwich in a paper bag.

Daphne blinked. Then offered a very faint, very polite smile. “Not cursed, I hope?” she asked dryly, nodding toward the sandwich. “Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?”

[viridislumos]

may 31st | happy birthday, i guess?

LOCATION : daphne's estate TIME : 31st of may FEATURING : @lifefuls

The scent of lemon balm and sugared violets clung to the air like a charm gone slightly overboard. Daphne moved through the sun-dappled sitting room with a wand in one hand and a floating platter of petits fours in the other, her expression caught somewhere between precision and panic. Ribbons were still half-charms away from tying themselves properly around the bouquet of wildflowers she'd arranged (twice), and the tablecloth—Merlin help her—refused to lie flat.

She paused, frowning at the imperfect fold, when an unmistakable floosh echoed through her house. Too early. "Astoria?"

Her voice carried around the corner, laced with a note of disbelief and the kind of fond exasperation only shared between sisters born minutes apart.

"You weren’t supposed to be here for another fifty—" A beat. She turned the corner, arms slightly akimbo, the sight of her sister already softening the crease in her brow. "You’ve ruined your own surprise party," she murmured, lips twitching at the edges. "Happy birthday, I suppose."

[viridislumos]

A flush crept, almost imperceptibly, across her cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from the sudden warmth of being seen, so plainly, so kindly. Daphne’s eyes, pale and weary but not unkind, lifted to meet the woman’s with a half-smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. The Irish lilt still rang in the air like music.

"I suppose I do," she said, voice low, lilting in that Greengrass way—cool water, not ice. "It’s been a long day. Or... week. Or—" she gave a quiet laugh, the kind that only half escapes the throat, "I’ve lost track."

Her gaze lingered a second longer, noting the brush of purple paint under the woman’s nails, the scent of herbs that clung to her clothes like a spell. Her own fingers, slightly ink-stained from scribbled chart notes, hesitated before brushing lightly against the offered hand—not needing the steadiness anymore, not physically, but accepting the gesture anyway. "You’ve a gentler shoulder than most. I’m not usually this dazed, I promise."

A pause. Then, softer: "You smell like chamomile. It’s nice."

"toodaloo, darlin'! i'll have some dittany read for you next week, okay?" the irish lilt echoes down the cobbles of the alley, like that of a morning birdsong. a bright smile pulls across rosy lips, freckled cheeks pulled up high to showcase the joy she feels as she offers a finger-wave to the owner of the apothecary she exits. sandalled feet step away from the crooked building, manicured nails scraping away a line of purple paint as she moves.

maggie had come to diagon alley after a day in her greenhouse and garden, a fresh litter of herbs for all forms of magical malidies and pains in need of pruning and harvesting. after dropping off the last supply box her intention was to simply return home and start on dinner, she was thinking either shepherds pie or bangers and mash - it was a hard decision.

whilst in her thoughts, maggie bumped into another patron of the alley and had to steady herself on the nearby wall, thankful for the bulky bricks for once in her life. "oh my!" her voice comes out high-pitched for a moment before her attention is brought to the other person, features calmly softening. "i'm alright, my dear, are you?" once steady, a hand is held out to the other in case of steadying needed, "you look exhausted."

[viridislumos]

🧊 Ice pup 🧊

[viridislumos]

headcanon004: altair ;

"In a world that often feels heavy, you are my constant star. Steady, bright, and always there when I need you most."

Her shift had already been full of surprises, but nothing could have prepared her for what she found when she stepped outside St. Mungo’s for a quick break. A soft whining caught her attention from around the corner. Her heart skipped—could it be another abandoned child? They’d seen too many already that year.

But when she rounded the corner, the sight of a small, fragile bundle of brown and black stopped her in her tracks. His eyes were wide open, yet he couldn’t have been more than a few days old. Her heart melted instantly. She rushed to scoop him up, feeling the tiny weight of him in her hands. He was so fragile, so helpless. Her healer instincts kicked in, but this time it wasn’t about fixing injuries—it was about protecting him.

She took him home that night, telling herself she’d nurse him back to health and then either find his owner or take him to a shelter—at least, that had been the plan. Days turned into weeks, and somewhere along the way, she realized she’d grown so attached. Caring for him hadn’t been easy at first, but over time, the little furball gave her more joy than she could have imagined, making everything feel a little lighter—even on her busiest, most overwhelming days.

One night, as she quietly pet him while gazing at the starry sky, the constellation Aquila caught her eye. Altair shone brightly, steady in the dark expanse, and something inside her warmed. It was as if the universe itself was nudging her to accept this unexpected little family she was being offered. And she was more than willing to comply.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, as if he’d somehow known all along.

[viridislumos]

Daphne blinks, the lightness in Cara's voice catching her off guard. The “floating” comment is unexpectedly calming, and for a brief moment, she feels less tethered herself. She offers a small, quiet smile. “I think I know what you mean. I’ve had my fair share of untethered moments recently.”

Her shoulders relax, and she stays a beat longer than she initially intended, almost caught up in the ease of the conversation. “St. Mungo’s has been... a lot,” she continues, her voice still gentle but tinged with quiet exhaustion. “There’s always so much to do, and not enough time to catch your breath.”

The mention of spring has her pausing again, a small breath of release escaping her. “It does make everything feel lighter, doesn’t it?” Her smile softens before she catches herself, remembering her mother’s voice in her head. Always be polite. Always make time for others.

She straightens up slightly, her smile turning polite once more. “And you? How has your day been?”

Cara hadn’t been watching where she was going, too distracted by the slow bloom of late-spring light against old stone and the way shop windows caught it, throwing flickers of gold and glass across the path. She’d been walking without much aim—drawn more by instinct than direction, letting herself wander. Sometimes she liked to let the street carry her wherever it wanted. The soft impact was gentle, but it still surprised her. A shoulder, a shift, a hand brushing instinctively to catch balance. She blinked, taking a step back, and found herself face to face with a woman who looked just as caught off guard—but something in her apology made Cara pause. The tone wasn’t just polite. It was careful. Earnest. Cara’s brows lifted slightly, not in alarm but in quiet reassurance. “I’m alright,” she offered, voice bright with surprise but not unkind. “No harm done. Honestly, I think I was the one floating more than walking.” She gave a small, sheepish smile, brushing a hand through her hair. “Spring does that to me. Makes everything feel sort of... untethered.” Her gaze lingered on the woman for a beat longer—something about the stillness behind her eyes, the way she spoke like she'd just come from somewhere heavy and sacred. There was a story there. Cara could feel it. “I hope I didn’t startle you,” she added, with quiet warmth. “Long day?”

[viridislumos]

"Nisrine, hello." Daphne blinks in surprise as Nisrine’s words cut through her haze of distraction. She bites her lip for a second, trying to compose herself before offering a weak, nervous smile. "I—I wasn’t exactly expecting a collision either, but I suppose I’ve been a bit... preoccupied,” she says, her voice softer than usual, as she looks away for a brief moment, almost embarrassed.

She waves a hand dismissively, as if to downplay it all, though the nervous energy is still there, visible in the way she smooths the sleeves of her robe again. "Oh, no. Mungo’s was fine, as usual. And Diagon Alley… well, it's not exactly providing me with much help."

Daphne’s smile falters for just a second, and she glances around the street as if she might find an answer there. “I actually... I’ve been meaning to get something for my sisters. You know, for their birthdays coming up. But, well…” Her voice trails off, and she looks up at Nisrine, almost sheepishly. "I have nothing planned. No gift, no idea. And... I’m not really sure what to do. So, I suppose..."

She bites her lip and glances at Nisrine again, the quiet vulnerability in her expression betraying the weight of her words. "I suppose I could use a little help.”

It was late enough that most of the shops along the alley had gone quiet—shutters drawn, lanterns low—save for one or two still open just long enough for someone chasing a last-minute brew. Nisrine moved with unhurried ease, the hem of her dress whispering against her calves, one hand tucked into the pocket at her side, the other lightly grazing a shop window’s chipped frame. She wasn’t in a rush—she rarely was—but her attention was clearly somewhere else. Maybe debating whether she needed dried lionfish spines, or just liked the sound of them. Then a shoulder collided with hers. She stepped back easily, steady on her heels, head tilting as her gaze rose to meet the voice that followed. That voice—soft, apologetic, familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place all at once—pulled a flicker of amusement to her lips before the rest of her had caught up. “Daphne?” The name slid out without hesitation but with just enough space to make the familiarity uncertain—like finding a pressed flower in a book you didn’t remember reading. Her eyes narrowed a touch, smile crooking sideways. “Didn’t expect to be tackled tonight. Or is this how you’re greeting people these days?” There was no heat in it. Just the lilt of teasing—light, ambiguous, easy to follow or brush off. “No apologies needed,” she added, a hand fluttering vaguely at her side. “But you look like you’ve been through it. Let me guess—long night at Mungo’s, or are you planning to haunt Diagon until it coughs up something good?” Another beat passed before she gestured toward the apothecary behind her. “Need help, or just a friendly collision?”

[viridislumos]

Daphne blinks in surprise at the sudden contact, but she steadies herself, her eyes flicking up to him with a soft smile. “Oh, no, really, it’s fine,” she says quickly, her voice calm, though there's a hint of mild fluster in the way she smooths her robes again. “I wasn’t looking where I was going… just a little distracted.” She lets out a quiet, almost inaudible laugh, her cheeks tinged pink at the awkwardness.

When Harry pulls back, she hesitates for a moment before continuing, her tone polite but still a bit uncertain. “Daphne, actually. Astoria’s my sister, though, so… maybe you were thinking of her?” She tilts her head slightly, as if genuinely considering the possibility, though she’s well aware that he knows exactly who she is. “I don’t think we’ve met, have we?”

"oh," he echoes only an exhale after her, though his reflexes are just a little faster. he isn't exactly gentle about it, but harry reaches out instinctually to grab at daphne's elbow, all the better to steady her and feel a little bit better about the shoulder barging that he had unintentionally done on his way out of one of the little diagon alley stores. "hey, no, i'm sorry. that was my fault," once he's sure that she's going to stay on her feet, harry lets go and runs his hand nervously through his mess of dark brown curls, just oozing a newfound awkwardness, "you're... astoria, right? one of the greengrass kids?"

[viridislumos]

Daphne genkwa / Lilac Daphne at the JC Raulston Arboretum at North Carolina State University in Raleigh, NC

[viridislumos]

headcanon 003: moonlight green

dark sapphire blue silk ribbons drifting lazily from the sleeves of her healer’s robes, catching on the soft breeze of enchantment-heavy wards, as mothers rest and newborns sleep cradled in starlight-soaked silence

There was a humming magic in the maternity ward at night—the soft bubbling of newborns the only sound, occasionally broken by the piercing first cry of someone just discovering the world. Daphne moved through it with the grace of someone who knew not to disturb the miracle of stillness. The dark sapphire ribbons at her sleeves—a quiet vanity, or perhaps a tether to the girl she used to be—trailed behind her like moonlight caught in fabric, stirring gently as the enchantments shifted the air around sleeping mothers and the tiny stars curled warm against their chests.

She never rushed. Her steps were unhurried, careful not to rouse the spells keeping the cribs warm or the lullabies low. She would pause sometimes, just to look: at the curve of a mother’s hand, at the rise and fall of a newborn’s chest, at the way the faint wardlight shimmered like dew over them all. In those moments, Daphne felt something she rarely admitted—a longing not for her own child, but for belonging, for the quiet simplicity of love born without condition or heritage. She didn't mind being unseen here. Her presence was part of the hush, her ribbons part of the story the starlight told.

[viridislumos]

Vega, The Star at the Center of Everything

[viridislumos]

headcanon 002: moonlight stars

her sisters’s heartbeat humming next to her, slowing ever so softly as she maps the midnight sky out loud, the names of the stars spoken as lullabies

They shared a room longer than they needed to—three beds tucked beneath a sloped ceiling and one tall window that always let the stars in. On sleepless nights, when the manor seemed too large and the dark too wide, Daphne would lie between them, one twin curled at each side, their breathing a gentle rhythm against her shoulders. She’d point upward toward imagined constellations traced across the ceiling, her voice a thread spun soft and slow. Not myths or spells, not tales of glory—but the names of stars and constellations, spoken like old secrets: Altair, Vega, Andromeda. Her mother had once whispered them the same way, long ago, with lavender fingers and a sky in her eyes.

The twins would listen, silent except for the steady hum of their heartbeats, their bodies settling as her words slowed. Daphne never said it was a lullaby. She didn’t need to. It was an inheritance, this ritual of quiet mapping—her own version of keeping them safe, anchoring them to the world with names made of light. And even now, years later, when she walks the night wards or watches a newborn stir beneath starlit glass, she sometimes mouths them still—those ancient syllables—just to feel the warmth of her sisters’ presence return, steady as breath beside her in the dark.

[viridislumos]

[viridislumos]

DAPHNE VEGA GREENGRASS MOODBOARD

(hightlighted below important explanations, from left to right, top to bottom)

LYRA constellation — whose brightest star is Vega, Daphne’s middle name.

POTIONS — the O.W.L. she had to retake post-war in order to pursue the N.E.W.T.s required for a career in Healing.

ALTAIR — Al, love, baby; the black-and-brown foundling she absolutely wasn’t meant to keep... but fell for anyway (and who now holds permanent residence in her home).

HER BETTER THIRDS — her two baby sisters (who, really, were born only minutes after her).

NEWBORNS — the ones she sees each day in the maternity ward of St Mungo’s, tiny stars wrapped in warmth and wonder.

DELPHINUS constellation — the shape traced by the stars of her Patronus.

[viridislumos]

Daphne had been seated in the corner, her Magical Remedies book half-open on the table beside a cup of tea gone cold, but the candlelight flicker—and the quiet hurrah—had drawn her eyes. She watched the boy blow out his candle, cheeks puffed, full of wonder and mischief, and something in her chest quietly ached. Nostalgia, perhaps?

The soft chime of Moira’s voice at the bar pulled her from thought, and she started replying before realizing she had opened her mouth. “Faster than anyone ever tells you. And somehow… not at all.”

Her voice was low, gentle, with a Scottish accent her mother never managed to erase from her polished diction —clipped sounds, rounded vowels. She offered a smile, her hands wrapping around the teacup to keep them occupied. “They’re still them, even when they’re taller. Just with longer words and better questions.”

She glanced once more at the boy—Basil, was it?—and her gaze softened. “Happy birthday!,” she added, then turned slightly, polite enough to let Moira decide if the conversation should go on or fade like the candle they had just blown.

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: the lion and the snitch, interior 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: open to all !

" happy birthday, bug. " a small cupcake rests in the centre of the circular table, a gawdy pink and green candle is precariously balanced atop a fondant ladybird with a flickering flame; an atlas moth kite sits propped up against the leg of the table between two pairs of legs with a hastily tied bow holding it together. a smile brightens moira's tired features as she looks across at her seven year old. today was basil's birthday. with an over-exaggerated big breath in, basil blows out the candle with a quiet little hurrah from nearby patrons, his rounded cheeks pulled up into a bright grin - cheeky boy. " i'll get us both a butterbeer as a treat, hm ? "

fingers drum against the bar top as she waits for her drinks, a little smile playing on her lips as she speaks to the other patrons nearby: " kids grow up so fast, don't they ? "

[viridislumos]

headcanon 001: floating footsteps

"the hush of moonlit corridors where hers and her sisters’ footsteps barely echo, lit by floating candles, the scent of chamomile lingering behind her like a soft melody no one taught her to hum"

Daphne learned early how to walk without sound—first as a game with her sisters down the Greengrass manor halls, then as a habit, and eventually as a comfort. The moonlit corridors of their home became a shared sanctuary in the stillness of night: a place where the three of them wandered when sleep felt too far, when dreams were too loud, or when silence was the only answer they needed. Floating candles flickered above, their light casting soft halos, and always, there was that lingering trace of chamomile—on Daphne’s skin, her sleeves, her pulse. A soothing scent from the tea their mother would steep before bed, and later, one Daphne brewed herself, long after their mother's sanity had faded into memory but before she stopped speaking of the stars.

None of them ever spoke during those walks. There was no need. Their footfalls barely echoed; the hush itself felt sacred. Even now, years later, sometimes in the stillness between births at St Mungo’s or in the blue hush before dawn, Daphne swears she can still feel their quiet presence at her side—like a constellation held together not by light, but love.

[viridislumos]

Songs my mother taught me In the days long vanished; Seldom from her eyelids Were the teardrops banished.

Now I teach my own child, Melodies of childhood, But my own heart listens To the songs of my childhood.