JUNE SELWYN
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Date: April 6, 2026 | Solo | Dialogue: X
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Spring Break had brought June back home, though "home" was beginning to feel like an increasingly nebulous concept.
There was Newcastle, certainly. The house she had grown up in, the one that still smelled faintly of rosemary and old books but no longer hosted large gatherings and dinners. There was Penwick, too, where most of her clothes were still hanging in her wardrobe.
When Phinehas asked June if there was anything she wanted to do during her spring break, she knew exactly how to respond. She'd known for months.
Apparently, according to several Muggle-born and half-blood classmates, "thrifting" was one of the great joys of modern civilization. You went into a shop full of old things people no longer wanted, bought them for suspiciously low prices, and occasionally stumbled upon something wonderful.
It sounded brilliant. Legal treasure hunting.
Phinehas thought the idea sounded nice, and the two headed off to Muggle London together. A "staycation", almost. June had been to Muggle London once or twice, but not in some time. It was quite exciting to be surrounded by so much, but now June knew what most things were called, and wasn't terrified when a cab honked at her when she didn't cross the street fast enough.
A friend had recommended "Second Chances" (what a terribly uninspired name), which June had almost completely walked by. The storefront was narrow enough to disappear between its neighbors, squeezed unassumingly between a florist and a tailor.
The display window was crowded but clearly intentionally designed. Records (Muggles used records?) were leaning against one another, a mannequin wore a styled outfit and sat on an old wooden chair, and several Turkish-style lamps hung from the ceiling. Tucked among the records sat an antique gramophone whose brass horn had been filled with fresh daffodils.
Phinehas held the door open for June, a small brass bell above it chiming as they stepped inside.
June had expected something sleek and modern. Perhaps rows of neatly organized discs in plastic cases, headphones mounted to walls, and a teenager behind a counter judging customers for asking obvious questions.
Instead, it felt suspiciously like the Scuffed Satchel, with items everywhere you looked.
The shopkeeper looked up from their phone. "Need help finding anything?" They looked to be somewhere in their twenties, with short dark hair shaved close on one side and allowed to curl freely on the other. Several silver rings climbed one ear, accompanied by a small silver ring through their nose.
"We're alright, thanks," Phinehas replied, his eyes flitting around the shop, taking it all in.
The shopkeeper nodded and turned back to their phone. "Right, well, let me know if you need anything."
Second Chances went in much farther than June had expected. Muggles had their own type of magic, truly, making something appear so small on the outside when it's spacious on the inside without the work of any spells.
June and her father wandered through the place. Clothes hung from racks that alternated between beautifully curated and crammed with as many clothes as possible. Shelves lined the walls with mismatched teacups, framed paintings, cameras, candlesticks, old board games, and a collection of ceramic cats.
Perhaps her classmates had been onto something.
She had already found a green oversized knitted jumper, a heavy wool coat that looked as though it belonged to a professor of something obscure, and a silver necklace with a charm shaped like a swallow.
"Look at this," she said, holding up a leather satchel she had unearthed from beneath a stack of scarves. No response. June looked up and realized that her father must have wandered elsewhere without her noticing. Very fair, he was not exactly a fashion aficionado.
Curious, June made her way through the aisles until she found him standing in front of a shelf of records.
He slowly turned album sleeves over in his hands, reading the backs, occasionally pulling one free and studying it with an expression of great interest.
June furrowed her brow.
Music had always existed around her father in much the same way weather existed around him. It happened. Occasionally, he commented on it. Sometimes he even enjoyed it. But she had never thought of him as someone who actively sought it out.
"Since when do you listen to music?" she asked, walking up next to him and picking up an album with a pretty cover.
Phinehas glanced up, "Since, well, since right now, I suppose."
How odd. "Do we even own something to play these?" June looked at the albums he had put to the side, presumably to buy. Something that looked jazzy, a black and white album with a man and woman on a chair, and something by four men crossing a street.
He frowned slightly as he thought about it, drumming his fingers on the wooden shelves. "Our gramophone, I guess."
"That'll destroy these, mate." Phinehas and June jumped slightly as the voice of the shopkeeper came from directly behind them. How had they even heard them? Muggle magic, June was sure of it. "I think we have a few turntables somewhere, I think."
"Oh, no, I think we have enough tables at home, thank you."
The shopkeeper blinked. "No, man, for like... Playing your records."
Phinehas' face turned slightly redder. "Ah! Yes, of course. Well then, please, lead me to these turning tables."
The shopkeeper shook their head and chuckled as the two walked off, the shopkeeper explaining the basics of this hobby (since when did just playing pre-recorded music qualify as a hobby?) as they went.
June watched the pair disappear deeper into the shop before wandering back toward the clothing racks, absently running her fingers over fabrics she had no intention of buying. When her father came back, he was carrying a surprisingly heavy cardboard box under one arm and wearing the expression of a man who had just been sold something he did not entirely understand, but was nonetheless excited about.
Phinehas had thanked the shopkeeper profusely. They responded by reminding him once again that a gramophone would destroy the record mid-play, so unless they had a means of repairing records, to stick to the turntable.
The turntable had been wrapped in layers of brown paper and tied with twine. The pair exited the shop, then quickly ducked into a nearby alley. With a tap of his wand, Phinehas had sent the large package back home.
Now the two of them walked side by side through the afternoon crowds, June carrying a paper bag filled with scarves and sweaters while her father cradled three records beneath his arm as though they were the most precious thing he owned.
And perhaps that was what made the question slip out before she fully thought about it.
"Are you happy, Dad?"
Phinehas didn't reply right away, his face thoughtful. June was grateful, as she didn't want an automatic answer.
After a moment, he looked down at the paper bag tucked beneath his arm. "When your mother... left, I spent a very long time trying to become the person I was before she did."
June remained silent. She and her father didn't really talk about her mother anymore.
"I thought if I wrote more," he continued, "or traveled more, or kept busy enough, I'd eventually wake up and find him waiting for me." He smiled faintly. "I don't think he's coming back."
"That's sad," June said softly.
"I don't think it's all sad," Phinehas replied, adjusting the records beneath his arm. "I think..." His voice trailed off as he considered his words. "I think I'd quite like to meet whoever comes next."
June looked ahead again, at the crowds and the city and her father carrying records through Muggle London on a perfectly ordinary afternoon. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about whoever came next.
There was Newcastle, certainly. The house she had grown up in, the one that still smelled faintly of rosemary and old books but no longer hosted large gatherings and dinners. There was Penwick, too, where most of her clothes were still hanging in her wardrobe.
When Phinehas asked June if there was anything she wanted to do during her spring break, she knew exactly how to respond. She'd known for months.
Apparently, according to several Muggle-born and half-blood classmates, "thrifting" was one of the great joys of modern civilization. You went into a shop full of old things people no longer wanted, bought them for suspiciously low prices, and occasionally stumbled upon something wonderful.
It sounded brilliant. Legal treasure hunting.
Phinehas thought the idea sounded nice, and the two headed off to Muggle London together. A "staycation", almost. June had been to Muggle London once or twice, but not in some time. It was quite exciting to be surrounded by so much, but now June knew what most things were called, and wasn't terrified when a cab honked at her when she didn't cross the street fast enough.
A friend had recommended "Second Chances" (what a terribly uninspired name), which June had almost completely walked by. The storefront was narrow enough to disappear between its neighbors, squeezed unassumingly between a florist and a tailor.
The display window was crowded but clearly intentionally designed. Records (Muggles used records?) were leaning against one another, a mannequin wore a styled outfit and sat on an old wooden chair, and several Turkish-style lamps hung from the ceiling. Tucked among the records sat an antique gramophone whose brass horn had been filled with fresh daffodils.
Phinehas held the door open for June, a small brass bell above it chiming as they stepped inside.
June had expected something sleek and modern. Perhaps rows of neatly organized discs in plastic cases, headphones mounted to walls, and a teenager behind a counter judging customers for asking obvious questions.
Instead, it felt suspiciously like the Scuffed Satchel, with items everywhere you looked.
The shopkeeper looked up from their phone. "Need help finding anything?" They looked to be somewhere in their twenties, with short dark hair shaved close on one side and allowed to curl freely on the other. Several silver rings climbed one ear, accompanied by a small silver ring through their nose.
"We're alright, thanks," Phinehas replied, his eyes flitting around the shop, taking it all in.
The shopkeeper nodded and turned back to their phone. "Right, well, let me know if you need anything."
Second Chances went in much farther than June had expected. Muggles had their own type of magic, truly, making something appear so small on the outside when it's spacious on the inside without the work of any spells.
June and her father wandered through the place. Clothes hung from racks that alternated between beautifully curated and crammed with as many clothes as possible. Shelves lined the walls with mismatched teacups, framed paintings, cameras, candlesticks, old board games, and a collection of ceramic cats.
Perhaps her classmates had been onto something.
She had already found a green oversized knitted jumper, a heavy wool coat that looked as though it belonged to a professor of something obscure, and a silver necklace with a charm shaped like a swallow.
"Look at this," she said, holding up a leather satchel she had unearthed from beneath a stack of scarves. No response. June looked up and realized that her father must have wandered elsewhere without her noticing. Very fair, he was not exactly a fashion aficionado.
Curious, June made her way through the aisles until she found him standing in front of a shelf of records.
He slowly turned album sleeves over in his hands, reading the backs, occasionally pulling one free and studying it with an expression of great interest.
June furrowed her brow.
Music had always existed around her father in much the same way weather existed around him. It happened. Occasionally, he commented on it. Sometimes he even enjoyed it. But she had never thought of him as someone who actively sought it out.
"Since when do you listen to music?" she asked, walking up next to him and picking up an album with a pretty cover.
Phinehas glanced up, "Since, well, since right now, I suppose."
How odd. "Do we even own something to play these?" June looked at the albums he had put to the side, presumably to buy. Something that looked jazzy, a black and white album with a man and woman on a chair, and something by four men crossing a street.
He frowned slightly as he thought about it, drumming his fingers on the wooden shelves. "Our gramophone, I guess."
"That'll destroy these, mate." Phinehas and June jumped slightly as the voice of the shopkeeper came from directly behind them. How had they even heard them? Muggle magic, June was sure of it. "I think we have a few turntables somewhere, I think."
"Oh, no, I think we have enough tables at home, thank you."
The shopkeeper blinked. "No, man, for like... Playing your records."
Phinehas' face turned slightly redder. "Ah! Yes, of course. Well then, please, lead me to these turning tables."
The shopkeeper shook their head and chuckled as the two walked off, the shopkeeper explaining the basics of this hobby (since when did just playing pre-recorded music qualify as a hobby?) as they went.
June watched the pair disappear deeper into the shop before wandering back toward the clothing racks, absently running her fingers over fabrics she had no intention of buying. When her father came back, he was carrying a surprisingly heavy cardboard box under one arm and wearing the expression of a man who had just been sold something he did not entirely understand, but was nonetheless excited about.
Phinehas had thanked the shopkeeper profusely. They responded by reminding him once again that a gramophone would destroy the record mid-play, so unless they had a means of repairing records, to stick to the turntable.
The turntable had been wrapped in layers of brown paper and tied with twine. The pair exited the shop, then quickly ducked into a nearby alley. With a tap of his wand, Phinehas had sent the large package back home.
Now the two of them walked side by side through the afternoon crowds, June carrying a paper bag filled with scarves and sweaters while her father cradled three records beneath his arm as though they were the most precious thing he owned.
And perhaps that was what made the question slip out before she fully thought about it.
"Are you happy, Dad?"
Phinehas didn't reply right away, his face thoughtful. June was grateful, as she didn't want an automatic answer.
After a moment, he looked down at the paper bag tucked beneath his arm. "When your mother... left, I spent a very long time trying to become the person I was before she did."
June remained silent. She and her father didn't really talk about her mother anymore.
"I thought if I wrote more," he continued, "or traveled more, or kept busy enough, I'd eventually wake up and find him waiting for me." He smiled faintly. "I don't think he's coming back."
"That's sad," June said softly.
"I don't think it's all sad," Phinehas replied, adjusting the records beneath his arm. "I think..." His voice trailed off as he considered his words. "I think I'd quite like to meet whoever comes next."
June looked ahead again, at the crowds and the city and her father carrying records through Muggle London on a perfectly ordinary afternoon. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about whoever came next.