A/N: Yes, I know that the idea has been done before, but I would really love to see if I could pull it off. If I continue this or not will be based on what kind of comments I receive, but any kind of review would be appreciated, even a flame.

Disclaimer: I, Iris-Ice, own no part of the Harry Potter series, written by J.K Rowling and made into a movie by Warner Bros. Studio. I also do no own the poem below, "since feeling is first," by E.E. Cummings. I only own my original characters in this story, such as Violet Harman and Cassiopeia the owl.

since feeling is first

By E.E. Cummings

since feeling is first

who pays any attention

to the syntax of things

will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool

while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,

and kisses are a far better fate

than wisdom

lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry

-the best gesture of my brain is less than

your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then

laugh, leaning back in my arms

for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

Violet Harman looked down at the parchment she was holding with distaste. Her hope that her Christmas holidays would be anything other than dismal had gone down the toilet the moment that her mother's eagle owl had brought this letter. Letters from home never seemed to bear any news except for bad news; seeing the fine stationary and her mother's elaborate handwriting always told Violet to prepare herself for something that was going to be, in her own opinion, horrible. Especially in a family like the Harman family, where the horrible something could mean anything, from her little brother having the dragon pox to her batty great-aunt coming for Easter to a notice that a distant relative had died and she would be summoned from the school to attend a funeral.

As it was nearing the holidays, Violet was certain that this letter bared news of a miserable social event that she would have to attend. She sincerely hoped that the Malfoy family wasn't hosting another New Year's Eve ball this year. Last year's had been horrible; she had been forced to dance with Terrance Greengrass, who had talked to her the entire night about the job he hoped to obtain in the Ministry after he left Hogwarts. Nearly the only thing worse than a gathering at Mafloy Manor was one at the Lestrange Estate . Thank God they only held their Yule celebration every other year.

And, of course, there was always the chance that her parents had decided that this was a year that they should throw their own party. Her birthday fell on the fourth of January, the day when students usually returned to Hogwarts to finish off their year, but it was close enough to the holidays that it was acceptable for a party to be thrown during the Christmas social season. These parties seemed random, marked more by her mother's desire to show out and an open position in the season's social calendar than by any need to celebrate Violet. That didn't seem likely, as Violet would be turning sixteen this year; her mother was most likely too busy planning her seventeenth birthday bash than to bother with one this year.

The only way to know what horror was waiting for certain, she knew, was to open the letter and decipher the script. It wasn't as if it would matter anyway, Violet thought ruefully; she knew herself well enough to know that she would go along with her mother's plans regardless of her own misery. It wasn't worth the time or the pain to argue with her. Besides, the energy she would use fighting would be better off being put into other things that she actually enjoyed doing.

Two of her roommates sent a disgusted look her way as Cassiopeia, her mother's owl, screeched impatiently. Violet hated that creature. She thought that it was stupid. Didn't it know that it was supposed to come in at breakfast like the other owls, not fly to her dorm room?

With steady hands, she finally opened the letter, pulling on the wax seal. She had long ago mastered the art of reading her mother's nearly illegible handwriting. Her letter said:

Dearest Violet,

As your holiday approaches, I find that it may be fit to inform you that your father and I have begun the process of selecting your future husband. The man that you marry will forever affect your social standing, and as such, will reflect on the standing of the Harman family. At your age, it would be quite simple indeed to become enamored with a boy who is entirely unfit for you and for our family. In times such as these, we of pure blood must stay so in order to remain influential and respectable. It wouldn't do to have your become enamored with a half-blood, or even worse, a mudblood. Must I bring up the disgraceful case of Andromeda Black?

As your parents, we have taken it upon ourselves to prevent such a travesty from occurring in our family. We do not doubt that, if left to your own devices, you would choose a spouse suitable for our respected family; however, we find that it is best not to take chances with matters of the heart. We have already begun the process of screening the eligible men in your age group and their families.

We shall be entertaining one such family on the evening of your arrival from school. The four of them shall be arriving at our home for a dinner party; I would prefer if you avoid making any plans or revealing this knowledge to your friends. The young man in question seems to be entirely right for you. He is both handsome and the purity of his family is quite renowned. Marrying him would boost your social status incomparably, and thus I feel that it would be appropriate that you be forewarned and prepare yourself to charm him and his family.

I can hardly hold back my excitement over this occasion, darling. It may be only in a few weeks, but I have hardly slept since making our dinner date in my anticipation. I know that you would never let your father and I down. I eagerly await your return home, my dear.

Your devoted mother,

Florence Harman

It took all that Violet had to avoid letting out an audible gasp. Cassiopeia continued to screech, but Violet hardly noticed. She had just learned, after all, that she might be engaged before she had even taken her O.W.L.s. A screeching owl was the least of her problems. She had to write a letter back.