Title: fish hooks in the corners of their mouths

Summary: "Monachopsis: The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place." ... Not entirely accurate, but it'll do for describing the situation. People swallow that explanation easier than: 'I died once, but it's okay! I got better' [SI OC, Black!OC, Marauders Era]

Rating: Tentative T

Disclaimer: Disclaimed

Warnings: Hints towards child abuse.

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10.

fish hooks in the corners of their mouths

unassuming


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The house grew steadily more oppressive with each passing day. I had lashed out at Mother, beat her while she was down, and rest assured: I paid the consequence. It didn't take long for her to recollect her scattered bearings. She was angry enough after Andromeda's – departure that she hadn't even needed to break open a new bottle of wine before she started in on me. Narcissa was spared, if only because she didn't spit colourful Spanish curse words at her mother, but it wasn't like she had a great summer herself. That said, I wasn't overflowing with sympathy. I had enough bruises that sleeping became painful.

Going back to Hogwarts was a salve. I sat with Alice and her boyfriend, Mark, and was joined by Pandora and Xenophilius around halfway through the ride. Mark was a Hufflepuff — like Alice — and overly friendly — like Alice — and seemed more like the Fortescue's long-lost twin that her romantic partner to me. I tried to avoid saying that out loud; I doubted Alice would like to hear it. Still, the thought lingered, ever-present in the back of my mind. I thought it extra loud whenever they would finish each other's sentences and laugh the exact same laugh. It was a unique kind of disturbing.

Xenophilius was happy to see me. Strangely happy, almost. "You don't reply to most of my letters," he told me when I asked about the manic grin on his face, "and what replies you do send are sparse in content. Can't I be happy to see you?"

"I'm still suspicious," I had replied, something tingling in my fingers. It made me want to fidget. "But since it's as good a reason as any, I'll allow it."

"You're just as gracious as I remember you." Xenophilius said. He swallowed nervously, then reached out and patted my shoulder. "Thanks for giving me permission to be happy to see one of my best friends."

I blinked at him. Did he just pat my shoulder? He did, didn't he? I sent a poorly hidden look in Pandora's direction: she was beaming at Xenophilius, looking like a proud mother hen. Okay, I thought, quietly baffled. This was new. Xenophilius was seeking contact now? Immediately after his summer holidays with the orphanage? How… unusual. I wondered if the letters he had sent me explained the new shift within him. If I'd bothered to read them, I might not have been as surprised as I was.

"One of your best friends? Hopefully the best," I said instead of voicing my thoughts. I had been wary of saying anything that would cause Pandora to glare at me. It'd been an entire summer since the last time she had looked at me like that. I wanted to continue that streak as long as I was able – somehow, I doubted revealing that I only read half of Xeno's letters was the way to do that.

"That role belongs to me," said Pandora, ruffling Xenophilius' hair. "I've earned it! Did we tell you, Cal? I think we did—"

"Tell me what?"

"Oh, I must not have then," Pandora frowned. It was entirely likely that she had told me and that I'd simply not read the letter. Once again, I restrained from giving any hints towards that. "…No matter, I'll tell you now. I visited Xeno over the summer!"

I blinked. "You did?"

"She did," Xenophilius was smiling still, though now he was a little flushed. "It was quite the surprise, I wasn't expecting her at all. The matron nearly threw Pan out on her head when she showed up out of nowhere claiming she was my 'friend from school'."

"Why didn't she?"

A little haughtily, Pandora said, "Because my sweet disposition convinced her otherwise!"

At my dubious look, Xenophilius laughed. "She somehow managed to win Grimaldi over — don't ask me how, I've no idea. All the kids at the orphanage think Pan drugged her. She kept calling Pandora an angel. She even baked her some oatmeal cookies! I thought there'd be a riot!"

"I shared," Pandora sniffed. She looked overjoyed. "You all had no right giving me the cold shoulder like you did. I was generous with the goods I acquired!"

Xenophilius opened his mouth to reply. I cut in quickly, eyebrows raised. "So, good summer then?"

"Great summer," Xenophilius' cheeks were bright red. I had never seen him so happy before. "The best summer of my life." And at that, I found it hard to resent him for his happiness. I wrestled the swelling bitterness down and locked it away where it could not bother me for now. I settled into my seat and relinquished the floor entirely to my best friends, and let their glowing recounts of their summer rock me into a calm meditative state. The train, combined with their voices plus Alice and Mark's quiet whispers, rocked me off to sleep.

It was the best sleep I had snatched for three months.

.


.

I sat between Xenophilius and Sirius during my introduction to the Study of Ancient Runes. There were a motley of people in the class, but for the most part, it was dominated by blue and green. There were only six Gryffindors, including Sirius, and a mere count of three towards the Hufflepuffs. Everyone else was either my housemate or a Slytherin. Seeing as classes were for learning and not socializing, I didn't mind this all too much.

Sirius — as he often did — disagreed.

"This is disgusting. We're in a snake pit, Cal. A snake pit." He hissed from the corner of his mouth. He was sending the room a long look filled with concentrated paranoia. From the point of view of someone who preferred discretion, I didn't much like the way he was radiating challenge from my corner of the room. However, as someone who disliked about 90% of the Slytherins in the room, I was delighted. "No class is worth 90 minutes in their company."

"Don't call me that. And if you didn't want to share a class with Slytherins, you shouldn't have picked Ancient Runes."

He made a non-committal noise. "It's too late for that piece of advice now. Minnie won't let me switch electives."

"As if McGonagall's disapproval has ever stopped you before," I muttered.

Sirius was so occupied with his telepathic battle with the Slytherins that he didn't hear me properly. Distracted, he asked, "What was that?"

"Nothing," I replied quickly. "What are you doing in this class in the first place – I forgot to ask earlier."

"Uh…" Sirius looked over his shoulder quickly before squinting at me, "… No reason."

"That was believable." I said dryly. He shrugged as if that was no fault of his. "You don't even like Runes. I figured you would be in Arithmancy. Muggle Studies. Merlin, maybe even Divination. Runes has always been your last resort."

"I'm good at it!"

"That starts to lose its meaning when you're good at everything."

"Aw shucks, cousin, stop! You'll make me blush!" he waggled his eyebrows at me for that one, to which I rolled my eyes. I didn't say it to flatter him, it was just the truth. Sirius was a damn prodigy. I'd stopped pretending otherwise when we were seven. "What makes you think that I don't like Runes anyway?"

"The fact that I know you, maybe?" Runes had never fascinated Sirius — like History of Magic, it completely failed to ensnare his attention. When we were young and being groomed to uphold family expectations, being pumped full of decorum and knowledge that we had to unleash upon guests so that it could reflect back on our family, Sirius had never liked Runes. Finding out that I was a natural at the subject was perfect for him; I did all of our homework for it. "You have to have an ulterior motive."

"I'm loving the faith you have in me."

"I know you, Siri."

"Apparently not, if you're so—"

Xenophilius, who had been quiet while we talked, abruptly elbowed me under the table. Not a second later, Professor Babbling cleared her throat and primly called, "Mr Black? Miss Black? I'm sorry, am I interrupting your very important conversation with my teaching?"

Sirius immediately started to grin. I, on the other hand, began to sink in my seat. Everyone's eyes were on us. Sirius might have been used to it, but I wasn't, and I wasn't inclined to enjoy it either. There were a few scattered snickers. "Apology accepted, Professor," my cousin said graciously, all pomp and charm. He was unconcerned with the thunderous way Professor Babbling was now looking at him. "You weren't interrupting at all. Mostly, at least. It's okay — you were easy enough to tune out."

I might have inhaled my tongue around this point.

Babbling's face was bright red. "Why, never in all my years—Mr Black, that is no way to talk to your professor!"

Sirius looked like he had no idea what she was talking about. His smile was still in place. "It's all my cousin here's fault, Professor," he said lightly, and at that—

What?! I attempted to glare a hole through Sirius' head. "What are you—"

"Is this true, Miss Black?" Babbling interrupted, bearings gathered and stare icy. I tried not to quail under it. I probably wasn't that successful.

"I—"

"Oh yeah, it definitely is!" Sirius cut in, patting my back. I resumed in my glaring. What was he doing? This was belligerent, even for his standards. "Callidora doesn't know how to tell me to shut up, you see — too nice — and even if she did, I wouldn't listen to her. She's too Ravenclaw. They're like Hufflepuffs that way, don't you agree? That lot simply aren't confident enough for me to take them seriously. It's nothing personal."

"Mr Black, that is simply—" Professor Babbling sucked in an outraged breath. Putting one fist on her hip, she jabbed her finger at another table and shrieked, "You will be separated from your cousin until I trust you to behave yourself in my class!"

Sirius clapped his hands over his mouth. "Oh no!" He sounded — utterly distressed by this news. As it was, I was close enough to him to see the smile pulling at his lips from behind his hands. "Don't separate us!"

Looking pleased by his reaction, Babbling scanned the room. "Until you have learned your lesson about manners, Mr Black, I am afraid that I will have to insist that you move. You can sit…" she points, "…right there!"

She was pointing at MacDonald and Johnson, two of the three Hufflepuffs. Sirius gasped and said, "No, not next to Evans! She's too mean, Professor! You wouldn't be so cruel, would you? Would you?" A quick skim of the class arrangement showed that MacDonald and Johnson weren't anywhere near 'Evans'. Babbling looked slightly confused, but quickly covered it up. She shifted her finger until it was pointing at another table, one with a red headed girl and a hooked-nosed Slytherin.

Oh, I thought. Oh.

"Sitting beside a friend is a privilege that you will earn, Mr Black. As soon as you can prove to me that you take this class seriously, I will sit you beside Miss Evans. Is that clear?" Sirius sighed once again, the very picture of teenage melodrama. He scooped up his books and prepared for the trek across the class for his new table. His shoulders were slumped. I was beginning to come to a Conclusion. Babbling was pleased by his defeated posture, "Good. Now, Mr Snape, I'm sorry for the inconvenience but I will need you to switch places with Mr Black."

Sirius patted my shoulder. It felt commiserating.

I understood why. Switch places? Was… was Snape going to sit with me?

Wait.

Snape was in this class?

No, actually, that didn't matter as much as the fact that he was going to sit next to me. The kid who was unfortunately positioned when Sirius transfigured my floating feather into an ingot of steel in our first year. The prejudiced Slytherin who hated my cousin was going to be assigned the seat right beside me, probably for the rest of the year, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. A commiserating shoulder pat wasn't going to cut it. Sirius would have to get on his knees and beg for my forgiveness when this was finished.

"But Professor—!"

"That's enough, Miss Evans. I'm afraid this is a necessary evil. I'm sure you'll be able to handle this, if what Professor Slughorn says about you is true. Mr Snape, Mr Black, please get a move on. I would like to finish going through this material today."

Evans and Snape looked furious with this turn of events. Sirius looked miserable, unless Babbling wasn't looking, and then he looked smug and satisfied. He dramatically stormed over to Evans table, pretending that this wasn't exactly what he was aiming for from the start. At least one of us was happy with this arrangement.

Snape swept over to my side of the room like an unwelcome heat wave in the middle of summer.

And judging by the scathing look in his eye, he remembered exactly who I was and what I'd done to him when we were eleven.

"He seems angry," Xenophilius mumbled.

"You have no idea," I responded, pretty resigned. This… was not going to be fun.

.


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It wasn't.

.


.

Eliza Finch sighed sympathetically in my direction when I came out of the shower. "You probably used up all the hot water," she scolded, though her tone wasn't as severe as it usually was.

I gently squeezed the water out of my curls with a t-shirt. "Sorry," I muttered in response, perhaps not a sincerely as I could have been. "Lost track of time. Did you want it after me?"

"No," Eliza Finch said. She was still looking at me sympathetically. It was beginning to irritate me. I had an inkling of an idea why she would be projecting such a vibe onto me, and I didn't like it. "No, it's fine. I'll have an extra-long one tomorrow morning."

I shrugged.

"How was your holiday?" She then asked, clearing her throat. "Me and my family went to France. Did you do anything like that? Leave the country for a bit? Vacations are the best way to spend the hols, I reckon."

I thought of my mother's trembling chin as I called her a fucking bitch in Spanish. "My holidays were fun," I answered flatly, "Not as great as France. Tell me about that instead."

"Uh… yeah, sure. We stopped by the Eiffel tower first, as you do, but the only landmark worth visiting is the Louvre Pyramid—"

I let Eliza Finch talk for two whole hours with little interruption, except to ask questions when it looked like she was running out of things to say. Eventually, our other roommates sans Pandora (who was mysteriously absent) joined in to describe what they'd done over the summer, and it was probably the most any of us had ever said together in all the three years we'd been roomies. It was honestly a bit surreal.

In a series in events that I couldn't truly remember happening, we all ended up on the floor, painting each other's nails.

… I really could not tell you how it happened.

Amanda Pierce was painting my toenails a midnight blue colour — just for the base. Beside her knee was a nail polish titled 'Fireworks' that, as you might have guessed from the name, automatically animated whatever you painted to explode into fireworks. Amanda was quite excited to show it off, seeing as she'd bought it over the holidays but didn't have anyone except herself to try it out on. Eliza Finch was having her hair braided by Florence Tailor.

They were all playing Veritaserum — which was, as far as I could tell, the wizarding version of Truth or Dare without the dare aspect — while I sat there and avoided answering any question thrown in my direction. It was a lot harder than it sounded.

Florence was in the middle of asking, "Callidora, have you seriously never had a boyfriend before?" when Pandora stumbled into the room, just shy of curfew.

Eliza Finch had a very rare smile on her face. "Ah, Travers! We've been waiting for you!"

Pandora was looking at me. More specifically, she was looking at the thirteen year old at my toes, painting fireworks on them. She looked an odd mix of deeply confused and deeply offended. "Are those crups on your fingers?" She demanded, nose wrinkled.

I knew for a fact that there were crups on my fingernails. I looked down at them like it was my first time seeing them anyway. "Hm? Are they?"

Pandora's brow furrowed. Florence grinned and said, proudly, "Yep! I painted'em myself. Don't they look so cute?"

"Crups? Cute? Not those rabies-ridden rodents, surely!"

"We get that a crup killed your cat that one time when you were five, but that doesn't mean they're hideous creatures, Finch." I said, fighting down a smirk. Amanda Pierce capped her nail polish just to make room for a high five. I exchanged it gladly. Pandora made a noise. "Pan, wanna join? I can — hmm…"

"What can you do, huh?" Amanda teased. "You can't paint nails and you can't braid hair. All you're good for is sitting there and looking pretty."

"You think I'm pretty?"

Amanda snorted and resumed her expert work on my toenails. "As if you don't know," she laughed. I blinked, a bit surprised by the verdict, before letting it slide. She was probably joking. I wasn't hideous, but my looks weren't something to write home about either. I looked back at Pandora and patted the spot next to me.

"If you can stand it, I could try my luck with your nails."

Pandora cleared her throat. Her voice still cracked when she said, "What?"

"Oh, come off it, Travers. Have you never done your nails before?"

"Of course I have." Pandora frowned.

"Have you ever had a friend do it?" Florence followed with, and at that, Pandora was stumped. Knowing that that was my fault, I averted my eyes from her dumbstruck figure and resumed watching Amanda. "Seriously? Never? Callidora said the same thing! That's—what is with you purebloods? Are you forbidden from having sleepovers where you have fun or something?"

"More like we don't know how to," Pandora blurted. Then: "Callidora? You're all on a first name basis?"

"Mostly," Amanda giggled, "Cal uses our last names, but it's a work in progress. We'll wear her down."

I quirked my lips up at that, but opened my mouth to correct her nevertheless. Before I could, Pandora huffed and said, "Don't call her 'Cal', she doesn't like it," taking the matter out of my hands entirely. I could have smiled.

"I'm sure I've heard you call her that," said Amanda, tilting her head up to look at Pandora.

Pandora wrinkled her nose. "Well — that's just not the point."

"Isn't it? If you can do it, why can't—"

"I'm her best friend. It's different."

Amanda hummed, finishing my last toe with a flourish. "Then I guess I'll have to be Cal's best friend, right?" You could physically see Pandora's hackles raise. Before she could open her mouth, Amanda was preparing the 'Firework' polish, a pleased look on her face. "Sit down, Travers, I'll do your nails after I'm finishing doing Cal."

Pandora didn't budge.

"After I'm finishing doing Callidora, then. Gee, you're touchy."

Pandora harrumphed.

Eliza sniggered under her breath, "And here Callidora was telling us all about how you were the nice one! I knew I should have asked for a book reference. There has been no recorded case of such a phenomenon before!"

"Hey, don't be rude," Florence chastised Eliza, though she was smiling as well. "Seriously, Travers. Sit on down. I'll do your hair too, if you want."

"I—" don't want you anywhere near my hair, Pandora's face was saying. She looked very conflicted. I wondered if she had interacted with Amanda Pierce outside the dorm before, because she kept sending the strawberry-blonde icy looks from the corner of her eye. Then she seemed to give up all at once, shoulders slumping, rebellion leaving her. "…Sure, I suppose. What's the harm?"

"Yaaaaay!" The rest of the girls cheered in unison. Pandora hesitantly smiled.

"Sit down there!"

"I'll be finished quickly,"

"As soon as I'm done with Cal— Callidora, I was going to say Callidora! Gee, Travers. When I'm finished here, I'll get to you!"

Pandora sat beside me with her legs stretched out in front of her. As the others quickly resumed their conversation, Pandora shifted a bit closer and grabbed my hand. She spread my fingers and looked intensely at my nails. I allowed her to, still feeling bad that this was the first time she'd ever had her nails painted by a friend and knowing that that was all my fault.

I took the time to take in my best friends profile. The lighting in the room wasn't fantastic seeing as it was lit up by candles and a few floating lumos spells, but she still looked pretty, which was a miracle all by itself. As I said, the lighting wasn't flattering at all. Her eyelashes were longer than I remembered them being. She had new freckles across her nose that hadn't been there last year, and a small pimple on her chin. She'd done some growing while I wasn't looking — while I wilfully ignored her, more like. She had reached out for me over the holidays. I just didn't accept it. It was my fault. I wouldn't go subconsciously shoving some blame onto her.

"… They really are well done…" she mumbled, more to herself than to me.

"You'd probably do better," I said, low enough that my voice didn't carry. Pandora's eyes flicked up, then down – quick enough that I could consider it a trick of my inattention. "I've seen your doodles. You'd do better."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah, of course."

Pandora let go of my hand, a small smile on her face. "Thanks," I shrugged. It wasn't that big of a deal. She didn't have to smile like that.

I cleared my throat and looked away.

(When did she get those freckles? At Xeno's?)

"Done! Travers, you alright if I get started on your hair now or do you wanna continue breathing into Callidora's lungs?"

Pandora leaped back from me, leaving me to blink rapidly in confusion. "You're not endearing me to you right now, Tailor. … And I wasn't breathing in her face at all, thank you very much!"

"Yuh huh, sure. Just get over here and lemme braid your hair, okay?"

Pandora almost sounded sulky when she said, "…Okay…" but she wasn't dragging her feet anymore, so she must not have minded too bad.

Good.

("Two years. Two years we've been sleeping in the same room, and I only just figured out Tailor's first name. All because you somehow convinced everyone to braid each other's hair and paint each other's nails."

"Yup," I mutter, half-asleep as I tie Pandora's tie. "What about it?"

She peers down at me curiously and asks, "Why?"

Because they all wanted to ask me about my blood-traitor sister. Because they heard that Andromeda Black had forsaken the wizarding world to elope with a muggle-born nobody. Because they realized that a Black could be different and that meant that I could be different, and that changed everything for them.

"I was bored," I reply, getting the dimple just right, "and you were out galivanting the castle with Xeno."

"And Alice," she adds… after a pause. "If you wanted to come, you could have. You just seemed busy."

"Mmm. Whatever. Do you have my brush—ah, thank you.")

.


.

"Post is here!" the shout is followed by the thunderous flapping of a shit load of owls. Socrates landed before Pandora with two letters strapped to his leg. She replied to both of them promptly, though she hides one from me. I was so annoyed at the realization that she was still talking to Tantalus that I was completely blindsided by the arrival of Dorado.

"Is that your Andy?" Xenophilius piped up, chomping on his avocado toast. "What does she want?"

I tucked the letter into my robes. "I don't know."

"Are you going to read it later?"

I don't know. "Yes," I scratched my nose. I didn't even care about the tell — the letter from Andromeda had soured my mood too much for me to care. I turned my attention back to my breakfast and asked Pandora, "How's your mum?"

.


.

"Theoretically speaking, where would one acquire a mandrake leaf without alerting the herbology professor?"

"Theoretically speaking, one would have to sneak into the greenhouses and steal the leaves when the greenhouses are not being patrolled by human or plant alike."

"Fantastic. Continuing on that theoretical thread: what type of nocturnal plants will be guarding the greenhouse tomorrow night at around, oh, I don't know, eleven o'clock?"

"There's the Mongolian Munching Melon, which bludgeons intruders who smell like chicken. Honeydew grows from the ceilings and makes a sticky trap of the floor that cannot be deteriorated unless one happens to have the ashes of a June bug carcass on hand. If you're going for Greenhouse 8, which one would be if they were theoretically looking to acquire a mandrake leaf, then you would have to watch out for the Chinese Chomping Cluster of Cautious Carrots. As the name may suggest, it is a bunch of carrot-like creatures that — well, like to eat red meat—"

"GREAT! I just realized that I don't care much for that at all. Next question: How willing would you be to acquire the mandrake leaves instead of subjecting some poor moron who doesn't care about plants to the embarrassment of death by carnivorous cabbage?"

"Theoretically speaking?"

"Theoretically speaking."

"Theoretically speaking, I would be very willing to acquire a few mandrake leaves."

"YES!"

"… For a favour,"

"…Do I have to?"

"If you theoretically want to acquire these mandrake leaves without answering my questions then yes, yes you do. Relax, I'm not asking for anything serious. You just owe me big time in the future. I'm putting a gigantic IOU in the bank. Deal?"

"You won't ask questions?"

"None."

"And you'll get the leaves without tipping off Sprout?"

"She'll never know they're gone."

"…Alright. You have a deal. …Right after you explain what an IOU is."

"…Oh, yeah—"

.


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My dearest sister Dora,

A month marks the day since I left home — since I left you. I am living with a… friend of mine; you have never met him, though I one day hope to change this, as this friend is very important to me.

I am safe. I am healthy. All of my bruises have healed—they are nothing more than bad memories (I hope the same can be said for any of your injuries, although I am aware that it may be… optimistic of me to think such a thing, given your company). I know you have not asked – indeed, you have not responded to any of my five letters – but I know that you still care, even if you have not indicated as such. I know this because I know you, dearest sister. You have always cared, despite our parents earnest efforts to beat such a trait out of you. With that in mind, consider this my formal reassurance of my state of mind, since you are not here to confirm it for yourself.

I have spent many summers away from you before, but knowing that I will never again be returning to the house, I feel your absence more keenly than I have felt any bruise. That said, as much as I love you, I would not suffer any more torture under Druella. I respect myself too much, I fear. …And no, that was not thinly-veiled criticism. You are but thirteen years old, sister, and thus, still dependent on her oh-so-doting care. I do not resent that you remain under her house, following Cygnus' racist doctrine; nor do I hold you in bad esteem despite your… silence as of late.

Little sister, I understand that you feel… betrayed right now; that you may feel that my recent actions as of late may feel like a personal attack against you and our relationship. I understand this—I do. But you must also strive to understand how I felt, trapped within that house as I was. You are an intelligent, empathetic young lady, Dora. I know that you would not punish me for self-care (you are not so selfish).

It has been a month. Despite the reassurance of my friend and my own memories of you, I am having doubts. I do not wish to pressure you or force you into an uncomfortable situation — I would never, please trust that I would never want that — so if you have not forgiven me, then don't tell me that you have. I am not asking for your trust back, not if you do not feel that I have earned it. All I am asking for is a reply. A single letter. It doesn't even have to say anything. I just… would like to know that there is a chance here.

I miss you, Dora. Please believe that.

Love,
someone who misses your letters gravely,
Andy

.


.

Andromeda,

This will be the first and last letter I will ever send you. Be grateful. That is more than I would do for any other filthy blood traitor. …However, exceptions must be made in special circumstances such as this one. Exercise some discretion when you get this — in fact, better to burn it entirely after you have finished reading it. I want nothing more to tie me to you, do you understand?

I write because I am concerned (not about you). Dora has not been the same since your disgraceful departure. I wish that she would realize that dirt such as you and the company you chose are not worth her tears, but alas, Dora's bleeding heart will be her demise. She has taken to the new changes… not so well. She spent the summer either locked in her room or messing around in that greenhouse of hers — either way, she has been missing meals. If she should perish because of starvation, I want you to be completely aware of who is to blame for that. She has stonewalled Sirius' attempts to get her out of the house and has been disposing of any letters she receives without opening them. Clearly, she misses you, and she is acting out because of it.

Similarly, Mother's mood has spiralled downwards since you were thrown out. I believe she finished three bottles the night you left, and has emptied the cellar by half since I last counted. Seeing as Dora has been antagonizing her lately, Dora has been the prime… target of Mother's frustrations. She almost lost hearing in her left ear before Mother remembered to pull out her wand. She has been having screaming nightmares ever since.

I reiterate that this is all your fault. If you had not been so foolish and soft, this would never have happened. But as you are what you are and nothing I say will change it, I will move on to the point of this letter.

Fix this.

I don't care how you do it, but your terrible life choices are having severe consequences for our little sister, so take responsibility. Fix it. She is in danger. I will not bury my little sister at thirteen years old. I will not.

I will not help you with any harebrained scheme you concoct. I am no longer interested. Never contact me again. Ever.

- N.C.B

.


.

N.C.B.

I will remove Dora from your hands as soon as I am able. Or as soon as she responds to my letters. Either way, I need you to do one thing for me: pack all of Dora's belongings. Her clothes, her posters, her books, her seeds and potted plants—pack everything. Her wards can be deactivated with a password. Use 'Diana' to disable them and 'Esmeralda' to bring them back up (Don't ask why those names, she wouldn't tell me).

And before you start: yes, I know you said not to reply, but I couldn't help myself. I need to know that you know that I still love you, and if you should ever need help, all you must do is send me an owl and I will be by your side in a second.

Thank you for trusting me with her, sister. It tells me more about your opinion of me than I believe you realize, and as such, reassures me greatly.

- Your Sister

.


.

Ever feel so nauseatingly, bothersomely, exhaustingly lonely that you think you might dissolve and become air? Sludge? An ash-silhouette scorched into the ground of a corpse-ridden battlefield? Ever feel vanquished? Eaten?

(Made for nothing, made for no one?)

It's a precise feeling. A building crescendo that splinters your marble ribcage. Your chest becomes a morgue where unachievable notions and forgotten delusions of grandeur and love hide like obese bears for the winter, hibernating. Your hands are made up of the shards of shattered wine bottles. sometimes i think, nobody i have ever met will remember my name and i will fade like afternoon light, a legion of gods will dip this penumbra they call a body into the Lethe and my blood will come to an end. A heart repelled. A soul forgotten. A promise abandoned.

Everything rational is real, and everything real is rational. So if something is rational, then it is inevitable that it will becomes real, right? If something is real, then that something is therefore rational? Going by those rules, my betrayal, my hurt, my blooming bitterness — it's real, and therefore, it is rational.

(I am so incredibly lonely and that's funny – hilarious – because I did it to myself. Who cares about self-mutilation, really. What is worshipping your cool blue veins with a rusted razor compared to this? I am a secret word whispered into the rippling night. I am a pyre of bones that don't fit right anymore; feather-hearted and waiting and waiting and unfulfilled.)

It is rational to take my sister leaving me as a personal abandonment. It is therefore rational to stonewall all her attempts to contact me just because I am hurt by the decision she made. It is therefore rational for me to hate that she prioritized her own safety over my comfort, because my feelings are real, and if something is real, then it is rational.

Rational… and selfish.

It isn't like I don't know that I'm being dumb about this. It's just that I don't care. I'm hurt. I am hurt. I am bleeding over this; my main concern is cauterizing the wound, not attending to someone else. Andy promised me forever and then she left. It's — it's all I can focus on.

But she was in danger, you say. But she has a muggle-born boyfriend, of course she couldn't stay. But she had all these good reasons to leave, you say. She had to go, you say. It was going to happen eventually, you say.

I hear you.

I raise this in response: I don't care. She left. She had good reasons to leave and she will be happier and she will loved like she deserves and I do not care because none of that seems to matter if she will not achieve it with me at her side. I have always been there. I cannot accept that I no longer can be. It — I can't — I can't do this without her.

(How can she do it without me?)

It isn't that she has left.

It is that she has left me.

There is a difference, and I have noticed it.

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...

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Authors Note:

Sorry it took so long for me to update (and for this update to be so short and bad) but it took about a week for me to remember how to get out of bed and then however long else to remember that time exists. Please let this satisfy you until I figure out a legitimate plot outline for Callidora's Hogwarts adventures. Hogwarts is so difficult. War-time and Canon timeline is all figured out but Hogwarts… it eludes me. Once again: sorry for the bad chapter! I tried to stretch it as long as I could but it would not cooperate.

IMPORTANT: I have come to the conclusion that Callidora's first person POV is hindering the story more than it is helping, so from now on, chapters will be written in THIRD PERSON from an OUTSIDER POV. This means that Callidora's voice is going to be removed until she has something useful to say, basically. I just feel that the story will be bettered if we aren't hearing from such a limited person: expect more Sirius, Lily, Snape, canon characters, etc.