CHAPTER THREE

The Three Letters

Ivywood Estate had been erected as a well to do place that not only demonstrated how easy it was to conceal ones exact amount of wealth but at the same time able to demonstrate how far such wealth could take you.

The ashlar stone estate had been built by Henry Martin, Anita's grandfather of several generations past in the mid-1600s. He had originally designed the home to be a lavish hunting lodge during the season but, as time went on, it gradually became a home with children running about its grounds and a place to lay one's head permanently.

It sat on 60 acres of beautiful English countryside and as long as Anita had lived here, she knew it like the back of her hand. There were five master bedrooms, along with five others on the top floor, all of them decorated with rich materials as the last and simple yet pleasing decorations that her mother knew would keep with the original designs. Then there were three bathrooms, a grandiose study and library that held books old and new (some so old that Anita could not touch them), the separate sitting room and drawing room that her mother used for quiet reading or entertaining her women friends, a kitchen, a scullery, a rather large pantry, the dining room, and the wine cellar underneath it all. There were fireplaces of course, the intricate paneling, lavish mouldings, and not to mention the fine stamped Spanish leather that lined the main hall.

And the grounds themselves were nothing to scoff at either. They had been centuries in the making, each new lady of the house adding to it and making it better. There was the open lawn to the south of the house, but the private walled garden to the east-its only entry a wrought iron gate-withheld a marbled fountain about the size of swimming pool, archways of blooming wisteria and white roses and wildflowers and grasses that were kept neat and trim. Another large garden, primarily roses, lavender, passionflower and the like needed to create beautiful bouquets, sat on the west side of the house complete with a terrace and stone benches. And, true to its name, the outer walls were choked with ivy on some places, though this, too, was anally maintained.

It was a beautiful place, to be sure. Each room was always filled with the natural sunshine that poured in through the windows and many happy memories had been made. Anita loved her home, the gardens, the smell of the earth after the rain, but what she loved most was the freedom to do the one thing that many wizarding folk (especially the purebloods) would frown upon.

When Anita was able to rise early on her own, like this morning, she dressed, donned her roller skates, and pushed play on her Walkman (a gift Arthur Weasley had presented to her two birthdays ago, though her father didn't like the idea), the sounds of muggle music from the seventies and eighties cassette tapes she'd managed to find filling her ears. The hardwood floors became her playground and she eased over them, letting her mind settle.

Yes, this morning was no different and Anita had a lot on her mind.

As she moved about, going around corners and up and down the halls, her mind kept wandering back to yesterday; more importantly, it kept wandering back to George. Why had he walked her home? He had never done so before. And the way he acted…Had he been acting differently? Perhaps it was she who was acting differently. She didn't know what exactly was bothering her, but bother her it did.

She had had a dream about him last night too, which didn't help. The dream itself had been puzzling and had left what felt like electricity in the air around her. George was standing before her, a little older. He was smiling, his red hair styled. He was dressed up for some reason. But then, someone else appeared on the other side. She couldn't see who, nor did she even know him, but it was apparent he knew her well. He emitted a kindness much like George did, but this was this…conflict and she felt pulled in both directions.

Her head was hurting again. Stupid dreams, she thought. Why can't they be straight to the point for once?

Anita took hold of the bannister that lead down to the main floor and slid down it with controlled ease. She wished she could discuss these things with her mother or even her father, but neither of them really understood. They tried, really they did, but Anita could see that it burdened them more than anything. Plus, it wasn't as if she could be plain about it and blurt that she'd had a dream about George Weasley. How would that look? They were family friends, to be sure, and had always been since Arthur and William had met at Hogwarts. Both Gryffindors, they'd bonded over Quidditch and, though both had different points on muggles, both respected the other and they became fast friends.

As time passed, however, and the economic status of one trumped the other, an invisible line formed between the families. It was never discussed as both families seemed to be blind to it, but it was there nonetheless. Anita's father had higher expectations for her than Arthur had for his children (who just wanted his children to be happy in life), though he never outright said so. But the pressure to meet those of higher standing, excel in all she did…it had intermingled in every aspect of Anita's life.

She approached the mahogany dining table, where her father, already dressed and his dark blonde hair neatly styled, was reading the Daily Prophet while sipping at his coffee while her mother was discussing the dinner menus for the upcoming week with Tufty as her oatmeal and halved grapefruit sat in front of her, untouched.

Turning off the Walkman, Anita sat down at the end of the table. Both of her parents immediately noticed her presence.

"Darling, would you please take off your skates? You know I don't like them at the table." Her mother then went back to Tufty as quickly as she had turned from him.

"Sorry, Mum." Anita began to unlace them as her father then chimed in, eyes still on the paper.

"I thought you got rid of that thing months ago."

"What thing?"

"That…listening device. Whatever it's called." He sniffed.

"My Walkman?" She slid off one of the skates and then moved to the other. "No. I just needed to replace the batteries."

"Oh. I see."

Under the table, Anita rolled her eyes and finished undoing the other skate, sliding it off as well. As she rose and settled into her chair, a plate of cinnamon waffles with rich apple compote and butter materialized in front of her. If it wasn't Tufty, it was Mopsey. She began to eat as the usual sounds of the mornings with her parents surrounded her. They never really spoke to one another, her parents, unless it was important. It hadn't always been like this, but since Anita turned ten, it had slipped into this uncomfortable silent monotony.

After sipping at her glass of orange juice, Anita cleared her throat. "I was thinking about checking the lemon tree out on the terrace." A smile came to her face. "I was thinking perhaps Tufty could make lemon meringue pie." And I could help him, she thought silently to herself. Her parents never liked it when she helped the house elves so, over the years, she'd gotten cleverer about doing it under their noses without them finding out.

"What a splendid idea, Miss Martin," came Tufty's squeaky reply. "I think it would go well with the baked salmon for tonight." He then looked up at Anita's mother. "That is, if Mrs. Martin thinks so too?"

There was a flash of something on Marianne's face, but it was gone just as fast as it had come and her voice was cheerier than before. "Of course! It is definitely a wonderful idea." She looked over at Anita. "Since you thought of it, dear, perhaps you can go out and pick the lemons, hm?"

"Of course." Anita took another bite of her waffles. She didn't mind picking the lemons as much as her mother thought she did. In fact, she rather enjoyed it if that meant reaping the reward of lemon meringue pie later.

As Tufty disappeared, Mrs. Martin sat up a little straighter in her chair and began on her own breakfast. It was silent once again before Anita's father folded the paper and sat it in front of him. "Some letters came for you this morning, Anita."

"Letters?"

"That's right." He picked up the envelopes next to his plate that Anita hadn't noticed before. "They're all for you." A glint of humor shown in his eye. "There's one in particular I think you would like."

A bubble of excitement suddenly rose in Anita's chest and she got up from her seat. Her father handed her the small stack as she made her way over to him.

The first envelope was powder blue, all the way from France. Her pen pal had written her again. The other was from her Aunt Juniper, her mother's older sister. Postage marks decorated it and Anita saw that it was from Africa.

It was the very last one that caught her attention and she couldn't help but squeal with joy. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There it was! Her name on the back! She looked up to her father, then over to her mother.

"Go on, darling! Open it." Her mother was grinning probably just as much as she was. "We know how eager you've been."

Anita hurriedly broke the wax seal and pulled out the parchment. It was here. Finally. She was holding the letter in her hands.

"Well, go on, let's hear it." Mr. Martin said. "Don't keep us in suspense!"

"'Dear Miss Martin,'" Anita read aloud. "'We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st…"

Below it was signed by a Minerva McGonagall, who was apparently the deputy headmistress according to the title under her name. On a second sheet of parchment was everything that she would need. Her robes, her books. Even her wand. The bubble of excitement within her grew exponentially. Her very own wand. What would hers be like?

"Let's see here, darling." Her father gingerly took the letter from her along with the list. "July 31st, eh? That's coming up soon."

"In about a week," her mother said, spearing her spoon into her grapefruit.

Her father didn't seem to notice and continued on. "I'll send out Chantilly this afternoon. To think," her turned and beamed at Anita. "My little girl going to Hogwarts, finally. Perhaps you'll be a Gryffindor like your father."

Anita nodded.

"That's my girl. Alright. Run along now, finish your breakfast. I have some letters to write." He got up from the table as Anita returned to her chair, the two other envelopes in her grasp.

When he vanished down the hall towards his study, she watched as Kobkey appeared, hoping up into her father's chair and removing his plate and cup and tucking the Daily Prophet under his arm.

For the longest time, her and her mother sat in silence, both of them eating and not saying a word to the other. Anita didn't notice; her mind was racing with thoughts about Hogwarts, about her letter. She'd have to tell her pen pal in France of course, and her aunt…

And George. She'd have to tell George wouldn't she? He had gone through all that trouble of cheering her up while she'd been awfully pessimistic. It was the least she could do.

As her mind wandered, her mother's voice interrupted her train of thought.

"Anita, would you mind reading me your aunt's letter?" Her voice was quiet as she said this.

Anita looked up from her plate. Her mother wasn't looking at her but was instead staring rather pensively out the windows across from her, her teacup in her hands. Her deep blue eyes seemed so far away and her made up face looked more like a mask rather than the carefully put together one Anita had grown up with.

"Um…of course, Mum." Anita picked up the letter from her Aunt Juniper and tore it open, pulling out the paper and unfolding it. Her aunt's writing was much like her mother's. She cleared her throat and began.

"Dear Anita,

I have finally arrived in Africa, though by the time you get this letter I am sure to have been here for a bit. The jungles here are just as beautiful as I imagined and the Sahara I'm sure will be just as lovely. I had the joy of meeting some of the locals and they are so kind I almost felt like I was back at home.

I am making my way towards the Congo and will hopefully be there in a few days' time if all goes according to plan. As I mentioned in my last letter to you, I will be studying the habits and patterns of the Tebo. More importantly, I have plans on going to visit one of the smaller schools of magic in Angola, near the Kalandula Falls and teaching their Care of Magical Creatures curriculum for the year until a replacement can be found.

Speaking of school, I know you will be starting at Hogwarts soon and I wish you the best of luck. My years at Hogwarts were some of the best of my life and I met many friends along the way. Just know that no matter what house you are sorted into, you were put there for a reason. Be true to yourself and you shall thrive.

With love,

Auntie Juniper"

As Anita finished reading the letter, she looked back up at her mother, who had said nothing the entire time.

"Thank you, Anita," she finally said, her voice still quiet. "I am…" She paused and then continued. "It's good to hear your aunt is doing well."

"You're welcome, Mum." Anita sat there for a moment before pushing herself away from the table. She picked up her roller skates and the letters and began heading back to her room.

Her mother often got quiet at the mention of Aunt Juniper. They were sisters, her Aunt Juniper being the eldest of the two. And though they shared the same lithe, elegant figure, porcelain skin, and midnight colored hair, they were more different than night and day. According to her father, they had gotten into a disagreement about something when Anita was only two years of age; they hadn't spoken since.

Still, Anita got Christmas cards and birthday presents from her aunt and even the occasional letters when her aunt had the time to write amongst her travels. She had the collection of oddities, that was to be sure. There was the Russian nesting doll from her time studying the Rusalka, a vibrantly colored boomerang from Australia from her time with the Bunyips, and her favorite amongst the many others was the large feather of the mighty Thunderbird she had followed and studied over in the States.

Her aunt loved to travel and study the creatures of the world. That was her job. She had even written a book about her travels, which Anita had received a copy of and kept proudly on her bookshelf. Her mother had seen it and never said a word.

Anita couldn't understand why there was such animosity between the two of them and what could have caused such a rift between her aunt and her mother. Had it really been that terrible, their disagreement?

She sat down at her writing desk and finally opened up the powder blue envelope, the last of the three. She wanted to put such questions out of her mind for a moment and she could think of no better way than to catch up with her pen pal.

The paper was crisp and a dark blue while the ink was a glittery silver that reminded Anita of the moon.

"Dearest Anita," it said.

"Comment allez-vous? I do hope you are doing well. I know the last time we corresponded you were frightfully concerned about the absence of your letter. If you have gotten it by the time this reaches you, félicitations! You will make a wonderful addition I am sure! My fourth year at Beauxbatons is approaching and I am much excited. My friends in the Ombrelune house will be there and it will be good to see them one again after this summer…"

The letter went on about her family trip to the Victoria Falls and then to the beaches on the coasts of Italy. She then went on to mention her little sister, the new dress she'd gotten to wear at one of her family's dinner parties, and she even inquired about Anita's dreams and recommended a book she'd read while at Beauxbatons that Anita should look into.

She signed her name with a flourish and a lovely hand drawn butterfly at the bottom that was happily flitting about.

Anita smiled at the words on the page. Whenever she got a letter from her Beauxbatons friend, there was always something pleasant to it. They had met only a year ago, when Anita had decided to join her father at work.

Her friend's father worked in the French Ministry of Magic in the Bureau de Magic Communications and there was a very boring meeting between the different ministries and their communications workers. So both girls were left alone to entertain themselves. It had been dull indeed and there wasn't much small talk between them. To Anita, they didn't seem to hit it off, but a week later, however, a letter came in the post from the girl. She stated that she had found Anita rather intriguing and offered to teach her French if Anita could help her with English.

At first, it was a simple correspondence of teaching the other their native language, but soon the letters began to turn into the girls discussing their lives, their worries, and their accomplishments. Besides the Weasleys, her pen pal was the one of the few friends she had.

Setting the letter aside with her aunt's, Anita began to pull out her stationary and pens and organized them neatly on the desk. She would write to them soon, she decided. She would tell them about getting her letter, about the worries and excitements she was feeling at the idea of finally leaving home and going to school. She would ask her aunt about Africa, maybe even mention that her mother was doing well and that she missed her (would that be too much?). And, for a brief moment, she thought she'd even tell her friend about her dream about George and the mysterious other person. She really should. After all, who else could she tell?

Anita stood up from her desk.

That would all be later, though. Yes, she would worry about all that later. Right now, she had lemons to pick and a pie to make with Tufty. Then…then, she decided, she would write her letters.

The words she wanted to say would be there when she got back.