Letters Between Friends
Dear Lily,
I'm sorry I never got around to writing you. We're staying with a friend of hers. She's really nice, if a bit odd.
She has a daughter named Lilith who is our age. She's been rather cold to me. When I try to talk to her, she glares at me. I don't even know her, but she seems to not like me. I'll try to stay civil while we're here.
Mother is going to contact her family for assistance. Hopefully, we'll have a home soon. When that happens, you're definitely invited.
I await your next letter.
Sincerely,
Severus.
Family Relations
The letter was short and concise. Blunt and straightforward. She had bore her soul in few words and had even apologized. She had tried to spare her pride as much as possible.
She had written her parents.
They had written back.
The Princes or him. Just as short and concise as her letter had been. The Prince family spared few words. They'd spared little over her son. They'd welcome her back, no questions asked, all wrongs written, if she rid herself of her half-bred son.
Eileen stared at the letter, considering her options.
Quill in hand, she penned her reply.
Family Alliance
Charlus sneered at the letter. Sebastien DeLisle wished to talk alliances. He nearly burned it after reading that. What did this lowly French family have to offer the noble house of Potter?
Scowling, he continued reading. He paused at the mention of Lilith's mark. His daughter's soul mark wasn't a secret. It's placement in the middle of her forehead made it difficult to hide.
He finished the letter and called for a drink. A filled glass appeared on his desk.
Charlus considered his options and found he had none.
More information was needed. He wanted it directly from the source.
Magic
She had known magic before she had known magic. She had known it before she could name it. Living with Sebastien had awoken her to the realities of magic.
The house was small, yet large. Spatial magic, Sebastien had explained, enough for three additional rooms and a large sitting room.
She remembered her dress being perfectly sized, all her years at the convent. She recalled her bruises healing quickly, her pains disappearing. Sebastien explained it to be her magic.
She had felt her magic, had known her magic. Now she lived with her magic.
Thomasina never wanted to go back.
Fear
Petunia felt fear. The mark was small, centered in the middle of her chest, between her budding breasts. Easily missed unless she was naked. It had appeared one day and had never left.
She thought of the deep black marks on Lily's back. Lily had two, and their parents were beside themselves with worry and fear.
What were they? What did they mean? Why didn't they go away? Vicious scrubbing only brought tears, blood, and scabbing, yet they wouldn't disappear.
Her mark didn't match her sister's.
She scratched at it absently in bed.
Did this make her a witch, too?