Chapter two
Needless to say, the September morning that saw me separated from both my brother and my dearest friend was one of the worst of my life. I wasn't permitted to go to the station to see them off; side-long apparation was too difficult for my mother, my father was going directly to work from the station, and there was no question about getting a cab in Muggle London. Ever.
While I waited for my parents to get home, I wrote two letters- one for my brother, but before that (and far more importantly) I wrote to Antonin. Truth be told, if I wasn't mistaken, he was the tiniest bit apprehensive about beginning school. There was no question that both he and my brother were to be in Slytherin, but really, the classes and all of that seemed like they would be pretty overwhelming at first- at least to me.
Maybe assuming that Antonin actually felt emotions like fear was just my defense mechanism as to not feel too far inferior to him.
Anyway, that letter went in the following rather awkward manner:
Hello, Antonin.
I hope that you're having a good time at Hogwarts. Things are boring here without Amycus. And I think that Tuesday is going to be lonely without you here like you usually are. Have you hexed any Muggle-borns yet?
Sincerely,
Alecto
I decided to send it later on in the day, figuring the train might take a while to reach the school, and spent the rest of the time waiting for my parents writing various other drafts of that letter. In the end, though, the first still seemed most suitable.
That first week of Antonin's absence, my mother reprimanded me often for "looking too pouty". I'd taken to staying in my room most of the time; I wrote him daily, and my brother sometimes, too. It was a fairly lonely existence, and I wasn't sure how much more I could take of it.
Luckily, my mother- blind to my feelings as she could occasionally be- was able to sense my need for companionship, somehow. She began inviting over other girls my age over, Pureblooded girls from wealthy families who would make suitable friends. When compared to Antonin, though, I found most of them dull and insipid. Then I met Lorraine Wilkes, and I finally had discovered another friend.
It was Lorraine who I first told of my longing to see Antonin again. As a result, she talked me out of writing him daily. Actually, Lorraine told me a lot of things that year about how I should act toward him. On her advice, I started being less friendly in my letters when I occasionally did write.
At first, I felt bad, particularly when he wrote me back in the same curt tone I'd begun to use. I only got a handful of letters, most of them with graphic descriptions of a hex he'd learned, or other things I didn't want to hear about so much as I wanted to hear about him and how he was doing... But apparently, once you got to Hogwarts, it seemed there was so much school work friendship was hardly more than a "hello" in the hallways.
"Alecto," Lorraine sighed one day, "You're thinking about him, aren't you? You always get this faraway look in your eyes when that stupid Dolohov boy is on your mind."
Her mother went through men like one might change one's shoes, so it wasn't surprising the attitude had rubbed off on the daughter.
"Of course I'm thinking about him," I replied coldly. "He just wrote me this morning. It's hard not to think about him when I've only just been reminded that he still exists."
"Just because a man exists doesn't mean he's good for you," she pointed out, rolling her eyes.
I flipped over on my bed to look at her sitting on my rug. "Lory, I don't think you get it. He's my friend."
"So am I, and you don't think about me every minute of every day."
"That's different." I was getting tired of this conversation.
"Sure, whatever you want to think."
As opposed as we were in our views of things, she was my sole confidante for as long as I had no one else. I was grateful for her friendship, as much as she would tread on my toes- more than once it crossed my mind that I really only formed relationships with people who bothered me. It was a funny thing, really.
Still, I missed Antonin more than anything. I put his letters in a box, and would open it just to savour his rain-and-grass-and-cinnamon smell sometimes. I read them over and over until I'd memorized every word, every stroke of his pen... I'd imagine him sitting in his bed, or else lounging on a couch in the Slytherin common room, writing to me or reading what I'd written him.
Had I been honest with myself, I might have been heartbroken by the fact that he probably wasn't half as enthralled about hearing from me as I was with hearing from him. As it was, I clung to my childish imaginings, waiting for the summer holidays and the day that my Antonin would return to me.