Petunia Dursley clutched her nephew Harry's letter tightly in her hands, the paper crinkling slightly as her husband, Vernon, animatedly discussed the recent windfall his company had secured with a prominent construction firm. The name of the woman involved and the town—Sunshyne Shoals—was utterly foreign to her, highlighting that he had no reason to assume the Snape boy would impart any valuable information to her.
"Petunia, are you even listening?" Vernon's voice cut through her thoughts, slightly irritated.
"Yes, Vernon," she replied, forcing a smile as she tried to focus on his words. "When will you be leaving to oversee this project?"
"Mid-August at the earliest, early September at the latest," he responded confidently, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.
"And how long will you be gone?" she pressed, trying to mask her rising concern.
"A year, maybe two," he said nonchalantly as if discussing the weather.
"What?! You'll be away for two years?!" Her voice rose in shock, incredulity etched across her face.
"Ah, we'll be away for two years. The company will cover our living expenses," he reassured her, waving a dismissive hand.
"Oh. A two-year-long vacation would be nice," Petunia mused aloud, her mind wandering to sunny beaches and lazy afternoons. "Where did you say it was again?"
"Sunshyne Shoals," Vernon replied, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he envisioned the potential adventure ahead.
Byllie glared at the chaotic cluster of papers strewn across her bedroom floor, each telling a story with fragmented drawings of her two best friends and two girls who had become adversaries for various reasons.
The first drawing drew her gaze: Regina Giovanni.
Byllie studied her sketch, its lines capturing the essence of Ginna vividly, even in black and white. Ginna had long, luxurious curls that shimmered like spun gold in the sunlight, each cascading gracefully around her shoulders. Her small pearl-grey eyes, often hailed as strikingly beautiful or chillingly distant, possessed an enigmatic quality; from a distance, they took on a mesmerizing blue hue. Her sun-kissed skin, a warm tan from endless afternoons basking in the sunlight, contrasted with her intense, defined chin and classically Greek nose. Full lips graced her face, giving her an inviting charm without suggesting she had matured too quickly into adulthood.
Byllie had crafted the drawing as a heartfelt gift for Ginna's sweet sixteen, a token of their friendship. Yet, when their bond fractured, Ginna had returned it in tatters, each shredded piece a painful reminder of what they once shared.
Determined to reclaim that memory, Byllie painstakingly taped the drawing back together, holding onto it with the hope that someday Ginna might come to her senses and reclaim this piece of their past.
Turning her attention to a collection of sketches littered across the floor, Byllie found herself staring at the numerous depictions of Anne.
Roseanne Reagan.
Anne's long, wild, beach-wavy hair tumbled around her face in an untamed fashion, its inky blackness strikingly contrasted against the bright backdrop of their village. Her large, light, lavender eyes—a rarity in their small community—held a hypnotic allure, drawing the gaze of anyone who dared to meet her look. Anne's chalk-pale skin seemed impervious to the sun's rays, never acquiring even the faintest hint of a tan, creating a stark contrast with the sun-kissed warmth of Ginna's complexion. Her nose, snub-shaped and playful, complemented her thin lips that rarely curved into a smile.
Despite Byllie's earnest attempts to distance herself from Anne, her presence lingered like a shadow, hovering just outside the realm of her consciousness.
Their shared childhood had intertwined their lives, creating more profound bonds than those she had with her own brother or Anne's connection with her cousin.
The reasons behind the rifts that had formed were as starkly different as the girls themselves.
One rupture arose from the intricate web of social politics that often played out amongst their peers, while the other stemmed from a tumultuous rivalry over romantic interests.
As Byllie pondered the nature of friendship, it struck her how strikingly similar the two girls were despite their differences.
Each was stubborn, bratty, and proudly arrogant in her own way.
Yet an invisible thread connected them, a link Byllie struggled to identify.
Was it the village they called home?
Was it her own presence that entwined their fates?
Or was it a more profound, as-yet-unrevealed truth waiting to unfold?
Perhaps, she mused, the answer lay within her...
In a bid to escape the heavy feelings weighing on her, Anne kept herself busy—immersing herself in work, lending a hand to Ned as he moved into a new place, supporting Jopie with her studies, assisting Uncle Norman with repairs around the house, and even helping Aunt Natalie manage various tasks in town. Each activity was a distraction, a way to avoid confronting the unsettling thoughts about Byllie and the ominous predictions that loomed over her.
One day, in search of comfort, Anne joined Aunt Natalie at her book club, where the month's selection was the beloved Little Women.
As the women gathered, their chatter filled the air with warmth and familiarity, but it quickly turned to gossip about their families—stories of husbands and children that felt trivial to Anne. Each lighthearted exchange made her feel increasingly disconnected, reinforcing her desire to steer clear of marriage and motherhood, at least for now.
On the walk home, Aunt Natalie animatedly spoke of Mrs. Drakos' hopes for her son to meet a nice girl and settle down while trying to draw Anne into the conversation.
"Annie, are you listening to me?" Aunt Natalie asked, glancing at her with concern.
"Hmm?" Anne replied, momentarily pulled from her thoughts. "What did you say?"
"Albert Drakos—his mother wants to invite our family for dinner one night," Aunt Natalie continued, her voice brightening.
Anne shrugged, a sense of indifference creeping in. "I don't care," she muttered quietly. "As long as Uncle Norman agrees."
"What's on your mind, κόρη?" Aunt Natalie asked softly, her tone filled with compassion as she sensed her niece's inner struggle.
"Byllie," Anne responded, her heart heavy with confusion.
"Byllie," Aunt Natalie repeated gently, acknowledging the name like a whispered secret shared between them.
"Who says something like that to someone and simply disappears? It doesn't make sense to me," Anne expressed, her voice tinged with pain and frustration.
"Maybe you should talk to Byllie," Aunt Natalie suggested, wanting to nudge her niece toward healing gently.
"She should be the one talking to me!" Anne exclaimed, her heart breaking at the thought of their fractured connection.
"Then make her talk to you," Aunt Natalie encouraged, her voice steady and comforting, urging Anne to step toward closure and understanding, knowing that the connection could bring solace.
Anne lay comfortably in her bed, the cozy warmth of her blankets enveloping her like a protective cocoon. She was absorbed in the pages of her favorite book, *White Oleander, a poignant gift from Aunt Natalie for her birthday the previous year. The novel's lyrical prose captivated her, particularly the complex relationship between the main character, Astrid, and her mother. This connection resonated deeply with Anne, reminding her of her profound affection and respect for her mother.
Unlike Astrid's turbulent ties with her mother, Ingrid, Anne knew her mother, Renée, was nothing short of selfless—a constant source of love and support. Still, Anne found her mind drifting away, feeling a slight heaviness in her heart as she recalled her friend Byllie, whom she hadn't spoken to in months. The memory of Byllie's cryptic dream lingered like a dark shadow in her thoughts.
How could Byllie disappear after unleashing such mysterious words?
Who did she think she was?
The urge to confront her friend, to demand a complete understanding, surged within her.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out from upstairs, jolting Anne from her reverie.
"Anne!"
Her heart quickened with curiosity as she quickly donned her plush, oversized bathrobe, the fabric soft against her skin, and hurried up the stairs. Entering the kitchen, she was met with the sight of Byllie, a striking vision with her wild red hair, standing by the back door. Byllie's expression was intense, a mixture of determination and worry. Beside her stood Boecio Kazileris, a tall, lean figure with confidence, and Uncle Norman, who offered a supportive presence, his hands resting on the countertops.
Byllie was dressed in a vivid green shirt that contrasted with her fiery locks, form-fitting blue jeans, and casual flip-flops, giving her an effortlessly stylish yet relaxed appearance.
Her heart quickened with curiosity as she quickly donned her plush, oversized bathrobe, the fabric soft against her skin,and hurried up the stairs. Entering the kitchen, she was met with the sight of Byllie, a striking vision with her wild red hair, standing by the back door. Byllie's expression was intense, a mixture of determination and worry. Beside her stood Boecio Kazileris, a tall, lean figure with confidence, and Uncle Norman, who offered a supportive presence, his hands resting on the countertops.
"Uh, what's going on?" Anne asked, furrowing her brow as she surveyed the situation unfolding before her.
"Meghan and Boecio want to speak with you," Uncle Norman said, his voice calm and measured as he placed a reassuring hand on Anne's shoulder. The warmth of his touch offered her a sense of comfort, but unease still bubbled beneath the surface.
"I brought Kaz as a mediator," Byllie said quietly, her tone sincere yet tinged with apprehension. "Can we talk outside?"
"Not," Anne replied, her voice firm as she crossed her arms defiantly, protecting her space, "a chance."
"Anne," Uncle Norman said gently, squeezing her shoulder to show his support.
"Anne," Byllie repeated, her voice taking on a pleading note as she struggled to find the right words amidst her swirling thoughts.
'Come to tell me of another vision of me engaging in self-mutilation?!'
'Anne, i-'
Suddenly, Byllie fell silent, caught off guard by the moment's urgency. Anne scowled, her irritation growing, and threw her hands up in frustration. "Go up, thou redhead. Go up thou redhead."
"Anne!" Uncle Norman scolded.
Byllie turned to her and scowled, and replied, 'But the lord sent them prophets to bring them back to him. The people mocked the messagers and despised their words.'
'Beware of the false prophet who comes to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.' Anne shot back.
'Guys.' Kaz said looking between them before turning to Byllie. 'You said you wanted to Anne face to face, now talk.'
'Whats going on here?!' Byllie asked as she looked between Kaz and Anne.
'None of your business!' Anne flared.
'Meghan,' Uncle Norman said gently, 'say what you have to say.'
Byllie hesitated, gathering her resolve, "i just wanted-' she stopped. 'my birthday is coming up—"
"Yes, I remember," Anne interjected, her mind flashing back to the shared laughter and joyful celebrations of years past.
Their birthdays fell in the same month—Anne's on the 1st and Byllie's on the 17th—leading them to celebrate together since childhood, a tradition fostered by their mothers, who had shared a deep friendship.
"Would you... come?" Byllie asked, her eyes wide and hopeful, desperation tingeing her voice as she sought Anne's support.
"Your birthday's not for another—it's May!" Anne exclaimed, bewildered by the rush of emotion her friend was displaying.
"Please? I can't turn 21 without you," Byllie pleaded earnestly, her voice trembling with sincerity and longing.
"Of course, it would be rude to say no," Anne replied.
"Good," Byllie beamed, relief flooding her features as they stood.
Harry had spent countless hours scribbling letters to his Aunt Petunia, each one filled with hope and anticipation, but it wasn't until now that her response had finally arrived. As he held the letter in his hands, he hesitated, staring at it as if the words within might leap out at him. Taking a deep breath, he carefully peeled open the envelope, revealing the neatly folded sheet of paper inside.
Aunt Petunia wasted no time on niceties; her words were brisk and to the point. She mentioned that she did not know anyone by the name of Renée Reagan, but informed him that Uncle Vernon had some business to attend to in a place called Sunshyne Shoals in August.
A thrill of excitement coursed through Harry, making his heart race—this was the breakthrough he had been waiting for! The thought of finally tracking down Renée Reagan and her child filled him with determination.
"What about your uncle?" Hermione's voice broke through his reverie, a note of concern lacing her words.
Suddenly, Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach; he hadn't considered Uncle Vernon's role in all of this.
"Maybe Aunt Petunia..." he trailed off, a new idea forming in his mind. "Perhaps I could ask him if I could tag along."
"Do you really think he'd say yes?" Ron asked, skepticism evident in his tone.
"I have to ask," Harry replied firmly, his resolve strengthening.
Amidst the whirlwind of thoughts, Ron's expression shifted, and he added, "Ginny wants to talk to you."
Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. "About what?" he wondered aloud. He glanced over at Hermione, who asked, "Did she say what about?"
Ron shrugged, looking just as clueless. "I dunno, but she did mention something about your future together."
Harry's curiosity piqued. "Did she say anything to you about this?" he pressed Hermione, who shook her head in response. "What could it possibly be about?"
"Maybe she wants to get married," Ron suggested, his tone half-joking.
"Realistically, she probably wants to get a place together," Harry countered, his mind racing at the implications.
"That will eventually lead to marriage," Ron continued, a teasing glint in his eye.
"Ronald Weasley, are you proposing to me?" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks flushing with surprise.
In that moment, Ron's face turned crimson, and Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. "It's probably nothing," Hermione added, her laughter joining Harry's as they all shared a lighthearted moment amidst the tension of their unfolding adventure.