How the Wind Whispers PV Anastasia Beckett closed

Most problems which happened in Sarah’s life had one factor in common. In fact, it was almost always the root of the issue, everything leading back to her father. The man was stern and more stubborn than a hippogriff – a stubbornness which Sarah herself had unfortunately inherited. The two of them clashed, always had. It had gotten infinitely worse after her mother had died, her father sinking back into how he’d been before they’d met. For a girl so young, the Slytherin often understood far more than most, and she knew that it was grief, just how her father handled it.

If it had just been the stubbornness and mood swings, she had faith that she’d be able to handle it. She too was no stranger to an outburst of unjust anger or misplaced rage. But his constant meddling in her life – judging who she was or wanted to surround herself with, bad-mouthing her friends and strangers alike, and never listening to how she felt – was tiresome at best and downright infuriating at worst. Since starting her second year here at Hogwarts, she’d been threatened by her father in twelve separate owls, each one growing more frustrating as continuous threats of pulling her out of the school were made. Whether it was getting an A in Herbology despite her usual straight O’s, or going to the Fall Ball when he’d told her she couldn’t, there was always something he could give her grief about.

And it seemed today was no different.

She’d been enjoying her breakfast when the owls arrived, her father’s eagle owl dropping a wax-sealed letter before her and then proceeding to nip at her fingers until she opened it. Sarah knew she wasn’t going to like the contents of the letter, she never did when it came to her father, and was fully aware she’d regret ever opening the moment she did. But the nipping at her fingers had grown painful and she’d succumbed to opening the parchment. She’d buzzed in quiet rage for the rest of the day.

“What does he even expect me to reply with?” Sarah huffed later that day as she angrily kicked a stone across the courtyard with the tip of her boot. Her eyes took a moment to glance at the now crumpled letter in her grasp and she scoffed as the words came back to her – ‘you will’ and ‘already accepted’ at the forefront of her mind, a glaring reminder of the man’s disregard for her opinion. “You will go to the Gala. I’ve already accepted on your behalf,” She muttered, mimicking her father’s drawl as she kicked another stone, this time harder than she’d meant. She cringed. The wind seemed to grow harsher, seemingly sensing her mood as it became increasingly more irritated. Her words seemed to get lost in the breeze, carried away from her.

Worried that in her current mood she might accidentally end up kicking a rock at another student, she moved away from the small pile she’d been messing with and leant back against a tree. “Stupid prick and stupid gala,” She hissed, angrier about her father not asking her whether she actually wanted to go the Beckett New Year Gala rather than anything else. Apparently having it out with herself was the best she could do seeing as how she could only argue with her father so much before he made good of one of his threats. “Why would I want to go to some lousy party full of stuck-up bigots who’ve got nothing better to do with their lives than insult people,” She groaned. “As if I don’t have better things to be doing with my New Year than go to the Beckett's.”