tanti auguri.
| E | ✧  ✧date. 27th of june 2025, late morning location. the Hestridge estate, just outside of Canterbury mentions. @Stella Bianchi  The whole house smelled like cake. It was late morning, a bit before the clock hands shifted up to noon, on a very special day — the 27th of June, the day of Esme and her cousin’s birthday. It wasn’t either of their actual birthdays, mind you. Esme actually turned eleven a day early and Stella would be turning twelve tomorrow, but by this point, it was tradition. In fact, when her Hogwarts letter arrived yesterday, and she saw it sitting pretty on the kitchen table when she came down for breakfast, Esme felt off. She didn't feel 11 yet. She could only feel the celebration, the laughter and sweets and presents, all approaching when she woke up a day after her actual date of birth. To all government officials and doctors, and now, to the Hogwarts faculty, she was born on the 26th; to anyone who mattered, her birthday was, is, and would be, on the 27th. Coconut and vanilla filled the air. Esme sat at a small table in the kitchen, watching her mother, Eleonora, touch up the frosting for the final time. It was Esme’s turn to pick cake flavors — a concession made partially because the Hestridges were hosting this year, but mostly because it was her year to start at Hogwarts — and she had gone with her favorite, angel food cake. The large windows let through plenty of sun, landing on the tile floor catching ecru colored buttercream, caught on the icing spatula Eleonora held with manicured hands. “They’re late,” came the soft voice of Thomas Hestridge as he entered the kitchen. Esme turned her ever watchful gaze to her father’s figure. He seemed tense; a little more stressed than usual. Esme attributed the nerves to the Hogwarts letter she knew now sat on her desk upstairs — as excited as he seemed to be over its arrival yesterday, perhaps the party was making the reality of his daughter growing up set in. No matter, whatever it might be, Esme dismissed, instead turning up to look at her mother’s face. “They are late,” Esme echoed, brow furrowing. Her father had brought her attention to the time — and her cousin’s family was, indeed, late by a few minutes. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, though was now mildly displeased with the fact, far too partial to routine and punctuality to be anything else. Suddenly sharing in her father’s apparent stress, her foot bounced up and down under the table restlessly. Eleonora tsked under her breath, patting Thomas’ cheek as he approached to wrap an arm around her waist. “Worrywarts, the both of you,” she commented, voice full of calm confidence. “They’ll be here. Now,” — her hand stopped moving, icing spatula put down gently as she looked at Esme, her tone shifting warm and playful — “this even enough for you, birthday girl?” Esme nodded, standing up and walking around the table. She slotted herself against her mother’s side, the one unoccupied by her father’s form, and looked over the cake. Two tiers stood tall — “Happy birthday, Stella & Esme!” looked back at her, iced in baby blue cursive by her mother’s own steady hand. Eleonora picked up her wand and with a quiet whisper and easy gesture, subtle sparkles began to dance and swirl on the surface, shifting from silver to blue to even a subtle indigo. Her mother stepped away after a few seconds of watching the effects of her magic, and walked to the counter to put the icing spatula with the other evidence of how the cake was made. It soon joined the frosting pipettes and bowls of buttercream with mixing spoons still in them in the sink, and Esme’s dad turned his attention to his daughter then. “Are you excited?” Thomas asked, ruffling her hair. Esme nodded again. “I’m really happy about Hogwarts, too,” she added. As if her getting accepted to the school was ever in question — still, she figured the reiteration, however obvious, would settle whatever tension she’d noticed her father hold before. Thomas just smiled. The clock hands continued to shift, and Esme opted to leave the kitchen before she let any nerves take further hold of her. Her feet carried her out, falling softly against the hardwood floors in the corridor. She lifted her eyes to the gallery wall there, eyes sliding lazily over the portraits and photos she had seen hundreds of times before, finding anyone from great grandparents she’d never met to her own face staring back. Her attention was caught by a photo of her father in her youth, arm slung around another man his age. Esme didn’t recognize the other man, but it wasn’t hard to guess where the photo was taken — both of them with scarves of blue and bronze slung around their shoulders, with silver badges at the chest. The photo moved, then, and the men’s wide smiles turned to laughter. The scene made Esme smile, enthusiasm once again starting up, tens of pairs of tiny butterfly wings fluttering in her stomach. Her time at Hogwarts would begin in only a few months. The sound of flames crackling loudly, followed by someone clearing their throat and footfalls, came from the living room, catching Esme’s attention. The butterflies calmed — her family was here at last. She rushed out of the corridor, joined by her parents as she swiftly walked past the expensive wooden chairs of the formal dining room and entered the room, eyes wide and scanning the people present. The living room was spacious. A burgundy silk sofa with a matching chair set and ornate rug centered the space, the walls taken up by paintings or floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The fireplace sat across the main sofa; old, though clean and well-maintained brick, arranged tall enough for comfortable floo travel. Her aunt and uncle, Concetta and Antonio, were already there, dusting off whatever powder or dust might have remained. Right as Esme, Eleonora, and Thomas entered, Stella was just stepping out of the green flames, and Esme felt her lips stretch into a smile. Esme’s mother moved forward with her arms open, wasting no time in hugging her sister; Esme’s father exchanged a firm handshake with Antonio, making some passing comment about business and "both their little girls, all grown up." Esme herself greeted her aunt and uncle, lingering by her mother’s side and Eleonora and Concetta started to chat, but her excitement was directed at Stella. She liked all her cousins, but Stella and her were the closest in age; besides, Esme hadn’t seen her in ages. At first it was because Stella was attending Hogwarts already — then because Stella wasn’t. Esme had half a mind to ask why she had been pulled out of school, but ultimately decided against it. She probably had entertained enough similar questions and from what Esme had heard and assumed, it was not a matter fit for the celebratory mood. Today was for birthdays: for laughter and presents and for buttercream frosting. “Stells,” Esme said, reaching to give Stella a one-armed hug. “Happy early birthday.”  wc. 1185 notes. title means happy birthday in italian. ✧✦✧ |
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thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
tanti auguri.
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| ───── | Every year, since before either of them could remember, Stella and her cousin had celebrated their birthdays together—a middle-ground party on the 27th, sandwiched neatly between Esme's birthday on the 26th and her own on the 28th. Stella didn't know which of their parents had suggested it, only that it had stuck, a lifetime of shared cakes and candles and joint photographs, each year taller than the last. For Stella, the 28th was her birthday in name only; in practice, it had always belonged to the 27th, to the day she and Esme shared, carrying the weight of laughter and celebration so well that the technicalities of calendar dates hardly mattered. One party, one cake, one wish split in two. This June, though, Stella was unable to shake the sense of nervous apprehension, a most strange emotion to be feeling on one's almost-birthday, as she spoke the Hestridge home address into her family's fireplace. The last time she had been here was the summer before the commencement of her first year at Hogwarts, when life still seemed to present itself full of promise to her. Stella had seen Esme quite regularly in those months, with the trip to and from London made simple via Floo... life had been simpler back then, in a way she hadn't known to appreciate. Now, stepping out of the fireplace of her cousin's living room, the memories of last summer flashed through her mind like vignettes: walks along the coast with Esme, golden afternoons spent on Uncle Thomas' boat, morning tea served in the garden. It was almost enough to make her forget about how much had changed since then, about the lonely few months in Scotland and the isolation that had followed her back home. How much did Esme know of it, Stella wondered as she brushed leftover Floo powder from the hem of her sleeve, brown eyes lifting to catch her cousin's smile from across the room. They hadn't seen each other since last August, before all that happened at Hogwarts; Esme had written once or twice, but each letter had sat open on her desk for days before she'd folded them away neatly into drawers. Even when the ache of shame mellowed out and the question of returning to school was raised, she still hadn't been able to bring herself to respond. For what reason, Stella couldn't say. Things were better now, she was better now—her tutor and therapist said as much, and she knew her parents thought so too (though she didn't entirely trust the measure of her own word yet), but what did Esme think? She didn't know what she'd expected to feel, coming back here, only that she'd been quietly bracing for the strained, awkward kind of politeness people used when they didn't know where to look or what to ask. Faced with her cousin in person, she was struck twofold with the fear that things would now be different between the two of them, that Esme would look at her and only see everything Stella had tried to outrun. But today wasn't about Hogwarts, she reminded herself firmly, nor the lack of her attendance there. Today was about birthdays. Not just her own, either—it was Esme's day too. She didn't want to bring down the mood or let her worries show, not when the room was already humming with the warmth of celebration. So she straightened her shoulders, willed her smile to reach her eyes, and crossed the room to join her parents in greeting the Hestridges, returning Esme's side hug with one of her own. "Stells," said the blonde, "happy early birthday." And it was that, the call of a nickname both warm and relieving in its casual nature, that somehow seemed to slot the world back into place with remarkable ease. Suddenly it seemed silly to have ever worried about things changing—after all, this was Esme, her favourite cousin and constant playmate since before she could remember, a friend who knew the shape of her moods without needing to be taught. Stella found her smile came completely naturally now, the tension finally slipping from her shoulders after a morning of nail biting and pacing. "Thanks," she responded, looking down—no, across at her cousin—when had that happened? "Happy late birthday," she added, echoing Esme's greeting with a teasing note in her voice. Examining the blonde again with curious brown eyes, she resisted the urge to pull her into another hug. A year's worth of separation was hardly noticeable in the physical sense—a little taller, yes—but to Stella it was like seeing a photograph come to life. There she was, her favourite cousin, the same as she'd always remembered, just as blonde and sharp and bright as she'd always been. "It's good to see you," she said simply. A gentle tap against her elbow drew her attention back towards their parents, who had begun to move from their side towards the corridor, glancing backwards at them between conversation topics as if indicating wordlessly for them to follow. Not wanting to be left behind, Stella looped her arm through Esme's and began to follow, head already turning to peek around the corner. "What's on the agenda today, then?" | ───── |
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| ───── | TAG..@ESME HESTRIDGE......NOTES..LMK IF YOU WANT ANYTHING CHANGEDSTA 5 EVA 9 STR 0 WIS 7 ARC 4 ACC 10.../ / /...SEER & WANDMAKER .ACTION..:..TALKING TO ESME ; FOLLOWING PARENTS OUT OF LIVING ROOM | ───── |
a nameless girl in the freshest summer greens, a saint, an angel;
tanti auguri.
| E | ✧ ✧mentions. @Stella Bianchi Esme’s eyes met Stella’s, and Esme couldn’t help the smile that tugged further still at the corners of her mouth. It was nice, to finally feel so at ease with someone else — as much as she appreciated her other playmates of high society, and held no animosity towards her other cousins, there was an ease to spending time with Stella. A kind of soft, mutual understanding, built just as much on blood and family ties as it was on gentle memories. The other kids her age she knew from events, or any of the older Bianchi kids she met once or twice in passing over the last year, simply did not compare to the peace of mind that Stella’s presence brought. “Thank you,” Esme wasn’t really aware of the chuckle that now split her lips, warm and soft and almost unnatural. She hadn’t felt this lightness since last summer spent with Stella, when every moment felt feathery, equal moments warm rain and rays of sun, fluff from dandelion wishes. She took the time to look at Stella, now — she seemed a little anxious, perhaps, though nothing Esme would call unexpected. Frankly, Esme had felt, along with her excitement, some mild apprehension as well. They had barely spoken over the past few months: to return to a tradition established over years of home-made cake felt a bit sudden after none of Esme’s letters received a response. Still, the girl in front of her was undeniably her cousin, with the same chocolate brown hair that felt down her shoulders in the softest of waves, and the same brown eyes and wispy lashes framing them. Really, the only difference since last summer was the tone of Stella’s skin — distinctly a bit brighter than usual for this time of year. That would be remedied soon enough, however; Esme was sure to drag Stella out of the house and return to their usual summertime traditions. She had already asked her mother to put up the hammocks in the garden again, and father had been going on and on about a trip out sailing for a few days now. Surely, her cousin would not be able to refuse something that had characterised their summers together before. “It’s good to see you, too,” Esme replied in kind, nodding with a bit more enthusiasm than she usually liked to show. Perhaps on a more usual occasion, too, she would have been able to bite her tongue, but she felt it not necessary with Stella. Instead, “I missed you,” the words fell from Esme’s lips as easy as breathing. Their arms linked together with a single, fluid movement, less practiced, yet somehow still more graceful than most things Esme did. She could have giggled, seeing Stella peek around the corner as they walked out of the living room, instead just allowing herself an all but shameless grin. The hallways of the estate were quiet still, the ornate rugs softening each footstep as they all walked towards the terrace. The summer sun permeated every large window and lit up the hickory hardwood floors until they almost glowed. The help had been dismissed for the day, so it was just the six of them in the house — still, the estate had never felt more alive, and Esme’s heart never more full and sated, than in these almost entirely silent moments of only hushed conversation and warm reunion. “Well, cake, first, of course,” Esme replied, nodding her head with utmost seriousness. “Then we open presents and eat in the garden. And I was thinking we might go out on the boat afterwards?” She proposed, observing her cousin intently. If the excitement in her demeanour hadn’t been visible earlier, it surely had to be now — her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and even though Stella was free to decline, Esme truly hoped she wouldn’t. It would be the first trip out to the water of the warmer seasons, and Esme was hoping to share it with her cousin after so long a separation. They stepped out onto the terrace, decorated with gentle blues and pink and white honeysuckles in full bloom. The weather was perfect, only a few clouds rolling by every once in a while, as if the sun, too, wanted both their families to enjoy the 27th. A table there awaited them — white wrought iron curving with pretty ornaments, set with just enough plates for everyone, cutlery as nice as the day outside was. The ice in a large pitcher of lemonade cast pretty shadows on the pristine table cloth. Thomas Hestridge stepped away, leaving to the kitchen to bring out the cake, and Esme felt the excitement traveling down to her fingers, one of her feet tapping with slight impatience on the tile. “Do you know if you’ll be in Italy much this summer?” She turned to Stella yet again. Perhaps it was a little selfish to wish for Stella to be staying in London. After all, to say Esme had no specific answer in mind would have been a lie — frankly, she wanted Stella to remain in England for the summer, so they could catch up often, with no restrictions such as the ones Hogwarts placed. Though no summer could be perfect, Esme had high hopes for this one. She wanted it to be the same as it had been before Stella left for her first year, golden memories and pearly laughter. It was shaping up that way, too; after all, with such a sweet start of coconut and vanilla air, what could go wrong? wc. 934 notes. none. ✧✦✧ |
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thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |