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mentions. xx
notes. xx
song. I Just Don't Think That You Like Me That Much Anymore by Leith Ross
actions. xx
four sixteen p.m.
the Owlery.
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The Owlery was cold. Far too cold for a nice day like today. January 8th- Jrue's Birthday. She always looked forward to her Birthday. Not because she was greedy and liked presents, (she did like presents, however, every child did) and it wasn't because she was the center of attention. It was the joy of life. Of being there. It was ridiculously deep, but she loved the thought of it. She knew her parents would write her a letter. They had to, they were her parents. Who cares if they sometimes were lackadaisical in their effort. As she stood waiting for her parents owl, she hummed to herself, joyous of the new year she was entering.
The black owl swooped into the tower. She grinned, the bird perching on the stone railing beside her carefully, a harsh screech escaping from it's beak. She pried a little package with a letter attached to it out of the bird's claws, eyeing if softly. It must be something grand! It filled barely her palm, square in shape and wrapped in brown paper. She unfolded the letter softly, eyeing the following text:
Dearest Jrue, January 8th, 2026
I know It hasn't been very long since we saw you last. Our Christmas trip was such a splendid adventure, I've been looking back on pictures of it wishing time didn't move so fast. I can't believe it's been eleven years of being a mother. How wonderful. Your birthday is very soon, yes? I've enclosed ten galleons for you to spend on something. You'll probably waste it on sweets or lip gloss. Why must you purchase so much lip gloss?
Me and your father have fantastic news for you. I've been feeling very sick in the mornings. Not very fantastic, I know. But I've also been needing less blood than usual. You know what that means, right? The last time that happened was when I was pregnant with you...
You've probably figured it out by now... You're going to have a younger sibling! I am not very far along, perhaps just into my first month? It's a good thing I can't have mortal alcohol. I should've figured it out sooner, but it was only after you left that I had realized. Isn't it wonderful? You're going to have to take care of them, her, for me and your father during the Summers. You know how busy the Summers are for us both. I hope this isn't too surprising for you. I always wanted another daughter. We don't know the gender yet, but as soon as I find out I'll tell you.
We're thinking if it's a girl, which I am absolutely certain it will be, we'll name her Maebelle. And if it's a boy... we'll get there if that comes. My mother was the only one in her family lineage to have a boy, and with that she only had one. So I am very certain it'll be a girl. Your father thinks otherwise.
I hope you don't mind, we're taking over your room for the Crib and baby supplies. You're hardly home anymore, since you're attending Hogwarts full time. We'll put it all in the spare bedroom. You tend to spend all of your time in there anyways. I'll try not to snoop too much, you know how much I love doing that.
I'll be sure to send you a picture of the muggle ultrasound as soon as possible. You father says he's going to make you scrapbook them. You'll want to, yes? I know we said we didn't want to have anymore kids, but please believe us when we said we didn't want to have anymore kids. We love you so much, please never forget that.
Much love,
Your mother
Why would her mother decide to tell her today, of all days? This had to be a joke, right? She unfolded the brown container, wrapped in a small ribbon, to find the ten galleons sitting softly inside. A lump hitched in her throat. It was cruel. Why would her parents decide to have another baby? They always told her they would never. She didn't even want them to, they hardly spent time with her, the taking care of her done by her numerous nannies and sometimes her parents if they didn't have work.
Tears brimmed her eyes, falling down her cheeks softly. She covered her mouth, leaning on the railing as her bird chirped and squeaked. The salty tears were hot, then instantly cold, the outside air stinging at her nose.
So much for a Happy Birthday.
762/200
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