Who is Aurelia de Montclair? Solo

Snow keeps falling; dangerously heavy. Her head is already throbbing from the cold, her wiry and untamed curls cascading unceremoniously down her back as collected snowflakes decorated it as well as her knitted eyebrow. Sniffing a little, her deep brown eyes watched as the snowflakes slowly made their descent on the ground, coated with pristine white, as if a copy of a winter wonderland. They flutter like butterflies or dance gracefully like ballerinas from the heavens. Confused by that thought, her dark eyebrows creased to some degree as she stood in the middle of the grounds like a statue, the snow collecting all around her.

Aurelia remembered a particular Danish fairytale, illustrated by gazillion times; she knows that the story must have distorted into something different somehow. The Little Match Girl, it was called. It must have been cold for that girl, like it is for Aurelia today. Although the poor young girl is the most unfortunate compared to her, as the young badger did not fail to sell her matches and refuses to go home in fear of her father beating her up for not even earning a single penny; however, Aurelia was also a poor young girl with a dying hope. Hope of going home, as severe homesickness surged through her entire being once again like it did last month. Or the month before that. Or the month even before that.

The winter breeze whipped past her, a force of nature that caused her whole body to tremble, and she squinted her eyes as flurries also whisked her face lightly. Nevertheless, she did not move from her spot; she only shifted her weight to the side, her winter boots crunching the snow beneath her feet while she distractedly stared off into nothingness once again, already observing the way the large, tallest oak trees swayed slowly from the wind, dropping collected snow from their small branches, the gentle movement triggering the fall. Normally, she would have checked her surroundings in fear of snow falling right on her head, knocking her out, and then covering her corpse. She didn't, however. If someone could observe her from a distance, she would have been mistaken as a large, giant rock for standing so still out here in the cold.

Why is she out here, anyway? If it were all just a normal day, Aurelia would have conjured a logical reason on why a child should not be outside in this extremely cold weather. But it is February, her birth month, and when the young badger came upon the realisation that she would not be able to celebrate her birthday with her mother or at least in vibrant London, she decided she should take a walk and reconnect with nature, or else projectile vomiting is most definitely expected from her. The cosmopolitan city looked lively in February; the weather might be a little depressing, but it is all familiar. The young badger thought she was already getting used to the routine in Hogwarts, but the fact that there are important phases in her life where she wouldn't be able to spend it with her mum or even her birth city really did crumble her resolve to bits.

I could visit Professor Browne's office, tell him I can't withstand being away any longer and I would rather go home, Aurelia pondered to herself. Her nimble fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the loose threads of her Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around her neck, assessing her situation with a pursed lips at the moment. It would be the most hilarious, going back to the Muggle World as though nothing happened and she did not just learn spells and brew potions. Back to her mundane life. But then again, Aurelia inherently felt pity for muggles back at home, as they did not know how magic is kind of life-changing, distorts reality for the skeptics, and how it became the colour of her life. She'd rather be caught dead here than go back to that sort of mundanity. She'd rather her soul be submerged of the sickeing feeling of homesickness than be ordinary, just like that girl back in Croydon. Which was her, but only smart. Not magical.

Aurelia snapped her head up when she heard a hoot of an owl from a distance. Covering her eyes from the snow with her mittened hands as though an umbrella, a snowy owl can be seen flying towards her. At full speed. Before Aurelia could react, the white owl landed on her face as soon as the wintry breeze whipped past them so suddenly, also whisking away the owl like a force of a hand. “Ow!” Losing her balance, the young badger landed on her backside, surprised by the sudden feeling of cold and wetness from the snow. Clutching her face as she was initially convinced that she was going to be knocked unconscious from the impact, the snowy owl fixed itself, already standing upright before dropping a letter from its beak to her lap.

“You must be mistaken; I'm not expecting a letter,” Aurelia mumbled, brushing the snow from her hair and face; the confusion in her delicate face is very much evident. The owl hoots once more, tilting its head. As snow falls heavily like pressing down on her already throbbing head, Aurelia's mouth was agape as soon as she observed the snowy owl up close. A big Arctic owl, if she was not mistaken. It looks regal; it looks already owned by someone. This did not look like an owl one would generally see in a post office back in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley; the owl looked like it was taken care of and perhaps, already lived its life to the fullest. “Hey, this is not mine!” Aurelia called out as the owl immediately flew away. She picked up the rolled parchment—which was small, come to think of it—assessing it as though it were a bomb.

Meh. She might as well deliver it to the right person. In order to achieve that, though, she has to unroll the parchment and read it. Feeling like an outright terrible person already, her mittened hands opened the letter. The message was short, with a cream seal on the side, which is weird. Written in a light blue parchment, also torn, and—hmm—scented. She has never perceived that parchment can be sold scented, as she thought that only was sold in the Muggle World. And now she knows why the stupid owl mistook her for someone, as the letter clearly is not hers.

Aurelia,
You're a true de Montclair. I hope to see you soon, ma poupée.

Who is Aurelia de Montclair? She did not even expect to share the name with someone, as her mother only adored Latin. Sounds very foreign; however, Hogwarts does accept students, whatever the nationality is, as long as they live in England. Ma poupée means my doll, doesn't it, in French? Which is commonly used for daughters. Merlin forbade her from reading a personal letter between a parent and their child. Folding the scented parchment back up, she supposed she had to find this Aurelia de Montclair, whoever she is, as her owl clearly failed with its messenger job. The cold breeze whisked the ends of her winter cloak, and her deep brown eyes observed the sky once again. A storm is coming, that's for sure.