All Of Our Yesterdays solo

Maisie eagerly awaited the brown school owl that will drop off the parcel her mother sent her every week. Usually, it consisted of letters from everyone and home-made treats wrapped in brown butcher's paper. She would then read each word hungrily, eager to know what had happened in the seven days since the last parcels.

What she didn't expect, on that cold, rainy October day, was for her world to collapse right then and there, in the owlery, in her black plain robes and knitted sweater that her mother had sent three weeks back.

The owl came through the open window, and dropped the brown parcel in her open arms. She sat down in a corner and untied the coarse string eagerly. Inside the first layer of brown paper were three envelopes on top of a paper box. She carefully opened the box of treats and saw two slices of treacle tart, lots of shortbread cookies and a log of fifteens.

Her favourite desserts. Her favourite time of the week.

She closed the box and put it on the stone floor, reaching for the first of the three envelopes. She recognized the handwriting as her oldest brother, Martin's.

Dearest sister,
How are you? Merlin, sometimes I wish to be back at the castle, they really are some of the best memories I have.

Auror training is intense, and it's hard work, so I don't have much time to write. I'm writing this between trainings, so bear with me if the writing gets messy.

Maisie, I know usually we talk about light hearted stuff, but this is really important: Millie's not well, she's really ill again. Mum and Dad are worried, and I'm gonna be frank with you, Maisie, I am, too. Dad took her to St. Mungo's, but they just gave her potions. She has Dragonpox. Golly, Masita nickname, could you believe that? Mum and Dad are anxious. The potions don't seem to work. So far...they haven't had much news from the hospital that the pox is leaving her system.

We're trying our best to stay strong, you should, too. We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to worry. But I think it's about time you knew. She is your-- our-- younger sister, after all.

Stay strong, eat Chocolate Frogs, and do well in your lessons!

Your favourite brother,
Martin.

The paper was coarse in her hands, crumpled from being stuffed in his pocket when he trained. His writing was still a bit wobbly -- he had broken his wrist during training two months ago.

Her sister was sick. Her youngest sister, that little ray of annoying sunshine was ill. But- her little sister had always been ill, and she always always got better. She will get better this time, she must get better. She would, wouldn't she?

Trembling, she stuffed the letter back in its envelope and opened the second one, with the messy, printed handwriting only able to belong to that of a child's.

Big sis,
Hi Maisie! It's me, Maddy. How are you? I'm fine.

Maisie, Mill's sick. Did you know it? Mama sent you a letter, didn't she? She told me not to tell you anything till now. Mais, I'm scared. Everyone's saying she can't be treeted treated. Mais, will that be the case? Surely someone in the world will know how to treat her! It's Dragonpox, but don't people recover? They gave her potions. Maisie, I don't want to say this, but she looks awful. I'm afraid to be near her. I'm not allowed in the same room she is. Mama is afraid I'll get it. Mais, they're talking of sending me to mam-gu's grandma's . I love her, but how do I bear being far from my little sister? There was a shooting star last knight night, I saw it through the windows! Don't Tell Mama I was awake past my bedtime. I couldn't sleep! I made a wish: For Millie to get better. I need a friend when you're gone! You'll be gone for a year!

Please tell me that she'll get better.

Your favourite sister (hopefully),
Maddy.

What was more heart-wreching than her little sister's letter, she didn't know. She could imagine the little girl's voice, getting higher and higher the more she worried. She always had that habit, of having a high voice when she felt danger. Her face was getting hot, and moisture was beginning to appear on her eyes. She didn't even notice her tears-- big hot tears-- to fall on the parchment with her little sister's crossed out messy words. Merlin, what she wouldn't give to be with her family at that time.

The rain was getting heavier and heavier, dropping down and splattering the stone near the windows, mist spraying her, as she sat, on the cold, cold floor, her knees to her chest, the snack-box discarded.

She didn't have it in her to put the letter back in its envelope, she placed it on the floor, as she reached for the last letter, with her name neatly written on the top-- the handwriting of her mother's.

Dearest,
I know your sister and brother probably already sent you letters regarding this, but I also have to say it to you. That's only right, I have to deliver you the news. Your little sister, Millie, has Dragonpox. We're not sure if the potions are working. Your father is taking some time off work, and I am, too. We're trying to get her all the care we can. I will be taking her to Romania. I hear they have some kind of potion that would work. I might have to send Maddy to your grandmother's, I don't know if she'll be happy though. Do your best to tell her to go. It's safest for her. I can't lose Maddy as well as Millie, if things take a turn. I can't lose three children. You know she has Cystic Fibrosis, but the healer said it would not help with the Dragonpox . In fact, it even messes with the treatment. She needs spells and potions by the hour just to breathe. How do I see my child in pain? It's agony to me!

But don't worry about us, worry about yourself. How are you? Are you wearing the sweater I sent you? It's getting rather cold, so don't forget to wear some more. Don't indulge yourself in the snacks, eat it slowly. Share. Things are better shared. Please, don't worry about us. Things would go as they would go. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be. Your sister still has a breath, and while that, she is still fighting.

Mum.

Maisie- Dad here:
Don't do anything rash. You can't help matters if you go and blow the castle up or whatever. Avoid trouble, there's too much to deal with now. I know it's hard on you too, but stay strong, and DON'T go messing the castle up. Love you, your father.

The letter slipped from her hand after she read the last words, and she leaned back on the stone wall. The owlery, as she first noticed, was cold. Colder than she usually noticed, not that cold was what she first thought when she went to get her much anticipated letters for the week. The earthy moisty stone smell was nice, really, but she knew she ought to move, yet right now, right then and there, sitting curled up on the cold stone floor in her warm soft sweater, though she was so shivering cold, was the only thing she could do, as she tried to not break apart while her world-- the one she was so used to living in-- collapse into smithereens.

Her sister, and all of their yesterdays, might be gone one day. She might have only one sister one day. She might lose another sister one day.

Her eyes caught sight of a pressed flower in the bottom of the parcel paper, a primrose. Millie's favorite. She picked it up, but her grasp was too rough for such a delicate thing, and the petals broke off, turning into dust as they now lay in her palm, just like her hope, gone. And all along, the rain pounded heavily. Heavily.