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Date: August 28

Thoughts: Italic

Speech: Sample

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There was a window on the second floor of the semi-detached bungalow she now lived in. It was a modest and simple one — a box sash window painted a timeless off-white that overlooked the grass yard where her maternal grandmother's vegetable garden stood. Just beyond the yard was a quiet road, welcoming only a handful of passers-by a day. She believed those to be nearby neighbours, more often than not.

By this window stood a quaint coffee table with a mismatched pair of chairs. One dining chair made of chipping cedar wood, and a foldable chair made of light metal. The chair made of cedar wood had always been her favourite. It sat in the perfect angle to catch the warmth of the daylight, pleasantly warming the seat comfortably for its next user.

Every day since she began living here, Althea would sit by this window. There was quite a variety of stimulation and entertainment to derive from the comfort of this seat by the window. The beautiful sight of the garden being gently embraced by the morning sun’s rays, the rambunctious, carefree play of young children outside the fence or the yard after school, and the shuffling of neighbours back to their homes in the dim evening lighting. Whole days could be spent at this table, dazed and staring in stillness at time beyond the glass, as life went on for the world and its people.

Althea had taken to sitting here after her abrupt withdrawal from Hogwarts. She could barely recall that day, alongside most of the meagre time spent in her fourth year there. With some effort, there were bursts of sensations that still lingered — The sting of cooling soot from the floo, the crushing weight of the trunk held in the hands trembled violently with the weakness of sleepless weeks. Those memories dripped in the cold venom of regret and lost time, and if she attempted to reach further — There. A wave of comfort washed away the burn of decomposing memory landscapes, drawing her back into the sturdiness of the sun-kissed cedar wood that held her weight, as it had done from the very first day. The feeling of its surprising warmth had startled her at first, so much so that it engulfed the darkness that plunged ice and fire alike into her blood and soul, whole, and replaced it with the relief of a sturdy support for her trembling limbs. For the last two and a half years, since that day, until this present moment, the space by this white-painted, box sash window remained untainted by anything, and the chair continued to envelop her in the steady comfort that she had ached for.

The wisps of steam from the cup of chrysanthemum tea at her fingertips kissed her nose and cheeks. Althea stared at her quivering reflection in the light amber liquid.

It was truly unfortunate that there would not be a third year spent at this window. Not for a long time, she mourned, for she would be returning. Such a strange word, "returning". It felt like no such thing. At the end of the month, she would be making her ever fateful return — to Hogwarts, to her old life, to magic... and to the world that has progressed, turned, and moved on without her.

The decision had been vetted by her mind healer, Miss Feathersbea. Her godfather had been the one to coax her. With shaking hands still wrapped in cotton gauze and rough medical tape, Althea had been yanked and pressed back into the reality that she had pondered as a distant memory or longing thought. There was no life, if not tormented and graced with the endless movement of time. She would have no life if she did not embrace this test of time, as her godfather had stated.

August 28th, displayed on the Chinese calendar, hung upon the wall by the clock. It would not be long before summer holidays elapse, and it would not be long before she would grasp a wand and extend an olive branch to that defiant pool of magic that still dwelled deep in her blood. It laid dormant. It had lain dormant since her first day here by this window. It frightened her, at first. She had already been struggling with magic before her departure from Hogwarts, fumbling with the precious gift that worked with the ease of an arm or leg for many of her magical peers. How would she carry on, if without her magic, her birthright, her life?

Careful hands brought the teacup closer to her lips for a cautious sip of the fragrant tea. The memory of her first instance of magic is drenched in the very scent tickling her nose. She drew another long sip, when the liquid did not send her tongue reeling from the heat.

The answer to that question came unwittingly. It had been the day of her godfather's last successful treatment that prevented him from a life of permanent paralysis. Sitting there, on a mundane Friday night next to a sterile hospital bedside, with a napkin dampened with the physical weight of relief that she had not felt in a year crushed in her hands, Althea Valeden had almost found a pathway to temporary solace — she would simply never carry on. A life burdened by time and loss was a life unworthy of living. If she relinquished her grip and will to hold onto the fine sands of time, to let go of her magic, buried all of it deep in the sand bar at the shoreline separating reality and delusion... She would never heed the agony of loss or slipping time again.

“Thea?”

Althea stiffened. It would not do to reveal the extent of her wandering mind. She set the teacup down. A response dredged from her syrupy mind began crawling up her throat, but thankfully, her godfather proved to be faster in finding her, her ever hero.

Charles Diaz had always been built with the build of an athlete. Broad shoulders, a height that intimidated, and strong hands. Yet, the dazzling smile that graced his lips eliminated any doubt of his warm and loving soul. Two years ago, Althea had mourned the unmarred smile of her godfather when the man’s wounds recovered and left his upper lip scarred in jagged edges from burning debris. She had been so foolish. There was no physical scar or wound that could ever diminish the love and light that every look, smile, or sentence of his conveyed.

A playful tap to her forehead pulled her back into the present.

Althea blinked at the cardboard box now floating at her eye level. Dust clung to the paper skin, scratches prominent on its sides. The spell lifted its hold, allowing the box to land lightly at the foot of the coffee table. She glanced at it, reaching down suspiciously to lift the flaps. One flap without any jinx, charm, or curse flung. The other flaps gave way with similar lacklustre results. With the last flap being lifted aside, the sight of stacked books greeted her. Her nose twinged at the cloud of dust that had taken flight at her unboxing, and she waved it away.

“It was shoved under your bed. See, your Nan wanted me to toss it in the bin,” Charles trailed off, tucking his wand behind his ear with his free hand. Althea’s confusion doubled.

“So… why didn't you? It's all dusty.”

Her godfather chuckled at her wrinkled brows, lifting his hand up in a joking display of innocence. “Look, look, I had a gander through some of it, and even though I think I discovered a new dust allergy— I thought whether this belongs in the bin should be up to you, Thea.” Althea glanced at the dusty stacks of books in the box again, suspicion rising in her. Was this some sort of prank? Her godfather had always been a sort of practical joker, though his tools for mayhem did not usually include a worn cardboard box.

Charles carried on despite her silent judgement, “Plus, I really do think it'll help you settle back into the idea of school, I think.” She lifted her head to face her godfather, only to be rendered absolutely struck by the sentimental fondness that had melted away his usually beaming grin into a soft, gentle expression. The unfamiliar shocked her so utterly that she barely felt herself nod in her dazed stupor.

At her dumbfounded nods, the regular grin returned in full strength. “That's my girl! Now, you tell me what you think afterward, 'kay?” Althea grumbled when her hair was tussled as if she were a child again, faintly wondering how a man in recovery could be so persistent and energetic.

With a pat to her shoulder, steadier than a year ago, Althea was left alone once more. The sun was setting beyond the window, the fading sunshine darkening into rays of deeper amber that coated the coffee table and her teacup in gold.

She gently kicked a foot at the box, which resisted with barely a shuffle from where it sat by her feet. It was heavy, with the items within thudding in muffled tones at each tap to its side. She wondered what could be so important that her godfather had saved it for her with such mystique.

The tea had cooled by the time Althea returned her attention to it. She glanced to her side, beyond the glass, out at the garden and across the street outside the fence, as she had done so many times before. The glass panels of the window began creaking in the evening winds. The sound started soft, infrequent. She had expected it to fall silent, soon. After all, most things passed her by, by this window. Yet, the creaking grew louder than a whisper, stringing together into a consistent tune in the winds. It reached a crescendo at some point, yet continued to sing this melody. It was… new. Different.

The last of the tea slid down painlessly. The cold liquid sent a thrum of awareness through her being, and she felt a mild shiver travel down her spine. The dimming daylights had begun to bring back the amber glow of day, and in the murky dark, the turn of time’s tide was revived. Althea stood, staring down at the cardboard box by her feet. She supposed rummaging through the box could not bring any harm.

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Althea stared blankly at the dusty cardboard box that she had carried back to her room. It had been heavy, with its contents flopping and jostling within in protest to her unsteady grip on its tearing handles. When she had finally plopped the box down on her bedroom floor and gingerly sat on the wooden floor to face it, Althea realised she had no idea what exactly she was supposed to do with this box. There was truly no easy way to investigate something so vaguely introduced to her. The contents of the box were supposedly something that would “help her settle back into school”, but those were the exact words her godfather had said when he suddenly ordered her a pot of self-correcting ink a few weeks prior.

Althea stared for another moment, then breathed out a sigh of defeat. A box only had one point of entry, so she might as well start there. Gently rubbing her temple, she used one hand to reach for the flaps of the cardboard box. The slide of dust on her fingers almost made her recoil immediately, but as soon as those layers of cardboard were peeled away, her eyes landed on a sheet of paper that lay atop the stack of items below. Leaning closer, she reached for it. The paper was approaching a shade of dull yellow from age, and it was carefully folded at the centre. There were small ridges covering the entirety of its folded surface, suggesting that it had been written on. Had it been folded to conceal the written contents of the paper? She unfolded the page. She nearly dropped it immediately, at the first line:

“To my dearest Althea,” written in her familiar father's cursive.

Althea had to remind herself to breathe. She read on.

“Yesterday was the 29th of October; your fifteenth birthday. How time has flown, that my little daughter who had left for Hogwarts is now a young lady. I can hardly believe it, even as I sent you off after the last summer vacation.”

She had not known her father had written this. Her fifteenth birthday… 29th of October… This must have been her fourth year, after she had already left home for the school year – Before the accident. She had not known this existed. Where did this come from–

“Thea, you're growing up faster than I can ever imagine, and I? I am starting to get old. Did you know that I found 2 strands of grey hair this morning? I thought I was dreaming! I am not getting any younger, see, and after chatting with your godfather, he and I both decided that it's not very fair that I keep everything to myself now that you're older. These journals and diaries, they don't deserve to be tucked away to rot away…”

Althea set the letter down then, her hands weak with a tremor as she reached to pull the box closer to herself. Within the cardboard, leather-bound books of various colours and sizes were neatly arranged and lined up to rest atop one another. Each book had creased pages within its leather covers that were smeared with ink on its corners and covers. They were evidently well-loved, even as they were used quite frequently from the slightly uneven pages that failed to close in perfect uniform flatness. Althea traced her fingers down the wrinkles on the leather spines of one of these books. What secret could possibly be hidden within these that her father treated them like a treasure and a secret too dangerous to be left out in the open?

Althea reached into the box to pull out the book that she had been inspecting earlier, carefully removing it from the tightly-packed line of leather-bound books. It looked the oldest out of all of its counterparts, the maroon colour of the dyed leather cover having faded into a dull shade closer to brown, and the paper bound within yellowed from age and spotted with brown. Yet, it seemed the most beloved. Its front cover was adorned with careful, visible ink in the shape of delicate flowers ingrained into the leather.

Althea opened the book to its front page, and she gasped as soon as she did so. Her widened eyes traced the neat, unfamiliar writing at the top of the front page, disbelieving.

“To my most beloved and precious daughter, Althea Valeden,”

“From your loving mother, Li Hui Zhu.”

Althea flicked her gaze below the writing on the page, and her breath caught at what was below it. It was a magical photograph, showing a couple embracing on the balcony overlooking a beautiful view of a flower field. The couple was young, bright with vitality as they smiled and laughed affectionately in the photo. Her parents. Her father looked far younger here than she ever recalled him to be, his face free of the wrinkles now drawn on his skin. In his arms, her mother. Althea felt a prickling sensation in her eyes. She had only seen her mother in one single photo in her entire life – a Muggle photograph of her parents’ wedding day. It was packed away soon after she left to attend Hogwarts, and after her father moved them to London for easier access to the wizarding sites in the city, she never saw it again. She could faintly recall it, however, having stared at it for hours on end imagining her mother's voice. The sight of a beautiful lady smiling sweetly with her bridal bouquet held playfully by her face, and that image returned in full clarity now, as she faced that photograph pasted carefully on the book. She was beautiful, even as her face was bare of flattering make-up and her figure freed from a decorated wedding dress. A simple blue blouse, her wavy hair the same shade as Althea's own, let down to lay over her shoulders. How could she forget that face?

When she was finally able to tear her eyes away from the happy faces of her parents, Althea spotted something. The photographed couple's eyes were fixed on only one thing in the rewinding sequence. Cradled lovingly in her mother’s arms was an infant, dressed warmly in a flower-patterned blanket. She knew her own face from her grandparents’ own collection of her childhood photographs that was used to tease her for so long. The sheer love and adoration that her mother held in her eyes as the woman gazed at her infant self made Althea’s heart ache. She had never doubted that her mother had loved her, her father and all of her family had all firmly affirmed the fact since she could remember and speak the question. Yet, seeing it depicted so vividly, with such life and sincerity in this photograph… It was as if an emotional balm was slathered onto gaping wounds left unnoticed, soothing that silent, buried part of her that longed for her mother’s love and approval.

Unable to contain her yearning to read deeper into these books, to find out more of what she had lost but not once healed, Althea steeled her resolve and turned the page.

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