@Cassius Hirano
✿❀✿
@Mercy King
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9:40 AM
Spetember 1st, 2025
Wimbledon, London |
Time slipped around her like water, a current that rushed forward and never stopped. It was dizzying, so different from how she used to view things. She used to feel that time moved too slowly. That it was like molasses, slow and sweet. She always thought there were too many hours in a day, too many minutes in an hour.
She’d complain to her mother, tugging at her skirts, wishing for everything to just be
faster. Though now she feels rather foolish, the clock is ticking down. She’s blinking and days are flying by faster than she can comprehend.
After Atreus turned 11, it seemed like Time woke up. Late to the party and determined to catch up. She felt like a music box, wound up too fast and let loose; a discordant melody.
It was even worse when July came, already the month displeased her. Heat and humidity were her worst weaknesses, Atreus insisted, even if her mother proclaimed she was ‘blessed’ with the apparent inability to burn. Atreus still felt like she bakes under the blinding sun.
But one day in July, taking shelter from that unpleasant sun, it found her. The letter, an acceptance to Hogwarts. It was something that had her mother thrilled, beaming bright. A rare expression upon her normally poised face. A visage of unbridled joy that Atreus had only seen once.
But Atreus only felt a deep sense of shame and dread upon seeing it. It tangled up in her stomach, and made her feel like she did something wrong, although she hadn’t done anything much at all. Perhaps that was the problem.
Atreus hates it, she wishes to go back to the days before the letter. When she had her own routine. A schedule filled with reading books and weeding the garden. Toddling around her own little world while under the watchful eyes of her nanny.
She misses the old one, Mrs. Eliza. Though Mrs. Eliza always insisted on ‘Just Eliza’, not that Atreus ever listened. She was the one who took her on walks through wizarding London, pointing out all the shops that her mother favored. She misses the ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s and the smell of parchment from Flourish and Blotts. She misses a lot of things.
This nanny is far too serious in Atreus’ opinion. With hair pulled tightly into a bun and floral robes that stunk of powdery perfume. Mrs. Young was a far more strict nanny. One that held little tolerance for Atreus’ forays into the library.
The new pace of her day’s time makes itself known to her once more as her nanny clears her throat. In a nasally tone, she calls out,
“Ji-Soo! It’s time to come in!”
Again, with that name, it’s something Atreus dislikes. She is the only one who calls her by that anymore. Rather she
insists upon it, not even Atreus’ own father utters the name anymore. At least not in the girl’s direction.
“Yes, Mrs. Young!”
Atreus dusts off her skirt, the white cotton wet with grass stains. Its pretty lace is torn in some places, but it is a worthy sacrifice in her war against the nettles.
They seemed to have infested the garden somehow, though Atreus has some culprits in mind. As she rises, she eyes Mrs. Young. She's tapping her fingers as if it would speed Atreus up. Instead, it just makes her want to walk slower.
Sharp ‘
tinks’ almost match her steps as Atreus walks up to the table. She tries her best to time her steps to it, but it just makes her walk faster. The fingers only halt their assault against her mother’s porcelain when she stands in front of Mrs. Young.
The tea set is one her father gave to her mother on their wedding anniversary. The ivy patterns move around the sides as if there was wind within the teacup. Why Mrs. Young is using the set is entirely beyond Atreus, though it seems like something that would send the aunties in France into a tizzy.
She clears her throat again after taking a sip of tea. It sounds as if she’s chewed up cotton balls; maybe she did. Mrs. Young is strange like that.
“One wonders what is going on inside your head, child. Your dress is a mess and you leave in less than 2 hours!”
“The nettles are back again,” Atreus pauses.
“I had to pull out their roots,” She continues dutifully, as if there is an unspoken question.
“Who cares about a garden girl,” Mrs. Young says scathingly.
“Now go up and change out that dress.”
“Yes, Mrs.Young.” She drones out.
Atreus scuffs her shoes as she walks. A harsh shout of
“And comb that nest of yours, you’d better be packed!” follows her.
Atreus does not stomp up the stairs because that would be undignified, but the desire is certainly there. Upon reaching her room, her mood falls further. It’s a wonder it doesn’t fall straight through the floor into the kitchen.
The second culprit of Atreus’ plummeting mood can be found in the middle of the room. A pale yellow trunk, hand-painted with ivy, blue anemones and a soft-looking bluebird. It slumbers in the curling vines, breathing as if it were real.
The trunk sits innocently in the middle of the room, as if it weren’t the current source of her dread. Her letter of acceptance to Hogwarts and checklist sit on top innocently.
Atreus sighs as if pushing out all the air in her lungs would push out the fear and frustration with it. It doesn’t work, of course, but it was worth a try. And so with all the grace and dignity of the heiress to the Desjardin family, and that is a
lot of grace and dignity. Atreus does what she does best; she kicks the damn trunk.
Some may say it’s childish, others will insist it's justifiable. Atreus just thinks it’s deserved, in fact if she could kick away all her problems, that would be great. Mrs.Young comes to mind, in all her wrinkled glory. Perhaps then that woman would think twice when pinching her cheeks.
The trunk, victim of her… ‘tantrum’ lies there unmoved, although the bird is now awake. It’s as if it’s mocking her, and perhaps it is. She can’t help but be bitter despite its origins as a gift.
Her father has it sent over from Korea. Apparently it comes from a luxury brand, not that Atreus would know anything about that. ‘Luxury’ is a word her mother says has lost its meaning.
It is very pretty, she will admit. Something clearly picked out with Atreus in mind. But Atreus doesn’t want gifts, she doesn’t want pretty dresses or trunks. She doesn’t want books to fill her library. She wants something far more out of her reach. She wants the warmth of another’s hand to rest upon her head and to hold her close. She wants her father to come and chase away the fear. But he’s not here, despite all the gifts and letters, he’s not here.
Atreus shakes her head, ‘going down those trails of thought are never good’ she thinks, and pushes them back. The new dress she picks out is better suited for travel, soft and warm. And as she braids her hair, she hears the fireplace crackle as a rush of voices tumble out. It seems her mother had returned, late again.
The next 30 minutes are spent watching her Nanny float her trunk down the steps as she hands Atreus a lunchbox and scolds her for the simple outfit. Words of ‘too western’ and ‘not the right colors’ are thrown about but she does not listen. Her eyes are only on her mother, smiling bright as she waits for her to be done with work. ‘But something is wrong’ Atreus thinks, there is tension in the air. But before she can ask her mother, Anges turns to her.
“Atreus…” Anges paused, before hesitantly continuing,
"I can't accompany you to the station.”
Atreus’ smile was wiped clean, her stomach twisted. Her mother’s gaze landed on Atreus, and it made her feel small. A sudden urge to scrub her face came over Atreus, if only to ensure she was perfectly clean.
“An emergency came up at the office, I’m so sorry sweetie,” her mother smiled, strained at the edges, more of a grimace.
Anges stood out amidst a crowd of frantic assistants. They had taken over the living room in a whirlwind of fabric and paper. Their voices had been rushed and panicked. But they quieted at her mother’s words.
For a moment, it was silent, Atreus looked at her feet in quiet despair.
“Honey…” Anges’ voice was soft, pitying.
Atreus was frustrated, but in the end she had seen this coming. A pattern she could easily recognize. But Atreus didn’t want to hear more excuses, or more platitudes. Especially in the midst of so many strangers, whose eyes resemble her Nanny’s when she gossiped with the neighbors.
Atreus was too overwhelmed, so as always she fell back on her books. The books on human relationships always emphasized honesty and directness when it came to communication.
So Atreus blurted
“You’re never there anyways, so it’s fine.”
Perhaps not
that honest.
Hurt flashed across Anges’ face before it was quickly tucked away. But Atreus had seen, she knew, it was too late. The words had already left her mouth. Anges’ face was too complicated now for Atreus to understand.
“If you say so, dear.” Her mother’s words fell flat in the quiet room.
There was nothing Atreus could say to fix this. And under the gaze of the strangers, she felt so small. Like an insect on display, their eyes digging into all her soft spots. So she rushed through her goodbyes, stumbling over her words. She gave a quick hug and kiss to her mother, squeezing tight.
Looking up Anges, she felt like something was lodged in her throat. Perhaps it was an apology. But she didn’t know how to.
So Atreus did what she always does, she ran.
Feet flying across the living room to the fireplace in her best attempt to escape her failures. Forgetting that she was running straight to something perhaps worse. But for once,
just this once, it seems, her Nanny is kind. Mrs. Young does not scold her, does not glare at her for being rude. She doesn’t say much of anything infact as she gently takes Atreus' hand, face inscrutable.
They appear on Platform 9 & ¾ in a flash of green flame. Normally Atrues would be afraid of the crowd, normally she would hide. But she feels oddly at peace, or perhaps a better word is ‘numb’. Her Nanny softly squeezes her hand, gently guiding her to a train car. Bustling her and her trunk into the emptiest one she could find, and she did search Atreus notes mindlessly.
Mrs. Young tells her to find her friend ‘Mr. Hirano’ and to be good. And Atrues thinks it should be her Mother telling her this, her mind rolls this thought around. She feels bitter, she feels tired.
Mrs. Young stays even though her duty is done for the year, she should be heading back to Korea. But she doesn’t, she stays and watches Atreus through the window. A vigilant guard, a beady eyed statue, Atreus stares back. She taps under her left eye and quickly Atreus schools her expression into one befitting an heiress. Mrs. Young smiles when she does, a soft expression out of place on her. But it makes Atreus feel warm.
Mrs. Young stays until the train pulls out, whistle blaring out as the gears churn and grumble. She stays standing still in the moving crowd until Atreus can no longer see her or the station at all. She settles back into the seat, murmurs of the other students softly trickle into her compartment as she stares ahead. ‘It’s going to be a long year’, Atreus thinks.
