Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Seven: Big Girls Don't Cry

Sylvia,

I'm not sure this will fit, but if your measurements have stayed the same since I last saw you, it should work. I hope you have a nice boy taking you.

Be smart,

Charlotte

Her mother always signed off with her first name. Never xoxo mum, even mother would have been better than "Charlotte". Of course she never let anyone call her anything other than Charlotte or Mrs. Callis or Charlotte Martha Callis. No Charlie, no Lottie, no Char. Just like she never called Sylvia anything other than that. No Sylvie, no Syl, no honey, no darling, dearest, love, sweetie. She expected to Sylvia to name her own daughter after her, as she had done for her own mother. "Sylvia means forrest," her father would tell her when she was a child, "because you're my little forrest squirrel." It was a lie, of course. Sylvia was named Sylvia because her grandmother was named Sylvia and that was all. Her father had no say in her naming and she knew that, but the thought of there being a meaning behind it always made her feel less stiffly about it. He was the only person her mother let call her Char.

If your measurements have stayed the same, she was always expecting her to gain weight. She had filled out after puberty and it drove Charlotte crazy. Dietary restrictions and tennis lessons ensued and Sylvia was back to having the body of a prepubescent boy again. Though this past summer, she had ignored her mother's berating and went up two sizes. At least now she could fill out a bra.

I hope a nice boy is taking you, this was the closest thing to a normal sentence. It almost felt sincere. A nice boy was taking Sylvia. Though she knew what her mother meant by it. I hope you aren't going with a girl or a boy who wants to have sex with you.

Be smart. Don't get pregnant. Don't go with a girl. Don't go with anyone who would disappoint me. Don't get drunk and make a fool of yourself. Don't ruin my reputation. Sylvia sometimes thought that her mother's biggest fear was that she would would be a lesbian. And sometimes she thought she'd start dating a girl just to spite her. If her mother ever knew about what she did with Natalie Fairborn their second year, she'd have a stroke. If her mother ever knew that she sometimes felt for girls the way she felt for boys.

Under the letter was a neatly folded deep, midnight blue dress. Sylvia picked it up by its straps, holding it up in front of her. It was beautiful. Practical. But beautiful. With little lacy flowers covering the thin shoulder straps and a long tulle skirt covered in little silver and gold sparkles like a night sky. She looked back in the box to find a pair of black heels. Nothing special, a few inches of a block heel and a little strap for the ankle, and beside them was a small velvet drawstring bag, inside a matching pair of earrings and a necklace, adorned in silver art deco stars that looked like little daggers.

Though it didn't surprise her that her mother would be sure she was well dressed for the ball, it made her feelings a little less cold to see such a beautiful dress. Still, she assumed it was her best attempt at being an actual mother rather than a prideful matriarch.

She laid the dress back in its box, atop the shoes and jewelry, and sat on the edge of her bed just as Angelina, Alicia, and Fiona entered the girl's dormitory. The girls came in with a flurry of giggles and flushed cheeks, each carrying their own package, presumably filled with their own dresses and shoes.

"Sylvie, oh my god!" Alicia run over to her bed, admiring the blue dress folded in its box, running a hand over the satiny bodice and lacy straps, "This must have cost a fortune!"

Sylvia smiled at her, "Come on, let's see yours."

It was after breakfast when it happened. She could feel when his eyes were on her, like knives cutting at the back of her head. A shiver ran down her spine, making her shoulders twitch up and a hand snap up to rub at her neck. Across from her, Angelina furrowed her brows.