❝𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄❞
aspen andrews was a worrier, an affectionate older sister, a hard-worker and the proudest hufflepuff you'd ever meet. but up until nine...
NO MORE WORDS. WE KNOW THEM ALL, ALL THE WORDS THAT MUST BE SAID. TERRY PRATCHETT, NATION
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THE YEAR lay out for Aspen as an immense canvas, splattered with vivid possibility. After such a successful beginning, it felt positively immoral to expect anything less than splendid to follow in the upcoming three hundred or so days, and so she approached the prospect of a new year with rose-tinted glasses.
Three days had passed since, and still riding a momentous high, Aspen had invited the twins around for Alessia's final evening at home before returning to Hogwarts. It was a temporary blip in the brightness that was to become of nineteen-ninety-eight, and Aspen was trying terribly hard not to think about the possibilities of her sister returning to a school ran by torturous Death Eaters. Instead, they were distracting themselves with takeout and The Beatles, losing themselves in mindless chatter rather than vicious thought.
The evening itself was cool out with the possible threat of snow, and in a moment of sheer cheek, the girls had somehow convinced the Weasley boys to be the ones trekking out to the nearest Chinese takeaway. They'd relented easily, but perhaps only because of the gloriously adolescent gaze Alessia had sent, more dangerous than the begging of a puppy.
"I can't believe you're off again tomorrow," Aspen said, sighing thickly at the notion itself as they lounged back across their couch.
"Yeah," Alessia retorted, although she sounded more distanced than usual, her habitual reckless bravery ceasing to peek through. "Me too."
Aspen straightened, sensing the difference, the subtle change. Her sister noticed it too, looking guilty as she twisted to face the record player, watching it spin despondently against its needle.
"What's wrong?" Aspen asked, words rushing out in a flurry. "Don't you want to go back?"
"S'not that I don't," Alessia said softly, succumbing to the bubbling boiling point of her worried emotions. "I'm just not sure I should."
"But you have to. It's obligatory now," Aspen said, and then nudging the rule-following logic aside, pressed on. "Never-mind that. Why can't you? What's happened?"
Alessia's eyes scanned across her sister's face, front teeth nibbling anxiously at the soft skin of bottom lip. Her fingernails, painted deep burgundy and chipping, dug into her palm, clawing at the skin as if she could bury an escape hole through the thin flesh there.
"There's been a rumour," Alessia said quietly, mapping out her story ever so carefully ahead of her. "It's fine, I promise," she reassured, dark eyes flitting up to bore into her sister's. "It's just... they think I'm a Muggle-born."
Aspen could hardly make out the reassuring spiel that followed through the pounding rush of blood that circled her ears. What a fucking mess. She knew how this went, how Dean Thomas had been forced to go on the run under similar circumstances. This could not be happening, and wistfully, she prayed she was playing witness to some sick dream she'd conjured up inside of her brain, or even a vicious prank that Alessia had taken too far this time.
