Julie Stone was a regular girl; she lived in an orphanage, had some friends, and every now and then would bang her head against the wall due to stress. . . . Normal!
Anyway, all her life Julie never seemed to quite fit in. She loved it, but her life...
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𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘
────── *•. ⚡︎ .•*──────
That morning Hermione wasn't in the best mood, which is weird for her. This had to do with the fact that she had to deal with teen drama as soon as she woke up, and, without any sugar in her blood, she just didn't have the energy. Seamus was ignoring her due to a row he had with Harry. Hence, by association, Hermione was a "nutter" too. Though he didn't say it specifically—which might've been because he was ignoring her, and that implies not talking. Dean had looked apologetic and talked with the curly-haired witch for a bit before following his boyfriend—which Hermione thought was totally understandable.
Hermione tried her best to brush it off as if she didn't care, but the weather outside wasn't helping. As Hermione, Ron, and Harry walked into the Great Hall they could see the enchanted ceiling above them with a miserable gray rain cloud; which, all in all, reflected their mood.
It was after an encounter with a frantic and energetic Angeline Johnson about the Quidditch team—one conversation that Hermione decided to stay out of and say hello to the tall girl later—that a whoosh and clatter were heard. Hundreds of owls came soaring in through the upper windows. They descended all over the Hall, bringing letters and packages to their owners and showering the breakfasters with droplets of water; it was clearly raining hard outside. A grey owl came soaring in through the Hall and dropped a letter on Hermione's eggs.
Hermione thanked the owl and picked up the letter, noting it didn't have anything written on the outside. She looked at the boys who had their brows furrowed and shrugged. Hermione opened the envelope and instantly recognized her father's handwriting.
Dear Mia,
I got the letter. I truly wasn't expecting it, and to say I'm overwhelmed it's the understatement of the year. In fact, I never expected to hear from your mother since. . . . Well, you know. It's surreal, I tell you.
Anyway, I'm still not even close to finishing reading it. I'm on the fifth page or so out of the dozens (I didn't really count) of pages—all written with minuscule writing! How Nini can go on and on for that long, I'll never know. But it does feel like a breeze of fresh air in this dingy old, filthy, and disgusting place.
It's helping me a lot but I guess you were hoping it would—see? I can be smart sometimes. Your mother mostly talked about you in the first pages—not that I know anything past page 5. And if she didn't tell you yet—which I doubt—we both love you so much and are so proud of you, Mia. Nini also mentioned something about missing me so I guess that's good. . . .
