Chapter 21

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Her mother was right.

They rebuilt their relationship. Throughout the days, they would sit in silence on the couch until one of them begun crying, admitting how lonely it has been, how isolating, and how insecure they had been. When her mother lost her father, she lost her rock. Antonella lost two rocks.

When they weren't crying, her mother was teaching her how to bake pasties, or showing her how to apply makeup, or some yoga pose she learnt from Madam Malkin. When Antonella wasn't furiously yelling the room down about how shit of a mother she was, she was explaining the plot of the book she last read, and explaining her friends, the mystery behind Matilda Hoggs and Dalton Corpus.

At night time, Antonella stayed in her mother's bed. Scared to lose her. Her mother held her even tighter, not even Mr. McFishy could squeeze between the two, and he would grumpily sleep at the end of the bed; on her mother's feet.

Her mother slowly begun to talk about her family, and her friends, and how exciting balls were and how much she missed them from her childhood. She would start the record player and drag Antonella into the lounge room, dancing, twirling, and teaching her how to waltz. And whilst her mother's head rested on the top of her head, Antonella would whispery tell the adventures she had been on, from her fight with Elizabeth to the apprenticeship.

As her mother braided her hair every night, Antonella would cry silently, asking why they couldn't do this before. Why did it have to begin so late... too late. And they would repeat the cycle. A mixture of crying, yelling and silent confessions.

Sitting still as her mother brushed her hair, she heard her mother hum a haunting melody she used to sing to make her fall asleep.

'You leave tomorrow morning for Asterin's?', her mother asked.

She nodded her head, 'And you'll be back home on the 24th?'

Again, she nodded her head, as her felt her mother's fingers begin to braid her hair, it was almost therapeutic, 'Why do you ask?', Antonella asked.

A soft giggle came from her mother, 'How would you like to attend a real ball?'

Her mouth was gaping, 'Close your mouth,' her mother whispered childish as she whacked her with the hairbrush, 'The Malfoy's have invited us to their annual Christmas ball... I can say no-'

Before her mother could answer Antonella leaped out of her lap, destroying the braid, 'That would be amazing!'

Her mother's eyes lit up, brighter than anything she had ever seen. Maybe her brother was wrong... maybe these witches and wizards were saving her mother, and maybe... just maybe... she could be saved by them as well.

'I'll organise a dress and you can try it on Christmas Morning, if we need to alternate it, I'll speak to Maggie to see if she can do a quick fix,' She exclaimed, 'Now turn around, you have ruined the braid!'

Her mother's soft fingers in her hair made Antonella melt into her, her eyes closed not out of exhaustion, but out of peace, and pure safety. This, to Antonella, must feel like a home. Gentle fingers in her hair, a soft lullaby slowly travelling from her mouther's lips to her ear, and the warm fireplace raging opposite her. It was the taste of a hot chocolate on a bad winter's day, and it was the chills from receiving a smile from an idol. It was, by far, the best experience and best Christmas... since her father's death.

They didn't speak, no, at this rate, they hardly spoke, but their silence spoke enough. Singing along to Australian muggle silly Christmas songs, longingly looking at the strange experiences of an Australia Christmas... unbelievably hot (Which Antonella hated, why sell Christmas sweaters if most of the population couldn't even wear a shirt of the 23rd of December due to the heat?). Antonella enjoyed her embrace, and she enjoyed her smiles and glow.

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