𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐿𝐹𝑂𝑌

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟕 - 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

╭────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╮

𝐎

December 23rd, 1996

Dear Margot,

I am writing to you for the second time on what counts as practically the same day. Halfway through the last letter I started feeling my eyelids heavier and decided to call it a day. So much had happened in a day already and I was still on edge over what happened when I came back home but when my head hit the pillow I found myself unable to sleep if I didn't finish the letter. I smiled a little when I looked at my nightstand...

Alaska was waiting when I opened the front door, her black tail curled around her; a bad omen. She had found her place on top of a cardboard box. Fragile, it read. It was dusty and straight from the attic and Mum had marked its contents on its side with a green sharpie: red cushion covers (washed), tall glass santa for dining room, glass fireplace tree thingies, glass ornaments.

The narrow hallway was cramped with most of the boxes that could be found in the attic. This was our ritual. We all helped bring the Christmas stuff down (Dad used a little bit of magic for this part), then we put on some Nat King Cole and started with the fire. But there was no music playing and I was starting to feel like my stomach was going to drop.

"Ophelia..." I heard my father's voice from the living room. Another bad omen. They only called me by my name when worried or in a hurry to get me downstairs.

I took slow steps to the living room, preparing myself for what was coming. When I entered, I found them both sitting on the couch, their hands folded in front of their chests. It's peculiar how sometimes they even have the same body language.

"Hey..." I looked around. Something in me had wished that Dray was right; that my absence was insignificant and they had simply put up the Christmas tree by themselves. But this was foolish of me to imagine; the living room was plain as always and the corner reserved for the tree was still taken by the tall red lantern from Mum and Dad's trip to India.

"You're very late," said Mum.

"Well, it's not even half past 7..." I said and showed the grandfather clock behind me.

"It's not about the time. We were worried!" said Dad.

"You shouldn't have been, because I was perfectly-"

"When you left the café this morning you said you were only returning a notebook. We thought you would be back for lunch or even sooner," he said.

"I just went to the Gallery and then to Borough Market. I do that almost every Tuesday in the summer. I even went to see Mrs Petrova at the ballet school. I thought you wanted me to. Since when is that a problem?"

"It's a problem when you don't inform us of your whereabouts and when you're coming back."

I knew that if I let my first instincts give a reply I would regret it the next day, so I took a deep breath in. When I looked at them again, all I could see was concern and anxiousness.

Our fights with my parents hardly ever end badly due to a good dynamic that we all agree lets us sleep at night. That is another way to say that the only Gryffindor in the house is Alaska (if my theory about Mum being a Ravenclaw is true) and therefore no one thrives under extremely loud and raised voices.

"I'm sorry. I just didn't notice it was so late. I'm sorry..." I finally said.

Dad stood up and approached me.