Change of Heart

Morning Depatures

The first day of September arrived sooner than I had anticipated; it felt as if the summer holidays had only just commenced, yet the September chill crept into my room, seeping through every gap in my duvet cover. The sun's sluggish rays filtered through the drapery's crevices, gradually ascending the sky and casting light upon the room's barren expanse. The worn, grey rug laid on the floor, illuminated by the feeble morning light. Despite the grandeur of Warwick Manor, my room remained sparsely furnished—a testament to how little I owned. A lone dark-oak desk stood, adorned only with a tidy stack of papers, precisely arranged inkwells, and a handful of books from my summer studies.

At the room's opposing end, a stark wooden wardrobe stood, its surface etched with intricate dragons that seemed to writhe in the dim light. Within, a mere half-dozen articles of clothing hung—a collection of oversized striped shirts, jeans, well-worn sneakers, and an exquisite sparkled dress reserved for rare formal occasions.

But the true enigma lay above my bed—a colossal oil painting depicting my family. Their eyes bore into me from the canvas, observing my every move and intruding upon my thoughts. Over time, I had grown accustomed to their vigilant scrutiny, though on occasion, when the pale moonlight cast eerie shadows upon the painting, their gazes appeared almost lifelike, igniting a shiver that danced down my spine.

Almost instinctively, I quickly pulled the cover back over my head, ridding the childish thoughts of midnight monsters and drowning out the irritating sounds of knocking against the door and the shrill voice of my mother from the foyer.

"Miss Warwick, it is time for you to wake up. Downstairs, your mother is waiting. Dooky thinks mistress is getting annoyed," said a soft voice from the small crack within my door. I waved my hand dismissively from the edge of my bed before retreating it back into the warmth. "Miss Warwick had also missed breakfast." I let out a sigh, knowing this pestering was never going to end. As the summer days rolled by, the green leaves turning amber and the blue skies bleeding grey, I wished I could stay in the summer villa just a little longer; Hogwarts didn't seem that exciting anymore.

"Tell Mother I'll be down in five minutes. Thank you, Dooky," I ordered. She curtly nodded, closing my door allowing me some privacy. I strode towards my wardrobe, picking a simple, red-stripped V-neck shirt with well-fitted blue jeans and some red trainers; there was no time to fish for my uniform within the mountain of clothes within my trunk. I gave my lengthy, inky hair a quick brush, yanking a few uncompliant knots I had amassed throughout the night. Just beside my wardrobe was my trunk with a delicate, sandy letter sitting on top. My name was neatly written at the top with the Deputy head-teacher's fancy signature sat at the bottom. Sitting next to the letter was a lilac pouch filled with one-hundred Galleons, which should last me the school year.

The trunk itself was new, its body smooth, shiny and well painted. My name was hot-pressed into the edge of the trunk. The hinges holding the handle to the trunk were as shiny as polished, golden nuggets. I grabbed the letter and pouch, placing them both within my back pocket before hoisting the trunk over my shoulder. I made my way towards the staircase, watching the depressed faces of Warwick family members painted upon the walls. The black marble banister glistened under the piercing light of the chandelier. At the end of the stairs, I was welcomed to the sight of my mother circling my brother like a vulture, picking at all the small imperfections within his uniform and any loose hairs springing from his head.

His hair was slick back by a slab of gel, highlight the perfect blend of brown and blonde creating a sense of volume. My brother could never admit to how much he loved my mother doting upon his appearance, but the small smirk and admiration glimmering within his eye was hard to hide.

He wore a shadowy robe with green, silk lining around his hood and sleeves. brought out his eyes with his emerald-silver stripped tie. His dark-grey V-neck jumper and velvet white shirt sat perfectly around his frame; not a crease could be found in his jumper. The Slytherin crest replacing his breast pocket shone proudly under the light of the chandelier. "Olympia, dear, hurry up! You're going to make us late if you continue to walk at the pace of snail," my mother demanded, not batting an eye towards my presence as he continued to gently her finger tips over my brother's shirt.