WARNING: UNDER REWRITING AND HEAVY EDITING
Read at your own risk!
Life started off complicated for young Eleanor Ross after being born to a muggle mother while showing her magical capabilities at an early age. Growing up in a household where her mot...
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FOR A MOTHER AND DAUGHTER to become so distant, it was almost as if they were two strangers living under one roof. Eleanor wanted nothing more to connect with the woman but at the same time, whenever they were in the same room, she could see the fear in Margaret's eyes. There had been a naive sense of hope that had coursed through Eleanor when she turned eleven and the time came where the two were finally given some answers.
As usual, Eleanor normally hid away in her room when she wasn't doing school work with her mother, it was the only way she felt she could escape the judgemental look that she swore had taken over Margaret's face permanently. Margaret attempted to play it off, claiming that there was nothing wrong with them and reassured her nearly every day that she loved Eleanor more than anything. However, while Margaret said one thing, Eleanor always seemed to experience quite the opposite reaction, what was she to make of the situation whenever her mother flinched if she suddenly moved too fast?
Or when something strange did happen, Margaret would lock herself away in the bedroom for the day. Eleanor was hardly allowed to go outside unless she remained close to the home and she couldn't remember the last time she had actually gone into town. She just wanted something that was going to settle Margaret's mind, enough that they would be on better terms to function properly.
The hope came in the form of a letter that arrived one afternoon in the most peculiar way. Eleanor had been upstairs in her room, as usual, working on the new knitted scarf she had started just that morning. It was a hobby that she had picked up back when she was seven years old after she had watched Margaret make several items of clothing. She wanted to learn but she didn't dare ask her mother for help, instead, she watched from the distance, taking the old knitting needles that were around the house and put them to use with the yarn she had taken from the small wicker basket.
Margaret was aware that her daughter had picked up the hobby, watching as little knitting patterns would emerge almost overnight as Eleanor worked on them for hours upon hours. So for Christmases and birthdays, her gifts usually consisted of yarn and new knitting needles, something Eleanor was grateful for but even if the two shared the same love for knitting, it didn't bring them any closer.
Lying on her bed and working on the navy blue scarf, Eleanor's mind was drifting to an entirely different place. One where she was happy and free, with Margaret in her company and what she envisioned the man who walked out on them all those years ago. He was there, playing an active role as a father, and everything was fine, everyone was happy and getting along. However, the daydream was interrupted by the sound of her mother screaming and the sound of glass shattering to the floor downstairs.
Jumping up to her feet, Eleanor had made her way downstairs, poking her head into the kitchen to find Margaret near the sink, glass all over the floor as she had dropped a couple of dishes. Just as Eleanor was about to ask what was going on, she stopped as she heard a tapping sound come from the window. Looking over, she didn't know what to make of the scene of an owl, holding up an envelope and as she grew closer, Eleanor could see that it was addressed to her as her name was written smack dab in the middle.
