Athena Lockhart is haunted by the disappearance of her brother Jacob. With everyone thinking she's cursed too and the foul Merula Snyde willing to make her life at Hogwarts a living hell, can she survive school, find the Cursed Vaults and uncover wh...
"Did you like it?" Grandma asks while I try on the deliciously soft night-blue sweater she knitted for me, the word RAVENCLAW written across my chest.
"I love it, Grandma!" I say, wrapping my arms around her. "You're the best."
"Now, this one is from me," Grandpa says, handing me a long thing box.
"Guys," I say, opening the present. "You've already gave me Twilight. And that watch, remember?"
From the top of the crystal cabinet, Twilight releases a long hoot, looking particularly satisfied after having brought me a large dead rat in the middle of the night.
"Let us spoil you and stop complaining," Grandpa says, filling his pipe with tobacco.
I open the wooden box, lifting the gorgeous black quill from its velvety interior. Under the light of the chandelier, it seems to almost glisten. "It is gorgeous!"
"It's a raven feather," he tells me.
I smile crosses my lips; the deep black colour of the quill somehow reminds me of Professor Snape and the ten points he awarded me.
"And this is from your parents," Grandma says, handing me a small square box.
Written on the paper that's wrapping the box, it's a message in my mother's penmanship:
Because the ocean and the skies
Cannot compare to your sparkling eyes
"Mum has always loved poetry," I say, unwrapping the box, only to find the most beautiful earrings; square studs of stunning blue gemstones, framed in gold.
"It's lapis lazuli," Grandma says, moving my hair away so I can put them on. "They make your eyes even bluer, if that's even possible."
"Sparkling-eyed Athena," Grandpa quotes, releasing a circle of smoke in the air. "It was the first Muggle book your mother read. That's why your name is Athena."
"The Odyssey," Grandma tells me. "Your father lent it to her while they were at school."
"I know. It's her favourite book."
Grandma flashes me a lenient smile, rapidly turning to grab another present from underneath the tree. In the sweetness of her smile, I can notice that she's hurting. She doesn't need to tell me; her eyes say everything.
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That night, I dream about my mum. We're at the same foggy staircase of previous dreams – darkness surrounding us – and the dense, dreadful cold seems to pierce our skins. She's crying, desperately calling for Jake. She screams, but her voice simply echoes and returns to her, fading into the immensity of the never-ending stairs. She looks at me. Her eyes, along with her tears, seem to be dripping hopelessness.
