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chapter three,
letters from home (and their repercussions)
When Beatrice Salvatore woke up the next day, she felt anything but chipper. Looking at her reflection in the gold-crusted mirror Theodora gifted her on her eleventh birthday, Beatrice didn't recognize the girl looking back at her. Her usually silky brown hair was matted, and her chocolate-brown eyes were red and puffy.
As she brushed her hair, Beatrice looked around the empty dorm. The other girls must have headed down for breakfast early, as their beds were already made (albeit poorly).
After Beatrice had brushed and braided her hair, and put on her (Gryffindor!) uniform, she shoved all of her textbooks and school supplies into her satchel so that she wouldn't have to return to the dorm to face the other girls after breakfast.
Fifteen minutes later in the Great Hall, Beatrice sat alone at the Gryffindor table, pushing some scrambled eggs around her plate. Her initial plan had been to sneak on over to the Slytherin table to sit next to her friends (Seraphina, specifically), but she abandoned this idea after receiving some rather dirty looks from Victoria and Peony. Beatrice had also considered moving over to sit next to Sirius Black, but lost her nerve when he arrived arm in arm with some unknown boy in glasses — something Potter?
Beatrice's morning went from bad to worse when she caught sight of the family owl, Caligula, carrying two letters towards her — one of them a distinct bright red. A howler. Lucius had warned Beatrice of howlers, a very efficient way for a parent to both scold and publicly humiliate you, but the young girl had never expected to actually get one. Well, not not before her sorting, that is.
Before Beatrice could even process what was happening, she felt the letter grow hot in her hands and watched it explode, allowing her father's harsh voice to ring out across the Great Hall:
"BEATRICE THEODORA SALVATORE!
HOW DARE YOU EMBARRASS OUR FAMILY LIKE THIS?! GRYFFINDOR? GRYFFINDOR?! THE HOUSE OF BLOOD-TRAITORS AND SQUIBS, AFTER ALL WE HAVE DONE FOR YOU?! YOUR MOTHER ALMOST DIED OF SHAME! YOU BEST NOT DARE SHOW YOUR FACE AT HOME UNTIL YOU HAVE MANAGED TO SORT THIS ATROCITY OUT!"
Beatrice didn't have to look in a mirror to know her face was burning up again. She did her best to ignore the pitying glances she was getting from her fellow Gryffindors, as she focused on steadying the trembling of her bottom lip, and opened the second letter:
My dearest Beatrice,
I must confess myself to be disappointed by your sorting, but only because I wished for you to experience the beauty of the Slytherin common room, and have plenty of opportunities to build strong bonds with other young pure-bloods your age. It will certainly be harder to avoid the wrong sorts now, but I have faith in your ability to make the right choices.
