Chapter 2 : Owl Post (Anne Edition)
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Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
Hey George, [It was at first: ‘Hey George!’, but I thought that sounded too desperate. It’s amazing what an exclamation mark can do...]
I have no actual clue if this owl will ever get to you – because you have to be so sneaky about where you’re off to! Nevertheless, that won’t me trying to get in contact with you because I miss you. [Hopefully it doesn’t sound too clingy.]
Anyway, hope you’re having fun – wherever you are – and hope that you and Fred’s inventions are continuing to come along nicely.
See you soon,
OK, it doesn’t seem that bad. Just a casual letter that slips in the fact that I’m missing him. Nothing too shabby.
I let out a deep breath as I gave it to my owl, Genesis. “Just make sure it gets to George Weasley. Now, he lives at the Burrow, but he isn’t there. Just ask the owls in tweet, or whatever language you speak, where he is and go there. If you can’t get through to him, then just go to Bella’s anyway. That’s where I’ll be.”
Genesis hooted affectionately, and began to fly off. All I could do then was wait for some kind of response.
Grabbing my trunk from under me, I began to slowly walk down the steps, where my mother was trying her best not to make eye contact with me; Leslie, on the other hand, was doing the exact opposite.
“Now.” My mother had grabbed both of my arms rather suddenly, “if anything looks like it might go wrong –”
“I’ll come straight home. What’s that?” It appeared that my mother was roasting various papers in the fire. Yes! She had agreed to burn my letter! Until I realised that there was pictures that were attempting to scream for mercy.
“The Daily Prophet.”
“What?” Since when did we use the Daily Prophet to fuel fires? Since when did we need anything to fuel fires?
“Apparently, Dumbledore and Harry are crackpots who are claiming that You-Know-Who’s returned.”
Leslie shook her head, looking at the burning remains. “If you believe that, you’re an idiot. Anyone who went to Hogwarts would know that Dumbledore’s mind’s sharper than most people my age.”
I was about to make a joke about how the comparison of Dumbledore’s mind to a thirteen-year-old wouldn’t be that significant to the Daily Prophet, but my mother sent me a warning glance. She obviously saw the joke coming, having known me well enough after a lifetime or sarcastic memories; ah, the good life…
It was really getting ridiculous – the You-Know-Who situation. Seamus was telling me that his mum actually didn’t want him go to Hogwarts. I mean, surely it would be safer to go to Hogwarts? I would feel better being in Dumbledore’s company more than anyone else’s. Of course, that would explain it, if the Daily Prophet was insulting them, or something. I don’t read it – I’m guilty of being one of those people who only find out the news once people start talking about it in conversations.
I should make a note to actually start looking for news.
Unless it continues publishing this rubbish.
In which case, I’m proving actually to be smart for not reading the news.
I’m a genius.
I love flying. Not Quidditch, of course, but just flying. The general exhilaration of your hair flying in the wind – in the direction you want. In addition, the breeze as it brushes your cheek is just so refreshing.
So it sucks when mum refuses to actually let me do it and I’m stuck having to go by Floo Powder. It generally messes me up, as I get covered in soot and end up falling on my arse – to which everyone laughs.
On my bum – as predicted – I looked up at the people around me. Magda was rushing to meet me, while giggling; Bella was hurrying to get the carpet in front of me clean, and Amy was sitting down, rather bored, and merely nodded to my arrival.
“Amy, tell me how to work this.” Bella held out some weird contraption that I had never seen before in my life.
“I’m surprised you guys have it.”
“Dad’s a Muggle. Now come on. Also, you might have to tell me what it is.”
Rolling her eyes, Amy put a wire thingy into some kind of other thingy, stating, “It’s a hoover. You just turn it on –” She flicked the switch and we all jumped, “- and start running it over the dirt, or in this case soot, and it’ll suck it up.”
Bella took the ‘hoover’ and hazardously started to make it move. I don’t blame her, it was roaring intensely. While doing so, Bella muttered, “I can’t wait till this bloody trace comes off… a year after March…”
“I only have wait for a year when February comes around…” Magda looked up with a weak smile, probably imagining all the mischief she could get up to.
I looked at them all with a certain amount of longing. “I have just less than two years to go!”
The three looked at me sympathetically before turning their heads and began working on something else. Oh, I should feel honoured that I got a couple seconds of their attention, shouldn’t I?
Damn. My sarcasm just isn’t what it used to be.
Amy was lying full on the sofa, smiling while Magda told us about her cat troubles. Anyone would be rather proud looking at Amy now. The supposed love of her life, Cedric Diggory, died last year. It wasn’t even last year, it was June. Even though Amy was positively distraught at first, I really think that she was trying to get on with her life. She told us last year, that she thought that Cedric was a martyr for doing this, which he certainly was. Point is, I think she’s managed to handle the whole situation rather well.
“How was your summer?” It took me a couple of seconds to realise that Bella was asking me.
“Oh, it was all right. Leslie attempted to bond with me…”
They all laughed. Magda grinned and asked, “About what?”
“Isn’t that you know… not a preferred topic?” asked Bella, a cautious grin plastered on her face.
“You mean George?” asked Amy.
“No, Oliver. I brought him up when we were talking for my new-found hate for Quidditch. She knew the name because of the owl.”
“He sent me an owl, though it felt like a fricken novel.”
Everyone in the room became silent and looked at me with sudden interest. Amy was the one to ask, “What did it say?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t read it.”
By their expressions, they clearly thought I was mad. But what did they expect me to do? I shouldn’t be receiving owls from him. I’m supposed to be moving on with my boyfriend – my boyfriend, George Weasley.
“Anne, weren’t you curious – who’s owl’s that?”
I didn’t immediately recognise it. It was slightly scruffy when I saw that it was Seamus’ owl. The barn owl happily nibbled at my finger as I removed the letter from her leg.
Don’t worry, I got around her in the end. [This brings us back to the mother discussion.] She was reluctant but I managed to talk her into it. Oh, if she asks, you’re the love of my life – you’re my excuse, you see. Well, I haven’t called you it, but she thinks it’s you because we keep owling each other, and I’m not going to argue.
I hope I’m not too early with this. You didn’t tell me the exact day that you were going to Bella’s – say hi to her, Amy and Magda from me, by the way – so I just had to take a chance. And how dare you reject tickets! [I had owled him soon after my talk with Leslie]You should know that if you get any Quidditch tickets, just give them to me.
Anyway, I have to go, before my mum realises that I’m not writing sweet somethings on your parchment. [I knew he took some of my parchment!]
They looked at me with an eager expression. Did they expect that Oliver would just happen to have written me an owl at the first mention of it? What do they think this is? Some kind of romance novel?
“It’s from Seamus. By the way, he says hi, Bella.” OK, it was technically for the three of them, but I think it was secretly more for Bella.
Bella blushed slightly. Even though she had dumped him at the end of last year, I know that she secretly wanted to still be with him. It was stupid really. Who breaks up with someone over the fact that they’re too shy to kiss them? I would have been ecstatic if someone like Pucey was too shy to kiss me! That could have avoided some awkward situations. Then again, I would have gotten a chance to brake up with him if he was too shy to kiss me, so really there wouldn’t have been a problem anyway.
Reminding me, I added, “But I did read the stuff Pucey sent to me.”
“What did he say?”
“If you take out the dirty talk, he generally just talks about how stupid I am to leave him, yadi-yada. Clearly still as emotional as always…”
Everyone laughed, Bella turning off the threatening hoover. I really did miss those three, though I may completely deny it in a couple of weeks’ time. But how can anyone not miss these girls?
“You know, Anne, your hair looks really different.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” exclaimed Magda, “but I didn’t say anything, because it might have been the soot.”
“You look older too,” stated Amy.
Even though I shook my head, my cheeks burned a little, to which they all laughed some more. OK, so I knew I had some differences over the summer, but I had hardly made a complete transformation or something.
Another owl zoomed into the window, this time landing on Magda’s lap. Her eyes looked at the small owl with suspicion, then back up at me. Why me?
“What?” I tried to ask it calmly, but I was slightly nervous.
“I – I don’t know, I could have sworn…”
“Look at its neck.”
I moved closer to the owl and observed the little medal on its breast. It had some kind of P in a U, but how that was of any significance, I’m not quite – oh…
“Read it,” I commanded.
Magda opened the letter cautiously and looked up again. “Aloud?”
“If you want.”
Gulping, Magda read, “‘Magda, I hope this owl got to you OK, I’m not sure where you’d be at this point, but I figured that you might see Anne some time over the summer, so you could pass on the message from me.
“I haven’t gotten a response from her and I can understand if what I’ve said made her angry or upset, it seems everything I do has that result. But I just want her to know that I truly mean everything I said in my letter, and wish her all the best. Merlin, I hate being so bloody formal.
I pursed my lips slightly. OK, now I was curious. What did he mean? Did it actually matter? Don’t men say that they mean everything they say? And look how that turned out.
And what was that bullshit about everything he does makes me angry or upset? Of course, he made me those things, but that was because he was a self-conceited idiot. That has nothing to do with him directly. If anyone pulled me by a string like that, I would get angry.
Tell you who wouldn’t do that. My boyfriend – my boyfriend, George Weasley.
No, I can’t stop saying that.
“What should I say?”
My first instinct was for her not to say anything. However, my better judgement told me that perhaps a reply was in order. After all, if he thought the owl didn’t make it, he might just send another one. Although, it looked like this one wasn’t going to go until we got it a reply.
“Tell him the truth.”
“That I didn’t read his letter because I don’t care about what he has to say. Oh, and tell him to stop bothering my friends, because they’ll only tell him the same thing. Oh, and tell him that I wish him all the best, because I know his career means the world to him.” Before she began writing, I said, “Oh, and tell him to piss off, because he’s a git.”
“Right. Got it.” Magda began scribbling with a quill that Bella had given her on a spare piece of parchment that was one the side. Bella was about to get a fresh sheet, but I told her that he didn’t deserve a fresh piece of parchment.
“Because... you’re a... git.”
There. That should do it.
What did he mean?
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