Chapter 2 : Complication #2
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CI by Eponine @ TDA
Complication #2: When you want something to go perfectly right, it always goes perfectly wrong.
I pull the sleeping mask away from my eyes, only to be greeted by the bright summer sunlight streaming in through my window.
I really want to just burrow myself back under the thick duvet, but I can’t. Especially not today. I have a lot to get done. I push myself out of the bed, sliding on a pair of slippers to protect my feet from the cold marble floor.
I immediately head for the shower, turning the water as hot as it can go, letting my bathroom fill up with steam. After peeling off my nightgown, I step under the scalding water. Unlike most normal people, I, for some reason, love when the water is so hot it threatens to burn my skin clean off.
By the time I glide out of the shower and wrap my towel around my body, the entire bathroom is filled with copious amounts of steam, and smells strongly of rose and jasmine.
I grab my wand off the counter, flicking it at my hair. I feel my hair bounce off my shoulders, now completely dry. I then focus on applying my makeup, making it look absolutely perfect, down to each individual, perfectly volumized eyelash.
I push open the double doors, walking across my bedroom to the second set of double doors: my closet.
My closet is exactly what one would expect: positively massive. A bench in the middle currently supports my trunk, which is waiting to be packed.
The entire room is glowing with golden light, focused on the various shelves and racks that fill the walls. I walk over to a rack, flipping through the various articles of clothing until I find one that appeals to me: a yellow blouse with ruffles down the front.
Inspired, I find a purple and yellow floral skirt, gold strappy heels, and a long golden necklace. I dress quickly, admiring my reflection in the mirror. As usual, I look flawless.
I then head to my trunk, opening the box with a click. The interior is rich, plush velvet. I take my wand again, and flick the inside of the chest, renewing the Undetectable Extension Charm on it. The charm was the only way I could fit all of my belongings into a small trunk, and Hogwarts had this dumb rule that we were only allowed one trunk.
With a flick of my wand, a good portion of my wardrobe flies into the trunk. I’ll trade everything out when I came home for Christmas holidays, but for now, this will do.
I levitate the trunk back into my bedroom, filling up the extra space with my other belongings. It had taken a good hour, but I am now fully ready to leave for my father’s house.
When I walk back into my room, an owl is tapping on the window. I slide the sill open, letting the owl drop its letter into my hand before flying away.
Hi darling! I have some unfortunate news… it seems Hudson managed to blow up half his house, so he’ll have to miss our date. I blame my father for teaching him pyrotechnics, because nothing good will ever come out of that.
So it seems like I’ll have to find something else to do tonight. Not to worry though, I’m sure it won’t be a problem!
Have fun with Blaise tonight, doll!
It’s well-known that Scarlett’s father is the man who blew up the bridge the Hogwarts, so I’m not surprised that he had taught Hudson pyrotechnics.
I feel a little sorry for Scarlett, who now has to re-arrange her plans for the night, but not too bad. After all, she’s Scarlett Finnegan, and all she has to do is snap her fingers and everything will fall into place.
To be honest though, all four of us are like that.
I throw the letter down on my desk and exit the room, making my way down the stairway, until I finally find myself in the dining room, where my mother is sitting, intensely reading a page of the Daily Prophet. She’s a powerful Ministry executive, so she always keeps up with the goings-on of the Wizarding World.
“Oh, you’re up,” my mother says, not even bothering to look up at me.
I don’t reply, but instead sit down at the table.
My family dynamic has always been an uncomfortable one, especially after my parent’s divorce. Instead of showing me actual love, they just shower me in gifts, as if the latter is a better replacement, and would make me like them more.
Sometimes I think I’d give up the Egyptian silk for some genuine interest in my life.
Although the silk is pretty nice too, I must admit.
“You’re still going to your father’s today, aren’t you?” Her voice is laced with disinterest, but I know she still cares about the reply.
She wants me to say no, and stay back at the house with her. Any trip to my father’s is seen as a sign that I prefer him to her.
Never mind that I spent almost the entire summer here in London, this one night is a sign of my preference of parents. At least in her mind, it is.
“Yes, I wanted to spend some time on the shore before I have to go back to Hogwarts,” I explain. It’s better than telling her the real reason, but she does want to hear that I’m not going just to see my father.
“It’s supposed to be cloudy today; you won’t even get that much sun,” she reasons, adjusting her brown reading glasses on her nose.
“I’m sure it will be enjoyable nonetheless,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee to avoid the inevitable disapproving look she’s probably trying to give me.
“Well, then I guess I’ll see you at the platform then,” she replies, her voice taking on a haughty, I-could-care-less tone.
We spend the rest of our meal in silence, since my mother is clearly still unhappy with my decision.
Every year, both of my parents accompany me to Platform 9¾. Needless to say, it’s a rather uncomfortable experience every time. Neither of the two can stand each other, so I end up saying two separate goodbyes to two people that station themselves on opposite sides of the platform.
Sometimes I honestly wonder how the two of them could ever have been married, if they dislike each other so much now.
Love doesn’t turn into hate, and hate doesn’t turn into love. It’s not the way things work.
An hour later, I finally Apparate over to my father’s house. I levitate my trunk by my side, and walk up the long drive until I finally reach the glass doors that signify the front of the house. I ring the bell, and wait for my father to answer the door.
As usual, he’s nowhere to be found. However, his live-in girlfriend apparently is.
“Abigail!” she screeches, as she slides the door open and comes over to hug me. As she crushes me, I stand there, unmoving, until she lets go.
“How are you, darling?” she asks, finally releasing me from her death grip.
Diana Hilden is actually a very pretty woman, so I see why my father likes her. She has dark auburn hair and golden eyes that compliment her tanned skin. Not unlike my mother, she is constantly dressed to the nines.
She is, however, a little too peppy for my liking.
“Great, thanks,” I tell her. A house elf appears with a loud crack.
“Can Belinda take that bag for you, Miss?” the elf asks, gesturing to my trunk.
“Yes, you can,” I reply sharply, before turning back to Diana.
“Well, make yourself at home, darling,” she says, flashing me a huge smile. “Robert and I will be leaving at around 5. Oh, and there’s a gift from us sitting on your bed.”
“I’m heading out in a little bit, actually,” I tell her. I do have things to accomplish today, before Blaise comes over at 6.
“Alright then, dearie. There’s a new boutique in town that you might want to check out when you go,” she replies, before leaving the foyer.
After quite a few flights of stairs, I arrive in my room, which is exactly how I left it, with the exception of the pale blue box sitting on my bed.
The color is instantly recognizable: Tiffany blue.
I gently pull the white ribbons, and the bow unravels in my hand. I remove the lid, marveling at the object inside.
The platinum bracelet is delicate, with diamonds spaced evenly. Right in the middle is my initials: AAW. I smile at how well my father understands my taste, and clasp the bracelet around my wrist. A perfect fit.
I love it. But, even as I stare at it, I feel a twinge of sadness. According to my father, the love of the bracelet means I love him.
I’m horribly sick of feeling this regret every time I’m reminded of my parent’s buying battle. I hate feeling. I’m not supposed to have feelings.
I moodily stomp out of my bedroom, the sound of my stilettos amplified along the hallways. On my way out of the house, I grab a set of car keys.
My father has always had a slight fascination with Muggle objects, which explains my sixteenth birthday present from him: a white Mercedes.
I slide into the leather seat, instantly feeling at home in the rich interior. I quickly pull out of the driveway, before pressing the gas pedal as hard as I can. The manor is located in a remote place, so I can drive as fast as I want to without dealing with any other vehicles on the road.
Technically, I don’t have a license to drive, but I don’t care. The likelihood that I’ll get pulled over is about the same as the likelihood that I’ll develop a genuine interest in Quidditch.
Which is about one in negative one-hundred.
Plus, even if I do, I have enough Muggle cash, along with my coquette-ish eyelash flutter, to easily sway an officer to do whatever I want.
Every candle is lit, the lights are turned off, and I’m dressed. Although I don’t really know if a black lace bra and matching knickers is considered “dressed.” I’m sitting on the bed, waiting for Blaise to come up. The door is unlocked, and a trail of rose petals leads up to the bed, so he shouldn’t have any problem finding me.
It’s 6:00 on the nose, but Blaise is nowhere to be found. This is kind of odd for him, considering he is always on time.
I sit on the bed, awaiting his arrival. I’ve slowly been taking sips from the glass of elf-made wine I have set out on the bedside table.
Where is he?
I wonder what’s keeping him. Could he have gone to the wrong place? I sent him an explicit owl that said to meet me at my dad’s house at 6. And he replied, confirming it, so he should be here now.
Could he be planning a surprise for me? I don’t know why that would make him late, though.
He also knows I hate surprises. Things jumping out at me? No thank you. I like when things are perfectly planned out, and I’m fully aware of them ahead of time.
Why isn’t he here yet?
I don’t understand. I did everything right.
I’m pacing the room now. He should be here. Why isn’t he here? Could he have gotten lost?
That’s ludicrous. He’s been here thousands of times before.
What if he’s badly injured? What if his ties all caught on fire?
Finally, I see some movement. An owl.
The big thing swoops into the room, dropping a letter in front of me. I had left the window open, because the sound of the waves lapping against the shore was utterly romantic.
I light the tip of my wand, before opening the envelope. I scan the letter.
I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t make it tonight. Family stuff came up.
All he could be bothered with was two sentences? And forty-three minutes later than when we were supposed to meet?
Excuse me, but I’m Abigail Winchester. Nobody treats me like that.
I flick my wand at the window, letting out a cry of frustration. The spell was nonverbal, and I don’t quite know what it was, but the pieces shatter loudly, clattering to the ground outside of the house.
With another flick, I fix the window, but not before a tear rolls down my cheek.
I don’t cry. I hate crying. You get all snivelly and snotty and hiccupping and disgusting. It’s a sign of weakness. I’m not supposed to be weak. I’m supposed to be the stone wall of perfection that everyone at Hogwarts thinks I am.
But however much I hate it, I’m crying now.
Tonight was supposed to be perfect, beautiful, amazing. Instead, it’s horrible, heartbreaking, lonely.
My shoulders shake from the sobs that are taking over my body, and all I want is for someone to come wrap their arms around me, to comfort me, to rub circles in my back and tell me that it’ll all be okay.
But they can’t. Because I’m completely and utterly alone.
A/N: Second chapters are the bane of my existence. I apologize for the amount of time this took, and I promise that the action will pick up very soon! Until then, I’d love it if you could drop off a little review in the grey box below. :)
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