adiaphoron | d.m

TWENTY-SIX

➸ MR. CROUCH HAS GONE MAD

A SIGH SLIPPED FROM CECILIA'S LIPS as she settled into her usual spot at the Slytherin table, placing her bag beside her. The blonde pulled out her notebook and quill, feeling slightly behind on her studies—an unsettling feeling for her.

The day broke crisp and clear, with the sun hovering just above Hogwarts, casting a brilliant glow throughout the castle. Only a handful of students occupied the Great Hall, and none of her friends were among them.

Though alone, Cecilia had no reason to complain.

She licked her lips and quickly jotted down the final notes before closing her Charms textbook and setting it aside. As she rummaged through her bag, she pulled out her History of Magic book, groaning at the memory of the homework she still had to tackle.

Cecilia felt utterly drained by the never-ending discussions of the 18th-century goblin rebellions. The sheer weight of the material made her want to hex her professor into next week just to escape the monotony.

With a frustrated huff, she set her History of Magic textbook aside, knowing that she could write the entire essay from memory; the details were imprinted in her mind like stubborn ink on parchment.

Utter rubbish, she thought bitterly, shaking her head at the thought of the countless hours wasted poring over dates and events that felt completely irrelevant.

Just then, a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned her head quickly and spotted a flurry of owls swooping into the Great Hall, their wings flapping noisily as they delivered letters and parcels to the scattered students.

Cecilia let out a soft sigh, her earlier frustration momentarily fading. She shifted her gaze back to her work, knowing all too well that her name would likely not be among the recipients. With each passing day, the likelihood of receiving a letter diminished, so waiting for one felt utterly pointless.

Determined to block out the distractions, she picked up her quill once more, the familiar scratch of the nib against the parchment providing her a sense of comfort. But just as she began to focus on her notes again, she was interrupted for the second time. This time, a letter fluttered down from the air, landing precisely in front of her on the tabletop, its seal still glinting in the morning light. Cecilia's heart raced as she glanced around, wondering who it could be from.

Gently, she picked it up and turned it over, her eyes sweeping over the smooth parchment in search of any indication of its origin. There was nothing—no return address, no familiar handwriting—just her name, neatly inscribed in elegant script.

Unable to contain her intrigue, Cecilia ripped the envelope open, the sound of tearing paper feeling like a sudden burst of energy in the otherwise quiet hall. She unfolded the letter inside, her fingers trembling slightly as she scanned the neatly written words.

Dear Cecilia,

I want to take a moment to remind you how incredibly proud we are of you. Your strength and determination shine brighter than ever as you continue with the tournament. However, I must urge you to remain aware.

Lots of love,

Edith

Wrinkling her nose, Cecilia turned her gaze to the wall in the distance, her thoughts swirling like autumn leaves in a brisk wind. Why was it just her mom writing a note to her right now? Why didn't the letter have the family crest on it, like it usually did? When had she last heard anything genuinely nice from her?