The House of Hawke has been called the traitorous, filthy and scum house the entire time that name was known to the living.
Past or future, one would accompany it with the adjective "Horrifying".
It was a matter of grief for the youngest daughter...
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Pyrenees, Southern France, 1977 May 15th, Pleasant Cloudy sky.
". . . in Oregon, now of course. The capital of it, in fact - " droned the History of Magic teacher, Monsieur Pierre. He didn't like anyone calling him by his last name or even Monsieur for that matter but everyone insisted anyway. For the girls, it was highly improper to call a teacher by their first name. He didn't care. Of course, he didn't - he taught History for Morgana's sake. "Salem - "
I could die. I could die from hearing this.
I'd already done all my homework essays on the trials, along with Giant Wars and Medieval Assembly of European Wizards. It was difficult to learn but once started writing, my words just poured out. Half the time I'd straight up copy from the book and get the best marks.
Louise hated me for it.
I'd soon realised that the head I'd decided on steering clear of was Apolline's sister. And when Apolline refused, utterly refused to go anywhere without me - especially when she realised we had the same dorm room, Louise naturally started hanging around, too.
I hated it. I hated her. No, I did not hate her. I did not hate anyone. Hate was a heavy word. I disliked her, yes. Louise despised me, however, for all the efforts I was willing to put in for my house. Ombrelune was shared by the two of us. Sweet Apolline was in Bellefeuille.
I yawned, covering my mouth exactly as we were taught in our weekend Belle-Femme sessions. I despised that. I was so sure of that one hatred.
I've wanted to return back to the Hawke mansion for days now. On the thirtieth of May, we will return back home. And then we'd be back here for our sixth year soon on July 15th. I felt like crying. But no matter what happened, I would never allow a tear to fall down my eyes.
I'd promised myself a lot of things when they'd forced me to stand by an Auror and watch my mother burn. And this was one of them. Never cry, never get attached, never let someone control your emotions, never get dependent, and never let a man rule your life.
I didn't like Belle Femme, I'd rather go with Femme Fatale. But whatever, I guess. This was my life now. This was what my grandfather chose for me. This was what I hadn't objected to then, and when I tried, it was too late.
". . . Salem Witch trials. The medieval century had more of them, now of course. In many places other than Oregon. They were burnt, without trials. Till this date, it is assumed there were more muggle females in that smouldered church than witches - "
I want to yawn again. I don't. It was another lesson from our sessions. Don't fucking yawn twice, if at all.
That was not how they said it now, of course, but it was the tone nevertheless.
". . . There were a lot of churches burnt simultaneously. Witches like Seraphim Pellias, Ivory Henkins, Molliana Larue, Dolores Ceil, Cecelia Hawke - "
