The Simple House of Duffrey

(47) A Letter From Home

Our detention was left up to Professor Slughorn, which meant fewer teachers needed to be involved in the murky issue of a hidden passage. Horace however, didn't mind us at all. In fact, he was relishing in the fact that we were getting extra time with him. The first week we only readied volatile ingredients for the lower classes and he couldn't help but give pointers to Stephen, who had chosen to specialize in Alchemy. His comment however, about bringing back his childhood habit of parties among other students of high excellence, was no passing thought.

The second two weeks of detention we spent in his office writing out letters to his former acquaintances to invite them to the new "Slug Club" banquet. Since he probably couldn't host it at Hogwarts he had scheduled it for the four-day weekend after midterms. It was a risky proposal since he might be called on to escort students to Hogsmeade if something happened to another teacher. Professor Rathilvy had completely closed off her office hours even to Newts students. I couldn't ask what was wrong, but rumor had it that the Ministry was badgering her, and it was inevitable she would be sacked by the end of the year.

I couldn't help but wonder if it was due to the events of the train. It seemed other students had not recognized the large dog as an Animagus transformation. Still the enemies had seen her, so had Raddisch and I. That type of magic was connected to poor relations in early history with muggles and some even considered it a Dark Art. I knew that it was not only regulated by an identification process, it also was currently still treated as a case by case basis to its legal use. Regardless, anything I might do would only make the problem worse.

Coming back early on a Monday, I would have been fine if I'd never seen an envelope again. Yet there in the deserted common room was Phydime tapping his claws on top of a box.

"He's anxious over something, I can't get him to stop" said Parker who was wracking his brain over studying at one of the tables across the room. I too would have been distracted by the constant tapping.

"It's just a box from Mary, too small for books though" I said taking it when a red lined envelope dropped from underneath. "...I think this is what he's mad about. Good lord, it's probably waited long enough to explode by now".

Parker came closer to see wat I was holding, between us the envelope shuddered a bit as I flipped it over to confirm the sender. It was from my mother and judging from the red line it was a howler. There wasn't much left to say in my opinion since the event had been dealt with and I received punishment. Mom seemed to have fallen into a chronically 'last to know' problem, but she didn't let it stop her from forming opinions. Still she was in some severe denial over the fact that I was now 18 years old. After a few more twitches, the letter burst open and Parker stepped back as it origami folded itself into a mouth.

"The minute you leave my sight something like this happens. Do you have no brain child?!" the letter began snapping in the air. "Now your father has to hear that you're in detention first thing, and with that horrible boy. I won't sit back and say nothing like he does, what right do you have to make my mistakes over again? Mark my words girl, if you think you know what you're getting into, you don't! As soon as you leave that school it will be different and he'll be different. All this foolishness you are causing is all because of him and his horrible family. If you choose him over us I won't protect you, do you hear me, I WON'T" with that the howler disintegrated into the air.

Parker was stunned and disgusted but I couldn't consolidate my feelings. They were rushing through me like flaming lava in my veins. Sadness, betrayal, anger and even mourning. Then before I could begin smashing about like a confused troll, Parker reached out for my hand.

"Anna, I need to tell you a story, but first just breathe..." he said looking at my face. I must have been hyperventilating or holding my breath, I couldn't tell. "Do you remember when Stephen was working for his Grandpa and we had our fight?"