Oblivion ━━ Sirius Black

𝟸.𝟸 | ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴇᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴡᴀʀᴅ

"We are all born free

and spend a lifetime

becoming slaves

to our own

false truths."

― Atticus Poetry, Love Her Wild

Josefine Greengrass was afraid.

Now, fear is, doubtless, a most natural thing to experience in one's being, but the thing with Josefine Greengrass was that she had never before felt anything like it.
It should also be said that Josefine Greengrass was by far not fearless. Merlin knows she had her own worries. However, being afraid for someone and not of something had, in fact, quite a difference. A difference that Josefine Greengrass hadn't been aware of before.

She was sat beside her older sister, who was staring blankly into the bowl of tasteless porridge, dragging her spoon back and forth.
Orpheus Greengrass was engrossed in the newest issue of the Daily Prophet while his wife Ophelia busied herself by putting butter on the toast as though it were a canvas.

The tension at the table was so palpable you could cut through it with a Severing Charm. Josefine brought the tea cup to her lips and scanned the table over its rim, her doe eyes quickly registering that something was indeed the matter. So she spoke up.

"Trevor says we'll be visiting his cousin this summer," she said, instantly drawing her mother's attention.

"Will you really?"

"Oh, yes. He was appointed to the French Ministry as a liaison. Their family invited us over for a visit," Josefine explained dutifully.

"That is certainly very nice of them," Ophelia smiled a tired smile.

"I didn't know the Higgs had French ties," Orpheus said from behind the newspaper.

Josefine faltered. Ophelia stopped buttering the toast. Easton didn't show it but she listened in closely, for the conversation promised to be a wild ride.

"That's because they don't," Josefine mumbled.

"Ah," was all Orpheus replied with as he tore his eyes away from the newspaper, folded and placed it on the table next to him.

"Unspeakable Buggady found murdered in his own house. Can the Ministry be trusted?" read the title, and Easton felt so utterly nauseous she had to
shut her eyes to pull herself together.

"How so?"

"They're not quite close", Josefine amended, her eyes even bigger with anxiety, "He's–"

"–Another pureblood no one gives a flying snitch about, moving on," Easton groaned in exasperation and dropped the sodding spoon into her porridge, "Let's go, shall we, Josie? Lest we miss the train," she added the last part dramatically.

All eyes were on Easton, surprised that she had spoken up for the first time in days.

"Come on," she left her seat and looked to Josefine expectedly, "We don't have all day! Marius will apparate us, hurry."

"Easton–"

"Goodbye, mother," she smiled tightly. The woman looked so ghastly pale, she seemed almost grey.

"Write soon," Ophelia said at last and returned to buttering the toast.

"Be sure to, Easton," added Orpheus with a tagging smile on his thin lips.