1.2 ARTEMIS | James Sirius Potter

iv. 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖘

       

four
the three broomsticks

        Dearest Artemis,

                                       Your father sent me an owl in the early hours of this morning. He was rather concerned about you. And being your father, he knows exactly how you think Artemis. As do I.

                                       As much as I love you and adore spoiling you, I cannot go against your fathers wishes, or mine. Your father won't give you permission to enter and neither will I. So, you might as well scrap that letter you've got planned to send to me.

                                       I beg you to not go against your fathers wishes out of spite. If anything were to happen to you, it would break him and Scorpius.

                                        Remember that we do love you. So much. I'll see you this weekend. We can talk more then.

My Eternal Love,

Auntie Daph

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        Did you know there are more stars in space than there are grains of sand?

        Did you know that when a star dies, those stars much larger than the sun, will create a supernova that would eventually transform into a black hole over the course of a few billion years? The black hole is a strong force of gravity, sucking in all of  the miraculous light and exuberant colours of the universe into a miserable black abyss, trapping it with no escape, but eventually, many billion years down the line it will explode, releasing all of its stolen energy back into the universe through a mass explosion. According to the legendary Wizard Stephen Hawkin, and renowned Ravenclaw, the explosion would be equivalent to that of one million and one megaton Hydrogen bombs.

         The night sky was a silky black, morphing into trepidatious hues of navy and plumb. Stars scattered across the sky, some twinkling, others did not. Sometimes when Artemis stares out on the Astronomy tower, she's lucky enough to catch a few shooting stars, jumping past every few hours on a cloudy night, but on a clear night like tonight, and a meteor shower predicted, she should've been able to see them all. When her mother first fell ill and Artemis would see a shooting star—foolish as it may seem—Artemis would close her eyes and wish, or pray to the stars above that her mother would get better.

        Except tonight there wasn't any shooting stars to see. Only the stationary ones in the sky, making Artemis wonder when you wouldn't be able to see them anymore. How long did they have left of their lives before they exploded into a red dwarf—or worse, a black hole?

         As ironic as it seemed, Artemis felt as if her lifespan ended a while ago. Her star exploded the day her mother died and since then she's been a walking, breathing black hole, anxiously awaiting her catastrophic and humongous explosion.

Her aunts letter hit her a lot harder than what she anticipated when she started to read through it. At first, she was merely annoyed—selfishly annoyed—at not being given permission. Again. By the time Artemis finished reading the letter, tears had been streaming down her face for Merlin knows how long, already staining the paper and smudging the ink. Her aunts words struck a serious chord within Artemis, one that ran so deep into her lost soul, she didn't know what else to do other than cry out.