I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In this world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now, be with me now.
-Amy Grant
Hogwarts’ first snowfall of the season was heavy”it blanketed the grounds with thick drifts of white powder and covered the trees with a layer of white. The lake froze, and festive decorations started to go up all over the castle. Cedrella loved the twelve grand Christmas trees in the Great Hall and the greens and holly festooned on the banisters. These weeks in December before the holidays started were her favorite part of the season. Nothing was more beautiful than Hogwarts at Christmastime.
The owls did not agree. After the first snow there were wild, blowing storms almost twice a week, often catching the birds in the middle of a delivery. It was a season of ruffled feathers, frozen feet, and broken wings.
“Hold still, Donnie, I’ve not finished with you yet. Mathias, pass me that bandage please.”
Mathias offered her a roll of gauze and she wrapped it gently but firmly around Donovan the screech owl’s set wing. He hooted in pain.
“Shhhh,” Cedrella said, looking the owl straight in the eyes, and hooting right back. “It’s for your own good, and you know it.”
His splint finished, the owl hobbled off, looking rather lopsided. Cedrella sat back on her heels. “Anyone else?” No owls came forward, and so Mathias hopped onto her wrist. Cedrella had thought that the other birds might be jealous of how much time she spent with Mathias these days, but it had been an unfounded worry. They could see how happy he and his letters made her, and that was enough for them. Cedrella settled back against the wall of the Owlery, Septimus’ latest letter in her hand.
“What is he going to throw at me this time, Mathias?”
The owl looked amused. He cooed. How should I know?
“Ah, but you do know. You know everything.”
The owl tittered. He was laughing at her.
“I don’t know what to do sometimes, Mat. I don’t even know who he thinks I am. Sometimes when I’m writing to him I don’t know who either of us think I am.”
But it makes you happy.
“Writing to him? Yes. But I don’t know why. It scares me, Mathias. And…he scares me sometimes. Yes, don’t look at me like that. I know he’s not scary. But I just don’t understand. Why does he keep writing me? Why is he interested?”
He cares.
“I can see that. I just don’t know why.”
You don’t have to have a reason to care.
“No, but I wish I did!”
It doesn’t work like that.
“I know.” Cedrella sighed. Mathias never had solutions for her, but he was sympathetic. He understood the strange friendship that was growing between her and Septimus Weasley better than anyone”better, she was sure, than either she or Septimus did. “You’re not going to tell me anymore?”
Mathias did not answer, he had become engaged with a bit of a dead mouse on the stone floor beside them.
“All right,” she sighed, stroking his feathery back. “Goodnight, dear one. I’ll leave a letter for you to take to him at the base of the tower tomorrow, all right?”
He hooted his agreement to this arrangement, and Cedrella kissed the top of his head, bade the rest of the owls goodnight, and slipped out the door.
**
The night before the term ended it snowed again. Cedrella packed her trunk neatly with a few clothes and schoolbooks. She was putting several rolls of parchment into the trunk when her hand brushed Septimus’ letters, stacked in the bottom of her nightstand drawer. Each had the flattened yet crinkled look of a paper that has been unfolded, read, and folded once more, over and over again. She hesitated, then lifted the stack from the drawer and tucked them inside a book, which she placed in the trunk. Packing finished, she locked it and rose for a last visit to the owls.
As she walked silently down the halls, keeping to the shadows, Cedrella contemplated the fact that though she had always disliked going home for Christmas, this year she was positively dreading it. Two torturous weeks of perfect composure and socializing, two weeks without the owls, two weeks without a letter from Septimus… no, that last part wasn’t true. He had promised”begged her really”to write over the holidays. And she had agreed, instructing Mathias which window to come to, in the dead of night only, to deliver the letters. Cedrella disliked how happy this one bright spot in her holiday made her. Had she come to rely so much on his letters in just over a month? She had always gotten along all right before Septimus. She still could. So why did the fact that he would write to her over Christmas feel like a lifeline? I’m just used to it now, she told herself. I’m used to it making me happy. But I can live without it. I can be happy without it. And these thoughts pressed firmly into her mind, Cedrella turned her mind to Charis, the other thing that made her happy, for the rest of the walk. Family, she knew, was more enduring than anything else. She would always have her sister.
Mathias swooped to greet her the moment she entered the freezing, snow dusted Owlery, and dropped a letter into her hands. Despite her earlier thoughts, Cedrella grasped the parchment as though it were precious metal. “Another one? Thank you, Mat. You are so good to us. Do you ever get to go out and hunt anymore?”
She thought that if owls could roll their eyes, he would have. In that? he asked, looking out at the snowstorm.
“Fair point,” Cedrella agreed. “We don’t want any more broken wings. It’s convenient that you give all the letters to me here, isn’t it?”
Mathias nodded.
“Speaking of which, you have to be careful over the holidays. Don’t go out in a snowstorm to deliver a letter to me. I’ll survive.”
Will you?
“Yes,” Cedrella said softly, stroking his head. “Somehow.”
**
December 12, 1933
Dear Cedrella,
I hope you get this before we leave for the holidays tomorrow, Drell. (Ha!) If not, Mathias will just have to follow you to London. Don’t go telling him not to fly in the snow; I have a feeling he will go to any lengths to keep up communication between us. Have you ever met a more dedicated owl? Besides, friends should be together at Christmas. Letters are the only way for me to be near to you.
Anyway, I have something for you: I finally got the reply from Demetrius. He tells some amusing and interesting stories that I am sure you will draw more conclusions from than I can (seeing as you still refuse to share your books). So, think of this as an early Christmas present. Your real one is still coming.
Are you excited to go home tomorrow? I expect not. I would say that we should sit together on the train, but you would probably tell me that is a very bad idea. I suppose only you would know.
Expect to hear from me soon. I’m going to tell you everything about our Christmas in the hope to improve yours.
Your friend,
Sep
Cedrella read the letter over again, for the third or fourth time, as she sat alone once again in the Prefect’s carriage, this time speeding in the other direction. She traced the words with the tips of her fingers. Friends should be together at Christmas… be near you….I’m going to tell you everything… your friend, Septimus. His sincerity and kindness, something she was not accustomed to, always hit her just when she thought she was getting used to it. Septimus said what he meant and meant what he said. He honestly wanted to spend time with her, and honestly wanted to help her have a better holiday. And he was not ashamed to admit that he knew hearing about his Christmas would make her happy. In fact he was not ashamed or shy about anything. Perhaps that was why she trusted him so much, and so irrationally. Why, in some ways she had told Septimus more of her personal thoughts, especially about the owls, than she had ever told Charis. Which should have been frightening. But somehow, it wasn’t. Try as she might to be wary or skeptical or any of the things she should have been, she couldn’t. She just felt…happy. Really happy, that elusive, warm feeling in her stomach that visited her on rare occasions when she was alone with Charis or the owls. But with Septimus it came so much easier. Every letter, every grin in the halls (as much as she told him not to) warmed her. She had never know anything like this before.
At last, Cedrella re-folded the letter and tucked it into her trunk with the rest of them. She sat for a while staring out the window, trying to think about the upcoming holiday, or her Transfiguration project on Animagi. But Septimus kept worming back into her thoughts. She thought about his invitation to sit with him on the train. She couldn’t, of course. Their friendship could never be anything but secret. And yet…I’ll just look, she thought to herself. And she stepped into the corridor.
Cedrella pretended that she was just on patrol. She told off a few noisy third years and peered into every carriage, checking for misbehavers. And then, about two thirds of the way down the train, she saw him, sitting in a compartment with a few other Gryffindors. They were talking about Quidditch. Septimus played, she knew. He was a Chaser. She usually only went to Slytherin matches to keep up appearances, as she found Quidditch both boring and immature, but this year she had gone to the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match to see him play. He was very good.
She hesitated for only a moment outside the compartment, then walked by. But she saw his head turn, and his blue eyes widen, as she turned away. A moment later she heard her name.
“Cedrella?
She kept walking, though she slowed down. She could hear him following her. At the end of the train, she stopped and turned around, her heart pounding. He was grinning. The smile was so joyful, so unlike his tears the last time they had really spoken, that her excuse about being on patrol died in her throat. She simply stared at him.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello.”
“Are you thinking about reconsidering my invitation? I bet we could find an empty compartment.”
“No, no, I was just… patrolling. Actually I wasn’t. I just wanted to walk by your compartment and say Happy Christmas in person, but then there were other people there and I decided it wasn’t a very good idea.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “All right. Well, thanks. Happy Christmas to you too. Did you get my letter last night?”
“Yes,” she said. “I went up to the Owlery to say goodbye to Mathias and the others. Although I suppose I’ll be seeing Mat soon enough.”
“You definitely will. But what did you think of Demetrius’ stories?”
“They were fascinating, of course.”
Another grin. “Oh good. So, any leads?”
“Some.” Cedrella hesitated. As pleasant as it was, she knew it was dangerous to keep talking to him like this. Anyone could walk by. “I’m going to work on it over the holidays. I’ll write to you if I find anything groundbreaking. But I should go. Happy Christmas, Septimus.” She turned to walk away.
“Cedrella?” His hand was on her elbow.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for coming to say hi.” She stared up into his earnest expression. He looked like he wanted to say something else, like he wished his thank-you meant a million more things. His hand still rested on her arm.
“You’re welcome,” she said at last, at a loss for any other reply. They stood there for another second, the silence stretching, the sound of the train loud in her ears. Cedrella’s heart was pounding oddly again. “Well”goodbye,” she said eventually, in a faint voice.
He nodded. “See you in two weeks, Drell.”
“Don’t call me Drell.”
“Sorry.” He grinned, clearly not very sorry at all. “See you in two weeks, Cedrella.”
She smiled briefly in response and walked away, striding briskly down the corridor. She heard him mutter “Drell,” under his breath at her retreating back, but she did not turn around.
Septimus couldn’t see, but a wide smile had spread across Cedrella Black’s face.
***
Callidora met Cedrella and Charis at the station, dressed in a long green cloak and clearly very displeased to be there. She quickly shepherded her sisters out of the station and down the Muggle street, disdain evident across her face as they proceeded towards the Leaky Cauldron. Charis, who rarely got to see her oldest sister, trotted alongside Callidora delightedly while Cedrella trailed just behind, gazing around Muggle London in idle interest. It wasn’t often she got to go out in the Muggle world, and recently she had been wondering if the world she had so long believed to be inferior might have some information that the Wizarding world lacked. Information from Vivery and Demetrius’ letters, not to mention his books, had opened her up to whole new vistas of possibilities. After all, she had been taught to think that tribal, wandless magic was inferior too. Clearly, it wasn’t. Might there be some hidden truths in the Muggle world, as well?
They Flooed to the family manor house from the Leaky Cauldron, and Cedrella and Charis were shepherded upstairs by the house elf to clean up and change before meeting their parents for dinner. As Cedrella changed out of her simple black robes into a more elegant grey set that she had not worn since leaving for Hogwarts, she noted that it felt odd to be back in her old room. Everything looked exactly the same, and it was spotlessly clean. Yet Cedrella herself felt different. She always did, coming back from school. But this year was worse than ever. She was used to casual robes, to owls and hay and fresh air and books and letters. Already, standing in her dark bedroom staring at her reflection in her grey silk fastened tightly at her throat, she felt stifled. I can do this for two weeks, she thought desperately. I can even do it for a summer. But I can’t do this for the rest of my life. “You must,” she said out loud, but very quietly. “You’ll get used to it. You must.” There was a knock on the door, and Cedrella jumped. “Yes?”
“Ready?” asked Charis’ voice.
Never, she thought rebelliously. “Yes, I’m coming.”
Cedrella joined her sister and the two of them went down the steps together. They shared one nervous look at the foot of the stairs, then Cedrella stepped forward and pushed open the door to the dining room. “Hello, Father.”
He sat at the head of the long table, the candlelight glimmering ominously on his silver beard. Their mother sat beside him on the side of the table, with Callidora beside her. “Cedrella, Charis,” said Arcturus Black. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Father,” they said quietly. Cedrella swept a quick curtsey and, a moment later, Charis did the same. He nodded and gestured for them to sit down.
As the house-elf brought out the first course, a beet salad and French onion soup, Cedrella and Charis sat and listened to their parents and Callidora (who was married and therefore granted adult status) discuss the various deaths, engagements, births, and gatherings that had happened in the pureblood community in the last few months. Cedrella knew her sister beside her was listening for anything concerning the Malfoys, especially Lucifer and his possible betrothal. As usual, Cedrella herself made sure that there was no mention, however slight, of her own engagement. There wasn’t.
Cedrella could feel Charis tense beside her as Kiko the house-elf brought out the second course, a cut of lamb and roasted vegetables. It was time for the conversation to turn, and now they would be grilled on their time away: their studies, their grades, their friends, their fellow Slytherins…everything their father could think of that they could have possibly done wrong.
As usual, Charis let Cedrella do most of the talking. Cedrella was very good at managing these conversations, though she loathed them. She had observed the way her mother and then Callidora spoke for years: the careful evasions, the delicate balance of flattery and manipulation. Charis was in many ways more honest than Cedrella, but she had no finesse. She had not yet learned how to not lie, but not tell the truth either. Far from her personal dread at the idea of marriage, Cedrella was afraid that she would be forced to leave home before she could teach her clueless little sister the lessons that were so important in their world.
At last, the plates were cleared, the unfinished bowls of chocolate mousse had been cleaned away (for it was very bad manners to finish your desert, even Charis knew that), the post-dinner coffee had been drunk, and Cedrella and Charis were dismissed. Cedrella walked up to her room as quickly as was permissible and collapsed on her bed, feeling as if she had just been taking a very long exam, or perhaps running a race. She unpinned the opal brooch on her collar and began to undo the buttons on her uncomfortable robes, taking long, deep breaths. Then she curled up onto her bed and fell asleep, exhausted. Family dinners were often unpleasant, but she had never before had a conversation where she had so much to hide.
She was awakened by a tapping on the window. Disoriented and confused, she lit a candle and clambered out of bed, peering into the darkness.
And then with a jolt she was wide awake. “Mathias!” Cedrella hissed, fumbling with the latch on the window. As it opened, the owl, and a rush of freezing night air, swept into her room. “Remember, shhhhh!” she whispered, holding a finger to her lips and looking the owl in the eyes.
He blinked. I know.
“All right, all right,” she whispered back.
Mathias held out his leg, and Cedrella untied the scroll there. Then she closed the window, carried the owl over to her bed, and by the light of her single candle she read Septimus’ letter. She felt that she should have known he would write to her tonight. He was always impatient.
December 13, 1933
Dear Drell,
I know you are going to read this anyway.
It was so nice to talk to you today on the train. I was surprised that you came to find me”“Don’t talk to me in public! Don’t smile so much! Stop walking by my table!” Sound familiar?”but I was very glad. Don’t you think it’s nicer to speak in person?
I do hope you’re planning on explaining to me why that Egyptian man thought he could speak to dung beetles. You may not believe me, but I’m quite interested in your project.
Mum, Rudy, Quint, and Tusy all turned up to fetch me from the station. You might have seen them on the platform. I don’t think I’ve had that many people there to greet me since I was about thirteen. It was nice, but all the same it was odd. Have you heard the saying that grief can bring families together? Well the problem is that mine doesn’t need to be brought together. We’re already quite close. I feel like if this keeps up we’re going to suffocate each other. I talked to Rudy about it tonight while we were feeding the horses and he agrees. But he said that he always comes to get me from the station, so why would he stop just because Quint and Tusy decided to tag along? I agreed that he had a point, and we laughed it off. Rudy and I like to blame everything on Quint and Tusy, and they blame everything on us. So it’s fair.
Suffocation aside, it is wonderful to see everyone even if it is a bit odd around here. Mum is holding up well. Tomorrow, Alex, his wife Rebecca, and their two boys are arriving, and we’re all going to cut down a Christmas tree. We would do it without them, but Mum likes to pretend to wait for the children rather than”and I quote”“watch her grown sons go romping into the forest like a bunch of wild hooligans.” Dad never cared. I’m excited, though. The tree outing is always great fun.
I hope you are all right at home. Have fun with your sisters, and write back soon.
Your friend,
Sep
P.S. We have another family owl, named Cleo. She’s quite clever. I have a feeling Mathias might get tiered from all these trips from Tinsworth to London and back, and I don’t want to overexert him. I was wondering if I could send Cleo along with Mat next time so you could give her the instructions for delivering the letters? I don’t know about these sorts of things, remember (and who’s fault is that?) so if that doesn’t work just let me know.
P.P.S Can I tell Rudy about you? Please? He can keep a secret.
Cedrella let out a breath she had been holding as she read the letter, then settled back against her pillows to read it again. She smiled. He knew how to make her smile, which she found funny in itself, because she considered herself a person who it was hard to get a smile out of. Charis could do it, the owls could do it… and Septimus could do it. Often.
She reconsidered the letter. As usual his blatant show of emotions confused her. Weren’t men supposed to be even more removed than women? How could he say, so plainly what he was feeling all the time? And to her, a girl he barely knew? The letter was cheerful and teasing, but also raw”and very, very honest. Cedrella knew her own letters were never like that. She agonized over each word. She wondered if he found them dry because of it.
Cedrella reached for paper and quill, and began to write by the light of her guttering candle.
December 14, 1933
Dear Septimus,
Please, please stop calling me Drell. It sounds silly.
I surprised myself on the train yesterday. I shouldn’t have done it, but nothing happened so I suppose I don’t regret it. Yet. You make me too impulsive, you know. I’m not normally that way.
Please do send Cleo. I don’t want to exhaust Mathias by any means. But I can tell Mat what to tell Cleo, so don’t worry about sending them both. That won’t be a problem. I look forward to meeting her.
I am glad your holiday is going all right. How old are your nephews? However odd your family seems right now, you should know that you are very, very lucky to have them.
My holiday so far has consisted of an awkward family dinner. Tomorrow the events start. Mother is even more eager than usual for me to come along to everything. I cannot help but think that this does not bode well for my “vacation.”
Your friend,
Cedrella
She hesitated over the page, eyeing his second postscript. She was beginning to understand that Septimus’ brother Rudy was like Charis for her. They did everything together. They told each other everything. (Almost everything). Septimus hated keeping a secret from Rudy, just like she loathed keeping a secret from Charis. Reluctantly, she lowered her quill to the page.
P.S. I suppose you can tell your brother Rudy that we’ve been exchanging letters. I know how it is to have secrets you don’t want to keep. Please don’t tell him about the owls, though. I’d like to keep that anomaly to myself. You only found out by accident, remember.
There. That would do. Cedrella sealed the letter and held it out for Mathias, who had been drinking out of her water glass. “There’s a tree down the block you can rest in if you need to, Mat. I’m sorry I can’t keep you here,” she whispered.
That’s all right. His coo of consent was so low and quiet that she had to strain to hear.
She kissed his head, and opened the window once more. “See you soon.”
He pecked her hand lovingly and flew out into the night.
Cedrella sighed, watching him till he was out of sight. Then she slipped Septimus’ letter under her pillow and lay down to sleep once more.
**
“I must say, Ruby, your cakes are simply divine. Did your house-elf make these?”
“Why, thank you Lysandra. But no, I made them. We… it’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
“I see,” Lysandra Black said evenly, her eyes narrowing vindictively as Ruby Macmillan and the other women present looked uncomfortable.
Cedrella tightened her grip on her teacup, imagining that her mother could feel the annoyance radiating across the room from her daughter. They all knew the Macmillans did not have a house-elf. There was no need for Lysandra to point it out so obviously. Cedrella had seen her mother do this for years”putting down those who she felt were below her and insinuating herself with those she thought might be better, all with a few shrewd compliments. It was the way these social gatherings worked, she supposed, but Cedrella couldn’t help but feel sorry for Mrs. Macmillan. She was so nice. And the cakes were good. Delicious, in fact.
“I agree, they’re delicious,” she said aloud. “I wish we had food like this at home! Perhaps you should get the recipe, Mother. They would definitely improve our holiday dinner.” She suppressed a smirk as her mother’s lips tightened. Two could play at this game.
Mrs. Macmillan looked grateful. She might not be very good at this, but she could appreciate a master. “That’s very kind of you, Cedrella dear. My grandmother was a genius in the kitchen”she wrote rolls and rolls of parchment of her own recipes.” The plump woman smiled reminiscently. “Perhaps you would like to learn some of them? I”“
“How kind of you, Ruby,” Lysandra said tightly. “But we wouldn’t want to take your family secrets. We all have things that are uniquely ours.” She hesitated. “Cedrella, why don’t you go check on Charis?”
Cedrella rose without speaking and strode from the room. She stopped to check her reflection in a mirror in the hall, making sure her anger did not show on her face. She could hear the women’s voices in the sitting room”the soft murmers of Mrs. Macmillan and Mrs. Abbot, the louder one of Mrs. Smith, and the sharp tone that was her mother’s. She was glad to escape. Her mother was making it blatantly obvious that she did not want to be there. Cedrella knew that the only reason they had been invited (and had accepted) was because her father and Mr. Macmillan were working on some sort of business deal that involved a lot of gold. The pretense that they were “family” (Cedrella’s cousin Arcturus had married Mr. Macmillan’s little sister a few years ago) was transparent. She scowled at her reflection. It was a shame that the Blacks had intruded on what could have actually been a pleasant afternoon for the three Hufflepuff families.
Charis, Melinda Abbot, and Arnold Macmillan were sitting in a circle on the rug in the second sitting room, playing gobstones. It was a pleasant room, clearly the one the Macmillans actually used when they weren’t entertaining judgmental company. A Christmas tree stood in a corner beside the fireplace, pictures of the family hung on the walls, and the furniture looked comfortable and well used. But it was bright and clean and warm, and Cedrella sank gratefully onto the couch. Charis glanced up from her game. “Have you been evicted?”
“In a manner of speaking. Mother told me to “check” on you, Charis.”
“Well, I’m clearly getting up to all sorts of trouble.” She rolled her eyes and shot a well-aimed gobstone at one of Arnold’s, knocking it out of the circle. “Aha! Three points.”
Cedrella sat and watched them. Charis and Arnold were neck and neck, while Melinda, who had dreadful aim and was two years younger than her cousin and his classmate, was trailing behind, but she didn’t seem to mind. Charis, though she was sitting neatly and was dressed perfectly in green silk robes, looked nonetheless like a part of the family. They laughed and teased one another, and, watching them, Cedrella found herself hoping against hope that Charis could, by some miracle, marry Arnold instead of Lucifer. Her sister’s cheerful, talkative nature was so well suited to this Hufflepuff way of being.
Her eyes strayed to the Christmas tree, and she thought of Septimus. He and his family would perhaps be out in the snow and the woods right now, hunting for a tree to cut down. It sounded fun, if a bit cold. If the Macmillans’ house felt relaxed, though, she could not imagine the mayhem of the Weasleys’. She wondered what his father had been like, why they were all so devastated. She knew all she had to do to find out was ask him. He was completely open with her, unless he wanted something, and even then he was hopelessly transparent. Septimus clearly had no experience with the quiet skills of manipulation and evasion. He was an open book. Once again she wondered why he found her, a book closed with a lock and key, interesting at all. Mathias had said he cared. But about what?
“Cedrella! Are you listening to me?”
“Sorry, Charis. What?”
Charis rolled her eyes. “I said, Mother’s coming. I can hear them in the hall.”
Cedrella stood up quickly, shaking off her troubling musings, and pulled Charis to her feet as well, just as Lysandra Black swept into the room, trailed by Mrs. Macmillan. “We’re going now, girls,” she said.
Cedrella and Charis bade quick, polite farewells to Arnold, Melinda, and Mrs. Macmillan, then stepped into the Floo. Cedrella gave their host a quick, sympathetic smile before she called, “Chateau Noir!” and the pleasant sitting room vanished from sight, replaced by the dark, polished wood of her own home.
**
December 15, 1933
Dear Drell,
It was good to hear from you! I think Mathias must have told Cleo about you, because she’s much more excited than usual to deliver this letter. She’s practically hovering around me while I write.
The tree outing was a success. Jonathan (who is five) and Joey (who is three) actually wanted to get a reasonably sized tree, but we beat them down. The tree is positively bursting out of the living room, as usual. Rudy had to hack about three feet off the top to get it through the door. We decorated it tonight, and now there are bits of silver tinsel all over the house. Mum is furious, or pretending to be. We got more fresh snow, so today we went on a sleigh ride. Rudy and Quint hitched up all the best horses with the bell harnesses and everything, though it took them about an hour longer together than it usually took Dad by himself. We all pretended we didn’t notice, and had a good time. I know you would have loved it, and I’m enclosing a bell from my favorite mare so you have bit of holiday cheer. It sounds like it’s a little thin on the ground at your place.
I haven’t mentioned you to Rudy yet, but I will. Thanks for trusting me with that. You are right, I do tell him everything. Thank you for reminding me about my family, as well. You are right. I am lucky, whatever has happened.
I also put a few of Mum’s peanut butter cookies into this package. They are another Christmas tradition, and quite tasty. Tusy caught me smuggling them into my room, so you better appreciate that I bore a lot of teasing to get these to you.
Yours,
Sep
December 18th, 1933
Dear Septimus,
The bell is so charming! I do envy those sleigh rides, they sound lovely. I’ve tucked the bell into my worst pair of socks, and I intend to take it out whenever I’m feeling particularly in need of some holiday spirit. The cookies, too, were scrumptious. Thank you. I’ve enclosed a bit of holly from our banister”I don’t expect you to enjoy it, but I think that it accurately represents Christmastime at my house.
How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Drell? It sounds ridiculous.
It was lovely to meet Cleo. She is a sweet bird. The feathers on her left wing got a bit tweaked during her flight so I fixed that and had her hide under my bed for a few hours to keep an eye on her before I let her fly off again.
We went to the Macmillan’s for tea a few days ago, and today there was a dinner party at Malfoy Manor. Both were unpleasant. I suppose it was worse at the Macmillans, because they are so nice. It was just us, the Abbots, and the Smith there for tea, and Mother was acting ridiculously superior to everyone and everything because she thought she was the highest class there. Which she was, of course, but sometimes it is nice to have some Selwyns or Malfoys around just to keep Mother in check. Charis got to spend the whole time playing gobstones with Arnold Macmillan (such a sweet boy) and had a fine time, but Mother kept me in with the other women almost the whole afternoon. When we got home I told Charis that I sometimes think it would be nice to be a Macmillan because there would be more room to make mistakes. She said she would still rather be a Black. We talked about that for a while, and I finally told her I didn’t care what I was, as long as she is my little sister. I miss Hogwarts terribly, but it is nice to have this time with Charis. Other than that, I have been studying and reading quite a bit. Father has a huge library, though I haven’t found anything useful for my research project there yet. More social functions are sure to come, not to mention the lavish and torturous Christmas Eve Ball at the Yaxleys’. My mother’s side of the family has never done things halfway.
I hope you aren’t bored by these silly details, but I have a feeling you find my life just as fascinating as I find yours.
Looking forward to your next letter,
Cedrella
**
It was two in the morning on Christmas Day, and Cedrella lay awake in her bed, her eyes wide open despite the long, exhausting day she had had. Christmas Eve had begun with family breakfast, then a few hours of coaching a worried Charis on how to approach their father about attending the World Cup with the Malfoys in the summer. After that, Cedrella had tried to study, and then dressed herself and her sister painstakingly for dinner at Callidora’s. That lengthy bout of torture was followed by the Yaxleys’ annual Christmas Eve Ball, where Cedrella was forced to dance with what felt like every male at the party, all the while keeping an eye on Charis and avoiding her Yaxley relatives who kept asking probing questions about why she was still at Hogwarts. When the bells had tolled announcing that Christmas Day had arrived and champagne was passed around to celebrate, Cedrella had thought bitterly that there was nothing happy about this Christmas. No joy of the season, no peace on earth or goodwill to all. She had bit her cheek to keep back the tears she felt burning inside her eyes and spat the bitter champagne back into the glass at the first opportunity. When Robert Selwyn, (who had asked her to dance a few more times that night than Cedrella thought was strictly polite) asked her if he could finish her glass, she had handed it over to him with vindictive pleasure. I hope you choke on my spit, she thought furiously. They departed soon after than, and Cedrella undid Charis’ hair and listened dutifully to her sister’s happy chatter about the party and her giggly retelling of every single time she had danced with Lucifer. It was wasn’t until about one-thirty that Cedrella at last escaped to her own room, where she had wept bitterly and silently into her pillow until her eyes were dry and her throat raw. She thought of Septimus then, and his close happy family, and imagined them all, sleeping peacefully, thinking only of good food and trees and snow and sleigh rides. She thought of Charis, and how in her own misery she had hardly listened to her sister this night.
Cedrella was still lying there, feeling drained, jealous, and guilty, when the soft tap on the window that she had been subconsciously waiting for roused her from her dark thoughts. She leapt out of bed, pushing the window open, and ushering the two owls into her bedroom. Mathias and Cleo settled on the baseboard of her bed, fluffing their wings and brushing off snow. Cleo had a package wrapped in damp brown paper tied to one leg, and Mathias held a letter in his beak.
“Both of you!” Cedrella whispered in delight, stroking their wings. “Mat, you’re supposed to be resting, what are you doing here? Oh don’t look at me like that, of course I’m happy to see you.”
She accepted the letter and untied the package carefully from Cleo’s leg, a bubble of warmth blooming in her chest. Septimus had sent her a gift, but more importantly he had sent her her friends, right when she needed them most. The owls leaned forward to watch as Cedrella unwrapped the package as silently as possible. A note from Septimus sat on top.
Cedrella”
I know falconers wear guards like these on their arms to protect them from the bird’s talons, and while owl claws aren’t nearly as lethal as falcon ones, I thought you might find is useful. I couldn’t help noticing you had a few scars on your wrists. Plus, it’s lovely and warm. Anyway, Merry Christmas and enjoy!
Sep
Cedrella peered into the package. A knitted sweater, pale turquoise in color, lay folded there. She removed it carefully and saw that, from the elbows down, the material was not wool but thick brown leather. Cedrella pressed her face into the soft wool, smelling it, and then pulled the sweater over her head. “Mat,” she whispered, and the owl fluttered from the baseboard to perch on her outstretched, leather-clad arm. Cedrella smiled. Although the old scars on her wrist were not from owl talons but a more sinister source, she could hardly think of a more thoughtful, personal gift than this.
She looked back at the wrapping paper and saw a smaller parcel, tied with tissue, still lying there. She took it out, unwrapping it carefully, and two wooden figurines fell out onto her lap. Cedrella lifted them up in wonder. The first was an owl, his head cocked, eyes inquisitive. The second was a girl, standing with her arms outstretched and her eyes closed, a rapturous expression on her tiny, exquisitely carved face. Her hair streamed loose down her back, her feet were bare, and she wore a nightdress and thick knitted sweater. Cedrella looked at Mathias, who was watching her closely. “Is this me?” she whispered.
Mathias cooed softly. Yes.
“He made them? Septimus?”
Of course, Cleo said.
Cedrella set the figures down tenderly on her pillow, stunned. She carefully cleaned away the wrapping paper, then got out a handkerchief full of dried cherries that she had stolen from the refreshments table at the Ball to feed to the owls. As they pecked at the fruit, she opened the letter and began to read.
December 24, 1933
Dear Cedrella,
I am only calling you Cedrella because it’s Christmas and I feel like being nice. After today, it is back to business as usual.
We made the famous potato pancakes this morning, and it was great fun. Once again, we all pretended Dad wasn’t missing, which worked fairly well. They were delicious and I wish I could have sent some along to you. Unfortunately, we ate every last scrap, but I don’t think they would have mailed very well anyway.
Rudy and I went for a long walk today, and I told him about you. Then we ended up talking about Dad. It was good, I guess, to get it out there and not pretend like nothing is wrong. But it’s Christmas. I don’t want to be angry and upset. Is that so wrong?
It’s snowing now, and I hope the owls can get through. I wish”well, I wish so many things. I wish you were here.
Merry Christmas, Cedrella. Write me soon.
Septimus
P.S. I hope you like your gift.
Cedrella smiled at the last line. If only you knew,, she thought.
An hour later, after the owls had finished the cherries and flown off with her reply, Cedrella lay in her bed once more. She wore the new sweater over her nightgown, and held the precious figurines in her hands. Septimus’ letter was tucked under her pillow, and the taste of a peanut butter cookie was still melting on her tongue. As she drifted off to sleep at last, she once more heard bells in the distance, tolling Christmas Day. Rejoice, they chimed. Sing and rejoice, for a savior has come unto thee.
Cedrella Black fell asleep with a smile on her face.
Soldiers by dominiqueweasley
Chapter Notes: Christmas holidays arrive and Cedrella finds herself in a tighter corner than ever.