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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Genevieve didn't even realize what she'd been up to until after Thomas had gone. She returned to her desk and attempted to resume her letter to James, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Her father's statements looked to have had an effect on her. She threw down her pen and scrunched the parchment into a ball, frustrated. It was thrown out with the other failed letter attempts in the trash.In a week, a lot of things can change. Your hair, your relationship status, your style. For Genevieve, it was her mind. Ever since her birthday, when she read the newspaper with Sirius, a thought had been swimming around inside her head. She didn't enjoy it, but she knew it was necessary for the larger good.
"All right, let's get packing," Mary declared as she entered Genevieve's room, two trunks at her side. She appeared paler than usual, but this only added to her gloriously angelic appearance. It was a mystery why her mother's platinum hair hadn't greyed and her sparkling green eyes hadn't faded after all these years. "It's best to have you all prepared and organised ahead of time so we don't have to rush about later."
Genevieve stared blankly at her ceiling. This has become a talent of hers, drawing patterns on the ceiling in order to help her think clearly. "No need," she shrugged.
"Of course there is," Mary replied, a small laugh accompanied with it, "I know what you're like, Genevieve, you'll leave it till the last minute and then you'll stuff everything you own into a trunk and complain when it's too heavy."
"I mean there's no need to pack at all," Genevieve said. Her expression was deadly serious. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts."
Mary frowned as she began folding Genevieve's clothes and placing them in the trunks. "That's not funny," she scolded softly.
"I wasn't joking."
Mary stopped folding the shirt in hand, her hold on it loosening. "Genevieve," she wearied, disheartened, "I don't want to sound demeaning, but I don't think you understand what you're saying."
"I do," said Genevieve, stubbornly. "I can't go, Mum. Not when so much bad is happening so close to home. God knows what could happen."
"But that doesn't mean something will happen, dear," Mary reasoned. Her tone was smooth, as if she was treating Genevieve with fragility. "You have a gift that only people read about in fairy tales, don't you want to learn more about it?"
"How could I learn anything if my mind is always preoccupied in class about whether my family is ok or not?" asked Genevieve.
With furrowed brows, Mary looked at her daughter for an awfully long time. It was hard to tell whether she was disappointed, or just confused. Under her mother's stare, Genevieve didn't feel uncomfortable and shrink away. She remained determined and never once felt like taking back her words.
Mary went to say something, but shut her mouth again. She walked out the room, shaking her head. Genevieve listening as her mothers light footsteps descended down the old, creaky stairs. There was a conversation going on downstairs. Careful not to disrupt a creaky floorboard, Genevieve crept onto the landing and sat on the top step. She listened as her mother and father spoke.
