Princess; George Weasley

two

The temperature instantly drops as the vibrant, green flames around us die down. We step into a rather quaint living room, ashes falling off of us.

"Oh, dear!" Shouts a distant voice. "I must've forgotten to clean out the fireplace."

"No problem, Minerva," says my father, his voice monotone.

An older woman walks into the cozy area with a tray of assorted china. Her skin is fair and wrinkled. Her thin lips are wearing a welcoming smile. She sets the shining tray down before taking my father by the wrist.

"I hope you've had a good travel."

My father just nods as she removes her hand from his. Her eyes then wander to me. "You must be Claudia," she says warmly, "Your father has told the staff at Hogwarts all about you."

I smile politely before looking over at my father. His eyes look tired although his face has the same expression it has all night on it.

"Well, I suppose I should show you to your rooms," she adds. "You guys must be exhausted. I know I am, and I haven't been traveling!"

I chuckle softly, and follow her out the living room. Her kitchen and dining area is fairly minimalist. Everything seems very orderly, like it's recently been tidied up. We go up the stairs and are met with a narrow hallway. The smooth baseboards are higher, and the walls are a gray color. There are three doors on the right, and one of the left.

"The bathroom is the farthest door on the right," she says. "The other two bedrooms are for you two, so help yourself." She scurries into the bathroom and comes out with a plastic broom. As she's heading downstairs she mumbled something along the long line of "good night!"

My father walks into the first door without a word and closes the door behind him. I sigh, quietly before heading into the next room.

My stuff is piled neatly in the corner by a small desk. An average, twin sized bed sits along the left wall with a nightstand by its side. A simple, pale blue rug lies on the floor. I can't bring myself to lay down. The luminous alarm clock reads one thirty.

I plop down onto my bed before looking out the window. Pigeons rest along rooftops and the ocasional car passes by with its blinding headlights.

I'm feeling so lost. My childhood home feels as if it was apart of my identity. It seems to have been ripped away from me without a proper goodbye. It feels silly to be so attached to a place, but it was one of the few things I consistently had for awhile after my grandmother passed. Suddenly, a thought emerges.

Opal was a consistent thing in my life, and I just let her go over the summer. I could still get her back.

I grab a piece of paper from the desk drawer and use the quill and ink on the tabletop. There's so many things to tell her... where would I start? I begin to write, and I don't stop for a long time. My hand starts to cramp but the idea of being able to hear from a person I love so much allows me to push through.

I put the quill down for a moment and scan my eyes over what I've done. My handwriting is small, and gradually gets more messy as the letter continues. The room darkens as a cloud shifts over the glittering moon. I'm left with the light from the small lamp on the bedside table.

I pick the quill back up and as I write I'm blinded by the amazing person she is. Her quiet persona always makes me always  wonder what's going on inside of her head. When she finally feels comfortable enough to open up, I can't help but smile. Her sarcastic sense of humor never fails to make anyone laugh. She's polite, but isn't afraid to change if someone is being ignorant. She loves her brother with everything she has, and is so proud of the people around her.

I look over the letter one last time. I can picture her bright eyes skimming the paper while gripping onto the sides in anticipation. I can almost hear her laugh at the dumb inside jokes, and scoff at the improper use of commas. She'll probably run her fingers through her slightly damaged, blonde hair while contemplating dying it again after I bring it up. She'll be upset when it's over, but can't wait till she has time to write a response.

I know I won't get a response until I start Hogwarts. I'm okay with it though, it gives me something to look forward to. Opal's family owns a bakery in Washington. She's always helping out, and I doubt will find time to respond during their busiest season.

I slowly sneak out of my room, gently opening the door. I don't want the creaking noise waking anyone up. Especially my father. I peak down the stairs, making sure Minerva is done sweeping the residue in the living room.

I creep down the steps, and to the windowsill in the kitchen. My fathers dark, brown owl is sitting alongside Minerva's speckled, tan one. My father's owl is fully perched, its talons tucked under its body. My father has been sending an enormous amount of owls recently, so it's no wonder he's trying to get some rest at night. Meanwhile, Minerva's owl is sitting whilst gazing outside. It screeches every now and then when it sees something small stumble across the street. Every time a car goes by, it jumps up, then fixes its feathers from the disheveled landing.

I know my father will be annoyed with me using his owl, but I really don't have a choice. I can only hope he won't notice while his owl is gone. I walk towards the owl and stroke his dark feathers. Large, black eyes flutter open and look back at me.

My fathers owl manages to give me a rather irked expression before pecking at my finger. I hold up the letter and he hesitantly sticks his leg out, confused to why I'm using him and not my father. I tie the letter along his leg and he shifts, preparing for flight.

I roll open the window and a cool summer breeze hits me. The owl soars out the window, letter swinging from its leg. I lean forwards, getting some fresh air.

Suddenly, sleep sounds quite fantastic. The plush, green cushions look cozy and inviting. I let myself sit, resting my head against the fluffy pillow laying there. I close my eyes, and can feel them getting heavier by the minute. I feel less restless, and a little bit more like myself for the first time since I found out we were moving.