Sylvia,
I'm not sure this will fit, but if your measurements have stayed the same since I last saw you, it should work. I hope you have a nice boy taking you.
Be smart,
Charlotte
Her mother always signed off with her first name. Never xoxo mum, even mother would have been better than "Charlotte". Of course she never let anyone call her anything other than Charlotte or Mrs. Callis or Charlotte Martha Callis. No Charlie, no Lottie, no Char. Just like she never called Sylvia anything other than that. No Sylvie, no Syl, no honey, no darling, dearest, love, sweetie. She expected to Sylvia to name her own daughter after her, as she had done for her own mother. "Sylvia means forrest," her father would tell her when she was a child, "because you're my little forrest squirrel." It was a lie, of course. Sylvia was named Sylvia because her grandmother was named Sylvia and that was all. Her father had no say in her naming and she knew that, but the thought of there being a meaning behind it always made her feel less stiffly about it. He was the only person her mother let call her Char.
If your measurements have stayed the same, she was always expecting her to gain weight. She had filled out after puberty and it drove Charlotte crazy. Dietary restrictions and tennis lessons ensued and Sylvia was back to having the body of a prepubescent boy again. Though this past summer, she had ignored her mother's berating and went up two sizes. At least now she could fill out a bra.
I hope a nice boy is taking you, this was the closest thing to a normal sentence. It almost felt sincere. A nice boy was taking Sylvia. Though she knew what her mother meant by it. I hope you aren't going with a girl or a boy who wants to have sex with you.
Be smart. Don't get pregnant. Don't go with a girl. Don't go with anyone who would disappoint me. Don't get drunk and make a fool of yourself. Don't ruin my reputation. Sylvia sometimes thought that her mother's biggest fear was that she would would be a lesbian. And sometimes she thought she'd start dating a girl just to spite her. If her mother ever knew about what she did with Natalie Fairborn their second year, she'd have a stroke. If her mother ever knew that she sometimes felt for girls the way she felt for boys.
Under the letter was a neatly folded deep, midnight blue dress. Sylvia picked it up by its straps, holding it up in front of her. It was beautiful. Practical. But beautiful. With little lacy flowers covering the thin shoulder straps and a long tulle skirt covered in little silver and gold sparkles like a night sky. She looked back in the box to find a pair of black heels. Nothing special, a few inches of a block heel and a little strap for the ankle, and beside them was a small velvet drawstring bag, inside a matching pair of earrings and a necklace, adorned in silver art deco stars that looked like little daggers.
Though it didn't surprise her that her mother would be sure she was well dressed for the ball, it made her feelings a little less cold to see such a beautiful dress. Still, she assumed it was her best attempt at being an actual mother rather than a prideful matriarch.
She laid the dress back in its box, atop the shoes and jewelry, and sat on the edge of her bed just as Angelina, Alicia, and Fiona entered the girl's dormitory. The girls came in with a flurry of giggles and flushed cheeks, each carrying their own package, presumably filled with their own dresses and shoes.
"Sylvie, oh my god!" Alicia run over to her bed, admiring the blue dress folded in its box, running a hand over the satiny bodice and lacy straps, "This must have cost a fortune!"
Sylvia smiled at her, "Come on, let's see yours."
It was after breakfast when it happened. She could feel when his eyes were on her, like knives cutting at the back of her head. A shiver ran down her spine, making her shoulders twitch up and a hand snap up to rub at her neck. Across from her, Angelina furrowed her brows.
"You okay, Syl?"
She tried to shake it off but the nape of her neck continued to itch and she rubbed at it, blinking her eyes over to Fred, who sat next to Angie, raising an eyebrow up from his plate. This only made it sting more and she cleared her throat, giving her head a slight shake before standing.
"Yeah just a shiver. I'll see you later," She glanced at Fred, who hardly looked at her, "See you in class."
"Bye." Angelina mumbled, unconvinced by Sylvia's reassurance as she threw her bag over her shoulder and exited the Great Hall in a hurry.
She trained her eyes forward, knowing he was already rushing to catch up with her from the other side of the Hall. Her breath came out her nose in quick and shallow bursts and she focused on the sound of her steps, clicking against the flagstone floor, then the marble of the staircase, and the cement of the quad.
But she could hear his own footsteps behind her, quicker and louder, and she immediately regretted leaving a public space, though this was bound to happen eventually. His hand was already clamped around her arm.
"One wasn't enough for you, was it?"
Instinctively, she shut her eyes tightly and turned her face away, feeling him back her up into a wall and his hot breath on her cheeks.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you."
His other hand grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. Her eyes opened and were met with a mirroring image, two steely gray irises, almost black as his pupils dilated.
Quentin's face twisted in anger, the vein at his temple throbbing.
"Do you think this is funny?"
She kept her eyes on his, unblinking. He shook her arm.
"Hm?"
"What?" She forced her voice to be steady and strong, resisting his attempts to scare her.
"Fucking both the Weasley twins now?" He spat each word like it tasted of arsenic, "Why don't you just go and suck off the whole family while you're at it?"
Sylvia twisted under his grip. This time, he had grabbed her right arm, he liked to keep things balanced.
"I'm not fucking anyone." She spat back, pushing her head off the wall, only to have it slammed back as he released his hand from her arm to shove at her shoulders, pinning her back. His palms dug into her collar bones and her head throbbed against the cold stone.
He looked her up and down with a disgusted frown, taking in a measured breath through his nose and releasing it as he blinked at her.
"You do everything just to piss me off, don't you?"
She couldn't respond, her head was pounding so hard her vision was going black.
"You're always so fucking selfish, always thinking about yourself and who you're going to blow next."
Breathing in deeply and focusing her eyes forward, she willed her vision to clear.
"Maybe I should consider blowing your hitler youth buddies, then."
She had hardly finished speaking when his hand struck her face, so hard that her head snapped to the side and her knees gave out beneath her. Her head felt light and heavy at the same time, like she was falling asleep. But as her eyes closed, willing her to go unconscious and escape, she was being lifted back up by her arms, her spine slammed back into the stone wall once again.
Sylvia grimaced at the pain, squinting her eyes open as Quentin pursed his lips at her, eyes completely devoid of life.
"Watch your fucking tone, Sylvia." And with that, he spat at her, leaving a spray of saliva over her cheek as he let go, "And lose the school slut act, it's unbecoming."
Wiping the spit from her face, she watched as he turned to storm down the covered bridge, feeling her knees buckle and tears rim her eyes. She turned to the entrance of the castle, hoping no one was there to see.
But there was. Angelina stood under the domed passageway, hand over her mouth and eyes full of terror, and behind her was Fred. His eyebrows lowered as he watched her slide down the stone wall into a sitting position, knees to her chest as tears silently streamed down her cheeks.
Angelina ran, kneeling down to place a hand gingerly on Sylvia's shoulder before pulling her into her arms.
"Oh my god." Was all she could hear her whisper, over and over as she ran a hand over her hair and rocked Sylvia in her arms.
She trained her eyes up, past Angelina's shoulder to Fred, who had approached silently, hands limp at his sides and mouth open the slightest bit. He blinked at her, lips moving as if he was trying to ask a question, but dumbfounded silence coming out instead. And she just stared back at him, blinking a tear out before leaning out of Angelina's embrace.
"I'm okay." She sounded like she had been choked, her voice raspy and small.
"Wh-- Sylvie, no. You're not okay, he just fucking knocked you to the ground." Angelina's voice was shaking with worry and anger.
She sniffed, and brushed her hair back from her face, regaining a stoic expression as she attempted to stand. Angie steadied her, holding her hands in assistance.
"I'm fine, really. I just need to --"
Her eyes fell on Fred, who's head was turned to the bridge, staring down it with steady eyes and a locked jaw. He began to take a few steps forward.
"Fred, don't." Sylvia warned, but her voice was too meek.
Angelina turned to him as his chest heaved and he took another half-step towards the bridge.
"Fred." She snapped, trying to grab his attention with that sharp, demanding tone of hers.
But he didn't look to either of them and continued to step further away, his pace picking up steadily.
"Please!" Sylvia shouted and he halted, eyes still trained forward, back to her, but listening.
"Please. Just..." She shook her head and he turned around to look at her, an expression she'd never seen before on his face, "just, don't."
His eyes locked onto hers and they were so intense that she couldn't pull her gaze away when Angelina spoke.
"We need to go tell Dumbledore about this."
She tucked her lips in and shook her head, peeling her eyes away from Fred.
"No, it'll only make it worse."
Angelina's eyes knit in confusion and she gaped at her,
"What? Sylvie, he can't just get away with that. He needs to be fucking expelled --"
"No." Her pulse quickened at the thought and she reached out to squeeze her hand, pleading with her now, "No, please don't go to Dumbledore."
The other girl shook her head in confusion, mouth agape, failing to understand Sylvia's pleads. She squeezed her hand tighter, gluing her eyes on Angelina's.
"I know I sound stupid but -- don't. Trust me. I'm fine."
Angelina's mouth closed and she let out a tight breath through her nose. Sylvia turned to Fred now, nodding her head at him as his hazel eyes darkened under his lowered brows.
"I'm fine."
It was like he was trying to decipher her just through her eyes. So she blinked steadily and softened her brow and he blinked back, taking in a breath and relaxing his shoulders. He nodded.
"Okay." Angelina said softly, draping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her back inside.
In the common room, Angelina had set her up on the couch in front of the fireplace, draping a blanket over her shoulders and conjuring a cup of tea, which Sylvia held in her lap, pursing a smile up at her.
"I need to go to class but Fred's gonna stay here with you." She placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke in a soft tone.
"Thank you, Angelina," She replied, weakly, "for being so kind."
The other girl gave a sympathetic smile, "Anyone would do the same."
With a small squeeze, she released her hand from her shoulder and picked her bag up from the floor, disappearing out into the castle. Left in the quiet stillness of the empty morning common room, Sylvia felt her temple itch as Fred rounded the couch, sitting on the floor in front of her, his back to the fire.
He didn't look directly at her, his eyes lingering on the mug in her lap.
"You should drink your tea." His voice was flat, quiet.
She let her eyes drift from his face and down to the cup, watching the translucent brown liquid swirl.
"I hate tea."
"You hate tea?"
She nodded, circling her finger around the rim of the glazed ceramic before taking in a measured breath and setting the mug on the flat arm of the couch.
"Shouldn't you go to class?"
"Jesus, Sylvie..."
He shook his head, closing his eyes as he rubbed a palm against his forehead, visibly frustrated. She frowned at his behavior, straightening her back against the couch. She couldn't stand it when he acted this way, all annoyed and serious, when he acted like her.
"I didn't ask you to stay here."
"He fucking knocked you to the ground."
He lifted his hand from his head to look up at her, eyes tired and worn. She blinked her gaze down, biting on her lips.
"How much did you see?"
"There was more?" His voice was soft now and she nodded, wordless, "Just him hitting you."
She nodded again, watching him as he stood, rubbing his hands on the sides of his pants. His eyes shifted around the room and the vein on the side of his neck was rippling as he grinded his jaw.
"You can't play this down, Sylvie," He shook his head at her, "You can't let him off the hook just because he's your brother."
"And I suppose going after him to beat him up would have helped."
He let out a small scoff, shaking his head as he turned away from her.
"You're so..." She could feel her ears turning hot with frustration, "reactionary. All the time."
"This whole thing was your idea, Sylvie."
"Fred, that's not what I'm talking about."
"You're the one who said no one would have to know."
"I only said that because I was so happy that you fucking liked me."
He went silent, his eyebrows relaxing and posture straightening. Sylvia continued, leaning forward from the couch.
"But you can never fucking think things through. You're always doing things without considering the effect it has on other people."
He looked numb, fed up. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"This is about Angelina, isn't it?"
Sylvia felt like steam was going to shoot out of her ears. She fumed, balling her hands into fists at her sides.
"This isn't about Angelina. It's about you."
"No, you're pissed that I asked Angelina to the ball only because you're the one who suggested we hide whatever the hell this is."
He motioned a finger between the two of them, angrily, the veins on his forearms bulging as he buried his hands in his pockets.
"Shouldn't I be the one who's pissed?" He began to fidget, pace back and forth before her, "This only started because you had to go and flirt with Chris Garland in front of the whole house."
Furiously, Sylvia pushed herself off the couch, ignoring the throbbing at the base of her skull and the spots that floated in front of her eyes.
"God, you're so fucking thick." She scoffed, shaking her head at him as he frowned down at her, "Don't you see? Don't you see that I'd do anything you asked of me. And if keeping us a secret was all it took to be with you, then I'd gladly do it. So I let Angelina dance with you and Chris is the one who asked me. And he's taking Fiona to the ball, since you care so much. God, All I fucking wanted right then was to be with you. You were supposed to ask me to dance -- you were supposed to ask me to the ball. But you were too embarrassed to be seen with me."
Her voice lowered and her eyes darkened. She stepped at him. He stepped back, his expression flattening. It was that same look he had given her earlier, not sad, not pitying, something in-between. All he could do was swallow and let her speak. She continued to edge him back into the wall, until their bodies were nearly touching.
"You'd rather pretend you still hated me than be seen with me. Because I'm some sort of shame to you, aren't I? I'm the freak with the psycho brother and the dad who killed himself. But I fucking proved you wrong. They're my friends too, now. Angelina and George and Chris fucking Garland. They like me. You only like me when no one else can see, because you can't admit to yourself that you feel something towards me. You just want me as some twisted, dirty secret."
She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. He was was trying to appear tough, frowning, eyes lowered at her, but Sylvia thought he couldn't look more transparent. She had just put his thoughts into words.
"I feel sorry for you, Fred. I really do. At least I know myself. I know where my fucking morals lie and I'm not afraid of what other people think of me. I don't need someone who couldn't bare to be seen with me. After everything I told you, don't you think I deserve to be loved without it being an embarrassment?"
Her voice was a gravelly hiss and it only worsened when she felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes sting with tears. She opened her mouth to speak again but choked, closing it tight as she looked up at Fred with pleading eyes. But his expression hadn't changed. His eyes shifted between hers, irises gold in the warm light, hair falling down at the sides of his face. She refused to blink, but the first tear managed to slip out anyways, sliding down her cheek and past her jaw to her neck.
"Say something." She croaked.
He didn't. Instead, his hands slowly raised to hold her face. His fingers were warm against her already hot cheeks, and she could feel herself melting into him. She squeezed her eyes shut, relieving them from the stinging tears that had built up, and when she opened them again, he was brushing her tears away with his thumbs.
He couldn't say it, but she finally understood that expression, seemingly bored and annoyed, but the slightest scrunch in his brow. He was sorry.
It wasn't enough.
She placed her hands over his and pulled them from her face, dropping them limply at his sides as she turned away from him and slipped off to the girls' dormitories.