･
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ September 1st, 1976, Hogwarts Express, Odette˚₊‧ 𐙚
‧₊˚. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
The chug of the tracks thrummed and banged underneath her feet. Fields of green and yellow whirling and whisking her away. Her once pearly lace robes forgone for light sage green with 'just darling' embroidered silver accents.
She made sure her hair was perfectly quaffed into ringlets of white gold. Lightly spilling from her new white hat.
Her focus was muddled between the fields, her own reflection and the two letters sat neatly in front of her. Her mother's letter was a pale duck egg blue, simple in font, with a swan insignia printed with silver ink. Little care was put in either the contents or the envelope. Her mother was never one to indulge in Odette's frivolities.
The other was much more to her tastes, a much smaller square with a white lace trim. The paper envelope was silvery pink, her favourite. She didn't even need to see the swoops and loops. There was only one person who would've cared what she thought of a simple letter. With an unfounded urgency, she snatched up the letter and ripped it open before anyone could claim to notice it.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖
࣪My adored Girl,
Your beloved society, last moon, was to me a source of the purest delight. It pains and aches me so to hear of your recent engagement to one Black. I had hoped—foolishly, perhaps— that both our prior engagements would've dissolved. However, duty doth call. I hope, even in my cruelty, that you may find bliss in your arrangement.
For I know the heart is a mercurial thing, and the path of affection is not always one that can be followed to its end. You are free to seek the joy you deserve, though I fear that joy will never be mine to give. I shall not trouble you with further declarations of my love, for I know how unseemly it is to burden a woman with such words.
Our dark lord continuously arises, his influence deepening. The mark is an honour that you will no doubt bear beautifully once of age. It is through my deep affections that I wish you to close your ears regarding the ever-venomous speculations surrounding our Lord. For many wish to shut down ideas of a more developed magical society.
It is through our Lords power that dreams such as yours will be seen as the works of wonder that they truly are. Many wish to stifle you and your visions sweet girl, You're a mirage of the new magical world, one that Voldemort strives to create. I shall hope to write to you again as swiftly as I can.
Your sincere and affectionate admirer, Lucius.
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
Odette thumbed the glistening paper, feeling the smooth surface as she read and re-read until her eyes blurred. She wondered why she was called the dreamer and not Lucius. His words were a slow sweet lullaby for her nerves.
The sudden bang of her carriage door left her shoving the letter into her bag. The cold wash of reality slid down her spine. If anybody managed to see her... or Merlin forbid read a romantic letter that wasn't directly from her suitor. She'd be in ruin with nothing but empty lovelorn letters to show for it.
It would be a social bloodbath. More eyes on her than ever should she be caught with her metaphorical pants down with another man.
However the temptation was so very sweet. Like ripe peaches on summer afternoons. After-all Lucius was everything she had ever truly wanted. Exactly like the magical fairy princes she was regaled to love as a child. All he was missing was a pair of glittering wings and a realm of his own to one day rule.
Her own private carriage gave her much time to muse on her faux fae prince. Dreams of windswept marriage, frilly white dresses and the sugary juice of peaches rattling around all the way to Hogwarts.