She wasn't feeling exactly happy lately, but it wasn't something to wash her smile off her face - why would she cross her arms and frown instead of raise her head and brilliantly wait for another day, another chance? Élodie could be anything, she could even be a loser eventually, there are always some battles you should give up after all, but she would never ever act like a loser. And so was her beloved sister Cécile. Their mother taught her how to always be polite and loveable to people who deserve it, which means rich Purebloods most of the times, but that attitude of the sisters was unique. That wasn't just an obligation or a mask to hide their real feelings and be accepted and loved. That was a way to face life more happily, more brightly, almost as an reaction to Manon's grumpy and cold way to deal with everything. They would never be like that.

It was still incredibly awesome to find Cici around in the morning, help her to dress, brush her hair, try to convince her to wear a little more make up. Manon seemed to have no eyes, no ears, no allies in Hogwarts, so Élodie wasn't worried when she walked in the Great Hall with her sister so close by her side, smiling at people equally - she would still receive Manon's letters, but it would be just the usual drama queeness, no weird I-know-what-you've-been-doing/you're-gonna-kill-me implied. That was way better. She could even hope it was a sign of improvement.

But this morning, between a little porridge, a little fruit, maybe even a little juice while Cécile was eating as she wanted without care, it wasn't Lola who received a letter when the owls arrived. It was Cici. Naturally curious, the older sister tried to discreetly read the name of the sender. The owl was obviously from home, and the handwriting... "Notre grand-mère?[1]" She asked surprised, not hiding her curiosity (and now a hint of concern) anymore. "What does she want with you?"

_{((Sorry, I'm still trying to find my muse, so it's not really great  ))¹
((Tho they are currently at the Great Hall, they will soon enough move to their dormitories))²}

1.	Our grandmother?

Cécile was beginning to love Hogwarts. Sure the castle wasn’t as elegant or as breathtaking as Beauxbatons and the grounds weren’t as perfect, but if anything, that only endured her more. She was honestly tired of pristine and soulless surroundings, and welcomed a little chaos to her world. But that wasn’t the main reason she was falling in love with the place. It was the freedom.

Here, she and Élodie could sneak off and talk for hours without worrying that the things they said would somehow find their way back to Manon. Here they could walk arm in arm to classes about muggles, while sharing conversations with muggleborns and purebloods alike, without fearing a howler in the mail the next morning. Here, they rarely used even had to use their mirrors to share secrets. It filled Cécile with a sense of joy that she had rarely felt in years, like how danger gave you a rush of fulfillment.

She had no idea that, in a matter of moments, her budding optimism would be crushed by a single sheet of perfumed parchment.

The girls were sitting in the Great Hall, enjoying breakfast and conversation with their housemates and the Ravenclaws to the side. Élodie was, as usual, eating like a sparrow with no will to live. Just porridge and fruit, a usual staple for the dancer. Cécile tried for years to convince her to eat a bit more, to keep up her energy if nothing else, but Élodie knew that a single extra pound would have to be worked out of her with hours of relentless dancing once they got home.  One day Cécile wanted to see her sister eat a piece of cake without hating herself afterwards, like she was doing now. Well, not cake as much as pastry, but to Élodie it was all the same.

Taking another bite of the fluffy cream filled pastry, Cécile closed her eyes and took a deep breath of satisfaction, savoring the delicious treat. At home, she had to sneak down to the kitchens late at night and bother the elves to get something this yummy. She was so enthralled with the creamy goodness assaulting her taste buds that she completely missed the mail call. Not that it mattered, their family never sent her anything except for Howlers and she hadn’t done anything bad enough to deserve one. So it caught her completely by surprise when, in mid-chew, a roll of parchment landed in her lap. She didn’t even have to open her eyes to know who it was from, since the perfume that washed over her left her feeling nauseous.

Opening her eyes, she pushed away her half-eaten pastry in disgust, having suddenly lost her appetite. Picking up the roll of creamy white paper, adorned with an elaborate F pressed into gold wax, Cécile swallowed hard as a heavy mantle of dread was laid across her shoulders. Rolling it around, in hopes it bore Elodies name and was just dropped in her lap by mistake, Cécile felt her stomach cringe and groan miserably when she saw “Cécile Lunette Fontaine” scrawled in gold in her grandmothers elegant handwriting.

"Notre grand-mère? What does she want with you?"

“I… I don’t know…” Cécile murmured miserably, knowing full well that she had her suspicions of what laid inside. “I… I think I am going to be sick…” She muttered, hand grasped tight around the letter as she stood and fled from the table as quickly as she could without raising suspicions. She didn’t ask Élodie to come, but knew she wouldn’t be far behind. Not when Cécile was acting so weird. She didn’t stop running until she got to the dorms, where she immediately threw herself on the bed and tore open the letter.

“I… I don’t know... I… I think I am going to be sick…”

It wasn't hard for anyone to get sick with the French perfume of that old lady or how affected and golden was the letters and the seal on the outside. Even Lola, who was never really bothered with all the Pureblood's kitsch, would feel a little dizzy. But the problem right now wasn't the ostentation of the letter per se; all the normal gold and curvy letters and ornaments of Constance Fontaine, when destined to Cécile, would always hide a rotten content.

She followed her sister with a discreet side-glance, and then she turned back calmly and smiled at someone's joke she didn't hear. It wasn't that Élodie could be so cold to the point of ignoring Cici's pain when it comes to deal with their grandmother or mother. Even being the "protected" one, she could feel that pain clearly on her soul. But no one else on the table needed to know that at all. Aching inside her was the need to immediately run after Cécile, but instead she took a gently sip of pumpkin juice and made a face. "Oh mon Dieu! Je suis si plein!"[1] Sure. Laughing, she stood, "Excusez-moi..."

Élodie walked graciously until no more eyes, besides the eyes of the portraits, could follow her. Then she ran fast; she couldn't miss her sister, she didn't know exactly where she headed. Well, if she was really sick, she would have gone up. If she wasn't, Élodie would have to ask the portraits, and God knows how they were confusing to her. Luckily after some stairs and halls she heard the quick light steps, but Cécile would never be as fast as her. "Cici!" She called, but her sister was already about to get in their dormitory and Lola could watch the moment she threw herself on the bed.

She stopped and solemnly closed the door. No, not enough; she took her wand and locked it. She didn't knew what news that maudit letter was carrying. Lying beside Cécile, who was desperately tearing the envelope, sweetly Élodie passed her arm through her shoulders and held her hands before she could read whatever absurd that old woman could have written to her. "Wanna do this together?"

In Hogwarts, they were quite free to do a lot of things together, but so far they used this privilege to good things only. All her life, Élodie did watch or hear Cécile being punished by that women in a way or another without having the chance to offer that - stay by her side and suffer the same, if everything she did to avoid that never worked. Élodie's punishments were disguised in ballet practices and she couldn't feel more blessed for that; never ending practices made her really good at ballet and really tough physically. But Cécile was fragile and getting worse through the years.

Élodie sighed while waiting for the answer. She wished she could give all the strength she had to Cici through her hands.

1.	"Oh my God! I'm so full!"

Her fingers weren't cooperating. They felt heavy and thick as they clawed ineffectually at the wax seal, scattering bits of golden wax over the duvet as a film of tears built up at the corner of her eyes, making it difficult to see where the edges of the parchment were. Her breath came out in short, ragged bursts, partially thanks to the overwhelming perfume that was growing stronger with each breath but also the panic attack brewing in her chest. Logically, a simple letter should not have caused such a reaction, especially one that was still sealed and unread, but Cécile was past logic at this point. A letter from Constance left few possibilities to its contents. If it wasn't the news that her nuptial cage was ready, which is what she suspected, it had to do with death or disowning. No best wishes from this grand mum.

Élodie's entrance was subtle. Cécile didn't hear the door shut or the lock click, so it took her by surprise when another body bore down on the bed and a pair of arms encircled her shoulders. For a brief moment, before she realized it was Lola, she tensed up as walls of brick were mentally erected to hide her chaotic emotions. Her face became serenely blank and unreadable , until Élodie spoke.

"Wanna do this together?"

"...oui..." Cécile nodded, sighing heavily as the walls crumbled somewhat at her sisters offer. Normally it was Cécile who comforted Élodie, when the stress of perfection gave her blinding headaches and panic attacks, not the other way around. Lola could only come to Cécile's aid after the deed was done, usually after Cécile had dealt with most of the pain. Because of this, some of the walls remained at Ceciles unconscious orders, hiding a bulk of the anger and pain in fear of lashing out at one of the few people who truly cared. She tried to put on a smile, but it was a pathetic excuse for one. "... I seem to be having some trouble."

Wrapped in her sisters warmth and strength, Cécile was able to see and think a bit clearer. Their fingers, when combined, seemed to possess more deftness then apart, finding the edge of the parchment and sliding along it until their nails ripped through the middle of the elaborate F with rebellious relish. The scroll unfurled into a simple, surprisingly small, sheet of paper bearing only a few lines. Though succinct, the tone was surprisingly saccharine, so much so it felt suspicious. Licking her lips, Cécile read it out loud, slowly and in a deliberate monotone, so the words weren't so sweet she wanted to vomit.

Chere Cécile,

J'espère que vous et votre sœur reçoivent une éducation adéquate loin de Beauxbaton. Essayez de ne pas permettre à ces Américains grossiers ou ceux d'autres types vous distraire. Essayez d'apprendre tout ce que vous pouvez à partir des professeurs Durmstrang visite.

Maintenant, soyez une bonne fille et aller aux Trois Balais, le 4 octobre. Il ya quelqu'un que je voudrais que vous y rencontrer. Assurez-vous que vous êtes présentable...

Bises,
Grandmere

[1]

As she finished reading it, Cécile wished she hadn't. The last two words tasted foul on her lips and she couldn't help but spit them out. Typical Constance. No best wishes or praise, just concerns about the Fontaine image and whether or not the girls were mixing with the wrong sorts. She didn't have to say what the 'other types' were for Cécile to know she meant muggleborns, specifically Corey. It didn't matter that his foster family belonged to a well respected pureblood line, Constance always looked at him like a bug, a parasitic bug to be specific, waiting to snag one of her granddaughters away so that he could taint the Fontaine name. Any attempts to point out that Manon had already done a spectacular job of doing that would not end well, usually for Cécile. Then there was the quip about the boorish Americans, which made Cécile brighten up just a little as the image of her grandmother coming face to face with the rebellious, easy-going Migs and his long hair, as he laughed at her ridiculousness.

The smile this thought brought was quickly erased as she pondered the second paragraph, which was so obviously the real reason for the letter that the rest seemed like an afterthought. It was plain as day what was going to occur that afternoon. At this point, Cécile was too drained to wail or gnash her teeth at the injustice and, instead, just slumped down onto the bed with a sigh of defeat "It's too soon, Lola... I'm not ready... I thought I at least had this year to think about it, but..." She didn't finish the sentence, leaving it to hang in the air like a shroud over their heads. For a moment, before she chastised herself for thinking such horrible thoughts, Cécile wished it was a shroud. At least that would mean that Manon was dead and the girls were free.

1.

Dear Cécile, I do hope you and your sister are getting a proper education away from Beauxbaton. Try not to allow those boorish americans or those other types distract you. Try to learn all you can from the visiting Durmstrang professors. Now, be a good girl and go to the Three Broomsticks on 4 october. There is someone I would like you to meet there. Make sure you are presentable. Kisses, Grandmother