The recovering-blonde was stuck in her own little world, as she typically was during breakfast. On a normal day, Angie would go to an early Quidditch practice, if that’s what the team needed. And if there wasn’t practice, she would run. She hadn’t done either though, and she was still exhausted. More mentally than physically.

She looked up, eyes bleary with sleep, as a letter dropped in front of her. Angie plucked it off of the table and unfolded it, barely processing the words the first time. She shook her head, raising the cold glass of water to her lips as she started to reread it. And then she almost choked on the water. Sputtering, she set the glass down, her eyes wide. She caught the attention of a group of third years near her, and waved them off.

Angie looked up to where Gertie was sitting, just a quick glance. What in the world, honestly, the nerve of her uncle! She could scream right now, she could just about scream. In front of all of these people.

She began to fold it up with the intention of stuffing it back in her bag. She hated it when people sent cryptic and dark letters. What had her uncle meant by ‘there is a terrible darkness here?’ And what was he trying to say about darkness where the girls were too? Was it a veiled threat behind a mask of good intentions?

Later she would take it to a professor, maybe. They could help her figure out why her uncle had sent it, right? She held the letter in one hand as she yanked her bag up to her side, only to feel the letter tugged out of her grasp. “Hey!” She shouted, looking for the guilty culprit.

It was Gertie's favorite time of day. She loved mornings. The air was crisp and fresh. When the sun was shining on flowers in the spring it appeared that the flowers were wearing courtly dresses studded with jewels. Then there was the food. Eggs, prepared all kinds of ways, back, sausages, toast, haggis, black pudding, oatcakes and muffins. All sorts of deliciousness. It was hard for her to understand why so many people hated mornings. Especially when most people didn't even wake up until mid or even late morning.

Gertie was curled up on the Hufflepuff bench down aways from her sister. Far enough that Gertie could watch her big sis. Angie looked like a total mess that morning. Then again that was typical Angie. She was not at her best in the morning. Which of course was usually to Gertie's advantage. She could get a lot of things by her sister in the morning that she typically couldn't do a couple hours later. Especially if Angie had been torturing the Qudditich team in what she called a bit of practice.

Gertie was drowning her toast in jelly and butter when the mail arrived. She glanced over at her sister to check if she got anything. Sometimes their mum wrote to both of em in the same letter, to save parchment and all. Gertie grinned when she noticed Angie got a letter. Quickly, Gertie got up from her spot, finished her toast in two quick bites and grabbed a few slices of bacon as she crept over to where her sister was sitting.

Angie was busy, rummaging in her bag. With the ease of long practice, Gertie snatched the letter from her sister's fist and danced back, her blue eyes shining with mirth.

The loud, disgruntled 'hey' made Gertie grin in triumph.

"Did Mum write?  Or is this  a LOOOOOOVEEEE letter?" Gertie teased elongating the word love. Gertie quickly unfolded the letter, holding it above her head so she could read it, while still keeping it out of her sister's grasp. Sometimes there was a benefit of being a half foot taller than your sister.

The color quickly drained from Gertie's face as she read the note. It wasn't a love letter. But it was from family.

A shiver traveled up her spine and she suddenly felt cold. The strips of bacon in her other hand dropped to the floor.  Uncle Arthur the murder had written to them. To her. Gertie had tried so very hard to save him. To prove that he could still be a good person. He'd a bad reputation before he went and murdered her brother's friend. 

They said he was crazy and sick and so he went to St. Mungo's for help. Gertie had wondered if she should write to him but she was scared and angry. Why did he have to go and kill someone? She had never done anything to her Uncle. Not really.

"What do you think he means about darkness?" Gertie whispered as she looked down at her older sister for comfort and help. "Will he come after us do you think?"

“No, please, Gertie give it back,” Angie pleaded. She didn’t want her little sister reading that, even if it was addressed to the both of them. But it was too late. Angie’s attempt at shielding her sister from a shred of their outside world was a complete fail. She blamed it on the fact that it was too early to be dealing with psychotic uncles and energetic little sisters.

She was on her feet, reaching for the letter, but Gertie had three inches on her, which was a lot when Angie wasn’t in heels or boots. “Boo, don’t think about it,” Angie said softly, watching as Gertie’s face fell. She guided Gertie down to the bench next to her, slipping the letter back out of her hand. “It’s, it’s nothing, I don’t know.” Angie said, reaching out to wrap her sister in a hug.

“No, no no, he won’t come after us. I won’t let that happen. We’re safe here, he can’t get to us. We’ll – we can talk to a professor about this, okay? I’ll figure it out.” She soothed, pulling away from the hug to run a hand through her hair. She let out a forced sigh, looking at the letter in her hand.

“Listen, I know you really wanted to help him, but he was a very bad guy. What he said in this letter, don’t think about it. Don’t believe any of this for a second. He’s just crying out, probably thinks we’re weak or something.” She said, looking back at her sister with a fierce determination in her eyes. You didn’t threaten or mess with Angie’s little sister and expect to get away with it. That was off limits. “He is right about one thing. As much as I hate to admit it. You and I have to stick together, because we’re sisters. And that’s what we do. But because we share the same blood as him… it doesn’t mean we have to be anything like that.” She reached out to ruffle Gertie’s hair affectionately, “You hear me?”