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Honest Opinion; Year 4- Day 3- First Hogsmeade Trip- Night
Topic Started: Apr 9 2014, 08:05:53 PM (164 Views)
Mille Osset
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Growing old is manditory, but growing up is optional.

Mille had thought a lot lately about her mother’s death. She supposed this was normal. Mille was growing up, and she did remember having a mother. Barely, maybe, but she did. She remembered her mother having a wise side, as Mille did. She remembered the sayings that her mother would tell her as a child. ’Only the people you let into your heart know who you truly are. I’d rather work for every little penny I’ve got than have all the money in the world handed to me on a silver platter.’ She often wondered, when she’d gotten older and truly understood, what it would have been like to have her mother ask her about cute boys. To have her mother look proudly at her marks. To read in front of the fire, her mother playing with her hair.

There was no chance of that now. Mille wondered if her mother would be proud of her, even as a witch. Caroline swore she would, but Mille could never know.

In any case, Mille was growing up without her mother. Maybe it was only natural, hell, maybe even normal, that she missed her mother’s presence as Mille became a young adult.

However, Mille rarely thought of her father, whom she didn’t remember at all. She could not imagine herself as Mille Holly instead of Mille Osset. She could only see his face in pictures, only hear his voice in recordings. She could not remember him. She could not miss him because she didn’t know him. She could wish for it, but she could never miss what she had never had.

She clenched the envolope in her hand, quietly thinking. She had yet to open it. She had yet to decide if she wanted to.

Three years after he had written this letter, her father had been dead. It had been unplanned, unexpected, and it had shattered all of them except the three year old who hadn’t understood. Well, now the three year old was seventeen, and all these years later there was a letter to her. Baby, newborn her; but her none the less.

Did she dare read it? Her father’s immortalized words? Would they change anything? He was still dead for Merlin’s sake. The letter would change nothing in her memories. This would do nothing but probably make Mille cry.…..would it?

She had always wondered what he was like. If he was here, maybe he would want her to read it. Maybe that’s what it was meant for. There was something so final about deciding to read it. Like it was her father’s last will, his last words.

Of course, they weren’t. But for Mille they easily could be.

Oh, hell. Mille didn’t know what to do. So she continued to stare at the letter, hoping that an answer would come at her suddenly. Nothing happened but the ink emblazening itself in her memory. To my future daughter. To my future daughter.

She almost wanted to cry. Almost. But she wasn’t sure if she could.
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Monica Dayton
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Monica slumped into the common room. Her day at Hogsmeade had been good, but definitely tiring. She'd wandered around on the grounds for a couple of hours after dinner, just to have some time to clear her head, and now she was definitely ready to go to sleep. As if the eagle knocker guarding Ravenclaw Tower was aware of this, it had made the riddle extra difficult tonight. When the day after tomorrow becomes yesterday, the day which would then be today will be as far from Sunday as the day which is yesterday when it's two days after that day's tomorrow... What day of the week was this spoken? God, Monica had no idea. She had needed to get a piece of paper out of her bag and draw a diagram of a week just to figure it out.

If she hadn't been ready for bed before, she definitely was now.

She entered the common room with every intention of climbing the stairs up to her dormitory and falling asleep on top of her blankets. Something in her peripheral vision, however, made her feel suddenly awake. Mille was sitting on the sofa, clutching a piece of paper and looking as though she was about to cry. Monica changed her course immediately. Quietly, so as not to startle the girl, she sat down. "Hey, Mille," she said softly and delicately. "Are you okay?" Upon closer inspection, she saw that the paper in her friend's was an envelope. An unopened envelope. Monica wanted to ask what it was, but she thought that would be in bad taste considering how upset Mille looked.
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Mille Osset
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Growing old is manditory, but growing up is optional.

Mille looked up when Monica sat down beside her, then looked back down at the letter and sighed. Mille wasn't usually in a state of emotional turmoil-- it wasn't a natural state for anyone. So while naturally, her state was to be bubbly and babbly and yes, ok; right now she didn't feel happy or anything like that. She sighed. "No, not really." came out quietly. Nothing Mille ever did tended to be quiet. This was.

Looking down, she saw her hand playing with her mother's pendant again, the crack across the littlest bird seeming prominent. She noticed there was no Daddy bird as she had when she was little, as it was just meant to portray the girls-- now, she wished there was one. Then again, her mother may have burned it if it had a Daddy bird so maybe she was lucky there wasn't one on there. "Caroline.....ah, Caroline sent me a letter from home." She picked up a different letter on the table again with the hand not clutching the envelope. She almost handed the letter to Monnie before forcibly reminding herself that Caroline and her often wrote to each other in Latin for language practice, and that Monnie probably wouldn't be able to read the thing. She cleared her throat and started translating. "'Dear Mille.'" She read. "'I found this when I was cleaning out the box of old attic things from the Holly house. I remember this letter--though, to be honest, I'm surprised it didn't get lost somewhere. It's addressed to you. For what it's worth, I think you should read it. You might find it interesting. Good luck and tell me what you decide. Love you. Caroline.'" She ended the letter and looked back down to the still sealed envelope, still taunting her with the 'to my future daughter' message. "It's a letter from my Dad." She said finally. "According to the sticky note Caroline put on it Dad wrote it in the delivery room when Mom was in labor. Three years later he was dead." Mille had to gulp down a tear. "Monnie, honest opinion: should I open this? Or should I stuff it somewhere and just....not look?" This could open a whole new can of worms, but Mille was burning with curiosity to find out what it said, to find out what her father was like. Was it worth it? Did Mille really want to read it?
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Monica Dayton
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Monica put her hand lightly on Mille's arm, not sure if the girl would be okay with the touch, but hoping she would. "Oh my God. That's huge. You've never heard from your dad before." Monica couldn't imagine what that was like. She listened to Mille read the note from her sister, trying to think of what she herself would do in this situation.

It was hard, for Monica, because living her whole life at odds with her parents made it strange to imagine what her life would be like if she'd never met one of them. She tried to put herself in Mille's place - if she knew nothing about her dad, would she want to find out about him? "Well, I have to ask..." she began, hesitating slightly. "Do you have a good impression of your dad? Like, do you imagine he was a good person? Because if you have no idea what's in this letter... it could change everything." She paused before saying this next part. "If I were in your place, I wouldn't open it. But, honestly, that's just me knowing what I know about my dad. It's knowing how disappointed he is in me for... certain things." Monica looked up and turned her head toward the fireplace. She absolutely. Was. Not. Going to cry.

"This isn't about me, though," she reminded both Mille and herself. "Did your sister day what it was about, again? Because that could make the difference." It was a hard situation. Monica didn't know a thing about Mille's dad, so it was hard to say. But at least she could help her friend talk it out.
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Mille Osset
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Growing old is manditory, but growing up is optional.

Mille nodded. It was huge. It was more than just Mille had never heard from him-- if she'd never heard from him, if she'd just never met him, she wasn't sure if that would have made this easier or harder. "I mean, I've seen pictures, but it's just...not the same thing." She twisted part of the chord of her necklace around her finger, the little Caroline bird landing on the base of her nail. She wasn't sure if that meant anything, subconsciously or universe wise or otherwise.

"I don't remember him." She said quietly. What started out as a sob in her throat turned into some sort of fucked up kind of laughter. "How many times do I actually say that, Mon? I have an eiditic memory for fuck's sake. I remembered your freaking name from the sorting and I don't even remember my father's face." Millie could remember everything from when she was about six on; anything before that was vague and indistinct. Her mother's advice. Some blurry images of someone dancing with her. And she couldn't remember her father at all. She sighed. "Caroline tells me he was a good man, a good father. That we used to have these family days where they'd both come home from work and we'd used to do whatever. He was funny, apparently, he made everyone laugh." Mille would give a lot to just remember one of those days, to see Caroline as a young girl and her father as a young man, instead of just seeing pictures and recordings. Not everything she had, but a lot. "I don't know what he could say that could shock me. I mean, I was three when he died. He didn't even have any idea about me being a witch." Okay, Mille, stop. You're getting hysterical. Being a witch, a Ravenclaw, was such a big part of Mille's life now. She couldn't imagine her father not knowing. "Would he have even been proud of me? Being a witch and all. Not exactly on this side of normal." Then again, her father had married an Osset. Not exactly normal, either.

Mille looked up at Monica, for a second barely remembering the thing in her hand. "I'm sorry, I'd almost forgotten you and your father don't get along." Mille couldn't imagine having a bad relationship with the man she barely knew. Maybe if he'd stayed alive Mille and he wouldn't have gotten along. But she didn't know. If she was still a Holly....it was hard to think about how different her life would be.

Mille shrugged. "She just said he wrote it when I was being born. I don't think she knows; Caroline was only five years old at the time." Hard to think of that, too, Caroline being five. Hard to think of herself as a baby, even. Thinking about one's own birth was weird. Wasn't all of this weird? She could hardly imagine her father being in her life and apparently he was very involved. When she was three. And he died. That was what she kept coming back to. He died, and I never knew him. He died and I can't even remember.
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Monica Dayton
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"Don't be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry," Monica said, shaking her head. She wasn't sure what else she could say to all this. "It must be really tough not to remember him. Especially for someone who remembers everything. I know my dad, but I don't know how I'd feel if I didn't. If mine was anything like yours, I'd be upset. Yours sounds like a good person. He sounds great."

Monica watched as Mille became more and more distressed over not knowing. "I think you should open it," Monica blurted out. "If it gives you some closure, or some sanity, or just a little bit of happiness knowing about him... I think you should do it. And for what it's worth, I think he'd be proud of you." She smiled, and looked down at the letter. It was old; that much was clear. What must it be like, Monica wondered, to have parents you'd never met, who were a total mystery. Imogen had no parents, Mille only had one... and she deserved the right to know as much about him as she could.
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Mille Osset
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Growing old is manditory, but growing up is optional.

Heh. Tough. Usually she wasn't this bad. What the hell? Oh, right, letter from her Dad in her hand. Right. Fuck. She sighed. "Normally not this bad." She admitted. "Mom's worse, because I can remember...not much, admittedly. A few wisps but that's enough, you know, enough to miss her....but Dad? I mean, you can wish for what you never had but you can't ever really miss it." That wasn't what the definition of missing was. Mille could feel grief for who her father could've been, but ultimately she just....couldn't miss him. It normally didn't hit her this hard. "It's a huge complement in my house if I'm compared to my Dad. People say that we're a lot alike." He'd been passionate and funny and all those sorts of things. Mille even looked like him. But Mille wasn't sure if she really was brave or funny or even, really, that smart sometimes, though she knew she was intelligent. "Not to mention that just not remembering something is a little unnerving. It's like there's a tiny hole there. I probably spent two days after I got my concussion freaking out." Which had nothing to do with the hospital. Nope. "It's hard to explain....it's just, the fact that I didn't know him...and I still love him, you know....that I didn't get the chance to really....because...." Okay, she had to stop.

She looked to Monnie, she looked back to the letter. Indecision at it's finest. Then she smiled a little. "Thanks, Mon." She took a deep breath and, before she could loose her nerve, slipped her finger under the envelope and pried it open. She gulped when it didn't open all the way the first time and she pretty much had to decimate the top of the envelope to get the thing open. Maybe that's a sign....damn it, Mille, stop being a coward. She took the letter out and unfolded it, her hands shaking slightly.

"Dear Mille...." She started, but then lapsed into silence as she got to the main portion of the letter, instead holding it where Monica could read.

Dear Mille,

I'm writing this as your mother is slowly but surely bringing you into the world. We are fairly certain that you're a girl, but if there was a mix-up and you ever find this, my humblest apologies Kevin.

In any case, I'm writing this now because it has suddenly hit me, as for some reason it hasn't completely over your mother's pregnancy, that I am to be the father of two wonderful, sweet little girls. Your sister Allegiance is waiting with your Grandfather outside. She'll be a wonderful older sister, I'm sure. Allie is a calm soul, a bit of a guiding force.

But back on topic.

One day, you're going to be walking and talking and being poured over by strangers. One day you're going to be six or seven and I'll be teaching you to ride a bicycle for the first time. One day you're going to be fifteen and going on your first date with a man who makes you smile. No offense, but I'm not completely looking forward to that day. In fact, in preparation for that, I should probably purchase a nice, intimidating shot gun to clean while first meeting these boys of yours. (But back onto topic. You'll learn quickly that your father has a tendency to ramble).

I want you to know that you are going to be great someday. I just know it. You're going to be an independent, strong, intelligent young woman who's going to reach for the stars. You don't know this yet, little one, but you and your sister are Ossets as well as Hollys, and you have a big legacy to live up to. But I hope that you remember that you are also a Holly, and that means that I'll always be right behind you to catch you if you stumble, to lift you up when you're having trouble reaching (though I sincerely pray that neither you nor Allie inherit my short stature).

Mille, I don't know where this life will lead you. I don't know whether you'll decide to become a doctor or a pop singer, who you'll decide to marry, what your big dreams are going to be. But I love you, and I promise that will never change. I've loved you since the moment I learned that I was to be eternally lucky and become a father a second time. You will grow up, I've unfortunately had to accept that fact, but you'll always be my little girl. Never forget that.

I see so many good things in your future sweetheart, and I just can't wait to see it. Your mother can't either. We named you Mille Knight for a reason, because it means that you can be your own knight in shining armor. Remember that you never have to change yourself for the man you love, and if you do then he's not the guy worth fighting for. Remember that every so often life will hit you in the gut just to remind you it can, but without the pain the grass doesn't seem so green and the air doesn't seem quite so fresh. Life and love are wars, sweetie, but you have something worth fighting for. And remember that even if you sometimes have to fight your own battles, that does not mean that you do it without support. You have me, your mother, your grandfather, your older sister. You have your friends, your true friends, standing beside you as well. While the war will never truly be over, eventually the battle will be, and you'll move past the bloodshed and the pain as much as you can. Remember that life isn't just about preparing for the next crisis, it's about realizing who you are and what you are going to be.

One day I'll show you this and we're going to laugh over my sentimentality.

Oh, sweetie, I suppose I have to end this letter, because it looks like it's recipient has grown a little bit tired of being in an enclosed space for so long. Welcome to the world, Mille. You have so much living ahead of you to do.

I love you.

Dad.


Mille put down the letter. Her father had never realized that this would be his only words to her that she could remember. He'd mentioned things like polishing a shotgun when seeing her first date or laughing with her over how sappy he was being.

There was no laughter right now, only tears of grief welling up in her eyes. She closed them and set the letter down. The letter sounded exactly like she'd imagined her father to be. She wished he was still alive so he could have taught her how to ride a bike or see her get her first Hogwarts letter.

"Mon?" She said quietly, more quiet then she usually spoke. "I know you and your Dad don't get along, but do me a favor and write him a letter tonight." She laughed, but there was no humor in her thoughts. She supported her elbows on her knees and stared at what she just read. "Because if the worst happens, someday you're going to find something like this. And then you're really, really going to wish you had." Mille had been in a support group when she was small, back when her mother had died until she was probably about seven or so. She couldn't count the number of times she'd heard from kids, older kids, who'd lost parents they didn't get along with, saying that they just kept going back to that one last fight, wishing that they could change their words. Wishing that they could turn the fight around, hug them, say that they loved them for what could've been the first time in years. It was a feeling of guilt Mille could barely imagine. Loosing a parent was hard enough.

Edited by Mille Osset, Apr 13 2014, 01:09:08 PM.
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Monica Dayton
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Secretary of Twerk

As Monica read Mille's letter, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. No. Absolutely not. She was not going to cry. It wasn't just that Mille's father seemed amazing... it was the tragedy that she had never met him. Maybe it was selfish to think so, but Monica would have given anything to be in Mille's place. Unfulfilled potential is always so much less disappointing than failed expectations, and Monica's dad had failed her. Her fallout with him had happened two whole years ago, but she still hadn't forgotten it. It still burned like a white-hot knife in her heart and even though he apologized after it happened and hugged her tight, that hug had felt like full-on shackles and Monica would never forget the feeling of wanting to escape her own father's embrace because it made her feel like she was drowning.

And she still had to see him every summer. She had to look him in the eye and say good morning and eat dinner together and laugh at all the jokes she used to find funny before everything changed. Because he couldn't know things were different. Monica had heard her mother convincing him to apologize and she knew he didn't mean it and that changed everything. He didn't see how deeply he'd cut her, and he didn't want to see. He wanted everything to go back to normal, but it never could. So it was all forced conversations and awkward laughs. Him asking about Hogwarts with a slight edge to his voice. Disappointment. She wasn't the daughter he'd always wanted. She'd failed him. She'd fundamentally failed him.

She knew it was crazy. She knew he was crazy and his anger was totally unfounded but that didn't make anything better. She was jealous of Mille. The girl would never know her father's unfounded anger. She'd never know his flaws or his ridiculous expectations or his weird berserk buttons. Monica would have given anything to be wishing for a parent she'd never had. Trying to walk without a leg is so much less painful than trying to walk on a broken one. Being born blind is so much easier than losing your sight. Mille could have idealized fantasies of what life with her parents would have been like, and those fantasies could never be tarnished by the harsh reality that people are flawed and messy and awful. And Monica didn't know how to explain any of this, so when Mille asked her to write to her father, she just replied, "Okay. Okay, I will." She didn't know if she would, but hopefully the response would make Mille feel better.

Tears soaked her cheeks now. Monica hadn't realized she was crying while it was happening, but now that it was over, she snapped out of her trance. "Are you all right?" she asked her friend, hoping to bring the attention off herself. Mille seemed to be handling this better than Monica was. "You glad you read it?" She wiped her eyes, feeling really embarrassed all of a sudden. She was crying. Actually crying. In front of another human being. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
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