I Can't Help but Wonder

[Gabriella Tillington]

Gabriella's hands were shaking as she tried her best to attach the letter to the owl's leg. A part of her was still thinking she might not send it. Maybe it was better not to. Maybe she should write a better version first. But this was already the fifth version of the letter she had written, and she knew she wouldn't be able to do anything better. Her mother's words had been so wonderful, so smooth and full of feeling. She could almost hear the way she must sound when she talked, just from her words. But Gabriella's letter in return was a poor imitation. It had been hard to write it. How formal should she be? How emotional? She had tried her best to find a balance between the two, but didn't think she had really succeeded. But she knew if she didn't send it now, she might never do it. She just had to get this over with. Hopefully, her mother wouldn't lose interest in her just because of her poor writing.

With a sigh, she finally managed to attach the letter to the owl. She hesitated for one last moment before she carried the bird over to the window and let him out. There was no going back now. As her heart pounded in her chest, Gabriella watched the bird fly off until it was no more than a speck in the distance.

Mother,

I have received your letter. Thank you for sending it to me. I enjoyed reading your words very much and have carefully saved the letter. Your handwriting is very nice. I'm sorry if I sound strange in this response, I'm not quite sure how to do this. It's a little easier to put words on the page rather than saying them, but it's still a difficult situation. I hope you're not disappointed if this letter is a little shorter than the one you sent me. I'm having trouble ordering my thoughts.

It surprises me to see you write that maybe the decision to be away from us was a mistake. I have never heard my father give any indication of regret, but I think he might feel the same way. He simply doesn't mention it, but that says enough. I have asked him to write to Frankie because of how nice it was to get your letter. I hope you don't mind. Frankie is really wonderful, though very different from me. I suppose I'm more like our father than she is. She must be like you. I'm happy to hear you thought about me, I have thought about you too. I am happy and doing well. My grades are not yet perfect but they are good. If you are interested I can send you a copy of my grades with my next letter.

I would like to let you know who I am. But I don't know how to do that yet. I'm sorry, I do not seem to be as good with words as you are. I miss you too, the bits I can remember. Maybe a change would be good.

I have enclosed a picture of myself. I hope you don't find that strange.

- Gabriella Tillington

Spoiler: Photo

 

[Liberty Moore]

The key to a clean bathroom, Libby had come to realise over the years that Frankie had been Hogwarts, was clearly to try and keep her daughter – and the sand she trailed everywhere – out of it. Libby shook her head fondly, tucked her wand away and headed out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen. Her daughter would be home soon enough, and once again there would be sand in every nook of cranny of the house, and all through Frankie's clothing. It would be as if she had never left.

Libby rubbed absently at a tiny scratch on the kettle before setting it to boil with a tap of her wand. It seemed impossible to think of Frankie these days without also thinking of Gabriella. Of course, this had almost always been the case, but it seemed to happen far more frequently these days. Ever since Frankie had come home, telling stories of meeting her sister again and of what they were both up to at school ... Libby had felt left out. Like she was the only one missing out on the wonderful person Gabriella was bound to have become over the years. It had felt selfish to think that way, but it was also important to accept her feelings – and so she had written a letter to her youngest daughter, as well as one to Henry to let him know what she had done. No matter how desperately she wanted to get in contact with Gabriella, she hadn't been able to go behind Henry's back to do so.

Once the kettle had boiled, Libby was about to settle herself down with a cup of tea and look through tomorrow's scheduled appointments when the rustle of folding wings outside the kitchen window alerted her to the arrival of an owl. She first popped her head into the pantry to retrieve a treat for the bird, then walked across to the window to exchange the treat for her letter. "Thank you," she murmured, stroking the bird's neck with the back of her fingers before turning her attention to the envelope. Plenty of mail came addressed to 'Liberty Moore' due to her practice, so Libby thought nothing of carefully slitting the envelope open and lifting the parchment out to see who had requested her help this time.

The word 'Mother' had Libby dropping back into her seat in surprise. She read on rapidly, taking in all that Gabriella had to say with her hand pressed against her heart. Libby didn't remember even lifting it. And once she realised there was a photo still in the envelope, she hurried to remove it, to see her daughter for the first time since she had been a tiny girl. In the end, Libby had to lie the photo down on the table – she needed her hands to try and stem the tears she could feel gathering in the corners of her eyes. But she didn't really want to stem them; they were happy tears. She was so relieved. Gabriella had received her letter well ... and she was so beautiful. Libby stroked her fingers gently down the impression of her daughter's cheek – she really did look so much like Frankie, just as she had when the girls were young. She had forgotten all about the tea and daily planner that lay abandoned at the other end of the kitchen table.

Dearest Gabriella,

I cannot tell you how much it means to know that choosing to write to you was the right decision. I had worried that the attempt might upset you, but having received your letter I now only wish I had done it sooner.

I am so grateful for the photo you sent – you're beautiful, Gabriella, and it drives home exactly how much I've missed of your life. I've included a photo of myself in return, as I think it would never have occurred to Frankie how much a simple photograph can mean. I hope you don't mind that I've framed your photo – it currently lives on my bedside table where I look at it every morning and every night before and after sleep. I suppose that sounds highly sentimental, but I'm so thankful to have evidence of the change I hope we can all build together.

I don't mind one bit that you have asked your father to write to Frankie – in fact, I'm extremely proud that you thought to do so. Your sister hasn't said a lot about Henry to me in a long time, but she used to ask me questions all the time... more than I could answer, really. It will mean a lot to her, I'm sure. Perhaps it won't surprise you to know but, although Frankie is indeed a lot like me, she has a knack for creating mess that can only be inherited from your father. I very much hope that you managed to miss this particular gene, although if you have grown to be as organised and tidy as myself I hope that their antics do not cause you too much grief. I'll have sand all through my bathroom again once Frankie returns, and I'm certain I'll still have it for a month after!

But this can't be very interesting for you to read, I apologise. I'm glad that you're doing well, and I'd be very happy to see your grades if you decided to send them. But please don't ever think that they need to be perfect – as long as you're doing your best, and you're happy about doing it, I think the results will speak for themselves. But Frankie has told me you were sorted into Hufflepuff, so perhaps it is in your nature to work hard for what you want – if that is true, I can only be proud of you.

Already your writing has told me a lot about you, Gabriella. If you wished to continue writing, I feel that would be a good start. I also want to let you know who I am, but find it hard to know where to begin – I fear I have already written too much for one sitting. There's the poor owl to think of. How about I start with a question? What do you enjoy doing in your free time? I myself like to travel around, and see all sorts of different areas of the world, both large and small. Sometimes there are amazing and wonderful new things to be discovered in your own hometown – those tend to be my favourite, truth be told.

If you do find something wonderful, be sure to tell me – I would love to know!

Love,
Mom

XX

Spoiler: Photo

 

[Gabriella Tillington]

Gabriella was trying to focus on her studies now, even while she was at home for the holidays. She needed to stay on top of things, especially as she would be studying a few new things in the next semester. What she needed was to focus, but her mind kept drifting to Frankie and their mother. What were they doing? How was America? Did they think about her too? Had her mother liked her letter, or had she hated it? Gabriella knew she wasn't very good at writing, and she had struggled and struggled with the words on the page. Talking wasn't much easier for the Hufflepuff, but at least she could explain more and react to the other's body language. In writing, she had no idea how any of her words were going to land and how to react to it. She supposed not getting a responce back would be a reaction on its own, but it would also break her heart. She really didn't want this, and felt a little foolish for even putting herself out there like this. Would it be worth it? Would anything really change?

But those thoughts fled out of her head the moment she saw the owl. It wasn't too unusual to receive owl post, of course, but somehow she knew the moment she spotted it. Her eyes widened and she quickly rushed over to retrieve the letter, her hands once again shaking. Gabriella hated how she didn't seem to be in control of her own body whenever these things came up. Trembling and crying felt like weakness to her, and she couldn't help feeling that way. Later, she would deny any of the wet splotches on the page were her tears. There must have been some rain when the letter was being delivered. Once she finished reading it, and reading it again, and again, she started writing a response. Somehow, the words came a little easier this time.

Dear mother,

I'm glad you enjoyed receiving my letter, and once again apologize it wasn't the easiest to read. I tried to put my feelings into written word, but this is difficult for me. I wish you had contacted me sooner too, but truthfully it might have upset me. I wasn't very open to you or Frankie at first, but I suppose she won me over in the end.

I'm glad you don't think the photo was a silly idea. I figured you might be curious what I look like after all these years. I don't know if I'm beautiful, but I do think I look a little like you as I look at your photo. Though you look like Frankie more, I think. Maybe neither of us takes after our father. I'm saving the photo you sent me too. Once I'm back at Hogwarts, it will probably get a place on my bedside table as well. It would be nice to see your face on a regular basis, and I also don't have any other surfaces to put it on at school. I hope we can build change too, though I don't doubt it will be difficult.

I think my father wrote Frankie by now. I offered to proofread his letter for him but he wouldn't let me. I fear it's worse than mine to you. I clearly inherited his way with words. Or maybe I simply picked up on it over the years. He's very smart, but emotional things make him very anxious. Was he always that way? I don't mean to pry, but I can't help but wonder what he was like when he was younger. He doesn't talk much about the past. It's not very practical to linger on things that have happened and can't be changed. I admit, I had to laugh a little bit when you mentioned Frankie makes messes like our father. It is still true! I don't understand how anyone so disorganized can have a teaching position at a university. He has no order in anything. I've had to help him organize his desk on every break from school (at my insistence), and when I return again it's the same mess as before. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me Frankie is the same way. It's kind of nice they have something in common, even if that something is highly irritating for the people around them. I hope Frankie has learned the error of her ways and leaves your bathroom completely sand-free. But I think that may be too much to ask.

Please don't apologize. It was very interesting for me to read. I'm eager to hear more about you, father and Frankie and the things that connect us as a family. Hearing about these quirks, seeing your photo, it all really makes me feel like I really am a part of a larger family. It has always been just me and my father, without much history to connect us that I knew about. I have attached a copy of my most recent grades. I really do wish my Defence grade was perfect, but it seems like that is simply out of my grasp at this time. I am doing my best, though. I feel like schooling is very important and not something we can take for granted. I am indeed a Hufflepuff, and I apologize for not informing you of this fact. I'm sorry to ask many questions of you, but I'm curious which school you attended in your youth? I know father went to Hogwarts in Scotland, did you as well? Did you meet there? I apologize, I feel like these are bits of information I should know, but I do not.

I do wish to continue writing to you. I feel like it's a good way to connect and get to know each other from afar. I'm currently at home with my father in London, but you doubtlessly know the Christmas Holidays have started from the amount of sand in your bathroom. Please say hello to Frankie for me, as silly as that is. In my free time I enjoy swimming. I used to be part of a team before Hogwarts. I also enjoy reading. I hope that doesn't sound too boring. Traveling sounds really nice, I haven't done much of it myself. I tend to stick to things I know, but perhaps I will try to find a new spot in my hometown and I can write to you about it? I probably won't find anything interesting, but you never know.

Thank you for writing to me. I look forward to future correspondence. I apologize for the length of this letter. I believe it is even longer than yours.

Gabriella Tillington

3rd Year Defence Against the Dark Arts	E
3rd Year Transfiguration	O
3rd Year Muggle Studies	O