July 12th, 1888 — Sanditon Resort
Merriweather Mulciber

Boredom, while undoubtedly a fact of life for an idle eleven-year-old girl, was a topic of conversation that Flora's governess had diligently trained her to avoid; however, the sudden change in scenery and routine had prompted subtle changes in the way the incoming first year carried herself, and more notably, the way she spoke.

While her mother had done her best to ensure that Flora was not cooped up in their resort room for the entire day, that didn't stop the moments that she was from being the longest, most boring moments in her life! Many of her friends and even cousins were still stuck in Hogsmeade, while others were still too far away to have in-person interactions with. Her first month there had been alright—she'd been able to explore and see all the parts of the resort she was unfamiliar with—but the second was turning out to be just awful.

Mid-July meant that Hogwarts letters would be coming, but they were still trapped here. Not only that, but Hogwarts had too been enveloped by the dastardly fog, leaving Flora worrying about whether she would even be able to attend! She could not bear another year stuck at home, especially while knowing she should be elsewhere.

By early afternoon, thoughts of school and school shopping—the ifs, whens, and how specifically—were stuck on her mind. Her brother was idly lounging around the room at the same time as she, and after about thirty minutes of being unable to focus on the book that had been placed in her hands, she promptly closed it shut.

"Merriweather, what was your first year like?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at him from across the room. School was, perhaps, the best subject the two of them could relate to right now, as Flora assumed he was worried about finishing his Hogwarts education just as she was worried about starting it!

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If Merry didn't get to socialize with someone other than his stepmother and half-sister and kind-of-sort-of-cousin soon, he was going to die. Now that Somersby Fudge was gone on an adventure, there was nothing. Nothing. He had spent the past several days sketching the zoo giraffe because at least giraffes were still interesting, and then only barely. Now he was coloring it.

He looked up from shading some of the foliage that surrounded the giraffe. His pencil was still pressed to the page. Merry thought back to first year. One of the most seminal events was Kris Lestrange shoving him down a flight of stairs on the fifth day; this was before Merry had figured out the best methods to deal with his roommate/frienemy.

"It was nice," he said instead. He was annoyed by Flora's entire presence, right now - or at least sick of it - but he did not want to terrorize her. "I got to meet a lot of my friends."

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   Elias Grimstone, Finnian Byrne

Unsurprisingly, the answer did not satisfy Flora's curiosity. Surely there had to be more to first year than friends. Hadn't he figured out his favorite classes? Learned how to do magic? Hadn't it been an eye-opening, empowering experience? Then again, maybe she was less enthusiastic about the topic of friends because some of the ones she's made prior to attending school weren't the sort she thought her mother wouldn't approve of. They weren't disreputable but they weren't - like her. They weren't the sort of people she'd grown up playing with.

"Did you make any friends who weren't like you?" she asked, flipping the book around in her hands. "I mean - were some of them from families not like ours?" Did that make any sense?

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Merry shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah," he said, "Also some who were like us. It really depends." Hogwarts was going to introduce Flora to people unlike those she had ever met - and also some very similar ones. Privately Merry hoped that she would not be a Slytherin, as he really didn't want his sister to be up in his business all the time.

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   Edric Umbridge

His answers were as unenthusiastic as any other stuffy grownup's, which led Flora to the conclusion that turning seventeen had also turned Merriweather into just another boring adult. Letting out a dramatic sigh, she placed the book on the floor beside her.

"And what do you think will become of me?" she asked, "Do you think I'll have trouble making friends? What house do you think I'll be sorted into? I can't seem to decide."

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Merry looked up from his sketchbook yet again and considered his sister. She could be a Slytherin, like Merry and Rufina, or she could be a Ravenclaw, like Ernest. Or she could be neither. He was not used to thinking of Flora as her own person with her own stuff going on, so it took him a moment to answer.

"Hufflepuff, maybe," Merry said, with none of the anti-'Puff sentiment that sometimes floated in their circles. "I'm not sure. I mean - well, you'll never know until the sorting."

It was somewhat of a tradition, to avoid telling one's younger siblings the details, so he avoided mentioning the hat.

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Hufflepuff. She could envision herself bundled in a scarf of yellow in black, but would it look any good? She has dark hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion - she couldn't imagine a warm color complimenting her features. (Not that she imagined many of the other color combinations - except maybe Ravenclaw's - might do any better.)

One thing was certain: Flora Mulciber did not want to spend the next seven years of her life a walking, talking fashion disaster. There was also the placements of the common rooms to consider, and admittedly Flora did not know very much apart from what she'd read while scanning a few books here and there.

"I guess you're right - I'll have to wait," she huffed, a sudden wave of restlessness overcoming her. "I must know, Merriweather," she prompted once more, unable to resist the temptation to keep pestering her brother with questions, "have you ever been in detention? Is it true they hang you by your ankles? And is it true that you could get detention for something as silly as writing too slow?"

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He thought he was free, and even started shading another branch of the tree. But then Flora spoke again, and Meriweather deposited his colored pencil back on the paper. Was there no escape?

"Yes, sometimes, I guess?" Merry answered. There was no point in lying, after all, as it would probably (somehow!) just get him more entrenched in conversation with his younger sister. "I mean, if it was a prefect giving detention for that, you could complain." That seemed like something Kris Lestrange would do, if he thought about it.

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Horrified and feeling slightly defensive, Flora hopped out of her chair and onto her feet.

"But they wouldn't do that, would they?" she asked, clearly uneasy by the prospect. "I mean, they probably get in trouble for handing out unfair detentions!" And if they got in too much trouble, or if too many people complained, they might find themselves removed from their positions. "Why couldn't you have been prefect, Merriweather? You'd protect me." (Hopefully from unfair punishment and due punishment.)

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Merry didn't know what to do with any of this - they had already conversed more than he was comfortable with - and so he rolled his eyes.

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In Flora's mind, silence was the opposite of affirmation, and as such a frown slipped onto her face.

"So you wouldn't protect me," she pouted in her best "I'm-pretending-to-be-quiet-but-I-want-you-to-hear-me" voice. And then, noting that he wasn't even looking at her, she picked up her own book and held it in front of her face, doing her best to hide her frown. If Merriweather was sick of her after a month in the hotel, he'd surely never want to lay eyes on her again after a year at Hogwarts together!

It was a fear that would likely never fade completely, but one that a good nap (or, a better option, an ice cream cone) would soothe for the moment. With a sigh, Flora hopped out of her chair and ditched her book, intent on seeking out someone - a real adult - to take her to find one.

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