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Flora Mulciber · July 28, 2018 – 10:18 PM

THIS DIARY BELONGS TO
Flora Anne Mulciber

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Flora Mulciber · July 28, 2018 – 10:33 PM

28 July, 1888

Dear Diary,

Someone told me that my penmanship was awful, so I'm going to prove them wrong by practicing my writing every single day—except I'm not really sure what girls my age are supposed to write about. (Reading and writing are two skills any girl my age must have, but I've never been one to do so for my own amusement.)

Do I write about my successes? My failures? My friends? What about my hopes, my passions, and my fears? Aren't those all things I'm supposed to talk to other people about (though I do suppose I have no sisters to complain to). I guess I'll just write about everything that happens—both good and bad—until I have penmanship so flawless that one might believe it to come straight from the hand of an artist!

With love, Flora

04 July, 1888

Dear Diary,

Alright, maybe I won't write every day. That's a bit of a commitment for someone who's life is as busy as mine, wouldn't you think? I have tea with mother in the mid-morning, piano and sketching lessons in the early afternoon, and long strolls in Hogsmeade in the late afternoons. Isn't that such a busy life?

Except it's not—not right now, I guess. I'm trapped at the Sanditon and I'm too afraid to complain that I want to go home. Most people would be delighted to share the same luxuries that I'm getting to experience: the beach, the spa, the zoos, the ice cream! It would be so wonderful...if the novelty didn't fade so fast.

I'm writing today because I met a boy. His name is Paxton Fudge and he's apparently the son of the resort's proprietor, the ghost Herbert Fudge. He was the most illogical and silly boy I've ever met—but he was sweet. Kind of. I think we're friends now, but only time will tell if our acquaintanceship lasts.

With love, Flora

Flora Mulciber · July 29, 2018 – 2:34 PM

19 July, 1888

Dear Diary,

Why does everyone concern themselves with Hogwarts houses? I know it's all I've been concerning myself with, but I'm now convinced that's only because everyone else makes a big deal of it. I know there are families where everyone is supposed to be in one house; many pureblooded families pride themselves on being Slytherins, but I can't imagine my Papa or Mama being disappointed in me because I was in Hufflepuff—or any of the other houses, really.

But to get to the point, I've made the mistake of asking everyone what house they think I'll end up in, and now I'm not even sure where I wish to belong! Here's the information I've compiled so far:

Ravenclaw

Some people think I'd make a good fit.
Papa was a Ravenclaw, and he's far smarter than I!
I don't really like to read—not even for fun!
I think I'm witty and clever, but not that much.

Gryffindor

I'm not very brave.
That hasn't stopped people from suggesting I'd do well there.
Pro: Uncle Beckett was a Gryffindor, and he's very fun.
Con: I'm supposed to be elegant, not fun.

Hufflepuff

It's said to be full of friendly people.
It's also said to be full of weak people.
I don't believe it, but other people do.

Slytherin

Mama was a Slytherin.
Merriweather's currently in Slytherin.
Con: Merriweather might get annoyed if I'm in Slytherin, too.

Conclusion: The Sorting Hat will have to decide for me because I'm too indecisive.

With love, Flora

Flora Mulciber · September 1, 2018 – 3:17 AM

28 July, 1888

Dear Diary,

I went to London with Mama today and got my wand! I was excited to come home with one that was pretty—ornamental even—and was a little disappointed when I was given a plain stick instead. It's precisely ten inches and made of cypress, which Mr. Ollivander said was suited for the heroic type. (Does that mean I'll be in Gryffindor? I don't think I'd do very well there; I'm not at all brave, as evidenced by all the times I got lost at the Sanditon.)

I'm much more pleased by its unicorn hair core, as I've always considered unicorns to be the most beautiful and graceful of creatures. Mama and I went shopping for school supplies shortly after, and I slipped a book called Wandlore For Beginners into my basket. It says that unicorn hair wands pick those with the purest of souls, which I suppose should bring me some comfort—not that I ever expected to become a dark witch!

With love, Flora

Flora Mulciber · September 2, 2018 – 4:01 PM

31 August, 1888

Dear Diary,

It is nearing the witching hour and I cannot seem to stop my mind from racing with all the possibilities of tomorrow. I shall join my fellow year-mates—including Rex, who (fortunately) survived the Hogsmeade fog—a the sorting ceremony, yet I have little clue what that might entail. Chatter of the Sorting Hat has persisted in the streets of Hogsmeade, yet I've received little explanation to what really happens when the students arrive to be sorted.

(Merriweather tells me nothing, of course—something about the preserving the magic for the incoming first years. It is, supposedly, somewhat of a tradition to hide details of the ceremony from one's younger siblings!)

I have filled with hopes for tomorrow, but all I truly desire is to make new friends while keeping the ones I love dearly in the present. I know that the odds of being place in the same house as every friend are likely, but the thought of being separated from everyone is perhaps my greatest fear.

With love, Flora

Flora Mulciber · December 19, 2018 – 3:06 PM

12 December, 1888

Dear Diary,

I've admittedly failed to regularly write in this diary, but do not fret; my penmanship has been put to work elsewhere. Hogwarts began on the first of September, and I was sorted into Slytherin. I must confess I was slightly disappointed at first—not because I was in Slytherin, but because many of my friends were not. Cousin Rex was sorted into Hufflepuff, and although Sirius Black was sorted into Slytherin as well, none of my female friends were sorted alongside me!

School has been going decently enough. Herbology and Trasnfiguration as my strong suits, but I do struggle so terribly in Potions class. Many of my friends participated in the recent Potion-Brewing Competition, so of course I felt obliged to participate as well. (And, of course, I ended up making a fool of myself! How stupid of me to think I could compete against first and second years!)

I'm not too concerned about my academics, though. Papa ensured me that young ladies have more important things to be doing besides focusing on piles and piles of homework. Besides, Mama was a prefect and she was not at the top of her class! I've spent many hours after school in Art and Music Club, perfecting my sketching and my vocal skill.

I do have hopes that the new year will bring success in all areas of my life—academically, socially, and family-wise. Despite my efforts to convince myself that Potions class will not affect my life's path, I cannot help but feel inferior to my classmates who are able to brew potions with ease. I've practiced and practiced and practiced. If only I had the skill to brew myself a bottle of liquid luck!

I have not struggled so much socially, but I do hope I'm able to... strike a truce, so to speak, with Miss Wood as time goes on. We don't speak much, so evenings in the dormitory feel so awkward. I don't ever expect to be able to discuss with her refined topics such as fashion and art, but it would be nice to be able to mention the upcoming history project!

With love, Flora

Flora Mulciber · December 31, 2018 – 10:31 PM

01 January, ~~1888~~ 1889

Dear Diary,

My winter holidays went by without a hitch, though soon I will return to school, Mr. Afton—who, I now realize, seems to be Miss Afton—in tow. My first term was not a smashing success in terms of academics, but I have made many friends and hope to continue doing so as the rest of my first year continues. Despite my father's insistence (and my mother's example) that young ladies have no need to be talented in all areas of magic, I feel overcome with sadness every time I receive less than an 'Exceeds Expectations' on a classroom or homework assignment!

That is why I am making it a goal in the new year to be happy with who I am. I will never be as intelligent as Belphoebe Lestrange, nor do I ever think I will compare with socialites like Olivia Pendergast. What I can be, however, is myself, and perhaps a younger version of my mother if I try hard enough! I will focus my energy on my strengths, rather than my weakness; besides, a jack of all trades is a master of none.

Focusing on my strengths will also mean putting more effort to meet every Music and Art club meeting in the second term. I have long fingers compared to many girls my age, which makes me predisposed to musical ability. My singing voice will never compare to the women who train all their lives for the opera, but I'm sure I can learn to sing a soothing lullaby without causing a grimace. My sketching has always been stellar, if I do say so myself, but I wish to add color. Never will I be able to design my own dresses if I'm blind to the palettes of the latest fashion.

Finally, I want a cat, and I will spend the rest of my second term trying to convince Headmaster Black—Mr. Sirius' dad—to let me keep it and Mr. Afton with me at school. I'm sure I will succeed with enough perseverance.

With love, Flora

Flora Mulciber · January 15, 2020 – 3:15 AM

20 December, 1889

Dear Diary,

Would you believe me if I said that school has stripped me of my desire to write? I used to love to write, and even writing this I think a small part of my heart still does. I don't even think the issue lies in writing itself; it's what I've begun to associate it with. I understand the importance of schoolwork, and I do enjoy learning, but the countless essays and papers I've written has left me with a swollen hand and no imagination. I would not even be writing if it was not of absolute importance to let my emotions runs free.

Father is injured. That I know. I also know that it happened during a Ministry event, and I know my father was trying to stop whatever situation occurred. I know he is in the hospital, and I know it's not an injury that can be easily cured. (Mother would have me think otherwise, but if it was easily fixed he would not still be there.)

What I do not know is whether or not he'll be alright. I cannot have my father die. I know too many fatherless children (Abraxas, Saxon, Joella) and I do not wish to join the ranks of them. I hardly doubt Merry wishes to become orphaned either, and I'm simply not sure he's prepared to be the man of the household. I also love my father, and I would miss him terribly.

I'm not sure what to do, and frankly I'm not sure there's anything I can do. I must wait out this horrific period and hope for the best.

With love, Flora

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