September 7th, 1895 — Hogsmeade Encampment
Someone had made tea; The breeze that teased at the hastily assembled tents smelled of it. That's good, she thought. Tea felt like the right thing to do. But she didn't have tea, or her kettle, or even her wand. The orders to evacuate had come abruptly and with a pounding on the door that felt like the caller was knocking directly on her head. It had taken everything she had to get herself out of her wrapper and into proper clothes, hair pinned up into something half presentable, and out the door. She even managed to grab a shawl before closing her front door behind her but it wasn't until she was trekking along with her neighbors and co-evacuees that she realized she was still wearing her house slippers. Standing as she was, aimless and unmoving, the slippers were largely hidden beneath her skirts but her toes curled inside them as if she could hide them all the more.
How long had it been? Long enough for her headache to fade and her stomach to stop it's roiling but she hadn't slept well if at all and her limbs still felt eager to betray her. She tried to think back but too much had happened over the last few days. Too many choices had been made that she could pick apart if she let herself. Even the choice of where to go... what was the use of just standing there? Except that the encampment was the only place that she could make sense to be.
Here she was accounted for; Someone had put her on a list that said she was alive. Her mother was not on that list, alive or otherwise. She balled her hand into a fist and then shook it out as if she could shake away the trembling.
How long had it been? Long enough for her headache to fade and her stomach to stop it's roiling but she hadn't slept well if at all and her limbs still felt eager to betray her. She tried to think back but too much had happened over the last few days. Too many choices had been made that she could pick apart if she let herself. Even the choice of where to go... what was the use of just standing there? Except that the encampment was the only place that she could make sense to be.
Here she was accounted for; Someone had put her on a list that said she was alive. Her mother was not on that list, alive or otherwise. She balled her hand into a fist and then shook it out as if she could shake away the trembling.
