December 24th, 1894 — Bythesea Wing of "The Castle", Scotland

Seraphina hated being in the castle, particularly overnight — it made her feel horrendously vulnerable. So she did not sleep, had spent time in her room reading a romance book that she had bought at Mr. Flourish's bookstore, and was now wandering the halls of her wing feeling rather like the Ghost of Christmas Present.

The last thing she expected to see was her daughter, also awake, this late at night. Sera startled. "Hettie!" she whispered. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

Sera knew that Hettie ought to be in bed, as she'd been present when Henry sent Hettie and Algy off to it. (Bernard's bedtime was attended to by his governess, given his age.)

  

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Hettie had never been particularly excited about her Care of Magical Creatures assignment over interterm, but she would have liked to be proven wrong. It should have been fun, really. She liked the Porlock calf well enough-- all down-soft fur and wobbly legs and gentle, pleading eyes as it butted its head into her hand for pats. The problem wasn't... really the calf at all. It was the castle. Christmas Eve in a gloomy, drafty old castle in the middle of Scotland, where she had specifically avoided spending Christmas for a couple of years now, wasn't Hettie's idea of a good time. Being surrounded by her most uptight relatives over the holiday season wasn't Hettie's idea of a good time.

Explaining the bleating calf that followed her through the front door of the castle to every single relative who crossed her path wasn't Hettie's idea of a good time.

But the Porlock itself was not the problem, and so when she returned to her rooms after dinner to find the little beastie's blanket nest empty the panic that shot through Hettie from head to toe proved very real. It could be anywhere. Could have hidden away in anyone's quarters, or wandered all the way to the kitchens, or the gardens, or even beyond. A baby Porlock alone didn't stand much of a chance against the nocturnal predators beyond the grounds, and so Hettie had thrown on her tea-gown and seized the candle from her night-stand and gone wandering about the castle in search for the child she had stubbornly refused to name.

Hettie was so fixated on scanning the shadows in every corner that she jumped when her mother called her name. Spinning around, she considered lying. She was lost. She was hungry. She was-- but the idea of the Porlock getting hurt seemed far worse in that moment than any punishment she might incur, either for losing the beast or wandering about the castle at night. So she took a shaky breath, instead, and whispered back.

"My Porlock-- it's," another short breath, "It wasn't in my room. I don't know where it could have run off to."

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   Seraphina Bythesea

It was obvious as soon as she turned around that Harriet was upset, and Sera's brow creased with concern. She laid a hand on her daughter's arm, trying for comforting, especially as Hettie explained why she was upset — the porlock. Seraphina was rather charmed by the creature, because she had also taken Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, and because it was so charming when it bleated.

"All right, darling," she said, "Let's find it — it can't have gotten very far."

Sera was confident the thing was too small to take the stairs yet.

  

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