1st January, 1891

A new journal for a new year, a literal blank page to accompany the figurative. Last year's journal will, of course, be furnished with an ink-spraying charm and hidden with the others under my mattress at Hogwarts—close at hand in case I should need to reference it, but safe from prying eyes who might wish to know my deepest secrets.

Then again, one must be found interesting in order for others to wish to pry into their lives. 

My time at home—though it remains difficult for me to consider the Bartonburg house to be home—will soon draw to a close, as the Christmas holidays are nearly concluded. The year 1891 will also see Verity and Grace, in effect, out into society, with their first proper season slated for the springtime. I should not be surprised, given that the year of mourning for our father has passed, and I know Verity, at least, must be excited. Still, now that some time has passed and my shock has ebbed, I shall address with clearer head the revelations as to my own future.

I am certain he thinks he must be doing a boon, else Ford never would have made such a decision (or dared tell me about it!), but I must say I cannot embrace his revelation that, when one sister leaves the family home, I am to return to it as a debutante. Never mind that I have already begun my N.E.W.T. studies and all my friends are still at Hogwarts: it seems as though he is insisting that I must be a wife! True, within our family this does seem like something of an inevitability, but if I cannot complete my studies, how can I keep other doors (or at least windows) open for myself? For all my brother knows, I would be the next Adelia Lovegood: a spinster who squandered her prospects. If that should happen, I should at least like the option of a career to keep me company.

It also seems so dreadfully rushed—assuming Verity or Grace find a husband swiftly, at least. Why should both my sisters be afforded a completed education and I relegated to bits and scraps at the end?

If Ford is to be resolved in this arrangement, than it shall be my own resolution to delay this eventuality as much as possible. After all, a little mischief can go a long way.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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— set by mj —

10th January, 1891

To say that I have made a terrible mistake is, I think rather too over-dramatic, but it has not been an hour and already I wonder how on earth I allowed Hermia to talk me into it!

Potions is far from my worst subject, of course, but I do not imagine myself possessed of enough confidence to focus fully in a competitive setting. Thus, my signing up for the potion brewing contest is at best tenuous and at worst, apt to be a disaster. I do so hate to look (or, equally bad, be perceived as) foolish and so I have quickly made up my mind that I must ask Noble for advice. After all, when one has an expert in the family, one ought to consult them whenever appropriate.

I do hope he will not tell Ford or Mama. It would be embarrassing enough to recount my failure to Noble; I could not bear to have to do so to either of them!

  

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— set by mj —

5th February, 1891

Enclosure: letters (3) from one Fortitude Greengrass. I cannot imagine I should rightly forget who they are from, especially as they are signed, but if I do choose a career one day, it would be advisable to be in the habit of being thorough.

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I do believe myself to be in the possession of one of the world's most aggravating brothers.

A book cannot, in the grand scheme of things, be considered a burden. It is not a new wardrobe, nor a dowry, nor a carriage, but a way to expand one's mind and pass a pleasurable afternoon. And yet, Ford seems to be quite resolved that it is burdensome for him to purchase one and have it sent to me. I know, of course, that it cannot be easy for him to be responsible for Mama and for Verity and for Grace (and, I suppose, for myself) on top of a job at the Ministry of Magic, but one assumes that he goes out in the world and runs errands from time to time.

I would, of course, excuse his grumblings had he not suggested that I must have a desire to woo Professor Vane in order for my desire to learn more about ancient studies to be worthwhile. That I should love nothing more is, I believe, irrelevant, as Ford has no way of knowing this. It just adds fuel to the fire of his desire to see me wed instead of happy. I am no suffragette chaining myself to the gates of Parliament, but I do wish to have some agency within my own life!

His latest missive has only further illustrated that it is essential I take matters into my own hands to ensure he does not see me married off to the highest bidder as soon as he finds time to pencil in an auction. I must, I think, begin my efforts in earnest, though I had hoped to be able to delay such meddling until the Season began.

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   Reuben Crouch

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— set by mj —

3rd July, 1893

Enclosure: a velvet ribbon from the box of bonbons sent by Verity. It was altogether an unexpected (and delicious!) gift from my sister. I must remember to write a note to thank her later.

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I have just awoken from rather a startling dream.

A classmate once said that we dream nightly but merely do not remember them—whether this is true or not, last night was a rare occurrence. Not only did I dream, but I still feel its weight upon me now: a knot in my chest as though I might die, the feeling of fingertips grazing my wrist—

It all felt so real, too real, and I worry that it shall preoccupy me for all the rest of the day. Worse still, its most prominent feature was a young lady I only ever saw from behind, from the side; no face at all. Still, I feel certain deep within myself that I know her, and, furthermore, that she is of utmost import.

Have I become a seer? Do my dreams now bring with them the weight of prophecy?

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   Madeleine Backus

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— set by mj —