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Shouldn’t brag, but dang, I amaze and astonish
Your Mama is a tenacious thing. A force to be reckoned with. A gorgeous face that, if your father is believed, only becomes more beautiful with each passing day. A sharp mind and a silver tongue that navigates social gatherings with the ease of someone born to. The definition of the meme: "She's beauty. She's grace. She'll burn you so bad a Fiendfyre would sting less." Your mother is the textbook definition of Slytherin Royalty; a sparkling heiress with the world at her fingertips and dozens of admirers to choose from. Too many, according to the gossip mags. Even now, in her sixties, boys ask you if you reckon they have a chance. It makes you scream. Reading about their history seems unreal. What is your life? Your Mama is the once intended bride of Famously-Pardoned Sirius Black. A fashion queen that built an empire with her best friend and whose employees include former Minister of Magic, Benjamin Vance. Yeah, social justice warrior comrade Benjamin Vance. Your mother, Eudocia Daphne Greengrass, married your father, Locke Scrimgeour Abercrombie. A man who likes nature and flying and dragons and chess. And your family. Not in that order.
The gossip mags still reel about their supposed elopement, even as they sigh dreamily at their love story.
Your Papa hates dressing up and social events and explicitly disclosing his opinion on anything. Most of the things your mother thrives off of. Which, admittedly, is an unfair description. That is not all your father is. He's a problem solver and scarily intelligent and incredibly brave. It's still not enough. You wonder if you will ever find the words to describe him better than Papa. If you will ever find the right words to encompass all that he is. He built your house into your Mama’s dream home and looks at her like you want someone to look at you. Like you want to find someone who smiles at you like
they might never find the words to describe you but try to anyway because you were worth it. Maybe most people don't understand your parents' relationship. On the days when people laugh and tell you that you “are just like your mother”, you are one of them. You idolize her, act like her, look like her. You want people to look at you like they do her.
Few do.
Your parents don’t talk about their love story. They don’t have to. There’s an article about them, somewhere. Someone’s pointed it out to you. Your mother will tell you if you keep asking her, with that dreamy look on her face and the giggle of someone your age. Your parents rarely fight; it’s a novelty among your peers. If someone else tells you that your parents are, quote, “Hashtag: Goals”, you might start perfecting the Notice-Me-Not charm. Or meet their comments with an eye roll magmoji. Maybe both. That isn’t to say that your parents are perfect. They’re not perfect. Your mother works too much and your father lets her. Your father hides away in his home and your mother lets him. Your Mama believes too much in those visions of hers and your Papa discounts them.
I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal
You are the youngest of four, beautifully named Ceres Selene Abercrombie. You cannot remember a time you weren't called
Cece. Yours is not a small family, but few magical families seem to be. You could probably fill out a family tree if asked, but you're sure your hand would cramp up. Your father is an only child and your mother is not. Your Aunt Kalypso - who sneers at all your siblings, at all your mannerisms, at your Papa - never had any children. Your Uncle Hektor had two girls before you were ever imagined. Both are twice your age with children of their own. In your year. You love them, even Nathaniel who acts a little like Aunt Kalypso. And then there is your Aunt Aria and Uncle Kingsley. You half believe they're still trying to arrange a wedding between the various kids.
You're the youngest. Not often overlooked, but still dismissed. Enough so that you crave attention. You and your sister were a happy surprise. A shock and entirely expected at the same time. It's your life story.
As if your Mama weren't impressive enough, she is a Seer. A powerful one. Enough to be stolen away by the evil Tom Riddle and a spiteful ex-boyfriend. You and your sister's, Calysta and Nikolette, were born with the gift. Neither of your parents were happy about it. Your Papa lamented what each vision represented and your Mama feared for your lives. Life. You were a nightmare. Literally. Your mother had nightmares throughout her pregnancies that you and your sisters would come out like her. Her abilities made her a target during the First Wizarding War and a likely target during the Second. She doesn’t talk about the days she was held hostage by Death Eaters, but you’ve heard her nightmares and the haunted look she gets whenever she sees remnants of the Dark Lord. You've seen the stories in books published, speculating on what happened. You've not read them, of course, because you want her to tell you. You only know some details. Your Papa and your Aunt - Aria, not Kalypso - rescued her. She couldn't talk for days after and shook unless your Papa was in the room. Even now, your Mama can only relax when your Papa's arms provide a sanctuary. You have heard your Papa whisper comforting words and pull her close. You've seen the looks Cal gives your brother, Silas. The way your siblings whisk you and Niko away with trips and gossip. You're not blind to it, but you pretend.
Your parents are war veterans two times over, but that’s not how they want to be known. So that is not how you know them.
Don’t be shocked when your hist’ry book mentions me
Despite what some might think, you believe your gift is a talent to hone. A tool to ease your life. You use your powers to the point of frivolity. Your father hates it. Hates the notion that fate is a predetermined thing. Your mother has found it in her to agree, but wears the worn smile of someone who knows what your dealing with. Forbidden from using her gift at a young age, she doesn't try hard to discourage any of her girls. Instead, she teaches you. She's instills a love of Divination in your bones. Infuses your blood with ideas and drive. You’re certain that you’re all just making things up as you go. It catches you off-guard, sometimes. The way that your head feels fuzzy. How your lungs scream like you've held your head underwater for too long. How you feel everything and nothing at once. The throbbing familiarity of a hangover without a cure awaits you once you've reemerged. Your father tells you not to be so over-reliant on it - that you shouldn’t use it just to see how much you need to study. Or what outfit will get you the most compliments. Or if the seamming is going to turn out just so. It’s not like you’re looking to see any outlandish things, just the small immediate future. The big stuff still scares you.
What if you don't like the You you See?
You are not the best Seer in the family. Your Mama holds that position. She needs no help calling forth a possible future. She needs no help stopping it. Your Papa told you of her beginnings, when monstrous and haunting looks shrouded her features. It is the same one that adorns your twin’s face. She doesn't love her gifted curse and you don't blame her. Niko terrified your entire family. She was too young when she got her first vision. Younger than your mother and Calysta. But, that is not your story to tell. It is Nikolette’s. Your first vision is far from terrifying. It is so numbingly boring and typical that you almost dismissed it for a normal headache. You were waiting for something amazing - something like your sisters. And praying that it would happen to you. Your mother refused to tell you. Cal would only laugh at you. You knew better than to beg Niko. You wake up one morning, when you’re ten and determined not to sleep in. You had things to do and were eager to start your day, although unsure of what you wanted to wear. A short, black hoodie-dress with white leggings or the red pants with the black cami and a burnt yellow cardigan? Suddenly, it was like you were in the kitchen and reaching for Silas’ toast. It was winter break and he had come home from Hogwarts, telling you all about what his friend had done on the train. Cal turned and reached for the jam, pausing and eyes glowing just a little before reaching for the pitcher. She looked at you with that knowing smile of hers and told you that she liked your dress and congratulations on unlocking the Sight. Silas dropped his cup of orange juice.
And then you were back in your room. Your hands had unconsciously dropped the clothing you were holding onto. You could barely stop yourself from squealing in excitement. You wore your dress and added a headband. It was then that you understood that time was fluid. That what you Saw was not exact, but relative and likely. Your sister still reached for the jam. She still complimented you - your headband, as it had not been one she’d seen. Your brother groaned instead of dropped his cup and Niko gave you a look that might have been of horror. Knowing your sister, it was of horror. Your father was not happy and your mother pretended she was. Cal visited your room that night and stayed up with you, playing with your hair and telling you that she’d help you. Your Mama would help you; she just needed time to get used to it.
You got the idea that, maybe, both your parents hoped you wouldn’t inherit the gifted curse.
Gifted because it saved your big sister. Calysta never had the best eyesight. Your Aunt Aria told you how your mother cried right after she was born - they hadn’t known it was called postpartum depression. Your mother was beside herself with all of the girls, but Cal especially. She blamed herself for her vision. She was terrified that your sister would turn out as gifted and as targeted as she was. You all still have pictures of her in her little pink glasses, running around or leading Silas by the hand. It hurt both your parents that nothing could be done. That, little by little, Cal’s eyesight diminished. She wore stronger glasses. Got used to reading in braille - got used to having a spell read aloud to her. Your brother is convinced that the only reason she managed to survive Hogwarts was because of her prowess as a Seer. Your mother learned to stop blaming herself so much - or to tell your father when she did because he would stop her.
You keep out of trouble and you double your choices
This not Calysta’s story. Or Silas'. Or Nikolette's. It is not your Mama's or your Papa’s, either. It is yours.
You were accepted into Hogwarts. It's been a dream of yours for as long as you can remember. You have your Mama make you robes of silk and march into the castle with your head up, eyes shining. You visualized Slytherin. Of a cozy dungeon that once housed your parents. Of a safe vault that housed Cal. You were not brave enough to join your brother in Gryffindor. You lacked the imagination to fit right at home in Ravenclaw. Most of your family was in Slytherin.
It wasn't a lack of ambition and resourcefulness that kept you from Slytherin. It was an abundance of acceptance, empathy, dedication, and loyalty. You're separated from your twin and surprised at how little you minded. You love your sister and, admittedly, you do many things together. It’s just that you aren’t the same person. You are not even close to being the same person.
You crave light. Attention. Loudness. Someone to fill the void that screams out demanding to be seen. The Sorting Hat gives you Hufflepuff. Seconds after sitting down, you find yourself wrapped in hugs. You beam at the boy who wants to paint you because he adores your hair. Niko...does not follow you. Niko does not follow any of her siblings and is, instead, an eagle. The void in at your core shrieks that only your twinster has ever understood you better than you've understood yourself. Ev joins your sister and you know you'd feel lonely, if not for the gaggle of girls that join you after. Hufflepuff welcomes you into the fold. They show you life will never be easy, but you will be stronger. You will never be alone. You will be seen.
Sometimes I get over excited, shoot off at the mouth
You thrive in Hufflepuff, even if you are perpetually cold when you walk to your dorm. Being so close to your Slytherin cousins means that it’s really easy to pop over for a visit or find an abandoned classroom somewhere between the common rooms. It’s not uncommon to see you climb seven flights of stairs to use your twin as a comfortable pillow. It’s also not uncommon for the two of you two spend inordinate amounts of time together. Your Puff family teaches you not to lose your head. You show them how to be unapologetically themselves. Also how to take a good selfie. Your gift promises you achievable futures. You swear to reach for the stars.
Metaphorically. You're not a strong flier.
Boys tell you that you're beautiful. Girls tell you that you're approachable. You wonder if anyone will ever see that you are both and so much more. People tell you that you do your house proud. You respond with a killer smile and fiercer style. You are sweet, but you are not a pushover. You love, but not enough to sacrifice what you want. You grow weary of the compliments that fail to see all you can do: fail to see you.
Your first Hogsmeade date happens when you're thirteen. Too young, but it's not serious. He goes in for a kiss and you laugh so hard you snort. There is no second date. It does not deter others from trying. Your first kiss is Francisco Krum, forced into a game of spin the bottle. You fail to see how his eyes become warm when he looks at you. Instead, you set him up with Evadne and wonder if anyone will give you a piggyback ride to the Kitchens. You complain to Silas that few people take you seriously. He asks you what you want to do in life. You tell him you want to be challenged.
I promise that I’ll make y’all proud
When you're fifteen, you realize you're a bit of a princess. That you're well-suited to follow in your Mama's footsteps. It's not what you want. You pursue fashion because you're good at it. Because you love the feeling you get once you design an outfit for someone else. It's unfortunate your photography skills are nothing like you're parents, except that you've got a good eye for craft and design. (Also, you've no bad angles.) Most people tease you and tell you that it’s just because you want an easy career. That you’re guaranteed to have a job if your mother and your Aunt Aria own everything. You smile and remind them that you never get anywhere without a little hard work.
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