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Mother's Day; First Hogwarts Letter
Topic Started: Jun 15 2007, 04:01 PM (355 Views)
Cy Andrews
Member Avatar
4th Year Student
“Dad, help me. I’m gonna mess it up.” The young voice drifted through the half-dark. Only one light was on, illuminating a small section of what appeared to be a middle-class kitchen. The rising sun shone faintly through the windows, making the shape of a boy standing at the stove and a tall man at the kitchen table barely discernable in the semi-dark. The boy’s face seemed to glow in the bluish light from the gas stove as he looked pleadingly towards the older man.

“You won’t mess it up. She’ll love it.”

“No, I want it to be perfect. Please, Dad?”

The tall man at the table gave a reluctant yawn. His son seemed set on having help, so there really wasn’t much he could do. Rubbing his dark brown eyes, he reached for the steaming cup of coffee he’d just poured himself. “What did you need help with, Cy?” he asked, taking a long drink of his coffee. He brought it away from his mouth quickly, his face twisted up in a grimace. “The coffee, maybe?”

The boy stopped, turning to look at his father, his shallow blue eyes anxious. “No, why? Is there something wrong with the coffee? I could try again…”

His father chuckled. “It’s fine. Really, she’ll love it.” He smiled, rising. “Now, what did you need help with?”

“Eggs,” the boy said, turning again towards the blue-lit stove, forgetting about the coffee entirely. “I can’t cook them, ‘cause I’ll break the yolk.”

“Just make them scrambled,” Cy’s father said with another yawn.

“No, Mom likes them with the yellow stuff in the middle. You have to make them, Dad, please. Please?”

His father raised a thin, brown eyebrow. “She’d like them better if you made them, Cy.”

“I will make them. I just need your help,” Cy answered, smiling. The older man laughed, moving up towards the stove and reaching around Cy for the carton.

“Okay, I’ll start the eggs. Why don’t you start putting everything else together? She should be awake soon.” Cy’s face lit up, and he skipped away happily, not bothering to answer. His ear-length white-blond hair bobbed as he walked, making the ten year old look very comical as he began to float around the kitchen. Over the next ten minutes, a breakfast began to materialize on the kitchen table; a white bed-tray, a plate of pancakes, a dish of toast with butter and jam, napkins, silverware, and a cup of lukewarm coffee.

“You may want to pour her a glass of milk, too,” Cy’s father suggested from the stove as he transferred the eggs on to a plate. Cy, who had left the kitchen half a moment earlier, re-entered now, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers and a card that said, in Crayola Crown, ‘Happy Mother’s Day.’ He eyed the tray, set the card and flowers down, then nodded. His father picked the flowers up, setting them delicately in the small vase already sitting on the tray. Cy had barely opened the refrigerator to get the milk, however, when a female voice drifted down the stairs.

“Tom? Cy? Are you up?”

Cy’s face seemed to fall to the floor, then smash. Before his father, Tom, could even move, Cy had ran frantically into the hallway, waving his arms and pleading desperately with his mother, who was standing halfway down the stairs, her hair brunette hair stuck out at an odd angle, and her pale skin clad in nothing but a bathrobe. “No, no no no no no no,” Cy said, obviously panicked. “You have to go back to bed—please? Please please please please please please—”

His mother shot a confused glance at her husband. “Mother’s Day,” he said quietly. The obviously tired woman’s mouth opened in a silent ‘oh,’ and she started back up the stairs. She was just about to vanish into the hallway when, with a yawn, she spoke to Tom:

“You do know it’s six in the morning?”

Tom chuckled. “I’ve been up since four thirty.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two boys knocked on the bedroom door about eight minutes later. A much cheerier and less sleepy voice chimed, “Come in.”

Tom opened the door, and Cy walked in beneath his father’s arm, the food tray balanced precariously in his small arms. “Surprise!”

Cy’s mother laughed as her son drew nearer. She was sitting in bed, looking much more prepared than the mess of the moment before. Her brown hair had been brushed, she’d washed her face, and applied her make-up. When Cy was only a few feet away, her bright brown eyes lit on the mug of half-transparent, semi-warm liquid. “Ooooh. And you have coffee.”

Cy’s face already looked about ready to be split in half by his huge smile, but at this comment, he somehow widened it. Tom, entering the room behind Cy, gave his wife a meaningful look. “He also brought milk, Ellie. Isn’t that nice?”

Ellie, still in bed, raised an eyebrow. Obviously, she wasn’t sure how to interpret her husband’s look. “That’s… terrific,” she finally said, perplexed. Then, with a genuine smile, she looked back at her son. “Thanks, Cy. This is really great.” She let out a little, happy gasp. “Did you make the card?”

Cy nodded, still beaming as Ellie read the card aloud. “‘To the best Mom in the entire world ever. Love and hugs and x’s and kisses and hearts and o’s—Cy.’ Aww, Cy, that’s so sweet. And the flowers are beautiful. Thank you so much!” On this last sentence, she reached over the tray on her lap to give the blond boy a tight hug, then sat back in bed, smiling.

“Now eat the breakfast,” Cy urged happily. Ellie looked down at her meal for a half-second, her hands clasped before her as if she couldn’t decide where to start. After her eyes fell on the cold, nearly-clear coffee, she looked back up at the happy child. “Oh, Cy, this is wonderful. But I always read the mail over breakfast.”

Cy knit his brow together, looking troubled. “Oh, yeah, I didn’t think about that.” His eyes lit up again as he continued. “But I know where the mail is. I’ll be right back.” At this, he darted away, calling back over his shoulder as he left the room, “Don’t start eating until I get back, okay?”

“Okay,” Ellie returned, then lowered her voice dramatically, until it was little more than a whisper. “What’s safe to eat?”

Tom smiled mischievously. “If I told you,” he said, “That would take all the fun out of it.”

“Tom. Please.”

He laughed. “Ellie, at four in the morning, do you really think I remember what happened to all of the various pieces of food?”

Ellie was about to retort, but at that moment her face lit up in an elegant smile as Cy rushed in, carrying a small stack of yesterday’s mail. Ellie always read the mail a day late, on account of the fact that she had plenty of time to read the mail on Sunday, but not a spare second on Monday, as she rushed to try to get everyone, including herself, to work or school on time. It was exceedingly difficult to get Cy to school on Mondays this year, and Ellie hardly had time to read the mail over breakfast while she battled with him. “Thanks,” she breathed, not looking at Tom.

“Okay,” said Cy with a dramatically loud pant. “Now you can start eating.”

Still smiling, Ellie set the mail down on the bed beside her, then started to butter her toast. She didn’t get through much of the mail, as Cy sat perched on the edge of her bed the entire meal, asking after every bite or drink, “Is it okay? Is it good?”

To which Ellie would invariably answer, “It’s wonderful.”

She had finished the pancakes and half of her toast, and was just digging into her eggs, her coffee still untouched, when Ellie announced with some surprise, “This one’s for you, Cy.”

Cy was equally surprised to be getting a letter. He took it, momentarily forgetting to ask his mother how her food was thus far. He held it between his hands, his eyes tracing the scrawling print.

Mister Cy Andrews,
42 Church Road,
Tunbridge Wells, England


There was no return address. Cy flipped the letter over, to find something he certainly didn’t expect. An old wax letter seal, emblazoned with some logo. From what the ten-year-old could tell, the seal bore a large H, with several animals swirling around it; a bird, a snake, a lion, and something else that he couldn’t immediately recognize. Cocking an eyebrow, Cy slipped his finger underneath the flap of the envelope, slipping it open. His parents had begun to talk quietly in the background, discussing a bill Ellie had just opened, but Cy wasn’t paying attention. He slid the letter out, his eyes beginning to scan the same fancy, scrawling script that had appeared on the front of his letter, but more impersonal.

Cy’s eyebrows knit together as he read. “Mom…?” He began quietly. Neither Ellie nor Tom appeared to hear him. Cy stood, turning to face them, his blue eyes sliding off the letter and darting between his two parents. He looked hurt, which caught both of the adult’s attention, and their conversation promptly died. “I think someone’s playing a joke on me. A mean joke.”
CREEPYSTALKERAHHHHH!
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