Even after Quidditch practice had ended, Emma was still reeling from all that had transpired between her and Rabastan. Frankly, she would have still thought that she was dreaming if she hadn’t taken a quaffle to the head in the middle of practice. That was definitely more effective than a pinch, and somehow it still hadn’t managed to put a dampener on her mood.
She dropped her broom next to her bed and was preparing to go back out and find her paramour when she spotted a small envelope on her pillow with her name written on it with familiar violet ink. Gran. Perhaps a quaffle to the head couldn’t ruin her attitude, but a letter from her grandmother certainly could. The debate raged in her head as to whether or not she should just pretend she hadn’t seen the letter, at least for another night. But she knew that wasn’t a possibility. If she put this letter off, even for a night, next would come a howler.
Emma took a seat on the bed and snatched the envelope up. She turned it carefully in her hands before she tore into the seal. Her grandmother’s script was flawless and flourished in a purple ink. She took a deep breath before reading.
My Dear Granddaughter Emma,
I am so pleased to write to you today. As you are well aware for the past year, your father and I have been researching and interviewing suitors for your engagement. There have been many well-qualified men, but only recently have we been in discussion with whom we feel to be is the right family for you. I do terribly wish that I could be delivering this news to you in person, but unfortunately, all the attacks have made bringing you home an impossibility at the moment. Your safety is our utmost concern. Yet I am still excited to tell you that once you graduate, you will become Mrs. Rodolphus Lestrange. Hopefully, these unfortunate attacks will calm down some in the near future so that we may celebrate your engagement properly. In the meantime, I expect you to continue to behave properly as you’ve managed to do this summer. I also expect you to spend some time with your newly betrothed. I look forward to your return letter soon filled with your excitement.
Respectfully,
You Gran
Emma read the letter. She read it again. and again. and again. and again. Unfortunately, the name before Lestrange never changed. Rodolphus. Gran had decided to marry her off to Rodolphus Lestrange. She had come so close, and there was no doubt in her mind that this level of torture was intentional. It was a punishment. It was a reminder of who was in charge. Tears welled up in her eyes. Tears of anger, frustration, helplessness, and her first true heartbreak slipped down her cheek.
The impulsive side of her brain screamed at her to run while she could, but that was Ivy. Emma would never be her mother. She thought about causing so much trouble that no parent in their right mind would agree to let their son marry her, but if Rodolphus wouldn’t be allowed to then... she didn’t even finish thinking it. She could cry, beg, and plead to Gran, to her Father, but it would be no use. There was no changing this now. At least, there was no possible way she could think of. Gran had assured that she was in the situation to a point that would make it impossible for her to escape it and remain happy, remain with her family. This was her nightmare.
The letter fell to the side, open on her bed. Emma stood back up and grabbed her broom. The only people she wanted to talk to at the moment, were not options. If she couldn’t run, and she didn’t dare talk to anyone in this state then there was just one option left for her. She would go to fly.
