A letter.

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
Althea's body, a vessel pushed relentlessly to its limits, finally gave way. She collapsed onto the cold hardwood floor, ragged breaths escaping her lips as she stared blankly at the ceiling. This was the predictable end to her day, a familiar exhaustion that settled in her bones like a heavy cloak.
It was a routine she'd crafted, a relentless cycle of breakfast, lessons, skipped lunch for training, more lessons, more training, dinner, and then the final push until the clock struck eight. Each day was a meticulously planned assault on her physical and mental endurance, culminating in the pathetic ritual of showering and collapsing into bed, a wave of self-pity washing over her in the darkness. It was a new life devoid of joy, fueled by a relentless drive that seemed to be consuming her from the inside out.
Thea's recent surge in confidence towards her ability had not gone unnoticed by the elf. Trixie, ever observant, had been quick to pick up on the subtle shift in Thea's demeanor – a newfound determination glinting in her eyes, a sharper edge to her movements. It was a welcome change, a blossoming of power that Trixie found both exciting and slightly intimidating. 
The usually bustling Hogwarts corridors were unusually quiet, offering a peaceful backdrop to their conversation. Thea's eagerness to reach her dorm, her quick wit in solving the portrait's riddle, spoke volumes about her heightened state of mind. It was clear that whatever she was working towards, it demanded a level of focus and preparation that was consuming her.
The physical toll of her training was evident in Thea's need for a powerful, almost punishing shower. The hot water, a stark contrast to the cool autumn air outside, was a necessary balm for muscles pushed to their limits. The harshness of the water, the way she sought it out, mirrored the demanding nature of her training. The simple act of showering became a moment of both relief and anticipation, the water washing away the physical fatigue while her mind raced with the weight of the future. The mark, a symbol of a path she was clearly committed to, loomed large in her thoughts, a reminder of the sacrifices and challenges that lay ahead.













Regulus sat quietly in the library, the soft glow of the enchanted lamps casting long shadows across the towering bookshelves. His quill scratched furiously across the parchment, rewriting the same desperate plea over and over again. Each time, the words felt inadequate, a frail shield against the looming darkness that threatened to engulf Althea. He practically begged his parents, his voice raw and strained in the silent plea etched onto the page, to reconsider, to spare her the mark. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, how deeply this decision would wound her, how it would shatter the fragile remnants of her old self, infact, the nearing day already was. He clung to a desperate hope that if she was spared this initiation, she could somehow return to the girl she once was – the Althea who laughed with her friends, who shared easy smiles with Barty, the Althea who existed before the whispers of darkness began to consume her.
The weight of unanswered letters, each a silent plea, pressed against his thigh. A sense of futility, a familiar ache, settled in his chest. The bleak autumn landscape mirrored his own despair. The relentless rain, a constant, harsh reminder of the storm raging within him, seemed to mock his fragile hope. He clung to the memory of the bright, vibrant Althea, the girl who had once filled his life and their friends with laughter and light. He knew it was a desperate prayer, a clinging to a fading ember, but he refused to let go. Althea had found her way back from darkness before, and perhaps, just perhaps, she could do it again. He would wait, he would hope, for the return of the girl he now enjoyed being with, lost in the shadows but not yet forgotten.