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Even though she was thrilled to finally have arrived, she was filled with dread. Everything she thought she had known was now a blur. Nothing would ever be as it once were.
Cedrella hadn’t been able to keep her mind off the red-headed boy, whose named she had learned was Septimus Weasley – a name mentioned often when it came to blood-traitors.
Sometimes she was sure she was making a terrible mistake being with him because of their different upbringing. But then she would come to her senses and realize that she loved him, that it was with him she was free, free like all those birds that flew past her window.
“Is it true, Cedrella?” Though her mother hoarsely whispered the question, Cedrella managed to hear it perfectly clearly. She stared into the sharp and scrutinising glare of her mothers and then whispered, “It is.”
Still freshly painted in shades of grey in her mind was her family who had, once the news that she had married Septimus had reached them, disowned her. It still pained her to think of them, to think of the loss of a family she had once held onto dearly.
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