Abagail Brannagh to Dirk Cresswell, [ hogwarts to carraroe: Sept 6, 1977 ]

[Abagail Brannagh]

September 6, 1976

Dirk,

I am already so jealous of you. I wish more than anything summer was at least another month longer. Or a year. Summer could go on a year more and then at the end, I'd graduate. That I might be able to do. It's barely a week and I hate so much of being here. Not studying or NEWTS or anything - I don't mind about those things - but the way everything is. It feels so...trapping, really. I know. That's melodramatic: you're wondering what's happened to me. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so dramatic, but it's hard when everyone around here is going mad with drama.

Albert and Marlene have decided it is their job to make everyone as upset about everything as they are. I could handle that for myself since I guess I was pretty ready for that, but now they've gone mad on Mafalda and she is up here miserable and not wanting to talk. What is the point of thinking you'r eon the right side of politics if it just leads you to shouting at the people who are good and clearly woudln't do any of the things we're afraid of?

I don't know a lot about those politics; not enough to be passionate over them, but I know what's right. I also know it's not right to turn on your friends viciously all of a sudden. It can't be.

It must be nice at home. Please write all about it. It's not even been a week and I already know It'll be lonely and unpleasant here. I already bet Marlene'll never be come up here to sleep. It makes me lonely already, thinking about it or thinking about people like that at each other for no reason. It's not about lying - I'm obviously not an advocate for lying. I just think you can tell the truth and still be kind. Not to me. I don't mind about that because we're not going to be friends, I know. But Mafalda didn't do anything.

Oh, I'm sorry. You don't want to know any of this, I know. I just needed someone to say it to because Mafalda's working on going to sleep to avoid talking and....that's about it, as far as people to tell if I'm going to be upset. I won't write you like this ever moment something goes wrong, I promise. I know you'd be good about it, but I also bet you don't want to hear about girls at school fighting over the stupidest things.

Except, really, I don't know what else to tell you. I have some sort of appointment with Flitwick start of October. No one knows why, but I'm trying not to be nervous. I like my classes, but not enough to like being here. I wish I could visit. I already need to so badly....but I don't really know how to get out of the school? Do they notice? I'm not neccessarily assuming you would know something like this. But it's possible, isn't it?

After you read this, blow a kiss at Nolan for me (I won't make you really kiss him). Then write back - when you can. And try and open a window in your room, if you can. It'll get stuffy.

Miss you.
Love,
Abby

[Dirk Cresswell]

December 1, 1977

Abbygirl,

Not that your letter wasn’t engrossing as they usually are, but I’ve read the one you recently sent twice and I don’t understand what’s going on. Why is everyone so upset? It can’t be about anything too important, since a smart girl like you is on the fence. I’m sure you know my advice already, but I’ll say it just to say I did: Keep your head down and don’t get in the middle. Be there for your friends when they need you, and fuck everyone who’s being stupid. Trust me, I know Marlene like the back of my hand, and she gets to be a bit much sometimes.

But it can’t be all her fault. And it can’t be all the little queer kid’s fault either, I guess (though I’m not exactly unwilling to blame him for whatever). If it’s that important, go to the source; figure it out like adults. Tell them all that. I know what you think of yourself sometimes Abby, but you’re much more of a force than you make yourself out to be. I can attest to that—your opinions always seem to… win me over, one way or the other.

There’s not much to report on my end, and when I say that, I mean it. I go to the tavern every morning and stay until closing. Keep this between you and I, but I’m actually starting to like it a little. There’s this old bloke who comes in almost every night, and he’s got the best tales and such you’ve ever heard. You probably know him somehow; can’t really remember his name. But he’s wide with grey hair and a smokers voice. You know—the usual.

Caitriona let me hold Molly the other day. I had to wash my hands a minimum of four times before I got a chance to, but she let me. Funny thing is, I didn’t really ask to… she just told me what to do, and that I was going to hold the baby for a while. Nice lady, bit strange sometimes. The baby holding was kind of strange, but at least I didn’t drop her. I couldn’t have done really—Caitriona made me sit the whole time—but worse things could have happened.

Sorry I haven’t written in so long. In addition to the tavern and such, I got a letter from my mother recently. I haven’t told anyone here about it—hell, I haven’t told anyone at all about it. I haven’t written her back because I don’t know how. She apologized for a lot of things… it’s a bit of a drag, really. If you were here, you’d know exactly what to do. But you’re not, and I’m left with my own stupidity to figure it out. About time I got a grown up mission all for myself, eh?

You don’t really have to sneak out of Hogwarts these days. Being in your seventh year comes with a few privileges. Just leave when you have the time. For Christ’s sake, you can be back in five seconds if you want to. Maybe you should run it by one of the Heads, but whatever. Just get that pretty little butt over here and see me (and the rest of them).

Also, there is no way in Hell I am blowing a kiss. I have a reputation to uphold.

Love you kid, hope things get better. Tell Hopkirk to get up and stop being such a drag.

For better or worse,
Dirk B. Cresswell