Work Text:
No one braided Susan’s hair as well as Aunt Amelia. Tight, even rows that stayed in place without pulling on her scalp. As she worked, she would tell Susan stories of days long past and departed relatives, and of her childhood dreams.
“I always hoped I’d have a little girl of my own,” she would say. “But that’s not going to happen, so you’ll have to let me borrow you. That’s all right, isn’t it?” And Susan would nod fervently.
But Aunt Amelia will never braid her hair again. So in place of a brush, Susan raises her wand.
“Diffindo.”