Potter and Prejudice

Chapter One

The Bennets, and Harry's being Difficult.

There are many universal truths in the world. For example, leaves are green because they have chlorophyll. The planet Venus is considerably hotter than Mercury, because Mercury has almost no atmosphere. The occurrence of the moon blocking out the sun is called a solar eclipse. Puberty is always awkward and/or painful. My mother is a deranged psychopath with no life.

However, out of all these wonderfully accessible, and very true truths, my mother has decided to pick Witch Weekly's headline for their annual "Top 30 Most Eligible Bachelors" list.

"It is a universal truth that every wealthy young wizard must be in want of a wife!"

I mean, I understand how having 4 daughters can have an effect on your mental health. That's the reason why my father spends most of his time in his private study where no one, not even my mother, is allowed in. That's also the reason why his two oldest daughters strive to be as sane as possible. But that is still no reason why my mother should be allowed to force us into her insane cause to marry us all off as soon as possible. I mean, her "universal truth" isn't even that true!

My name is Eliza Bennet. I am 17 this year, and I definitely don't need a boyfriend, let alone a husband. Don't get me wrong, I've dated before, and had some alright relationships with some okay guys. I just don't share my mother's never-ending fear of her daughters ending up total spinsters by the time we're her age. Considering the fact that her oldest, Jane, is only 18, I don't see the rationale in it.

She has been on this insane craze, repeating this line from the introductory article in Witch Weekly's Top 30 most eligible Bachelors list like its some sort of bible verse, and nagging and fretting about how all four of her daughters are single. It would have ended, like most of her moods, peacefully and abruptly after a week, had it not been for that stupid Weasley.

It started when Mrs Lucas came over for our tutoring session.

I should probably explain first, however, the story behind my family. The Bennets.

My mother's maiden name was Nott. She was born in a different world from my father, who was from a long line of Bennets, who were all muggles, and passing down through the line the family business - a book publishing company named Bennet and Sons. The sad thing about my father's family, however, is that he has no sons, just us four girls, Jane, Lydia, Kitty, and me, Eliza. What my mother didn't tell my father until after Jane was born, was that she was born of magical blood, though she had no magic herself, being born a Squib. I can't imagine how she managed to convince my father that a wizarding world existed in the first place, considering he is the most factual, by-the-book man ever. But if he didn't believe my mother then, he could have changed his mind the day I turned four, as he watched me levitate all my birthday presents out of the attic and into my open, gleeful hands. And if he didn't believe her even then, he definitely did a year later, when three-year-old Lydia disappeared from her crib, only to be found happily sleeping on the roof.

Four daughters; two muggles, two witches.

Here's where the problem lies. When I got my first Hogwarts letter, my mother had been hysterical and refused to let me go. She had never been to Hogwarts, after all, and abhorred the idea of letting Lydia and I run off to some castle in the middle of nowhere to learn from people she didn't know. I had some idea that perhaps she had been treated badly by her family for being a Squib, which would explain why we've never met any of her family. It would also explain her hysteria as serious abandonment issues.

After months of fighting (my birthday's in April), and frequent visits from a very stern looking Scottish lady from Hogwarts, the worst happened. My mother, in the middle of one of our shouting matches, suddenly collapsed in pain. She was rushed to St. Mungo's where her heart attack was thankfully stabilized with the help of magic. She was home within the week, and The Bennets never spoke of Hogwarts since.

So instead of being sent to boarding school, Lydia and I are home-schooled i magic by our neighbor, Mrs Lucas, and go to regular Muggle school in the day with Jane and Kitty. Her daughter Charlotte, who is 23 and graduated from Hogwarts ages ago, recently started to help out after quitting her job at the ministry. When I asked her why, she just said it was way too complicated. Bugger if I understood what that meant. But aside from the occasional cryptic comments, being tutored by her is the best. She's the one who tells me amazing stories about Hogwarts - about ghosts wandering about the school, ceilings that show the night sky, and teachers who can turn into cats! I had hoped that one day I'd be able to finally go to Hogwarts, to spend a year as a real student in the magical place. Now that I've reached my final year, and complete my NEWTS in a year's time, my hopes are pretty dismal.

Since summer has started, and regular school is out, Mrs. Lucas comes by in the morning with Charlotte to have breakfast with us, and tutors us for the rest of the day. It was one such breakfast that Mrs. Lucas decided to ruin everything for us.

"Have you heard the big news, Mabel?" she says, while tentatively tasting her coffee. "Weasley's coming to town!"

"Weasley? Which Weasley? Not THE Weasley, surely?"

Mrs. Lucas gives a wry smile, and sips her cup, before, leaning towards my mother and goes: "THE Weasley." She looks about, as if anyone else would be eavesdropping, yet speaks audibly enough for the whole table to hear.

"He's coming down to have a look at Richmond Hall."

"Oh My Goodness!" My mother shrieks, before turning towards my father, who is happily trying to ignore the whole charade. "Kevin, isn't it wonderful! Weasley!"

"You do have to excuse me, my dear," said my father, nonchalantly. "I have no idea who this Weasley is, and unless you enlighten me, I won't find it any more wonderful than the soggy waffle on my plate."

"Oh Kevin, don't!" my mother says, rolling her eyes, and fishing out from god knows where, Witch Weekly's Top 30 Most Eligible Bachelors' List. At which point, we all groan audibly. My mother, as usual, doesn't hear, but ruffles through the worn pages (interestingly, only a week old), and finally comes to Mr. Number Two, which she turns and shows us proudly.

"Number Two, Ronald Weasley! He's one of the Golden Trio, Kevin, the ones who helped destroy You-Know-Who and ended the war! According to Witch Weekly, he released a dragon from Gringotts, and personally fought some of You-Know-Who's Inner Circle!"

"Well, in that case," my father says, emotions unchanging, "He has my upmost respect."

"Respect? RESPECT?" My mother shrieks again. This time, I actually catch my father cringe for a split-second. "My dear, you shouldn't give him your respect, you should be giving him one of your daughters! Think about it, he's newly rich, single, and FAMOUS."

"My dear, as lovely as our daughters are, I doubt they'll make very appropriate welcome gifts."

"Oh, Kevin, really!" my mother huffs, and sticks a fork quite violently into her eggs. "I don't understand you sometimes. I mean, here is a perfectly good opportunity to ensure a great future for one of our daughters, and all you do is make jokes. Really!"

"You know I love you dear." My father says, monotonously. During this entire conversation, his eyes never left his newspaper. Sometimes, I'm amazed at the way he deals with my mother's tantrums. I sneak him a smile across the table, and he glances up at me and winks, unseen by my oblivious mother, who had given up on chastising him and was now busy interrogating Mrs. Lucas for more information.

"I heard from Mr. Nicholas from Hotel Merryton, ," Mrs Lucas said, "that he's booked a suite, and that he'll be arriving next Friday! He doesn't own Richmond yet, of course, so the secret owner of Richmond Hall is still pretty much a secret to us. But I bet when he arrives, he could tell us who this mysterious owner is!"

"Oh, definitely!" my mother squealed excitedly, along with Lydia and Kitty. Even Jane looked excited, and turned to me and said:

"Isn't it cool, Eliza?"

It was. Richmond Hall has always been a mystery to us in Merryton. The current owners apparently have not lived there for a long time, yet it was never sold. We've known that it must be owned by a magical family, since the hedges have never grown out of shape, and the state of the house has always been immaculate. My mother, however, has it in her head that it must be owned by one of the Ancient and Noble Families.

"After all," she had said, "who else would leave a decently-sized house to rot?"

"Come on Harry," Ron said, throwing himself into his dining room chair. "I've already booked the suite, Ginny and Hermione are coming as well. No harm in it!"

I slid into the chair next to him, and levitated some glasses out of the cupboard. Ron got to work levitating the butterbeers out from the fridge.

"I told you, I'm not interested."

"But it's your house!" he moaned. "What's the point of us going if you don't want to go?"

"Because it's going to be yours?" Harry said, sipping the cool drink, and letting the sweet, toffee flavor slip down his throat.

"Yeah, and its great that you've given us the place as a summer house and all, but it belongs to your family! I mean after finding out that you own all these random properties, don't you want to at least check it out?"

Harry looked down into his drink. Ron had a point. He had initially been curious when he was told on his last trip to Gringotts that upon turning 17, he had effectively inherited many properties from his parents. He had not been notified, however, due to the war and his being in hiding for most of his seventeenth year. But now that peace has been restored, and he had the time to go through his family affairs, he realized that the Ancient and Noble house of Potter was VERY well off. Too well off, in fact, that he had no idea how to handle all these properties. The one in Merryton, for example, was last visited 80 years ago by his great-grandparents, and they only spent a day there to check up on the state of the house, and recast wards and self-maintenance spells. He was more than happy to give it to the Weasley family, who were still in the middle of rebuilding the Burrow, and was currently staying at Grimmauld Place with Harry. He himself was looking for an adequately sized apartment. There was no way he was going to live in a huge mansion by himself.

Now, however, he found himself a little frightened to go to the house in Merryton. He had no knowledge of his family history at all, and being completely immersed in it seemed terrifying, to say the least. What if his family had bad taste?

He vocalized that to Ron, who almost choked on his butterbeer.

"That's why you don't want to go to Merryton?" he asked, wide-eyed. "Because you're afraid that your ancestors have bad taste?"

Harry shrugged, then immediately regretted ever speaking.

"Harry, this house is ancient! It's going to be musty, old, and outdated! I doubt it matters that your ancestors have bad taste anyway, if we're going to renovate it. Might as well check it out before we decide to do anything."

Harry shrugged again, and downed the rest of his butterbeer, smacking his lips.

"I'm just… not comfortable yet, mate," he said, tentatively. Then waited to hear the words he knew Ron was going to say anyway.

"If you're not going, I'm not taking it."

Harry rolled his eyes, and glared and Ron, who was eagerly waiting for Harry's reply, pink-eared. He huffed, defeated.

"Fine."