The powder blue blazer hung limply off the chair in which I sat. Long ago, I abandoned it in favor of the cool breeze now caressing my bare arms. With the fire burning against my throat and spreading through my body, a little skin was necessary.
Around me sat the people I tended to call my friends, all in various states of undress. In the center of the table we were surrounding was a fair amount of coins, as well as discarded hands of cards. The only thing standing in between the pot and me was a half-naked quivering mess who had gone past her alcoholic tolerance at least four shots ago.
Slowly, she lowered her cards, displayed a rather smug pair of 8's.
"Looks like you've lost once again, Aimee. I've got a straight." I smiled widely, winking in jest as she shimmied off her skirt with one hand on the table, trying not to fall over.
I slammed back another shot of Ogden's Finest in celebration. The sting I'd felt in the beginning was now nothing more than a tickle, and by the fact that all of my companions were near nudity, along with my swirling vision, I knew it would be in the interest of my gold vault and liver to call it a night.
"Well, pals," I stressed the word as I encircled my arms around the winnings, "It's getting rather late. Any takers for next Friday?"
The table of my fellow classmates grumbled in acceptance, each one standing to collect their various articles of clothing. I arched an eyebrow as Henri bent over to retrieve his trousers, biting my lips as various muscles stretched in his well toned back. The faint nail-scratches could still be seen as scars, and quickly my mind rewound to the very night I'd clawed against him like a two-knut whore.
Maybe the heat wasn't just from the Firewhiskey, after all.
I'd perfected the offer to retreat into a broom closet to relive fond memories, and made my way towards the native Frenchman. Before I was able to enact the seduction, the door hiding our detention-worthy actions flew open.
"Qu'est que c'est?"
The appearance of the young headmistress, Olympe Maxime, was as unwelcome as the crimson tide, and just as subtle. She brushed her black silken robes off gingerly, taking off a button in the process. I flinched in response. As she was rumored to be a giant, or the recipient of a rogue engorgio charm, the woman just didn't know her own strength.
For a second, I wondered if I could get away with saying this was a study group for the upcoming middle of term tests. She was still new at this, only having been our headmistress for the past year. Yet, with Henri still deliciously shirtless, and the empty bottles of our little party still on the table, the thought of getting out unscathed was fleeting.
But, a girl could always try.
"Je ne parle pas francais," I spouted, turning on my heel to head towards my room. Seemed like a good enough excuse to me; if I didn't understand her language, I couldn't get in trouble, right?
"And vhat are you doing here, Miz Knox?"
I paused, pivoting around to look towards her towering form as the others scampered past.
Maybe the location of our debauchery was a little chancy, but the basement staff restroom seemed to be the best place to hold an evening of poker and booze. I mean, the toilets were, of course, right there in case one of the new ones went past their limit, and I'd never even seen the Potions professor use it!
Madame Maxime sighed at the lack of a response, and crooked a single, manicured finger as long as the length of my hand. "Come."
I had little choice but to follow - especially with the unspoken magic pulling me along.
As we walked together through the palace halls of Beauxbaton, my hands began to shake. I pressed them against my skirt to still them, instead letting my grin quiver. The excitement was unbearable. As I counted down the steps left to my headmistress's office, I couldn't help but think one thing: What would happen this time?
"Only a veek avay from ze vinter break, Miz Knox," Madame Maxime tutted, sitting behind her large, custom made desk, "I hate to say eet but you 'ave left me with only one choice."
I stood beside the large, cushy chair - another custom made item just for Madame Maxime - and then crossed my arms behind my back. Plastering a concerned expression on my already plastered face was difficult enough, but keeping silent during my headmistresses overly dramatic pause proved a bit too much to handle. "Yes?"
"I must call your parents here for a meeting," she finished, peering as daintily as her golf ball sized eyes could manage over an excessive pair of cat eyeglasses.
The defeated slump of my shoulders gave away my disappointment sooner than the sigh that escaped my pouted lips. My headmistress appeared satisfied with the punishment she had doled out; that is, until I managed to speak again.
"You can sure try, Madame Maxime," I mumbled, "You can sure try."
My parents have a long, and well-publicized history together. A marriage that was made from birth, the sealing of the Arnaud and Knox families was made in a typical pureblood fashion: a forced, awkward wedding. The proof was all over the pictures – not a single smile seemed to be true. The day my mother graduated from Beauxbaton, she became pregnant – or so the story was told – and my much older father couldn't be happier. That is, until he learned I was a female.
"Knox blood runs deep with magic," my father always told me, "and you are damn lucky to be the first of such a proud line. Girl or not... better luck next time, as they say!" He always chuckled after that line, and took another deep gulp of fine whiskey.
The pride, however, died with the birth of my sister when I was six years old. Upon learning the gender of the baby, dear old Dad fled back home for the first few months of her pregnancy. The birth of another daughter meant another failure to produce an heir, and he never did do well with failure. When she was born, and noticeably lacked the Knox family magical-mark, Father moved back to merry old England, leaving his disgraced wife and newborn squib to live off his monthly packages full of galleons, and whatever muggle money my mother could scrap together through temporary menial jobs. I was told both Cheryl, my baby sister, and my mother were blasted off of the Knox family tapestry, as well as the Arnaud's, and from that moment on she swore off magic in her home, trying to lead as muggle of a life as possible for the benefit of her youngest, unmagical daughter.
Every other year, or whenever it struck his fancy, my father would arrange for a week of my summer or winter vacation to be spent at the Knox Manor in England, where he lives with my elderly grandparents. He seemed jovial whenever I was around, with a new, magical present every day, but I knew from the snippets I'd heard while lurking outside of Grandfather's office that his nasty side had quite the bite. I had yet to witness it myself, although the magic he had attempted to teach me never appeared nice in the least. Cheryl had only met our father once, when she was born, so she hadn't even seen one side of the man she should have called daddy. Yet, I doubt he would even remember my birthday if it wasn't sewn into the tapestry. It remains intact on both ratty rugs, although for how much longer, I'm unsure.
Two hours later, and I'd yet to move. Outside of the headmistress' office, my mother sat, tapping her foot impatiently with her arms crossed about her chest. She managed to glance at me once in the five minutes as we waited.
"Must you always inconvenience me?" was her only comment.
Her hair was loose around her face, something I would've been constantly fussing with if my hair was styled in a similar fashion. Wearing a plain white tee tucked into muggle jeans, she couldn't look more out of place. Some of the younger students passing-by giggled when they saw her in the opulent halls of Beauxbaton, but everyone around my age knew better than to stare.
The door finally opened after twenty minutes of impossible waiting. Madame Maxime swished out of her office, sending a gust of wind with her robes.
"I 'ave spoken to your father." Her eyes passed over my mother in dismissal - her opinion in this situation mattered just about as much as my own, not that she had sat here long enough to really form one. "Ve 'ave both decided that this vill be your last act of insubordination at Beauxbaton Academy."
My heart leapt into my throat as my mother let out a strangled gasp.
"He 'as chosen to take full physical custody of Miz Iris, and vill be floo'ing within ze hour to retrieve her."
Stomach, fallen through the floor and past the basement full of debaucheries.
Standing suddenly, my mother snatched my forearm. We left a rather flustered headmistress in our wake. "You just had to get in trouble - and right before the holidays, no less! Who knows how poor Cheryl will react when she hears this; I might as well go and retrieve some Xanax now!"
I managed to throw a quizzical expression her way as we rounded a corner. "Oh, it's a muggle pill medicine for God's sake!"
"Just take a damn Draught of Peace back home with you - it'll do the job better than a fucking pill could, you know she prefers it anyways."
"Like I would give her anything that you people brew," she shot me an angry stare. "And watch your filthy mouth! No doubt something you learned from your father."
She spit out the word, scrunching up her nose before continuing. "Now you get in there and pack! I expect he will be bringing you by the flat, and I've got to prepare poor Cheryl for her second meeting with her father."
With a huff, she pushed me into my private room, apparating away. It seemed to be the only magical convenience she allowed herself anymore.
Flicking my wand in every direction, sorting and stacking my life's belongings into the light blue trunk I'd owned since the first year I'd arrived at this school, I reflected on the times I had in this room. Against the far wall was where I'd first lost my virginity, in the closet was where I received my first kiss, and in the pale blue bed I had more orgasms and mental breakdowns than I could be bothered to count. In the back of my mind, I thought of how lovely it would be once I was rid of the childish pastel color. It never contributed to the atmosphere, it seemed.
What would the next bed I sleep in look like? More importantly, where would father place me? Certainly, he couldn't waste his time in tutoring - I'm not sure I would learn anything else but the importance of being a perfect pureblood wife, and besides, whatever work he busies himself with couldn't allow for more than a week every other year with his "only daughter".
Shuddering at the thought of both homeschooling and my previous summer vacations, I thought of the other wizarding schools available. My placement in Durmstrang Institute would be a certainty if it wasn't for the newest headmaster's attempt to dismiss every female in hopes of an all-boys school. Hogwarts seemed to be out of the question, although some of the classes taught there had to be less frivolous than the mandatory Beauxbaton joy, Homemaking and Child Rearing for Witches 101. Surely he wouldn't simply discontinue my education.
A crisp, brief knock at the door noted the arrival of my father. What it didn't alert me to however, was who would be with him.
"Iris! Are you decent?" was the call from behind the door.
I pivoted on one of my heeled boots to look in the mirror. My dark hair was a bit wavy today, most likely due to the humidity that Southern France always seemed subjected to. Yet, my bangs remained perfect, magically charmed not to grow or curl. If only they'd release a potion for the rest of it. The pale blue-skirted outfit of Beauxbaton seemed odd on me now that I'd been kicked out.
A wolf in sheep's clothing. Thinking on this, I prepared my face accordingly.
"Always!" I rang back, throwing the door open with the magnanimous smile I reserved for such a special occasion. Standing at the door was the man I didn't care to call father, in a pinstripe suit looking more prepared for court than to pick up his daughter. Beside him, the judge.
The grin faltered into a half sided smirk as I crossed my arms over my chest, tilting my hip to one side. "And who is this, then?"
A blush crawled up my father's thick neck as he gestured to the stern man to his left, "Manners, Iris, dear, remember them."
"This is Orion Black, one of my most esteemed colleagues. Orion, this is my daughter, Iris Melania."
I fought the urge to wrinkle my nose at the mention of my middle name, and offered a brief curtsey, keeping my head high as father always said I should. No one is beneath you, he would whisper to me as I fell asleep in his arms. No one.
"Melania? Goodness me, that's my mother's name," Orion's voice monotonously ticked like a bomb, his depthless grey eyes holding mine. The older man was attractive for his age, I was sure, but the darkness and superiority with which he held himself gave me a bad taste in my mouth. Worse than the taste of my middle name.
Nudging the stony man with his elbow, my father mumbled, "It seems the stars are aligning, eh, Orion?"
A tilt of the lips and a nod was all Orion offered in response. As the silence continued, my father made the move past me into my old room to levitate my belongings.
"So you're The Hunter, yes?" I said, in an attempt to make conversation while Dad fumbled around for his wand.
Orion's hands remained clasped in front of him, each finger bedazzled with a different emerald gem. "Why, you must be quite adept in Astronomy."
"Astronomy? No, never. More like Greek mythology." One of the more intriguing classes I had taken in my earlier years.
Orion snorted, maintaining his pose. "Useless subject. Doesn't this place teach anything worthwhile?"
"I heard around the French grapevine that the muggle rock music class was becoming quite the hot topic."
The man didn't so much as crack a smile. "Muggles make music? I would rather listen to merpeople chatter all day long than be subjected to that rubbish."
At that moment, I knew the journey to my new home would be a long one. The grin that had held for so long on my face slipped. A strange, strained smile replaced it, remaining as I locked my arm with my father's prejudice friend.
Side-along apparation had never been so unpleasant.
The door to my mother's flat was completely unremarkable, as was each door lining the hallway. A golden 425 was the only indication that this was, indeed, her flat. I noticed with an upraised eyebrow that she had brought in the floral welcome mat.
As I raised my fist to knock, my father placed a hand on my shoulder. "Oh, no need dear."
Brandishing his wand with a smirk, he took a perfunctory glance left, and then right, before saying, "Alohamora!"
The lock clicked open. "Ivy, darling, we've arr-"
A cast-iron skillet thumped him smartly in the noise, cracking it into an odd shape.
Orion, always lively, that one, caught him without so much as blinking, stepping in through the threshold, past my wide-eyed mother, and closed the door just as I made an attempt to enter.
I stood rooted to the spot, bewildered, before trying the door. Locked. Plates crashed, and I heard Cheryl squeal once before everything was silenced. The head of the Black family opened the door to my home, placing down the welcome mat before waving a hand to gesture me in.
My father was slumped unconscious in a rather undignified position on the floor, his nose righted, but with blood still dripping out of it, while both my mother and little sister sat with wide eyes on the couch, mouths magically sealed. I plopped myself next to Cheryl, putting a loving arm around her shaking form.
I kept an eye trained on Orion as he attempted to bring my father out of unconsciousness with various spells.
"Don't worry, Cher-bear. That scary man just knows how to ensure our family reunion is a happy one."
Coated with a fresh blast of magical water, my father finally came to. "Eh... why did the gnome strippers leave?"
I snickered into the back of my hand. My mother rolled her eyes, about the only thing that wasn't spelled to stay in place.
Once Orion had righted my father, the situation was suddenly less amusing. At a menacing six and a half feet high, with the girth of someone double my size, there was no doubt who would win in a muggle fight. My sister's hand had wriggled free from its magical bindings, and now clutched painfully at my own hand. This did not go unnoticed from the menacing men.
"You can tell which one I raised, eh, Rion?" my father nudged at the statuesque man. He didn't budge. "Well, girls, just wanted to give Iris a chance to say goodbye!"
Clutching tighter, now. Probably going to leave a mark with those uncut fingernails of hers. I didn't dare try to get out of her grip.
"Adieu, adieu, now get your stuff and let us get out of this rat hole!"
I didn't dare look any of them in the eye as I gathered my things. There was no need to let Cheryl see my tears.