A/N: I've been pondering this fic for quite a while, and I'm not entirely sure what it will turn out to be, but I assure you that certain characters are written in a way that differs from the norm. I, of course, have reason for this that will be explained in later chapters, but for now, I ask you to remain patient (pretty please). The only canon thing I think I've changed is that Victoire should be in fifth year, only I bumped her up a year for the plots sake.
Disclaimer: JKR and Sam Cooke.
Okay, enough with my rambling. Enjoy!
There was never a particular time that determined when everything had changed. She maintained that everything had changed on the 2nd of May 2011. He maintained that he could care less.
Either could have been correct, but because we have no way of finding out what he actually thought about the situation – yet – we'll agree with her, and say that everything changed on the 2nd of May 2011.
There was nothing particularly extraordinary about this day, for a normal person. Nothing particularly fascinating. A day off work, perhaps; but sometimes people don't care for things unless they directly affect their lives. And it wasn't as though our protagonists were normal, anyway. Quite the contrary, in fact; because this day was probably considered the most important day of the year for them, whether they wished it to be or not. And to say it directly affected their lives would be quite an understatement indeed.
It might have been a swift progression, on that day, or one that had been boiling under the surface for months – years, even – only for no one to find out until it was too late. It wasn't the good kind of change that's similar to when Summer fades into Autumn and every colour changes to embers, every sound to crunches. It was more like the surprisingly crisp and icy breeze that Victoire hadn't been prepared for, on another morning. One in early October.
She tugged her scarf further around the nape of her neck, trying to prevent the harsh winds from drying out her skin. The cold was bitter – too bitter for the 6th of October – and she wondered where it had come from at such haste. The weather had been lovely the previous day – no clouds in the sky so that the lake reflected its bright blue – so much so that she had even gone for a walk in the grounds right before dinner, and she certainly wasn't the only one. But it seemed that the cold was catching up on them all, and the previous day simply signalled the last of summer and nice weather. Oh well, she always found that Hogwarts looked truly breathtaking in winter.
It wasn't the first time that day that Victoire had regretted the decision she had made that morning to wear socks, instead of a good, thick pair of tights. It was idiotic of her, really, and her friend – Sally – seemed to be of the same opinion.
"Honestly, Vic," she began, her round cheeks flushed without a scarf to cover them, but a smile on her face, nonetheless. "You really are mad sometimes, you know that?"
"Class will be over in..." Victoire glanced at her watch, "fifteen minutes, and then we can get changed into warmer clothes, before we have dinner."
"I'm not cold, though." Sally said. "You're the one with the purple legs."
"And you're the one with the red cheeks."
"Touché."
Sally turned back to their lesson, where Professor Hagrid was trying to explain to Timothy Burridge that he wasn't meant to stick his head into the barrell where the first years kept their flobberworms. Victoire rolled her eyes, wondering what her cousin James would be like in his sixth year, if these boys were so foolish. She sometimes worried for the male population of the Wizarding World. They had a frightful habit of finding the most difficult – and dangerous – ways of accomplishing a task, when there was a perfectly simple way staring – or slapping – them in the face. Of course, growing up with so many uncles that had yet to grow up, Victoire was used to this and expected no less. She was often told by Sally that she was stereotyping, or generalising the male population, which wasn't one bit fair. But Sally was also of the opinion that Victoire's obvious judgemental attitude was the reason for her not having a boyfriend at the present moment in time. Sally didn't have a boyfriend either, so Victoire had no idea why Sally was berating her.
Class ended in the way it usually did in such weather: Hagrid dismissed the large group of chattering, adolescent ice lollies earning whoops of relief from his students, while they rubbed their hands together in attempt to keep the blood flowing in their veins. They climbed their way up the slope and back to the castle. Everything was so grey, and it brought everyones' moods down more than it ought to have. The place was glowing the day before, but the sudden change in weather had everyone adjusting – at a snail's pace. Victoire could have sworn she had heard a nose-blowing from the bottom of the staircase, but ignored it as she and Sally made their way up to Gryffindor common room.
{Belonging}
If anyone were to observe the behavioural habits of the students aged eleven to eighteen that attended Hogwarts, they would – obviously – find a very odd mix indeed. There were certain stereotypes to which they could belong, but not many bothered with such things at the wizarding school; the houses were seperation enough.
The Ravenclaws – so intelligent and witty – sat with their books and curious magical tidbits; well, actually, the amount that sat doing said thing in Ravenclaw was equal to that of the other houses. You would think that the students sorted into Slytherin were dark and cruel creatures, looking down their noses with nothing but the utmost disgust at everyone that crossed their paths - quite the contrary (there is nothing wrong with a little ambition). The Second (and last) Wizarding War may have ridden the magical world of all evil and opression, but darkness still remained, though it was scattered between houses and had much less power. One could imagine a Hufflepuff smiling sweetly, skipping in circles and scattering flowers over one and all – three of them were picking on a first year. And lastly: Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart. Gryffindor, where every Weasley had been sorted until their children began attending (the school they had saved). Things had changed for that family, and it was commonplace for one of the children to get sorted into a house that wasn't that of the lion. There were no qualms about where they ended up, or belonged (so it seemed) and the same went for the population of Hogwarts.
Change had come and they welcomed it with open arms.
Curly, dark hair and a penchant for waffling, Samuel Jordan was nothing short of an annoyance. He talked far too often, that was a certainty, and one would question sleeping habits if they spent enough time around him. The boy was sixteen – the same age as Victoire – and a Gryffindor – they had been sorted into the same house. Apart from both aformentioned details, and a love of biscuits, neither had anything in common; yet she sat beside him at most, if not every, meal.
"Sometimes I think that she was adopted, y'know?" He was talking through his potatoes. "She's not got my eyes, or my mum's for that matter."
"Great brother you are," Sally said, poking at her carrots with a spoon. "denying any relation to your sister."
"I'm not denying that she's my sister, Smith, I just think that her characteristics aren't that of the Jordan clan."
"You're the spitting image of eachother!"
"I think no- "
"Now children," Victoire said, her spoon clattering against the bowl as she finished her dinner. "we mustn't fight about such silly things."
"We also mustn't give our little brothers names that guarantee to land their heads in the toilet." Sam said, raising both eyebrows as he took another bite out of a chunk of beef.
"Don't blame me," of course Victoire would never claim to have created the nickname in front of anyone but her father, "Anna was the one who pointed out his pudginess."
"Anna was the one who pointed out the sheer and utter largeness of Jordan's ears, you don't hear me calling him Dumbo." Sally interjected.
"Yet."
Victoire laughed. Sam rolled his eyes. Sally smiled. Dinner passed in the usual fashion.
It was simple for Victoire to spot a member of her family from where she sat – it was simple most of the time. Not all had the (now not so) signature red hair, but each of them had something that could be traced back to the large family. Victoire herself had her grandmother's bright, brown eyes and the freckles that were scattered across the noses of the majority of her paternal family. Across the hall, she could see her cousin Molly, her dark brown hair pulled into a plait as she talked animatedly to her housemates. She took after her mother with the most part, for Audrey had the most beautiful hair Victoire had ever seen, but Molly's soft blue eyes were that of her father – Percy.
It was also rather simple for her to spot someone who wasn't a biological relatice – though they had come from the same predominant pureblooded family, marriages and disownment had ensured that they were barely related at all – though for very different reasons. She couldn't say that he looked like anyone in particular (whether that was by choice, she did not know) but everyone knew where he belonged. He often stuck out like a sore thumb, and she supposed that was the way he liked it, even if it wasn't necessarily because of his appearance, but his personality. The proverbial marmite of his peers, he was either loved or loathed by all (Victoire stood steadily with the latter) and, again, it didn't seem as though he cared very much. There must have been something he cared for, but past behaviours had shown her nothing of the sort. It had been different before, but some things had changed so drastically during recent years.
Teddy Lupin had changed, and Victoire positively hated it.
A/N:So, there's the first chapter. Thank-you for reading!
Reviews are better than bacon.
~ Dee