Camille Rousseau sat alone in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express, staring out the window at the unfamiliar English countryside. The craggy, rocky hills dotted with towering trees were so different from the rolling lavender fields that had surrounded her old school, Beauxbatons.
A witch poked her head into Camille's compartment.
"Anything to eat, dear?" she asked.
"No, thank you," Camille replied wistfully, although she was a little bit hungry. Right now, she was absorbed in her thoughts, no time for snacks.
The witch shut the compartment door and moved on down the aisle. Camille glanced at her barn owl, Sophie, who was sleeping soundly despite the rhythmic swaying and jerking of the train. Camille wished that she could sleep, too, but she was too anxious.
No one knew her here; she was completely and utterly alone. She had not one friend, not one confidante, not even an acquaintance, unless you counted the snack witch. Tears came to Camille's eyes when she thought about her best friend, Audrey, arriving at Beauxbatons without her.
Over the last four years, they had been involved in many dangerous and thrilling adventures at their school; they had solved mysteries together, they had saved lives, they had wreaked their share of havoc. And now…
Camille anticipated a dull, uneventful year at her new school. Without Audrey as her partner in crime, Camille would never have the courage to be adventurous or daring.
Her quiet state of contemplation was disrupted suddenly by two boys thundering down the aisle, throwing open the door to Camille's compartment, and slamming it behind them. The pair stood with their backs to her, peering down the corridor in anticipation. Camille gave a quiet cough from her seat by the window, and they both spun around, eyes wide.
"Oh!" One boy exclaimed, his hazel eyes growing wide. He elbowed the other, who appeared to be his identical twin, prompting him to speak.
"We're very sorry," the second boy said.
"We didn't see you there!" continued the first.
"Please forgive us," finished the second, stuck out his lower lip, and batted his eyelashes in an angelic display of child-like innocence. Camille laughed.
"Of course," she said, "But who are you?"
"I'm Fred Weasley," said the first boy, holding out his hand to her.
"And I'm George Weasley!" said the second, pushing his brother out of the way and offering his hand.
"Lovely to meet you," giggled Camille as George shook her hand a little too enthusiastically.
Fred set Sophie's owl cage on the floor and sat down opposite Camille.
"I don't think we've seen you before," he said.
"But you're very mature for a first-year," said George, taking a seat next to his twin.
"I'm not a first year," Camille replied, "I'm a fifth year. I've just moved to England."
"Ahh," said Fred, casting a knowing glance at his brother.
"We knew that you hadn't been here before," explained George.
"Because we make it a point to know everyone at Hogwarts," continued Fred.
"And we would have remembered meeting you before, surely!" exclaimed George.
"I'm Camille," she said, still laughing at their roundabout flattery.
Each of the twins snatched one of her hands from her lap, kissed them simultaneously, and said brightly, "Enchanted!"
"So, are you from Beauxbatons, then?" asked George.
"How did you guess?" Camille giggled.
"We had some of your former classmates at our school last year for the Triwizard Tourney," Fred replied.
"And one of them, in particular," sighed George, "was quite memorable…"
Camille laughed. "You'll be talking about Fleur, no doubt," she said with a grin.
Both twins straightened up and looked at her sheepishly. Fred blushed; George ran a hand through his tomato-red hair.
"Did she say something about us?" they asked in unison.
"Oh, no," Camille said, "It's just that, Fleur was our champion, and everyone knows that she can be quite… fetching."
Fred and George relaxed.
Suddenly, the door was flung open once more, to reveal two teachers in long black robes standing formidably in the corridor. The woman, who looked quite old and frighteningly austere, motioned to Fred and George with her finger. She was tight-lipped and her back was rigid, but she had a flash of kindness in her eyes when she saw Camille.
Fred and George sighed and reluctantly rose from their seats. The man, who had a hooked nose, greasy black hair, and beady dark eyes, took each twin by an ear and led them away wordlessly. The woman lingered a moment by Camille's doorway.
"You're the one from Beauxbatons, correct?" she stated, but before Camille had a chance to answer, the woman continued, "I am Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house. When we get off the train, you will come with me, so that we can sort you before everyone comes into the Great Hall fort the sorting of the first-years."
"But," Camille began, wondering how she would find the professor when she got off the train, but McGonagall had already left. Camille was alone again, and her whole encounter with Fred and George seemed like an absurd daydream.
The rest of her train ride was spent looking out the window, watching the terrain change from sparse hills to forested mountains, and watching the sky fade from brilliant blue to rich, opaque navy. The train stopped with a jolt, throwing Camille out of her seat and tipping Sophie's cage over.
Camille quickly gathered her things, ready to venture out into the crowd that was already filling the corridor and try to find Professor McGonagall. This wasn't necessary, however, because at that moment, the professor opened the door to Camille's compartment and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Leave your things on the train, they will be brought inside while we are eating," she said in her no-nonsense tone. Camille dropped her trunk immediately.
McGonagall led her through the crowded corridor and off of the train, walking so briskly that Camille could hardly keep up. She was so intent on watching the professor's feet striding quickly in front of her that she didn't notice the immense stone castle looming ahead of them.
When they reached the door, Camille looked up, startled. Her jaw dropped momentarily, but McGonagall failed to hesitate and kept up her brisk pace, leading the way through the massive doors, through a monumental marble-floored entry hall, and into a small, dimly lit room that seemed to Camille to be nothing more than a storage closet.
In the middle of the room stood a worn wooden stool with a droopy blue hat sitting on it. The hat was ragged and torn, the silver stars that decorated it were faded and dull, and there was an extensive rip between the main part of the hat and its brim. McGonagall picked up the hat and held it close to her face, and although her back was turned, Camille could have sworn that she heard the professor whisper something to the hat in a very low voice.
McGonagall turned to Camille.
"This is the sorting hat," she said hastily, putting a hand on Camille's shoulder and forcing her onto the stool, "it's magic is very old and quite powerful. When I place it onto your head, it will be able to read your deepest thoughts, so that it may place you into the house that best suits you. Alright, then," she said, and without warning, she gingerly placed the hat on Camille's head and took a step backwards.
Quite adventurous, I see… the hat whispered. Camille sat up straighter. She had not been told anything about the hat being able to speak to her.
Very brave, and what a penchant for mischief! Camille opened her mouth to respond to the hat, but it interrupted her.
You don't have to speak, dear, it said, only you can hear what I am saying, and I can know what you are going to say. It is my job to analyze you. You are bright, loyal, and courageous. I have the perfect house for you… Gryffindor!
The last word came out as a shout, shaking the frail wooden shelves lining the room. McGonagall winced, then grinned kindly at Camille and helped her down from the stool.
"I will be your head of house, then, dear," she said as she replaced the hat on the stool, "And may I be the first to say, welcome to Gryffindor." Her words were said with such pride that Camille momentarily forgot her nervousness and felt proud to have gained the professor's acceptance. But as McGonagall picked up the stool and led her out of the tiny room and once again into the entry, Camille frowned with worry and hesitated to follow.
She was tempted to ask the professor to let her have a second try at the sorting hat, so that she could tell it that she wouldn't be at all courageous or brave this year, without her friends. If that was what they were expecting from her in her new house, then they would be quite disappointed, Camille thought.
But Camille decided to keep quiet, and hurried to catch up with McGonagall, who was hurrying toward another grand set of doors, stool and hat in hand. Camille opened them for her, and was ushered inside.
She stood paralyzed with awe in one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen. The walls were gilded with gold, the tables were vast and shining, the candles were all flickering cheerily and casting warm light onto the hundreds of faces that were smiling, laughing, and talking. And the ceiling… Camille had never seen anything like it. It was, at that moment, cloudless and dotted with trillions of tiny stars like faraway Christmas lights.
"You'll sit at the far right table," McGonagall whispered into Camille's ear, then hurried up to the front of the hall where she set the stool and sorting hat at the front of the room.
Camille took a seat at the end of the far right table, the one with a giant red and gold banner hanging above it showing a majestic lion. She was staring at this banner when she felt a pair of hands take hold of her shoulders.
"Camille!"
"From the train!"
She turned to see Fred and George beaming at her.
"C'mon!" said George, motioning to the middle portion of the table.
"Sit with us!" said Fred excitedly, as Camille rose from her seat.
From the front of the hall, a voice boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
Camille quickly sat down between Fred and George and turned to face the speaker, a tall, willowy-looking old man with a very long white beard and half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.
"I hope that we will have a most wonderful year together," the man continued, but Fred leaned in and whispered in Camille's ear, "That's Dumbledore, the headmaster."
George then whispered to her, "And this is our brother, Ron," and motioned to the redheaded boy across the table from her, who nodded his head and blushed in greeting.
Fred continued, "And that's Harry Potter, next to him, but I expect you know all about him already…"
Camille looked at Fred curiously and shook her head.
"You mean," said George, "you haven't heard of Harry Potter?"
"The Boy Who Lived?" Fred prompted.
"The scar?" George leaned in further, disbelieving of Camille's ignorance.
"Oh," said Camille nonchalantly, "I was just a baby when that happened. I've heard the story, about the curse and the scar and all that; sure."
"Harry, you hear that?" Fred chuckled, "This is one of the only girls you'll ever meet who doesn't want a peek at your scar!"
Harry Potter laughed. Camille thought that she saw a look of relief on his face, but he also seemed disappointed.
A girl with long brown hair threw an angry look over her shoulder.
"Will you all shut up? I'm trying to listen!" she said in a furious whisper.
"And that, dear Camille, is Hermione," said George, throwing his arm over Camille's shoulder.
"Don't worry," said Fred, putting his arm around her, too, "We'll protect you."
"Hermione?" Camille said in a stage whisper, and the girl turned around.
"Er, watch out, there," said Ron worriedly, seeing the angry look on Hermione's face at being interrupted while listening to the headmaster. Her frown faded, however, when she saw Camille.
"Camille!" she exclaimed quietly.
"You two know each other?" Harry asked, confused.
"Our families used to go skiing together in the Alps," explained Camille, who was ecstatic to see a familiar face.
"How are you?" Hermione squealed, but then her face became serious again. "We'll talk after the sorting, okay?"
Dumbledore had now taken his seat at the staff table, and McGonagall had come in, leading a line of trembling, tiny first-years.
"Bit of a stickler for the rules, Hermione is," said Ron, leaning across the table.
Camille watched the first-years as they were sorted into the four houses. As the last one, Emily Zaffalon, sat down at the Hufflepuff table, Dumbledore rose again and brandished his wand at the crowd.
"And now," he bellowed, "we EAT!"
With a flick of his wrist, platters and bowls full of food appeared before the students; the tables sagged with the weight of the massive feast. Camille, who suddenly realized that she was starving, loaded her plate with roast beef, potatoes, ears of corn, caramelized pears, cobbler… and dug in with gusto.
After almost a full half-hour of food-filled near-silence, groans and burps could be heard throughout the hall. Camille was stuffed, and just as she thought that she couldn't bear to look at her food anymore, it vanished.
"Ahhh," Harry sighed, "That was excellent."
Camille nodded her assent.
Hermione finished chewing her last bite of raspberry tart and turned eagerly to Camille.
"So, how are you, Camille? Why are you at Hogwarts this year?"
Camille quieted. "I'm living with my aunt and uncle now, in Sussex."
"Just wanted to change things up a bit, eh?" George said from her left.
"Or maybe those snoots at Beauxbatons were getting to be too much for her," Fred suggested from her right.
Camille shook her head. Hermione cast fierce glances at Fred and George, and they stopped laughing. It was clear to Hermione that Camille was not there "just to change things up a bit".
"My parents were in an accident," Camille said quietly.
"Oh, Camille," Hermione murmured sadly.
Fred and George leaned behind her and slapped each other hard on the cheeks. Camille giggled.
"It's alright," she said, "You didn't know. Anyway, it is good to change things, I guess."
"What kind of accident?" Harry asked suddenly from across the table.
Hermione frowned at him, and Fred and George took hold of Camille.
"He doesn't mean to be rude," Fred told her.
"He doesn't have parents either, so he may be a bit callous," said George.
"A car crash," Camille said to Harry, "They were in Prague. A tour bus hit their car and it exploded."
"The car exploded?" said Ron, open-mouthed. Camille nodded.
"Wow," said Fred and George in unison.
"I'm sorry," said Hermione.
"At least your aunt and uncle aren't stupid git Muggles who keep you locked up all summer," said Harry softly, looking down at the table bitterly.
"Ignore him," said Ron.
"He's still a bit angry that we spent the summer at the Burrow, er, the Weasley's house, and he couldn't go," explained Hermione.
"Actually," said Camille with a hint of fiery sarcasm in her voice, "My aunt and uncle are stupid git Muggles: My father's brother and his wife. The only reason that I'm able to come here is because it was in my parent's will that they had schooling set up for me in England should they die. Otherwise, I'd be stuck at the local day-school with my horrid cousin Addie."
Harry looked up sharply.
George chuckled. "Nice move, there, mate," he said sarcastically to Harry.
"Oh, the irony," squealed Fred, and they both burst into laughter.
"You two should really get along great!"
"Yeah, two orphans kept hostage by evil muggle aunts and uncles!"
"With horrible muggle cousins!"
"SHUT UP, YOU TWO!" screeched Hermione. The rest of the Gryffindor table stared at them. "Sorry," Hermione said, quieter, "But you really are being very insensitive."
"Forgive us?" Fred and George asked, looking from Harry to Camille and back, using the same puppy-dog face that George had used on the train.
Both nodded, and the twins rose from the table.
"We are going to retire to the common room, would any of you lovely people like to join us?"
Ron, Hermione, and Harry all got up and followed them out of the hall. Camille got up, too, but stayed behind a bit, not wanting to force herself into their circle. Hermione was walking with Ron, whispering about something, the twins were leading the pack, prancing jauntily down the hallway, waving too all of their friends, and Harry was walking slowly, hands in his pockets, brooding.
He stopped for a minute, waiting for Camille to catch up, then fell into step with her.
"Sorry for being such a twit back there," he said, staring at the floor.
"It's alright, now we're even."
"Even?" Harry asked.
"I must have insulted you when I said that I hadn't heard of you. It's apparent that you're pretty famous around here," Camille said, gesturing to all of the first years that were standing in clumps in the hallway, staring at Harry, whispering, and pointing.
"I wasn't insulted," said Harry, "I was happy! It's not very often that I meet someone who hasn't heard all of the rumors and stuff that they've been saying about me the past few years. Everyone thinks I'm some ego-obsessed lunatic, before they even meet me." Harry ended his speech with a hint of rage in his voice that scared Camille.
"Well, I don't think that. You've got a clean slate, as far as I'm concerned," she said gently.
"Thanks," Harry said, looking at her with a genuine smile. His emerald eyes sparkled. "I've just had a terrible summer, that's all."
"Oh, I can sympathize. My aunt and uncle have me weeding the garden and dusting the silver while Addie lays on the couch watching television all day. She never had to lift a finger. I was her maid!"
Harry looked at her in disbelief. "Your cousin and my cousin should get together sometime, then," he laughed, "she sounds like Dudley's soulmate!"
They were then standing in front of a portrait of a fat lady in a pink silk dress.
"Marshmallow magpies," said Harry assertively, and the portrait swung away from the wall on hinges, revealing a large circular hole in the wall. Harry climbed through, then waited on the other side for Camille.
Beyond the hole was Camille's new favorite room in castle, she quickly decided. It was red brick, with a towering vaulted ceiling and an extremely large fireplace at one end. One wall was covered with giant arched windows, the rest with tapestries and paintings. The room was filled with dark wood tables, high-backed leather armchairs, and soft velvet couches. Lots of kids were gathered around the fireplace, talking and laughing like they had been in the hall.
Harry led Camille over to the fireplace, where room was quickly made on one of the couches for them to sit down. Fred and George introduced her to the crowd, and she was accepted without question – no delving into her unfortunate circumstances this time, thankfully.
After a while, the conversation turned to reminiscing about all of Harry's adventures and the name that he's made for all Gryffindors; Harry began squirming on the couch next to Camille. She could tell that he didn't want to talk about his fame, but she was entranced. The stories that they were telling reminded her uncannily of the adventures that she and Audrey had at Beauxbatons.
But she quickly became bored – it was hard to stay interested in a conversation worshipping a hero that she didn't know – and leaned over to Harry, whispering, "Where will I sleep tonight?"
Harry grinned at her, glad to have an excuse to leave the circle. They sneaked out unnoticed just as Fred and George brought up "the time that Harry had all of the bones in his arm removed and had to grow them back".
"Sounds awful," Camille laughed as they approached a large staircase on the right side of the room. Harry shrugged.
"Your rooms are up there," he said, motioning up the stairs.
"Can we go up?" Camille asked, confused.
"You can, sure. But if any boy tries to climb the girls stairs, it turns into a slide and he'll slip right back down."
Camille laughed. "Well then, I guess I'll just stay down here!"
Harry and Camille found two unoccupied armchairs separate from the group around the fireplace, which was already beginning to thin out.
They stared out the windows, across the mirror-like surface of the Great Lake. The stars reflected on the surface, creating the illusion of a second sky, a hole ripped right through the earth to the other side.
Harry and Camille talked for hours, long after everyone else had gone up to their dormitories. Finally, Camille gave a little shiver and curled up in her chair, eyelids at half-mast.
"You should go to bed," Harry said softly, getting up from his chair.
"I'm not tired," Camille said weakly.
"Well, at least lets move to the fireplace. It's cold here by the windows."
They got up and moved to the overstuffed velvet couch directly facing the fireplace, which now only contained the glowing embers of the once-roaring fire.
Camille sat down close to Harry and smiled at him.
"You know, Harry, we really do have an incredible amount of things in common when you think about it," she said, laying her head gently on his shoulder. She felt the muscles in Harry's chest tense, then relax.
"I mean, besides all the Voldemort stuff. Although that's pretty big. At Beauxbatons, we were just dealing with dark wizards, not a dark 'Lord'."
Harry laughed. Camille was deliriously sleepy. She felt her eyelids falling shut, and struggled to keep them open. Harry took her hand in his.
"You're still cold," he said, and got up to add a new log to the fire.
"You know, maybe I won't be a coward this year after all," Camille mused aloud, "I wasn't expecting this. Maybe I'll have adventures after all…"
"Oh, believe me," Harry laughed, "If you're friends with me and Ron and Hermione, you'll have adventures. Plenty of them."
He settled back into his spot next to Camille and took her hand again.
"You know," he said, "Even though you haven't had to deal with the Voldemort stuff, I think you get it. Most people just can't fathom how someone could fight a dark wizard. They take that stuff for granted; dark wizards are going to be evil, no matter what. But really, I think we can stop them."
"Yep," Camille said, yawning.
"You're the only person I've met who understands me, Camille. And not even I understand me, so that's a feat."
Camille looked up at Harry and giggled sleepily. She did understand him, she thought. He was brave and determined, and a little embarrassed, but he felt like he had been saddled with this mission, and there was nothing that he could do about it.
As these thoughts were running through her head, Harry had leaned in toward her. She felt his breath suddenly on her mouth, and slowly brought her lips toward his.
As their mouths met, Harry moved closer to Camille, and she wrapped her arms around him. They held each other in this embrace for a long time, only moving their mouths against one another.
Camille's hands moved over Harry's chest, over his shoulders, up his neck, through his thick black hair. He kissed her more deeply. He tenderly touched her breasts, cupping them softly, tentatively. She moved her hands to Harry's legs and crept them stealthily under his robes, to the button of his pants.
He didn't realize what she was doing until she already had the zipper down. He kissed her neck, her chin, her collarbone, her ears; he showered her with kisses as she tugged at his pants legs. They finally came free, and Harry's pants fell to the floor. At this, Harry slipped his hands under Camille's shirt and pulled it over hear head effortlessly, then struggled with the clasp on her bra until it finally came undone.
The cold air on her breasts made Camille shiver, so Harry drew her closer to him and kissed her mouth once more. Camille took off her pants herself, not wanting Harry to struggle with that, too. She then pulled off her underwear, but suddenly became conscious of just how exposed she was in such a public space. Harry thought the same thing, and pulled away from their kiss just long enough to grab a heavy fur throw from the back of a nearby armchair.
Harry threw the fur over the two of them, then slid off his boxers. Camille slid one leg over Harry so that she was straddling him, then kissed him with more passion than ever before. Harry reached down and teased her already-hard clit. Camille couldn't take it anymore. She took hold of Harry's cock and slid it into her, and gasped softly as it entered. She moved slowly, rhythmically on top of him, but Harry was becoming frantic. His hands were flying across her bare skin like twitching feathers; his kisses were careless and sloppy.
Harry took hold Camille and held her close to him as he rolled over on top of her. He let his feet fall to the floor, and put one hand on the back of the couch, one on Camille. He thrust into her, pace quickening, with a force that Camille had never known. His hand ventured down to her clit again, where his thumb rolled across it in circles. Camille was moaning and sighing as Harry's cock thrust in and out of her. His rhythm was growing faster, faster, until he couldn't go any longer and gave one final push, letting his seed spurt deep into her. Camille moaned loudly, throwing her head back in ecstasy.
After a few paralyzed seconds, they fell away from each other. Harry collapsed on the couch under the fur throw that was now much too hot. Wordlessly, they each got dressed in front of the fire.
"Goodnight, Camille," Harry said as Camille turned to go upstairs. She walked back toward him and gave him one last goodnight kiss.
"Goodnight, Harry."