The Princess and The Farm Boy
A/N: Disclaimer: Ain't mine and never will be. I make no money from this. Don't sue!
1922, Black Manor
Cedrella sat in the child-sized chair in the room that had long ago been converted into a small schoolroom. There were a number of small chairs and tables for writing on, a blackboard, several bookshelves filled with books, and a number of illustrations and portraits on the walls, all relating to various subjects the scions of the Black Family would learn in this room. Cedrella watched Callidora out of the corner of her eye, trying her best to imitate her big sister's erect, prim posture. She did not want to present a poor first impression to their tutor. Her cousin Cassiopeia sat on the far side of Callidora in a similar posture.
At five, Cedrella was finally considered old enough to begin her formal education. There was much for her to learn before she attended Hogwarts in six years' time. Her nanny had ensured that she knew her letters and numbers, and had an educated vocabulary and proper pronunciation. Now, she would begin to learn her family history, the history of the magical world, Latin, magical theory, pureblood etiquette and tradition, dancing, and the art of conversation among other things.
At least, that was what Mother and Father had told her she would learn, now that she was old enough. It was a slightly intimidating list for the five-year-old. However, Cedrella had learned practically from birth that as a scion of the Black family, she was a cut above the average pureblood witch or wizard. They were thus, by necessity, held to a higher standard than the common masses. Their Family was to be the example that all others strove to emulate. As such, it ill befit a scion of the Family to perform poorly in any arena.
Their tutor, Professor Parkinson, swept into the room, and Callidora and Cassiopeia immediately greeted her. "Good morning, Professor Parkinson."
Cedrella echoed her sister and cousin a moment later, when she realized the greeting was required. She, of course, had met the Professor before. The Professor was in the mansion almost daily, so encounters were all but inevitable. Cedrella knew her to be daughter of a younger son of Family Parkinson, and a fairly distant relative - it had been several generations since a Black had married a Parkinson at this point.
"Good morning, students." Professor Parkinson said, eyeing the three girls. "Greetings, Cedrella. And congratulations on taking your first step to becoming a true scion of the Black Family."
"Thank you, Professor." Cedrella said.
"Today, we will be reviewing Latin conjugations. You must drill until the knowledge becomes second nature." That last comment seemed to be directed at Cassiopeia, who had briefly looked less than pleased at the prospect. "Many spells are performed in Latin, and some of those that are not have Latin roots. A thorough knowledge of the language will give you a firm grasp on the effects of most spells you encounter without having to have them explained to you." Then, in a firmer, more displeased tone. "You must control yourself, Cassiopeia. Allowing those around you to perceive how you feel about something allows them to tailor a strategy to manipulate and use you to their own benefits. You must be in control of your demeanor at all times in public. The less ammunition you give an opponent, the stronger your own position."
"Yes Professor." Cassiopeia said, managing a creditably neutral tone and expression.
There followed an hour of drill in Latin. Cedrella had to scramble a bit to keep up, as her sister and cousin were well ahead of her in this regard. Actually, she had to scramble a bit in all their lessons due to the two year age difference between them. But she was determined to succeed, and outshine them both.
1922, Weasley Cottage
Early mornings were about the only time Septimus had to work on his schoolwork. This was thanks mostly to his two little brothers, not that Septimus minded. They were active little scamps and needed close supervision - when they weren't dragging an almost-always willing Septimus into some game or other. He liked that he was allowed to help out by keeping an eye on Victor and Felix now. He liked that his parents considered him grown up enough for that sort of responsibility.
His mother and father both taught him in the evening, and on weekends. Dad had even begun teaching Septimus everything he'd need to know as the future Head of the Weasley family. There was an awful lot to learn, but Septimus didn't mind. He found most of it very interesting.
He just managed to finish the writing assignment mom had given him last night when he heard the rest of the family stirring awake. Septimus put his books away and went to help his little brothers get ready for the day. That allowed mother and father a chance to wake and get ready for the day themselves at a normal pace, rather than having to rush.
He'd just managed to get Felix, who at two was far more tractable, into some clothes before mother arrived to argue with Victor. Victor, at four, was at the age where he wanted to dress himself. As a result, he argued about what clothes he would wear and fought off assistance, despite still needing it.
While mother dealt with Victor, Septimus headed down to the kitchen and out to the yard. They raised chickens and pigs, both for their own use and to sell pork and eggs at the nearby Muggle village. It was his responsibility to feed them, and in the case of the chickens, hunt down eggs for breakfast every morning. It was a matter of a few minutes to search the most likely spots in the yard. Septimus came away with nearly a dozen eggs from the various nests. He then scattered some left-over bread crusts and grain for the chickens' breakfast and headed inside. The pigs would be fed after breakfast.
Mother had gotten Victor dressed and was in the kitchen by the time Septimus finished with the chickens. She took the small basket full of eggs from him almost automatically. "Thank you, Septimus." She said, and ruffled his hair. Septimus grinned, then headed to the cabinets to set the table.
"Did you have any trouble with the assignment your mom gave you?" Septimus' father asked as he arrived downstairs. He was dressed in a formal robe, an indication that he'd be spending the day at the Ministry, wrangling with the Wizengamot. Father knew that Septimus preferred to get his assignments done the night or morning after they were handed out if at all possible.
"No. I got it done already." Septimus said with a grin. "Just finished it before Vic and Felix woke up."
His father gave him a pleased look. "Well done."
Mother echoed the praise. "I'll take a look at it before lunch, dear." She told him. "Though I'm sure it's your usual good work."
Once breakfast was over, Septimus collected the leftovers from their plates and threw it in the trough for the pigs to eat, along with the scraps from last night's supper and some other contributions that Septimus collected from the village. Father ruffled Septimus' hair affectionately as they crossed paths when father headed to the Ministry. Septimus helped his mother tidy the main areas of the house, then headed outside with Felix and one of his books to read for a while. He kept an eye on Felix while he played. Mother, meanwhile, worked with Victor on his letters and numbers for a while. When Victor was released from his lessons so that mother could prepare lunch, Septimus kept an eye on both brothers for a little bit.
After lunch, Septimus headed over to the nearest village. He did chores for some of the elderly residents, earning himself a few coins of Muggle money in the process. The goblins were happy to exchange it for sickles and knuts, so it provided a steady, if small, allowance for Septimus. Mostly, he saved it. He had quite a tidy pile of sickles and knuts tucked in a corner of his parents' vault at Gringotts after a year's worth of helping out wherever he could.
1924
Cedrella walked sedately beside her mother as they entered Diagon Alley. After two years of tuition, Cedrella had been judged worthy of attending the yearly Children's Ball. The Ball, which took place every summer, was an event that allowed the pre-Hogwarts age pureblood children to intermingle and get to know one another.
The Ball was also traditionally a child's first entrance into Wizarding society and the end of toddlerhood. Prior to attending the Ball, a child was considered too young to be accountable for their actions. From that point on, pureblood children were held accountable for their actions, and their actions could and did have ramifications on the Family as a whole.
For such an august occasion, the proper dress robe was required. The requisite visit to Diagon Alley was as much a reward as the Ball itself. No pureblood child of proper breeding was allowed out in public until they were judged worthy of attending the Ball. It was sudden death for the reputations of the parents if a pureblood toddler did something as gauche as throw a temper tantrum in public. Such a thing showed the parents inferior in their ability to raise and instruct their child. The vast majority of pureblood parents therefore ensured their children remained home until they were old enough to control themselves. Only the poorest families or those rare few who didn't follow tradition brought infants and toddlers out in public.
As it was early October, Diagon Alley was fairly quiet. It certainly wasn't the bustling thoroughfare it became in late August thanks to the beginning of the school year. Cedrella's mother led her to Twillfit and Tattings. They spent the better part of three hours conferring with Mr. Twillfit as to the proper robe and color for Cedrella, and having her model various combinations of color, cut, and fabrics. Cedrella decided the robe they chose, a royal blue with silver piping on sleeves, neckline and hem, was quite smart. It was pretty without being ostentatious, which Cedrella approved of. She was a Black. She had no need to draw attention to herself.
Septimus straightened the hem of his second-hand dress robe, then flooed to Longbottom Manor, where the Ball was being held this year. It rotated among the homes of the well-to-do purebloods, so that no one family got all the recognition and attention that resulted from hosting the Ball.
Septimus had been attending the Ball since shortly after his seventh birthday two years ago. He'd gotten to know quite a few of the boys near his age. Some, he was not happy to know, like Abraxas Malfoy. That boy was a right bastard and a half, and it had nothing to do with the fact that his family Sorted Slytherin and the Weasleys Sorted Gryffindor. Abraxas was just … slimy, and rude, and uppity. He had begun attending the Ball last year and not made a good impression. Septimus wasn't looking forward to dealing with him for the next few Balls and then for years in Hogwarts.
The Longbottom and Potter scions, on the other hand, were far more Septimus' speed, despite them both being well beyond what Septimus knew to be his social station. They were both friendly, easygoing and not at all stuck up. Neither one of them disdained hanging out with him, which all too many kids did, seeing the Weasleys as a lesser Family of little to no consequence, which was more than slightly irksome, and something Septimus hoped to change someday.
He greeted Lord Longbottom and his wife, then headed into the ballroom. There were already half dozen kids there other than the Longbottom scion, so Septimus walked over to chat. About five minutes later, the Black family arrived more or less en masse. There were three girls Lucretia, Cassiopeia, and Callidora, between two branches of the Black Family. Pollux, the only confirmed male of the generation had already started Hogwarts. Septimus had heard whispers that there had been a second boy at one point, but no one had ever seen him, so Septimus figured it was just talk.
Because he was talking to a few of the other boys, it took him a moment to realize there was an additional girl in the Black gaggle. He ran the list of girls in that Family through his head, and after a few moments, figured her for Cedrella, the middle daughter of the youngest son. The age was about right, anyway. Sure enough, when she was escorted their way about ten minutes later by Callidora, she was introduced as Cedrella.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady." Septimus said, smiling down at the younger girl. "I am Septimus Weasley, Heir Apparent to House Weasley."
"A pleasure." Cedrella responded, and offered her hand.
Septimus bent over her hand briefly with a flourish and a smile. "Might I have the honor of your first dance?" He asked. He didn't really want to … she *was* a Black after all – that Family was nearly as bad as the Malfoys, in Septimus' books. They were Dark as it got, and had been pretty much since the dawn of time. Still, it was required for him to offer.
"It would please me to dance with you, Milord." Cedrella said.
There was something in her tone that told him she was about as thrilled at having to give that response as he'd been to have to ask. Unfortunately, unless one of them had committed a serious gaffe, there was no polite way to get out of this. Ah well. Septimus would make the best of it. He'd only have to deal with her this year and next at the Balls, after all. Then he'd be at Hogwarts. They'd never socialize again after that.