Chapter One: L'enfance des Âmes Misérables

The Infancy of Miserable Souls

Amandine felt the palace before she saw it. Pale yet brooding, gentle yet fierce— as the carriage shuddered across what she could only assume was a bridge onto the grounds, her body and mind alike were wracked with a sudden cacophony of contradictions.

Accepting yet elitist. Pure yet tainted. Amandine's head was beginning to throb as it filled with voices that didn't quite scream out the words now flooding her mind. She closed her eyes and clenched her throat, doing her best to force down the saliva that had suddenly begun to pool in her mouth. Beautiful yet charred. Amandine retched. She was just barely holding herself together.

People were staring, but if she did anything more than sit and wait it out, she was sure she was going to vomit, and then nothing would have been solved.

The front wheels of the carriage hit a rut, shaking the cavernous thing to its core. Amandine, who could hardly hold herself up anymore, connected with the person next to her, but she couldn't even move her body. The event was met with giggles and snickers, and for a moment, Amandine's brain couldn't even pull together the energy to register what was going on. In a moment's time, however, she found that her hands had latched onto the side of the pair of legs she'd managed to rest her head on. Spluttering and holding back her own pre-vomit, drool at the same time, she shot up only to slam into the back off the carriage's wooden benches. Her head met solid wood, and a whimper escaped her— and her lunch was only a hair's width away from following. Carefully avoiding the lap of the older student she'd fallen onto, she anchored herself via a hand on the bench.

Please, please let this end, Amandine begged to the whispering mess of voices in her head. Too nauseous to even attempt to rationalize them, she hung her head and pursed her lips, then closed her eyes.

Vaguely, as if she was hearing them through a tunnel, the sound of nervous giggling penetrated Amandine's consciousness. She braved a glance to the side. The gaggle of what looked to be third-year girls opposite where she'd fallen over had scrunched together into a single writhing mass of mockery, playfully doing their best to fend off the future possibility of Amandine's meal landing on their shoes. Amandine understood the reaction, but she had to force her eyes shut again to calm the motion sickness and the voices in her head before she could shoot them a spiteful look in reply to their whispers. Even if they didn't fully deserve it... Amandine didn't have the energy to argue with herself about letting her petty side loose every once in awhile.

The whispers continued to crescendo, the carriage continued to shake, and Amandine kept hanging onto her seat. She had more space, now that the girls beside her had bunched up to get away from her, so she moved her left hand out a bit further to give her a wider base in a halfhearted effort to keep herself from falling over again. At last, the shaking stopped, but not without nearly sending the tiny first-year through the bench opposite her. Were it not for a nearby hand jutting out to stop her, she was sure she would have become a puddle on the floor. She wanted to open her mouth to utter some form of thanks, but all that came out was a groan, which elicited a round of laughter from the students around her. This time, it wasn't mocking but knowing, not unlike a mother's escaped giggle at the sight of her daughter wearing makeup for the first time.

Amandine's face turned a bright red, but she couldn't even bring a hand up to her face to cover her embarrassment. Now, in addition to possibly vomiting, drooling, and having her head explode from the pain of motion sickness, she was about to cry, too.

The hand left her shoulder as the student beside her stood up to leave the carriage, and her face turned an even deeper shade of red. She suppose he didn't want to be fallen on again.

This first day of school was going anything but how she'd imagined it.

White, blue, silver, and gold. As though the world couldn't produce anything more than the celestial colors that seemed to drown the inside of the castle, every surface seemed to emanate one of four hues. Everything, from the bright marble to the curtains to the long runner-carpets to even the damn toilets— everything was either some shade of blue or shining white, gold, or silver. As the tiny first-year stood before the mirror, trying desperately to adjust her hat so her ears didn't seem to stick out so much as to give her the general appearance of a house-elf, she wished the washrooms would show a touch of red or green to temper out the nauseating palette that surrounded her.

It wasn't that the castle was an ugly sight— in fact, what little she'd seen in the two minutes she'd spent looking for the bathroom could only begin to be summarized by the word 'majestic—' but after an hour spent in a windowless carriage bus, even the slightest annoyances were threatening to bring back the nausea she'd managed to force away after disembarking the carriage. Almost immediately, she'd been engulfed in the chaos of students spreading themselves in every which direction, a cacophonous chatter even worse than the one that surrounded her on the carriage. Amandine had managed to escape it, stumbling her way past the flock of winged horses all the way to the green before another student had come to her rescue and pointed the dizzy girl in the right direction. From there, it was hardly a challenge to plot her next course of action: finding the restroom. When she'd arrived, all had gone as expected.

She looked even more a mess than she felt.

Sighing— the way her mother always called 'too mature' for a ten-year-old— the tiny girl unpinned her braid, doing her best to restrain the flyaways in a fresh one but ending up with something that resembled a pair of dog-ears stuck flat to the sides of her head than the intricate updo her mother had seemed to let flow from her fingers that morning with such ease. She bit the inside of her cheek in something of a pout and retrieved the bobby pins from the dark mess that had become her head. She'd never been able to do her own hair into much more than a ponytail, and, unfortunately, she hadn't magically gained the ability to do so in the past five minutes. Resigned to the reality of her awful hair and her elf-ears, she just raked her fingers through it and wet it until it looked reasonably smooth, smoothed her dress, and left, drawing in slow breaths as she did.

Now, the bigger predicament: she'd wandered her way to the bathroom, but she had no idea where all the other students had gone. She supposed she could wander more, but now that she wasn't about to fall over from motion sickness and hallucinated voices in her head, the idea seemed completely ridiculous.

Unfortunately for Amandine, hallways stretched out in every which way, and in her nauseous stupor, she hadn't had the presence of mind to remember which way she'd come.

She had three options: wander, stand around looking like an idiot, or try to hunt for someone else and grovel at his feet to get some help. Each sounded roughly equally futile; the first, while it had gotten her here, had a lower probability of actually succeeding now that she was actually inside the endless confines of the Beauxbatons castle. The second gave her a chance to wait out the storm and catch a perhaps sympathetic older student on her way into the washroom, but it also ran the risk of having her miss the sorting ceremony, which would be both embarrassing and a disaster for the teachers to handle. The third option just made her blush. There was no way she was going to grovel at anyone's feet.

As if fate itself was reading her mind, footsteps echoed down the hall behind her. On instinct, Amandine whirled around to face the face the figure, but she stopped herself before she took another stepped forward.

She was not going to beg him for help.

Amandine edged her way back toward the alcove housing the washroom and hoped the figure hadn't seen her. Anyone in his right mind would know the diminutive first-year hardly belonged where she now stood, cowering like a rabbit beside the bathroom door.

The footsteps continued, rhythmic, drawing ever closer. As they neared, Amandine edged her way into the bathroom, gripped by a sudden shyness. Please don't let him come in here. Please don't let him come in here. Please don't let me look like some airheaded little first-year, Amandine begged whatever forces had invaded her thoughts previously. She wasn't particularly superstitious, but all she could do now was hope and hide, and there weren't many options in the way of the latter.

The cruel forces had, indeed, been listening. Amandine's stomach sunk, and she rushed to start the sink to look as though she was doing something as she heard the washroom door creaking on its hinges. The footsteps joined the sound of rushing water. She pleaded— no, begged fate to let her go unnoticed. This time, luck gave in, and the footsteps passed her to make their way into the mens' restroom. Amandine let out a sigh of relief but let the water continue running over her hands for good measure.

Now. Her options. Since she was absolutely, completely, never, ever going to ask the older boy for help... that left her with the options of wandering around.

That, or she could follow him back. Amandine grinned at the idea. Yes— that way, she wouldn't seem like so much of an idiot, having to ask the boy to show her the way back. Wouldn't he be heading back to the opening ceremony? She could give him a few moments to leave, then follow him on his way back. He had awfully loud footsteps, after all. There. Problem solved, with no damage to your pride.

A voice interrupted Amandine's thoughts. "Still washing your hands? Did you get something on them?"

Amandine rushed to turn off the water but only managed to flail in the process. A miserable whimper escaped her, and she finally forced her hand to connect with the handle— but not without turning the water up, first, spraying the older boy with a healthy helping of water. When she turned around to look at him, he was still covering his face. As if spacing out hadn't already gotten her into enough trouble to day, leaving her lost and looking like an idiot in the washroom, she'd sat there thinking with the water on the whole time the boy had been in the bathroom.

"I— I— I'm sorry!" she stammered, "I was, ah, just washing something, ah, washing something off. Ink. I got i-ink on my hands." That hadn't come out at all the way she'd hoped it would, so Amandine just stared at her feet, wishing the boy would disappear. She scathingly congratulated herself on making herself the single most conspicuous thing in the washroom.

Much to her surprise, he laughed a little. "Well, I hope you got it off." Amandine nodded vigorously at this in an effort to get him to shut up, but she had no such luck. "Hoping to make a good first impression for the sorting ceremony?"

Great. Now he was having a conversation with her. Brushing the water from his uniform, the boy moved to the sink and began washing is own hands. Amandine supposed she could just leave, but that would be rude. With a slight turning in her stomach, she recalled how she'd looked on the bus. She hoped he hadn't seen her there. He must already have pegged her as a complete idiot with the way she was stuttering— like she needed another reason to make him hate her even more. Amandine's ego was beginning to ache already.

"Not too talkative?"

No, thought Amandine, glowering at her feet, I just don't think you need to hear any more of me. She afforded him a small, grudging smile, however, keeping her venomous thoughts to herself. If she just left, she'd be losing her chance to find her way back to the main hall, but if she stayed, she was sure she'd lose what little composure she'd managed to regain after the carriage ride to the castle.

The boy's voice rudely shook her thoughts and dragged them back into reality by their tails. "That's alright. I'm sure you'll fit in just fine here. I remember I was like that the first day, too, and now look where I am," Amandine looked up at him, trying to figure out what she was supposed to be looking for. Realizing his mistake, the boy crouched down a bit so he wasn't towering a foot and a half over her. "Hey. Look here. If you ever need help," he pointed to a badge pinned to his blazer's lapel, "Just hunt me down, alright? I'm the Aube prefect. The name's Florian Dubois." As he spoke the last few words, something of a Québécoise accent snuck out, and Amandine almost cracked a smile before regaining her self-control. "Ah. But sorry. I must be holding you up. Hurry up, or we might miss the ceremony!" He stood and ruffled her hair with a playful glint in her eyes, sending another blush into Amandine's cheeks. She was not going to be treated like a child.

Taking precedence over her irritation at the condescending prefect, however, was a glimmer of hope. No matter how annoying he was, he was her way back to the main hall. If she kept talking to him... a smile crossed Amandine's lips. She might look like an idiot, but she'd look less idiotic actually talking to him than blowing him off and then trying to hide and follow him back.

Casually, Amandine shifted her weight to one foot and folded her arms across her chest. "A prefect? What year are you in? You look a little young." She wasn't lying; though he was nearly six feet tall, he couldn't be much older than fourteen or fifteen. From what her mother had told her, prefects were typically only seventh- or eighth-years. A fourth-year wasn't unheard of, but if he was in his third year, the credibility of his statements were certainly up for questioning.

Florian turned around, cocking an eyebrow in what was possibly the most infuriating manner possible. "Hm? So you can speak." The Canadian smiled a bit, and Amandine could see why he'd been placed in the 'dawn' house— a shining, if not a politician's lying grin, seemed only to accentuate his golden hair, which put Amandine's own mousey shade to shame. Not wanting to look at him anymore, she cast her glance askew as she waited for him to just answer her question, already. Finally, he added, "And there's no 'too young' for prefects, you know. Every year aside from yours has one for each house. I'm the fifth-year prefect."

Amandine cursed herself. Of course. She was just a stupid little first-year. She huffed, then, grudgingly, followed him. She did still need to get back.

"Still. I'm surprised you made the cut. You're not exactly the most... congenial of people."

Florian slowed a bit, allowing the shorter girl to catch up. "Congenial? That's a big word for such a little girl." He reached down to pat Amandine's head, but she was out of the way before he could touch a hair on her body. An expression of mock-hurt made its way across his features, and he said, "And who's to say I'm not to like? You only just met me. I wouldn't be so quick to make assumptions. For all you know, I could turn out to be a perfectly nice guy— and then you'd be missing out on a great opportunity!" Amandine rolled her eyes at this.

"Says the one whose jaw nearly fell off when I used one letter shy of my age in length. Because clearly, I need to take a lesson from you in not taking judgments." Amandine regretted saying it the moment it left her lips, so she continued staring at the floor. Insulting prefects wasn't exactly the best way to go about getting to know people, was it?

She nearly mirrored Florian's face when it morphed into an expression of genuine surprise. "Touché, Miss Congeniality. You're smarter than you look. Maybe I can forgive you for this," he smirked, pointing at the wet spot. "You see, I was planning on just eating you, like the rest of the first-years who pis— annoy me, but now I think I might keep you as a pet. How does that sound?"

Amandine meant to laugh, but she snorted instead. "No! That's even worse," the blush had returned to her face. The idea of being his pet was absolutely mortifying.

"Well, miss smarty-pants, then you'd better... run!" Laughing, he lunged forward. Amandine ran, away, squealing, temporarily forgetting her previous preoccupation with her composure and just letting herself giggle like the ten-year-old girl she was.

She was almost having fun. As usual, however, Amandine let her thoughts get the better of her, and in the few moments she spent not paying attention to her surroundings, her foot caught on the edge of the rug, and she went flying to the blue-clad floor.

Florian sighed. "Remind me not to recruit you for the Quidditch team. Now, let's get you sorted." Eyeing the line that had formed in the cavernous hall before them, he added, "Looks like you get to wait in anticipation for the next half hour. End of the line, Miss Congeniality."

Amandine staggered to her feet, and for a moment, she reveled in the glorious sounds of chatter and choir song that surrounded her. Her mother had told stories of the wood-nymph serenades, but the sound was infinitely more beautiful than she could ever have imagined: twisting harmonies melded with seemingly endless discord amid a sea of indiscernible words, their sweet voices filling the great hall with as much presence as an elephant yet as little weight as a cloud of vapor. For a moment, she just stood there, gaping at a scene.

And then they came back with a fury. Amandine clutched her head, her knees going weak, a ringing filling her ears and the bitter taste of bile once again filling her mouth.

No amount of beauty or glorious harmony could mask the fact that the voices had returned with a vengeance.

(Questions/comments/concerns? Especially about my French? Don't hesitate to let me know! ;p)