Disclaimer: Yes, it's true: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER AT ALL! Most unfortunate, I know...Well then, carry on. R&R

A/N: If you're reading this...please review! :) That's all.


Victoire POV

In my family, the pressure is always on. The pressure to do well, to succeed, to be in Gryffindor...

At the tender age of eleven, when the letter came, naturally, the entire Weasley clan was pleased. At least I hadn't turned out to be a Squib, as Teddy had been so certain I would be. But now, there was a whole new problem.

Even though Teddy wasn't officially part of the family, he was Uncle Harry's godson, which was good enough for everybody else. It wasn't that I resented him—he and I had been best mates since our days in diapers—it was that him getting to go to Hogwarts first, meant that it was him and not I, who set the standard for the Weasley grandchildren.

Ever since his Sorting, our relatives had basically decided that every last Weasley grandchild must get into Gryffindor, and that nothing else would be acceptable. Well, I suppose it would've been expected anyway—our entire family's in Gryffindor—but the fact that even Teddy's in it, is somewhat disconcerting. I mean, his mother was in Hufflepuff, so it's not like he had to be a Gryffindor by some strict family rule, or anything. However, it is completely different for me.

Just the other day, Uncle Ron was saying that Mum and Dad had agreed to disinherit me if I didn't get into Gryffindor as well. The prospect of it was absolutely terrifying. Aunt Hermione had assured me that Uncle Ron was only joking, yet I couldn't be so sure. What if something awful happened, and I was Sorted into another House? I think I'd die if the Sorting Hat placed me in Slytherin. Everyone knows that's the House that all those Death Eaters—and You-Know-Who himself, I've heard—were in. If I got Sorted there...I don't even want to think about what would happen.

Why, oh why, couldn't Dominique and I have been twins? Then I at least wouldn't have to go through this by myself. But, no. Sadly, Dominique was a good three years younger than me, and so she wouldn't be attending Hogwarts until I was a fourth year. Life is so cruel.

Most unfortunately, none of my extended family had had any kids near my age, either. Well, there was Molly, Uncle Percy's daughter, but even she was a year younger than Dominique. And after Molly, the others kept getting younger and younger. In fact, little Hugo, who was the baby of the family, was only three. By the time he and Lily were first years—or even by the time Lucy was—I'd've already graduated. It simply was not fair. Everybody else had somebody either at or close to their age, but all I had was Teddy—who was two years older than me—and Dominique, who, again, would not be coming to Hogwarts for another three years. So far, things were just not going well for me.

"Oh!" Grandmum jumped up from her seat, "It's time! Hurry, now, dear, the train leaves at exactly eleven!" Teddy was ahead of me, levitating my trunk, and I was running behind him carrying Erwig—my owl—in tow. I was already wearing my Hogwarts robes, since I didn't know precisely when you were expected to change into them, and I followed Mum, Dad, and the rest of our lot to Platform 9¾, rushing all the way.

There to see me and Teddy off were—of course—Mum, Dad, and Dominique, followed in quick recession by Grandmum, Aunt Hermione, and Uncle Percy, the latter two of whom I was sure were there to lecture me some more before we boarded the train. "Don't forget to write!" Aunt Hermione was saying. "Listen to all of your teachers!" Uncle Percy was reminding me for the hundredth time that day. " 'ave fun!" Mum called in her French accent. "Come on," Teddy said, grabbing my wrist, "Before Uncle Percy goes into his monologue about broomstick safety procedures." Again, even though he wasn't blood-related to a single one of us, Teddy still called the same people "Aunt" and "Uncle" that I did, with the exception of my parents, whom he also addressed under those titles.

"Est que le 'Ogwarts Express? (Is that the Hogwarts Express?)" My sister, Dominique, tugged on the bottom of Grandmum's robes. "Excuse me?" Unlike me, French was Dominique's first—and at the time, only—language. Mum didn't even look up. "Oui.(Yes)"

"Come on!" Teddy repeated. Waving off whatever Uncle Percy had just said, Teddy yelled, "Yeah, I'll help Victoire load her stuff!" He grabbed my wrist again, and dragged me behind him onto the Hogwarts Express. " 'Bye!" He shouted to the general public behind him.

The doors closed behind us, and suddenly there were two guys standing in front of us, with extremely smug looks on their faces. At once, they burst into laughter. "Hahaha! Sooo, Teddy, care to introduce us to your new girlfriend?" "Veela, by the looks of it?" The second one said to the first. "Oooh..." the first one chortled. "Those are alll-ways the most dangerous types." "Wha'd ya ge'cha self into, Ted?"

I could feel the blood rise into my cheeks. I. was. so. mad. "I am not a VEELA!" I shouted. The first one shared another mischievous look with the second, and they both burst into laughter again. "Ooo-kay...so you're not a Veela," the second one finished his sentence for him. "But you're definitely not denying that you're Ted's girlfriend?" He said the word the way someone says the punch line of a joke.

I gritted my teeth. "N-no, she's not—" But before Teddy could finish explaining, I flew. off. the handle. "AARGH! Why, you complete arseholes! I—WOULD—NEVER—DATE—'TED'!" And with that, I stormed off into the nearest compartment without another word.

Four pairs of eyes stared up at me as I entered, slamming the door behind me. It had never occurred to me that there might actually be other people in this compartment. Suddenly, I was red in the face all over again, but for a completely different reason. I was embarrassed. I almost immediately realized how rude it must make me seem to just come into some random compartment, and slam the door. "Er—I'm—uh—Sorry!" I turned to leave.

A girl with straggly hair looked up from her copy of The Quibbler. I knew it by name, seeing as Aunt Luna—who, in actuality, isn't really my aunt—was the editor, but I had never read it. "You can stay." She said simply. Then, as though it were an afterthought, she added, "If you want to." I was floored. I couldn't believe it. Well...I thought, Anybody who reads The Quibbler can't really be all that bad a person..."Um...okay?" It sounded like a question, but I sat down.

The straggly-haired girl was not the only one reading. All three of the girls, as well as the only boy, all had either a magazine or a newspaper in their hands. I guessed that none of them knew each other, since presumably, when you know the people in your compartment, you talk to them.

The girl next to the first one was wearing an expression of deep contempt that made her look as though she was routinely angry. She had opened to a certain page of The Daily Prophet that I couldn't see the inside of from my side. It just figures that the one reading The Daily Prophet is the one glaring at me. Even though Aunt Ginny sometimes published a Quidditch article or two in there, the newspaper was still pretty annoying.

The boy was browsing through Which Broomstick?, while the final girl, who actually looked quite a good bit like him, was perusing the latest Witch Weekly. "So...um..."

The Quibbler girl looked up again. "Oh." She said, as though I had just said the most intelligent thing in the world, and it was making sense to her for the first time. "I just realized, we haven't introduced ourselves." She said this in the way that one would say "I just realized that two plus two equals four."

My face reddened further. "Oh! Um! Yes! I'm—!" She smiled kindly. "...Victoire Weasley." I finished lamely. "Hello." She smiled again. "I'm Corina Corner." "Corner?" I repeated. The name rang a bell, but I couldn't think why. "Yes. Perhaps you were thinking of my father, Professor Corner?" It hit me like a sack of bricks. "The headmaster!" It was less of a question than an exclamation. She smiled a third time. "Yes. And this," she said, pointing to the Daily Prophet reader, "Is my socially-challenged friend, Margaret Smith."

At the sound of her name, Margaret briefly looked up from her newspaper, but it was so quick I could hardly be sure it had really happened. The final girl at last glanced up over her copy of Witch Weekly, and said, in a voice very far from what I'd imagined she'd sound like, "Hm. There's a new girl in our compartment, Margaret." Margaret simply raised her eyebrows at the girl's somewhat late realization before returning to the Prophet.

"So, who are you?" "Do we care who she is?" Margaret snapped. Unperturbed, the girl asked again: "What's your name?" "Victoire Weasley." The response was so automatic, if I hadn't felt my lips move to form the words, I would've thought someone else had spoken.

The girl considered this for a second, before saying: "I see. My name is Mirabelle Goldstein. My father is the Charms Master at Hogwarts. This is my brother—" "Will Goldstein." the boy next to her finished for her. "Do you like Quidditch?" He asked enthusiastically. "Hhn?" This was a surprise. "Um, yes. Why?" Leaning over his sister, Will showed me a page in Which Broomstick? that I guessed was supposed to be really significant or something.

"Isn't this the same kind of broom that Oliver Wood of Puddlemere United rode in the last Quidditch World Cup?" My mind struck a blank. "Uh, yeah, I think so." I said, faking as much enthusiasm as I could.

Don't get me wrong; I am a huge Quidditch fan, and the last time Uncle Ron took me and Teddy to a Quidditch match, (Chudley Cannons vs. Fitchburg Finches) I was cheering so loud that people in the audience behind us were actually arguing over whether or not to tell me to kindly shut up, so they could hear the commentator, and perhaps figure out how the game was going. (and, as a matter of fact, Teddy tried—and failed, I might add—to cast a Silence Charm on me three to five times)

But, despite all this, I only vaguely had an idea of who'd played in the last Quidditch World Cup, and I'd never even heard of Puddlemere United. And the only times I'd heard of 'Oliver Wood' were when I heard Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry discussing what Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione referred to as "the glory days". (Evidently, men are always trying to relive these times by the time that they have finally settled down enough to have kids. If that's true, I don't think I ever want to get married.) Anyway, 'Oliver Wood' had played Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, or had been Captain, or something like that.

"OH NO WAY!" Will brought me out of my little reverie. "What?" I replied anxiously; had we missed Hogwarts, and would we now be forced to go all the way back to London because we hadn't gotten out of our compartment on time? "Check it out!" He pointed to a moving photograph of this week's featured Quidditch team. "It's the Tutshill Tornados!" we proclaimed at precisely the same moment.

Will seemed surprised that I knew who the Tutshill Tornados were. I briefly wondered whether he was secretly a Legilimens and had caught my lie about knowing who the sam-heck Puddlemere United was supposed to be. "You're a Tornado fan, too?" he demanded excitedly—if a bit edgily, as though this were the question which determined whether or not I was his soulmate.

I looked at him like he had just told me he was really a Muggle and yet had somehow infiltrated the Hogwarts Express. "Too?" The word had caught me off guard. He was clearly implying he was a Tornado supporter. "No." I was surprised by how calm my voice sounded. It was so calm, in fact, that it might have sounded a bit cold. "Actually, I support the Cannons."

Much to my utter shock—and relief, too, I suppose—Will burst out laughing. "A-ha-ha! Darn! And I was so sure I'd finally found another Tornado fanatic! Well, what is it that Muggles say? "Up and adam", and all that!" "Um...n-not to sound stupid, or anything, I-I mean, it's really great you're taking this so lightly—some fans can get really carried away—but, erm...what's so—?" "What's so funny?" Again, wondering if he was perhaps a Legilimens, he answered me—still with an unbelievably silly grin on his face.

"Well, actually, believe it or not, I really do know these people, and none of them—even my own sister—supports the Tornados. So, honestly, it would've been really nice to know there was one person at Hogwarts who did like them. I mean, they start doing a little bad in the league, and fwoosh, there all their so-called fans go, right off the broomstick and out the door. But, anyway, before I get carried away—" This time I was the one who laughed. ("Hahaha! Hee-hee!") "I think you're a bit too late for that. Stopping yourself from getting carried away, I mean."

He flashed another giant grin at me. "Heh-heh, well, like I was saying, they all support different teams—Mirabelle, for instance, has been swearing allegiance to the Wigtown Wanderers since we were like, I dunno, six? And then there's Corina—" he gave a little head nod towards her, "And she's been a Holyhead Harpies fan, since, before we were born, I think." Giving another nod towards Margaret, he continued, "As for Margaret—correct me if I'm wrong—but she's been going back and forth between the Falmouth Falcons and the Fitchburg Finches for at least as long as Kingsley Shacklebolt's been Minister of Magic. Though, o' course, if they're ever pitted against each other—and they very rarely are—she'll support the Falcons. Supposedly because they're the English team, you know, and she's all swearing that given a choice, she'd of course choose her own country over a bunch of Americans. America, yeah, that's the country they're from, now I think on it, but I reckon y'knew that." he ammended jovially.

Oddly enough, I really had known that. However, grammar freak that I was, it was my instant response to correct him. "English is a language. British is a nationality. But I reckon y'knew that." I added, somewhat mockingly.

Completely out of the blue, the girl called Margaret (who'd been religiously perusing the Prophet up till then), began laughing. And then chortling. And then guffawing. "Ha-ha-ha-Has...Has anyone...ever...t-told you..." (she paused for continued laughter every few words) "That....you should really...be a Slytherin...with that kind of...superior attitude?"

My face went tomato-red. Really, only tomatoes are ever supposed to be that color. Slytherin was the last House I wanted to be Sorted into. It'd be all my worst fears confirmed. That maybe...just maybe...I wasn't any better than a Nott...or even, dare I say it, a Malfoy...it'd be the height of dishonor. I'd disgrace my entire family so badly, there would be no way I could ever go home again. I'd really be disinherited if I made Slytherin, when my entire family—the whole of the Weasley clan plus Teddy—were Gryffindors...Again, I didn't even want to consider it as an option. Making Slytherin was completely out. of. the. question. I had to be in a different House—it no longer mattered which. I just knew that I could never live it down if I got Sorted into Slytherin. As I said before, I think I'd die of shame.

"Victoire?" Will looked at me with a face full of concern that I somehow knew was genuine.

"Are you alright? You—You're lookin' a bit feverish..." If you asked me, he was the one who looked like he was about to barf up slugs. "I-I'm fine..." Total. lie. But, on the off-chance that he wasn't a Legilimens, maybe, just maybe I could get away with this little white lie. After all, it was technically true...Physically speaking, I was completely fine. Mentally? A bit shaken, I'll admit.

"Er—um...I'm just a bit tired. Think I'll get in some rest...y'know, it's gonna be a long journey, and all..." I curled up on the seat, hoping the additional acting would perhaps bridge the terribly feeble lie. "Oh—Okay." he replied a bit shakily. "I'll, uh, wake you up when we get there." I said nothing, but just kept incredibly still.

Will kept glancing back and forth from me to Which Broomstick? for a good several minutes, (as though to make sure I was still breathing) when finally, he returned to his magazine for good.

As it turned out, I had been exhausted without even realizing it. I fell asleep in record time, and by the time I awoke we were at Hogsmeade.

"Firs' years o'er here, firs' years..." A bearded man wearing a shabby coat stood at the front of the large crowd of first years. "Four to a boat, four to a boat..." he croaked.

Corina, Mirabelle, Will and I were situated in a boat, and I heard the man saying: "What? There's no'more boats?" He looked around to see that indeed, they were all full. "Com'on, loo's like you'll be taking one'a the carriages..."

The four of us craned our necks to see who was getting to ride in the carriages, and we caught a brief glimpse of Margaret, and—to my disbelief—Teddy, alongside the two boys who'd ambushed us when we'd first boarded the train.

I had just started my attempt to fathom what-on-earth Teddy would be doing sitting with those two, when Will started up about Quidditch again, and Mirabelle asked me if I wanted to take a quiz in Witch Weekly. I replied that I didn't really read Witch Weekly, and looked back at the carriage, hoping to confirm what I'd seen, but the doors had been closed, and I could no longer see inside.


The man—I'd learned his name was Hagrid—had led us inside, and now, we were all in line in alphabetical order, waiting to be Sorted. I saw Teddy at the Gryffindor table still sitting next to that miserable wanker from the train. Why is he sitting with him? My brain was working furiously to calculate an answer, but unfortunately, I was obligated to pay some attention to the Sorting, seeing as at one point I myself would actually have to go up there.

Corina was one of the first ones. She was right after "Cookarsdin, Sebastian". "Corner, Corina." Professor Macmillan called. The Sorting Hat was placed on her head, "RAVENCLAW!" was called, and it was another several kids until I recognized another from the compartment.

"Goldstein, Mirabelle." The girl who'd been reading Witch Weekly stepped on stage. The Sorting Hat seemed a bit confused, like it hadn't been expecting her to be next, and then finally came to the conclusion that yes, she was next, and shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!"

She sauntered over to the Hufflepuff table, and Will was called next. Almost as soon as the Sorting Hat touched his head, "GRYFFINDOR!" was announced, to another loud round of cheering. Honestly, it's a wonder I didn't go deaf from the noise of it all.

A few kids later, "Smith, Margaret" was sitting on the stool. 'That not-so-nice girl from the compartment who got to ride with Teddy on her way here' was what my brain identified her as. It wasn't much of a surprise to hear "SLYTHERIN!" being designated as her House.

Finally, my own name, "Weasley, Victoire" was called. Another Weasley...hmm...how many of there are you? Nevertheless, Nevertheless....hmm...You're resourceful, you could do well in Slytherin...Yes, you're a leader, too....never the follower...Anywhere but Slytherin. Please. Anywhere but there. Heh-heh...Are you sure you're not a Potter? Not Slytherin...? But you could do so well...Anywhere. Anywhere but there. Anywhere...? Well...you do have some of the right qualities for...a Gryffindor...

My heart leapt. 'Yes, yes, that's exactly what I want!' the back of my conscious mind was saying; proclaiming. However...And the stupid Sorting Hat crushed all my hopes and dreams. The House that's really best suited to you would be..."RAVENCLAW!"

And we're back to being disinherited. Ravenclaw? Ravenclaw? Even as I was heading over there, I couldn't believe it. Alright, so, true, it wasn't Slytherin. But Ravenclaw? Why not Gryffindor, or Hufflepuff, at least? Maybe I should've been a bit more specific?

I mean, sure, on the bright side, I did already have a friend there, thanks to the horribly long ride here, but that wasn't really all that comforting at the moment.

As the last student (Zabini, Karla) was made a Slytherin, the Sorting ended.


Trying not to think too hard on the matter—I was on the verge of praying not to be disinherited—I followed our four Ravenclaw prefects to the Ravenclaw common room without comment. (no matter how much Corina attempted to start up a conversation with me) I figured that for tonight, it would be best just to go to bed.

Suddenly, the knocker on the door spoke. "Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, at midday on two, and in the evening upon three, and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?" I answered without even thinking about it. "Humans—we crawl on all fours as a baby, then we walk on two feet as an adult, and finally, we hobble along with a cane in old age."

Corina, a few kids I didn't know, and even the prefects were looking at me with astonished faces, as though a first-year shouldn't have been able to answer that. "What?" I put my hands out in a 'what-did-I-do' sort of gesture, while the knocker replied: "Well-reasoned", and the door swung open.

This year was not off to a good start. But then again, when you're a part of the Weasley/Potter clan, things are rarely ever easy.


The first lesson of the morning was Flying. Since Madam Hooch still hadn't returned from her trip to Ireland, "Madam" Arya Lunadora—former Hufflepuff prefect and current Head Girl—would be teaching in her place until she returned. (and she had temporarily dropped one of her optive classes in order to be able to do so)

"So, first years. Stop waving your arm in the air!" she addressed some random student, and then returned her attention to the full class, "We'll introduce ourselves first, then fly. Understood?" It seemed to me as though she'd been refering to that same poor kid the entire time, but we all nodded our heads.

We went around in a circle, starting with me. "Victoire Weasley." Next was Corina, Will, some Jacob guy who was also in Gryffindor, Margaret, three or four more others, Mirabelle, and a bunch of people whose names I forgot no sooner than I'd heard them.

Madam Lunadora told us to simply call our brooms from the ground, and what do you know? It worked. Corina, Mirabelle, and I were on broomsticks almost instantly, though I noticed Will and Margaret were having a bit more trouble. So was that Jacob guy, come to think.

Flying around a bit, I came to realize how...slow the brooms were. I suppose Madam Lunadora was scared that if she started us off with brooms that were too fast, we'd all fall off or something. Of course, if the broom is too flipping slow, couldn't that also endanger us?

I swear, I've seen house-elves run faster than our broomsticks were going. Just as I was about to speak up, Margaret loudly inquired: "Just what kind of brooms are these?"

Madam Lunadora just raised her eyebrows at this rudely-phrased question. "Why, they're Shooting Stars, of course. What, did you think we'd be starting first years out on Firebolts?" She said "first years" like it was a form of handicap. I felt extremely insulted.

I mean, Shooting Stars? Really? Of all the out-of-date brooms she could've made us practice on, she gives us Shooting Stars? Seriously, even Dad let me ride his old Comet when Teddy and I were bored and wanted something to do. (we used to hold races to see who could catch a (make-do) Snitch faster—we'd enchant a wad of gum, and fly after it, in other words)

But, granted that I was a Weasley, I wasn't about to be so easily deterred. I pushed the stupid broom to go as fast as it could; which, okay, was really less than a quarter kilometre an hour, but I still tried, anyway.

"Well, look at that!" Madam Lunadora exclaimed. I looked around for what she could be talking about, only to see everyone staring at me. "Miss Weasley doesn't seem to have a problem using a Shooting Star!" "Excusez moi?" I spoke in my second language without thinking. That being what Mum always said when she was confused, it seemed to have come into my vocabulary unknowingly.

"Wow!" Will was looking at me like I'd just created a counter-curse to the Avada Kedavra. What goes through that boy's head..."Victoire! That's amazing! How're you doing that?" He shouted into the silence. "Huh? What—" "I thought for sure Shooting Stars were a lot slower than that! I mean, for instance, their description in Which Broomstick? says that they're—" but I didn't hear the rest of what Will said. The only thing I noticed apart from how surprisingly fast I was going, was how suddenly tired I was.

I could hear Mum singing a lullaby to Dominique, and then...nothing.


When I awoke, I was in the hospital wing. I sat bolt upright in my bed, not trying to remember how or why I was there, but simply thinking that I must be late for some class or other. I threw the covers aside, jumped out of bed, and landed smoothly on my feet.

Crack! My foot was burning. It felt like I had stepped into a fire before putting in Floo Powder. In less than a second, I was leaning on the bed for support. "Oh, no you don't....Get back in the bed, Miss Weasley..." Madam Pomfrey had come out from behind a curtain, and I was forced to accept that—whatever had happened—I was indeed injured and I needed to sit and rest my foot.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Why is it always you..." "Huh?" As far as I was aware, this was my first trip to the hospital wing. "Weasleys, honestly....Even without He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you're still spending half your time in the hospital wing..." I laughed; clearly, members of the Weasley clan had been here many times before I came along.

Quickly, my laughter turned to wheezing, then gagging and chocking. Before I knew what hit me, I was on my knees, one hand at my neck, gasping for air.

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand, and I could breathe again. "What...was....that?" I said between breaths.

"Oh...You had a nasty fall from your broomstick, I'm afraid. Honestly...teaching first-years on Shooting Stars? It's a wonder you were the only one..." "What do you mean?" Shooting Stars were slow and all, but I didn't see why I wouldn't be the only one to fall off.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in an annoyed fashion. "Shooting Stars are so slow as compared to newer brooms...I'm surprised more of you didn't get frustrated with only being able to go so far at a time...Most of your parents were Quidditch players, I daresay...flying's in your blood, of course you'd want to go faster than a millimetre a minute..." It didn't sound as though she was only referring to the Weasley clan anymore. I had a gut feeling that she was refering to the entire class. Was Quidditch really so popular a sport?

"And then, she wraps up the class by having them play Quodpot! Really! Like I was saying, most of your families are comprised of once-House Quidditch players, and she makes you play Quodpot? Insanity, insanity, that's what it is! Quodpot! With first years! How outrageous! There's three others in here; look like they've been burnt by a dragon! It's luck that you were the only one who sustained serious injuries! By Dumbledore's grave, I don't know what that Lunadora was thinking!"

I gathered that I had blacked out before they started Quodpot, but I wasn't really sure of anything else yet. "Um...Madam Pomfrey...what happened to me? Why am I in the hospital wing?" She seemed to calm down as I brought her back to reality. "Ah...oh, Miss Weasley..." she said my name as though she hadn't known I was there. "As it is...you became so frustrated with the slow speed of your Shooting Star, that in order to make it go faster, you actually transferred some of your own magic to it...The resulting fatigue caused you to black out shortly afterwards, and you fell off your broom from a good fifteen or sixteen feet in the air. You cracked your neck...deep puncture wounds...undoubtedly from where your broomstick was severed when you made contact with the ground...and you sprained your ankle as well...cuts all about your face...dreadful..."


I was in there for the duration of my next three classes, and by the time I got out, Defense Against the Dark Arts was already five minutes in. "Sorry I'm late!" I called, entering the classroom.

Professor Creevey looked up, and said: "Oh, Miss Weasley...how nice of you to join us. Now, as I was saying, the Disarming Charm is one that all first-years should know, as it is one of the basics of defense..." She drawled on and on for nearly forty minutes before she finally split us up into pairs, and let us practice it.

I was paired with Will Goldstein. (oh but of course) "Expelliarmus!" He shouted. My wand gave a little jerk in my hand, but other than that it didn't do much.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" I shouted back. Will's wand flew out of his hand, and so did the wands of the next fifteen or so kids behind him. Will himself had been thrown backwards onto the stone floor, and was now lying sprawled across the ground in an alarming fashion. "Uh! Uh! Will! Are you alright?" I bent over and reached out my hand to him.

He was grinning like an idiot. For a split-second, I thought he'd gone loopy, but then he was on his feet, exclaiming that I was "the most extraordinary witch" he'd ever met, and asking if I knew that.

Embarrassed, it was all I could manage to say: "Heh-heh...A little bit too much force there, huh?"


Our next class was Charms. Professor Goldstein was definitely Will and Mirabelle's father, whatever they said—they looked too much like him for this to be untrue.

After spending an hour or so practicing the Levitation Charm (Wingardium Leviosa), we were all aching away for lunch.

I sat with Corina at the Ravenclaw table, copying her—unbelievably detailed—notes for the classes I'd missed. (History of Magic, Herbology, and Transfiguration)

I heard footsteps, and then someone yawned behind me. "So...Is studying all you Ravenclaws do?" A voice asked me. I whipped around, my hair shifting Corina's notes into disarray.

"Teddy!" Corina looked over her shoulder, with an expression as though she had been expecting a literal bear to be right behind us. "Where'd you come from?" she demanded.

Teddy flashed her one his "I'm-up-to-no-good" grins. "Hehheh...History of Magic." Corina crossed her arms. "Is there a reason you're smirking like that? I can't really see a Gryffindor enjoying one of Professor Binns' lessons. Unless, of course, they've been up to mischief...That's what it is, isn't it?"

"Better not to ask, or they might try and get us involved." I advised. "What makes you say that? Margaret says they'd be too afraid of the teachers to try and string along a couple of first years into anything. I'm not afraid of some Gryffindors just because they decided to pick today to interrupt our studying." "You should be. You don't know Teddy like I do. I've seen him try'n get six year olds involved in his schemes." Corina waved off the comment like it was a pesky fly. "Oh, rubbish! They're only secon—" "They're third years!" I shouted at her. "But Margaret said—" "Margaret was wrong, wasn't she?"

I was bursting with fury at Margaret for daring to be so blasphemic as to claim she knew anything about Teddy. I wanted to jinx the stupid Slytherin right then and there. It was then that I noticed that Teddy was flanked by the same two guys who'd teased us on the Hogwarts Express.

Teddy, apparently having noticed my sudden expression of fury—and evidently completely ignoring the shouting match between me and Corina—decided that now would be a good time to tell me what the hell he was doing with a couple of arseholes following him everywhere. "Oh, excuse me, I forgot, introductions. Vicky, this is Geoffrey Thomas," he gestured to the Gryffindor on his left, "And this," he gestured to the Hufflepuff at his right, "Is Trevor Boot. Trevor, Geoffrey, this is Vicky Weasley, and—?"

He looked at me inquiringly. "Corina Corner." I said through gritted teeth. Teddy never, ever called me "Vicky". At least not that I was aware of. He appeared to notice my mood swing. "Vicky? What's wrong? You look like you're about to explo—" I screamed in frustration. "STOP-CALLING-ME-THAT! MY-NAME-IS-VIC-TOI-RE! Victoire, Victoire, Victoire!" And I stopped shouting in English right that second.

I was screaming; yelling at the top of my lungs in French. I was speaking so rapidly, that my words began to merge together in the effort to get them out, and I wasn't even half-sure that Teddy had understood one-sixteenth of everything I'd said.

I was breathing heavily after having shouted without drawing breath for about three minutes straight. Teddy looked as though he'd been Stunned.

The Great Hall had gone silent. Feeling everyone's eyes on us, Corina shuffled her feet under the table. Recovering himself, Teddy said: "C-Come on guys, I think there's still some shepherd pie left..." Trevor and Geoffrey followed his lead, walking down the length of the Ravenclaw table, and then turning left towards the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables.

With that settled, the surrounding chatter bustled up again, and all three boys took seat at their respective tables. "Well," Corina started up, evidently having regained her wits, "That. Was Terrible." And with that, neither she nor anyone else said another thing on the subject.


With the exception of Madam Lunadora letting us fly on Swiftsticks, Silver Arrows, and Cleansweeps during the lessons that followed (and a few rows with Margaret Smith), nothing really eventful happened during the rest of our first year.

But when you're a part of the Weasley/Potter clan, things never stay mundane for long.