My father was a wizard, and my mother was what you call here in England Muggle. They separated when I was five, and my mother took me to live with her in France. I grew in a house in the Loire Valley, with a housekeeper named Maire, while my mother jetted across the world. Though Maire was pretty much the only person I talked to, I was content in my isolation.

But then I turned eleven and the bubble burst: I would have to go to school at my father's alma mater, Hogwarts. My mother, or rather, her lawyers (because really, I seriously doubt my mother would take much of any time out of her life to devote to me) fought tooth and nail, but I went.

I hated Hogwarts. I hated Scotland. I grew up in a place where it's warm year-round, and you can run around the vineyards and pluck grapes as you go. Basking in the sun was all I had ever known. Hogwarts was damp, with a chill so cold you could feel it in your bones. It rained and rained and rained, unless it decided to snow, and then it would ice over everything around.

The people were even worse. Now, I had known that my awkward stage came earlier than that of most, and I wasn't moving through it with grace, but I was always assured that at the end of it all, I would look like my mother. Possibly even better than. Here at Hogwarts I was teased for my looks. They didn't know who my mother was, or else I think they might have stopped. At the forefront of these games was Freddie Weasley, a sadistic bastard who thought everything was a laugh. His family carried much weight here in England, and so many were willing to lay down their lives for him.

Ravenclaws were too above it all to help me. Gryffindors abhorred me on principle. Whoever said Hufflepuffs were nice was horribly, horribly wrong. Those from my own House did not associate with me simply because my blood wasn't pure enough.

My English sucked. They teased me for it. I was clumsy. They laughed every time I fell. But the worst of it came in Potions. I was a very bright student, but Professor Slughorn hadn't bothered to learn my name when he started singing my praises. I was now Charles Martin, Potions genius. Freddie Weasley had a field day with it.

I suppose it was sometime around Halloween that I began my midnight walks around the castle. I would slip out of the Slytherin dormitories as everyone else slept, and walk around the Hogwarts castle. I explored the castle, every nook and cranny, and these hidden places became my havens. Sometime in mid-November, while I was on one of my walks, a boy walked out from the shadows and fell into step beside me. He was tall, like I was, and he had messy black hair, freckles, and kind brown eyes. I had seen him often with Freddie Weasley, and so when I saw him I flinched. But the blows I had anticipated never actually came. Instead he walked with. Plain and simple walking.

It became a nightly thing for us, the walks. Sometimes we would talk. He talked about his family and his father, and how Freddie just never really had a concept of boundaries, or that he knew he wasn't at all book smart but he wanted to play Quidditch when he grew up. I told him about Maire and my mother, and the Loire Valley and the mare that belonged to the neighboring farm was going to give birth, and the how the foal would be mine. He helped me refine my English. I taught him raunchy French words. In the daytime, he convinced Freddie to stop picking on me so much. I showed him the tips and tricks of Transfiguration. He tried to teach me the English Quidditch teams, while I tried to show him how to correctly say my name. We only spoke to one another at night, but for awhile those walks were my only hope.

While all of this was happening, my mother's lawyers had located one of my mother's associates, who also happened to be a witch. They asked her where she sent her children to school, and the associate said Beauxbatons. The rest is history.

I walked with the boy as usual, and went to sleep as usual. When my roommates woke up, my belongings were gone, and all that remained in the bed were sheets, folded neatly on a pile on the bed. I was already so far gone.

At Beauxbatons, there are three Maisons. These are Papillonlisse, Bellefeuille, and my own Ombrelune.

The purple butterfly of Papillonlisse are naturally gifted in the arts. They are very social people, and tend to focus on becoming better people instead of academics. Very introverted, they are romantics. Papillonlisse are well-liked by most everyone.

Bellefeuille, the five leaves, are very versed in nature and in outdoor activities. They tend to not be the best students, but are still willing to work hard. They are sensitive to the emotions to those around them, and are brave and loyal to their friends and family. Bellefeuille members are especially liked by students.

The final Maison is Ombrelune. Our banner is the dark smirking moon. We are ambitieux et astucieux, ambitious and cunning. We rarely show emotion, and tend to be very logical in our thinking. It is said that we strive for power above all else. The things we are most notorious for? Our manipulative natures and our complex and cruel revenge plots.

I think there is much more to us than that. While we don't tend to like dealing with emotions as a general rule (Evette is the only exception), and we tend to plot things, we are not all evil or nefarious or any such related adjectives. I think we here in Ombrelune want to be respected and appreciated more than anything. Really, I believe that's all any human wants; it's just that Ombrelunes have rather unorthodox methods with this.

I arrived at Beauxbatons in the middle of the night, was sorted and fitted for robes at about three in the morning. I received a schedule, and went to bed. In the process I woke up one of my dorm mates, my soon-to-be-best-friend Amalotte.

She peeked her head through the navy-and-black bed hangings, and I remember even then her eyes, lips, face gleamed in the dark. Amalotte offered to help me unpack my things. And then, for whatever reason, we were remarkably closer to each other than the other two girls. I still don't quite understand it.

Amandine and Evette du Toit, the daughters of my mother's associate and also fraternal twins, woke up at seven. It became obvious that Amandine was the leader, Evette was the drama queen, and Amalotte was the mediator of their bickerings. We became fast friends. While there were other girls around, we kept to ourselves. In typical Ombrelune fashion, we plotted. We swore that as soon as we swapped out our First Year berets for hats, we would be loved. It was extravagant, certainly, but we were Ombrelunes. The du Toits being who they were, and my being who I was, of course we would be gorgeous when the awkward stage was over. We had grown about two and a half feet in three years, so we knew it was almost over. Amalotte didn't have our background but we were sure she was like us.

And so we planned and plotted. From Christmastime all the way through August.

When September third rolled around, and we clacked into the entrance hall with hats on our heads and heels on our feet, no one knew who we were. From that day onward, we were known as the nice Ombrelunes. No one crossed us (because even if they show emotion, Ombrelunes were put in Ombrelune for a reason), but we were smart enough to be loved by teachers, and witty and fun enough to be loved by students.

In under a year, I had gone from being Charlie MartN (because that was how those stupid Brits pronounced my last name) to one of those girls. You know them, the ones that everyone knows and loves? It was quite a charade. It still amazes me that we were able to pul it all off.

But from time to time, especially when Amalotte and I were walking back from Dueling, I thought of the messy-haired boy with the warm brown eyes. I never really forgot him.

In case you were wondering, and I know you were, my name is Charlize Martin. Yes, I am the Charlize Martin. Yes, my mother was Anne-Sofie Martin, the famous Muggle supermodel. Yes, my best friends are the model Amandine du Toit, the actress Evette du Toit, and the orchestral director Amalotte Seguin. Yes, my friends can be very ostentatious with their titles. And yes, the boy with the messy hair was James Potter.

I'm telling this story because it needs to be told. You'll hear many variations on the story, and I think it's best you hear it from the source.

This a story of love, friendship, parenthood, and ideals that we and others set for ourselves. But most of all, it's the tale of the man who dared venture into those uncharted lands on the dark side of the moon.

A/N: New story! Yeah! I'm just going to say that I love this story and these characters more than any other story, and I think you will too. I've been working on this story for years now, and now I'm just putting it into HPFF. It's a good, fun, dramatic story; far less angsty than Fancie. Since I've resolved to write shorted Author Notes, this is all I'm going to type here.

Adios, mes amigos,

Simone