Hello there, this is my first ever fanfic (!) and I am so excited.
Please enjoy, and if you have a spare minute, I will literally appreciate it forever if you Review (please avoid bad reviews, however constructive criticism is appreciated)
I'm still in the process of learning, so please be kind, and I hope you enjoy.
Oh, and this is just the first chapter, I have a lot more planned.
Also, just a little note/warning, I have changed a few of the characters, so they may not have every single detail correct, and also, some characters who may have passed away in the books are alive in this (such as Snape and Tonks, because they are some of my favourite characters)
I closed my eyes, imagining the grand towering walls of Hogwarts, which my parents, former students, had told me about so often. I picture the Gryffindor common room, and my heart ached. I would be attending my first year at Hogwarts in 2 weeks, but what if I wasn't put in Gryffindor? I wouldn't be able to stand the embarrassment of being put in Slytherin. My parents had reassured me that their love for me would never change, and while I believe them, I couldn't help the butterflies that crept into my stomach, unavoidable and annoying. I looked around my bedroom, admiring the leaning bookcases, filled to the brim with stories that both my mother and grandfather had written. Growing up in a magical word had been nothing but amazing. I had asked my parents many times to recount their days in the schools walls, regretting the fact that I would never be able to, like them, go to a school with Albus Dumbledore as the headmaster, or have harry potter, ron Weasly and Hermione granger in my class. Still, I crossed the days off the calendar, longing to be able to write my own memories on such hallowed grounds.
One person, who I did not regret having never met, was Voldemort. My parents were a bit more reluctant when it came to telling me these stories, for they were worried it would frighten me, although however much the cold red eyes haunted my dreams, I still longed to hear of my parents bravery, the room of requirement, anything and everything to do with Hogwarts and The War. My suitcase was already packed, waiting by the door of my room. I was too excited, my parents joked, claiming that once I got there, and they gave me the homework, I wouldn't be jumping for joy. Yet, I could still see the twinkle in their eyes, even as they recounted the bad things to do with Hogwarts, and had come to realise that they missed it. My father, known to most as Neville Longbottom, worked at the ministry, even though he had been offered a teaching job. His reason for turning it down was that he didn't want to teach at a school that I was learning at, for fear that I would be teased. To be honest, I didn't mind either way. Friends would be a bonus at Hogwarts, but if not, I planned to spend every free minute reading or writing about the days happenings.
"dinner" my mother called up, and I prepared myself for the surprise that awaited. My father was the cook of this household, but occasionally my mother, Luna Lovegood, famed writer, dared to master the kitchen. She came up with the oddest concoctions, including Bertie Botts every flavour bean pie, chocolate frog sandwich, Sagnora soup, a weird combination of herbs all mixed together to make a strange chunky soup. I came hurrying down the stairs to see my father at the table, while my mother served some sort of pigmy plant casserole. I looked at her long, golden hair, something that I fortunately had in common with her. Her violet eyes were bright, excited, waiting to see the verdict. I had gotten my mother's looks, and my father's clumsiness. I had the same long, blonde hair, white as an orchid in summer and instead of violet, I had pale blue eyes. My skin was fair, yet generally covered with bruises from my infamous falls. Like my father, I had two left feet, and I could trip over anything and everything.
I settled myself down into the odd looking chair, and picked up my fork. My house was a strange mix of things picked up at auctions, and was filled with bright, colourful objects. Nothing was ordinary, and I couldn't have loved it more. There were 5 topsy turvey stories. My parents room was on the second level, mine on the third, my mother's study where she writes was on the fourth and the attic, which only the bravest entered, was on the top. The dining room/living room and kitchen was on the ground floor, and had a front and a back door which lead out into rolling hills. It was gorgeous, and I adored it. My father generally used floo powder to get to work, and I spent my days either studying my school books (which I had gotten as soon as magically possible) or riding my broom, free from the prying eyes of muggles. Our nights were usually spent by the fire, laughing, telling stories and singing songs. I would miss my family with all my heart when I went away to school, but I knew deep down it was worth it. To be able to protect my endearing and slightly crazy mother, and silly and loving father, I would have to be taught by the best, and that meant going to Hogwarts. My mother had told me that there was a rumour going around that Hermione Granger would be teaching this year, and I could barely wait to see if it was true.
I swallowed, and smiled, slightly surprised by the fact that it tasted half decent. My mother, seeing this, clapped her hands and kissed my father on the lips, when he too nodded and smiled. The way my parents looked at each other was slightly sickening, but in a sweet way.
"Come on aurora, off to bed, if I'm not mistaken, tomorrow is the quidditch world cup" my father pulled out two tickets from his coat pockets when I had finished my dinner. We had been waiting for weeks to see if he could get tickets, and grinning like a giant, I hugged my father. There were only two tickets, because my mother wasn't all a big fan of quidditch games, preferring to watch from the comfort of her own home. It was more of a dad and I thing.
"Best seats in the house" he exclaimed around my hug, and while I knew this couldn't possibly be true, because the best seats in the house would be actually playing, I hugged him even tighter. I had been going to quidditch games with my father since I could remember, and while he may not have been much of a player, I couldn't wait to try out for the school team. My parents warned me not to get my hopes up, because it is very unusual for first years to get a spot on the team, but nevertheless, they still brought me a brilliant broom for my birthday so I could practice. One of the main reasons I loved quidditch so much was that it didn't involve walking, so I didn't have to worry about tripping over. Which is completely irrational, and ironic, considering if you fall off your broom it's going to hurt a lot more than just tripping over, but I had been practicing for so long and hard, that it had been years since I had fallen off my broom. I love the way my parents smile proudly at me when I fly for hours on end, and don't fall off.
"Oh dad, it is going to be brilliant, I know it" I hugged him some more
"I know ash, I know, I'm betting on the Bulgarians" my father claimed, ash referring to middle name Ashlen. It was my nickname, sort of.
"oh puh-lease, the Chudley Cannons are going to make the Bulgarians look like garden gnomes" before he could reply, I kissed both him and my mother on the cheek, told them goodnight, and raced up to my room, taking every second step, which had taken me years to master. All of our steps were different shapes, sizes, colours, even textures. Some played music when you stepped on them, some shook, it was all a bunch of craziness, but the craziness was mine. And I loved it. After brushing my teeth and laying out my clothes for tomorrow (all bright orange, which was a strange combination with my hair) I slipped into my bed, turned off the light, and dreamt of holding the quidditch world cup, my parents proudly beside me. However, just like with most of my dreams, bright red eyes were there, always watching, waiting, for what though I did not know.
