I'm back! And in a new fandom. I have been so unmotivated lately (To which you reply: "Lately? It's been more than two years you loser!" and I go hide in a deep, dark corner of the universe), and incredibly busy. Blame it on school and a whole bunch of other stuff that's not worth getting into. I'm REALLY going to try to keep this one up, but don't expect super frequent updates. Every 3 to 4 weeks is my goal, since I have two other stories in the works, planning for NaNoWriMo (I finally got an idea! Success!), as well as three AP classes, preparing for All-state violin auditions, tech crew for the school musical, and figure skating. And, you know, a social life. Me? Over-scheduled? Nah...
Disclaimer: I am a sixteen year old American girl, not a forty-six year old British woman. Ergo, I am not JK Rowling and I do not own Harry Potter. The characters, major plot points, and basically anything can think of/recognize are hers.
Claimer (because I need to feel like I have the rights to something): This story is mine. All mine. Verity only has to be where Jo says she has to be for one line, and all the other plot details can go wherever I want them to. Yup, that's it. I own my own ideas. Way to state the obvious, Chasing Ideas. You should get an award.
Story: The Verity Chronicles
Premise: This story will actually give Verity a personality, since she gets exactly one line in HBP. It will mostly move forward from this point, but some chapters might be extended flashbacks into her childhood. We shall see.
This first chapter is really short. Like, painfully short. Sorry. I just felt like it was a good place to stop and going further would disrupt the flow; future chapters will be a fair bit longer, and have shorter ANs. Okey-dokey, time to stop rambling now. To the story!
July 31, 1994
Beep. Beep. Beep. The alarm clock sprang to life, determined to wake its owner. Strategically positioned next to its owner's head, the alarm was loud enough to wake her quickly and efficiently, but quiet enough so that the occupants of the other bedroom would not hear it. The clock's owner, a young woman with pale skin, rosy cheeks, a slender build, and long blonde hair slowly rolled over, letting a faint groan escape from her lips. She looked at the clock. 4:00 a.m., it read. She groaned again, slightly louder, but not too much for fear of waking the sleeping figures in the other room. She did not want to get up at such an early hour. Her aching head was begging her stay in bed just a little bit longer. One hour; two hours, tops. Her tight muscles refused to stretch themselves out. Her joints cracked as she slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position. As much as she did not want to get up, she had no choice. Staying here longer than she absolutely had to be was not an option, unless she had a death wish.
Finally, she managed to drag herself from the bed. She didn't bother to straighten the sheets; there was no point now. Quickly, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a burgundy sweatshirt bearing the word "Salem" in navy, block printing, pulled a comb through her hair, and slipped on a pair of well worn Converse sneakers. She glanced around the room, making sure that she had everything. Clothes: check. Books: check. Photographs of her friends and family in a small album: check. Money, recently withdrawn from Gringotts: check. Quill, ink, a small, portable cauldron, three Cauldron Cakes, an apple, and a water bottle. Check, check, check, check, check, and check. All these had been shrunk down and packed in an innocuous black backpack since graduation back in June, waiting for the morning that her dad had the day off and didn't have to wake up at 5:00 a.m. Finally, she grabbed her most important item, her wand. Twelve inches, made of cherry with a dragon heartstring core, it had served her well over the past six and a half years.
She slowly opened the bedroom door and gingerly stepped out into the hallway. She padded down the steps, skipping over the sixth one, which was known to squeak no matter how many charms were placed upon it. Arriving in the large kitchen, she sat down at the wooden table. Streaks of the palest orange were just beginning to appear in the eastern sky. To the west, however, the landscape was deep blue and speckled with stars. She could see the impeccably maintained lawn surrounding the large farmhouse. The flowers were in full bloom, and the herb garden was bursting with plenty of useful herbs for healing and potion brewing. If she squinted, she could see the Morgan's house, where she had dutifully traveled each day for seven years for her elementary level schooling. Her house was wonderful. Large, airy, and bright, it had been a wonderful place to grow up. She hated to leave it, but she had to. She took a deep breath. This was the most difficult part. And the most crucial.
She slipped a piece of parchment from her bag, dipped the exquisite eagle feather quill she'd received as a graduation present into the inkwell, and began to write.
Dear Mom and Dad, she began.
First, let me tell you how very thankful I am for these past seventeen and a half years. You have always been so caring, so kind, and so concerned for my well-being. That is what makes it so hard for me to write this letter. Like it or not, the day you've been fearing for months has finally come, and I'm too much of a coward to say goodbye to your faces. Can you blame me, really? You would only try to stop me, but you can't, and I would feel even worse than I do now. I have never intended to hurt you through my actions. I have to do this.
I tried so hard to be the daughter you wanted. I studied practically non-stop for my O.W.L.s and my N.E.W.T.s, and I did well on them, you saw that. My teachers liked me, I had friends that you approved of, and I became valedictorian, but it wasn't what I wanted. I wasn't happy. Yes, in my fifth year I told Headmistress Walton that I wanted to become a lawyer, just like you, dad. Perhaps that was my biggest mistake; I lead you both astray. I always knew that I didn't want to go to college or jump straight into a career, I always knew that I didn't want to become a lawyer, and I always knew that I didn't plan to stay around very long after graduation. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I was scared.
I was so very scared. I knew that wasn't what you wanted for me. I knew I'd disappoint you. I knew you wouldn't be able to look at me the same way ever again. You believe in going to college, getting a good job, raising a family, following a traditional path without straying in the least. I believe in trying new things, taking chances, and constantly striving to learn and discover. Your opinions, your acceptance, they matter so much to me, and I know that I risk losing them both with my decision. That's why I hid my true desires from you for so long. I wanted our last few months together to be peaceful and loving, not filled with the awkward silence, sideways glances, and subtle hints that I should stay that have become our reality. I never wished for that to happen. I only want you to understand, so please try.
Granted, most parents would be surprised by my choice; I do not blame you for your reactions. I understand that I chose neither the traditional path nor the easiest one. My chosen path never caught on here in America, and it went out of fashion in Europe over a hundred years ago. But it's what I want; I hope you can see that. I think you've always known that I've never been one to be tied down; that I'd always want to keep moving, to learn more, and to see more, but you constantly hoped that it was only a phase, something I would grow out of someday. I'm sorry to shatter that dream, but it's not a phase. It's simply who I am. I want to take time, travel the world, see new sights, meet witches and wizards from other cultures, and get an idea of what I really want before I settle down. I want to go to England and watch the Quidditch World Cup. I want to study wandlore from one of the old masters, like Ollivander or Gregorovitch. I want to study dragons in Romania at the world's largest dragon preserve. I want to learn advanced logic and riddles from the Sphinxes in Egypt. I want to learn to speak Mermish, converse with alchemists, and go on a chimera hunt. I want to see the world and I want to find my place in it.
I don't know when I'll be back, to be honest. How can someone put a time limit on self-discovery? I will send letters frequently, fire call you when I can. Maybe you could even come to visit me sometime. I bet you'd both love Paris. I'll let you know if I ever go there. I'll be leaving from the D.C. International Portkey Terminal at 5:12 this morning, probably before you both wake up. I plan to go to London first. I want to see Diagon Alley, watch the final match of the World Cup, go to Hogsmeade, and maybe even speak with some of the esteemed professors of Hogwarts. I don't know where I'll go from there, but I do know this, and I want you to know it too: I love you. I'll always love you. I'll never stop loving you. This is goodbye, but only for now.
Love, your daughter,
Verity Elizabeth Collins
Verity rolled up the parchment, tied it off with a piece of dark purple ribbon, and placed it on the center of the table, propped up against a vase of wildflowers that she'd picked from the meadow behind the house the night before. She cleaned up a drop of ink she'd spilled on the otherwise spotless table, pulled on her backpack, and wiped a single tear from her eye. She checked her watch. 4:28 a.m. That gave her almost forty-five minutes to check in at the International Terminal and find a kiosk that sold coffee, preferably strong coffee. She had just one thing left to do now. She gathered her long hair into a low pony tail at the nape of her neck, leaving a small front section free. Without hesitation, she sliced her wand definitively just below the hair tie, and just above her eyebrow on the front section. She glanced in the mirror, satisfied with what she saw. This wasn't Verity. This wasn't "that nice, smart girl" that the other mothers were fond of talking about. She wasn't the valedictorian of the Salem Witches' Institute. She wasn't daughter of esteemed magical lawyer, John Patrick Collins. She wasn't the daughter of Mary Gwendolyn Collins, respected housewife, twice featured in "Magical Housekeeping Monthly." This was new Verity, confident Verity, world-travelling Verity. If she knew one thing, it was this: her life would never be the same again. Walking out of the front door of the house, she spun on the spot, Apparating into nothingness and refusing to look back.
Review? Please? I don't care if you hated it, though I'd like actual feedback rather than flames. I'll give you virtual cookies and cake and stuff!
-Chasing Ideas