Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various other publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast book, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Generation Gap
Chapter One:
~Shannon Potter~
"Shannon, get up already! It's quarter to eleven!"
I groaned and rubbed my bright green eyes as I stretched in my bed. I gazed around my room and remembered I didn't have my glasses on. So, I did the only logical thing to do. I closed my eyes. By the way, my name is Shannon Potter.
I don't think I fell asleep, but I could sense a presence over me. Praying in my head that it wasn't anything I didn't want to see, I opened my eyes. God wasn't with me that day.
"Mornin', Sunshine!" my dad, Harry Potter, said with a really bad fake Southern-American accent and a large toothy grin. Oh, and he was about three inches from my face.
I growled (yes, growled) and pushed my father with as much strength as I could muster, which wasn't much, seeing as it was the ungodly hour of the morning, that being 10:50.
"Shannon, get up," my dad said with a voice that was full of English heritage as he straightened up.
"No," I muttered, flopping onto my stomach and burying my head under my pillow.
"Well, then I'm afraid that I am going to have to help you get up," my dad said. "Wingardium Leviosa."
My hands flew to grasp each side of my mattress, but I was to slow. Before I knew it, I was floating about four feet above my bed. I crossed my arms defiantly.
"Put me down!" I demanded.
"I don't know; this is pretty entertaining," my dad said as I flipped upside-down.
"Mum!" I screeched.
My mother, Leslie Potter, ran into my bedroom. In her arms was a large basket of laundry. She surveyed the scene with amusement gleaming in her eyes. "Yes, is there a problem?"
"Mu-um!" I whined.
"Oh, all right," she relented. "Harry, put our daughter down."
"But-"
"Now."
"Oh, all right," my dad said and with a flick of his wand, I was back on my bed.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I despise my father. Not only does he torment me in the morning, but he was kind enough to give me his looks. Not only did I inherit his bright green eyes and glasses (although, during the school year, I use a charm so I don't have to wear them during the day), but I also am short, about five foot three at sixteen-years-old, have jet-black hair, but I make sure that it's tamable, otherwise fur would fly, and I have his talent on the Quidditch field. Although, that isn't exactly a bad thing, since it scored me a spot on the Gryffindor house team as Seeker and Captain.
"Thank you, Father," I said, glaring menacingly at him.
"No problem, honey," my dad said, ruffling my hair. "Now get up."
I made a face at him as he left the room. My mum, who stayed behind, walked over to my bed and placed the basket down. I noticed that it was full of my school robes and other much dreaded clothing that I would be forced to fold.
"Here you go, sweetie," my mum said. "That should be everything you need for school. Make sure that you fold it good and put it in your trunk."
"Will do, Mum," I said, standing up and walking over to my closet to get dressed.
"Good," she replied. "Oh, and Shannon?"
"Yeah?" I asked, pulling out a purple tank top.
"I didn't want to say this around your sister, but could you do me and your dad a favour and look out for her?" my mum said. "Also, could you explain to her that Gryffindor isn't the only house that she has to get into? I know that you're in it and I know how that whole House pride thing goes. . . " she trailed off. My mum was in Ravenclaw, while Dad was in Gryffindor, THE BEST HOUSE! WOO HOO! Right. . . .
"Yeah, I will, Mum," I said with a wave of my hand. "Don't worry about it."
"Ok, thanks, Shannon," my mum said with a smile and then left.
"Kenzie!" I shouted as I pulled off my pajama-shirt and put on the purple one. By the way, the Potter household does a lot of yelling. It comes standard. Our neighbors, the Weasleys, come over every once in a while, just to make sure that no one died or something.
My sister came bounding down the steps, loudly, I might add, and ran into my room. She jumped onto my bed instantly and started bouncing on it. "Yeah, Shannon?"
"Look, Mackenzie," I said as I put on my shorts. "If you get into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor, no one's going to think any less of you or anything like that, just so you know. Now, if you get into Slytherin, Dad'll disown you."
"What?" Mackenzie said as she stopped bouncing and landed on her knees.
"Just kidding, Kenzie," I said with a wink. "Besides, you're a Potter. You won't get into Slytherin. At least I hope."
"Shannon, shut up!" Kenzie said and stuck her tongue out at me. She left my room in a huff. My work there was done.
I left my room as I put on my shoes, quite an interesting task to do, tying your shoes as you walk, and jumped down the stairwell as I always did. Ah, I love being agile.
"I'm going to Chloe's!" I yelled as I walked out of my house.
~Chloe Weasley~
I was packing my trunk, well, no, throwing my stuff into it, when my dad burst into the room (again, not bothering to knock). "Yesssss?" I asked, attempting to be polite for once. "Are you packed yet?" he demanded. "Um, well, ah," I pretended to think it over. "Yes?"
"In other words, no," he translated, brows drawing together. "You'd better get going then," he admonished. Whispering something and pointing his wand towards my trunk, all my clothes folded themselves and floated back towards my trunk. "You've got to teach me that spell," I told him. He laughed, then said, "And make cleaning your room easier for you? Not a chance."
And that's how it's always been with me and my dad. A love/hate relationship that usually ends up with me getting grounded 90% of the time. It's kind of a game. Most of the time, he wins, and sometimes I win; and the next day we start all over again. But no matter how many times we'd rehearsed this charade, everything always got better when I left for Hogwarts.
Ever since my first year, I've kind of fell in love with that old castle. Well not IN LOVE, but you know what I mean. There hasn't been one day of my life that I don't remember getting my first letter. I'd gone over to Shannon Potter's (she's practically my sister), and we were ecstatic that we were going too. My older brother, Sam , had gone the year before, and he'd been especially proud that his stupid sister had managed to get into the school. Of course, I'd socked him for saying that back then.
The fact of the matter was, I couldn't get enough of the niceties of being a witch: the spells, charms, and other things I could learn. So I threw myself into my studies, and for a Ravenclaw, I'd done pretty well for myself. Of course, no matter how fascinated I was or how much I could do had ever stopped me from trying out my spells. It didn't matter time, or place, or where we were either. Shannon and I had an on-going secret battle of who could cause the most harmless (well to us) trouble, and though she was more reluctant to practice it, I did it without abandon.
We were never stupid about it though, all of our crusades had a worthy cause. And now, a sixth year, I couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts. The only drawback? Shannon was a Gryffindor. We never mention the rift that this presented between us, but one way or another, it was always there. From the very beginning, I'd never really hated being a Ravenclaw; true it was kind of too bad, not being able to room with my best friend, but I was ok with it.
I'd never envisioned the shame it would cause my dad (i.e., probably the reason for how we are today), since I'd been the only Weasley of any of our ancestors not to be in Gryffindor. From the very beginning, I'd never really hated being a Ravenclaw; true it was kind of too bad, not being able to room with my best friend, but I was ok with it. Whenever we visited my Uncles, it was Sam who they bragged about, never me, and let me tell you: that hurts. But I've buried it, and I vowed that it wouldn't ruin a year of Hogwarts for me.
"Chlo!" my brother burst into the room, and like all males in this house, didn't knock. He was a seventh year this year, and no matter how many times he'd pretend that I didn't exist, I had to admit he cool as far as brothers go. He had oval, silver framed glasses, freckles (which I had, too), and the always-inherited, red Weasley hair. Unlike mine, his wasn't curly.
"Let me guess," I said, "Dad wants to know if I'm packed yet." Sam grinned broadly. "Good guess, but, no," he answered, chuckling. "I just though you might wanna know that Shannon is here." No sooner had he finished his sentence, the short (compared to my taller height) black haired friend appeared at the door. Not that no one really minded, of course. All of us were used to her and my godfather (Harry Potter, like you don't know who that is...) and his family just walk in.
Shannon came and flopped onto my bed, sitting beside me.
"You're not going to believe this-" she began.
I looked pointedly at Sam, hoping he'd get the hint.
"Uh, Sammie," I said sweetly.
"Yeah," he asked, smirking, knowing I couldn't do any magic to get him to leave.
I ran to slam the door shut. "Sometimes the old ways are best," I admitted, grumbling.
"What is it?" I asked.
Author's Note: Just to make sure no one got confused, the point of views change throughout this story. Nikki (Piffany) writes as Chloe Weasley and Jamie (Cosette) writes as Shannon Potter. Thanks for reading and your feedback is welcome!
Generation Gap
Chapter One:
~Shannon Potter~
"Shannon, get up already! It's quarter to eleven!"
I groaned and rubbed my bright green eyes as I stretched in my bed. I gazed around my room and remembered I didn't have my glasses on. So, I did the only logical thing to do. I closed my eyes. By the way, my name is Shannon Potter.
I don't think I fell asleep, but I could sense a presence over me. Praying in my head that it wasn't anything I didn't want to see, I opened my eyes. God wasn't with me that day.
"Mornin', Sunshine!" my dad, Harry Potter, said with a really bad fake Southern-American accent and a large toothy grin. Oh, and he was about three inches from my face.
I growled (yes, growled) and pushed my father with as much strength as I could muster, which wasn't much, seeing as it was the ungodly hour of the morning, that being 10:50.
"Shannon, get up," my dad said with a voice that was full of English heritage as he straightened up.
"No," I muttered, flopping onto my stomach and burying my head under my pillow.
"Well, then I'm afraid that I am going to have to help you get up," my dad said. "Wingardium Leviosa."
My hands flew to grasp each side of my mattress, but I was to slow. Before I knew it, I was floating about four feet above my bed. I crossed my arms defiantly.
"Put me down!" I demanded.
"I don't know; this is pretty entertaining," my dad said as I flipped upside-down.
"Mum!" I screeched.
My mother, Leslie Potter, ran into my bedroom. In her arms was a large basket of laundry. She surveyed the scene with amusement gleaming in her eyes. "Yes, is there a problem?"
"Mu-um!" I whined.
"Oh, all right," she relented. "Harry, put our daughter down."
"But-"
"Now."
"Oh, all right," my dad said and with a flick of his wand, I was back on my bed.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I despise my father. Not only does he torment me in the morning, but he was kind enough to give me his looks. Not only did I inherit his bright green eyes and glasses (although, during the school year, I use a charm so I don't have to wear them during the day), but I also am short, about five foot three at sixteen-years-old, have jet-black hair, but I make sure that it's tamable, otherwise fur would fly, and I have his talent on the Quidditch field. Although, that isn't exactly a bad thing, since it scored me a spot on the Gryffindor house team as Seeker and Captain.
"Thank you, Father," I said, glaring menacingly at him.
"No problem, honey," my dad said, ruffling my hair. "Now get up."
I made a face at him as he left the room. My mum, who stayed behind, walked over to my bed and placed the basket down. I noticed that it was full of my school robes and other much dreaded clothing that I would be forced to fold.
"Here you go, sweetie," my mum said. "That should be everything you need for school. Make sure that you fold it good and put it in your trunk."
"Will do, Mum," I said, standing up and walking over to my closet to get dressed.
"Good," she replied. "Oh, and Shannon?"
"Yeah?" I asked, pulling out a purple tank top.
"I didn't want to say this around your sister, but could you do me and your dad a favour and look out for her?" my mum said. "Also, could you explain to her that Gryffindor isn't the only house that she has to get into? I know that you're in it and I know how that whole House pride thing goes. . . " she trailed off. My mum was in Ravenclaw, while Dad was in Gryffindor, THE BEST HOUSE! WOO HOO! Right. . . .
"Yeah, I will, Mum," I said with a wave of my hand. "Don't worry about it."
"Ok, thanks, Shannon," my mum said with a smile and then left.
"Kenzie!" I shouted as I pulled off my pajama-shirt and put on the purple one. By the way, the Potter household does a lot of yelling. It comes standard. Our neighbors, the Weasleys, come over every once in a while, just to make sure that no one died or something.
My sister came bounding down the steps, loudly, I might add, and ran into my room. She jumped onto my bed instantly and started bouncing on it. "Yeah, Shannon?"
"Look, Mackenzie," I said as I put on my shorts. "If you get into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff instead of Gryffindor, no one's going to think any less of you or anything like that, just so you know. Now, if you get into Slytherin, Dad'll disown you."
"What?" Mackenzie said as she stopped bouncing and landed on her knees.
"Just kidding, Kenzie," I said with a wink. "Besides, you're a Potter. You won't get into Slytherin. At least I hope."
"Shannon, shut up!" Kenzie said and stuck her tongue out at me. She left my room in a huff. My work there was done.
I left my room as I put on my shoes, quite an interesting task to do, tying your shoes as you walk, and jumped down the stairwell as I always did. Ah, I love being agile.
"I'm going to Chloe's!" I yelled as I walked out of my house.
~Chloe Weasley~
I was packing my trunk, well, no, throwing my stuff into it, when my dad burst into the room (again, not bothering to knock). "Yesssss?" I asked, attempting to be polite for once. "Are you packed yet?" he demanded. "Um, well, ah," I pretended to think it over. "Yes?"
"In other words, no," he translated, brows drawing together. "You'd better get going then," he admonished. Whispering something and pointing his wand towards my trunk, all my clothes folded themselves and floated back towards my trunk. "You've got to teach me that spell," I told him. He laughed, then said, "And make cleaning your room easier for you? Not a chance."
And that's how it's always been with me and my dad. A love/hate relationship that usually ends up with me getting grounded 90% of the time. It's kind of a game. Most of the time, he wins, and sometimes I win; and the next day we start all over again. But no matter how many times we'd rehearsed this charade, everything always got better when I left for Hogwarts.
Ever since my first year, I've kind of fell in love with that old castle. Well not IN LOVE, but you know what I mean. There hasn't been one day of my life that I don't remember getting my first letter. I'd gone over to Shannon Potter's (she's practically my sister), and we were ecstatic that we were going too. My older brother, Sam , had gone the year before, and he'd been especially proud that his stupid sister had managed to get into the school. Of course, I'd socked him for saying that back then.
The fact of the matter was, I couldn't get enough of the niceties of being a witch: the spells, charms, and other things I could learn. So I threw myself into my studies, and for a Ravenclaw, I'd done pretty well for myself. Of course, no matter how fascinated I was or how much I could do had ever stopped me from trying out my spells. It didn't matter time, or place, or where we were either. Shannon and I had an on-going secret battle of who could cause the most harmless (well to us) trouble, and though she was more reluctant to practice it, I did it without abandon.
We were never stupid about it though, all of our crusades had a worthy cause. And now, a sixth year, I couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts. The only drawback? Shannon was a Gryffindor. We never mention the rift that this presented between us, but one way or another, it was always there. From the very beginning, I'd never really hated being a Ravenclaw; true it was kind of too bad, not being able to room with my best friend, but I was ok with it.
I'd never envisioned the shame it would cause my dad (i.e., probably the reason for how we are today), since I'd been the only Weasley of any of our ancestors not to be in Gryffindor. From the very beginning, I'd never really hated being a Ravenclaw; true it was kind of too bad, not being able to room with my best friend, but I was ok with it. Whenever we visited my Uncles, it was Sam who they bragged about, never me, and let me tell you: that hurts. But I've buried it, and I vowed that it wouldn't ruin a year of Hogwarts for me.
"Chlo!" my brother burst into the room, and like all males in this house, didn't knock. He was a seventh year this year, and no matter how many times he'd pretend that I didn't exist, I had to admit he cool as far as brothers go. He had oval, silver framed glasses, freckles (which I had, too), and the always-inherited, red Weasley hair. Unlike mine, his wasn't curly.
"Let me guess," I said, "Dad wants to know if I'm packed yet." Sam grinned broadly. "Good guess, but, no," he answered, chuckling. "I just though you might wanna know that Shannon is here." No sooner had he finished his sentence, the short (compared to my taller height) black haired friend appeared at the door. Not that no one really minded, of course. All of us were used to her and my godfather (Harry Potter, like you don't know who that is...) and his family just walk in.
Shannon came and flopped onto my bed, sitting beside me.
"You're not going to believe this-" she began.
I looked pointedly at Sam, hoping he'd get the hint.
"Uh, Sammie," I said sweetly.
"Yeah," he asked, smirking, knowing I couldn't do any magic to get him to leave.
I ran to slam the door shut. "Sometimes the old ways are best," I admitted, grumbling.
"What is it?" I asked.
Author's Note: Just to make sure no one got confused, the point of views change throughout this story. Nikki (Piffany) writes as Chloe Weasley and Jamie (Cosette) writes as Shannon Potter. Thanks for reading and your feedback is welcome!
