Disclaimers: We own NOTHING except Azelia, the new WWWs, and the plot!

Chapter 1: Privit Drive? What kind of name is that?

Written by The Loards

Azelia watched the houses, trees, and cars fly by outside her window as she and her parents traveled along the road in a plain old muggle car. Her mother and father had already seen the house they were moving into, but she hadn't yet. All Azelia could think about were the people and places she had left behind.

Azelia hadn't wanted to move away from her perfect life and comfortable home in southern France, but she wasn't given a choice. She had been one of the five students from her school accepted into the Cross-Nations Connection program that had been started to introduce the young wizards and witches to their peers from other countries.

The little lump in her throat grew and as the car turned on to a small, picture perfect street, and into the driveway of a picture perfect house in your average picture perfect neighborhood. The number six shining like it had just been polished on the post of the freshly painted white picket fence. It looked more like a post card, or an advertisement than their cozy house in France. Everything appeared perfectly normal as Azelia and her family stepped out of the car; it always did at Privit Drive.

Harry was up in his room, pretending he didn't exist—yet again. There were new neighbors supposedly moving into old Mrs. Figg's house today. Harry didn't know why they had chosen her house, because according to the rumors he heard (via his aunt) they were richer than the Dursleys could ever hope to be. Aunt Petunia hadn't put it quite that way, but what she meant was clear. But worse than being rich, they had a daughter, a daughter who was probably just as spoiled and selfish as Dudley. After all, she was French. All Harry could think about was the way those bloody Buebaxtons had dressed and acted.

Harry was locked in his room because, as usual, the Dursleys wanted to impress these people, and so, of course, they didn't want Harry and his "abnormalities" anywhere around them; not that Harry particularly wanted to be there.

Harry's heart clenched as he remembered Ron, Hermione, and his life at Hogwarts. He still had two more weeks to go before he got to see them again.

In a fit of nostalgia Harry reached down and pried up the loose floorboard below his bed. Inside were some schoolbooks, loose parchment, a few extra quills and bottles of ink, old Hogsmeade gifts, and the only birthday cards he had ever received, wrapped up in an old pillowcase. Harry lifted this out and placed it on his bed. Underneath it was one of his few treasures, and one of the only things the Dursleys didn't know about: the photo album Hagrid had given to Harry after his first year at Hogwarts. He opened it and gazed at the images of his mother and father, waving and smiling at him from every page.

Harry moved to the window so that he could see their faces better. The light bulb had burned out weeks ago, but the Dursleys refused to fix it.

As Harry thought back on all the he could remember of his parents, he vaguely heard Uncle Vernon's loud voice booming outside; the new neighbors must have gotten here.

Something made Harry look away from the photo album in his lap, and at the small stylish car that was just pulling into number six's driveway outside. The work crew had been working all summer fixing up the house, cleaning it up, and repainting and carpeting everything. The week before, the moving van had arrived, and the neighbors, led by Petunia, had watched carefully as each expensive piece of furniture, in the latest styles and colors, was carried out of the truck and into the mysterious house. The only thing now missing was the tenants.

The driver's door opened and out stepped a footman who went to go open the adjacent door, and the lady of the house was helped out of the car, impeccably dressed. At the same time the passenger side doors opened and out stepped the perfect French gentleman and a quiet beautiful girl who looked to be about fifteen. The girl outside sighed as she gracefully stepped from the family car. Even in her current rumpled state, she looked simply stunning. But that was not why Harry was staring at her, out of the window. Her reddish-brown hair was currently pulled into a ponytail with a few wavy strands falling into her face. She had a nose that was the perfect size for her face with a sprinkle of freckles and gorgeous green, familiar, eyes that seemed to glow.

As Azelia's mother stepped from the car she took one look at the house and began to babble in French, and if you didn't know the language you might think she was just exclaiming how charming and quaint the family's new house was.

#Oh, Albert, its simply hideous! I don't understand how the English can stand to live in such boxy places. Well, lets go be society people and greet these crazy neighbors cheerfully.#

#But Francesca, I would really rather get inside so I can relax from that horrible drive.#

#No, Albert, we have to put on a show for them. We must be the perfect rich family from France, or they'll never leave us alone. And yes, you must come too Azelia.#

#But Mama!#

#No buts!#

Azelia was disgusted. The new neighbors were just as she had expected: fat snobby, and trying to impress them. They were English, who knew how many gallons of tea they drank a day! Azelia made a promise to herself: She would never ever drink tea again.

Sickened by having to look at their son Azelia looked up at their new neighbor's house. A dark form in one of he upper windows caught her eye. Wanting to look at anything BUT this blob of fat, she watched it idly, until she realized what she was staring at. It was a boy with untidy black hair and soft green eyes. Her first thought was that he was lucky, he didn't have to be out here in the sun talking to these people, but then she realized exactly why she was staring so hard at this boy: his eyes. They were green. They weren't normal green eyes though, they were a deep green; eyes just like hers. He was staring at Azelia too, and his eyes were confused. He looked down at something in his lap, and then up at Azelia again. The confusion increased.

She couldn't bear those green eyes, so like the eyes Azelia saw every time she looked in the mirror, so she turned away and brought herself back to what her mother was saying.

"...Have a lot to unpack, so we better get going. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye." Azelia's mother didn't wait for an answer; she herded her husband and daughter into their new house.

Harry drifted through the rest of the day in a daze. The same thoughts kept running through his head.

Who is she? Why does she look so much like the picture?

Harry had looked up just in time to see the girl step out of the car. At the moment he had been looking at the picture of his mother and father on their wedding day. And that girl had looked exactly like her. She had the same red hair and smiling face, and the same eyes. She had the same eyes that Harry had; the same ones that everyone told him were 'your mother's eyes.'

It scared Harry, and he would have written a letter to Ron or Hermione but Hedwig was off delivering a letter to Sirius, and so probably wouldn't be back until term started. Two more weeks of torture. Oh bloody...


...Joy

The Dursleys, had invited the LeMonde family to dinner, and Azelia HAD to go. The family had already come up with excuses for the past three nights, and now had run out.

Only a tiny particle of Azelia really wanted to go: and that particle had nothing to do with the Dursleys. It had to do with the green-eyed boy. Somehow, for some reason, he was different from them.

At 6:30 sharp they arrived at the door dressed in the best Français style. I still like the idea Dad had, Azelia thought to herself, We should've worn our trashiest clothes, and maybe they would've never talked to us again, fat snobby Englishmen. Not that I have any problem with the English, just the Dursleys. Horse Face opened the door and ushered us inside to a dinner neither family would ever forget.

End of Chapter 1: Privit Drive? What kind of name is that?

A's/N: To read and understand our stories it helps to understand how we annotate things:
anything inside ## is in French (we thought about really putting it in French but we didn't think you would appreciate it if we wrote a story that you couldn't understand), L/I's are "Loardly Interruptions," LoL, and they're generally worth reading! Hope you like the first chapter, we will be writing more, soon.

Happy Reading!

the Loards