This thing called life.
He ate my cake, this is war.
"But I don't wannnaaaaaaaa….."
Okay, I was being a baby. I'll admit it. I had promised myself this morning that I would be cool, calm and collected when they came.
The poster child for poise.
Perhaps I probably should have gone without the shackles attached to my bed.
Also, I quite possibly could have stopped before wailing like a five year old whilst pounding my fists and kicking, rolling on the ground…
But really, who could blame me? I was being sent away, ejected, evicted, REJECTED even… well, kinda. I guess I should explain why I, a nearly sixteen year old girl, am currently acting like a royal spaz.
It all started when my parents sent me away to school four years ago. My (somewhat) older brother, who was (and still is) a bit of a git, had been sent to Hogwarts when he was eleven, just like any other ordinary wizard. However, my parents had decided to send me to Beauxbatons Academy instead, whose age deadline I missed by three weeks thus placing me a 'year' behind. My Aunt and Uncle had been living in France at the time and seeing as my 'big' bro and I didn't always get along too well, (sibling rivalry and all that) mom and dad had, in a rare moment of sanity, seen fit to separate us, and despite going into my first year a little older than the rest of my class it had been perfect.
I was to be going into my fifth year at the end of the summer, with all of my best friends, returning to my super amazing quidditch team in which I was, if I do say so myself (and I do) a pretty amazing beater and best of all returning to my gorgeous French beau. I really couldn't have been happier. Until it happened.
That ugly and life altering it.
Apparently, whilst I had been away at school that year my aunt and uncle hadn't been getting along very well, something about my uncle and his secretary… way too cliché for my liking, right out of a cheesy romance novel. But, anyways they were getting divorced and my aunt was moving back to England and of course, seeing as my aunt is my mom's sister, that means I'm (supposed to be) going too.
Quelle drag.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my mom and dad, but the thing is I can only handle them in small measured doses. You know, the go home for christmas hols,, then a week or two during the summer, kind of doses. The rest of the time I spent with my best friends and my boyfriend Jacques (cheesy, I know, s'why we all call him Jake) hanging out and eating yummy French cuisine (… mmm… croissants…) in France. I bring back croissants to visit… and they never quite taste the same. It's as my friend Amylie use to say, "it is ze air in Frrrance" (just imagine a French 'drawl' with the r's and it sounds right) "that makes everything better."
But now they were actually forcing me to return full time back to rainy, dreary England.
Therein lies the other problem: the weather. To be quite honest, it sucks. With all that dampness, snow and rain and cold. Ugh. It always puts me into the worst mood, and then my family gets mad at me for being a grouch, and then I have to start yelling at them, which makes them think I have some sort of mental issue (At least that's what my brother, James, decided to tell his friends when they were over a couple of summers ago.) it's a bloody vicious circle.
I get that the weather back in England isn't always as awful as I'm describing, but this summer hasn't gotten above 20 degrees, with too much rain to boot.
I'm sure you're thinking something along the lines of "Well, it's only two months, stop being such a baby, you'll handle it…" right?
I wish it was like that... However, according to my parents, the only reason they let me live so far away for the past four years was because I had my aunt and uncle living "near-by".
I tried to point out that my uncle was technically still in France. Apparently, this comment was not so much on the helping side of life.
So that brings me back to my present situation. Wailing like a banshee and completely acting like an idiot.
Oh well, c'est la vie.
Sigh.
I'm currently staring out my bedroom window heartbroken, downtrodden, oppressed, depressed, and, erm, and all angsty-like.
To be entirely honest, this bites.
Epically.
And of course it's pouring, what's new? It seems to be raining all the time here, and all I can think is "if I had been in France…" Okay, it's been nearly four weeks, and every time I think about 'my life that was', I have to choke back the sob that's waiting… and, it's my birthday in a week. Big whoopee.
My parents, grandparents, cousins, friends, etc. have all asked me what I wanted for my birthday, but I doubt I'll get what I want. You guessed it, to go back to my school. Not to be sent away to some shabby looking castle, with lame plain black robes… my old robes used to be silk. Lovely, silky silk, and the blue really worked for me.
I'm being downgraded.
Now , because I know for a fact that I'm not smart enough for that house with a bird, er, Ravenclaw, yeah, that's the one, I can count out getting blue again, and there really is no chance in hell that I'll be in Slytherin, which is a pity, because the whole green and silver thing really works with my complexion. So, I'm left with either yellow or red… Hmmm…
Well, hopefully it will be Hufflepuff; I could work the bright yellow look… The red and gold one Gryffindor has to wear on the other hand will make me look like a tart. Not in a good yummy cherry/strawberry tart way, but rather as my grandma likes to tell me when I'm wearing red:
"Amanda, you look like a cheap witch at the taverns."
Yup. That's my grandma… always the charmer. According to her, blonde girls shouldn't wear anything red. Not lipstick, lipgloss, shirts, socks, and heaven forbid, shoes. It has been drilled into me from the age of five, that if you wear red you are a tart.
Now I've made myself hungry with all of this tart talk (hahahaha)… maybe I could sneak down and grab myself something to eat before my stupid brother and his mates show up in the kitchen and scarf down all of the yummy stuff again.
Dashing down the stairs I most definitely missed the last step and went flying, and of course landed in a not so graceful in a heap right at the feet of my brother's mate.
"Umphf!"
"Manda, you okay?" That's Remus Lupin. Always asking the dumb questions, with his stupid niceness and floppy hair.
"Of course I'm not. Help me up." Yup. Still the grouch.
I swear I'm not this grumpy all of the time, it's the weather. Honestly, on the rare occasions there is enough sun for me to sun tan I'm really quite a happy, cheerful, non-grunty person!
But grouch or not, he still is nice enough to pull me to my feet. Mumbling some sort of thanks I turn into the kitchen and proceed immediately to the fridge to snag that piece of New York cheesecake that I had saved in particular for this morning. Upon getting to the fridge something made me turn around as I reached for the handle…
There it was, the plate I had the holy-grail of cake sitting on… sitting beside the sink, all empty-like with only little cookie-crust crumbs scattered around it, still warm. The fork that is… which meant that only one person could be responsible for this act of blasphemy,
Remus Lupin.
That's it.
He must die.
Okay, so maybe I'm going a little overboard, but really I might be a titch obsessed with cake. It's quite possibly the best thing ever invented… especially cheesecake.
Which, is why I should not be blamed for what I'm going to do to him when I find him.
A/N:
Hey, so this kinda came up randomly whilst I was working on my other stories, and I kinda liked the idea… I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please leave me a review and lemme know whether you want me to continue! :)
~Thanks
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the wonder that is the Harry Potter legacy or any of the other wonderful characters in his story, except for the ones which stemmed from my own randomness.
