A/N: I have made Astoria the same age as Luna and Ginny. Also I'm struggling with the transitions, so pardon me if the story doesn't flow very smoothly.
I do not own Harry Potter. I own only the plot and my mistakes.
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Prologue
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Astoria Greengrass sat in front of her piano, brows furrowed in concentration, fingers dancing across the keys. She would rather be playing with Daphne in the garden, but Daphne was currently in the company of Pansy Parkinson, who Astoria firmly disapproved of. So music it was, then. It heightened her sense of isolation but gave comfort at the same time. Currently she was learning Rachmaninoff's prelude in G minor. The piece was already technically difficult, and it was made even harder because of Astoria's small hands. Merlin's beard, why did Rach have to write all his pieces for people with fiendishly big hands like himself? It simply wasn't kind to her. But she had fallen in love with the chord progressions, so there was really no turning back.
"Dar-ling! There's a letter for you! Come and open it!"
Astoria sighed. Her mother would pitch a fit if she didn't come, so she reluctantly pulled herself away from the music and headed downstairs. Stupid mothers and their overreacting. It's not like the letter's going to do a cartwheel and fly away if I don't read it in the next 3 minutes and 47 seconds right? Ugh.
Her feet landed on the final marble step of the staircase just as her father walked into the kitchen.
"Finally you've had someone come into contact with you. It's just what you need to cure your introversion." Hyperion Greengrass proclaimed. Astoria rolled her eyes - her father would never understand her. Introversion is not a disease to be cured. It's a part of someone's identity. Still, she was curious as to who would ever write to her.
Clearly no one bothered.
"It's my Hogwarts letter! Could you take me to Diagon Alley sometime to get my things? Oh, and I'm to board the Hogwarts Express on the first of September."
"We know, honey. We'll take you and your sister to buy your things next week."
The excitement Astoria felt blooming in the deepest recesses of her soul was intoxicating. First of September, here I come.
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