"I can't believe it," Maggie said, her eyes wide in shock. "I really,
really can't."
"There's got to be a mistake," Nick added, glaring at the Hat. "It can't be right."
"Well, at least you know one vampire in Slytherin," Corvus said, by way of commiseration. "True, she's evil, but then-"
"I AM NOT EVIL, CORVUS BLACK."
"She's also got good hearing," Nick said helpfully. Maggie grabbed his arm pleadingly.
"I'm not staying in Slytherin on my own! With Malfoy," she twisted her face in a loathing expression. "I'll get covered in green and slime by the end of a week."
"Well, at least you've got Dru," Nick patted her arm gently, as Maggie, along with the other Slytherins, was pulled away toward their own table.
/
It's a slight problem, Minerva McGonagall decided, with a wry little smile at the tin of Scottish shortbread on the corner of her desk, when the student you are so graciously taking in has no idea that you are being gracious. The child sitting across from her, swinging her legs from her chair, was totally unconcerned.
"Miss LeNay," she said quietly. The girl's head shot up, grey eyes meeting hers.
"Yes?" she answered cheerfully. Professor McGonagall's heart sank. There was another slight problem in the arrangements to keep an eye on the child.
"I have arranged for one of our prefects to take you around the school," she said kindly. "Her name is Charlotte, and she's in Ravenclaw. She should be here any moment."
A tap at the office door signalled the arrival of Charlotte. A tall girl, with a lot of curly hair smiled politely at the other, seated in front of Professor McGonagall's desk.
"Excuse me, Professor," Charlotte cleared her throat. 'Are you finished?" Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. Charlotte Heverbrook was the daughter of one of her best prefects and quite clearly, Charlotte was shaping up to do the same. She was a nice, studious girl but as the woman looked at the girl before her, and then the girl seated, she realised that Charlotte was somewhat unsuitable.
"Ah, Charlotte, a word?" she beckoned the girl closer. Obediently, Charlotte stepped closer, adjusting her prefect badge slightly on her uniform.
"Best take her to meet Edward Weasley," Professor McGonagall hissed. "He might have a firmer attitude to one you or the others might take." She looked doubtfully back at the neatly dressed child. "And Charlotte?" The girl nodded. "Do try and stay out of trouble."
"Hallo," Charlotte said pleasantly, holding out a hand to the small girl before her, once they were outside in the corridor. "Charlotte Heverbrook. Fifth year Ravenclaw."
"Genevieve," the girl answered confidently, taking Charlotte's hand in her own. "Only I am never called that. It is always 'Gen'." She smiled, showing two tiny dimples in her cheeks. "And I am a first year. Gryffindor, myself. It is only because I am new in this country that I have the," she waved a hand dismissively at Professor McGonagall's office, "Addition." She used the French for lack of the English. "But it is so cold here," she shivered exaggeratedly, rubbing her arms. "At home, we did not wear the jumper, or these tights until winter commenced. Now I am freezing," she complained. Charlotte blinked; Genevieve talked extremely fast.
"Well, I'll be showing you around the school," she began awkwardly, "And then you'll meet the prefects for your house and join the other first years." McGonagall had explained the need for the additional 'tour' – Genevieve's English was suspected to be decent, but not good enough to risk her not understanding the tricks of the staircases and giving her ample excuse for missing lessons. So, Charlotte Heverbrook, all round 'good girl', was missing the Feast to show Genevieve the school. She sighed. Obviously, she wouldn't be sliding in to the Ravenclaw table at the last minute.
"So, where we start?" Gen asked, raising a neat little eyebrow. She shrugged expressively. "Me, I have no idea."
"We'll start," Charlotte said firmly, "With the stairs."
/
"This is Genevieve," Charlotte replied thankfully, looking with relief at Edward Weasley, her counterpart in Gryffindor. "She's new."
Edward Weasley, whose red hair had been unsuccessfully slicked down, and was now standing up all over the place, looked at Gen surprised. "I thought she'd been lumped in with the other firsties."
"Non," Gen shook her head, sending her neat bob flying. "I am special." She grinned winningly up at him.
"Delusions of grandeur," Edward said cheerfully. "Soon squash that." Charlotte surpressed a smile, glancing at Gen. A wicked gleam had entered the eleven-year-old's grey eyes as she smiled innocently up at Edward.
"I hope so," she agreed. Charlotte let them walk ahead, and into Gryffindor Tower.
"This is the rest of your year," Edward pointed. "There's a few of my family in pretty much every year," he added, with a sheepish grin. "My little brother Nick is in first year, and my cousin Maggie. You can tell them apart from the rest, all Weasleys have red hair and freckles. Mags isn't here, though. Then there's my other cousin, Emilia, in third year." He pointed. Another girl, sitting slightly out of the main group of girls clustered around the fire, wide-eyed, was reading, plaits of dark red hair falling forward over her shoulders. "The rest of the bunch of first years are all pretty normal. No other Frenchies." He grinned at her. "That tall girl over there," a black girl was chatting to a smaller blonde, "She's the other prefect. 'Name's Sara."
Gen nodded, and followed him over to the group of girls on the settee and armchairs around the fire. Edward beckoned to his brother, who leapt up.
"Ed, I thought we were pretending we didn't know you?" he asked accusingly. He grinned at Gen. "Ed's got a bad case of 'prefect-itus'. You know, you're like Percy, you are," he informed his brother. Edward coughed.
"Nick, this is Genevieve," he said, correctly pronouncing the French. "She's new. You can show her round, shove her off onto someone else just so long as you don't bother me. Do the firsties introduction, rites of passage, hazing as so on." He waved them away.
"That's Edward for you," Nick said ruefully. "I would introduce you to my cousin Maggie, but she's not here. And you don't want to meet Emilia, because she's a hag. So, Gen, how did you get to Hogwarts? You're not British."
She smiled, and shrugged. "I am French. My mother wrote to Professor McGonagall, and asked if I could go to school here when we moved to England. So I did. I had a place at Beauxbatons. My cousins all go there."
"Who are your cousins?" Nick asked curiously. "The Triwizard thing happens every so often, and a carriageload of Beauxbatons students turns up. Ed probably knows them."
Gen rolled her eyes, and made a dramatic gesture. "Ah, but so many!" she complained. "There is Constance, she is nearly old enough to leave, and Delphine, and Marie, and Aimee, and Astrid is eldest, she is a teacher now. And Marc, and Luc, they are on my grandmere's side of the family; it is all girls from my maman's side. Ma tante Celeste has many children."
Nick's mouth opened with shock. "That's more than my family, and we breed like rabbits," he said admiringly. "Anyway. You'd better meet Corvus, he's a first year too."
"Hello." The skinny boy extended a hand, looking the little French girl up and down. "I'm Corvus. Gen, is it?"
She nodded brightly. "Oui. But I do not understand these houses. For what purpose are we so divided?"
"Well, Gryffindor's the nicest," Corvus explained, "then there's Slytherin, and that's for Dark Lords in training-"
"Maggie's in there," Nick protested. Corvus slid him a look.
"So's Dru," he pointed out.
"Anyway, Hufflepuff's the all rounders, and Ravenclaw's for bright people. Wish Emilia landed up in there," Nick growled, scowling at his cousin. "She's up for prefect I bet."
"Moving on," Corvus yawned. "Do you play Quidditch at all?"
Gen wrinkled her nose in distaste. "No thank you. You fall off a lot, do you not?"
Corvus and Nick looked indignant. "You certainly do not," Nick spluttered. "Not if you're any good," Corvus added hurriedly. Genevieve shrugged in a very Gallic way.
"I do not care for brooms," she replied. Before they could continue their conversation, the black girl, Sara, clapped her hands loudly in the corner of the room.
"All you first years, get off to bed," she called, and Gen followed the first years up the stairs to the girls' dorms, as Nick and Corvus followed the others to their room, still stunned that anyone, anyone, could not like Quidditch.
"There's got to be a mistake," Nick added, glaring at the Hat. "It can't be right."
"Well, at least you know one vampire in Slytherin," Corvus said, by way of commiseration. "True, she's evil, but then-"
"I AM NOT EVIL, CORVUS BLACK."
"She's also got good hearing," Nick said helpfully. Maggie grabbed his arm pleadingly.
"I'm not staying in Slytherin on my own! With Malfoy," she twisted her face in a loathing expression. "I'll get covered in green and slime by the end of a week."
"Well, at least you've got Dru," Nick patted her arm gently, as Maggie, along with the other Slytherins, was pulled away toward their own table.
/
It's a slight problem, Minerva McGonagall decided, with a wry little smile at the tin of Scottish shortbread on the corner of her desk, when the student you are so graciously taking in has no idea that you are being gracious. The child sitting across from her, swinging her legs from her chair, was totally unconcerned.
"Miss LeNay," she said quietly. The girl's head shot up, grey eyes meeting hers.
"Yes?" she answered cheerfully. Professor McGonagall's heart sank. There was another slight problem in the arrangements to keep an eye on the child.
"I have arranged for one of our prefects to take you around the school," she said kindly. "Her name is Charlotte, and she's in Ravenclaw. She should be here any moment."
A tap at the office door signalled the arrival of Charlotte. A tall girl, with a lot of curly hair smiled politely at the other, seated in front of Professor McGonagall's desk.
"Excuse me, Professor," Charlotte cleared her throat. 'Are you finished?" Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. Charlotte Heverbrook was the daughter of one of her best prefects and quite clearly, Charlotte was shaping up to do the same. She was a nice, studious girl but as the woman looked at the girl before her, and then the girl seated, she realised that Charlotte was somewhat unsuitable.
"Ah, Charlotte, a word?" she beckoned the girl closer. Obediently, Charlotte stepped closer, adjusting her prefect badge slightly on her uniform.
"Best take her to meet Edward Weasley," Professor McGonagall hissed. "He might have a firmer attitude to one you or the others might take." She looked doubtfully back at the neatly dressed child. "And Charlotte?" The girl nodded. "Do try and stay out of trouble."
"Hallo," Charlotte said pleasantly, holding out a hand to the small girl before her, once they were outside in the corridor. "Charlotte Heverbrook. Fifth year Ravenclaw."
"Genevieve," the girl answered confidently, taking Charlotte's hand in her own. "Only I am never called that. It is always 'Gen'." She smiled, showing two tiny dimples in her cheeks. "And I am a first year. Gryffindor, myself. It is only because I am new in this country that I have the," she waved a hand dismissively at Professor McGonagall's office, "Addition." She used the French for lack of the English. "But it is so cold here," she shivered exaggeratedly, rubbing her arms. "At home, we did not wear the jumper, or these tights until winter commenced. Now I am freezing," she complained. Charlotte blinked; Genevieve talked extremely fast.
"Well, I'll be showing you around the school," she began awkwardly, "And then you'll meet the prefects for your house and join the other first years." McGonagall had explained the need for the additional 'tour' – Genevieve's English was suspected to be decent, but not good enough to risk her not understanding the tricks of the staircases and giving her ample excuse for missing lessons. So, Charlotte Heverbrook, all round 'good girl', was missing the Feast to show Genevieve the school. She sighed. Obviously, she wouldn't be sliding in to the Ravenclaw table at the last minute.
"So, where we start?" Gen asked, raising a neat little eyebrow. She shrugged expressively. "Me, I have no idea."
"We'll start," Charlotte said firmly, "With the stairs."
/
"This is Genevieve," Charlotte replied thankfully, looking with relief at Edward Weasley, her counterpart in Gryffindor. "She's new."
Edward Weasley, whose red hair had been unsuccessfully slicked down, and was now standing up all over the place, looked at Gen surprised. "I thought she'd been lumped in with the other firsties."
"Non," Gen shook her head, sending her neat bob flying. "I am special." She grinned winningly up at him.
"Delusions of grandeur," Edward said cheerfully. "Soon squash that." Charlotte surpressed a smile, glancing at Gen. A wicked gleam had entered the eleven-year-old's grey eyes as she smiled innocently up at Edward.
"I hope so," she agreed. Charlotte let them walk ahead, and into Gryffindor Tower.
"This is the rest of your year," Edward pointed. "There's a few of my family in pretty much every year," he added, with a sheepish grin. "My little brother Nick is in first year, and my cousin Maggie. You can tell them apart from the rest, all Weasleys have red hair and freckles. Mags isn't here, though. Then there's my other cousin, Emilia, in third year." He pointed. Another girl, sitting slightly out of the main group of girls clustered around the fire, wide-eyed, was reading, plaits of dark red hair falling forward over her shoulders. "The rest of the bunch of first years are all pretty normal. No other Frenchies." He grinned at her. "That tall girl over there," a black girl was chatting to a smaller blonde, "She's the other prefect. 'Name's Sara."
Gen nodded, and followed him over to the group of girls on the settee and armchairs around the fire. Edward beckoned to his brother, who leapt up.
"Ed, I thought we were pretending we didn't know you?" he asked accusingly. He grinned at Gen. "Ed's got a bad case of 'prefect-itus'. You know, you're like Percy, you are," he informed his brother. Edward coughed.
"Nick, this is Genevieve," he said, correctly pronouncing the French. "She's new. You can show her round, shove her off onto someone else just so long as you don't bother me. Do the firsties introduction, rites of passage, hazing as so on." He waved them away.
"That's Edward for you," Nick said ruefully. "I would introduce you to my cousin Maggie, but she's not here. And you don't want to meet Emilia, because she's a hag. So, Gen, how did you get to Hogwarts? You're not British."
She smiled, and shrugged. "I am French. My mother wrote to Professor McGonagall, and asked if I could go to school here when we moved to England. So I did. I had a place at Beauxbatons. My cousins all go there."
"Who are your cousins?" Nick asked curiously. "The Triwizard thing happens every so often, and a carriageload of Beauxbatons students turns up. Ed probably knows them."
Gen rolled her eyes, and made a dramatic gesture. "Ah, but so many!" she complained. "There is Constance, she is nearly old enough to leave, and Delphine, and Marie, and Aimee, and Astrid is eldest, she is a teacher now. And Marc, and Luc, they are on my grandmere's side of the family; it is all girls from my maman's side. Ma tante Celeste has many children."
Nick's mouth opened with shock. "That's more than my family, and we breed like rabbits," he said admiringly. "Anyway. You'd better meet Corvus, he's a first year too."
"Hello." The skinny boy extended a hand, looking the little French girl up and down. "I'm Corvus. Gen, is it?"
She nodded brightly. "Oui. But I do not understand these houses. For what purpose are we so divided?"
"Well, Gryffindor's the nicest," Corvus explained, "then there's Slytherin, and that's for Dark Lords in training-"
"Maggie's in there," Nick protested. Corvus slid him a look.
"So's Dru," he pointed out.
"Anyway, Hufflepuff's the all rounders, and Ravenclaw's for bright people. Wish Emilia landed up in there," Nick growled, scowling at his cousin. "She's up for prefect I bet."
"Moving on," Corvus yawned. "Do you play Quidditch at all?"
Gen wrinkled her nose in distaste. "No thank you. You fall off a lot, do you not?"
Corvus and Nick looked indignant. "You certainly do not," Nick spluttered. "Not if you're any good," Corvus added hurriedly. Genevieve shrugged in a very Gallic way.
"I do not care for brooms," she replied. Before they could continue their conversation, the black girl, Sara, clapped her hands loudly in the corner of the room.
"All you first years, get off to bed," she called, and Gen followed the first years up the stairs to the girls' dorms, as Nick and Corvus followed the others to their room, still stunned that anyone, anyone, could not like Quidditch.