Hello! This is the revised version of Chapter One, which I revised because I felt it was a very crap beginning and didn't really introduce my character as well as I would've liked. And...I don't own anything, which I regret a lot. Sniff sniff.

This Love

Chapter One – Getting Lost

Summer 1991, Paris

Ally was actually English, both her parents were English, although she was born and raised in France and had attended Beauxbatons. She was bilingual, meaning she could speak English as well as she could speak French, although as she had lived in France all her life, she spoke English with a slight accent. Her best friend, Francoise, always teased her about being English, especially when a French Quidditch team won against an English one. But she considered herself French.

She had never been to England though, mainly because her mother had never seemed to want to go back there. Ally's mother had run away from her parents to go and live in France, and didn't seem in too much of a hurry to go back.

Ally had always wanted to go to Hogwarts. Ally's mother had all sorts of tales about adventures she had had, and her friends had had in Hogwarts, and Ally had desperately wanted to go there when she was eleven. Ally's mother had told her that she couldn't, that it was too far away, that they would miss one another. Ally and her mother were very close; after all, they only had each other, as theirs was a single parent family. Ally knew that she really didn't want Ally to bump into Ally's dad, who wasn't a nice person, according to Ally's mother.

But Ally had always had a slight fascination with England, and Hogwarts, and Diagon Alley, probably because her mum didn't want her to go there. Ally tended to want to do things that people didn't want her to do, which, in school, had resulted in detention. Until she had managed to perfect her evading detection skills.

When Ally was fifteen, her mother had married her best friend's, Francoise, father, which Francoise and Ally were not very happy about at first as it made them step siblings. However, Ally was nineteen now, and had triplet half brothers, so her mum couldn't use the excuse that she would be lonely.

Ally was going to go to England.

The only question was, for a holiday, or indefinitely?

That, she decided, would depend of whether or not England is as good as I imagined it.

She worked at the French Ministry of Magic, at a dead end job as a translator, which was a job she could easily get in England, she reckoned. All she had to do was pack, and figure out a way to tell her mum.

London, England, Summer 1991

Ally wasn't stupid. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. She had managed to Floo from the Leaky Cauldron, the place she was staying, and to the British Ministry with no hassle. She had managed to not fall on her face after coming out the grate and embarrass herself, a feat she felt commendable and she had managed to answer questions from the person who had looked at her wand before allowing her in without any hesitation.

But she had managed to get lost.

She blamed the flying paper aeroplanes. They didn't have flying paper aeroplanes in the French Ministry and she was remembering all the good times she had at school throwing paper aeroplanes at teacher, when she had accidentally and inadvertently stepped out of the elevator and had not been paying attention to her surroundings. She had ended up alone, on an empty corridor, cursing her pitifully small attention span. Then she had decided to find a sign or something to see where she was and now she was lost. Totally and utterly lost.

Although, to be fair, she had found a door with a sign on it, although she wasn't sure what it said. This made her feel rather stupid; because she was supposed to speak English wasn't she? And this stupid word that began with an "L" was making her head spin, and she couldn't stand not knowing something.

According to her logic, if she could figure out what the word was, then she would know where she was, and then maybe she could get to the Employment Bureau and hand in her CV. So she reached into her bag and brought out her dictionary, and was flicking through to the "L"s when the door suddenly flew open and a woman with a huge smile and buckteeth appeared.

"There you are!" cried the woman, reaching out and grabbing Ally's arm, almost wrenching it out the socket while dragging her through the doorway. "We were beginning to lose hope!" said the woman. Ally opened her mouth to protest but the woman interrupted her. "Now, now, no excuses, you're here now and that's all that matters," said the strange woman.

Ally was pulled into a white room, with six chairs in a circle in the middle. Ally immediately thought of Alcoholics Anonymous, by the slightly guilty looks on the four people inhabiting the chairs. They also looked rather tired and washed out, like Ally imagined alcoholics would. If it wasn't Alcoholics Anonymous then it must have been some type of self help group, she reasoned, that must be why it's hidden away in the corner of the Ministry.

The person with the huge smile obviously thought that she must be a newcomer, but she had never given Ally a chance to rectify her mistake. Whenever Ally would open her mouth she would just get shushed and rebutted. Ally felt herself going very red and she felt very confused.

The woman introduced herself eventually, "Hi, I'm Janie and I'm your new counsellor!" Janie was overly cheerful, as if not smiling would end the world, and had bouncy blonde hair that curled round her chubby face. She contrasted greatly with the tired, frowning faces of the four in the chairs. Then Janie introduced Ally to the people in the chairs, who Ally had only glanced at, "This is Genevieve Banks, everybody, say hi!" she commanded, cheerfully.

Ally decided enough was enough. "Err...actually-" Then, suddenly, the door slammed open and a middle aged woman with dark brown hair and a sour expression stormed though the door, interrupting Ally.

"I'm Genevieve Banks, let's get this over with quickly, eh?" she snarled in an accent that Ally had never come across before, although having been in England for about a day now, she had come across hundreds of unusual accents. Janie stopped smiling, and frowned.

"Who are you?" she demanded, turning and glaring at Ally, if this was somehow her fault. Mon Dieu, what a change of personality, thought Ally.

"I'm lost," she explained. Now everybody is staring at me, just peachy.

"Lost?" asked Janie, "What are you doing down here?" she asked, suspiciously. Mon Dieu, thought Ally, English people are so paranoid!

"I am lost!" she exclaimed. "I am looking for the Employment Bureau and suddenly I am standing outside and you are dragging me inside and..." she trailed off, feeling embarrassed and stupid, "I am French," she explained, as if that suddenly explained it. She got the feeling Janie could be very violent.

One of the men sitting on the chairs stood up and walked over to Ally. He was quite tall and had sandy brown hair and amber eyes and a mild expression that Ally had thought was stereotypically English until she met Janie.

"I'll take her to the Employment Bureau, alright Janie?" he asked. Janie seemed placated, Ally could see why; the strange man had a calming air about him. Janie nodded and the man smiled, which lit up his whole face. Ally had previously thought he was nothing special to look at, but the small smile made his face seem more alive, and less pale. He held the door open for Ally.

"Thank you!" exclaimed Ally, as soon as they were halfway down the hall, as she glanced back at the door with the strange sign on it as if it was the gateway to Hell. "Janie is scary!"

The man smiled, seemingly surprised she spoke. "You were quite tongue tied in there," he commented, looking at her, while guiding her along another corridor. Ally snorted.

"Because I couldn't get a word in edgeways," she retorted. They were now waiting at the elevator doors.

"What's that in your hand?" asked the man, curiously. Ally looked down and realised she was still holding the dictionary.

"I did not know the word on the door," she explained, not looking at him, now immersed in looking up the word. L-, L-... then she found it. Lycanthropy Sufferers Counselling Group. Lycanthrope. It means werewolf, she realised. She looked up at the strange man who had kindly averted danger by offering to take her to the Employment Bureau. He had a closed expression on his face. He was a werewolf, she realised, and it was a werewolf counselling group she had interrupted. The elevator door pinged and opened.

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