Author's Note: I do not speak French, but the chapter title is supposed to transltate roughly into "The Lies They Told."

Disclaimer: See prologue.

Cursed

Part One

Chapter One: "Les Mensonges qu'Ils Ont Dits"

September 1st, 1996-

16-year-old Harry Potter chuckled softly as his best friend's stomach growled. Ron Weasley moaned and whispered angrily, "How long does it take to Sort those stupid gits?"

"What, Ron?" Harry asked, feigning horror. "Not enjoying the ceremony?" Ron sneered at this.

"Shh!" hissed the prefect Hermione Granger, who was watching the Sorting Ceremony ever so intently. Harry noticed her face had gained a puzzled expression and he queried, "What's wrong?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking those two girls must be the new students from Beauxbatons." She needn't point them out, Harry realized. They were standing a head above all the first years. "They certainly look older than eleven-year-olds," Hermione continued unnecessarily. "I believe Dumbledore said they're entering sixth year, like us…" Harry had the distinct impression that she was now talking to herself rather than him.

"New students?" Harry whispered, confused. "We have new students? How do you know about that?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly, "Yes. They're sisters. Professor Dumbledore told all of us prefects," she whispered back, with a subtle air of importance at the word "prefect" that Harry couldn't fail to notice. "So we can be, oh… I'll tell you later, Harry, now shush."

After a few more minutes, the two girls that Hermione had pointed out were the only ones still standing, waiting to be sorted.

"Rollins, Elita," Professor McGonagall called. One of the girls walked up and sat confidently on the stool. Harry admired her for it; he remembered the day he had been sorted and recalled what a nervous wreck he had been. He studied the girl—Elita—carefully. She had long, somewhat-straggly, waist-length dark brown hair and he saw large brown eyes for a moment before they disappeared behind the large hat.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat bellowed after only a moment's pause. Harry and the others at the Gryffindor table proceeded to applaud and, in Seamus's case, catcall. Harry laughed as Lavender slapped the boy angrily on the arm. Elita trotted off the stage and plopped herself down into an empty seat next to Hermione. Harry smiled to himself as he looked from Hermione to Elita. The poor girl didn't know what she was in for.

"Rollins, Kali." The other girl walked gracefully up to the stool. Harry shuddered involuntarily. The way the girl walked, almost gliding, reminded him forcefully of Malfoy. He shook it off. She looked remarkably similar to her sister, although her hair was cropped to her shoulders and instead of brown, her eyes were a cold, pale blue. Considering Hermione had said the two were both in their sixth year, Harry assumed they were twins. Great, Harry thought to himself, half laughing, more twins.

"RAVENCLAW!" The Hat exclaimed. Harry was a little embarrassed to admit that he was somewhat relieved the girl had not been made a Gryffindor like her sister. The new student—Kali—seemed a little too intense for his liking, and he had to deal with enough intensity in his life already.

The whispers in the hall abruptly died as Albus Dumbledore stood from his seat at the staff table. "Ah," he spoke, so all the hall could hear him. "Another year at Hogwarts has begun. Welcome! I have a few start-of-term announcements, but I'll try not to be too pompously long-winded, as I am sure the lot of you are famished after your long train ride. If there are any inquiries regarding the rules, I suggest you see the list posted on Mr. Filch, our caretaker's, door. I would like to remind returning students, and inform new ones, that the Dark Forrest is strictly off limits to all pupils. On a lighter note, however, I would like to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Rose Macarthur." There was a broken, seemingly cautious applause, and Harry couldn't exactly blame the students for not being enthusiastic; given the history of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, there was bound to be something wrong with this Professor Macarthur. But she looked nice enough, Harry reasoned. She was very young, no older than twenty-six or twenty-seven. She had short, straggly blonde hair that framed a cherubic face. At the applause, Professor Macarthur halfway stood up from her seat at the staff table and gave a small, timid wave and a shy smile before sitting down again.

"Yes, welcome, Professor. I also request," Dumbledore continued. "That you welcome our two new students from Beauxbatons, Kali and Elita Rollins. Please make them feel at home and treat them as you would any other classmate." Harry noticed Malfoy smirk from across the Great Hall. "Well, I'm sure you do not wish to continue to listen to the ramblings of an old man, so—tuck in!" Food of every sort suddenly appeared in front of them. The Gryffindors in particular made a show of who could get to which food the fastest, which resulted in chaos. Harry smiled. He was home.


"So, you and your sister are from France?" Hermione queried interestedly to Elita, who was more focused on eating her Jell-O at the moment than answering questions.

"Yes, we did go to Beauxbatons," she replied smartly.

"Well, I would think you would speak French, or at least have a French accent," Hermione continued thoughtfully. Harry, who was seated across from Hermione eating the remains of his apple pie, raised his eyebrows at this and looked to Elita for her response.

Elita faltered for a moment, but quickly regained her composure. "Well, we used to live in London, up until we were eleven, when our parents separated. We…" her eyes darted around quickly. She immediately regretted this, and prayed that no one had noticed. "We went to live with our mother in France, who taught us the language. But sadly, she passed away not too long ago. So my sister and I came to live here, with our father." Perfect, Elita thought. A sob story. If Hermione thought it would drudge up painful memories, Elita believed that she would be tactful enough not to mention it. At least she hoped she would be.

"I see," Hermione replied. "I'm terribly sorry about your mother, that must have been a dreadful loss," she sympathized.

"It was," Elita agreed. "We try not to talk about it much." Elita wondered if she was laying it on a little thick. No, she decided. Not even Hermione could guess their real story.

"Oh, of course," Hermione said. She ventured onto another subject, "You'll love it in Gryffindor. There are plenty of nice people here, I'm sure you'll make friends fast."

"Speaking of friends," Elita said mischievously. She looked around at Harry who was currently having some heated debate with a round-faced boy whom Elita assumed must be Neville Longbottom. "Harry seems nice."

"He is," Hermione agreed absentmindedly.

"I'm rather fond of him already." She looked at Hermione slyly and raised her eyebrows questioningly, "You are too, I assume?"

"Fond of Harry? Oh, of course, he's one of my best—" Hermione's brown eyes suddenly grew wide with comprehension. "Oh no! Harry's like my brother! He'd never—I'd never—we'd never—"

"All right, all right," Elita cut in hastily, almost laughing. "You don't fancy Harry, I get it." Elita knew she sounded convincing, but, as Kali loved to point out, she had always been a terrible actress. Her face gave her away, she could tell by the suspicious look in Hermione's eyes. You've got to keep to your own business, Elita told herself. She knew very well that Hermione was not a force to be reckoned with.


"How are you holding up?" Elita asked. She had managed to snag a moment alone with her sister at breakfast the following morning. She ran over to the Ravenclaw table, eager to escape Hermione's further questions about her past life in France.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," Kali sighed. "Say, do you know when the next Hogsmeade weekend is?"

"A couple of weeks, I think." She surveyed Kali questioningly. "Why?"

"Because that's when we get our books," said Kali dismissively.

"Leave it to you to think of books at a time like this! And besides, we can't go anyway. No permission slips, remember?" She said smugly, impressed she had thought of something her sister hadn't.

"We're not going, you prat. McGonagall is, I think. I asked Dumbledore last night about what we would do about getting school supplies in our current… situation. She's not going to Hogsmeade anyway, she's going to Diagon Alley. It's just that Hogsmeade weekends are the only time she can go considering that's the only time there're hardly any students in the castle. I told her we wouldn't be able to afford cauldrons and books and things like that and, well, Dumbledore said he'd take care of everything when I talked to him the other day…" she trailed off gloomily.

Elita grinned. "Oh, do lighten up, sis!"

Kali blinked. "'Lighten up'?" She shook her head in disbelief. "That's not going to happen."

"Don't I know it," Elita agreed in an undertone.

"Elita! What do you expect me to do? Take this all in stride? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but that isn't going to be happening any time soon," she hissed.

"Well being all broody certainly isn't going to help us," Elita said, folding her arms defiantly.

"I'm not broody," Kali muttered, sounding halfway hurt. "I'm pensive." She paused before adding, "It's not like you can blame me! We might be stuck here forever! We might never see our friends and family again!"

"Broody—pensive—whatever, the fact remains that we're not going to get anywhere unless we're… optimistic," she said, taking a large bite of her French toast.

"And what if we don't 'get anywhere' at all?" Kali countered.

"Sorry?" Elita asked, brow furrowed.

"What if we can't get back? You can't seem to control that bloody 'gift' of yours—what if we're stuck here? Have you even thought about that?"

"No. You do quite enough thinking for the both of us." Kali sighed exasperatedly at this and smacked her hand on her forehead and rubbed it wearily. Elita groaned. "Stop being so… negative! We're not going to be stuck here, Kal!" Elita protested enthusiastically. "I've always gotten us back before, haven't I?" Kali looked down guiltily at her plate. "We're here for a reason, I know it!"

The two paused for a moment. Kali began to pick halfheartedly at a piece of bacon.

Elita looked over to the staff table distractedly. "Hey—does that Professor Macarthur person look familiar to you?"

Kali rolled her eyes once again, something she clearly loved to do when Elita was around. She exclaimed sarcastically, "Oh, yes! Perhaps she's a friend of ours! Gone back in time from the future to save us from a dire fate, no doubt!" She waved her hands around theatrically.

"No, I was just thinking that she looks kind of like Skye. You know… I think it might be that aunt of hers—because I heard she taught at Hogwarts while Harry Potter was still at school."

"Which aunt?" Kali asked.

"Her mother's half-sister! The only aunt she's ever had! Rhea or Rose or something—yes, it's Rose, I remember now. Honestly, Kal! You pay so much attention to your books I don't understand why you can't pay more attention to your friends."

Kali ignored this comment and looked up to the staff table to study Professor Macarthur quietly. "You know, you might be right. Skye does look an awful lot like her." She sighed sadly. "I wish she could be here to meet her. I can't imagine going through life without a mother figure…" she began to pick at her piece of bacon once again. "Has Hermione already started finding flaws in our brilliant cover-story?" Kali asked abruptly, suddenly smug.

Elita looked up sharply. "How did you know?"

Kali chuckled. "Call it… divination."

Elita grimaced. "Damn! I hate it when you do that!" She paused. "You're right, though. But I think I did some pretty decent improvisation," she finished brightly.

Kali scoffed. "You? Act?"

"Well… not so much acting as it is… storytelling. Oh, and be prepared—she thinks our mother's dead."

Kali stared blankly at her sister. "And why don't you tell her we used to live on a farm with pink polka-dotted kneazles while you're at it?"

"No, this was relevant. She asked why we didn't have French accents and I told her that we used to live in England, but when our parents separated we moved to France. And now we've moved back here to live with our father because our mother died."

"How nice and morbid. Sounds like a bloody Muggle soap opera," Kali commented dryly.

"I had to tell her something," Elita argued. "It was the first thing that popped into my mind. But… I suppose morbidity is in my nature. At least she bought it."

"We wouldn't have had this problem if Shane was here…" Kali said dreamily. Elita almost laughed. It was uncanny how Kali lost all of her wiliness and sense of self when it came to Shane. But he was a good guy, so Elita supposed it was all right for her sister to go a little weak-kneed over him.

"Wow, Miss Feminist actually needs her boyfriend?" Elita asked in mock surprise in spite of herself, placing her hand in front of her mouth. "Color me shocked."

"He just seems to be a lot better at this Master Plan-Making thing than we are," Kali said sensibly, pretending that that was the only reason she cared. "He thinks of everything."

Elita glanced over her shoulder at Hermione, "And now I know where he gets it from."