I
Spring, 1989
Nightfall cradles the sandy shores of Starcliff Harbour, its gentle tide coming and going in a constant rocking that soothes the silence. A soft rain falls upon the harbour's village, rolling down the sides of stone houses and dripping from edges of roof tiles.
It's a typical March night for the townspeople and they're spending their evening tucked away in their homes as usual.
In particular, in the household of the Shacklebolts, there is an unusually high fire dwelling in the hearth.
The two-story home made of yellowed-white brick glows from the light streaming from its windows and the gathering of mismatched chimneys on the roof belch soot into the air. Attached on the right side of the home is a smaller, one-story addition with terracotta roof tiles that looks like it's blinking as figures pass back and forth in front of the windows.
On the lower levels of the home, the sounds of laughter echo loudly and the uproar of raving, little girls are its partner.
In the upper rooms, a father and daughter square off across a board of wizard's chess, the smashing pieces drowning out the appalled mumbling of a grown man losing to a girl just past her sixth birthday.
Distantly, the humming of a choring mother accompanies the song of a lively household.
To the quaint, magic village, the Shacklebolts are known as the biggest family in town. They are a spirited family of six and have, so far, birthed only daughters.
Julienne Moreau of Marseille is the matriarch of the family and comes from a long line of witches located in the south of France. She likes to keep the house heated so she can wear her fine, satin robes and not be layered down as she moves about her home. Her wiry curls are twisted into locs that fall to her back and they sway behind her whenever she moves to an invisible melody.
Always humming and singing, there's music in Julienne's soul and an ease that never leaves her, even as she matures. She's elegant and graceful with a whiplash humour and a belly laugh that her husband is completely smitten by.
She never dreamed of emigration but fell in love with her husband all the same and followed him back to England, even when he didn't ask.
The patriarch, Kingsley Shacklebolt, is the Head of the Household and making a name for himself in the Ministry. He was born a second son, but dark times had taken both his older brother and father, making him the singular heir to his family's old magic.
Ambitious and devoted, but with a period of rebellion that lasted long enough for him to fall in love with a beautiful woman he met on his journey across France. He finds his wife's long-standing distaste for the English chill amusing if not completely endearing and delights in 'shedding his skin' after a particularly stuffy day at the Ministry.
He moves about his home without his robes and is always wearing an undershirt that's bare on his arms.
Cool and collected, is the father of the household, but with a charisma that captivates.
There are the youngest girls—twins—by the name of Tamala and Magnolia, fondly called Tammy and Maggy. Or, Trouble and Mayhem, depending on which day you ask their family. Toddling girls that are soon-to-be five with skin of syrupy umber.
They like to climb, run, and dance around the home, their heads of fluffy curls always alerting others to their presence. They're the most rambunctious of the family and they often are letting out bursts of accidental magic whenever they get a rush of emotion. Leaving behind messes of harmless chaos in their paths is routine and usually proceeded by humour.
They are the most adventurous and daring of the children; acting first and constantly learning by mistake.
In other words; they are very hands-on.
Then, there is the middle-child of the bunch, Willow. Active, reserved Willow, who has an unexpected, rebellious streak when it comes to the traditional way of doing things. She mulls through all her thoughts in silence.
Because of the lushness of her tight curls, her parents often quip that her hair has only grown so big to encompass all of her thoughts. The dense forest of sable that covers her head is usually worn natural and puffed out.
In addition, she always fashions herself in bright, contradicting clothes that shine against her walnut complexion. Yellow trousers under pink, frilly dresses. Teal jumpers with purple shorts and orange, zig-zagged tights.
For all the silence that Willow acts in, her mannerisms speak loudly where her words will not. She learns her numbers before she learns her letters simply since she likes the sound of '27' and stops using her right hand for things only because she wants to be left-handed.
The world is simpler with my left hand, she explains to anyone who asks.
Wily, willful Willow, her father calls her, because she spent a whole day once figuring out how to curl up into her favourite loveseat by climbing the bookcase next to it.
Thank Merlin their parents have baby-proofed the house for falls and hard-landings.
Finally, the last of the bunch is named Yvonne and she is known particularly for her keen mind and easy smiles. With her eleventh birthday later in the year—making her the oldest of the four daughters—Yvonne is also the most mature and responsible of the Shacklebolt's brood. Now and then, she hovers near her siblings and lingers at her mother's elbow, offering help whenever someone needs it.
Easily though, her passion lies in learning.
Always excited with something and endlessly fascinated by a passing interest, Yvonne preoccupies herself with topic after topic until she knows everything about it. She reads the biggest books she can hold and keeps a spare parchment handy to write down new things to learn about while reading.
Cropped curls that hang in loose spirals and an infectious smile, Yvonne is an easy, happy child that rarely causes problems for her parents. Except, the girl is born with two left feet and often fumbles her way through daily happenings—bumping a knee here and dropping a glass there.
It is during those times that Yvonne resembles her sisters the most, excluding the luminous, coffee-brewed eyes they all inherit from their mother.
Each one of their quirks causes some type of wreckage.
Yet, the Shacklebolt couple is not worried about such things. They love their animated home life and their four, beautiful daughters each with their own bright, distinct personalities.
Even when it causes them the most stress.
"Tamala, careful, please, mon trésor," Julienne's voice cuts into the laughter of the twins. The mother steps into the sitting room, grabbing up the hasty, chocolate frog her daughter is attempting to step on.
"We do not want to dirty the floor, hein?" She uses her free hand to push back the lengthy, elegant locs that swing over her shoulder.
Tammy plasters on a wide-eyed look, nodding along with her mother's words before even hearing them, and holds out her hands for her escaped chocolate frog.
Julienne shakes her head internally at the innocent look her daughter has recently learned.
Merlin, save them.
As soon as the thought occurs, Maggy jumps off the couch and launches herself into her mother's arms.
Julienne, used to this sort of behaviour, easily braces for the tiny body, inspiring a round of giggles from the girl she catches effortlessly.
"Maman, voir! J'ai Doombdore!" The little girl shows off the card she is carefully handling—a smiling Dumbledore sitting in the frame, the bells in his hair softly chiming and his ancient robes looking just slightly ruffled.
It certainly is rare for the wizard to make an appearance on his own card, giving the wistful nature of the real wizard.
Julienne smiles and settles her daughter more securely against her hip, "Son nom est Duhm-buhl-dor, poussin." she says, quickly switching to her native language of French.
Because of her youngest ones, Julienne has gotten into the habit of switching between English and French often. It has been harder for the two girls to learn the languages compared to the oldest two but, slowly, they are starting to pick up on the basics.
Tammy, not to be forgotten, crowds around her mother's legs. "I got Tilly Toke, Mama!"
A card is being crushed in the hand she presents to Julienne. Noticeably, the frame of the card is empty. The famous witch probably ran at the sight of the boisterous, young twins.
Putting Maggy down, Julienne crouches down to be level with the girls. "Oui, oui. But, I see we have forgotten that we are not allowed sweets before bed."
The twins' faces immediately fall and they both exchange quick eye contact.
Julienne has to force down a smile at the sight. The eye-contact is new and she's delighted to see her twins share such a strong camaraderie.
Maggy bursts first. "But, maman!"
"C'est le weekend!" Tammy cuts in. "And we haven' brushed our teeth yet!"
"We didn' mean to, maman, honest." Maggy finishes, a pout forming.
Her daughters' voices volley back and forth and Julienne smiles indulgently before settling her hand on their arms.
"Calmer, calmer," she soothes. "I was just reminding, you are not in trouble."
The two girls exchange another glance before smiling widely.
"But," Julienne starts, sending a pointed look towards Tammy's hands. "Now that we know better, there is something to give me, yes?"
In her excitement, Maggy opens her mouth to answer her mother's question and just as swiftly slaps a hand over her mouth. This is Tammy's question! She has to let Tammy have a go, just like her Papa always says.
Tammy pouts slightly and looks down at her treat.
She really, really wants to eat the chocolate frog. She knows it will be good and delicious—she loves chocolate frogs best! But…she doesn't want her Mama upset.
Seeing the struggle clearly on her daughter's face, Julienne adds in. "The sugar is not good before bedtime. You will not sleep and would you not hate to be up all night alone?"
Tammy slowly nods her head in agreement and thinks about bedtime. She loves her bedtime stories and it is really warm when she falls asleep with Mama and Papa tucking her in.
What will she do up all alone?
"Ici, maman." She presents the chocolate frog, decision made. Maggy smiles at her sister and grabs her now-free hand. The third look they share is one of mirrored agreement.
"Merci, ma princesse." Julienne says kindly, rubbing a hand over her daughter's head before confiscating her off-limits snack. "Now, go upstairs to your rooms and try to settle for bed, yes?"
"Yes, mummy!" the two girls reply before hurrying out of the room.
Julienne can hear the moment they start running as they ascend the steps. The two girls are going to turn her hair grey one day, she can already tell.
But, for now, she will enjoy their boisterousness while she's still young enough to keep up with them.
Unlike the twins, Willow, who is just as energetic, does not charge through the home, stampeding off whenever she gets bored. The six year old often gets so consumed with figuring out how to do things in different ways that she doesn't move around the house much.
And her oldest—
THUD!
"I'm alright!" Yvonne's yell comes from deeper within the house.
Julienne chuckles to herself. Yvonne is predictable, if anything.
Moving towards the library, Julienne disposes of the (melting and disfigured) chocolate frog on the way. A quick scourgify gets the leftover confection off of her hands.
When Julienne enters the library, Yvonne is settled on the ground, picking up a mess of books that has seemingly spilled across the floor. Her hair that Julienne carefully styled into silky curls this morning is pulled back into a haphazard bun.
At least, the parts of her hair that are long enough to be in the bun are.
The dying, low light of the fireplace attests to how long her daughter has dawdled in the small room.
In typical fashion, Yvonne has foregone the two couches in the room and made herself a comfortable spot on the rug in front of the fireplace. And, if Julienne knows her daughter, the books that she has tripped over are her selections of the day.
She's told her repeatedly to not leave them scattered about.
Julienne opens her mouth to rehash the lecture but Yvonne beats her to it.
"I know, I know," Yvonne turns with a playful huff. "Do not leave the books lying around, Yvonne. You will trip and fall, Yvonne." The daughter does a perfect rendition of her mother's lingering French accent before switching back. "You don't have to tell me again, Mama."
Julienne smiles and paces further into the room, leaning against the arm of a loveseat. "You are very clumsy, bibiche. Always stumbling like a newborn fawn. It is very cute, but not a good habit to have."
"Papa says I'm clumsy only because my mind moves quickly." Yvonne retorts smartly, straightening the last of her books.
The mother of four huffs out a laugh. "We will send a letter of warning to Hogwarts so they will know to charm their floors for your arrival."
At her words, her daughter's smile dims and her eyes timidly glance away. She shifts into a more comfortable position, playing with her hands in her lap.
Julienne blinks at the sudden change in her mood. Surely, her daughter is not upset about such a slight, common joke? She is clumsy but not clumsy enough that she or Kingsley are actually worried about her.
But, Yvonne has different worries on her mind. "Hogwarts? Are you sure, Mama?" she mumbles, sending a hesitant glance up before her gaze skitters back down to the ground.
Melting at the sight of her daughter's now, easy-to-identify worry, Julienne moves to crouch before her, laying a hand over Yvonne's restless ones.
"Surely, you are not still thinking that I will be angry if you do not go to Beauxbatons?"
Yvonne's lips twitch and her brown, doe eyes finally look up at her mother. Softly, she nods her head.
"Awh, ma chérie. Ne t'inquiète pas." Julienne reassures her daughter, wrapping her arms around her. "Do you want to go to Hogwarts?"
Yvonne hugs her back and hides her face. It takes a moment before she's gently nodding her head once again.
Julienne speaks with all the tenderness she has. "Then that is all that matters to me. Je t'aime tellement." She kisses her daughter's head, "Who cares if you do not want to see the beautiful, French countryside, wear bleue silks, and attend the finest balls in Paris!"
Yvonne whines indignantly but bursts into laughter as her mother starts to tickle at her sides. "Mama!"
"I am joking, biquet." Julienne laughs, kissing her daughter once again. "It is meant to make you laugh! And Hogwarts is a good school, with great professors and a greater Headmaster. You will do well there."
Yvonne sits back and looks up at her. "You promise you don't mind? You always talk about your days at Beauxbatons."
"Je promets." Julienne hugs her daughter tight once more before running a hand over her loose curls and standing up. "Now, go upstairs and start getting ready for bed, yes? You may take one book with you, comprendre?"
With a renewed smile, Yvonne nods her understanding and quickly scoops up the book she has left open in her pile of blankets. Moving it to the side, the young girl starts cleaning up the mess she has made in the library, refolding blankets and throwing pillows back into their rightful places.
For a moment, Julienne watches her daughter as she straightens the room.
There is no doubt in Julienne's mind that Yvonne hid that concern in her heart for months—unnecessarily terrified of disappointing and upsetting her mother by wanting to go to Hogwarts. She is almost too responsible for such a young age, trying so hard to appease her parents.
But, Julienne laments, it is a consequence of having a big heart. Yvonne cares so much and part of that is worrying insistently about troubling others and causing unease.
She truly will do well at Hogwarts, Julienne determines.
Going away to school will get her away from the title of 'older sister' and put her with kids her own age—rebellious, bumbling children who will come in all shapes, sizes, and temperaments.
She will make friends and build a family amongst her housemates.
And the library! Julienne wishes she could see her daughter's face when she sees the giant hall of books for the first time. Hogwarts Library is famous for its collection.
"Bonsoir, maman." Yvonne's sweet voice grabs Julienne from her musings and the daughter quickly pauses to give a final hug to her mother.
Julienne bends and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Bonsoir, ma bichette." Yvonne leaves the room and the mother goes to kill the fire in the library's hearth.
She will do well, Julienne reminds herself even as she hears feet catch on the staircase and a resounding THUMP!
A/N: Full disclaimer for my use of Google translate for the French bits. Sorry if anyone who speaks French is cringing. I did a bit of research but either way I tried my best :')
Anyway, I decided to just go ahead and upload the second chapter so you all can get a taste of Yvonne and her family as a real introduction to this fic. I hope you all love her (and her sisters) as much as I do :)
Side note: it was when I was writing this fic that I really noticed the last name "Shacklebolt". Ms. R*wling is very messy for that one (on top of all her other hateful comments as of late). Like...not her naming the one, important Black character Shackle. Bolt. Like, please. Ma'am, at least try not to be racist. But really what else is new.
Enjoy, my friends.
