Back to the Marauders' Era
Chapter Three:
Appearance of a model, personality of a brick
~"Let's have some new clichés."~
-Samuel Goldwyn
After Lily's 'little' outburst, James had started to mope for a couple of minutes ("How can she not like me? I because so mature for her, and I love her!" Snort. Yah, right. Mature. Totes.) before the group went back to planning their 'epic' prank.
"Sliming Snivelly isn't an option then?" Sirius asked.
James shook his head, suddenly, his whole, extremely handsome (no, I hadn't gotten used to it, yet) face lit up. "I've got it."
And with that, the three of them leaned together and started whispering among themselves like a bunch of second-graders. I resisted the urge to snort.
For the first minute of their whispering and – yes, no joke – giggling, I had thought the whole situation highly amusing. Now, after three minutes of it, it was getting old fast. In fact, it was becoming rather irritating.
Suddenly, a loudspeaker sounded throughout the train.
"Students, we will be arriving in half an hour. Please change into your school robes."
The first thing that struck me was the blatant disregard of canon (honestly, they didn't have anyone announce their arrival), the second was how unrealistically short the journey had been. That had been, what, half an hour? The trip was supposed to last for at least several hours!
"Um, hey, Oceane," James said, shuffling in his seat. "Uh, you'll need to leave for a couple of moments, so we can get change."
My face filled with a blush that the author sent me (honestly, why would I be embarrassed by his perfectly acceptable request?) and my melodic voice filled the compartment. "Oh, of course." I started leaving, when I paused and said, "I just realised! I don't have any robes!"
"That's no problem," Remus said, smiling warmly at me. "You can pick some up next to the changing rooms further down the train!"
I smiled gratefully and left, feeling distinctly uncomfortable as I walked down the train, not unaware of the looks the male students were giving me, nor of their nudging and loud whispers.
"Damn, look at that hot new girl!"
"I'd love to see what she's hiding under those clothes."
"What do you think it would take for me to get into her pants?"
I kept my head lowered as I pretended to be oblivious to their crude remarks. I was very thankful when I finally arrived at the "changing room" (which, naturally, didn't exist in canon).
There was one of each uniform piece left, and I grabbed each of them and made my way into a changing cubicle. It had a crimson curtain, a small black bench, and three large mirrors; similar to something one might find in a clothes shop.
For the first time, I saw myself and I felt my jaw drop. Damn, I really was hot. Unrealistically so.
I had black hair that was perfectly styled (even if it definitely didn't look like anything from the 70's). It was smooth and soft, falling in glossy waves until my lower back. My face was beautiful, I had dark eyes with sinfully long lashes and immaculate eyebrows; pale, flawless skin and a perfect nose; full, dark pink lips that looked utterly kissable; teeth white and completely straight. My body looked like that of a playboy model – after Photoshop. My hips were wide, my butt round and tight, my waist was small and my stomach flat. My boobs… Well, as I had already determined, they were big. Very. Not even D cup, I was further down the alphabet… Not only were they huge in size, they seemed to defy gravity by not drooping or sagging in the least. My legs were long and shapely, my arms toned and even my hands seemed unrealistically beautiful.
In short, I was the 'perfect' woman. I was what the media promoted women to look like, that unattainable perfection.
I couldn't blame all those boys for wanting to get into my pants, I was their hormonal teenage fantasy come true.
And I hated it.
Although I, like anyone, felt insecure sometimes, or sometimes wished that I could trade bodies with someone that had a better figure, now that I actually had it, I couldn't help but wish with my whole heart that I was back in my own body. I didn't want every guy I came across to stare at me like I was a piece of meat, I didn't want to be objectified. I didn't want to never be sure whether a guy was actually being nice, or just wanting to sleep with me.
I stared at my reflection for another second dully, when I noticed something. Peering closer at myself, I realised that my eyes had changed colour. Before, they had been a dark brown, almost black, now they were a bluish-grey, like the sky on a cloudy day.
Oh, hell no.
I silently prayed that it was my imagination, that the author hadn't played into the cliché that the half-vampire Mary-Sue had eyes that changed colour with her mood, but before my own eyes (heh), my eyes changed into a dark purple.
With a quiet groan, I rolled my now-violet eyes at my reflection. Deciding to stop examining myself, I pulled off my dark blue V-neck sweater, only for my big boobs to spring free. Being held back by only a flimsy, black lace bra (Black lace? Honestly?), I was almost intimidated by them. Which, quite frankly, was ridiculous. Whoever heard of someone being intimidated by their own breasts?
For some reason I was suddenly uncomfortable staring at myself nearly-naked (on the top half, at least), and I quickly pulled on the crisp white uniform shirt. My discomfort probably had something to do with the fact that I definitely did not in the least feel like this was my body, meaning that I felt sort of like a pervert for checking out these (my own?) breasts. I quickly buttoned up the shirt, only to find that the top two buttons wouldn't close over my enormous boobs. Perfect. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Now, a significant (and certainly not modest) portion of my extremely-large-perfectly-proportioned-gravity-defying breasts were revealed through the neckline of my shirt. I gave a couple more tugs to the shirt, willing it to close, to no avail.
The author seemed insistent that I walked around Hogwarts looking like the school-prostitute, I decided, especially when I discovered that not only was my skirt much too short (it barely covered my perfect butt, and I was willing to bet that if I would lean over, my underwear – a not-so-modest lacy black thong – would be revealed. This was honestly just perfect), but my school shoes were six-inch stilettoes.
I carefully tied my neutral black school tie and looked around for a jumper, only to find none. I also appeared to be missing my school robes, so apparently I was required to walk around in my nearly see-through school shirt. I honestly just felt like crying.
Why am I even upset? It's not like whatever I do here effects my real life, and it's not even like people are checking me out, they're checking out Oceane. Why do I even care?
However upset I was with my predicament, the thought comforted me. I was still extremely uncomfortable with the idea of walking around teenage guys (and grown men) dressed as I was, but I forced myself to push all negative thoughts to one side. Negativity and insecurity wasn't going to get me anywhere, and it definitely wasn't going to get me home.
I'm going home to mum somehow. I forced myself to think. And then I'll laugh about this and chalk it down as a fun experience.
I refused to even consider that I might be stuck here, then I would probably lose all will to carry on, and that wouldn't help me at all.
After my motivational pep-talk to myself, I didn't leave myself time to think. I flung open the curtain and strode out of the dressing room, head held high.
Completely ignoring the suggestive looks and not-very-subtle staring I was receiving from the guys and the shocked looks I was receiving from the girls, I blocked out all the whispers and walked back to the compartment.
I supposed I could thank the author that Oceane could walk perfectly in six-inch heels, but I was already so angry with whoever was writing this stupid story that I didn't dwell on the fact too long.
The marauders looked up and started gawking at me as I walked in. I gave them a winning smile, determined not to let anything bring me down.
"Wow. You look…" Sirius trailed his eyes up and down my body several times, his eyes lingering on my legs and chest (the latter fairly longer).
"You look bloody brilliant." James said, his eyes bulging out of his head. "You know, if I wasn't so in love with Evans…" He said in a low voice, trailing off.
"How can you walk in those shoes?" Remus asked mildly, eying my stilettoes. A relieved giggle filtered out and I felt the urge to hug him. As the only person who had kept his eyes to himself, I really was beginning to like the quiet boy, even if he was portrayed terribly out-of-character.
"Who are you? And did you steal a first year's robe? And your mum's shoes?" A nasal voice sounded from behind me. I privately agreed with whoever was obviously going to turn into my arch-enemy, but I turned around all the same.
"My name is Oceane-Elenore Duquette, nice to meet you." I replied politely.
The girl was significantly shorter than I was in my six-inch shoes, and she had a short, straight, blonde bob which framed and emphasised her long, pointy face and sharp features. Her upturned nose and squinty, grey eyes made it painfully obvious that the author had gone out of their way to make it clear that this was a 'bad' character; as, unlike the flawless appearance of everybody else, she would definitely not be described as pretty. Also, the green of her Slytherin robes made it fairly obvious that she was the antagonist of the story.
On either side of her, she was flanked by two people. One was a girl with equally sleek blonde hair, which went to her waist. She was also sharp-featured, with a thin mouth and a pointy nose. On the other side was a large, well built, hunky guy, who was also very handsome (although not as handsome as the marauders and Snape) with brown hair and dark eyes, and an arrogant smirk.
"Was your mum high when she named you?" She sneered, and I almost laughed at her accurate statement. It was a shame that our characters were going to be enemies, I could picture myself getting along with this girl. As long as she kept her insults witty, accurate and amusing, that is.
"My mum is dead." I replied quietly, the words one again put into my mouth by the author.
"Shame. So sorry." She said, not sounding sorry in the least. "You're from America?"
I found myself nodding. "I transferred."
"I heard." Suddenly, she stopped examining her fingernails, and looked me directly into the eye (again with the looks! What is it with this author and deep looks?), then said in an arrogant but firm voice, "Listen, Ocean Sea-Fish or whatever your name is," I repressed an amused snort. "I don't care who you are, but stay out of my way. I rule the school, and I don't care whether you look like a low-class stripper, but you're not taking that away from me. My name's Brittany, and don't you forget it."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the corridor, staring after her with an open mouth, completely shocked at how somebody could have such an attitude. Or, at least, Oceane was shocked. I, personally, had found the entire exchange very amusing, and it was actually my most stimulating conversation yet. How sad is that?
"Don't worry about her," Sirius murmured into my ear, which would have caused me to jump, had the author not been controlling my movements. Instead, I automatically turned around and looked him deep in the eye (this eye-look-thingie was getting old really fast).
"I'm not worried," I found myself saying, my melodic voice determined (but honestly, how anyone could take someone seriously that had a voice that made her sound like she was singing all the time was beyond me). "I'll show her. She doesn't rule the school, she's just an annoying bitch!"
Had I been in-control of my body, I probably wouldn't have been able to resist bursting out laughing at the sound of the innocent, singing-voice of a prostitute look-alike cursing. Honestly, this whole situation was so messed up that I was probably going mad.
"You're right." Sirius said, his silver eyes not leaving my who-knows-what-colour-they-were-at-the-moment eyes. "You're ten times the person she is, you show her!"
The (cough) intimate (cough) moment was 'ruined' by the loudspeaker announcer, who declared that we would be arriving at school soon.
I couldn't help but feel excitement bubble up inside of me, I was actually going to Hogwarts! I would be living my dream! Although I hadn't imagined attending dressed like (as Brittany so eloquently put it) a low-class stripper, with a bunch of characters that I knew but resembled nothing like what they were supposed to be like; it was nonetheless my dream, and I was determined not to let it be ruined, no matter what life (or, the author) threw my way. I also refused to think of my mum or my friends at home.
Nope, not thinking of them. Focus of the thought of attending Hogwarts. Learning magic. I'm going to learn magic!
I kept this thought in mind as I bore more suggestive looks and staring, and I didn't let anything bring me down, even as a pair of thirteen year old boys nudged each other as they stared at my huge assets, laughing like crazy all the while. I didn't let it bring me down after it happened for the fifth time (not the same boys, mind you. Different ones, of different ages, and houses. Yay for me…), or the time after that. I even didn't let it disconcert me that I caught the marauders (my supposed 'friends', even if we had only just met) staring at my bum as I walked in front of them.
"Are those REAL?" I heard a fifteen-year old looking witch ask her friends, staring at my body, then at her own, decidedly smaller, chest. Then they all burst out in giggles.
I tuned out the whispers once again as the castle came into view. I gasped, it was every bit as beautiful as I had imagined. For several minutes I stared at it, soaking it all in. It's really here. And it's spectacular.
"Hello, again," I heard someone say from next to me, I turned and saw Severus Snape greeting me politely.
"Hi," I said with a smile, before I heard the marauders protest from behind me.
"Go away, Snivelly, no need to get your greasy paws all over her."
"Yeah, she's not going to give you a second glance, Snivellus, give up and get lost."
Snape, to his credit, just rolled his eyes and started talking to me. "So, are you nervous about the sorting?" He asked.
"Well, slightly." I confessed, surprised that I was fully in control of my replies. I supposed that the author had skimmed over the dialogue ('Oceane and Snape chatted on their way to the castle', or some such rot), something which I was very grateful for. I really needed to have a proper conversation with someone or else I was going to lose my mind.
"Don't worry, it's not nearly as scary as it seems. You can chose what house you go in, you know."
Why would Snape know this? I ignored the blatant disregard of canon and smiled at him, ignoring the attacks the marauders were still making at Snape from behind my back.
"So, what house are you thinking of?"
"Gryffindor." I replied firmly. A flicker of disappointment shone in Snape's eyes for a moment, but then it was gone.
"I see. No doubt there?" He asked.
I gave him another smile and shook my head; although I liked Snape (in this story) more than I liked anyone else so far (perhaps excluding Remus), I wasn't willing to go into Slytherin because of that. Not that I thought for a second that the author would allow that.
"Bugger off, Snivelly," James said, shoving him away. Snape gave me a half-wave (which I returned with a sympathetic smile), and left to his Slytherin friends.
"Thank you for getting rid of him," I told James in my melodic voice, the author putting the words in my mouth. "He's such a pain."
I would've frowned, but couldn't. Snape had so far been far more pleasant to me than any of the others (Remus excluded), who had made me quite a bit uncomfortable with their leering and Sirius' blatant flirting and intense-looks, not to mention the prank-whisper-giggle incident.
"Well, that's Snivelly for you." James said with a shrug. "So-"
Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by Sirius, who snaked an arm around my lower back. This, naturally, made me extremely uncomfortable, but the author made sure I merely giggled and smiled at him.
"So, beautiful, you looking forward to term beginning?"
"Ooh, yes!" I squealed, the sound positively painful to my ears, but it didn't seem to bother the two boys in the least. "I'm super excited!"
Suddenly, we arrived at the castle entrance, which was odd, as a moment ago it had been quite far away. I chose to ignore the fact that the author had left out the thesteral-pulled carriages, deciding not to worry myself more than necessary.
"First years?" Professor McGonagall (who looked exactly like Maggie Smith from the films, obviously the author had described her that way) called from the doors. A group of small kids shuffled towards her, when she spotted me. Instead of looking shocked by my clothing (as she should have), she gave me a warm smile (something which was completely out of character for her, even in the fanfiction universe) and beckoned me over.
"You'll be sorted with the first years, I do hope that's alright," She told me, in a distinctly un-McGonagall voice, sounding more girlish and… gushy. Blegh.
"Yes, ma'am. That's fine." I heard myself say politely, following her to trail after the first years. I honestly felt much more comfortable with the eleven-year-old children, as – being younger than hormones and attraction to boobs and butts – they didn't stare or make comments, except for a little blonde girl who had her hair in pigtails.
"You are really pretty," she told me with her young, innocent voice, looking up at me with big eyes. "Like, really pretty. I wish I was as pretty as you."
Since the author hadn't planned a reaction for me except a smile, I knelt down so that I was at the same height as her. "You are really pretty as well. I wish I was as pretty as you." I said, meaning it completely.
"Really?" She asked me, her big eyes wide.
"Completely." I told her firmly, with a smile, which she returned hesitantly.
McGonagall returned, and called for everyone to follow her. We all dutifully shuffled after her, my heals clanking on the stone floor. She flung open the doors to the great hall, and I took a moment to marvel at its beauty. Wow.
I focused on how amazing it looked so that I wouldn't have to pay heed to all the whispers and staring that were undoubtable starting again. Instead, I gazed up at the enchanted ceiling, mesmerised by it.
"Oceane-Elenore Duquette" McGonagall called from the front of the hall. I decided not to think about how she was supposed to read surnames first, or how the author had completely skipped the hat's song, and made my way to the stool, my heels clanking obnoxiously loudly in the otherwise silent hall.
I perched myself onto the stool, positioning myself so that nobody might accidentally catch a glimpse up my precariously short skirt, and felt McGonagall place the hat on my head.
"Huh? What in the world?!" The hat gave a confused shout as soon as it was placed on my head, but I was aware that only I could hear it. "You – what?"
Then it struck me. The hat knew who I truly was, and about my situation.
Oh my gosh.
Note: I hope it's not too fast-paced, things will calm down a little later, but I want to portray how disoriented and confused Chloe (ha – I bet most of you didn't remember her real name!) is feeling. Also, there will be a storyline, as well as several sub-plots, don't worry. The 'real' story is beginning, soon, so far, the chapters have been a sort of introduction to the situation, the OOC characters and Chloe/Oceane (I hope the changing room scene wasn't too long or tedious:D). Also, Chloe will have more in-control moments as the story goes on, as (in bad stories) the author tends to skip a lot more time as the story goes on. Love to you all xo