29th August 2019

Molly's POV

Chapter 1: London Calling

I hate nowhere in the world more than London. I have no idea how people live in that godforsaken city. It's a dump. I find no pleasure in shopping usually, let alone in one of the busiest cities in Britain on a Saturday afternoon. Why on Earth couldn't she have taken me somewhere quiet, up near where I live? Surely Liverpool and Manchester are less busy than the hell-hole we ended up in? But no, of course not. Victoire has gained a great level of snobbishness from her mother, and whilst Dominique and Louis are fairly grounded, like the rest of us Weasleys, Vic is a firm belief that Southerners beat Northerners any day, without even bringing in the Welsh v English argument. She comes to our house over in North Wales, which is surrounded by fields and hills, where you can actually breathe in air without reducing your life expectancy by a year, and she sits inside, glaring at the rolling hills and hedgerows. She grew up on the South coast, where you can go into the sea without freezing to death, and sees no attraction in fields full of farm animals and 'that horrid smell' that is salt-free, clean air. My home, the furthest north of all of us Weasleys due to my mother's insistence that we stay near her family, is like The Burrow in many respects. The nearest house to us is half a mile away, we have a garden big enough to house all of my cousins and their parents, pets and friends, we are free to use magic as we like, since no-one ever comes down our lane, and the house is so higgledy-piggledy that it makes you dizzy just looking at it. To go from this to a city where you blow your nose and it comes out black, and where you can't move for Muggles with those stupid phones glued to their ears, is torture for a little country girl like myself.

Victoire turned up to my house at eleven in the morning, Apparating neatly outside the front door and knocking daintily. I'd been up for hours, waiting with anticipation for the day, and she stepped into the hallway announcing that she was taking me to London. My eyes widened. I'd never been shopping to Muggle London, only ever Diagon Alley. Mum always told me it wasn't worth it, so I had never wanted to go. Yes, okay, it has a fantastic history, but so do other places in the world, seeing these historic places myself never interested me. I grinned widely and Victoire, towering above me by six inches, wearing high heels even for a day of hard-core shopping, ruffled my hair. It fell limply back down around my shoulders and she looked at me analytically. She nodded at herself, and looked down at me.

"Where's your mum?" she asked, glancing to her left and right then to the stairs. Kitchen or lounge? Study or bedroom?

Victoire loves my mum, an appreciator of fashion in a different way to Aunt Fleur. Mum is all for the alternative, not necessarily looking pretty, but looking good. Whilst Fleur thinks about comfort and style, my mother will go through agony to look like she's just stepped off the catwalk. That's why I wanted to go with Victoire. I know that in spite of her snobbery, she will pace me, not let me get in too far above my head, unlike my mother, who when she has a free minute (admittedly, that is rare), tries to dress me in her clothes and teach me to walk in five-inch heels. She never takes us shopping any more. She gave that up two years ago, and lets us wear what her mother sends, and since neither Lucy nor I show an interest in her hobby, she doesn't waste her time. When I told her Victoire was taking me out, she was slightly hurt, actually, but I know that she'll have given Vic a huge list of things to introduce me too, and will probably supply the money.

"Kitchen," I said glumly.

Victoire ran, her heels clicking lightly on the floorboards, past the staircase to the kitchen at the back of the house, where my mother was plaiting Lucy's hair. Seeing one of her favourite nieces, she dropped the braid and flung herself at Vic. Honestly, I'm more mature than she is. They started speaking rapidly, not even finishing sentences before the other gave her answer. They're two halves of the same whole, I'm sure. If Victoire wasn't the spitting image of her own mother, I'd say they were the mother and daughter of this family. Vic doesn't even call my mum 'Aunt' any more, just plain Audrey. If I tried that with any of my aunts, I'd be sent to my room straight away.

"Molly, love," Mum looked at me, her eyes were blue that day, and sparkling, "can you finish Lucy's hair for me? I've got to go and show Victoire that new pair of shoes I got last week."
She turned her attention away from me and back to my cousin before I could even answer. I sighed heavily and stood behind my little sister, just turned twelve, to pull apart the attempt that Mum had made to plait it. Hands grasped together, my mum and cousin ran upstairs. I could hear them, both in heels, clacking over the floor above my head.

"French plait, Luce?" I asked, brushing her mouse brown hair softly. She nodded and obediently took her glasses off. It only took me a few minutes to finish, and she hopped up and off to her room.

I put the brush away on the top and wandered aimlessly to my parents' study. I knocked on the door and I could hear my dad's exasperated voice telling me to come in.

"Hey, Dad," I muttered, shutting the door behind me. He turned in shock to see me, and not Lucy or Mum. Dad and I have little in common. I admire him, I do. He's got a good heart, but I sometimes feel like I'm not the daughter he really wants. I know that Lucy satisfies that role. I don't know where I stand with him sometimes, but he's good to talk to. He piled his work together and turned to me. I walked over to his desk and sat down in the empty space.

"Your mother said that Victoire is taking you shopping?" I felt slightly ashamed for not mentioning it to him myself. I nodded shyly. "Be careful, Molly." He said it so patronisingly that I almost cringed. Instead, I just looked at him in disbelief. "I know you don't need me to say that, but it will put my mind at rest," he continued with a small smile.

"I can take care of myself, Dad," I added to reassure him, and I can. I'm many things as a Hufflepuff, but a pushover is not one of them. I have a mind of my own and I use it – sometimes. He smiled at me again.

"Don't let her go over the top," he warned. "You know what Vic is like. Don't buy anything you're not comfortable in. Don't let her control you."

"I'm not going with Mum for a reason, Dad," I responded. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised, and gave a chuckle and a nod. From upstairs, the footsteps recommenced. "I think that's my cue to leave. I'll see you later." Without thinking, I leant over and hugged him. I must have taken him by surprise, because he stiffened, but a second later, he put his arms around me and pressed a kiss to my cheek. I pulled back, fairly sure I was blushing slightly at the unusual show of affection that had possessed my father, and slid off the desk. "See you later, Dad." He murmured a reply as I shut the door and turned to face my fate. Mum's cheeks were flushed with excitement as she sat at the kitchen table.

"We're going to head off now, Molly," Victoire said, walking in from the hallway and pulling me towards her. She cast a slightly disapproving look at my clothes: a blue blouse that has always had an odd smell to it, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and shabby trainers that were slightly too small. I glance to my mother, who despite having had two kids is only one dress size bigger than me. Her fitted top and low-slung jeans make her look like she has the body of a twenty year old, not someone twice that age. Mum nodded and flung herself at me. Her hair, a honey blonde that disguises both the grey streaks and her natural mousey colour, got caught in my mouth and I pried her off me.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Why is there all this affection today?" It was supposed to be rhetorical, but Mum looked at me, her blue eyes twinkling.

"Because you're growing up, Mol," she said softly, reaching out and pushing my hair behind my ear. She didn't say anything else, just hugged Victoire and gave a small wave as my cousin dragged me out of the room and over to the fireplace in the lounge. She thrust my bag at me and I pulled it over my body. I picked up some Floo powder, stepped in and let myself be enveloped by the emerald flames as they sent me on my way to a whole new world.

The Leaky Cauldron was heaving. I cast a look to the bar, where our Herbology professor and family friend, Neville Longbottom, was working alongside his wife, Hannah. They both seemed harassed, but as I went over to say hello, Victoire grabbed my hand and shook her head.

"They're busy enough as it is. We'll pop by later," she explained, squeezing through the crowds of people. In a corner, I spotted Evie, their eldest daughter the same age as James and Dominique, cleaning tables and collecting glasses. She looked equally exhausted but Victoire pulled me outside the second I went to open my mouth to shout her.

As soon as I saw the chaos outside, I froze. People were just moving everywhere, like they were on autopilot. There was no-one stopping to talk, like I'd remembered from the trips to Liverpool and people were being bashed and crushed as high-flying business men stormed down the roads, briefcases flying in one hand, the other occupied with a mobile phone. I shuddered involuntarily as Victoire pulled me into the masses and headed up towards a set of traffic lights at the top of the street.

"Right, so we're on Charing Cross Road," she began to explain, as though I knew what that meant, "so if I remember correctly," she stopped as she nearly bumped into an old man and pulled me with her to avoid him, "if we turn left up here, we should end up on Oxford Street." I looked at her, bewildered. She rolled her eyes and I whimpered as someone banged into me. "That's the main shopping street in London? Do you not listen to your mother?" I felt like she was scolding me and I ripped my hand from hers, stopping in the middle of the street to glare at her.

"Victoire, if you're going to be like this then I am going home," I said forcefully. Someone bumped into me and I stumbled forwards. Vic grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her, into the entrance of a small bookshop. "I didn't come here for you to lecture me. I'm here to get you to help me to sort myself out." She glowered at me and crossed her arms. Sometimes it is extremely hard to believe that she's nineteen years old. She looked me up and down and sighed.

"Fine. Whatever. Just...oh, come on." She grabbed my hand again, squeezing a little harder than she normally would, and pulled me down to the end of the road.

Madness: if I thought Charing Cross had been hell, then Oxford Street was like the whole of Earth possessed by the devil. Business men in a rush were nothing compared with obsessive women with designer handbags grabbing and clawing at clothes without even properly looking at them. Victoire pulled me into shop after shop. I was amazed by how fashion had come on since I last tried to go Muggle shopping. The skinny jeans and layers that I remember my mother wearing in my childhood had been replaced with the comeback of flared trousers that I know my grandmother wore in the 70s. There were t-shirts with gorgeous motifs and cheeky slogans. The prices were higher than before, given the state of Muggle Britain's economy, and the increasing desire for people to have clothes made ethically was another reason for the price rises. Victoire pulled me behind her in every store, grabbing clothes off racks and draping them over her arm. She gathered hole-less jeans, pretty blouses and dresses and shoved me in the direction of the changing room. She waited outside whilst I tried on item after item. She gave her approval, after I'd said whether or not I liked it.

"We'll make a girl out of you yet," she said with a wink, as we piled two pairs of jeans, a t-shirt and three dresses onto the checkout. Mum had provided Victoire with a lot of Muggle money to update my wardrobe, and I couldn't help but wonder whether that had been run past my dad. I smiled weakly as the cashier gave me my fifth bag full of shopping. Together, we thanked her and walked back into the main street. "Hungry?" my cousin asked me as we made our way down the other side of the road. I hadn't realised until she asked but my stomach was growling like a bear and starting to ache slightly.

"I hadn't noticed," I muttered, willing the racket in my body to shut up. It seemed to have multiplied by ten since I acknowledged my hunger. Vic laughed and linked my arm with hers.

"That's what shopping does to you," she said, smiling her perfect smile. "Come on. We'd better eat." Without any consultation, she chuckled again and dragged me into a restaurant nearby.

The one thing I detest most about Vic is the fact that she can eat and eat and eat and not get fat. She stays slim and her skin always glows. She ordered steak and chips, one meal that she loves, whilst I settled for chicken and salad. We thanked the waitress after she took our order and I handed my menu to her. I looked back round to see Victoire staring at me.

"What?" I asked, automatically reaching for my hair. "What's wrong?" Maybe I'd developed a spot or had something up my nose. She smiled softly again, a comforting smile.

"It's nothing, Mol," she said to me, reaching across the table and taking my hands. "Your boyfriend is very lucky to have you, that's all."

Ah yes. My boyfriend: Harrison Tierney. This October will be our 3rd anniversary. We've been seeing each other since the start of third year. He's a Ravenclaw, extremely bright and dead set for a brilliant job. My dad loves him. Mum thinks I can do better (how much better I don't know). Lucy has a crush on him herself, I think. She always goes twice as shy as usual when he talks to her and she blushes a bright crimson (she may have escaped the Weasley hair, but she has inherited the horrible flushing curse). He's not that great looking, really. He's certainly within my league. He has this fairly short, pale blond hair that always sits perfectly on top of his head, and big green eyes that take my breath way. He's built like a small building: tall and broad, and eats to match it. I adore him. I can't remember him not being there. To me, he is everything.

If anyone else had heard what Victoire had said, not knowing that we were related, they'd probably take that in the wrong context. I, on the other hand, had no idea what she meant, so cast her a confused look.

"You have no self confidence, do you, Mol?" she said, dreamily. She squeezed my hands in hers. It was a silly question really. There I was, sat opposite one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I was supposed to feel confident in myself. I knew every man in the building was casting approving glances at her, and I could also guess what was going through their minds, although it's something I'd prefer not to think about too much. I didn't meet her eye, but instead focused on the salt and pepper shakers. "I wish I was like you sometimes, you know?" she took her gaze from me and focused on the tablecloth. "I wish that I didn't know how beautiful I was. I wish that I could melt into the background sometimes. I wish I had a boyfriend who adored me like Harrison does you. Someone who would trust me." Now, that may sound rude, arrogant and uncaring but coming from Vic, this was a compliment of the highest degree.

"What about Teddy?" Ted Lupin is Vic's long-term boyfriend. He's possibly the hottest guy I've met in my life, in every form that his body can take. They've probably been seeing each other for around two years now, on and off. She doesn't talk about it a lot. As much as she likes to gossip, she isn't keen on having her own private life flaunted for all to see and hear. Her cheeks have a faint pink tinge to them and she retracts her hands from mine so she can play with the tablecloth.

"He doesn't trust me. Not really. He's so protective. If a guy even looks at me, he's on them like a shot." Her eyes started to well up. I didn't know what to do, so I just reached my hands over the table to hold them in mine again.

"Vic, he loves you," I said insistently. I'd heard Teddy talking non-stop about Vic to my mum at Louis' birthday party last week. She shook her head. "You're being silly. Stop it. You're gorgeous, Victoire. You're perfection in human form. He's bound to get jealous of other men. It's not that he doesn't trust you, it's that he's scared of losing you." She sniffled and looked up at me. I reached into my bag and pulled out a tissue, handing it to her kindly. She dabbed at her eyes.

"Urgh, my make-up," she muttered. I laughed under my breath and she caught my eye before breaking into giggles herself. She looked at me again, cocking her head to the side. "You know, I bet you've never worn make-up?" I shook my head. I'd never seen the importance of it. "Right. We're going to get you made up this afternoon. How do you fancy a hair cut?" she added, reaching over and pulling at a lock of my limp red mess. "Yeah. We can work with this. What do you say?" She was bouncing up and down in her chair, so excited and happy that it was almost impossible to imagine that she'd been weeping just moments before. I sighed, defeated and nodded. She squealed and giggled again, and I couldn't help but imitate her.

--

She dragged me into a shop and over to the cosmetics stand. She spun them some line about finding colours, and left me to be made up by some woman who looked like she'd coated her face with plaster whilst Victoire went off in search of other things. At the end of the long, long fifteen minutes that it took the woman, she handed my glasses back to me and held a mirror up in front of my face. Even I couldn't deny that I looked better with it: the occasional blemish that I had was covered completely, the blusher made me look like I was actually alive compared to my ghostly complexion of a few minutes ago. With perfect timing as ever, Victoire turned up at my side not two minutes later, with a bag full of products. She thanked the woman and marched me back out to the high street.

"Now, I asked around for a cheap but good hairdresser in the area. Apparently the best one is -" she stopped and turned down a quieter side-street. Her legs, being a great deal longer than mine, raced ahead, taking full advantage of the ability to walk in a straight line without being barged into, and I was struggling to keep up with the pace. "Aha!" she stopped in front of a Muggle hairdresser. "Here we go. Come on," she grabbed my hand again and pulled me through the front door.

Shockingly, and unlike my mother's reports of Muggle hairdressers, the woman was very kind, giving me and Victoire useful tips about hair care and styles. She promised me that I would look fine and sat me down in a chair. I let her wash my hair tenderly, with more care than my mother and I usually took. She started to snip and chop at my hair. The process was so much longer than the magical way. Dad would take me and Lucy to Nanna's house to have our hair cut, claiming that his hair had always been done by her and there had never been a disaster (not counting the time that, as a child, Uncle Ron had ran into his mother and caused Uncle Bill's hair to be cut to his ear on one side, and to his shoulder on the other). Victoire was chatting away, flicking through a Muggle magazine that seemed to be of an even lower level than Witch Weekly, the magazine my mother interned for as a teenager. I answered all the questions I was asked, very worried by the amount of hair that seemed to have come off my head. Seeing my obvious discomfort, Victoire sent me words of comfort every few minutes. I knew that if there was a problem with it, she'd step in. Although I could barely see my face without my glasses, let alone hers, I could tell that she was smiling gleefully beside me.

The haircut took over an hour. The trainee swept up the mass of red hair under her senior's feet. My hair was dried quickly and then straightened with irons ten times better than those my mother uses.

"Okay, glasses on, love," the woman said kindly. I reached onto my lap, where I'd kept them for safe keeping, and popped my glasses back on. My hair was around my cheeks, which made them look a bit thinner than they really were. It was choppy, and kind of resembled Dominique's, although with more control than her locks. I looked older, much older, more like sixteen than the twelve that I resembled before. I couldn't speak. I touched it and felt it slide through my fingers. "Like it?" she asked me, in a slightly worried tone. I could do nothing but nod slowly. I could now see Vic smiling broadly and she pulled me up onto my feet. Lauren, the hairdresser, pulled off my gown to enable my cousin to envelope me in a strong hug.

"I told you!" she said, her eyes shining down at me. She turned to the hairdresser and thanked her, pressing a few notes into her hand. She pulled me to the door. "Keep the change!" then yanked me out back onto the street.

The temperature had not dropped: it must have been nearing 30º and despite having changed into a dress and sandals before we ate, I was still ridiculously hot. "We'd best be getting you back." Victoire's voice broke my concentration. I nodded, still lost for words, and looked around. We'd made it back to the Charing Cross Road junction in absolute silence, a first for Victoire, surely. We chatted about trivial matters on the way back to the pub: school, her job, our cousins. The crowd inside the pub had died down enough for Victoire to allow me to say hello to Neville and Hannah. Evie had finished for the day, and her evening replacement was milling around. As the hand on the clock struck half past six, Victoire ended our conversation, dragging me to the fireplace. "I'm going home. Tell Audrey I'll see her soon." She looked at me like a proud grandmother. "I'm so happy about this, you know? If you need anything, call me." Then she hugged me tightly and helped me into the fireplace. She would Apparate to her flat from inside the building. I watched as Victoire disappeared from sight, and braced myself to land on my hands and knees, weighed down by the sheer number of bags that I had accumulated that day.

My mother was clearly expecting me, because she heard the thud as I hit the floor and was at my side in six seconds flat. I let the bags drop as she pulled me onto my feet and she actually screamed. Extremely shrilly. I cringed and she hugged me tightly. "Your hair!" she squealed, touching it softly. I stepped out of her embrace and nodded. She took my hands and scrutinised my face closely. "You're wearing make-up!" I nodded again, feeling my cheeks heat up under the cosmetics. "And that dress!" she bent down and examined the fabric closely. "Oh I am letting Vic take you shopping again! Give me your glasses." She stood up and took them from my face before I could give my approval. She tapped them with her wand and I watched as they became sleek with thick brown frames, rather than round and black, like Uncle Harry's. She gave them back to me and I put them back on. My mother looked at me again, more seriously now. "My little girl's all grown up," she muttered, reaching to stroke my cheek tenderly. I smiled. "You know your dad will die, don't you?" she added suddenly. I grinned and nodded. "It's worth it." We both laughed. "PERCE! You have to see this!" she yelled over her shoulder. There was a clanging noise as Dad dropped a pot and walked swiftly into our living room. He choked on whatever words were going to fall from his mouth and clung to the door frame for support. Mum pushed me forwards so I was closer to him.

"M-Mol-Molly?" he stammered, flushing the colour of a post-box. I nodded shyly, suddenly feeling very exposed. He took a minute to regain his composure, removed his hands from the door, the force with which he clung to it had made his knuckles turn white, and stood up straight.

"Doesn't she look lovely?" Mum's voice came from somewhere behind me, above the rustling that was obviously her searching through my bags. Dad seemed to stumble over his words again. I took another step towards him and this time he stepped back. I paused as Mum tutted and scolded him. He took off his glasses and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

"Sorry, I just...you look very nice, Molly," he muttered. I grinned – coming from him that was like saying I could walk down the catwalk at any given moment. I smiled again, took my bags from my mother and ran up to my room. As I passed Lucy's open door, she cast a confused look out at me and my unusual burst of energy. I emptied the bags onto my bed and began to hang them up inside.

"This came for you today," Lucy's timid voice at my door shocked me slightly. I stepped out from behind the wardrobe doors and she started. I took the envelope from her and said a quiet thank you. "You look pretty, Mol," she added with a cute smile before taking off again.

I smiled to myself and shut the door behind her. I threw the letter on the bed without a second thought, and started piling more clothes into the wardrobe. I took great gratification in piling up my old, scabby tops and jeans and felt positively fabulous at the thought of burning them. I cast a look in the mirror with a smile and picked up the pile of clothes, shoving them in a carrier bag. I lifted it up and took it downstairs, where my mother agreed that burning them might be a good idea. As I watched the bag go up in flames later that evening, I realised that I'd not opened my letter. I excused myself and ran upstairs. I tipped my room upside down and with a jolt, remembered where I'd abandoned it. I sighed deeply and ran a hand through my hair. I'd glanced at the writing earlier. It was only from Harrison, and since I'd see him in a couple of days anyway, I thought nothing more about it, just went back downstairs, curled up against my mother and watched the fire burn.

A/N: Chapter 2 shall be on its way soon - for now: what do you think so far? Okay? Characterisation going well? Any advice is helpful :D