Chapter 1 : The Plan
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 75|
Background: Font color:
I want to thank my wonderful beta, Ren, for helping me with my writing.
Disclaimer: I still have not managed to devise a plan to own Harry Potter...but I never will. This plot, however, is mine.
If loftly glances from lofty people
Can't see past her scarlet letter
And we never even met her
-Does Anybody See Her-
-Chances like this only come once in a lifetime...if ever at all-
I always admired my mother; she was courageous, brave, and a tough fighter until the very end.
We were a great family: just her, my dad, and myself. I have never seen a group of people that loved each other quite like mine did. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but this is how I like to remember it.
My parents met each other at Hogwarts. My dad was in his seventh year while my mum: her sixth. Supposedly, he fell down a staircase after first lying eyes on her. But that may just be a myth -- something they told me because it sounded nice.
After a few months he gathered the courage to ask her out. They dated that whole year of school — but broke up at the end since my dad was leaving whereas my mum would be staying.
Another year passed, and they both dated other people, but then when my mum graduated, she rented a flat in Diagon Alley and promptly ran into my dad the next day at the robes shop.
That was the moment they rekindled their relationship.
Four months passed and my parents were madly in love. Nine months later, I was born. I was their love child, and they were proud of that fact. My parents never got married, they just remained life-long partners. My mum always used the term “soul mates.”
I never found out why they didn’t tie the knot. I mean, we all lived together in the same house and I used my father’s last name. Maybe the idea of marriage just never appealed to them.
My mum had always told me to wait for the right man, no matter how long it took. She said to wait for someone who loved my for my ideas and thoughts, not the way I walked.
“That’s someone you know you can spend the rest of your life with,” she said.
At eight years old, I thought it would be easy. It wasn’t until several years later I realized how I wrong I was.
My mum died when I was nine years old. I had gotten up one morning and gone to wake her. It was Saturday and I wanted strawberry pancakes with syrup and whip cream. She always promised me them if I was good during the week. The minute I had entered the room I knew something was wrong. My mum wasn’t responding to any of my calls or nudges and was paler and stiffer than usual.
Everything after that was a blur. I remembered screaming for my daddy — him checking for responsiveness, just like I had — and the look on his face when he came to the conclusion that she was no longer with us. I would never forget that. Ever.
When the healers came, they never could distinguish the cause of her untimely death. We had waited around for hours for them to complete the exam. When they finally emerged they said it was natural causes.
“It can’t be natural causes,” my dad roared. “She was twenty-six for God’s sake!”
But it was no use; that was their answer and no matter how she died, she was dead.
The two weeks following my mother’s death were two of the worst weeks of my life. My dad stopped caring. He didn’t do the laundry. He didn’t buy food. He didn’t clean up the house. Sometimes I thought that half the time he forgot I existed.
Then one day, after I got out of bed, my father walked into my room with a small suitcase under his arm.
“What are you doing?” I had asked him as he packed up some of my clothes and witch dolls.
“We’re going for a trip.”
After my dad finished, he had walked me out of the house and down the street.
We walked for about half a mile, taking some occasional turns every few minutes.
He held my hand tightly the whole way.
We eventually arrived at a somewhat large gray building. After stepping inside he had guided me over to play with the other children who were stacking blocks nearby.
Then he had gone over and spoken with the lady sitting at the desk standing by the other side of the room. She kept peeking over at me as my father talked away, which clearly told me they were talking about me. Finally, she pulled out a sheet of paper and had him sign it.
He walked back over and got down on one knee in front of me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Violet, that woman over there is Mrs. Bindley. I want you to listen to everything she says, alright?”
I had nodded, too young and naïve and helpless to do anything different.
“She’s going to take good care of you when I’m gone.”
“Where are you going?”
My father had paused for a moment. “I’m taking a little trip… an adventure.” As if the word ‘adventure’ could make this situation any better. “I need to work things out. I’ll come for you when I get back.”
He had turned to leave, and I, like any other child, instinctively grabbed the hems of his robes. “Wait!” I cried. “I want to go with you.”
“I’m sorry, Sweetie, but you can’t. I’ll see you when I get back.”
He had given my head a small pat. No kiss. No hug. No ‘I love you.” Just a simple pat. And then he strode out of the building without a second glance, leaving me alone in the world. He never came back.
It had been eight years since my dad left me at an orphanage with nothing to remember him by except his last name.
I had been adopted after a year to a witch and wizard who wanted both biological and adoptive children. I suppose they loved me, but since there were so many kids I usually got pushed to the side. Unfortunately, I did not inherit my mum’s traits that would have told me to push back.
I was seventeen years old, and in two weeks would be heading back to Hogwarts for my final year.
I walked up to the top floor where my room was located. It was small, with a single window overlooking the front drive, a brass bed in the corner, a wooden wardrobe at the opposite wall, and a desk across from the window.
My open trunk stood at the foot of the bed. I went around and threw in all the robes that were strewn sloppily across the floor. I hunted down my spell books, cauldron, scales, and all that. Finally everything was packed and ready to go.
I was off to spend the remainder of the holiday with my friend, Clara Hagan. We had known each other ever since we met on the Hogwarts Express. She was a great person just to hang around with. I could start a conversation with her and it would last for hours.
I pulled a newsboy cap over my hair, grabbed my sketchbooks off the desk, and pulled my trunk out of the room and down the stairs.
I dragged it into the kitchen where my foster-mother, Karen, was preparing a salad for dinner.
“I’m leaving now,” I informed her.
She turned around and smiled. “Alright. Don’t give the Hagans too much trouble.”
“Yeah, you know, just because I’m one to be running around the house and hanging from the chandelier.”
“Enough of the sarcasm, Violet. Now, just behave yourself, and have a good term. Remember to write.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bye!” I exclaimed, knowing the drill. Then I disapparated, having earned my license only a few weeks ago.
I reappeared in one of the many neighborhoods in London. I stood in front of a two story house that had a primly cut lawn and many vivid flowers in the front.
Lugging my trunk behind me, I walked up the drive, stepped up onto the porch and knocked on the door.
After a few moments I heard footsteps and when the door opened I found myself face to face with Mrs. Hagan.
“Ah, Violet. Hello! It’s lovely to see you.”
“You too, Mrs. Hagan. Thank you for letting me stay!” The Hagan house was truly my home away from home. Or maybe just my home.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. You’re welcome anytime. I’m afraid that Clara isn’t home yet. She’s due back shortly. Lily’s here, though. She’s waiting up in Clara’s room. You can go up and see her.”
Lily was another one of my best friends. Her compassion, fiery pride, and hatred of the Marauders made her lovable. She, Clara, and I were a trio, if you wanted to put a name to it. We had been there for each other from day one. It was cool.
I walked into Clara’s room and found Lily lying on the bed reading form a potion’s textbook. Typical Slug Club Evans.
She looked up when I walked in, threw her book aside, and ran forward to give me a hug. “It’s good to see you! How’ve you been? Did you go anywhere over the summer?”
I couldn’t help but laugh at how fast she was talking. “Slow down, Lily. I don’t want you to choke on your own tongue.”
“Alright, alright…but I missed you a lot.”
“I missed you, too. Congrats on becoming Head Girl and all!”
Lily blushed. “Thank you, but I don’t deserve it—,”
“Yes, you do. You, of all people, deserve it. Stop being modest.”
“Well I think—”
She was interrupted by the door suddenly opening and the one and only Clara stumbled into the room. She slammed the door and then stormed over to her desk, pulled out a stack of old parchment, and began tearing the pieces to shreds.
I glanced at Lily, who looked just as bewildered as I probably did.
“What—” I started, but was cut off.
“That bastard broke up with me!”
We had to be careful to talk softly. Mrs. Hagan never approved of Clara’s boyfriends, so she was forced to keep them a secret.
Clara looked furious. Her blonde hair had fallen across her flushed face, making her blue eyes stand out brightly.
“I thought he was different, you know? I thought he had changed. But no, he’s exactly the same as he ever was…Sirius Black has made off with yet another heart.” She paused, as if letting it sink it. “God, I was so stupid. I fell for everything he said…and it was all lies. How could I have believed him? Why didn’t you guys stop me? I should have—”
We stopped and grabbed her by the arms.
“Clara, calm down,” Lily said.
We pulled her down to the floor with us.
“What’s all that you’re tearing up?” I asked.
“Every letter that git sent me this summer.”
I swallowed and wondered if I should even ask the question. “Why’d he want to break up?”
Clara laughed coldly. “He said that he wanted to see other people. Which obviously means that there is someone else…I should have seen it earlier.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that there’s someone else,” I tried.
“Violet, if a man says to you he wants to see other people, it means that they’ve either got their eye on some other girl, or they’re already with another girl…or boy, you never really know.”
“Are you suggesting that Sirius Black is homosexual?” asked Lily, laughing.
“Anything is possible with him. I wouldn't be surprised.”
“It’s so stupid,” I commented. “Guys go after other girls and they don’t even know them. They just say, ‘Oh, hey, she’s got a nice arse. I should ask her out.’ I mean, how shallow can they get?”
“It’s just the way they are,” said Clara. "It’s horrible, but it’s written in their DNA. Well, maybe not all men, but a lot of them. Have you ever noticed how segregated Hogwarts is? The good-looking boys ask out the good-looking girls. The average looking boys ask out the average looking girls. The—,”
“Don’t say it like that, Clara,” I said, cringing. “It sounds like you’re stereotyping them.” The truth of the matter was, I had always felt like I belonged on the bottom end of Hogwarts. It was like I was invisible there. I didn’t want to be reminded that I could only get a “bottom end” boyfriend.
“You don’t need to worry,” I continued. “You’re on the good-looking list when it comes to Hogwarts.”
“And you’re not?” asked Lily, sounding surprised.
“Are you kidding me?” I looked in the mirror across the room. “I have a pale face, poofy hair, mud coloured eyes, and I’m all lanky. I have no curves whatsoever.”
Clara turned me around to face her. I could tell she was about to give me a complete evaluation of my face pretty soon. “Violet, you have fair skin, dark, wavy hair that accentuates your cheekbones, you’re petite and slim, and your brown eyes show depth and emotion. All in all, you are very pretty, and don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Ha, the boys at Hogwarts don’t see it like that. Give them a group of girls and their eyes will skip right over me.”
“Screw the boys at Hogwarts—”
“Amen,” muttered Lily, picking up her potions book again. We all knew about the fiasco the boys at Hogwarts caused her. Well, more like one boy. James Potter, co-founder of the Marauders, thought it was funny to pretend to be in love with her. Sirius Black, the other founder and James’ best friend, thought it was funny to use girls and then dump them. Ha-ha-ha. No one is laughing.
“—They wouldn’t know beauty if it stared them in the face. They don’t know you…or the great personality you have.”
“See!” I cried. “We’re back to personality again. They will never know how we, invisible girls, think…because they judge us on who shows more cleavage when touching their elbows together.”
“Well, what’s there to do about it?” asked Clara, sighing. “There’s no way to show them. They’re probably not even aware that they have this problem.”
I nodded, agreeing that boys were as thick as stumps and as shallow as a rain puddle.
“Someone’s got to show them. I mean, say two girls have the exact same personality. If you dress one up to be pretty then the boys will fall for her, leaving the other in the dark.”
“I know how to do it,” said Lily suddenly.
We turned to stare at her. “What?” Clara and I didn’t even know there was an ‘it’.
“I know how to show boys what they’re doing to girls.”
“How?” I asked eagerly. Any plan that Lily Evans can cook up is bound to be good.
“We use you,” she said simply.
“What?” Clara and I asked at the same time.
Lily set down her book and turned to face us. “Hear me out. Violet. You claim to be invisible—”
“Well I am,” I cut in. “I never had any boyfriends…unless you count that week last term when I went out with Remus Lupin. But, really, nothing happened there.”
“God, just let me finish, Violet. Okay, what if we sent a letter to Hogwarts saying that you were transferring to another school? We could ask them to send us your records. Then we change the name and personal information on the folder and then send it back. You could get in as a new student. Then, before you go, we make a mask and bind it to your face with magic. There are all these magical procedures we could do to change your physical appearance. They’re all reversible, of course, but we could make you stunningly gorgeous…and irresistible.” Lily’s mouth formed into a small, evil smile. “You’d have your personality and you could go through the school year under a different appearance…but still you. You’ll capture the attention of all the boys in the school, and at the end of the year, you can take off your mask in front of everyone…and show them how shallow they are.”
There was a ringing silence after she finished. I sat there, stunned. I had no idea what to think. Plans that elaborate would never work... But this was Lily.
“I think that’s the most brilliant thing you’ve ever come up with, Lily,” said Clara, staring at her awestruck.
She turned to me. “We should do it.”
“What?! Are you serious? Do you have any idea how much trouble we’d get in if we were caught? What if my cover was blown before I was ready? I’d be the laughing stock of the school!”
“If we play our cards right we won’t get caught,” said Clara, her eyes glittering.
“Let’s have a little fun this year,” said Lily. “It is our last year.”
I could not believe my ears. Lily Evans does not come up with elaborate schemes to trick the student body – she – she studies, and is supposed to chide us when we’re doing something wrong.
“Lily! You’re Head Girl!”
“I know...but I think that this is a good cause. If we get thrown out...it would be worth it.”
This was crazy. For one, Lily Evans does not joke about being kicked out of school. Second, we cannot get kicked out. “We’ll be thrown out?!”
“Probably not...maybe detention for the rest of the year, but not expelled. I think we should give it a go.”
I looked at her. “Who are you and what have you done with the Lily Evans I know and love?”
“Well, what do you say, Violet?” asked Clara. “Are you willing to use yourself to represent the women who don’t have a voice...and show up every man who dared judge a girl on looks alone?”
I could not believe this. This was crazy. Ludicrous, even. There was no way it would work.
But then, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed somewhat probable, even fun. I knew men were liars. My own father was proof of that. I thought about what my mum had said about waiting. The honest truth was: I was tired of waiting. I thought about the other girls who felt like I did, and were tired of watching good-looking men chase brainless women who talked about themselves nonstop. These girls, who didn’t have a voice that could be heard, would want someone to stand up for them.
I looked at the two girls sitting in front of me in the eye.
“I’ll do it.”
Lily smiled. “Let the preparation begin.”
Oh...I had so much fun thinking up details for this plot. I plan to have a lot a lot of fun with it.
So I came up with this story while watering my mom's plants...and I had to write it. Should I continue with it or abandon it? It's really your call.
Tell me what you think! Thanks.
Other Similar Stories
Not your ave...