This is the fairytale story of a fairytale girl in a make believe world. Quite unfortunately, I do not own her world. I only own the girl and her story.
Once upon a time, there lived a girl in a far away castle.
Okay, fine. It was only 1976, and the castle was really her boarding school. And it wasn’t all that far away, really: it was in Britain. But the girl lived there for the majority of the year, the narrator wasn’t born in 1976, and neither has the narrator been to Britain, so there.
Anyway, there was a girl in a far away castle/boarding school. Now, she was no ordinary girl. She had long blonde hair, long legs, a nice body, and a pretty face. In short, she was a Pretty Girl.
But this Pretty Girl was destined to do great things, quite unlike Cinderella or Snow White or other Pretty Girls that have fairytales written about them.
No, this girl was special, and this is her story.
Our story begins on the sixth floor of the not-so-far-away castle in Britain. Well, the castle was technically in Scotland, but Scotland hasn’t been an independent country since about Handel’s time, so the castle was in Britain.
But that is beside the point. The point of this story is the girl crying in the abandoned classroom three doors to the left of the stairs.
Unlike other heroines in other fairytales, our heroine doesn’t look beautiful when she cries. When our heroine cries, she looks more like a drunk.
But the narrator will be quiet for now.
One word that summed up Cecilia Abigail Newfolk’s life up until now would be ‘sucky’.
Currently, Cecilia was huddled by the far wall of an abandoned classroom, crying, wedged between a desk and a cabinet.
I ever do to
Some part of her recognized the fact that, being fifteen, it was a bit pitiful to be hiding in an abandoned classroom to cry when she should really be in class.
However, even crying in an abandoned classroom at age fifteen was preferable to dealing with the she-devils, as Celia termed her roommates.
“What is their problem
“They’re probably jealous,” a male voice answered. Celia’s head shot up to find a tall, lanky, dark-haired boy standing in the room.
Oh, Merlin. I look drunk.
She buried her head in her arms. She heard footsteps, then saw the boy sit down next to her from the corner of her eye.
“You missed Potions.”
“What do you care? It’s not like we’re partners.” Her voice was muffled by her sleeves.
She studied him out of the corner of her eye. She remembered seeing him in a couple of her classes. He always wore black, seemed to get a new piercing every Hogsmeade trip, and while he wasn't necesarily one of the "bad boys" of the school, he wasn't exactly a model student. At least, that was Celia's impression of him. What’s his name? Jap, Jasper, Jake…
“So?” the boy replied. “I’m Jazz. You’re the new girl?”
“My name’s Celia,” she replied. That’s it! Jazz!
“Nice to meet you,” Jazz replied easily. “Now, what are you doing up here when you should be in Potions? Slughorn will be pissed that you skipped.”
“Won’t he be pissed about you playing hooky, too?” Celia pointed out.
Jazz shrugged. “I’ll say I was helping you to the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey can give you a calming potion.”
“I’m not hysterical!” Celia replied sharply. “Now, if that’s all you wanted, go ‘way.” She resolved to ignore him if he didn’t go away.
He didn’t. “Come on, Celia. You can’t just sit here all day.”
“Watch me.” So much for ignoring him.
“You’re going to miss lunch.”
Celia pressed her lips together and ignored him as she tried to stop crying. I won’t talk, I won’t talk to him…
“Come on, Celia. You need to eat sometime.” Jazz stood up, tugging her up with him.
She hid her face in her hands. “Why’re you being so nice?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.”
She had a feeling Jazz shrugged again. “I feel like it. Come on. Lunchtime.” He pulled her hands away from her face gently and wiped her face with his sleeve.
Celia fumbled for her wand in her pocket. When she finally found it, she performed some glamour spells. If she was going to be dragged down to the Great Hall by a boy she barely knew, she could at least look sober.
A/N: Quick edit. I had something pointed out to me that needed to be fixed. Everything's fine now.
I must tell you something, though: if you do not feed the angry, man-eating piranha on your computer screen, you WILL die.
(Oh, fine. The review box is not REALLY a man-eating piranha wiith anger managment problems. Please review, though.)