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Ladylike. by ilharrypotter
Chapter 3 : Of Allies and Scamanders.
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 14


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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. 

Ohhh, Chapter Three! How exciting is this. We're getting into the good stuff, everyone! And please, please, please, please, please, please, please [continues on for another hour] review.





Great chapter image by 100ways @ TDA! [Just so you guys know, this is our dear Lorcan Scamander.]







All proper young ladies must know how to properly greet someone, even if it is someone with whom they possess an intimate relationship.

Thanks to Rose Molly Weasley, the minute my mother was informed of my whereabouts, I received a twenty-minute lashing- half in French, a quarter in English, and then the rest in unintelligible, hysterical sobs. Fred and James oh-so-subtly snuck back to the house as my mother fussed and screamed and paced, leaving me to pretend to listen to every word that frightening woman screeched. Not that I could really understand half of what she was shrieking at me. When Maman gets upset, she tends to lose the very tiny bit of articulacy in the English language that she possessed. 

It is no hidden secret to the members of my family that my mother does not approve of Luna and Rolf Scamander. She finds their careers to be foolish, and she is completely convinced that Luna is one hundred percent out of her mind- which she is, but that doesn’t give Maman the right to say it. Because of my mother’s irrational hatred of the Scamanders, she finds the idea of me fancying one of them- a fact that has yet to be confirmed to my family by me, even though that barely affects their excitement and Maman’s frustrations- to be unbelievably intolerable. She proceeded to raise utter hell about it, insisting that there will be no possible romance between me and a Scamander- she always says Scamander like it is a curse word. My Weasley temper flared again after that, irate that Maman would talk about Lorcan in that way. Like he isn’t worthy of me or something. I think it’s rather obnoxious of my mother to think she can control whom I fancy and whom I don’t. It’s even more obnoxious that a woman, one who doesn’t approve of practically anything else about me, expects to approve of the object of my affections. I don’t understand how that obnoxious woman can find a way to prevent anything from ever happening between Lorcan and I- not that anything will happen- but I know she will do it if she tries hard enough. That is Fleur Weasley- obnoxious and capable of anything. And a little scary, of course.

I’m in the upstairs sitting room now, which was once Uncle Percy’s bedroom, too scared to stay downstairs around my insane mother, who is still muttering in French to my poor father. The adults of our family rarely frequent the upstairs sitting room, and it became our not-very-secretive hiding spot when Victoire was still at Hogwarts. This is where all of the older children tend to disappear to whenever our parents and adult family members drink too much firewhiskey, or when the younger cousins get tired and start doing that punch-drunk thing that little kids tend to do. Of course, at this particular Weasley-Potter fete, neither of those usual occurrences are the case. Dinner has yet to be served this time around, but Maman has already thrown one of her trademark fits, and that sends the majority of us to the upstairs sitting room.

Lounging on one of the ratty sofas pushed up against the wall, I’m massaging my forehead. Maman’s voice often hits a pitch that I’m sure is capable of killing brain cells, and that always leaves me with a splitting headache. My legs are haphazardly thrown in Fred’s lap, and I’m leaning against James’ shoulder. This is how we usually sit in the sitting room, with all three of us cramming onto one couch while the rest of our cousins sprawl out across the room. Most of my cousins are giving me knowing and sympathetic looks out of the corners of their eyes. They, like their parents and everyone else at the Burrow at the time, have heard my mother’s irrational outburst, and even though I’m still insisting that I don’t fancy Lorcan one bit, they continue to give me their looks. That bothers me.

“Damn it, Hugo!” Roxanne cries out, slamming her hands down on the wizard’s chessboard in front of her. She shoves her chair away from the table, the dark red hair she wears a little past her shoulders flying around her like flames.

Almost every single time the Weasleys gather, including every evening at Hogwarts in the Gryffindor common room, Hugo entices someone to battle him at wizard’s chess. Continuously, he ruthlessly destroys his opponent, and then we all watch as his ego expands. Roxanne is a constant opponent to Hugo, even though she always loses. It never seems to stop her from the urge to play chess with him, though, and we all watch amusedly as if we have no idea how the game is going to end.

Hugo cracks his knuckles. “You make this too easy, Rox,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure you’re only twelve years old?” Molly Weasley, daughter of Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey, teases from where she perches on the arm of one of the sofas and scans this week’s copy of Witch Weekly. (We always sit on the arms instead of normally on the cushions. Grandmum will kill us if she sees us.) “Your ego is as big as James’ nowadays.”

Molly is Uncle Percy’s beloved daughter. He is convinced she is the perfect student and a shoe-in for Head Girl when she is in seventh year, a position she despises. The rest of us Weasley-Potter kids, however, know who Molly really is. Molly is intelligent enough to pass most of her classes, even though I can’t tell you how many times she’s paid the rest of us ten Galleons- or more- to write an essay for her or translate her Ancient Runes homework. Realistically, out of all of us Weasleys, I think Molly cares the least about whether or not she actually graduates from Hogwarts- a fact that will one day give her father a heart attack. Her focus remains on boys, the latest editions of Witch Weekly- she treats them like her own personal Bible- and style. If she could quit Hogwarts before she even starts her sixth year and spend the rest of her life modeling for some witch fashion magazine or helping Uncle George develop the Wonder Witch products for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes without absolutely murdering her parents, she would do it. I can’t wait for the time she finally finishes her seventh year at Hogwarts and she runs off to be a model for Witch Weekly instead of taking up a prestigious position at the Ministry of Magic. The incredulous, shocked look on Uncle Percy’s face when that finally occurs will be a great laugh for most of us.

“You make that sound like an insult,” James calls out from his spot next to me, pretending as if his pride is hurt from Molly’s comment. “Being comparable to the great James Sirius Potter is an incredible compliment, Hugo.”

Bullshit,” I cough into my hand, and then grin wickedly at James.

Soon enough, all of the occupants of the room- Molly, Fred, Roxanne, Albus, Lucy, Louis, and Lily, everyone save for Rose, whose nose is buried in a book- are coughing “Bullshit!” in James’ direction, and he is glaring at me. Even though I’m corrupting my cousins with my use of “vulgar language”, the frustrated look on James’ face is worth it. My splitting headache is forgotten, if not gone completely, and I let out a loud laugh. I love ganging up on my cousins. When you are a Weasley, you always have a bunch of allies.

James crosses his arms over his chest and sits up abruptly, letting me fall back onto the sofa behind him. As I sit up beside him, annoyed, he lets out an aggravated grunt. “You guys are mean,” he whines.

His twelve-year-old sister Lily rolls her brown eyes- it’s a habit she has picked up from spending so much time around James and I. I love little Lily. She acts more like me than any of her family members, which makes a lot of sense, since everyone says I act so much like her mother and my aunt, Ginny. She tugs on the end of her long red ponytail. “I think we discovered the truth, Molls. James is the twelve year old, and Hugo is really fifteen,” Lily comments, sticking her tongue out at her brother. She is always throwing out saucy remarks at her older brother, payback for his constant teasing.

“That would explain a lot,” someone’s low, dreamy voice joins the loud din that filled the upstairs sitting room, very noticeable amongst all of the loud and pitchy Weasley voices. The room full of redheads- and the two Potters with their shaggy black locks- look up in surprise. When hiding away in the sitting room, we aren’t used to intruders, especially ones whose voices we don’t recognize.

However, the face of the intruder is something I do recognize. It is Lorcan Scamander. A smile breaks out across my face before I can help myself, and my entire body is pumping with excitement. Oh, Merlin.

I jump up from the sofa so fast that I accidentally hit James in the nose with my hand as I leap to my feet. He lets out a loud yell- he is taking a lot of abuse today, physical and emotional- but it doesn’t slow me down for a second. In less than fifteen seconds, I’m all the way across the sitting room, where I fling my arms around Lorcan’s long, tanned neck.

“Hello, Dominique,” Lorcan laughs, his breath tickling my neck.

That is… strange. His muscular Quidditch-toned arms are around my waist, his hands rest on my hips like they belong there, my hands touch the back of his smooth neck, his lips are near enough to my ear to brush up against it, his silky white-blond hair is brushing against my forehead… and every single one of my cousins stare at us with arched eyebrows. As quickly as I’d launched myself at him, I rip my arms away from him and jump back as if he’s on fire. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Merlin’s beard, why the hell did I just do that? Shit! I’ve spent years convincing everyone else that I have no feelings for Lorcan in the least, and then I jump on him like some lunatic. Now everyone is going to think I do like him- which, of course, I do. But they can’t know that, and neither can he. Especially not him.

“Erm. H-h-hi, Lorcan,” I stammer, stepping backwards and away from Lorcan and his brother, who has joined him in the doorway. Lorcan smiles in this weird way that is either because of the enthusiastic greeting he just received or from the Lovegood blood in him. I hope it was the latter, but if I know boys half as well as I think I do, I know it’s the former. “H-how’s it going?”

Merlin. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m making my secret rather obvious. I remind myself of the importance of hiding all of this from Lorcan. He’s just one of my best mates, that’s all. One of my best mates. That’s how he thinks of me, too. We’re just best mates. Nothing more. I’m just stammering because I’m a bloody idiot, if he asks.

Someone in the room snorts. I bet five Sickles it’s Fred. He always finds humor in these situations. 

“Oh, yeah. She doesn’t like him at all,” Fred mutters.

Yeah, I knew it was Fred. 







Have you guys noticed that whenever "Dominique" is talking about Fleur, that I use a lot of italics? I just noticed that. It's kind of humorous.


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