[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 1 : September 1st...Oh Joy, Is That Potter?
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 6|
Background: Font color:
A/N 2: okay, some re-editing. more to be done soon. peace out, dudes!
A/N 3: yeah, some MORE re-editing. and soon chapter 8 should be out, once this updates.
My father dropped me off outside of Kings Cross Station with hug and gruff "be good". I smiled and promised him I would. To be honest, I was just glad he wasn't in one of his moods.
But my father's bipolar tendencies disregarded, I should probably lay down a few basic facts.
First things first: My name is Myra Smithe.
Second: I'm a Metamorphigus, which is pretty damn awesome. I like to keep my hair short, spiky, and neon-colored. What can I say? I'm a neon kind of person.
Third: My worst enemy, James Sirius Potter, is currently being an annoying shit head and blocking my way into the train. Figures.
"Oi! Pea-brain! Move."
"Hey, Fredddy, did you hear something?" He's an ass. Let's face it.
"Yeah, I did. C'mon mate, let her through." Freddy's my best (male) friend. He's pretty legit.
"Thanks, Freddy!" I said as I skipped through the newly cleared doorway.
Now to find my other friends. Without getting mauled. And by mauled I mean enthusastically "greeted" and quite possibly sustaining several injuries. (No, I'm serious. These so-called "friends" actually broke one of my ribs last year.
I heard a compartment door slide open and a familiar face poked itself out.
“Lily!” I roared, turning heads and making everyone inside the compartment laugh. (Lily's also pretty legit.)
Before I could walk into the compartment like a civilized person, Lily grabbed my arm and yanked me through the door. As in the DOOR, not the DOORWAY.
“Reparo”, I muttered, bracing myself for the tidal wave of "hugging". ( Read: tidal wave of flailing body parts). Sure enough, it comes.
Ouch, fuck, shite, ouch, crap, ARGHHHH!!!
One voice saves me from needing to make an emergency trip to St. Mungo's.
“Come on guys, you’re going to kill her. Let’s talk to her, not squash her.” The quiet, melodic, slightly accented voice belonged to another friend (who is also pretty legit): Asha Rotva. She comes from a rich, Russian family. However, the black-haired, black-eyed classic beauty is the most understanding, un-stuck up (yes, it is a word), smartest, funniest, and nicest girls I have ever met. Actually, she's a bit TOO nice. At least, it seems that way to me.
But I'm not exactly an angel.
Everyone listens to Asha (how does she DO that?) and backs off, giving me room to breathe. Thank Merlin.
"How many ribs did you break this year?"
“Hey Rose! Eh, ribs? Maybe two or so. Nothing that serious.” My curly-brown-haired, blue-eyed, pretty (though she doesn't know it), and very smart friend smiled at my hilarious-ness.
I have such an excellent command of the English language. You should be jealous.
She plays Keeper on the house team. Rose, Asha, and Albus are my 6th year friends. Lily's in Fifth Year, and Freddy's in Seventh, like me. We’re all Gryffindors, though Al says the hat almost put him in Slytherin.
Fred has dark hair, dark skin, and blue eyes. He could have girlfriend every waking moment of his life, but he spends most of his time pranking, only getting his girl fix off of occasional one-night stands. Everyone who knows him well enough says he gets his hidden kindness from his mum, Angelina. So he’s basically a sweetheart with a tough exterior. It actually adds to his sex appeal, believe it or not.
Albus is the spitting image of his dad, and his personality is the same too. Selfless, fairly smart, world-saving material, et cetera, et cetera.
Al plays Seeker, Fred plays Beater, and Asha plays Chaser, but she’s a Reserve. It’s a new thing I came up with last year when I was appointed Captain of the Gryffindor Team (James was pissed, he thought he should’ve gotten it. Ha! Sucker).
So, the way a Reserve Player works is this: When you hold tryouts, maybe there’s a Beater you find that’s good, but not good enough to make the team. You can appoint said Beater as a Reserve Beater, which means they come to practices but don’t play in games unless one of the Beaters can’t play for whatever reason (they’re sick, hurt, or away from Hoggy-warts). Asha's my only Reserve, as of now.
Lily (or Lils), that red haired girl who made me destroy a door before, plays Chaser. Lils looks and acts exactly like her mum (especially the fiery temper bit), Ginny. Boys are practically falling at her feet, which worries her brothers and male cousins very very very very very very very much. Over protective bastards. That’s what Lils (and her other female cousins) calls them, or OPB’s for short.
Then there’s Dominique (usually just Dom or Dommy) who has the same Veela good looks as her mum, but is just as tough, adventurous, kind, understanding, and loveable as her dad, Bill. And yes, all those things are true about Bill, once you get past the fanged earring and werewolf tendencies.
Dom can fly, but she can’t play Quidditch to save her life. She loves watching the games we play and follows the sport like only a Weasly could. Apparently her older sister Victoire got all the Quidditch skills.
Dom’s my year mate and my BEST (all caps=I’m dead serious) friend. She is also convinced that James and I are secretly boyfriend and girlfriend and only act like we hate each other to keep the whole female population of the school that isn’t in Slytherin or related to him off our backs.
(Cue insane and drawn-out laughter.)
You might have guessed it, but Dom’s a loony. I still haven’t figured out what she’s on. It’s an on-going mystery. I have actually got an official betting pool (that she doesn’t know about…Veela/werewolf temper is never to be underestimated) on what illegal substance it is that she’s on. I’ve got 4 galleons on crack. I love her though. Most of the time.
Then there's my other year mate/best friend, Amy Love. (Don't mention her last name if you value your life.) She can't fly and hates Quidditch, but she's the definition of loyal and comes to every Gryffindor match. She's pretty much bonkers, like the rest of us, way more perverted than most guys we know, and the fashionista of our little trio. I think she has a heart attack every time I get dressed in the morning.
Other than that, she has curly light blond hair and pretty gray eyes. She is also exceedingly violent when she loses her temper, which doesn't happen too often. Fortunatey. Or we would all be dead.
I have other friends, but they're either not in this compartment (eight people is a bit much for one compartment, after all), or they're going to miss the train like every other year.
As I was basking in the glow of happiness that was being generated by my friends, I heard a crash from the door. I turned around. And guess who had fallen over my trunk, which was still right in front of the door? That’s right. Potter.
“Who left their trunk by the door?!” he asked, rubbing his shin. I snickered. "Smithe." he snapped, turning to me.
“What tipped you off? The name-plate? Genius, Potter, really. Such powers of observation! I'm completely over-come."
Said genius opens his mouth to respond (probably something like “shut the hell up, you cow”. I know. He’s sooo imaginative), but a loud voice from outside stops him.
“If you’re going to make me go on the train with that...thing, you can just forget about me keeping my promise! You jackass!” The angry, rather hoarse, voice belonged to a wicked tall - about 5’11” or so-broad - shouldered, brown-haired (and she practically had a bloody crew cut) girl (she looked about 16 or 17) who appeared to be yelling at her father (maybe?), and a HUGE buff man who probably had the IQ of a peanut. And she also seemed to be speaking English with an accent. That I couldn't identify.
“You’re going with him! And don’t call me that! I’m your father! Now get on the train, Varain.” Her father looked familiar. Something about him reminded me of Quidditch. The argument was now entirely in some random language I couldn't identify. Or speak.
But then again, I can only speak English and French. And the French is only because of Dom.
Asha spoke then. “She’s calling him the worst things, but in Bulgarian.” Yes, Asha knows a lot of languages. Her parents “require” it. Controlling prats, that’s what they are.
“Bulgarian is the official language of Durmstrang. Just thought you might want to know that useless bit of information." Rose said, looking up from her book. She likes reading, believe it or not. She actually likes it a bit too much.
“Oi! D’ya mind if I sit here?” The girl from the Platform is standing in the doorway, looking EXTREMELY pissed off.
I was about to say yes, but Potter beat me to it.
“NO! You just want to sit here because of who our fathers are!” OKay, really? Paranoid, much?
You'd think someone with as much of a superiority complex as Potter he'd enjoy the fame, but no. What a prick.
“Oh, and your mothers don’t matter? Sexist bastard.” That’s a new one. But I like it.
“Not as much as my father!” Holy crap, he really is that arrogant.
“Whatever. For Christ’s Sake, I don’t even know who your father is.”
“Are you Muggleborn?”
“Don’t think I would’ve been accepted to Durmstrang if I was."
Durmstrang? That explains the Bulgarian. (Thanks, Rose!)
“You went to Durmstrang?”
SHE JUST SAID THAT.
“That’s what I just said. Yeah, for the past 4 years. What’s it to you?”
“Well, I guess you actually don’t know who I am. Uh, sorry, I guess.” REALLY arrogant.
“No shit, Sherlock. Apology accepted. Back to my original question. Can I sit here?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
I rolled my eyes. Time for a person that ISN’T a tactless moron to say something.
“Of course. Is that bloke still with you?” I pushed Potter out of the way carelessly to open up the way, and proceeded to smile warmly.
“Thanks. And yeah. Secret Service guy still has my trunk. Oi! Dude!” She yelled, sticking her head out of the compartment door. “Gimme my trunk and stay out here looking scary. Wait, no, don’t do that, you might make a first year piss themselves. Just look normal.” With that, she turned around, holding her trunk in both hands, and looking a lot less pissed. She then proceeded to swing her trunk up onto a rack with ease.
“I’m Varian Krum, by the way. You guys can call me Re, though.”
Everyone was staring at her in shock. How could she LIFT that bloody trunk ABOVE her HEAD without crumbling under its weight and swearing a lot?! Seriously. I sometimes wonder what would happen if somebody as built as Potter (objectively speaking, of course) benched a trunk.
I think the trunk would crush Potter and then I could dance on his grave like the really scary person I am.
“Umm. Are you on steriods or something?” Dom. Of course she would jump to the worst possible conclusion right away.
Re burst into laughter. When she stopped she said,“No. My dad just makes me exercise a lot. Once he even made me run a mile in the Alps. THAT was hell."
She then took the only seat left, which was right next to Al. On his right.
“Damn. Now I can’t sit here and annoy the crap out of Smithe.” Stupid freakin' Potter. He only wanted three things: girls (especially in broom cupboards), Quidditch, and my death. Sigh.
“Actually, wait. I’ll just sit here on the floor.” Potter… you might actually have some gray matter. I’m surprised. I might faint. No, seriously, you should be worried.
“So, Smithe. Got your face pierced again. It looks terrible.”
If forgot to mention that, didn’t I? I have a silver ring in my left eyebrow, a stud in my right nostril, and numerous rings and whatnot in both ears. My newest addition is the bar in my right eyebrow.
“Was that an insult? Dear Merlin, it’s a miracle you can talk and walk at the same time.”
“You better watch it! I can make your life hell!”
“How? You know I won’t care. Anyways, I have no secrets.”
“Oh yeah? Does everyone know you’re the one who charmed all the Slytherins hair red and gold on the day of the first Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match?”
“That’s the best dirt you have on me? Everyone knows that. Remember, I got all those detentions?” Which were not fun. At all. The dying hair thing was, though. That was awesome.
But I wonder what's up with Potter. He must have had quite the party last night and is now suffering the effects a horrible hangover. Either that or he's just being an idiot.
“Oh. Right. Whatever. I’m gonna go find…Someone.”
I was suddenly gripped by a loud coughing fit.
“Translation: I need a shag”, I managed to get out whilst coughing as loud as I could. Before Potter could kill me, someone spoke.
“Wait, Varian. Did you say your last name was Krum? As in Viktor Krum?” Dom looks…scary. Dammit! Someone let her into the coffee again, didn’t they?
“RE. And yes. He’s my father. And he’s REALLY overprotective. That’s why muscle-man here came on this stupid train with me. My dad’s afraid that 'some maggoty sewer trash' will mob me or something. Father’s really paranoid. I swear, paranoid would be his middle name if I got my way own way for once. Oh, by the way, sweet T, Myra.”
“Wah? Oh thanks. You can call me My.” My T-shirt was black with “Consider This A Fair Warning” written on it in white. I usually wear punk-ish clothing, but I buy most of it at thrift stores, so I will pretty much just settle for black or dark clothing that I like.
“So, Smithe, decide to give me the Captainship this year? You know I deserve it." Potter said with a smikr and a tone of arrogance that made me want to throttle him.
"Potter, just go away and be an arrogant bastard somewhere else."
“Christ Smithe. What business do you have telling me to leave? Pushy bitch!” Oh, he's got to be hungover. But that does not mean I won't get into a fight with him.
“You would know, you man whore!”
“Shut up! You don’t know a thing about relationships!”
“Relationships! That’s what you call a one-night stand? You bastard, of course I know about flings!”
“Oh, yeah? How much?”
“None of your business, arsehole!”
At this point, I noticed our friends getting up and walking out, leaving us to argue in peace.
“It is too!”
“What, your business? No it isn’t!”
“I don’t care! You’re not going to be a bad influence on Dom or Rose or Lily!”
“Yeah, wait until I tell them you said that, fuckwad.”
"You wouldn't." Potter's eyes widened in fear and some of the blood drained from his face.
"I would." I said, grinning evilly and moving towards the door.
"Oh no you don't! Levicorpus!"
I was instantly yanked up in the air by my ankle, my shirt falling up over my head and giving Potter a lovely view of my boobs. I think he did that on purpose.
“Put me down, you bastard!”
“Not until you ask nicely". he said smugly, staring unabashedly at my chest.
And my friends wonder why I can't stand this...thing.
“Fuck you! Potter, put me down!"
"Or what?" he asked absentmindedly, still staring at my over-exposed cleavage.
"Or I'll tell Lily that you told every bloke in her year that you would strangle them if they looked at her wrong. And I'll also tell Rose that you punched her first boyfriend until he agreed to break up with her." I threatened, more than amused when Potter's face drained of all color and turned into a mask of pure terror.
“Exactly! Now let me down!” Ha! Blackmail! My favorite!
“Fine!” he flicked is wand and I landed in a heap on the floor. Arsehole. I’ll get him for that.
He marched to the door and… let out a choice stream of expletives when he found it was locked. From the outside. And alohamora wouldn’t work. He hadn’t noticed the not taped to the door that said “You’re staying in here until you learn to get along! Have fun! -Dom”? Smart. Real smart.
“Shit! Smithe, I swear to God this is all your fault!”
“MY fault? Where in hell do you get that? You sexist bastard!”
“Sexist? Since when was I sexist? I mean sexy, maybe, but sexist?”
“Sexy? Since when? Oh, I’m, sorry. Since you became a player? You know Potter, you used to be nice. Sort of. And then you turned 13. and convinced yourself you’re God’s gift to women. Or maybe God’s gift to this world because of your father. Well, you know what? Everyone else will only ever stand you because you have a famous father. The Boy Who Lived. Potter, you are just a boy. But you haven’t lived yet.”
That’s it. I crossed the line. You can tell by the look on his face. The look that says: I can’t believe you said that. Oh dear, I might have pissed him off.
Flash of light. Darkness. Oh, fuck.
I can’t believe she said that. Bitch. She deserved to be stunned. Course, she’s right, but that won’t make me feel any better, now will it? Stupid punk. Myra. What a terrible name. Wait, is she waking up already? Man, I’m losing my touch. Or it could be the fact that I drank a tad too much last night.
“Dick. I’m going to get you for that one.”
“Oh yeah? Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
2 Hours Later:
“Goddammit Potter! Get the hell off of me!”
“Then you get your wand outta my face!”
Let me explain this bloody annoying situation: We got in a VERY physical fight. Meaning, we beat each other up. Until I tripped (don’t laugh) and fell on her and she shoved her wand in my face. We have stayed this way for a good 20 sodding minutes.
“Fine! You get up and I put my wand away!”
“Finally, dammit!” I sprang up. She shoved her wand in her jeans.
“We need to change. We’re going to be at Hogwarts in about a half and hour. Turn around and cover your eyes.”
“Christ Smithe! You’re going to change right in here? Bloody idiot.” What?! She is. Despite my protestations, I turn around and there’s some rustling. And some more. And then a few steps. And then a little more rustling.
“Ok. You can turn around.” There she was looking incredibly hot in her school uniform, which was impossible - wait. Hold on. This is Smithe we're talking about. I'm not supposed to be attracted to her. Though she does have a nice rack....
Smithe suddenly screwed her face up and changed her hair to a short and spiky red and her eyes to tawny gold.
“Oi, Potter! You gonna change or what?”
“Wha- Oh yeah.” She rolls her eyes and turns around. I grabbed my uniform out of my trunk (which is thankfully in here) and changed.
“Okay, you can look, Smithe.”
“Do I have to? I’ve really enjoyed not seeing your face.”
Okay, seriously? I have a killer hangover and this bitch refuses to get along for five fucking minutes?
“Listen Smithe”, I growled.” I have a wicked hangover and zero patience. I will put you in a Full Body-Bind Curse if you don't shut. Up."
“Alright, fine. You’re still a bloody idiot."
And with that, she sat down and started reading Quidditch Through the Ages. I started reading Quidditch Weekly. The similarity here is a little scary.
I glanced up at her once and noticed that she was biting her lip as she read, eyes flicking back in forth over the page in front of her. It was actually somewhat beautiful, her expression. She just seemed so peaceful, it made me wonder if there was someone good underneath that bitchy exterior.
Hold on. Did I just wonder if Smithe is actually human?
Damn alcohol. It's affecting my brain enough so that I will even begin to ponder Smithe's humanity.
Ok, first story, doesn’t belong to me, leave a review, blah, blah, blah. Just don’t arrest (cause JKR doesn’t belong to me) and I’m good. Oh, and please please please forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes. If you do, +100 karma points. If you don’t, -100 karma points. Remember, karma is a bitch. And constructive criticism is GOOD. Which means leave a review. Pretty-please? Ok, enough begging, I have things to do, people!
-Voldys_Moldy (don’t laugh, cause he is)
Other Similar Stories