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Chapter 1 : Juice-y
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You know what I reckon would be really damn awesome?
No, I’m serious – I would kill to be part troll. Or anything, really: part merman-ish, part gnome, part goblin. Hell, I’d even take part giraffe if I had to get that desperate.
Because, you see, I have this unfortunate, horrifying, excruciatingly dreadful blood lineage. I’m serious – just hearing the word makes me shudder.
I’m part bloody Veela.
You know how completely pathetic that is? It’s just sad on many levels of sadness that I can’t even think about how sad for fear of going into deep, irreversible depression.
Oh, you may say, stop whining! It ain’t so bad! In fact, tons of girls would do anything just to be part-Veela! It’s a gift, I tell you – a gift.
Well I say fuck you, because I’m not a girl. In fact, I am a man, and no matter what Dom tells you, don’t believe her because I’m not female, and if it really comes down to it, I will pull out the proof. I have no shame. Whatsoever.
What sucks so much about being a part-Veela man is that, well…you’re not manly. In fact, you’re so bloody far from manly old ladies at stores start to think that you’re actually a girl, and they’ll give you little ribbons and lollipops and your dear mother will think that it’s so bloody adorable that she’ll take lovely little photoshoots of you dressed in girly clothing.
And before you know it – bam! – you’ve lived your entire first two years as a bloody female. Broke my dad’s heart, it did. I can’t look at those albums for fear of nausea. Or severe mental scarring.
Long story short: my life sucks because I am pretty.
Sure, laugh it up. Have a ball, knock yourself out. Oh haha, look there’s Louis Weasley, the bloke with two gorgeous older sisters who look exactly like him. He’s so pretty, with his sparkling moonlight-Veela eyes and luscious golden Veela hair! Let’s all point and laugh at his misfortune.
And honestly, what kind of a poor tosser is named Louis, huh? It sounds like I was trying to say something and got a large object stuffed in my mouth, and then I’m choking to the get the rest of the word out.
Oh, and even worse:
Now there’s a paradox just waiting to explode.
And bloody hell, it rhymes. Even better.
Just a hint, Maman – no matter how “beautiful” and French your children’s names are, they are going to be completely destroyed because of the last name tacked on to it.
It’s bloody Weasley. You know what’s so wonderful about the last name Weasley?
Yeah, I just blew that shit wide open.
And if it can get possibly even worse, you can just take a look at my obnoxiously large family. The thing about Weasleys is that a) we breed like rabbits, and b) we are very big on family unity.
My family is created of a lot of extremely, er…charismatic people. We’ve got very strong personalities. Erm…that is, very strong. We clash a bit.
Every time we meet.
It’s kind of horrifying. Not the kind of thing you want to bring a new girlfriend/boyfriend to, because he/she will think that it’s going to be some sort of fun family get together of all the awesomely cool people who saved the world and their children, oh wow!
Then you show up and get hit in the face by an owl-poop encrusted shoe, thanks to my lovely sister Dom, who threw a hissy fit because Argent (my owl) crapped on her brand new Prada Pumps (whatever the hell that’s supposed to be. I maintain that Argent brilliantly saved her feet from those scary-looking devices).
Next, you meet my grandpa Arthur, who’s a bit wonky. He’ll interrogate you on the function of rubber ducks. Nana will deplore at how skinny you are and try to feed you half the food in the house, while Uncle Ron will sneak food off your plate then pretend like nothing’s wrong when Aunt Hermione comes around to tell him off.
You’ll probably have to fight through the throng consisting of Rose, Roxanne, and my man Albus, who are all brilliant and like to creep people out just to see their reactions.
If you act terrified, you fail. Just for the record.
Then Harry Potter will probably trip over a random Weasley and fall on you, and Uncle Charlie will accidentally grope you will trying to get him up, and then my dad will sit there and laugh while the two of them blush and stammer.
And, to top it all off…Hugo Weasley will fart on your face if he doesn’t like you.
Let’s just say that Ted didn’t bring any girls to our family get togethers ever again.
Not that he should ever date anyone, because like dude, you’ve got to be really thick not to notice that Tori is completely infatuated with you.
And, look, I understand that I should be overprotective of my gorgeous Veela sisters, and I usually am.
But come on. It’s Ted. Our Ted. The guy who used to play hide-and-seek with us. Ted. He’s the exception.
So I’m allowing it. You can breathe in relief, Tori, you got the a-okay from me.
That’s right, I’m such a boss. Respect the pretty Veela kid.
He. Is. A. BOSS.
(A tired boss who likes to sleep.
“Hmgh,” I gurgled into my pillow.
“Lou-eeeeeeeee! Get uuuuuuuuuuuuuup!”
“THE TRAIN LEAVES IN AN HOUR SO GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF BED NOW!”
“Dominique, Louis – LANGUAGE!” Mum screamed up the stairs.
“Fine – merde, then!” I yelled back.
My mum is such a faulty human being. As long as it’s French, it’s okay. I bet I could get like fifteen girls pregnant and mum would be cool with it if they were Frenchlings.
Dad would just be cool with it because that’s a boss thing to do.
Not that I ever would, mind you.
Rose would kill me.
And then Dom would kill me.
And Victoire might put down her stalker-love photograph of Ted to yell at me a bit.
You know, while I’m in my grave.
Actually, I think I’ll be cremated after I die.
…point is, I would never do that because I don’t want to die.
Plus, it’s a bit rude.
And I’d hate to have that many children.
I tripped on my way out of bed, landing in a tangled mass of blankets and confused Veela dude on the ground, but in the next second, Dom had managed to unravel me, pull me to my feet, and shove me towards the bathroom, all the while accusing me of stealing her new juice-y jacket.
And people wonder why I’m so fucked up.
“Dom, what the hell am I supposed to do with your weird juice-fetish things?” I demanded, going straight to the shower and turning it on full spray.
“It’s not weird, and it’s missing, and I know you took it!”
“Dominique,” I said patiently, yanking my shirt off, “I have no desire to do anything with your juice-y. Dad probably put it in the fridge or something.”
She stared at me like I was crazy.
Bloody hell, it’s too early for this kind of stuff.
“Go away,” I said. Dom didn’t budge.
Fine, whatever. I pulled off the rest of my clothes and Dom shrieked.
“Oh my god, don’t wave that thing in front of me! Scarred – I’m scarred for life!”
“Bye, sis!” I called after her as she moaned her way out of the bathroom.
I’m kind of awesome. No big deal.
You know what I hate about having two older sisters?
They’re loud, they’re obnoxious, they eat too much and then whine about being fat, they have fifty billion items of clothing, they worry too much about their hair, they put too much crap in their hair, they’ve got blokes ogling their racks and arses (and I swear I get a new ulcer every time I see someone doing it. Bloody pricks – keep your eyes off my women!), they smell obnoxiously like good stuff, and they’re overall just generally very…estrogen.
It’s sickening, I tell you. No sane man would be able to survive a day with two sisters. It’s just not possible. You’ve got to be some sort of Wonderman in order to live through it.
Luckily for me, I am Wonderman.
It’s a gift – I’m actually a beast.
“Dom, shut up,” I droned, cutting off her monologue/tirade on the merits of hairspray.
I don’t even know.
I’m too hungry for this.
“Thank you, Louis,” Victoire said tightly from the driver’s seat as she glared out at the traffic. We were spectacularly late, but like Tori said, ‘I can’t control the fucking traffic, so sit down and shut your yap-hole, you little shit!’
I like Tori.
She’s the only reason I put up with this kind of crap on a daily basis.
Woman’s practically a Goddess.
…and Teddy is a dipshit. Honestly. Tosser.
Dom huffed and you can bet Merlin’s bloomers that she was pouting like nobody’s business.
“You two are like wildebeasts,” she muttered, tossing her unnaturally glossy hair and pulling out a mirror from the depths of her handbag to check on her makeup.
“I like to pretend I don’t share genetic information with you,” I told her. She flipped me off.
Tori glanced at me from the rearview mirror with a smirk on her face.
Like I said, Tori’s my favorite.
“And are you sure we can’t get there any faster?” Dom deplored, checking her watch. “The train leaves in twenty minutes!”
I reached over the back of the seat and messed up her hair.
She shrieked like it was the end of the world and frantically started fixing it again. By the glare I received from her, I knew I was going to get hurt for that later on.
Whatever. At least she shut up.
Fifteen minutes later, and a lot of endless whining on Dom’s part, we finally reached the station.
After that, things exploded a bit.
“Move! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! Outta my way! Get your fat arse out of the way, tosspot!” I yelled as I shoved our trunks through the crowd. Victoire and Dom trailed after me, Victoire occasionally adding a quick, ‘Excuse me, pardon me, I’m terribly sorry.’ Dom was checking up on the face gunk again.
“Alright,” Victoire said, jogging up next to me as we got near our platform. “Be good, er…do well…study your crap, and don’t blow stuff up. Unless it’s Slytherin stuff. Then go crazy. Actually, Ravenclaw stuff is good too; they’re bloody annoying little shit-eating nerds. And Hufflepuff wouldn’t do anything, so…”
“You’re shit at parenting, Tor,” I cut off, kissing her swiftly on the cheek. She laughed and kissed mine back, mussing up my hair a bit.
“Just write me. I miss you.”
She muttered a quick concealment charm as I burst through the wall, emerging out of the other side just as the train whistled a warning. Dom tottered after me as I sprinted towards the Hogwarts Express. Cursing fluently under my breath, I opened up the carriage door and started to pull Dom’s violently pink trunk off of the trolley. Bloody hell, what does the psycho keep in here, bloody rocks?
I bet she does.
I looked up to see Rose standing at the door of the train, with a grinning Al behind her.
“Yes, really. Help me with this, will you?” I heaved one of my trunks towards her, and she rolled her eyes and passed it to Al, who dumped it in the luggage room.
Dom was still tottering.
Honestly, all she has to do is wear a nice set of trainers instead of those stabby-heel things…
“Yo,” I said, heaving the other one towards Rose. She was still seething at me a bit for being late.
I swear, the girl’s worse than my mother.
But better than Dom and almost as good as Tori. So I keep her around.
And just when I thought I finally had it, the bloody train started moving. Dom screamed from somewhere way behind us.
Sodding hell, this always happens to me.
“Oi, get on the train!” Al yelled as he closed the luggage door and held his hand out to me.
“OHMIGOD, I CAN’T MISS MY LAST YEAR OF HOGWARTS! WAIT! WAIT! STOP MOVING! WAIT!” Dom screeched desperately, waving her skinny arms around like a lunatic.
I groaned as I turned around and sprinted towards my dumbarse-of-a-sister, grabbing her arm and scooping her over my shoulder. She continued to scream as I ran towards the train again.
She never shuts up.
Al pulled Dom off of my shoulder as I barreled up next to the train, while Rose tugged me in with every last bit of strength in her midget-y self.
For a second we stood there and panted as the door magically closed behind us, not even believing our luck.
“Bloody hell, that was close,” Al wheezed, his arm still around Dom’s waist.
“You – little – bleeding – wanker,” Rose huffed at me, her face red. “Every – fucking – year – you – do – this!”
Dom walked up to me and smacked me on the arm. “You waved my arse at the entire populace of Hogwarts, you prat!”
I gaped at her as she walked away.
Bitch, you owe me!
“Right mental, that bint,” Al said, shaking his head in a what-can-you-do sort of way.
Rose sighed. “Let’s just find a compartment, you guys.”
Alright, so, thing about Al: he’s my man. My bro. The dude I can count on for pretty much anything. He’s my favorite guy cousin.
Thing about Rose: she’s a firecracker and a half, and she’s a total nerd and never shuts her face, but she’s my favorite female cousin.
Fuck with either of them, and I’ll fuck with your face.
So come at me, ho.
“I swear,” Rose announced as soon as we found a compartment and kicked the first-year out of it, “you do that next year and I’m not helping you. You need to learn punctuality, Louis! Where are you going to get in life if you can’t even respect time, huh? You’re always late to everything! It’s a miracle you do well in school, honestly –”
“Granger, go make me a sandwich.”
“Fuck you, Delacour!”
well, hello there! welcome to my newest baby, Pretty Boy. in case any of you were wondering, no, louis is not, in fact, gay. he is written by a female, though, and this female is very female-like and is still trying to get the hang of writing as a male. unfortunately, the copious amounts of time she has spent with her male friends (and their various...ahem, enlightening literature) have not helped too much.
...unless they have.
in that case, a review would be welcome!
actually, a review would be welcome in any case.
that's all i have to say! thanks for readinggg :D
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