Okay, New WIP. I probably shouldn't be doing this. But I am just not able to write anything other then this right now. I promise - I will get back to my other WIP. But for now I would like to make the note that this story is not to be taken seriously. It's just something I planned and wrote for fun.
So enjoy! This is my attempt at the ever-scary next-gen and humour!.
My name is Scarlett McKellan.
I am adopted, I’m ambitious, my best friend is a crazy guitar-wielding insomniac and I am going to get to the top of the heap, no matter what.
Yes, that is more or less all you EVER need to know about me. Well, I suppose there might be a few more things, but I don’t care about you enough to tell you anything else. Of course Tilly, that best friend I mentioned earlier seems to think differently. She seems to think I should spill every detail of my life to every random person I meet on the street. I suppose I can’t blame her, she does it; it’s like word-vomit. The first day I met her I got a 150 things you need to learn about Matilda Parker. (Matilda is her actual name, but she hates it, so I only bring it out on special occasions.)
Anyway, the point is - I don’t need to know anything about you and all you need to know about me is in the sentence up there. Got it? Good. Because I am not in the mood to be repeating myself. I’m only telling you all of this once by the way. No one needs to know the ins and outs of how I…well you’ll see.
Anyway, this story begins (Oh dear, now I sound like my grandmother…joyous…anyway), when I was fresh out of Hogwarts, ready to attack the world. I was bringing the whole world down and no one could stop me. That was the plan; I was going to be The Minister for Magic. Well, I still am…don’t think that because all of this happened I’m not going to get into the position with my charm and wit and obvious beauty.
Anyway, the point was I needed a way to get into the Ministry, my NEWTs were good, but so was half my year. I needed something more; I needed an edge, just that little niche, the foothold. Well, I certainly wasn’t going to find it here, on Tilly’s farm.
That was where I went that summer; I went to Tilly’s little farm. Awful smells, but she didn’t seem to mind, she was used to it I suppose. May I also mention that Tilly is nuts, I’m not sure why I’m friends with her exactly, other then out of necessity. The other girls didn’t like me that much it seemed. It made no difference to me of course, but Tilly seemed insistent on becoming my friend, in the end I just gave up and let her. What harm could it do? …Lots apparently. I spent the next seven years trying to stop her doing crazy things, waste of my time if you ask me. But according to her that’s what friends do…then again, very often I take what she says and do the exact opposite.
Now, I suppose I had better get back to what I was saying. All of this started on Tilly’s farm, you could say it was her fault. In fact, that sounds brilliant, I’m going to go ahead and blame the whole thing on her. Not even her death glare can make me revoke that sentence; I have made grown men wilt under my glare. She’s got nothing on me.
So, we were sat in her room, on one of the first days of the summer. Blistering hot day it was, we had her curtains and windows wide open, the fans were spinning wildly. The fans were more to get rid of the awful smell of dung then to cool us down, but they did both. Anyway, in effect I was quite grumpy that day. Although Tilly just informed me I’m always grumpy and it didn’t make much difference. The point is I was not in a good mood. When I’m not in a good mood, I start to plot.
“Scar, you don’t happen to have a pink feather boa on you do you?” I stared at her for a second before going back to my previous position whereby I was led on her bed scowling at the ceiling. “Scar? I need a feather Boa!”
“Why exactly do you need a feather boa Tilly?” I asked her with a sigh, I had learned from our first year that when Tilly wanted something random there was usually a very stupid reason behind it. I should really stop asking her why she wants things but old habits never die I suppose.
“Well, I was thinking…”
“Never a good sign.” I smirked ever so slightly, but returned to my scowl very quickly. Smirking was too much effort in this heat.
“Oh shush little-miss-grumpy-dotty-pants. Anyway, I was thinking, if we plucked all of the pink feathers from the Boa then attached them to our arms and then charm them or something and see if we can fly!”
I looked at her with an expression of pure disbelief. She had taken her dumb ideas to a new level, I really hadn’t thought she had it in her to do that and yet again she proved me wrong!
“Tilly, that has to be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard in my life.” I told her, much to her obvious disappointment. But seriously? How does she come up with these things? She isn’t stupid…just really, really weird. You wouldn’t believe she was a Ravenclaw would you?
She grumbled at me and mumbled something about me coming up with something better to do. I raised an eyebrow at her, there were plenty of things I wanted to do and none of them were going to happen on this farm. I sighed and got off the bed smoothing my skirt and avoiding one of Tilly’s 6-dozen cats. She had so many she brought a new one to Hogwarts every year. For half of fifth year she got away with having 3 of them running about the place until another student ratted her out. For which I made them pay of course. They never will be able to go near a cat again…
Anyway, I decided we should go out and do something. Tilly was evidentially against it, quite happy to sit with her muggle guitar and write songs; another one of her infuriating habits, she is beyond lazy. I checked myself in the mirror smoothing down my dark curls and reapplying my red lipstick. Tilly looked up at me frowning, “Why do you always wear red?” she asked.
I raised an eyebrow at her, “Because red is dangerous, tricky and seductive, plus it looks amazing with my hair.” I told her, ignoring the fact she currently had her feet on the desk underneath me.
Tilly shrugged, “Oh…” I thought, for just a moment, she had finally, after all these years, decided to be quiet. But it seemed I was too optimistic because she said with a wide grin, “Maybe the feather boa could be red!” It was at this point I walked out of the room rolling my eyes.
It transpired that when wanting to get out of a farm that Is situated in the middle of nowhere there really isn’t that many options that don’t involve walking – and when I say not many I mean none. In fact it only occurred to me as I was walking down the beaten track I probably should have picked up my broom. It would have gotten me further faster. I would apparate, but I hate it; it’s like for a second, as all the air is squeezed out of you, all control of what you do and where you do it lost. It’s awful. I hate not having control.
Of course when Tilly popped into existence next to me I gave her an expression of absolute distaste.
“Hey!” she said a little less brightly then usual but still in an infuriatingly upbeat tone. I sighed and looked away, hoping to deter any conversation. Unfortunately, luck was not on my side. “Where are you going?” she asked. I was hesitant to reply, once she dragged me into a conversation she tended to keep it going for longer then needed.
“Anywhere you’re not.” I decided eventually. Tilly, unfortunately, was used to my ‘moodiness’ and ‘hostility’ – at least that is how she describes it. I simply don’t like wasting my time with stupid conversations and ideas and I probably have better things to do with my time. For example I could right now be plotting on how best to become the next Minister for Magic.
Regrettably, my parents had decided I was to spend the whole summer on this smelly, stinking, boiling hot farm whether I liked it or not. So even if I did try to leave I couldn’t even go home.
“Well, Right now I’m not at the house…” she told me with an almost pleading expression. I sighed, giving her a scathing look before swooping around and starting to walk back the way I came.
I wasn’t really angry with Tilly; I was merely frustrated with my lack of productivity. As I walked I realised Tilly was lagging behind a little, she was probably afraid I was going to snap at her again. I rolled my eyes and stopped, she also froze and watched me warily.
“Tilly, will you hurry up!” I barked, and she shrugged as she skipped forwards until she was level with me.
“So…we cool?” she asked. I looked at her for a second but finally decided I might as well be nice to her. Otherwise I would have to sleep in the same room as someone who was begging for my forgiveness. That prospect did not sound appealing to me in the slightest.
“I suppose, no more bloody feather boas though,” I grumbled. She nodded and grabbed my arm, linking it through hers. Thus was the general pattern of our friendship for the last seven years. It was exhausting and pointless but I suppose I just got too lazy to get out of the pattern. Another hazard of being friends with Tilly – you get lazy.
Anyway, we walked back to the house with Tilly hanging off my arm. I was incredibly glad that there was no one there to see me because frankly I would have not been happy. It was embarrassing enough to have to admit to being friends with her most of the time.
“What is there even to do around here?” I asked, deciding I might as well find out how much this summer is going to fry/melt/kill my brain. (Seriously, take your pick; I wouldn’t be surprised if it did all three)
“Umm, well you can help us out with the farm...”
“…There is the village a few miles away…”
That’s it… I need to get myself a new friend.
“…Oh! And if you want then tomorrow we can go visit the Potters.”
It was at that point things got interesting.
“The Potters?” I asked, trying to seem blasé about it.
“Oh yeah, dad does deliveries for them sometimes.” She said as if it wasn’t that much of a big deal. Which to her it probably wasn’t. But what she didn’t understand was the Potters were influential enough to give me exactly what I wanted, they could give me the foothold I needed.
“Oh, then I’m sure paying them a visit would be nice.” I said casually, as if it didn’t bother me.
But of course as I got into bed that night and curled up on Tilly’s bed – ordering her to switch of the light from her position on the floor - a plan was forming in my mind. One way or another I was going to get that foothold I needed, I just had to figure out how.
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