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The Chronicles of Violet Ogden by Free_Rhapsody
Chapter 1 : Peace and Serenity onboard the Hogwarts Express
 
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 5


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Violet Ogden; Resident Flobberworm of Hogwarts 
 
Watery sunlight flooded the busy station as commuters, children, and the occasional witch or wizard clambered aboard the trains (or in the case of the witches and wizards, surreptitiously slipped through the magical barrier).  
 
What with the cacophony of shrieking mothers, crying children and squawking owls, it was surprising people could actually hear themselves think, let alone hear what others were saying. Such were the gloomy sentiments inhabiting the corpulent heart of Violet Ogden as she slowly and majestically (or so she thought) rolled into Kings Cross Station.  
 
Adjusting her wire rimmed glasses, and clutching a bag of jelly slugs, custard creams and fizzing whizbees in her sweaty palm, Violet trundled her cart over the pavement until she reached the barrier, then, attempting (and failing miserably) to casually pass through the barrier, she entered Platform 9 and ¾, ready for her seventh year of Hogwarts. 
 
Her toad, Georgie, highly disgruntled, picked himself off the floor of his container.  
 
                                                                       * * * 
Snapping her freshly lacquered and manicured fingernails together, (mint was so in) Lucy Weasley strode through the crowds and briskly stepped on board the Hogwarts Express, motioning for the poor first year lugging her enormous trunk to follow. Blatantly ignoring a few greetings, and occasionally stepping on the odd second year, she haughtily stalked into her carriage and slammed the door in frustration, nearly knocking out the first year.  
 
“I ask you!” she cried in frustration, “Why are some people just so dense?” 
 
Alice grinned. She did love it when Lucy was on one of her tirades again, it was as satisfying as watching fireworks at New Year's; the faint curling of smoke issuing from Lucy's nostrils was almost too good to be true. Smirking at Dora, she carefully enquired as to what could be causing their dear friend so much trouble. 
 
As it transpired, Lucy had merely been forced to suffer the ordeal of having her cousin Dominique stay with her for the last week of the summer holidays.  
 
“... and it turned out she had forgotten to bring her bathing suit, so of course dear mother forced me to lend the idiot a pair-” 
 
“Hello, hello!” came a new voice from the corridor, as the owner pulled open the door and glanced cheerily inside. Lucy merely ignored him, and continued on her tirade without so much as a batted eyelid. 
 
“ - and the little idiot went and spilt butterbeer all over it, my best maroon bikini, honestly, brand new from Gladrags, only just got it two weeks ago -” 
 
Hugo, returning the gesture, sat down beside Alice.  
 
“Have good hols, Alice?” he enquired, turning a deaf ear to his cousin's escalating complaints.  
 
Alice grinned again. The First Day, every year, never failed to be a continual amusement, and this year was no exception. Well aware of Hugo's intentions, she cheerfully imparted the basics of her summer, waiting for his trademark line; 
 
“-well, hon, just remember, if you ever need some, hem, things on the downlow, let me know...” 
 
Hugo never failed to deliver. 
 
The capitalist entrepreneur of Hogwarts, Hugo had last year taken over the black market from James, who had departed Hogwarts in search of victory and grandeur at Puddlemere United. With his second-and-third-in-command, Alexis Jordan and Adrian Books respectively, the boys (and Alexis) successfully supplied half the senior school with all the butterbeer, firewhisky and canary creams they could handle. Thus, the cheery red head of Hugo (although that was hardly an apt description of the lad, given that half the population of Hogwarts possessed that striking feature) was often seen in cohorts with the equally striking shock of blonde dreadlocks belonging to Alexis. 
 
Lucy was winding down now. 
 
“- and, honestly, I know some people have the right to be stupid, but really, she just abuses the privilege, can't believe I'm related to her sometimes..”  
 
Finally realizing no one was paying her much attention (Alice and Hugo were now animatedly discussing the merits of using rogue house-elves as messengers for their market, while Dora continued to peruse her Advanced Potion's Making) she gave one final “Really!” and slumped into the corner, retiring behind the newest edition of Witch Weekly. Glinda's new line of dragonhide purses were so comforting sometimes, especially with the added horror of facing another year with those idiots. Honestly... 
 

                                                                         * * * 
 
Meanwhile, the soulless destroyer of Lucy's maroon bikini sat morosely in an empty carriage, all alone. Nibbling her fingernails, Dominique contemplated the wrath of her dear cousin she would inevitably be forced to face throughout the upcoming year, given that they had chosen almost exactly the same subjects. Oh, it was just so awful sometimes, and being born into a family of elegant beauties didn't help either. Her only consolation was that Louis perhaps was worse than her (when it came to general clumsiness), although even that was debatable.  
 
Suddenly, with a huff, and a puff, and a shriek of metal, the door collapsed inwards as Violet fell through, almost landing on Dominique (who squealed and jumped out of danger just in time). The bag of Jelly slugs, Custard Creams and Fizzing Whizbees went flying, a pink slug catching Dominique in the corner of her eye. Unfortunately, the only remnant of Veela Beauty Dominique had inherited from her mother was her deep blue eyes, although Dominique's were more protuberant.  
 
Violet grunted.  
 
Peevishly picking herself off the floor (though even the act was exhausting, given her size), Violet blinked owlishly at Dominique, who sat, cowering in the corner. Oh dear, would Violet expect her to pick up all those hideous sweeties? 
 
Violet sighed. Really, it was all too much. Firstly, she had almost missed the train (Fortescue's Icecream Parlor were introducing a new flavour today; cranberry and mint), then she had had her foot stepped on by that cow Lucy (were stilettos really necessary for school?) and now her lunch was plastered over the carriage interior; the last custard cream sorrowfully dripping from the baggage rack.  
 
Passing a fat hand over her eyes, she blinked, then cautiously reopened them. Yes, there was Dominique, flecks of cream smattered across her face, there was Georgie, hanging from the lampshade, there was her trunk, having skidded across the floor and landed in the corner, yes, there was Lysander, giggling helplessly in the corridor... 
 
“ .. he he he he he he..”  
 
                                                                       * * * 
 
“Look!” bellowed Rose in frustration, as she barely resisted the urge to smack Claudia. “Whitman, you're ridiculous! Preposterous! Absurd!...” 
 
Claudia sighed. Of all the Weasleys, Rose and Lucy took the cake for the best candidates at having coordinated personalities and hair colours. 
 
“... You are physically repulsive, intellectually retarded. You're morally reprehensible, vulgar, insensitive, selfish, stupid. You have no taste, a lousy sense of humor and you smell. You're, you're not even interesting enough to make me sick...”  
 
“Isn't that a bit too much, Rose?”  
 
Albus poked his head around the door, alarmed at the harpy-like shrieks issuing from the carriage. Like Rose, he too had been a prefect for two years, although, unlike Rose, he wasn't so uptight about it. Perhaps there was some complication over the fact that Rose had been rejected for the position of Head Girl in favour of Claudia. He had to admit, being Head Boy himself, he was rather glad Rose hadn't been considered for the role. Albus preferred his hair still on his head, thank you very much... 
 
“Constant Vigilance!” she snapped, whipping her fiery red plait over her shoulder as she stormed out of the compartment. Albus could make out the tip of her upturned nose, held high in the air as she turned around the corner, heading towards the Prefect's carriage.  
 
Claudia sighed again, one perfectly formed eyebrow arching at her friend's disappearing figure. At this rate, Ravenclaw would definitely be set or winning the house cup, simply due to the terror evoked in students' hearts, once encountering the spectacle of Rose. Claudia was sure she had to be at least a little OCD, oh, and when it came to Scorpius Malfoy... 
It really wasn't worth mentioning the name. 
 
She rolled her eyes at Albus, and flopped down.  
 
“Good holiday, Al?” 
 
Albus nodded. 
 
“Received a new broom for my birthday; a StarSplinter '22,” he grinned, “Flies like nothing else. You?”  
 
Claudia nodded. 
 
“Fantastic, apart from one small escapade in which your delightful cousin got in a fight with half a dozen tipsy fairies, really, you should have seen the mess...” 
 
Albus shook his head in sorrowful despair. His family were lunatics... 
 
                                                                           * * * 
In the next carriage, Claire Chang sat, sucking the end of a pencil whilst gazing at her Sudoku puzzle. After ten minutes she gave up, and flung the hideous thing at the window. Roxanne jumped.  
 
“It's no use!” cried Claire, glowering under her fringe.  
 
“I'm tired of Mother forcing me to 'improve myself' the whole time, I want to be free, have some fun!” 
 
Roxanne knew better than to say anything. She, of course, did empathize with her friend, but the heroine of her novel was just about to open the door of the deserted lighthouse and Roxanne was positively sure something was going to happen. At any rate, it was more interesting than Claire's latest complaints.  
 
Claire frowned at the obvious lack of sympathy from her friend. Left eye twitching, she surreptitiously flicked her wand in Roxanne's direction, (Roxanne's hair turned blue) cast her textbooks on the ground, and bounded merrily out of the carriage in search of her partner in crime, the winsome, wily Lysander.  
 
Roxanne returned to her novel; Honeymoon with a Hag, by Fifi Lafolle. Admittedly, it wasn't one of her best endeavours (it lacked the enigmatic, ever-masculine, dark haired hero with smoldering eyes), but it would have to do. She turned the page... 
 
                                                                       * * * 
 
Half an hour later, everyone had calmed down (except for Rose, but to be honest, she was never truly calm) and the Hogwarts Express was relatively quiet. Violet and Dominique's compartment door had been repaired, courtesy of Lysander, who, once recovered from his crippling bout of laughter, goodnaturedly restored order with a few flicks of his wand. Dominique was now (albeit with great tredipation) conversing with Violet (or attempting to, at any rate). Violet however, was contentedly guzzling her way through a virtual mountain of chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes, pausing from her gargantuan feat every ten minutes or so to flick a crumb or two at Georgie.  
 
Lucy had fallen asleep, her head reclining against the wall, happily dreaming of another year of reigning as the Queen Bee (or, should I say, Queen Kneazle?), and perhaps finally capturing Troy Davies at last. Dora still sat, curled up in the corner, avidly perusing her Advanced Potion Making (she'd moved on to 'The Elixir to Induce Euphoria') while Alice had resorted to dreaming up new inventions in a bid to pass the time. Now that Hugo had left them (he'd apparently had business transactions to sort out with Alexis) she'd been unoccupied, and lacking the stimulation of Lucy's tantrums to prevent the onset of sleep, had succumbed to lolling around on the comfortable seat...  
 
Claudia and Albus were still animatedly discussing the merits of various broomsticks, and the predicted outcomes of this year's Quidditch matches (Albus was positively sure Ravenclaw were going to be victorious, while Claudia was adamantly insisting Gryffindor's excellent chances).  
 
As for Rose, no one knew where she was, and to be brutally honest, no one cared too much; she'd resurface as soon as it became necessary for her excellent Prefect skills to be put to use.  
 
Roxanne had finished her novel (an altogether unsatisfactory ending, she felt). 
 
Claire and Lysander could be just seen, dreamily waltzing in the junior department to a rapt crowd of adoring first years. At least they were wearing the lotus flowers in their hair, instead of chewing them.... 
 
Violet had now fallen rapturously asleep, her chocolate besmeared mouth wide open, snoring loudly. Glasses askew, and languidly reclining (although that was a far too graceful word to describe it) on the chair, she was the epitome of contentment. Dominique was struck with the sudden and inexplicable urge to pelt her with the leftover Bott's Beans. She decided not to; a snoring Violet was far preferable to a yowling one.  
 
                                                                            * * * 
 
So, as the respective prefects, lowly students and subhumans (first years) excitedly awaited a new year at Hogwarts, the Hogwarts Express sped through the vanilla twilight, ever towards the castle. 

 

 

Author's Note:
This is my first attempt at a Novel/Novella, after reading many next gens, I've decided to try my hand at a next gen Hogwarts Tale. It's somewhat of a parody, in that the main character isn't exactly heroic (in the slightest), although that may become more apparent later.


Of course, everything you recognise belongs to the brilliant J.K. Rowling. Except, of course, Rose's speech (isn't she delightful?);

“... You are physically repulsive, intellectually retarded. You're morally reprehensible, vulgar, insensitive, selfish, stupid. You have no taste, a lousy sense of humor and you smell. You're, you're not even interesting enough to make me sick...”  

This is is derived from the 1987 American horror/comedy film, 'The Witches of Eastwick' (Warner Bros. Pictures), and constitutes an excellent tirade of Cher's character towards the devilish Jack Nicholson. Also, the quote "Constant Vigilance!" is of course derived from the excellent Mad-Eye Moody (RIP) and Rowling's work, I do not in any way lay claim to it.

In addition, this tale is semi based upon the novel “Bunter the Ventriloquist”, by Frank Richards, however only certain elements shall be similair, this story is certainly not a carbon copy of the epicness of Mr Richards. Violet is also somewhat reminiscent of Billy Bunter in her mannerisms and appearance, however she is not a carbon copy and will not be quoting Bunter's lines.

Thank you for reading, and I greatly appreciate reviews, they are very encouraging and help me with my writing, so please take a minute or two to offer suggestions or so.  


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