Chapter One: Falling Asleep Emmery
Update February 2013: I know this story is not far along, and my laptop with chapters 9-11 crashed or something so until I can gain access to those files I am cleaning up the first chapters and working on rewriting 9-11, and they’ll be different but will still be the same plotline. And if you’re just joining me on my wonderful adventure of falling in and out of fanfiction, then I welcome you to the wonderful story of Emmery Maeve Mac, in which there is magic, mayhem, Marauders, and mystery!
Without further ado, I give you Chapter One Revised…Again!
"You won’t honestly expect me to go there! That’s in New York!” I say this with a very finite tone, with great emphasis on the words New York. My best friend, Amy Hardy, is currently trying to convince me to attend New York University with her. We are finishing up our college applications and narrowing down our school choices to our top five, plus our dream school. Let me tell you, senior year came a hell of a lot faster that I thought it will. Yeah, it has been twelve years in the making (if you count kindergarten, thirteen if you count preschool), but all of a sudden it is like WHAM! I’m going to graduate in May, and (hopefully) be going to college in the fall! It is only September first, and although May seems like a million years away, I have a feeling it’s going to be here sooner than we think.
“No duh! That’s why it’s called NYU! New York University!” She says, whacking me upside my head. I glare at her, closing the tab on my computer that is the website for NYU. “I don’t see why you won’t want to go!” She pouts, lying back on my bed as she resumes texting on her phone. I swear, Amy couldn’t go anywhere without her phone in her hands.
“But it’s up north where it gets cold!” I whine. Yeah, I don’t do cold weather, not one degree below sixty. That is why my best friend and I are fighting over what college we want to attend. We want to stick together. Since she is majoring in psychology and I am in either criminal justice or criminology, we figure most schools offered say majors and we’d be able to apply (and get accepted) to at least one school we both wants.
“And it snows! I haven’t seen snow in years!” Amy says dreamily and I roll my eyes, throwing my pencil at her. “Ow! My face!” She says, opening her eyes and sitting up to glare at me.
“It snowed here during sophomore year!” I say as I turn back towards the computer. I can’t help but to roll my eyes at her dramatics.
She huffs. “That is like two inches of snow! Slush really! I want to build snow men and snow angels!” Amy plops back on my bed and pretends to make say snow angel.
“You do realize that snow will require layers and layers of clothing? Not to mention, when was the last time you drove in snow?” Amy stops pretending and contemplates my question.
I know I win when she huffs (once again) and throw one of my pillows at me. “Fine, no Yankee schools!” She concedes as she returns to her position of watching me over my shoulder.
“Agreed!” I say as I begin pulling up more colleges that offer the majors we both want. “What about Bama?” I ask.
Amy sighs now. “Yeah, I guess.” She wants to get out of the state, not stay in it. I, however, want to get a start on my life plan before I get too old.
“I know that Jake goes there, but it’s a huge school! And he’ll be graduating next year so we won’t have to worry about him.” Jake is Amy’s older brother. He is cool, except when I am freshmen (and he a senior) he used to have this weird kind of crush on me. I mean, who likes their baby sister’s best friend? Especially with a three and a half year age gap! Okay, so freshman year I may has dated a senior, but he is only two and a half years older! That’s not the point; the point is that Jake is kind of weird, even though he is really cool to hang out with when Amy isn’t around. Jake and I are in the band together. Yeah, laugh it up, I am in the marching band, symphonic band, all-county band, and yeah I am a loser. I play tuba. That’s right, the tuba! Sousaphone genius here! Seriously, the band director says I got like the perfect sound on it and if I just practiced scales, I’d be hits! But honestly, scales suck so I just stick to my natural ability to be freakishly awesome at tuba. And string bass. I think I have a problem. I love instruments that are bigger than I am. I mean, seriously, the string bass is such a cool instrument. Like that song from Dracula, where it’s all duhnuhnuhnuh nuh nuh, duhnuhnuhnuh nuh nuh. It’s pretty epic and it’s like all bass and brass! Low brass! Anyways, out of my loser ramblings.
“Yeah, yeah. What about Auburn?” She teases and I shove her. She falls to the floor. “Ow, abuse!” Amy cries as she stands up and rubs her butt. She pushes her black hair out of her face and glares at me while rambling about having an abusive best friend and something about a domestic violence lawsuit.
“Doesn’t even joke about that… place?” I tend to be a bit dramatic when it comes to Auburn University and University of Alabama. Yeah, I am a Bama girl, born and raised; SEC football is in my blood. Seriously, I’d play if I don’t break my leg in the eighth grade when I was on the middle school football team. I’m pretty sure I’d be starting over any of those guys. Maybe. Okay, I will be on the bench, as they probably won’t allow girls that are five three and only a buck thirty playing against guys over six foot and three hundred some odd pounds. But sharing say bench with football hotties, can you say amazing? So what if they may stink a little? I could deal. I am a totally tolerant person. I mean, I went to band camp for five summers, and let me tell you it is nothing like they say in the movies and is just hours in the southern sun while sweating like a pig and marching the show over, and over, and over, and over… Amy cuts off my thoughts before I can continue going over.
“I know, Em.” Amy once more admits defeat and resumes post behind me. “Besides, I like Alabama’s band better.” She muses, taking the mouse from me and clicking on the webpage’s link to the cost page. I love looking at their marching band. The uniforms aren’t at all as bad as Auburn’s, and the sousaphones are so shiny and clean, not to mention every time I hear the band I got chills all over my body. I have only seen them a few times at one of the games, but this year I have tickets to the Iron Bowl! Hell yes, and they aren’t nosebleed seats either, they are the really expensive ones that you get like the perfect view and everything. Amy’s cousin is on the team and he is able to score her and I tickets. Mom couldn’t go because she is always working, and Amy’s parents couldn’t chaperone either. But it’s not as if we are children, Amy is already eighteen for crying out loud! A legal adult! And her mom is still psycho when she leaves the house, and I know Amy longs for the day we move on to college. Anyway, back to the conversation!
“It’s the million dollar band for a reason Amy!” I laugh, taking the mouse back from her. “We already do Florida and Florida State, right?” I ask and she nods.
“Have you applied to Harvard yet?” She teases and I shove her again. “I doubt I’d get in. Just because I got a thirty-one on the ACT doesn’t mean Harvard is banging on my door to get me.” I say. “Besides, I’m not eligible for Ivy; I don’t get a thirty two.” I am not complaining; a thirty-one on the ACT is a dream come true. I nearly died from shock when I see the scores. I make a twenty freshman year, and then a twenty five summer before junior year, I am going to stop after that but Amy and I take an independent study course last year and we do ACT prep booklets like every day. I mainly focused on science and math, both of which I am decent at but science is full of those stupid graphs and math is full of Trigonometry, which I haven’t taken since sophomore year and need a refresher course. Anyway, it is totally worth it as I rose my score six solid points, and Amy’s raised four. I could go to just about any college (probably full ride) and I loved the freedom that it gives me.
“Beats my twenty nine.” Amy say and I turn to her. “Hey, our scores are better than our parents, and Jakes! Not to mention Harriet Bradley makes a twelve.” I say, hoping she won’t get bogged down. “You still get into the honors programs!” She smiles and ran a hand through her black hair, something she always do when nervous and trying to relax. Her hands got restless, like mine. “Yeah! Okay! Now stop getting all peppy on me.” She laughs and we resume our college searches.
“So when I turn thirty seven I should be finished with the academy and I can apply for Special Agent, and then live out my life as a badass FBI Special Agent and eventually retire!” I explained the big points of my life plan to Amy. I revise it every couple of months and this month I added in a few years of being a police detective, as it is good to have some type of background like that when wanting to join the FBI, and the Army is out of the question for me because I won’t be allowed in. I have thyroid issues, which mess up my hormones, and I have back issues from playing the tuba (like seriously my spine is screwed up and I‘m pretty sure I‘m forming a hump, but no one else seems to see it so I guess it’s okay, not to mention my left shoulder is bigger than my right. Pretty badass, I know).
“And why do you think that you’d just get it?” Amy tease and I, once again, resorted to whacking her with my hand.
“Because,” I say, exasperated, “I will be top of the class or in the top percent. You know how I get when I want something.” I say, standing up and stretching. We just spent thirty minutes shifting through college websites and applying to a couple that we, let’s face it, doesn’t really want to go to but we will go there if we don’t get any of our top three.
Amy rolled her eyes and jump on my bed. “Hey, do you get it?” She asks and it is my turns to roll my eyes. “Yeah, here.” I say, tossing the DVD to her. She squealed and went to the Xbox360 and put the disc in. “I don’t understand what you’re mom has against it thought.” I say while getting comfortable on my bed and checking my cell phone for text messages. I have one unread message from my mom telling me she is staying at work and won’t be home until the day after tomorrow. Mom works at some place where she does… something. She tries to explain it to me once but I forget it. I think she’s like a financial adviser for big companies and she’s almost always away on business trips. This summer she spent six weeks in Minnesota. What is she doing? I couldn’t tell you. But anyway, she is staying in Atlanta until Monday, and I texted her back telling her okay and that Amy is with me and we will has a raging party and then hire some people to clean it up.
She tells me to make sure I don’t get catch.
See, my mom likes to think she’s cool, when she really is, but you won’t let her know because then she’ll try to be cool and it so isn’t cool. And she knows that Amy and I spend the weekends shopping for having a movie marathon or something. Partying isn’t a big thing, especially since Amy’s dad is an alcoholic and she refused to be around the stuff. So I, being the best friend that I am, support her and we doesn’t stick around any party once the alcohol is brought out, which is pretty much any high school party except for some band kid‘s birthday party at the park (which is a lot more fun than it sounds, just saying- every played tag with flour? It‘s like paintball but you get socks and fill it with powder and attack people).
“It’s got magic in it. And since Dad left Mom has been all religious and what not. I’m lucky I’m not in some catholic private school.” Amy complained. Her mom has been trying to ‘find herself’ ever since Amy’s dad left eight years ago. This year, she’s a very strict catholic or whatever woman won’t let Amy watch anything except the religious channel, and even then not too much.
“I’m sorry.” I say, hugging her as she got on the bed. “It’s hard for her.” I could only imagine what it is like, losing the love of your life. Sure, he isn’t Mr. Father of the Year, but I know there is a time when Amy’s parents are in love and happy, but things fall apart. It’s things like that that make me wary of love and a reason why I don’t get serious in relationships; I just go out and date,
“Eh, doesn’t worry about it. That’s what I have you for always! And the wonderful world of Harry Potter!” Amy squealed as the menu Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part Two came up. “It’s been forever since I see this!” She says and I roll my eyes. Drama Queen Amy Hardy has entered the building and taken up residence in my bedroom.
“We watched it in theaters!” Yeah, Amy and I are Harry Potter fanatics and we went to the theme park in Orlando every summer since its opening. But sometimes I think she is a bit crazier, I mean she even try fan fiction, but she stinks at writing so she reads it. I’m not going to lie, I do too, as I’m a sucker for a romance and I love reading the really good ones, but she’s got it bookmarked and linked on her IPhone. Okay, so I do too, but she is way crazier than me, just saying.
“That is in JULY!” She exclaimed. It isn‘t like July isn’t only two months ago, and the way she says it you’d think that July is fifty years ago. “Drama queen.” I mutters as she presses play. I’d already watched the movie when we got it last Monday, but this is the first time Amy has been able to get away from her mom for the weekend so we are doing a Harry Potter movie marathon. But the way we do it, we watched the latest and then went backwards until we ended up with the first one. It is funny, watching how much the actors has changed and how their acting developed.
“I am not!” She exclaimed, shoving me off the bed. “Ha!” She says and I roll me eyes.
“Punk face!” I say, jumping back on my bed. Yes, we are seventeen year old seniors in high school, and yes, we are about to be in college next year, and yes we still loved acting like five year olds when no one is watching (and sometimes when they are).
She laughs and tosses me some sour candy. Oh that girl knows my weakness. Any sour or tangy or tart candy is my weakness. That, and pickles. Oh man do I love pickles. I even love freezing the juice and having pickle pops!
“They’re some in the freezer.” Amy say, indicating the door out of my room. I look at her, raising my eyebrows. “You said pickle pops.” Did I? “Yes.” Wait, am I saying this stuff aloud or just thinking it and she is reading my mind. “Yes, you’re saying it out loud, no, I’m not reading your mind, and yes, you are that predictable.” She teases and I huff as I stand to go retrieve my pickle pops.
I heads into the kitchen, humming the ‘Harry Potter theme song’. I take the ice cube tray that is full of frozen pickle juice and went back to my room. I plopped back onto the bed next to Amy and offered her the frozen goodness.
“Doesn’t mind if I do!” She says, popping out one and sticking it in her mouth. I do the same as we begin watching the movie. We watched the first thirty minutes of the movie in silence. Or at least, I do. Amy is making snide comments about how ugly people looks, or how Voldemort doesn’t has a nose. I just laugh with her and continue devouring my pickle pops. Seriously, this moment is sheer perfection. Comfy bed- check, best friend- check, good movie- check, pickle pop awesomeness- check!
I am glad we are going to college together; I’d miss her if not. Not to mention, both of us being an only child, we practically became sisters growing up.
I begin to close my eyes as the battle for Hogwarts begins. I don’t get much sleep the past two nights. I keep having these are dreams where I’m watching the Harry Potter movies, but they’re different. “Neville should has so ended up with Luna in the books, not Hannah Abbot, I mean, she’s a Hufflepuff! What the hell is a Hufflepuff?*” I hear Amy say.
But my dreams are weird; they are more like the books and less like the movies. “Awe! Poor Snape!” Amy exclaimed and I know she is watching the scene where Snape is dying. I open my eyes and take the last pickle pop before Amy could. This is my favorite part of the movie; Snape’s memories are what make the movie for me. Well, that and all the little things that makes it funnier. The fifth and seventh book are my least and most favorite; least because my favorite characters die, but most because of Snape’s memories. The Marauders are always my favorite generation, and seeing as there aren’t any books to ruin it for me, I can just fantasize about what they are like, as opposed to Harry and pretending that my favorite people doesn’t die. I like to read the stories where James and Lily are in Hogwarts and fighting (but not the cliché I hate you arrogant prat- just because she says that once in the book doesn’t mean it’s all she says, well, maybe) and then they fall in love- I‘m a sucker for a romance fluff and tend to read it all.
Amy and I stayed up the rest of the night watching the rest of the movies. Well, Amy does. I am trying not to fall asleep when the credits for the last movie are playing. I hear Amy say something about Sirius and how he is like this guy we know, but I tuned her out and wrapped my blankets around me and allowed myself to sleep. It is much need, and I know that Amy will be content with watching the rest of the Harry Potter movies by herself and she may even clean up (added bonus to the best friend chart, Amy is a neat freak! College roommate that will clean up after me? Score!) . The last thing I hear is her watching a deleted scene and her saying some swear word about how they left out one of her favorite parts. I couldn’t remember what her favorite part is, and I don’t want to because my pillow is feeling extra soft and my bed extra comfy and I closed my eyes and is able to fall asleep within seconds. The last thought on my mind is what if magic is real? It isn’t a new thought that plagued my mind ever since I see Matilda when I was younger.
Author's Note: So there it is! The beginning of the beginning! Next chapter will feature Emmery and (waaaait for it!) waking up in Hogwarts! Yup, I know, lame but not lame enough to not read... Right? Right. So, I will love your opinions about the beginning of this story and there's that box for you to put them in! Hope you enjoyed chapter one of I am NOT Lily Evans!