Chapter 1 : Well that was weird
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I felt a tear slide down my cheek as I looked around the platform. This was my new home. There was no turning back now. I wish it wasn't but that is the way that is has to be, or so my mother says. There is no turning back now, just going forward with my life, learning to get by without my sister. Just a few months ago my sister was killed in an accident at work. I witnessed it, with my own eyes. I could have stopped her, but I didn't. I blame myself for everything.
I feel like it’s my fault that we came to the United Kingdom. Sure my mom is the one that said we were moving , but if I had stopped my sister I wouldn't be here at all, so It’s all my fault. My mom told me not to blame myself for my sister’s death, but I can’t help it. I needed something to blame and the only thing I could think of was me. It’s entirely my fault. If only I could have known what was going to happen. I wish they had invented time turners that can go back more than a few hours. Oh how sweet life would be with one of those.
I looked down at the letter clutched tightly in my hand. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this, going to a new school with new faces. I was scared, so that ruled out Gryffindor, right? But I really wanted to be a Gryffindor, that’s what my mother had been. I wasn't smart enough for Ravenclaw, which the letter explained as one of the other four houses, nor was I cunning so I was definitely not a Slytherin. That left Hufflepuff and I did not want to be a Hufflepuff.
My eyes slid over the scarlet train as I stood there, lost in my thoughts. I had yet to take my trunk over there and claim a compartment. I felt just like one of those little first years, except I was scared to get on it, not excited. I knew that as soon as I sat down and the train left there would be no going back. I hate change and going to Hogwarts was yet another change that I had to endure.
“Emily, why don’t you go put your trunk on the train?” my mother suggested. Even though she hadn't lived here for almost twenty-two years, she still had a British accent. I love her accent and wish I had it; unfortunately I just have a plain old American accent. Although, I do think have a slight British lilt that I picked up from her.
I looked over at her and grimaced, “Mom do I have to go?” I whined childishly. “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”
My mom looked at me sadly, “I’m sorry love, but there isn't anything left for us back home, only painful memories,” she smoothed my hair back and tucked it behind my ear, “Besides, this will be good for you. You’ll have a chance to open up and stop bottling things in.”
“I don’t bottle my feelings in,” I muttered half-heartedly, pushing her hand away. Who am I kidding though? I do bottle things in. I just don’t know how to talk about my feelings, and admitting that I’m upset makes me feel weak. I don’t like to feel weak. I have to be strong.
I turned around and started to drag my trunk towards the train, not letting my mother say anything more to me. I weaved my way through the other students and parents that were milling around the crowded platform. No one paid me even the slightest attention, which I was thankful for; I would already get enough attention on me at the feast. Attention was the last thing I needed or wanted right now.
I stepped up into the train and attempted to pull my trunk up with me. The attempt was in vain however because after a minute of struggling to lift my trunk up, I dropped it and leaned tiredly against the door frame. Merlin, who knew that all my books, robes and cauldron could be so heavy?
“Hey, you need a hand with that?” I heard a boy’s voice say.
I looked up to see a boy around my age looking at me curiously and running a hand through his dark messy hair. I could see his emerald green eyes twinkling amusedly. He was attractive; very attractive.
“Yes?” he asked, drawing the word out.
“Oh, um sure,” I mumbled leaning down to pick up my trunk and effectively hiding my blush.
“Bloody hell, what do you have in here?” he grunted, lifting the other end up. When I didn't answer he continued to speak: “So, I don’t think I've ever seen you around before.”
Wow, this guy is a genius. He should get a prize or something, or maybe a Captain Obvious. Nah, a Captain Obvious badge sounds too cliché now that I think about it.
“I’m a transfer,” I said shortly, dreading what I knew was coming.
“From where?” he asked curiously, “I don’t think you can be from Beauxbatons since you definitely don’t sound French and you don’t sound Bulgarian, so that rules out Durmstrang too.”
I rolled my eyes, “Really? Where do you think I’m from?”
“Oh, feisty are we?” he sang while he stowed my up in the racks, “Well,” he continued, “I would guess the United States yes? You sound American to me; though I haven’t met any Americans before.”
“Oh you are a smart one!” I gasped sarcastically, “Would you like cookie?” I asked cheekily.
“Oh! Feisty and sarcastic! What a great mix. We should shag sometime!” He suggested cheerily.
“What the hell is shagging? That sounds way too dangerous!” I called after, but he’d already walked away, saying something about saying goodbye to his family.
Yeah, I have no idea what shagging is and I have a feeling I don’t even want to know. I shook head and walked back into the compartment. I sat down a in the seat next to the window and looked moodily out of the window. However, after a moment I sighed and stood up to go and find my mom. I wouldn't see her until Christmas. Though I don’t really know why I want to see her. It’s her fault that I’m here; I didn't want to be here, in Europe, and I sure as hell didn't want to move. I'd been happy in the states. I had friends, until the accident happened. I hadn't spoken to a single friend in six months, not since it happened. I'd left school and continued my education in the safety of my home. I was even starting to come around, considering going back to school, but my dad had to divorce my mom; that just made it worse. There was nothing for my mother in the states. She'd only been there for my father, who was a natural born citizen there, so the next month we had packed up and moved back home to my mother's home town in England. Next thing I knew I was in a strange place with people I didn't know.
I climbed out of the train and stopped at the sight before me. My mom was talking to someone and that someone looked a lot like that boy that was helping me, except a lot older. I a groaned in apprehension but I kept walking towards my mother anyway.
"Hey mom," I said when I reached her, though I wasn't looking at her. I was looking at the man beside her. He had dark messy hair that hid a funny looking scar.
"Hey love," she smiled back at me then added, as she followed my gaze, "this is Harry Potter, I went to school with him; he was a Gryffindor too."
I nodded, my eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. I didn't think my mom would ever talk to her old friends here. Back home she had never shown any inclination that she wanted to talk to them. Like one time I asked her why she wanted to leave her old home and all her friends. She just looked at me and said she wanted to forget, but she wouldn't tell me what she wanted to forget. Maybe she wanted to forget how she got the scars that are on her neck. I knew a little about the second wizarding war, but we only glossed over it at school since it didn't pertain to us. So maybe she wanted to forget about that, either way it came as a shock to me when she announced we were moving to England, as she had always acted like she never wanted to go back, but maybe deep down she had really missed it here. Once you get past the fact that it isn't the United States it a rather nice place.
"Hi," Harry Potter greeted me, holding out his hand, "you must be Emily, your mother was just telling Ginny and me about you." he gestured to a woman beside him who smiled warmly at me. She had long flaming red hair and brown eyes. It seemed like that boy had gotten all his genes from his father. "I saw that you met James," Mr. Potter continued.
"Who…?" I asked, looking up at him in confusion, then I realized who he meant, "you mean that boy that looks like you?"
"Yes, him," Mr. Potter laughed as the train whistled, signaling that we should get on, "It was nice seeing you again, Lavender ," he added looking at my mother before going over to his son.
Well, that was weird. I’d always assumed that the reason she left was because of her old school friends, but they seemed perfectly friendly to her, so why did she leave?
My mom pulled me into a hug, “I hope you get Gryffindor,” she whispered into my hair, “but I hope you’re happy wherever you get put.”
“Me too, Mom,” I replied as I followed that boy James onto the train.
Hey! welcome to my newest story (because I needed a new one. My goal is to finish this by December!). So, anyone surprised that her mom is Lavender? Any thoughts about what the accident?
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