Chapter 1 : I
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Mum had been cleaning, again. She had been doing it for the whole of the summer holidays: barging into my room; moving all my stuff; disrupting the peace that surrounded me whilst I was thinking...
Okay that last one was a lie. I was never actually there when she was doing it, but I knew it was her.
I could tell by the way things were faced slightly to the left of where I left them, or how things were moved a tiny bit, and she thought I didn't have a clue. My mother is the only left handed person who has ever lived in this house. So when things in my room were moved to a place that was beneficial to left handed people, I think I could tell it was her who did it. But every time I told her to stop, she told me it wasn't her who was cleaning.
Every bloody time.
I sighed and turned to leave my room. Normally I would move things back to their proper place, but there was absolutely no point to that whatsoever. Because I, Grace Fawley, was a witch, and since it was September 1st tomorrow, I was leaving for Hogwarts. Something I commonly refer to as hell on earth, the bane of my existence, the place I wouldn't go near with a ten foot broomstick. I hate the place.
It wasn't actually the building which was horrible; in fact I found the dimly lit corridors and crumbling brickwork rather nice. It was my fellow students; every day I spent there was a day I'd rather forget because everyone who went to the damned school made my life living hell, especially 'wizarding royalty' the Wotters. All of them: from Prince I’m-the-chosen-one's-son-and-you-all-know-it (James fucking Potter) to, I'm-part-veela-so-everyone-must-fall-at-my-feet-and-die-from-my-false-charms-and-stupid-blonde-hair (Louis 'git-face' Weasley). And because they were famous, the rest of the student body followed their shining example.
Even my cousin Scorpius found it hilarious, but that's probably because he's a Slytherin and best friends with Albus Severus Potter (I don't even need to give him a nickname- his name's bad enough. Albus Severus, what were his parents thinking?)
“Gracie darling, have you packed your trunk for tomorrow?” My face turned down into a scowl as I heard my mum’s beautiful voice float up the stairs. Can’t she call me Grace; you know the name she gave me when I was born? Not Gracie, not Grape and definitely not muffin. My name is Grace Harmonia Fawley and I’d like her to realise that.
It was even stitched onto a cloth, framed and hung onto the wall of my bedroom (although when I was eleven I realised the person who had stitched it must have had a poor attention span: the stitches were a little wonky and they made quite a lot of mistakes- you can see the numerous times they pulled it through the cloth and then changed their mind.) “Gracie, are you listening to me?”
“Not really mum.” The words left my mouth before I realised I’d said something, one of the traits I, and the rest of Hogwarts, hated about myself.
“Grape, you could have at least lied to me.” My mother sighed; she had her wavy strawberry blonde hair tied back, something she only did when she was working or doing housework (house elves needed holidays). Judging by the way her hair was a little frizzy, she’s been cooking. I could tell seeing as her air always frizzes up in the heat, something I luckily didn’t inherit.
“I’ll try to next time mum,” I smiled cheekily at her after I’d spoken, an action which earned me an eye roll.
“Just make sure your trunk is packed by tonight, you won’t have time tomorrow.” After speaking she turned and walked down the stairs, back towards the kitchen. It was then I remembered what I was trying to forget.
Oh Merlin; I’m going to Hogwarts tomorrow.
“Gracie, you need to wake up now.” My mum’s soft voice broke through my silent dreams almost instantly. “We need to get to Kings Cross in time so you don’t miss the train.”
The train.... What train? I opened my eyes slightly and turned so I could face my alarm clock.
7:00am: far too early to be thinking about trains.
“Give me five more minutes,” I moaned groggily whilst turning back to face the wall, “It’s seven in the morning.”
“Yes darling and we’ll be leaving in an hour to take you to Kings Cross.” Here she goes again with all this train nonsense, why would I wake up at seven so that we can leave to go to London to catch a train at Kings Cross. It just doesn’t make an- oh. It’s the 1st September today, or ‘Doomsday’ as I like to call it, something which means only one thing:
“Hang on mum, I’m getting up” As I turned my head, I saw a small smile on my mother’s face. She’s already dressed, and has her hair tied up again. I notice her top has a small amount of crumbs on and realise she’s had breakfast: more importantly, she’s had muffins: my muffins. No one eats my muffins and gets away with it.
Hurriedly, I got dressed pulling on my cream knitted jumper and a pair of skinny jeans, something I knew wouldn’t get me noticed by my tormenters on the platform. They only notice massive things that are right in front of their eyes, a talent I’ve never had and one I’m actually grateful for not receiving. I notice the small and big things, another thing that the residents of Hogwarts hate me for.
My ‘observance’ combined with my ability to say things before I think makes me blurt out things that people apparently don’t want to hear. Like last year, when I told Sophie Finnigan that her boyfriend was cheating on her. It’s not my fault he made it obvious (Come on: ruffled hair, swollen lips, eyes always flickering up to the ceiling when he said he was studying that afternoon- even I noticed and he’s a year younger than me and in Hufflepuff), I thought she knew and was just blatantly ignoring it.
But once I overheard her telling her friend she thought he was ‘the one’ (in fourth year, really?) I decided that I couldn’t let this go on. He had been lying to her for two months straight, something I assumed she had noticed, and when I told her what was happening she hated me.
This just made my situation worse- everyone in the school decided that this was another valid reason to trip me up in the hallways and throw hexes my way (luckily I always noticed what they were trying to do: being observant saves lives). So this year, I’ve decided to try and keep my thoughts to myself- a task I know I’ve failed before I’ve even begun.
By the time my internal musings were over, I had managed to gracefully bound into the kitchen (gracefully meaning tripping over three chairs and banging into the table) and stuff a blueberry muffin into my mouth.
“Muffin, could you try to have a bit more manners?”
I tried to reply to my dad’s question with a ‘Sorry Daddy, it’s not my fault muffins are the best thing that has ever come to be on this earth’ but instead only managed a quick
“Zowy dad, znot by fowt mufie zbez fing zeva come toobe zearf”, not the beautiful reply my father was after, but I think it explained a lot seeing as he just shook his head and grabbed a muffin from the plate.
“Looking forward to school, Muffin?” I sighed at the continuous use of the nickname, but realised nothing was going to change his mind on that one.
“No.” He chuckled at my reply and for one time in my life, I wished I could have been sorted into Gryffindor because then I might have had the courage to tell my parents what was happening to me-how everyone at Hogwarts treated me like I was scum on earth.
But I guess it wouldn’t help me a lot because my father would just spout some rubbish on how my blood is purer than theirs so I have nothing to worry about. I did love him and mum, but I just think that their ideas are old fashioned. It’s someone’s personality they should be judged on, not how pure their blood is.
“I understand, now that you’ve done your OWLs,” (In which I got 9 O’s and an E) “It’s NEWT year which means more hard work for you, but just remember not to get too immersed into your studies Muffin, you need to spend time with your friends as well.”
Yeah right. In my world, spending time with my ‘friends’ is code for getting insults (and sometimes solid objects) thrown at me. I looked up only to see my father looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Hmm.” Was the only thing I could offer which explained everything without saying anything, maybe at Christmas I’ll tell them, that way I have a whole term to think about what to say.
“Gracie! Get your trunk, it’s time to go.”
Mum was right: Hogwarts here I come.
A/N: This is my first ever chaper of my first ever fanfiction! (I feel as if I need a fanfare or something, because this moment is revolutionary)
So, thoughts on Grace? My writing? Anything worth telling me about?