Daughter Of Hecate | HP

REWRITTEN |Chapitre Un|

King's Cross station in London was buzzing with life on the first of September of 1944.

Through the heaving crowds of grey, brown and black, people promptly made their way through the train station. Workers commuted to their workplaces, mothers bid goodbye to their children as they were sent off to the countryside, lost Polish tourists frantically gesturing to a stupefied conductor, young couples walking around holding hands, old couples shuffling around holding hands, young soldiers parading proudly around the busy London station, their uniforms pressed and shoes shinned.

The soldiers. Too young for war, in Ophelia de Bourbon-Foix's opinion. Over the boisterous noises emitting from the large steam trains, they talked excitedly of the war and the many adventures that followed. They boasted of the letters promised by their sweethearts, of the flory that would entail their return. They were young men who were proud to have the chance to serve their king and country.

The unannounced appearance of the young and handsome soldiers on the platform had brought yet another crowd. Ophelia found it very difficult to manoeuvre through the crowds of young women who stood still, giggling and chatting excitedly.

"Excuse me," the sixteen-year-old spoke through gritted teeth, repeating the same words over and over as she pushed past the crowds indifferently.

The golden clock loomed above her head, shining brightly in the morning sun. It was half-past ten; she had thirty minutes until her train left the station.

With on the last dig of her shoulder, Ophelia left behind the crowds of soldiers and admirers. "Femmes sans orgueil." She dug her hand into her coat pocket and produced a thick wad of paper. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

She'd been around the station three times now, and she could confirm that there was not a platform which was described on the ticket. She'd plucked up the courage to ask the ticket master where this platform was (Ophelia despised having to ask people for help) only to be laughed off, leaving her flustered.

Letting her heavy suitcase fall to the floor with a loud clank, the young girl leant against the cold brick wall.

Today had not started off well and Ophelia doubted it would get any better as the day progressed. She wasn't prepared to start a new school. She wasn't ready to start a new life. She'd grown fond of her old school – it didn't even feel right to call it her old school. She'd miss the beautiful blue towers of the Palace with the glass-gained windows that reflected brightly onto the greenest of fields. The sixteenth-century courtyards decorated with ivy that clung to the ancient stone, those courtyards that filled with the buzzing noise of students coming and going from their lessons. The oldest part of the Academy, the bell tower, said to have been the birthplace of the creation of the Chanson de Roland. The bell always chimed at two minutes past the hour. Nobody seemed bothered to correct it, but that was the culture. The French were always two minutes behind, anyways.

Ophelia was a model student at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, put up a year, captain of the women's quidditch and badminton team. She was a role model, admired by many, feared by all. That's how Ophelia liked it. To her, fear was just another step toward total respect.

But now, she was nobody. She wasn't a model student at the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, she hadn't been put up a year, she wasn't the captain of the women's quidditch and badminton team. She wasn't a role mod, admired by many, feared by all. She was no one – a nobody.

The last thing this Nobody needed was to miss the only train that would take her to her new school. A Scottish school: Hogwarts, as it was so ghastly named.

Ophelia knew she was being unreasonable. Hogwarts was the most prestigious magical school in the world. They rarely accepted anyone outside of Great Britain, so it was a miracle that Ophelia has been accepted into her sixth-year. Under any other circumstances, she should have been pleased. She had a chance that many others did not have.
Had it been her own choice to move school, she wouldn't be this spiteful.