I am going to try to update this story more often. I really do love it, and I need to stop being such a lazy ass. So I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Also, I know you guys; who are you shipping Copeland with so far? (Yes she is eleven and YES, I know that's young but don't deny it.)
All The Love,
After a few more minutes of pleasant socializing, and an off tune, yet amusing, performance of the Hogwarts anthem, the students were dismissed to bed. Copeland found herself clutching onto Percy's hand in the flurry of anxious first-year students. She nearly lost her balance and fell when the staircase she and Percy stood on jerked to the left all of a sudden. However, he wasn't phased and led her and the thirty other Gryffindor's to safety. Copeland eyed the Slytherin's as they descended down to the dungeons, trying to find Draco's pale blond hair, but finding herself at a loss. She sighed to herself and snapped back to attention when Percy began to speak.
"Alright, here is the portrait that leads us into our common room and dormitories," Percy announced. The Lady painted in the pictures sprung to life, animatedly eyeing the first years. Copeland jumped when she spoke, bumping into an annoyed looking Ron.
"What? Have you never seen a talking painting before?" Ron practically snapped, rubbing his tired eyes. Copeland made a mental note.
Tired Ron = Bitchy Ron
"Password?" She asked, a soft smile painted on her face.
"Caput Draconis," replied Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it - Neville needed a leg up - and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs. The students flooded into the room, and Copeland found herself surrounded. Lavender Brown stood next to her, a dreamy grin on her face. She could hear Hermione's ramblings from somewhere in the crowd.
"Girls, your dormitories are to the left up the stairs. Boys, your's lie up the stairs on the right. Goodnight first years! Be careful not to oversleep and miss your first class!" Percy warned, grinning. He waved at Copeland, before following the boys up the right staircase, leaving the commons room nearly empty.
Copeland dragged her feet behind the rest of the chattering girls until she reached the top of the spiral staircase, revealing a large round room. Five four-poster bed's hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up; Copeland could identify hers easily, a deep red with gold trimming on it. While the boys were too tired to talk much, the girls could have stayed up until morning. Hermione was the only one who went straight to bed, claiming she wanted to be rested for her first day of class.
Copeland pulled back the curtains on her bed, revealing a package, and the familiar claw marks of her mother's owl, Artemis, who's talons had always been a little too sharp. She eagerly picked it up, ripping away the wrapping paper. The contents of the package fell out; a red scarf with the Gryffindor insignia crocheted into the fabric, a picture framed covered by red satin, and a letter written in her mother's endearingly, messy handwriting.
I'm am so proud of you! Gryffindor is a lovely house, of course, I was hoping you might be sorted into Ravenclaw, but I am happy you are with Ron, Percy, and the rest of the Weasley's. I trust them, and I'm sure you will come to as well. I'm sure you already made many friends, and I'm excited to hear all about them. Your father would have been proud, bouncing off of the walls in fact! But I'm sure it would be best, to ask him of course! Concealed in enchanted red silk, is a portrait of your father. It may not be the same thing as speaking directly to him, but over the years...I've found it is a close and valuable second. I love you dear, so very much. Write back when you can!
P.S. I've gone and purchased you an owl since you seem to have forgotten to do it yourself. He's a lovely little Tawny owl. His name is Thatch, and he currently resides in the owlery if I remember correctly. Feel free to visit him anytime you want, especially if you want to send me a letter!
Copeland felt herself freeze as she stared blankly at the silk covered photograph. She grabbed it, holding it to her chest and pushing her curtains aside, revealing most of the girls distracted with writing back to their parents, or in Lavender Brown's case, gossip. She padded awkwardly to the bathroom, closing and locking the door, and sitting on the floor. Copeland peeled off the red silk, revealing a picture with a painted gray background. It was empty.
"Um..." Copeland began, not really sure how to start. Her shaking hands clutched the painting. "Hello?"
Copeland watched alarmed as the subject of the painting, a spitting image of her father, popped out of nowhere, shouting "Boo!"
Naturally, she screamed, only to be shushed by the painting, before he let out a deep chuckle.
"Merlin, child. You have the same ear-splitting shriek as your Mother," He sighed, rubbing the back of his head with a good-natured grin. "I wondered when she would finally share me with you. I mean, I am your father. Greedy woman."
Copeland's mouth remained agape, opening, and closing, resembling a fish out of the water. Her father raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.
"Y-You're my f-father?" She stammered. The painting rolled his eyes.
"I mean, I just said that. Didn't I?" He snorted. "You surely haven't been sorted into Ravenclaw, have you?"
Flabbergasted, Copeland shook her head. He smirked.
"That's right, any child of mine would be sorted into Gryffindor."
Copeland wordlessly nodded. He bright smile stretched across his face. "That's my girl! You inherited the best parts of me."
She examined the painting more. The artist had painted her father's sandy blonde hair slightly disheveled, his face unshaven, his warm brown eyes narrowed, smile lines gracing his face. Her mother wasn't kidding when she claimed Copeland looked just like him.
Copeland was broken out of her stupor when there was a loud knock on the door.
"Copeland?" Lavender's pitchy voice chimed. "Are you alright? I wanted to talk to you!"
"Uh..." She trailed off, fingering the red silk in her hand cautiously. Her father gave her a knowing look.
"Go, have some fun. I'll still be here when you want to talk...I don't have much of a choice," He told her, with a small smile on his face. Copeland couldn't help but let her eyes get teary. She nodded frantically.
"I love you," She whispered, before covering him up in the red silk once more, silencing the words he never had the chance to return. She let out a shaky breath, before opening the bathroom door again, revealing a concerned looking Lavender.
"I'm fine, Lavender. Just wanted some privacy for a moment. What was it you wished to speak with me about?"
Lavender grinned conspiratorily, before dragging Copeland across the room to sit down on her bed, which was wedged between Hermione's and Parvati Patil's.
"So...tell me more about Oliver Wood!" She squealed excitedly. Copeland felt her cheeks burn up, reminded of the small crush she had on the fifth year. She shrugged.
"There's not much to tell," She admitted. Lavender winked at her.
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LANCASTER | H. POTTERFanfiction
fu·ture /ˈfyo͞oCHər/ noun the time or a period of time following the moment of speaking or writing; time regarded as still to come. "we plan on getting married in the near future" synonyms: time to come, time ahead; what lay/lies ahead, coming times...