|That Rebellious American Beauty
Author: PottersMistress6391 PM
Heather was once a sweet girl, until her mother remarried.But when Voldemort attacks, who stands their ground and who gives in like a coward?What will Heather do when her world comes crashing down?And what info does she have that everyone wants? R&R pleasRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Adventure - Harry P. & OC - Words: 2,290 - Reviews: 2 - Published: 07-09-07 - id: 3646762
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Okay, so this is a new story I might decide to start working on. Tell me if you like it by leaving me reviews!
"Sweetie…" he paused, thinking, the lines on his forehead becoming more prominent, "about that." He paused again, not sure how to break the news to his daughter, "Allette and I are getting married."
"Oh," Heather paused, all hopes of her parents ever getting back together, crushed, "That's great daddy!" she smiled the realest fake smile she could.
"That's not all honey." He grew quiet, seeing through his daughter's façade, "We're moving."
Heather felt her own face paling, "W-w-where t-to dad?" her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
"Paris." He said, solemnly, waiting for the torrent of emotions his daughter had welled up inside her to come spewing out in an instant.
A moment passed before Heather said anything.
"What. The. Fuck." She said, anger, pain, hatred, and sorrow all boiling up at once.
"Heather, bunny, I don't appreciate you talking to me that way." He said, trying to understand her feelings, but also trying to stay in control of the situation.
"Oh, and so I'm supposed to 'appreciate' that you knocked up some whore bag slut and are marrying her and moving to fucking Paris?!" Heather said, fuming, sarcasm seeping off her words.
"Heather, don't make me go inside and talk to your mother about your behavior. You know how I feel about her." He said in a warning tone.
"Fuck that!" she screamed, "Fuck you! I hate you! I never want to see you again! Go the hell away! I hope you and your whore get aids and die a fucking happy, no, screw that, a miserable lonely death!" she bellowed out, tears streaming down her face, sobs wracking her body.
"Heather…" he said, pain evident in his voice, near the verge of tears because of the slew of curses his daughter sent him, "Heather, baby, please…"
"No! I hate you! You and your knocked up whore!" she sobbed, snatching her stuff through the open passenger side window of her father's red Chevy Impala and then running towards the back door of her house.
As soon as she reached the back door she spun around on her heel and screamed at him, "You promised me no more stupid shit! And I promised you! We made a blood bound promise!" she yelled, dropping her stuff where she stood and lifting up her left palm, pointing at a line shaped scar, "You know what Allen James Thompson" she screamed, using her father's whole name, "I hope I never see you again because if I do, I know I'll do something to make you sorry you ever met that 'Allette' bitch!"
And with that, she dropped her stuff, and ran as fast as her feet would take her. She tried to run away from the whole situation, into the unknown forest behind her mother's house. She ran until a branch tripped her, almost landing on her face, but she spun around in time, landing on her back with a 'thud'. There she lay, in the middle of the woods, alone, crying, and tired, not caring if she died this very second. As if going through a recent divorce of the two most beloved people in her entire world, her parents, at the age of 15 was going to help her depression go away, now her dad, the parent she was closer to, was moving across the world. She was just beginning to feel normal again, like she felt before the divorce. 'What the hell kind of place is Paris to move to?' Heather thought to herself.
After laying in silence for a few more moments, she realized that she wanted to go to her best friend, Nicole's house and vent to her. Talking to Nicole always made her feel so much better; it was as if they were sisters separated at birth. She got up, brushing the dead leaves heather felt that she was somehow connected to in the sense that they were dead, and Heather felt dead inside. After a few minutes passed with Heather heading in the direction of Nicole's house, she realized that she had no clothes with her so that she could spend the night, and that she left all her belongings on the back porch at her mother's house. So, Heather turned around and made her way back to the house, careful this time to not trip on any branches. Heather promised herself she would grab her stuff off the back porch and leave, not saying a word to her mother, and stick to the edge of the woods so that no one would see her. Not that any crime appended in this boring, cookie cutter neighborhood, but it was just an instinct. With that plan in mind as she emerged from the woods walking straight up to the porch she realized that there was a slight problem. Her bags were gone, in there place was a note from her father.
She was having an inner battle about either ripping it to shreds and throw it away, or to read it. Heather's curious nature wouldn't let her though, so she opened it up, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.
I'm sorry to know that you hate me. It breaks my heart to know that you loathe me so much, and so, it is with a lead heavy heart that I have to inform you that I have to move to Paris. It was never because of Allette. It was because I was given a job offer. It pays 10 times more than what I'm making now. I figured with all the money I was making you could fly up every other weekend. But, if you truly never want to see me again, and hate me with such a passion as you have expressed, then I'm sorry. I don't know how to live, knowing that my own daughter hates me. I hope you change your mind Heather bunny, because I love you. No matter what, even though you may despise me.
Dear ol' dad
I found the spare key uner the matt and put your stuff inside. Tess and Rick are home, they sounded like they were talking to someone upstairs so I tried not to make a sound.
Heather threw the letter down, tears freely flowing down her face like small, endless streams of water. She silently inserted her key, which she had stored in the jean jacket she was wearing, into the lock and turned it. The door opened and there sat Heather's stuff. Her dad was right, it sounded like her mom and stepfather were talking to someone upstairs, someone she didn't know.
"So, you refuse to join the Dark Lord do you?" a cruel, cold, menacing voice said, gluing Heather to her spot.
"Yes, I refuse!" Tess, Heather's mother said, sounding incredulous, "I will not stand for this kind of treatment in my own home! And how dare you threaten the lives of my husband and I!" she said, her brave and pissed off voice fluctuating with tremors of fear.
"That's a shame." The voice said, mocking disappointment, "The Dark Lord could have used your spunk and determination. Ah, well." There was a brief pause, and then, "Avada Kedavra!"
A green light glowed from the second story of the house. Heather was terrified, too scared to move as she heard a cry of despair coming from Rick, her step father, and heard the stranger dragging something heavy towards the top of the stairs, and then dropping it. Seconds later, Heather's mother's lifeless, tangled form tumbled down the steps that led out into the kitchen, which was where Heather was standing, fighting the urge to wretch all over the place.
"Now then, as for you" the voice said, speaking to Rick.
"I'll do it" he said, not giving the stranger any opportunity to continue, fear present in his fluctuating voice, just tell me where to go and I'll go. I swear."
"Now there's a good little deatheater." The voice laughed maniacally, "You will report to…"
She tentatively knocked on the door. A couple of minutes passed, and she was about to knock again when the doors swung open to reveal a short, stout little man dressed in a tuxedo.
"Yeeesss?" he drew out the word in his strange accent, sounding more French than British, "How may I assist you?"
"Um, I was looking for my cousin's grandmother. Is she in?" Heather asked, slightly confused at the sight of the stout little man.
"Certainly, please come in and have a seat," he said, motioning towards toe small chairs and table in front of the window in the corner of the foyer, "I'll fetch the lady of the house right away." His strange british/French accent making her long for home before it was broken up by that stupid slut, Allette.
Moments later, an elderly woman stepped into the foyer, wearing a ridiculously odd looking dress, and looked Heather up and down.
"My dear Heather, you look dreadful!" she said, sympathetically, her maternal instincts kicking in as she squeezed Heather into a hug.
Heather stiffened at the close contact; she'd been weird about people being near her ever since the murder of her mother. However, the elderly woman didn't seem to notice.
"I'll get Jenkins, here, to show your to your quarters," she paused, motioning towards the stout man standing beside her, "You must be exhausted from your journey, you poor thing." She turned to Jenkins, who Heather now realized was the butler, "Make sure no one bothers this young lady until she is fully rested and fed." She then turned back to Heather for a moment, "I insist that you eat something darling, you look like you haven't eaten in years!" which, of course, was an exaggeration, weighing in at 110 lbs, Heather was about the same size as every other girl.
"Honestly, I don't know what it is about you Americans, obsessed with being the skinniest thing you can—Oh dear, I'm sorry." She said, placing a pleasantly plump hand on Heather's shoulder, "I'm sure you don't want to hear those kinds of things right now."
Jenkins turned his attention to Heather, "Miss, will you need anything?" He asked in his polite, butler-y manner.
"Um," Heather thought for a moment, "A glass of water would be nice I suppose." She said.
"Yes Miss, very good. Madame, anything for you?" he asked, pleasantly.
"No, thank you Jenkins." She said, smiling sweetly at the little man.
Jenkins quickly turned on his heel and headed off to who knows where in this huge house, leaving Heather and the overly embracive woman alone together.
Momentary silence passed, and a boy, about the same age as Heather entered the room. He was a little taller than Heather, about 5'9" she guessed, with brown, unkempt hair, and freckly skin.
He peered at her from underneath his bangs, with an expression on his face that showed he couldn't remember her. Heather looked down, embarrassed that her cousin couldn't remember her. She couldn't look that distraught, okay, well, maybe she could. Considering she'd just gotten off the longest plane ride she'd ever had, and not gotten any sleep at all, and it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon here, Heather thought she looked better than most would in her situation.
Jenkins returned and handed Heather the glass of water as he took her bags. He turned to the boy and said, "Good evening master Neville. Would you like for me to bring you anything this evening?"
Neville turned to Jenkins and absent mindedly said, "No thank you Jenkins. I'm fine."
"Very good then." Jenkins said, and then said to Heather, "Follow me Miss, I'll take you to your rooms now."
He led Heather up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway.
Meanwhile, Neville's curiosity grew, wondering who the pretty dirty blonde haired, dark blue eyed girl was.
"Gran," he said, "Who's that?" he paused, "and why is she staying here?"
"Neville, that's your cousin, Heather. She's staying her because," she stopped, "because her parents were murdered,"
"By who?" Neville asked, shocked at seeing his once tomboy-ish cousin, Heather, had grown up to be so pretty.
"By—by He- who- must- not- be- named."