The oak doors opened up and the little girl covered her face with her hands, shielding herself from the blinding light escaping the room. Had she looked around, she would have seen a vast lounge filled with about fifty men and women, all dressed in fine, peculiar clothing, chattering away by the light of floating candles. In the background played a sonatta interpreted by an orchestra of self-played instruments, sitting on a platform in a corner, utterly ignored by the guests.
'Come along, dear,' her mother said, pushing her husband and daughter gently into the crowd; she cut her way through a sea of legs and long, velvety robes, for what seemed like an eternity actually. Eventually they reached a halt by a congregation of little round tables, placed on the corner opposite the orchestra.
'Ah, Saline, at last!' a man greeted, and only when he stood up to kiss her mother on the cheek could the little witch catch a glimpse of his face: he was quite an old man (but then, every adult seems tragically old to a seven year old), tall, with dark grey hair and a charming smile. He then turned to shake hands with her father, and then looked down at her.
'And is this little beauty Amanda?' he inquired kindly. The little girl smiled shyly and half-hid inside her father's dress robes. She was little even for her age, with shoulder length waves of chestnut hair framing her face and the observant stare of a pair of round, blue eyes. The man let out a sumptuous laugh and, once again looking at her mother, added, 'you both can sit beside us, and, as we discuss business, our little miss over here can enjoy some time with just about the biggest clown this side of Britain,' with this he lifted tiny Amanda in his arms, and called,
Her huge eyes focused curiously upon the empty chair at which the man was looking at. Meanwhile, the woman sitting beside the chair, a tall red-haired witch dressed in khaki robes, looked around, intrigued. Suddenly, a piece of the tablecloth that dropped down to the ground rose, and, a second later, a small head protruded from underneath it, revealing a mat of jet black hair. They boy smiled an exaggerate and falsely innocent smile, which was missing a couple of its teeth; the rest of the witches and wizards sitting around the table laughed. Amanda looked at the man to find him already looking back at her.
'This is my son, James Potter. I think you'll find yourself quite entertained this evening after all.'
Just like that, Mr. Potter deposited little Mands on the chair to the boy's right, and went back to his own, starting conversation with her mother and father. For a moment, they both surveyed each other seriously. Little James Potter looked just about Amanda's age, though he was taller, and looked as if his tender seven years of age didn't make the world a scary place for him at all. He had tiny square glasses on, standing slightly crooked, dangerously near the tip of his nose; as she observed this, he pushed them up to their right place with his index finger.
'You're not a grown-up, why do you wear glasses? Do you see wrong?' she piped up. James looked down and frowned, considering his answer.
'A bit,' he puffed up his chest and grinned, 'but I do everything else right!' The lady sitting to his left seemed to hear this and chuckled, looking at them both out of the corner of her eye.
'Like what?' Amanda inquired.
James frowned again, and then, as if illuminated with a groundbreaking idea, turned to the table, grabbed two olives, and hid his face from the girl. He turned to face her a second later, his head tilted back, with each olive stuck up one of his nostrils. 'I am the beast that muggles like to call...a hippopotamus!' The little girl's face lit up with laughter.
'Oh, James dear, what a way to charm your way into a woman's heart!' the red-haired woman said, turning to him; with a wave of her wand, she made the olives come out of his nose with a small 'pop', and caught them in the air to wrap them in a paper napkin. Amanda chuckled.
Miles away, locked up inside a cabinet under a sink, a little boy their age would have given anything to laugh this way. The cupboard in question decorated a large lavatory, adorned to impress even the most gruesome guest - for the guests at this posh London manor were often gruesome, indeed. Coincidentially, the child in question was hiding from a different dinner party, one where he would probably neither laugh nor be missed at. Little Sirius Black smiled a bitter smile, a smile which seemed uncomfortable on such a young face. You see, moments ago, a heavy moment of fresh epiphany had struck him in the head like a concert piano.
He listened at the chatter and music creeping up the stairs from the ballroom. He didn't want to be like them.
To the East, a pair of almond-shaped, bright green eyes looked up at the sky, full of hope. Eyes that saw magic everywhere, and the possiblity of adventure all around, lurking every corner, hidden behind the most unexpected objects. Perched on the window-sill, she thought of earlier that day, of flower petals and jumping impossibly high in the air and who knew what else, and that boy, and how with a couple of words he had changed her, probably forever.
Nearby, this same boy hid from the cold under moth-eaten covers, a nervous excitement creeping up on him since that very afternoon.
Lastly, not too far away from them, two boys were fast asleep in their respective dormitories. One of them had gone to bed exhausted, with a lot to think about, but little will to think; Remus Lupin even looked tired as he dozed away, dreaming of a simpler life, even if he was, too, just a seven year old. In years to come, he would feel happy, heartbroken, bitter, guilty, grateful and so, so much more,
but come the night, he would always be tired.
The other boy went to be early, with little to worry him, and not much need to think either.
It is a curious thing how, when children, the world starts out as a narrow sphere of restricting dimensions; a couple of places, one or two reasons to be sad, and mostly a lot of things to be amused or surprised about. Funny enough - and I'll give you that - any new space that makes this sphere of a world bigger seems enormous and infinite, any new characters difficult to acknowledge. At the tender age of seven, they were all merely getting a first taste of how really large and squandering the world could be, and, at the tenger age of seven, none of them knew how intertwined their destinies would eventually become.
But oh, what a ride it would be.I hope you like this! I was going to upload this once I'd finished the fourth episode of FP, but since the only thing left to do with that one is colour it, I though what the hell! So then, there you have it. Episode one of FP. Comments are love, as usual
You can also find this at www.mionebookworm.tumblr.com, and ask me any kind of question!