Familia Ante Omnia

Titel: Familia Ante Omnia (Familjen framför allt)
Språk: Engelska
Rating: ~ PG ~ beror på er, innehåller svordomar, otäcka scener, sexuella inslag och dylikt. Läs på egen risk beroende på vad ni tror att ni klarar av/vill läsa
Generation: Harry Potter; femte årskursen
Färdigskriven: JA! Finns tillgänglig på WattPad som ni hittar -->HÄR


Handling:
Arielle, tillsammans med sin lillebror Arnatt, har för majoriteten av deras liv flyttat från en foster familj till en annan. Det finns ingenting som heter tredje gången gillt i Ariells verklighet, men kan elfte gången vara den sista?
Nyinflyttade till Wiltshire, England, anländer syskonen till en familj som inte bara är unga och rika, utan även grannar och affärskompanjoner med en viss Lucius Malfoy. Att bo granne och att bli klasskompis med ormen Draco Malfoy kan inte ana annat än oråd för Arielle, som redan från förut lider av tunga bekymmer. Fight Fire with Fire ~ är det samma sak som att hemska erfarenheter kan slå ut andra hemska erfarenheter? Eller kommer lågan bara bli större och starkare då dessa krafter krockar?

Inspirationsbilder



Vill ni läsa? Kommentera så skriver jag mer!


Notera: Denna fanfiction är lite AU (Alternativ Universe) med både nya inslag till femte boken och scener som liknar mycket på det som J K Rowling själv har skrivit. Ni kommer även att infinna att karaktärerna kan förekomma lite OOC (out of character) i vissa sammanhang och situationer. Förhoppningsvis finner ni fortfarande motivationen och ron att läsa vidare.. : )

Familia Ante Omnia
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Spoilerna innehåller det första och andra kapitlet jag skrev på svenska innan jag upptäckte att jag inte kunde formulera meningarna jag ville på mitt modersmål och ändrade mig därefter till en engelska version av samma fanfiction.






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Chapter one
England

Sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I know I had given you a promise to keep until forever seizes to exist. If I could do it all over again, I would convince myself that a promise is supposed to be kept without even cracking it a bit. Though it is too late now, I am aware of that. I am sorry, mother, I am sorry for not doing as you asked me to and I am sorry because of the memory of which is now imprinted into my brain like an infinite photograph. I was only seven years old at the time, but should I, even so, have known better?

“Arielle, have you been listening to even a word I've been saying?”

I got startled by the voice which made its way through the air into my ears to signalise my brain that it was time to return back to the present.

“S-sorry?” I asked stupidly.

Miss Hamilton, the ninth and probably the most ancient lady there was, stared at me from over her shoulder from the passengers-seat. If it would be possible to live to 200 without any hocus-pocus-stuff, then Miss Hamilton would be a living evidence for this. She was tall, thin as a stick and had short cut, spiky grey hair. Her face was narrow with a long, crooked nose and thin, bushy eyebrows. Her forehead was covered with wrinkles and her eyes were hard to extinguish from behind her angular, screaming purple glasses.

“I said; are you listening?” Miss Hamilton repeated.

“I am now.”

She rolled her eyes and breathed in a deep sigh. It was the seventeenth sigh since we had met up with her at the airport. I had been keeping count in silence, in case this had been a drinking game, I would have thrown up at least five times already.

I threw a glance to my left side, where my little brother was staring fascinatingly through the window. He reminded me of that annoying, small child who was way too curious about everything and who left snot everywhere. Though I love him anyway. He is, after all, all I've got.

“We'll arrive in fifteen minutes,” Miss Hamilton continued. She had pulled out a rather thick, well-worn, ugly brown folder from her bag. On top of the folder's cover shone mine and my brother's names. It included every piece of information one would need to know about us to be able to put us into any category regarding any kind of question. Every place we've been, everything we've ever said with meaning, everything we've ever done, was documented inside that particular folder. Imagine it yourself, having your whole life written into a folder for anyone to get their hands on if they knew where to look. How would you feel?

“Okay.”

“Did the flight go smoothly?” Miss Hamilton continued. I knew it was a half-hearted try to connect with us, but eight people with the same profile had already tried and eight of which had failed. Miss Hamilton was on a steady road down the same path.

“Sure.”

“Does Arnatt speak English?” she then asked without looking at me from scribbling through the papers.

I shifted in my seat and crossed my arms across my chest. “Yes, our fifth foster family was from Canada and they only spoke English.”

“The Coopers?”

I nodded.

“Brilliant! You two will find yourself a perfect fit into this community,” said Miss Hamilton cheerfully. “The yard is enormous, as well as the mansion, there are these wide fields surrounding the lot. There should also be a bunch of apple trees and pear trees in the backyard and if I remember correctly there is also a rather long and beautiful stream somewhere with a wooden bridge where the youth usually hang out by.”

“Cool.”

And there came sigh number eighteen.

Cheers!

About fifteen minutes later we arrived to a long driveway of gravel with tall, well trimmed bushes lined up on the sides. They were the greenest, most living bushes I had ever seen. What did they use to water them with? It was the top-crossing driest Summer for I-don't-know-how-many Summers, who would even care about having their yard reminding of a paradise taken from a Disney-movie? Answer; wealthy people.

The tall bushes then transformed into rows of rather large elm trees, which then continued down the straight road until we approached the most massive mansion I had ever seen in my entire life. My jaw dropped as the black Mercedes we had been riding in came to a halt. The driver had parked in front of a broad stone staircase leading up to a perfectly painted white door.

Before I had a chance to even unbuckle my seatbelt, my brother had spurted out of the car and ran straight toward the glorious fountain in the middle of the wide roundabout in front of the staircase. His eyes wide as bludgers as he watched the statue of the huge, neatly detailed dolphin that spit out water into the fountain. Arnatt was probably small enough to fit through its mouth, considering how thin he was.

“Arnatt, sluta med det där!*” I growled at him in Swedish when I had finally made my way out of the car. (*Arnatt, stop that!”)

I was sweating like a mad-man in the sweatshirt I was wearing. I had been warned for the heat in England before our arrival, though as sweatshirts were my signature, I felt like I couldn't break such a tradition because of something as obvious as the weather.

The mansion we had arrived to was the kind you'd find in paintings from the 1600's. It had probably been passed down in generations, only being renovated when seemed fitted. The stone walkway carefully carved, with colourful flowers on each side and the creaking windows somehow stuck out from the walls as their frames were painted in a dark shade of brown. It was as elegant as scary. I couldn't even imagine what kind of secrets a house of such would hide.

“Arielle! Arnatt!” the thick Scottish accent reached my ears as the front door swung open and a beautiful woman appeared.

I hurried over to my brother, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him with me toward the staircase to greet the woman. The first step when meeting a new foster family; be on your top behaviour, smile and agree to everything they say.

The woman whose steps danced down the stairs seemed to be in the early thirties. Her long, blonde hair put in a knot and her narrow, yet long, face was covered in layers of make-up. Her eyebrows plucked thin and long causing the rest of her face to relax in a sweet and calm – in contrast to her ocean blue eyes sparkling in the colour of the sun.

To my great disappointment, she looked rather nice.

“It is so great to finally get to meet you!” the woman cheered as she had reached the foot of the stairs. She really was the kind of woman you'd find on the cover of a beauty-magazine, as she was wearing clothes expensive enough to pay for a neat loft in London. She wore an emerald green, sleeveless dress with elegant golden décor on one side starting from the chest going all the way down to the back end of the it reminding of an S. To my surprise, she didn't wear any shoes on her pedicured feet. I was sure you'd like to wear as fancy high heels to a dress like that. Her wrists were covered with various golden bracelets and in her ears hung a matching pair of sparkling earrings.

“Jack and I have been waiting forever to finally welcome you two,” she then continued immediately. “We have already remade two guest rooms for you to become more personal as it is your bedrooms and we believe it's important for the two of you to feel like you have a space you can call your own. Of course, if the design falls into your dislike, we will be happy to change it until you're satisfied. Oh my – I am so sorry – I should have started with – I'm babbling.” She breathed in a huge amount of air, uttering the next sentences much slower and calmer. “Are you hungry? Considering the amount of time you two have spent travelling, I am sure you haven't eaten in a while?”

Besides the apple and a bowl of noodles on the airport on the way here, we hadn't eaten anything for about six hours. I hadn't noticed how much my body craved food until she pointed it out, as my stomach suddenly twisted in unpleasantness.

“I could eat,” Arnatt said immediately.

“Brilliant!” sang Mrs Avery. “Oh my – I forgot to introduce myself, I am Monica Avery, though I am sure Miss Hamilton has already told you that.”

The elderly woman nodded as reassurance.

“I am Arnatt,” said my little brother. “And this is my big sister Arielle.”

“Splendid, now let's get inside before we get eaten by this heat. It's unbearable, isn't it? The hottest Summer in twenty-five years! Jack walks around with an enchanted fan following him the second he steps outside this door. At least we've got the house covered, sometimes I don't know what we could possibly do without magic.” Mrs Avery kept on babbling as we ascended the stairs.

As she opened the door with the flick of her wand she pulled out from her dress, a short figure skidded out of the house. I immediately recognised it as a house-elf, with its long, pointy ears and globe-like eyes. I had never seen one in person, but we had read about them in school.

“Scrooge,” said Mrs Avery as she noticed the house-elf. The little fellow was wearing a torn, dirty, red t-shirt with the print Butterbeer across the chest. He had to hold it up in order to not stumble over it.

“Yes, mistress?” asked the elf as he avoided meeting her eyes.

“Get the bags from the car and put them in Arielle's and Ander's rooms,” she demanded.

“Yes, mistress, right away, mistress,” said the elf before he bowed deeply in front of her – his nose almost touching the stone ground – and then took off in high speed down the stairs.

“That was Scrooge, he is our house-elf, if you kids ever want anything or wonder about something, just call him and he will answer your every demand.” Mrs Avery gave the both of us a sweet smile before entering the house.

“Cool,” commented Arnatt.

As I stepped over the threshold of the house, the feeling of immediate coolness filled my body. The sweat which had been dripping down my forehead suddenly felt cold and my body went from a hundred degrees to my normal body-temperature in the matter of seconds. It was one of the greatest feelings I had had in a long while.

“Mrs Avery,” begun Miss Hamilton as we had made it inside and I carefully closed the door behind me after catching a quick glimpse at Scrooge. The poor fellow had to carry two suitcases twice his own size. It was so unfair.

“Yes?” Mrs Avery answered.

“Is Mr Avery home? We still have some paperwork to fill out and some other important matters to discuss as well as-…”

“Unfortunately Jack is currently at our neighbour's house, Mr Malfoy's, going over some last-minute business. He shall be back in a few though, not to worry. He is too dedicated to his work, that man,” she explained and winked at Arnatt over her shoulder.

“Arielle, sluta!” Arnatt mumbled. (*Arielle, stop it!)

“Oh, förlåt!” I had been squishing his arm with my grip I had forgotten I was holding. Immediately I let go of him. (*Oh, sorry!)

“This is the main entrance and hallway, you'll find the staircase upstairs to your right where your bedrooms and private bathrooms are. I will show you those after we've eaten. Oh my – you two are too scrawny! Come, come, to the dining hall!”

She was quite right about what she claimed. Arnatt was much small for his eight years of age. He was both too short and too lean, with bony, short fingers and tiny feet. Most people mistook him for two years younger than he really was, with a round, easy-to-love cheeks and face. Arnatt had flat, dark brown hair that clung onto his skull as if it was constantly flat-ironed and his bangs kept covering his chocolate brown eyes causing him to regularly push it out of the way. I had tried to make him cut it, but he refused, of course.

As for me, I would say I usually came across as rather 'small but though', with 160 cm from feet to head and a lean, shapeless body. My heart-shaped head cutting off into a pointy jawline to mark my small, sharp icy-blue eyes. One would know when I was mad, as my plucked and well-outlined eyebrows running across my face – only splitting right above my small, button-like nose – had a tendency to connect strongly as I squinted my tiny forehead. Perhaps my coconut-brown, daring and rocking pixie haircut made me look even tougher than I was trying to be.

“This place is huge!” exclaimed Arnatt as his eyes fascinatingly searched the hallway.

It was at least twenty meters long, rather dark with only a couple of hovering candles lighting the place up and had numerous portraits of people I didn't recognise on the walls – all of which wearing either fancy dresses, black suits or other pieces of clothing in the shade of emerald green and silver. There were doors every now and then, all of which closed, with doorknobs reminding me of the head of a snake. As I got closer to one of the doors, I realised it indeed was the head of a snake the doorknobs portrayed, with wide, reptile eyes watching your every step.

“Here is the dining hall,” announced Mrs Avery and opened a pair of glass double doors only to reveal a fancy, huge room. There was a long table in a middle, with at least twelve dark wooden chairs surrounding it with neat carvings on the backrests. The windows almost reached all the way from the floor until the roof and on one side was a tall cabinet with glass doors with expensive cutlery, statues of different animals, plates and glasses on the shelves. The walls all dark, with silver ornaments and paintings of sceneries and open fields covering the walls.

On top of the long table was two plates placed, with steaming hot food on top of them and two glasses of pumpkin juice.

“Here you are, kids,” Mrs Avery said and gestured toward the plates. “I hope it's all right, we'll have a more proper dinner tonight when Jack comes back.”

“Thank you, it's awesome!” exclaimed Arnatt and rushed over to the table.

I walked over rather slowly, sat down next to my brother and picked up the expensive fork. I could buy myself a solid three months of food if I sold this one piece of cutlery.

“Fortsätter du äta sådär så kommer du att bränna dig,” I told Arnatt. He didn't even look up from his plate with potatoes and meatballs – Swedish meatballs that is! This family had really done their research. (*If you continue eating like that, you'll burn yourself)

As Mrs Avery and Miss Hamilton joined us at the table, I finally let myself relax and begun heaving in the food. It was really delicious, one of the best meals I had ever had. Freaking wealthy people and their perfect world.

“Why don't we go over the school situation while we wait for Mr Avery to arrive?” suggested Miss Hamilton. She put down our folder on the table and begun skipping through the papers.

“Oh, we have already spoken with Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” She turned to me at this. “He is the best headmaster there is, you will be in great hands there.” Then she turned back toward Miss Hamilton. “He has accepted Arielle's application and she will be joining her generation of fifth year students on September the first.”

Miss Hamilton pressed her glasses higher up her nose, looking impressed. “So, you've already submitted her documents from the Scandinavian Institute for Witches and Wizards?”

“Indeed we have, the same day we got the wonderful news we'd have the honour of fostering them.” She threw us a sweet smile.

Miss Hamilton scribbled something down on the paper. “And as for Arnatt?”

“Well,” Mrs Avery trailed off. “We are very well aware of that he did go to a muggle school back in Sweden, though we believe it would be more fit for him to attend the pre-school program for future Hogwarts students here in Wiltshire. Then he will be able to meet up with kids his own age who will attend Hogwarts together with him in a couple of years.”

Arnatt finally raised his gaze from his plate as it was almost empty. “Will I get my own wand?” His eyes close to popping out from his head.

“I'm afraid not, that's only for students who are about to begin Hogwarts,” Mrs Avery chuckled. “Don't worry, you'll get a wand sooner than you think.”

I rolled my eyes behind my hand.

Arnatt pursed his lips and turned a heavy head back toward his plate but without picking up the last piece of potatoes. His fork kept on going in regular circles around the last piece, trying not to touch it.

“Although!” Mrs Avery hurried to add as she realised his disappointed reaction. “Jack was saying he would get you a broom so the two of you could play Quidditch outside, how does that sound?”

Considering everything my little brother owned fitted into a rather small suitcase (twice the size of a house-elf), his reaction was to shine like the sun. “Seriously? That would be sooo cool!”

Mrs Avery chuckled. “We figured you'd like that.”

I finished my plate of food, leaning back and feeling a lot warmer and better. The cold air inside the house was indeed a nice change from the hotness outside, though I was glad I was wearing my sweatshirt now, otherwise my the small hairs on my sandy skin would rise from its peaceful sleep.

“Would the two of you like to see your bedrooms? Perhaps unpack some of your things and get settled?” Mrs Avery asked.

We said yes and got up to follow her through the same double-doors, down the hallway and up the wooden, elegant staircase made out of dark wood with dark green carpet covering each step. As we reached the stairs we arrived to an almost identical hallway as downstairs, with portraits, ornaments and closed doors on each side of the walls. The only difference would be that this one was lit up with lanterns fastened to the walls.

Mrs Avery halted in the end of the hallway. “Arielle, your room is to the left, Arnatt, yours to the right. I do wish you like it, though if not, be sure to be honest and we'll change it into your liking.” She reached out and opened Arnatt's door first. He sprinted into the room, five second later one would hear a loud “WOOW!” coming from inside.

“Here you go, sweetie,” said Mrs Avery as she opened the door to my bedroom. I gave her a short smile, stepped past her and entered my very own bedroom for the first time. And it was spectacular.

They had really done their best in order to get us satisfied and happy, playing on our interest and feelings based on the folder Miss Hamilton had.

Decorated with beautiful silver ornamental flowers on the walls, a dark hardwood floor and huge windows with the view over grass-covered fields as far as the eye could reach – the bedroom was the most perfect place I had ever entered.

There was a queen-size bed with hardwood night tables on each side, a chair and a desk with paper, notebooks, quills and feather pencils on top. There was a bookshelf filled with books I both loved and ever wished to read, including A General History of the Pyrets by Captain Charles Johnson (said to be a pseudonym for Daniel Defoe) and The Everlasting Stories of the 1500's Haunted Wizards by Gregory Faulkner.

“Well, what do you think?” Mrs Avery asked. She was holding her hands tightly in front of her in suspense as she eagerly waited for my answer.

“It's-…” I tried to find the best way of describing it in my English vocabulary. “… Brilliant.” That was the one word I figured she'd be happy with.

She squealed loudly. “That is splendid to hear! We thought the books would be suited for the long afternoons outside in our back garden, we have benches all over the place which are perfect spots for reading.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

She turned to ask Arnatt how he was holding up when the loud sound of a door slamming shut reached the upstairs. I jumped in my stand, my blood froze inside my vanes and silver spots of sweat started forming on my forehead. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes tightly. It's OK, I told myself, it was only a door.

“That must be Jack!” said Mrs Avery from the hallway. “He has been dying to meet you, let's go greet him in downstairs.”

I listened as Mrs Avery's, Miss Hamilton's and Arnatt's footsteps died out in the hallway before I managed to open my eyes slowly. I really should know better by now already, though my sweaty palms and the raising hair in my neck told me otherwise.

Keep it together, Arielle, don't be such a crybaby!

So I breathed a long breath into my lungs, filling them with all the air they could possibly fit, then I slowly let it out and let my drumming heartbeat slow down inside my chest. I reached for my forehead with the sleeve of my sweatshirt to dry it as the ringing in my ears finally ended and I managed to take a step forward. I walked down the stairs, ready to meet my new foster father.

Bevakar! Verkkar lovande!!

Låter jättebra! Bara en ska, heter han Anders eller Andrea? För du har använt båda - och jag gissar att det syftar på brodern båda två.

Vad kul att du tycker det, tackar!


Tackar! Crap, du har rätt, har tydligen råkat skriva andreas ibland... sånt som händer, ändrar det genast! Skall givetvis vara Anders... ;D

Jag bevakar gärna denna! Älskar Draco ♥ Tyckte den påminde lite om min egen ff:n, Draco Memoraid, så det ska bli grymt spännande att bevaka!!! Älskar att få höra om dödsätare också... så himla spännande!! Ska läsa första kapitlet nu på en gång. Kramis ♥ /Elzyii

Tackar för kommentaren! Jag har inte läst din fanfiction, men skall definitivt kolla in den nu då du nämnt att dessa har sina likheter - ytterst intressant! ;D

De påminner lite om varandra, samtidigt som de är väldigt olika! Vi presenterar Draco och Blaise på helt olika sätt, och det finner jag mycket intressant. Jag finner din ff:n intressant helt enkelt och kommer garanterat att fortsätta läsa! Väldigt bra kapitel. Du är duktig!

Jättebra! Älskar Arielle och Anders bråk - man vill läsa mer och förstå vad det är som har hänt. Lite mycket text på rad kanske, det ser ut som att du har använt indrag när du skrivit det först i word eller något och så blir det inte så här vilket gör det otydligare med stycken och gör att texten kanske blir lite tjock på några ställen. Annars tycker jag att du skriver jättebra. Gillade hur du beskrev hur de satt vid strandkanten, jag fick en stark bild av den scenen.

Tusen tack, Elzyii och Tilly för era strålande kommentarer som värmde mitt hjärta då jag läste dem!

Nu har det dock uppstått ett dilemma för min del, jag skrev de två första och halva tredje kapitlen på svenska innan jag upptäckte att jag spenderade mer tid på "google translate" att översätta mina meningar i hjärnan från engelska till svenska (jag skriver alla mina andra verk på engelska) än att skriva själva storyn - vilket gjorde det relativt svårt att formulera mina ord och stycken som jag ville på svenska då allting i mitt huvud fungerar på engelska. Jag försökte och jag misslyckades.

Dock skriver jag nu samma historia (med mer detaljer och en lite annan infallsvinkel) på engelska. Detta innebär att den här versionen är inaktiv för tillfället i min skrivande process. Om ni vill, kan jag publicera min engelska version, men om inte, så måste jag beklaga faktum att denna fanfic på svenska inte kommer längre just i detta läget kommer att uppdateras ofta (notera att detta innebär inte att jag aldrig kommer uppdatera - dock att det kommer ta längre tid än vad jag planerat från början).

Hoppas ni förstår.
Tack och förlåt.

Jag läser gärna den på engelska Språken har ingen betydelse för mig och dessutom känner jag ibland åt ditt håll när jag ska skriva.