Beautiful Chapter Image by ladycobra @ tda.
I am quiet. I look down to examine my worn, slender hands as I realise, I always have been.
I grew up in a world made by my father, a world where my navy and golden bound book of fairy tales was as real as could be. I would wake up a princess and sleep as Peter Pan. In my dreams, I would fly with Wendy, during the day I would fight Captain Hook. I had a pair of green tights and a matching hat to be Robin Hood when I pleased. They were my saviour, my masks. When I put on glass slippers, I became a Cinderella of riches, not a chimney sweeper or a servant girl to my sisters. After all, I had none.
My father would plait my light brown hair before I played, so when we would fight with the fire logs as swords it would not disturb my performance. For years it was just me and him - the two of us in a little cottage just off of the town. The neighbours knew our smiles and the muggle shopkeepers knew our weekly orders of bread, milk and chewey refresher sweets.
At the age of seven, I grew too big for my boots. As only King Arthur could, I levitated a log from a stone. But I was not Arthur, I grew to be Merlin.
My father is a muggle and until I was eleven, the only magic we knew was the myths we read in books. It was easy to overlook the signs, seeing a child levitate a tea cup isn’t something that a person will willingly admit that they saw. It’s easier to pretend that it never happened, that it was a trick of light.
Yet when a large Professor with long brown hair arrived with a letter scrawled in black in and stamped with a red wax seal – I couldn’t refuse to offer to live with real magic. Father encouraged me more than I would have ever imagined.
So here I stand, in a school full of witches and wizards, each in a world of their own, six years after I left my muggle life behind. I am equipped with a wand, wit, and a childlike demeanour. But these magical folk aren’t like the ones in my story books.
“Ranny, come on, give me a smile.” Albus taunted cheerfully. “You know that I didn’t mean to hit the Giant Squid.”
I pursed my red lips. “You were throwing rocks across the lake, and aiming for the tentacles.”
“I was not!”
“I saw you judge the distance!” I replied hotly. “Don’t like to me Ally.”
Albus pouted adorably and widened his large green eyes. “I’m not lying, Ran, you’ve got to believe me!”
The sad thing was, I always did. I knew this time would be no different.
At the age of eleven I was socially awkward, but wasn’t everyone? It felt odd leaving behind my best friend and the thought of sleeping anywhere but my crumpled bed in the cottage urked me a tad. But I was going to a place of magic. In this world, there was no maths, no Science. In this world, PE was considered flying, Physics was Transfiguration and Languages was Runes. You would work out the velocity of a plane or you could fly next to one on a broom that used to be a table.
The choice sounded easy enough. But to me, it was difficult. Yet I had to choose, and I chose wonder.
As I said goodbye to my father, I shed only one tear. He wiped it away and stored a little green cap in to my bag; it was fit with a feather. I could always save the day. I only worried that if I were Robin Hood, who was the Sherriff?
I quickly met him. Or her, as I should say.
Rose Weasley was supposed to be lovely. With her red locks of hair and her pretty blue eyes, she looked angelic. She was the child of the Wizarding Worlds saviours. But she wasn’t nice. The Gryffindor was intelligent, quaint and had the ability to read people like a book. It didn’t help that she had the face of an angel. She could murder a child and get away simply with the look of innocence.
Yet little Rose Weasley had a downside, his name was Malfoy. While she strutted around like a queen, Scorpius Malfoy loved nothing more than to undermine the little authority that she actually obtained. Her life was a game to him. His high cheekbones only illuminated his grey eyes, framing his handsome face. He was a pureblood, and he knew it, much to Rose’s dismay.
To them, life was a game of ‘King of the Castle’, in this case, literally. Whoever could stand tall and pummel the other in to the ground won. It was ghastly. But Scorpius was only in it for the fun, he didn’t care if she won; he only wanted to see the red-head squirm.
I had written to my father almost instantly, telling him of the captivating aura of the castle. There were simply no words to explain it, no way of letting him know the beauty that was my school. Even a photograph would do it no justice. It was a perfect playing ground, the best fort that I had ever seen – and I would have no one to play with.
But I did meet my right hand man. We’ve been stuck together ever since.
His name is Albus Potter. He pushed me in to the lake as we took the boat ride towards the school as first years. We never looked back. I watched him now as he let out a breathy yawn and stretched out his arms behind his back in wait for my answer. I didn’t look him in the eye; I merely stared at the grass.
“I believe you Albus.” I said slowly. “But only a little.”
He smirked and punched me on my upper arm. “That’s good enough for me.” A student laughed in the distance as I examined my bare feet, mud graced them as if they were old friends. “Do you want to get some tea? We could go to the kitchens?”
I nodded eagerly and he pulled me from our spot by the old oak tree.
I hadn’t realised how the roles had switched. I knew that I was no longer Robin, that Scorpius could never be the Sherrif, no matter how much his father begged him. I knew that the Potter that I considered my other half, who wore the red embalmed robes, deserved to wear the green hat. And so he did.
I was a first year when Albus stole my little green garment. He placed it upon his head, covering the disarray of hair that he graced, and headed out towards the forest. I followed in annoyance. He took it. He knew not to take it. It was mine.
Within the hour, nameless students were fighting the right to give to the poor. The rich wore crowns made of leaves and had only tree bark as currency. The peasants were muddy, and fighting for the rights of who they considered their people. The odd teacher looked on the group worriedly.
Al jumped in later, having stood on a rock for most of the play-war, he was eager to join in. I sat up high, my soles of my feet stuck to the stone beneath me. From the rock he jumped, landing on the ground below with a thud. He charged in to battle, wearing the little green cap, and sent a Ravenclaw to the Hospital Wing by mistake.
That was the last time we were allowed to play Robin Hood.
The teachers banned our games, not just the one, them all. Peter Pan managed to interrupt our learning and the girls form my dorm tried to catch fairies – for their dust. My fairy tale books soon became Albus’s bible, and soon, we shared the stories with anyone who would listen. Malfoy was quickly intrigued. When Albus adapted to the role of Robin, Scorp quickly became Little John – AL’s right hand man.
Rose found our games silly. Automatically she was made the bad figure in our games. She once told me to be Alice so she could push me in to a rabbit hole. She called my two friends the Mad Hatters and trampled on my little kingdom. Father had always told me to watch out for the Sheriffs’.
But Albus never really forgave her. He would smile if she passed, but I like to think he chose me.
As the years went by, my books stayed with me. It mattered not to me that I grew out of playing the games. The books were still my kingdom and Father would still root around carboot sales to find me copies of ones I have not read. It was becoming harder to him.
I realised with age that the emotions they felt in the books wasn’t real. The love that Snow White felt for the Prince was only a story. The excitement Peter felt when Wendy told her stories was just that, excitement – but in a story. We felt that joy ourselves, but only for a moment.
As Al became Robin Hood, I realised that I had fallen to Maid Marion. I fit the part more than I would like to admit.
Albus kissed me that day, in the moment of our victory against the rich in our first year. Muddy, bloody and full of excitement, the meek eleven year old took hold of my shoulders and pressed his lips against mine.
Now six years later, nothing of the sort has happened since. But I have hung on, like a lost boy stuck in Neverland.
Now his Maid Marion went by the appearance of tall, blonde and leggy. She eats bunnies for breakfast, consorts with the Queen of Hearts and works for the Sherrif. He is dating the female descendant of Captain Hook.
But he will always be my Robin.
AN: I hope that you enjoyed this. It was a little something that I whipped up one evening after school as a one-shot. I have always loved the ideas of fairy tales and I simply couldn’t let the idea by.
I have been working on this for a while, turning this one-shot in to a Novel and finally, after a few months, I think that I have managed it. I will update soon with the next chapter!
How did you find Ranny – the main character? And Albus?
Don’t’ forget to review.
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