The White-Haired Black (a Harry Potter 19 yrs later fanfic)

Chapter 1-Finding Out

Avery's POV

I woke up as I did every morning, to the sound of my sister's hair dryer. Every morning, at precisely 6:30am, my older sister Emelie wakes up, takes a shower, and at seven am sharp, she dries her hair.

I'm eleven years old. My name is Avery Collins, and Emelie is my fifteen-year-old sister, who is turning sixteen in three months. A fact she reminds me of 24/7. Okay, as annoying it is to be woken up every day by Emelie's hairdresser, the two of us are still really close. It's just the two of us, and we look nothing alike. She's got brown-hair, while mine is blonde. Hers is curly, mine straight. She has deep brown eyes, while mine are bright blue. I've got pale skin, while hers is a beautiful olive color. In fact, both of my parents look like Emelie. We always joke that I don't belong, because I look nothing like them. But I like it here, in London. We have a pretty house, and an even bigger country house. My father, Oliver Collins, is a high-court judge. My mother stays home and home-schools my sister and I. Which sometimes is a good thing, but sometimes bad.

I tried to doze off to sleep again when my mother, Camilla Collins, knocked on my door.

"Come in," I called sleepily. My mother walked in, all dressed and ready. She walked over and sat down on my bed.

"Morning, sweetie," she said. "Happy birthday! I'm sorry baby but you really need to get up. We have an early birthday luncheon, remember, dear? And I would to have your hair done before we go. You know how good it looks in curls." I groaned internally. My mother and her never-ending social schedule.

"Yes, Mother." I said obediently. She beamed.

"Good girl! Now, I've laid a dress out for you in your wardrobe. Go try it on. You don't have to wear it yet, but make sure it fits." With that, she leapt up and walked stately out of the room. At the door, she turned. "Oh! And don't forget you have dancing lessons at 4."

I allowed myself a few more minutes of sleep before shaking myself awake, and going into my walk-in wardrobe. The dress reached just above my knees. It was pretty, a beautiful shade of royal blue that brought out the color of my eyes, as my mother always told me. And so most of the clothes she bought me happened to be-get this-blue.

Having satisfied myself that it fit, I pulled it off and put on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. I walked into the bathroom I shared with Emelie.

"Morning, Ave!" Emelie said in a sing-song voice.