The Years of Blue [2]

Chapter 8: Beauxbatons

Like most magically manipulated objects, the carriage was much much bigger inside in comparison to it's exterior shape. I was standing in the middle of a large entry way lined with flickering crystal light fixtures.  A long blue Persian rug lined the hall matching the line of painted walls, decorated with white lined panels, a nod to Versailles.  

A stairwell stood imbedded to one wall with a silver carpet down the center. On the first step was an old witch who, just by the way she held herself, looked liked a ball of irritation. Side note to stay away from her.

"No students upstairs today, mademoiselle," she informed me in french as she saw me staring. The woman had wavy brown hair with hints of grey tightly wrapped in a large bun on top of her head, a pinched expression on her face, and grey robes with silver accents that helped her blend in with the stairwell. In one hand she held, what I assumed was a man's pocket watch, though bewitched to be twice the size and to make a loud clicking noice as the clock hands moved.

Deciding not to give the witch any more reason to speak to me, I walked to the first door to my right, that slid open to reveal a room the color of cream with a low hanging ceiling of pale white. Tables and cushioned seats with girls scattered about was what greeted me as I entered, all in no-maj clothes with no luggage or animals to be seen.

No wonder the porter took Oliver away from me. 

One look around the room reminded me I was not longer in the US or in Hogwarts. Girls were dressed in pretty colors, their hair was combed and outfits were steamed and free from wrinkles with polished shoes to match. Bright eyes, red lips, blushing cheeks free of acne was what I faced as I searched the room for a kind face.

Where was my confidence that I had last year? I should be able to strut into a conversation no problem. Isn't that what my mother has been training me to be like this summer? But the thought of speaking french to native speakers who were not my family seemed to be a whole other challenge on itself, never mind the fact that I had to start the conversation. 

I brushed my hair out of my face, a bit flustered as to how I must have looked in comparison to the others. All the booths were packed with girls getting reacquainted with old friends. Both older and younger girls intermixed, ignoring the age hierarchy seen at most schools. 

I was just about to try another  room when I saw a girl with a short curly dark hair wave to me from across the room, her eyes fixed on me as if we've met before. 

Have we met before? I spun around unsure if I should wave back or if the welcome was angled at someone else. When I turned back, I saw her make her way toward me with another girl in tow. 

The brunette stepped short in front of me with a quirky smile on her face that exuded confidence and charm, the likes of which my mother would have begged me to act. 

"Pardon us, I can't help but notice how new you look. Is this your first year?" She asked in a bell-like voice that suited her very well. I gave my most bashful smile before nodding quickly.