Quick AN: They're not going to be talking in French this chapter, because it's a bother to translate it all and stuff :) soooo just pretend they're talking in French... XD

Chapter One: |Year Three|

"Ew, Amelie, your hair," complained Camille as they were picking out their clothes. The sisters had wanted to make good first impressions. For Amelie, it was personality, for Camille, it was what you looked like. "You're going to make our family the laughing stock of Pigwarts," she whined, and pulled on Amelie's hair. Amelie looked up and scowled at Camille.

"It's Hogwarts, not Pigwarts," Amelie told her sister quietly, who was busy brushing her long locks and pinning it up in a pretty, braided bun. Camille rolled her eyes pointedly.

"Who cares? Anyways, do you think there'll be cute boys there? ooh, wait I spy something - " started Camille, giggling, and reached into her (huge) pile of clothes she was going to stuff into a suitcase ASAP. The older girl held up a glittery, navy-and-white combo sequined frock, and held it up on her chest.

"Pretty, yes?" she said, holding it close. "I think I'm gonna wear it." Unlike Camille, Amelie had not yet grown curves, and with Camille's flirty and girly looks plus dream curves, the older Santerre got all the everything - the boys, the money, the respect, popularity, reputation. Amelie was decent in beauty, but nothing out-of-the-ordinary for a young French girl.

"Uh, sure," mumbled Amelie, and sat back on her suitcases. "Better get packing, Cami, we're leaving soon and you only have two suitcases packed." It was true, though, that Camille very much needed to hurry. She still had tops, skirts, pants, and all kinds of accessories strewn across the floor. Amelie's two suitcases were already packed and tied, with another satchel holding her books and school items.

"But Mel! I found the perfect outfit for you, after all, you really don't look that flattering right now," commented Camille on Amelie's appearance, her lip curling.

"I don't care."

"Merde! One cannot go to a prestigious school like Pigwarts and expect to wear that and make friends. Look, here!" exclaimed Camille. She laid out a pink and white blouse with blue accents decorating it. She fished out a pair of light blue skinny jeans, and handed the combo to Amelie. Amelie had to admit, her sister may be crazy, but her taste in clothes was impeccable.

"It's Hogwarts, Camille,"

"I told you, I don't care! Now, I'm going to fix your horrendous hair," announced the flighty older sister, and picked up a comb and cut it through Amelie's long, dark blonde hair. She brushed back strands of hair and braided it, then taking the intricate braid and rolling it up to form a bun, then pinning it. Camille then took a few flowers and placed them on top of Amelie's head, right next to the beautiful bun, and secured the mini bouquet using a bobby pin.

"There, sister. Beautiful. Now, I'm going to have to do your makeup, or else you'll be absolutely humiliated. And you can't humiliate me - I mean you," Camille corrected herself quickly. Amelie smiled inwardly. Camille's company was always interesting.

After Camille was doing applying makeup to Amelie's face, the two sisters started rolling up and folding Camille's clothes, then using their wands to wave them into the suitcase.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" recited Camille, holding out her wand, and each pile of clothes would whisk off into the suitcase, until none remained. After about promptly nineteen minutes, their parents called from downstairs.

"Camille! Amelie! We need to leave now or else you'll be late!" called the girls' mother from downstairs. She had her own bag in her hand, and was tapping her foot and checking her watch impatiently. Mr. Santerre was using the bathroom for, let me be frank, quite a while.

"We're coming!" yelled Amelie, then grabbed her own suitcases and rushed downstairs. Her feet clicked-clacked against the wooden stairway, and she reached her mother. But not before they heard an agonized wail.

"I can't hold all these bloody suitcases! Mel help me!" they heard Camille scream from upstairs. She was clearly in an agonized state. When Amelie opened the door to assist her sister, however, Camille was leaning on her pile of extravagantly decorated suitcases and holding out her muggle cellphone.

"It was a recording I took a while ago," explained Camille in a bored expression. "I mean, I do need help, only why would I mess up my hair and makeup screaming? That would be a waste of cosmetics," she said, while filing her nails fervently. Amelie grabbed ahold of two of her suitcases and lugged them downstairs quickly.

"C'mon, Cami," she yelled. "No time to deal with clothes and makeup and whatever the hell it is you worry about these days,"

Camille finally appeared down the steps, holding out her wand and a trail of suitcases followed her. Why didn't I think of that? thought Amelie, close to face palming herself.

"Okay, mum, we can leave now,"

Their mom looked around. "Well, the thing is... you're dad's been in the bathroom for a while..." Camille started chortling loudly, and a minute later, their dad appeared, looking flustered.

"I was just - cleaning the bathroom! C'mon, girls, time to go to Hogwarts," said Mr. Santerre quickly. Amelie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

The family filed out the door, with Camille's and now Amelie's suitcases floating behind them in a neat line.

"Now, we're going to Apparate, girls, so hold on tight," warned their dad as he took out his wand. A dizzying feeling soon swept over Amelie, and they landed softly on a brick path. The father of the french family ooked around.

"No muggle witnesses. Phew," he said, relieved. He straightened his tie on the pinstripe suit he was wearing, and they were off, weaving in and out of people in the train station. Camille made sure to stand out, with her flashy, sexy older-teenager look. Many boys watched her with hungry eyes as she walked with us. I could tell their eyes were already stripping her bare.

"There, Platform nine and three-quarters!" squealed Amelie, and she grabbed for Camille and they looked at the wall three-quarters between platform nine and ten.

"Um, where is it...?" questioned Amelie awkwardly. There was no platform at nine and three quarters. British wizards were weird. She fidgeted uncomfortably with her bag of school items and suitcases, as they had to stop using the charm when they arrived at the train station, which was crowded with muggle eyes.

"It's here, silly." told Camille to her younger sister, pointing at the wall. Camille grinned at Amelie and waved, then quickly ran (and disappeared) into the wall. Amelie gasped.

"Mum, dad, run through with me!" she exclaimed jumpily, and walked briskly into the wall. A blur of hazy brown, ginger, and extremely dark orange passed her eyesight, and suddenly she was somewhere that was not the muggle train station that her two feet had just been on.

Her parents soon came after her, and they looked a bit shocked, having ran into a wall and gotten through it perfectly. They were wizards, but they were French wizards. It's a whole world of difference. They thought the British wizards were absolutely mad, doing that. They knew it was possible, but - well, why would you do that?

Amelie spotted Camille already chatting aimlessly with a group of older boys. Since they had both taken English at Beauxbatons, both were very fluent, but they did have that French accent when they spoke. The boys, Amelie could tell, weren't paying attention to what Camille was saying, all of them probably wanted to cart her off somewhere and get into her pants.

"Camille!" called Amelie, walking towards her older sister.

"What? Can't you see I'm talking here?" snapped Camille, and brushed a strand of loose hair over her ear flirtatiously and giggled at something the tallest boy had said. "Oh, no, that's too funny. And you did that? Wow - you must be so strong," Camille cooed affectionately. The boy she had just spoken to held out his arm, and told Camille to feel it. She put her hands around his bicep and sighed. "Wow. So much muscle!" exclaimed Camille.

"Mum and dad were worried about you," Amelie remarked seriously. Camille turns, and batted her eyelashes at her.

"But don't you see I'm having fun?!" cried Camille.

"Seriously, Cami. The train's leaving soon,"

"Well, I'm sitting with them." said Camille in a stubbornly bratty voice. Amelie sighed.

"Fine, but don't go crying to us if you miss the train,"

Amelie walked away, carting both her bags and suitcases and Camille's.

She could still hear Camille's voice sweeping through the distance. Amelie kept walking, as the parents had already left, and told her to stay safe.

"Je t'aime," her parents had told her before they left. I love you. Why did it seem so ominous? Amelie spied a tall boy with white-blonde hair in the distance, and he was sneering at some other students. Ah, well there will always be the bullies, Amelie thought. Before she knew it, however, she was walking towards him. The blonde boy punched one student.

"Hey!" yelled Amelie, outraged. "Don't hurt him!"

The blonde boy turned and dropped the student down. He was crying. The bully, however, looked smug and Amelie absolutely hated the smirk that was still plastered on his face.

"What do you want?" seethed the blonde boy. "I was teaching the twerp a lesson here,"

"Teaching him a leçon? So you call it that?" laughed Amelie bitterly. The boy nodded.

"Yes, that's what I call it. Although not in French, I presume. Are you going to Hogwarts too?"

Amelie nodded. "Oui, but I transferred from Beauxbatons."

"What year?"

"Um, trois. Three, I mean,"

"Well, me too. Hope you get into Slytherin, that's my house. The best of all the houses, I say. The name's Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy. Bet you've heard of me before, my bloodline is 100% pure, I come from the prestigious Malfoy family, and - " he started drawling, but the young Santerre heard enough.

"I didn't come to ask you about your family history. I'm sure it's très amusant and all, but you need to stop bullying petit kids!" remarked Amelie angrily. Draco took a step back.

"Well, I'd say you're a blood traitor, then," he said coolly. His silvery-grey eyes met Amelie's boldly. "But when I teach them lessons, it's about one thing. And. That's. To. Not. Mess. With. Me. I fancy you need me to teach you a lesson too?" he snarled. Amelie's face visibly paled, but she neutralized her expression.

"Uh, non merci, but I'm guessing you need one too? Maybe your sticking your head into your le cul will do you some good,"

"Does that mean butt?"

"Oui,"

"Well, certainly, I've always wanted to fuck myself, I mean, I'm flawless, aren't I?" he said, picking at the hem of his sleeve casually. Amelie was disgusted and horrified. Was this how British wizards acted? Talking about sex all day long?

"Goodbye, you disgusting twat," she said, using the only offending name she'd ever learned from all thoseEnglish lessons, and stormed away with the suitcases.

"Goodbye... hm, I don't know your name?" replied Draco, but Amelie was already too far away to hear. She suddenly bumped into a boy with jet-black hair and glasses, who stared her down. Nervousness twinged in Amelie.

"I'm Harry Potter, these are my friends, Hermione and Ron. And you might be...?"

Amelie's jaw dropped. "Harry Potter...?"

A/N this story may be poorly-written, as it is one of my early middle school stories ;))