My Not-So Cinderella Story *A Remus Lupin Love Story* *Currently On Hold*

Plastic Ducks

I’d call this my Cinderella story, but I don’t think that description quite fits. You’d immediately assume that at the end of the story I would be whisked away into a “happily ever after” with my perfect “Prince Charming”. Yeah, that’s not exactly what happened. Now, I’m warning you; this story is nothing is nothing like the cheesy Cinderella movies with Hilary Duff and Selena Gomez. Yes, I’m a witch and I’ve seen them (You can’t live with my cousins and not see them).

My name is Addie and I live in a mansion on a farm. You see, my mom died when I was really young so it was just me and my dad. I was 10 years old when he died and was left in custody of my Aunt Trish, my mother’s aunt. Dad and I had lived in a simple farmhouse on our farm. Aunt Trish had completely remodeled it. The only thing that’s the same was my room and the farm. Aunt Trish is like Barbie’s mother. Older, fake blonde, and has had more plastic surgery than a rubber duck. Her two daughters, Kate and Bailey are my age and are just like my Aunt except they dye their hair ten different shades of brown in a week. They go to the tanning bed at least 2 twice a week and they’re those girls who think putting on 10 tons of make-up is attractive. They’ve always hated me and probably always will. Apparently, I’m a “stupid blonde American freak.” That’s probably the nicest thing they’ve ever said to me.

Anyway, that’s my extremely interesting family history. What about me? I’m average height and have long dishwater blonde hair that’s falls naturally straight to my elbows with bangs that sweep across my forehead. I mostly wear tshirts and jeans. My dad was from New York, and I grew up there until I turned 7, so I’ve got an American accent. I love music. Green Day, Panic! At the Disco, Maroon 5, Paramore, Neon Trees. You name it, I’ve probably heard it or have it on my ipod (my last birthday present from my dad). That’s about it. I am rather odd, but I’ll spare you the weird going-ons in my mind for now.

Oh, did I add that I’m a human house elf? I cook, I clean, I bake, I dust, I singlehandingly take care of the farm, I- well you get the gist.

Now for the part you really care about, right? When it all started?

How to begin……..

It must have started the day before our 6th year began. I was 2 months from turning 16 and the ’66 purple mustang convertible my dad promised I would have on my 16th birthday (they never found his will) was sitting in the garage as usual. Trish had decided to have a huge “going away” dinner on August 30th and invite the neighbors the Lupins’. Yes, the Lupins’. As in Remus Lupin. ¼ of the marauders. Who make me want to puke. Multiple times. It wasn’t just him, it was all of them. The Marauders. I still cant believe they name themselves. In case you don’t know who they are, here’s a brief over view of them:

James Potter: In the dictionary, his picture should be next to arrogance. Quidditch captain, complete idiot, jerk and a pig. Wow, I sound like Lily Evans. She hates the marauders too and I think we might be good friends until I remember that she’s the most popular girl in school and the Gryffindor loser.

Sirius Black: If I could pick three words to describe him I’d just puke few times. He’s a complete player and I can’t count as high as high as how many girlfriends he’s had in one school year alone. He blames the Slytherins for being prejudiced but he’s just as bad as them. Sometimes, I wish I could hit him on the head with a frying pan but you know…..i don’t take one to school with me.

Peter Pettigrew: I don’t have much against him except that I can’t freaking stand him. I would bet my ipod that he has shrines of Potter, Black and Lupin in his closet but that’s just a theory. I think he needs to grow up but he isn’t as bad as the others.

Remus Lupin: The best marauder. The kindest marauder. The caring marauder. I think he’s the worst. He stands by while his friends bully and prank innocent people. He’s a jerk who only cares about himself and what people think of him. He may not brag like Potter, go through girls like Black, or as annoying as Pettigrew, but I can’t stand him all the same.

So you understand how upset in I was when I learned that not only were Lupins’ having Potter, Black, and Pettigrew over but I had to cook for them as well. Luckily, Trish didn’t want me to be seen. I was to cook dinner, set the table, clean the kitchen, and stay away from anyone or anything. I was more than happy to follow directions-too bad I didn’t.

Everything was going according to plan. They were eating the grilled chicken salad that I had made while listening to Animal by Neon Trees and I was scrubbing the pot that I had made soup in. I was humming since my ipod was charging and heard Mr. Lupin talking.

“Are you selling the mustang in the garage? The purple one? Remus has taken quite a liking to it!)

I was angry beyond measure and waited for Trish to respond that it was not for sale, and that she was terribly sorry. She could at least respect one of my father’s last wishes, right?

“Well,” Trish began. “it is rather old, so I suppose we could bargain. Perhaps we should negotiate a reason-“

I barged in without thinking. “NO! That is MY car! Dad promised! I won’t let you sell it! I won’t!”

Trish glared at me. “You will not decide what I do with my things. You-”

“But it’s not yours! It’s mine! Dad left it for me! I won’t let you sell it a self-obsessed jerk who probably can’t even drive! You can’t! You-“

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!” Trish screeched. As I turned to the door, I saw Kate and Bailey with smirks on their make-up covered faces, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin gaping at a red-faced Trish, who was clenching her fists in rage, Potter, Black and Pettigrew were looking from Trish to me, and Lupin was staring at me intensely as if wondering why I called him a jerk. I slammed the door as loudly as possible. I stormed up the spiral staircase to my room. I peeled off my worn jeans and Norma Jean t-shirt. I pulled on a blue tank top and black sweatpants before falling into bed. I buried my face in my pillow, and finally let myself sob.

At 6am the next morning, I had twice as many chores as usual (not that it surprised because it didn’t). By 10:47 I was exhausted and smelled like bleach. I had just enough time to grab my trunk and old messenger bag and fall into the fireplace.

At the station, I ignored my “family” and ran straight through the barrier and right onto the train. I sat in the first empty compartment I could find and slid my suitcase under the seat and my bag at my side. Pulling out a copy of my favorite book, The Book Thief by Markus Zusack, I read my way through ¾ of the journey without any interruptions. Looking up I saw we were closer to Hogwarts than I had originally thought. I used to change in whatever compartment I was in, until 2 years ago, some when a situation arose involving a group of 7th year girls and some overzealous 6th years. After that, I’ve changed in the bathrooms. I walked to the restrooms and changed without fault. Halfway back to my train car, however, I stepped past a full compartment without looking in, and suddenly found myself covered in a thick, dead-fish smelling green slime. I heard laughing and turned to see the marauders rushing past me, knocking me to the ground, and calling obscenities at me.

So I was the marauder's new target. Fan-freaking-tastic.