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Cherilyn Way sat in the main office of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic waiting for the headmaster while she was picking at her chipping black nail polish and rolling her eyes and glaring every time a student or a teacher gave her a weird look, silently judging her.

She hated it when people looked at her like that. Why couldn't they just mind their own damn business? It wasn't like she was all up in their noses, judging their hair color, their outfit, the way they talked and the way they walked. In fact, the thought of caring about someone else's outer appearance or general attitude disgusted her.

It had been nearly six years since the letter asking her to attend Beauxbatons school of magic had arrived in the mail, sent by an owl, that refused to leave until her mother gave it these shiny bronze coins. She had been confused at first. All her teachers and all of her friends had told her that magic wasn't real.

Her small eleven year old self had thought that the only magic there was existed inside story books, like the Magic Tree House, books she used to read when she was in third grade at the mere age of nine. The instance had seemed so long ago, undefined in the back of her mind, nearly insignificant.

She wasn't exactly alike most of the other girls at her school. It wasn't that she was the loner, or the UwU so quirky girl that pretended to be goth, or the one that was always angry or sad (even though she was), she just didn't seem fit in that well with the other students at Beauxbatons.

Her muggle mother thought that it would've been great, sending her daughter to such a prestigious school, but she had thought wrong. Cherry was nothing like the other girls there. In fact, she was the only person in the school who seemed to be who she was.

The girl had bright pink hair, while everyone else's was either blonde and brown and shone in the light, whereas hers was messy and wavy, never obeying the straightener that she had tried to force onto her badly damaged hair many times. You could say that they all looked similar.

Everyone else's make up was subtle, just like the teacher's said it should be, when Cherry's was dark and bold, her eyeliner wing nearly able to cut glass.

The girls wore a single pearl earring on both of their lobes, and Cherry had at least three piercings in each ear, her navel pierced, and a lip ring that one of her teacher's had tried to take out once last year, but the girl had refused, countering every spell the professor had tried to cast.

She was also like a muggle, in a lot of ways. If she wasn't so talented in witchy subjects, people might've assumed she was one herself. She listened to "muggle music" wore "muggle clothes" and ate "muggle food". Cherry was sick of everyone labeling her as "the muggle".

What was wrong with listening to the 1975? Or wearing some leather jackets? Or enjoyed a good old peanut butter and jelly sandwich every once in a while?

Some people even assumed that she was muggle-born, a mud blood, as the students liked to call it. And this, in fact, was just a complete lie. Her father had been Mikey Way. No one really knew much about him, only that he had been one of the greatest sorcerers of his time, accomplishing great things in his youth.

It was only too bad that he had left his wife before his daughter was born. She wondered sometimes about what her life would've been like if he hadn't left, if he had stayed and took care of her, along with Alicia, if she would've still been this way. Maybe she would've been more well known in the school, less of an outcast and more of someone they feared.

Maybe she would've learned more, considering the greatness of her father. Even the teachers had refused to tell the young one anything about Mikey when she had asked in her previous years in the school.

Mischief Managed || Fred WeasleyWhere stories live. Discover now