Leave Out All The Rest
part 01/?? “the french quarter”
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summary: in the summer of 1994, four years after the death of their father, a teenage witch is pulled from their roots in new orleans and moved back to their mother’s home in westminster. out of place and being pulled in two different directions, the teen is faced with a new life at hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. people fear what they don’t know, a lesson their father tried to shield them from their whole life, but maybe friends will make it easier.
word count 3.3k
an: efngojkf;enb; a harry potter fic i never saw myself falling back down this hole but here we are. don’t want to label this a certain pairing and ruin the story so y’all gotta bear with me :) also this takes inspiration from tvd/to in terms of the magic showcased, and the history of new orleans. as an la resident it’s always been fascinating and i’ve always wanted to incorporate that in some way. the only oc characters are the mother/father names. also title is inspired by leave out all the rest by linkin park.
The streets are lined with lights, fluorescent and bright to indicate the exciting environment. The jazz that radiated from the four person band making their way down the street carried up into the businesses and homes that resided in the French Quarter. The sunshine from the outside world that warmed the bodies underneath didn’t make it into the apartment off of Chartres St. Inside the red bricked building and in apartment 2D in 1990, the ever growing shouts from one adult to another could be heard from even down in the streets.
It was like any other day in the observant eleven year olds life. Focused on packing things into the expensive trunk her mother had bought for her, she did her best to tune out the shouting. She ran her fingers over the blue and cranberry robes, lost in thought of what this new school would be like when she heard the sound of a slammed door followed by footsteps. She knew who it would be, and closed the trunk and latched it before they could even get the door open.
“Are you all packed?” They had asked in a calm and comforting tone.
She nodded her head, pushing the trunk out of the way before standing to scratch the head of the black and tawny screech owl resting near the window. It lowered its head further into itself in satisfaction, when a hand grazed her shoulder. The child stopped, eyes looking up to look out into the street, and subsequently to see her mother disappear just around the corner into oblivion.
“She just needs some time to cool down,” her father told her. His daughter nodded, but he knew it was just an automatic response. He guided her to the ledged seat and she sat next to him while he grabbed her smaller hand in his.
“She doesn’t want me to go,” his daughter said matter of factly. He inhaled a bit, and gave her hand a squeeze.
“Your mother thinks you should go to the school she went to when she was your age,” he carefully explained. She gave him a nod, though there was a second of hesitation before she spoke again.
“But they aren’t like me. They’re like mom.”
There it was, the acknowledgment that you knew more than he ever wanted you to know. Vincent Dupuis had done everything he could to protect his daughter from the fact that her mother didn’t know what to do with her besides send her off to that school in Scotland in the hopes she’d return as only half of herself. It wasn’t an malicious intent, not at all, but it was an attempt to take a part of you (his part of you) away. That seemed to be the root of all their fights as of late, but he didn’t want you to know that. Vincent reached over and pulled his daughter into his lap and rubbed his thumb over her cheek.
“Ilvermorny will be able to teach you not only what your mother knows, but what I know too. Safely,” he emphasized. “You’ll be the brightest witch this city has seen. I know it.”
She smiled at that, and he kissed her forehead. It was the last tender moment they’d share, though she didn’t know that before heading off to the boarding school in Massachusetts. It was the last memory she had of her father before his death a few months later.
Vincent Dupuis was celebrated in a traditional New Orleans style. Though his family and his coven mourned him, the city celebrated his life (though the strangers lining the streets didn’t really know him). That was just how it was, and your mother said he would have appreciated that.
Vincent Dupuis was a part of a deeply rooted witch lineage in New Orleans, which now was a part of you. One of the original founding families of the witch covens in New Orleans to be exact. He often would remind you (and especially your mother) of that fact. You were a respected witch family, even if you were seen as different. Because of your mother.
Vincent was born and raised in the heart of the French Quarter. His parents still lived in the same house that smelled like cookies (your grandma would always have them ready when you’d stay the night when your parents would fight). It was a second home, and it was adorned with pictures of his family, and then yours. They moved and smiled, they held life in them. It was your favorite thing to see, though your grandparents didn’t see what you saw. They only saw the still motion. You wondered why that was, but eventually that thought trickled away when you found out why.
Althea Talpin (she opted to keep her maiden name) was a part of one of the most important bloodlines in the witch world. It was never tainted with muggle blood your maternal grandparents boasted about throughout your childhood. But when it came to her daughter, to you, they were colder than grandparents should be.
Althea was born and raised in Westminster. She was raised with the finest things, and was amongst one of the wealthiest families at this time. When she came of age, Althea was sent to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and continued her family's legacy by being sorted into the Slytherin house. Over the next seven years she excelled in everything from potions, charms, to defense against the dark arts. She wanted a change after her final year, and took to traveling the world.
She eventually travelled to The Big Easy, drawn to the French Quarter because of the festivities and thrill of it all. She had always been a thrill seeker, and she found that in a man named Vincent. They fell in love and within the year were married, and when you came around shortly after was when Vincent opened up about his own life and lineage.
Althea was fine with it, she hoped her daughter would be free of that kind of magic, and she could convince Vincent to move the family back to her home. After eight years away, she missed everything so dearly. But he always refused, he was afraid of what people would say or even do to their child. The witches knew about the murders, knew the name which shouldn’t be spoken, and he was fearful of what would become of his only child. That was when the resentment started, almost immediately after she had found her daughter bringing dead flowers back to life with the touch of her hand.
Four years have passed since that day, those final moments between father and daughter. The summer of 1994 was soon coming to an end, though the fifteen year old didn’t want it to. With summer ending there was an ever looming cloud of uncertainty over her head, especially with her mother's eccentric ideas for the weekend, and future.
Westminster was nothing like the French Quarter. It was gloomy and busy with people who dressed like they were on their way to business meetings. Looking out of the average townhouse (on the outside, of course the inside felt like it had grown two sizes) it was dreadful. Your mother shouted from downstairs, and with a final sigh you scratched your owls head.
“We’ll be back soon, Arro,” you told the black and tawny feathered bird. “Don’t bother the house elves too much.”
Arro chirped at you, and you stood and grabbed the jacket off your bed. You bounced down the stairs and moved around the cleaning house elves. It was still odd to you to have these creatures in your house. You had always done the chores around the apartment in New Orleans, but your mother said you didn’t have to do that now. It didn’t sit right in your chest, but your mother was hard headed.
You missed your dad.
Your mother was transfixed on her hands, elegant and long, she barely looked up at you as you shoved your arms through your flannel. She was dressed like what you would think witches dressed like. Black jumpsuit that was sitting just below her shoulders, but also joined with a hood less black cape that just passed her elbows. Like you said, elegant and long, and daring as usual. She was like a new woman, back in her own world. Whereas you were more simple, you could even say more dressed to the times.
You had opted for a black overall and white shirt under it, basic shoes, and a loose flannel jacket. If you were honest you had seen a character from Friends wear it and you loved the look. You felt comfortable, but that faded the minute your mother looked you over.
“Did you not like the outfit I had picked?” She asked.
Right. The black stockings, black dress that looked too stuffy and had a weird collar that looked like you were a doll. No thanks. You could only offer a shrug and could see her eyes roll.
“This is more me.”
Partially true. You were at an age you didn’t know who you were really. Two halves of two different worlds ate away inside of you, but that was a topic for another day. She huffed in defeat and messed with the cape on her one more time. “Well that’s fine. Our stuff is already there, and as it is we’re late.”
She offered her hand to you, and you grimaced. “Oh no, please not this again.”
“It’s the fastest form of travel! You’ll need to get used to it.”
“It makes me feel sick,” you mumbled. She wiggled her fingers at you and you sighed. Taking her hand in yours, she led the way. You walked side by side down the hall on the first floor, and in a second were in a new location. Apparating still left your stomach in a twist, it may be effective but certainly not your favorite form of travel.
Night was falling quickly, and at the same pace as inside the house, you walked side by side, hand in hand, amongst others. The same air snapping sound rippled around you as others Apparated and approached the stadium.
The Quidditch World Cup was something your mother had been looking forward to for weeks. After receiving a personal invitation from the Minister of Magic, she insisted they both attend. With each flight of stairs upwards her stomach flipped more and more than when they Apparated. The large crowd trying to reach their respective seats was hard to navigate through, you even knocked into a boy around your age, but could barely mumble an apology as your mother kept pulling you in different directions.
Finally, the loud yells were hushed when a curtain was peeled back and they entered their destination. The private booth was full of others dressed almost like your mother. Eccentric. She detached her hand from yours as she approached a man, and you followed behind like a lost puppy. You were uncomfortable in this unknown place, with these unknown faces, and messed with the sleeves of your flannel. Your mother seemed to smile hugely, which was a rare occurrence to see, when the shorter and stout man met her eye.
“Althea,” he breathed. She laughed as he engulfed her hand with his large ones. “My it’s been so long.”
“It has Cornelius,” your mother replied. “You don’t look any different.”
He laughed and tapped her hand still in his. “Either you’re lying or you’ve been gone too long.”
“Too long,” she confirmed with a smile. The man called Cornelius looked behind him and called another unfamiliar name and a woman came over. After more laughs and smiles and embraces, your mother wandered over to what appeared to be a father and son duo. “I see you’ve grown your hair out Lucius.”
The taller man turned around, and without even a flicker down to you, his cold face erupted in it’s own smile. It felt uncomfortable to see, like it wasn’t genuine, but either way your mother embraced him
“Is this Draco?” She asked after a few moments. The man placed his ringed hand on his son's shoulder and looked to give it a good squeeze. Your eyes met the look of the young boy, while his father spoke.
“The one and only,” Lucius answered. That’s when his eyes looked down on you, and settled into something you couldn’t quite place. “And who is this?”
Ouch. So she knew of his son but he didn’t know of her daughter? You felt a pang of insult form at the back of your mind, but your mother stepped behind you and gripped onto your shoulders. It was as if she was offering reassurance. “This is my daughter. (Y/N).”
Lucius let out a humph, not disassociated but not satisfied either. His cold eyes went back to your mother and with instruction told his son, Draco, to not be rude as the parents stole one another away. You awkwardly stood before Draco, who overlooked you in some kind of judgement.
“My father never mentioned your mother had a daughter,” he finally said to break the silence. All you could do was shrug.
“My mother never mentioned either of you existed,” you said back. Draco’s brow lifted a bit, intrigued it seemed.
“You’re American,” he said.
“Guilty as charged,” you replied. Draco grinned a bit, before glancing around the room. His eyes hesitated for a moment, and you looked over to where his gaze paused. Another boy, older with dirty blonde hair and a nice smile, stood beside a man. Draco seemed to turn you away quickly and out towards the Quidditch field.
“So you’ll be coming to Hogwarts then?” He asked. Your hands reached out to hold onto the railing as you reached your body past to get a good look around.
“Against my own free will,” you joked. Draco huffed, laced behind another grin. “You’ll be the first person I know.”
Draco saw his opportunity, his eyes catching the far away look of the bunch he had just seen while travelling up here. His hands clutched the railing as well and motioned with his head across the field. “More than happy to give you the inside scoop, from one Slytherin to another.”
Hm, made sense. Your mother had explained her house background, and he seemed to fit the description to a T. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but Draco pulled something from the side. It was like a magnifier, and he positioned it before you both, on a group of people. You glanced his way in confusion, but he began to explain his antics.
“See those red headed freaks? Those are the Weasleys. They’re pureblood like our families, but the father is fascinated with muggles. Their mother makes their clothes, and they share hand-me-downs. The twins are in Fifth year, the other one Ron is in our year, and the girl is below us. Awful family.
“Then next to them is Harry Potter,” Draco spat his name out. You raised a brow at the recognition of the name. You had heard of the Potters, though it was only small information. “He thinks he’s the bloody center of the world. Can’t believe he’s the Chosen One.
“That girl with the bushy hair is Hermione Granger,” he scoffed. “Thinks she’s so witty, but she’s nothing more than a mudblood.”
Can blood freeze? You shifted your weight a bit when the warm air seemed to hit you straight on. The Minister announced the start of the match (maybe, you weren’t too sure) but you looked over at the platinum blonde and inhaled a bit too sharply.
“Mudblood?” You repeated. Draco glanced your way before looking back to the field.
“Right, you probably don’t know the term. She’s of non-witch blood, bloody pathetic, not even half witch. Don’t know how she got into this school. It’s gone down the drain if you ask me.”
“I didn’t,” you stated. Draco looked over at you as if he wanted to rebut your statement, but a hand dropped down on your shoulder. You looked behind you and sighed a bit, the tension leaving your body though your fist were still tight in a ball you didn’t realize had formed. Draco’s expression fell, and your mother gave you a squeeze.
“You two doing alright?”
“Peachy,” you mumbled. Her thumb rubbed the back of your shoulder, before turning you to face her, and small tsk’s leaving her lips.
“Sweetie why don’t you go back down and get some fresh air?” She offered. You glanced back over to Draco, who looked uncomfortable in this moment, and nodded a bit. It was too pretentious in here anyway.
All the way back down, bumping past bodies you wouldn’t remember as more time passed, you felt the frustration reaching a boil. Finally as you pushed past the final set of bodies you breathed in the empty air.
You weren’t dumb, you liked to believe you were far from it. In ways your parents had tried to warn you about how people could be once they learned of your true lineage. You knew people could be cruel, that’s why being here, being brought to the world your mother had lived in, was so.. Wrong. You could only imagine the possibility it could get worse, the names they would call you.
No one deserved that.
Your frustration toppled over in a gust of wind that blew pieces of trash away from where you stood, blew the flaps on surroundings tents, but the release felt better than holding it in. In deep breathes you attempted to calm your mind, uncurling your fists and easing yourself into some foldable seats left out. You were sure the owners wouldn’t mind.
There were chants and hollers coming from the stadium, but they sounded far away. Your mind was drifting back to the thought of home, where you should be right now, and didn’t hear the crunch of grass as someone approached. “Mind if I join you?”
You averted your attention to the voice, met with the welcoming look of the other boy inside that pristine booth. You glanced at the chair beside you and nodded. “Sure.”
He smiled a bit, the one you recounted as being nice, and took the seat next to you. Your knees touched ever so slightly, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his legs, glancing up at the twirling lights in the sky. There was an awkward silence, one you didn’t know how to break or if you even should. Thankfully, he seemed to know how. “I couldn’t help but overhear what Draco was saying.”
You looked over at him, but his gaze still lingered up in the sky. It was an invitation to talk about it, and you couldn’t help but accept it. You rubbed your hands together and stole a glance at the ground. “I just can’t believe he uses a term like that so vilely.”
“Unfortunately there’s been a lot of prejudice circulating around recently,” he trailed off. You looked up to meet his gaze, and he offered a smile. “But don’t let Malfoy get to you.”
You wanted to scoff, but your throat couldn’t produce the sound. Instead you simply nodded, only to catch the slight lean in from your company. “Are you coming to Hogwarts this year?”
“It.. Looks that way yeah,” you answered sheepishly. He smiled even wider and offered his hand out to you.
“I’m Cedric,” he introduced. You hesitated only for a moment before taking his hand in yours.
“(Y/N),” you replied with a shake of your hand. His hand was warm, and nearly engulfed your own. The moment only lasted for a few seconds before shouting from the match drew both your attention, and your hands from one another. The slight gust of wind brought a fresh scent that would stick in your mind for the rest of the night.
Worn leather, the fresh scent of laundry detergent, and a hint of butterscotch.
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