italic speech is spoken in french.

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Harry had left a month ago, and Charlotte missed him more than anything. She'd gone back to school the day after the others had left for Hogwarts and settled into the flow of her new years work, no matter how difficult it was for her to concentrate, even though she had only picked the subjects she loved for her last two years- Physics, Biology, Chemistry and, of course, French (there was no way she would turn down yet another A*, and Universities didn't have to know it was her grandmother's native language).

But this week she wasn't going to school. This week she felt too pathetic to do anything, because nobody seemed to want to write to her, and the loneliness was somewhat unbearable, especially since she was often around hundreds of people everyday, none of which being the people she missed. Sure, Theodore had kept up his weekly letters and newspaper clippings, but even those seemed to lack effort now. Zara hadn't written yet, but she still expected a letter soon.

Harry had written to her once though, a short, sweet letter, despite his promises to write every fortnight, and Charlotte kicked herself for ever thinking he would keep in touch so often. He was a celebrity- a hero, he didn't have time for the likes of her,
not in his busy life. And yet she was grateful, for what little contact with him she did have. His letter was nothing spectacular, just a quick "Hello, how are you? Sorry for not writing, I've been fighting a fucked up war with my Headmaster. See you soon!"

Okay, perhaps that was downplaying it a little, and the true words were not so forward, but Charlotte figured that was close enough. And although she appreciated the effort of both her crush, and her brother, the lack of it on their part did make her feel unimportant.

Instead she directed her attention to Rosalíne Dubost, her wonderful grandmother, who usually lived in London but had come to her home immediately once called. Rosalíne was the very essence of ethereal, still stylish and full of vitality despite her just passing the age of fifty. Rosalíne was Charlotte's only female role model, and she couldn't have ever wished for a better one. This woman had raised her mother, and had practically raised her too. For Charlotte, Rosalíne filled the role of mother, and for Rosalíne, Charlotte filled the role of daughter.

Plus she made the best crépes.

"Dad would die if he knew I was out of school," Charlotte grinned, speaking French as she savoured her lemon and sugar crepes, and sipping her homemade rosewater. Her grandmother sure new how to plate up in the classiest way possible, and she almost always felt like a Parisian when eating with her.

"Shh," Rosalíne smiled, accent thick and blue eyes bright, the kind you could light up a room with. "What Dick doesn't know won't hurt him."

Charlotte laughed, a rush of admiration coming over her as her grandmother sipped on her glass. Harry's letter still lay in front of her, slightly crumpled and tear stained from the amount of times she'd read it and cried because of how much it hurt her heart to miss him.

Lottie, it read.

How are you? I hope you're doing well. I'm cool, but school life is fairly uneventful. I spend my time doing schoolwork and playing Quidditch, as well as in my Headmaster's office. Don't worry, I'm a model pupil who would never be in there for causing trouble, of course, but instead I have to spend hours doing top secret business. I know I'm  being vague, but I can't reveal much, since owls can be intercepted, and Hedwig definitely does stand out.

How I wish you were here. The summer we spent together was the most genuine fun I've had in a while, and I can't stop reminiscing it in the moments of quiet, particularly when I nod off in classes. I should stop doing that, but in all honesty I do try- I just can't get you out of my head. I'm itching to see you again. Counting down the days till Christmas for you, Charlotte.

All my love,
Romeo.

"There's not long to go now, dearie," Rosalíne said, taking her hand as she caught her granddaughter staring at the letter once again. "You'll see your love soon."

"He's not my love," Charlotte mumbled, unintentionally slipping back into English. Or perhaps she subconsciously wanted to avoid the word amour. It felt heavier in the language of love itself.

"Charlotte," her name sounded a lot nicer in Rosalíne's voice that on anyone else's tongue. Except perhaps Harry's. "The look you wear when you speak of him is the exact same look my daughter wore when she spoke of your father."

"Well, I sure hope I don't end up in her shoes," Charlotte blurted, with a bitter scoff. Her grandmother gave her a dissaproving look and she shrugged, unapologetically.

"Charlotte died bringing you into this world," Rosalíne said, gently. "Show her more respect than that."

"This was a mistake," Lottie snapped, standing up from the table, and walking away from her grandmother. "I should go to school."

"I don't think so, mademoiselle," Rosalíne shot back, voice so deadly calm that Charlotte stood still in her tracks, turning to face her elder once more. "You may have inherited your stubbornness from your mother but she inherited it from me, so I suggest you take a seat."

"I just don't want a lecture about love right now, Grandma!"

"Grandmere," Rosalíne corrected. "I am not English. You can very well call your father's mother that. But when I speak to you in French, I expect you to speak it back."

Charlotte sighed in defeat, sitting down beside her gran once more. She didn't know what useful advice the woman could give, especially not knowing the full extent of her... situation. Rosalíne knew nothing about magic, and she never could.

"I haven't known him for very long," Charlotte said, finally. Regardless of her English speech, her grandmother did not insist on French once more. "But I just... I don't know. He's perfect, Memere."

Rosalíne's gaze softened, as she smiled. "As are you, Charlotte."

"Hardly," she scoffed, and immediately her grandmother disagreed, listing all of the "perfect" things about her. They all went in one ear and out the other.

"I am sure he likes you," Rosalíne concluded, and Charlotte shrugged.

"Maybe," she said, sighing and thinking back to all the ques she'd given him to just kiss me already! "But he doesn't seem to want to do anything about it."

"Why should he have to?" Her grandmother challenged. "Why don't you do something about it? He's no better than you, no stronger than you, no more confident than you. Why wait around? Just take him, Charlotte."

She pondered on this for a moment. It had never occurred to her that she didn't have to wait around for him, that she could take matters into her own hands.

"You're right," she finally agreed, before glancing out the window to the rose bushes that grew in the garden. "Those need tending to. Care to help?"

Rosalíne simply grinned at her granddaughter as they clinked their glasses together, drained down the last of the rosewater and geared up for a morning of gardening. And when Charlotte finally received a letter from Zara that night, telling her practically the same thing Rosalíne had said, she decided it was a sign. She wouldn't wait any longer.

~

French class. The only lesson Charlotte found to be a breeze. She and Flynn sat on the table closest to the front of the classroom, the boy far less eager than the girl was, but following his friend nonetheless.

They had a new teacher that year, a professional looking woman who wore her flaming red hair in a fancy updo. A crisp white shirt, navy blue blazer and matching simple skirt showed clearly that this woman was here to work, and to succeed at it. She'd break their backs with workload, Charlotte just knew it, by looking at her pretty, but cold, grey eyes.

"Every single one of you will get an A in this class," the teacher said, before even introducing herself. "And if you don't I will personally slap you myself. You all have the ability and most importantly, the resources. You have books, the World Wide Web, me, and Cardleman at your disposal."

Charlotte almost choked at the sound of her name. "All due respect, Madame, but I'm not at anyone's disposal as far as I am aware."

"Your family owns Café De La Mer?" the woman asked, french accent perfect as she spoke her grandmother's language and Charlotte nodded. "Your family is french?" Charlotte nodded once more, hesitantly. "And you are fluent in the language of love?"

"I wish," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "But I am fluent in French, yes."

"I rest my case," the teacher said, with a sly smile before addressing the rest of the class once more. "Cardleman is fluent in the language you study so, use. Her."

She walked over to the chalkboard behind her, and wrote her name on capital letters, underlining it harshly.

MADEMOISELLE WOOD.

"Brace yourselves children," she said, turning to face them once more, teeth bared in a positively scary grin. "You're in for one heck of a ride."

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Hello everybody! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! You've got a little more family time, and less of Harry but I hope you don't mind. I think it's important for characters to have time away from their love interests, and not for them to be joined at the hip because realistically, no relationship is like that.

Qotd: worst experience with a teacher?
Aotd: once, my geography teacher told me I was dumb and should be in the bottom class, asking me if I ever even try. I replied that I don't try in subjects I'm going to drop anyways. He's hated me ever since.

-Amber.