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Marinette Dupain-Cheng is nothing short of an oddity. Everything about the girl was contradictory. Ever since their first year at Hogwarts, Marinette surprised her in the most curious ways. The petite girl has all the traits of a Hufflepuff: she's sweet, not unlike her parent’s pastries, kinder than the most generous Samaritan, and unbelievably loyal to her friends. Or so most people thought. The witch had stolen everything of Chloe’s, her friends, her betrothed, her popularity. It was certainly a shock to be seeing her at the Slytherin table the night of their sorting ceremony.
“Chloe Bourgeois” A smirk adorned Chloe’s face as she sauntered up to the creaky wooden stool. She wouldn't allow the onlookers to see her nervous internal dispute, sweaty palms and shallow breaths aside, she would be the picture of serenity. Every Bourgeois in recorded history was sorted into the Slytherin house. The pride and prestige of the pure-blooded clan rested upon her sorting. She wouldn't-no couldn’t- be the first to smear the family reputation. As the musty, dust-covered hat came to rest atop her head, she inhaled sharply, sighing in relief only after it slurred “Slytherin” to the bustling occupants of the hall. Cheers erupted on her left, she raced to her new housemates, a genuine grin spread across her face. Receiving pats on the head and exclamations of cheer, her nerves departed as quickly and silently as they'd intruded. A quick peek around the table revealed that many of the children of her father’s coworkers were older members of the house, she would do well to exercise caution in her actions.
Turning her attention back to the front of the hall, Chloe allowed herself to relish in the delightfully chaotic atmosphere. She applauded politely for the sorting of the other first years. A rambunctious girl named Alya was sorted into Gryffindor, as well as Kim, a pureblood, childhood friend of hers. No surprise to her, Adrien, her best friend, had been sorted to Hufflepuff, just like his mom. Professor Busier continued calling children to the front, eventually landing on Marinette Dupain-Cheng.
Marinette was still rather shy at the time, shaking, she worked her way up to the sorting hat. When she sat, she gripped the edges the stool, knuckles white, and sapphire eyes shut tight. Just before the sentient leather sack touched the crown of her head, it called: “Slytherin!” Again, the halls burst into a clamor, and her face lit up like one of the floating candles.
Marinette sat next to Chloe that day, the first and last time for many months to come. A small hand extended towards Chloe, who wasn't quite sure what to do at first. “H-hi! My name is Marinette, maybe we could be friends? Would you like one of these macaroons? My dad made them, he's a baker!” Chloe blinked. A baker? Isn’t that a muggle bread maker?
“Your parents are muggles?” She sneered.
Marinette seemed unfazed, “Yes, they are! My dad’s a baker and my mom’s-”
Chloe cut her off with a show of her hand, “Sorry, I'm not to be friends with some filthy mudblood.” How did a mudblood get sorted into the pureblood house? Shaking her head confusedly, she turned to begin a conversation with Alix, and left the muggle born girl to find some other person to talk to.
Chloe spent over a year confused about just how this petite bundle of happiness, sunshine, and perfection was sorted into Slytherin.
It was the first day of quidditch tryouts in second year. Little Marinette Dupain-Cheng had gained some confidence, courtesy of her Gryffindor best friend, Alya. And because of her newfound boldness, she decided to try for the position of chaser.
Chloe had scoffed when she had overheard Marinette and Alix chatting excitedly about upcoming tryouts, there was no way a muggle-born toothpick such as herself would make chaser.
Peeking from behind her gruesomely green curtains, she taunted: “You? A chaser? Never in a million years.”
Alix started to get up, hands in tight fists, but Marinette held her back, “It’s not worth it, Alix.”
Grunting disappointedly, Alix fell back against Marinette’s bed, “just you watch, Chloe, she’s going to kick your prissy-ass.”
Well, apparently a million years was the next morning. At tryouts Chloe and Marinette were on opposing scrimmage teams. Marinette played with a fire and ambition only a Slytherin could’ve possessed. She was mesmerizing, virtuosic in every facet of her flying, not that Chloe would ever admit it. “Is that the best you can do, Shrimpy?” she poked at Marinette.
“Not even close Bourgeois. Don’t ever underestimate me again.” Marinette shot a glare of ice and lightning, her blue eyes reflecting off the grey sky, the perfect embodiment of her cold, raw hatred for Chloe. Marinette made the team that day. Chloe decided quidditch wasn’t the activity for her, but she’d never forget the spite Marinette spewed with that one glance in her direction.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng, as sweet as she seemed, possessed a sort of evilness nobody could see. How could this mudblood beat Chloe at everything? She was a prefect, a quidditch captain, exceedingly good at charms, loved by all the teachers, and friends with everyone. Everyone but Chloe that is. Chloe couldn’t understand her, she knew Marinette couldn’t be as perfect as everyone thought she was. Jaded vision made it hard for Chloe to do anything without thinking of how Marinette did it better. Towards the end of their fifth year, Marinette crossed the line. She began seeing Adrien Agreste, Chloe’s childhood best friend, closest confidant, and recently betrothed.
She first saw them together in the courtyard, on their way towards the gamekeeper’s hut down the hill, hand in hand. Seeing red, green, yellow, every other color of the unhappy rainbow, she retreated to her bunk in the dorm. Adrien was hers! They had a marriage pact. Her father would be dangerously displeased to learn of her failure to keep the pure-blooded line by merging clans with the prestigious Agrestes.
Marinette came back later, giggling and red-faced with a giddy blush dusting her cheeks. “What’s got you so happy?” Chloe grumbled, she didn’t know why she said that, jealousy, rage, regret maybe? Now, she liked to believe it was her first reach for help.
“I just had the best time with-” she turned to look at Chloe, starry-eyed, the light dimming from her eyes, and her face falling with concern as she took in the broken, messy blanket puddle in front of her. “Are you okay? Chloe, you look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks. ‘Appreciate that.” Chloe rolled over so Marinette couldn’t see her puffy eyes and smudged make-up. She heard Marinette walk over carefully and felt the weight on the foot of her bed as she sat.
“I know we aren’t on the best terms, but you can talk to me, you know? I’m not going to make fun of you or anything.” She sighed heavily. “I tried to hate you, for all the belittling comments about my parents, my bloodline, my place in Slytherin. I can’t forgive all those punches, they were nothing short of discriminatory and cruel, but I can’t hate you either. I realized that all that anger, all that spite, you had directed at me must be because someone hurt you just as bad, or worse, than you were trying to hurt me.” Chloe felt her shift and take a deep breath. “You aren’t a bad person you know. You’re a good kid who’s been through a lot of bad things, experienced a lot of pain.” She paused to swallow. “Adrien told me about your folks, the pressures you’re under, the trials you’ve faced, he knew it wasn’t his place to say, but he cares about you, and wanted me to care too.”
Chloe stiffened, “I don’t need you to care about me.” It wasn’t Adrien’s place to be telling people about her psychotic mom, her dead sister, her abusive father’s stoic persistence that she carry the family business and name. To the rest of the world, Chloe was a daddy’s girl, spoiled and snarky. To Andre Bourgeois, Chloe was the continuation of the business, the daily reminder of his lost love and child.
Marinette got up, extending a hand towards her lonely roommate. “I know you don’t need me to care about you, but I want to, so let’s get you cleaned up for dinner, okay?”
Chloe turned over and looked at the hand that had been offered nearly five years earlier. It was calloused and scarred from hours of quidditch practice and hand sewing, but just as small and timid as that first night they met. This time she took it, allowing Marinette to pull her up and guide her to the cramped, cluttered bathroom.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng is nothing short of an oddity. Everything about the girl was contradictory. Ever since their first year at Hogwarts, Marinette surprised Chloe in the most curious ways. The petite girl has all the traits of a Slytherin: she's biting, her tongue sharper than her favorite needle, more cunning than the founder himself, and unbelievably true to her ambitions. But Chloe was certain she’d never find anyone more generous, loving, loyal, kind, and caring than Marinette. She hadn’t stolen anything from Chloe, in fact, Marinette had given Chloe more than she could ever repay. She’d given Chloe the hope, courage, and confidence to stand up to her father, building a positive name for herself. She’d forever remember Marinette Dupain-Cheng, chaser, head girl, captain, inspiration, and friend.