Welcome to Gaia! ::

Yeah, she did turn out that way. I don't know much about England, I rarely dabble in the real world. And I swear Evan's house looks just like Sirius's.

She's a lot different than Harry, though. Not as smart, for one thing. And she's friends with a future Death Eater. heart

Morez:


In the week following, the Pincelys seemed almost afraid of her. They rarely asked her to clean anything, and if they did, they asked very politely. They let her sit at the table at mealtimes and eat their leftovers there. They said nothing nasty to her…in fact, they rarely spoke to her at all. It was an almost happy existence, and she was content. She had her owl and her new schoolbooks, and she fiddled with everything in her trunk except her wand, which she obediently kept wrapped up until September First. She had even worn her uniform, cloak and all, to breakfast one day, but Aunt Jenny screamed so loudly and the twins laughed at her so much that she never did it again.

Eventually, the Pincelys grew afraid of her, and stopped looking at her or speaking to her at all. She found she could do whatever she liked, even watch television or make herself a sandwich, when they weren’t in the room, even if they were watching from the doorway. If they were in the same room as her, the twins would start whining for her to leave, as frightened of her as their parents, and she would be forced to—of her own free will, just to spare herself a headache.

One afternoon she gathered her courage and knocked on the twin’s bedroom door. The sounds of the two playing some game issued from within.

“Yeah?” one of them shouted.

They blanched to see her standing calmly in the doorway.

“I want my book back.”

They stared at her, eyes wide with fear. “Don’t got it,” one of them murmured.

“Yes you do, you took it from me!”

“Nuh-uh, Rainey taked it home—”

“I don’t care, I want it back by tomorrow at dinner, you’d better give it to me or—”

Her threat trailed off as they started shouting pleadingly, assuring her that they would get it from Rainey’s house. Smiling in satisfaction, she left. Abusing this newfound power was most unlike her, but she DID want her book back. Sure enough, by the next day’s lunchtime, it was sitting carefully on her bed, though more ripped and battered than usual. Next to it was the pirate toy and a few sticky sweets. The twins must have been very scared of her.

Her birthday was a week after the first letter had arrived, and she did not know what to expect…would the Pincelys be so afraid that they would actually give her a present? Or would they all leave for the day, or ignore her? One was just as nice as the other, really, though she was still apprehensive as she entered the kitchen for breakfast.

“Happy birthday,” the twins murmured in unison, the most any of them had ever done in eight years. The rest of the day was spent ignoring her existence. It was different today, however: she could not do whatever she liked. If she tried to change the channel or open the refrigerator, Uncle Henry cleared his throat and glared at her. She didn’t know what was making him so angry, but thought it best not to annoy him; she snuck some fruit and cheese and sat on the stairs, keeping to Pigeon for the rest of the day.

She sat unassumingly in the corner during dinner, reading her book, Pigeon sitting on her head. They ate in silence without her, though occasionally Pigeon hooted and they jumped. Kamille loved him; he sat contentedly on her head most of the time, occasionally hopping around on the ground or trying to fly with his tiny wings, though never getting very far. The lady at Eeylops assured her that once he could fly, he could get his own food, but until then she should give him a few Baby Owl Treats once a day.

September First edged closer, and, having already been assured by Uncle Henry that he would take her to King’s Cross, she began to pack her trunk. If she folded everything neatly and put her cauldron in the corner, she still had plenty of room for her schoolbooks, all in a row along the back, and her potions kit, her dragon hide gloves, her scales and telescope, and her hat. She placed her wand, her ticket, Pigeon’s food, her money pouch (which only had a few Knuts in it; she had promised Dumbledore that she would save them for Hogwarts) and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which was very interesting, into her schoolbag to keep by her on the train. She then dumped everything in her box onto the top of her trunk, her clothes and her treasures. Her trunk really was big.

Finally, it was September First.

“’Morning, Uncle Henry,” she said cheerfully as he made bacon. He made a sleepy, annoyed sound. “You ready to go to the train station?”

“Why should I?” he grumbled, poking the bacon violently. “Why should I let you go to the bloody school when you could be staying here and…and doing laundry…and….”

“But I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Damn right I don’t.”

“Then why won’t you let me leave? Dumbledore said you could do your own chores for a year.”

“Is this your way of thanking us for putting up with you for eight years, huh, girl?”

“Thank you.”

“Hmph.”

“So you’ll take me to King’s Cross?”

“The bloody hell I—”

“’Cause I got all my magic stuff and everything, you know, and it’d be a shame if I couldn’t use it, ‘specially my wand, it was pretty expensive….”

He froze as she mentioned wands, clearly remembering Dumbledore’s magic in their house. Little did they know, as she did, that that was only a tiny part of it.

“Can you even use that thing?” he asked fearfully.

“Oh, yes. I have loads of spellbooks and all of that, they tell you just how to use it….”

Uncle Henry grew paler by the second as he considered it. Kamille knew that he was trapped, and so did he.

“All right,” he said finally, “I’ll take you to your ruddy train.”

“It leaves at eleven,” she told him happily, stealing a slice of bacon before the scurried out. Pigeon loved bacon, and so did she.

At ten o’clock they set out to King’s Cross, with Kamille in the backseat, scooted far away from the twins. Apparently this counted as some sort of family outing, and in their excitement they had started to fight again. She stroked Pigeon’s head through the bars of his cage, knowing she could not let him out until he was safely on the train.

King’s Cross was very crowded, and not just with Hogwarts students. Uncle Henry heaved her trunk onto a trolley, and she pushed it with difficulty into the heart of the train station.

“Here we are,” he told her after a while. “Platform Nine, did you say?”

“And three quarters,” she murmured, her head falling to one side as she gazed at the empty space between platforms nine and ten. “Uh-oh. Um, Uncle Henry—?”

But when she looked again, they were all gone. They had left her here, in a crowded train station, with a baby owl and a heavy trunk and nowhere left to go.

“Uncle Henry?” she said again, her voice very small.

She leaned against the ticket inspector’s stand, trying not to cry. It was a losing battle. Tears started to slide down her cheeks, try as she might to suppress them. She gave up, letting the sobs rack her body from head to foot as she sat on the floor and hugged Pigeon’s cage between her knees and chest. He hooted softly, fluttering his tiny wings against her t-shirt.

“What’re we gonna do, Pidge?” she whispered to him. “It leaves in ten minutes and I dunno where it is….”

“Hey,” a voice said, “are you okay?”

She started; a boy with black hair had been contemplating the ticket stand, his hand in his pocket. She heard the clink of gold. He had just now turned bright green eyes onto her, looking concerned. She was about to tell him to go away when she saw his snowy owl, sitting on his trunk.

“Are you a….”

“A wizard?” he finished quietly, eyeing her own owl. “Yeah. D’you know how to get on the train?”

She shook her head. “No, do you?”

He shook his head as well, and was about to say something when an irritated voice came from behind him:

“—packed with Muggles, of course—”

“Muggles?” the boy mouthed, following them. They stopped in front of a barrier close to Kamille, gathering around it. She couldn’t see what they were doing, but she heard the boy’s voice asking something. The mother of a red-haired, rather large family took kindly to him and pulled him aside, gesturing to her youngest son; Kamille noticed now that all her other sons had disappeared.

The youngest pushed his cart at a run towards the barrier, and before Kamille could shout a warning, he too had disappeared. She blinked. The mother and her daughter, as red-haired as all the boys, gestured the black-haired boy forward, and he beckoned briefly to her before he took a deep breath and ran straight for the barrier. In a moment, he too disappeared.

Kamille rose quickly to her feet, grabbing her trunk, but by the time she had gotten all her things, the mother and daughter had gone. She took a deep breath and swiveled round to face the barrier. She could not believe she was this insane…her lovely new trunk would be smashed to bits…Pidge could even be hurt…and of course she would be…she was mad….

She closed her eyes, preparing for the impact, and then a wave of warm, fresh air broke over her face. She blinked; she was outside. How strange. A scarlet steam engine was puffing black smoke over the crowds of people—clearly witches and wizards—and she knew as soon as she saw the words Hogwarts Express on its side that she had found the train.

She looked around to thank the boy and the red-haired family, but they were gone. She was all alone again. She saw people about her age climbing in, trunks and all, and grabbed her own, slinging her bag around her neck and balancing Pigeon’s cage on her head as she dragged her trunk with both hands towards the scarlet train.

“Need some help?” two red-haired twins said in unison. She did not like twins much, really, but she thought it both impolite and incredibly foolish to refuse their help, so she agreed. They each took a handle and heaved, lugging it into the train and into an empty compartment before dropping it again. She thanked them, resolving to widen her view of twins; maybe they were not so bad after all. They waved in unison and bounded off to different concerns.

Kamille turned to her compartment and found that it was not empty at all; someone’s things were tucked carefully away, a book with a silver bookmark laying open. Kamille recognized it as A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. She had not gotten to that one yet. She hoped very much that the compartment’s previous inhabitant would not care if she sat here. She would be very quiet, she decided, and so would Pigeon.

A few minutes later, the train’s whistle blew, and she felt something moving underneath her feet. She heard children crying last goodbyes to their families, and her heart ached… if only her parents were here to kiss her goodbye like that…Rosalie and John, she reflected, musing on what Dumbledore had told her. Rosalie was a sweet, kind Muggle-born, John a brilliant pureblood. They’d fallen in love in their sixth year. Rosalie was on the Quidditch team, whatever that was…John got loads of awards….

The compartment door shoved open and then closed, and a boy with white-blond hair started to come in, then stopped, staring at her.

“What are YOU doing in here?” he demanded rudely. He had very strange light grey eyes.

“I…the others were full…” she mumbled. “Sorry…I won’t bother you….”

“Get lost!”

“But…there’s nowhere else to go….”

The boy glared at her for a moment, apparently suspicious, and then said abruptly, “Are you a Mudblood?”

“Huh?” She gave him an odd look. Disgust marred his pale features.

“Just get out.”

She stood hesitantly, glancing at her trunk; she could barely drag it, after all. “C-can I leave my stuff…?”

He threw himself down and picked up his book, imperiously ignoring her. She decided to leave the trunk, and come back after she found out what a Mudblood was. She snatched up her bag and stowed Pigeon under her arm, searching for another, friendlier compartment.

She did not find one without people in it, though she did see the black-haired boy from before; he looked very busy, so she decided not to disturb him and his friend, who was trying to perform some kind of spell. She traipsed on, stumbling across the red-haired twins and their friend, a black boy with dreadlocks—they were as good to ask as anybody.

She knocked timidly on their door, and they opened it wide, beaming at her.

“Hey,” said one twin. “You need something?”

“Um, yeah,” she said. “What’s a Mudblood?”

All three of them jumped to their feet. “Who called you that?” the black boy demanded, looking furious.

“No one…I just wanna know….”

“Oh.” The twins sat back down, at ease, and their friend joined them. “It’s a horrible thing to call someone,” one twin offered. “It’s what some purebloods call Muggle-borns. Means their blood is dirty. If anyone ever calls you that just let us know, we’ll sort them out.”

“I’m not one, I don’t think,” she said, relieved. “Thank you.”

“What’s your name?” the other twin asked kindly.

“Kamille Corrin.”

“Corrin…those Aurors that were killed, years ago?”

“My mum and dad,” she said, almost proudly. She WAS proud of them, deep down.

“Yeah, our dad told us about them…I’m George Weasley,” he added.

“Fred Weasley,” the other said, and winked. “That’s Lee Jordan.”

“If you ever need anything, give us a call,” said Lee.

“I will,” she promised. “Thank you.”

She closed their compartment door, almost running back to her first compartment. She tugged the door open and launched herself in.

“I’m NOT a Mudblood!” she said loudly, and the boy glared at her, irritated. “And that’s an awful thing to call someone!”

He snorted, returning to his book. “Is that all?”

“So I can sit here now,” she said smugly, situating herself comfortably across from him. He was lounging across the other seat, looking elegantly at ease, royally annoyed.

“Whatever,” he said resignedly. “Make any noise and I’ll jinx you.”

“I won’t.” She pulled out her own book and started to read. The train chugged along, and she sometimes caught herself staring out the window; she had never been on a train. Just like she had never been on the Underground before Dumbledore had taken her…and she had never been to school….

Pigeon hooted, flapping his wings. She glanced at him, and he gazed up at her with his large golden eyes. The boy looked up, glaring.

“I’ll jinx your pygmy owl too if you don’t make him shut up.”

“He’s not a pig!” she objected, misunderstanding. “He’s just a baby. Can we let our owls out?”

He pointed to the luggage rack, where, she now saw, a vicious-looking black owl glared at her rather like its owner was.

“Will your owl eat mine or something?”

The boy scoffed. “Phedron wouldn’t touch something like that.”

Satisfied for the most part, she opened her cage and allowed Pigeon to go free. He flopped clumsily out, then hopped onto her leg and tried to fly across the seats. Kamille caught him before he fell onto the boy’s lap.

“If that thing touches me I’m hexing it.”

“He can’t fly that far anyway, don’t worry.”

She sat Pigeon on her head and started to read again. A placid thirty minutes or so passed, and then the boy closed his book and reached for another. Five minutes into it, he pulled out his wand.

“You can use your wands on the train?”

“Obviously.”

“Oh, good.” She pulled out her own, untying the silver ribbon and taking it lovingly out of the box. “It’s willow and unicorn hair,” she said proudly. “What’s yours?”

“Ebony and dragon heartstring, and didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

“Oh, what’re you gonna do?” she said impatiently, annoyed at being told to shut up for what must have been the thousandth time in her life, this time by a complete stranger.

The boy reacted explosively; he slammed his book shut and jumped to his feet, pointing his wand at her. “I have a wand, and you’re asking me what I’m gonna do?” he said angrily. “You should ask what I’m not gonna do.”

He pointed his wand at the back of the seat behind her and said “Diffindo!” The seat tore from top to bottom.

Kamille stared at his wand, which seemed rather rigid and forbidding. The boy smirked and returned to his seat. “Reparo,” he said, flicking his wand at the seat again, and it stitched itself neatly back up.

“Cool!” Kamille exclaimed. “How d’you do that?”

“Leave me alone or I’ll hex you,” he threatened, burying himself in his book once more. She sighed, holding out her hand and bouncing Pigeon up and down, so he could practice flapping his wings, as she read her book.

After awhile, she became distracted again, and looked around. She saw a snake embellished on his trunk and robes, green lined with silver, and noticed the clean, haughty air to him, only bestowed upon the filthy rich. He was very good-looking.

He stretched and repositioned himself, and something else caught her eye; a silver emblem on a chain, a skull with a winding serpent for a tongue. It was moving.

“What’s that?” she asked him, pointing.

He glanced at it for a moment. “Dark Mark,” he said calmly.

“What’s that?”

“The Dark Lord’s sign, don’t you know anything?”

“Who’s the Dark—”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered impatiently, reaching into his bag and shoving a book into her hands. “Here. Are you sure you aren’t a Mudblood?”

She ignored this, opening the book, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts; one page had a silver emblem like the one around his neck as a bookmark. She scanned until she found “Dark Lord.”

…Voldemort, known to his followers, the Death Eaters, as the Dark Lord, and to the general public as You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, gathered strength over half a century and seemed unstoppable, powerful and merciless. Muggles, wizards, and Aurors alike were dying left and right, and try as the Ministry of Magic to quiet it all up, they could not keep the truth from the Muggles.
But then salvation appeared in the form of a small, one-year-old boy: Harry Potter, now known as the Boy Who Lived. With both his parents already killed, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turned his wand on the baby boy and performed the unstoppable Killing Curse. But Harry not only survived it—the only known person to do so—he also, somehow, rebounded the curse upon He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who disappeared completely. Whether he is dead or not remains to be seen.

“Harry Potter…” she read slowly. “Who’s that?”

“Can’t you read?”

“Yeah, I mean…how old is he, what’s he look like?”

The boy looked thoughtful. “You know, I think he’s in our year…yeah, he would be, ‘cause that was ten years ago….”

“What’s he look like?”

“‘Just like his father’”, the boy quoted with a sarcastic laugh. “‘But with his mother’s eyes’….Black hair, green eyes, lightning scar, you can’t mistake him.”

“Ooh, I saw him!” she said excitedly—she had already met someone famous, who knew? “He helped me find the train!”

The boy snorted.

“No, really!” she insisted. “I talked to Harry Potter, and I saw him, he’s just down the…the corridor—”

She faltered to a stop—three boys had just shoved open the compartment door and slunk inside. The leader was a boy who looked very like the first boy, only his face was paler and more pointed. Behind him were two heavyset boys that looked rather like bodyguards.

“Who are you?” he asked, just as rudely as the first boy had.

“Kamille Corrin,” she said defensively.

“Corrin?” The new arrival glanced at the first boy for explanation.

“Sounds familiar,” he replied offhandedly, not bothering to look up. “She’s a…what are you?”

“Uh, my parents were a witch and wizard….”

“That doesn’t mean anything, what ARE you?” the second boy asked. “Were they Mudbloods?”

“My mum was Muggle-born,” Kamille defended angrily. “And my dad was pureblood.”

The second boy shrugged, glancing over at the first. “Why’s she in here?”

“She won’t go away.”

The second boy laughed, shoving Kamille aside as he sat down. The other two boys remained standing outside.

“What’s your name?” Kamille asked politely.

“Draco Malfoy,” he replied absently, “and that’s Crabbe and Goyle…. Hey,” he added to the first boy. “I heard something about Potter being here.”

“Yeah, she saw him up the corridor.”

“Excellent, where?” He turned to Kamille, who, persuaded by his eagerness, told him exactly where the compartment was.

“…but he looked kinda busy,” she finished, “so I didn’t bug him.”

“Did you hear that?” Draco asked his brother, or cousin, or whatever he was. “Harry Potter’s on the train…I think we should tell him hello, welcome him properly, don’t you think…?”

“I think you should shut the hell up and let me read,” the first boy snapped.

“Oh, of course,” Draco sneered. “The genius has to READ…sorry for disturbing you….”

“Don’t be jealous, just because you can’t spell ‘Quidditch’, don’t take it out on me.”

Draco’s sneer became more pronounced as he beckoned his cronies to follow him out, slamming the door behind him.

“Well, HE isn’t very nice,” Kamille commented. The boy snorted. “What’s your name?” she continued, curious.

“Evan Black.”

“Oh, cool. And…” she looked down at the book in her lap again. “And you LIKE Volde—”

Evan Black sat up abruptly, glaring fire at her. “DON’T say the name!” he hissed.

“Sorry,” she said in a small voice.

“Do you really not know anything about wizards?” he snapped at her. “The Dark Lord’s followers are called Death Eaters. Everyone who has the Dark Mark is a Death Eater. I’m wearing the Dark Mark, and I’m a Black, we’re all the Dark Lord’s servants except Uncle Sirius, I’m not any different. I’m gonna be in Slytherin, too, is THAT enough for you? If you had any idea who you’re dealing with you’d take your titchy owl and get out of my face!”

Out of breath from this outburst, Evan Black threw himself down and glued his eyes to his book yet again. His owl made a low, threatening noise, and soared down to rest on his shoulder. Kamille watched him stroke the owl’s glossy head, his face relaxing into something softer, like lonliness….

“Is Draco your brother or something?” she inquired.

“No, he’s my cousin.” Evan Black’s voice was much quieter and calmer.

“I really like your owl.”

“So do I.”

“Where’d you get him?”

“My mum gave him to me for my eleventh birthday.”

“D’you have to be eleven to be in Hogwarts?”

“Yeah, first years always have to be eleven, at least on the first day.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“I’ll be twelve tomorrow.”

“Why didn’tcha come last year, then?”

“I wish I would’ve. I dunno.”

“Were you expecting a letter?”

“Yes, everyone in my family is magic…they thought I was a Squib for a whole year….”

“What’s a—?”

“A Squib’s a person that’s not magic born into a family that is. It’s sad, especially if you’re a pureblood like me.”

“Why?”

“A long time ago, people used to think it was shameful to have a kid who was a Squib, and families like mine don’t change so easily. It’s like being a Muggle to them.”

“Were they mad at you?”

“No, they just hated me.” The boy never looked up from his book, still stroking his owl’s ebony head. “I had to beg them for a birthday present….”

The way he held his owl close to him told her exactly what that present was.

“I’ve never gotten a birthday present before,” she mused. “Except Mr. Dumbledore got me all this!” She gestured proudly to her trunk and bag and owl.

“Did he go into your vault or his?” Evan sounded amused.

“Mine.”

“Well, then you bought it. He just went with you, to be nice.”

“Nuh-uh, he bought me Pigeon, I know he did!”

Evan actually laughed, sincerely amused. His smile, much warmer than expected, lingered on his face for a long time afterward. “You named your owl Pigeon? That’s just mean!”

“No, he looks like a Pigeon, you know, those ducks that have the white fluff like he does on their head….”

“Those are widgeons, pigeons are those fat grey birds in parks, haven’t you ever seen them?” Evan laughed again.

“No, I’ve never been to a park….”

“Your poor owl!”

“Don’t be stupid, Pigeon loves his name, don’tcha Pidge?” she asked him. He seemed happy enough when he hooted and flapped up to her head.

“Pidge,” Evan muttered, still smiling as he returned to his book. “Poor owl….”

Phedron hooted sternly at Pigeon, very stately and dignified.

“Does your owl like strangers?”

“I dunno, never tried it. His beak’s sharp.” He showed her his earlobe, which was red and swollen; she knew owls liked to chew on ears, for some reason. “Alohomora!” he added under his breath, waving his wand. Something on the compartment door clicked.

Kamille edged nervously towards Phedron, sitting on his master’s shoulder, and cautiously extended her hand. Phedron clicked his sharp beak but did nothing more, permitting her to stroke his glossy head with one finger. She knelt down to get a little closer, but had forgotten about Pigeon; he overbalanced and fell off her head, fluttering and hooting urgently, to land on Evan’s book.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, reaching over to grab him back, but before she could Evan, his face inscrutable, pointed his wand at the wide-eyed owl.

“NO!” Kamille cried, but too late; Evan whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa!” and the owl…was flying….

Kamille watched in awe as Evan made Pigeon soar into the air, hover below the ceiling, then spiral down to land gracefully onto Kamille’s head.



About ten minutes of niceness. Odd kid, Evan is.

gonk

gonk I gotta goes and get ready for drivers ed.

I'll come back and read it laters, though. 3nodding

It strikes me that I should move this to WIP. I never thought it would get so long.


“Wow,” she breathed, stroking Pigeon’s fluffy head. “How’d you do that?”

“Swish and flick,” he said cryptically. He had never once looked up.

“Can you show me how to do it?”

“Mm, ‘s easy. You say the incantation—Wingardium Leviosa—and you do the movement.” He demonstrated the motion absently.

“Wingardum Leverosa!” She waved her wand, hoping something would happen. Nothing did.

“No. Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Wingardium Leviosa.” And to her amazement, Pigeon floated up into the air once more. He hooted excitedly, spreading his wings and mimicking flight. She laughed as she watched him, waving her wand to and fro to make him float around the ceiling. Leaving him to his own enjoyment, she turned back to Evan.

“So, where do you live?”

“In the Virgil manor outside Lon—hey, you have to pay attention or he’ll fall!”

He grabbed her wrist and held her wand up, and both of them watched the tiny owl, who continued to fly around contentedly.

“But I don’t get it,” he said, his pale eyebrows knitting together. “The spell stopped working….”

Kamille laughed, jumping onto her seat to get a better look. “Oh, look, he’s doing it! He can fly all by himself now!”

Pigeon stared at her, then at the ground, and seemed to realize this too. He went into a shallow dive and pulled back up again, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you!” Kamille said to Evan, flopping back into her seat and grinning at him.

“For what?”

“For making him fly, teaching me the spell! ‘Cause it worked, he can fly now!”

“Oh…you’re welcome.” He looked unused to being thanked, and it seemed to unnerve him.

“Does your cousin live with you?”

He snorted. “No.”

“But it’s a big house, right?”

“It’s a manor.”

“Yeah, so there’d be plenty of room….”

“He has his own, in Wiltshire.”

“Ohh. D’you have any brothers and sisters?”

“Yeah. My older sister Lacey’s in fourth year.”

“Ooh, lucky, I don’t have any at all…. And you have parents too?”

“Well, I’ve got a passable mother.”

“You don’t like her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He did not answer.

“Where’s your dad?”

Evan froze, then sat up very straight and looked her right in the eyes. “Why am I telling you all of this?”

“Um…’cause I asked nicely?”

“It’s none of your business, why should you care?”

“I just wanna know.”

“Well, butt out.” He glared at her. “It’s none of your concern.”

A tense, awkward silence fell upon them, broken when Pigeon, hooting in alarm, started to flap desperately, losing altitude.

“Pigeon!” she cried, leaping up to catch him. He hooted with relief, and she set him safely back on her head before sitting down again.

“Have you ever been to school before?”

“Duh. Everyone has.”

“What’s it like?”

Evan blinked. “You don’t know?”

“No. Never went. I did steal my cousins’ textbooks though…does that count?”

“N-…no….” He stared at her as if he had never seen anything so strange. She felt her cheeks turning red, wishing she had never spoken up. Then very abruptly he said, “It’s really simple. Your head of House gives you a schedule, and you go to a classroom for an hour every day it says to. You sit down and shut up and do what the teacher says to. They give you three meals a day; you get weekends off, and all the rest.”

“Is it easy?”

“I dunno. I’ve never been to Hogwarts, but I read all Lacey’s books, except some of the third-year ones, and I know everything, it shouldn’t be too hard….”

“D’you think it’ll be fun?”

He smirked. “Using magic without getting into trouble? Getting away from home? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Yeah….” She smiled back, excitement filling her up, along with a warm, happy feeling that she had never quite felt before. Like being full, only much, much stronger. “Yeah, it WILL be fun! What’re you gonna do first?”

“Well first off we ride across the lake, and then there’s this gigantic feast….”

For the next hour or so, the barrier between them disappeared, and they talked and laughed freely in their little compartment. Draco returned once or twice, just for a few moments, but when Evan pointed his wand at him with a dark, angry expression he left at once. Kamille personally thought that Evan was just as arrogant as he was, and quite as haughty—and they seemed to share the same irrevocable hatred of “Mudbloods” for no reason whatsoever—but for some deep-down and extremely odd reason, she liked him.

A woman pushing a cart full of sweets came around after awhile.

“Anything off the trolley, dears?”

Sounds cool so far.
I can't wait to read more.

I didn't read it all, but I liked what I read. And I figured out who the characters were! -rewards self with a cookie-

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Questing 2

What does Waffles mean that she figured out who the characters are?

_> Kind blew my fanfic out the window in the last hundred or so pages. . . *pout*
[semi-spoiler-ish -->]

I were gonna do one on Teddy and his sister, whom shall now never exist. gonk

143/240k
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