Chapter 1 - Reunions

Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and everything present in the books belong to Ms. JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing but the characters of the Flint sisters (who, by the way are related to Marcus Flint, whom I do not own).

"Catharine, are you coming?" Emma was gesturing toward the train: she wanted to walk Sarah to the train. As she had always done the past five years they had gone to Hogwarts together. But now, it was different, Emma had graduated last year and Sarah had to face sixth year alone.

"Have a good term, Sarah," her eyes darkened, but the blissful eyes of her parents took no notice. "We'll be at the house, Emma, you'll have no problem Apparating, we assume?"

"No, I will be home in a short bit." Emma stole a glance at Sarah's eyes; their expressive quality never ceased to amaze her. One could literally read every emotion from Sarah like a book, they were spelt out so clearly. This time, there was an unmistakable pain, and longing, but she made no comment about it.

The girls walked to the Hogwarts Express silently. As Emma leaned in to kiss Sarah's forehead, she wondered at the color of her sister's hair. The rest of the family had a dark, brown color, but Sarah's was the color of honey. "Have a good year, Catharine. I'll miss you."

Sarah glanced at her, squeezed her hand, and whispered as if she were going to cry, "Thanks, Emma." And she stepped onto the train that would take her away from her dreaded home to Hogwarts.

Moving toward the back, to the compartment she had sat in for the past five years, going to and coming from Hogwarts, she saw that this time it was occupied by none other than Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Harry and the Gryffindors had stolen the Quidditch Cup (and the House Cup) from the Slytherins the past five years. She said, in a silky, confiding manner, "This is not your usual compartment. May I inquire as to why you are occupying it?"

Sarah gave no sign of hearing either of them, "I was simply wondering because, you see," she sounded as if she were telling a friend her deepest, darkest secret, "I usually sit in this compartment… Would you care to move?"

Ron stood up this time, directly in front of Sarah, and was surprised to find she was nearly as tall as he. Nonetheless, a previous visit from Draco Malfoy and his two "friends," Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, had sparked his temper, "You've certainly arrogance to ask us to move simply because you want to sit here. Honestly! What House are you in anyway?"

Evidently, Harry didn't talk about the other Quidditch captains, or his friends would have known I was the Slytherin Quidditch captain, she mused. Finally, she gave way, and no longer cared for politeness, genuine or feigned. "Slytherin, of course. And there's no need to ask what house you're in: hotheaded, impolite… there's only one House you could be from… Gryffindor. Anyway, I'll take my leave of your rather dissatisfying company." Now, she turned upon Hermione, "Pity, I had such high hopes. Blaise offered a very high opinion of you, and I shall be devastated to break the truth of your conduct to her. No manners at all!" And she left; somehow, the trivial matter of who occupied the compartment had hit her nerves at exactly the right angle to cause her to anger.

Furious, and strangely, saddened, she paid no attention to where she was going, only conscious of blurred sounds around her as she walked. Sarah connected with something solid and fell back, jolted back to reality. "Would you…" Sarah's infuriated words ceased mid-sentence. "Blaise!"

Laughing, Blaise embarked upon her narrative. Sarah smiled, only half-listening, loving the sound of a friendly voice who had a happiness that she had not had since she was 11. Words began to penetrate her envious fog, "Great… terrific… went with my parents to France… city of love, you know…" Sarah's emotional seesaw did not help, as she struggled with tears of jealousy, even as she smiled at her friend's enthusiasm.

Blaise stopped, concluding with, "…missed you." And began to notice a strange change in Sarah's expression. She was not as acute as Emma was at detecting Sarah's feelings, but she was becoming more sensitive to them. There was a strange mixture of happiness and sadness, and - could it be envy? "What hap - ?" Blaise began to ask.

She didn't give Blaise a chance to finish the question, "We should find a compartment, the famous Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger took our compartment."

Sarah smiled, "That their manners were poor, their company dissatisfying, and Miss Granger's conduct disappointing." Grinning, she murmured, "You really ought to see the expression on your face. You look the perfect combination of disbelief and shock."

"Of course I did. They were being rude. They didn't even introduce themselves. Nor did anyone but Ron offer conversation, and he only talked to rudely expel me from the compartment. Harry said all of…" Sarah screwed up her face for the impression, "…'Ron! Manners…'"

"Oy!" Blaise murmured, gazing at her friend as if she were stupid. "You know about You-Know-Who's coming back to power. Sarah, you have to be careful around them! They could get the wrong impression about you."

Sarah's light brown eyes literally seemed to fill with a darker brown color, and she sarcastically said, "I've lived with a pureblood family who's supported the Dark Lord since he first came to power, did you really think that I might know about His newfound power? How dense do you think I am?" She said even softer, "They are fair, they judge each separately based upon experience, let me worry about myself, and you can worry about yourself." Her eyes had narrowed, her voice was but a mere hiss, and her fair face was contorted with fury.

Blaise looked shocked, to say the very least, and withdrew from Sarah as if she had burnt herself on a stove. Just as spitefully, "I begin to understand why I'm your only friend. No one can stand you." She spun on her heel, walked out of the compartment, and slammed the door loudly.

Flinching at the sound of the door crashing into place, Sarah resigned to her window-seat, tuning out sounds, listening only to the thoughts running across her mind as she watched the country skip by.

Sarah sat in her seat by the window for only a few minutes before someone came barging in. "Look, Blaise - " she said, without thinking that it might be someone completely different. Her eyes never left the flitting countryside as she sat in her muggle clothing.

A snide, male voice remarked, "Hear that, Crabbe? The lady thinks I'm Blaise Zabini. Never fancied I looked that feminine." She heard gruff, yet uncertain, laughter follow. Sarah nearly groaned and smacked her head on the window. Her mother had always warned that she would regret her impatience and her inveterate ability to jump to the wrong conclusions. Now, it seemed, her mother was right.

"Sorry…" she clamped her mouth shut as she saw exactly who had barged into her compartment. Draco Malfoy. She had an ongoing argument with him last year over Quidditch strategies, and the so-called Slytherin method of attack (which was actually quite literal). "Actually, let me take that back. What is it you wanted?"

"As if I would take a Malfoy promise. Honestly." And for the first time during the conversation, she smiled, if only briefly, "Well, maybe your promise is acceptable, only because your pride won't allow you to lie to someone of equal status in Death Eater society." Her mouth was set in a grim line by the end of the sentence, and her voice had dropped lower than a whisper.

Draco and Sarah had an ingrained agreement not to ask about each other's vacation casually, knowing very well indeed, that each had a summer from hell in their own right. They always had. And so they sat in silence, sitting across from each other, staring out their windows.

The two sixth years had known each other from childhood, often being set together when their parents were meeting or simply having a cup of tea. Sometimes, though, Sarah was so different from the child he remembered: the sweet, assenting creature who had always yielded to his commands. And so, they did not spend time together, each running in different social groups at Hogwarts, Sarah's exclusive to Blaise and her sister and Draco's exclusive to the "popular" Slytherin purebloods.

Like Pansy Parkinson, Sarah shuddered; cringing to think of what the girl acted like when spited. She had to admit, Pansy could be intimidating when seen in her full wrath, and with only a tiny shred of Dark magic, she could permanently injure the object of her grudge.

Draco said loudly, as if his audience was deaf, "Crabbe, Goyle, see if you can locate Potter's compartment. And buy yourselves some sweets when you're done." Obediently, (sometimes it was sick to think of exactly how stupid and acquiescent those two were), they left the compartment to Sarah and Draco in search of Harry Potter's compartment. Only about five minutes later did it occur to them that they had already insulted Harry Potter and his friends, and thus already knew Potter's whereabouts. And so, they spent the rest of their time looking for the food cart.

After they left, and the compartment door was safely closed, Draco asked in a soft voice, as if he knew there was someone eavesdropping, "Val" (she never understood how he got the nickname 'Val' from her name) "Did anything of import occur during vacation?"

Only if you tell me! But that's not what she said, knowing full well Draco would never yield to such an ultimatum, "That will depend on who else will be hearing my narrative."

Draco looked at her strangely - was she bargaining with him? Father would have a fit, Draco mused as he listened to his father's voice, "Bargaining is below the name of Malfoy." Just one of his father's many pretentious maxims.

"Good, very good." Sarah grinned, "Then you should be perfectly willing to tell me of your's. We will exchange narratives… and each of us will ascertain in the other's presence that there is relevant writing upon the other's so-called narrative."

Author Note(s): Thank you Alex (as you would have me call you online) for reading this and finding errors (which have never eluded you yet!) and helping me correct them. I certainly hope you, as my very beloved reader, are enjoying this and I am hoping you understand, more or less, what is going on!

Any feedback would be appreciated. Oh and consider this: reviews are like food for a writer. Good reviews are very fulfilling and enjoyable. Bad reviews (known as flames) are tasted, spit out, and then ignored: and the writer must consume a great amount of good reviews to get rid of the horrible aftertaste. So please, try not to make your bad reviews too bitter and cause the writer, myself, too much pain!


	Chapter 1 - Reunions Title: Potions Magic - 1/? Author: Kyna (jli14 on MSN messenger and jli39 on AOL instant messenger) Summary: The train ride to Hogwarts. Reunions are aplenty. Are all of them pleasant? Typically the most uneventful part of going to Hogwarts, right? Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter and everything present in the books belong to Ms. JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing but the characters of the Flint sisters (who, by the way are related to Marcus Flint, whom I do not own). I. Reunions "Catharine, are you coming?" Emma was gesturing toward the train: she wanted to walk Sarah to the train. As she had always done the past five years they had gone to Hogwarts together. But now, it was different, Emma had graduated last year and Sarah had to face sixth year alone. "Yes." Turning back, she said, "Goodbye, Father. Goodbye, Mother," in a stiff, formal voice: the implicit sarcasm was lost to them. "Have a good term, Sarah," her eyes darkened, but the blissful eyes of her parents took no notice. "We'll be at the house, Emma, you'll have no problem Apparating, we assume?" "No, I will be home in a short bit." Emma stole a glance at Sarah's eyes; their expressive quality never ceased to amaze her. One could literally read every emotion from Sarah like a book, they were spelt out so clearly. This time, there was an unmistakable pain, and longing, but she made no comment about it. The girls walked to the Hogwarts Express silently. As Emma leaned in to kiss Sarah's forehead, she wondered at the color of her sister's hair. The rest of the family had a dark, brown color, but Sarah's was the color of honey. "Have a good year, Catharine. I'll miss you." Sarah glanced at her, squeezed her hand, and whispered as if she were going to cry, "Thanks, Emma." And she stepped onto the train that would take her away from her dreaded home to Hogwarts. Moving toward the back, to the compartment she had sat in for the past five years, going to and coming from Hogwarts, she saw that this time it was occupied by none other than Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Harry and the Gryffindors had stolen the Quidditch Cup (and the House Cup) from the Slytherins the past five years. She said, in a silky, confiding manner, "This is not your usual compartment. May I inquire as to why you are occupying it?" Her overtly formal tone caught upon Ron's anger, "We have just as much right to it as you have." Harry hissed under his breath, "Ron! Manners…" Sarah gave no sign of hearing either of them, "I was simply wondering because, you see," she sounded as if she were telling a friend her deepest, darkest secret, "I usually sit in this compartment… Would you care to move?" Ron stood up this time, directly in front of Sarah, and was surprised to find she was nearly as tall as he. Nonetheless, a previous visit from Draco Malfoy and his two "friends," Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, had sparked his temper, "You've certainly arrogance to ask us to move simply because you want to sit here. Honestly! What House are you in anyway?" Evidently, Harry didn't talk about the other Quidditch captains, or his friends would have known I was the Slytherin Quidditch captain, she mused. Finally, she gave way, and no longer cared for politeness, genuine or feigned. "Slytherin, of course. And there's no need to ask what house you're in: hotheaded, impolite… there's only one House you could be from… Gryffindor. Anyway, I'll take my leave of your rather dissatisfying company." Now, she turned upon Hermione, "Pity, I had such high hopes. Blaise offered a very high opinion of you, and I shall be devastated to break the truth of your conduct to her. No manners at all!" And she left; somehow, the trivial matter of who occupied the compartment had hit her nerves at exactly the right angle to cause her to anger. Furious, and strangely, saddened, she paid no attention to where she was going, only conscious of blurred sounds around her as she walked. Sarah connected with something solid and fell back, jolted back to reality. "Would you…" Sarah's infuriated words ceased mid-sentence. "Blaise!" "Sarah!" the girl with auburn hair mocked. "Don't play fun with me," Sarah said, smiling. Hugging her, she asked, "How was your vacation? More interesting than mine, I hope." Laughing, Blaise embarked upon her narrative. Sarah smiled, only half-listening, loving the sound of a friendly voice who had a happiness that she had not had since she was 11. Words began to penetrate her envious fog, "Great… terrific… went with my parents to France… city of love, you know…" Sarah's emotional seesaw did not help, as she struggled with tears of jealousy, even as she smiled at her friend's enthusiasm. Blaise stopped, concluding with, "…missed you." And began to notice a strange change in Sarah's expression. She was not as acute as Emma was at detecting Sarah's feelings, but she was becoming more sensitive to them. There was a strange mixture of happiness and sadness, and - could it be envy? "What hap - ?" Blaise began to ask. She didn't give Blaise a chance to finish the question, "We should find a compartment, the famous Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger took our compartment." Blaise looked horrified. "Our compartment! Honestly, Sarah, it wasn't ours." Realization began to dawn upon her, "What did you say to them?" Sarah smiled, "That their manners were poor, their company dissatisfying, and Miss Granger's conduct disappointing." Grinning, she murmured, "You really ought to see the expression on your face. You look the perfect combination of disbelief and shock." "You didn't!" "Of course I did. They were being rude. They didn't even introduce themselves. Nor did anyone but Ron offer conversation, and he only talked to rudely expel me from the compartment. Harry said all of…" Sarah screwed up her face for the impression, "…'Ron! Manners…'" "Oy!" Blaise murmured, gazing at her friend as if she were stupid. "You know about You-Know-Who's coming back to power. Sarah, you have to be careful around them! They could get the wrong impression about you." Sarah's light brown eyes literally seemed to fill with a darker brown color, and she sarcastically said, "I've lived with a pureblood family who's supported the Dark Lord since he first came to power, did you really think that I might know about His newfound power? How dense do you think I am?" She said even softer, "They are fair, they judge each separately based upon experience, let me worry about myself, and you can worry about yourself." Her eyes had narrowed, her voice was but a mere hiss, and her fair face was contorted with fury. Blaise looked shocked, to say the very least, and withdrew from Sarah as if she had burnt herself on a stove. Just as spitefully, "I begin to understand why I'm your only friend. No one can stand you." She spun on her heel, walked out of the compartment, and slammed the door loudly. Flinching at the sound of the door crashing into place, Sarah resigned to her window-seat, tuning out sounds, listening only to the thoughts running across her mind as she watched the country skip by. ~**~ Sarah sat in her seat by the window for only a few minutes before someone came barging in. "Look, Blaise - " she said, without thinking that it might be someone completely different. Her eyes never left the flitting countryside as she sat in her muggle clothing. A snide, male voice remarked, "Hear that, Crabbe? The lady thinks I'm Blaise Zabini. Never fancied I looked that feminine." She heard gruff, yet uncertain, laughter follow. Sarah nearly groaned and smacked her head on the window. Her mother had always warned that she would regret her impatience and her inveterate ability to jump to the wrong conclusions. Now, it seemed, her mother was right. "Sorry…" she clamped her mouth shut as she saw exactly who had barged into her compartment. Draco Malfoy. She had an ongoing argument with him last year over Quidditch strategies, and the so-called Slytherin method of attack (which was actually quite literal). "Actually, let me take that back. What is it you wanted?" Draco smirked, "Only wanted to visit my favorite lady of all Hogwarts, Sarah." He couldn't* be serious! "That's not funny, Draco," Sarah said flippantly, "Tell me, Draco, shouldn't you be with the prefects in their special compartment?" He shrugged, "I'm telling you, I only wanted to visit my best friend, and besides, all the other compartments are full - " "At last!" she exclaimed, interceding, "the real reason emerges!" "Yes, well, at least you're not a Gryffindor… Crabbe and Goyle will join us and they won't interrupt, I can promise you that." "As if I would take a Malfoy promise. Honestly." And for the first time during the conversation, she smiled, if only briefly, "Well, maybe your promise is acceptable, only because your pride won't allow you to lie to someone of equal status in Death Eater society." Her mouth was set in a grim line by the end of the sentence, and her voice had dropped lower than a whisper. Draco and Sarah had an ingrained agreement not to ask about each other's vacation casually, knowing very well indeed, that each had a summer from hell in their own right. They always had. And so they sat in silence, sitting across from each other, staring out their windows. The two sixth years had known each other from childhood, often being set together when their parents were meeting or simply having a cup of tea. Sometimes, though, Sarah was so different from the child he remembered: the sweet, assenting creature who had always yielded to his commands. And so, they did not spend time together, each running in different social groups at Hogwarts, Sarah's exclusive to Blaise and her sister and Draco's exclusive to the "popular" Slytherin purebloods. Like Pansy Parkinson, Sarah shuddered; cringing to think of what the girl acted like when spited. She had to admit, Pansy could be intimidating when seen in her full wrath, and with only a tiny shred of Dark magic, she could permanently injure the object of her grudge. Draco said loudly, as if his audience was deaf, "Crabbe, Goyle, see if you can locate Potter's compartment. And buy yourselves some sweets when you're done." Obediently, (sometimes it was sick to think of exactly how stupid and acquiescent those two were), they left the compartment to Sarah and Draco in search of Harry Potter's compartment. Only about five minutes later did it occur to them that they had already insulted Harry Potter and his friends, and thus already knew Potter's whereabouts. And so, they spent the rest of their time looking for the food cart. After they left, and the compartment door was safely closed, Draco asked in a soft voice, as if he knew there was someone eavesdropping, "Val" (she never understood how he got the nickname 'Val' from her name) "Did anything of import occur during vacation?" She laughed harshly and avoided the subject, "I don't believe I shall ever figure how you came up with my nickname." "Val is for valor. And that is a very clever way of skipping around the question." "I thought Val was for valiant the last time I asked you." One of Sarah's finely sculpted eyebrows raised in amusement. "Valor, valiant… it's all the same to me." Draco commanded harshly, "Tell me about the summer," getting sick of Sarah's coyness. Only if you tell me! But that's not what she said, knowing full well Draco would never yield to such an ultimatum, "That will depend on who else will be hearing my narrative." Draco looked at her strangely - was she bargaining with him? Father would have a fit, Draco mused as he listened to his father's voice, "Bargaining is below the name of Malfoy." Just one of his father's many pretentious maxims. So she clarified, "Am I ultimately telling just you or your father as well?" "Just myself, of course." "Good, very good." Sarah grinned, "Then you should be perfectly willing to tell me of your's. We will exchange narratives… and each of us will ascertain in the other's presence that there is relevant writing upon the other's so-called narrative." Draco rewarded Sarah with a genuine grin and thought, Father would be furious. ~***~ Author Note(s): Thank you Alex (as you would have me call you online) for reading this and finding errors (which have never eluded you yet!) and helping me correct them. I certainly hope you, as my very beloved reader, are enjoying this and I am hoping you understand, more or less, what is going on! Any feedback would be appreciated. Oh and consider this: reviews are like food for a writer. Good reviews are very fulfilling and enjoyable. Bad reviews (known as flames) are tasted, spit out, and then ignored: and the writer must consume a great amount of good reviews to get rid of the horrible aftertaste. So please, try not to make your bad reviews too bitter and cause the writer, myself, too much pain! Email me!