A/n and Disclaimer: …if I was JKR would I REALLY be on this site? The answer is no. I would not be. Also, the names Emma Dobbs, Owen Cauldwell, Stewart Ackerly, and Malcolm Baddock were all found in the fourth Harry Potter book's Sorting. But for my own purposes, I've placed them a year below and switched Emma's house. Other than the names however, Owen, Malcolm, Stewart, and Emma are MINE. Joyfully, joyfully, joyfully, mine.
Oh! And the title 'Verum Amicitia' is Latin for true friendship.
September 1st, 1993
Emma Dobbs sat in a compartment all by herself at the very end of the train. She had wanted to enter the second compartment in the third car; the one with the five girls smiling and laughing. In fact, Emma did stand there for a while, peeking in, putting her hand out to slide open the tinted glass and wood door, and then retrieving it as if the handle was scorching hot. Emma stood there a while doing this, and might have stood there a while longer, had a sandy haired boy not come out of the opposite compartment and loudly ask what the hell she was doing. He said it with a smile, but Emma still mumbled "nothing" and hurried away.
So now Emma Dobbs sat in a compartment all by herself, at the end of the train, on the very first day of the next seven years of her life.
"Fuck," Emma used her oldest stepbrother's favorite word in malaise, and then addressed the cat cage next to her. "What am I going to do, Trace? What am I going to DO? Ugh, here, you probably don't like being cooped u-damn it."
Hadn't Emma told her dad that cats didn't like her? And that she didn't like cats? Yes, yes she had. But he hadn't listened, went and bought a bloody cat anyway, and now the cat had run away. Great, just great, and Emma stood up because she had to go find her cat. Didn't she? Immediately thoughts of never having to hear the stupid little bell that her half brother put on the collar again, accompanied with the ability to move without constantly being watched flashed through Emma's mind.
"I mean, cats are really just creepy, lazy, little brats bent on-" Wait, did the door just-a boy's voice rung out, "We found your cat…"
Emma said nothing.
Then another boy slid into view and smirked, "This is your creepy, lazy, little brat, right?"
November 10, 1989
The whole house was watching Malcolm. Everywhere he turned he was fed memories of Her. And he didn't like to remember Her anymore. He didn't like doing a lot of things; brushing his teeth, going to bed on time, minding Elsa, and now, now he knew he did not like death.
People cried, he cried. Houses were overwhelmed with millions of "condolence" plants. Everyone insisted on wearing black, even though he insisted that the blue and green sweater was Her favorite. Not to mention that all the black just reminded him of his dark room where he couldn't sleep anymore because there were no more "goodnight"s or "sleep well"s . His father sat about as usual, ignoring the world and working in his study while Elsa spent her days scrubbing the floors and dusting the rooms. As if memories could be cleaned away. However, the biggest and most important thing that Malcolm didn't like about death was that when there was a death, there had to be a funeral.
The manor's grounds, big as they were, overflowed; and where Malcolm stood from his third floor bedroom window, all he could see was a black ocean with a brown coffin riding the sadness.
"Master Malcolm?" Elsa squeaked nervously, as he'd been throwing tantrums lately.
"I'm not going down there! I'm not, not, not!" Malcolm's seven year old voice echoed in his room and the corridor outside.
"Master Henry said if Master Malcolm doesn't-doesn't," Elsa didn't seem to be able to get the words out. "Doesn't show up at his own mother's funeral, he will not let him leave his room for a week and in addition, will punish him himself."
The room was silent for a few minutes and "Master Malcolm" stared blankly at the wall before taking a deep breath and running screaming from his bedroom, down all the stairs, past all the chandeliers, onto the grounds, and when everyone turned to give him their attention, he closed his mouth and stepped behind a willow tree to hide.
"You've got some great lungs." A sandy haired, blue eyed boy remarked as he approached Malcolm. "I don't think I could have made it down all those stairs and into the yard."
"Thanks," Malcolm mumbled.
"I'm sorry about your mother. My name's Stewart. My mum was friends with yours. We used to play together, I think. That's what my dad said anyway. He also said that something happened and then our mums weren't friends anymore. But he wouldn't tell me what it was. I can't remember you. Do you remember me?" Stewart asked Malcolm, and then inhaled deeply.
"No," Malcolm sullenly replied, and then with a surge of hope, "Do you know where my sister is though?"
"I didn't know you had one," replied Stewart. "We could go look for her if you want."
"Okay," Malcolm said, brightening at the thought of finding his sister.
September 1, 1993
Owen looked at the two boys on the opposite seat and smiled. He had just decided that he would be their friend; which wasn't actually that big of a deal, even though Owen had met them not an hour ago on the platform, because Owen Cauldwell liked everyone.
He had met the taller, sandy haired, blue eyed, Stewart Ackerly first. Owen had Stewart figured out in a minute: smart, and kind. Your classic role model…okay, okay, maybe Owen still had some way to go. He hadn't even discovered Stewart's flaw, or flaws, yet. And Owen knew, for a fact, everyone had to have at least-
"Do you see that blonde girl?" The other boy, Malcolm, asked, unknowingly interrupting Owen's elaborate analysis.
"The one awkwardly standing in front of the opposite compartment? ," asked Stewart, smiling.
"Yep. That's the one. I've been timing her. Been there almost seven minutes," Malcolm said, biting back his laughter.
"Is that, an empty cat cage?" Owen wondered aloud. "Right next to her? Look."
Stewart scoffed. "I believe it is."
"I think I saw it," said Malcolm. "The cat. It was working on the latch the better part of the seven minutes. Ran away not two ago. Must not like her much."
The three boys stared at the girl and then glanced back at each other. Then watched the girl again, and burst out laughing.
"Whew," sighed Stewart. "I do feel a bit sorry for her though. Maybe we should ask what she's doing and if she needs somewhere to sit?"
To this, Malcolm smirked, "Fancy her?"
"No," Stewart coolly replied before smirking back. "I bet you do."
"Actually, not at all. I suppose that just leaves Owen," Malcolm teased. "Love of your life out there, mate?"
"Oh, yes, definitely," Owen rolled his eyes. "We're going to elope to France and live at the top of the Eiffel Tower."
"Surviving off the pigeons that fly past, I suppose?"
"But of course Stewart, what do you expect us to eat? Cats? ," asked Owen, his face fighting to remain serious.
"Know what?" Malcolm said, addressing Stewart, "I dare you to go out there and bring in our Owen's love."
Stewart thought a moment before replying "Fine. But when we, or I, if she decides to spurn Cauldwell's advances, get back, you're going to owe me a never expirering dare."
"Okay," agreed Malcolm, opening the door and ushering Stewart outside.
"Erm, I was just wondering, but" Stewart decided to cut to the chase. "What the hell are you doing?"
January 21, 1991
Owen lay listening to the uneven rhythm of the rain on the roof, wishing for the twenty-fourth time that night that his parents were home. He could hear the laughter from his two sisters that drifted from the family room, downstairs, all the way up to his room, upstairs. And he wished for the twelfth time that night that he was older than nine and didn't have to be in bed so early. But he wasn't, so he was.
Owen sighed, and then slipped out of his covers to turn the lights on and grab his quidditch stat book.
Meanwhile, downstairs, a familiar person walked out of a simmering fireplace and Lena and Marie turned, "Aunt Liz!" They spoke in unison.
Aunt Liz shook her head, and while Lena took in the tears on her aunts cheeks, her bloodshot eyes and wringing hands, Marie was the one who asked the question, "What's wrong?"
The following morning, two twin sisters and their aunt and uncle would wake up a little boy clutching a blue binder and tell him something that would change his life.
The following month, two twin sisters and their little brother would silently attend their parents' funeral, and then wordlessly move into their aunt and uncle's house.
But now? Now that little boy is happily dreaming inside his dark blue room, his quidditch stat book in one hand and his teddy bear in the other, waiting for his parent's return.
September 1, 1993
Emma spluttered, "Um, my-my, what?"
Then a third boy appeared with the words, "What Malcolm means to say is, isn't this your cat?"
The cat in question, which was resting lovingly in Malcolm's arms, visibly bristled upon seeing Emma.
"Well," Emma sighed. "Yes. I suppose it is." And she reached out her arms for the creature.
The boy holding the cat reluctantly handed it over and while doing so spoke, "I'm Malcolm, this is Owen, and that's Stewart. What's your name?"
"Emma. And this, this is Tracy" Emma shuddered. "You know, you can keep her for the train ride, if you want, that is. She seems to like you."
"Okay," said Malcolm, looking a little lost.
But Owen smiled, he had just decided that she, too, would be his friend. So he remarked, casually, "Well, maybe we should just sit in here then. Do you mind?"
"No, no," Emma said smiling back. "Not at all."
"Right," said Stewart. "Um, do any of you know when the trolley witch comes round? I'm rather hungry."
A/N So, how do you like it? Do you have any suggestions or corrections? Compliments? Complaints? Feel free to tell me! Seriously, I'd like to know. Oh, and was it really, really confusing the way I switched up time periods? Or did you manage to stumble through?