Ever just sat and wondered how magic ever began? If someone just waved their hands and poof! There it was? Or, if it was much more extensive, involving hours of laboring study and burning mixtures of inept potions that never seemed quite right?

These things I don't think of much. I'm just thankful I have what I have and see thinking into it as a sort of shooting the gift horse in the mouth.

But, on the other hand, my best friend, Lyre, does. She could sit for hours on end rambling about her theories and thoughts on the world in private, but shoved before others she tends to clamp up and shut down behind her mane of white waves. Much like right now.

I'm smiling at her encouragingly from across our tables, we usually sit together outside when we can but today the professors directed, read forced, us all to our own tables for the new first years. Lyre is in her fifth year, I'm on my sixth.

Besides our age the only other obstacle is our houses. Gryffindor, my house, and Ravenclaw, her house, tends to get along but being in separate houses and years usually splits you apart most days.

Sitting beside Lyre, dazed off into some fantasy, is Monarch. She and I have known each other the longest due to growing up in muggle homes not far from one another, before I moved. She's an avid singer and actor but shows her true colors when she outsmarts everyone in class and usually has the answer to things that just completely boggle my mind. If I'm honest, it's makes me twinge with annoyance at times because she never allows other students time to process the question before answering. I have two classes with her, history of magic and transfiguration.

A singed piece of parchment flutters down onto my empty plate; we're patiently waiting for the first years to arrive and are all just about ready to tear into everything in sight. I raise my brow and pluck the paper from the table, smoothing it in my lap.

It reads: if our siblings somehow end up switching on us and your sister ends up in my house and my sister ends up in yours, whose fault is that?

I smother a grin, laughing into my robe. I glance over at the Slytherin table and shoot a raised brow at my guy friend. Deck has his dark brow raised, not near as triangular shaped as mine but still to a point, and a slight smirk rounding his pale mouth. I mouth back 'still yours' with a cheeky grin I'm rewarded with a fond eye roll.

Deck is one of those who could have fit in either Slytherin or Ravenclaw, but his ambition toppled his ridiculously large brain and he was clothed in green rather than blue. He's especially good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, one of the three classes I have with him other then Astronomy and Herbology. Both of our siblings are first years this year; we nag each other constantly about rubbing off too much on the others sibling.

Wicca catches me making faces at Deck and winks at me. I blur my gaze, an equivalent to crossing my eyes, and scrunch my nose; I can her tinkling laugh from three tables away. She, along with Lyre, is exceptionally dear to me; we almost look like we could be related in fact. We grew up near each other as well and we've been close ever since she and I literally ran our carts into each other our first year and ended up chasing two owls around the train station. She and I have all our classes together save Defense against the Dark arts and Herbology. Wicca's always there when I need her, undemanding and understanding.

Our friend, Ray, sits in front of Wicca and Deck, ignoring most of the chatter around her and frowning at her plate. Her boyfriend, Dick, sits next to her and by the looks of it, he's pissed her off. Again. They fight more then they agree on things; it's a mystery why they're still together. Sometimes I'm thankful our only shared class is Astronomy. I love her, but Dick is well, a dick and sometimes it rubs off.

If I stretch my neck I can see my friend Chief sitting at Huffelpuff doodling in his art book. He's laughing into his pencils, the ones I gave him for Christmas last year, at something his housemate, Quint, said about drums. He's in his seventh year, graduating this year, my heart aches. His girlfriend sits over in Slytherin somewhere, Kortana, and is in my year.

"Hey, Rieki, isn't this your sisters first year?" Tenor asks me, nudging me with his clothed elbow. I blink at him a few times, screwing up my face in consideration.

"Oh you mean Olive? Yeah it's her first. You should be glad; for once your last name won't be on the roll call." Tenor laughs nervously and shakes his head, pushing his dark rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Tenor has several siblings, a number I haven't bothered counting, all with at least one in every year, save this bunch of first years.

"What about your sister?" Nox asks, narrowing his brow and scratching at his somewhat curly hair. I nearly drop my head to the table; he's always jumping into the conversation or tuning in when we've well and covered the subject. Tenor deadpans him with a look of mock disappointment.

"They said she's a first year, you know, the mini-Rieki?" Furry, another friend asks, bright green eyes trained on Nox. My dear, often oblivious friend Nox ruminates over this for a minute, obviously trying to conjure some mental picture. His eyes widen and he lets out a soft 'oh'.

"Oh her. Aren't Deck's sister, Shy, and Wicca's brother, Newton, first years too?"

" Shy is, Newton was last year," I answer, pointing to the boy with blonde hair and familiar green eyes down the table, and tucking my dark curl behind my ear. Tenor tugs it out of place and clicks his tongue at me. I don't bother putting it back, he'll just release it again. Instead I shoot him a searing glare and flip my bangs out of my face.

The sorting ceremony begins with the usual speech and introduction of teachers, but for some reason Trelawny's gone. The children fly by, some I know through features, some I don't know at all. I focus mainly on my sister.

They say she's like me but I don't agree. Where her hair is blonde and shines like bronze mine is brown and tents gold in the light. Her eyes have occasional flecks of green and are much darker then my brown eyes, which, going off my friends judgment, often glimmer like plates of gold or, when angered, glow a furious red. We both have the rounded cheeks and butt chins.

She smiles at me and does a little wave in her slightly large robe that took me all summer to save up the money for. I grin at her, hoping she can read the pride written plainly on my face. She confessed nervousness on which house she would fit into before we'd parted ways after the train ride. I promised her I'd assault anyone who mistreated her because she got a house they weren't fond of. She had laughed at that, even though she knows it's true. I knew Olive didn't want to disappoint me; I've practically raised her since I was eleven when our mother decided to be negligent and abusive, but never towards Olive, I've been sure of that. When I went away to Hogwarts I asked the Grazers to watch over her, an older couple sure that someone, something, was missing from their life and had moved from Australia in search of their missing piece. Our mother was a Slytherin, and her father was as well. Mine was Huffelpuff.

I see a thin, pale boy with blue eyes I know too well talking to my sister from behind: the boy behind her is Lyres brother, Theseus, I realize. I'd completely forgotten it was his first year as well. I make eye contact with her and wiggle my brows at the two: she nearly slams her first down on the table in a motion I know is followed by "I ship it", but keeps her lips sealed and hand still.

Decks sisters name snaps me to attention. I glance at him, offering him a half smile, one which he returns with a raised, worrisome brow. His family all originated from Slytherin, other than Lyre's parents and siblings. Shy not following the family path could cause conflict in their family. They're somewhat like Malfloys; though, Deck and Shy are kinder and more attentive and protective towards their friends, while Tenors family was like the Weasleys; large and with an abundance of kids.

The hat seems to ponder her for awhile. She sits there, face a mask of cool but feet fleetingly kicking against the stool. Her breathing seems forced and tight, but her dark eyes remain passive.

"Slytherin!" It finally shouts. Her shoulders loosen a fraction and her steps, once off the stool, are gliding and easy. She hugs her brother with a slightly buck toothed grin, who ruffles her hair fondly. Usually they argue like a Malfloy and a Potter, but today they've seemed to find equal ground to stand beside one another on.

The names before my sister blur really, I can't focus on much else. Tenor clasps my shoulder when she sits on the stool; I nearly take his hand in mine but doing so would result in another fight with his girlfriend, a Veela from Beauxbatons, and I'm not quite in the mood to rip her throat out today.

Olive squeezes her eyes shut as the hat shouts " Gryffindor!". I stand up and grin at her widely; she rockets into my arms with a relieved gasp. I kiss her cheek and shoo her off towards her friends. Our family, as broken apart as it is, didn't care much about housing so whatever house would have been perfectly fine, but she wants Gryffindor, has the heart and gut for it.

Theseus is called out as Slytherin which honestly doesn't surprise me much. He's always been one to get what he wants, how he wants, but always through hard work on his part. I'm proud when Lyre shakily stands and first bumps him on his way to the table. Shy pulls him next to her and they wave at Olive.

Finally the last kid was called, Ada Zrutz in Huffelpuff, and we are able to eat. I shovel the food down my throat and hardly bother tasting it. "Hey how come you didn't tell me we were racing?" Tenor asks a smirk glazing in his eyes. I nudge him, setting my spoon down briefly in my potatoes.

"Pardon me for the negligence."

All of a sudden the room stops abruptly when Professor Pastel, my head of house, comes barging into the room, gasping.
" Okay, Potter graduated. This isn't a repeat of his first year with trolls, right...?" Furry asks, hands held out in wonder. I glance at Deck who shrugs in obvious curiosity. Headmistress McGonagall rushes to her and holds the thin woman in her emerald cloaked arms.

"Whatever is the matter? Speak dear." Pastel breathes in deeply a few times, hands heavily braced on her knees.

"Professor Trelawny is… Gone. Her last words were to protect the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" Headmistress asks every ounce of patient as she was with her students. Pastel makes fleeting eye contact with my head of house, Sig, and I move my shoulder before Tenors and lean my body in front of his, just in case.

"I'm not sure." Headmistress sighs, pinching her nose. I heard her mumble 'I thought this ended with Potter' under her breath as she stood with Pastel at her side.

"Heads of household, escort your houses to their chambers. Everyone must remain in their rooms for tonight; classes shall begin tomorrow as scheduled." With that she directed Pastel by the shoulder to the table of teachers and leaves us to fill in the gaps.

I make eye contact with Deck. He mouthed one word: RR. I nod shortly and do the same to Lyre and whisper it to Tenor, Furry, and Nox. Once our plans are set we follow orders, keeping an eye out on my sister all-the while, and wait amid our separate beds for the clock to approve of our plan.