Laughter. A small tree in the middle of an ocean. No movement, no sound…

I woke with a start as the compartment door slid open. The train rattled along at a steady pace, jostling the glass panes of the windows in their frames.

Three smallish heads poked through the door: first years. I sat up, crossing my arms and glaring at them. Either my hair- a wild mess of rainbow hues- or my expression- a fierce snarl- sent them running down the train hallway, away from me. I sighed, leaning back against the worn seats.

I was going into my seventh year at Hogwarts. I was in Ravenclaw, but I honestly have no idea what that bloody Sorting Hat had been smoking before the ceremony because, quite frankly, I am not exactly what you would call Ravenclaw material. Of course, if anyone knew the secret that separated me from the rest of the students, they would only think me more stuck up. But, lucky for me, only Dumbledore knows my heritage. Not even my father knows that his own daughter sits right in front of him during potions class, but, it's true- the only thing we have in common is the hair, and I dyed mine. Also, to be honest, I despise Potions… so it's no wonder that he can't look far enough in front of his greasy nose to read between the lines and find his daughter sitting right in front of it.

In the second week of my first year, I had been called to Dumbledore's office, and he had explained everything: that my mother had abandoned me after I was born, that I really was of magical descent, and that Severus Snape was, in fact, my father. My daddy, if you will. Then, during the summer of my fourth year, I had gotten so fed up with the muggles at the foster home I had lived in that I had bolted from the place. I now lived in a room above the Leaky Cauldron, which I paid for by working there over summer breaks.

The landscape out the window changed as the train moved rapidly on. My three trunks were tied in the small overhead compartment, kept in place by about thirty bungee cords. It's not my fault if I have a tendency to over pack a little…or maybe a lot. I'm probably the only person at Hogwarts who has three trunks – in fact, I doubt if anyone at the school has a single trunk as large as mine. Not even Amiee, the resident shopaholic, has as much random shit as I do. I'm just that much of a pack-rat.

Aimee (who was pureblooded yet obsessed with all aspects of Muggle culture: clothes, electronics… boys…) was my best friend, who for some reason preferred to make an entrance every year at Hogwarts. For example: first year, she fell off of the boat and had to swim to shore, so she had to enter the Great Hall, soaking wet, five minutes after all of the rest of the new students. Feeling the need to continue said tradition, she missed the train in second year – her mother had had to apparate with her to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, Aimee's mother had had to leave her there to get back to some Ministry of Magic operation in England, leaving Aimee to find her way into Hogwarts herself. Filch found her attempting to climb the Hogwarts gates, and dragged her by her ear into the Great Hall, halfway through the start-of-term feast. But nothing can beat last her: she was chased by Peeves into the Great Hall. (Peeves, Hogwarts' obnoxious poltergeist, had had the "marvelous" idea of filling water balloons with water from the lake, and bombarding all of the students with them.) So, to tell the truth, I wasn't at all surprised that I hadn't been able to find her on the Hogwarts express today.

The door burst open again, and I looked up angrily, expecting first years.

Oh.

Damn.

It wasn't a first year that was staring back at me. My heart sped up – it was Draco Malfoy, for some reason not accompanied by his usual gang of idiots. Since personally, I had no idea why anyone would ever want to so much as look at Goyle, why Draco spent all his time with the moron was completely beyond me.

He blinked. I blushed.

"Er… hi," I muttered, recovering.

He looked around, letting the compartment fall into a hideously tense awkward silence. "Hey… you're Remi, right?"

I nodded. Bloody hell, he knew my name. I inwardly screamed and ran in circles, but managed to contain myself externally. Ha, Aimee would be so proud.

Draco stood in the doorway, absently staring at me. His fingertips elegantly tracing the simple patterns engraved on the doorframe, the places where previous students had carved their names into the wood. I stared at him in polite confusion as he opened his mouth as if to continue our nonexistent conversation. You would've thought it was completely normal, that we knew each other; that we were friends. An outsider wouldn't have guessed that we had never even talked before.

Before he had a chance to speak, a hand appeared on his shoulder. Draco turned around and grinned at the girl behind him – Pansy Parkinson. I cursed silently – what the hell was she doing here? I mean, she was only a member of Draco's inner circle, the group that at that moment I would've done anything to join. Too bad I was a Ravenclaw – being Snape's daughter, I would've fit right into Draco's gang.