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Books? Check.

Parchment, ink, and quills? Check.

Robes? Check.

Going over the list one more time, Cedrella was satisfied that, indeed, everything has been packed. Not that she wouldn't be able to owl home requesting whatever it was she had forgotten be sent to her, but it would not happen unless it was absolutely necessary.

Dramatic, she knew.

In her defense, she did not want to have to interact with the Madam of the house unless she had to—even then, she would try to find a way around having to do so. It was the reason why she had doubled and tripled checked she was not leaving anything behind.

Heaving a sigh, she closed the wooden trunk for the last time until she arrived at her destination, which would be no later than tomorrow.

In under a few hours she would be out of the manor, not having to return until the end of the school year—unless there was no getting out of attending the Yule ball.

Changing into an emerald green silk nightgown, she pulled the covers on the four-posted bed back and plopped herself onto the soft mattress. Once comfortable under the heavy bed cover, she muttered a quick 'Nox' extinguishing the spelled lights, ready for the night to pass and tomorrow to come.

Time seemed to drag on, torturing her with promises of the new day, and she couldn't fall asleep no matter how still she kept herself. Letting out a frustrated groan, she turned, trying to find a position that would allow for the much-needed rest, yet she could not find it. No matter how many attempts she made, the restless energy running through her body kept her awake. It was getting frustrating.

Unsure about how much time had passed between when she first laid down and then, Cedrella gave up. Though it wouldn't do her any good to miss on sleep, it wouldn't kill her—nothing a Pepper-Up potion couldn't fix.

With heavy limbs, she got out from under the comforter and walked out of the room that had been hers for the past six years. It was spacious, with its own en suite bathroom and closet; there was enough space to accommodate a sitting area and vanity. Had she wanted to, Cedrella could have turned one of the walls into a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, but that would have defeated the purpose of having unlimited access to a very well stocked library one floor down.

The door closed deftly behind her, feet barely making a sound as they padded on the hard wood floor, chilly against the socks she wore. Father would've had a fit if he knew his youngest child (and only daughter) was traipsing through their ancestral home wearing nothing more than a nightgown and male socks. Cedrella could imagine the lecture he would give, saying something along the lines of "it's not befitting of a lady to show so much skin or wear male garments. Back in my time, women..." blah, blah, and more blah. Either way, he was not going to catch her up and about.

"And where do you think you're goin'?"

Gasping, Cedrella spun to find her brother leaning against his bedroom door, watching her with a mischievous tilt playing on his lips.

"Merlin, Bas! Were you planning on scaring me to death?" she hissed, holding a hand against her chest, heart beating rapidly against it.

The young boy's eyes widened comically, pointing an index finger at his chest, "Who? Me? Never."

Letting out an inelegant snort that would've had their father chastising her for, she grumbled, "Could've fooled me."

With a snicker, Rabastan pushed away from the doorframe, hands stuffed in the pockets of his bed robes.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.

"I notice you're out of bed," she commented dryly.

He shrugged, "Big day tomorrow."

Nodding, she continued her trek towards the kitchen.

"I can't stop thinking about it." He said, falling into step beside her, "By this time tomorrow, we'll be far away from here and at Hogwarts. Learning magic," he snickered.

Cedrella felt an answering smirk pull at the corner of her lips, "Don't you feel oh, so lucky you're a pure-blood, brother? Not that it'll do you much good at school."

"Trying to bait me, are we? At least we know I won't have any problems casting magic."

And he'll never let her live it down, she thought wryly with a hint of frustration. While Rabastan had manifested accidental magic at a young age, Cedrella hadn't been able to do so until she'd turned seven years old. It had worried her. To think she had been born in a family of pure-bloods and she would be the squib—no, Cedrella most definitely couldn't accept it. Her brothers had tried to console her, but Rodolphus and Fulcran had already been making plans in case she did turn out to be a squib. Then Rody had taken a wife…

Cedrella slammed the brakes on that train of thought. She didn't want to remember those years living with Bellatrix Black, back before her magic surged.

After, she had taken to studying it with renewed fervor.

"I never said you'd have problems," she corrected, looking at his face from the corner of her eyes. "Just that you might have trouble keeping up. You do enjoy playing Quidditch so much more than studying."

Oh, his face was priceless when he turned the deadpan he wore on her. Cedrella could barely rein in the laughter that threatened to spill out.

"… You're not wrong."

That did it. Escaped giggles soon turned into a full belly laugh that had to, unfortunately, be cut short least the manor's inhabitants realize they were out of bed.

In the too clean, big kitchen, they found Optio, one of the house elves, awake and waiting to do their bidding. The elderly elf had lived in the house since before their father was born, taking care of the building and its inhabitants, something he took pride in.

Wondering not for the first time if he ever slept, Cedrella took a seat at the low table and guided the lightly steaming cup of milk to her lips. Though burning on her tongue, the liquid filled her belly, steadying her nerves and making the knot that had formed in her stomach slowly disappear with each gulp.

The tradition was started some years back, after what could've been a better day. Rabastan had found himself sharing her bed, unable to fall asleep, so she took him to the kitchens and the rest, as they say, is history.

As it stood, Cedrella couldn't keep herself from roving over his form, cataloging the bruising underneath his eyes, the waxy complexion, and barely-there shaking of his hand as he brought the cup to his lips. It twisted her chest to see the aftermath of one of father's lessons; one that had been taught hours ago. She made a mental note to pack more Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep potions.

Truly, it was no wonder how the young boy would turn into a Death Eater. She was not so naïve to think he hadn't had a choice in the matter, but she also knew he was being conditioned to become one. While she was the only female born to Fulcran Lestrange and his estranged wife, Rabastan was the spare; the second son that would take over in case something happened to Rodolphus, who—though he married less than a handful of years ago—couldn't know for sure his wife would conceive him an heir. So, Rabastan had to be prepared to become the next Lord in case Rodolphus couldn't do his duty to the Lestrange House.

While Rody had had the advantage of having been raised by Lady Lestrange, it had not being the case for Cedrella and Bas, who rarely even saw their father as the man refused to spend more than an hour a week within the same room.

Knowing exactly the kind of treatment Fulcran gave Rabastan, Rodolphus included the boy in everything he could get away with; taking him to meetings to listen in, traveling whenever they got the chance, going to Quidditch games. It made her feel immensely grateful to their elder brother, to see him so invested in Bas's happiness, but it turned into distrust and resentment the moment Bellatrix Black walked through the manor's door.

It had not been the first time either Cedrella or Rabastan had interacted with the pure-blood woman, what with the number of social events their families attended on a regular basis, but it had been the first time they had had her undivided attention trained on them for longer than a minute. The experience had not been exactly pleasant for how well behaved everyone had been, but they had survived it. However, Cedrella refused to spend more time with the new Lady Lestrange than she had to; that included keeping Rabastan away from the young couple.

"Have you given tomorrow some though?" She asked, eyes averted to her cup.

"Some," he acknowledged.

If that's how you want to play it, "Then, I expect you have an idea of the people you'll be reaching out to. I imagine Malfoy will be one of them."

With controlled movements learned from hours of repetition, Rabastan put his cup down, looking at his sister through narrowed eyes, "Is that what you'd do?"

A dark brow shot up, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at the corner of rosy lips, "Why, darling, if you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask."

There was a beat of silence, then, "Bloody hell, can't believe you turned that 'round," he groaned, pushing at his eyeballs with the heel of his palms, letting them support his head.

Cedrella chuckled, bringing the cup up for a sip, "And that, brother mine, is why you let me do the talking."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved in resignation, head still handing low.

She let him wallow in self-pity for a bit, "So, what was the plan?"

He shrugged, rising his head and straightening his spine, "Follow the status quo, for starters."

"That won't take you very far," she mussed, "Unless you want to be a mindless minion for the rest of your life."

Heavy brows rose up his forehead, "And here I was under the impression that's exactly what I am to you."

Her mouth flopped uselessly, unable to utter a word of protest. That is, until she realized he was laughing at her. Huffing at the unexpected dig, she brought her cup up for another sip, taking the time to reorganize her thoughts.

"Funny, brother," the china clicked as she placed it on the small plate, "Now, we both know Hogwarts is the place where we'll make most of our connections—"

"Outside of the soirées, you mean."

"—so, we have to be smart about it," she finished, ignoring his interruption.

They drained their cups in silence. Once done, they rose simultaneously, thanking Optio while on their way out.

As if they had agreed to it beforehand, they found themselves back in the hall where their rooms were, far away from Fulcran and Rodolphus. Unless they wanted to, the members of the household could spend days—if not months—without having to cross paths.

Not waiting for confirmation, Rabastan entered her room, making a beeline for the bed, which he immediately flopped onto. Cedrella shocked her head, smiling fondly at the sight as she pulled the door closed.

It had not been a pleasant—or even welcomed—surprise to realize the life she'd been leading up to that point had been completely erased. Eleven years ago, the woman who had been living an ordinary life woke up to find the world she had known to be gone; along with her life, it had ceased to exist. Those first few years, she had submerged herself in a bubble of misery, despair, and utter refusal to believe what was right in front of her eyes. She'd thought her eyes were lying, that her senses could not recognize anymore between reality and, what was obviously, a dream.

At least, that was what she'd believed. It had taken her more time than she cared to admit to understand, and come to terms with the truth: that there was no going back.

Never would she have thought she would be reincarnated (transmigrated, she wasn't sure) into the Lestrange family. A Dark family, loyal to Voldemort, bound for Azkaban; what kind of life would she have? That was a question that hadn't needed a long time to answer. The previous Madam Lestrange, the woman who brought them to into the world, left for her home back in France following their birth, effectively abandoning her first born and twin babes after deeming her duty complete. Her marriage to Fulcran had been an arranged one, and she'd left once she had given him the heir he wanted and a spare. As per pure-blood custom, Cedrella and Rabastan were cared for and, for all intents and purposes, raised by house elves.

Not even for a second had she wanted to be anywhere within the family's vicinity, but she had not been in control of her own body. For the first few years, she'd had to learn once more all about moving her own body, as unfamiliar as it was at the time. Therefore, she was forced to spend hours with Rabastan.

As twins, they were taught by the same tutors, shared toys, and even a bedroom until their fifth birthday. Due to the age difference between the two brothers, Bas saw Rodolphus as a role model; the one he should aspire to be after Fulcran, imitating his mannerism whenever he could (or remembered). It had become one of her greatest pleasures to get him thinking for himself, formulating his own opinions, which she would challenge and test whenever she could. It was one of the steps in the barebones of a plan to survive the upcoming war.

"You comin't' bed, Ellie?" A voice muffled by a pillow called.

Not offering a reply, Cedrella Lestrange padded to the unoccupied side of the bed, climbing on and stealing a portion of the covers for herself before settling next to the boy she'd never thought she would share a familial bond with. Laying on her side, she brushed the dark wavy hair that had fallen over his forehead and eyes to the side with delicate fingers.

"Love you, Rab," she whispered. It was important to her to remind him that she was there, that he was loved—

"Love you, too, Elle."

—and that he could feel the same, pure emotion.

"Ellie," she heard someone say…somewhere around her.

"Ellie, c'mon on. We're gonna be late," said the voice again.

Harrumphing into the pillow at the irksome being trying to bring her back to the land of the living, Cedrella refused to move. Once she had closed her eyes, she'd fallen into a deep, fitful, and much needed sleep. Now, if only the voice went away, she would return to that blissful state of peace.

"Come on, Ellie-fairy. You don't want to miss the train," it breathed in singsong next to her ear.

The train? The word cut through foggy thoughts like a knife, bringing to the forefront of her mind the date and emotions connected to it. With a start she opened her eyes, pushing away the bedsheets, stumbling a bit when she stood too fast. It took a couple of seconds for the room to stop spinning and for her heart to dislodge from her throat.

Rabastan stood there, on the other side of the bed, in pajama robes and laughter spilling freely from his lips as he clutched his stomach.

She sent him the meanest glower she could manage through half-lidded eyes glued together by sleep. Not the most intimidating sight, she was sure, especially if she had awoken with a rat's nest for hair.

With a roll of his eyes—proving her attempt at making him cower a waste—, he said, "If I hadn't done that you'd have missed breakfast. Then we'd have had a miffed Ellie to content with."

It was slightly annoying how logical he sounded at that moment, the prat.

"Oh, so heroic of you to brave my anger," sarcasm dripping from the words.

"I know," he said, adopting a solemn face, his hands behind his back, "I should get the new Nimbus 1971 for takin' such a risk to my life."

She snorted, "And next year you'll want the Nimbus 1972. 'Sides, first years are not allowed a broom."

"Now, don't hold it against me. You don't understand the beauty of flying on a brand-new broom. It's the greatest experience—"

"Uh-hu," she hummed, clearly unconvinced, cutting him off before he started waxing poetry about brooms and flying, and something about becoming one with the wind, if she recalled correctly from one of his previous sermons about it. "Out. Now. I've gotta change."

Rabastan left, chuckling at his sister's expense, and satisfied with what he had managed to accomplish; ruffle Cedrella's feathers. However, for all his annoying tendencies, she was pleased to note he looked better than the previous day. The tremors had lessened to the point one would be hard-pressed to tell they were even there, and his skin appeared a tad healthier, though the bruises under his eyes remained as prominent. She could only hope been away at Hogwarts would allow him to get some decent sleep—if not, she could already see countless visits to the hospital wing for Dreamless Sleep potions in her future.

Cedrella would need to start thinking about excuses other than "Oh, Father was displeased so he Crucio'd my brother". Yeah, that wouldn't fly over very well.

A wandless Tempus showed it was nine a.m., leaving her with one hour and a half to have breakfast and get ready before leaving for King's Cross Station, if she pushed it.

Going through the closet, she threw on a robe, tying it closed, after deciding it would save her time since she would be changing after a bath. Putting on a pair of slippers and brushing her long tresses in an attempt to tame it, she made her way to the dining room.

She had not expected anyone to be at the table at such a late hour but was surprised to find it occupied.

Optio had probably told them she was coming, for the men had climbed to their feet.

"Bonjour papa," the older man at the head of the table turned his head to receive the customary good morning kiss on the cheek. Fulcran Lestrange was already decked out for the day, wearing a casual (if there was such a thing) three-piece suit in dark grey, a dark green cravat expertly tied around his neck, salt and pepper hair brushed back, and rings adorning his fingers.

"Bonjour ma petite princesse," he greeted back, kissing her cheeks.

"Frère," she greeted Rodolphus, who repeated the process with a smile on his face. Similarly dressed as their father, Rody exuded money from every pore—the lack of cravat keeping him from being completely unapproachable.

"Petite soeur."

"Belle-soeur," Cedrella's stomach clenched in a mixture of fear and revulsion, as it tended to do around the woman Rodolphus had been arranged to marry. It never ceased to amaze her how controlled and normal her voice sounded when addressing her.

"Petite belle-soeur," Bellatrix said. Saccharine tones contrasting the black gothic dress.

Taking a seat next to Rabastan, Cedrella sat, prompting the men to sit and continue their breakfast.

"What will the Miss have?" One of the elves asked.

"A cup of tea, Tosca," she smiled down at the younger elf, "Toast and eggs, please."

"I'll have the same," Bas piped up, "Add some sausages to mine, will you Tosca?"

"Yes, Young Master."

Within seconds, their plates and cups filled, and both children tucked in with gusto.

Rodolphus chuckled, "Don't eat so fast or you'll get sick."

It took a second for Rabastan to answer, having had to finish chewing, then swallow the food he had shoved in his mouth, "Can't help it, Rod. Still got some packin' to do."

At the admission, Cedrella turned her head, a dark brow up on her forehead, "Do you really, brother?" Tone deceptively mild.

It was not, however, the first time Rabastan had been exposed to it—from the chuckle in the background, Rodolphus knew his little brother was in trouble and did not feel and ounce of sympathy. "Now, Ellie, don't start with me. I packed everything for school, just some last-minute thingamajigs to pass the time."

She gave him a suspicious look, not putting it pass him to try to smuggle something he wasn't supposed to have in the first place.

"I don't want to hear anything about you getting Ts in class, do you hear me?" Fulcran glared at his second son, voice hard. "The only thing you will be doing during your free periods will be studying for your O. and N.E. ."

"Father, those aren't—" Rodolphus tried to cut in.

However, there was no stopping the Lestrange patriarch once he got started, "Rodolphus earned nine O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. I expect the same from you, Rabastan." Named youngster ducked his head. "And you, Cedrella," he rounded on her, "I expect nothing less than five O.W.L.s at the very least."

The condescending tone had her gritting her teeth behind a carefully constructed close-lipped smile. While men were seen as the ones to work and carry on the line, women were seen as only good enough to raise children—more like breeding stock really. Though Fulcran knew he had an intelligent daughter, he conserved the old way of thinking, meaning he would be searching to arrange a marriage for her, if he didn't have one already.

It was slightly comforting to see Bellatrix stab at her breakfast with more force than necessary.

"We should get going," Rodolphus said, keeping his eyes on the tea cup he held, "if they don't want to miss the train."

The not-at-all-subtle escape route their elder brother presented on a silver platter had the two soon-to-be first years practically jumping (in an entirely dignified and graceful manner) out of their chairs, excuses flowing out like water.

"Yes, of course—"

"Don't want to be late—"

"First day of school—"

"The train will leave—"

Without waiting for their head of House's permission to leave, they scampered back upstairs, followed by a feminine chuckle.

For all the practice she'd had over the years, Cedrella could not get used to traveling by Floo. Having been a muggle, it was unnatural and more-than-slightly terrifying to be so close to the fire, no matter how magical it was. The mother she'd had in another life had instilled in her the need to stay away from fire from a young age. That, of course, hadn't stop Cedrella from plucking a strand of hair and burning over a flame to see the hair curl—though she hadn't care for the smell of burnt hair. The subconscious rule had carried over, making it awkward to explain to Rodolphus why she was afraid of the fire. After the first few times, the fear lessened, but she still eyed mistrustfully the fireplace before stepping inside and bracing for the less-than-pleasant ride.

Immediately after recovering enough to no longer wonder where north was, Cedrella vacated the ancient-looking stone, giving space for the next batch of people. With a flick of her wrist, the slightly yielding, well-polished, laurel wand dropped from the holster into her hand.

Ever since returning from their trip to Diagon Alley after getting their Hogwarts letters, Cedrella had taken to devouring the required books, practicing magic whenever and wherever—not that she hadn't before, but consciously guiding accidental magic was harder than she'd thought, leaving her with newfound respect for Tom Riddle—driving Tosca, Optio, Bas, and Rody mad in the process as they followed her path of destruction like ducklings, fixing her messes, or trying to. In fact, she had gone through most of Rodolphus' old Hogwarts' books by the time she was seven between reading the ones in the Lestrange library, most of which were deemed too dark for her yet (a surprise, really. She hadn't thought anyone would've had a problem with her reading those kinds of books).

With a practiced Tergeo, the soot clogging her nose was siphoned off of the dark robes and herself, allowing her to breathe unobstructed once more. Rabastan, Fulcran, and Rodolphus and his wife waited for her a little way away from the passing crowd; her trunk and owl by them, both having been carried over by Rody.

Thanks to the Lestrange family being an important part of Wizarding society, the living members received certain benefits, such as having their Floo Network directly connected to the fireplace at platform 93/4. Due to their status and them being a magical family who had no interactions whatsoever with muggles, they were able to utilize this method of transport, allowing them to bypass mingling with muggles and passing through the barrier (which had let Cedrella down).

Having arrived at King's Cross Station at 10:35 a.m. barely gave them enough time to get in the train and search for a hopefully empty compartment before it was time for them to leave for Hogsmeade Village. Looking around the crowded platform left Cedrella with a pit in her stomach. With the amount of people racing about and more yet to arrive, it would be a miracle if they found a compartment with enough space for them, she thought dejectedly, quickening her step to match Rabastan's, not daring to fall behind in the sea of people.

By no means was she expecting an emotional au revoir, knowing better than to presume her father would suddenly display the sentiments he kept tightly locked inside and hadn't surfaced in all their years living in the same house. Watching the other families say their heartfelt farewells left her needing—wanting—a warm hug; the loss of Optio and Tosca never felt so sharp before that moment—even Fulcran's frowns would be missed.

Swallowing back down the knot that had formed on her throat and blinking back the prickly sensation assaulting her eyes, Cedrella turned towards her family. For as dysfunctional and dark as it was, they had kept her around for the last eleven years, even when they'd thought she'd been a squib; most of the time she didn't know what to think about them, even what to do, but they had kept her and for that, she was grateful.

How to tell them, though, that she would miss them? While Rodolphus would smile and tell reciprocate the sentiment, she couldn't see her father taking it well. In fact, he would probably consider her weak for expressing such an unnecessary emotion.

"We'll be attending the Black's Yule Ball come December," Fulcran informed them after Rodolphus passed them their trunks, complete with feather-weight charms, before boarding. "I expect both of you to retain the ability to mingle with polite society by the time Rodolphus comes for you." Given you'll have to mix with less than desirable company, was left unsaid; the underlying threat of pain clearly implied if they failed to meet his expectations.

"Of course, father," they murmured, knowing he would not have approved any other answer.

With one last terse nod in their direction, the Lestrange head of house turned, walking away in the direction they had come from.

The forming of tears stung Cedrella's eyes. She had been prepared for the loveless parting, but the apathy Fulcran exhibited left her feeling like a dog that had been given up for adoption, watching its owner's back as they leave and wanting them to turn around, to come back for them, no matter how lacking in their treatment. Beyond a warning, she had believed he would send them off with words of encouragement—how foolish.

For a moment, she'd forgotten he was the man who thought casting the Cruciatus Curse on his son would make the child grow to be a strong, capable man.

The awkward clearing of a throat called her attention back to their elder brother, who gave them a tentative, yet apologetic, smile. At his side, Bellatrix rolled her eyes seeing it.

"For Salazar's sake," she said, crossing her arms, showing her displeasure, "they'll be back before you know it. We went through this not so long ago, if you'd recall."

Rody nodded in acceptance, hair perfectly styled with the help of some Sleekeazy. Turning dark blue eyes distinctive of their family back to his younger siblings, Rodolphus first offered Rabastan a handshake the younger boy returned; then, took Cedrella's extended hand, placing a peck above the knuckles.

"I'll see both of you soon," he said, letting go. "In the meantime, don't get into too much trouble, ouais?"

"Us trouble?" Rabastan asked, eyes rounded like saucers, "I do not believe the word is in my dictionary, frère."

"'Course it is not," Cedrella interjected. "Between all the Quidditch gibberish you keep stored, it's a wonder there's room for anything else, really."

"Hey now," Bas turned toward her, offended, "you don't have to be jealous I'm able to remember more than you."

"Oh, rubbish."

"Now, that's enough of that. Both of you," he said after swallowing the laughter in danger of spilling out. "Get on the train before it leaves without you. I'd like to see either of you explain that to father."

Recognizing wise words when they heard them, the twins said their goodbyes once more, taking their trunks and owls with them as they boarded.

The inside of the train was as frenzied as the outside. Children and teenagers clustered the way, pushing at each other, as they searched for friends and cabins with enough space to house them for the entirety of the jaunt. Distinctively, a voice could be heard above the unintelligible yammering, calling for order, but was being largely ignored.

Pushing her small body forward, Cedrella tried to keep up with Rabastan, who had taken the lead.

Between stumbles, they managed to get through the sea of people, most of whom had already settled in a compartment, only a few remained chatting.

"Cedrella!"

Startled, they turned to see the opened door of a compartment they had previously passed.

A young boy with golden hair braced against the door, head tilted to the side away from the body to get a better look at them.

Cedrella sent her brother a quick gaze, asking whether he wanted to go or talk to one of their future classmates. The affirmative nod had her retracing her steps, hauling the thankfully almost-weightless trunk behind.

"Rosier," she said once they were close enough, "I see you managed to find a compartment." Through the clear window, she noticed a few other faces she knew.

The kid rolled his eyes, "By Salazar, Ellie, it's Evan."

"Really? And here I was under the impression it's 'get lost'" Rabastan pipped slightly behind her, giving others enough space to pass.

Evan scowled at the other boy, "Ha-bloody-ha, Lestrange. You're an everyday jokester."

Rabastan raised an eyebrow, doubtful, "That's what gets you laughing? What a letdown. That's one of my worst ones." The 'what has the world come to' tone at the end unmistakable.

Twin red splotches decorated Rosier's pale cheeks.

"Alright, that's enough." Cedrella interfered before their bickering escalated. Honestly, she couldn't figure out what had happened to break the friendship the boys had developed when they'd been younger; one day, they suddenly behaved like cats and dogs. No amount of asking would get Rabastan to tell her what the fight had been about, and Evan was no help, becoming a stuttering mess and flinging excuses her way before making his escape.

Not to long after, Cedrella decided to push the topic out of her mind; boys would be boys and they would make up when they were ready.

"Ey, Travers!" Bas called to a brown-haired boy laughing at the interchange from his sit. "Heard you got the Nimbus 1971. You bloody arse."

There was laughter as the boy called, "Jealous, Lestrange?"

Rabastan let out a snort, "As if! You'll need it when we play a round of Quidditch."

Left out, Cedrella searched around the cabin for a familiar face, but only more boys looked back at her. Let down there were no girls to at least pretend to converse with, she pulled her trunk away, wanting to at least find a cabin where she could sit down and read with some amount of tranquility.

She didn't make it very far.

"Wait, Ellie," Evan came behind her, cutting off her search, "Where are you going?"

"Going to find a place to sit before the train leaves."

"You can sit with us," he said. Big, chocolate eyes almost pleading.

She was doubtful, "You'll let me read?"

He nodded, "Wouldn't dare keep you from your book. But, you might find our conversations to be enthralling."

Well then, color her surprised, "Someone did his reading, eh?"

Pink rose up again at the lighthearted teasing. "I couldn't have you telling me off again without knowing the reference," he said. The beginnings of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Cedrella was charmed. The boy was a sweetheart, yet she was not about to acquiescent without knowing certain pertinent information. Stifling a smile, she asked, "Is my brother also allowed to sit with us?"

Immediately, the smile turned upside down into a displeased frown. "If he must," he finally gritted out after a second.

"Alright, then," she said, turning back around, following behind the boy.

"Righty-ho, you miscreants," Evan called as soon as he got to the opened compartment door, elbowing Rabastan to the side, "We are being graced by a lady. Make room."

"Excuse me," she said as she walked in, "Travers, Wilkes. Oh, and Talkalot, how do you do?" Having failed to recognize the other girl without the mane of curly hair.

The other girl returned the smile and greeting. "It's been ages, Lestrange. Glad to see you're doing well."

"Tell me, Lucinda, is it true your parents took you to watch the Quidditch World Cup earlier this summer?" Cedrella jumped to the other girl's favorite topic, asking as she maneuvered her trunk and owl into the compartment.

Like a charm, the girl's chatter filled the empty space that would've been left between them had Cedrella not asked.

Once she finally sat next to the window, Cedrella caught Rabastan's eye, who was giving her an equally exasperated and impressed look. Even for a Quidditch enthusiast like him, Lucinda Talkalot's Quidditch-related rattle ons were too much.

By the time 11:00 a.m. rolled around some minutes later, a distinctive buzzing had made itself at home in Cedrella's ears. It was amazing. She'd never known hearing someone talk so much could end in such a thing.

She shouldn't have let Evan talk her into staying in the compartment.

However, moaning over it wouldn't fix the problem.

"I think I am going to go look for the trolley lady."

Without waiting for anyone's opinion, she stood, bracing herself at the train's movement.

"Need me to come with you?" Rosier asked, almost jumping from the seat he had taken in front of her.

"No need. If I can't find her, I'll just change into my robes," she turned him down, "I'll be gone for a bit either way."

"Oh, alright."

With an inaudible sigh, Cedrella made sure to grab a change of robes before leaving the boys behind.

Holy Jesus, how was she supposed to do this again? She would have to live in close quarters with who knew how many girls. She was used to having her own space, her own room. How was she supposed to share when she'd not had to for years?

Back before the whole transmigration/reincarnation/rebirth—whatever it was called—she'd been living alone, with no one to encroach on her space, and some social visits from her siblings to make sure she'd not kneeled over from overwork and make sure she'd not forgotten to eat actual food instead of pizza and burgers with a helping of sushi on the side.

In her defense, the kitchen was always sparkling clean.

Sharing a room with Rabastan for the first five years of the new life did not count. The room had been too big for two toddlers; a wonder they managed to find each other in it, really.

The train had not arrived at its destination and she was dreaming about going back home already. About her OCD organized drawers and clothes that no one, not even Tosca, was allowed to touch—it was her room and she would keep it as she damn well pleased.

It'd not be the case with roommates about.

Biting her lip to keep the sob threatening to escape in did not lessened the pain in her chest, the hollow in her stomach, nor the stinging of gathering tears in her eyes.

She hated it. Hated the feeling of losing the only sliver of control she'd though she had.

Ironically, the breath of fresh air she needed away from the other children had turned into an actual hunt for fresh air. What a disgrace it would be if the Lestrange princess was found bawling her eyes out in the middle of the train.

Thanks for reading!

Google translate helped with the French.

Comments are always welcomed :)