A/N: If you haven't noticed, I write with an overdose of adjectives at times. Other times, I get afflicted with Talking Head syndrome, but I'll try to keep a balance. Tell me in the reviews if I've failed! Thanks, ~Godforsaken

Disclaimer: Don't own Hogwarts, the Hogwarts Express, etc., King's Cross Station, Martina McBride, The Blind Assassin, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Isis, the Middle East, or Mary Beth Mayfair, who was very cool. She belongs to Anne Rice, and she was a witch, and she cross-dressed. And thanks to the Archaic English Project for their luffly Maðumisc word-list! (Maðumisc is a conlang, but it's constructed mostly from archaic English, so I'm using it.)

Claimer: Isabelle, Paneknofret, Rakia, and Arden. Ours. Not yours.

Chapter One: Stuff Actually About Hogwarts, like Arrivals and crap

September First

The sun shone high over King's Cross Station, which was packed, as was to be expected, with Muggles, wizards in Muggle clothes, wizards who thought they were in Muggle clothes—and, of course, our two immortal friends. Said friends were less than happy with the sun's insistent high shining.

They slunk their way into an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express and waited for it to move, listening to the chatter of the mortals as they found their friends and empty seats. Isabelle pulled out a portable CD player and started listening to Martina McBride; Paneknofret buried herself deep in a copy of The Blind Assassin, feet in their high-heeled boots propped up on her large trunk.

A couple of other people, younger Hufflepuffs, entered the compartment. Isabelle paid no attention to them whatsoever, and Paneknofret politely, if distantly, introduced her self as Rosemary and Isabelle as Sandra. She returned to her paperback novel, looking a normal, if antisocial, human witch.

And, as usual, time passed. The other students talked and giggled amongst themselves, running in and out of the compartment to talk to their friends. Paneknofret moved only twice, to get different books when she finished the one she was reading; Isabelle moved not at all.

When Isabelle's CD player began giving her trouble, she took her headphones off and dumped the player into her bag, shaking her hair out. The inhabitants of the compartment began pulling their robes on over their Muggle clothing, and the two vampires were invited to play a game of Exploding Snap for candy. They accepted, and won a fair amount, which they gave back.

No, you won it, you eat it, said the second-year girl to Isabelle.

I'll eat at the banquet. I'm really not hungry at all, she insisted.

Well, I just feel ba—

No, take it! I don't want it.

The girl looked distinctly tempted, but stuck to politeness.

The train lurched to a halt, jarring its occupants. Isabelle took the opportunity to dump her candy into the second year's bag, and she and Paneknofret stood and gathered their belongings. They said not a word until they entered the Great Hall.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Isabelle murmured, looking up at the ceiling where the vivid colors of the sunset were represented.

This place is much nicer than it was in the 1170s, Paneknofret commented quietly. Isabelle glared at her for not mentioning previously that she had been here before, and they made their way through the crowd to the two very end seats of the Ravenclaw table.

They silently watched people through the Sorting, Dumbledore's speeches, and the first ten minutes or so of the meal. Isis, was this boring.

Isabelle looked around at all the pretty mortals, then glared at Paneknofret.

Knock it off, red bird, Paneknofret advised mentally. I'm not up for your attitude at the moment.

My skin hurts, Isabelle offered by way of explanation.

Mine too. Get used to it, we'll be living in the sun for a while. Paneknofret put her head down on her folded arms; it was daytime, she was tired. (Actually, it was evening, but she'd been awake all day, so she had ample license to be grumpy.)

Why aren't you eating anything? asked the girl sitting on Isabelle's left. Paneknofret sighed inwardly; while they shouldn't attract too much attention due to the natural vampiric power of being ignored, their powers were weakened in the sun. People so close to them would probably notice oddities. Bother.

Isabelle looked at the girl on her left: a pretty seventh-year girl of apparently Middle Eastern descent, tall, with a headscarf, who seemed nice and intelligent enough. Isabelle could feel that she was laid back, practical, fairly sympathetic, and a bit opinionated. She decided she was worthy of a response, even if it was a false one.

I ate way too much junk on the train, she replied. Then, feeling a little friendly, she added, I'm Sandra d'Apedu, by the way.

Rakia Intisar, the girl replied, shaking hands. Nice meeting you.

Same. Oh, and this is my sister, Rosemary. She nodded at Paneknofret.

was all Paneknofret said before lapsing back into pensive silence. She nearly burst out laughing, however, when the boy sitting next to her asked her the same question Rakia had asked Isabelle. Paneknofret gave him the same answer.

I'm Arden Amadeo, he said, extending his hand.

Rosemary Isadora d'Apedu, she responded, shaking his hand and starting to smile. Arden was a few inches taller than her, but still short by modern standards, and slender, with delicate features, clear gray eyes, and full wavy red-brown hair reaching a few inches past his shoulders. And he was a fifth year as well!

Paneknofret nodded, fidgeting a bit. Yeah, Isadora. But I'll answer to anything up to and including Mary Beth Mayfair, she added. She hadn't met anyone new that she wasn't planning to kill sincewell, Isabelle, actually. Hence the babbling, which she was not happy about.

Arden raised an eyebrow. Can I just stick with Rosemary?

Sure. Oh, n' nice to meet you, she added belatedly.

Nice to meet you too, he said, before his attention was grabbed by someone else.

Yay! thought Paneknofret. This could be fun.

Isabelle tilted her head back, gazing at the enchanted ceiling, and suppressed the urge to sigh dramatically. Paneknofret reached under the table and patted her knee reassuringly, causing her to jump. She glared at her maker.

Oh, lighten up, Paneknofret told her. We'll find you a nice mortal pet, and something interesting'll happen, n'you'll be happy as a clam.

Isabelle, who had always hated the phrase happy as a clam, endeavored to respond more formally. And how, pray tell, dost thou know that aught interesting shall occur this year?

Paneknofret grinned. Divination is not my baileywick, but I did attend at those who said ere our awaygoing, Alas, I am afeared a doom cometh erelong which none can forfend, which shall split the very earth atwain! Happen it shall prove to be nobbut dwarmy weather, but I an't so cynical that I don't know that, betweentimes, in their blather they speak truth. I gainsay the claim that none can forfend doom; such thoughts are ugsome and insult my selfhood, but I will let the diviners lake.

Paneknofret could nearly see Isabelle's brain translating. She smiled. Thou worrit'st oft about nothing at all. If naught interesting happeneth in a fortnight, thou may'st be as upset as thou lik'st.

I pray thee, shut up, Isabelle snapped at her maker. Give me a to adjust, and I'll be perfectly fine.

Whatever you say, red bird, Paneknofret shrugged. She curled up again, waiting for the bell to ring so they could trick their roommates and get some damn sleep.

A/N: So sorry this chapter had no point. A bit of plotty stuff should kick in, in the next couple chapters or so we'll be inspired to update faster if you review! And if the thoughts don't show up as italics the way we wrote them, and that causes a problem, than tell us and we'll redo it with tildes.