Disclaimer: I do own Jessica and Phaedra. Yay, I actually own something!
That's a nice change of pace. However, I'm not making any money off this
and I don't pretend to own anything you recognize, so don't sue me.
A/N- This is a POV, or Point-Of-View story, meaning each situation is written twice, once for both of the charecter's perspective. It floats in and out between their heads in each chapter, it's supposed to be a lot like reading their minds. The story starts off in Jessica's POV. Enjoy, and don't forget to R/R! Remember, reviews give me motivation! Yay!
Ugh. Where is Phaedra now? It doesn't suprise me that she's late, she never really has been especially timely, but it didn't stop me from hoping she would pick this as the miraculous, once-in-a-lifetime day that she was punctual. But of course, she's later than ever. The train will be boarding in 3 minutes and she's still nowhere in sight.
It's raining. It had been sunny and nearly warm outside of Kings Cross Station, but ofcourse it has to be pouring buckets here. Sometimes I wonder where exactly we go when we run through that platform. Apparently, someplace rather far away, because of the radical change in weather.
As I stand here, getting soaked, checking my watch compulsively and waiting for my ever-late best friend, I start to think about the times we had when we were younger. Phaedra is pure-blooded, and while she says she doesn't care, I know she feels at least a little proud of it. I suppose that's why she said she actually had an argument with the Sorting Hat to keep herself out of Slytherin. She always has been stubborn.
I'm muggle-born, with no magical relatives to speak of, and always thought magic was silly old men in capes pulling bunnies out of tophats. I'll never forget the first time I spent the night at her house. We were nine and having a time going through her mother's drawers, searching for hot pink lipstick for our dress-up game, when I came across her wand. Of course, being the fast-talker that she is, Phaedra promptly convinced me it was a rather odd looking back scratcher. Needless to say, we never went through Mrs. LaToure's things ever again.
At our Primary School graduation, Phaedra came to me in tears, telling me that she wouldn't be seeing me again after that summer, she was going away to boarding school. I told her it would be ok, that we could still write each other, but she only cried harder. It wasn't until late July, when I got my letter, that she told me she was a witch. I still don't know how she of all people managed to keep a secret like that from me for the entire time we knew each other. Even I would have cracked, and Phaedra has an enormous mouth.
As I stand here in the rain, taking a stroll down Memory Lane, I spot Phaedra. She's just ran through the barrier, dragging more trunks than any human being should need and clearly out of breath. On her way towards me she greets nearly a dozen people I don't recognize, all of them but one male. Some exchange weird hand gestures with her, some run over to hug her, others ask her about her schedeule or how her summer was. She stops a second year girl with brown hair and asks where the girl's brother is. I wonder how Phaedra can have so many male friends, and yet she never seems to have a 'boyfriend', per se.
She inches her way towards me, smiling sheepishly and biting her bottem lip like she does when she knows she's done something wrong. I just watch her. I think she sees that I'm impatient with her. She opens her mouth and for a second I think she may apologize, but she only says "You're wet." I nod stupidly. What kind of a statement is that? She's completely dry. From the top of her head to the bottem of her muggle flip-flops, she doesn't look like she's ever seen a drop of water. A sharp contrast to me, I'm sure.
Phaedra and I are so different, physically as well as mentally. While she's blonde, green-eyed, and rather curvy with a chest easily twice the size of mine, I'm a brown-eyed brunette with an athletic (while not very feminine) body type and freckles. She's always late, I'm so meticulously on- time you could set your watch by me. She's spontanious and artistic, I couldn't draw my way out of a paper bag. She's so full of useless trivia I can hardly believe she has room for anything else, but lacks common sense completely. I'm the opposite. I don't know much, but I do have 'street smarts.' When we were younger I was on every muggle sports team I could find, but the closet thing to sports Phaedia ever got to was occasionally bowling with me. I always tease her about her lack of athletic ability, but I don't think she minds. She's harder on herself than I am.
Phaedra stands in front of me, gnawing on her lip and staring. "So...are we going to get on the train or what?" She asks impatiently, as if it had been her that was waiting for me. I snort and for a second I can't believe how rude she is sometimes, but I can't help but laugh. She drags her trunks (all five of them!) over to where the baggage is being loaded, and the two of us find an empty car somewhere near the back of the train.
A/N- This is a POV, or Point-Of-View story, meaning each situation is written twice, once for both of the charecter's perspective. It floats in and out between their heads in each chapter, it's supposed to be a lot like reading their minds. The story starts off in Jessica's POV. Enjoy, and don't forget to R/R! Remember, reviews give me motivation! Yay!
Ugh. Where is Phaedra now? It doesn't suprise me that she's late, she never really has been especially timely, but it didn't stop me from hoping she would pick this as the miraculous, once-in-a-lifetime day that she was punctual. But of course, she's later than ever. The train will be boarding in 3 minutes and she's still nowhere in sight.
It's raining. It had been sunny and nearly warm outside of Kings Cross Station, but ofcourse it has to be pouring buckets here. Sometimes I wonder where exactly we go when we run through that platform. Apparently, someplace rather far away, because of the radical change in weather.
As I stand here, getting soaked, checking my watch compulsively and waiting for my ever-late best friend, I start to think about the times we had when we were younger. Phaedra is pure-blooded, and while she says she doesn't care, I know she feels at least a little proud of it. I suppose that's why she said she actually had an argument with the Sorting Hat to keep herself out of Slytherin. She always has been stubborn.
I'm muggle-born, with no magical relatives to speak of, and always thought magic was silly old men in capes pulling bunnies out of tophats. I'll never forget the first time I spent the night at her house. We were nine and having a time going through her mother's drawers, searching for hot pink lipstick for our dress-up game, when I came across her wand. Of course, being the fast-talker that she is, Phaedra promptly convinced me it was a rather odd looking back scratcher. Needless to say, we never went through Mrs. LaToure's things ever again.
At our Primary School graduation, Phaedra came to me in tears, telling me that she wouldn't be seeing me again after that summer, she was going away to boarding school. I told her it would be ok, that we could still write each other, but she only cried harder. It wasn't until late July, when I got my letter, that she told me she was a witch. I still don't know how she of all people managed to keep a secret like that from me for the entire time we knew each other. Even I would have cracked, and Phaedra has an enormous mouth.
As I stand here in the rain, taking a stroll down Memory Lane, I spot Phaedra. She's just ran through the barrier, dragging more trunks than any human being should need and clearly out of breath. On her way towards me she greets nearly a dozen people I don't recognize, all of them but one male. Some exchange weird hand gestures with her, some run over to hug her, others ask her about her schedeule or how her summer was. She stops a second year girl with brown hair and asks where the girl's brother is. I wonder how Phaedra can have so many male friends, and yet she never seems to have a 'boyfriend', per se.
She inches her way towards me, smiling sheepishly and biting her bottem lip like she does when she knows she's done something wrong. I just watch her. I think she sees that I'm impatient with her. She opens her mouth and for a second I think she may apologize, but she only says "You're wet." I nod stupidly. What kind of a statement is that? She's completely dry. From the top of her head to the bottem of her muggle flip-flops, she doesn't look like she's ever seen a drop of water. A sharp contrast to me, I'm sure.
Phaedra and I are so different, physically as well as mentally. While she's blonde, green-eyed, and rather curvy with a chest easily twice the size of mine, I'm a brown-eyed brunette with an athletic (while not very feminine) body type and freckles. She's always late, I'm so meticulously on- time you could set your watch by me. She's spontanious and artistic, I couldn't draw my way out of a paper bag. She's so full of useless trivia I can hardly believe she has room for anything else, but lacks common sense completely. I'm the opposite. I don't know much, but I do have 'street smarts.' When we were younger I was on every muggle sports team I could find, but the closet thing to sports Phaedia ever got to was occasionally bowling with me. I always tease her about her lack of athletic ability, but I don't think she minds. She's harder on herself than I am.
Phaedra stands in front of me, gnawing on her lip and staring. "So...are we going to get on the train or what?" She asks impatiently, as if it had been her that was waiting for me. I snort and for a second I can't believe how rude she is sometimes, but I can't help but laugh. She drags her trunks (all five of them!) over to where the baggage is being loaded, and the two of us find an empty car somewhere near the back of the train.