A/N: Hello, all. Please enjoy my story – or at least attempt to. Or just read it and laugh at it – it's all good really. In that vein, flames are accepted, praise would be nice, but constructive criticism is what I yearn for! Review, review, for all are welcome!

            She sat across from a rather pale, slightly pudgy young fellow whose hesitant smile spoke of a precarious social status. His demeanor spoke to her of clumsiness, and she empathized – and of forgetfulness, which made her even more sympathetic. Feeling a bit better for this observation, she smiled bravely back. Seeming emboldened by this, he extended his hand and introduced himself.

            "Neville Longbottom, third year." He said, his voice still quiet with residual shyness.

            "Erin Hightower." she reciprocated, feeling rather relieved. "Actually, I'm – kind of – a third-year, too."

            "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

            "I mean, my curriculum is kind a third-year one, and—no, I didn't transfer, well I suppose I did" she answered his question before he voiced it, "But not how you'd expect--" embarrassed by this babbling explanation, she decided to go with the most pertinent detail first. "I'm…" she was suddenly desperately afraid for this, her first friendship, "I'm a, a.. muggle." He stared at her in incredulous amazement.

            "A what?!" he demanded, astonished. "Then…" he frowned in confusion, "why on earth are you here?"

            She sighed, realizing with dread the certain necessity of repeating her story many times in the near future, and explained herself, then glanced up anxiously to observe his reaction.

            "Wow!" he was clearly impressed. She grinned, so much relieved tension in the past few minutes making her almost light-headed. "You convinced them to let you keep the memory! How'd you ever manage that?"

            "I don't really know." She answered truthfully. "I guess I was just, I dunno, really sincere, and they didn't have the heart. I mean, I was willing to," she paused for a moment, trying to put it some way that wouldn't make her sound like a martyr "to change my life around and all, so they thought I was, I was really set on it." Neville gave an impressed "huh!" and sat back, thoughtful and (surprisingly, given her choppy explanation) not at all disbelieving.

            No sooner was this initial obstacle out of the way than the door opened again, and three more people barged into the booth. A rather bushy-haired girl led the trio, followed by a gangly redheaded boy and finally a slender youth with dark hair, round eyeglasses, a peculiar mark on his forehead, and the air of something special about him. She smiled at them, nervous again, but boosted by her earlier success.

            "Erin Hightower." Her voiced even sounded sort of confident (she congratulated herself). She stuck out her hand, shaking each proffered hand in turn, as the newcomers identified themselves.

            "Hermione Granger."

            "Ron Weasley."

            "Harry Potter." Hermione and Ron looked at her, expecting something. Even Harry didn't seem as casual anymore. Starting to feel self-conscious again, she opened her mouth…

            "I'm sorry." She began, "I'm new here. Are you… famous or something?" The three stared at her, stunned. Neville made a noise like "urm", and they turned towards him.

            "Harry, she's a, um, a muggle." If possible, the amazed expressions grew even more wide-eyed at this. With all eyes on her, Erin couldn't help but blush self-consciously. There was a moment of horrible silence.

            Suddenly and without warning, Hermione beamed. "Refreshing, isn't it?" she asked of Harry. He slowly grinned, and Ron looked pleased as well.

            "Yeah!" Harry chuckled. Erin gave them a tentative smile herself. Neville, bursting with information, gave in and… well, burst.

            "She doesn't know you, or who you are, or anything about Hogwarts, or even You-Know-Who, Harry!" he said, taking obviously delight in imparting privileged information. "She was one of those muggles at the tournaments this summer, who got..." his smile faded "who got played with when the Death Eaters pulled those pranks." He spoke the word with distaste.

            "You mean when they made dragons appear, and attack the…" Ron trailed off, appalled. "Then... why is she here?"

            "I have a real problem with altering memories." It was almost a declaration. "It's kind of a moral objection, you know, truth is the most important thing and all." She spoke casually to take weight from her words. "Truth is, I'd rather do almost anything than have my memory erased, even… or especially… one I shouldn't have had in the first place." She abandoned her casual tone, and spoke this last bit with the seriousness it deserved. The mood in the cabin was reserved. Rarely were statements of such gravity spoken on the train ride to school.

            Erin felt familiar panic rising, and busied herself with fishing a robe out of her trunk to put on over her muggle clothing (her garb was rather conservative; almost a uniform in itself, in fact). She vanished beneath a pile of black cloth for a few moments before it slid on and settled around her shoulders, her arms finding their way out through the sides. She pulled her hair free, grinning companionably, and finally things seemed to have settled down. Harry quickly engaged Hermione in conversation by recalling that Ron's dad (who worked at a "Ministry") had mentioned something about this, and Neville quickly joined in. Erin, noticing Ron's silence, asked him what sort of a sport Quidditch was. At this, a light seemed to turn itself onto his face, and he gave no less a grin than Harry's earlier, after Neville had explained her origins.

            "Oh, it's great! See, there are four balls – the quaffle, the bludgers, and the snitch. The chasers try to put the quaffle through the other team's hoops – that's scoring – and the keeper tries to protect the hoops, and hit the quaffle away from his. Meanwhile, the beaters go around trying to hit the bludgers at everyone – the chaser, the keeper, other beaters (on the other team, of course) and even the seeker. On top of that, the seeker from each team is trying to find the golden snitch – it's really small, see, and super fast – and whoever gets it gets 150 points, and the game ends! It's wicked, it is! I'm on the Gryffindor team." He added proudly. "I'm keeper. Me sister, Ginny, she's a chaser, and Harry here is seeker, and he's really good at it!"

            Erin, who had barely been following this whirlwind explanation, nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling with interest. Harry muttered something along the lines of "You're really good too, Ron," but Ron wasn't really paying attention. He was preoccupied noticing how he had never seen eyes so deep purple; how, come to think of it, he had never actually seen purple eyes… especially not with such raven-black hair…

            Erin for her part smiled shyly, amused at his earnestness and genuine emotion…

            The door slid open, to reveal a pale, blond boy wearing a smirk of disdain. Ron's expression changed to one of disgust as Ron's blue eyes locked with two of cold silver.

                        "Weasel, Potty, Mudblood," he nodded to each in turn, in a parody of cordiality, before turning to Neville and Erin with a grin that bared his teeth. "Neville…" he said, doing his best to sound like a sympathetic parent and failing, "what have you forgotten this time? That third-years don't mix with first-years?" he barely wasted a glance on Erin, but did a double-take when her eyes flashed in the light. "Well, well… what's with the eyes, mutant?"

            Ignoring this, she extended her hand, carefully formal. "Erin Hightower." She gave a smile steeped in dislike. His pale face looked revolted.

            "Ugh! The muggle! My dad's heard about you. Just because you got into by… well, I don't know, exactly," he took this opportunity to leer at her "Doesn't mean you're worth shining pureblood shoes." Showing only her surprise, concealing the slight nausea provoked by this remark, Erin could say nothing.

            Luckily, she didn't have to. "At least she's here because of herself. Convincing the Ministry to let a muggle in is one step up from paying them to let your prat of a kid in, don't you think?" Erin smiled gratefully at Hermione, as the blond boy made a face and withdrew, closing the door behind him. Ron grinned at Hermione appreciatively; she returned it with pride.

            "Thanks. Who was he?"

            "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. He's like that all the time." Harry sighed. Neville nodded confirmation, a resigned expression on his face. Erin wrinkled her nose.

            "I've got an approach for people like him." Erin's manner was offhand. "He doesn't stand a chance." They looked at her, intrigued. "When someone is taunting you, you just notice how stupid they sound. It's really funny. Plus, when you laugh, it gets them way mad." She smiled mischievously. "I used to do that at school, with these two boys, Robert and Henry. I always acted like they were trying to be nice to me, but they just said it the wrong way. After a few days, they'd run at the sight of me. It was great. 'Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.' That's Oscar Wilde." They shared a laugh. Erin felt the happiest she could ever remember being.