"No, actually," I replied, "I've never done that. I don't ride horses much; my family breeds hippogriffs.
I guess it could be funny, though." I suppressed a giggle.
Witches and wizards around us began boarding the train and we followed suit. We took our seats, all three of us on the same side of the compartment.
"Are we saving room for someone?" I asked nervously.
"You seem like such a lady. So formal and serious. We just figure you've got a weakness," George answered, and before I could wonder what his point was, I was being tickled from both sides.
They were right. I had two weaknesses: redheaded boys and being tickled. When they finally stopped,
I was laughing so hard I didn't care that I was lying in the opposite seat, with my head upside-down and
my auburn hair falling onto the floor. The door opened and a black boy with dreadlocks walked in.
"Who's your new friend, guys?" he asked, as I tried to regain my composure.
"This is Kristyn Starstrella, she's from Texas and she's a hell of a lot prettier when she's right-side-up"
Fred answered, and then introduced the stranger as Lee Jordan, the Quidditch commentator.
"Starstrella? The famous pureblood family that breeds hippogriffs and brews bootleg firewhiskey?" Lee asked.
I blushed. "I didn't know it was such a well-known fact that we also-"
"It's not," Fred cut me off, "Lee just knows these things."
Lee smiled and winked. I was only a little reassured. The snack cart came by and I bought as many chocolate frogs as I could afford. They were always my favorite. We had all agreed to share our candy, and when I handed George a chocolate frog, a look of enlightenment came on his face. He did a little incantation to turn the frog a more convincing green, and asked us all to follow him. We began moving through the compartments, until George spotted a pudgy boy who was calling out "Trevor!" and was obviously looking for something. George released the frog in a very convenient location, and the boy's face lit up.
"Trevor!" he squealed, and scooped up the chocolate frog. George snatched the frog from Neville, shoved it in his mouth, and presented the real Trevor. The boy looked disgusted for a moment, and then just resentful as he walked away.
"That was Neville Longbottom," George chuckled, "he's always losing and forgetting things. I bet he'll hold on to his frog a little better next time."
Lee, Fred, and I were still laughing when we made it back to our seats. Just after we changed into our
robes, George and I fell asleep. When we woke up, both of us were wearing blinking badges that read,
"I sniff dungbombs."
I lifted my head off George's shoulder when I heard Fred laughing and saying, "We should put those on the Slytherin's Quidditch robes. Maybe they'll walk out onto the pitch still wearing them."
"Wearing what?" I asked, causing Lee and Fred to start laughing again. Then I noticed the badge and chunked it out the window.
"Slytherins... that reminds me. You'll have to be sorted, won't you?" George asked me.
"Yeah, I guess so. I'm sure the houses are different here than at my old school."
Author's Note: The rest of this chapter isn't really a part of this story; it's something my brother came up with when he was reading this.
"Trevor!" Neville called, running around the Great Hall in search of his pet toad, "TREVOR! No, not again."
"Trevor, Trevor," Malfoy mocked him, and caught the toad.
Neville looked up, only to find his beloved pet in Malfoy's clutches. Draco gave a maniacal laugh and bit the toad in half.
Tears streamed down Neville's face. He pointed his wand at Malfoy's chest and whispered, "Avada Kedavra." A green spark fell out the end of his wand. Neville gathered all the strength and anger he had ever had, and tried again.
The Great Hall rang with the spell, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
...and Draco fell dead on the spot. Neville picked up the remains of his pet and walked to Professor Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was already waiting beside the gargoyle.
"Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore greeted him, "I believe I will have to get you to your trial at the Ministry of Magic - immediately."
"Mr. Longbottom, what do you have to say for yourself?" Rufus Scrimgeour roared.
Still sobbing, Neville held Trevor out in his hands and said, "He... ate... my toad."
Author's note: I don't know if this was supposed to be funny or just gross. Like I said, it was my brother's idea.