A young woman materializes just outside of the magical barrier to Platform 9 and ¾. She has thick, dark brown, shoulder-length hair that curls gently at the ends. It bounces as she walks. She is wearing a pencil skirt that is almost the exact same shade as her hair, a cream cashmere sweater that accentuates the curves of her breasts and folds over her skirt, and heeled black sandals. Many boys' heads turn as she passes, staring at her smooth, thick hair, and long slim legs revealed by the above-knee skirt.

She doesn't notice, even as she strides past all of them, pulling her luggage behind her. She receives attention like this all the time, and has been told by her Muggle friends that she looks like one of their drama series stars. It is called Desperate Housewives, she seems to remember, and she looks much like Eva Longoria, who stars in it. How dare they. It is this Longoria woman that looks like her, not the other way around. Of course, this Eva should be much older than she is, by about twenty years or less, but she is completely confident that she looks much more mature than her sixteen years.

Her father trails in her wake, looking at all the boys mistrustfully and suspiciously. He has had more than his fair share of boys brought home by his young firecracker of a daughter, and with good reason too, he thinks. He is proud to have raised her the way she is, unlike her mother would have been. Silly woman- the world was not any different without her; Caitlin, however, is much more irreplaceable, and he warns her again about the dangers of a new school, a new environment.

Caitlin tosses her head irritatedly.

"Fa-ther," she says, clearly exasperated. "Yes, I'll write to you, and no, I won't get myself into too much trouble. Father, I'm sixteen, not six, in case you haven't noticed." Her tone is very final, and her father nods, mouth curving into a slight smile.

"Good luck then, darling. I'll miss you." Her father hugs her, carefully, trying not to reveal too much emotion.

"Yes, I will too. Remember to leave a rose, when it is time. For me."

Her father nods, and jerks his head towards the train when the whistle blows.

She nods briefly, acknowledging his way of saying goodbye, and heads for an open door in the long train, near the end. She, of course, plans on simply walking away to find her own compartment, but as the train starts to move, slowly picking up speed, she leans out of the open doorway and waves a final goodbye.

"I love you!" she shouts at her father, and is quite sure he says the same back to her, before the train reaches its final speed, turns a corner in the track, and leaves her father behind.

Caitlin heads down the train corridor, swaying slightly along with the train's movement, but not once stumbling, even in her heels. Her luggage that she is dragging is heavy but not unbearable, and so she continues in this fashion, looking in all the door windows to see if the carriage is occupied.

Finally she reaches a carriage that only has one occupant. His trunk is on the rack above him, and he is staring out the window in silence. Considering her options, Caitlin stares at the boy's profile. His back is straight, and his light blond bangs hang over his forehead. In the dim light from the cloudy sky she can just about make out grey eyes. He seems an aristocrat, like she is. Making up her mind, she knocks softly on the door, and slides it open without waiting for a response.

After all, no one would refuse her. They would not dare refuse an Oliviera.

She walks in, and without preamble lifts her luggage up to the rack above the opposing seat to the boy.

Perhaps she should say something. She remembers her father's words from before: 'Make friends, Caitlin, not enemies. They are an expense you cannot afford… Not anymore.'

So she says primly, simply for the sake of politeness, "I hope you do not mind my presence."

The boy lifts his head, and looks at her. She has sat down, and has crossed her legs elegantly, hands folded in her lap, sitting straight like he is.

"I didn't say you could sit here."

Well, how dare he! "You did not say anything. I was, therefore, free to presume you would not mind. After all, no-one would ever dare refuse an Oliviera."

The boy smirks faintly, thinking it sounds much like a phrase he would use. He glances at her, from her thick hair, well-endowed chest, and long slim legs. "Perhaps I would." Seeing her frown, about to retort, he continues, "But I shall not. Please, stay. I would not mind."

She looks surprised for a split second, then rearranges her beautiful features into a mask of boredom, giving only a slight nod to acknowledge his statement. He might think she did not notice the fleeting gaze he gave her body, but she did.

Perhaps she should introduce herself. She has almost forgotten this process of how to make friends. Before, friends were just there, she did not even have to make an effort. She was naturally, of course, a leader; her friends were simply her followers. Useless, the lot of them.

"I am Caitlin Nathalie Persephone Oliviera. And you are?" She makes it sound almost like an afterthought, as if she would not care to know who he is.

He looks at her, and is momentarily caught by her deep blue eyes with long curling lashes, before he replies, "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Draco…" she says distantly. "Like a dragon?"

He nods.

"That is interesting," she says, "But dragons do not have alabaster skin, or hair that is light blonde."

He shrugs. "I did not name myself." He did not mean for it to be defensive, but it is, nonetheless.

She smirks, making her rosebud lips press together and curve slightly downward. "Of course you did not," she says, dismissively, and decides not to communicate for the rest of the trip.

Her father sometimes speaks of the Malfoys. All of them have the same white-blond hair and pale skin, he has said. It is a classic Malfoy trait, along with their haughty air. Caitlin gives a mental sniff disapprovingly. Certainly for someone named for a dragon, the Malfoy heir is nowhere near as impressive. She had expected better of him. She would give him credit, though, for his features. Certainly they are those of an aristocrat; he is not ugly. Oh, not at all.

The compartment door slides open. Caitlin catches Draco glance at her out of the corner of her eye, but pretends not to notice. She is very good at this. When she chooses her presence can be almost suffocating; her mother's old friends often said that she could fill a room. Certainly not in bulk, of course, Caitlin thinks. But at times she can make herself appear as insignificant as the amount of money in her bank vault. Such an inconsequential thing, money. She does not know why some make such a big deal out of money. For her it is simply- she does not know- there. Like her confidence, or her regal air she always carries around her like a cloud of perfume. Her thoughts are interrupted by a simpering voice, though.

It says, "Drakie! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you." Caitlin turns her head slightly, seeing that the newcomer is pug-faced, and has dark brown hair like hers. It is cut in the most unflattering sort of style, unlike hers, obviously, and does nothing at all for the girl's ugly face shape. Caitlin's personal stylist would be simply in fits at the sight of the girl. If it could be called a girl at all. Caitlin herself thinks the girl is an insult to the female component of the human race. Surely this girl is a pureblood, though- her father did say that the Malfoys only associate with those of purest blood. An insult to purebloods, too, then.

"Pansy," Draco says, in an irritated tone. "If we may…?"

Draco ushers the girl, who must be Pansy, out of the compartment gracefully. She hears them talking softly, Pansy in an irritatingly simpering whisper, Draco in quick, sharp, tones. Caitlin smirks. It seems they are quarreling. By the horrible nickname the girl called Draco by when she entered, so rudely interrupting on herself and Draco, it is perfectly clear that they might have some sort of romantic relationship with each other. However, from the tone of Draco's voice, she can tell that it is on the rocks. All the better for Draco, then. He surely deserves better than her, even if he is not at all a perfect specimen of wizard.

Draco enters the compartment again. Caitlin raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow questioningly. "Who was that?" she says, and makes it sound as though she could not be more bothered by the girl's interruption.

"Uh… just a girl from my house… Pansy Parkinson."

She has heard of the Parkinsons before, and in fact she now remembers a meeting between the Parkinson's daughter and herself a few years ago that she had forgotten. The daughter was the sort of person that Caitlin did not bother remembering, as it was simply not worth the effort…

"The Parkinsons?" she says, sounding mildly interested. "I have met Pansy, I should think…" She laughs coldly and tosses her hair. "She is affected easily… Even when we were younger she liked to involve herself in petty arguments… little trifles… which is… not wise…" Draco senses Caitlin drifting away, and leans back against his seat.

After a prolonged period of silence, Caitlin says vaguely, obviously recounting a long-ago memory, "We were about thirteen or perhaps fourteen, I think. Yes, three years back. My father had held a lavish party, for what, I cannot remember. I suspect it was simply to notify our new neighbours of our presence… Yes, I think so… we had just moved into a more impressive settlement. It was right after my mother's death… she did not like overly large spaces." Draco felt like apologizing for the unfortunate occurrence, but did not do so, sensing that now would not be a good time to interrupt.

"The party was intended to be an afternoon one, but I am sure that the guests found it so entertaining that it lasted far later into the evening. I had escaped from the main site of the party in the house, having gotten bored with the adult's conversation, and had ventured into the garden, where the fountain was located… It was a habit of mine to sit alone in the night, hearing the sound of falling water, and not trifle my mind with any pressing matters… but then, I was interrupted.

"I remember a boy about my age coming to join me. He looked very much like you, then, only perhaps younger… Was it you, then?"

Draco's memory stirred, and provided him with one of a girl with dark hair and large eyes the same shade of blue as Caitlin's. Inside his heart leaped. He finally knew her name- after so many years, he had not forgotten her after all.

"Yes," he says, "I think it was you."

She laughs, suddenly, a real-sounding laugh instead of a smirk, and for a fleeting moment he enjoys the notion that she may be as glad to know him as he is her. "Well, I'm Caitlin… And you're Draco… I guess there's no real need of introductions."

He nods. "You've changed, you know. You've become more… formal. More haughty."

She sobers, and he sees the mask of unfeeling come on her face. "Yes… I've seen a lot of things in the past three years… And the same to you."

"As have I."

"Well then, we do have something in common."

"Yes."

She nods at him, and now her voice sounds like the Caitlin that first got onto the train, the Caitlin that he met. She leans back against her seat, closes her eyes, and seems to fall into sleep, although it is probably not. He has feigned sleep often enough to know her sleep is not real, even though her breathing is slow and steady and her eyelids do not flutter. He is not insulted even by the fact that she is probably doing this to get out of a conversation with him; he is happy enough to finally know her name.

He pretends, for the rest of the trip, that they are existing in 'companiable silence'. Even when the food trolley comes and she 'awakes' to buy a few sandwiches, even when the train arrives at Hogwarts and she leaves the carriage without waiting for him.

His eyes find her and follow her passage through the crowd when he gets off the train, right into a carriage that he sees only contains one other person- Daphne Greengrass, a fellow Slytherin. Then Blaise Zabini taps him onto shoulder, and leads him to an empty carriage, where they are joined by Crabbe and Goyle, as silent and dumb as ever.

For the first time in his life at Hogwarts, he is looking forward to the coming Sorting Ceremony. Well, that does mean something.