AN: Whoa, what? Another update so soon? Yep. If only I could redirect my inspiration to, y'know, the stories I already have in progress. That would be nice. You can probably expect another few chapters in quick succession over the next week or so here, I definitely have better things to do but this might not leave me alone for a long while. Also: there's a possibility I might skip many large details once I get past, like, the first week or so of first year and launch into what goes down in third-ish year, because some important things are gonna go down. I haven't decided yet. We'll see. But anyway, enjoy this!

The rest of summer couldn't pass quickly enough for Marina. Her days were spent playing with her Muggle school friends before she had to leave for "a boarding school in Scotland Mum went to" and talking for hours with Quincy about what they might expect at Hogwarts.

"My dad was a Gryffindor," Quincy said one afternoon. He then dripped ice cream from his waffle cone on his arm. "Maybe I'll be in Gryffindor, too," he continued before licking the drip off his skin.

Marina tsked and passed him a paper napkin. She always wondered why he continued to choose cones over cups, considering his history of spilling his ice cream every single time. "My mum was a Slytherin. I don't think I'd mind being a Slytherin, but it isn't my ideal house, I don't think."

"Oh. I didn't know your mum was in Slytherin," Quincy said. "What about your dad?"

"Papa went to Beauxbatons, remember? He wasn't sorted. But Mum always says he'd've been a Hufflepuff."

"Oh, that's right. I always forget your dad's French." Quincy frowned at the sticky spot that had formed on his arm, tying to wipe it away with the napkin. "I hope you're not a Slytherin. Slytherin and Gryffindor have this massive house rivalry, my dad says. I wouldn't want to be your enemy."

Marina blinked and scrunched her eyebrows in a frown. "I wouldn't be your enemy if I'm a Slytherin. We're friends. And anyway, you might not be in Gryffindor." She ate a spoonful of her own ice cream to punctuate her statement.

"Yeah, but my dad says I'm too audaciously sanguine not to be." With a shrug, Quincy gave up on his arm and went back to eating his ice cream. His tongue was turning blue, Marina noticed. This was why she never got cotton candy ice cream.

"What does 'audaciously sanguine' mean?" she asked.

This made Quincy pause, cone still halfway to his mouth. It dripped on his shorts. "I don't know. He never explained it," he answered, wiping at the drip with the napkin.

Marina sighed. "Maybe it means you always think getting your ice cream on a cone is a good idea when it never is," she suggested.

He looked at her, faking dramatic offense. "Excuse you, but ice cream tastes better with a cone!"

Marina laughed. Quincy was good at making people laugh. He and his dad came with Marina and her papa to Diagon Alley in August, when the first of September was only a little over a week away. His antics entertained their small party on their quest for school supplies. Only when they entered Ollivander's Wand Shop did Quincy settle down. Getting a wand was serious business. The shop was dusty, dimly lit, and a bit cramped in front, though Marina could see the back of the shop extended seemingly forever. She sneezed upon entering.

Quincy stepped forward to approach Mr. Ollivander first. The white-haired wizard looked down and across the counter at Quincy, who was only slightly bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Good day, young sir," he said.

"Hello, my name is Quincy Jackson, and I need a wand for school. How do I pick one?" Quincy'd said it in a rush, with a grin. Marina hoped he hadn't offended Mr. Ollivander, because Mr. Ollivander looked slightly affronted.

"Mr. Jackson," he said seriously. "A wizard cannot simply pick a wand. The wand, you see, chooses the wizard." Marina feared the worst until Mr. Ollivander smiled and turned suddenly to skim the many, many, high shelves of wand boxes. "A wand selects the wizard it likes the best. A wizard's wand reflects the temperament of the wizard for this reason. So, I think—" Here he returned, and set a few long boxes on the counter. "—that these may perhaps like you."

The first wand Ollivander gave to Quincy caused the other wand boxes to fly off the counter and into the wandmaker. "Oh dear, that is certainly not the wand for you," he said, and took the wand back. Quincy was not deterred, however, and swished the second wand through the air, and it sent a rush of wind towards Marina, making her hair stick up in odd directions. Ollivander hummed, and Marina tried to smooth her hair back into shape with some help from her papa. Even still, Quincy took a third wand, and with only a second of hesitation, he accidentally shattered the lamp on Ollivander's counter. He winced, and set the wand back on the counter. Mr. Ollivander simply nodded and opened another box.

"I think this may be the one," Mr. Ollivander announced, presenting this new wand to Quincy. When nothing disastrous happened once he was holding it, Quincy gave it a careful flick. Cheerful golden sparks shot out of the tip, and Quincy grinned at the aging wizard behind the counter. "Pine, phoenix, 13 3/4″, pliant. This wand has chosen you, Mr. Jackson," he said gravely. "Respect it, and it will serve you well."

"Thank you, sir," Quincy said in a hushed voice, awed that he was now in possession of a wand of his own. He stepped back, and his dad ruffled his hair.

Marina didn't know very much about wands or what they were made of meant, but now she was curious. "What does his wand reflect about his temperament, Mr. Ollivander?" she asked, looking up at the old wizard's bright eyes. She saw them twinkle when she asked, and she was pretty sure that meant it was a good question that he would enjoy answering.

"Phoenix feather cores, young witch, are rare, but very talented. They're independent just like the birds they come from, but their allegiance can be won with time and respect. Occasionally they might act out on their own, so be forewarned, Mr. Jackson, that your wand may not always cooperate perfectly. Pine wood also chooses independent and unique individuals. It enjoys being used in a variety of ways, and will adapt to new magic easily, especially that of the nonverbal sort. Personally, I have never known an owner of a pine wand to die young, so Mr. Jackson may expect a long life. And a pliant wand, again, reflects the adaptability of the wizard. And now," Ollivander said to Marina, "I believe it is time for you to find your own wand, my child."

"How do you know so much about wands?" Marina asked as Ollivander picked up one of the wands that had rejected Quincy. "Oh, and my name is Marina."

"Marina Stewart-Lautrec," her papa added.

"Indeed, Mr. Lautrec." Mr. Ollivander nodded to her father and cast a serious eye down at Marina. "I have spent my entire life learning about the art of wandlore, Miss Stewart-Lautrec. It is my express business to know so much about wands. Let's see how this one likes you." He held the wand out over the counter for Marina to take.

She looked at Quincy, who grinned in encouragement, and she took the wand lightly in her fingers. She gave it a flick, and nothing happened. But then she looked up, and she realized that Mr. Ollivander's skin had turned a bright shade of fuchsia. He looked down at himself with raised eyebrows. "Perhaps not," he muttered, and took the wand back. Quincy giggled behind her, and Marina shot him a look. Ollivander disappeared amongst the shelves for a moment, and Marina was slightly worried he would abandon them, but then he came back with another couple of boxes and normally-colored skin. The second wand Marina tried set fire to Quincy's father's hat, which he put out immediately, and Marina quickly gave it back to Mr. Ollivander. When he handed her a third wand, with another twinkle in his pale blue eyes, Marina took it, hoping that that twinkle knew what it was doing. This wand felt cool to the touch, and wasn't polished so smoothly that she couldn't still feel the subtle grain of the wood. The handle end of it, unlike Quincy's straight-as-an-arrow wand, was carved into a gentle, twisted triangular prism. Marina, for no particular reason, swished it in a circle, and grinned at the wandmaker when the tip produced bluish sparks.

"This is the wand for me?" she asked.

"It is. Cedar, unicorn, 14", reasonably supple. Would you like to hear about its meaning?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Marina answered right away.

Ollivander talked while he accepted the proper galleons from the two fathers. "Cedar wood is loyal to extremely loyal wizards, or witches. Cedar-carriers show impressive mettle and a natural knack for perceptiveness, and I would even go so far as to say they would also make a very formidable opponent, even if one wouldn't think so by looking at them. A unicorn hair core is faithful and true, and is difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They may not be very powerful, but they are consistent, and are never prone to fluctuation or blockages. Mishandle your wand, however, and your unicorn core may turn melancholy, Miss Stewart-Lautrec. Suppleness, as you know, reflects the adaptability and suppleness of the witch herself."

"Marina, come, it is getting late," her papa said gently.

"We should go, too, Quincy," Mr. Jackson said.

Marina nodded, and smiled at Mr. Ollivander. "Thank you so much sir!" Quincy grinned and nodded along.

"My pleasure," Mr. Ollivander replied. "Have a wonderful school year."

And that concluded Quincy and Marina's adventures in the wand shop, and indeed their adventures in Diagon Alley for the day. Marina and her papa flooed home after saying goodbye to Quincy and Mr. Jackson, and the first thing Marina did when they stepped into their sitting room was launch into a dramatic retelling of the entire day to her mother, who was sitting with a book in her comfy chair and remotely preparing dinner with lazy movements of her wand. Maia appeared to twist around Marina's ankles as she got to the part where Quincy almost knocked over an entire display of high-quality writing ink in Flourish and Blott's. At the completion of her story, Marina presented her wand to her mother for inspection and then knelt to scratch her cat behind the ears and down her spine.

"A very fine wand, indeed, my Mina," her mum said, still absently circling her own wand in the air next to her head, vaguely in the direction of the kitchen.

—

That final week was perhaps the longest week of Marina's entire life, but at long last it was over with the end of August. Theo Lautrec and Bobbie Stewart both accompanied Marina onto platform 9 3/4 with plenty of time to spare so they could properly see her off. Marina wasted no time in trying to find Quincy, who'd told her he and his parents would get there a little early too.

"Mina, darling, Quincy's definition of 'a little early' and our definition of 'a little early' are not the same," her mum tried to explain when she saw her daughter immediately start scanning the crowds. "He won't be here yet, I can promise you." She reached for Marina's swiveling head to try and smooth down the frizzy curls that were still sticking up in odd places. "And besides," she continued, "Quincy's taller, so I'm sure he'll be able to find you before you can find him."

It was another nineteen minutes before Quincy showed up with his parents, and by this point there were only eleven minutes until the train would depart from the station. There was a large clock on the platform, and Marina had been watching the time very closely. Anyway, her mother was right: Quincy pounced on Marina from behind, literally jumping at her and grabbing her shoulders as he landed.

"Hi!" he shouted. "Are you as excited as I am?"

"Quincy! You said you'd be early!" Marina shouted back. And then she looked up. "Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Jackson," she greeted her friend's parents.

"Hello, Mina," Mr. Jackson replied. Mrs. Jackson still looked a little bewildered by the wizarding train platform, but she was a Muggle, so Marina supposed that was only fair. She imagined that if she were a Muggle, everything in the wizarding world would make her very bewildered, too.

The two children said their final goodbyes to their parents and made sure they had their trunks and pets properly loaded onto their trolleys before they set off for the Hogwarts Express, a big scarlet steam engine with cars that trailed seemingly forever behind it, disappearing from view behind the billowing clouds of steam. The two wandered the length of the train searching for an empty compartment, and at last happened upon one towards the middle. They had to work together to get their trunks up into the overhead space, but at long last they could collapse on the seats. Marina held Maia in her lap, stroking her fur along her back.

"It's really happening," Quincy said, letting out a happy sigh. "We're gonna be off, living without our parents for the first time."

"We'll still be in a school with teachers. It's not like we'll all be completely alone. That just wouldn't be safe," Marina pointed out. "I am excited to explore the castle, though. My mum always had great stories." She sat up a little in excitement. "Did you know there's a place in the dungeons somewhere where you can look out of a big window and see the mermaids in the lake?"

"There aren't mermaids in the lake," Quincy said, frowning.

Marina nodded. "Yes, there are! My mum said so!"

"I've never heard anything about mermaids in the lake."

"Well my mum said she saw them. And they waved to students sometimes, even!"

"Well, maybe she lied about it!" Quincy argued. "My dad never talked about seeing mermaids through a window in the dungeons."

"Why would she lie to me about there being mermaids in the lake?" Marina cried.

"I don't know, but that's what Slytherins do! They lie about things sometimes to make themselves look better!"

"But she's my mum! She would never lie to me like that!" Marina let out an exasperated huff and crossed her arms. Maia jumped off of her lap. "Fine, maybe she's lied about little things—"

"You see!"

"I meant little things like Christmas presents so I'd be surprised!" Marina was upset. Why was Quincy being so stubborn about this? "What do you have against my mother?" she yelled.

"She's a Slytherin! Slytherins are bad people!" Quincy answered.

Marina snorted. "So you say now, but what about all the times you're around my mum? Hm? You've never looked at her like she's a bad person, ever!"

"I didn't know she was a Slytherin until you told me last week!"

"Then why does that have to change your opinion of her? She's my mum!"

There was a knock on the compartment door before someone slid it open. "Er, hello," a redheaded, rather gangly boy said from the doorway. "I'm in the compartment next door, and, well, I heard yelling…are you alright?"

Quincy and Marina snapped out of their intense zone, and stared at the boy. "We're okay, I s'pose," Quincy answered. "Mina?"

Marina didn't answer, just turned her head to look out the window. At some point in their argument the train had started moving. Now the beautiful countryside sped past, the lovely green hills reminding her to breathe, calming her down.

"Right…" The other boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, nervous and seeming like he didn't quite know what to do next. "Well, er, my name is Gideon Prewett." Marina smiled a bit. Introductions were always a good place to start.

"I'm Quincy Jackson. This my friend Marina Stewart-Lautrec."

Usually she would cut in with something about how everyone usually calls her Mina, but she didn't much feel like talking. She was just tired now. It was probably sort of rude to ignore Gideon like she was, but she didn't want to turn around and have to look at Quincy.

"Okay. Er…see you at the feast, then," Gideon said at last, and escaped the scene, closing the compartment door behind him.

Quincy tried a few times to start up more civil conversation again, and a few times she did smile—he was good at joking around and being funny, it was very difficult not to at least smile—but Marina wasn't having any of it. She wasn't so upset anymore, but she was still angry. Really she didn't expect Quincy could be so…so mean! He'd known her mum just about as long as she herself had known her mum, and now he felt he could change the entire way he thought about her just because he recently learned she'd been a Slytherin? It made no sense, and it was unfair. Marina usually didn't mind a few things that didn't make sense, and often she found things that didn't make sense funny, like that one time she was out with her papa and they saw a woman walking around with no shoes on, but this wasn't just a little harmless thing. This was a big thing, an important thing, and it didn't make sense in the way that ended up with an unfair ending, and that frustrated her, because if Quincy would just think logically in a way that made sense then it wouldn't be unfair to her mum. He was judging her, after he already knew her, based on a school rivalry he'd heard about from his dad. What sense could that possibly make in any world?

So she spent the journey to the castle in silence and in a bad mood. At some point an older student came to let them know they were nearing the castle and should change into their uniforms, and Quincy ducked out of the compartment to let her change first before she did the same for him. Then she gathered Maia into her arms again and awaited their impending arrival.