Author's Note: I still haven't gotten around to re-reading Sorcerer's Stone -_- I fail at life. Whatever. I finally found Chapter Five though, which can be interpreted as a mixed blessing. Enjoy. Brassi's a little snobbier than usual for her character, but the others are IC from the movie more from the book. Yeah. It's THAT kind of fan fiction. Yes, the "Stupid twit" is inspired by the line in Cruel Intentions, where Kathryn looks over at Cecile and says, "That's... one way of looking at it," then when she turns her back, "Fucking idiot." No, the glowing skin is NOT inspired by Twilight. I've had that idea since I was 7 and never bothered to change it. All I know about Twitshit is what I've read on EnDra and heard from friends. I'm horrible at writing athletic scenes of any kind, which is why there isn't much physical fighting in my fanfics. Or really, ANY of my writing. Any typos are a result of me typing quickly, not looking at the screen, and not double-checking; "Cinnamon" might come out as "Cinnmaon," which is a common mistake for me. Warning for my ex: contains the word "pet." Yes, the analogy about Cinnamon's exercise WAS inspired by Brokeback Mountain. Yeah, she fails at explaining currency to Ron... left out the nickel, dime, and half-dollar... _ She also neglected to mention that the currency she is describing is American and not British. She also fails to say that American dollars are usually PAPER money.

When they arrived, a huge man with a bushy beard that almost obscured his face was calling for first-years. Brassi's navy blue eyes lit up in recognition when she saw him. "It's the hobo from the pet store!" she exclaimed. "This must be his day job."

"Brassi." The girl turned her round face to her sister. "It's nighttime."

"Oh." Brassi looked ashamed. Cinnamon turned to the 'hobo,' raised an eyebrow, and smiled as if to say, 'It's alright, sir. She's a blonde.'

"I am not getting in a ferry run by a pedophilliac hobo," sniffed Brassi. "I'll see you on the other side." And she jumped into the lake.

"Race you there," said Cinnamon, then after her sister was probabliy out of earshot, "Stupid twit." She shed her fine cashmere robe, exposing white skin that glowed silver as if the moon itself infused her veins, and slid into the water. She wasn't athletic by nature, but her elements were water and wind. As nymals, everybody in their family could breathe underwater without gills, which would have given them an advantage over anyone but each other. Cinnamon did have an advantage, however, and that was taht Brassi was as soft and pampered as her new Persian house pet. The most exercise she'd ever gotten was around her tapestry looking for the needle.

Cutting to the chase, Cinnamon won. She wrang her hair out and gracefully let out her wings, folding them around her. She looked up to see that the boats had arrived.

"Has anybody got my robe?" she asked. A redhaired boy handed it to her, slackjawed. She put it on unshyly, folding her wings behind her.

"Bloody hell," murmured the boy; several students around him expressed similar sentiments. Even if Cinnamon had been a plain human girl and not an exotic magical creature, it wasn't many a female, humanoid anyway, that disrobed so unabashedly in front of men. Or boys, in this case.

When the boy picked his jaw up from the floor and his eyes moved to the region of the nymal's face, he said, "I know who you are! your mum came by our house selling Muggle things!"

"Yes, she got a pretty penny for them, too," said Cinnamon.

"What's a penny?" asked the boy as the group started walking into the large castle that called itself a school.

"It's a type of Muggle currency, about the size of a Knut: the color of your hair is a new one but an older one looks more like mine. It takes 25 of them to make a quarter, which is the color of a Sickle, and it takes four quarters to make a dollar, which is like your Galleon. Or rather, my Galleon now."

"Don't mind my rude sister." Brassi's soft whisper of a voice cut through Cinnamon's explanation like an ice sabre in the night. "She likes her little joke. Though you'd think a crown princess would be a little more tactful."

"Rude? I'm not the one who called the big man with the facial hair a pedophilliac hobo!"

"I was only being careful. You never know with those sorts of people."

"That's a really rude thing to say," observed a frizzy-haired brunette with pronounced front teeth.

"See?" said Cinnamon triumphantly. She held out her hand. "Cinnamon Starling. I like you already."

"Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure."

"Ron Weasley," piped up the redhead who'd spoken before. The skinny shrimp started to introduce himself, but then said, "We've already met."

Just as cinnamon was about to say something totally contrived in its politeness, they were ushered into the castle.