The two sisters were a mystery to everyone at Hogwarts. The older sister had to be sorted like the first years, but she was four years older. Yet the strangest part was that her younger sister was far too young to speak, let alone go to school! Why would Headmistress Mcgonagall let this happen? What’s so special about these two girls? What is their story?

Marie knew she would be an outcast. She knew everyone will question why the headmistress would let an American transfer to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny. She was questioning it herself! However, she didn’t have the time to pay these people any attention. Marie knew the risks of getting close to others. She knew they are all backstabbing strangers and Marie didn’t want her dear innocent sister to get hurt. She will let no harm come to Cynthia. So she will wear a mask, pretending to be open.

……This will be hard, considering Marie has very little control over her emotions. Yet was somehow a good liar….? An oddity indeed.

Anyways, about the one-year-old, Marie was having trouble getting her little sister to be quiet in the great hall. The first years looked confused and everyone else gave the two girls scowls, if they weren’t ignoring them. Well, except for the teachers. THEY gave Marie and her sister pitying looks. Oh, how the Ilvermorny Thunderbird hated looks of pity. She already had trouble reading emotions, but it was harder to see if the looks are fake or true.

“Marie Flint!” Mcgonagall yelled, startling said girl out of her thoughts.

Oh, how Marie despised all the eyes turning to her as she sat on the stool, staring at her sister when Mcgonagall gently took Cynthia, and never looked away as the Sorting Hat was finally placed on her head. Marie hated being last. Since she was a transfer, an oddity, and certainly not a first year, she was placed last on the list.

A Flint, hmm? Interesting…. So, young Flint, what house do you belong to? The hat chuckled. Besides Thunderbird.

“Please, just stop calling me Flint!” Marie whispered. “My name is Marie. And it always will be.”

What a personality! The sorting hat grumbled before continuing. Hmmmm, I can see why you’re a Thunderbird. Very adventurous indeed.

“Are you reading my mind?!” The girl hissed, peeved.

Witty, sharp, intelligent, and wise in times of need for strategy. I see now……

“See what?!” Marie frowned at the hat.

RAVENCLAW!!! The Sorting Hat shouted for all to hear. Yet only few cheered, some only clapped out of politeness. Marie huffed. Those few minutes without her sister in her arms felt like an hour.

As Marie went to the Ravenclaw table, her robe’s insignia changed from the colors of red and gold to blue and bronze. She will miss her friends at Thunderbird, even if they stabbed her in the back. Marie felt her hand go to her wand. It was a 12 ½ inch phoenix feather ebony, with a slightly springy flexibility. Marie smiled, for her wand matched her perfectly.

“Wow, I can’t believe it!”

Marie turned to the boy next to her. Another fourth year. “Can’t believe what?” She asked in a polite voice.

“That Hogwarts excepted a transfer! That there even was a transfer! Don’t you know that’s super rare? Well, I’m sure you do, considering you are that transfer,” the boy sounded sheepish at that last part. He extended his hand. “I’m Patrick Jameson, nice to meet you!”

Marie shook Patrick’s hand. “Well, Patrick, I’m sure you’ve heard my name. ‘Marie Flint’?”

“I sure have!” Patrick smiled. “Did you know that flint is used to light dynamite? And that ‘Marie’ is the French cognate of ‘Mary’ which is derived from the Hebrew ‘Miryām,’ a name that has debated meaning? Some believe that it means ‘sea of bitterness’ or ‘sea of sorrow.’ Others believe the alternate definitions of ‘rebellion,’ ‘wished-for child,’ or ‘mistress or lady of the sea.’”

Marie raised her eyebrows, but her eyes were unamused. “You talk a lot. Everyone thinks that the Ravenclaws are silent and reserved, only speaking when it matters, but you’re different.” She paused, watching the boy fidget and squirm awkwardly, nervous. But then the dirty blonde smiled kindly at him. “I like you. Your unorthodox.”

Patrick perked up. “Actually, I-!”

Marie rose a finger to silence him. In all seriousness, she said, “You shall be a member of my posse. Or, in much nicer terms….” The girl stopped, now uncertain. Patrick looked at her with curious expectancy. She gulped and looked down, seeing Cynthia’s calm jade eyes smiling at her. Cynthia’s cooing gave her courage (A/N: Why her cooing??? Ya weirdo!).

“My… My friend?” Marie looked up determined, but still had an aura of nervousness (given that she was slightly biting her lip). (A/N: This is the part authors would normally say “give mah baby a break!” Not me. Nope. I say: SUFFEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRR!!!!!!! *Insert crazed evil laughter here*)

Brilliant. Patrick slightly frowned internally at this thought. Brilliant?! I just met her! Not to mention the fact that she seems so high strung. Stupid brain… Wait, why is she so suspicious of others? Marie also tries to hide it, even if she fails. And that baby………

“Of course!” Jameson smiled, about to continue, when the headmistress tapped her spoon against a goblet.

“Your attention, please!” Mcgonagall softly smiled. The lady stood. “Let the feast begin!”

Marie found it strange. Why was the headmistress wiping tears when she sat down? Why were all the teachers wearing melancholy smiles? But then the smell of food took away all of her sensible thoughts. You would think she never had food in her life the way she was feasting!

“Marie, is it?”

The girl in question, gulping down the rest of her chicken, looked up at a seventh year. She had bright, messy, straight blonde hair and blue gray eyes. Her light freckles and gentle smile reminded Marie of her mom.

No. No, no, this isn’t Mom. Stop it. Stop it NOW, Marie Flint!

“Yes, that’s me. You are?” Marie put a small, polite smile on her face.

“I’m Karen Dipscern. If you need anything, find me?” Karen put her hand out for Marie. “I promise you will enjoy Hogwarts, as botched as the name is.” Karen smiled with her tongue out, eyes sparkling.

No, no, don’t be teasing. Please stop reminding me of my mom.

“Thank you,” Marie grinned and shook hands with the older teenager.

Once Karen was gone, Marie turned to see her new friend with his mouth agape.

“You spoke with Karen!” Patrick’s caramel eyes were wide. “You spoke with Karen!!”

“Yes, I did,” Marie frowned. “Why are you so excited about it?”

“Karen talked to you! She’s friendly, sure, but she hardly talks to anyone younger than her!”

“I don’t see how age has to do with friendships.”

Patrick didn’t know how to respond to that. Marie sighed. Thankfully saving them from the awkward conversation, Cynthia chose this moment to whine for food. Marie’s attention snapped to the one-year-old, and if anyone else tried to talk to her they would be nothing but fading mist in her mind.

“Mahk! Mahk!” Cynthia whined.

“Cyn, I told you, it’s milk. Not ‘mahk.’” The older sister cooed.

Patrick picked up his goblet. “So, what’s her name? If it’s not Cyn, I mean,” he said before taking a swig and setting it back down.

Marie looked up with her eyes wide in fear and hostility. Brows furrowed, she held the child close. “What’s it to you?”

Patrick sat up, concerned. “Curiosity. I mean, I’m guessing that’s your little sister? You seem to care for her very much and I gather that you’ll make sure the baby will stay with you no matter what. That most likely means that you’ve gone through a troubling ordeal together or are siblings, possibly both.”

Ravenclaws certainly are clever. Marie gawked at Patrick. She shook her head in disbelief before speaking again.

“No wonder you’re a Ravenclaw….” She said in astonishment. The boy in question laughed at this. And…… were those dimples? Better not to ponder on it. Patrick is either an honest and goodhearted boy, or really good at being a fraud. Marie sighed. “Her name is Cynthia. Cynthia Flint.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you both, Flint sisters!” Patrick grinned ear to ear, raising his goblet in toast, he gulped down the rest of the contents. Finished, Patrick wiped his mouth. “One favor though?”

Marie straightened, breath hitched. This is when he’s going to start? He’s going to tarnish and shred my respect, dignity, and everything I love minutes after we meet?

That’s sooner than I expected……..

“Please don’t call me ‘Pat’ or ‘Patty’?” Patrick Jameson rubbed his neck with a sheepish smile. “My Pa used to call me that, but, well….. I guess I just save it for him!”

Even though he looked as if he smiled jubilant, Marie saw grief in Patrick’s caramel eyes. It was strange. From the near hour she’s met him, the caramel only held excitement and happiness. For them to hold the look of sorrow and loss…. Marie knew better than to ask. She did want some mysteries solved, but that one will wait for later. If her new… f…. frrrrr…. friend respects her boundaries, she shall respect his. It’s doubtful they will get as far as knowing each other’s backgrounds, but whatever.

The prefects - Is that seriously what they call the honor roll students?! And why are there only two? One boy, one girl for each house. I’ll never get used to this! (A/N: Marie’s internally whining lol) - lead everyone to the top of Ravenclaw tower. The stairs went higher and highesr in a spiral.

“Nuuuuuu,” Cynthia cried.

“Cyn, it’s okay, we aren’t there anymore, it’s okay,” Marie whispered, so only her sister could hear. “These stairs aren’t a punishment, Cyn, I’m fine. We’re going to use these to get to bed from now on, okay? It’s alright.” At least, she thought no one else could hear her. They were ignoring her, so how would they? Marie forgot all about the boy who she befriended, walking just behind her.

Patrick watched Marie rock Cynthia. What does she mean, “there”? And punishment? Why would spiral stairs be a punishment??? Patrick was about to ask (My Patty boi here has almost no restraint. LOL!) but remembered how she didn’t ask about his father. He also didn’t want to be rude and over step his friend’s boundaries. They also JUST became friends! Why would he look into her past so soon? Yes, he was curious, but that doesn’t mean he should ask for every detail about her!!

Marie looked back to see who was constantly muttering, having calmed Cynthia down. Why on earth was that boy muttering so loudly?!

“You do realize that I can hear you, right?”

“W-w-what?!” Patrick’s voice went five octaves higher.

“Well, I mean, I can hear you muttering but not the actual words,” Marie clarified.

“Er, of course, sorry,” his dimples were revealed!

Marie spoke under her breath, “So he does have dimples.”

“What?” Patrick looked at her confused.

“Nothing~” Marie faced forward, seeing an eagle on a door.

Her eyebrows rose when it spoke, but she wasn’t very surprised. Patrick just smiled with nostalgia.

“Welcome, new and old students. In order to get in, you must solve a riddle: ‘Feed me and I live. Give me water and I die. What am I?’” The bronze eyes seemed to be questioning only the first years.

Marie knew the answer. It was obvious!

“Oh dear,” the prefect known as Robert Hilliard spoke up. “Well then, I don’t know the answer. Do any of you first years know?”

Gasps were followed by whispers of how the prefect didn’t know the answer! Marie frowned. Why would a prefect pretend not to know one of the easiest of riddles? It was ludicrous! She was about to answer when a first year in front of her raised their hand.

“Excuse me, Lyra Macris speaking!” the girl seemed arrogant. “May I solve the riddle? And I already know you are doing this so that we learn to ‘humble’ ourselves and try to ‘work together’, but I am no fool. I will not fall for your presumptuous tricks. I thought we were Ravenclaw, not Slytherin. My parents will certainly hear about this!”

“We were supposed to answer the riddle, not rant on like a Draco Malfoy knock-off,” a boy glared at the blonde. “How suspicious. Or dodgy, if you only understand slang, Malfoy Knockoff.”

Lyra’s face went from snow pale to strawberry red. “How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?!”

“No, and I don’t care,” the boy snapped. “Can somebody please answer the riddle now?”

“It’s fire, isn’t it?” A random kid in the very front tugged at the prefect’s sleeve.

“Is it, O Great Eagle?” Richard asked. Another seventh year snorted.

The door swung open. “Well done.”

They all went in to see a truly marvelous sight. The common room was wide and circular, with gracefully arched windows punctuating the walls. Blue and bronze silks were hung and the domed ceiling was painted with stars, which echoed in the midnight blue carpet. Marie never saw anything so mesmerizing even if she was born a witch. Tables, chairs, and bookcases surrounded the room and a tall, white, marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood opposite of the door.

“Welcome,” a ghost came out of the statue, looking almost the same as Rowena. It was the Grey Lady.

“Hello,” Marie breathed, not able to hide her awed expression. The ghost nodded and smiled with seemingly warmth at the American.

“The Grey Lady disappeared, never to be seen again…..”

Marie spun around to see Patrick spooking some of the first years. Well, at least, he was trying to scare them. They were unamused. Marie rolled her eyes. Guess she’ll have to teach him how it’s done.

“I know I’m new here too, but may I tell you something I heard from Professor Flitwick on our way here?” Marie held Cynthia close and pretended she was sharing a big secret. Which, she was, but how was she to know that? They all nodded. “Well, I heard that the Grey Lady’s real name is Helena Ravenclaw.” Patrick’s eyes widened and his brows slightly furrowed. Professor Flitwick wouldn’t talk about this at all near anyone, let alone students! “Helena is the daughter of Rowena, the founder of our house. But these are the details as to why she’s our house ghost. What is truly frightening is that Slytherin’s ghost, the Bloody Baron, killed Helena in cold blood! I don’t know why he did it, but they say he’s called the ‘Bloody Baron’ because he is still covered in her blood……” Marie stood up and walked toward Richard, who was waiting patiently for everyone to gather and listen.

Patrick felt sorry for the kids. He was simply teasing them, but Marie had off and made them wet themselves. But Patrick felt even more sorry for the Richard. Poor bloke is dealing with these miscreants until he graduates. Wait…. Patrick has to deal with these kids longer! The boy groaned.

“Everyone, please come here and listen!” Richard was exasperated. The prefect sighed. “Girls go to the left turrets, boys on the right. Those are our dormitories. I have a page for each of you to read about our house. All your things are there, so no need to worry about that! With my farewell, I hope you have a good rest!”

Lyra rose her hand. “Are the rooms separated by year?”

Richard smiled. “Good question! The rooms are separated, but not in any drastic way. Oh, which reminds me. There is a curfew, at ten o’clock. You can stay in the common room after curfew, but not in the halls.” He laughed. “Unless your Harry Potter and his friends, of course. But those three were in Gryffindor, so no wonder there.”

Everyone laughed again. After the prefect said goodnight, all the first years quickly went to their respected dorms. Marie sat down on the window sill, taking notice of Patrick walking towards her.

“Poor bloke, he need a break from all this,” Patrick sat across from her, looking out to the scenery. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I love observing the way nature works and goes about.” He turned to her. “What about you?”

Marie gazed out with a look of indifference, but the longing and sadness in her eyes told Patrick differently. “It is beautiful.”

The girl didn’t continue. Patrick fumbled with his robe, feeling awkward.

“So, erm, what’s your schedule?” Patrick trying to clear up the awkward tension frowned slightly at himself. “I just realized I haven’t asked you until now.” He softened, grinning nervously back at Marie. “Sorry!”

She smiled. “No worries, Patrick.” Marie fumbled around, finally getting a crumpled up paper out of her sleeve. “Here.”

Patrick took his schedule out of one of his pants pockets. “And this is mine!”

They had the exact same schedule. (A/N: How convenient that the two main characters have the EXACT same schedule?! What a mystery, too bad it shall never be solved. Dundun dunnnnnn.)

Patrick Jameson’s Hogwarts Schedule:

Monday – Charms, Potions

Tuesday – Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures

Wednesday – Astronomy, Herbology, Quidditch Practice

Thursday – Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic

Friday – Ancient Runes, Divination

Saturday – Quidditch Practice

“Huh,” Marie raised an eyebrow. “This is certainly a bizarre coincidence. Besides the quidditch part, our schedules are identical.”

“Not really a coincidence, this is how it usually works in the wizarding world. We also have most of these classes with Hufflepuff.” Patrick tried to smooth the paper out, but gave up. He looked up. “Is it different in Ilvermorny?”

“It’s different in the USA period! For example, no-majs, or ‘muggles’ as you call them, are not allowed to catch even a GLIMPSE of magic. The Magic President has it so that the no-majs can’t remember anything that has to do with magic. According to law and history, that is.”

Patrick gaped in shock. Poor boy couldn’t even form proper words. Marie nodded. They regained their own schedules and put them away. Marie opened her mouth to talk when a big yawn escaped her mouth. Patrick’s eyes sparkled in amusement.

“Knackered, huh?” Patrick stood up and offered his hand. “It’s pretty late, so we should get some sleep. After all, tomorrow is your first day of Hogwarts! Who wouldn’t want to miss that?” He chuckled.

Marie gripped Cynthia and took Patrick’s hand. “Thank you,” the American smiled, but then faltered once she stood up. She frowned with confusion. “What does ‘knackered’ mean?”

Patrick raised his eyebrows a bit, his lips twitched with amused bewilderment. He spoke through a smile, “Knackered means sleepy. I….” Before the boy finished he laughed. “I forgot you were American……” He laughed harder at this, bending over and covering his mouth.

Marie was startled and a bit worried. Was this boy really going to be alright? She thought, her frowning and confused demeanor was increasing. “How can you forget one’s ethnicity?” Marie glared at the ceiling. Looking back at the boy in front of her, expression calm. She patted Patrick. “You seem slap happy. We really should get to sleep.”

Patrick was about to enter the boy’s dorm, but turned to Marie and Cynthia. “Good night, Flint Sisters!” He grinned.

She smiled, unable to hide her trust. “Good night, Patrick Jameson.”

With that they went to their respected rooms. The two young wizards had very different lifestyles indeed. Marie had to stay up longer in order to keep Cynthia sound asleep for the whole night, but once Patrick felt the feather stuffed pillow, he didn’t wake up until morning. And what a morning that was!