Mwah. I'm glad you liked it. The kids are so distinctive in my head, and I was hoping they'd come across that way as well.

I love the reaction of my characters to the reaction of your characters.

And I do know.

And we love Alec. We do.

Hehe. I hope you enjoy her story, 'cause she wants Tibi to come live with her. Immediately.

Awww, you're cute. So cute. It's gratifying to know that you miss Rae baby and that you want to read more of her story. Update is forthcoming .

I knew you'd be along shortly .



Chapter 2: An Introduction to Bluebells

“I don’t know how you do this.”

The large bay window in the study framed Anjelica Lainey like a portrait in its frame, capturing her white-knuckled grip on the brocade curtains and the tense lines of her posture. The woman pressed herself against the window as if she wished she was on the other side of the glass.

“How I do what?” Cassandra glanced up from the stack of papers on her desk with a distracted smile. “How I look out the window? It’s simple, really. Let me walk you through it. First, you stand at the window. Second, you look through it. Third…”

Like the taut string of a bow suddenly released, Anj’s body collapsed in on itself and she slumped against the window with a little laugh. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“It runs in the family,” Cassandra shoved the papers into a drawer. No more autobiography for the day. Mr. Wimble had generously promised her that she would never have deadlines, but Cassandra was goal-oriented. She’d carved a pocket of time out of each day just for writing. It hadn’t been nearly as productive as she would have liked.

Anj pressed her nose against the window to watch the winter scene below. A halo of condensation formed around her head. “It does run in the family. But what I was actually referring to was… I don’t know how you do this mother thing.”

Cassandra joined her best friend at the window. The rose garden rolled out beneath them, although the bushes were currently piled with drifts of snow. Slushy paths wound through the garden, a clear indication that the children had been outside already this morning. In fact, she could see a pair of knit caps circling the frozen fountain, one with unruly dark curls sticking to his reddened cheeks. The other boy, the smaller one, lost his own cap as he climbed onto the fountain’s rim. Next to her, Anj tensed.

“I think you’re doing fine,” Cassandra’s voice pitched to soothing tones as she watched the boys with interest. Lainey’s son Colby was a few years younger than Marcus Orion, but he was a dedicated shadow when the boys were permitted to play together. It was fascinating to see Colby take initiative, just as it was interesting to see Marcus Orion’s reaction to it.

Colby seemed to be putting on a show for his friend, complete with hand motions and shouting that could be heard through the window. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, and Anj responded unapologetically, “His father taught him a Quidditch chant. It’s not very… polite.”

“The best sort aren’t,” she laughed, making a point of turning her back on the window and escaping to a chaise. Anj followed, albeit unwillingly, draping herself dramatically over one of the cushions.

“So.” The dark-haired witch rolled just her eyes up to glance at her friend. “You’re writing a book?”

“Or not writing, as the case may be. I’m having trouble getting started.”

“Oh, easy,” Anj waved her hand dismissively. “My best friend ever ever is Anjelica Lainey. She is the blue in my rainbow, the stripe on my skunk, the peppermint bean in my Bertie Botts bag. Of course.”

“Of course,” Cassandra responded with a matching grin.

***

My life is very clearly defined, to me, into befores and afters. Of all those defining moments, those points in my timeline where everything pivoted and my world was changed, the most important of these wasn’t the moment I knew I was in love or the birth of any of my children.

It was the moment I stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. Before Hogwarts and after Hogwarts. Before friendship and after friendship.

Before Anjelica Lainey. And then after.

***

Brennan left her in front of King’s Cross, giving Cassandra a distracted pat on the head that left her hair in a tangle. “Remember, squirt… if you don’t find your seat before the train leaves, the conductor will toss you off into a ditch when the train slows down.”

He’d been giving her good advice for the entire trip, and Cassandra tried desperately to remember them all. Advice about the train and the sorting and making friends and which professors to chat up. Advice on everything, really.

Her trunk was heavy, though, and she didn’t have time to worry about what would happen later. At the moment, she struggled through the terminal, politely rejecting the offers of assistance from several Muggles along the way. Not because they were Muggles so much as because she figured if Brennan thought she should do it herself, then he must be right. He was Brennan.

Somehow, she managed to get through the barrier, and Cassandra took a moment to stare at the gleaming crimson train. It was beautiful. The most beautiful thing ever, she decided, not only because the shining metal seemed to appear through the colored smoke as if by some special kind of magic, but beautiful because of all the things the train meant to people. Travel and adventure and learning, and to Cassandra, a chance to find people who seemed to be happy to have her around.

The train itself, however, was a challenge. The first step was too high for her to lift her trunk upon, and the 11-year-old perched on the top of her trunk and stared thoughtfully at the step. Here was a problem to solve. What were her options? Could she get rope? Would someone let her stand on their trunk? What if she tried her wand? Would someone notice?

WHAT IF SHE COULDN’T FIND HER ASSIGNED SEAT IN TIME?

“Oh, darling. Let me help you,” a butter-warm voice spilled over Cassandra. She tipped her head back to find a woman standing there. By appearance alone, the woman couldn’t be more unlike Cassandra’s own mother, with her birds’ nest hair and the itty bitty glasses dangling precariously from her nose. But she absolutely exuded an air of motherliness that even Cassandra could recognize, and she was tempted to throw her arms around the woman and have a little stress-cry.

“Do you need a hand?” The woman waggled her hand at Cassandra and her trunk, setting thick rows of beaded bracelets jangling on her wrist. Now that she really got a look at her, Cassandra wasn’t sure it was safe to be hugging such a stranger. She was certain her parents, at least, wouldn’t approve, nor would Brennan. The woman looked a bit mad, from her homemade robes to the wreath of flowers hiding in the nest of her hair.

But she was nice.

“I don’t know,” the girl answered carefully, sliding off the trunk. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly uneasy with this turn of events. “I think I can do it. Do they let you on the train if you need help?”

“Merlin, I hope so.” Over the woman’s shoulder, Cassandra spotted a girl just about her own age. She was small and as oddly dressed as the woman who had to be her mother. Did she have… silverware dangling from her robes?

With some flash and bustle, the woman quickly loaded Cassandra’s trunk on the train, and she found herself hustled aboard. Mothers were universally bossy! It didn’t matter if they were your mother or someone else’s.

For a reason she couldn’t identify, Cassandra hung out the door and waved at the woman as the train began its jerky first motions down the track. The other girl climbed over both their trunks into the first car, and Cassandra shoved their trunks in behind her.

“My brother graduated a couple of years ago,” Cassandra announced, tripping over her trunk and onto the bench. “He says there are assigned seats, but I don’t see any names. Let’s just sit here. They can’t chuck us off for not knowing.” Was it possible Brennan was wrong? Maybe they’d just changed things since he went to school.

The girl sprawled across the other bench and violently ripped one of the silver trinkets from her robe before dropping it on the floor. “Sounds good to me.” Another trinket ended up on the floor. “I’m Anjelica. Lainey. Most people just call me Lainey, though.” She tugged a handful of flowers from her hair and let petals drip from her fingertips like water.

“Cassandra Cooper. Cassie. My brothers call me Cece,” she performed the perfunctory introductions, but her attention was on all the bits coming off of Anjelica’s robes. Hopefully, she wouldn’t end up starkers in a few minutes.

She rescued one of the flowers that had escaped whole. It was a type she’d never seen before, perfectly shaped like a tiny teacup and the same vibrant blue color as her mother’s china set. Cassandra pressed the flower to her bottom lip in a kiss-sip.

“What are those things?” She pointed the flower at the growing pile of silver doodads on the floor between them.

“Good luck charms. My mum’s a nutter,” Anjelica threw another one down on the floor. “And that there is a bluebell.” She elaborated at the blank look Cassandra gave her. Cassandra was very familiar with the flowers that appeared in a cultured garden, complete with exotic plants exported from all over the world, but her knowledge of wildflowers was incomplete. “You know? Fairy thimbles?”

“It looks like a fairy teacup,” she whispered, tucking the flower into her own blond hair. Now they matched. The two 11-year-olds smiled shyly at each other across the train car. The day felt a bit less intimidating.