James Potter's ludicrous excuse for an injury had substantially improved her mood. She wasn't going to get punished for assaulting a prestigious N.E.W.T student, and he had crafted a lie that gained him immense sympathy from the female population of the school. In fact, there were already inconsistencies in the tale, spread by Hogwart's unique brand of rapid-fire gossip. Sariah tailed students down the corridors between classes to catch the most recent "updates" to the accident. Some versions said that James had fought off the Thestral and it had fled to die in the forest, others said he had been trampled down unawares, drunk on Firewhiskey. Yet another claimed he was a magical eco-warrior, trying to save the Thestral. She still didn't know what one looked like, but either way, the truth seemed very much buried. 

Sariah noted down her transfiguration homework distractedly, waiting for the bell that would sound her final lesson - History of Magic, bless Peeves - and set her free. She was looking forward to seeing her car, but by the time she got outside, the weather had turned. Clouds obscured the sun, and snow was falling in thick flurries, and building up in great drifts in the corners of stone courtyards. She edged back inside reluctantly, unwilling to get caught out in a snowstorm. When the rest of the lessons got out for the day, students would initiate massive, castle-wide snow fights. She wanted no part in that, as magically enchanted snowballs had an insane advantage over her own hand-thrown ones.

The common room was virtually empty this early in the afternoon, so Sariah took one of the tables closest to the fire and started on her Muggle Studies assignment. She wondered idly how Scorpius would track her down for the answers this time as she finished the third question, and moved to the next. After all, it was due on Monday morning. The gentle crackling of logs on the fireplace combined with scratching quills and the turn of heavy book pages to create a blissful quiet. Snow fell silently against the window. She retreated back to her dormitory when the rest of the Hufflepuffs returned from their lessons. The common room was too crowded for her with all seven years collided. There were too many people, too many distractions, and too much noise. After dinner, she snuck back out to the fire after almost everyone had headed off to bed. Sariah sunk into a beanbag in front of the fire, and crafted a letter to her parents, pleading the vital nature of an electric sander, with assurances that an eagle owl wouldn't mind couriering it in the least. She'd send it first thing tomorrow morning, weather permitting.

The next morning the sun burst through her window, waking Sariah in her bed. The dormitory was nestled into the foundations of the castle, so only the row of high-set circular windows were above the ground.  In summer you could see pairs of shoes shuffling past among the dandelions, and in winter, the worst snow storms would bury them all together. The sun was a good sign: it meant the storm had passed. She could hear Sabriel snoring quietly across the room. Mindful not to wake her fellow dorm mates, Sariah got up quietly, dressed, and headed for the Great Hall. Besides the Ravenclaw quidditch team and a few lone students, it was deserted. Hogwarts students valued their Saturday mornings. A brilliant blue sky clung to the ceiling above her as she ate her breakfast, and stowed away some fruit studded toast for later in the day. Then she set off along the lakeside, her cheeks burning in the cold air.

That morning she finished cleaning the car and did her best to treat the rust, spraying a sealant on the malevolent orange patches. She talked to the car idly as she worked, moving to tackle its interior. The driver's door opened with a horrific metallic screech. Sariah reminded herself to find the can of CRC that was still somewhere in her trunk and bring it for next time. 

Cleaning the interior was a timely process. She started with the front half; she didn't trust anyone  the car's secret, so who would sit in the back seats anyway? She raked dead leaves  - and grossly,  the occasional rat or bird skeleton - from the space underneath the gas and clutch pedals, washed grime from the leather seats, and cleared out the glove box. Inside, a plastic bag held a horrific sludge of unidentifiable black matter, a small tag identifying it as 'For Ronald'. Sariah wrinkled her nose and tossed it into her bucket as the smell of it wafted toward her. 

The Anglia's tan coloured seats were in surprisingly good condition after she'd removed the crusting of grime, even though the constant exposure to the sun had warped some areas of them. She let herself sit down in the driver's seat, pleased, but suspecting that the inside of the car would always smell like dirt. A tactical glance into the backseat spooked her; there should have been three seats, but there weren't. Instead, there multiple rows of them, like it was a mini-bus or something. She jumped out of the car and paced around it. It looked utterly normal to her, so the sat back in the driver's seat, and the hidden seats reappeared. The Anglia was practically an automotive T.A.R.D.I.S. How had she not noticed that before? Excitement and hesitation battled within her. However, she didn't trust whatever spell had been cast on the back seats to not collapse on her, and her right hand was beginning to ache from its injuries. She sighed, Not today. Even if it wasn't as much as she had wanted to do, it was progress.

To protect her efforts from the elements, she slipped a black tarpaulin over the car. Immediately, it brakes screeched like a banshee raking its claws down a chalkboard. Sariah clapped her hands over her ears. The Anglia seemed immensely distressed. She pulled the cover off hastily, and the noise ceased. A high pitched ringing echoed in her ears.

"Oh come on," Sariah said, "This is for your own good, you know."

The car creaked apologetically and then honked its horn in warning.

Sariah stared through the gaping hole in the windscreen, where the platinum blonde head of Scorpius Malfoy was approaching the Anglia's shelter.