“Clothes?” Frankie Blackwood questioned her parents, staring down at the thin slip of paper in her hands. Her father pushed the cart and her mother was commenting on wizard fashion sense. Of course her obvious distaste was blocked out in favor of rechecking her items for the third or fourth time.

“Check!” Her father chirped behind her, barely glancing into the car as he pushed along in his red turtleneck sweater and blue jeans. He certainly stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the elegant robes of the wizarding world. Frankie scribbled across the messily scrawled word and continued down the list until the very last one.

“Jabber?” The cat’s name easily rolled off her tongue as she raised her pencil and began to scribble on it, confident that they hadn’t forgotten her precious ocicat. She might have gotten a little carried away, but she preferred the words to be [i]completely[/i] blacked out.

Her father hummed, “Che- err…” The erupt ending caused Frankie stop in her tracks and turn around to face the brunet middle-aged man. “Jabber seems to be missing, Frankie.”

“Well no duh!” She said, already grasping the situation at hand. Her chattering mother closed her mouth at the distressed sound and assessed the situation.

“Oh, dear. Don’t get too upset. He probably just wandered off; he was here earlier.” The Blackwood woman cooed. “Why don’t we go looking for him? We have time.” Her mother always talked to her in that sickly sweet voice that sometimes made Frankie cringe, but it nevertheless calmed her.

“What about my stuff? We can’t just leave it here while we look for him.” The redhead pointed out and her mother just smiled before turning towards her husband.

“Harold!” She barked, her voice instantly turning demanding and aggressive. “What do you think you’re doing? Get the bags!”

Harold Blackwood simply rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated bow, “Of course, my Queen.” 

“[i]And[/i] you’re sleeping on the couch tonight…” Frankie snickered, swiveling on the heel of her foot and backtracking where they came from.

She went all the way to the barrier, glancing around to see if she could find a sign of the cat. She peered into trashcans, peeked into the mens' room, and stood on a bench to see. She never saw anything, but she head a very distinct meow that could only be her pet. Jabber was named as such because of the incessant need of his to continuously yowl no matter what situation he was in. It got annoying often, but Frankie had grown too attached by the time she discovered this. She stood on her tips of her toes, almost falling off the bench in the process, before she finally caught sight of an orange blur interweaving with the cloaks of witches. She jumped off the bench and sprinted through the mass of dark blues and pinks and other such hues. Many received her elbow and many elbows she herself received – talk about karma – until finally the little rascal was only two feet away. She dove, she scooped, she caught. 

With Jabber in arm and her parents satisfied, Frankie entered the train. She was late and the warning whistle has already went: this unfortunately means that all of the compartments were filled up. She shuffled down the train, a struggling cat in hand with a wish to roam, until she found a compartment that wasn’t overflowing. She would have preferred an empty one, but she would rather be stuck with one stranger than many. He was a Hufflepuff and was on the Quidditch team, that’s what she knew at least. His name escaped her currently, but she could always ask. 

“May I sit in here? I swear I don’t have a disease.”