𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃-𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐨.𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

CHAPTER ONE

DELANIE JONES LOATHED A COUPLE THINGS IN HER LIFE. Quidditch being one of them, and arguably, she could say her dad was another... But a very, very, close third on her sacred and unofficial hate list would be those few minutes right before she stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. Those minutes, in which, were also known as the goodbye.

It wasn't that she hated saying goodbye. In fact, she quite liked this specific one. The art of greeting farewell to something she knew she wouldn't miss, and something she knew wouldn't miss her either. She didn't fret saying goodbye to her parents, not because she was heartless, but more of the fact that they probably didn't care any more than she did.

After all, it wasn't like she was Mason or anything.

She liked to say the longest minutes of her life were spent standing there beside the scarlet steam engine year by year waiting for her parents to finish saying goodbye to her perfect step-brother.

She would watch, annually, as they took turns hugging him and re-hugging him while she stood there as if she were just one of the disregarded luggages on the trolley. Some years it would go by quick, most years they spent ages.

This year, unfortunately, we're one of those years.

Delanie felt her patience shorten more and more by the second as her eyes had wandered around the crowded platform in desperate attempt to not bore herself to death. She had probably already looked at every possible inch of Kings Cross Station that afternoon, yet they still weren't done bidding their farewells.

"Please write to us at least more than once a month dear," Priscilla Harris asked her son as she fiddled with the blue and silver tie wrapped around Mason's neck. "Both of you..." her eyes darted to the younger girl beside him, seeing the way she wasn't paying attention to a single word she was saying, "meaning you too, Delanie."

The sound of her name summoned her attention, a hum coming out through her enclosed lips as she raised her eyebrows at her step mother. "I'm sorry?"

"Write please. At least a letter or two. We didn't hear from you at all last year..."

It wasn't like she heard from them either.

Vincent Jones stood behind his wife, placing a hand on her tense shoulder. Goodbyes were always hard for the woman. For the first time that morning, he acknowledged his daughters presence,"And maybe try out for quidditch again? It's been a while since you've gotten on a broom and you really do need a hobby."

Delanie stared at her father blankly. She had hobbies and he would know that if he even took the time to care. However, the girl contained the urge to spit out a sassy remark, pressing her lips into a thin and polite smile. She gave him a curt nod, "yeah maybe. I might be a busy though... fifth year and all."

"Oh nonsense,"  Prissy scoffed with a light wave, "if Mason can do it, so can you. I say you go for it, honey."

Honey.

Delanie forced back the grimace that threatened to express itself as she forcibly released a light chuckle. Desperately, she glanced up to Mason with a pleading look of help. Thankfully, he noticed.

"Well I'm sure Delanie will manage this year, whether she plays or not," the boy looked down at her before wrapping a brotherly arm around her shoulder, pulling her in as he sent their parents that signature smile of charm and innocence. "Right Lanes?"

The girl nodded eagerly, sending Mason a thankful look. "Yup!" She let out enthusiastically — almost too enthusiastically. "I'll be fine."

"Right then," Vincent cleared his throat, nodding as he placed a firm hand on Mason's shoulder, "you know the drill. Send me the game schedule, I'll try to come to as many as I can, Son."