The Beginning

[Cheshire]

@Ferre @Diva Tumi @Benvenu7 @Megilwen @Shalken @BLADE @Vosrik @Bauren @Reya Starlyght


View attachment 3032
​

Platform 9/3 was full of people. kids trying to board the train and trying to give their parents some reassurance that everything would be fine the next year. Some parents were excited for their kids to attend the renowned Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry while other parents were nervous for their children to attend, fearing for their safety or would be missing the presence of their child. They all shared one thing in common however.The thought that their child could succeed in Hogwarts.

Brodie however didn't have that luxury. No one was there for him. No one to be excited or worried for him going to Hogwarts. To be honest, there was probably no one who really cared about him going to Hogwarts but it was a feeling he was used to by now. He was secretly excited for the new year and the chance to ace all his subjects once more but he hid it under a straight face like he usually did. Pancake the happy. carefree puppy was going to Hogwarts with him and the puppy was certainly excited as well. Seeing everyone there and the bustling platform made the puppy super excited, which Brodie couldn't help but smile at. And yet, he boarded the train with Pancake in his arms as he tried to find an ideal carriage to sit in. When he saw a free carriage, he leapt into it and shut the door before moving over to the window. Once he sat down, he simply let Pancake fall asleep in his arms as he looked out the window

 

[BLADE]

“Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts—not to hurt others.”
- George Eliot, Middlemarch

The Same Day, Some Hours Earlier
​

The first time John Sutton had laid eyes on Platform 9 and 3/4qs he had felt... what's the word for a sense of home you've never had and ought'n to reach for? That. It was that. He'd clutched it to his breast like some damned pet. Sweet, stupid fool.

He'd not reached for this confectionery emotional haustier since or again; disappointment came to Suttons as easily as morning broke for others. Best to reach for something like the content of the long-miserable. Happiness stayed superimposed --ephemeral-- and then the edges crinkled, life wrung itself around you and that... was that. Of course, had he been entirely honest with himself (and it was one of few his skills, all things in their proper place) he'd have admitted that he was more mithered by the bellyful of two, three, four and more and more pints than any general anomie.

Or in the language of his people, he was right pissed he was. His general mood was not aided by the fact that --legal magic or not-- it was dead 'ard to cast a lightening charm on one's personals when one was just a butterbeer shy of squiffy. He'd tried regardless, the simple snaring motion with an anti-clockwise flourish for the cantrip coming to mind... and turned his Da's old Globetrotter suitcase a truly vile mulberry color. A second attempt and the bag had mooed. A third and it had tried to charge him.

Further efforts seemed wasteful.

So it was that at around six in the morning, on a bright and clear and yet queerly dreary day that he'd trudged his bony arse (now lately gored by a leather suitcase) and his unwieldy baggage through the streets of Old Manchester, past the chippy, the new pierogy kiosk, Fred's Fetterer autoshoppe, and the Deansgate Station with its sullen brown facade and uneven cobblestones.

And finally Piccadilly. At least he wasn't late. The Hogwarts Express obeyed at least some logic, magic and obtuse Ministry thereof notwithstanding and started its journey up North, out in rugged Caledonia, just outside of the Hogsmeade Station, down past Edinburgh and the Highlands and then into Manchester. Here, the glass-cake lustre of London's Diagon Alley and the toffee brittleness of Platform 3/4qs had given way to You-Know-Who's murder and cruelty and terror.

Pureblood despised Muggleborn. Muggleborn barely tolerated the haughtiness of Wizarddom's self-appointed elite. And Halfbloods? John shrugged. Neither faction had much use for them. Least so the ah, undeclared.

The gangly teen briefly wondered if the stately Ministry Witch standing sentinel at the platform nexus felt that same disdain. Really, if he hadn't been so utterly arseholed he'd have at least commended her for her ability to blend in; nothing antwacky or that screamed "I'm an utter bloody gobshite" about her sensible jodphurs and business blouse. Well... aside from the Bag-not-old: Re-elect the Minister! socks.

At least they weren't charmed.

The Ministry Witch looked him up and down for a moment before nodding at his suitcase and then stepping aside. As she did, her nose crinkled a bit at him, stoking that old resentment about... well a great many things. But he bit his tongue and waited for the few passing muggles to thin out.

And then with a slouching walk he walked into... home.

Such wishful thinking. Such sloppy stupid sentiment.

Re-election campaign or not, the Ministry had bowed to security demands. At least here. The Merlin-blooded posh set would at least concede to this grubby terminus, mostly frequented by the half and quarter-blooded to be bedighted with all the apparel of the Security-Magistate. The more liberal factions conceded that relative to the London platform this station was not so-frequented by impressionable firsties that would be oh-so-intimidated by the steel fist of the state.

And so it was.

The platform was hexagonal, with sharp planes throwing bare concrete into relief. Security measures seemed to drape every part of it and added to the stifling atmosphere of its very low-ceilings.

Sneakoscopes whirred ominously in the corner sometimes spinning a-dervish at a too-sudden adjusting of the robe. A curious-looking Pensievatrix (no one quite knew what it did, but the Ministry had requisitioned it dearly from its Department of Mysteries) sent out tendrils of molten silver into the air, tangling in strange paranoiac fruit. Foeglasses polished to a gut-churning sheen were laid out in intervals, their reticules audibly tightening at every dodgy looking bit of rubbish. And patrolling the tidy lines laid out for Muggle, Pure, and Halfblood were cauldron-chinned Aurors and Hitwizards from the Department of Law Enforcement.

John formed up on the queues. Separated by blood of course. A scant ten Purebloods in finery and glimmering robes were separated by a velvet rope on the far left. In the middle, treble that number in halfbloods. At the right, twenty and four muggleborns.

As for the security check, none of the fraktions in the Wizengamot quite trusted their counterparts' constituents let alone the Ministry. The most strident Purebloodist would not submit to any sort of inquiry --no matter how nominal-- by a coincidentally Muggleborn witch or wizard from the Ministry. And the Muggleborns, so pleasant so eager to fit in were rapidly coming around to the maxim of the Jews: dignity at any price.

John was not sure he contemned or admired them for it. He, like most right-thinking (or at least suitably judicious) Halfbloods kept his head down. At least all parties involved had come to a suitably sensible conclusion.

Goblins. They could be treated to evince the same prejudice towards all wizards, and in any case had a better head for security than any wizard or witch living, even paragons like Alastor Moody or Rufus Scrimgeour. So each queue worked its way through a brutal concrete awning, steel and stone piloti and potent privacy wards separating each line from seeing or even hearing the other.

And you had to give credit where credit was due to the goblins. They were efficient.

Too efficient.

John's line moved far too quickly for him, fuzzy bits of drink and nausea still leaching consciousness. He hunched to himself and ignored a few attempts from some over-friendly Puffs in... (was it Third Form?) to engage in chitchat. He didn't care.

And then a scratchy voice, like kindling dried twice called him up.

"'Lo," he greeted the diminutive creature in front of him, keeping his eyes respectfully on its teeth, each of them filed to a point and standing in Prussian efficiency --left, right, incisor. (Professor Binns's Demode and Politesse in Orcish Society taught you quite a bit if you weren't squeamish about reading about some truly baroque Goblinoid banquet practices.)

The creature assessed him just for a moment.

And then.

"I am Graznok, young Wizard (he examined John's papers) John Sutton. This process will determine your likelihood of posing a threat to the Hogwarts Express. Upon examining and confirming your suitability for ingress, you shall be allowed to board."

"Bloody fantastic," John muttered under his breath, "Can we hurry this oop?"

The Goblin was not put off by his poor manners; the sharp-eared race reckoned such matters differently.

"Place your wand hand on the platform."

A clawed hand pointed to a gnarled chunk of rock that rose up to meet him at wrist-level. John shrugged and did as he was told, half-curiosity and half-headache inducing compliance. Some unseen force grabbed his hand hard and it was only the Sutton roughness that kept him from shrieking (there were already enough rumors about him being a pouf, thank you.)

A thin tendril of thick sap-like topaz trickled down Graznok's "platform" before pooling around a curious stone propped right next to the runic base of the platform (John squinted curiously but could not quite make out the characters.) There was a short, sharp crack! that seemed to drain something out of him, and then the topaz whizzed up and formed a taut manacle (there was no other word for it really) around Granzok's wrist. John could see the tiny goblin clutching something in his hand that seemed to pulse in a strange beat with the now pulsating topaz string-sap.

"We shall begin. Your name?"

"John Sutton."

"Age?"

"Seventeen."

"Occupation?"

"Hogwarts Student."

"Halfblood?"

"... Aye."

"Hometown?"

"Manchester."

He floated on through these answers easily, with that strange feeling of recall one has when answering something personal and yet so easily recollected as to be trivial. John's eyelids felt heavy and the queasy sensation in his stomach increased, his guts rumbling and bobbing like a boat on so much belly-acid.

It wasn't veritaserum. The Ministry legally couldn't do that. Not even in demi-wartime but the truth was simply being... pulled from him.

"Any enemies aboard that train?"

"They'd have to notice I exist for that." No asperity to that answer. Simply robotic. He wanted to retch.

"Do you carry any weapons on you?"

"Nay. Not unless you count a wand."

"Have you now, or ever, belonged to any right-wing paramilitary organization devoted to the cleansing of--"

"If you're asking me if I'm a Death Eater mate, urgh, the answer is no."

"Proceeding. Have you entertained any thoughts of maiming, cursing, flaying or ritualistically hexing any passengers aboard the Hogwarts Express?"

"No more than any other bloke I reckon."

"Any familiars or pets?"

"I bleedin' hate animals."

The questions continued, from the pertinent ("Have you used Class-Four Curses/Hexes/Incantations/Cantrips/Charms/etc. on another Magical Being? --Beasts are exempted") to the inordinately silly ("Do you often have pudding for breakfast?")

And then it was over, Graznok nodding in a staccato burst as John answered the last few questions, the thing Graznok clutched stayed the same topaz color as the strange truth-ichor dripping from his wrists.

The phantom pressure on his forearm eased and then with a sharp nod the goblin let him through. Dazedly, John thanked him, glad no Purebloods were nearby to notice a wizard (even if a rough-edged mongrel from the barbarous North) deigning to thank a sharptooth.

Even the Express' cheery red seemed muted by the gloom of the station. John sighed and hoisted his luggage up and with him.

It did not take him long to find a compartment at the far end of the nearly-empty train. He briefly thought of placing a locking charm on the compartment but another lurch of his stomach put up any spellcasting as a singularly terrible idea. A further lurch relieved him of any such notions as well as his meagre breakfast -- a bit of cold meat and veg parcel from Izzy's Pub.

At least he'd made it to the water closet before puking. He didn't much relish the idea of having to ask one of the train matrons to cast an evanesco for him like magical Mummy. He rooted around his bag for some tooth powder and his toothbrush. He began his ablutions, such as they were, and nearly went arse over elbow when the Express began to pull out of the station. As matters stood, the hitch of movement by the locomotive still knocked him about the W.C. and set him to emptying his stomach. Again.

And worst of all?

...

He stubbed his toe alright?

With a grimace he spat out the water and tested his breath. Better though he certainly wouldn't be mistaken for one of those bright-fanged people on the telly who hawked mouth-cleansing chuds. John also risked a quick freshening charm (it would not do to arrive at Hogwarts smelling of a distillery.) The incantation worked well enough and, now deeply tired, he trudged his way back to the compartment.

"*Uagh* well that was... a shite start to the day."

They were nearly twenty minutes south of Manchester when he finally managed to fall asleep, shark-sharp teeth and uncomfortable drunken truths swirling in his dreams.

 

[Richie B.]

Rick had been helping his dad with a recent patient which took more time than the student would have liked, but what could you do when you see someone hurt? Well for Rick that was to spend the time to help the person feel better, which honestly made his parents very happy. An it made Rick happy helping people just made him feel good and like he was really doing the right thing. He wished that he would say he got ready on time, but that would be a lie and Rick wasn't about to be a liar now, the hufflepuff was rushing to get to the train.

His hair was messy but some might say it made him look better, though Rick would be the first to tell you that his messy hair is not the best looking thing. The 6 year student had been running to the hogwarts train, though while doing this he had pictures and write ups of all the games by the other houses. Rick was hoping to challenge the stereotype of Hufflepuffs not being able to compete with the other houses. Though it will be tough many Hufflepuffs, are fine with just playing a good game, something Rick would love too. But of course his desire to help the hufflepuffs was overshadowed over what was happening.

Walking to the train seemed to raise a lot of elbows well when you got a giant tortoise riding on his cart, which no doubt would cause plenty of problems. Since everyone seemed convinced that, the sweet girl had attacked people, but she was just a tortoise, who can she really attack. Yet with that he couldn't really take his mind off of the attacks and the well dangerous time he is living. The hufflepuff was considered a child of a blood traitor and even though he was a hufflepuff he understood what that meant for him. It was dangerous since if those crazy death eaters, would no doubt like to make him and others hurt for no real reason.

An when Rick got into the train station well, he couldn't hide the fact he was scared with all the security it just seemed like they were at war. Something that scared the son of the healer, imagining all those that will get hurt and die. His father no doubt was still busy with plenty of muggleborn and half bloods scared out of their mind getting treatment from attacks or just getting in some cross fire. An because they were worried about getting hurt while in a hospital they went to Rick's father personally. Which did cause Rick's mother but being a nurse herself she wasn't going to turn anyone away.

"Time to see our friends Juliet." Rick said his one true companion who has been with him since the very beginning.

Honestly he couldn't wait to see his best friend Danae a fellow Hufflepuff that he has friends with for a while. They have been close because of Quidditch, and now that he was captain and she was prefect they were going to be working together a lot. Both having positions of importance and Danae would no doubt want to make sure that Rick worked to make sure the Hufflepuff's Quidditch team were responsible.

Getting on the train was a bit annoying but the Hufflepuff was patient and wasn't going to complain being nice with the goblen wasn't that hard for the half blood. Never quiet understanding why everyone hated the small people, sure they were different but that didn't really do anything to Rick he just saw people. Those with feelings and hearts, who can be hurt and feel pain why people were unable to see past that is beyond Rick.

But getting onto the train the wizard, went to the first cabin he could find was with a Slytherin and a guy who smelled of alcohol. An a kid who was having a sleeping puppy in his arms which was just adorable, with his tortoise just behind him. There seemed to be no one here plus the rest of the cabins had been full so better to sit down while he had the chance.

"Hey guys the rest of the train is full so hope you don't mind me tagging along." Rick asked, a even voice and a friendly outlook, with his slightly messy clothes, a nearly fully button black vest, a canary yellow dress shirt though the top two buttons weren't buttoned, and a black dress pants.

Rick would sit down on the side of the slytherin only because the kid wasn't trying to sleep so wouldn't be as awkward. He hoped to make friends but with everything going on the house tension has only increased. Though the hufflepuff house has always been known for being friendly and Rick would be damned if he start allowing politics affect his attempts at friendship.

"Well my name is Rick whats yours?" Rick asked hoping to start a conversation with the small kid @Cameron Foster

As Rick said this the giant tortoise would sit right in front of the hufflepuff looking over to the small puppy in the kids arms.

 

[Vosrik]

A few hours earlier...​

"Ma! Where's my Guide to Advanced Transfiguration?" Adam was frantic at this point, going through his drawers for the umpteenth time as if the misplaced book would appear suddenly. Cyra watched with obvious amusement perched atop her cage, which crowned the accumulated pile of clothing, school books, and boxes of various wood types. His trunk lay open, awaiting the final piece to complete this year's required list of books.

"Good heavens Adam! You've got barely any time to look, and you don't want to be late for the Hogwarts Express."

The slim 17-year-old paused his search, if only to roll his eyes at his mother's comment. Every year his dear mother admonished him to never miss the train. These anxious reminders were mostly unfounded, as the only child of the Chadwick family never failed to arrive soon after the bricks between platforms 9 and 10 allowed passage through them. If there was one thing Adam dreaded almost as much as being publicly humiliated, it was being dreadfully late. As he was going to be today if that transfigurations book wasn't found, and soon.

Cyra made a particularly strange noise; one that would confuse a stranger perhaps, but not Adam. A companion of his for just over six years, he immediately recognized it as her way of laughing.

"Oh hush, you," he reprimanded with a smile, giving the bird a playful push. Cyra hooted defiantly, but kept her balance on the precariously placed cage. Adam racked his brain, trying to remember what he did with it last. All he could remember was leaving it on the dinner table the night before. Didn't he bring it up after supper? It certainly wasn't downstairs...

"Is this the one?" a masculine voice queried from the hall. Adam's father poked his head into the room, waving around the missing book.

The Ravenclaw lunged for the book in excitement and relief. "Dad! I've been looking for it all morning, where did you find it?"

The man sheepishly scratched his chin and looked at the floor. "I was...reading it for nostalgia's sake. Wasn't that your last year's book?"

Adam merely groaned in reply, taking the heavy book and gingerly placing it in the already stuffed trunk. Being a bit of a neat freak, every piece of clothing was painstakingly folded and organized evenly next to the rest of his supplies. Lifting Cyra and her cage off the corner of the open trunk, Adam latched the silver clasps of his heavy luggage case shut. Each one slid neatly into place with a smooth and satisfying click, just as his mother entered the scene as well.

Most of the wizarding world ground to a halt on the morning of this day. Many families with children saw their beloved ones off to school on the cherry-red Express, and Adam's parents were no exception to this tradition. "Well come on then boys! We don't have the time to oogle at each other all day," his mom called out as she spun on her heels and strode downstairs. Adam and his father smiled at each other briefly before following.

​

It doesn't matter how many times you do it, running through that solid wall didn't ever really get much easier. The beautiful sight of platform 9 and 3/4 met Adam's eyes, with the gleaming red train spewing smoke into the air and families saying their farewells. He and his family had arrived much later than he would like, but at least they weren't outright late. Adam also had an extra box to take with him; all of his wandmaking research, experimental wands, and wood pieces were stored in a small chest strapped to the already bulky trunk.

The trio hugged one last time before Adam boarded the train. He still wore his casual muggle clothing, not having bothered to change until the train was closer to Hogwarts. He'd be wearing those robes for most of the year anyhow, so why not a little bit of adventure before it all began again? As he wandered through carriage after endless carriage, all the sixth year could see were full cabins. As he made his way closer to the end, Adam's face began showing signs of worry as his worst fears were realized; he was late after all! There wouldn't be any more space and he'd have to stand outside like a fool.

Upon reaching the final carriage, relief washed over Adam. This cabin had only three other guys inside, and what luck! His good friend Rick from years prior was there too.

Confidently sliding open the door, he stepped inside and nodded with a warm smile at the trio. One of them - John, a fellow Ravenclaw - looked to be sleeping, but Adam sat on the opposite side of the same bench anyhow, being much more comfortable sitting there than anyone else probably would. Being across from the Hufflepuff on the other bench, he began, "Hey Rick! How was your summer? Sorry I didn't keep up with sending letters, I was busy with work and my wand projects."

Adam had brought a small case with two of his most elegant (and successful) wands to date, which he kept closed on his lap. Looking over to Brodie, he continued, "I'm Adam by the way. I'm sure I've seen you around, but I don't think we've met properly."

 

[Lucy Lou]

Danae had been in Britain for the last week or so, staying with her mother's family. It had been awkward, like always, however there'd been something different about this visit. There was the normal parties and such, but then there'd been the secret meetings at these parties. She remembered being pulled aside for one of them. The whispered words, the propaganda. You're intelligent Dannie. All Os on your OWLs. We could used someone like you and with your Father's contacts in the Ministry. In France. You could go far and do great things. Remember, dear cousin, it is our time now. Time for the Purebloods to put the Muggleborn back into their places. Danae hadn't said anything as Rodolphus's wife as she'd whispered to her one night when she'd cornered her at one such event. Make the right choice Dannie. Don't be on the wrong side. When Danae hadn't said anything Bellatrix continued, moving from trying to woo her into the fold to threats. Rodolphus does like his little cousin. He'd be devastated if something were to happen. Luckily, Rodolphus appeared at that moment to take his wife out to the dance floor and Danae scurried away.

The rest of her visit, she tried to hide as much as possible from her cousin's wife. Rodolphus didn't seem to interested in trying to recruit her for whatever it was and for that she was thankful for the moment. She didn't know how long that would last and she was already making plans to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays now. Hopefully she could figure something out for the summer. Get her father to rent her an apartment in Diagon Alley for her summer internship, anything to keep her out of the Lestrange household. Now she had entered King's Cross via Flu travel. Stepping from the grate, she drew her want to remove the soot from her clothes only to look up to see something strange. Three lines formed in front of the main entrance to the station. The young woman furrowed her brow as she looked on. She dragged her trunk behind her and went up to the longest line, there at the back of the line was another Hufflepuff.

"Hey Connor what's all this?" She asked as she look at the seventh year.

"Security measures ordered by the Ministry. There are separate lines for blood class. You've got to go over there Danae. That's the line for the purebloods."

Danae made a face, but she wasn't one to "step out of line" as it were. "Thanks Connor. See you at school." She waved to him before heading off to stand in the right line uncomfortably. Here the other purebloods seemed unconcerned with the events here. Most were Slytherins. Most were the same students she'd seen at the pureblood parties. all talking about the same things. As she stood inline, the conversations grew quieter. They didn't want to talk around someone who was an unknown, but she could pick up a few words. Mudblood. Blood traitors. And many other like it. However, she didn't have to wait long before they were herd easily through the barrier. Only with a brief check of wants to be sure they were who they were. Looking down the line she could see the process for the other blood classes wasn't so easy.

However, once through, Danae pushed it aside for the moment instead choosing to focus on the good and try to find her friends. Leaving her trunk in the baggage car, she opened and closed a lot of train cars, but had yet to find anyone on the cabins she knew. Finally she managed to find Rick, her best friend in Hufflepuff. There were already three others in the train car as well. She recognized them, after six years of classes together you start to know each other.

"RICK!" She said in her normally bubbly voice, her blue hair reflective of her personality. Stepping into the car, she didn't see the Julie there on the floor. She never saw Julie on the floor and so like was so common in the Hufflepuff dorms. Danae caught her foot on the turtle's shell and fell into the cabin, stumbling on her next step only to fall across the laps of both Adam and the sleeping John. Completely embarrassed, the girl's hair turned from it's blue color to a bright pink, such was the life of a metamorphmagus. "OhmyI'msosorry!" She stumbled out in a hurry as she pushed herself up and took the seat besides Rick. "Damn it Julie." She whispered to the turtle, "Why do you always have to do this too me? And no I don't know where Kovu is. He's probably exploring the other cars." She finished as the turtle looked at her.

 

[Oreus]

Houdini always dreaded summer break and this last year had been no different. He spent the whole summer avoiding circus postings just in case his family was in town. Homeless over the summer was one way to describe his situation, but he liked to describe it as 'adventures in visiting wizard friends'. A lot of his last term at school was spent making plans with loosely connected friends so he could 'visit' them and have a home for a week or so at a time. Not normally something he told people as he was already looked down on as a mudblood. Needless to say he was very excited to be boarding the train and starting another year of school. How he managed to get by was a miracle of petty theft, scholarships, and begging.

The questioning at the train was brutal but he was obviously not a threat being a mudblood and all. That was the impression he got at least. They moved him along quickly after he answered the questions nervously. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he would make it to the end of his schooling alive with the rumors going around. At least for now the train seemed safe. As usual he was running late so he had to move to the back where he finally found an empty seat. Next to some friends who obviously took after him.

"Uh oh, I must be in the room car, apologies," he said slyly as he peeked his head inside. "This one seems to have too many Hufflepuffs."

From previous years he was decent friends with Rick and Danae, though wouldn't consider them CLOSE friends. No one really was. He ventured in his thoughts that most of them just saw him as comic relief. Oh well. It was better than being cursed by Slytherin kids like his first two years. He took one of the seats among the mostly friendly crowd. Nutso sat on his shoulder after Harry settled in. Per usual he had his casual muggle clothes on and would change later.

 

[Diva]

------- Platform 9 3/4, first morning of 6th year -------​

"Cùm do smiogaid suas Ainsley, tha thu gu h-àrd." [Keep your chin up Ainsley, you are above this]

She oblidged, quite literally pressing her chin forward, enhancing her stature and forcing her to look further down her thin little nose at those around her. This was, of course, her gran's intent; which she had conveyed in gaelic for emphasis.

Agatha Abernethy stood a full inch taller than Ainsley, and her posture was twice as imposing from an extra few decades of "keeping her chin up". She looked down on her grandaughter with an intense mixture of pride and envy, something Ainsleey was keenly aware of. Where her parents had nothing of material value to offer, her grandparents had entered her life with an offer of every advantage. In the last two years, she had been able to gorge her ambition each summer in elite social circles, and wizarding societies. The spending money didn't hurt either; but there were some things that twisted Ainsley's stomach into knots, and the last few weeks had been full of them...

== two weeks prior, August 19th ==

​

"You really shouldn't have Douglas, this port is positively sinful-"

"Thank ye Bellatrix, it's one of me own Granda's additions to the clan cellar. Old wine for old blood, he used to say.."

There was general laughter throughout the parlor. Ainsley considerd the thick red liquid in her glass. To her it looked like it WAS old blood; the texture was right, and the smokey sweet elegance left room for a young mind to wonder. Something about the way the Lestrange woman sipped hers made Ainsley believe they were of like minds on the matter. Yes, there was something about that Lestrange woman alright. She hot been hot and cold with Ainsley since they had met earlier in the summer. The Abernethy and Lestrange family had toured the Rhone with the Labelles, a very tenuous trip for Ainsley, and now Rodulphus and his eccentric wife were at Ainsley's brithday party for reasons she was still working out.

"Ainsley Dear! How silly of us, this is your night love, we finally get to see some of that Prefect talent without buggering the Minister"

"Wanker!"

More laughter for her granda's poor party humor. So that's what this was about. Though Gran's smile was wry, her eyes were steel: Ainsley was to perform for Bellatrix Lestrange. Why was not her place to ask, but since accepting her grandparent's help putting her infornt of whomever they deemed the "right" people was commonplace. Very well.

Ainsley presented herself with an eloquent courtsey, careful to show her flashing blue eyes to the small collection of friends and family. Agatha had whipped her into shape when the two first met. Elegeance and grace, but never demure, always letting her power and intelligence shine through. With coquettish flair she pinned back her roving red hair and had the undevided attention of the whole room...well almost. The guest of honor was not so easily impressed.

The next ten or so minutes was filled with flashy charms and creative hexes, all strung together with aplomb and a trained instinct for entertaining company. There were a more than a few invitees from high ranking Ministry offices, almost all Slytherin alumn, and notably willing to laugh at the Minister's expense. Ainsley successfully demonstrated an above average aptitude for her year, and there was a great deal of polite applause, as well as the occasional hoot of anticipation for her upcoming quidditch season. It should have been more than enough for her first out-of-school display, but the applause was cut by a cool and razor tipped voice...

"Is that it? I thought you were a Prefect of Salazar Slytherin's house, surely you must have loftier goals than the tricks they teach to anyone at Hogwarts? Come now Ainsley, show us something worthy of your proud family's blood..."

Uncomfortable scoffs and tuts attempted to carry the mood, but Bellatrix not-so-subtle implication was missed by noone, least of all the Abernethys. Agatha's shoulders clamped down so hard it looked like her spine would snap. This was no longer a game, and Ainsley's cheeks began to burn, her freckles seeming to fuse under a scarlet blush. It could have been a number of things that compelled her to what she did next, but the most important noteworthy was Ainsley's realization that she wanted to impress this mysterious witch, just as much or more than her grandparents had.

Expecto Patronum...

Through much of the last year, Ainsley had been dabling in secret with this ellusive spell. It's very existence and requirments seemed to mock her since she first read about it, but she had found it unshakable. A spell grounded in pure happiness, what it might mean about Ainsley if she of all people could master it. She had managed to conisistantly manage a thick and pleasant haze before leaving 5th year behind, and all summer had been scouring her memories for just the right one. One in particular had stood out, and at Bellatrix's remark it exploded open, and out through her wand.

The effect was far from perfect. Ghostly blue waves sputtered out of Ainsley's wand at first, but soon gave way to a steadier stream. They swirled and spun clumsilly infront of her. The look on little miss Lestrange's face added an immense rush of pleasant feeling, and for just a moment something solid broke the mist, and vanished again with the flick of what looked like a fin.

Lestrange was on her feet, hissing with delight.

"Yesss! Now, I do see a real Slytherin..."

The evening went on with accolades from all, and almost flirtatious interest from Bellatrix. Douglas was proud, Agathat was positively rapturous, and hushed conversations were happening left and right..

So why did Ainsley suddenly feel so ill?

==Platform 9 3/4, present ==

​

Security at the station was suffocating. Ainsley was oddly desperate to return to school, where she could at least be in control of herself again, and bury herself in work. Instead, she was trapped with Agatha, who was insisting that Ainsley be pressed through as a pure-blood. In some horrid way, she knew this was flattering, but the circumstances created a perfect storm of humiliation.

"Madame, this sieve is not working for her, please move to the rear of the appropriate line!"

How Ainsley wished she could enjoy the site of her usually picturesque Gran, still positively stunning at 62, arguing with a goblin on her behalf. Deep inside her a fopish little farmgirl was dying to erupt in laughter, but that girl had not had her way in years now. Once frizzy red hair was now staightend and angular, adding a severe emphasis to her already pointy features. Loose, practical clothing long since replaced with the latest fashion; though today she was already in her house colors, complete with tie, and Prefect pin displayed proudly on her deep green sweatervest. Alsounlike that farmgirl, this no nonesense young woman was keenly aware of the whipsers cropping up around them.

Tha e breagha. 'S e seo tuilleadh mhiosa na' leigeil air falbh mi! [It's fine. This is more humiliating than just letting me go!]

Eventually Agatha had to yeild to her grandaughter's wisdom. Both were more than a little uneasy with the realization that security was so tight, the Matron of the Abernethy Clan was unable to retain her customary preferential treatment. Still, she would be damned to wait around in that other line. She left Ainsley at the back of the line for mixed blood students, and apparated away in a nervous huff. No sooner was that ordeal through than the snickers of younger Slytherin began to reach her ears. Most of the underclassman were easily silienced with a careful turnout to flash the large "P" on her chest, while the rest were filed in a very unpleasant part of Ainsley's mind.

~~~~​

Ainsley tipped the bag boy with a full galleon and a chilly stare. It wasn't likely any harm would come to her precious trunk or broom, but she was positively livid at being among the last to board. That checkpoint had taken ages, and on top of that ghastly ordeal, she now had to shuffle towards the rear of the train, destined to be stuck in a car with the least of the least desirable sutdents. She could have easily forced her way in with her team, or other Slytherin, but once again the burden of shame held back her will to throw any authority around at this particular moment. Hopefully she could just sit, read, and draft some Quidditch plays. If her reputation didn't precede her as someone not to be bothered, the tension pulling at the corner of her eyes certianly would. She was in NO mood.

The thurough ruination of Ainsley Abernethy was complete as she stepped in the final car. Nothing could have prepared her for the mismatched group of classmates that were waiting. It was the perfect trap:

The one member of Slytherin who did not respond to her hard earned authority.
That creepy gypsy gryffindor, whom all of Slytherin [except Brodie apparently] avoided like the plague
Two Ravenclaw she had never met, who could remain that way for all she cared, and...
Rick, and Danae. How Ainsley had allowed herself to end up with a weakness for two Hufflepuff out of all Hogwarts, was beyond her, but here she was. The only problem was deciding which was worse. Her rival Captain, Rick, was positively sacrine. Such a good sport, so kind, so handsome; it was unbearable, not to mention that ridiculous turtle! Then there was Danae. She truly terrified the stoic scot. Inspite of herself, Ainsley could not dislike Danae Labelle. The closest she could come mile long streak of envy, but that still meant admitting she found Danae to be positively enchanting. More troubling? The two had spent time together over the summer.

No. Enough was enough today. Ainsley was returning home. Ainsley the Quidditch captian. Ainsley the prefect. Ainsley Abernethy the bloody damn Slytherin. Her skin prickled and flushed as familiar layers of emotional armor began to return, swaddling her with her own pride. As a symbolic geasutre she unfolded her wizarding robes from over her arm, and pulled them on before jamming herself into the corner of a bench against the wall. He body language clearly indicating a desire for space, and her eyes threatened unspoken consequences. At least Ness wasn't there, or there might surely be blood.
She opened her small tote bage and removed a book stolen from Granda's library "Practically Forgotten: the most usefull older spells someone forgot to teach you". This whole day is just a hicc-up, she tried to tell herself as she cracked the dusty spine, Just make it to the school and you can get back to routine.


With one last glance to defy any attempt at conversation, Ainsley lifted her chin, and began to read. At least it couldn't get worse..

 

[Shalken]

10:48

Whitney rushed through the bustling crowds of London’s railway station, dodging and weaving through platform 8 as she tugged her heavy luggage behind. With every step she cursed herself for sleeping in so late. She was so anxious and excited the night before, she simply could not get any rest. Desperate, she’d downed a Sleeping Potion, assuring herself that she’d wake up in time. Now, she was vowing to never drink one again.

10:52

Her heart pounded as she charged through the brick pillar that magically divided the Muggle from the magical. Every year, Whit was worried the wall would seal shut in her face, and today was no exception. But at least she’d made it through with a few minutes to spare, right? Surely she’d make it in time.

Wait, what was this? Since when did they question students before boarding the train? Her heart began to beat frantically as she hustled up to a goblin-operated booth. The gnarly creature looked up, gazing at the girl condescendingly. ”State your blood class.” Whitney blinked at the goblin, stumped. ”My...my what?” ”Blood class! Pureblood? Half-blood? Muggleborn?” ”I..I’m Muggleborn!” Sneering, the creature pointed to the adjacent booth. ”Muggleborns over there!” Flustered, the girl picked up her luggage, rushing over to the waiting goblin.

10:59

What she had hoped to be a quick inspection turned into a full-blown interrogation, her panic mounting ever higher as the goblin’s ridiculous questions never seemed to stop. Nerve-wracked and frantic, Whit was stumbling over even the most basic queries. Why her? Why today?

”Thank you, miss. You may now proc--” ”Thank you!” Practically leaping across the cobblestone, Whitney sprinted full-tilt down the platform, clutching Ziggy to her chest underneath her coat. At this rate, she figured the only available seats would be in the last car. Rushing by a startled conductor, she dropped the baggage at his feet, offering a quick ”Sorry!” before moving on.

Unfortunately for her, slamming luggage in an open train station is far from quiet, causing many students to peer through the windows at the late witch. The platform was quickly filled with mutters, sneers, and laughter. ”Who’s the slacker?” ”It’s Half-Whit, of course!” This was almost too much for the poor girl. Daring not to look through the windows, she continued on to the back of the train.

11:00

The whistle of the Hogwarts Express blew long and loud, sounding its departure. Reaching the carriage door just in time, Whitney leaped in as the train lurched into motion.

Safely inside, she brushed off the dust that had accumulated on her clothes the best she could. Checking each of the carriage’s cabins, her dismay mounted as she found each one full. At this rate, she’d have to sit out the entire trip in the hall. This was quickly becoming the most miserable day of her life. Only one cabin left to check.

Peeking in timidly, Whitney was surprised at the odd kerfuffle taking place. Though there were some she did not recognize, she could easily pick out those she knew most: friendly Rick, awkward Adam, troublemaker Harry, with spunky Danae sprawled awkwardly over several of them...and finally, of all people, her old companion Ainsley. Whit hardly even knew the girl anymore, she had changed so much.

Offering a quiet ”Hi,”, the distraught Gryffindor girl took the last remaining seat next to the Slytherin prefect, trying her best not to get too close. At this point, with her emotions finally beginning to calm, they threatened to burst forth. ”No, not now! Not in front of everyone! You can do this!” she scolded herself inwardly, instead focusing her attention on Ziggy to make sure he had survived the ordeal unscathed.

 

[Cheshire]

"Well my name is Rick what's yours?"

"Brodie... nice to meet you.." He seemed almost hesitant and to be honest, that was probably most student interaction he had the whole time being at Hogwarts. Unfortunately that caused Pancake to wake up and get excited at the prospect of looking at the turtle. He had to keep the wriggling puppy in his arms as it wanted to go see Juliet. But he finally calmed down in his arms just as Adam walked in. He had heard of him but didn't know much about him other than he was also equally as good as Brodie in charms

"I'm Adam by the way. I'm sure I've seen you around, but I don't think we've met properly."

"Brodie, Brodie Nico" This name did hold a reputation as a "troubled child" due to his violent nature. But he didn't care what people thought about him to be honest. It was all background noise to him. He couldn't care less

"This one seems to have too many Hufflepuffs."

Oh my lord, so many people were coming in... so much for a peaceful train ride. Then the situation took a turn for the worse. Miss Ainsley herself showed up to ruin everyone else's day too. He groaned in annoyance as she made her body language so noticable that she almost thought she was entitled to a seat. That was the thing that he hated the most. Her self entitlement and the way she looked down on others was almost cute. That's why he made it especially annoying for her.

He adjusted his clothes and hat before he pulled a small pad out of a satchel he had taken aboard. If anyone noticed, it was full of music notes and compositions. Multiple parts, all with complex rhythms. It was Brodie's stress reliever, creating music. He noticed Whitney arrive and looked up and gave a tiny smile before getting back into the flow of creating his masterpiece

@BLADE

 

[BLADE]

"...des choses dont je suis le maître mais pas volontairement l’acteur."
- L'entrevue Radio Genève avec le maître Picasso

The forest stretched. The forest was. Branch cross-cut branch, spindly glabrous limbs forming a patchwork sky to live and dream under. Thin beams of dusk's sickly light mapped through the dark peat and moss that man and creature trudged through.

Young Master Sutton (bow)...

"*Uaaaaaagh*"

He nearly tripped over a fallen oak log.

"Keep yer wits about you, sleepy'ead."

"Aye Mum," said the boy glumly, every so often mechanically bending over per his Mum's instructions and cutting the food from the forest's umbral loam: dull Scarletina, milky Shaggy Ink, and la dame royale herself...

Admittedly his mouth would have watered if not for the fact that said Royal Chit was responsible for his nutter Mum had dragged him out of a confusing if ultimately pleasant dream about the buxom Stella girl from Burnage (the rumours about him being a pouf, were indeed rumours not that he'd had occasion to think deeply on them.)

Tilly Sutton had her habits indeed. Not picking up the blower on the first ring-through. Cutting out recipes from the Mirror to photocopy and then look for errors through --"suet not lard, ye daft gits." Writing (and this was a secret habit indulged away from her son's oft-thoughtlessly sharp tongue) but not sending exhortative letters to her favorite Eurovision contestants.

The worst of them all, John was sure, was the fact that Mum was a morning person.

"There!" She chirped brightly, holding up the thick ropey stem of the Queen Bolete. Its bulbous rounded head winked at John as his mum --"Jack, make sure ye look at the stem. No gills!" "Aye mum." "And smells..." "Earthy, mum. I know." "No--" "(Simultaneously) Tang."

She stopped and eyed him for a moment, her blue eyes sharp and luminous in the pale morning light.

"Aye. Well ye just know everything, don't ye Jack?" Her tone was sharp but not unkind.

"No mum." He drew out his plaintive response in an admirable --if impossible-- attempt to avoid a whine.

Mum softened despite herself, "Aye, that's my good lad. 'Sides I reckon this bores you but--"

"It doesn't bore me, Mum. Well not all the time."

She laughed.

"Aye, I reckon that's about as much as I can expect from a lad your age. Go on then."

He blinked.

"Go on where?"

Tilly Sutton snorted.

"Where else, my boy? Yer uncle."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blink.

His uncle sat one of the massive tables at the Maccabee (Mac for short.) He tapped a soggy chip against well-hardened mushy peas boredly, before looking up with lively brown eyes at his nephew. A grin stole across his face changing the dull Northern features into --well still rather dull Northern features, but somewhat arresting ones if his *ahem* romantic endeavors were to be taken into account. It even made you miss his unnaturally thinned hair. Especially if you didn't want to look.

John did not.

"There's my favorite nephew!"

"Your only nephew, Uncle Eddie."

"Well, they broke the mold when they made you lad, that they did," said he good-humoredly.

"You've been waiting?"

"Waking, rather. Just like ye, I imagine."

Jack ordered a pint and ventured a glance around the dark, smoke-filled pub. The small, crowded place was suffused with a certain funereal air not broken up by the usual mortiferous (in more ways than one, especially if you thought lewd puns about body parts counted) humour of the Usuals.

One-Eyed Tom fiddled with his old RAF jacket, Muriel Everton lamented the death (now more than two decades and a monarch on) of her "poor, poor Rupert" but without the usual edge of her well-known gadding about with Eustace Jones, Barman Lester was actually attempting to clean one of the filthy beer steins, and Screamin' Doris was not trying to interpret the latest standard across the Pond which had caught her fancy (all due respect to Nina Simone, but "Backlash Blues" would never sound quite the same again.)

"Liverpool won out then?" John ventured, downing the slightly sour ("the secret's in the pipes, m'boy!") vintage before asking for another round. His uncle leaned back and then forward in his chair, a slow energy animating him as if this place, grubby as it was could draw some life back into him. God knows the man needed it.

"Aye. It's all that coont Joey Jones. I told you about the time we--"

"--Aye Joey Jones stole your shoes and your gel." John had mastered the anti-shite-eater's raised eyebrow and he applied to his nuncle who had the good grace to shrug.

"Right. Right."

They trailed off, the sounds of the tiny Warwick teevee crackling through the clinking of glasses and creaking of joints and muttered promises to slit someone's Mum's tits with a rusty nail (that would be Stabber Clyde; firearm violation 1967 --no stabbings.)

"Yeh think ye'll have time for a match afore your (*fluttery fingers*)?"

"Dunno." John shrugged and then with another swig took his chance, "How was hospital?"

Silence.

"Smelled like old people."
"So does this place."
"Dying old people."
"And how is that..."
"Go on."
"Nah. Seems unfair to be cruel when those Liverpool fooks are going to run the league table agin."
"Innit just so?"
"Aye."

A shrug.

John had never been good with words. Not in the sense that he couldn't work out the declension of irregular Mermish words or decode the ortography of Old Ruthenic Runes. It was as if there was film around the parts of his brain that controlled speech and everything that came out pertained to bloody fungus or if Liverpool (the wankers) would repeat, or did you see the --*gesture not acceptable for printing*-- on that French bird? And so his tongue sat flesh-heavy on his mouth, not daring to grasp around those wrinkled edges that looked like that thin, skint hospital smock material or that smelled of photochemicals of smell of smell of smell.

If John had been given to greater self-knowledge and more introspection than he perhaps overrated in himself (not so very great a sin by the standards of adolescence) he might have known that this lack of nerve in subjects too terrible and yet too everyday to speak to and of was... well it was bloody well human, right? The American writer Eudora Welty once wrote that daring came from within.

Well she's a daft bint and her books are rubbish.

So he drank and smiled at his uncle, dark thoughts sluggishly draining through the mental sluice of time --healer and embalmer-- and alcohol --at least one of those two. Uncle Eddie was not so young and strong anymore and stood up on colt legs and called for music.

"Let's 'ave some fun, shall we?"

Mrs. Everton was the first to link arms with him, her thick frame strangely graceful as she held her hands up and about, in a parody of a quadrille. A clink, and then--

--SHATTER!--

Barman Lester knocked over a pitcher and then another and then another and trebled the score on that again as he drew a fiddle and began to play. The room grew smaller as with a small stutter step Muriel welcomed Eustace into her arms and their heated embrace was parted and joined by Rupert, who bowed but courteously kept that side of his skullcap the Germans had deprived him of from showing.

The dancing grew more heated and John drank and drank. Sheila the Squiff joined in and the fiddle belched fire and musk, and the room smelled of all those old things so-avoided: Death Cap and Fool's Funnel (and all the more fool he), and then they joined hands in a circle, making a circuit of the Mac and every so often, one would join in men and women too in waistcoasts and sundresses that John had never even seen and his uncle at the center of it all, his eyes bleeding, a cracked stein of beer set precariously on his head.

"Jackie boy!"

"Aye?"

"I need ye to do summat for me, boy."

"I know. You don't want me to worry."

"Nay, lad. I want you to wake up."

John tipped a beer in response and blinked, blood from his own eyes tipping into his cup.

He drank. And drank. And drank.

Wake up.

Not yet. Drink.

Wake up.

"And do see if ye can find yerself a lass at that school of yours, eh boy?"

John remained silent as they went on, pieces of trolley-toffee, of barking dog, of girl-perfume piercing into the dance.

But it went on and now silent.

And so was he.

Christ, he was ashamed, but he was silent.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When John woke, he could taste that they were in Scotland, something about the stale air of the train --magic or no-- telling him that they had long since left London station. He dimly registered a familiar softness sprawled against him and from beneath his eyelashes noticed the French girl apologizing profusely to him and other parties involved. He didn't have the energy to decide whether he minded or not.

Perhaps he didn't. It wasn't like he hadn't laid with girls. Though all Muggles. His uncle wondered about the difference and John now regretted that strange Puritan streak in him that kept him from even analogizing --though he'd intrigued his motorcycle-riding uncle by musing that it might be akin to the difference between a Triumph and a Harley.

So he'd grunted something vaguely polite at the girl. He didn't --was literally incapable of... Well he didn't care.

His mouth tasted sour and empty and he desperately wanted to drown himself in something as high proof as possible.

He'd have to settle for a smoke. With a practiced twitch, he drew out a *** from his breast pocket and lit it wandlessly. Another spell kept the smoke from spreading. Brought it all back to his lungs. Exponentially more carcinogenic. Something about the thought appealed to him in that moment, and so he took a long drag and smoked down the whole ciggy before flinging it into his portfolio and drawing another.

His eyes blearily made out Chadwick from Ravenclaw and the Gryffindor bloke who made him larf sometimes and the bint with the broomstick up her arse from Slytherin and the -- was that a tortoise-- he was still somewhat drunk and now that he thought about it, he might have been mixing up houses. Wasn't the bint from--

Why bother. He didn't care.

He settled for finishing that ciggy and then drawing out a third. From the corner of his eye he could see the girl on the farther end of his row. She seemed to be drowning in something. Herself maybe.

And because he knew that was what his people would do, and because he'd drowned a thousand times in his own detestable self, he sighed and drew for a fourth ***. It was an assumption but at least it was one in good faith. And her he remembered. He could never forget a gel from Liverpool (shite-eating pillocks) after all.

He leaned over and to the side, his long arms profferring an unlit ***. He didn't fancy getting much in other's spaces but he wasn't much concerned about it; where and how he grew up, that sort of thing marked you as more than a bit poncey.

"'lo," he greeted in his low scratchy voice, "Fancy a cig, luv?"

@Benvenu7

 

[Richie B.]

Rick listened to the Syltherin kid introduce himself has Broide, he seemed like a shy kid, who just so happened to have a very cute puppy. If he didn't have some self control he would have just started playing with the puppy, but no doubt the kid wouldn't enjoy a hufflepuff climbing all over him just for a puppy. That was of course when Adman came in, the ravenclaw friend he had they did talk some over the summer, but not much as Adam has gotten busy. But the hufflepuff didn't mind as well he knew the two would meet up in hogwarts once school starts.

"Don't worry Adam, I understand you got work to do, besides I can see you actually did some work." Rick said moving his eyes to the boxes that were clearly meant for wands, the ravenclaws desire to be a wand maker wasn't unknown to Rick as they have known each other for a bit. (@Vosrik )

Than surprise, surprise Danae, Ricks best friend showed up which made Rick give a big old smile to her, as she walked in. Since well they were very very close friends. Working in the same team, in the same house, in the same year it shouldn't be that hard to realize. Though it does surprise people how they weren't dating, but it was like asking a brother who was really close to his sister why he didn't just bed her. It was weird and Rick just couldn't imagine it, sure they were friends but there wasn't really any feelings each other had for one another.

"DANAE!" Rick replied as Danae walked into the cabin just as excited and happy as his friend was, though maybe not as bubbly he was still every child like as he got up opening his arms, expecting a hug.

This usually happens, he would just be near Juliet and Danae will come around for some reason and than BAM. The poor girl would be on the ground groaning. It was cute and funny really the wizard should have expected something like this to happen since well it doesn't a fortune teller to know it was going to happen. But Rick just stood there for a second the situation not fully catching up, really it was sad but once he realized that Danae was on the lap of the two other guys in the cabin.

Rick just laughed for a time it took Danae to get up and sit down, but by than Rick had already sat down again just happy to see his friend hadn't changed that much.

"Can't blame the tortoise Danae, Juliet is just a big ol slow girl. Though how is your foot? Does it hurt?" Rick would ask and depending on her answer the wizard might grab his wand and start to heal the poor girls foot. (@Megilwen

Than another person just came a gryffindor by the name of Harry, the guy was a friend though Rick was always looking over his shoulder because of the guy. Not that he mind a prank here and there but the guy seemed to really to do lots of pranks. So well Rick made sure to always be cautious when the guy was here but he always tried to be respectful about it. As not to be rude about how he worried about getting his haired shaved and or falling down as the stairs become a ramp.

"Well harry hopefully we don't scary you. I promise Juliet doesn't bite that hard." Rick retorted to Harry joke, really it was only meant to tease and not to actually be mean, his tone reflect this as it was a light hearted and relaxed. (@Bauren )

An just as Harry sat down, Rick just wouldn't even imagine anyone else coming in now there was 6 people but today just seem want to be weird. Because the prefect and captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team showd up, alright he knew a lot of people come late to the train but this was getting ridiculous. But he knew it would be rude to say something out loud he didn't want to give the captain of the Slytherin qudditich team the wrong impression of him, before they even play against each other.

So putting on a friendly smile and a happy demeanor the captain looked up to his fellow captain hoping to show his best foot forward. Even though she didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, but Rick was hopefully cut right though her emotional barriers that almost every Slytherin seem to wear.

"Hello Ainsley, hopefully you been having a good day." Rick said hoping to make sure sort of conversation, with his fellow captain at least. (@Diva Tumi )

AN WHEN AFTER THAT MERE MOMENTS LATER ANOTHER STUDENT CAME.

This time another Gryffindor, why another student was late is beyond Rick but it seemed that everyone wanted to be here for some reason. An still holding it in the hufflepuff wasn't getting frustrated just confused. But Rick recognized the girl, as Whitney was known for getting into trouble but the hufflepuff wasn't one to judge or joke at another's expense.

"Hello there, Whitney is it? Guess you were late too like the rest of us huh?" Rick asked hoping to make some small talk though he wasn't sure if he was about to take on more than he can chew, seeing how Whitney was around Ainsley. (@Shalken )

Though when the drunk man woke up, Rick wasn't sure what to do. So for now Rick was quiet, than the drunk decided it was good to offer a cigarette to Whitney and as a man wanting to be a healer. Well he needed to stop this.

"Hey man sorry to ask but could you not smoke? It is your choice but you do know the damage it can cause to you right?" Rick asked the man hoping to help the man choice a more healthy life style. (@BLADE )

 

[Vosrik]

Rick's comments brought another smile to Adam's face, and he traced his fingers along the edges of the box. He'd put a lot of work into these three wands over the summer and a lot of money in one of them in particular. The Ravenclaw was about to unclasp the precious box, when suddenly the doors burst open to reveal a dazzlingly blue-haired girl. The poor student's heart melted at the sight of Danae again; he'd seen her a lot in the library last year, and was accused (perhaps not falsely) of ditching his friends to go "spy" on her in lieu of studying or hanging out. Rick and Danae reunited with pronounced exuberance, just before the Hufflepuff girl promptly tripped over the enormous turtle sitting calmly in the doorway.

Upon Danae falling across himself and John, Adam turned a very bright shade of red. Being the gentleman he was, Adam tried helping the now pink-haired Danae up from her rather awkward position.

"It's...it's alright, really," he replied to her quick apology, then growing quiet and fiddling euphorically with his box of wands. He only barely acknowledged the entrance of Harry, the well-known Griffindor troublemaker, before two more girls entered the cabin.

Well, it's the last available one... he thought, as the imposing Slytherin prefect sat uncomfortably close to Adam. If it were his choice, he wouldn't be two train carriages near her; he'd heard more than enough stories to warrant avoiding Ainsley at any cost. Finally, their cabin filled with Whitney stumbling in with a half-hearted greeting to everyone.

Great.

Now two of the most attractive (and one of the most intimidating) girls were all stuck in the same room with him. To make it worse, it seemed John still had a peculiar love of cigars, of which he chain-smoked several before offering one to the Gryffindor girl. Adam shook his head in disapproval, his face returning somewhat to its normal colour as he focused back on the conversation with Rick.

He spun the box around, fingering the silver clasps. He didn't want them confiscated by Ainsley, but it seemed she wanted to be in the crowded carriage as much as a dementor wanted a birthday cake. Resolving himself, Adam carefully opened the box to reveal three intricately carved and polished wands. Picking up one, he handed it carefully over to Rick. ((@Benvenu7))

"This one's made of Aspen and Kelpie hair. Took me a few tries to get a nice finish, but I'm happy with the results. Of course it's nowhere near the mastery that Ollivander's achieved, but it's one of my best." Adam would let Rick take it and try a few spells.

 

[Ferre]

Suddenly awake, Pancake's face took to the air with a curiously sniffing nose. Something important had awoken the little pup. Too important to be ignored. Giving his master a look that was filled with concern for Brodie, Pancake jumped off his lap and dashed out into the hallway.

-moments later-

The scream that pierced through the hall was uncanny. The sound of an elderly woman about to have a heart attack mixed with the sounds of soft boxes and crinkled plastics collapsing onto each other. As soon as one sound dissipated, another seeped in smoothly; the sound of stiffed giggles erupting into unashamed laughter.

The sound of paws, stumbling, frolicking, and thumping their way down the hall, skidding to a halt at the door of their cabin. Bashfully, but proudly creeping back inside, Pancake sat tall with a box of Every Flavor Beans in his slobbery bite. Eyes bright and tail wagging, Pancake awaited praise from his master for such a valorous deed in retrieving the vital nutrition that Brodie needed to survive.

 

[Lucy Lou]

"Thank you." Danae said to Adam as he helped her up. His cheeks nearly as flushed as her hair as she sat in the seat behind her friend.

"It hurts less then my injured pride." She said with a sideways smile to Rick, waving away his concern with one hand as she finally gave him the hug that they'd initially been going for when she tripped over Julie. Before sure turned back to the rest of the group. One of the boys who's lap she fell into hadn't even woken up from his sleep. That was a plus at least. It made her half as embarrassed as she had been previously. Her hair started to fade back into the blue that it had been.

As each new member came in Danae would hop up and would attempt give them each a hug and a happy exclamation of their name. Danae had always been good about remembering people and making them feel as someone whom she really enjoyed being around. Which was more than likely true. If anything the girl really did love and enjoy being around everyone. As Whit came in she could nearly feel the girl's pain and made sure her hug was particularly long. Then, reaching into her shoulder bag, she pulled out a chocolate frog and handed it to her. "Here. Chocolate always makes everything better." Her bright smile lighting up her face again, before she retook her seat next to Rick.

There were so many people in the cabin that she didn't know who to talk to first. She just wanted to talk with everyone and was nearly bouncing in her seat because of it. There was Adam with his super cool looking wands. John was smoking. Brodie with his adorable puppy. Whit who looked like she could really use a friend right now. Harry with the squirrel on his shoulder, that fluffy tail just begging to be pet. Rick who she could easy catch up with later. And Ainsley. She really didn't know what to think about the girl. They'd had a pleasant summer together. Well as pleasant as one could get with her cousin-in-law Bella.

Rick ended up in a conversation with Adam, John had leaned across to Whit to ask if she needed a cigarette to calm down and Ainsley looked like she'd rather swallow glass then talk to anyone in the cabin. So the girl turned to Harry with her bright grin. "Did you have a pleasant summer Harry? Could I pet your squirrel? What's his name?"

 

[Diva]

If there was such a thing as being to clever for your own good, Ainsley fell squarely in that catagory. Her mud-blood mother had told her as much so often that it might as well have been her middle name. Instead it was Elizabeth, for her muggle grandmother, though Agatha always told company they were distantly related to the former queen Regina Gloriana. Not entirely untrue in of itself (if barely provable), and not a proud thing for a Scot persay, but certianly less egregious than being named for an ambiguous muggle.

At any rate, Ainsley Elizabeth Abernethy had certianly smarty-pantsed herself into a corner this time. Her armor was entirely too thick, and just as terribley daunting to pentrate from within as without. Danae hadn't said a word to her, and she felt it. Watching the French witch turn her hair different colors filled her with such sickening envy and delight she felt she could eat a whole handful of the stuff. Ainsley wanted to scream with joy at the sight of her summertime friend, and gossip ceasely about the new David Bowie album, gushing over how brave he was for chosing to play for muggles audiences, not to mention the very unladylike feelings he stirred in fans on both sides of the mystical fence; but she couldn't. Not infront of all of them. What would this mixed bag think? What nonesense would they spread about the school? Such rumors could undermine Ainsley's authority in her house, and thus ruin her prospects for head girl. Absolutely not. The answer was no. Her armor suddenly felt tighter.

Then came Whitney. Her sheepish features hit Ainsley like a mace to the skull. At least with her Ainsley had more practice swallowing her guilt, not that it ever went down easy. To her, Whitney's face had been 3 years frozen in the same look of hurt it wore when she had overheard Ainsley calling her "half-wit" to a gaggle of affected slytherin. That wretch. How dare she hold Ainsley hostage to her weakness? It was only a matter of time before Whitney would've had to fight her own battles instead of letting her brassy Scottish friend do it for her, and the sooner that band-aide came off the better.

Ah. There it was. That special flavor of ire that lightened those pesky emtional burdens and shed them like so much water from a sleek steel roof. Good. Back to her book....

"Hello Ainsley, hopefully you've been having a good day"

Rick. Ugh. NOONE WAS THAT SWEET! He surely must be mocking her, why else would he have anything to say to his clear rival? Ha! as if Hufflepuff stood a chance at the cup...

Aye certianly would like to be, If'n you don't mind, Rick Roland! She snapped her response before even considering the question, instinctually infusing sufficient venom in his name to mask the secret pleasure she took in it's natural alliteration. That was a thing the two had in common. Oh no, gross. Yankee arse, where does he get off being so dopily cute? It was disarming, and complete sheep shite.

Her mooning was interuppted, thanks be. Some not-so-forgotten protectve impulse flared in her gut as she watched that thick sod in the corner press a cigarette toward Whitney. Just shy of a full foot of rowan wood was quickly produced from the sleeve of her robe, and with decisive clarity Ainsley barked the spell she needed.

Expelliarmus.

The cigarette would be thrown clean from John's fingers and out the narrow portal beside him. The spell had barely left her mouth before a viscious scolding followed tight on it's heel.

If yeh must fill yerself with that muggle poison Mr. Sutton, yeh may do us all that service; but pass it about again, and I'll have Filch up yer arse like a renegade broomstick. Isn't that so Danae?

While the threat was as steely as any she'd ever gave, that last little bit come from nowhere. It must have been the chocolate frog. Watching Danae's tender gift to Whitney had found a remaining heartstring to play. Her eyes met with Whitney's for a fleeting second, then quickly shied away without a word. Phooey. No harm done at least, Danae was also a prefect, and Ainsley was justified in calling on her to reinforce her authority. The irony was that the two had shared a few elegant wizard cigarettes in France that summer, but this was different. They were on their way to Hogwarts now, and rules were rules. Ainsley was being especially leanient by letting him smoke at all as far as she was concerned... Bloody hell, why did she keep dwelling on these misfits? Chin out, and back to reading. The easiest way to avoid all this unpleasant turmoil was by staying away from it...

But that lasted only another few moments, before the dorkier of the Ravenclaw stole her attention with a single word. Aaron? Was that his name? He had built his own wands... the legality of this became a fleeting concern once he described their composition. Her nose still burried behind the symbolic wall of her book, she leared at him with menacing curiosity over the spine.

Kelpie hair did yeh just say?

 

[Shalken]

As horrible as Whitney felt, to describe the reception her companions gave her as she entered as heartwarming would be an understatement. She was completely overwhelmed with welcomes and nearly smothered under Danae's embrace, smiling shyly as she accepted the chocolate frog from the blue-haired Hufflepuff.

Having ensured Ziggy's safety, Whit was somewhat stumped when the boy in the corner of the cabin offered her a cigarette. She paused for a couple of seconds, not entirely sure how to respond; nobody had ever offered her a cigarette before. Though she had no real intention of ever smoking, she didn't want to upset the guy by outright refusing his act of good intent. She quietly breathed a sigh of relief as Rick spoke up, gently reprimanding his harmful habit. Having gathered the courage, she spoke up, leaning slightly ahead of Adam to speak to the boy, "Thanks for the offer, but--"

Before she could finish, the telltale swish of a wand accompanied by a firm "Expelliarmus" cut her thought short. Seeing the object fly out the window, Whit cowered back down into the booth, wishing she could just sink deep into the cushions to escape the stinging reprimand being delivered across her. She almost didn't even notice the cute puppy jump out of his master's lap, rushing off down the hallway.

Whitney remained silent as the conversation died down somewhat, the other students engaging in various small talk. Seeing Ainsley sink back into her book, she began to wish that she had brought one herself. However, these thoughts quickly vanished as Adam presented a very ornate wand that he'd crafted himself. Secretly excited to see the results, Whitney listened intently to Rick and Adam's conversation.

Her heart quickly sank as the bundle of fun-killing decided to intervene, questioning the core of Adam's beautiful craftsmanship. Just then, however, Whitney couldn't resist letting out a delighted "Aaaw! as the adorably fuzzy puppy tumbled into the crowded cabin, proudly displaying the slobbery box held gently in his tiny jaws.

 

[Cheshire]

"Hello there, Whitney is it? Guess you were late too like the rest of us huh?"

Brodie offered a smile before he looked down at Pancake and realised what he was going to do. There was a brief moment where the puppy and master locked eyes and Brodie knew exactly what was going to happen. As soon as the puppy leaped out his arms, Brodie made the jump to catch the puppy in his arms. So he leaped and he was so close to getting Pancake.

But he missed.

So he crashed painfully off the floor and winced as he heard the scream emerge from the outside. When he had got to his feet, his puppy was there to greet him with a slobbery pack of every flavour beans. He tried to have a stern face on but he couldn't help but smile slightly. He laughed and picked the puppy up and plopped it down where he was sitting.

"Stay there you"

He walked out to see what damage had been caused. Thankfully it wasn't as much damage as he expected and it was rather easy to clear up, so he arrived with multiple chocolate frogs as Pancake had caused the havoc. He paid the poor woman extra and it was all forgiven. When he arrived back at the carrige, he passed the chocolate frogs out to everyone before picking Pancake up and putting him back on his lap again.

3 Hours Later

The train skidded to a stop and Brodie got the perfect view of Hogwarts at nighttime. he smiled and waited for everyone else before making his own way to Hogwarts​

 

[Green Ranger]

It was like the quiet before the storm at Hogsmeade Station. Only six times a year was the station used, and even then only two of those days were truly busy. Only when the school terms opened or closed was the platform truly alive, but for the rest of the year the station lay dormant in silence - naught to be heard from the station itself, the wind rustling through the eaves of the nearby forest the only thing to break the silence. For most of that time, the station was maintained and kept in working order by the magics that concealed and protected the Hogwarts Express line, ensuring the station was in prime condition and kept hidden from curious or prying muggle eyes. As such, noone even bothered to attend the station until scant few minutes before the arrival of the Hogwarts Express.

This year, however, things were slightly different. Not all students took the Express to arrive at Hogwarts - though much of England was capable of making the commute to Kings Cross for the departure, for many others - particularly students coming from Scotland, it was much simpler to simply make a more direct journey straight to the nearby town of Hogsmeade, then to make the journey on foot to the station to join with the rest of the student body. As such, the various magical guards and protections employed at Kings Cross were doubly intensified for Hogsmeade and the nearby station, the Ministry truly expending as much effort as possible to protect and guard the young students of the school until they were safely within the various wards that defended and concealed all who resided within. On foot and broomstick alike, Aurors and Ministry wizards patrolled the platform and surrounds, deploying all manner of devices fantastic and bizarre to maintain the utmost level of security. More than a few of the resident professors of the school were present as well - the break in tradition perhaps as concerning as the events that called for such security, the worry graven on their faces as they stood about, hands chafing, eyes glancing nervously.

The last thing everyone needed right now was something unexpected or surprising.

It was rather unfortunate that two people had decided to apparate right onto the platform.

With a crack like thunder shattering stone and a sudden flash of dust and light, witch and wizard alike were sent tumbling head over heel to scatter away from the source of the disturbance. Wands were drawn as flying patrols, attracted to the disturbance, flew in overhead to form a perimeter around the pair. As the dust cleared, however, it was rather obvious they weren't a threat - mostly from the fact that one was a damn kid with backpack slung over his shoulder and the other one had his arms flailing in the air in surrender, blubbering apologizes between panicked gasps of breath.

"WOAH fellas, lower the wands! I'm just dropping one off, I swear!" Nick Rickard's voice boomed over the shouts of the various witches and wizards around him. "I-hold on, is this place off-limits? Settle down, we didn't know, we were just told to drop off her- no, I'm not a bloody Dark Wizard, why the hell would I bloody apparate into the middle of you all if I was?!" he shouted, though to an innocent bystander used to the prim and proper ways of the Ministry, it was entirely conceivable why the man could be mistaken as such. In stark contrast to the neat, clean and magically pressed formal robes of the Ministry, the appearance of the famed 'Outback Auror' of Australia was...well, outright slovenly. Eschewing traditional wizard robes for a short-sleeved button-down shirt over a singlet and jeans positively covered in dust, dirt and quite possibly dried blood, the rough and well-worn clothes highlighted the protruding belly of the man, which, along with the receding and thinning line of brown-blonde hair, showed a man who best years were beginning to be behind him.

His son, on the other hand? No, there was no softness in young James. An hard and jagged pile of sinew and scars, the boy stood beside his father, his stance low in alertness as his eyes darted from one possible target to the next. Wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his biceps, the Hogwarts crest emblazoned on the breast, dark pants clearly non-standard combat trousers, and a long thin staff slung over his shoulder, he at least looked the part of a Hogwarts student, albeit barely. His thin lips drew out in an ugly scowl as he looked around, then relaxing and looking on with what could only be described as barely contained exasperation as his father made an idiot of himself, alternating between bellows of indigence and shameless apologies.

"The Ministry bloody told me to come here. I've traveled from the other side of the world to jump through these damn hoops, and noone thought to send me a letter saying 'oh, by the way, apparating directly to the station is probably a bad idea since we might possibly just blow you up if you try it'? Real considerate of you!" Nick shouted with a final retort as the Ministry wizards walked away, returning to their posts grumbling. "Blood bureaucrats," he grumbled out loud.

"You know what would have helped avoid all of this?" James said, his voice dripping with venom as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder "You telling the Poms to keep their noses out of our business and, oh, I don't know, just continue teaching me yourself."

"Not an option, son," his father replied, the annoyance clear on his face. "If we don't do this, you get marked as some kind of magical deviant. The Ministry's cracking down on unregistered wizards. I don't understand why they suddenly care now, but anyway."

"But we're not even British. What right's the Ministry got to get involved with Australian witches and wizards?" James sulked.

"Come on, Jimmy," Nick replied, tousling James' already unkempt hair, "you've met the Australian Ministry. There's all of about ten of them and they're all glorified policemen. There's no real Ministry. We don't have a fancy school, and we're still more than happy to outsource regulation back to Merry Old England. So when the poms get their panties in a twist over things they can't possibly understand, us little people get stuck having to obey."

James grimaced. "That's bullshit."

"I know, son," Nick said, clasping a hand on his son's shoulder. "But look, it's done and there's nothing we can do about it. Look, just...do your best and remember everything you've learned, and it'll be a breeze. Then you can come back and work with me and it'll all be fine, right? No sweat!"

James sighed as he looked up at his father, then over his shoulder as the Hogwarts Express appeared in the distance, approaching the station. One hand subconsciously moved behind his back, grasping the magic staff he had slung over his shoulder to re-assure himself. There was a lump in his throat the size of a golfball.

Yeah, no sweat. Right.

 

[Richie B.]

Rick was happy to see so many friends and people together, even if there was some tension they were all still here not trying to kill each other. From what has been happening around the wizarding world, well this was a much needed break for Rick. Even if Ainsley seemed not to be in a good mood the rest seemed to be, and so taking upon himself to get her to smile hopefully. At least once this school year, since the outside had become so violent and messed up, for many of the people that were born a certain way.

Rick looked at Adam when he showed the wand, but he needed to say one thing to Ainsley first something hopefully to show he means no ill will to her. And to show he wants to be friends with the rival captain of the Quidditch team.

“Ainsley sorry if I made you mad, I hope your day goes better. I am really looking forward to seeing you on the field.” Rick said with a smile before returning his attention to his other friends.

Looking at Adam’s wand, and how beautiful it was Rick could see how Adam will make a great wand maker one day. Which was something Rick could never do, his talents lied else were. Though he would have liked to show some of those skills it seemed Danae didn’t need it though. Which wasn’t that surprising and he let the matter drop than. But Rick have to comment on the wand.

“It looks spectacular Adam, you might one day surpass Ollivander’s one day.” Rick wanted to show support and encourage his friend to reach for his dreams, and sure it might be hard but it was always worth the effort.

But of course came to the John situation.

Of course when Rick had asked John to put away his cig, he didn’t expect that Ainsley to take such an aggressive action. And would have said something if he didn’t have a negative view on putting stuff in the lungs that weren’t supposed to be there. But using a spell might have been a bit much, yet Rick wasn’t going to say anything until he sees what happens next.

 

[Vosrik]

As Danae's hair returned to its normal hue, Adam's eyes darted to her. He watched the seamless transition from pink to blue with awe and admiration. Such an amazing, beautiful ability.

He mentally slapped himself back to the moment, showing Rick his handcrafted wand. He smiled at his friend's compliment and replied, "Thank you Rick, though I think it'll be years before I even compare to Ollivander himself."

Adam took back the wand and continued, "I'm trying to perfect the appearance of them first before working on their magical properties. This one is-" Suddenly, Ainsley's piercing question cut through the air. Flinching involuntarily, he peeked over at the book with a pair of eyes leering from just over the top. Mustering his courage, he puffed his chest out slightly and replied,

"Yes, Kelpie hair. Of course, it's not nearly as strong as Ollivander's top three cores, but it's a magical component of its own right. As....as I was saying, this one is only really good at..." his courage waned and he slumped a bit. "...making birds," he finished softly. Adam waved the wand gracefully with unerring precision and whispered,

"Avis Caeruleus"

There was a small flash of light and a pop, and a brilliant blue tit was then perched on the tip of the wand. Ruffling its feathers, it chirped a few times and flew out the window.

Adam replaced the wand in his embroidered box. "I have a couple more, my best one is made of unicorn hair though. I'll be the first to admit I have...much to learn."