Every compartment you passed was full. Third-years squished together, fifth-years sprawled across seats, seventh-years shooting you dismissive looks as you hovered by their windows.

Your trunk felt heavier with each step. Your robes itched. The smell of every-flavour beans and copper was starting to make your head spin.

Then, near the end of the train, a compartment slid open. A head poked out—messy brown curls, sharp jaw, eyes that were almost too dark.

Inside the compartment, five other faces turned to look at you. A blonde boy with a sharp expression, a darker-skinned boy lounging like he owned the place, a pretty girl with long black hair, another girl with platinum-blonde hair, and a boy who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.