The train rattled along the tracks, its wheels clacking a steady rhythm against the steel below. Outside, the Scottish Highlands blurred past in a smear of green and grey, the October sky heavy with clouds that promised rain.
Inside the carriage, the air was thick with the smell of damp wool and old upholstery. A few students huddled together, their heads bent over dog-eared copies of Advanced Potion-Making, while others stared out the windows, watching the landscape shift from rolling hills to jagged peaks.
The compartment door slid open with a soft hiss. A boy stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered, his blonde hair plastered to his forehead by the mist outside. He carried a trunk that looked older than he was, its leather scuffed and worn, and he scanned the carriage with sharp blue eyes.
Harry Barker
offering a crooked smile Room for one more? Everywhere else is packed.
A girl with bushy brown hair looked up from her book, her expression somewhere between curious and skeptical. Across from her, a red-haired boy with a smattering of freckles leaned forward, grinning.
Ron Weasley
Depends. You a Mudblood, a blood-traitor, or just plain lost?
Isabelle Flanagan
rolling her eyes, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear Ron, don't be an arse. to Harry Ignore him. He thinks he's funny. He's not. Sit down.
The girl — Isabelle, apparently — was striking in a way that made the rest of the carriage seem dimmer by comparison. High cheekbones, dark eyes that caught the light, and a sort of effortless poise that didn't belong on a cramped train in the middle of nowhere.
Harry Barker
setting his trunk down, sliding into the seat across from her Harry. Harry Barker. And I'm not sure what any of those words mean, but I'm guessing it's not a compliment.
Ron Weasley
snorting You're joking, right? Where've you been living, under a rock?
Harry Barker
shrugging Something like that.
The train lurched, and for a moment, no one spoke. Isabelle studied Harry with an unreadable expression, then turned her gaze to the window, as if deciding whether he was worth the effort.
Hermione Granger
snapping her book shut I'm Hermione Granger. And for the record, "Mudblood" is a derogatory term for Muggle-born witches and wizards. It's not a compliment, and it's not something to toss around casually.
Ron Weasley
muttering Here we go.
Hermione Granger
ignoring him, leaning forward You said you don't know what those words mean. That's... unusual. Where did you grow up?