In a compartment near the middle of the train, Oliver Wood sat alone. His trunk was shoved overhead, and on his lap was a thick, hand-bound notebook. The cover read ‘WOOD – GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH – 5th YEAR – TACTICAL REVISIONS’ in frantic, ink-smudged capitals. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a quill tapping against a diagram of what looked like a very aggressive Wronski Feint.

The door slid open. The noise from the corridor swelled, and then was cut off as it closed again.

Standing there was a girl. Her robes were not the standard black wool, but a heavier, darker velvet, trimmed with subtle silver thread that caught the light. Her hair was perfectly arranged, her posture was regal, and she was surrounded by a small fleet of enchanted luggage—a large trunk, a hatbox, and what looked like a case for a very expensive broom—all floating serenely behind her. She was, unmistakably, Princess Elara of the Obsidian Coast.