· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ A new term had been sent via letters to the students. Now you sat in that train as you had before. Steam curls the platform.

Inside the train, well, it was a bit.

Students squeezed past one another with trunks and cages, laughter of mutuals, and laughter of faces you’ve never seen. Friends press shoulders. Older students sprawl out, and first years clung to each other.

Great.

You moved further down trying to find an empty carriage or one with space.

Voices occasionally spilling through the cracked doors that haven’t fully shut. Familiar names, familiar rivals. New faces that would be sorted, as you once did your first year in that Great Hall. Alliances forming before houses got decided, typical.

Another door, not a budge, another glance inside,

full…

Until finally, one compartment stood half-closed. Inside, a figure sat with his back to the door.

Unnaturally still, black robes falling in severe lines about him. Dark hair brushed the color of those robes, sitting unmoving even as the train rattled and jostled onward. His reflection was faint in the glass, his expression obscured, though it was clear he was not at rest.

He was watching.

Staring out the window, something that didn’t exist in the passing countryside.

An aura clung to the compartment, one of heavy, unwelcoming presence.

Professor Snape.

And one of the last empty carriages left in the train.

No invitation, no acknowledgment. Nor a single courtesy of a glance your way as you hesitantly sat down. The train roared onward toward the castle for yet another year.