30 minutes to Hogwarts
The train wasn't the usual. It didn't go fast enough to blur the scene, a mix of greens and blues and the inbetween. No, it was a rather slow train, at least on the inside. Corpse sat there, rather than the silence that she expected, she was captured between the boisterous laughter of her brother and his newfound friend. She hadn’t caught onto his name, neither did she care to learn his or the others’ names. The scenery was far more interesting, or perhaps it was the inevitable disappointment that reflected her face, the face of her mother. The dropoff was fine, Euphemia wishing her children the best — though one more than the other. Fleamont, her father, smiled. He said no words, but offered a leather-bound notebook. She had no idea what to do with it, just played with the thing to keep her hands busy and off the chocolates and candies James offered her. The sky was rather blue, though it still gloomed the same way it did back in london, as did the trees and water. At least the animals looked decent. “A whole year,” she thought. What would she even learn? How to flick a wand?
Perhaps she was biased. James spent his time preparing for Hogwarts, meanwhile she was at elementary school learning maths and english. She didn't understand why her mother was so adamant about her attending a wizard school. Well, she had guesses, but she wasn’t going to risk receiving a howler her first day after being told her whole life to be brave and courageous, rather on the nose was her mother. Her brother found it rather easy, being the sun came naturally for him, of course he’d be in Gryffindor. She wasn’t quite sure of herself, however. The window reflected back the face she most dreaded to see, her eyes blankly staring back at her with disappointment from what’s to come. Her gut felt like she’d eaten rocks while her brain was pounding in her head; but she’d rather stare into herself than to the winner across from her.
They were reaching their destination soon enough, it was around half an hour left. The guy next to her kept bumping into her arm, she fought the urge to smack him back. He had black-hair, quite short and tame, with pale skin and grey or maybe blue eyes — she only noticed they were light. She assumed he was French by the quick glimpse at his face when he entered the compartment a few hours ago, though she could very much be wrong, but he was definitely European if his mannerisms were anything to go by. The other two, besides the boy and her brother, were quiet, but still rowdy enough to displease her. She didn't quite catch what they looked like, having already turned around by the first stranger to enter. Windows weren’t always accurate, plus she wanted to avoid accidental eye contact. So she just imagined two british guys, though one sounded rather welsh. Minutes passed as those four refused to give their chatter a moment’s rest. She contemplated moving compartments, but they’d be full and moving now would be useless and rather rude; another option could be jumping out the window, but she lacked the equipment to avoid death and wouldn’t want to upset her dad with the death of a daughter.
So, there she sat, elbow perched on the window as her palm cradled her jaw. Hazel eyes staring back at her with minimal amusement, “Something would have to happen,” her mind pressed. Soon, it played a song. Her head was a makeshift radio, playing any song she’d ever loved without a problem or an ad. She adored this feature, this little world where she could close her eyes and lay in a field whilst soaking it all in. The next song was a recent favorite, it was by Led Zeppelin. Her father promised to take her there next summer as she heard whispers of a tour. Currently, her favorite song is “That’s the way,” though she thought “Tangerine” to be more beautiful. A song about a lost love that one still craves even after all that time; oh, how she longed to be someone’s queen. Or to be with Jimmy Page, really either one worked for her. Her still face cracked a small smile at the thought, laughing in her head about it. Before she knew it, James was kicking her leg.
“Corpse! Get up, we’re here.” He said as he lowered their bags and handed hers over. She sighed and rolled her eyes, obliging to the duty she had to fulfill. It’d only be 7 years, if James didn't get them kicked out. She stood up with her bag and made her way behind her brother. Not long after, the black haired boy came up beside her, well… more like behind her as it was rather crowded.
“Is your name really Corpse?” He sounded amused, almost on the verge of a joke, “my name’s Sirius Black.”
She hummed before muttering, “yes, that is my name, but you’re clearly not your mothers favorite either with that surname.” She continued moving forward as the boy quieted down, she heard him call her a name but she wasn't quite sure. Either way, she’d made it to Hogwarts. Hopefully she’d still have some part of her brain left by the end of this, though she highly doubted it.
The breeze that kissed her skin was rather cold, she regretted not wearing the sweater her mother gave her that morning. It’d be fine, though, she’d survive a little breeze. Though she silently prayed for a warm room. James was chatty, of course, and dragged her with the professor guiding them to the tower. He seemed more excited about this than anyone in the group, and she didn’t doubt that he was the happiest one there. She hummed as he took her hand, his glasses in her coat as always. Corpse knew better than to have faith in the future, but she did feel her heart crack at the thought of her brother’s smile ever fading.