The Hogwarts Express was interesting. It was a large black steam engine train that very much suited the English ambience. There was a coal carriage and then regular red train carriages with windows facing the platform.
The platform was filled with people, many students, hugging their friends after a summer apart and some were families that lingered about. There were squarks and hoots of owls, shouts after runaway pets and nagging mothers straightening collars.
Tiffany's own mother was nowhere in sight. The weather had the late riser wanting to sleep in. If not for the portkey travel and impending months of separation from her daughter, she would have done just that. After a hearty farewell and quick kiss goodbye, her daughter was left alone to her own devices.
Said daughter, who was dressed for the cold. Unlike Massachusetts' and its mostly pleasant climate, British weather has consisted of cold, very cold, cold with a dash of sun, cold with a dash of rain and monsoon.
The young witch hiked her collar over her reddened cheeks and with her fur hat, only her eyes were visible as she scanned the crowd with indignation.
'Why are some of them wearing skirts?!'
It's so cold, that she doubled her wool stockings and still wore thicker pants. She wore a pair of black combat boots, a thermal and a turtleneck, a parka and a coat on top.
Tiffany was quick to make her way onto the train, hauling herself up the steep steps and into a relatively wide space between two hallways that had sliding doors and compartments on one side and windows on the other.
She took a cursory look around before turning right, passing straight by the open doors with compartments filled with students. The first closed door she found was making strange noises and as tempted as she was to break up a happy couple, she didn't know how they'd react.
'What if they punched me? Better not.'
Tiffany ventured on and finally found an empty compartment.
The compartments have a three-seater on each side, a large window and a semi-table attached to the wall under the window. There was a baggage rack overhead and a box in the wall that seemed to be for announcements above the middle seat.
She slid into the compartment and shut the door filling the room with warming charms. The three trunks she brought were shrunk and in her pocket but she unshrunk one, took out a travel blanket, a non-fiction book about magic theory and a few snacks that Dippy packed for her before hauling that suitcase onto the overhead rack. She spent a little moment slipping her shoes off and curling into her seat in a nest of her coat and blanket, then spent the waiting time stuck in this position for a while, the book fascinated her very much.
** Harry Potter's POV **
After a shitty summer with the Dursleys, Harry was finally going back to Hogwarts. He spent the car ride to Kings Cross in subtle unrest, his Uncle quick to abhor him for his bouncing leg. He made a beeline out of Vernon's car, grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage then hauled them towards the platform with only a small farewell, that his Uncle didn't care for as he heard his car roar away seconds later.
Harry wondered if Dumbledore would let him live at the Burrow during the next Summer Holidays. He wondered if he could convince Mrs Weasley to spare him a bed or a couch. It would be better than a barred room with a bolted door and a cat flap.
The young wizard boarded the train with the intention of finding a familiar face or an empty compartment. He found neither as he stopped at a room he just opened.
A girl sat like a cat curled into a nest of jackets and blankets on her seat and the compartment was very warm. She was the picture of a warm and quiet Christmas night by the fireplace and Harry liked it.
"Hello, can I sit with you?"
Green eyes met green eyes. Her eyes weren't like his though, which people say look like green forests or grass, sometimes green emeralds. No, it was a pale green like sage. She nodded, the fur hat on her head exaggerating her movements and he smiled as he entered.
"I'm Harry." He extended a hand and a dainty, well-manicured hand held his. He was shocked to feel hardened callouses and felt a little too curious.
"Tiffany." Her voice was soft and low.
"Are you a first-year?" She was an unfamiliar face with a name he'd never heard around here before.
"Fifth year, Gryffindor."
"A Gryffindor, really?" He peered at her to see if she was familiar. "I've never seen you before. I'm also in Gryffindor."
"Wow really? I've been here the whole time, Harry! I even cheered for you during last year's quidditch match."
"Oh— I'm sorry, it's great to meet you now, though."
"It's great to meet you now, too."
Tiffany continued to read and Harry watched the platform, waiting for Hermione or the Weasleys. The silence between them was very comfortable until the young wizard felt something soft on top of his head and looked up to see the close-up of a very pretty girl fixing something on top of him.
"Your hair's wicked." This caused the girl to smirk.
"Thanks. Yours is pretty wicked too. Defying gravity like that." She teased and Harry felt himself blush a little.
"Uh- Why'd you give me your hat?"
"You looked cold."
"Thank you then." It smelt like vanilla, the scent lingered in his nose and was very pleasant. Much different from the smell of smoke and leather that is usually associated with the Hogwarts Express.
The sliding of the door opening caught their attention and a red-headed boy froze as he looked at Tiffany, who pulled back from his best mate and his best mate in a stupid hat.
"Uh— am I interrupting?"
"Yes. Do you mind? Omam Kretiv was about to tell me about the importance of manifestation." She deadpanned, her book in her hand and Harry tried not to laugh in his best mate's face when it dropped into flustered confusion.
"Uh— wha— Who? You mean, my mate Harry?"
"Does Harry know Omam Kretiv's theory of manifestation?" She raised a pretty eyebrow and a high-pitched feminine voice from behind the redhead huffed.
"Who?" Ron's thoughts ran wild. Omam and Harry and this girl? Who's Omam? Why Harry? This girl is really pretty…
"Omam Kretiv is a renowned spell theorist. Honestly, Ron, it won't hurt to read a book once." Harry's female friend wound her way around Ron and sat next to Tiffany.
"I'm Hermione Granger. I was absolutely fascinated by Oma…" Harry zoned out her nerdy talk but Tiffany seemed to grasp what she was saying well, even responding when she could between Hermione's erratically fast talking. Ron sat next to Harry and watched the girls.
"Blimey Harry. Who's the girl? And why are you wearing that hat?" Harry was embarrassed but he didn't want to take it off, it felt nice on his head.
"The girl's Tiffany Willams, he's wearing that because it's cold. It's nice to meet you." She sent him a smile and Harry watched in real-time as his best mate short-circuited and froze.
"He's Ron Weasley." Harry chimed in, amused.
"Ah~ A Weasley. I know your brother."
"Bill?" Harry asked.
"Charlie?" Ron added in question.
"No, Percy." The duo lost interest, responding with a, 'Oh'. "I do know of Bill and Charlie, though. They were friends with my brother."
'This mysterious girl knew his brothers? Why doesn't he know her?'
Tiffany's attention was redirected by a questioning Hermione.
"Are you new?"
"Fifth year Gryffindor."
"That didn't answer my question."
"No, I'm totally from here."
"Ah hah! Totally? No one says that. You're American."
"Well, I'm British, technically. Dual French and British citizen. American educated. But yes, I'm new here." She gave the younger witch an indulgent smile.
"You lied to me! You—…"
"I cannot help if you're gullible, Harry."
"But how did you know I played Quidditch?" The young wizard cocked his head, brows furrowed in confusion.
"The callouses on your hand. I've met a lot of players with similar hands. Yours are a bit soft. I figure you aren't training as hard as you should be." She teased.
"And what are your callouses from?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself.
He could tell that was the wrong thing to say by how Hermione huffed her chest to lecture him only to be interrupted by soft laughter. Amused, Tiffany poked Harry's forehead softly.
"Asking questions like that will never get you a girlfriend… or boyfriend—,"
"I like girls!" He was quick to defend only to cringe, his neck heating with embarrassment.
"Okay. It's whatever you like. But asking anyone about scars, fat, burns, callouses… It's pretty personal. You should know, Harry." Her eyes flicked to his scar and back to his eyes, as to prove a point. It did and he felt shame, that didn't settle long before she continued talking.
"But I don't mind talking about these." She spread her palms out. They were pretty, long and well-manicured, if not for the hardened bumps along her palm and fingers.
"It's a mix of reasons but the main reason is probably because I have an older brother who enjoyed black-smithing and forgery and earned an apprenticeship under a Goblin—,"
"Goblins hate wizards." Ron pointed out.
"They do. But my brother would not let that be an excuse to reject him. He learnt their language and customs and eventually, the goblins saw him as one of them."
"During my first year, my brother died. No one told me anything until I went home for the holidays. I didn't attend the funeral and was devastated. The last thing he left was a spear for my mother and I've been learning how to forge since then, hoping to finish it."
The trio was silent. Harry felt insensitive. He wasn't trying to be. He initially thought that she played Quidditch like him and wanted to bond over it. He took a moment to process what she said as Hermione could not help but hug her tight.
"It's okay, I'm not sad anymore. It's more like my brother's off exploring the Underworld and I'll see him again when I go."
"Can I learn to?" Harry asked. It sounded cool. Making weapons. Not that he needed weapons but after holding Godric's Sword, he felt that it would be cool to have his own.
"Blacksmithing? Sure. If you're worthy. My mentor's a goblin. I'm also taking warding and alchemy."
"Wait, are you the reason there's a warding elective and an alchemy masterclass."
"Yes. They're my mentors so I figure they can share some of their knowledge. It's sponsored so it's okay."
"But it was listed as Nicholas Flamel's Masterclass. Didn't he die?"
"He died?!" Tiffany was bewildered, "But I spoke to him two days ago. He gave me shit for calling him to London."
"He— what? He died two years ago. When the Philosopher's Stone was destroyed."
"Philo— I have to doubt it was the actual Philosopher's Stone only because the stone literally cannot be destroyed. And I wouldn't be surprised if he faked his death again."
"Again?! Wait— what do mean it can't be destroyed, I saw it turn to dust."
"Did you turn it to dust?"
"No, I was there!" He told her about the possession of Professor Quirrell and the trials, the mirror and the stone then about Quirrell…— not being alive anymore.
"Well, let's talk about someone dying later, because that's very important and I'm sorry you went through that. But I can only assume it was an elaborate and dangerous ploy because the Philosopher's Stone is not just any rock. It's an alchemic masterpiece created with immense dark, bordering black magic, and you're saying that it just, ka-put into dust?"
"Ka-put? Is that a real word?"
"Does it have to be real? You knew what I meant, didn't you? Anyways, the Philosopher's Stone might be from a different dimensional plane."
"Dimensional plane?"
"You know, like the Multiverse Theory."
Both Harry and Ron are best friends for a reason. The 'huh's and 'what's quota of this conversation had been fulfilled by them with a landslide. Tiffany shook her head at them, exasperated.
'Like two lost and headless chickens.'
"You just thought something rude." Harry was usually oblivious, not that Tiffany knew this. It was unfortunate for her, the one time he was paying attention, he caught her off guard. He narrowed his eyes and the older witch felt playful but impending doom.
He threw the soft hat at her and laughed when she looked dumbfounded, only for her to pounce and plummet him with the hat playfully. She pulled away, dramatically huffed as she blew her hair out of her face and straightened her parka.
"Honestly Harry."