Platform 9¾ was a symphony of controlled chaos that sang to Shya's soul. The scarlet steam engine, the great puffs of white vapour, the cacophony of hooting owls, meowing cats, and the shouts of hundreds of students—it was a living, breathing masterpiece of organised pandemonium. For a moment, she and Talora just stood there, hands instinctively finding each other's and squeezing tight, absorbing the magnificent spectacle.
"Right," Talora said, her voice cutting through her awe with practiced efficiency. "We need a compartment. And we need to change. No telling if we'll have to share or if we'll have any privacy later."
They navigated the crowd, a united front. They found a blissfully empty compartment near the end of the train and slid the door shut with a sigh of relief. Working with the ease of a lifelong partnership, they quickly changed out of their designer travel clothes and into their bespoke Gladrags uniforms. They left the structured blazers off for now, hanging them carefully, but the rest of the ensemble—the dark navy mini-skorts hitting a confident mid-thigh, the crisp cotton-silk blend blouses, Talora's textured wool sweater, and Shya's gold bangles and gold anklet—made them look impossibly polished and intimidatingly cohesive. It was their armour, even without the final layer.
They had just settled in, Shya pulling out *Hogwarts: A History* and Talora flipping through *One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi*, when the compartment door slid open.
A girl with a prodigious amount of bushy brown hair and an expression of immense self-assurance stood there. She was already in her plain, standard-issue robes.
"Everywhere else is full," she announced, not asked. "Do you mind if I join you? I'm Hermione Granger." Without waiting for a full answer, she bustled in, stowing her trunk and taking the seat opposite Talora. Her eyes immediately darted to their books, then did a quick, unmistakable scan of their non-standard uniforms. A faint frown of disapproval touched her lips before she smoothed it away.
"Oh, you've started the supplementary reading!" she said, her voice bright with approval. "I've already learned all our course books by heart, of course. It's essential to be prepared."
"We like to be thorough," Talora replied, her smile polite but not quite reaching her eyes.
Before the conversation could continue, the door slid open again. A round-faced, nervous-looking boy stood there, clutching a toad and looking utterly lost. "S-sorry," he stammered. "Everywhere's full… I…"
Hermione immediately took charge. "Oh, don't just stand there! Come in, there's room. I'm Hermione Granger. This is…" She gestured vaguely at the other two occupants.
"Talora," Talora supplied.
"Shya," Shya said, not looking up from her book.
"Neville," the boy mumbled, shuffling in and taking the seat by the window, looking profoundly relieved. He held his toad tightly.
The train gave a great lurch and began to pull out of the station. As the London suburbs began to streak past the window, Hermione, unable to abide the silence, turned to Neville.
"Is that a toad? I've read that toads are rather outdated as familiars. Most people bring cats, or owls, or even rats." She said it as if reciting a factual report, but the judgment was clear.
Neville's shoulders hunched. "He was my Great-Uncle Algie's…," he whispered.
"Hmm," Hermione said, before turning her attention back to the girls. "So, which house do you think you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I think Gryffindor sounds by far the best. Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor, you know. It's the house of courage and chivalry."
Shya looked up from *Hogwarts: A History*, her dark eyes cool. "According to this," she said, tapping the cover, "the 'best house' is a subjective opinion. Gryffindor values bravery, which often borders on recklessness. Ravenclaw values wit, learning, and wisdom. It's not a hierarchy; it's a preference for different kinds of excellence."
Hermione's cheeks flushed slightly. "Well, of course, but bravery is the most important quality when facing the Dark Arts!"
"Is it?" Shya countered, one eyebrow arched. "Or is it knowledge? Knowing what you're facing, understanding its weaknesses? Bravery without wisdom is just a good way to get yourself killed. I'd rather be clever than dead."
Talora nodded in agreement, popping a Bertie Bott's Bean she'd just pulled from her pocket. "Seems a more practical long-term strategy, Bob."
The word slipped out naturally. Hermione's head swiveled towards her. "Bob? Why are you calling her Bob?"
The intrusion into their private tradition was as jarring as a splash of cold water. Both girls stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"It's a nickname," Talora said, her voice losing its previous politeness, becoming guarded.
"From kindergarten," Shya added, her tone flat, a clear signal that the topic was closed.
But Hermione, ever relentless in her pursuit of an answer, pressed on. "But why 'Bob'? It doesn't make any logical sense. It's not derived from either of your names."
The sheer audacity of demanding an explanation for something so personal and sacred ignited a spark of pure, cold fury in Shya. Before she could retort, the compartment door slid open again, and a smiling, dimpled woman pushing a trolley laden with sweets poked her head in.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?"
The tension shattered. Neville mumbled a quiet "no, thank you," looking at his lap. Hermione shook her head primly. "No, we've brought packed lunches."
But Shya and Talora were already on their feet, money bags in hand. This was a necessary part of the experience. They returned with a small mountain of treats: Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Pumpkin Pasties, and two large bars of chocolate.
As they distributed their haul, the simple act of sharing food eased the hostility, if only slightly. It was then that Neville, with a small gasp, looked down at his empty hands.
"Trevor!" he whispered, his face pale with horror. "He's gone!"
Hermione immediately took charge. "Oh, for heaven's sake! We have to find him! He can't have gone far." She stood up, bustling with purpose. "Come on, Neville. We'll check the corridor." She barely glanced at Shya and Talora as she swept out, Neville trailing behind her like a lost, mournful puppy.
The moment the door clicked shut, the compartment was filled with a profound, relieved silence.
Talora let out a long, slow breath. "Jesus Christ. Is she always like that?"
"A complete nightmare," Shya confirmed, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog with more force than necessary. "The constant corrections. The unsolicited opinions. And the sheer nerve to question 'Bob'."
"I know! Who does that?" Talora agreed, indignation warming her voice. She bit into a Pumpkin Pasty. "And that bit about our uniforms. Did you see her looking?"
"Of course I did," Shya said, a smirk playing on her lips. "She looked like she'd just read a rule she didn't agree with."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the landscape transform from city to countryside, lush and green. The incident with Neville, however, niggled at the edge of their consciousness.
"You know," Talora said eventually, brushing pastry crumbs from her sweater. "I do feel a bit bad for him. That was… kind of sad of him."
Shya nodded slowly, catching the Chocolate Frog card (a witch named Circe). "It was. But also… did you see how he looked at us? Like we were a pair of dragons. Are we that intimidating?"
Talora considered it, looking at their reflection in the darkening window—two sharp, polished, unified figures. "We're just… us. He's just… not. He's a wuss."
It was a simple, eleven-year-old conclusion, devoid of deep empathy but full of their own unshakeable certainty. They felt a flicker of pity for Neville, but it was quickly overshadowed by the offense that someone could find them, Shya and Talora, frightening. The conclusion was clear: the problem was his timidity, not their formidable presence.
As the afternoon deepened into a starry night, they finally shrugged on their blazers, the final piece of their armour snapping into place. The train journey continued without further interruption, the rhythmic clacking of the tracks a soothing counterpoint to their excited speculation. Eventually, a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."
Their eyes met, a shared thrill of anticipation passing between them. The arguments, the awkwardness, the sugar rush—it all faded into the background. The castle was waiting.
"Ready, Bob?" Talora asked, her green eyes shining in the dim compartment light.
"Ready, Bob," Shya confirmed, a slow, determined smile gracing her lips.
They stood, smoothed down their impeccable uniforms, and joined the stream of students in the corridor, ready to step into their new world.