"Historically speaking, wizards used to travel to school using whatever method they preferred," Charles McKinnon explained, his initial shyness completely vanishing as he launched into the historical trivia. "Some rode flying brooms all the way to the Scottish Highlands, while others simply used Floo Powder to commute directly into Hogsmeade. However, that logistical nightmare was forcefully shut down after the International Statute of Secrecy was strictly enforced in 1692. Too many reckless wizards were being spotted by Muggle civilians during their commute, which placed a massive, unsustainable operational burden on the Ministry of Magic's obliviator squads."
*So that explains the tactical necessity of the train,* Alan noted internally. But that still left the glaring issue of how exactly they were supposed to pass several hours of idle transit. Simply pulling out a textbook and reading in silence seemed like a poor strategic move; ignoring his new companions would be considered highly antisocial and impolite.
"Say, since we're going to be stuck in this compartment for quite a while, how about I teach the two of you a tabletop game?" Alan suggested, smoothly pivoting the conversation.
"Sure, why not? We're just sitting around anyway," Charles agreed, leaning forward. Despite his earlier, hardened cynicism regarding the war, the simple prospect of playing a game quickly exposed his genuine, youthful nature. "What do you want to play? Exploding Snap? Gobstones?"
"None of the above. This is a highly strategic, traditional tile-based game from the East, incredibly popular in Japan," Alan explained, leaning over to unlatch his trunk. "It is formally called Mahjong. It is traditionally played with four people, but it can easily be adapted for a three-player tactical variation. I'll teach you the mechanics." He pulled a heavy, polished wooden box of Mahjong tiles from his luggage, fully confident that his new companions wouldn't be able to resist the complex, competitive charm of the game once they understood the rules.
However, there was an immediate logistical problem: they lacked a proper table. Alan's practical Transfiguration skills were still strictly in the introductory phase; he certainly couldn't safely conjure a sturdy, four-legged table from thin air without risking a magical accident.
"Hold on, I have a solution." Alan analyzed the cramped space, locking his eyes on the small, fold-out storage table attached to the wall beneath the window. He smoothly drew his black-jade wand and precisely cast an Extension Charm. The small, wooden surface instantly groaned and stretched, seamlessly expanding outward to double its original square footage.
"Perfect. This should work just fine," Alan nodded. The Mahjong set he carried was a compact, travel-sized version, so the newly expanded tabletop provided more than enough operational space.
The three students eagerly gathered around the surface, and Alan efficiently dumped the clattering, ivory-colored tiles onto the wood. Having previously drilled his gang of friends back at the orphanage on the exact same mechanics, Alan was a highly experienced instructor. He systematically broke down the complex rules of forming melds, pairs, and strategic discards into clear, easily digestible tactical concepts. Furthermore, anticipating that he might eventually play with people completely unfamiliar with Eastern languages, he had specifically purchased an international standard set. Every single character tile was clearly marked with standard Arabic numerals and recognizable indices in the corners, ensuring his British peers would have absolutely no trouble reading the board.
"Those are the baseline operational rules," Alan concluded. "Don't worry if it seems overwhelming right now. We'll play a few open-hand practice rounds first, and I'll physically walk you through the tactical choices as we play."
"Merlin, this sounds incredibly complicated. Is it actually fun staring at all these little carved squares?" Vivian complained, rubbing her temples. The sheer volume of tactical instruction had temporarily made her head spin.
"Come on, Vivian. We still have hours to kill before we reach the castle. We might as well give it a proper try," Charles argued, completely fascinated by the intricate, puzzle-like nature of the tiles.
To properly position himself, Charles dragged his sturdy trunk into the center of the aisle, using it as a makeshift stool so he could sit directly facing the expanded table. Alan and Vivian claimed the cushioned window seats on either side. With their perimeter established, Alan guided them through building the walls and dealing the starting hands, officially initiating their first match.
Through Alan's patient, methodical guidance, both Charles and Vivian rapidly grasped the fundamental mechanics of the game. In just over half an hour of active play, Vivian successfully declared victory in two separate hands, while Charles managed to secure one solid win for himself. In truth, Alan had been deliberately and strategically feeding them easy discards, intentionally letting them win to safely build their confidence and deepen their practical understanding of the tile combinations.
"Ha! I won again! This game is absolutely brilliant," Vivian cheered, eagerly pushing her winning tiles forward. Her initial distressed expression had completely vanished, replaced by a fierce, competitive glee.
"How about we raise the stakes?" Charles suggested, his eyes shining as he thoroughly enjoyed the tactical thrill of the game. "Let's turn this into a proper competition. Whenever the snack trolley eventually passes by our compartment, whoever has the lowest overall score has to pay for the food." It was a universal truth of human interaction: shared recreational activities were the absolute fastest, most efficient method for building foundational trust and camaraderie among strangers.
"I'm in! I feel like my luck is incredibly hot right now," Vivian agreed enthusiastically, already shuffling the tiles for the next round.
Alan merely offered a polite smile, though internally, he was chuckling darkly. *I was deliberately handicapping myself to teach you the ropes. Now that you're both getting utterly overconfident, it's time to take off the training weights and introduce you to the harsh, unforgiving realities of actual combat strategy.* Without another word, the three students rapidly rebuilt the walls and launched into a highly competitive, unforgiving series of matches.
Nearly an hour later, a sharp, polite *knock, knock* echoed against the glass. The three combatants looked up from their intense focus to see a cheerful, plump witch pushing a heavily loaded snack trolley, asking if they wanted anything from the cart.
At this specific moment, Alan's stoic expression had soured into a remarkably grim, dark scowl. Contrary to his arrogant tactical assumptions, he had been getting absolutely routed, losing nearly every single hand over the past two rounds.
*Damn it all, is it actually possible that these two are playing Mahjong for the very first time?* Alan grumbled internally, his pride taking a massive, unexpected hit. *How are they so unbelievably aggressive? Has my tactical edge dulled, or is their beginner's luck just statistically anomalous?*
Vivian, in particular, was an absolute terror on the board. It was as if a dormant, cutthroat instinct had suddenly awakened within the high-society girl. She was winning hands with terrifying consistency, frequently intercepting Alan's most carefully calculated discards to complete her own high-scoring melds. Her sheer dominance was making Alan severely regret ever introducing the game to them in the first place.
"Haha! Pay up, Alan! You have the lowest score by a mile, so you have to treat us to the trolley!" Vivian cheered, her bright green eyes crinkling into joyful crescent moons as she eagerly pointed at the sweet treats.
"I am well aware of the terms," Alan sighed heavily, rubbing his temples in defeat. "I honestly cannot comprehend how your probability matrix is so heavily skewed." Reluctantly pulling his leather coin pouch from his robes, Alan honorably paid his debts, purchasing a massive pile of assorted magical sweets for the group.
Immediately after the trolley departed, the three of them began to feast, turning the compartment into a chaotic sugar rush.
"Here, you have to try these Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. They literally mean *every* flavor," Charles insisted, cheerfully chewing on a long, stringy Licorice Wand as he tossed a handful of the colorful jelly beans over to Alan.
"Ugh!" Alan casually tossed a yellow bean into his mouth, only to instantly gag as his tastebuds were assaulted by a horrifyingly bitter, distinctly waxy profile. He quickly spat it into a napkin, fighting the violent urge to dry-heave. It was unmistakably earwax-flavored.
As for exactly how a hardened former soldier could so accurately identify the precise flavor profile of human earwax—that was a grim tactical secret he had absolutely no intention of ever sharing.
Seeing his stoic facade completely shatter in sheer disgust, both Vivian and Charles burst into loud, heartless, echoing laughter. Alan didn't have the reckless courage to subject himself to another game of culinary Russian roulette, so he pushed the box of beans away and strictly limited himself to opening the Chocolate Frogs instead.
Among all the bizarre, highly questionable magical snacks available, he found the enchanted Chocolate Frogs to be the most tolerable. The other treats were either overwhelmingly, artificially sweet, or possessed horrifying novelty flavors. Furthermore, he discovered a highly useful intelligence-gathering aspect to the frogs: each package contained a collectible trading card detailing the historical achievements of famous wizards and witches. The card Alan currently held depicted an animated portrait of 'Hengist of Woodcroft,' the historical figure officially credited with founding Hogsmeade, Britain's only purely magical settlement.
Alan silently absorbed the historical data on the card, glancing out the train window at the rolling countryside. Despite his serious demeanor, he could feel a genuine, rising sense of anticipation and excitement regarding his entry into this vast, undiscovered magical world.
As the train hurtled northward, the three of them continued to chat, joke, and gorge themselves on sweets. Vivian, true to form, relentlessly continued to chatter about pure-blood high society, completely unable to string three sentences together without somehow bringing the topic back to the Bulstrode family's prestige or her relatives' various scandals. Alan's ears were practically ringing from the sheer volume of useless aristocratic gossip, but he maintained his operational discipline, offering a polite, practiced smile and nodding along.
In Alan's blunt, tactical opinion, Vivian was a fascinating contradiction: a highly diplomatic individual might graciously describe her as "wonderfully spirited and well-connected," while a more honest, less tactful observer would simply classify her as an incurable, hyperactive busybody.
Charles, meanwhile, had completely shed his initial shyness. Once he realized he was among friends, he eagerly dominated the conversation. Aside from his deeply ingrained, omnipresent hatred for the Death Eaters, his absolute favorite topic was the aerial sport of Quidditch. Upon discovering that both Alan and Vivian were relatively ignorant regarding the sport's mechanics, Charles enthusiastically took it upon himself to lecture them on the intricate rules, passionately reciting the specific rosters, stats, and histories of various international Quidditch teams by heart.
From a purely logical standpoint, Alan struggled to comprehend how a supposedly advanced society could openly celebrate a sport as inherently barbaric and dangerous as Quidditch. Listening to Charles cheerfully describe the myriad of violent fouls, and casually recounting exactly which professional players had been brutally crippled or killed by rogue Bludgers during historic matches, Alan felt a profound, inexplicable sense of cultural disconnect. It was a glaring societal paradox: on one hand, this wizarding world possessed elegant, reality-bending magical conveniences, while on the other, it enthusiastically embraced a shocking level of brutal, medieval primitiveness and unregulated danger.