Two pristinely shined black dragon-leather shoes appeared in front of Jack. Hand-tooled in Paris if he wasn't mistaken, worn by a set of slender legs wrapped in a knee-length skirt with dark nylon stockings…wait, how did she get those? Weren’t those still rationed?
He looked up - cigarette forgotten - past blue-trimmed school robes into a face that wouldn't have been out of place on a classical statue, right down to the disdainful expression. She looked to be about his age. Her features were refined and aristocratic, with high, elegant cheekbones, a graceful jawline, a pert, slightly upturned nose, and white-gold hair plaited into an intricate crown braid that probably required house-elf assistance to achieve. Her uniform was clearly bespoke, her skirt pleats knife-sharp, and her silver-and-blue necktie perfectly knotted. There was a shiny little badge pinned atop her right breast, opposite her house crest (azure, a raven displayed sable). But it was her piercing, expressive eyes that caught his attention and held it in a vise – a startling shade of violet that held an intensity well beyond her years, and managed to be both beautiful and utterly intimidating as she glared down at him. She reminded him of Vivian Leigh, complete with the attitude of Scarlett O’Hara.
"This is a platform for Hogwarts students," she announced to him imperiously in Received Pronunciation that could have sliced diamond. "Nobody else is allowed to ride this train except for staff or faculty, and I don't think you're either.” She put her hands on her slim hips. “Please leave or I shall summon the guard."
The sheer absurdity of her presumption after spending the morning fleeing from dark wizards hit Jack like a practical joke. His surprise morphed into a stifled giggle, then into a laugh that only intensified when he saw her expression shift from haughty disapproval to indignation.
"I fail to see what's so amusing," she snapped, her pale cheeks flushing pink.
"I'm sorry," Jack managed between chuckles, not even caring anymore that everyone around was watching him. "It's just... I am a student. From the States. Ilvermorny."
The violet eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I've not heard of any transfer student. Show me your letter of admittance."
Jack started to stand up and reach for his trunk latches, then paused. Something in her commanding tone sparked his native rebelliousness, only slightly refined over by five years of regimen in the Taconics. Who even was she to talk to him like this? They weren’t at Ilvermorny. He wasn't going to jump just because this dame said so. Everyone was watching, after all. He needed to make a statement about who he was, who Americans were. He straightened up, meeting her gaze head on. "Sure. How about you tell me who you are first?"
She drew herself up to her full height - which was considerable, though still well short of his own - and took a breath like she was about to deliver a proclamation from the steps of a palace: "Cassandra Hightower, sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect."
The name was delivered with such expectation of recognition and obeisance that Jack had to fight back another laugh. This girl must think she’s royalty or something. What a country! He stood up, unleashed his most charming smile, and extended his hand. "Jack Semmes. Pleased to meet you."
She pointedly ignored his hand, crossing her arms underneath her breasts and drawing herself up like the photos of the Admiralty Guards in Jack’s No-Maj Guide to Great Britain. "Your letter, Mr. Semmes," she prompted icily. "I won't ask again."
A sizable crowd of students was starting to gather around them, drawn by the spectacle of the standoff. Jack rapidly calculated that this wasn't a battle he was likely to win, at least not without causing an even bigger scene. And who knew what this spunky doll could actually do to him. She might even be someone actually important, considering how she acted. How powerful were prefects here? Were they like student officers?
Turning to his trunk, he pointed his wand (12 ¾ inches, sugar maple, thunderbird feather core, slightly springy) to pop the latches and lift out the folded parchment of his admittance letter. Rather than hand it over, an impish impulse took him. He flicked his wand, sending the letter zooming into her chest. She fumbled it, glaring at him as she unfolded the parchment and began to deliberately read.
"Is everyone in this country so friendly?" Jack asked blithely, taking up his cigarette again. "Or is it just you?" He deftly lit the tip with a tap of his wand and took a long drag, willing himself to personify coolness.
Cassandra ignored him, her eyes scanning the letter with purposeful slowness. Jack patiently smoked, his eyes making a circuit between her and the crowd, whose expressions ranged from horrified to amused. Finally, Cassandra looked up, refolding the parchment with crisp motions.
"Well, Mr. Semmes," she said coolly, using her own wand to send it flying back into his trunk. "It appears you are who you say you are.” Another flick, and the lid slammed down way harder than it needed to be. “Congratulations and welcome to Hogwarts. Do try to adhere to the dress code in future."
With that, she turned on her heel, marching off towards the front of the train. The crowd around them evaporated like fog in morning sunshine, several of them giving Jack curious looks that he ignored. He was too busy watching her, and noting how her robe swished above her stockinged ankles as she walked. Franklin’s stove, he thought, blowing smoke upward with an exaggerated exhale, why are the prettiest girls always either taken or terrors? He'd known dames like that back at Ilvermorny - old magical families from the Northeast, Essex County or the Philadelphia Main Line, with overprotective fathers, more gold than Gringotts, and ‘their way or the highway’. Still, he mused, flicking his cigarette’s ash on the ground, none of them had quite managed that particular combination of untouchable beauty and devastating intimidation. Must be the accent.
"ALL ABOARD!" The conductor's magically amplified voice echoed through the platform. "Hogwarts Express, departing in five minutes! All aboard!"
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Jack left his luggage on the platform as bidden, heading towards the open door of the worn, wood-paneled carriage in front of him along with a flood of his future classmates. The Hogwarts Express was no Yankee Doodlebug, that’s for sure, he noted as he squeezed into the passageway and into the first empty compartment he saw. The car smelled of coal smoke and wood polish. The interior showed the strain of the recent war years, the brass fittings were losing their lacquer despite careful cleaning, the leather seats were cracked and patched in places, and his window bore a spiderweb crack in the lower left that magic hadn't quite managed to repair. He slid the door closed with a rattle and a bump, then positioned himself in the forward-facing corner, taking up as much space as possible to discourage anyone from coming to sit with him. No one did, although he got some annoying stares from younger students through the glass window in the compartment door. Jack stubbed out his cigarette in a handy ashtray (he couldn’t figure out how to get the window to open), undid his collar, pulled his cap over his eyes and waited for the train to depart. Once the whistle blew and the train started to move, Jack was up and heading forward for the club car, readjusting his uniform along the way, leaving his cap to mark his seat.
The rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the tracks filled the air, punctuated by the muffled chatter and laughter of his fellow students in the compartments he passed. In between cars, he approached a trio of boys around his age wearing black school robes with red trim smoking and chatting in the open air. The boy in front, a broad-shouldered youth a few inches shorter than Jack with sandy hair and a friendly, open expression, tapped his friends to indicate they should make room.
“Thanks,” Jack said appreciatively as they squeezed around each other, the train’s wheels clattering loudly over the tracks below.
“You’re welcome,” the boy replied, pointing to the car behind them, “Pullman is just there, assuming that’s where you’re heading?”
“That’s it,” Jack replied, pushing open the door to the club car. Plush seats upholstered in deep burgundy velvet lined the sides of the car, drenched in sunshine. Through the large windows, the lush, rolling hills of Hertfordshire passed by in a blur of brown and green. The club car was alive with students in all four house colors, some nibbling on pastries and sipping hot beverages, others gazing out the large windows at the passing countryside. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread wafted through the air, causing Jack's stomach to rumble in anticipation. His scanty breakfast on the ship felt like a lifetime ago. Weaving his way through the crowd, he approached the counter, where a kindly-looking witch had just finished serving a disparate pair of redheads, sisters by the look of it.
"What can I get for you, dear?" she asked, her voice gentle and welcoming.
Jack examined the menu while fishing in his wallet for a few Knuts. “Coffee please, milk and sugar, and three of those club sandwiches please.”
The witch nodded with a smile, quickly assembling his order and handing over his change. Balancing the paper-wrapped sandwiches and the steaming mug of coffee, Jack scanned the car for an available seat. There weren’t any on this side of the bar, and no one seemed to be in any hurry to make room for the strange boy in the strange uniform either. Not wanting to make the long walk back to his compartment with his coffee, Jack squeezed by the line for the bar towards the other end of the club car. His eyes settled on a solitary figure sitting near the back on a two-person bench, a thin young man in green-trimmed robes with carefully-parted dark hair and wire-rimmed round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The boy's expression was one of cool detachment, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. Perfect, thought Jack. The brooding type, excellent companionship for guys like me. With a lopsided grin, he approached his unsuspecting quarry, clearing his throat loudly. "Uh, hey there. Mind if I join you?"
The boy's piercing blue eyes flicked towards Jack, and for a moment, the American felt as if he were being numbered, weighed, and found wanting. "I suppose," the boy replied in a clipped tone, gesturing vaguely to the empty seat beside him. Jack settled in, holding his coffee between his knees. He quickly unwrapped one of the sandwiches and took a large bite of chicken, lettuce and tomato, his hunger temporarily overriding his desire for human connection. As he chewed, he couldn't help but steal a glance at his taciturn seatmate, whose gaze remained fixed resolutely out the window, his brow furrowed in what appeared to be deep contemplation. Or perhaps constipation.
"So, uh, you got a name?" Jack asked, his words muffled by a mouthful of bread, lettuce, and meat.
The boy closed his eyes in momentary annoyance, then he turned his head to fix Jack with another categorizing stare, briefer this time. "Cyprian Venge," he replied, looking back out the window.
“That’s right!” Jack nodded, swallowing heavily. "I’m Jack. Nice to meet ya, Cyprian. Would shake hands you know but-" he gestured with the sandwich in one hand and the coffee in the other. There was a pause as Jack took another huge bite and finished the first sandwich, washing it down with half of his coffee. His spirits were returning in fine order. “Nice scenery huh?” he asked his seatmate cheerfully, unwrapping sandwich number two and devouring it in four bites.
“It’s even nicer when it’s quiet,” his taciturn companion replied without turning his head, the passing landscape flashing across his glasses like a no-Maj movie projector.
Undeterred, Jack settled back in his seat to eat his last sandwich slower, “So you’re in, uh Slytherin right? The green looks good with the black, snazzy.”
Cyprian closed his eyes momentarily, as if he was hoping to wake up from a nightmare where a loudmouthed foreigner had just sat down next to him. “Thank you,” he replied.
“I read you guys live down under the lake, does it get drafty? You guys have dehumidifier charms or something?” Jack asked around another mouthful.
“We manage,” Cyprian replied.
“Ain’t that just what we can do,” Jack finished his food, then drained his coffee. He was getting bored and a bit sleepy. He hadn't slept well over the past few days aboard. “See ya ‘round, buddy!” he said, slapping Cyprian's leg as he popped up like a jackalope. Jack returned his empty mug to the tray floating around the car in mid-air before squeezing through the club car and heading back to his compartment.
Once there, he made himself comfortable on the bench seat, placed his hat over his eyes, and slipped into a dreamless sleep after a few minutes, lulled by the gentle rocking of the carriage. When he finally stirred, the sun was low in the west, painting the crags of the Scottish Highlands in shades of purple and gold through his window. His compartment was still empty save for him, either his unusual appearance was keeping people away, or British magical students were more courteous about disturbing sleeping strangers than their American counterparts.
Through the window, mountains marched past under a darkening sky before suddenly vanishing into a howl of air as the train plunged into a tunnel. Somewhere ahead lay Hogwarts, and whatever reception they had planned for the first transfer student they’ve had in decades. Jack rubbed his eyes. Whatever it was, hopefully it involved a hot shower and a warm bed. And that they kept the new student hazing to a minimum. He wouldn’t mind seeing that Cassandra girl again though, preferably after she had an attitude adjustment. She was probably just stressed out from the first day of school.