Trunks & Junk (with Duffle Bags too)
date. time. location. speech.
The compartment doors slid shut with a snap.
With a spine impossibly straighter than a 90° angle and stiff, unbending joints, March placed one foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. His steps made no noise on the carpeted floors, but his heart supplied the beat anyway, resounding in his ears with every passing second. Unconsciously guided, he made his way to the seat in the very corner of the empty room, the one that sat right by the uncovered window. It was, arguably, the best spot there. The wide glass pane provided a perfect view of the scenery outside (currently, just the scrambling crowds of families and students), and the corner seating was a perfect spot to curl up like a cat for the long ride ahead. …Not that March was planning on doing that, anyway.
More importantly, however, it was the safest spot in the compartment, furthest from the door and facing the main way in and out of this space. And if things became especially dire, March would be the first in line to smash open the window and throw himself out to freedom. …Again, not that he was planning on doing that. Or hoping, for that matter.
No, he was hoping to make a good, strong first impression here. March delicately placed down his neatly folded robes, his wand box, and his tall, pointed black hat. His hands reached up, encircling around the strap of his duffel bag. The damned thing had been digging into his shoulder and hurting his neck the entire walk here, and he was happy to relieve the weight. One… two… three… lift! His arms shook violently from the effort. A good, strong first impression! He was going to do this!
Even with that thought to fuel him, however, March simply didn't have enough muscle definition (or height for that matter, but he didn't want to acknowledge that shortcoming) to heave his bag into the overhead storage. With a small, private gasp, his elbows gave way, and he barely managed to slow the duffle bag's descent. It thudded safely down onto the cushioned seats, narrowly smashing his other belongings. No good, then. He glared at the offending thing, clicking his tongue at how one of the zippers, bulging under the strain of all its insides, had become slightly undone. Closing it back up was another momentary wrestle, but one that he came out of much more victorious. March then glanced out the window. He flushed when he made silent eye contact with a random student standing outside and turned away quickly, hoping they hadn't witnessed his fumble.
At least this compartment was still blessedly empty. March lowered his duffle bag gently to the floor, pushing it as far under his seat as he possibly could. It wasn't going to stay that way, not for long, he thought wryly. He knew this from the way the sound of voices and laughter crept closer to the closed doors, increasing in volume as they approached and dying down as they passed onward. Hellos and hugs and reunions, footsteps and friends running past, a trolley lady scolding them to settle down. Someone tripped and bumped into the door of his compartment with a loud slam, and March jumped, but they never entered. He allowed himself a small sigh, making a mental note to tamp down his shock. Signs of life chattered endlessly beyond the four walls of his compartment, surrounding him in the second-hand experience of their joy, and March sat down, alone. He had seen the sheer number of people at King's Cross. It was only a matter of time before someone would come barging in, looking for a place to sit too. His throat tightened. It couldn't be long now.
Suddenly mindful of how much space he was taking up, March pulled his robes closer, tucked his wand box under his hat for safe keeping. There. That was courteous and a sign of a well-organized person. Just they all wait and see. He was going to be good. Great. Perfect.
Now, all there was left to do was… wait.
| interacting with. | ⟶ OPEN! |
| notes. | ⟶ first roleplaying post here!! hello world!!! |
Reducio
Inspo and art for this post, just because I thought it was funny whskdhdkk. The art was posted on Discord!
sta 3. eva 8. str 0. wis 7. arc 4. acc 8.
˙ǝʎǝ lnɟʇıǝɔǝp 'ɓuıʎl ǝɥʇ ǝɹɐʍǝq 👁
Trunks & Junk (with Duffle Bags too)
@March Yeung / Sept 1st, 2026 / outfit / mother & father & kassian
┕────────── · · ──────────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────────── · · ──────────┙
Nova loathed carrying her own luggage. On every trip that she had taken with her family before, there had always been someone else to do it. A footman or a bellhop or someone. But now, the young socialite was doomed to drag her own trunk through the carriages of the Hogwarts Express on her own. It wasn't that she wasn't strong enough to do it- Nova had a certain level of strength that was needed for dance. But it was humiliating to be doing it on her own, and the girl found she could barely stand it.
This was the third year Nova had accompanied her parents to King's Cross, as her brother was two years her elder and she had wanted to come along to see him off. Of course, he also came home for the holiday breaks, but Nova had often been too involved in her studies for her parents to bring her along. But this year would be the first that she boarded the train herself. Kassian had quickly said his goodbyes to their parents, swiftly spying one of his many friends and reuniting. Nova wondered, as she watched him excitedly embrace a pair of boys his age, if she would have friends like that. Friends she missed so dearly on their breaks that she would seek them out and rejoice at their reunification. Turning back to her parents, Nova realized that she hoped so.
Nova's parents were a refined couple, both objectively quite good-looking and well-dressed.
"I trust you will represent us well, my dear," her mother said, adjusting her daughter's outfit.
"Are you excited?" her father asked. "It's not every day you go to Hogwarts for the first time."
"Of course I am," Nova said. "I can't wait to join Kassian in Slytherin."
Her parents both smiled. "Your house does not determine your success, Nova," her mother said.
"Ah, that's the politician's answer," her father laughed.
But before talk about houses and such could continue, the family was reminded by a whistle from the train of its imminent departure.
"I'll see you at Christmas," Nova smiled, looking back at them from the scarlet train behind her.
"Make us proud," her father said, nodding to her warmly.
She nodded. "I will."
That brings us back to our young Nova begrudgingly hauling her trunk behind her as she passed compartment after compartment. Many of them were already fairly full, and while Nova didn't mind large groups of people, she thought it probably inappropriate to barge into a compartment full of seventh years and try and become friends with them.
Finally. A door that only held one student in it. Nova slid open the door and looked the boy inside up and down. He was small, so he couldn't have been much older than her, and he looked absolutely terrified. Well, she supposed Hogwarts was a new experience for many, but she couldn't fathom why anyone would seem so nervous about the whole thing. "Hello," she said. "May I join you?"
If granted entrance into the compartment, Nova would make her way inside, lugging her trunk in behind her. She looked up at the luggage racks above her head, and gave a great and dramatic sigh. Picking up the trunk beside her, she braced herself and heaved it above her head, sliding it into the luggage rack with a not-so-graceful thud. "There," she said, slightly breathless, before sitting across from the boy she had now chosen to share this momentous journey with. "So what's your name?"
Trunks & Junk (with Duffle Bags too)
date. time. location. speech.
"May I join you?"
March had his eyes already trained on the door when it slid open to reveal the face of an unfamiliar girl. Long brown hair, well-dressed in baby blue and white, a heavy looking trunk. She was about as tall as himself, by his brief estimate; maybe she was about his age or so? He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the way that she was looking at him, seemingly assessing him just as much as he was assessing her. No matter, he was prepared. He had run multiple versions of this scenario through his mind. He wasn’t going to trip up on his words.
He opened his mouth. Swallowed. Then closed it, opting to nod instead.
”Sure,” he coughed out. Nonchalantly. ”Of course.”
March watched as she made her way into his compartment, and it looked as though she was equally as bothered by the overhead compartments as he was. Inwardly, he nodded in commiseration. Maybe the architects for the Hogwarts Express should’ve foreseen that annoying little hurdle. Thinking the girl was just going to give up like he had, March suddenly found himself standing up in alarm. She was holding her trunk up over her own head! It was a display of strength that March didn’t think he could muster, and his hands drifted up uselessly, not knowing how to help and worried that it was going to fall. In the end, however, March hadn’t needed to attempt any kind of intervention at all. She slotted the hulking thing up there without any of his aid.
"So what’s your name?"
The girl had, notably, not introduced herself first at all. March found this a little rude; was he supposed to just know who she was by sight? He bit the inside of his cheek. A good, strong first impression. He brushed the itch of irritation aside.
”My name’s March,” he offered, voice even and steady despite the nervousness that was beginning to rear its ugly head again. He hoped it didn’t show on his face. ”What’s your name? ...Are you also a first year?”
It would be nice if she was. Even better if she was new to the whole magic business like he was too; he hated feeling ignorant and at a disadvantage compared to the other students when he had been in Diagon Alley two months ago. The feeling of amazement and child-like wonder that had struck him then had been rather dampened by the memory of just how out of his depth he was. Humiliating. A several hour long train ride looking stupid didn’t sound like a good time.
March dropped another glance towards his belongings. He especially had no idea what to do with his wand. It had scarcely left its box since the day he bought it home from Ollivander’s. The moment the wand had chosen him to be its wizard had been particularly explosive, and he wasn’t looking for a repeat. Even now, it was as if he could sense it nestled inside its container like an insanely dangerous and radioactive stick. He wasn’t scared of it, per se!
Just healthily apprehensive.
| interacting with. | ⟶ @Nova Vancourt |
| notes. | ⟶ hello!!!! |
sta 3. eva 8. str 0. wis 7. arc 4. acc 8.
˙ǝʎǝ lnɟʇıǝɔǝp 'ɓuıʎl ǝɥʇ ǝɹɐʍǝq 👁
Trunks & Junk (with Duffle Bags too)
@March Yeung / Sept 1st, 2026 / outfit
┕────────── · · ──────────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────────── · · ──────────┙
Perhaps her original assessment of the boy as fearful had been wrong, as he replied almost cooly when she asked to join him. Maybe she had been projecting, though she would of course never admit that to anyone else. She had an underlying expectation that he would be intimidated by her; the young girl was so polished and carried a clear confidence about her. She hoped the boy was just as excited about the upcoming year as she was, because a train ride full of ignoring each other would be so boring.
March. What a peculiar name. Perhaps after the month or the gait. She supposed she didn't mind it, in the end. Unusual names were only truly strange when paired with distasteful people, and he had seemed civil so far. He asked for her name, in return, and the young witch was glad to give it to him. "Nova Vancourt," she said, her voice carrying some kind of great status with it. Clear pride shone in her eyes, and a cool smirk spread over her face. "And yes, I'm a first year. Or else I would have just levitated my luggage instead of having to drag it along," she grumbled, shooting a pointed look up to the luggage rack above her as if the trunk itself had done something wrong. Though she didn't say anything, she did recognize that March's luggage still sat next to him, a clear indicator of either failed efforts or a lack of efforts in the first place to hoist it up above them. Her annoyance was, of course, pointed at the inanimate trunk, not the boy sitting across her, as she turned back to him with a polished smile. "But no matter," she continued, crossing her legs and brushing her silky hair over her shoulder with one hand. The placement of March's luggage wouldn't really matter unless someone decided to join them. "It's a pleasure to meet you, and I suppose we'll learn soon enough. What subject do you want to learn the most?"
Nova had been dreaming of Hogwarts for over a decade. That is to say, her entire life. Hogwarts and the magic taught there were constant subjects in her home, and the girl couldn't wait to partake with comments and opinions of her own, rather than just questions. She wished she could have found her friend, Kahira, to sit with on the train, but the scarlet engine was positively enormous, and Nova didn't have the patience to search for the redhead with her aforementioned heavy-as-a-hippogriff trunk in tow.
All that to say, as she waited for the boy's answer, a telling glimmer shone in her eyes. The young brunette couldn't wait to arrive at Hogwarts and finally get a chance to prove herself. She would be sorted in Slytherin, have the best spellcasting abilities of anyone, and finally show her brother she was more than just some little girl who happened to be his sister.
hi! thanks for letting me join
Trunks & Junk (with Duffle Bags too)
date. time. location. speech.
Nova Vancourt. Stars, or something, if he remembered correctly.
His eyes met hers, cool blue, and caught onto the way that the corners of her mouth turned sharp within its smile. The voice, the posture, the way she said her own name— all of that made March feel as if he was supposed to already know who she was. There was just something about it, subtle. Innocuous. If you know, you know. He chewed on the feeling, slowly connecting the dots. It wasn’t the first time he had met someone who had introduced themselves with their surname carrying the most weight. That had not been a pleasant experience.
He decided then, that he hated this nagging feeling.
Despite having very little experience walking amongst wizards, March was starting to learn a very important lesson: in this world, names mattered. Some, clearly, mattered more than others, and this girl seemed to have a very clear idea as to which camp she fell into. He supposed he had an idea as to which camp he fell into as well.
But, she was a first year student. Just like him. March swallowed down his misgivings. It made the playing field a little more even, and some of the tension he had been holding eased itself back. Not away, not truly relaxed, but back some. Maybe it could be okay. Maybe he could skirt through this interaction with most of his dignity intact.
He nodded along to her comment about levitation, having to remind himself that of course, any wizard worth their salt would be able to magic away their issues without having to resort to sheer brawn. It really would’ve been useful a few minutes ago, though. Without thinking, March brought his foot back, heel bumping against his duffle bag in a futile attempt to push it under his seat a little more. It didn’t budge an inch, and he pointedly did not draw attention to it. As embarrassing as it was to have it sitting on the floor, it was much more preferable than dropping the damned thing on his head and getting a mouthful of scuffed nylon.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, and I suppose we'll learn soon enough. What subject do you want to learn the most?"
“Potions.” The answer slips out of his mouth in a single breath, faster than his sense of manners. “And Herbology.”
“And it’s a pleasure to meet you too,” he remedied, feeling a little lame.
Truthfully, when he broke into his textbooks to read ahead for the upcoming year, he had cracked the spine of Book of Spells first. And it had captivated him! After all, waving a wand was the epitome of magic wizards and powerful witches. He didn’t dare try any of the motions, not trusting his wand to respond to him favorably, if even at all. But he had whispered the incantations then, feeling them quietly in his throat.
Then came Hogwarts, A History, to learn about the school he’d be living in for the next seven years. That one had captured him like a storybook, just as fantastical as a fairy tale despite the walls upon walls of text. The bravery of Gryffindor, the wit of Ravenclaw, the loyalty of Hufflepuff, and the ambition of Slytherin. Their houses and their history didn’t feel like something that existed alongside his experience of reality as a normal human being. Or rather, “Muggle-born,” as he had been called. The title? category? still felt ill-fitting to him, a newborn descriptor tacked onto his identity.
But then, his hands found the pages of Magical Drafts and Potions. Among odd and obscure ingredients such as flobberworms and gillyweed, sparks of recognition bloomed. Chamomile, wormwood, dittany. Pearl dust, mercury, sulphur. He had seen and heard of these ingredients before, down at the apothecary a short ways from home. They had been used as medicine then, toeing the line between antidote and poison, but here, they were used in the strangest of brews. March had imagined it then, crushing and slicing and boiling the ingredients to make magic in a physical, tangible form. He tried to predict which ingredients would be used in what sorts of potions. And in just a few short pages, he had been entirely hooked.
“It’s just… the idea of combining herbs and ingredients that might’ve done something unique on their own, and…” March brought his hands together for demonstrative effect and mimed mashing something between his palms. “...making something brand new. I also like that it’s straightforward.” A plus B equals C, cause and effect. As long as he followed the recipe to a T, the results should be perfect and predictable, right? It made sense. It was dependable. “The potions textbook mentioned the importance of herbology, but there wasn’t any herbology textbook on the required supplies list. I wonder why…?”
March trailed off, wanting to ramble a little more, but not wanting to bore his compartment companion. A conversation was a two way dance, anyway, and he was interested in hearing what Nova had to say.
“What about you? Which class are you most excited for? Or anything you’re anticipating or expecting for Hogwarts, really.”
The great steam engine whistled, a cheerful, triumphant cry. Then the entire thing lurched, slowly, and March's stomach churned alongside it. No going back now. He turned his eyes towards the window, then thought better of it and looked away.
“There's a lot of new things to get used to,” he admitted quietly, more honest than he had meant to be.
| interacting with. | ⟶ @Nova Vancourt |
| notes. | ⟶ so sorry for the horrifically slow response!! i should've mentioned that i take upwards of 1-2 weeks to respond— feel free to let me know if this poses an issue  |
sta 3. eva 8. str 0. wis 7. arc 4. acc 8.
˙ǝʎǝ lnɟʇıǝɔǝp 'ɓuıʎl ǝɥʇ ǝɹɐʍǝq 👁