A Lonely Compartment
Yseult walked down a thin corridor of the Hogwarts Express, with her father and mother, searching for a cabin to sit in. Most were empty, as of yet, as she had been one of the first students to board the Hogwarts Express; her father always insisted on being early to everything. Her mother had rolled her eyes, as she often did, but had readied herself all the same.
Her parents were bickering after an off-hand comment her father had made about the sorting ceremony. Her mother had mentioned Yseult's Aunt Sarah, a muggle psychologist, felt that sorting children into houses placed an 'undue burden on the mind of the child, that the expectations were too much pressure for a growing mind and informed how the child acted more than the child’s character alone.'
Her father had scoffed at that, "Do you know what muggles call people like her, Esther? They call them shrinks, because they shrink the mind!"
"Oh, stop," her mother scolded.
"I intend to believe the opposite of whatever she believes. We will expand our Yseult's mind, not shrink it!" Her father continued, before stopping in front of a compartment he had deemed worthy (though Yseult thought they looked mostly all the same).
"Here you are, dear," her father said.
She sat and bounced a couple of times on the seat, feeling the cushions beneath her. Her father lifted her cases to the rack above with a spell before turning to her, "all settled in then?"
She looked up at him, willing them not to leave in her mind, but nodding all the same.
"Right then, off we are," he leaned in and kissed her on the top of her head, before turning to leave the compartment; he lingered in the doorway as he watched her mother say goodbye.
"Please send an owl when you get there, to let me know you're safe."
"Yes, mum."
"And if you need anything, you know you can reach us any time of day," her mother kneeled down and hugged her as tightly as she could with her growing pregnancy. Her soft voice spoke in Yseult's ear again, "I love you, so, so, so much."
Yseult hugged her back, burying her face in the crook of her mother's neck, "I love you too, mum."
Her mother lifted herself to stand and walked over to where Yseult's father stood, taking his hand. Her father clicked the compartment door shut, and then they walked off.
Yseult sat there for some time, sitting on her hands and starting at the opposite wall, not quite sure what to do with herself. She knew she wasn't alone, per se, but this was the most independence she had ever received. Finally, she opened the shoulder bag that rested on the seat beside her. She grabbed a book of stories from the bag, and peeked in at the stuffed niffler toy which she had had since she was a child, "Just you and me now, Pippy."
Her parents were bickering after an off-hand comment her father had made about the sorting ceremony. Her mother had mentioned Yseult's Aunt Sarah, a muggle psychologist, felt that sorting children into houses placed an 'undue burden on the mind of the child, that the expectations were too much pressure for a growing mind and informed how the child acted more than the child’s character alone.'
Her father had scoffed at that, "Do you know what muggles call people like her, Esther? They call them shrinks, because they shrink the mind!"
"Oh, stop," her mother scolded.
"I intend to believe the opposite of whatever she believes. We will expand our Yseult's mind, not shrink it!" Her father continued, before stopping in front of a compartment he had deemed worthy (though Yseult thought they looked mostly all the same).
"Here you are, dear," her father said.
She sat and bounced a couple of times on the seat, feeling the cushions beneath her. Her father lifted her cases to the rack above with a spell before turning to her, "all settled in then?"
She looked up at him, willing them not to leave in her mind, but nodding all the same.
"Right then, off we are," he leaned in and kissed her on the top of her head, before turning to leave the compartment; he lingered in the doorway as he watched her mother say goodbye.
"Please send an owl when you get there, to let me know you're safe."
"Yes, mum."
"And if you need anything, you know you can reach us any time of day," her mother kneeled down and hugged her as tightly as she could with her growing pregnancy. Her soft voice spoke in Yseult's ear again, "I love you, so, so, so much."
Yseult hugged her back, burying her face in the crook of her mother's neck, "I love you too, mum."
Her mother lifted herself to stand and walked over to where Yseult's father stood, taking his hand. Her father clicked the compartment door shut, and then they walked off.
Yseult sat there for some time, sitting on her hands and starting at the opposite wall, not quite sure what to do with herself. She knew she wasn't alone, per se, but this was the most independence she had ever received. Finally, she opened the shoulder bag that rested on the seat beside her. She grabbed a book of stories from the bag, and peeked in at the stuffed niffler toy which she had had since she was a child, "Just you and me now, Pippy."