Infatuation on Faux PV Closed

Graphic by Leonard Oaksworth

Interacting With: @Aurelia Notrésvace

Mentioning: @Leonard Oaksworth

Other Tags: @Evelynn Decipio

The Hogwarts Express was a train. It couldn't be avoided, nor reversed - that undeniable fact which left a heavy pit of anxiety sitting within Marshal's stomach.
If any other form of transportation had been offered to bring students from the school and into the waiting arms of their parents, then he would have pounced upon it without a moment's hesitation, eager to avoid the metal boxes of death, one of which he currently shuffled through.
Compartment doors flanking him on either side, the boy moved slowly down the aisle. He carried a luggage trunk in one hand, while the other periodically clenched and released as he attempted to relieve some amount of the stress he felt. The effort wasn't working, as evidenced by the nervous glint in his wide eyes, and the forced smile which accompanied the nod he sent toward those who squeezed past him in the small space.
That same haunted gaze was directed through the small windows in each door he passed, his feet coming to a momentary halt to allow him a quick search of the various compartments for Leo, his best friend.
He'd spoken to Leo earlier that day, before the train was scheduled to depart, and the plan had been to share a space together for the long and - in Marshal's case - arduous journey. However, the two of them had parted ways for a time to finish gathering their things, and it had proven to be the undoing of their schemes.

Having inherited the organization skills of his father, who could scarcely keep track of his head - let alone his socks, which tended to scatter themselves haphazardly about the house, much to the disgust of his wife - Marshal had come to the uncomfortable realization that his toothbrush had gone missing, and was unwilling to explain the loss to his mother upon arriving home. Thus, a frantic search ensued, resulting in the swift unpacking of all his belongings, which had already been stuffed into the trunk beforehand.
Finally, he had emerged victorious, having found the toothbrush in the pocket of his pajama pants from the previous night. The boy couldn't recall why, exactly, the item had ended up in that particular place, nor could he understand it. It was as if he had been drunk, and all memories of brushing his teeth were subject to an impenetrable fog of forgetfulness. But of course he hadn't been drunk. He was twelve, and had never touched a drop of alcohol in his life. Was he simply crazy? That seemed more likely.
Of course, he should have discovered the case of the missing toothbrush early that morning, when attempting to care for his dental health once more; but unfortunately, he had awoken late and very nearly missed breakfast. That being a fate he would sacrifice his teeth to avoid - though such a sacrifice would making eating much more difficult - the Gryffindor had rushed to the Great Hall without a second thought.

The negative effect of the whole escapade had been yet another late arrival, this time to his rendezvous with Leonard, who had evidently boarded the train without him, thinking that he wasn't going to show up.
As it was, Marshal had arrived at the station mere minutes ago, and presently heard the shrill cry of a whistle before the train lurched forward.
He froze, paralyzed by a streak of panic that jolted through his heart. The last time he'd heard that whistle, it had signaled the start of something horrific, something that still violated his thoughts on a daily basis, and which held a menacing presence in the back of his mind, now more than ever. To him, that whistle was as the impassive bugle which signified yet another death in this twisted world.

Though the panic he felt now was but an insignificant fraction of what he'd experienced that day, it disrupted his desire to find Leo, replacing it with a need to retreat - yet another thing to add to the growing list of new emotions since January. But where could he run? The train was already moving, which meant that disembarking was out of the question.
Glancing swiftly about, his eyes locked on to the nearest door. It seemed to offer refuge, promising an escape from his exposed position in the hall.
Without taking time to consider, he reached for the handle with his free hand and yanked the door open with all the fervor of a crazed maniac. Eyes wild, he rushed inside and all but threw himself onto the empty bench, dropping his luggage unceremoniously on the ground beside him. All of his focus going to the window, he tensely examined the passing landscape, searching carefully for any sign of trouble, such as the cowboys who had caused all the trouble on his last ride.

It wasn't until moments later that he realized he wasn't alone. Labored breathing paused awkwardly as he spotted someone from the corner of his vision, and his eyelids lowered in a silent wince.
Thinking back, he understood exactly how strange the entrance must have appeared.
All panic momentarily erased by a simple desire to take the last minute of his life back, he slowly turned a lopsided grin toward the only other occupant of the compartment. And upon seeing her face, in all its flawless, bespectacled glory, his regret increased tenfold.
Auburn-tinted hair flowing gracefully about her shoulders, the unfamiliar girl held an issue of the Hogwarts Headliner. A ray of sunlight poured through the window, alighting upon the reflective glass of her lenses, though their luster could not hide the silvery color of her eyes, which blinked gingerly, their brilliance outshining the celestial glory which rested upon her face.

Marshal's mouth opened as he considered saying something, then thought better of it. His brow furrowed, and a disappointed sigh filtered through his nose, gaze canvasing the small room thoughtfully.
Shaking his head, he opened his mouth once more. "I don't suppose informing you that your eyes shine like a full moon peaking over the horizon will help my case, will it? No? Then I suppose I should find another compartment."
Without awaiting a response, the blonde boy stood, patted the pockets of his sweat pants as though searching for his car keys, and picked up his trunk before making for the door.