Arden rolled his shoulder to adjust the straps of the large dufflebag on his shoulder. He was wearing a dark red shirt with a band graphic on it, his usual dark green long canvas jacket, dark brown pants and simple shoes. His dad had been talking his ear off about about the school, ghosts, teachers this and that but Arden wasn’t really paying attention. Partially because it was stuff he heard the previous year and even see gif himself but also because he was thinking about quidditch.

Arden spent most of his summer days playing or practicing for Junior rugby, and his nights reading about and studying Quidditch. He didn’t get to play his first year but he watched every game and he was looking forward to trying to get on the team this year.

Finally it was time to board the train and Arden gave his dad a hug, assuring him that he would be fine and once he was settled in he would write his dad a letter to let him know how things are going.

Once on the train Arden found the first empty booth he could and he slipped inside and dropped his duffel bag on the ground before plopping into a seat and propping his feet up on it as he started to get comfortable as there was a long trip ahead.

It was a frustrating experience, dealing with people. In spite of all superficial appearances, Victor was not particularly pleased with his current situation. One would have thought that a man risen like Lazarus would have more reasons to smile and while he wore one, the expression did not meet his eyes. He knew what Hogwarts meant for him. The stares, the accusations, the potentially (likely) violent outbursts of his peers who act before they think and even when the consequences become apparent they take no part of the blame. Perennial children.

He did not look forward to what would likely be a battle for his life (yet again) once he stepped foot on Hogwarts. He would have to start with the headmaster's office, then his dorm. He as not certain he could remember the way to either, it had been so long. His memory was fuzzy, full of static and pain. He could smell the smoke, feel the flames. He could hear the screaming, he was certain that the noise was his own - he did not know he was capable of such sounds. His stomach would make a series of olympic-worthy backflips as he wandered with a halting gait as he cast a nerved glance on either side. He knew that for the most part his peers, those that would recognize him and end this temporary respite, were likely spending their days at summer camp. That he had a little more time.

The goal was simple, find a stranger to complete the journey; he found that while he sought those he did not know that he was willing to risk running into those he hated to escape the company of those he could not tolerate. A strange notion he might still come to regret. Most of the compartments were already filled, wide-eyed first years primarily. There were a few faces among the youthful ones full of excitement and wonder that he recognized or thought he might. Faces had a habit of being recycled in this school so some things were hard to tell.

Providence would make him an offering as he peered into what would seem to be an empty compartment. Strange but he was not about to ask questions. He would slide the door open on the moving train and see a single, unknown. Dressed like a muggle, he presumed (incorrectly) a first year. "First year?" He widened that fake smile of his as he attempted to make nervous eye contact. "Escaping another compartment, mind if I--" his voice faded off. "Is the compartment full?" Never ask what they want, that is always a no he reminded himself.

He let himself in and picked an empty space, not occupied by the boy or his feet. "Names Victor," he announced as he extended his hand towards Arden. "Foith," he struggled with the word since he could not recall. He was entering his fourth but it was now technically if he abided by the passage of time his fifth year. "Slytherin," he added. Depending on the prejudices some have an opinion was likely already formed. He had just escaped a youth that was filled with toxic notions he was glad to have escaped. Even if there was a modicum of truth, he contributed to their bad reputation by breathing.

"Looking forward to seeing the school I bet, pretty large," he added. Words that were wasted really, the boy was a veteran of the school already. he just had the good fortune of getting through his first-year unscathed. "Have to say the size was what got to me more than anything, you could wander all week and not get through the whole place." The interesting thing about the boy was that he was alone -- "are you a muggle born or just the sort that dislikes everyone else."

Arden’s head turned as the door opened up and someone entered. No one he was acquainted with, but other than the librarian who kept sweeping him out of the library as she closed it up and the grounds keeper chasing him off as he tore around the quidditch pitch playing rugby by himself he didn’t get to know many people his first year.

”Second year actually” his Irish accent was impossible to miss as he spoke. He leaned forward some and extended his own hand to shake Arden Doherty, nice to meet ya” when the guy introduced himself as a Slytherin Arden smirked a bit to himself. His view on the houses was like rival sports teams, and given his lack of deep history on the wizarding world knew little of any bad blood between houses. “Gryffindor myself. Don’t worry I won’t hold your bad luck against ya, can’t all be in the winning house” he offered a playful smirk as he settled into his seat again

“Place is certainly larger than I ever could have expected thats for sure.” he then blinked. Muggle born? What was he…oh! Right. Non wizards “dad is wizard but my ma was normal…er, muggle. Didn’t know dad was magic or any of this stuff was real until pretty recently. Lot I’m still learning”

”Second year actually”

The accent was hard to misplace, Moore's English accent not quite as posh as that of a Londoner, despite sharing a common tongue their addresses could be heard with the enunciation of each syllable.

"Arden Doherty, nice to meet ya”

He was not particularly familiar with the surname, not that he took issue with that. Being a Slytherin he had long ago moved past the childish concern of blood status. The relevance of someone's blood really became problematic when dealing with an audience. Well, blood was a lot more relevant than that, but the metaphorical concept of bloodlines and lineages was madness to concern themselves with when they were still mastering the delicate art of making their hair turn pink.

He extended his hand, mirroring Arden. A firm handshake, the sort ones father teaches a boy before he comes of age. One of many lessons he would use, he missed his father. He never had an opportunity to grieve and it felt wrong to do so now. When their hands met, Victor's was gloved and he never removed the leather sheath and yet Arden would feel an uncanny chill pass through the cloth. It felt as if he had placed his hand on a bag of ice.

“Gryffindor myself. Don’t worry I won’t hold your bad luck against ya, can’t all be in the winning house”

The irony of it being his least favorite house. There was a look that would come over his eyes - not quite shock, closer to fear. Gryffindor was not what he considered a 'kind' house. The events of that Blossom Ball were burned into his memory. He shook away the memory, that terrible day and the dark times that followed. That was not Arden's fault, he was not even a part of the school. Still that delay would be noticable, that moment between the casual, chiding comment of the pre-teen and Victor's reply a smile and a self-depreciating comment. "We all can't be known as the heroes," it was a cliche for the house of the 'brave.' They were the ones often seen as the heroes when in truth they usually defied the rules, the limits; said the hell with the rights of others and did what they wanted. If it worked out - they were lauded a hero. If it did not work out, if some poor guy was immolated - then it was a terrible accident. They were not held responsible for their failings, only celebrated for their victories.

Control. Vic. Control...

He needed to remind himself to stay calm. To keep the storm at bay. Death was in some ways a blessing.

“Place is certainly larger than I ever could have expected thats for sure.”

"The shifting stairs were my least favorite," A welcome departure from houses. "I am pretty sure the stairs had it out for me in particular,"/color] he laughed. He would find himself on the wrong side of the castle more times than he could count.

“dad is wizard but my ma was normal…er, muggle. Didn’t know dad was magic or any of this stuff was real until pretty recently. Lot I’m still learning”

"Puts you in a good place for Muggle Studies at least," he offered with a shrug. "People like me have rarely spent time in the muggle word beyond walking the streets. It seems totally mad to do things the muggle way when there were other, faster, easier methods." There were certainly advantages to muggle-living, he could not think of any but there had to be -some- reason muggles existed and lived the existences that they did.

"Although I can't say that I am looking forward to coming back," he admitted. The end of summer, the return of studies. The usual reasons a child would have an aversion to returning to school. "I am half expecting to--" he sighed. "Eh nevermind," some nervous laughter as he glanced out the window. How much further was it? "I am looking for a fresh start, shame I can't join a new house at the start of the year." Merlin, he wished that was an option.