Arthur sat on a bench in the leaky cauldron, absent-mindedly balancing his newly acquired wand on his finger, while his mum was off looking for a cup of coffee that didn’t spark or smoke or taste of pumpkins. The first time he came to Diagon Alley in the winter, he’d been cautiously excited about it all. But now he could feel the pressure this was putting on her and it was starting to rub off on him.

Folding his arms on the table, he buried his head between them, trying to calm his nerves with a deep breath. Honestly… this was a lot. When he was living at home, going to his same old school, hanging out with his friends, and only thinking about going to some fantastical far-away school next year, that was one thing. Now that he was staring down the reality of it, it suddenly felt like everything was happening far too fast. This last year had carried him like a riptide, taking him out to somewhere he wasn’t sure he wanted to go. He’d been brave-facing it so far, but he didn’t know how long he could keep this up. This had to be a mistake, right? I mean, it was insane!

There was a part of him that wanted to run away from it all. Go to an ordinary secondary school, kick ass on his GCSEs, learn Psychology, English, Maths, and subjects he’d actually heard of before. Go to a good university, become a doctor or a nurse like he’d always imagined. And what was so wrong with that? People kept saying how incredible magic was, and he got that.. But right now it just felt like the thing separating him from all his classmates, from his family, his friends.

The worst part was, there was no one he could talk to about all this. All the expectations of the wizard side of his family, people he didn’t even know before November, weighed down on him.. while he knew that if his mum ever found out he was having any doubts, she’d go full mama bear mode on it and try to find some way that he didn’t have to go, even if she had to fight the entire wizarding world. He couldn’t talk to his teachers without breaking Magical Secrecy laws, and he had to tell his friends he got an academic scholarship into a boarding school overseas (in case they ever tried to look him up or visit him).

He was pretty sure this was just a temporary feeling, like nerves before a big game or performance, but it would help if he had someone to talk to...

Olivia walked through the brick arch into the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron, waving to her dad as she did. Roy Stewart was headed to Knockturn Alley to purchase some Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent. After a busy day of shopping in Diagon Alley, Olivia was looking forward to sitting for a bit in the familiar pub.

The pub was filled with the low murmur of indistinguishable chatter but wasn't overly crowded. Olivia dipped her hand into the pocket of her worn jeans to fish out the sickles and few knuts she would need for a snack and maybe some tea. Before heading to London, Olivia had spent the morning with her father tending one of the large gardens surrounding their house. Her worn jeans and faded jumper showed some grass stains and her trainers were a little dusty, but she had washed her hands before traveling by floo powder to the cozy pub. She looked every bit the herbologists' daughter.

"Hiya, could I get a pumpkin pastie and a cup of tea, please?" she asked the bartender in a soft, confident voice. She placed her coins on the counter while she waited for her cup to be poured. Olivia was often in the pub for short periods of time on her own while her father made purchases in Knockturn Alley. She had never been in the alley herself at just 11 years old. With it's dodgy shops and slightly suspicious and nefarious looking clientele, it was a place Roy told his daughter she was never allowed to enter.

"Ah, brilliant, thanks!" Olivia said with a smile as her tea and treat were presented to her. She picked up the slightly steaming cup by the delicate handle and the small plate holding the pastie. Carefully extracting herself from the small crowd at the bar, Olivia turned around in search of a seat. She didn't recognize anyone in the pub today, not one of her father's friends or coworkers at St. Andrews golf course anyway.

Olivia spotted a huddled figure at one of the tables. She squinted a little, trying to make out the person with their head down on the table, almost buried in his arms. Yes, he definitely looked like a boy and about Olivia's age. It took about two seconds for Olivia to make the decision to offer to join him. In that two seconds, she ran through several scenarios of how her offer of company would be received. She was not well practiced at talking to people her own age. Most of her human contact came from her parents, her grandmother, and her father's friends and peers, most of which were middle aged or aging wizards who only talked about herbology. But Olivia was headed to Hogwarts this September so now was as good a time as any to start being social with people her own age.

Olivia crossed the room to stand in front of the boy's table. She almost lost her nerve and would have kept walking by to an empty bench against the wall. But her grandmother's voice in her head saying Come on, Sprout. You can do it! stopped her.

"Hiya!" Olivia said maybe a little too brightly. "May I join you?"

Sitting up abruptly when he heard a voice, Arthur lifted his eyes to the girl standing over him with a cup of tea. He’d registered her voice too late and couldn’t recall exactly what she’d said. She looked about his age, certainly not much older, and he wondered if she was also here buying school supplies. Getting distracted, he tried to refocus his attention. She’d asked him something… hadn’t she?

Too worn out to force a smile on his face immediately, his expression remained at tired bewilderment for a moment as he had to replay what she had said over in his mind.

"Hiya! May I join you?"

“Oh… Of course,” he said, sliding over on the bench to make room for her, finally catching up with his thoughts.

He rested his head on his palm as he watched her sit down. Does everyone in the magical world have red hair and freckles? he thought to himself, recalling the several people he had met already who did, something like 5 out of the 10 or so witches and wizards that he knew, excluding his family. Far higher than the average population, even in Scotland or Ireland.

He glanced around the pub for anyone who appeared to be with her, but it looked like she was alone. He wondered if she’d wanted some company, and thought that maybe he should try to start a conversation... But he couldn’t think of what to say. In the past when meeting someone his age, he knew he could safely talk about what football teams they followed, where they went to school, or whatever movie happened to be popular at the time. But with wizards all of that went out the window.

Trying to come up with a reliable topic of conversation, his eyes went down to the pastry in her hand. “That looks good,” he commented. "What is it?"