compartment twelve
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| ---- | date. 1st of september 2025, late morning location. compartment twelve of the hogwarts express mentions. Esme's family interacting with. @Stella Bianchi |
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| ------ | It was settling in, now — Esme was on her way to Hogwarts. Really and undeniably. The Hestridge household had been buzzing with a quiet sense of anticipation all morning. Esme had gotten little sleep, woken up at 3:50 in the morning by either nerves or excitement — which one it actually was, she couldn't be sure. Breakfast was eaten in a rushed and quiet atmosphere; though no one actually needed to hurry, with plenty of time left on the clock, it seemed no one wanted to be the last person to finish their food either. After Esme's mother had her check whether she had everything packed and ready for the fifth time in the past 72 hours, and a photo taken by Esme's father to commemorate his daughter's first day, they were ready to go. They arrived in London via floo powder, quickly making their way to King's Cross station. When faced with the bricks between platform 9 and platform 10, Esme had been told to run at the wall; and though she didn't find this particularly odd, she opted to just walk, unenticed by the idea of moving with any more urgency than was needed (or accidentally hitting her head if the magic masking 9 ¾ wouldn't work for any odd reason). They lingered at the station for a bit — walked around for a few moments with their cart, found Esme's extended family, made polite conversation with some family friends that Esme's dad had noticed… but finally, it was time to board the train. Esme's cousin, Stella, offered to find a compartment together, and they did, after only a few minutes of searching. A shiny golden number twelve hung on the door. They began moving soon after, and Esme sat by the window to wave her parents, as well as her aunt and uncle, goodbye. The train floor rumbled under her feet now. Esme wasn't sure if the train actually had an engine or was powered by magic, but the sensation of movement was the same. The Hogwarts Express had sped up, now, chugging forward along the railway at a steady speed, no longer slowly trudging along as it did when they first left. Platform 9 3⁄4 got smaller and smaller, until it was just a dot on the horizon, then finally, it disappeared. And it was in that very moment, when it was gone from view, and all Esme could see were the Scottish mountains and tall trees passing by, that it fully set in. She was about to begin her first of seven years at Hogwarts. For better or for worse. Her family had been regaling her with stories of Hogwarts for years — since she was a baby, she'd heard about the magical school she would attend when she was old enough. Of course, it all ramped up in recent months, since her 11th birthday in June — nearly every dinner was spent with some anecdote or another. Her father was more than happy to tell her about his time there and the good times he had on the Ravenclaw dueling team; his twin sister, Esme's aunt Alice, instead told her she should try out for Quidditch as soon as possible, being a chaser for Slytherin during her own time at the school. Even her grandfather mentioned he still has his old red and gold pin hidden away somewhere in the attic. None of that compared to what it was to actually be in the moment. Esme thought back to her trunk, all the class materials it carried — it had been packed for a month now, since school shopping back in early August, and now sat tucked underneath the compartment bench. Her books were all signed with her name in elegant cursive, her robes monogrammed on the sleeve with delicate thread. She thought about her wand. She knew it sat in a delicate, ornate box her mother had gifted her, and felt a flutter in her chest at the idea of her first classes and finally getting to use it. Soon. Of course, Potions was probably what she was most looking forward to — her cauldron and tin scales were safely wrapped and placed in one of her trunk's corners — but Charms and Transfiguration held their own appeal. Stella sat across from Esme, brown wavy hair catching a stray sun beam filtering in through the window, making it look like spun gold. Esme tilted her head, turning away from the view outside to look at her cousin. Stella got pulled out of Hogwarts around Christmastime last year, and had been home schooled since, so Esme could only guess that that was why they were sitting together. Perhaps she didn’t feel up to entertaining questions from students in her year about the circumstances of her disappearing mid-semester — perhaps there was simply no one to ask those questions. Either way, it was something to be grateful for. Esme wouldn't have to go into Hogwarts alone, and the journey would be decidedly less tiresome if she had decent company to speak with. Esme straightened up in her seat. “Thank you,” she said, tone polite, but unmistakably sincere. “For going with me. I wasn’t really looking forward to sitting with strangers.” |
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wc. 877
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thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
compartment twelve
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| ───── | It had been easier to idealise her return to Hogwarts in the comfort of her own home, when the flutter of nerves in her stomach could be very easily and gently pushed aside and tucked between homemade cantucci1 and games of chess. Now, though, standing on Platform 9 3⁄4, surrounded by a cacophany of farewells and a dizzying blur of both new and returning students, Stella's chest was tightening in a manner that was difficult to ignore. Remembering she was still in the presence of her family, she took a deep breath and tried not to look too harried. She knew that her parents in particular were anxious about her rejoining the cohort - understandably so, after the way her first year had turned out, but all the same, Stella wasn't keen to add 'looking sad on the train' to their list of things to worry over. But the uncertainty of her decision's future results was pressing on her mind; a 'better' outcome, whatever that looked like, was not guaranteed just because it was her second go. Stella knew, logically, she was a different girl to the one who'd stood in her place a year ago. But the platform, and the train, and the bustle of students all looked almost exactly the same, an indication that Hogwarts, for the most part, had remained unchanged. So what if she was different? That didn't necessarily mean she would fit in any better than she had before. No, she had to be mindful—that her careful inner work could not automatically soften the sharp edges of the castle and its people to make room for her. She was pulled from her thoughts at the arrival of the Hestridges, a welcome distraction from the gnawing anxiety that had settled in her chest. Stella greeted them with genuine pleasure; they were among the few extended family members she saw somewhat frequently, as they lived down south near Dover rather than all the way over in Italy. Her cousin Esme, being only a year younger, had been a regular playmate and friend since childhood, and although the frequency of their playdates had been relatively inconsistent over the last year (first due to her brief stint at Hogwarts, then the fallout of her abrupt withdrawal), Stella's fondness for the blonde girl had not lessened. She was glad that Esme was starting at Hogwarts this year, as it meant she wouldn't be going back completely on her own; on the contrary, she had a trusted friend she could depend on, if need be. When the time came to board the train, Stella declined her older siblings' collective offer to sit together with a thankful but slightly embarrassed smile, consciously moderating the lightness in her voice to hide how badly she wanted to accept it—tucking away the childish instinct to cling to them. She knew that the gesture, however sincere and kindly meant, came from protective obligation rather than true desire for the pleasure of her company. Besides, they'd already fulfilled their sibling duty exactly twelve months ago at the start of her first year, and there was no need to drag them through a repeat performance when they all had friends of their own who were likely dying for a catchup. Stella would instead ask Esme if she wanted to sit together, before bidding her parents farewell with a tight hug that seemed meant as much to comfort them as to steady herself. "Make sure you write, okay?" whispered her mother, and Stella found that she could only nod in response for the sudden lump in her throat. She found herself feeling extremely appreciative for her cousin's steady, familiar figure then, and even more so when they were faced with the daunting task of searching for a seat through a crowd of students on the same mission. By some miracle, the two of them managed to find a free compartment before the train started moving, and Stella settled into her seat as the door slid shut behind them, muffling the noise and chatter of the corridor and leaving her with a fragile sense of calm—thin as paper, but enough to steady her nerves. She waved goodbye to her parents back on the platform as the train began to move, smiling as bravely and convincingly as she could. It will be different this time, she told herself, watching the station grow increasingly small behind them. It will. When she could no longer see the station, Stella sat back and watched the scenery zip past the window, the sunlight falling across her face a welcome source of warmth. She was in no hurry to speak if Esme did not wish to; even as very young children, the two of them could spent entire playdates reading or sketching side by side in contented silence, with nothing more than an occasional 'Hm,' or, 'Pass the red paint.' It was one of the things she liked the most about her cousin, that not a single word needed to be said for fun to be had—and when conversation was made, it was always somehow meaningful and enjoyable no matter how mundane or trivial the topic. "Thank you." She turned her head at the sound of her cousin's voice, light but never unclear, like a delicate thread spooling in her attention from her own thoughts. "For going with me. I wasn't looking forward to sitting with strangers." Stella blinked, registering Esme words with faint surprise at being thanked for something that had felt natural; offering her company to the blonde wasn't a favour or an obligation, but simply an intuitive continuation of their companionship. Still, the courtesy of gratitude was appreciated and folded neatly into the back of Stella's mind for a rainy day, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she could fully grasp it. "Sure," she said after a beat, tone reflecting Esme's quiet sincerity. "I'm glad we can do this together. And I mean, it's nice for me too. I don't really have people to sit with from last year, because... you know." Voice growing soft at those final two words, as if speaking explicitly of being pulled out could somehow jinx her and pull the past into the present, unwelcome and barbed. The memory had lost much of its sting over the months, but even so, she felt the smallest shiver of the old unease deep in her bones, quickly soothed by the warmth of her cousin's familiar presence. Yes, having Esme with her certainly eased the apprehension she felt at returning to Hogwarts—even if it only made the long train ride more bearable, that alone would be enough to be grateful for. Stella let the last of the tension dissipate from her body like mist lifting from a grey morning, and turned her thoughts forward instead. Let the sunlight streaming through the window sweep away her lingering worry, leaving only the mild rumble of machinery beneath her feet and the quiet pleasure of Esme's company in the seat across. "So," she said, brown eyes crinkling with a smile of genuine interest, "have you had any thoughts about houses? Your father was in Ravenclaw, yes?" She let herself linger on the question for a brief moment, fingers drumming lightly against the side of her arm rest. "I just wondered," she mused, voice thoughtful, "because I remember imagining all of the possibilities and thinking about what it'd be like in each house before the sorting ceremony. I didn't really think I'd end up in Gryffindor, though." Stella's own parents, and most of her extended family for that matter, were Beauxbatons alumni, thus which house she and her siblings ended up in had simply never been a matter of concern. Esme's father, on the other hand, came from a family where generations had been schooled at Hogwarts. Naturally, Stella assumed that the house one was sorted into carried richer layers for Esme that she herself had never experienced, free as she was from familial expectation. | ───── |
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| ───── | TAG..@ESME HESTRIDGE......NOTES..1CANTUCCI: ITALIAN ALMOND BISCUITSSTA 5 EVA 9 STR 0 WIS 7 ARC 4 ACC 10.../ / /...SEER & WANDMAKER .ACTION..:..SITTING DOWN AND TALKING WITH ESME ; PUSHING DOWN DOUBT | ───── |
a nameless girl in the freshest summer greens, a saint, an angel;
compartment twelve
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| ------ | Looking at Stella and waiting that split second for her response was perhaps the most calm Esme has felt in the past week. The steadily approaching date of her departure to Hogwarts was exciting, of course; but excitement brought with it a sense of anticipation, which, for someone like Esme, guided by sense and not sensibility, was always closely followed by stress. She didn’t like not knowing things, and she knew there was no way to truly know Hogwarts but experiencing it, no matter how much she read or heard. Stella’s presence seemed to make that anticipation and anxiety vanish. She was easy to read — every twitch and tell familiar, categorized in Esme’s head so long ago it was all but carved into her brain. Conversation took the form of instinct instead of constant analysis, a rarity for Esme. More importantly, however, Stella was just as familiar with Esme’s own… quirks. She didn’t mind being read, or at least never tried to stop Esme from doing so. Esme knew she wouldn’t be told off for staring or for staying quiet, in contrast to what her parents made clear polite society expected. Stella seemed emotional. Not unexpectedly — Esme didn’t know the full story of how exactly her cousin got pulled from Hogwarts, but she’d heard enough of her mother’s hushed phone calls to her aunt. The word depression was whispered with all but outright fearful, solemn tones, like a boogeyman that could be summoned forth if acknowledged. Besides, even if Esme hadn’t happened to overhear that, she would have known something was wrong. Just the fact her mother was calling her sister of her own volition was enough evidence that whatever the specific circumstances of Stella’s malaise were, they were serious. Even when planning visits and playdates between Stella and Esme (rare as those had become in the past year), the overwhelming majority of the time it was the Bianchis calling and the Hestridges picking up the phone; not the other way around. “I figured,” Esme acknowledged, head still and eyes trained on Stella. Usually, she would have left it at that, but the familiar figure of her cousin across from her and the sunlight that speckled every surface of the compartment made her more relaxed. “I’m still grateful for the company.” She didn’t know if Stella wanted to speak about the matter further, and after a brief consideration, decided not to move forward with any questions. In Stella’s shoes, she wouldn’t be too keen on discussing it in detail. Silence fell for a brief moment before Stella spoke up again. “Have you had any thoughts about houses? Your father was in Ravenclaw, yes?” Esme nodded, not responding right away. Once again, she was reassured in her silence by the instinctive knowledge Stella wouldn’t mind waiting. Esme had given some thought to houses, though it was more thanks to her family’s stories than any internal dilemmas. Her grandfather spoke with passion about his time at Gryffindor — the kind of fervor she’d come to associate the house with. It fit him, an auror, brave and daring to a fault. Her aunt still pulled an emerald and silver knit scarf around her neck during the winter months, and seeing as she was instrumental to the family business’s recent growth in Europe, she was a perfect example of the cunning and ambition of Slytherin. And of course, family dinners were filled with stories of Ravenclaw from none other than her father. His exploits on the dueling team, all the friends he made on the dueling team… “I remember imagining all of the possibilities and thinking about what it'd be like in each house before the sorting ceremony. I didn't really think I'd end up in Gryffindor, though,” Stella added, and Esme hummed quietly, glancing out the window. Well, though she meant no insult to her cousin, she didn’t particularly feel the need to imagine. Esme knew where she would be placed. “I’ll probably be a Ravenclaw too,” Esme finally replied with a brief shrug of her shoulders. It felt only natural. Her family didn’t particularly care, so long as she represented the Hestridge name well, but Esme herself didn’t really see an alternative that would make sense for her. Not that she would say it out loud, but she knew she was intelligent, and held enough confidence to be sure Stella knew so too. She was a prodigy in opera, she adored math, and wizarding chess, all things logical and analytical. All signs pointed to the blue and bronze. “Though I wouldn’t mind being housemates either,” Esme added. Not that it would happen, in all likelihood, but she wasn't lying. She turned back to Stella. Her tone and smile were still sincere, but subtle as always. “Can you tell me more about it?” Esme asked. She couldn’t help the way her chin lifted slightly with the way she was feeling. A little satisfied with herself, considering the topic at hand. She was being curious — like a proper Ravenclaw, she thought. “The ceremony, I mean. I know about the Sorting Hat and all, but what is it actually like? Father started talking about rhapsody and the feeling of magic in your veins when I asked,” she joked, settling further back into her seat. It was shaping up to be a train ride well spent, the conversation making the red compartment benches more comfortable already. |
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wc. 903
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thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |
compartment twelve
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| ───── | "...I know about the Sorting Hat and all, but what is it actually like? Father started talking about rhapsody and the feeling of magic in your veins when I asked." Unable to help herself, Stella laughed, the sound light but carrying the shape of genuine amusement. "Rhapsody?" she echoed, shaking her head faintly—although not unkindly. "Your father said that?" She thought of Thomas Hestridge, all blonde hair and business suits. It was difficult to imagine her uncle doing anything other than making polite small talk during playdate drop-offs and pick-ups, never lingering long enough to feel familiar. For all she knew, the culmination of his entire existence was limited to careful dinner parties spent by her aunt's side, and in all honesty Stella could not recall the last time she'd had an actual conversation with the man—assuming such a thing had ever taken place at all. No, the word rhapsody, although presumably said in jest, did not belong in his mouth, too vivid with charming absurdity for someone she'd only ever associated with courteous nods and handshakes. She pictured him saying it anyway, and laughed again under her breath. "Rhapsody... no, not exactly—well, it might've been that way for him, but for me, hmm..." Trailing off, she let the question of the Sorting Ceremony settle between them for a moment, head tilting as she thought over her next response and gaze drifting to the fields rolling past as if the blur of motion could soften the edge of memory. It wasn't that she didn't want to answer, only that her mind had jumped past the Sorting itself and straight to how it had been the first of her rosy illusions of Hogwarts to be shattered, the memory of it aching now like a bruise pressed by accident, startling in its viscerality. She had once foolishly believed that the Sorting would anchor her. That the moment the hat shouted her house, she would find herself fitted neatly into a shape she could grow into. Gryffindor, however unexpected, had seemed so certain, so promising, that Stella had found herself half-believing courage might latch on her skin just by sitting at the table, belonging blooming within the noise and warmth. The reality had been much quieter. Much, much lonelier. She'd tried to bend herself towards Gryffindor's edges and only felt the strain widen her own cracks. Meanwhile, everyone else seemed to slip into belonging with ease. A house could applaud, cheer your name, and still not erase the tremor inside you. Stella knew that now, knew she had to put in the work and not just let life simply happen to her, but it still seemed unfair that she alone had stumbled, become the only one for whom the promise of instant belonging rang hollow. She saw little point, though, in crowding this sunlit moment with this full truth, and anyway, it wasn't what Esme was asking. She wanted to know about the shape of the Ceremony, the voice of the Hat in your head, not the long ache that followed Stella afterwards. Why muddy her cousin's certainty with stories of cracks and doubt that belonged to her alone? "Well, it's a little overwhelming at first," Stella mused, drawing her attention back to her cousin. "Everyone's staring at you, and the hat's in your head, saying things and asking questions you don't expect. Poking around like it has the right, which of course, it does," she added, voice light with humour and lips curving upwards in a smile. "It's over pretty fast, though. For most people. And you'll be fine." She gave Esme what she hoped was a reassuring look, allowing the words to set in. You'll be fine. And yes, as far as Stella was concerned, she would be. Esme, after all, was not like her. From childhood, Stella knew her cousin to carry herself with steadiness that seemed almost untouchable. Even the simple, self-assured way she'd said, "I'll probably be a Ravenclaw," as if the answer were already obvious—even that spoke to the difference between them. Stella could never imagine naming a house with such easy certainty, or knowing herself well enough to do so. She had proof, too, of how unpredictable it could be: she and her four siblings, spread across different houses with only one double-up. Her parents liked to joke that they'd managed to "collect the set" within a single generation. To Stella, though, it was a mark of how complicated the Sorting could make things—if even blood could scatter that way, how could anyone be so sure of where they would land? And yet, for Esme, she could believe it... the bronze and blue crest against her robes, the satisfaction of a house that welcomed intellect and curiosity. Esme would flourish there. "And I think you're right... Ravenclaw would suit you very well," she said after a moment, regarding her cousin with measured thoughtfulness. It was true, and not entirely surprising considering Esme's upbringing with a Ravenclaw father. Plus, her cousin was very clever, much more so than other children her age. Although Esme's comment about the possibility of sharing a house was certainly appreciated, Stella doubted very heavily that it would become a reality and knew Esme probably thought the same... she pictured the blonde at the Gryffindor table, or in the common room awash with red and gold, and had to smother a smile. "Not that you shouldn't keep an open mind," she added quickly, "but I wouldn't be surprised if the Sorting Hat agreed." | ───── |
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| ───── | TAG..@ESME HESTRIDGE......NOTES..LMK IF YOU WANT ANYTHING CHANGED!! :]STA 5 EVA 9 STR 0 WIS 7 ARC 4 ACC 10.../ / /...SEER & WANDMAKER .ACTION..:..REFLECTING ON FIRST YEAR ; TALKING ABOUT THE SORTING CEREMONY | ───── |
a nameless girl in the freshest summer greens, a saint, an angel;
compartment twelve
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| ------ | Esme smiled at the sound of Stella’s laughter, a chuckle escaping her own lips. It was a sound she’d rarely gotten to hear throughout the past year, her cousin’s joy, and it was definitely nice to hear it again. Pretty, like pearls and silver bells and all things elegant and gentle. She’d missed it, truth be told — though they met for their birthdays during early summer this year, their playdates had been cut down to a minimum, and she’d almost forgotten how plain pleasant just existing with Stella could be. She was glad for the reminder. “He did,” Esme replied, feeling her smile stretch, small dimples now appearing under her eyes. “He’s been ecstatic over me going to Hogwarts. I’m surprised he didn’t try to sneak onto the train,” she joked, tilting her head slightly. She looked out the window once more — the train station was long gone, forgotten in the midst of the rolling hills and trees of all kinds that sped by. Her parents were probably on their way home now. Maybe already there, maybe having coffee or an early lunch in London. She felt a small pang of homesickness, but shook it off — there’d be plenty time to miss her family through the semester, and there’d be plenty of opportunities to see them during breaks, too. There was no need to make herself sad quite yet; especially with her cousin sitting across from her, too. Esme turned back, watching Stella think for a moment. Her voice had trailed off, and for a few seconds, Esme worried if she’d overstepped, perhaps reopened a wound not yet healed. They hadn’t talked too much about Hogwarts during their last meeting in June. Esme remembered not wanting to bring down the mood, having looked forward to the occasion for a long time. Her parents seemed hesitant to bring anything up, so she followed their example and stayed quiet. Besides, she was still fresh off just having gotten her Hogwarts letter, full of excitement, and that, combined with the celebration, made for a perfectly sufficient distraction. Had she breached the topic too quick now? Esme tilted her head slightly, looking at her cousin intently, ready to back track if it was necessary; though Stella seemed… mostly fine. A bit lost in thought, perhaps. Nothing Esme could blame her for. She spoke again, and Esme settled back into her seat, listening intently. “... asking questions you don't expect. Poking around like it has the right, which of course, it does,” Stella said of the Sorting Hat, bringing a chuckle out of Esme. “Overwhelming,” Esme repeated, nodding along. Overwhelming. Her thoughts drifted, imagining the scene — the Great Hall from her family’s stories, with it’s magically open ceiling and floating candles, the swarms of other students, some seated, some standing — everyone staring. All came easy to picture, except for the Sorting Hat itself. Not the physical form, of course. That came to Esme’s mind easily, rugged brown leather with a wide brim, wrinkled and old and yet undoubtedly magical. What she had trouble with was the mental side of it. “The hat’s in your head,” as Stella had put it. Her father had said the same thing about it — “it’s like having another person in your own mind for a while.” Her aunt described it as someone breaking and entering through your ears, and though it was mostly said in jest, Esme remained intrigued. Esme knew the corners of her own mind well, however silly that felt to say. She considered herself to be more introspective than most, having been taught that logical reasoning was the best guide. She liked rationality. Analysis was comfortable — like a tool with a well worn handle that felt familiar to the touch. What would it be like, then, to have someone there, in her own head? A stranger, too; one that, from what Stella was saying, would be poking around like it had every right to. It was an odd thought. It fascinated her, in the way all slightly scary things do. A breaking and entering into her own brain wasn’t something that sounded pleasant, exactly. Still, it was the low, barely simmering kind of fear, mixed with anticipation and excitement. Esme would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious as to what it would actually feel like, to have someone beside herself there; especially since she knew that at least in this case, it was harmless. The reassurance that she would be fine was nice to have either way. Esme glanced back at her cousin then, chest puffing with slight pride. She was a Ravenclaw already, she was sure, in all but name. Even her cousin saw it; it was only a matter of time. A matter of only a few hours, in fact. “I’m glad you think so,” she said with a slight nod. “I’m excited.” Her tone was measured, as always, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of enthusiasm there. Esme looked out the window again, blonde hair resting against the glass. Her train of thought turned back to upcoming classes, spells and elixirs and the ceremony ahead. A few moments passed by in silence; then, the sound of wheels came to a stop outside of their compartment, and the door opened. Esme turned to look at the source of the movement. An older woman pushing a cart stood in the doorway. She smiled at them, her expression warm, crinkling at the corners. “Anything for you two?” Esme’s gaze shifted quickly to Stella, then back to the lady with her cart. “A chocolate frog, please. Two, actually,” she corrected, quickly fishing out a few loose sickles from her pockets. She stood to exchange the coins with the older woman for two pentagon-shaped boxes, glancing briefly at the indigo and gold. The woman rolled her cart away, closing the compartment door once again, and Esme sat back down, lightly tossing one box to her cousin. “Tell me who you get.” |
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wc. 1001
@Stella Bianchi
@Stella Bianchi
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thales amaro. second year castelobruxo quidditch. |
katherine townsend. professor of charms, former thunderbird. |