Scarcely eight minutes had passed since Roland had succeeded in managing the wrestle his iron-willed mother, who was relentlessly prone to stow away on the Hogwarts Express, away from the carriage doors. Bidding adieu to her solitary offspring, Marie-Claire Poitrenaud-Marin (merely attempting to pronounce her entire name was enough to bring on a cold sweat) had assumed the devastatingly tender aura of a pastoral French mother sending her boy to the barricades. "Mon petit, mais enfin, tu n’es jamais parti de la maison!" (fr.) "My little one, but really, you’ve never left home!" sobbed his mother. His father, with a faint smile, stroked his wife's shoulder and leaned over to whisper in little Roland's ear, "I haven't seen her cry in the last ten years, bravo."

By the time Roland boarded the train, the compartments were only half full. The hearty laughter of various circles of friends, united not only by attending the same school but also by growing up alongside one another, spread throughout the train's corridors and warmed Roland's heart, untarnished by the dust and rust of the time. Despite all his affability and kindness, the boy's ability to take inititive in social matters was not particularly well-developed. He, therefore, preferred an empty cabin, gently praying for a good companion to share this once-in-a-lifetime experience with.

The compartment door yielded with a slow, silent slide, only to reveal an interior aptly crisp and luckily unoccupied. Roland, rather abruptly, caught himself wondering how much a similar train journey would cost back in the Muggle world. Then, realising how unpleasant it was to give way to such a pointless faux pas of the mind, he banished the thought at once. "Thinking about profit is a foul thing,” his father often remarked, "very middle-class, very mediocre." Mind you, though, it was tough to tell whether he said this to encourage his son to pursue an artistic career instead of commercial interests, or simply to belittle his family members, whose professional careers were built on profit-seeking.

Roland reached into his bag, pulled out Terrence Rattigan's The Deep Blue Sea, and placed it on the diminutive table with a rather soft thud. It was one of the plays scheduled to be staged at the family's stage down in Dover, and Roland had no intention of falling behind the domestic artistic agenda. Moreover, books, if you ask Roland, were unique travel companions. After all, if one ever felt the faintest hint that a fellow passenger was ready to doze off, one could simply immerse oneself between the pages of one's book, thereby freeing oneself of the dreadful burden of being an unwarranted imposition.

Momentarily, however, Mr Rattigan, too, could wait. Looking out the window and watching families whispering their goodbyes on the platform below, Ronald leant his golden head against the glass. "Da te bar mogu probuditi," (hr.) "If only I could wake you up," he began to hum softly, "kavu ti skuhati, u krevet donijeti..." (hr.) "make you coffee, bring it to bed..."

Interacting with @Artie Kempston

Artie's mother was crouched before him, rubbing her son's arms, giving him a pep talk. He was nervous, really nervous. He nodded along with his mother, his blonde curls bouncing up and down as he did so. Artie was going to a new school, which was the first thing that he was worried about. He would have to meet new people, try to make new friends, and most importantly, try his best not to get pushed around by other kids. The only thing that made it somewhat easier was that he wasn't leaving any of his friends from back home, because, well, he had none. The second thing that he was most nervous about was that he would be leaving home. He had never been away from home, so the idea of it, of not getting to see his mother and father every day after school, frightened him.

He took a deep breath, looking towards his mother and plastering a smile on his face. A big, toothy grin. He pulled her into a tight hug, whispering into her ear, "I'm going to be okay, Mom." A simple statement, however, one that would hopefully give his mother and him some sense of relief. His eyes turned to look towards his father. He had just returned from dropping his bags to be loaded onto the train.

His dad pulled him into a tight embrace, messing with his hair and causing Artie to let out a laugh. As he opened his mouth to speak, he heard the train blowing, notifying passengers to board. He looked back at his father, finishing his thoughts, "You'll write, right? Every week?" He questioned, getting a quick yes from the older man and a pat on the back.

"Now hurry up, you don't want to miss your train." His father would say to him, before ushering him forward. He quickly moved towards the train, climbing aboard and waving goodbye to his parents before falling deep into the sea of students that were trying desperately to find seats.

He made his way towards the back of the train, where he saw a boy who was sitting all by himself. He quirked an eyebrow at the other child, turning his back to the door and taking a deep breath. His first interaction with another boy like him. He was not going to mess this up. Carefully, he slid the door open, taking a step inside and sitting down across from the boy. The boy was muttering something to himself, and Artie could barely hear it. He sat there, patiently waiting to introduce himself, not wanting to interrupt the other boys' reading journey. As he heard the boy's speech break, his hand shot out towards him.

"Hi there! I'm Artie, Artie Kempston! I hope I'm not bothering you, but you looked quite lonely just sitting all alone in here. Although now I can see you have your book, so maybe I am bothering you."

He paused, swallowing as he waited for the other boy to shake his hand back.

"Are you excited for school?"

Responding to @Roland Domagoj Marin

Roland slowly blinked, his blue eyes fluttering open as though he were gently waking up from a deep afternoon slumber. It took him a brief moment to properly register his surroundings, only to discover that the carriage was no longer his private sanctuary. Another boy, a blonde one, had already sat into the seat directly opposite, slipping in entirely unnoticed while Roland had been terribly busy humming an old Tose Proeski tune to the windowpane.

For a fleeting moment, Roland caught himself wondering if the fellow was super light on his feet, or if he himself was simply absent-minded. Then, he felt a mild sense of mortification. A telltale of red crept up his neck, causing a slight blush to appear across his cheeks. He must think, Roland mused, I'm raving mad, sitting here, muttering nonsense to the air. He, therefore, retreated behind a coyish smile he often adopted whenever he felt caught off guard.

But as it turned out, there was no need to worry. Quite the contrary, in fact. The boy was not looking at him as if he were a specimen in a jar, tallying up his quirks. There were no probing questions raised about why he was sitting all alone with a rather boring book and murmuring in an incomprehensible language. Now, Roland, at his eleven, would hardly claim to be a good judge of character, but genuine kindness was a difficult thing to counterfeit, and it was wonderfully easy to recognise, even to a child.

"Very nice to meet you, Artie," Roland answered, shaking the hand extended to him with pleasure, "I'm Roland. Roland Marin. Well, it's actually Roland Domagoj Marin, but I have no intention to twist your tongue into knots just yet." After a slight giggle, "You're definitely not bothering me," he proceeded, "I was looking for an excuse not to read this book either. And a Mancunian -if I'm not very much mistaken- is always a reliable substitute for a book."

Roland paused for a second to think about how to articulate a proper answer to Artie's question. Was he excited? Yes, for sure. But excited about what exactly? "I guess so, I am excited," he answered eventually, "but... err... See, my family are Muggles. And until quite recently, I was a wizard thinking he was a Muggle without having a single clue what a Muggle means. So... I'm flying utterly blind." He couldn't avoid a theatrical little smirk. "You know, maybe by the end of the first week, a magical creature will eat me - I've always been that unlucky. Or maybe I'll discover I'm a terribly talented wizard. Anything is on the table, really!"

Leaning slightly toward Artie, "What about you?" he asked, almost conspiratorially. Just as the words left his mouth, a shrill whistle heralded the train's departure, and the carriage gave a heavy, deliberate lurch forward.

"My, my, we're heading out..."

Interacting with @Artie Kempston

Roland, it was a very nice name to listen to. It rolled right off the tongue, simple, pretty. However, the name that he said in the middle, Doma...Domo...Domu...Artie couldn't for the life of him figure out how one was to pronounce it, and he figured he better not try, for worry, he would offend the boy who sat across from him. The two giggled at the same time, causing blush to creep up the sides of Artie's cheeks at the interaction. It wasn't awkward, but he wasn't used to it, wasn't used to someone who was kind to him.

He perked up as he saw the book in the other boy's hand, smiling as he moved to put it away. "Well, it sounded like a very interesting book, considering you were reading it out loud! What was it that you were saying?" He tilted his head with a smile, "It was in French, right? I don't speak French, although you sounded very pretty when you spoke it!" His cheeks flushed red as he said it. "I didn't mean pretty, I mean, it was pretty, agh, sorry." He laughed, rubbing his eyes. "I just meant the language is a very pretty language!" He corrected himself after taking a deep breath.

He nodded with a smile, "Yes, you're right on the money. I've lived in Manchester my whole life. With my Mom, Dad, and sister!" His smile only grew wider as he got to talk about his family.

Artie looked to Roland, confused, raising an eyebrow at the strange term that he said. What on earth was a muggle? He had heard of weird terminology and read a few chapters of his books, but he hadn't stumbled across the word muggle yet. Using his context clues, however, he was able to figure out that he was also a Muggle. "I think that I am also a Muggle! You mean like, when the family is non-magical? Cause if so than yes, I am!"

He smiled, rocking back and forth in his seat. He felt the train start, jolting him backwards, causing him to bump his head with a groan. "Ouch," he laughed, rubbing his head.

"I'm also excited for school. Back home, I didn't really have any friends; I was kinda bullied a lot by the other kids. I'm hoping I can actually make some friends here. Like, maybe you want to be my friend!" He smiled.

"I guess it's all so new, but I'm hoping that it will be a brand new start. It's also just cool because I never knew about magic until now!"

He paused for a moment, looking up to Roland with a look of hope, "Roland, I know we just met and all, but would you be my friend?"

Interacting with @Roland Domagoj Marin

"I'm afraid it was neither French nor a passage from this book, Artie," Roland confessed softly, "it was... lyrics from an old song. I was just, err, purring them to myself. I sometimes do." With a smile so gracefully fragile on his youthful features, "It was Croatian," he went on, "That explains my second name, too. Domagoj. You see, my mom's from France, and my pa's from Croatia. A rare occurrence, I told." Having slightly leaned over to grab the book he had set aside, "This is going to be staged next season," he informed Artie, "by my parents. They're running a theatre in Dover. That's why I'm reading it. Though, honestly, maybe I shouldn't have begun. It's full of failed suicide attempts, alcoholism, and... well... you know, things that are typical of adults... certain... actions..." A faint blush crept across Roland's face. At eleven, he had a very vague, blurry impression of such matters, notwithstanding his father's premature attempts to enlighten him.

Roland felt a warm, compassionate smile spread across the contours of his face as he watched Artie's innocent display of confusion and shyness. "Ah, but, aren't you a cute one?" he said, playfully. "No need to be sorry. I’ve a bit of a reputation for sounding rather pretty," , he said, teasing the boy even further, "and I'd much prefer the compliments were steered towards me, rather than the language." Tittering softly, Roland felt comfortable enough to act a tad sassy.

"Oh, you have a sister?" Roland asked with an earnest excitement, "That must be wonderful." He was an only child who had narrowly escaped an abortion. "Older or younger?" he pressed, "maybe it'll turn out that she's a witch as well." Roland had always yearned for a sibling, preferably a girl, but now, he began to daydream of what it might've been like to roam the same castle with a kin of his own.

"Now, now, my dear chap," he stepped in assuming the air of someone knowledgeable about the Wizarding World, "it's now a proven fact that you're not a Muggle. Your parents are. We're, it seems, are what they call Muggle-born."

By the time Artie bumped his head slightly, Roland's smile was both mischievous and hopeful. 'A bit of clumsy, this one' he thought to himself, 'just like me. Fancy that.' Then, extending one leg slightly forward, leaning back with a certain languid grace until the tip of his shoe nearly grazed Artie’s. "Tsk tsk tsk," he tutted, shaking his head. "Zero tolerance for bullies. I had to put a few of them in their place back in Dover." He wasn't lying. Although Roland was not a particularly sturdy child, he and his close circle had once successfully dismantled the reign of a few local ruffians through sheer tactical cooperation. In fact, the mistress on duty, Mrs Smithers-Jones, had turned a blind eye, sparing the crew the dread of detention.

Suddenly, straightening up and leaning forward in his seat, he placed his hand on Artie's shoulder, rather delicately. "Say goodbye to those days," he began, "my friend."

"If anyone touches a hair on your head in this magical castle we're heading to," Roland said, his tone slowly flourishing into the theatrical, "they'll regret it." With that, he reached into the inner pocket of his ebony-coloured jacket. Inside were two fig bars (Roland had permanently borrowed them from the nightstand before leaving the house). Gently, he handed one to Artie.

Interacting with @Artie Kempston

The boy's hands stiffened in his lap, embarrassment flooding over him as he realized he had been wrong about not one, but two things. He wished that he could curl up into a ball and roll right on away. He swallowed, nodding along. "Well, maybe there will be a spell to help me learn every language in the book, because goodness knows I need it!" He commented, trying to crack a joke and shake away his embarrassment. The red on his cheeks slowly began to fade away as he sank into his seat, getting comfortable as he listened to the other boy talk about his home. Croatia...he had heard of it before. Somewhere near Italy, if he was remembering correctly. His mother had always wanted to travel to Italy, said it was her lifelong dream. "How interesting! My Mom grew up on the outskirts of London, and my father lived in Ireland before he moved to Manchester, though he doesn't sound it."

The boy smiled, crossing his arms in his lap as he looked to the other boy. His eyes drifted towards the book that he was picking up, his eyebrows raising curiously. Artie loved to read and loved even more to find new, interesting books. It was a play of some sort, he was able to pick up, nodding along with Roland as he spoke. He looked at the title, recognizing it. He had seen it in a library before; he remembered learning it was a book written to be post-war. "That's very interesting, Roland, you'll have to let me borrow it when you're done, I would love to read it!" He grinned.

Blush crept back onto his features as the words from Roland lingered in the air. "Ah, but aren't you a cute one?" The comment made Artie feel strange inside. His cheeks flushed and hot, his mouth going dry. He laughed, shaking his head, his curls bouncing up and down as he did so. "Well, you are pretty, then! I like your eyes! They're big and blue and hard to look away from; it feels like you're staring into my soul." He giggled, his rosy cheeks lifting as he grinned.

He paused for a moment at the mention of his sister, a gentler, warmer smile gracing his features. His sister was his bestfriend. "She's older than me, thirteen to be exact. Her name is Imogen, she's the best." He trailed off, " she would like you. Mainly because you're nice to me. But that's beside the point. You know, if I were taller, the two of us would look just like twins. She's tall, and, and blonde, and has this beautiful, long curly hair." He said, his gaze drifting off to look out the window as he spoke of her. "I miss her already."

He was pulled from his thoughts when Roland began speaking of Muggles; he was ever so curious about them. From what he understood, a Muggle was somebody who was non-magical. It was quite a peculiar word, though. "Muggle-born! How interesting!" He exclaimed, looking to Roland with awe and curiosity etched across his features. It was such a strange new world, but at least he knew he wasn't the only one who was set to embrace an entirely new culture. "Does that mean that there are those who knew they were magical from the moment that they were born?" He questioned, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Artie smiled. No, not smiled, he beamed with happiness, his grin wide as he looked at Roland, "If everyone here is as nice as you, I won't have to worry."

"Say goodbye to those days, my friend."

His friend..

Artie grinned like a child on Christmas. "Goodbye then," he smiled, taking the fig bar, opening it, and taking a large bite out of it. "Mm!" He giggled with a mouth full of fig, covering his mouth so Roland didn't see him chewing his food. His mother had given him a proper scolding on his manners before he had come.

Interacting with @Roland Domagoj Marin