The Hogwarts Express. It was intimidating to an eleven-year-old muggle-born like Aaron Jones. It would be taking him to a magical school in Scotland where he would be spending most of the next seven years of his life. And here he was, standing at the train steps. After a moment of hesitation, he looked back at his family one last time. They had been talking and saying their goodbyes for a solid ten minutes, and it was still just as hard to leave now as it was before the goodbyes. His parents, his twin brother, and his little sister were smiling at him, urging him to get on the train. He offered them one last smile, steeled his nerves, then turned and climbed the steps onto the train carriage. It was time to go to Hogwarts.

There were so many people already on the train, and it was almost louder here than it had been on the platform. All the compartment doors were wide open and conversation flowed freely as students reunited and chatted about their summers. Aaron felt small as much bigger people pushed past him in the corridors, clearly knowing where they were going. He was average height for his age, but when surrounded by fifteen- and seventeen-year-olds, any kid would feel small. Especially someone who had no friends on this huge train.

As a muggle-born, Aaron was diving into the wizarding world with no connections. He had been popular at his muggle school because he had grown up with everyone and had a rapport. But here, he would have to work at making friends. It shouldn't be too bad because his mum always described him as charismatic, but he was still nervous about being here without Avery, his twin brother. Avery wasn't as popular, but he was always there for Aaron when he needed him. It would be a big adjustment living away from both his family and his brother.

So, feeling a bit lost and sad, he walked the stuffy train corridors. So many of the compartments were half-full already, or the people inside were reserving the rest of the seats for friends. Aaron saw kids already in their Hogwarts robes and vaguely wondered if he should change right away. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a white polo shirt, nothing spectacular since he knew he'd have to change into uniform eventually. Oh, well, he'd worry about his clothes after finding a spot.

Aaron went through two whole train carriages until he finally found an empty compartment. The black-haired wizard breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the small compartment and could finally set down his trunk. He pushed it underneath the bench seat since he couldn't lift it overhead. He took in the nice condition of the compartment, which housed two bench seats with armrests between the cushions and a table by the window. At least he would be comfortable during the journey.

As soon as he took a seat, the train let out a long whistle. Will I be able to see them? he wondered, turning his full attention to the window. He looked out of it, eager to see one last glimpse of his family. With a bit of luck, he did see them, and they saw him. He waved ecstatically, having forgotten to check if the window would lower so he could call out his goodbyes. But all too soon, the station was gone and replaced by views of rolling hills. Aaron slowly sat back in his seat, wondering what to do next.

Before he had a chance to really think, the door of Aaron's compartment slid open. He looked up and saw a girl standing in the doorway. She had to be around the same age as him, and she had long blonde hair that was a bit curly. Her pale skin and freckles stood out to him most, though.

"Hi, are you a first year, too?" Aaron offered a smile and stood up to greet her. "I'm Aaron. You can sit with me, if you'd like," he invited, gesturing to the empty seats across from him. Maybe they could become friends and he wouldn't feel so alone once he got to Hogwarts.

@Persephone Barret

@Aaron Jones

Loneliness did not plague Persephone, not as she watched the immense number of first years arrive, their parents on their arms, shivering with anticipation for the awaiting months. Standing dead center in King’s Cross Station, platform 9 ¾, the blonde was overcome by the idea of freedom, disconnecting her bonds with the old Persephone. Alexandre Barret, her supposed legal guardian, remained at home, drowning in his sorrows, a dead sleep, and some other crushing burden that Persy dare not question. He’d wished her goodbye the previous nightfall, the only way he knew how, deprived of parental warmth and dripping with rejection, exciting her for the severing of departure as opposed to making her sympathize with him, look at him in the soft, innocent gaze that was shattered the day the door slammed.

Surrounded by families, light-hearted sentiments and conversations, isolated in the bulk of the crowd, Persephone had never felt less lonely.

Boarding the train, eager to find a secluded compartment and count the kilometers of distance between her and home, the noise level was excruciating. It had been one thing, bearing with the cries of separated families in a more open setting, but the sheer number of crying first years, combated by those simply screaming with joy, was overwhelming and quite frankly, annoying. Crying didn’t change that you were leaving, and screaming didn’t alter the destination. Futile actions, coming from even more pointless emotions. All of them were, she supposed.

An unfamiliar neighbor [but an apparent family friend considering the stranger would not shut up about Amelia] had driven Persephone here early as a result of feigned desperation. Well, it wasn’t faux desperation, really, the small girl was aching to break the chains that confined her to that house. However, the sobbing, the breathless wheezing and falling to her knees, that was all a wonderful act. It had been fun, somewhat, to watch the woman surrender to the manipulations of a crying child. Women and their ‘motherly instincts’.

“Why do you want to leave so early? Don’t you want your dad to go with you?”

A gasp for breath here. “I can’t, it makes me too sad to say goodbye to him.” A tear here.

And afterwards, a ride to King’s Cross Station a safe two hours early, regardless that the girl stared at her surroundings and killed a likely hour. Perhaps karma would bite her for that controlling stunt, but the conversation along the drive was punishment enough from her own perspective. Oh, I wonder where she went and that must be hard for you. It was all lies, tales spun to sympathize with the poor young girl, but Persephone was fine. Her mother had abandoned her long before the door closed. She had eliminated that lingering sadness, pity, long ago. If people wished to trick her into believing they cared, they were foolish to believe she wouldn’t turn the tables on them. Often, what many adults and human beings in general didn’t notice, people wanted to be manipulated, told what to do, coerced into listening to her word as if it was that of God. Persy was a crowd pleaser.

But, Persy was not an insensitive, scheming person. Hell, she was hardly a person at all.

It greeted her with great frustration to learn that the self-deprecating act was for nothing; all of the compartments contained at least one student, a hefty one too many. In her head, she began to flip a coin to the next one she’d see: heads is crying, tails is screaming. There was nothing doable that would prevent the inevitable human interaction that she so craved to circumvent, so the white flag was thrown into the air as Persy slipped into a compartment with an antisocial appearing boy.

Then, he spoke. There went antisocial. And all her chances of this being peaceful.

“Yeah, I’m a first year. It’s Persephone Barret.” Her voice lacked strength, almost inaudible over the noise of the train’s passengers and periodic whistles. Without speaking, she took a seat opposite Aaron, and glanced out the window.

Kilometer one, coming soon.

Persephone... Why did that name sounds so familiar? As he sat back down, Aaron's dark eyes followed the blonde girl to the seat across from him. She seemed upset, but he could only guess that it was because she was sad about leaving her family. Like him. He instantly felt a connection to her, and was very glad she had chosen to sit with him.

"Oh, Persephone! Like Hades' wife!" Aaron suddenly said, a smile lighting up his face at the realization. Last year in Muggle school, they had learned about Greek mythology. All the gods and goddesses were fascinating, and Persephone had been the underworld god's wife. Or was there another Persephone this girl could've been named after? Or maybe just because it sounded pretty?

"I'm sure you've heard that before," he added, still smiling as he leaned his arms on the table between them. "She's the goddess of flowers and stuff, right? I mean, before the whole abduction thing.. Is that who you were named after? I wasn't really named after anyone, I think my parents just liked the name Aaron," the black-haired wizard explained. He was genuinely curious about her name because he had never met a Persephone before. Before she could speak, though, Aaron had yet another realization, "Oh! Or is it a common witch's name? I'm muggle-born, so I've only just found out about the wizarding world. Were you raised around magic?"

Aaron was only so talkative because he was both excited and nervous. His words tended to get away from him in situations like this. But also, he found that talking tended to bring people away from sad things. After noticing how sad she seemed, Aaron was trying to distract his traveling companion and maybe make a friend while he was at it.

@Persephone Barret

@Aaron Jones

After dwelling on it for a moment, in a failed attempt to drown out the verbose passenger who taunted her with his words, Persephone concluded that it was roughly two minutes into the train ride and the experience had already become one of dolor. Clearly, remaining silent would hardly improve the situation; those that don’t adapt go extinct in changing environments. If nothing else, the blonde had more faith in herself to be aware of this fact. Years had gone by during which she was forced to evolve with the times, disregard the past and her own desires. A flower, blooming in the spring, just to die when the groundhog sees his shadow.

“Do you know what the name Persephone means?” Their eyes didn’t meet for longer than a brief moment, the up-and-coming witch immediately skeptical of his blinding grin. “It means ‘bringer of destruction.’” Waiting for a reply would be fruitless, he would prove that in a matter of mere seconds as they all seemed to.

“I’ve heard it...well...no. No, I think you’re the first person to say that in a long time. Named after her, guess I don’t know. Never really got the chance to ask.” Conversations were dangerous, a trap with the bait of a friendship, an understanding connection. Persephone preferred a life with no connections, or such was at least believed at this point, nerves tensing at just the phrase echoing in her mind, reminding her of all she had lost.

Three years had passed as if it was her entire childhood, which was ironically filled with laughs and songs to replenish the humanity in your soul. Irony was a terrible comedy form, bringing distress upon its audience. It was a wonder that it seemed so popular to the majority. That is a good name for the population, valuable perhaps. Rids them of their humanity. When you begin to think of someone as human, that is when they get you. When the trap is sprung, your body immobile and wit useless as a defense. Shaking her head, this thought was banished with so many others. As a good book once said, ‘people are real, people matter’.

Muggle-born made sense. Too much sense to be unprejudiced, perhaps.

Why do people insist on questions?

“I… yeah, you could say that.”

Comfort came in the form of the window, offering a much needed reminder of her brave escape. Her trickery, the manipulation it took to get here. Pondering over life as she knew it never ended well, usually in another part of her inhuman soul deteriorating. Just maybe, a conversation could distract her. Still, some things were better left unsaid.

Bringer of destruction? he wondered, tilting his head slightly at her translation. He had never heard that before. Wasn't it Hades who was the bringer of destruction? As god of death and the underworld? Well, this girl who shared the name with Persephone probably knew better than him. "I'm sure it can mean lots of things," Aaron said, trying to make her feel a bit better. Then he volunteered the other information about Persephone. About how she was the goddess of flowers and stuff. It seemed to make the blonde a little less morbid about the subject.

"You should definitely ask them! Like, maybe you have a distant relative with the name," Aaron said, offering a crooked grin at the idea. The fact that she didn't know where her name came from wasn't too odd. He'd only asked his parents about his own name last year, and they didn't have much to say other than they liked the name. When he looked it up on the Internet, it talked about Hebrew and biblical meaning.

"Oh, cool! I only met one other person from a wizard family, but I only talked to her about Quidditch and then she had to leave. I have so many questions!" Aaron's dark eyes were alight with curiosity. If Persephone was willing, he could learn all kinds of things about the wizarding world. They had a whole train ride to talk, but...

The eleven-year-old wasn't stupid. He was definitely picking up on her uneasiness.. or was it sadness? Maybe even just coldness? He couldn't imagine why she was feeling that way, but he chose to keep up his own chipper attitude to maybe help her feel more positive. And because he was on a train ride to a magical school! No way was he gonna let anyone drag him down. If anything, he wanted to bring her up with him. Be happy and excited! Nervous, sure, but now was the time to express their feelings. Not be mopey for the whole ride.

"So, do you know much about Hogwarts? I've been looking forward to it for months now, but I'm pretty nervous about making a fool of myself," he admitted with a nervous laugh. He tried to catch her eye again, even though she was staring out the window. "Even if you only know a little, I'd love to know."

@Persephone Barret

@Aaron Jones

Aaron’s attempt to comfort Persephone, or so the girl assumed by the twinge of care in his words, only pulled her lips down into a subtle frown, perplexed by that attempt. Maybe to others, a name with such a burdening meaning would come as an inconvenience, a blow to an already diminished self-esteem. This didn’t reside within Persephone, who didn’t hold this loathing toward her title, instead wearing it like the steel armor and protection it was. As long as it covered her, an opaque umbrella, the youthful parts of that fractured soul could grasp the possibility that she wasn’t born this way. This cursed life was forced upon her all through the method of titling her. Bringer of Destruction. Bringer of Death. It all meant the same thing, it meant abandoned to a life of chaos to only be embraced. Not fought or countered. This wasn’t her fault. In a few tiring years, perhaps, this belief would be forsaken with everything else. The first stage of grief was denial, but how long did that last?

“Why would I ask a question I don’t care about the answer to?” Persy responded simply, tilting her head in inquiry but also in disappointment of the uninvited passenger. Understanding of the minds of others was limited, their inferences and gears turning in different ways than her own, though she’d thought it was made clear by her words that it was too late for such a question. A certain amount of decay could banish the desire for conversation within people, that was easily understood. It hadn’t occurred that this may not be true.

He continued to speak, referencing Quidditch, one of the many possibilities that made the desire in her soul burn stronger, another flammable object in the ocean. Though becoming part of the team would, without a doubt, be a daunting task, Persephone couldn’t shake the instinct that her place in the world lie on a broomstick. Perhaps with a bat, or a quaffle. Regardless, his swift change of topic didn’t pull her eyes away from the window, the glass that presented all the lives that lie ahead, all the lives she wasn’t living.

“A parent was a student, yes.” Saying the word mother aloud might slice open a recently closed scar. Or, more likely, just might make the adrenaline wash away long enough to remember it was still bleeding. She’d only been told so much in the time that lapsed of their lives together, a boundless relationship that truly wasn’t. Alexandre had preferred talking about Beauxbatons, as though a day would come when they could return to France, unburdened. Persephone shook this away. “It uses the same house system that most of England does. Four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and-” A sharp breath, “-Hufflepuff.”

Aaron was pretty put off by Persephone's less-than-cordial attitude, but he had already realized there was no real way of escape. Leaving now would just be rude, and he definitely wasn't a rude child. This girl on the other hand...

"Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Aaron repeated, trying to commit these odd names to memory. He remembered hearing the name Gryffindor when he met that girl in Diagon Alley. Ariana had said she wanted to be in Gryffindor. He wondered what was so special about that house.

"The girl I met said there's some sort of test you have to take to get into one of them. She mentioned a dragon, actually. D'you know if that's true?" Aaron asked. He really wanted to know what his night ahead would look like. He knew the train ride to the school was supposed to take most of the day (his mom had even packed him a lunch and snacks), but he had no idea what to expect once they left the train. Obviously they'd be taken to the castle, but then what? They'd face off against a talking dragon? Maybe it was a team exercise?

"Did your parents - or parent - tell you lots of stories?" he asked, too curious to guess that perhaps she didn't want to talk about her "parent." He was still buzzing with the excitement of heading to a magic school, and her negativity couldn't stop his mind from racing at all the wonderful possibilities. His only examples of magic were from the visit to Diagon Alley and the visit from a Hogwarts representative. They seemed like such distant memories now, and he couldn't wait to see what Hogwarts had in store.

@Persephone Barret

@Aaron Jones

There was something about his voice, something that couldn’t be identified through observation that Persephone didn’t care to grant him anyway. Perhaps not about it, but in it, like an added flavor or magnificent attention to detail that went regularly overlooked. Still, the intrigue and pull of its true identity didn’t tear her fixed gaze away from the window again, counting each kilometer as if each one saved another day of her life. With each passing one, Persephone would wake up again, never refreshed but at the bare minimum, breathing. Not seconds away from another doom, but days, weeks, months away from it. Aaron kept talking though; for this he could not be blamed. Being so verbose could’ve just been his quirk, something that made him real. Every other minute, her mind changed.

“A…dragon? Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think so. It’s a hat, a legendary one at that.” A creepy one. “Reads into your mind to decide where you fit best. It’s simple, I guess. You just sit there and feel like yourself until something else decides exactly who that person is.” She’d droned on, never meeting his eyes, and lost in the labyrinths of an isolated mind. The idea of a student believing that their fates lie in the hands of a dragon brought a small smirk to her lips, a dry chuckle following. This was rather hypocritical though; in an unusual way, that sounded more apt than the talking, all-knowing hat.

Once again, as though the hint flew by him, obscured by his fog of excitement and apprehension, the brown-haired boy reignited the topic of family. As though there was plenty to discuss. Persy wouldn’t indulge in exclusively sharing excessive information with him, but the conversation needed to be closed. “They told me a few. My father didn't prefer talking about Hogwarts.” Persy aimed to shift the topic quickly, fidgeting with her hands in an obviously uncomfortable manner. “Did you want to know more about the houses, like what they stand for?” Although it wasn’t ideal, that would be preferred to the familial discussions.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed! It's actually kind of a relief to know there's no dragons involved," Aaron said, laughing a bit alongside her chuckle. Hearing that there was some sort of magic hat that he'd have to wear was a relief solely because he knew next-to-nothing about dragons. He could handle a hat, for sure. Even if it did sound kind of insane. Did all wizards cast spells to make clothing sentient? And how did it know which of the four houses to put him in? Was it random?

Aaron's eyes found themselves back on the blonde girl. It was weird talking to Persephone when she refused to look at him. All he could do was continue to look at the side of her head, because what else was he supposed to look at?

Okay, so her father seemed like a subject he shouldn't broach - he picked up on that by the quick topic change. Aaron's dark eyes brightened slightly when Persephone finally asked him a question, though. Yes! He did want to know more about the houses! Finally, some information was being volunteered to him! But he didn't want to scare off Persephone, who seemed like she would react badly to his over eagerness. He had to play this off as cooly as possible. How to do that-

"I mean, if you don't mind sharing, I- um- well, yeah, I really wanna know more," he said, stumbling slightly over his words. He was too focused on not messing up, and it meant he inevitably did. Aaron shrugged it off, and leaned against the table between them, eager to hear what she had to share. One of these houses would be his "home" for the next seven years, so he should probably know what he's getting into. "Do you already have an idea as to which one you want to be in? Maybe start with that one-"

@Persephone Barret

@Aaron Jones

“Dragons aren’t really anything to be afraid of if that is what worries you. Doubt you’ll have to come across one though, so lucky you huh?” Regardless that Persephone’s statement was not one composed of sarcasm, the words almost entirely literal and to be taken seriously, the condescension in her voice may say otherwise. It felt natural, to speak as an authority, as a voice of wisdom, as someone to be admired. Sheep, the majority, the nameless, the faceless, whatever one decided to call them, they needed a leader. People ran rampant, bumping heads and crashing skulls, like a painter with no portrait to create. Landscapes had been done before. They needed something original, something enticing.

Persephone looked back toward the boy, eyes studying him as if in questions that would go unanswered, all except his, that is. Asking questions was admitting to being ignorant, and that would inevitably lead to a painful demise. Perhaps unwillingness to admit to that ignorance, however, would only multiply the disastrous outcome. I’m not bleeding, they say, swimming in their sins. Before they were able to admit to that mistake, it had fallen from their gaze and it was too late to not dwell in that superiority complex.

Sidetracked. So very sidetracked. The blonde shook her head once more, clearing the fog from it to reset the primary focus, what would keep those thoughts away from what lead to nowhere. Though his ceaseless inquiries leaned toward annoying rather than enthralling, they did provide a means of escape. “I’m a Slytherin.” The girl said it with such confidence, one may think she’d even been sorted beforehand. Persephone knew herself better than some sinister hat did. “What that means is up for interpretation really, as with the rest of the houses. For me? It’s a sense of will, strength, and the power to be in control regardless of obstacles. It’s a sorting for the people who—” The people who are real. “—are strong in will. Ambitious, to simplify the complex.”

Persy would go on, simply to keep the train glued to its tracks. “In general, Gryffindors aren’t afraid of things, but that often makes them stupid.” Hypocritical, yet oddly true. Speaking of them in high esteem felt especially wrong. “Bending rules for a greater good, or whatever they think they’re doing. Ravenclaws are typically intelligent, I guess, but they don’t know what to do with it, so they just dwell in a superiority complex.” Hypocrite! “And, er, Hufflepuffs are ‘kind.’ Or just better at pretending to be.”