Post by madamejoan on Oct 17, 2007 0:20:04 GMT
An hour into its journey, the Hogwarts Express was well on its way to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The trees flashed past the window, glimmering a mixture of green and gold. A few, long hours remained until they were going to arrive at the school and the train had a certain warm buzz about it. From the first years squabbling about which house they wished to be sorted in, to the seventh years striding about with an unmistakable confidence. It was strangely comforting.
Tara let her eyes wander about the empty compartment with a quaint, tender smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes observed the outdoors, something she always reminded herself to do as she was doubtful to see it back home in the city. They were riding along the bridge and she gazed down at the rich blue of the river and how, like dipping a dirty paintbrush into water, the redness of the carriages would stain the river. The flickers of green and gold from the trees speckled along the river also. It reminded her of a potion she had been expected to concoct in Potions class only the year before. Her potion had unexpectedly combusted and exploded a thick, glue-like liquid. Tara’s grin widened as she thought about her second year and the year ahead. She wasn’t frightened, for she was still young enough to maintain genuine optimism.
Her eyes moved down to her hands, which were fiddling with her jacket buttons. She wondered how long they had been doing this but her mind had already travelled to the door of the compartment, which she had left ever-so-slightly ajar. She expected that her friends were now deep into conversation and too caught up with their lives to wonder where she was. A part of Tara told her to get up and find them, for she knew that they would be more than happy to see her, but that part of Tara died away. She was quite content to sit on her own.
Her eyes moved once more down to the cat lying beside her, asleep. It clawed at an imaginary mouse as it let out a purring yawn. It stretched out its long body, pulling its little feet as far from each other as it could muster. Finishing off the yawn, rolling back up into a ball, it gave off a self-satisfied meow. However, to add to its extreme comfort, it tried to roll over and succeeded into falling to the train floor. Tara let out a giggle as Sherlock shook his head, as if in embarrassment, and jumped back up to his resting-place. Tara rose an eyebrow.
“Silly thing to do, Sherlock,” she told him in mock disappointment, holding in her laugh.
Sherlock turned to her, before lying back down, as if to explain to her that no sane person talks to a cat. Tara turned away from Sherlock, allowing him his privacy as he got back to sleep, and continued to look outside.
Tara let her eyes wander about the empty compartment with a quaint, tender smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes observed the outdoors, something she always reminded herself to do as she was doubtful to see it back home in the city. They were riding along the bridge and she gazed down at the rich blue of the river and how, like dipping a dirty paintbrush into water, the redness of the carriages would stain the river. The flickers of green and gold from the trees speckled along the river also. It reminded her of a potion she had been expected to concoct in Potions class only the year before. Her potion had unexpectedly combusted and exploded a thick, glue-like liquid. Tara’s grin widened as she thought about her second year and the year ahead. She wasn’t frightened, for she was still young enough to maintain genuine optimism.
Her eyes moved down to her hands, which were fiddling with her jacket buttons. She wondered how long they had been doing this but her mind had already travelled to the door of the compartment, which she had left ever-so-slightly ajar. She expected that her friends were now deep into conversation and too caught up with their lives to wonder where she was. A part of Tara told her to get up and find them, for she knew that they would be more than happy to see her, but that part of Tara died away. She was quite content to sit on her own.
Her eyes moved once more down to the cat lying beside her, asleep. It clawed at an imaginary mouse as it let out a purring yawn. It stretched out its long body, pulling its little feet as far from each other as it could muster. Finishing off the yawn, rolling back up into a ball, it gave off a self-satisfied meow. However, to add to its extreme comfort, it tried to roll over and succeeded into falling to the train floor. Tara let out a giggle as Sherlock shook his head, as if in embarrassment, and jumped back up to his resting-place. Tara rose an eyebrow.
“Silly thing to do, Sherlock,” she told him in mock disappointment, holding in her laugh.
Sherlock turned to her, before lying back down, as if to explain to her that no sane person talks to a cat. Tara turned away from Sherlock, allowing him his privacy as he got back to sleep, and continued to look outside.