Rolling into a new Role

It was a brisk morning as Amelia Lyons swept through King's Cross Station, unaccompanied and therefore able to weave effectively through the throngs of early travelers. It had been many years since Amelia's parents had accompanied her to King's Cross Station, preferring to have a driver drop her off, but this morning, Amelia's solitude was yet another marker that she was no longer a student of Hogwarts.

So why should she still be approaching the Hogwarts Express on the date of its departure? Because Amelia had accepted a professorial position at Hogwarts and was reporting for the duty of representing the staff aboard the train.

Amelia had to pause when she reached the entrance to platform 9 and 3/4, consulting a magical watch she wore around her wrist as she waited for a particularly tearful mother to coax her young daughter to run headlong into what appeared to be a solid brick wall. After a few minutes, the pair of them disappeared through the barrier, and Amelia waited a few seconds for them to get out of the way before breezing through the gateway herself.

With her body as tense as it was on this first day of staff responsibilities, Amelia wasn't altogether surprised to stumble as she hit the cobblestones on the platform, but she was able to catch herself before she fell over into a jostling group of Hufflepuffs. Self-consciously, Amelia looked around to check that no one had seen her misstep, and then tried to look inconspicuous as she surveyed the chaos around her.

Time was running out until her former peers would realize she was now their professor. She wasn't planning to make any kind of major announcement on the train, but some were bound to ask, and the opening feast would make it official.

So much for anonymity... Amelia thought, giving a visible shudder at the thought of being introduced to the entire student population as the new potions mistress. The idea of teaching appealed to her because it was a way to preserve and transfer the knowledge she so valued and had spent so much time accumulating, but the spotlight part of it... she could definitely do without that.

But it would be only so long before the train took off toward Hogwarts. And speaking of the train, Amelia could see that the letter she had received over the summer hadn't been misleading in any way - the proposed changes had already been implemented, and the formerly scarlet locomotive was now a dark, matte grey.

So much had already changed this year. Was Amelia really ready to be caught in the web of all of Grindelwald's changes to Hogwarts too?

Malowney wasn't a mother, but however maybe if she visited the Hogwarts Express she'd get a clear note of how school was like before, when Mal was a student. This had always been the time she'd looked forward to, but it hurt to leave her parents. Mal saw a professor, the professor of potions class, standing in the crowd. She had no idea how she recognized a professor, she had obviously not taught Mal, but Mal recalled seeing her, somewhere. Mal sighed and sat on a bench. She looked young enough to be mistaken for a student going to Hogwarts for her sixth or seventh year. Most likely seventh. She didn't look young enough to be going into sixth year, did she? Mal took a sip of the pumpkin juice in her hand.

She had warmed up to the changes. The new Minister, everything. It was now clear in her eyes. She liked the changed ways, but knew that her sudden longing to be a thief was attacking her viciously now. She wasn't the usual one to pickpocket, but at this rate she felt like it. Her eyes were cold and hungry, and the healer thought about snatchers. She was NOT like them. She hadn't been bothered to think about anything apart from theft. But the risk of Azkaban... did Mal care? No!

He was usually within the school walls at this time. The last time he rode the Hogwarts Express was when he came here to teach Muggle Studies with young Arthur. That was his first teaching position. He stayed there for a long time until the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts finally opened and he took the position he had applied for initially and had taught earlier in Scotland. Before that, his last ride was at the beginning of his last year at Hogwarts.

Now, he had to do some errands in London so he just decided to go for the ride, to revive his reminiscences of the vehicle that brought up so many memories that he could hardly count them. Some of them were good and humorous, some wretched and ill-remembered, but all in all, the magical gate of platform 9 and 3/4 was something he remembered with a smile on his face.

As he went through gate, he entered a place full of people, some of them children, some of them adults. It was one of those things he disliked about the platform - the people. But, then again, he was a very distant person and he was hardly accommodated to any form of company. When in crowds, though, he was exceptionally observant so it did not take him long to notice a familiar face among all of them. It was not a student, well... it was, technically, but he was amazed as to why she was here, although he was pretty sure his deduction of her motives was good.

He approached her slowly and came from the back. He was taller than the lovely girl that he taught so he had a good perspective. He stood beside her and put his left arm on her right shoulder. ''I thought I had personally signed your graduation diploma? Or are you here just for the fun of it, Amelia?'', he asked with a pleasant tone as he looked at her, his former pupil, and smiled. If his deduction was, indeed, correct, he would be extremely satisfied.

Michael took a few moments to lean against one of the brick columns on the platform. He lit a cigarette and took a moment to enjoy the scent and the taste of it. It helped him think. This was not a chapter that he had envisioned himself seriously doing. If his friends had said, a year ago, he'd be taking on a professsorship, he'd have had their heads examined. And yet, here he was.

He was often confused for an academic because of his usual dress jeans, his casual chambray shirts covered by some sort of suit jacket. Linens in the spring, Corderoys and woolen blends in the colder months. Sometimes a fedora. Rarely wizard robes. He had shrunken his things and put them into one olive canvas duffle bag. He finally shouldered the bag a bit beter on his shoulder and got on the train.

He walked casually along the platform until he finally saw a couple of grownups. Well, one and a half grownups. Wilson--who was older than dirt. And some sweet looking young thing there with him. She was not likely to be a 7th year. He didnt picture Wilson as a cradlerobber. It was far more likely, by the looks of her that she was also starting her first professorship.

She had guts, Michael gave her that. Unless she really asserted herself, she would have control problems from the outset because she was much too close to the age of her students. Unless she could prove herself right from the first class, she was going to have a tough go of it. And,for some reason, he wanted her to do well. He wished her luck and much success. Anyone who had enough guts to try this, under these political circumstances deserved to do well. Unless, of course, she worked for Grindlewald. And if that was the case, Michael would, at some point in the school year, merely fry her. If she were not a servant of Old and Moldy, Michael would most likely try to make sure she survived her first year of teaching.

And the other woman...where the deuce had he seen her before? Oh yes. Hadn't he seen her in the hallways of St. Mungos? Was she a new healer for the school? Michael was curious about her as well. There was something in her eyes. A look he'd seen before. Something familiar to a man like Michael. It put him just ever so slightly on guard where she was concerned. Bu he felt the same things about her as he had about the blond. It all depended upon who she served.

"I presume this must be the faculty group?" Michael asked. "May I intrude, or am I interrupting?"

Amelia had been watching a few sixth or seventh year girls sauntering by, thinking to herself that their uniform skirts had definitely been altered to show off that much of their legs, so she was taken aback when there was suddenly a weight on her shoulder. She could tell the weight belonged to another person, which immediately made her tense up, and she turned her head to see Professor Wilson standing beside her.

Although she knew he meant no harm, Amelia couldn’t help but squirm away from the taller man standing beside her. She had never been overly-touchy feely, and especially not with anyone she considered to be her superior. And despite the fact that they now technically held the same position, Amelia still very much considered her former professor to be her superior.

“I’m no longer here as a student,” Amelia said, blushing although she was perfectly sure that Professor Wilson knew she did not have to repeat her seventh year. She was self-consciously rubbing one upper arm with the palm of her opposite hand, trying to shield herself from the pressure of the conversation, and having to say these words aloud for the first time.

“I’ve taken over the Potions position from Headmaster Doyle,” Amelia said, far too quickly, because she was spitting it all out at once to prevent herself from changing her mind mid-sentence. Realizing she sounded like a move on fast-forward, Amelia blushed even deeper.

A moment later, though, Amelia was relieved from having to say anything further on the subject when an older gentleman she vaguely recognized approached the pair of them. She knew she had seen him around, but they had never been formally introduced. She was thankful for his interruption, though, and quickly gave the man permission to stay.

“No, no, please join us,” Amelia said hastily, glad to have more company. Adding another person to the conversation would definitively take some of the pressure off of her having to talk.

“I’m Amelia Lyons,” the redhead said, extending her hand toward the newcomer and intentionally leaving off her position at Howarts. Clearly she wasn’t ready to say that with any degree of confidence yet, though she may as well get her practice in before she had to say it to 300 people simultaneously. “ I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

((Michael, just so you know, we have been writing as though we are not yet on the train. You may want to edit your last post, and then in the next one, you could suggest we all go and find a compartment?))

(My bad! Sorry. Fixed. My misread.)

"Michael Tremaine," he introduced himself, shaking hands with her. "Wilson, good to see you again. " Then he turned to see the other young woman. "I know I've seen you somewhere, but I don't believe we've met. "

He glanced up at the clock. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it does look very close to the hour. It might be wise for us to go and find a compartment if we can. The train looks a bit fuller than I expected it to be today." He acutally had hoped parents would have been wiser--send their children to Durmstrangs or Beauxbaton's. Anywhere but here. Apparently tradition had won out over common sense. Either that or they were as brainwashed as those idiots in the Ministry Atriuim had been. They were walking into their own deaths, many of them, just is blissfully ignorant as innocent lambs being led to the slaughter. Michael hated it.

He knew, for himself, he would be seen as a sketchy character. He rather liked it that way. It wasn't everyday a professional catburglar took a bloody professorship, after all. This was going to be a dangerous thing they were all stepping into, the train not withstanding, and Michael wanted to see as many of the children at least, survive this academic year. He knew that when push came to shove, Wilson would fight to protect the students. But until he knew more about the other staff members, he would not know who his allies were and who his enemies were.

He took breath, and stepped onto the train as if if were the last bit of freedom he might have for some time, silently cursing his friend who had asked him to do this. He moved down the narrow hallway of the traincar until he came to an empty compartment. He pushed the door of the compartment open and went inside and tossed his duffelbag in the storage space above the berth.

"If anyone prefers the windowseat, I will be happy to trade with them," he said, not unhappy with sitting by the door.

“Pleased to meet you,” Amelia replied professionally as she exchanged a handshake with the man that had approached their small group. Her mind automatically filed away his name and physical description for identification at a later date, but her thoughts did not linger with him much longer, especially when his attention was diverted by the girl sitting slightly away from them on the platform.

She was drawn back into the conversation only when Michael noted that the hour was growing late, and Amelia felt an automatic sense of panic rising in her chest at the thought of stepping onto the train. For some reason, her mind was convinced that she could still bail at this point; that she could turn around and run straight back through the invisible marker and out into London and disappear into oblivion again. But there was no way Amelia could ever been so irresponsible; her commitment to her obligations and to meeting the expectations of others had always been too high for her to “pull a Raoul”, but still, having the option had been keeping her calm until this point. Stepping onto the train, though, would seal her fate indefinitely.

Her fists clenched tight, one empty and one with her bag in hand, Amelia swallowed hard and forced herself to follow Michael onto the train, squeezing herself and her luggage through the narrow hallway past a few students who were also rushing to get aboard before the Hogwarts Express departed. There seemed to be less chaos than usual in the train cars, which Amelia attributed at least somewhat to the new administration, and she had to remind herself among admiring the effectiveness to wonder at what cost it had come.

“I’ll be fine here, thanks,” Amelia said, taking a seat close to the door after propping her suitcase into the overhead rack. If she was lucky, Amelia would be spending the duration of this train ride with her head buried in a book, so being near the window wasn’t a priority. Now, to figure out how long it was socially demanded that she be conversational before she started reading…