Chapter Text
The hustle and bustle of the jam-packed train platform was utterly daunting to Cleo Havens. When she moved to London, she believed that her transfer to Hogwarts would have been much smoother than it was turning out to be. Ever since her move three weeks prior, Cleo found herself having trouble navigating the incredibly loud and eccentric European magical world. Everyone here seemed to have wardrobes that ranged from the medieval to a quirky modern-but-not-quite.
Back in the United States, all Cleo could look for to tell who was a witch and who was a wizard was the pieces of jewelry they wore. Rings with gems that glowed vibrant colors, pendants with moving charms, bracelets that changed colors, earrings that sparkled or shone with a fascinating light - all of these things, only seen by the eyes of a wizard or witch. The displays the European crowd made were positively surprising. Did they not fear being questioned by muggles? Did it not matter? Were the rules really so relaxed? But, weren't these the same people who had a fucking war about blood purity as if it mattered when magic was magic regardless of parentage? How odd!
Cleo was so busy staring at the busy bodies around her that she didn't spot the quickly approaching figure. The young girl gasped as she was nearly bowled over, letting go of the cart she used to push her luggage so quickly it rolled a few feet away. Her hands went up in a halting gesture, dark brown eyes closing. Of course I would be the one to get tackled! she thought bitterly.
"Excuse me, miss!" the person apologized, coming to a quick halt right before they hit her. Cleo peeked open one eye, looking up at the stranger. The person was a tall, handsome, blond and blue-eyed male with an American accent. New York, Cleo guessed. To go with the appealing facial features, he had broad, strong shoulders that strained against the tight white shirt he wore, a fit torso that was so narrow at the waist that Cleo was jealous, and long legs that were awkwardly positioned to keep his leaning forward body stationary. Cleo leaned back, wanting to stay out of his space for the sake of being polite.
"Uh, sorry," Cleo said, a slightly shaky hand running through her dyed hair. Before she dyed it, her hair was a dark brown that she found unappealing and, frankly, boring. It was now black at the roots, bleeding into a dark purple. The color was her favorite. "I didn't mean to get in your way," she added, dropping her eyes to the ground. She hated facing attractive men. It made her uncomfortable because she always felt they could read her every thought.
The young man widened his eyes, a blush creeping up his neck. "N-No! I'm sorry, miss! I wasn't looking out, and I was the one who nearly bumped into you. I'm so sorry. I shoulda been -" he sputtered, clearly embarrassed. Luckily, someone put him out of his misery by coming to his rescue.
"Knockin' over ladies now, Rogers?"
Cleo's eyes drifted from the ground and up to the direction of the new voice. There stood yet another guy, yet this one looked to be like the polar opposite of the first. Everything about him was darker than his friend, except his skin and eyes. Dark hair, dark expression, dark clothes. He was the Bad Boy to the first guy's All-American Boy. Cleo wanted to dig a hole and never come out of it again. How was she to handle escaping from two of them?
"It was an accident," the first boy, Rogers, stated as the new guy clapped a hand on his shoulder. The hand gleamed under the light of the sun, metallic. Cleo noticed not only the strangeness of the new guy's hand, but also the mortified look on his buddy's face and immediately felt sorry for inconveniencing him. Now, this "Rogers" dude was likely to get teased about being careless.
The other guy rolled his eyes before leveling Cleo with such a piercing gaze that she took a step back. "Hello," he said with very little inflection on the greeting, noticing Cleo's panicked movement but not commenting on it.
"Hello," Cleo answered back, parroting him rather than trying to think up some witty response she knew her older sister Ebony would have. "I - uh - I'm gonna go now..." And with that, Cleo searched behind her to find the damn cart she once had in her grip. When she located it, she took a hold of the contraption and hurried off, not looking back. Internally, she cursed herself for not making any introductions. She neededto make friends or else she'd be that odd loner in the school that nobody ever talked to.
Too late now, I guess, she thought to herself. Her brow furrowed in self-irritation.
Meanwhile, Steve Rogers felt absolutely terrible about everything that transpired within the last thirty seconds. His mother would have boxed his ears if she knew he nearly crashed into a lady by being careless and running around. It was Bucky's idea to play an impromptu game of tag on the platform anyway ("Game mode is on Extra Hard, man! What, you too chicken, Stevie?" "...I ain't no chicken, Buck. Catch me if ya can!")
"Who was she?" Bucky asked, staring after the girl. She was a pretty little thing. Brown skin, outrageously curly purple hair and the darkest brown eyes he'd ever seen. He liked eyes like that. He remembered that his mom use to call 'em "soulful." Bucky grew up and started to call 'em "bedroom eyes." On top of her pretty features, she had a sense of style that Bucky totally dug. Her denim jacket was a dark blue, a white button with the words, "Saving People, Hunting Things..." written in blood red letters pinned to left of the chest. Her black jeans she rolled up to expose a few inches of skin, likely a decision she made without considering the chilliness of English weather. The shirt Bucky saw underneath was a white cotton button-up, a black silk ribbon tied in a neat bow at the collar. Her shoes were a pair of black sneakers that Bucky saw the symbol of a jumping man on when she walked - erm, ran away, muggle-made most likely. He appreciated a lady with a sense of style.
Steve shrugged, running a hand through his neatly trimmed hair. It was the first day of school and he had to look presentable. "I dunno. I've never seen her around. You think she's a transfer?"
Bucky considered it. The American witchcraft and wizardry schools were starting to shut down due to the various dangerous creatures turning up on school properties. Parents just didn't feel like it was safe to send their kids anymore, so eventually, they sent them to schools overseas to study. Bucky didn't blame 'em. It must have been nerve-wracking to send your child to school knowing a dementor could just swoop in and kiss 'em. Thank goodness he'd moved outta America as soon as he turned sixteen, taking Steve with him. They were all each other really had. Now, they lived with Tasha, Bucky's seventeen year old cousin, and things were great - better than they'd ever be, really.
"I guess."
The pair looked to each other, shrugged and then walked away, off to look for their best pal Sam Wilson, their game forgotten. That dude was always lost in the crowd, busy talking to scared First Years and trying to calm them down.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Convinced that this train was going on a speedy track to hell, Cleo yelped in surprise as it suddenly took off. She'd just gotten on the damn train! How was it already pulling out of the station? Cleo felt equal parts disheartened and excited. It created a strange sensation in her body that got the tiny hairs on her arms raising, a flush settling under the skin of her brown cheeks. Was this how the heroes in the movies felt as they began their journeys? Cleo wondered if they were insane or brave. It was hard to tell.
"Uh, excuse me," Cleo mumbled as she tried to squeeze past a pair of particularly mean looking kids. One was a tall guy with long black hair, narrowed green eyes and a scowl that would cause the toughest of men to turn tail and run. The other was a small redhead who had a blank green-eyed stare that gave nothing away as she twirled her wand in her hand. Cleo was half afraid that if she touched the female while walking by, she would be hexed into next year. When she managed to make it through, her shoulders tensed and Cleo hoped they couldn't see the way her walk quickened in pace.
Must everyone around me be so horribly scary? The young black teen prayed they weren't.
Peering into the windows of the cart, trying to find a seat, Cleo was met with multiple taken spots. Some of the kids were dressed in the not-quite-modern clothes, but others were already in robes with the specific colors of their house. Cleo wondered if she would be stuck with the boisterous kids in red, or the sneering ones in green. Perhaps she would find herself around the arguing kids in blue - or was she more suited to be like the smiling ones in yellow? It was a toss up. Wherever Cleo ended up, she would have to deal with whatever came her way. The best thing to do was just prepare for whatever could happen.
Stepping over someone's obviously lost green sweater, Cleo sighed, knowing she had to be nearly at the end of the train. In the middle of her pondering over how she would approach a group of strangers and join them, Cleo hadn't even noticed that she stopped, doubled back, and was reaching to pick up the sweater until her fingers were touching the soft material. It was a wonderfully made piece of clothing, shimmering in the bits of sunlight that came through the windows. The bottle green jacket was surely expensive, and Cleo knew whoever owned it likely dropped it by accident, perhaps when rolling their luggage through the hall when it was busy. They'd want it back.
Cleo decided she would help return it.
As Cleo walked, jacket tied to one of her suitcases, she noticed an empty passenger car. "Score 1 for Havens!" the young girl whispered to herself, feeling ten times lighter for the moment. She darted inside the car, slamming her belongings so roughing onto the seats opposite her that they bounced right off. Cleo ignored it, lying down and stretching out. Her hair, having been in a loose pony tail, seemed to come undone completely with her wild actions. Tendrils covered her face, obscuring her vision and fanning out behind her.
Deciding it was warm enough in her the tiny area, Cleo pulled off her dark blue jean jacket and bunched it up, placing it behind her head. She fixed her hair so that it wasn't as messy, leaving it down and placing the ponytail holder on her wrist for safekeeping. Before she settled into a light slumber, Cleo mused, I won't lose this like some kid lost their jacket...
Ten minutes into Cleo's relaxing snooze, her ears picked up the sound of the door sliding open. Her eyes instantly popped open, looking up at the intruder. A pair of warm brown eyes looked back at her.
"Oops! I didn't know this passenger car was occupado. Mind if I take a seat, pretty lady?" the boy said charmingly, smiling brightly. He didn't even comment on the luggage that was in a heap in the middle of the passenger car. Cleo liked him already.
"S-Sure," Cleo answered, clearing her throat upon hearing how sleepy she sounded. "Take a seat, man."
And he did, stretching out just like Cleo did, arms folding behind his head and ankles crossing. "My name's Sam. Sam Wilson," he spoke after he figured he was comfortable. "I'm in Hufflepuff. I haven't seen you around, so you must be in some secret house that everyone pretends to not know about - but I know. I know!" The wide eyed look he gave Cleo a look that reminded her of conspiracy theorists.
"What?" Secret houses? What the fuck is a Hufflepuff? What? "What?"
"I think that there's a secret-"
"Oh, for Salazar's sake, shut up, Sam! No one wants to hear your crackpot ideas," a new voice chimed in, the door sliding open again so hard it rattled. Cleo jumped as she once again found herself looking up at the face of the brooding guy from earlier, "Rogers" trailing behind him. The seemingly permanent glower on the face of Rogers' friend got a little darker as he glanced around the shared space between Sam and Cleo. Cleo followed his line of sight to the mountain of luggage she really wished she had been more careful with. "Is that my jacket? You a thief, girl?"