At precisely 11am, the noise of the engine changed slightly, and with a slow creak of metal on metal as the wheels started to move, they were off. Buffy settled down in the corner of her compartment, and the gentle motion along with the repetitive, rhythmic noise of the train made her start to doze. Just as she was approaching sleep, the door flew open and a tall thin boy with white blonde hair strode purposefully into the compartment, followed by a large chunky boy dragging a chest which, from the way he strained to lift it, was very heavy. As the blonde boy turned to seat himself opposite his belongings, he started, finally noticing the occupant of the carriage.

After his initial shock, he took a full look at Buffy, appreciatively gazing at the way her simple clothing enhanced her toned figure. The boy that had bought the trunk, slow in his reaction grunted in amusement at the sight of the bossy boy jumping in shock. Admiration quickly changed to anger as the blonde’s herd his ‘friend’s’ amusement and he turned as if to berate the large boy, before changing his mind and rounding on the girl sat in the corner.

“What are you doing here?”

Buffy’s brow furrowed in confusion unsure what exactly his problem was. Annoyed by his tone, she voiced her reply in slow deliberate sentences, as if speaking to a child. “I’m a Hogwarts student. I’m on the train to school”

That earned another snort out of the pig like boy in the background and another look of surprise before the blonde’s pale face flushed in anger, gritting his teeth. “This is a compartment for the Slytherin Prefects. As you are neither a Slytherin or…” he looked disdainfully over her clothing, obviously not expecting to see the shining ‘P’ of a prefect’s badge. “a Prefect. You are allowed neither in this compartment nor this carriage.” He mimicked the same patronising tone in his reply to her.

He tilted his face slightly back towards his companion, but kept his pale grey, almost silvery eyes boring into Buffy’s “Crabbe, did you realise there were any students above first year that don’t know that the first two carriages are reserved for prefects? It’s pretty obvious that this is for Slytherins” He looked back with a sneering grin and the lumbering boy’s face broke into an eager grin as he was finally able to let loose a snigger without being reprimanded by his friend.

His steel grey eyes locked back on hers “You certainly don’t look like a first year, though you’re definitely small enough. Maybe you’re retarded.” He cocked one eyebrow, looking down at her hoping to cause a rise in the beautiful face that looked up at him impassively.

She smiled calmly up at him; an act that took an effort as she hid her seething inside. “I’d have thought anyone who’s spent more than a day in the English wizarding world would know that Ravenclaws” she picked up her house scarf that had rested on the seat beside her, bought in lieu of the colder climates to the north, and waved it under the boy’s nose “Are anything but retarded.”

His face lost some of its attractive grace as his anger rose, becoming blotchy as blood rushed to any part of his skin that wasn’t pulled tight over his sharp bone structure. For a moment he looked liable to explode in anger; then something in what she’d said clicked with him and his eyed widened.

“You’re not British! You’re a damn American. No wonder you’re joining so old. No doubt they had to give you the full amount of their education there to catch you up to our first years.” He chuckled at his own joke and Crabbe joined in behind him with a low grunting laugh “Now get out of here, or I’ll dock points off Ravenclaw before you even set foot on school grounds.”

She stood and pushed past him, unwilling to reply with the slayer straining against her willpower to show this kid what she could really do. She noticed the shock in both their faces as despite her petite figure she failed to be intimidated by either the tall boy’s lanky strength or Crabbe’s bulked muscle.

She yanked her trunk off the overhead baggage rack, only remembering at the last moment that she could not display her abnormal strength, especially to this obnoxious boy, and letting the trunk crash to the ground, slightly denting the floor where it landed heavily on a corner. Giving a mock heave on the handle, she dragged her belongings out of the compartment and walked down the corridor to the next carriage down.

From the doorway of the compartment; a pair of silver eyes followed her path intrigued by the stunning stranger that could give rise to such strong emotions. When she gave the trunks handle one final pull, allowing the door to close behind her, he felt a strange sense of loss. Angry at himself for his lack of control, he sharply dismissed Crabbe and threw himself into a lounging position on the seat, allowing his thoughts to drift.

The boy had been right about the difference in décor. Here the seats, though no less clean or comfortable, were a simple black without the silver trimmings that surrounded the plush green of the Slytherin Prefect’s carriage.

The only remaining seat was in a compartment filled with first years, who halted their nervous chatter and looked up with large eyes when she entered. When she failed to reprimand them for any imagined misbehaviour and merely seated herself, closing her eyes to prevent them from attempting a conversation, they resumed their chatter. The train once again lulling her to sleep, she began to doze; allowing their subdued muttering to wash over her subconscious.

Buffy stirred slightly, unsure where exactly she was or what was forcing her out of her slumber. She felt a slight shaking on her shoulder and her hand shot up to catch the hand that was disturbing her sleep. In her sleepy state, she didn’t realise how hard she was clasping the offending arm, and it took a squeak of pain from the small witch to bring Buffy out of her sleep enough to release her.

“Sorry” she mumbled, not wanting to bring too much attention to the strength of her grip “I don’t like to be disturbed when I’m sleeping”. The whole group flinched back as she drew her wand out from where it had been keeping her hair in a messy bob, and the girl was almost shaking when Buffy once again took her arm and, mumbling an incantation, tapped the wand against the spot she had griped. Immediately the bruises that had started to form a dark handprint disappeared removing any evidence of her tight grip.

The students stares changed from fear to awe. The muggle raised merely amazed by the demonstration, whereas the others were impressed by the particular skill she showed. The ability to heal is a hard one to master; that was why training to become a mediwitch is such a long and arduous process. It was easy to loose focus or control of your power and cause harm instead of help to the patient.

In order to hide injuries sustained during her trips to the forbidden forest; Buffy had needed to teach herself how to heal both minor and sometimes major cuts and bruises. Due to her slayer healing abilities she could leave some wounds to heal in their own time, but to prevent undue questions being asked, any cuts on visible areas of skin had to be healed before a teacher could see them.

Buffy turned to the girl she had hurt, a skinny little thing with flowing chestnut hair “Why’d you wake me up?” the girl looked around worriedly at her companions, obviously wary of speaking up, and finally a boy sitting opposite her answered the question “A Prefect came around and told us to change into our uniforms.” “We’re going to be at Hogwarts soon.” Another kid piped up obviously excited over the idea of getting to the school.

Nodding her thanks to them, Buffy grabbed her uniform and headed off to change into her robes. As she walked back along the corridor, the squeak of breaks could be heard and the train slowed to a stop. When she returned to the compartment the other occupants had already disembarked leaving her trunk alone on the rack.

The narrow platform was filled with students; their robes being whisked around them like huge black wings as the wind, tunnelled by the path of the train tracks, almost forced their movement along to the end of the platform. All the first years were directed to follow a professor that Buffy had as yet not met; an elderly woman with short grey hair and a commanding attitude. Unsure of where she was meant to go, Buffy followed the older students who all headed off the platform to a rough mud track.

Along the lane were lined about a hundred coaches similar to the one she and Dumbledore had used when she had first arrived at Hogwarts, pulled by the winged beasts that she had encountered before. As she approached the skeletal necks of the Thestrals all twisted to stare with their pupil-less eyes at her. An assortment of the students turned with them, trying to see through the crowd what all the sinister beasts were looking at.

Buffy climbed into an empty coach. They weren’t as elegant as the one she had travelled in before, and the air inside smelt slightly musty; of straw and mould, the seats were slightly moth-eaten and when it started to rumble along, it tilted slightly to the left at every other turn of the wheels.

The carriage rattled through a pair of grand wrought-iron gates with winged boars on either side looking down on the students as if assessing their right to enter the school impressive guardians in the dim light, and followed the column up the path to the front of the castle. Since she had boarded the last coach leaving the station, the Great Hall was almost full when Buffy entered it, already the tables for each of the houses were almost fully occupied and the students milling around chatting along with the large increase in the number of candles floating above the heads of the room’s occupants completely changed the atmosphere of the room.

It was strange how such a large and open space could seem claustrophobic as she sat at the well populated Ravenclaw table. She had taken one of the empty seats that seemed to radiate around the house Ghost. The Grey Lady sat quiet and serenely at the centre of the table, her height allowing her to tower above all but the few sixth and seventh years that had already shot up to their adult height. There was intelligence in her expression and, partially due to her height; she seemed to look down on all the pupils around her, making her unapproachable to most of the students.

Buffy heard her peers around her start to mutter under their breath, making wild and exaggerated guesses at who she was, where she’d come from and most important of all it seemed, why she dare presume to be a Ravenclaw. Hearing the chatter at the end of the table, where most of the Prefects were seated; she decided to accept her fate and waited for the Head Girl to reach her.

The girl stood for a moment behind Buffy’s chair, obviously hoping to be acknowledged. When she failed to pay her the attention she desired the girl cleared her breath “Excuse me”. Buffy turned to see a tall girl standing behind her; her chest pushed out, not to create the illusion of a larger bosom, but to make it impossible to miss the shining silver badge pinned to her chest. “You don’t mind if I sit here do you?” she asked already taking the seat and turning to face Buffy with a smile that reminded her of Harmony, though she radiated an intelligence that harmony could never have mimicked, a cross between Harmony and Willow. Scary thought.

Buffy suddenly realised that the girl was looking at her expectantly. “Oh… I’m Buffy, Buffy Summers” she smiled warily back at the manic grin. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Angela Delaney” she said her name as if it was a gift she was imparting on the recipient and offered her hand for Buffy to shake. Taking the hand, she returned the strong handshake with one that made Angela’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Not meaning to be rude but…” Buffy almost snorted as she heard the words that so many busy bodies use to make it seem as if they aren’t being unduly nosy “Why have you joined the school so late?”

“I moved to Britain.” Buffy tried to be short and unhelpful in her answer but nevertheless the other students took it as a opportunity to ask her what they liked and started bombarding her with questions.

“Where did you move from?”

“What year are you in?”

“When did you get sorted?”

“Do you have a Boyfriend?”

Luckily before Buffy could start to answer any of their questions the doors of the Great Hall opened to reveal Professor McGonagall and all the noise in the room quietened to a few whispers, quickly hushed by the Prefects of the respective houses.