Saturday September 1, 1923
Having never been to boarding school, the concept of going to school on a Saturday felt a bit like stealing from a preacher on Sunday. They’d done it, of course, but Lovelace had felt real bad about it later when her mother had told her it was some gods’ big day. She’d felt a little better when someone had pointed out that the days of the week were named after a bunch of gods: that’d make stealing from anyone in that religion impossible, which just wasn’t fair to the rest of the marks. She would be holding out hope they wouldn’t have to start classes today, or remember anything important, because she was all kinds of excited in a way she knew meant she wouldn’t remember anything she didn’t sketch.
That was why, as she moved through corridors and gangways, she was clutching to the rather poorly-made sketchpad she’d scrapped together and a pencil she’d stolen from her mother’s office. Most of the train was similar enough that already felt satisfied with what she’d captured of that, but she never knew when she might be around a memorable moment—or even in one, if she had a particular kind of luck. She wasn’t entirely sold on her fellow schoolmates yet, so thought those good moments might be restricted to time with her sister. That was fine with her; she was much more used to spending time with cousins and siblings than other, random kids.
At that thought, it occurred to her that this might be something to work on. She hadn’t entirely decided whether the Hogwarts students would be worth it to try to make friends with, but she couldn’t deny that it’d probably be better for her overall. So, she started scanning the faces in the car she was in, looking for anyone she might be able to practice on. She wanted to find someone a similar age, figuring they’d be less likely to bully her just yet, which took longer for her to decide than she’d intended.
Finally, she moved closer to one, nodding her head sagely at him once she thought she was close enough, “G’day, mate. First year?” she asked, jamming the pencil between her sewing. Someone had suggested making the tops a little looser so she could do just that, but she didn’t seem to have the hang of it just yet, since the pencil only went halfway in on that end. After a few moments of trying and failing to coax the thread that tiny bit wider, she gave up. As she wrapped her arms around the pad, she ignored how the end of the pencil stuck out and was probably leaving an indentation on her arm and looked back at the boy, “D’ya know much about Hogwarts, or magic?”
