Stepping off of the Hogwarts Express, Rolanda Hooch blinked in the sudden bright light. She'd surprised herself, being able to sleep on the train. Her nerves, her anxiety, had faded away the moment the train pulled away from the platform, and she had lost herself in deep, dreamless sleep until the whistle had signaled their nearing arrival. She squinted, shaded her eyes with a hand, and peered up at the old castle. She had hated it here, much of the time: the other students had mistrusted her eyes, and women weren't exactly encouraged to beat everyone in any physical activity at the time, so her immediate and permanent mastery of Quidditch and all broom-related activities had opened her to even more scrutiny. When she was in the air, though, it all had faded away and all she felt was free.

A burbling voice interrupted her reverie. "Rolanda Hooch?"

She looked around, snapped out of her memories of Hogwarts, and focused on a short, round little witch walking in her direction. "Yes, that's me."

"Ah," the witch chuckled, "lovely. I'm Pomona, Pomona Sprout. You're starting this year too, I presume?"

Rolanda jerked her head in a brusque nod. "My first year as an instructor, yes. Yourself?"

"Yes, yes," she said with a wide smile. "I'm starting the Herbology program back up, you know, after Professor Beery passed away."

Rolanda suddenly realized that this Sprout had linked arms with her and was guiding them both to the carriages. She carefully took back her arm from Sprout's embrace and replied, "Will you be heading Hufflepuff, then, as well?"

Sprout stepped up into the carriage and offered Rolanda a hand, which she waved off. "I suppose so, yes. That'll be lovely. What about you?"

Rolanda settled into the seat, clutching her small bag tightly against her. "Flying, Quidditch referee, that sort of thing. No Head of House for me." She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes, hoping that whatever strange peace had enveloped her on the train would return. Her stomach fell full of stones, and she kept hearing snatches of teasing she thought she'd forgotten.

Sprout's voice interrupted her, again. "Ooh, flying. Always gives me the willies. I prefer to stay on the ground, myself."

"Well, then. I doubt we'll have much to do with one another at the school." Rolanda had no interest in making a friend, especially not with this annoying, interrupting, giggling witch.

Silence for a moment. "What a pity," Sprout murmured, and Rolanda couldn't tell what the tone was, didn't care, wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else, by herself, flying.