I don't own Harry Potter. It belongs to JK Rowling, not me.

Silence in the compartment.

Hermione glanced up at the girl in the black dress and heels; She looked her age, she also recognised her as a student who was in her class last year, but not which house.

Neville is fiddling with his robes.

The silence continued. The girl nodded her head to the music playing on her Bluetooth earphones; her long, perfect blue hinted raven locks in a neat knot under her left ear, a thin silver wire running through it with crystals (or are those diamonds?) braided in them. Not a single hair was out of place.

She flipped a page of her hardcover book, gem-like, sparkling, intelligent azure eyes skimming over the sea of words. Her long pale fingers tapping against the cover of her read.

She shifted, a lock of hair falling into her porcelain crafted face, she reached a delicate hand up and swept it neatly behind her ear.

Not a single hair out of place.

Harry and Ron hadn't arrived yet.

The train departed.

The silence continued.

Hermione only glanced up as she moved and crossed her legs differently, probably to remain comfortable.

The girl has a trunk with her, sitting neatly beside her.

Her cat slept gracefully on top of it, soundlessly.

It's not purring. Hermione noted.

The girl flipped a page again.

"Greetings."

They jumped at her sudden words.

The girl still hadn't look up from her book, eyes still glued to the pages, she spoke in a strangely mature voice. Too formal for a second year.

"I am Rowen Lavinia, second year, pleasure." She still hadn't look up. "I assume you are waiting for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who failed to arrive thirty minutes after the train's department. And knowing those two, they will probably fly a car to Hogwarts or do something similarly rash, and thoughtless." She closed her book with a snap, "They're gonna crash into the whomping willow, or something."

...Fly to school in a car? This does sound like what those two rash idiots would do.

The girl stood up, dusting her dress off.

"Now, if you would excuse me," she said lazily, yet smoothly, "I will be... ah, away for a few minutes."

"Be kind, and don't blow up the compartment, agreed?"

the door closed.

Several minutes passed.

"Em..."

Hermione scanned the girl's belongings, black and silver bonded trunk, black leather pouch with silver strings and a black cross-shoulder book bag.

The cat didn't move. It slept peacefully on top of the trunk. It's silver-wired, sapphire-decorated collar gleamed as it breaths.

"That's a lot of black..." Hermione heard Neville mutter.

"Thank you; it's my favourite colour."

Neville jumped with a startled 'eep!', Hermione's eyes snapped towards the compartment door; somehow it had been opened silently, and the girl, Rowen, stood casually at the door, her lips pulled into a lazy smile, eyes half-lidded, but sharp and analysing.

"Em..."

Wanting to break the ice, Hermione sat up straighter, and started, "Hi, I'm Hermione Granger, second-year Gryffindor... and, this is Neville Longbottom, same Second year Gryffindor." She cleared her throat, "So, em, Rowen... May I call you Rowen? Em, what house are you from?"

"For starters, Granger, I know who you are, and you should have guessed that from hearing my comment about you waiting for your two friends. As for Longbottom here, I admit I hadn't known of his first name, so thank you for the introduction." The girl walked swiftly into the compartment and sat down just as wind-like onto her seat. She plopped her closed book onto her lap, flipped it open, and took a box of gum from her pocket, then began to chew, "And Yes, you may call me Rowen. Do not feel insulted by me using only your last name; I was raised that way." She glanced up from her book, "as for my house," She paused, "Does that make any difference? Other than you possibly stereotyping me, of course."

That got her speechless.

The door to the compartment slid open.

"Lavinia."

Draco Malfoy and his two usual 'bodyguards' stood with his nose in the air, half glaring at Rowen. "Muggle technology?" He sneered," Getting friendly with these Mudbloods, isn't that falling a bit too low for a pureblood Slytherin like you? Rowen Lavinia?"

Neville gasped, Hermione felt anger boil up inside her at the offending language.

The corner of Rowen's lips tugged up into a smile.

"And so?" She questioned, not even bothering to look up towards Malfoy, "Shouldn't Slytherins be ambitious and resourceful? With more ties comes more knowledge, so, why not?" Her smile held a sharp edge, and she looked up to meet Malfoy's eyes," And my, my, isn't that a rather rude word, Should the heir to the Malfoy lordship even use it?" She looked back down to her book, smirking, "Learn, Malfoy."

By this moment, Malfoy's face was beat-red with anger and embarrassment.

He lost this one. Hermione realised as he ran off with his goons.

'Wow.' Hermione thought, 'she's...very quick.' Blinking rapidly at a comment being shot back so casually, yet sharply. Rowen can counter three comments with one short sentence, She noted, and it's... impressive.

"If you are wondering how I did that," Rowen looked up with a softer (But still colder then solid nitrogen) smile, "I suggest you look into psychology."

"Psychology?" Neville looked up in confusion.

"A muggle study in a person's mind and how a person reacts from their emotions and thoughts," Rowen stated coolly, eyes glued back to her book, sighing "Most witches and wizards nowadays fail to see the usefulness in muggle arts and technology, but when we combine both," She snapped her fingers, smirking, "What can't we do?"

None of them seems to have acknowledged the fact this girl is from Slytherin, nor did any of them care or commented on it. Rowen was right, houses weren't really a big difference, just where you sleep, and what classes you go.

The trolly witch arrived.

"Hello, children," The trolly lady smiled nicely to them, "Anything from the trolly?"

Hermione shook her head; her parents packed her some boxed lunch.

"A box of Drooble's best blowing gum, strawberry, please." Rowen said lazily, "Two chocolate frogs, too, and maybe three treacle tarts. Thank you. Oh, and is there any tea?"

"Yes, dear," The trolly lady smiled kindly. Rowen placed her book down carefully and stood up to get her snacks. The tea was strangely in a whiskey bottle, with a wooden cork.

The scenery flashed by, Rowen's cat finally stirred, and stretched it's body lazily. Radioactive blue eyes glanced towards Hermione, and she shivered.

What's this feeling that she've done something wrong?

"Mist, stop that."

"Merow."

"You know how your stare feels like."

"Merow..."

"Come on, Mist."

"grrrr..."

"Mist."

"Huff."

Hermione shared a look with Neville nervously.

What an odd Slytherin girl they have here.

I apologise if there are any spelling mistakes, English isn't my mother tongue, So please forgive me!