Her trunk was sure to be the heaviest of anyone's, she thought pessimistically. This was because she had been afforded an opportunity shared by none of her fellow students – most of her shopping had been done in the normal... no, "muggle" world. Advised that electronic gadgetry would not work where she was going, she was forced to abandon the idea of bringing along a CD player or even, as had been her original intention, an handheld television. Instead, in addition to her textbooks, cauldron, scales, broomstick, telescope and robes, she was hauling many of the same things one might bring on a hike: snacks, a pocketknife, and (typical perhaps only to her) quite the assortment of books, fiction and even a few textbooks (she loved reading math textbooks) with which to occupy herself during her free time. Now that it came to it, she was rather unsure how much free time she was going to have at a school of – her heart skipped a beat – magic.
Diagon Alley had been her first real taste of all the culture that could be so creatively hidden beneath the collective nose of muggle society. McGonagall had sniffed at the necessity of entering through such an "establishment", as she put it sourly, as the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, Erin kept close as she bought what she needed, chose her cat, and was fitted for robes. Since Erin had no wizard money, and for that matter little muggle money to speak of, the school supplied her with the basics – but she thought she heard McGonagall speak to the clerk at Madame Malkin's in hushed tones, and Erin's robes seemed to her a bit nicer than the rest of her things.
Since only a fraction of the curriculum would even be applicable to her, she was allowed to skip certain classes (charms, transfiguration, etc) altogether, which would allow her an accelerated course schedule somewhat comparable to the third-years. (Since this was appropriate to her age as well, and approved by an apparently influential figure by the name of Fudge, nobody else was about to object.) She smiled – magic or muggle, politics were politics. As someone who'd taken particular interest in political science herself (indeed, Machiavelli was among those stashed in her hefty luggage), she should know.
McGonagall, the woman entrusted with her care for her ability to keep a level head, allowed Erin a moment in thought before marching her to the space between platforms nine and ten. Trains whizzed by both, without so much as a glance from the woman. Erin had to wonder what was going on. When it was explained to her, however, she couldn't help but feel a little disbelief. The barrier, after all, looked so solid… when she reached out to touch it, however, her fingers met with… a brick wall. Erin thanked her stars she hadn't taken it at a run, as the professor had advised her to. She looked up questioningly. McGonagall's lips were pursed in vexation.
"Perhaps if you were connected to me…" Erin said hesitantly. The stern expression became one of surprise, then respect, at this offering. McGonagall nodded briskly, muttered something equally no-nonsense, and grabbed Erin's right hand with her left as she passed through the barrier. When her left hand disappeared into the grimy brick, Erin's fingers, entwined in those of the older woman, went with it. Erin herself followed hastily, too relieved to be as awed as she imagined she would be.
A shining scarlet train, decked out in antiquated style with smokestacks and all, was the first thing to catch her eye. It was emblazoned with the word 'Hogwarts' in large, glistening black letters on the side. Apart from this, the platform could easily have been in a regular – a muggle – station (a station in which, by bizarre coincidence, everyone had decided to see their children off in black wizarding robes); there were tearful partings (on the parts of the parents, anyway), eager faces, and – another oddity – an array of owls, cats and toads, each on the shoulder of a young person, or alternately, resting sedately on a perch in a large, cylindrical cage. Swallowing last-minute panic, she extended a solemn hand to McGonagall, her caretaker for the past two days, breaking the mood when she grinned (partially to quell the doubt in her stomach). The stern Professor smiled kindly back, and Erin regretted that the woman would never teach her. Breathing deeply and rather too quickly, she boarded the train. She hoped fervently for a good new chance at things, a satisfactory life for herself. With such an absolute break from her last life, she had gambled a lot on this new one being worth it.
The train swayed a bit, and she almost tripped. Deciding that any compartment would do as long as she could get off her feet, she opened the door of the nearest one, clumsily shoved her trunk through and into the booth, and sat down.
She was not alone.