I guess it'll be easier going in duos or trios, especially at this part of the story.

Harry was sitting on a small, old-fashioned bench, staring at the empty railway that lay before him, its end stretching out in the dark of the night. The black sky was covered in small clouds of fog, and Harry could not help but recall the muggle horror movies the idiots at his old school spoke about. A dark night. A lonely child. A surreal stillness. Footsteps echoing clearly in the air as nature remained speechless.

Footsteps echoed loudly on the wooden planks that formed the station's floor. Harry turned on the spot. Damn teacher with her heels. The woman was walking towards him, a heavy suitcase in her hand, wrapped in a green coat and blue scarf. As she emerged from the fog in a surreal movement, Harry thought Fred would have probably killed to spend an entire train ride with her. And to see her walk towards him that way. The boy smiled. He did not see what his friend saw in Thalia. He understood why Snape liked her: he for himself believed Snape would love anyone willing to love him in return. He had not seen her when she was young, but gave Lupin the benefice of doubt by assuming she must have been pretty and full of life. As today… She was still pretty, and Harry couldn't deny that. But she was so… hateful. There was something about her, that Harry just couldn't grasp, that suddenly turned her delicate features into a horrid mask he could barely glimpse at. Then again, all that was probably just because he mixed up physical appearance and interior beauty. He considered if Thalia was as ugly on the outside as in the inside… well, he doubted Snape would even date her. "No, she wouldn't be that bad," he thought. She'd simply be so… excessive. Alternating between hatred and love, sympathy and disdain, weak and powerful. Beauty and ugliness. Constantly. What Fred saw in her, he couldn't see. Fred probably didn't see much either, actually. Simply a pretty body, topped with a head that knew how to flatter that pretty body, a mysterious past and just a hint of rejection to seem "hard-to-get". He focused his attention on Thalia again. Ugh. Not a chance he could ever understand Fred. Or have a crush on a teacher, as it was.

She arrived by his side. "Hey. Have you been waiting long?" she asked, placing her luggage on the moist ground.

"Yeah, but it's not your fault. I came out to say bye to everyone when the first train left… an hour ago!" he added in surprise, staring wide eyed at his wrist watch. He had not seen time fly by.

"Good. Well, ready to go?"

The boy nodded, and suddenly a low whistle filled the air. A train was rolling into the station moments later, its gigantic wheels slowing down until they finally stood still, immobile.

"How… how the hell?" Harry asked.

"Well, Dumbledore has asked that they reserve a train for both of us, and to have it ready for our departure. Seeing we are now ready…"

"But… It appeared just on time for us?"

"Well, we are the only two passengers."

"But… Humans are supposed to follow train schedules. Not the opposite."

"I agree almost entirely. Muggles are supposed to follow train schedules. But what's the point of magic if you can't bend a few rules." She winked. Harry though did not consider the discussion over.

"But in second grade?! The train left at eleven, and Ron and I missed it by a few seconds only. Why didn't it wait?"

Thalia seemed puzzled, frowning, but found a rather acceptable answer.

"I think it would be because the big majority of the students were present in the train. Two out of a whole school, probably doesn't weigh much in the balance…"

Still shocked, Harry grabbed his suitcase, which was far more light weight than Thalia's, and stepped into the train. Which was, he realized now, much smaller than the Hogwarts Express. It was only far cabins long, and each of the cubicles was narrower. Harry chuckled. The benches were long and straight, whereas in the train his fellow students were at the same moment, they were short and usually curbed. This train was built for night traveling: the benches were in fact beds. The boy walked into one of them and checked the luggage net. It contained a pillow and a soft, red sheet. Letting out a sigh of pleasure, savoring in advance his trip, he threw the sheet on the long bench, and painfully lifted his suitcase to place it in the net. It had difficulty fitting in the narrow space, but he managed to squeeze it in. Luckily, he had brought a small suitcase… unlike Thalia. He realized it would be plain courteousness to offer her some help. "Two pairs of arms will be required to lift up such a weight," he mumbled. Only, when he walked through the door leading to the cabin next to his, he saw the suitcase was already in the net, hanging over Thalia's head. "Wow. You're strong," he let out in admiration. She turned to face him, still holding her pillow in her hands.

"No," she replied with a smile, "I have a wand."

Harry cursed himself for installing himself "muggle-way", and making his arms slightly sore for no reason whatsoever. As he was about to bid his teacher goodnight, and try to make up for his impolite way of rushing in his own cabin and not even offering to stay up with her, he noticed the color of the sheet that was laid out on her bed.

"Why is it green?" he asked, pointed the object just as a five year old would have done.

"A nice gesture. Probably a little way for Dumbledore to show he cares."

"You actually mind the color of the sheets you sleep in?"

She laughed. "No, it's not like my skin would peel off if I was to sleep in anything red. I just hate how everything about Hogwarts is red."

Her remark cut Harry to the quick. "What'd you mean, everything is red?"

"Well, the Hogwarts Express for instance…"

"What's wrong with it."

Thalia seemed insulted by the boy's cheeky behavior. "It's red."

"What's wrong with red?"

"I just think that since it represents one of the Houses, it shouldn't be used on objects that are affiliated to every one of the Houses."

"Blood is red. Should we empty out our veins to make sure the other Houses aren't insulted?"

"What?"

"I thought you liked your blood. Adored it. So pure," he emphasized as a geyser of anger opened itself in his heart.

"This proves my point! Gryffondors are only empty minded charmers with thick skulls, a bunch of superstars that wait for the entire world to adore them, and are ready to use any technique to look better than the others! And nevertheless they are celebrated everywhere in this hellish school!"

"What do you mean, any technique… That's not what I'm doing!"

"You're reducing me to the errors of my past, errors that were forced on me by the actions of your bloody descendants."

"Yeah, well you're not the only one who's had a tough childhood. Quit your soap opera drama and fight without the cover of pity."

"I'm sorry?! It's pity that brought you to fame. How many victims of You-Know-Who are celebrated throughout the world? They merit as much respect as you do. You just got lucky and survived."

"At least I didn't get bitter."

"Are you kidding me? You've been planning the death of the Dark Lord since you've learned his very existence. And you were ready to kill Sirius when you thought he had helped to simply locate them. While I'm here, taking care of the son of the one who ruined my life."

"That's what you call taking care of? And even if, you've joined the Death Eaters out of frustration and anger. You were ready to kill anyone on my father's side, that's how incredibly resentful you were. You've gone out of your mind with bitterness, admit it!"

"Well we can't all have the entire bloody Ministry, added with Mister Albus Dumbledore himself, to shelter our little mind. No one gave me any support, so I found my own."

"That wasn't support," Harry snarled, "you were just a tool in Voldemort's hand."

Thalia twitched when she heard Voldemort's name, but nevertheless continued.

"Just as you are a tool in Dumbledore's plan."

"Just as you are a tool in Snape's – "

"Stop that puerile rebellion this instant, Potter," Thalia interrupted him. "I'm still your teacher."

"Huh, you've broken every rule relative to the teacher/student contacts."

"For your advantage as well as mine."

There was a silence, during which Harry realized he had been shouting. His teacher smoothed out the green sheet in which she would be sleeping. Harry's heart was frantic, he could hear it pounding in his entire body. He breathed deeply. He knew sleep would be welcomed with joy by his exhausted body. And he had four hours to fall into Morpheus' arms. To then meet up with his friends, friends that would all take his side and agree with him. He recovered his senses quickly enough, as opposite to Thalia who was still, well, red. He could only smile as he made that reflection, and was happy she was turning her back to him. He could still feel she was getting impatient. He was too. He chose to speak first. "Good night, Miss Beauregard," he said, preferring the greatly impersonal use of her last name to the use of the name "Thalia". Word that his father and Sirius, and Lupin and Dumbledore, and Snape (he shrugged in disgust) all used. She answered. "Goodnight, Harry." Apparently, she couldn't stand the word "Potter".

***

For the next hour, Harry tossed and turned in his red sheets. Though the bench was incredibly comfortable for a bench, he could not sleep. He regretted for a moment that his sheets, just like Thalia, were not green. The vivid red hit his eyes anytime he would open them, piercing the heavy curtain of night. He was convinced that the slow swaying of the train would make him sleepy, but instead it bothered him. He could distinctly hear every rotation of the wheels and counted them, unwittingly. Also, what kept turning in his head, were Thalia's words. He did not believe them. They simply angered him, angered him so badly. So, the Gryffondor House hosted the most expressive of all students. What was wrong with that? That's how the Houses were built. He wanted to get up and spit words of hate – any words – to Thalia, but he didn't want to disrupt her sleep. And he knew he would regret them. He didn't hate her. He simply hated that she always felt obligated to express her opinion. They went along fine when they both remained shut, or when they restricted themselves to small talk. Ugh. He looked at the ceiling once again. Suddenly, he hated this room. Well, cabin. He stood up. Maybe if he changed emplacement. The air would be fresher, the décor slightly different. It was worth a try. After all, there were four cabins to the train. He got to his feet, tucked his pillow under his shoulder and turned his sheet into a messy ball of fabric. He stepped outside his door. "Can't sleep?"

Thalia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, and a table was placed before her. On it was a large, deep green, leather bound book. It was open about half way-through, and Thalia was adding lines of thin writing to it's blank pages, in a jet black ink. Harry felt impolite to impose himself on her territory (after the small war they had battled he had decided the train would be split up in territories) but she had already spoken to him. He considered her question an invitation to talk. "Nan," he answered. "What are you writing?"

She didn't answer at once. "If it's not too impolite to ask," Harry added. Definitely, this was not a night to remember.

"No, it's fine," she replied. "I'm writing… my life, I guess. Explaining the world and how I see it."

"A sort of diary?" he asked.

"Not really. More of a … narrative."

"So you can be remembered when… dead?"

"Yeah, sort of." She gave Harry a smile.

"You've already taken an awful lot of space," he pointed out, seeing she was already halfway through the book at a rather young age.

"I know… But I think I won't even manage to fill it up to the end."

"When d'you start it?" Harry asked.

"Maybe a year after I left school. At eighteen."

Harry nodded.

"Hence the green cover," she added with a sad smile.

Harry considered his incursion in her private life had gone to far. "You couldn't sleep either?"

"No, not at all. I'm so worried for Sev. I probably won't shut an eye until they tell me what he has and how we can cure it."

"I hope he gets better," Harry said, surprised to find he was a hundred percent honest.

"Thanks. Ugh, its nerve wrecking. That's why I'm so jumpy. Sorry for, you know."

"Yeah. Same here."

"You were also sorry and angry simply because you're worried about Snape?" she asked with a skeptical smile.

"Yes for the first part and… I was angry because what you said angered me."

"Thanks for the honesty."

She waved her wand and the ink on the rough page instantly dried. She then closed the voluminous book and twisted the cap on the ink bottle. Suddenly all of these objects levitated, and Thalia guided them to her trunk, that then magically opened. They fell on a pile of clothes, and the suitcase shut itself. She put her wand away – probably in order to reassure Harry – and spoke again. "You must hate my presence in Hogwarts."

"Erm…"

"If you don't want to answer, don't. I'm just… absolutely convinced that you'd rather have another DADA teacher."

"Well, you're a good teacher. And you're nice, you know, as a human being."

"You never though that I might… know too much? And talk a bit too much about what I know?"

Harry chose not to tell her he was making such a reflection only minutes ago.

"Well, I guess it's important to learn the truth at some point in your life."

"So… your glad you know?"

Hesitation teared Harry apart. But then he looked at his teacher, who's life was so tightly intertwined with his that she probably deserved another title than "teacher". She was being honest. She wanted to know what he thought of her. And he had already been so bold that he couldn't possibly sink lower. "Well, to be honest…"

He started searching for a bench to sit down, but found none. The cabin was truly empty, except for that table. Thalia guessed what he was searching for. "Come," she said, "one of these cabins is a sort of living room. I found it when I was looking for the table."

They both got up, and walked to the cabin situated at the front of the train. It was bigger than the other ones. It contained a small table identical to the one Thalia had used as a writing desk, and three large love seats. Harry noticed with satisfaction and a bit of relief that the seats were a dark brown. Thalia installed herself in one of them.

Sorry for the rather short (and oddly-ended) chapter, I just didn't know where to cut…