Dazmond Wiedman may have been five feet tall in a sea of parents, but she had elbows of steel that helped her to budge her way to the front of the crowd.  In the flame-lit tunnel, the sounds of the train came barrelling in with a few celebratory hoots.  Dazmond's head turned with the front of the train as it went past her, and the great, familiar beast of metal and steam started to come to a gradual halt.  The faces of children pressed against the glass leaving grease stains and the adults on the other side pointed or held their hands to their faces in marked anticipation.  Somewhere on board was her cousin Liviana, who today was coming home.

Dazmond was dressed in brightly coloured skirts in multiple layers and a tight-fitted jacket in a warm orange - if for no other reason than to stand out from the others and to make their reunion quick.  There was nothing worse than getting home and wandering round trying to find your own; a swift welcoming was what a Witch of Liviana's standing should be able to expect.  Dazmond tapped her zebra-grained bocote wand against her leg and half-bounced to an imaginary beat as she looked among the gaggle of faces for her own blood.  Wizards were descending with luggage and the floods of students began to pour from each compartment, forcing the adults back a number of feet.  Ever an active Witch, Dazmond's neck craned here and there as she searched for a face she hadn't seen since Christmas.

So far as train rides went this one had been rather adventurous; or rather it would be more apt to say strenious. Beyond social mediation (which Liviana loathed involving herself in) there had come a banshee screech of drama in the form of Lucas spilling the bloody beans about the kiss that never should have happened before she had had the proper time to cushion the blow and tell the right side (her side) of the story. Liv was not sure if it was the utter shame in herself or her frustration that life could not be bothered to stick to an even keel even after all the supposed most stressful part of the next year was already over with. It was all well and good that she'd gotten Hux and Vulpes to declare a ceasefire, couldn't she have had a moments peace before she was back in another social battle?

Of course deep down she felt she deserved it. What kind of friend was she for not telling Gracie straight off that Luc had tried to snog her? What kind of friend was she that it had progressed to any sort of place where Lucas thought that was an acceptable thing in the first place? Being fifteen was very difficult and if Dominik's romantic entanglements were any indication she was in for a soul crushing future as well. Not all hope was lost of course, Dazmond seemed happy enough with her halfblood criminal. Honestly sometimes her sister absolutely baffled the poor Slytherin. Still, as she carried a trunk that was nearly as big as she was, she found herself looking for the bony witch in the crowed. Well, actually, she was looking for a spot in the crowd that seemed to have a hole in it because Dazmond barely came up to most people's shoulders.

For all her quirks (and Dazmond was nothing if not quirky), Liviana loved her dearly. It was the sort of love that paid not attention to her sister's eccentric dress or the fact that she most often rubbed elbows with men capable of murder (their brother's past crimes aside). There was intrigue and danger to it all and she didn't give a flying fuck what any of the Monarchy thought of Dazmond. There might have been a good number of things they might shame her for (though she'd never say so out loud), her sister would never be one of them. Which was exactly why when two sets of broad shoulders parted and she at long last spotted the sharp features of Mrs. Wiedman-Briggs, Liv let out an ear splitting squeal, dropped her bags and leaped upon the tiny witch in a seemingly affection starved hug, "Salazar's knickers, if you ever make me go almost six months without seeing you again I'll hex you in half Dazzlo"!