It is What it is

First Stage: Oblivion

"We are currently forty-seven minutes late due to heavy snowfall," a kind voice echoed through the coach. "Next stop is Luton."

Harry raised a brow and looked out of the window into the dark night, only illuminated by the bright and thick snowflakes falling from the sky. They stuck to the window, covered the slowly passing landscape in a clean, white sheet.

"Excuse me?"

Harry turned his head, looking at a girl about his age standing in the aisle. She held a bright pink handbag and her orange hair, covered by a Mickey Mouse hat, fanned out over a matching pink, woollen shawl. Her coat was black and buttoned up to her neck.

"Is that seat taken?" she asked, pointing at the guitar case occupying the seat next to Harry.

Harry automatically scanned the coach, noticing it had suddenly filled with people. When he had got onto the train, it had still been almost empty. He smiled at the girl now, grabbing his guitar case. "Taken, yes, but I think it's actually meant for people to sit on, so..." He trailed off, shrugging.

The girl smiled too, taking a step back to make room when Harry hurriedly got up to lift the guitar case and store it on the rack above their heads.

He spotted a suitcase next to her and pointed at it. "Want a hand with that?"

"That's nice. Thank you." She smiled again, taking a step aside to let Harry pick up the suitcase.

Once Harry had settled back down in his seat, she dropped into the one next to him, puffing a tired sigh. Harry glanced over at her, and she caught him, a smile spreading over her face, blue eyes sparkling.

"I'm not really fat," she said. "The coat only makes me look like it."

Harry frowned. Had he looked at her too sceptical? "I wasn't thinking you're fat."

Giving him a knowing look, she unbuttoned the coat and shrugged it off her shoulders. Underneath, she wore a green jumper two sizes too big on her, swallowing up her hands.

"Well," Harry commented. "Maybe it's because your clothes are all a few sizes too big on you."

"Nah," she answered. "Boyfriend look. It's considered cute."

"Is that your boyfriend's jumper then?" Harry asked.

"Are you not-so-subtly trying to hit on me?" she shot back. Her orange hair was glowing in the dim light of the coach.

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Is there a way to answer this without looking like a dick?"

She beamed again, extending her hand. "I'm Perrie, and afraid I've got a boyfriend."

Harry didn't hesitate to shake it. "Harry," he supplied. "And I'm afraid I don't have a boyfriend."

"You've got a guitar, though," Perrie noted.

"Always proved to be the wiser choice," Harry agreed. "My guitar's always faithful to me."

Crossing her legs, Perrie gave him a curious look. "Must be a bit dull, though."

Harry tilted his head in question.

"Like, it can only say whatever you make it say." She shrugged. "That's dull, isn't it?"

"I guess," Harry hummed. "I can't complain so far."

Perrie fell silent, digging through her huge, pink handbag, and Harry turned to watch the snow falling outside of the window again. It slowly painted the glass white, shrinking Harry's view of the landscape. That was somehow a characteristic streak Harry had come to associate with snow; covering up and blurring his view. It was one of the reasons he didn't like snow.