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chapter three. chaos and confusion
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Matilda has, very quickly, decided that she does not like trains.
The rumble and shake, the screech and whistle — all of it crawls under her skin and make her fingers twitch. Her father said that it was all part of the adventure, a necessary journey to Hogwarts, but Matilda does not care. Trains mean noise, and noise is like a swarm of bees in her brain, loud and relentless.
Harry has just bought an entire cart's worth of sweets, and both him and Ron are digging in with enthusiasm. The sound of wrappers crinkling and their munching fills the compartment, making it hard for Matilda to focus. They offered her some, but she declined. She doesn't like sweets; they're too much, like the train and the noise and the sound of eating.
Her father assured he'd spoken to Hogwarts about the unique way she sees the world. It was supposed to be reassuring, knowing there were adults ready to help her navigate this new environment. Yet, the knot in her stomach tightens at the thought of so many new faces, new routines, and the unknown of Hogwarts Castle.
Ron and Harry talk about what Hogwarts will be like, their voices bubbling with excitement and curiosity. Matilda listens, sort of. She already knows a lot about Hogwarts from her father, but hearing it from kids her age is different. They're worried about what house they'll be sorted into. Matilda isn't worried. Her father says she'll do fine wherever she ends up, though he seems to think she'll be in Ravenclaw like him.
Ron mentions, with all the certainty of a boy raised in a wizarding family, that all the bad witches and wizards are in Slytherin. Matilda frowns. Her mother was in Slytherin, and she was brave, not bad. She wants to say something, to defend her, but the words don't come easy. They never do.
It doesn't help that Ron has his pet rat (Scabbers) out. it's sitting in his lap, looking exactly like the rat from her nightmares — the one that watches with human eyes. Always lurking, always watching. Matilda is sure rats have their place, but she much prefers cats. Cats are clean and quiet, and they purr when you stroke them. Purring is a nice sound; it's steady and gentle, not like this.
She wants to ask Ron and Harry to stop, to eat quietly, to please just not talk while their mouths are full, but she knows that might seem rude, and Matilda doesn't want to be rude. She just wants quiet. She sits, hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the window and the blur of the world racing by. She tries to focus on that, on the green that sweeps past them, a painting that never stays still long enough to be fully seen. It's better than the noise, better than the rat, better than the thought of spending more hours on this train.
