i call it magic (when i'm with you)

i

"You heard?" Ray nudges his elbow; Brett swats away the offending appendage without looking up from his book. "His mum's the seeker for the Wollongong Warriors. Hell, I heard the Thundelarra Thunderers wanted 'er too, but the Warriors just paid more."

"Dad's a healer," says a Gryffindor girl seated further down the table, and no, he doesn't think he's imagining the dreamy look on her pale face. Merlin's beard. "One of the best in the Antipodes with four potions to his name. His sister's in Beauxbatons."

Ray whistles. "What I'd give to have that bloody circus of a family."

Oh, he's gotta put a stop to this, or he'll never hear the end of it. Brett pointedly turns a page in his tome with all the casual indifference he can muster. "What's it matter to us, who or what he is?"

"Aww, don't get your wand in a knot, you big baby." Ray laughs, his pointed hat flopping about as he whirls to look Brett in the eye. "Tell me, did you ever tune into one of those post-game Quidditch shows on the radio back in Brisbane? You must've heard of him before."

"No, I haven't," Brett says, too quickly, and by the amused smirk that follows, he doesn't think Ray believes him at all.

But whatever. Edward Chen's arrival to Hogwarts is but an insignificant blip in his personal timeline here at the school. He has dreams, the pursuit of becoming a professional musician a bright burning ember in his chest, and so there just isn't any time or thought to spare for some kid with famous parents and a bright, albeit crooked, smile. He doesn't expect to ever encounter the other boy anyway, worlds apart as they are. Separate years, separate houses, separate everything: yeah, he doesn't think he'll ever be seeing him, ever.

*

He manages, for four whole years, to completely ignore Edward Chen's existence. Insignificant blip, as he'd said. He manages—until suddenly, he doesn't.

The door to the compartment rattles open, jolting Brett into the air so violently, he almost breaks his glasses. A tall, lean body falls into the seat opposite him, limbs akimbo before the man manages to orient himself to sit up, hand on the latch of the door as he stares out into the train's hallway. The identity of the man who had just thrown himself into the compartment doesn't immediately register in his muddled brain, but when it finally does, he—he is—

"Um." Brett blinks at him, watching the way Edward's gaze turns towards him and lights up, as if he'd only just noticed the compartment had another occupant. "Hello?"

It takes a moment before the other man finally deigns to speak, and when he does, he only sounds slightly out of breath. "Hey, uh, hi!" Edward waves a hand at him. "Sorry, I'm a bundle of nerves right now, but—can I just—I'm running away from some hooligans, and I needed a hiding spot they'd never think to poke their heads in, and I just chose a random door without really thinking about it, and I'm sorry?"

Brett ignores the question mark at the tail end of Edward's last statement, focusing on one word he can distinctly pick out from all the babble. "Hooligans?"

"Yeah, my friends. They're a bunch of hooligans."

Brett looks down at the binder of music sheets in his lap, clears his throat. He probably shouldn't be giving wildly inappropriate advice to a stranger, let alone someone like Edward Chen, but: "Maybe you need better friends."

There's a pause. "Maybe I do," Edward says, and Brett glances back up, because what is this man thinking, agreeing so easily with someone he doesn't know? Is he bewitched? Cursed? Surely he must be. "Erm, sorry, I should probably introduce myself, hey? I'm Edward Chen, nice to meet you."