Ailsa's mother, Brighid, had never been very much enamored with machinery. She left such things to the few hired hands who helped maintain the farm that had belonged to her muggle parents before her. At least, until she'd married a muggle of her own who dove into that side of rural farming with such aplomb that Brighid almost felt guilty about magically enhancing the machines' reliability. Almost.

Brighid's disinterest meant that when she'd regaled her daughter with tales of Hogwarts, the train had merely been a train. In Ailsa's practical imagination, that meant an unromantic but aerodynamic and efficient modern train, of the sort she'd ridden with her father on trips to the continent or the one she'd taken not long ago for the final leg of her trip from their little farm in Laurencekirk into London.

It hadn't prepared the petite ginger for the steam-powered wonder that hissed and gurgled before her on platform 9 3/4. A long period of silent rapture passed as Ailsa stood close, the boiler's heat seeping through her as she studied every rivet. "It's glorious..." she whispered to no-one but herself.

A shuffling behind her pulled Ailsa's attention back to the moment as, with a longing glance at the engine, the girl began dragging her trunk into the middle carriage. The trunk landed with a thump in the luggage area and Ailsa continued into the seating area, where the girl from earlier, in the bookstore was talking about someone named La Rue.

"Who's La Rue?" she couldn't stop herself from asking.