May 26th, 1889 — Just outside Hogsmeade Station

Stepping out of the billowing steam from the train engine, Bragi took his first grounded look at Hogsmeade as his fellow passengers dissipated along the platform. Beyond the slanted roof of the station house, the town covered far more ground than he'd anticipated, over grassland and scattered woodland and what he supposed were the foothills of the blue mountains beyond. Draping his coat over his arm and adjusting his grip on his suitcase, the young Dane emerged onto the busy, bustling Station Road. He looked right, he looked left, he checked his pocketwatch and — sigh, realised he wasn't due to meet Mr Wilson for another hour.

And so, finding himself briefly without purpose or home, Bragi — looking rather lost — set about deciding how best to spend his first sixty minutes in this new town, this new country, this brave new world.

  

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Tristan didn't often have reason to come to Hogsmeade Station but this time around had been sending off a visiting friend that had been staying in Hogsmeade. They boarded the train and the Quidditch player was left to his own devices. He didn't have anywhere to go at the moment and had just set about lighting a cigarette as he made the choice to simply go for a walkabout before heading either home to Wales or the home in Bartonburg his uncle Jacques still kept.

That was when a spot of bright red caught his eyes. Redheads didn't tend to be his cup of tea but the visage beneath the fiery strands very much was. Besides, they looked lost and he was bored enough to avail himself. Not that he wouldn't have anyway. Maybe. Tristan was a little particular at times. "Lost your way, have you?" He asked as he approached, cigarette between his fingers.

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Bragi felt a growing thrill of freedom as he thought about his hour of leisure. His possessions would arrive tomorrow, all accept that which he kept in his briefcase; his sole companion for the train trip. Now that he'd finally arrived in his new home, the sense of openness was intoxicating, and the young man began walking along Station Road with no real sense of direction, in a bid to follow his nose. And that was when a stranger caught sight of his evident foreignness, and remarked upon it with polite concern.

The fellow looked to be about his own age, tall though, with high cheekbones and a chic elegance intensified by the cigarette poised between his fingers. Bragi — more fey but with a similar kind of grace — regarded him with a courteous smile. "I'm not yet sure of my way", he admitted. "I'm due to meet someone here, but not for another hour." Bragi spoke the Queen's English with a touch of a Danish accent. "So yes I am rather lost, but..." he lightly shrugged a narrow shoulder. "There are worse things!"

  

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"I can help you there, if you like. It's not a far walk into High Street. That's where most of the shops are and where you can find the Three Broomsticks," Tristan said, more than happy to currently be of assistance for the moment. "The Three Broomsticks is a reputable pub where you can get a drink and some food if you're hungry." He had no idea where the man had come from but most anyone was likely to want a bite after a train trip. He certainly always had during his Hogwarts years and when they'd come from France to Wales.

"Optimistic sort, are you?" Tristan couldn't help but lightly tease. But the words were certainly true. "I have Quidditch practice and the sorts often so I always appreciate my free hours fully so perhaps this is a blessing in disguise for you to have an hour to dilly dally about as you please." Tristan tended to "appreciate" his free hours by filling them with drink, parties and the company of whomever he felt like in the moment but that was hardly prudent to say to a complete stranger. Quidditch fame came with its perks.

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The thrill returned, but this time not thanks to his newly-discovered freedom but due to the comfortable social situation in which he'd found himself; potentially something more than three seconds of passing small-talk. Could this be the first friend he'd make on British soil, or was he getting ahead of himself?

Bragi listened appreciatively, realising in that very moment that he was in fact hungry. A bite to eat at this Three Broomsticks public house sounded like an excellent plan.

"Quite", he agreed as his unexpected hour was labelled a blessing in disguise. Then he shifted his briefcase from his right hand to his left, and offered a handshake. "My name's Bragi Holm. And you are... a Quidditch player?" There was evident interest in his voice as he looked up at the tall fellow. Bragi thought him a little too old to be a student who practiced recreationally, and Quidditch player was a respectful profession. His parents would approve of this handshake.

  

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Tristan reached with his free hand to shake the other mans hand when it was offered. "Tristan Michaud," he offered in turn as he was provided with a name. "Indeed I am. I play Chaser for Puddlemere United." It had been quite an accomplishment, especially since he had been put onto first string in mere months when it took most at least two years. It had been a sure sign that he had chosen his path correctly. "Do you partake in the sport at all?" He asked, noting the mans height and feeling privately amused at just how many men of similar stature to the redhead he seemed to have in his personal acquaintance.

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Tristan Michaud — he didn't know the name, but perhaps in time he'd come to find it familiar. Maybe Hogsmeade would yield more blue eyes and high cheekbones like those. But then again... now that he thought about it, Michaud didn't have the the most British of accents. It was even Frencher than Bragi's was Danish. Still, Michaud was evidently far more at home here than Bragi was — he even played for a British Quidditch team.

"Yes! I played Seeker at Beauxbatons. But I'd never make it as a professional. Very impressive", he added genuinely. Bragi didn't follow Quidditch very closely, being more of a bookish type, but he did enjoy the sport, and he had heard of Puddlemere United.

"I don't suppose you'd care to join me at the Three Broomsticks, Mr Michaud?" he asked with a note of suitably British self-deprecation.

  

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"Beauxbatons! Had my parents not decided to immigrate when I was nine, we would have been schoolmates," Tristan mused with a charming grin. Not that he was much for schooling - he hadn't even properly graduated from Hogwarts. Even when the ban had been lifted and students allowed to finish their schooling, he had already established his career and saw no point in going back. "As it is, my uncle went there but eventually moved here as well."

Tristan was not at all against the idea of joining Mr. Holm at the Three Broomsticks, thoughts on a good drink and a meal very welcome. Besides, Mr. Holm made for very attractive company despite the bright, red hair. Which was all Tristan really needed to accept. "I'd be glad to. I can help you with what is best not to have anywhere near your dinner plate."

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Huh! Would-be schoolmates! Bragi gave a twinkle of a smile, tickled by the idea that he'd come all this way only for the first person he met to be someone with whom he'd very nearly crossed paths already. He took that as a very good sign.

Grateful for the company, and pleasantly surprised to find the professional Quidditch player free this afternoon, Bragi gestured sweepingly with his arm as if to say lead the way.

Walking at the taller man's side, Bragi could not help but ask conversationally — "so what brought your family across the Channel?"

  

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Tristan was more than happy to lead the way to the Three Broomsticks, figuring he could point out places that might be of interest as they went along. "My father came here to open a music shop," Tristan said. "And my uncle came here for his own reasons." To escape that scandal with that man but that was a family secret, obviously. Now with his parents both dead, it was just him and his uncle though their vampiric patriarch was still creeping around somewhere, he was sure.

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A music shop? Bragi raised his brow in interest as he listened to the Frenchman, for now undistracted by his surroundings as they walked. He knew Hogsmeade to be a wizarding town, so it was fascinating to realise that shops sold more than broomsticks and spellbooks. Bragi was a well-bred young man who knew better than to express any interest in the uncle’s story (interesting though it was), so he returned focus to the music shop. ”Ah how wonderful. Do you play an instrument yourself? Other than a broomstick in flight”, he quipped.

  

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"Violin, piano and voice. How about you? Do you play any instruments?" Tristan asked. He was a natural talent and had been considered a prodigy but he had preferred Quidditch much to his parents chagrin. He still wrote music, though despite how strongly doing so made him think of Rasmus. He had sheets of his original music hidden away in his room and something thought of sending them to Rasmus. "If you have bets the Beautiful Beast Boutique here is good for your needs if you need supplies for a cat, owl and such."

  

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Bragi spared a courteous glance for the Beautiful Beast Boutique, for he did have a lovely cat to think of, but his gaze quickly fluttered back up to his guide. For he was a fascinating sort, and Bragi could explore the High Street any time. It was becoming increasingly evident that he was lucky to have Mr Michaud's time. "Just the piano", Bragi responded. He was a talented pianist, ever since his governess had first shown him the keys, but right now he was more impressed than confidently talented. "Goodness, you're quite the virtuoso!"

  

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"Ah, the piano is a lovely thing to be able to play," Tristan said, idly wondering how well Mister Holm played. Most people of a certain social status knew how to play the piano but whether or not they actually had talent at it was a whole other ball game. "I suppose. I did dally in song writing as a youth and when I can spare the time but between Quidditch and parties who has the time?" Granted, he didn't sleep most nights for entirely different reasons but he wasn't about to get into that with a man he had only just met.

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It didn’t surprise him to learn that Mr Michaud, the French aficionado, was an exceptionally busy young man, but it did make Bragi feel a little bit intimidated. Not in a fearful way, though; perhaps impressed was a better word. For while Bragi knew the coming weeks and months would be busy for him, with two properties to handle and a whole new country to discover, he didn’t have any experience being entirely rushed off his feet. If anyone was suited to being a Quidditch player — literally off his feet — it was Mr Michaud.

Bragi finally tore his eyes from his new friend’s noble face to find himself approaching the handsome wooden sign for The Three Broomsticks. The public house looked large, busy, and popular.

”Hogsmeade society is infamous, even where I’m from”, he replied to talk of parties as they arrived at the pub, thinking mainly of the upcoming Hogwarts Coming Out Ball, which both his parents had made a point of mentioning to him before he’d left.

  

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As they neared the pub, Tristan chuckled as Mister Holm spoke of Hogsmeade society. "It's not restricted just to Hogsmeade. We tend to spread societal events all through the United Kingdom. I live in Wales, for example though I did used to live here in Bartonburg." His uncle even still had the property but it was now more of a crash pad than anything else. He held open the door for the redhead. "I'm sure you'll be widely known in no time. Hopefully for all the right reasons."

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