Morris Fetterdam had been a ticket taker at Hogsmeade for a year, and then a trolly pusher for two, before he was even [i]allowed[/i] to begin training for his magical conductor's license. It was a more difficult position to attain than he had imagined when it so humbly became his boyhood dream as an unpopular, ginger squib, though this did not make him any less determined. In fact, it [i]fueled[/i] Morris. Never before was there a man so driven to attain a conductor's hat aboard the Hogwarts Express, and never before had the train had such a young conductor. Unbeknownst to the hundreds of bright-eyed students aboard the train, this would be Conductor Fetterdam's first passenger-carrying journey, a hallmark in the achievements of any conductor. Truly, if Morris had a proudest day in his life, it would have been Sunday, September 9th, 1957.

It would have been.

Morris was a straight-spined, measured man. He took a measured breath, looking out the window, and then a measured sip of his cup of tea. Even in his conductor's cab, he stood perfectly straight, eyeing the barometer of the engine and speed of the train like a hawk. His door was locked, his uniform was pressed, and his smoked herring sandwich was wrapped in two layers of wax paper in his conductor's cupboard, organized with the precision of a Japanese architect. Everything was as it should have been for a smooth entry into his career as a conductor, and it was for this reason that the voice behind him took him even more by surprise.

[color=839F67]"Urr ye tha [i]railroad bobby[/i]?"[/color]

Morris spun around defensively, stifling the instinctive [i]JESUS CHRIST[/i] he had grown so accustomed to using living amongst muggle cousins, spilling the contents of his tea down the front of his starch-white shirt. There was a brown-haired boy in his clean, [i]prepared[/i] conductor's cab, with the dirtiest hands he had ever seen. It looked as if the boy had finished a spot of afternoon gardening with his bare hands, or perhaps, just had a blackish, brownish, greenish pen explode in his hands moments earlier. Whatever the case was, he was staring at Morris, picking his nose with, yet again, the dirtiest hand Morris had ever --

Morris collected himself for a moment, stifling an audible gag as he handed the boy a tissue, ignoring the sandy brown stain on his shirt.

[color=indianred]"No, young sir, I am not the railroad police. I am the train conductor, and [i]you[/i] appear to be in my cab. If you would be so -"[/color]

[color=839F67]"Me pa tell't me that if ah ever dinnae where a'm, ah should find th' train bobby."[/color] The boy said, turning his back and pointing a grubby finger an inch from the emergency break. [color=839F67]"Whit's this wee rid lever dae?"[/color]

Morris placed the napkin on the boy's hand and calmly pulled it away, exhaling with a boiling anger. [color=indianred]"That [i]lever[/i] is a [i]knob[/i], it is the [i]brake[/i] to this [i]train[/i], and you are in [i]Rutland County[/i], [i]several[/i] hours from your destination. Get out of my conductor's cab, you cheeky imp. You are not supposed to be here."[/color] The boy giggled at Morris's use of the word knob, reaching into the pocket of his green corduroy trousers.

[color=839F67]"But ah unly come 'ere tae give ye this shiny key ah fount, sur."[/color] The boy said, pulling the golden key to [i]Hogsmeade Station[/i] from his pocket. If his supervisor knew he had compromised the station's safety, this would be his first and last day as a conductor.

Morris paused for a moment, dumbfounded, snatching the key from his hand and giving it a wipe with an additional napkin. The anger he had felt moments earlier disappeared [color=indianred]"Why, thank you! Where on Earth did you find this, young man?"[/color]

The boy pointed to the cupboard to the left of Morris. [color=839F67]"Ah smelt yer salty herring in yer lunch-pail, truth be tell't, and mah whole plan were tae get to that. But ah won't take yer key on account ah ah'm a honest young man like ye said. Give us a taste, then?"[/color]

[color=indianred]"[b]OUT! [i]OUT OF MY CAB YOU LITTLE WELSH MONSTROSITY! OUT![/i][/b]"[/color] And, sure enough, the boy was gone in a flash, bolting like a hare with a giggle, past two members of the Hogsmeade Train Conductor's Union, holding a cake and balloon, respectively. His supervisor, Patty Kincaid, and the chairman of the union and president of the[i] Welsh Magical Transport Committee[/i], Alwyn Davies.

[color=indianred]"S-Sirs! That's, fancy, seeing both of you, [i]here[/i], on the express. Happy first day Morris, that says? Oh, that's, uh. That's lovely, fellas. Sirs. Let me get you a cup."[/color] He said with a sheepish giggle, pointing to the brown stain on his shirt. He turned around to find his thermos in the cupboard. It was there as he expected, but his herring sandwich had vanished into thin air. His hand balled into a fist.