He never noticed the way people avoided his train compartment or that his was the last to be filled. It didn't really matter to him in the end. After all, that was that much more time he had without small talk and inane chatter. There were too many questions to be answered and reasoned out and only one more school year to devote completely to them. The idea of pursuing gainful employment was not a happy one; work could so easily get in the way of what truly mattered.

Xeno Lovegood pulled his legs on to the seat of the train compartment. He curled up in the corner near the window (something of a feat with the long legs of his frame) and stared out of it, wondering if he might be lucky to see something exceptional this year. Professor Kettleburn was usually good for a thought-provoking lesson, but he'd often heard about more than the professor chose to talk about.

He twisted himself impossibly to reach under the bench for his rucksack and pull out his tattered edition of Lepodoptomania!: a Practical guide to the World's Moths. He had been combing the text for some clue about why certain moths had no mouths. He had a few theories, some involving a conspiracy in the language (moth versus mouth, missing 'u', missing mouth?) or perhaps something about their beauty as compensation, their talents in silk-spinning--there were a multitude of possibilities. He had had no luck deciding on one or finding exceptional proof toward any. And mum had only laughed and marveled at the eye-like markings on many of their wings. Really, the woman was good for literary discussions, but she was rubbish for theory. And dad only wanted to hear about them, not evaluate them.

He sighed to himself but got up before settling in too permanently. The witch with the treat cart was a few compartments away, and he should get some snack before abandoning himself to his research