The cold wind began to howl
The rays of the setting sun barely filtered through the grimy glass of the pub windows, lazily entangling in clouds of steam from hot food and thick tobacco smoke. On one of the sticky tables, among the empty mugs, lay an abandoned newspaper, on the front page of which a moving photograph flickered. The young witch was looking around her compartment on the train with a bored expression, but stopped at the last moment, as if fixing her gaze directly on the reader.
"Did you see that, Sirona?" the old wizard in the corner croaked, tapping his pipe on the edge of the ashtray and nodding at the headline. "They say this girl is from Durmstrang. Transferring from there to Hogwarts in the middle of the school year straight into the fifth year..."