Emma was not a girl who was big on goodbyes. It was why it was much easier to say the things she wanted to say to his sleeping form than it ever would have been to his face, why it was much easier to laugh at his teasing that it was to be serious over her sudden nervousness. And why, when he’d cuddled so close to her, pinning her down and kept her still and told her he was nothing without her that Emma wasn’t able to find the words to say back. She’d blinked and gulped down the disquiet that was settling in her chest and shifted so she could bring a finger up to his lips, placing the pointer finger of one manicured hand over his lips. Maybe she should have thought harder on what she wanted to say to him, now that he was actually awake, but she couldn’t think beyond the thought that she was determined not to hide under the covers and dwell on being sad at the suddenly approaching dawn. So instead of saying anything back, she’d smiled and leaned up to kiss him again once her finger was moved, something slow and very soft and if there was ever the hope of conveying a feeling through her silent lips alone, Emma hoped he understood what hers were saying.

And though their morning was spent within arm’s length of each other (mostly), there really was a need to get to the train station. Emma packed up her things that she’d spent last night unwrapping, in her new trunk that Nigel had bought her. It was a delicately carved thing that had more open compartments and space inside than the one that she’d inherited from Scarlett, who had taken it off the hands of Juliet. She also reluctantly accepted the still nameless cat who came with his own carrying case. She half thought that she might be able to tuck him into the trunk too, but who knew how far down the fall would be until he hit the bottom of her luggage. She eyed the mewling thing distrustfully, and put a finger between the slats of his cage to which he rubbed himself against it, purring, just before he opened his mouth to give her a nibble with his sharp kitten teeth. Emma pulled her hand back with a scoff, poking him in the nose before she fully retreated and was tempted to hiss at him, just to show him who was boss. But then she glanced at the clock and then at Nigel and figured it was time to leave.

Her arrival at King’s Cross was somewhat more cheery. There were students that were arriving in their regular clothing that would change on the train, one or two even looked like they still had their pajamas on, which Emma gave a little curl of her lip to. Heathens, the lot of them, and she got to have her moment of preening. Emma didn’t like to have a hair out of place, and the pleats of her skirt were expertly spelled to remain crisp. Her tie was tucked into her jumper, and there was even a little bounce to her step as her pale eyes scanned the station for either her friends, foes or some other distracting thing. And she needed a distraction, because her palm was nestled against Nigel’s, but it wouldn’t be for long.

But once her trolley of things caught up with her, and they were standing out on the platform and others were saying goodbye to their parents. There really was very little for her to do. Scarlett decided to show her face before getting on the train, her normal ponytail in place and her prefect badge shined and on her dark robes. Apparently she’d already put her things on the train but had come out to be sure that Emma actually made it to the station. That was what she said anyway, Emma suspected that she’d really wanted to say goodbye to Nigel herself. Mostly because she’d physically separated her hand from Nigel’s and pulled him into a very insistent, sudden, but brief hug. The blonde witch thought it looked more like she was trying to squeeze the air out of him than give him any actual affection. But she’d stood back with a roll of her eyes and looked about for a moment, to give them a semblance of privacy for their little moment, pretending that she didn’t hear it when Scarlett said she’d miss him, and turned back to her to warn her not to dawdle. And with that, they were semi-alone again, and with just a few minutes left to get going. She was tempted to shift and scuff her shoe against the ground, or look around some more, as much as she’d joked about her leaving, it seemed that now that the moment was here, she’d run out of them.

“I should probably go…” She said looking back at the train, swinging her gaze back again.

“You’ll write.” It wasn’t a question, but it did make her smile. “And you’ll have fun in France.” Also not a question, she was fairly confident that Nigel would, no matter what his worries were about the language or what he was supposed to do while he was there. In her mind anything was better than being locked away in some dungeon for another year.