Section 3.5 - Train rides
Dunkelzahn
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3.5 Train rides
3.5.1 Mending fences
The remainder of August passed quickly, and with its passing came the day for students to board to Hogwarts Express once more. The bright noon-time sunlight cheerily shone down on the street just south of King's Cross Station where a light blue Ford Anglia with a white roof had just pulled into an un-metered parking space and disgorged a family of seven redheads dragging five large trunks among them.
Oddly, not a single pedestrian on the busy street looked twice at the sight of five trunks — which when taken together would have occupied slightly more volume than the entire passenger compartment of the thirty-odd-year-old two-tone saloon — being casually removed one after another from the decidedly too-small boot of the vehicle. That inattention was a mute testament to the effectiveness of the enchantments on the family car. Now properly equipped, the odd procession trooped off in the direction of King's Cross Station a couple blocks to the north.
"Do you think I'll be able to meet Harry Potter on the train?" the baby of the Weasley family — a girl recently turned eleven — asked plaintively as they walked. "I really want to meet him!"
"He will most likely be on the train, Ginevra," her older brother, Percy answered her automatically before frowning thoughtfully. "Though he does live close to the castle, so he might not be, come to think of it."
"Really?" his sister gasped. "But I wanted to meet him!"
"You'll be able to meet him when you get to the castle," Ron assured her, as gently as Ron was ever able to manage. "Blimey, it's just another couple hours; be patient, Ginny!"
Which was to say, 'not very'.
"That's easy for you to say!" Ginny snapped as they passed through the doors into the station. "You've been around him for a whole year already!" The girl pouted, "You must have had lots of adventures and stuff with him by now, and you won't even tell me stories."
At this her brother winced slightly, "Ah, umm… not quite…"
The youngest Weasley brother was saved from what promised to be an uncomfortable retelling of how much he had stuffed up his interactions with his little sister's hero by his older brother, Percy.
"Hey, there he is now!" Percy said, motioning to a small boy some distance away wearing Hogwarts robes in Hufflepuff colors standing next to a brown-haired girl who looked to be about Ron's age. "And he's got Miss Granger with him, too."
As his sister squeaked, Percy turned to his parents, "Mother, Father, might we go speak with them for a moment? I'm afraid I have some air to clear with Mr. Potter's companion from last year." At his mother's gimlet stare, the sixth-year student hastened to explain, "It was an honest misunderstanding, Mother! I handled something without properly thinking through how she would interpret it, and it would also give Ginevra a chance to meet Mr. Potter."
As Molly nodded to her son's request and the family made their way across the crowded platform towards the two second-years, Fred spoke up for the first time, "George and I'll go on ahead." Without waiting for permission, both twins set off and disappeared into the crowd.
"Boys!" Their mother called after them to no avail. "Straight to the train! No side trips!" she tried anyway. "Those boys! What ever will we do with them?" she muttered to her husband.
"We'll just have to keep loving them, keep trying, and hope for the best," Arthur reassured her. "They'll come around eventually."
"And my hair will have gone white by the time they do," Molly complained wryly before turning her attention to the pair of children they were here to meet standing close together on the grungy but brightly lit platform.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Percy greeted the two, "it is a pleasure to see you both again. Particularly to see you back in good health, Mr. Potter." At Harry's slightly suspicious nod, Percy turned his attention fully to the girl at Harry's side. "Miss Granger, I am afraid I did not have a chance to properly apologize last term for my poor handling of the situation between you and my youngest brother, and I wished to do so now."
"It's alright," the bushy-haired girl said slowly, "Abigail explained what you were doing afterwards, and when Ron apologized, I figured it out."
The older boy nodded, "I have Miss Abercrombie to thank for explaining your interpretation to me as well. Nonetheless, I must apologize. As a prefect, I should have realized how my approach could have been interpreted, and I did not, therefore I offer my sincerest apologies for any distress I inadvertently caused you."
"Apology accepted," Hermione said, at which point Harry's suspicious expression died away to be replaced with his usual affable one.
With that, the tone of the encounter shifted as Percy breathed a sigh of relief. "In that case, might I introduce you to the rest of my family? You already know Ronald," he gestured to his youngest brother who raised a sheepish hand, "and this is Ginevra, our little sister," again he gestured to the appropriate sibling. The girl squeaked at the introduction and quickly hid behind her mother's skirts, peering out shyly with a rosy blush on her face as she looked for the first time at her hero.
"Hi!" came the friendly greeting from Harry, followed quickly by a "Pleased to meet you!" from his female companion.
"And, of course, these are our parents," the officious sixth-year continued.
"Good morning, dears!" Molly greeted as her husband's greeting echoed her own. The young Potter looked terribly small to Molly's experienced eye. She'd have to have a word with Minerva next time she had the chance — it wouldn't do for one of the poor dears to go hungry. Harry and Hermione echoed their earlier greetings as Molly considered how to handle the situation.
For now, it was probably best to get them all to the train and the snack cart there. The motherly woman nodded firmly. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you both, but the train won't wait for us, we're not the ones setting the schedule. We'd best get you all loaded up. Move along, children!"
As the gaggle of schoolchildren moved along towards the third column between platforms nine and ten, Molly could have sworn she saw the young Potter smile as if he had heard an inside joke. After growing up with her prankster brothers, Gideon and Fabian, and then raising her prankster twins, Molly was sensitive to such things.
Of course, the question remained — what had she said that the small boy found so amusing?
3.5.2 Grand theft auto
When the twins had pulled away from their parents and siblings on the platform area and lost themselves in the crowd, they most assuredly had not gone straight to the train with no side trips. Instead, they made a beeline for a news stand they had noted on their clandestine trip to the station nearly a week earlier. There had been some noteworthy publications to catch the adolescent eye — a certain stack of magazines had been slightly off kilter, and tantalizing portions of a cover that normally would have been blocked by a black plastic divider were visible to all and sundry.
At the time, Fred and George had been equipped with neither appropriate currency nor an appropriately aged identification card to secure their prize, but they had made sure to remedy that lack in the intervening week. Fred now carried approximately twenty quid and a blank piece of cardboard charmed similarly to the notice-me-not paper they had used so effectively on their previous trip. Where the previous paper had compelled onlookers to find something else to pay attention to, however, this one projected a feeling of 'all's well here, nothing out of order at all' which the pair hoped would get them through any problems.
As it happened, their hopes were fulfilled by a lackadaisical clerk rather than their charms work. The preoccupied salesman didn't even look at their faces when he rang them up, much less ask for identification. The man was much more interested in his own copy of the same magazine he kept under the counter.
Illicit booty stowed in their school trunks — furtively buried under piles of clothes — the twins walked towards the portal to the hidden platform, ducking aside just in time to avoid the gaze of their parents as the couple walked towards the station exit.
"That was a close one, brother," George said to his twin in relief as their parents cleared the front doors.
"Indubitably, dear brother," Fred agreed. "Mum probably would have smelled those magazines on us, hidden or not."
With that, the pair made their way over to the portal, wheeling their trunks behind them, only for Fred to smack face first into an indisputably solid wall, falling back into his brother with a clatter. That finally managed to draw attention, with a good fraction of passersby looking over at the fallen boys, curious to see what all the commotion was.
That was a problem.
Pranks were one thing but drawing attention to the portal and potentially endangering the secrecy of the wizarding world in the process was an entirely different kettle of fish. Thinking fast, George said in a stage-whisper pitched to be heard by everyone nearby, "Fred, watch where you're going! I know she was gorgeous, but that is no excuse to walk into a wall!"
Suspicions averted, the onlookers chuckled and turned away — or in the case of several youngish women smiled smugly as they very deliberately straightened their posture and adjusted their clothing — otherwise leaving the flustered boys to their own devices.
"What happened, Fred," George said to his brother — in a real whisper this time. "We didn't count off to the wrong wall, did we?"
"No, it's definitely the right wall," his brother began. Fred was leaning against the wall in question and covertly pushing at where the portal should have been. "Solid as a rock."
From his slightly removed perspective, George noticed something his brother had missed. The outline of his brother's hand against the brick was limned in a familiar electric purple light which brightened the harder it was pressed. "Oh, hell."
"What is it, George?"
"I think it's from the prank," George theorized.
Fred looked closer and saw the purple light. "Oh."
With that realization, the two boys walked away from the portal out of well-ingrained reflex to avoid getting caught at the scene of a prank gone wrong.
"What do we do now?" Fred asked sotto-voiced. "We can't get to the bloody Express!"
"Maybe we can just wait, and someone will fix it?" George ventured uncertainly. "I mean, if it's blocking everyone, then…"
"Mum and Dad already left! Alone!" Fred hissed. "They'd never have done that if Percy and the rest hadn't gotten through to the platform."
His point was emphasized as another student passed through the portal with no trouble.
"So it's just us," George said unnecessarily. "You think it's because the potion was keyed to us?"
"Has to be," Fred said. "What do we do? If we tell anybody, the prank will be over before it even starts!"
"We could floo to Hogsmeade," George proposed. "I mean, go to the Leaky and floo from there."
Fred frowned thoughtfully, "That's a long way to go with the trunks when we can't use magic to shrink them…"
"Well, we can't do anything about it here!" came the exasperated reminder.
"Right."
The two brothers set out in the same direction their parents had left in a few minutes earlier, wheeling their trunks behind them as they went. As they stumped their way along the same southerly route they had taken a week before — it had been a decidedly more pleasant walk without the heavy school trunks weighing them down — they came upon a curious sight.
The family car was still parked.
"Where do you think Mum and Dad went?" George asked. "They left a long time before we did."
"I dunno," Fred said absently, his mind on other possibilities. Then his eyes lit with mischief, "Brother — are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Fred looked from the car to his brother with a slowly growing smile.
George looked puzzled for a moment before his own smile began to grow. "I think I am, Fred — I think I am."
3.5.3 Parental trials
Arthur had taken advantage of the opportunity to treat his wife to a lovely lunch at a café close to the station. With their youngest off to her first year at Hogwarts, the nest was empty for the first time in more than two decades. It was the first opportunity he had had to spend time alone with his wife without worrying about the children since the birth of their eldest son. Arthur was sure they would both start to miss the little ones soon, but for now — well he and Molly had plans for the next few days — very private plans.
"How long has it been, love?" he asked his wife taking a sip from his wine glass.
"Since what, Arthur?"
"Since we last had a night out without worrying about who was looking after the children," he clarified.
Molly sighed, "The last time had to have been back before Bill was born — I think it would have been that Warbeck concert we attended the day before I went into labor — has it really been twenty years already?"
"Twenty-two, actually, my love," Arthur clarified.
"Oh, my! That long?" At her husband's nod, she said, "Well, I suppose time flies and all that. I surely don't regret it one bit!"
"Neither do I, Molly," Arthur assured his wife, "but I am certainly going to make the most of having my lovely wife all to myself again!"
Molly giggled, "Oh, really, Arthur?" Her voice turned coy, "And what are you planning, hmm?" She looked up only to find her husband looking distractedly down the street. "Arthur? What's wrong?"
Her husband collapsed back into the café chair, "I could have sworn I just saw Fred and George driving the car down the street and turning in to the alley down the way," he paused for a moment, noting the cloud of pigeons taking flight from the rooftops near the alley in question, almost as if they had been startled by the passage of something large.
Arthur sighed. "I did."
"The boys stole the car?" Molly said with a dry chuckle and a rueful shake of her head. "So much for not having to worry about who is looking after the children."
Both Weasley parents caught each other's eye for a long moment before taking a final swig of wine; nothing more needed to be said. As Arthur arranged to pay for the meal, Molly was already planning their course. They'd head home as soon as he finished; the family clock — a neat bit of sympathetic magic which sported a hand attuned to the wellbeing of each of their family members — would be their best bet for looking after their prodigal sons from a distance without attempting to track an invisible flying car across the kingdom.
It would also place them close to the Burrow fireplace where they would be available by floo when the twin's troublemaking finally came home to roost.
So much for a romantic night on the town.
3.5.4 A poor reception
Percy and the two youngest Weasleys had broken off to find their own compartment shortly after passing through the portal to the magical platform, and after the circus that was the previous year's train ride, Suze had declined to ride the Express this year — opting instead to wait back at the Lair and relying on Hermione to keep their dragon out of trouble in her place. As a result, Harry and his human damsel managed to board the train without incident. Neither he nor Hermione had brought trunks this year, though Harry was carrying his current research notebook — at present full of scribbled runic schema and circuit diagrams — and Hermione was carrying no fewer than five shrunken books in her various pockets.
Some things never changed.
After a quick detour to the front of the train to say hello to Abigail, the pair settled into the fourth passenger coach without incident, choosing an otherwise empty compartment in hopes that their older friend might have time to join them later; though given her duties, that was unfortunately unlikely. The seventh-year had not been chosen as Head Girl, but Abigail had been chosen as the seventh-year girls' prefect for her House.
After a few minutes spent in relative quiet, interrupted only by the regular clack of the bogeys on the rail joints and the shuffling of paper as Harry wrote and Hermione read, there came a knock on the door of their compartment.
A puzzled glance passed between the young dragon and his damsel before Hermione answered, "Come in."
The door slid open to reveal a blonde girl wearing the unmarked robes of an incoming student. She was of a slight build, and her slightly protuberant silvery eyes gave her a perpetually-surprised look. After opening the door, the newcomer spent several long, silent moments staring unblinkingly at Harry with those bulging silvery eyes while Harry intently stared back at her in return.
The scene was quite strange from Hermione's point of view.
"Who are you?" Hermione eventually felt uncomfortable enough to ask.
The girl turned from her impromptu staring contest to answer, "I am Luna Lovegood, and he is Harry Potter. Unfortunately, I am afraid I do not know your name."
"Hermione Granger," Hermione responded reflexively. "It's a pleasure."
"Likewise," the strange girl responded before turning back to Harry, whose expression had hardened with suspicion at the name 'Lovegood'. "Daddy suggested I be very polite when I met you, Harry Potter, and he said that I should make a request."
"What request?" Harry asked gruffly.
"He said I should politely ask you not to devour me," the odd blonde girl stated calmly as Hermione choked on air in the background. "So, please don't devour me, Harry Potter."
"Well, I don't eat anything that asks me politely not to eat them, so I won't eat you," Harry replied automatically before his mind caught up with him and his eyes narrowed. "Are you related to Xenophilius Lovegood?"
"Yes, that's Daddy's name," Luna confirmed. "He's the chief editor for the Quibbler!" she said proudly.
"The Quibbler?" Hermione's eyes lit up. "Isn't that a magical newspaper? Do you think you could tell me more about magical publishing?"
The blonde girl nodded enthusiastically at meeting a kindred spirit and began, "I'd love…" before catching sight of the forbidding expression on Harry's face. She paled a little and continued in a much quieter voice, "Um, on second thought, maybe I should go. It was nice meeting you both." With one last doleful look towards a confused Hermione, the small blonde girl slid the door shut and left, dragging her trunk along with her.
For her part, Hermione looked at the now-closed door with a puzzled frown. What had scared the girl off? Then she turned and caught sight of Harry's still-dark expression.
That would explain it.
"Harry James Potter!" the bushy-haired girl exclaimed. "What was that all about?"
"What do you mean?" the young dragon asked, puzzled.
"Why did you scare that poor girl off like that, you great lummox?" the girl demanded. "She was a little odd, but she seemed nice enough; there was certainly no reason to be so hostile to the poor thing!"
"I don't trust her," Harry said emphatically with a scowl.
"Why ever not?"
"'Cause her Dad's a lying jerk!" Harry groused. At his damsel's questioning look, he elaborated, "Back a couple years ago, me and Suze were hanging around on top of the cliff across from the Lair, and we saw someone up on one of the other cliffs, so I went to talk to him and it was Luna's dad. He said he was a zoologist, and we talked, and he promised not to tell anyone my name, but it turned out he was actually a journalist and he wrote my name out into the article even though he promised not to! So, he's a lying jerk!" the young dragon finished with an emphatic nod.
Hermione sat for a moment as she puzzled her way through her friend's rant. "So, Mr. Lovegood lied to you about being a zoologist rather than a journalist, and then he published your name after he promised not to?" Harry nodded. "Well, I can see why you wouldn't trust Mr. Lovegood, but how does distrusting Luna follow from that?"
"Well… she's his daughter!" her friend said matter-of-factly.
"Harry! You can't blame her for her father's actions, that's wrong!" Hermione protested, scandalized. "You don't blame people for things other people did just because they're related to them!"
"But I wasn't blaming her for her Dad's actions," Harry countered reasonably, unmoved. "I was thinking she'd do the same sort of stuff. Wouldn't her Dad have taught her stuff, so she'd behave the same way?"
"It's a possibility, I suppose," Hermione allowed, "but you can't just assume that! You need to judge people on their own actions, not the actions of people around them. How would you like it if your Dad did something bad and then people blamed you for it?"
"But I never even knew my Dad! He died before I can even remember," the boy-shaped dragon protested. "How would that make sense?"
"And I'd bet that Luna never knew about her father breaking his promise to you!" the bushy-haired girl countered. "So how does your behavior make sense?"
Harry's face fell as he gave that a bit of thought. "Oh."
His damsel's argument made a fair bit of sense, and she was pretty smart too, so that meant he'd probably been wrong at least a little bit, which in turn meant he'd have to address his handling of the situation differently — after all, he didn't want to come off as a willfully-ignorant blundering pillock as Mr. Snape had put it many months previous.
He fell silent for a moment before coming to a conclusion, "I stuffed that up, didn't I? I'd better go apologize to her. Thanks, Hermione."
With that the Harry abruptly stood up and walked out into the hallway, sniffing the air as he closed the door behind him. Hermione looked after him for a moment before she sighed and turned back to her book.
Harry was a pain to manage sometimes.
3.5.5 A Railman's musings
Locomotive number 5972 Olton Hall, a GWR 4900-Class 4-6-0, was barely idling as she pounded down the hill from Glenfinnan towards Loch Eilt, less than half an hour from the hidden Hogsmeade junction.
Although painted a most unprototypical maroon, she was unmistakable for any fan of the GWR; there was a certain cast to any locomotive of the Great Western Railway, a cast matched by none, and if you know what to look for you can tell a Great Western Railway locomotive at a glance, no matter how horribly improper a paint job has been applied to her.
That is not to say the 5972 looked bad in maroon, she was a handsome locomotive and she'd have looked good in any color, but a Great Western locomotive should, by all rights, be Brunswick green — and if you thought the detractors had complained about a Black Five being painted red, they had nothing on the horrified howls from those fans of the Great Western Railway who had seen the 5972's Hogs Haulage livery.
After all, to those few she wasn't just a big old lump of metal; she was a carefully-preserved half-century-and-change-year-old piece of history — and to the people who knew to appreciate her for what she was, one might as well respray the Mona Lisa.
Slinging a load of mixed traffic on the back of her was exactly what she was meant for. From the day back in 1937 she'd first rolled out of the Swindon Works, she'd hauled a mix of freight and passengers, and today was no exception. Behind her tender, 5972 was pulling a string of seven passenger coaches filled with eager young students trailed by a further four freight wagons: the first the usual refrigerated van for the school, the second a tank wagon full of fuel oil, the third a cargo van full of heavy parcel freight, and the fourth a flatbed carrying a single massive crate covered with a tarp. The last three were done up in the now-familiar Gringotts green and gold livery and were marked for Harry Potter on the manifest.
Up in her cab, Jim Coates was once again at the regulator keeping a sharp eye on the track ahead and an ear on 5972, ensuring she was treated the way she deserved — as he always was for the school runs. The company wouldn't put anyone but their best in charge of carrying the students, and Jim had been the senior locomotive engineer at Hog's Haulage since old Olaf had retired back in seventy-one. His fireman, Mac, who didn't have much to do for the next few minutes as they coasted down the long slope, was absently keeping Smaugey calm with a bit of attention paid to his scaly head.
It was a state of affairs which gave them both time for a little idle speculation.
"'ey, Jim," Mac began, "wotcher think o' wot's been goin' on at the office?"
"Been busy," Jim acknowledged, all the while keeping a sharp eye on his work. "Yer think somthin's comin'?"
"Yeah," Mac said, "summit big. Tha wife's been tellin' me it's goin' through tha whole bloomin' company. Big changes ahead, she says — all o' tha wives agree. Nah wahn's sure wot, though. I figger 's got summit ter do wif them goblins, though — 's bin green and gold aw over the past few months."
Jim grunted noncommittally, not sure what exactly to make of it all, despite his senior position. "Not sure m'self, but I figger it ain't goin' ta be sorry. Feels ter me like we're getting' ready for summit more — nuffin' ter worry ya, Mac." The cab fell silent for a few moments before Jim spoke up again, "The slope's goin' ter bottom out soon, get back on yer shovelin' — we'll need a good 'ead o' steam ready fer the next 'ill."
Mac nodded as he straightened up and grabbed his shovel, "Back ter work ya get, Smaugey!" The drake-dog let out an enthusiastic gronk as he practically vibrated with excitement at the prospect.
That was right, Mac thought as he opened the firebox and gave it a practiced look before he shoveled in more coal, so long as there was freight to move, it didn't really matter what the higher-ups did. There's always be work for the likes of him whether they were hauling for Hogs Haulage or whatever grew to take its place. He paused long enough for Smaugey to let loose with a blue-white blast to get things properly equalized.
And if ol' Jimmy's idea was right, and they really were looking at expanding for the first time in decades…
Well, his dear old Mum, bless her soul, had always told him, "A good thing ain't complete 'til it's shared," and it'd been far too long since they'd been able to introduce anyone new to the trade. It'd be grand to see some new faces as they learned about the joy of tending a beauty like 5972 as she pounded down the iron road, doing God's own work keeping good people fed, supplied, and taking them where they needed to go.
And maybe, just maybe, in a few years when his youngest said he wanted to grow up to be just like his Daddy, Mac wouldn't have to find a way to let him down gently like he'd had to with the lad's older brothers because there just wouldn't be a job for him if he tried. Maybe he'd be able to tell the boy, "Son, ya just pay attention ter yer old man, an' 'e'll teach ya everythin' ya need ter know." The fireman's eye's misted over in a way that had nothing at all to do with the heat of the blazing firebox he was tending.
That'd be a glorious day.
3.5.6 Apology
Harry sniffed the air periodically as he walked down the corridor, shifting his weight slightly to maintain his balance as the car went over a change in grade on the track and following the blonde girl's scent. It had only been minutes since she had passed through the mostly empty hallway, so the dragon could follow the trail with little effort.
The uneventful walk had given him some time to think.
Looking back on his handling of the girl, Hermione's argument had made a lot of sense. He had been wrong to just lump Luna in with her father. The blonde girl had done nothing but introduce herself and politely ask him not to eat her, neither of which was in any way objectively offensive. She, personally, had given him no evidence that she was just as untrustworthy as her father, and consequently, there was no justification for being hostile right from the get-go. He had been wrong, and that warranted an apology.
So, now that he had established that an apology was warranted, the question became — what exactly was he apologizing for?
He'd been mean to a young girl for no valid reason, so he ought to apologize for that, sure — but he had also assumed she was as untrustworthy as her father without evidence. Was that something to apologize for as well? The currently human-shaped dragon frowned as he passed through into another carriage.
That… didn't seem quite so clear-cut.
Yeah assuming someone was guilty without evidence was bad, but was that really what he did? As Harry thought about it more, a realization dawned on him — in the same way that there was no reason for him to assume Luna would prove untrustworthy, there was also no reason for him to assume she would prove trustworthy either. Distrusting the girl was a perfectly reasonable thing to do — he didn't know her yet, and, for that matter, he had some decent circumstantial evidence that she might not be worthy of his trust!
Kids usually learned how to act from their parents, after all.
As the young dragon passed to the next car, the scent trail was growing steadily stronger, so he figured he must be catching up. Closing the door behind him, he thought further. Really, the caution was warranted. What wasn't warranted was the hostility. He'd treated her as if she was her father, rather than treating her as if she was her father's daughter.
So that's what he'd apologize for. Harry nodded with resolution.
As he walked down the corridor, Harry heard Luna's voice in the third compartment. She seemed to be in the middle of a rather animated conversation with another girl. Harry wasn't sure who the other occupant was — it was a voice he didn't recognize — but the tone seemed friendly with perhaps a bit of commiseration. Harry winced at that, his recent ponderings having left him more attentive than usual to the effect his actions could have on other people.
Was his treatment of the small girl the reason she had sought such sympathy from a friend?
After a bare moment's hesitation as he considered the question, Harry knocked anyway. There was really no help for it, he supposed, the apology needed to be made regardless.
"Come in," called the voice he didn't recognize, before that same voice dissolved into a much more familiar squeak as he complied.
"Oh, hi… Ginny, I think it was?" Harry amiably greeted the squeaky redhead he had met for the first time back on the platform. "Um, sorry to interrupt, but I needed to talk with Luna for a minute. I was rude earlier, and I wanted to apologize for it."
"…" Ginny squeaked unintelligibly with a vaguely positive nod in his direction as she folded in on herself in embarrassed self-consciousness at Harry's presence. Harry wasn't sure if it was intended to be permission, but he took it as such anyway.
"Um, so Luna," he turned to the blond girl who was looking at him intently — or perhaps staring at something behind his head, it was difficult to say. The girl's protuberant eyes and odd manner made such determinations difficult. "Hermione pointed out that I'd been mean without having a good reason for it, and when I thought about it, she was right. That sort of thing is pretty rude, and I try not to be rude, so I'm sorry for that." The human-shaped dragon finished his apology with an emphatic nod.
"Thank you," the odd blonde accepted graciously before going on, "If it is not too much to ask, why were you angry?"
Harry thought that a reasonable request, so he explained, "You know I met your dad before, right?"
The blonde girl nodded, so Harry continued, "Well, we talked for a bit, and he asked some questions and I agreed to answer them as long as he didn't say where I was or what my name was, right?"
"So you gave an interview on the condition of anonymity?" Luna asked intently.
"Yeah," the dragon-in-human-form nodded affirmatively. "Anyway, after he did that, he wrote up the article, and Mr. Snape and Mr. Dumbledore found it, and he'd said what my name was even after I asked him not to!" at this, Harry scowled. "So, I was pretty angry at him for lying, and that kinda spilled over onto you when I found out who you were. I still don't know if I should trust you or not, 'cause, you know, your dad would have taught you how to behave and stuff, and if he's willing to do that… well, anyway, I shouldn't have been so rude to you just because I don't like your dad, so sorry for being rude."
"Well, if that's true, I can understand why you were angry," Luna allowed before continuing decisively, "but that doesn't sound like Daddy! Daddy always told me how important it was to protect your sources as a reporter, and I don't think he'd do that."
"Well, he did," Harry insisted.
The blonde shook her head emphatically, "No he didn't! Not my Daddy."
"But I'm telling you, he did," Harry insisted, growing somewhat irritated at having his honesty impugned.
"Maybe you misunderstood?" Luna offered. "What did Daddy actually say?"
Harry calmed as he thought back to the conversation. "Well, he asked me to answer some questions, and I said I would so long as he promised not to tell anyone where I was or what my name was', and he said he'd keep where I was secret and that he didn't know my name so he couldn't tell anyone anyway, and then I said my name was Harry Potter, and then we talked for a long time," Harry explained.
"And that's all?" Harry nodded, and the blonde girl thought about that for a few moments before she giggled, "Well, Daddy never said he wouldn't print your name then!"
"What do you mean by that?" Harry demanded, his tone edging its way back towards cross.
"From what you said, Daddy promised not to tell anyone where you were, and then he said he couldn't tell anyone your name because he didn't know it, then you told him your name. He never said he wouldn't tell anyone your name!" the girl finished triumphantly, faith in her father reaffirmed.
Harry parsed that argument for a moment before his face fell as he was forced to come to the same conclusion.
He'd been had!
"But he knew what I meant!" Harry protested weakly. Mr. Slackhammer's lessons about contracts and loopholes that had been so amusing during his encounter with Dobby now echoed accusingly through his head. "That wasn't very honest."
"But Daddy didn't break a promise," Luna doggedly insisted. "You just assumed he made a promise when he didn't."
"Yeah, yeah," Harry groused, grudgingly acknowledging the point. "Still doesn't mean it wasn't rude and sneaky."
"Daddy is the best investigative reporter in wizarding Britain!" Luna said smugly, clearly enormously proud of her father. "Rude and sneaky comes with the territory."
"Well, it doesn't make me like him very much," Harry concluded sourly, biting back some choice remarks about not liking her very much either as he turned back to the door to go on his way. "Anyway, that's all I had to say — 'bye, Ginny, Luna."
There was a squeak and a "Goodbye" respectively from the two occupants of the compartment as he slid the door shut.
Leaving the compartment behind as he retraced his steps on the way to rejoin his damsel, Harry was not pleased with the results of his trip. He'd apologized for being rude — and he didn't regret that — but he also didn't think he'd ever get along well with the girl or her rude, sneaky father.
In the aftermath of his earlier run-in with Odd Lovegood, Mr. Snape had made an offhand comment during one of their planning sessions which had stuck in Harry's mind.
"The press is a necessary evil," the potions master had said, "sometimes causing significant inconvenience for decent people, yet critical to maintaining a properly informed populace and keeping the power of the government in check."
They had gone on to have discussion Harry had found rather fascinating at the time on the role of a free press in maintaining a properly functioning society. Harry had learned a lot, but after his recent encounter with Luna, what really stuck in his mind was Snape's next comment.
"However, there exist few groups more uniformly vexing than reporters and their ilk."
3.5.7 Pulling into the station
The rest of the train ride passed uneventfully for Harry and his damsel until they eventually coasted to a stop at the station and disembarked. After a brief 'hello' to Hagrid where he was collecting first years — they had just seen him that morning, after all, so there was no need to interrupt — the pair made their way over to the carriages that were used to carry the older students to the castle, only for Harry to stop, stock-still, at the sight.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. It wasn't like her friend to be startled by… well, anything in her experience.
"The carriages are drawn by thestrals?" Harry moaned in exasperation. "I thought Cedric said last year when you asked about them that they were enchanted to not need anything to pull them!"
Hermione frowned and looked at the carriages again, "I don't see anything, Harry. What are thestrals?"
"They're these flying winged horse-things, except they don't have fur, and they eat meat." Harry explained, to Hermione's mounting unease. Noticing his damsel's distress, Harry assured her, "They're supposed to be pretty friendly, and they're scavengers, so you don't have anything to worry about, Hermione."
"Okay," the bushy-haired girl said slowly, "but why can't I see them?"
"Oh! I've always been able to see them, so I kinda forgot some people couldn't," Harry explained, "but they're supposed to be invisible unless you've seen and understood death, according to Hagrid. Come to think of it, I could see them a lot better after that thing with the deer a few years back," Harry continued thoughtfully, "so maybe there's something to that? Huh."
"If there's nothing to worry about, then why did you stop?" Hermione asked reasonably.
"Huh?" Harry shook his head as he came back to the conversation, "Right, it's not that the thestrals will do anything on their own, it's just that they panic whenever I get close to them," Harry said glumly. "Just about every animal does, even when I'm not planning on eating them. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me, so when I saw them, I made sure to stay away."
"Oh," Hermione said softly. "Um, so how do we get to the castle?"
"I guess I'm gonna go into the woods and circle around like I usually do when I come from the Lair," Harry said. "That won't take too long after I get out of sight." The currently boy-shaped dragon looked at his human damsel's disappointed expression, sighed, and reluctantly offered, "Um, I know you like doing things the traditional way, Hermione, so if you want, you can take the carriage over there and I'll meet you at the feast."
Hermione was seriously considering her options when they were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Hey there you two! Why are you waiting so far back from the carriages?" Abigail jogged up after finishing her final check of the train for any stragglers. "I appreciate you two waiting for me to catch up, but you could have sat down."
"We were just trying to figure out what to do, actually?" Hermione began. "You see, Harry…" she trailed off, uncertain how to explain.
"You remember how it was with the owls?" Harry asked as his damsel broke off. "Thestrals do the same thing, and I didn't want to cause a panic and hurt somebody."
"Oh," Abigail said in understanding. So, that was what pulled the carriages. While she still couldn't see the things, they had been covered in her fifth-year Care of Magical Creatures class. "So, what's the plan?"
"Well, I'm gonna circle around and come in my usual way from the woods," Harry said, "and Hermione was just trying to decide whether she wanted to go on the carriage or come with me."
"Do you mind if I join you, Harry?" Abigail asked without any hesitation whatsoever. "I missed you on the train, and I don't technically need to take the carriage."
"Sure, Abigail!" Harry said happily, beaming at the older girl. "I missed you, too."
On seeing her friend getting along so well with the attractive older girl, Hermione felt a slight frisson of an unfamiliar sort of feeling, prompting her to impulsively declare, "I'm coming too!"
Whatever it was, it was a new sort of feeling for the bookish girl who was now nearing her thirteenth birthday, a feeling she would have to examine in more detail later, but for now, she just knew she didn't want to leave Harry alone with Abigail.
With that, the trio of friends walked deliberately off into the Black Woods, leaving the last cart and its hitched thestrals standing at attention with no one to carry. They would eventually amble off on their own back to the stable where they would await Hagrid's attention to be released and put back to pasture.
3.5.1 Mending fences
The remainder of August passed quickly, and with its passing came the day for students to board to Hogwarts Express once more. The bright noon-time sunlight cheerily shone down on the street just south of King's Cross Station where a light blue Ford Anglia with a white roof had just pulled into an un-metered parking space and disgorged a family of seven redheads dragging five large trunks among them.
Oddly, not a single pedestrian on the busy street looked twice at the sight of five trunks — which when taken together would have occupied slightly more volume than the entire passenger compartment of the thirty-odd-year-old two-tone saloon — being casually removed one after another from the decidedly too-small boot of the vehicle. That inattention was a mute testament to the effectiveness of the enchantments on the family car. Now properly equipped, the odd procession trooped off in the direction of King's Cross Station a couple blocks to the north.
"Do you think I'll be able to meet Harry Potter on the train?" the baby of the Weasley family — a girl recently turned eleven — asked plaintively as they walked. "I really want to meet him!"
"He will most likely be on the train, Ginevra," her older brother, Percy answered her automatically before frowning thoughtfully. "Though he does live close to the castle, so he might not be, come to think of it."
"Really?" his sister gasped. "But I wanted to meet him!"
"You'll be able to meet him when you get to the castle," Ron assured her, as gently as Ron was ever able to manage. "Blimey, it's just another couple hours; be patient, Ginny!"
Which was to say, 'not very'.
"That's easy for you to say!" Ginny snapped as they passed through the doors into the station. "You've been around him for a whole year already!" The girl pouted, "You must have had lots of adventures and stuff with him by now, and you won't even tell me stories."
At this her brother winced slightly, "Ah, umm… not quite…"
The youngest Weasley brother was saved from what promised to be an uncomfortable retelling of how much he had stuffed up his interactions with his little sister's hero by his older brother, Percy.
"Hey, there he is now!" Percy said, motioning to a small boy some distance away wearing Hogwarts robes in Hufflepuff colors standing next to a brown-haired girl who looked to be about Ron's age. "And he's got Miss Granger with him, too."
As his sister squeaked, Percy turned to his parents, "Mother, Father, might we go speak with them for a moment? I'm afraid I have some air to clear with Mr. Potter's companion from last year." At his mother's gimlet stare, the sixth-year student hastened to explain, "It was an honest misunderstanding, Mother! I handled something without properly thinking through how she would interpret it, and it would also give Ginevra a chance to meet Mr. Potter."
As Molly nodded to her son's request and the family made their way across the crowded platform towards the two second-years, Fred spoke up for the first time, "George and I'll go on ahead." Without waiting for permission, both twins set off and disappeared into the crowd.
"Boys!" Their mother called after them to no avail. "Straight to the train! No side trips!" she tried anyway. "Those boys! What ever will we do with them?" she muttered to her husband.
"We'll just have to keep loving them, keep trying, and hope for the best," Arthur reassured her. "They'll come around eventually."
"And my hair will have gone white by the time they do," Molly complained wryly before turning her attention to the pair of children they were here to meet standing close together on the grungy but brightly lit platform.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Percy greeted the two, "it is a pleasure to see you both again. Particularly to see you back in good health, Mr. Potter." At Harry's slightly suspicious nod, Percy turned his attention fully to the girl at Harry's side. "Miss Granger, I am afraid I did not have a chance to properly apologize last term for my poor handling of the situation between you and my youngest brother, and I wished to do so now."
"It's alright," the bushy-haired girl said slowly, "Abigail explained what you were doing afterwards, and when Ron apologized, I figured it out."
The older boy nodded, "I have Miss Abercrombie to thank for explaining your interpretation to me as well. Nonetheless, I must apologize. As a prefect, I should have realized how my approach could have been interpreted, and I did not, therefore I offer my sincerest apologies for any distress I inadvertently caused you."
"Apology accepted," Hermione said, at which point Harry's suspicious expression died away to be replaced with his usual affable one.
With that, the tone of the encounter shifted as Percy breathed a sigh of relief. "In that case, might I introduce you to the rest of my family? You already know Ronald," he gestured to his youngest brother who raised a sheepish hand, "and this is Ginevra, our little sister," again he gestured to the appropriate sibling. The girl squeaked at the introduction and quickly hid behind her mother's skirts, peering out shyly with a rosy blush on her face as she looked for the first time at her hero.
"Hi!" came the friendly greeting from Harry, followed quickly by a "Pleased to meet you!" from his female companion.
"And, of course, these are our parents," the officious sixth-year continued.
"Good morning, dears!" Molly greeted as her husband's greeting echoed her own. The young Potter looked terribly small to Molly's experienced eye. She'd have to have a word with Minerva next time she had the chance — it wouldn't do for one of the poor dears to go hungry. Harry and Hermione echoed their earlier greetings as Molly considered how to handle the situation.
For now, it was probably best to get them all to the train and the snack cart there. The motherly woman nodded firmly. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you both, but the train won't wait for us, we're not the ones setting the schedule. We'd best get you all loaded up. Move along, children!"
As the gaggle of schoolchildren moved along towards the third column between platforms nine and ten, Molly could have sworn she saw the young Potter smile as if he had heard an inside joke. After growing up with her prankster brothers, Gideon and Fabian, and then raising her prankster twins, Molly was sensitive to such things.
Of course, the question remained — what had she said that the small boy found so amusing?
3.5.2 Grand theft auto
When the twins had pulled away from their parents and siblings on the platform area and lost themselves in the crowd, they most assuredly had not gone straight to the train with no side trips. Instead, they made a beeline for a news stand they had noted on their clandestine trip to the station nearly a week earlier. There had been some noteworthy publications to catch the adolescent eye — a certain stack of magazines had been slightly off kilter, and tantalizing portions of a cover that normally would have been blocked by a black plastic divider were visible to all and sundry.
At the time, Fred and George had been equipped with neither appropriate currency nor an appropriately aged identification card to secure their prize, but they had made sure to remedy that lack in the intervening week. Fred now carried approximately twenty quid and a blank piece of cardboard charmed similarly to the notice-me-not paper they had used so effectively on their previous trip. Where the previous paper had compelled onlookers to find something else to pay attention to, however, this one projected a feeling of 'all's well here, nothing out of order at all' which the pair hoped would get them through any problems.
As it happened, their hopes were fulfilled by a lackadaisical clerk rather than their charms work. The preoccupied salesman didn't even look at their faces when he rang them up, much less ask for identification. The man was much more interested in his own copy of the same magazine he kept under the counter.
Illicit booty stowed in their school trunks — furtively buried under piles of clothes — the twins walked towards the portal to the hidden platform, ducking aside just in time to avoid the gaze of their parents as the couple walked towards the station exit.
"That was a close one, brother," George said to his twin in relief as their parents cleared the front doors.
"Indubitably, dear brother," Fred agreed. "Mum probably would have smelled those magazines on us, hidden or not."
With that, the pair made their way over to the portal, wheeling their trunks behind them, only for Fred to smack face first into an indisputably solid wall, falling back into his brother with a clatter. That finally managed to draw attention, with a good fraction of passersby looking over at the fallen boys, curious to see what all the commotion was.
That was a problem.
Pranks were one thing but drawing attention to the portal and potentially endangering the secrecy of the wizarding world in the process was an entirely different kettle of fish. Thinking fast, George said in a stage-whisper pitched to be heard by everyone nearby, "Fred, watch where you're going! I know she was gorgeous, but that is no excuse to walk into a wall!"
Suspicions averted, the onlookers chuckled and turned away — or in the case of several youngish women smiled smugly as they very deliberately straightened their posture and adjusted their clothing — otherwise leaving the flustered boys to their own devices.
"What happened, Fred," George said to his brother — in a real whisper this time. "We didn't count off to the wrong wall, did we?"
"No, it's definitely the right wall," his brother began. Fred was leaning against the wall in question and covertly pushing at where the portal should have been. "Solid as a rock."
From his slightly removed perspective, George noticed something his brother had missed. The outline of his brother's hand against the brick was limned in a familiar electric purple light which brightened the harder it was pressed. "Oh, hell."
"What is it, George?"
"I think it's from the prank," George theorized.
Fred looked closer and saw the purple light. "Oh."
With that realization, the two boys walked away from the portal out of well-ingrained reflex to avoid getting caught at the scene of a prank gone wrong.
"What do we do now?" Fred asked sotto-voiced. "We can't get to the bloody Express!"
"Maybe we can just wait, and someone will fix it?" George ventured uncertainly. "I mean, if it's blocking everyone, then…"
"Mum and Dad already left! Alone!" Fred hissed. "They'd never have done that if Percy and the rest hadn't gotten through to the platform."
His point was emphasized as another student passed through the portal with no trouble.
"So it's just us," George said unnecessarily. "You think it's because the potion was keyed to us?"
"Has to be," Fred said. "What do we do? If we tell anybody, the prank will be over before it even starts!"
"We could floo to Hogsmeade," George proposed. "I mean, go to the Leaky and floo from there."
Fred frowned thoughtfully, "That's a long way to go with the trunks when we can't use magic to shrink them…"
"Well, we can't do anything about it here!" came the exasperated reminder.
"Right."
The two brothers set out in the same direction their parents had left in a few minutes earlier, wheeling their trunks behind them as they went. As they stumped their way along the same southerly route they had taken a week before — it had been a decidedly more pleasant walk without the heavy school trunks weighing them down — they came upon a curious sight.
The family car was still parked.
"Where do you think Mum and Dad went?" George asked. "They left a long time before we did."
"I dunno," Fred said absently, his mind on other possibilities. Then his eyes lit with mischief, "Brother — are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Fred looked from the car to his brother with a slowly growing smile.
George looked puzzled for a moment before his own smile began to grow. "I think I am, Fred — I think I am."
3.5.3 Parental trials
Arthur had taken advantage of the opportunity to treat his wife to a lovely lunch at a café close to the station. With their youngest off to her first year at Hogwarts, the nest was empty for the first time in more than two decades. It was the first opportunity he had had to spend time alone with his wife without worrying about the children since the birth of their eldest son. Arthur was sure they would both start to miss the little ones soon, but for now — well he and Molly had plans for the next few days — very private plans.
"How long has it been, love?" he asked his wife taking a sip from his wine glass.
"Since what, Arthur?"
"Since we last had a night out without worrying about who was looking after the children," he clarified.
Molly sighed, "The last time had to have been back before Bill was born — I think it would have been that Warbeck concert we attended the day before I went into labor — has it really been twenty years already?"
"Twenty-two, actually, my love," Arthur clarified.
"Oh, my! That long?" At her husband's nod, she said, "Well, I suppose time flies and all that. I surely don't regret it one bit!"
"Neither do I, Molly," Arthur assured his wife, "but I am certainly going to make the most of having my lovely wife all to myself again!"
Molly giggled, "Oh, really, Arthur?" Her voice turned coy, "And what are you planning, hmm?" She looked up only to find her husband looking distractedly down the street. "Arthur? What's wrong?"
Her husband collapsed back into the café chair, "I could have sworn I just saw Fred and George driving the car down the street and turning in to the alley down the way," he paused for a moment, noting the cloud of pigeons taking flight from the rooftops near the alley in question, almost as if they had been startled by the passage of something large.
Arthur sighed. "I did."
"The boys stole the car?" Molly said with a dry chuckle and a rueful shake of her head. "So much for not having to worry about who is looking after the children."
Both Weasley parents caught each other's eye for a long moment before taking a final swig of wine; nothing more needed to be said. As Arthur arranged to pay for the meal, Molly was already planning their course. They'd head home as soon as he finished; the family clock — a neat bit of sympathetic magic which sported a hand attuned to the wellbeing of each of their family members — would be their best bet for looking after their prodigal sons from a distance without attempting to track an invisible flying car across the kingdom.
It would also place them close to the Burrow fireplace where they would be available by floo when the twin's troublemaking finally came home to roost.
So much for a romantic night on the town.
3.5.4 A poor reception
Percy and the two youngest Weasleys had broken off to find their own compartment shortly after passing through the portal to the magical platform, and after the circus that was the previous year's train ride, Suze had declined to ride the Express this year — opting instead to wait back at the Lair and relying on Hermione to keep their dragon out of trouble in her place. As a result, Harry and his human damsel managed to board the train without incident. Neither he nor Hermione had brought trunks this year, though Harry was carrying his current research notebook — at present full of scribbled runic schema and circuit diagrams — and Hermione was carrying no fewer than five shrunken books in her various pockets.
Some things never changed.
After a quick detour to the front of the train to say hello to Abigail, the pair settled into the fourth passenger coach without incident, choosing an otherwise empty compartment in hopes that their older friend might have time to join them later; though given her duties, that was unfortunately unlikely. The seventh-year had not been chosen as Head Girl, but Abigail had been chosen as the seventh-year girls' prefect for her House.
After a few minutes spent in relative quiet, interrupted only by the regular clack of the bogeys on the rail joints and the shuffling of paper as Harry wrote and Hermione read, there came a knock on the door of their compartment.
A puzzled glance passed between the young dragon and his damsel before Hermione answered, "Come in."
The door slid open to reveal a blonde girl wearing the unmarked robes of an incoming student. She was of a slight build, and her slightly protuberant silvery eyes gave her a perpetually-surprised look. After opening the door, the newcomer spent several long, silent moments staring unblinkingly at Harry with those bulging silvery eyes while Harry intently stared back at her in return.
The scene was quite strange from Hermione's point of view.
"Who are you?" Hermione eventually felt uncomfortable enough to ask.
The girl turned from her impromptu staring contest to answer, "I am Luna Lovegood, and he is Harry Potter. Unfortunately, I am afraid I do not know your name."
"Hermione Granger," Hermione responded reflexively. "It's a pleasure."
"Likewise," the strange girl responded before turning back to Harry, whose expression had hardened with suspicion at the name 'Lovegood'. "Daddy suggested I be very polite when I met you, Harry Potter, and he said that I should make a request."
"What request?" Harry asked gruffly.
"He said I should politely ask you not to devour me," the odd blonde girl stated calmly as Hermione choked on air in the background. "So, please don't devour me, Harry Potter."
"Well, I don't eat anything that asks me politely not to eat them, so I won't eat you," Harry replied automatically before his mind caught up with him and his eyes narrowed. "Are you related to Xenophilius Lovegood?"
"Yes, that's Daddy's name," Luna confirmed. "He's the chief editor for the Quibbler!" she said proudly.
"The Quibbler?" Hermione's eyes lit up. "Isn't that a magical newspaper? Do you think you could tell me more about magical publishing?"
The blonde girl nodded enthusiastically at meeting a kindred spirit and began, "I'd love…" before catching sight of the forbidding expression on Harry's face. She paled a little and continued in a much quieter voice, "Um, on second thought, maybe I should go. It was nice meeting you both." With one last doleful look towards a confused Hermione, the small blonde girl slid the door shut and left, dragging her trunk along with her.
For her part, Hermione looked at the now-closed door with a puzzled frown. What had scared the girl off? Then she turned and caught sight of Harry's still-dark expression.
That would explain it.
"Harry James Potter!" the bushy-haired girl exclaimed. "What was that all about?"
"What do you mean?" the young dragon asked, puzzled.
"Why did you scare that poor girl off like that, you great lummox?" the girl demanded. "She was a little odd, but she seemed nice enough; there was certainly no reason to be so hostile to the poor thing!"
"I don't trust her," Harry said emphatically with a scowl.
"Why ever not?"
"'Cause her Dad's a lying jerk!" Harry groused. At his damsel's questioning look, he elaborated, "Back a couple years ago, me and Suze were hanging around on top of the cliff across from the Lair, and we saw someone up on one of the other cliffs, so I went to talk to him and it was Luna's dad. He said he was a zoologist, and we talked, and he promised not to tell anyone my name, but it turned out he was actually a journalist and he wrote my name out into the article even though he promised not to! So, he's a lying jerk!" the young dragon finished with an emphatic nod.
Hermione sat for a moment as she puzzled her way through her friend's rant. "So, Mr. Lovegood lied to you about being a zoologist rather than a journalist, and then he published your name after he promised not to?" Harry nodded. "Well, I can see why you wouldn't trust Mr. Lovegood, but how does distrusting Luna follow from that?"
"Well… she's his daughter!" her friend said matter-of-factly.
"Harry! You can't blame her for her father's actions, that's wrong!" Hermione protested, scandalized. "You don't blame people for things other people did just because they're related to them!"
"But I wasn't blaming her for her Dad's actions," Harry countered reasonably, unmoved. "I was thinking she'd do the same sort of stuff. Wouldn't her Dad have taught her stuff, so she'd behave the same way?"
"It's a possibility, I suppose," Hermione allowed, "but you can't just assume that! You need to judge people on their own actions, not the actions of people around them. How would you like it if your Dad did something bad and then people blamed you for it?"
"But I never even knew my Dad! He died before I can even remember," the boy-shaped dragon protested. "How would that make sense?"
"And I'd bet that Luna never knew about her father breaking his promise to you!" the bushy-haired girl countered. "So how does your behavior make sense?"
Harry's face fell as he gave that a bit of thought. "Oh."
His damsel's argument made a fair bit of sense, and she was pretty smart too, so that meant he'd probably been wrong at least a little bit, which in turn meant he'd have to address his handling of the situation differently — after all, he didn't want to come off as a willfully-ignorant blundering pillock as Mr. Snape had put it many months previous.
He fell silent for a moment before coming to a conclusion, "I stuffed that up, didn't I? I'd better go apologize to her. Thanks, Hermione."
With that the Harry abruptly stood up and walked out into the hallway, sniffing the air as he closed the door behind him. Hermione looked after him for a moment before she sighed and turned back to her book.
Harry was a pain to manage sometimes.
3.5.5 A Railman's musings
Locomotive number 5972 Olton Hall, a GWR 4900-Class 4-6-0, was barely idling as she pounded down the hill from Glenfinnan towards Loch Eilt, less than half an hour from the hidden Hogsmeade junction.
Although painted a most unprototypical maroon, she was unmistakable for any fan of the GWR; there was a certain cast to any locomotive of the Great Western Railway, a cast matched by none, and if you know what to look for you can tell a Great Western Railway locomotive at a glance, no matter how horribly improper a paint job has been applied to her.
That is not to say the 5972 looked bad in maroon, she was a handsome locomotive and she'd have looked good in any color, but a Great Western locomotive should, by all rights, be Brunswick green — and if you thought the detractors had complained about a Black Five being painted red, they had nothing on the horrified howls from those fans of the Great Western Railway who had seen the 5972's Hogs Haulage livery.
After all, to those few she wasn't just a big old lump of metal; she was a carefully-preserved half-century-and-change-year-old piece of history — and to the people who knew to appreciate her for what she was, one might as well respray the Mona Lisa.
Slinging a load of mixed traffic on the back of her was exactly what she was meant for. From the day back in 1937 she'd first rolled out of the Swindon Works, she'd hauled a mix of freight and passengers, and today was no exception. Behind her tender, 5972 was pulling a string of seven passenger coaches filled with eager young students trailed by a further four freight wagons: the first the usual refrigerated van for the school, the second a tank wagon full of fuel oil, the third a cargo van full of heavy parcel freight, and the fourth a flatbed carrying a single massive crate covered with a tarp. The last three were done up in the now-familiar Gringotts green and gold livery and were marked for Harry Potter on the manifest.
Up in her cab, Jim Coates was once again at the regulator keeping a sharp eye on the track ahead and an ear on 5972, ensuring she was treated the way she deserved — as he always was for the school runs. The company wouldn't put anyone but their best in charge of carrying the students, and Jim had been the senior locomotive engineer at Hog's Haulage since old Olaf had retired back in seventy-one. His fireman, Mac, who didn't have much to do for the next few minutes as they coasted down the long slope, was absently keeping Smaugey calm with a bit of attention paid to his scaly head.
It was a state of affairs which gave them both time for a little idle speculation.
"'ey, Jim," Mac began, "wotcher think o' wot's been goin' on at the office?"
"Been busy," Jim acknowledged, all the while keeping a sharp eye on his work. "Yer think somthin's comin'?"
"Yeah," Mac said, "summit big. Tha wife's been tellin' me it's goin' through tha whole bloomin' company. Big changes ahead, she says — all o' tha wives agree. Nah wahn's sure wot, though. I figger 's got summit ter do wif them goblins, though — 's bin green and gold aw over the past few months."
Jim grunted noncommittally, not sure what exactly to make of it all, despite his senior position. "Not sure m'self, but I figger it ain't goin' ta be sorry. Feels ter me like we're getting' ready for summit more — nuffin' ter worry ya, Mac." The cab fell silent for a few moments before Jim spoke up again, "The slope's goin' ter bottom out soon, get back on yer shovelin' — we'll need a good 'ead o' steam ready fer the next 'ill."
Mac nodded as he straightened up and grabbed his shovel, "Back ter work ya get, Smaugey!" The drake-dog let out an enthusiastic gronk as he practically vibrated with excitement at the prospect.
That was right, Mac thought as he opened the firebox and gave it a practiced look before he shoveled in more coal, so long as there was freight to move, it didn't really matter what the higher-ups did. There's always be work for the likes of him whether they were hauling for Hogs Haulage or whatever grew to take its place. He paused long enough for Smaugey to let loose with a blue-white blast to get things properly equalized.
And if ol' Jimmy's idea was right, and they really were looking at expanding for the first time in decades…
Well, his dear old Mum, bless her soul, had always told him, "A good thing ain't complete 'til it's shared," and it'd been far too long since they'd been able to introduce anyone new to the trade. It'd be grand to see some new faces as they learned about the joy of tending a beauty like 5972 as she pounded down the iron road, doing God's own work keeping good people fed, supplied, and taking them where they needed to go.
And maybe, just maybe, in a few years when his youngest said he wanted to grow up to be just like his Daddy, Mac wouldn't have to find a way to let him down gently like he'd had to with the lad's older brothers because there just wouldn't be a job for him if he tried. Maybe he'd be able to tell the boy, "Son, ya just pay attention ter yer old man, an' 'e'll teach ya everythin' ya need ter know." The fireman's eye's misted over in a way that had nothing at all to do with the heat of the blazing firebox he was tending.
That'd be a glorious day.
3.5.6 Apology
Harry sniffed the air periodically as he walked down the corridor, shifting his weight slightly to maintain his balance as the car went over a change in grade on the track and following the blonde girl's scent. It had only been minutes since she had passed through the mostly empty hallway, so the dragon could follow the trail with little effort.
The uneventful walk had given him some time to think.
Looking back on his handling of the girl, Hermione's argument had made a lot of sense. He had been wrong to just lump Luna in with her father. The blonde girl had done nothing but introduce herself and politely ask him not to eat her, neither of which was in any way objectively offensive. She, personally, had given him no evidence that she was just as untrustworthy as her father, and consequently, there was no justification for being hostile right from the get-go. He had been wrong, and that warranted an apology.
So, now that he had established that an apology was warranted, the question became — what exactly was he apologizing for?
He'd been mean to a young girl for no valid reason, so he ought to apologize for that, sure — but he had also assumed she was as untrustworthy as her father without evidence. Was that something to apologize for as well? The currently human-shaped dragon frowned as he passed through into another carriage.
That… didn't seem quite so clear-cut.
Yeah assuming someone was guilty without evidence was bad, but was that really what he did? As Harry thought about it more, a realization dawned on him — in the same way that there was no reason for him to assume Luna would prove untrustworthy, there was also no reason for him to assume she would prove trustworthy either. Distrusting the girl was a perfectly reasonable thing to do — he didn't know her yet, and, for that matter, he had some decent circumstantial evidence that she might not be worthy of his trust!
Kids usually learned how to act from their parents, after all.
As the young dragon passed to the next car, the scent trail was growing steadily stronger, so he figured he must be catching up. Closing the door behind him, he thought further. Really, the caution was warranted. What wasn't warranted was the hostility. He'd treated her as if she was her father, rather than treating her as if she was her father's daughter.
So that's what he'd apologize for. Harry nodded with resolution.
As he walked down the corridor, Harry heard Luna's voice in the third compartment. She seemed to be in the middle of a rather animated conversation with another girl. Harry wasn't sure who the other occupant was — it was a voice he didn't recognize — but the tone seemed friendly with perhaps a bit of commiseration. Harry winced at that, his recent ponderings having left him more attentive than usual to the effect his actions could have on other people.
Was his treatment of the small girl the reason she had sought such sympathy from a friend?
After a bare moment's hesitation as he considered the question, Harry knocked anyway. There was really no help for it, he supposed, the apology needed to be made regardless.
"Come in," called the voice he didn't recognize, before that same voice dissolved into a much more familiar squeak as he complied.
"Oh, hi… Ginny, I think it was?" Harry amiably greeted the squeaky redhead he had met for the first time back on the platform. "Um, sorry to interrupt, but I needed to talk with Luna for a minute. I was rude earlier, and I wanted to apologize for it."
"…" Ginny squeaked unintelligibly with a vaguely positive nod in his direction as she folded in on herself in embarrassed self-consciousness at Harry's presence. Harry wasn't sure if it was intended to be permission, but he took it as such anyway.
"Um, so Luna," he turned to the blond girl who was looking at him intently — or perhaps staring at something behind his head, it was difficult to say. The girl's protuberant eyes and odd manner made such determinations difficult. "Hermione pointed out that I'd been mean without having a good reason for it, and when I thought about it, she was right. That sort of thing is pretty rude, and I try not to be rude, so I'm sorry for that." The human-shaped dragon finished his apology with an emphatic nod.
"Thank you," the odd blonde accepted graciously before going on, "If it is not too much to ask, why were you angry?"
Harry thought that a reasonable request, so he explained, "You know I met your dad before, right?"
The blonde girl nodded, so Harry continued, "Well, we talked for a bit, and he asked some questions and I agreed to answer them as long as he didn't say where I was or what my name was, right?"
"So you gave an interview on the condition of anonymity?" Luna asked intently.
"Yeah," the dragon-in-human-form nodded affirmatively. "Anyway, after he did that, he wrote up the article, and Mr. Snape and Mr. Dumbledore found it, and he'd said what my name was even after I asked him not to!" at this, Harry scowled. "So, I was pretty angry at him for lying, and that kinda spilled over onto you when I found out who you were. I still don't know if I should trust you or not, 'cause, you know, your dad would have taught you how to behave and stuff, and if he's willing to do that… well, anyway, I shouldn't have been so rude to you just because I don't like your dad, so sorry for being rude."
"Well, if that's true, I can understand why you were angry," Luna allowed before continuing decisively, "but that doesn't sound like Daddy! Daddy always told me how important it was to protect your sources as a reporter, and I don't think he'd do that."
"Well, he did," Harry insisted.
The blonde shook her head emphatically, "No he didn't! Not my Daddy."
"But I'm telling you, he did," Harry insisted, growing somewhat irritated at having his honesty impugned.
"Maybe you misunderstood?" Luna offered. "What did Daddy actually say?"
Harry calmed as he thought back to the conversation. "Well, he asked me to answer some questions, and I said I would so long as he promised not to tell anyone where I was or what my name was', and he said he'd keep where I was secret and that he didn't know my name so he couldn't tell anyone anyway, and then I said my name was Harry Potter, and then we talked for a long time," Harry explained.
"And that's all?" Harry nodded, and the blonde girl thought about that for a few moments before she giggled, "Well, Daddy never said he wouldn't print your name then!"
"What do you mean by that?" Harry demanded, his tone edging its way back towards cross.
"From what you said, Daddy promised not to tell anyone where you were, and then he said he couldn't tell anyone your name because he didn't know it, then you told him your name. He never said he wouldn't tell anyone your name!" the girl finished triumphantly, faith in her father reaffirmed.
Harry parsed that argument for a moment before his face fell as he was forced to come to the same conclusion.
He'd been had!
"But he knew what I meant!" Harry protested weakly. Mr. Slackhammer's lessons about contracts and loopholes that had been so amusing during his encounter with Dobby now echoed accusingly through his head. "That wasn't very honest."
"But Daddy didn't break a promise," Luna doggedly insisted. "You just assumed he made a promise when he didn't."
"Yeah, yeah," Harry groused, grudgingly acknowledging the point. "Still doesn't mean it wasn't rude and sneaky."
"Daddy is the best investigative reporter in wizarding Britain!" Luna said smugly, clearly enormously proud of her father. "Rude and sneaky comes with the territory."
"Well, it doesn't make me like him very much," Harry concluded sourly, biting back some choice remarks about not liking her very much either as he turned back to the door to go on his way. "Anyway, that's all I had to say — 'bye, Ginny, Luna."
There was a squeak and a "Goodbye" respectively from the two occupants of the compartment as he slid the door shut.
Leaving the compartment behind as he retraced his steps on the way to rejoin his damsel, Harry was not pleased with the results of his trip. He'd apologized for being rude — and he didn't regret that — but he also didn't think he'd ever get along well with the girl or her rude, sneaky father.
In the aftermath of his earlier run-in with Odd Lovegood, Mr. Snape had made an offhand comment during one of their planning sessions which had stuck in Harry's mind.
"The press is a necessary evil," the potions master had said, "sometimes causing significant inconvenience for decent people, yet critical to maintaining a properly informed populace and keeping the power of the government in check."
They had gone on to have discussion Harry had found rather fascinating at the time on the role of a free press in maintaining a properly functioning society. Harry had learned a lot, but after his recent encounter with Luna, what really stuck in his mind was Snape's next comment.
"However, there exist few groups more uniformly vexing than reporters and their ilk."
3.5.7 Pulling into the station
The rest of the train ride passed uneventfully for Harry and his damsel until they eventually coasted to a stop at the station and disembarked. After a brief 'hello' to Hagrid where he was collecting first years — they had just seen him that morning, after all, so there was no need to interrupt — the pair made their way over to the carriages that were used to carry the older students to the castle, only for Harry to stop, stock-still, at the sight.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. It wasn't like her friend to be startled by… well, anything in her experience.
"The carriages are drawn by thestrals?" Harry moaned in exasperation. "I thought Cedric said last year when you asked about them that they were enchanted to not need anything to pull them!"
Hermione frowned and looked at the carriages again, "I don't see anything, Harry. What are thestrals?"
"They're these flying winged horse-things, except they don't have fur, and they eat meat." Harry explained, to Hermione's mounting unease. Noticing his damsel's distress, Harry assured her, "They're supposed to be pretty friendly, and they're scavengers, so you don't have anything to worry about, Hermione."
"Okay," the bushy-haired girl said slowly, "but why can't I see them?"
"Oh! I've always been able to see them, so I kinda forgot some people couldn't," Harry explained, "but they're supposed to be invisible unless you've seen and understood death, according to Hagrid. Come to think of it, I could see them a lot better after that thing with the deer a few years back," Harry continued thoughtfully, "so maybe there's something to that? Huh."
"If there's nothing to worry about, then why did you stop?" Hermione asked reasonably.
"Huh?" Harry shook his head as he came back to the conversation, "Right, it's not that the thestrals will do anything on their own, it's just that they panic whenever I get close to them," Harry said glumly. "Just about every animal does, even when I'm not planning on eating them. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of me, so when I saw them, I made sure to stay away."
"Oh," Hermione said softly. "Um, so how do we get to the castle?"
"I guess I'm gonna go into the woods and circle around like I usually do when I come from the Lair," Harry said. "That won't take too long after I get out of sight." The currently boy-shaped dragon looked at his human damsel's disappointed expression, sighed, and reluctantly offered, "Um, I know you like doing things the traditional way, Hermione, so if you want, you can take the carriage over there and I'll meet you at the feast."
Hermione was seriously considering her options when they were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Hey there you two! Why are you waiting so far back from the carriages?" Abigail jogged up after finishing her final check of the train for any stragglers. "I appreciate you two waiting for me to catch up, but you could have sat down."
"We were just trying to figure out what to do, actually?" Hermione began. "You see, Harry…" she trailed off, uncertain how to explain.
"You remember how it was with the owls?" Harry asked as his damsel broke off. "Thestrals do the same thing, and I didn't want to cause a panic and hurt somebody."
"Oh," Abigail said in understanding. So, that was what pulled the carriages. While she still couldn't see the things, they had been covered in her fifth-year Care of Magical Creatures class. "So, what's the plan?"
"Well, I'm gonna circle around and come in my usual way from the woods," Harry said, "and Hermione was just trying to decide whether she wanted to go on the carriage or come with me."
"Do you mind if I join you, Harry?" Abigail asked without any hesitation whatsoever. "I missed you on the train, and I don't technically need to take the carriage."
"Sure, Abigail!" Harry said happily, beaming at the older girl. "I missed you, too."
On seeing her friend getting along so well with the attractive older girl, Hermione felt a slight frisson of an unfamiliar sort of feeling, prompting her to impulsively declare, "I'm coming too!"
Whatever it was, it was a new sort of feeling for the bookish girl who was now nearing her thirteenth birthday, a feeling she would have to examine in more detail later, but for now, she just knew she didn't want to leave Harry alone with Abigail.
With that, the trio of friends walked deliberately off into the Black Woods, leaving the last cart and its hitched thestrals standing at attention with no one to carry. They would eventually amble off on their own back to the stable where they would await Hagrid's attention to be released and put back to pasture.
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