The New Term Begins
Your fifth year at Hogwarts had come and gone with an uncharacteristically normal summer to follow. August was dying out and September 1st was approaching quickly, the new term close enough to touch and that the thought invigorated you. Excitement filled your entire being with every step that brought you closer to Hogwarts, but nerves brewed under the surface with the memories of the tumultuous end of your first year there: the loss of a mentor, loss of a friend, and newfound fame. You did not ask for any of this, you desperately wanted it to be an average year and desperately wished things were different. You desperately needed Fig.
King’s Cross bustled that morning with people of every kind and every profession, some headed to the same place as you: Platform 9 ¾. The cart in front of you overflowing with your luggage, supplies, and of course your owl all of which you gathered yourself this year. The sight overwhelmed you when combined with the sheer busyness of the station. Your ticket marked the departure as 11 o’clock and you arrived with time to spare, not knowing exactly where your platform was. Professor Fig crossed your mind several times as you meandered toward the direction of 9 ¾. His wisdom and experience were what got you to Hogwarts in the first place, since the moment you got in that carriage until the Repository it was always him by your side. A father figure you never knew you needed. This year you were all alone making your way to the train station that you neglected to take last year and felt daunted with the tasks that followed when you did find the train.
The barn owl screeched from its cage grounding you to the present as platforms 3 and 4 vanished behind you. Leaning forward you placed your finger up to the bars of the cage, the owl looked at your gesture quizzically instead choosing to face the direction you were heading.
A sigh escaped your lips.
Noticing the swish of a few capes and the screeches of an unfamiliar owl you glanced to your left to see two students, no older than second years pushing their much taller carts quickly towards the platform. Their mothers tailing behind them; the longing for companionship hung heavy in your chest.
Platforms 5 and 6 passed behind you as a glint caught your eye. The thickest gaggle of train-goers now behind you allowed for a better view of the station. The pale stone architecture arched all around you while the smoke from the engine filled your senses. The scuffing of shoes against the stonework flooring reminded you dearly of your destination. A familiar feeling crept up your spine causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand, a small alcove in the corner of the station beckoned you like all the swirling doors and archways before. It whispered of Ancient Magic.
Temptation to move one foot in front of the next, to push your cart and be on your way, to simply have a normal year was palpable. That however was not the case. As the walkway cleared you made your way over to the corner of the station where crates and extra carts laid tucked away, your owl becoming restless in the wire frame. The tingling within your skin became clearer. As you approached the end of the alcove your senses were heightened as much as they could be, but the source of your discomfort remained hidden. An object hidden under a burlap tarp lay leaning against the brick wall covered in dust and cobwebs; your palm, now covered in the undesirable materials, grabbed the tarp and swiftly pulled revealing a mirror. The owl’s wings beat against the cage, your heart was beating against your chest.
Swirls of Ancient Magic danced along the dust-covered gilded frame of the mirror, the glass scratched and aged. Your hand caressed over the reflection with the weight of knowing your sixth year was beginning to look a lot like your last. As your body began to make its way through the reflective surface you felt a force clasp around your wrist dragging you in.
Startled you rise to your feet whipping your head around in every direction, no one was there, and you were alone. The room, similar to the one that you and Professor Fig found in Gringotts, was filled with empty darkness only a few pillars within the vicinity.
“Lumos,” you whispered.
The charm helped little as you scanned your surroundings. As you turned fully around it became evident the room was deserted except for a dust-coated gramophone. Annoyance graced your features with the unknown and tediousness of these games; the device began to play before you were able to approach.
“…my new charge…” you paused, recognizing the friendly voice. The gramophone continued its crackled replays.
“…it’s uncommon…as…fifth year…” Professor Weasley, you recalled.
“…give me what it is…found…” the playbacks began to become clearer, recognizing your run-in with Ranrok at Gringotts. You got closer as the messages became longer.
“What really matters is the one who wields it.” Professor Fig, a solemn feeling befell you.
Standing in front of the gramophone you wondered how long it had been since you last heard his voice, knowing the answer was shorter than it felt. Your eyes fell upon the needle bouncing slightly at the curves of the disc, gently picking up the needle you moved it back to replay the last line.
“…the one who wields it.” The disc scratched and a high-pitched scream erupted behind you. Your head whipped around; wand readied for any conflict that presented itself, but no one was there. Another scream from the opposite direction left you whiplashed, this one a deeper voice, familiar as well.
“Show yourself.” You announce to no reply.
The pounding in your chest matched the drumming in your ears, the clamminess of your hand against your illuminated wand did not scream bravery, however Fig was no longer here to help you in these unknown situations. You turned back to the gramophone only to find its absence and instead the mirror you found in King’s Cross. Your reflection however was missing and instead Theophilus Harlow was staring back into your eyes. You moved to point your wand toward the glass but so did he. His hands moved with yours, his head tilted with yours, you were one and the same.
Eye to eye with Harlow, you scanned his figure attempting to decipher what this all could mean. A hand began to creep around his shoulder, a feminine hand with a ruffled cuff. A hand fell onto your shoulder as well, and glancing at the grey corpse-like appendage your efforts to scream were squashed with the force of the hand dragging you with it and back into a rough fabric.
The burlap of the tarp scraped against you as it made its way to the stone floor of King’s Cross Station. The owl’s previous complaints were now silent and was replaced with the roar of the crowd returning to your ears. Sweat coated your brow as you looked around for any answer, but none immediately catching your eye other than a now-cracked mirror.
Heavy footsteps approached the cart with a rattling wheel of their own; ragged hand-me-down trunks stacked atop each other with a thick Quidditch broom laid neatly on top, a scraggly brown owl to match.
“Hey fifth year,” a chipper voice announced behind you. Your gaze met that of a flaming red head with specks of freckles flicked across his face.
“Garreth?” He looked roughly the same, perhaps slightly taller but still just as stocky as last year.
He must have played lots of Quidditch over the summer.
“The one and only,” he laughed, “I guess I can’t call you fifth year anymore though, so sixth year it is.”
Dusting off your robes you approached him and confirmed your suspicions, he really was taller.
“You haven’t boarded the train yet?” You were unsure of the time you spent in the room the mirror led you to, however you were certain you were going to miss the train for a second year in a row.
Garreth eyed you curiously as he grabbed hold of the cart with your belongings. “Did you think I was going to leave my partner in crime behind?” He gestured for you to grab hold and join him towards platform 9 ¾. You smiled at his generosity and grabbed your cart.
Platforms 7 and 8 passed by without incident and as 9 and 10 approached you slowed your pace.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, genuine confusion behind his words. Your brow quirked up glancing between the post, 9 on one side 10 on the other. You glanced behind you before your eyes landed on Garreth, who was still waiting for an answer.
“The platforms. They’re whole numbers, where is 9 ¾?” Your owl began to rustle in the cage.
He cracked a smile.
“I forgot you didn’t arrive the normal way last year.” He leaned onto the bar of his cart, pointing at the stone column in front of you two. “It’s very precise, if you are even one millimeter off, you’ll be crushed between the cracks.”
Your eyes widened at the statement, concerned for the safety of those two children from earlier.
Garreth laughed at your expression, causing your face to twist into one of bewilderment.
“I’m messing with you, calm down.” Blood rushed to your cheeks, embarrassed at not only your inexperience but your gullibility. “Just hold onto your cart, get a good pace going and go straight in the middle of the two signs and you’ll be there. Here, I’ll show you.”
He was off before you could respond and as he made contact with pillar, the stone began to swallow the cart, and then the luggage, and then him. As the last view of his shoes disappeared the stone returned to its hard texture, not fully convinced it wasn’t a spell he forgot to mention. You approached the column placing a hand on it.
Solid, you thought.
The clock in the station ticked on, approaching closer to 11 o’clock. It was now or never; this time you did not have a carriage to take you if you missed the train.
You returned to your cart, owl screeching eagerly as you gripped the handle tightly. Time felt slow as you pushed off toward the stone barrier, nervous you were going to look a fool and nervous that you may end up back in the world of magic before you were ready. Before you hit the column you closed your eyes, squeezing them tighter with every step.
Then there was a silence.
The smell of smoke and the ringing of bells assured you that you remained in King’s Cross, or at least a train station, however you refused to open your eyes. A large hand clasped on your shoulder giving a slight shake as if to reassure you.
“You can open your eyes. I was just messing with you.” You cracked open an eye to find Garreth at your side, and beside him a fire red locomotive, the plaque on the front read Hogwarts Express. The pillar behind you a mirror image of the one you just ran towards however it was now labelled correctly.
“9 ¾.” You whispered.
“Come on,” Garreth began pushing both his and your carts, nodding towards the roaring engine, “the train’s ‘bout to take off.”
Grabbing your cart to ease his load you trailed right behind him, following his every move and copying his every action until you two finally made it onto the train. The carpeted corridor of the car you entered gave a cozy air about it, students of all years bustling in and out of the cabins on either side. You could have sworn you even saw a frog on one of the windows. Some hung out the windows waving goodbye while others ventured deeper into the train excited for what awaited at their final stop.
Garreth was able to make decent headway through the car being as broad as he was, only a few ‘scuse me’s were heard. You, shadow-like, followed closely behind. About halfway down the corridor an empty cabin was spotted and Garreth ushered you in, before sitting across from you.
The seats were far from pristine, but the way you had sunk into the old corduroy fabric negated any negative feelings you had. The compartment was well-used, and you guessed well-loved as you imagined how you may have felt as a first year on the train. Not a moment passed from when you were seated before the scream of the horn and the screech of the wheels picked up, signaling your departure from London and the start of your journey to Hogwarts. The new movement hardly calmed the rest of the train’s passengers.
“Glad I found you when I did,” Garreth broke the silence while you admired the view out of the old, stained window, “not sure you would have made it otherwise.”
Glancing at him you smiled, “I don’t think I would have either.” You were grateful to have bumped into a familiar face when you did, knowing now you would have never found the platform.
The distant squeaking of a weighted cart was heard as Garreth shot up from his seat, careening his head out the compartment’s door. You knew he found what he was looking for because his eyes lit up, similar to how they did when you two were in potions last year. Looking back at you he announced his departure.
“The trolley’s out, I’ve got to get in on it before the first years.” He rummaged in his pocket, the sound of metal clanging together, “I’ll catch you when we get to school.”
With that he was gone.
The rest of the train may have been loud, but your cabin was full of deafening silence, the only sound being the wire racks above you, creaking slightly with the bouncing on the tracks. The trolley made its way to your compartment, but you waved your hand in dismissal; you simply weren’t hungry, nor did you have much money to spare after purchasing this year’s workload of textbooks. As the woman passed with the cart a familiar face poked around the corner, lighting up at the sight of you next to the window.
A smile crept upon your face, “Natty!” You were out of your seat before you knew it embracing the brunette just as tightly as she did you.
“If it isn’t the Hero of Hogwarts,” she joked, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get to experience a traditional Hogwarts welcome.” Internally you knew that the term was already off to a bizarre start, however, that could be brought to her attention later. For now, you were just happy to not be alone in your compartment anymore.
You gestured to the now-empty seat across from you, silently asking if she would like to join you which she eagerly did.
“How was Matabeleland? You went with your mother, right?” You leaned in curious to hear what amazing stories she had from her summer vacation.
“Oh, it was lovely, and of course my mother was there. You expect she would leave me alone after what we got up to with Rookwood last year?” Her rhetorical question brought a laugh from you. It felt good being able to laugh again, to engage in the familiar banter with your newfound friend.
The conversation flowed smoothly, discussing Natsai’s reunion with her friends from Uagadou, her illicit activities away from her mother, and what she was looking forward to for this semester. You absentmindedly get on the topic of owls to which Natty steered into a story.
“I do remember this one night in June under the full moon. I swear I saw a—” a soft voice interrupted the conversation before she could finish.
“I’m sorry, I overheard you talking about beasts.” The short animal enthusiast of a Hufflepuff, Poppy Sweeting was peeking around the door glancing between you and Natty. “Mind if I join you for the rest of the trip?”
You gestured to the empty seats a smile plastered so wide your cheeks felt sore, “Feel free, there’s plenty of room Poppy.”
The conversation between the three of you continued until the wee hours of the night and touched upon every topic of conversation. To call it gossip was an understatement as everything and anything was on the table for deliberation. The trolley passed one more time and Natty bought enough chocolate frogs to make Poppy swoon. The compartment was no longer silent and instead now the liveliest in the car.
It was dark when the fiery train pulled into the station, many of the passengers now stirring from naps or changing into robes as the locomotive came to a screeching halt. With one last roar of the horn the new term had officially begun. You were unable to sleep, too eager trying to catch up on all you had missed in the last 4 years while Poppy began to doze the instant the last of the chocolate frogs were gone. Natty was assuring you her eyes were simply resting however the lolling of her head told you otherwise. The last horn caused both girls to shoot out of their seats afraid of being left on the train.
You let them lead the way off the train, only feeling comfortable to be left alone once you reached the Great Hall. As your foot hit the flat stone of the platform you breathed a sigh of relief—no longer stuck between a first year and a motion sick fourth year in the cramped train corridor. The air was crisp for a September night, the buzzing of the bugs mixed with the lively chatter of those waiting to depart for the castle filled your ears.
Mr. Moon emerged; lantern held high burning quickly what wax was left. His voice a small boom compared to the evident murmur of the many students awaiting. He ushered the different levels of students every which way, assigning the sixth years to the carriages.
You approached Mr. Moon, ducking to avoid the frantic waving of his lantern. “Hello, Mr. Moon. I hope the new year is treating you well.”
His head turned downward to meet your gaze, hair slightly disheveled. Noticing it was you his eyes softened but wrinkles became more prevalent as he cracked a toothy smile. “It’s you!” he exclaimed. “I cannot thank you enough for your help last year,” his voice dropping to barely a whisper, “I haven’t had any troubles with those D-E-M-I guise, since you cleared them out.” He winked and ushered you on your way with little time to chat.
You promised to find him later.
Natsai led you and Poppy to a carriage, pulled by thestrals. They felt like a solemn reminder of your first year in the wizarding world. Before you even stepped foot in a school, or had a wand, you saw death first-hand at the hands of someone who desired to wield power at any cost. They reminded you of all the innocent people you were too late to protect from Harlow, or Rookwood, or Ranrok. They reminded you finally, of Fig.
“Beautiful creatures, aren’t they?” Poppy broke the silence you were unaware of. She was staring right into your eyes, her brows turned upward.
She was concerned.
You looked at the beasts patiently waiting to take you to the castle. Their muted skin clung to the bones below, tails coming to a point almost like a whip, and sunken sockets where their eyes resided. You understood why people were frightened of them, but you also saw the beauty Poppy was talking about. Their velvety wings draped next to the slender forms—they were sleek. The pale, clouded eyes that would catch yours if only for a moment, were full of life. How could one fear something they may never see?
You shot a soft smile at Poppy, reassuring you were okay. “I haven’t seen one since last year. It’s much different here than it is in the muggle world.” You really hadn’t forgotten about them that much. However, you had neglected to remember the two girls sat across from you were just as aware of them as you were.
Your fourth carriage member clumsily climbed aboard, legs shaking as they fell into the seat beside you.
“If it isn’t Duncan Hobhouse. Fancy seeing a Ravenclaw join our mix.” Natty remarked. Though the lighting was dim to say the least, Duncan was looking exceptionally green.
He tried to utter a response, but the words fell flat as a gurgle erupted from him.
Better to leave him be.
You grimaced at the thought of the close proximity and the stench of what may come if you converse. Poppy did not notice this and exclaimed loudly, “Oh! You’re Puffskein Dunkein!”
The stench that followed was putrid, only comparable to the worst of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. The three of you crammed onto the opposite of the carriage as Duncan hunched over the side. The carriage began to move, and you hoped to still have an appetite when you arrived.