The Hogwarts Express
Alexander Bay
Alexander pulled his luggage down the length of the Hogwarts Express, peering into each compartment as he passed. The corridors buzzed with excitement, the chatter of students interrupted only by the rhythmic clatter of the train on its tracks. Two first years looked up at him in awe as he passed, and Alexander's lips twitched into a grin. He had always been tall and, thanks to years of Quidditch, had the athletic build to match. His blond hair, blue eyes, and strong jaw didn't hurt his popularity among the witches, either.
Only at the very end of the train did he find whom he had been looking for. He too was tall for his age, almost as tall as Alexander, and while sharing Alexander's athletic build, the other lacked his bulk. His features were proud and fair, crowned with a rare shade of shortly cropped silver blond hair. Alexander met his brother's cold ice-grey eyes, the eyes he had inherited from their late mother.
"Nervous, little brother?" Alexander inquired, with a cheerful expression, hoping to mask his own underlying anxiety.
"Alexander," his brother replied, his voice steady as he nodded toward the empty bench opposite him.
"What are you reading there? Oh, I see, Magical History. Did they use Helton the Fool's works at Svalbard?" Alexander asked mildly.
"No. They unfortunately prefer Ferdinand's take," Maxwell admitted, while Alexander picked up his heavy trunk and heaved it into the luggage rack over the spare seat. "According to him, the Goblin Rebellions were the fault of the International Confederation of Wizards."
Alexander snorted, dropping onto the bench and stretching out his legs. "According to Father, the continued existence of the Goblins is the only thing the Confederation is to blame for."
Maxwell adjusted his vest, a flicker of apprehension crossing his icy grey eyes at the mention of their father. "Father's opinions have always been... strong," he diplomatically stated.
Until the end of the previous term, Maxwell had attended one of the most exclusive schools for magical lore and arts in the world. It was undeniably an impressive school. Alexander did find it odd, though, that Svalbard didn't mandate wizarding robes as part of its dress code. Though being a prestigious private institution, the grooming standards required access to a private tailor and the funds to keep him busy. As such, Maxwell wore attire more reminiscent of the Muggle world: a tailored white button-up shirt, dark blue vest, and trousers.
"Are you at the very least excited? I am sure that you will love Hogwarts," Alexander said, shifting topics. "Although it might not be our summer residence in Athens, the weather there is a good deal more agreeable than what you are used to on Svalbard."
Maxwell closed his book with a sharp snap and set it aside. "I guess," Maxwell conceded without any enthusiasm. "At least it comes with a few perks. For one, I get to spend more time with you and Amalia. Speaking of Amalia, shouldn't you be in the Prefect's carriage with her? Or are you going to have her suffer through the journey on her own? One would think, after she graced you with her presence for much of the summer, you would be more eager to stay at her side."
Alexander gave his brother a stern look. "You are aware she was there to support you during the tournament."
"For which I am very grateful, but the point stands," Maxwell said.
Alexander sighed dramatically. "If I have to listen to our new Head Boy, Tommy Madison from Hufflepuff, deliver yet another speech about doubling down on our efforts to keep the other students in bed, I fear Tommy will suffer an accident at my hands," Alexander joked darkly.
Maxwell did not crack a smile, though that did not say much. He had never been prone to betraying his feelings. Back when they were children, their governesses had complained that Maxwell was notoriously hard to get the measure of. His brother was both controlled and reserved, even in private. It had been an image Maxwell had especially fostered when in the public eye. He had very much perfected the art of keeping his face, especially his eyes, completely devoid of any expression, and showing emotions with his mouth in limited and calculated measure. This summer's events had only served to further ferment his brother's already quiet and guarded disposition.
"Why they chose him for the role is beyond me," Alexander continued. "Madison is as dense as a pixie. This is not joking. Two years ago he drank a pot of ink for a galleon."
"Perhaps those are the qualities that particularly define him," Maxwell offered helpfully.
"Perhaps they do," Alexander agreed with a derisive snort. "Hufflepuff needs to be tossed a bone now and then. They made fourth place in the Quidditch Cup two years in a row."
"My dear brother," Maxwell said, "I will never understand your obsession with that game."
Alexander laughed. "Perhaps you won't. But seeing as I both humour and fully support your chosen craft, the least you can do is show interest in mine."
Maxwell looked like he was just about to reply when the door to the compartment opened, and the old witch with the trolley beamed at both of them.
"Anything from the trolley, my dears?" she asked.
"Some of everything?" Alexander asked smoothly and pulled forth his purse.
"If you eat all that, your broom will no longer carry you," his younger brother warned.
"Which is why I am sure you will aid me in this worthy cause," Alexander smoothly replied and offered a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans to his little brother.
As it turned out, Maxwell did not need much convincing from that point on. All good things had to come to an end though, because after a few minutes, the door slid opened again, and an ill-tempered blond witch swept in.
"Why am I not surprised?" Amalia Malfoy greeted them drily. "You had me sitting in the Prefect's carriage making up excuses for your absence, like some cretin."
"Forgive me, I couldn't bear to listen to Tommy any longer," Alexander offered apologetically. "Besides, what kind of brother would I be if I did not stand by Max in these trying times?"
Amalia only raised an eyebrow. After a long, painful moment, the witch slammed the door shut behind her, shoved her trunk under Maxwell's bench, and dropped down on the seat next to Alexander's little brother.
In a good faith effort to appease her, Alexander tossed her a licorice wand.
"You have guard duty tomorrow night," she finally warned, "With me!"
Alexander grinned at the attractive witch. "There are worse fates."
A small smile curled Amalia's lips. Though she clearly had not entirely forgiven him for abandoning her, because she turned her attention to Alexander's younger brother. "Are you holding up, okay? The Prophet hasn't been kind this week. Father said he will write a letter to the editor. Them harassing members of good Wizarding families will not do."
Maxwell shrugged. "It was only to be expected; the Prophet has never been too fond of our family and I have done little to disarm their quills in the past few months."
"One would expect they would be a tad bit more grateful that you brought the Golden Laurels back to England," Alexander said. "The past century has been embarrassment after embarrassment for Britain. Besides, from what I can tell, it is only the powers that be that hold you in such low regard. I recall ranks of cheering witches and wizards welcoming you back."
Amalia sighed, her eyes finally softening as she looked at Maxwell. "The Prophet is a rag, but people read it. It's all good and well when they write what we want them to, but unfortunately, they have a tendency to be drawn to scandal like a moth to a lamp. The undistinguished witch or wizard will believe whatever they print."
"The pendulum can't always swing our way," Maxwell reasoned lightly, not looking all too concerned. Then, for better or worse, Maxwell had never cared what others thought of him.
He wasn't wrong, Alexander thought to himself. And he knew that the professors, especially Dumbledore, would be watching them like hawks. With his brother now attending Hogwarts, he would have to limit his usual academic pursuits outside of the classroom.
One by one, the hours lazily crawled by as the train headed north. Even the occasional patrols he and Amalia had to perform as Prefects, did only little to break the monotony. Finally, though, the sun began to set, and they changed into their school robes. While Alexander and Amalia wore the colours of their houses, Ravenclaw and Slytherin respectively, Maxwell's were still black. Their father had tried to arrange a private sorting over the summer break, but unfortunately, they had been denied this small courtesy.
As the early evening grew older, the train at long last began to slow down before finally coming to a screeching halt. "They rose; left their luggage behind; and joined the flood of disembarking students, stepping out into the warm summer evening."
"Are you supposed to come with us, or are you...?" Alexander began.
"Maxwell, Alexander," a clear voice hailed them before Alexander could finish the sentence and they turned around to find a tall well-kept wizard in midnight-blue robes and greying hair approaching them through the pushing and shoving crowds of students. "Amalia," he then greeted the third in their group.
"Professor Dumbledore," Alexander greeted the Transfiguration teacher; the trio quickly turned to face the approaching wizard. Amalia quietly muttered a greeting under her breath. "Professor," Alexander's little brother said, his voice soft and quiet.
"Maxwell, as it is your first year at Hogwarts, I would like to invite you to join me and the first years on the boats," the professor said, although Alexander was certain that despite being phrased as an invitation, there was little room for refusal. "You can rejoin your friends later."
"It would be my pleasure," Maxwell replied smoothly, apparently accepting his fate without further argument. "I will catch up with you two later."
They looked after him with some trepidation. Then Amalia took his hand, and they headed toward the Thestral-drawn carriages.
"This is going to be a long year," Amalia muttered under her breath.
"On the bright side, Quidditch starts soon," Alexander replied. Amalia rolled her eyes, despite having joined her own house team as a chaser halfway through the past year. They found an empty carriage and, once certain no one would try to join them, hastily climbed on board. They hadn't had much privacy recently, so the ride was a welcome chance to exchange a few sweet words and private kisses as the castle slowly came into view.
"Can you imagine?" she finally whispered. "Max, stuck in a boat with a bunch of first years?"
"That is pretty funny," Alexander admitted, savouring the mental image for a few sweet moments.
The carriage rounded a corner, offering a good view of the distant castle. "Sometimes, I think we'd learn more if we didn't have to waste time attending classes," Amalia mused, gazing at the castle's distant spires.
Alexander didn't answer, not desiring to once again rehash this old topic that seemed to come up every time they faced the prospect of having to sit in classrooms for extended periods or receiving more than the usual amount of homework. Term hadn't even started yet.
After a few more minutes, the shaky ride finally came to an end, and they climbed out onto the large courtyard and joined the crowd of students flowing through the grand double doors into the entrance hall. After accenting a short flight of stairs, they proceeded into the Great Hall. Nothing had changed since he had last been there. Four long tables occupied the length of the chamber. Most of their teachers were already seated at a fifth smaller table, which stood on a raised stage at the head of the chamber. As always, a magical projection of the night sky had taken the place of the ceiling.
"See you later," Amalia said and headed over to her own table after squeezing his hand.
"Eh, Alex," a fellow sixth-year greeted him from his left side. "Heard they made you, Captain. When are tryouts?" Simon Burns asked.
"I don't know," Alexander replied loudly over the buzz of conversation. Silence slowly fell as the headmaster rose from his chair. Professor Dippet was an aging man with a pointed, greying beard and squinting eyes. He had an awkward nervous energy about him and made his way around the teacher's table and shuffled over to the podium. "Silence!" he yelled at the already quiet room.
"Ah, yes, good," he then awkwardly muttered when there was no change in the pressing silence, apparently only now realising he already had everyone's attention. "Well students, there are a few changes in our plans this year," he began, still shuffling around a few papers on the podium. Ah, no. First things first! Professor Dumbledore, bring in the new ones... first years, I mean!" he yelled, and clapped his hands. The doors swung open, and their Transfiguration teacher led the gaggle of first years in, with Maxwell bringing up the rear of the group.
His younger brother was already tall, to begin with, and having grown quite a bit over the previous few months, was all the more pronounced when put in contrast by the group of younger kids leading the way. His face remained as stony and impassive as ever, likely cursing whoever was to blame for his sorting not taking place in a more private setting.
"Before we begin with the sorting, I would like to welcome Maxwell Bay to Hogwarts," the Headmaster announced. "He will be joining our ranks as a fifth-year."
Professor Dippet looked around the room nervously, realising his eyes were on the young wizard. Alexander assumed many recognised him from the Prophet, some probably even from the tournament itself. Especially the female half of the student body, Alexander noted, was eyeing the young wizard with open curiosity. That part had not come as a surprise. How had Amalia put it? Maxwell was as gorgeous as a pristine winter morning. It was, he was sure, why the Prophet, despite the Ministry really not appreciating any positive portrayal of duelling, had initially been so happy to plaster Maxwell's face on articles. He looked good in pictures and made them look good by association. Now the tournament ending the way it had, and Maxwell happening to be from a family as old as theirs, well that was just bad luck.
"Now, attention, please! The headmaster attempted to regain the crowd's attention and required a few more tries in order to accomplish it. He flicked his wand once, and an old stool with an even older-looking wizard's hat appeared next to him.
"Once we sort you alphabetically, you will be called up to take your place at your house's respective table," he announced and unfurled a roll of parchment with a dramatic flourish.
"Castor Amble," he called out dramatically, and the first student clambered onto the raised dais. He looked both pale and anxious when the hat was placed on his head.
After a few moments, the hat shouted out, "Hufflepuff!"
The first year jumped to his feet and almost ran over to his assigned table to polite applause from the crowd. He bit back a grin when he spotted Amalia making a gagging motion. Maxwell was the third to be called up. Unlike those who came before, Maxwell seemed utterly unaware of the countless pairs of eyes staring at him. He slowly, almost casually, walked up to the stool and sat down.
"Ravenclaw!" the hat called out, this time after only a brief moment of deliberation. Alexander grinned to himself as Maxwell stood up, his tie and the collar of his robes turned blue and silver, the colours of their house. The ghost of a smile appeared on Maxwell's lips, and with unhurried poise, he walked over to the Ravenclaw table to a particularly loud round of applause, especially from his new housemates. Whether this was due to his status as a niche icon, or his relation to Alexander, was hard to tell.
Regardless, Alexander scooted over, freeing the seat he had hopefully saved for his younger sibling. Part of him had feared that the Sorting Hat would sort his brother into Gryffindor. His brother's boldness would have certainly had him in good standing, though he doubted the rowdy group would have been much to Maxwell's taste. They had a superb Quidditch team, though; that much could not be denied after the pasting his own house got in the deciding game last year. And with Hufflepuff being Hufflepuff, and the Slytherin team in shambles and still trying to recover from several unplanned changes in its roster, not much had stood in their way from winning the Quidditch Cup. He would have been fine with Maxwell going to Slytherin, but Ravenclaw, in his humble opinion, was the perfect outcome.
Maxwell smoothly took the now-vacant spot next to Alexander, offering a ghost of a smile that didn't reach his eyes before his attention was drawn away again.
His housemates eagerly greeted their newest member, occupying his attention with handshakes and introductions. A few, Alexander noted, knew exactly who his brother was.
"At least not Hufflepuff," Amalia yelled over from her seat, prompting laughter from her housemates.
Fortunately for Maxwell, the next student was called up just then, and attention was drawn back to the headmaster. Most of them, at least Evelyn Peverell, a pretty brunette in her fourth year, seemed to have a hard time taking her eyes off Maxwell.
One by one, the crowd of first years slowly shrank until the last one found her new home in Hufflepuff, filling up the ranks of those who had departed at the end of the previous year.
The rest of the Sorting Ceremony continued without much fanfare, and Alexander caught himself staring at his brother more than once. Maxwell seemed almost aloof, as if the spectacle before him was a curious novelty rather than the introduction to his new life in one of the world's most famous magical schools. When the last name was called and the young witch bounded over to the Gryffindor table, Professor Dippet took the podium again.
"Yes, yes, huzzah! Excelsior! New ungrateful brats to waste our time with! Now I have a few announcements to make. First of all, the Forbidden Forest is as the name would suggest forbidden. Why I must repeat this every year is beyond me, but here you go. Stay out of that forest! You have the entire valley to explore but insist on going inside there. Due to organisational considerations on a Ministry level, it is supposedly with great pleasure that I may announce that the postponed Triwizard Tournament will fall on this year," he announced, his tone making it very clear that this was the last thing he wanted. The entire hall exploded into excited conversations.
If Maxwell felt excited at the prospect of having a chance to partake in another prestigious and potentially hazardous international tournament, he did not show it. Amalia, on the other hand, exchanged that old conspiratorial grin with him that had got them into more than one detention over the past few years.
"It is, of course, not recommended that anyone under the fifth year join," he continued, once some semblance of quiet had returned. "All those willing to participate and have any questions may address them to your head of the house. Our partner schools, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, will arrive at the end of October. Ceremonies will commence with their arrival."
"On another note," he continued, as if eager to move past this topic, "the Mayor of Hogsmeade would like to encourage all of you to mind your manners. He does not want a repeat of last year's incidents. If the lot of you can't behave, I will have to restrict visitations to Hogsmeade. A few of you would be well-served by spending more time studying and less poking around in the village. Now, with that out of the way, let the feast begin!"
With a solitary clap, a magnificent feast materialised on the grandiose serving dishes before them. "This," Maxwell announced, "I could get used to." Amidst a resounding clamour and the clinking of polished silverware being lifted, the student body eagerly commenced their meal.
The feast that followed was nothing short of extravagant, with platters of mouth-watering dishes and delectable desserts stretching as far as the eye could see.
"They don't have feasts on Svalbard?" Alexander finally asked, with some amusement after noticing his brother's surprise.
"Nothing on this scale," Maxwell admitted and began to fill his plate.
As the evening progressed, the initial excitement gradually gave way to contented satisfaction. Once the second and even third helpings had been devoured, the inevitable stuffed slothfulness began to take hold.
"So, you guys going to submit your names?" Ernie Lewis, a Muggle-born Hufflepuff in his third year, finally called over from his table, looking back and forth between the group of boys sitting at their end of the Ravenclaw table. It didn't seem to occur to him that many of the surrounding witches probably had similar ambitions. He would bet his wand that Amalia definitely was.
The evening's conversation stayed on the Triwizard Tournament. Even the arrival of the Ghosts couldn't distract much from the big topic. That, and Quidditch, of course.
Finally, Professor Dippet rose to the podium and cleared the tables with a nervous clap of his hands. Once again, silence fell. "So, time to call it a night. You may head to your houses. Don't stay up too late; you all have classes tomorrow."
Alexander was grateful that the fifth-year prefects would be the ones guiding the first years back to their houses and was instantly met by Amalia, who took his hand. "I'll see you tomorrow at Charms?" she asked as they headed out of the hall at the head of the crowd, with Maxwell close on his heels.
"You bet," he replied.
"Good night, Max," she said and embraced him before heading in the directions of the dungeons.
Once they finally parted ways, Max caught up with him. "Perhaps I overstep my bounds, but I will definitely not run after a cohort of eleven-year-olds," Maxwell announced, and Alexander shrugged. They quickened their pace, drawing ahead of the main crowd.
With some pride, Alexander led Maxwell through the vast castle, and up seemingly endless flights of stairs, bathed in the flickering light of torches and fire braziers. "I need to show you a few things tomorrow after classes," Alexander declared, glaring at a haggard old wizard in one of the picture frames who was squinting at them with suspicious eyes.
"I am looking forward to it," Maxwell replied. Alexander could not tell if Maxwell was serious or simply answering out of form.
At long last, they reached the top of Ravenclaw Tower, at the top of a set of wooden stairs worn out by generations of students. They finally halted in front of a double door adorned with a bronze, eagle-shaped door knocker.
"So this is where the riddle part comes in, I take it?" Maxwell asked. "The one that decides if you get to go to bed or not?"
"Yes," Alexander confirmed, and knocked once; the voices of his fellow students already beginning to fill the air in the staircase below them.
"I can be cracked, made, told, and played. What am I?" a cool feminine voice asked from thin air.
Alexander thought for a brief moment and then replied, "A joke."
Fortunately, the door swung open, sparing him the embarrassment of having to try again or wait for the crowd to arrive and witness his failure.
As they finally stepped inside, Maxwell's eyes widened subtly, a rare betrayal of his usually impassive face. The room was a masterpiece of elegant austerity and intellectual charm. Back at home in England, Alexander had renovated his own bedroom to mirror the style.
Tall, arched windows adorned the circular walls; the midnight sky outside acted as a natural tapestry. Moonlight flooded through, bathing the room in an ethereal glow that seemed to breathe life into the countless books, star charts, and celestial instruments that littered the room. The air itself, Alexander used to fancy in his first year, felt like it crackled with intellectual energy. It was easy to imagine these chambers as the birthplace of groundbreaking ideas and profound debates. Or so it should be; reality, unfortunately, had proven that the opposite was true all too often.
Tables equipped with inkwells and parchment were positioned throughout the room, attempting in vain to invite scholarly discourse. In reality, of course, they were used for homework at best, and lewd sketches at worst. His favourite part of the common room, though, was a magnificent celestial model hanging from the dome-shaped ceiling. The artisans, clearly masters at their craft, had created a magical re-creation of the solar system that rotated ever so slowly, its planets and stars moving in a silent but endless celestial dance.
Lest they lose them to someone else, Alexander chose his favourite seat, a small table surrounded by two armchairs close to the windows. Just as they sat down, a noisy crowd of Ravenclaws spilled in through the doorway. "Hey, Alexander, I heard you made Captain," a brunette in her seventh year yelled and then hurried over to him.
"Don't worry, I am fairly certain your place as Seeker is safe," he assured her.
"And you are the little brother I have been hearing so much about," she then greeted Maxwell.
"Max, this is Fiona Wraithwood. Fiona, this is my brother, Maxwell," he said, making the introductions.
"I know," she said, grinning. "I watched you this summer in Barcelona; that was some of the best wand work I have ever seen. I am really looking forward to the next tournament."
Maxwell inclined his head in a courteous manner. "Your praise flatters me, Fiona. I take it you will be volunteering for the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Naturally," Fiona replied with a grin and stretched her arms out. "Well Alex, I will catch you tomorrow."
They did not stay up too long after that. Alexander had learned the hard way that classes would start the next morning, regardless of how tired they were. After relaxing in the common room for a bit longer, and catching up with a few friends, they finally decided to call it a night.
He led his brother up the spiral staircase into the Ravenclaw tower. The worn wooden steps creaked under their footsteps as Alexander and Maxwell ascended. The midnight blue tapestries adorned with silver thread glittered in the flickering torchlight. They finally reached the door to the fifth-year boys' dormitory, an intricately carved wooden sign with the names of its occupants magically inscribed hung from the door. As the newest member, Maxwell's name was written at the very bottom of the list in neat golden script.
"Here we are," Alexander said, pushing the door open to reveal a room filled with five four-poster beds draped with dark blue curtains. Each bed had a small, polished mahogany nightstand and a student's trunk at its foot.
Maxwell stepped inside, his expression revealing a flicker of curiosity. "It's... cosy," he commented and seemed to notice his own trunk on the bed nearest the window.
Alexander chuckled. "You'll get used to it. And remember, if you ever need anything, I'm just a floor up."
After leaving Maxwell to the care of his fellow fifth years, Alexander climbed the last flight of stairs to the sixth-year boys' dormitory, pushing open the heavy wooden door with a sigh. The room was as he remembered: a dozen or so four-poster beds draped in blue and silver hangings, each with a trunk at the foot and a small bedside table. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, adding a cosy ambiance to the space. A cast iron oven stood at the centre of the room. They had been a comparatively small year to begin with.
As he entered, he found that most of his dorm mates were already there. Simon Burns, sprawled across his bed with an open book open in front of him, looked up and grinned. "Finally decided to join us, eh, Alex?"
"Had to show Maxwell around," Alexander replied, kicking off his shoes and collapsing onto his bed.
"How's your brother settling in?" asked Gregor Macmillan, a tall, lanky boy, looking over at Alexander from his bed.
"He's doing fine. Got sorted into Ravenclaw, as we hoped," Alexander said, a hint of pride in his voice.
"Good, good," Gregor muttered, turning back to his opened copy of Advanced Transfiguration: A Comprehensive Guide. "Seems like the quiet type. Hope he gets along with the rest of his dormitory. They are a messy bunch."
Alexander nodded in agreement, pulling back the curtains of his bed and changed into his pyjamas. The cool night air filtered in through the slightly open window, bringing with it the scents of pine and the distant mountains. Just as more of his fellow students began to file in, Alexander slipped under his thin sheets. Staring up at the ceiling, he allowed himself a few moments to absorb the previous day. Amalia was right, of course. It was going to be a very long year.