Chapter 1: Playing Detective
Summary: For every year she has been at Hogwarts, Amy has found a project to occupy her free time. This year, that project is waiting for her at Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction on this site, so bear with me. I am an excellent babbler; however, I won't take up any more of your time. Read away!
To Whom It May Concern:
Right now, I am hiding in a closet while a party goes on in the Ravenclaw common room a few yards away. It's our annual Back to School Bash. We have one every year on the first Saturday of the school year (the only day it is socially acceptable not to study and do homework). The parties are always fun. All the sixth and seventh years share the food they bring from home, since getting it from the kitchens would be against the rules, and we listen to music from the Wizarding Wireless Network. But, that's a different story. The one I'm going to tell is of how exactly I ended up sitting in a closet, trying not to get my robes to dirty, and waiting for something to happen. If everything goes as planned, something should happen, eventually. Writing is a good way to pass the time, and I thought I should write it all down, in case something happens to me. Bethany would say I'm being silly, but you never know. Right?
So, when I walk on too platform nine and three quarters, the first person I see is Mackenzie Whitecastle, the queen bee of Ravenclaw. She is a sixth year and everybody wants to be her friend. Everyone except for Eric, Bethany, and I, that is. She is the most popular girl in our house, and, as such, spends most of her time preening in front of the mirror in the girls bathroom, sucking up to any nearby adults, flirting with her boyfriend, and speaking to those outside of her clique in a condescending tone. That's why I am so surprised to see her standing in the shadows talking to Francesca Villalobos, the meanest Slytherin of the bunch. As a Muggle-born , I have the advantage of television and one of the many things television has taught me is this: when people are trying to be stealthy, you don't want them to know that you're privy to their suspicious activity, so I quickly look, and walk, the other way. I probably wouldn't have seen them at all if I had gotten to the platform an hour early, as I had wanted to do. I always arrive early for everything, well, at least when my older brother doesn't interfere. Chad, fortunately, is not magical and, therefore, does not attend Hogwarts. This time, he stole my wand. Since one can't do magic without a wand, I had to spend half an hour chasing him around the house, trying to get it back.
"Chad Taylor Dalton, you better give me my wand back right this minute!" I yelled, doing my very best impression of my mother.
"Amy Elizabeth Dalton," he mimicked, "make me!"
"Chad, I cannot go to Hogwarts without my wand!"
"Oh, poor baby can't go to school without her precious stick."
"It's not a stick, it's a wand. Please give it back." I had decided to try whining instead.
"No, I don't think I will." It didn't work.
"What do you two think you're doing? Amy it is time to go!" Mother had intervened.
"Mom, he won't give me my wand back."
"Here, take it. I don't want it anyway." He threw the wand at me and I almost dropped it. With a snort of laughter, Chad left the room.
It makes me mad just thinking about! I quickly board the train, to get away from Mackenzie and Francesca (I think it's best to avoid them whenever possible) and put my trunk in my usual compartment. My plan is to hide out there until I con discuss the incident (if you can call it that) with Eric Applebee and Bethany Jones, my two best friends. My plan fails. I blame Eric.
When I get to the compartment, I see that Eric is already there. "Where have you been?" he asks. It is a valid question since I'm usually there way before Bethany and him.
"Chad," I reply concisely.
"Oh, him again."
"It's always him."
This is where the oh so observant Eric notices that I am out of breath and says -- "Are you okay? You seem a little out of breath."
"Do I really?" I say sarcastically. "I had no idea." Then, functioning under the delusion that he might have noticed too, I decide to let that go and say – "Guess what I just saw!"
"I have no idea, Amy, but you obviously want to tell me so get on with it." Really! A simple 'I don't know' would have been good enough for me.
"Fine," I snap. Then, with a triumphant smile, "I saw Mackenzie Whitecastle talking to Francesca Villalobos in the shadows about five minutes ago." He doesn't seem impressed.
"They aren't there now." I glance out the window to see that Eric is right, Francesca and Mackenzie have moved to opposite ends of the platform, and they are talking to their respective friends as the platform begins to fill with people.
"Well, they were five minutes ago." He looks at me skeptically.
"And why would Mackenzie Whitecastle be talking to Francesca Villalobos?" he asks. It is another perfectly valid question. I tell him so. He looks at me for a second and then goes back to the book he has been reading.
"Well, don't you have some idea?" What? Supposedly, Eric has a good imagination. According to Professor Ashford's evaluations, he has an overactive imagination. He might have some idea, even if it is impossible, unlikely, or doesn't make sense.
"I don't know, Amy. That's why I asked you."
"Well, neither do I. At least not yet," I reply thoughtfully.
"Oh no . . .," Eric mutters, but I ignore him.
"I am, however, going to find out," I declare. I can't very well just sit there after that. A statement like that requires action, so I stand and, with a look of determination, stride out of the compartment.
"What have I done," I hear Eric say under his breath as I left, but I ignore him. I have work to do.
I get off of the train, nonchalantly (I hope) make my way to where Francesca and Mackenzie had been standing before, and begin my search. Before I begin, I look around to make sure no one is watching me. I don't want to make the same mistake Mackenzie and Francesca did by getting caught. I'm safe. The only person within three feet is Lydia Potter. I've always thought she's a little odd. Maybe it has something to do with being the famous Harry Potter's daughter. Fortunately, she is just passing by. I am determined to find clues, you know, like the detective from those muggle books. I don't remember the name, but you know who I'm talking about. Then again, if you're a witch or wizard, you probably have no idea.
When Bethany arrives, I am peering through a crack in the wooden platform at an old chocolate frog card (I can't tell which one), three spiders (which are somewhat creepy), a piece of string (it is blue), and a lot of dirt, dust, and cobwebs. I am so focused on my detecting, I don't notice she is standing behind me until she pokes me in the shoulder and I jump.
"What in the name of Lawrence Taylor are you doing?" she asks me. She is using her "I don't really want to know but have to ask because you are my best friend and I have to protect you from yourself" voice. I am not worried. I know that voice well. It is the one she uses the most. Bethany is a pure-blood, but, as you can see from the Lawrence Taylor reference, I have taught her well. For any witches or wizards who might be reading this, Lawrence Taylor is a very cute muggle actor. I think I might be in love with him, but I digress.
"Don't you take Lawrence Taylor's name in vain like that," I scold. "And to answer your rather rude question, I am looking for clues."
"Looking for clues," she repeats.
"Yes," I reply matter-of-factly as I stand up and brush myself off. I have come to the conclusion that the items under the platform are of no consequence. "I haven't found anything yet, but there has to be proof somewhere."
"Proof," she repeats.
"Yes, proof," I tell her, feeling slightly exasperated, "and will you please stop that."
"Oh, sorry," she agrees and I am about to thank her when she interrupts with a sigh.
"What are you looking for proof of?" She is using that same tone. She steps back, looks at me apprehensively, and awaits my answer.
"Proof of," I begin, with a suspenseful pause, or at least I think it is suspenseful. Bethany obviously doesn't agree because she mutters the words " i get on with it /i " under her breath. I ignore her. "Mackenzie Whitecastle's criminal activity," I finish dramatically, as if Bethany hasn't spoken. "Oh, and Francesca Villalobos is involved, too."
"Criminal activity," she repeats.
"Yes, and I thought you said you would stop repeating everything I say."
"Sorry. Now, what do you mean by criminal activity?"
"Well, I got here early this morning, as usual, and Mackenzie Whitecastle was already here. She was standing in the shadows, about here in fact, talking to Francesca Villalobos. So, now I am searching for clues."
"How do you know there was, um, criminal activity? Did you ask her? She could have a perfectly good reason," Bethany, always the logical one, points out.
"They were standing in the shadows, Bethany. Weren't you listening? Don't you watch TV? People only hold conversations in the shadows when there is criminal activity involved. I would expect this from Eric, but from you Bethany?"
"Speaking of Eric, does he know about this? Where is he anyway? And no, I don't watch TV."
"He is on the train, of course he knows, and you should watch TV. Actually, this is all his idea."
"I have a hard time believing that one."
"Fine. If you don't believe me go ask him." I order as I move to inspect the wall in case some evidence could be found there.
"I think I will," she replies and before I can say "good" and tell her to get TV for TV is a wondrous and beautiful thing, she grabs my arm and drags me back onto the train.
She stomps onto the train and drags me down the hall to our compartment. Eric is still inside reading his book. "Eric, Amy here seems to think that there was some criminal activity out on the platform involving Mackenzie Whitecastle and Francesca Villalobos. What do you have to say about that?"
"It's true," I insist. "I know what I saw!"
"Whatever you say, Amy," Bethany replies.
"I knew you would believe me," I declare happily while Bethany gives Eric a "lets just humor her" look. "Bethany, you are my only true friend. You stand by me while my other friends say I'm insane."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm sure you're insane," she answers cheekily. I glare at her and turn to Eric.
"Well?"
"Alright, alright," he gives in. "What do we have to do?"
"Well, actually, I don't have a plan yet," I reply as I silently congratulate myself. "But I was thinking we could . . ." As we plan, the train begins to move taking us not only to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry but also to fun, adventure, and excitement.
Author's Note: So, there it is, chapter 1. What do you think? Should I keep going or is it so horrible I should stop now and never write another word? Whatever you think, thanks for reading!
KitKat