A/N: I plan on updating this as soon as possible, but school is such a bitch.
Please, please comment on this for me. Give me some constructive criticism, will ya?
Have a good one.
September 1, 2017
2:45 P.M
The English countryside seemed as peaceful as ever on the morning of September the 1st. Perhaps it's quaint nature was due to the fact that there wasn't a residence nearby for several miles. Granted, this wasn't from lack of trying; several corporate heads and even some government officials had tried to reserve their own personal slice of tranquility. However, every single attempt to do so was foiled by a sanction granted by what they were told was an environmental group. They said that the land was reserved for a very specific purpose, one that was a matter of natural security.
However, the land wasn't important at all. The land was just a patch of green grass occupied by some livestock with really served no purpose at all, with the possible exception of just confirming the entire act that was being put on.
The real reason no one could build on it, the reason why no one was even allowed near the area... was the gleaming black train tracks that lay elevated above the farmland.
After all, it was quite fair to assume that if anyone were to see a gargantuan, solid black locomotive with the words "Hogwarts Express" written on the side in a magical, gold-coloured font, one would grow suspicious and begin to ask questions. One may even try to determine what purpose the locomotive served. After all, it had no cars reserved for holding coal or hay or any related resource. What could it possibly do?
But, at 2:45 P.M, the black train rolled smoothly along the tracks and over a small hamlet of cattle grazing underneath a bridge, right on schedule as it had done for centuries. Young, enthusiastic children filled its boxcars and roamed along its hallways, sitting and conversing fervently about their destination. In the very last car sat a boy. His demeanor suggested one who had just lost a relative, or had hit a baseball through his neighbors window and had gotten "time-out" as a result. However, like many of the thoughts coursing through the heads of the children on the train, his mind was focused on magic. Albus Severus Potter knew what his father had told him about Slytherin back at the platform, but he just couldn't shake the feeling of nervousness that gripped him with its icy vigor. At the current moment, he had wanted Gryffindor more than anything else in the world, and he was told that he could sway the Sorting Hat to his favor like his father had done more than twenty years ago.
But what if it didn't listen to him...
What if...
Just then, another boy walked in through the sliding glass doors. The resemblance with the boy sitting down was more than just a coincidence. They were, in fact, brothers. And they were, in fact, sons of the greatest wizard of all time (second to only Merlin, of course).
"What a fucking tease." James said to himself, shaking his head with a smile on his face. He looked at Albus, who looked just as mournful as he did fifteen minutes ago when they left. "Well, you look cheerful." he said, smirking. "The usual, I presume."
"What gave me away?" Albus said, still looking mournfully at the floor.
"I'm just clairvoyant like that, I guess." James said, smiling wider and sitting down on the opposite bench. "Seriously, I thought Dad talked to you about this already."
"Well, he...he did." Albus said, looking up. "But, I've just got... a bad feeling in my gut, y'know? Like the hat isn't gonna listen to me."
"Oh, the hat definitely takes your personal preference into consideration. He thought of putting me in Slytherin just like Dad, but I was able to talk him out of it." James said, perhaps even with a vague sort of nostalgia.
Albus felt a little better after hearing James's story. His father had never lied to him or his siblings in the past, so why would he make up a story like that to tell to James? Either way, Albus was contented for a little while, talking wildly to James about Quidditch and the ghosts and portraits who actually moved and talked. Despite being surrounded by wizards and Hogwarts alumni left and right, he never got any real details about Hogwarts. Either they would deliberately refuse to tell him (either to keep the several mysteries of Hogwarts a secret or just to rile him up), or they were too busy to even tell him anything at all. Dad had been very occupied with work lately, as had his mother and uncle. Not that he had any trouble fending for himself, but it was just good to have an authority figure around every once and a while.
This thought was currently burrowing in the subconscious of Albus's brain while James rambled on about the three goal posts used in Quidditch. He was daydreaming about something or other when James snapped his fingers, creating a great friction in the air.
"Eh? You even listening?" said James tersely. "I'm not telling you this for my health, y'know."
"I'm sorry." Albus lied. "I was... distracted." After another concerned look from James and a few moments silence, Albus said "Well, go on, then."
James was about to open his mouth to blather on about something almost certainly about a Golden Snitch, or a Quaffle, or even the numerous types of brooms that one could purchase in the wizard marketplace, but without so much as a warning, the train stopped to an almost deadening halt. Albus's head had rapped hard on the back of the wall, dazing him and almost knocking him into the blackness. James, who was sitting precariously on the perch of his seat, flew across the compartment and fell sideways into Albus's lap. From the numerous thuds and moans heard in the adjacent compartments, he hadn't been the only one. Albus, turning his head sideways almost without realizing it, saw faint sparks flying outside the window. After a few more short moments of ear-splitting screeches, the train dully fell to a sharp halt. James moaned, clutching his wrist.
"What the fuckin' hell was that all about?" James said weakly. Albus didn't answer; he was still quite confused over the hard smattering his head had taken. He pushed James off of him and tried to get up, but his knees buckled under and he fell back to the bench. He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his funk. He tried to get up again, and after a wobbly start, he finally made it. He walked to the window, opened it, and looked in the direction to the front of the locomotive. The beautiful day provided him of a clear shot towards the front. He could see what looked like a Muggle car, and it was definitely on fire. Albus didn't believe what he saw, not for a second; that hit on the head must have made him hallucinate, although the faint warmth of the fire grazing his cheeks seemed pretty vivid.
"What's the holdup?" James asked.
"It looks like a Muggle car." Albus said slowly, not wanting to say it quickly, as if the car would just disappear if he talked tentatively.
"What is a Muggle car doing on the railroad tracks?" James said, disbelievingly.
"I have no-" Albus started. Then, that one arbitrary statement of bewilderment, seemed to set off the chain of events. After all, who was to say that it didn't?
A sharp CRACK! rang throughout the small compartment. Albus turned around, only to see an incredibly tall man (he had to be at least 6'8'') wearing a designer suit and dark gloves. His face was concealed by a black hood, and he had a shiny silver-black Mamba pistol in his hand.
"Who the ruddy hell are you?" James said, a frightened look in his eyes. It appeared, almost instinctively, that James attempted to reach for his wand in his robes. However, he wasn't even able to grasp it's polished exterior before the hooded man in the suit fired the gun. The sound seemed to be so loud that Albus almost expected to see the glass of the window crack from its sheer decibel level. Three bullets were fired at James Potter; two in his lower stomach, and one in his upper chest. James grunted, not being able to scream due in part to the warm rush of blood moving up his throat. He gurgled blood all over his robes, exhaled his final breath, and died on the crimson carpet floor.
"Oh my God." Albus said, shuddering at the sight of his dying brother. Involuntarily, he made water in his pants, the stench of it pungent and savage. The man rounded on him, pointing his gun at him.
"Please, for the love of Merlin, don't."
Albus cried, but the man didn't pay him any mind. Two bullets penetrated his skull; almost killing him instantly. He fell to the floor face-first like a sack of potatoes, his glasses crunching and cracking into little spiderweb-like shapes on his thin frames as he came hard to the ground. The man in the robes listened carefully, and hearing the other gunshots and screams resonate throughout the train, smiled a little before snapping his fingers once more, and going back to whence he came, leaving the slain bodies of the rapidly cooling minors on the floor of the compartment.