Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe is a figment, not of my, but of JK Rowling's imagination. As are the people, places and other things described in this story. I shall not make any money out of this. I might just get a kick out of people reading (and reviewing, thank you very much). I do not in any way intend to ruin this very special place for all of us, but have nevertheless introduced a couple of new characters which I hope will be pleasing. In any way, they do actually belong to me, and providing Rowling doesn't sue, I shall see what to make of them. This Disclaimer goes for each and every chapter of this story, but I just can't be bothered to retype it every time. So. There.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1 – On Platform 9 ¾
Wizards were essentially large egos with pointed hats. They were proud people: proud not only of their arcane knowledge and powers, but also very proud of their billowing robes and flashy wands. It was therefore only logical, that wizards (or, rather, Wizards. Capitals were of large importance in the Wizarding World) did not mix well with other people. They did not want to mix well with other people. Wizards weren´t other people. Oh, they understood the concept of camouflage – or at least they had nodded vigourously when it had been explained to them – but then somehow always got it all wrong. This was expecially true for his parents, Oliver thought, as their car drew up outside King´s Cross Station, London.
As his driver opened to the door for him to get out, he straightened himself and glanced over to the second car, where his parents already stood, giving directions to their own driver. Oliver took in the faces of the people around him. Most of them didn´t even notice the small group of strangely attired people that stood next to the entrance hall. Some of them, though, stood there aghast, and gazed openly at them. He couldn´t say he blamed them. Oliver let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his slightly too long hair.
It´s not that they don´t try to blend in, he told himself. It´s just that whenever they try, they more or less blend out, instead.
Claudius Rapace, his father, stood there, dressed in his usual wizarding robes. Unfortunately, he had opted to wear a Muggle shirt and jacket too, their house crest emblazened on all three of them. On the minimal research he had done, he probably thought he looked nicely inconspicuous. Likewise, his mother, Messalina, wore her robes and pointy witches´ hat, but had conceeded to Muggle customs, insofar as she had stuck a flower in it, and carried three handbags.
Obviously enough, this attracted rather more attention than Oliver felt was necessary. They looked like someone who had overslept severely, or just gotten back from a stag night, respectively. He didn´t bother to comment, though. He had long since stopped trying to talk sense into his parents, as far as Muggles went. Instead, he just trudged over to the trunk of the car and watched impassively as the driver pulled at his baggage until it finally tore free. Muttering under his breatch, the old man heaved it onto a trolley and turned back to get the rest of Oliver´s possessions.
"Silly Muggles!" he muttered under his breath. "´d be so much easier for a bit o´magic. Damn and blast them, little…" He stopped himself abruptly when he noticed Oliver watching him, and drew himself up to full height. "I´m sorry, young master," he said hurriedly, bowing his head. "I was just commenting on…"
Oliver dismissively waved a hand to shut him up and the driver went back to the remaining piece of luggage. He glanced over at his parents and saw his mother waving imperiously at an elderly lady who had just dropped her groceries and gaped at her open-mouthed.
Bored, Oliver went to sit in the open car, and rummaged around in his Muggle clothes, fishing for his cigarettes. Smoking was, of course, known in the Wizarding World, though usually more in the form of long, artfully carved Rosewood-pipies. Cigarettes were commonly frowned upon, especially at Hogwarts, where, apparently, it set a bad example for the younger students to be smoking them. But, as in all schools, this did not necessarily keep the older ones from doing it. No one ever went to Moaning Myrtle´s bathroom anyway to notice the smell.
Besides, Oliver reasoned to himself, if I am to blend in in a Muggle crowd, it´s something of an imperative. They all seem do to it. Shame, though, that they can´t just ´magic away´ the more nefastuous side-effects. As it were.
When he had lighted it, he heard the flutter of wings, and turned to see a large, jet-black owl perched on the car door. It gave him a greeting hoot, then looked, with a surprising amount of disdain (for an owl), at the burning cigarette in his hands.
"Don´t judge me," Oliver said. "I´ve wondered where you´d gotten to. Wouldn´t want to miss Hogwarts, now would you? Not that I doubt for a second your ability to find your way there on your own," he added hastily as he caught her eye. "Still, I´d rather have you on the train with me."
At that, the owl swooped off the door, caught Oliver´s cigarette in its beak and threw it away, angrily stamping on it with its talons. When it had been reduced to sufficiently small shreds, the bird settled down on his knee, apparently satisfied. Owls didn´t like cigarettes. Or pipes, for that matter. Oliver stroked its feathers soothingly and smiled. He fished out his cigarette packet again and dangled it in front of the owl´s eyes.
"I know you don´t like it, Covus, my dear," he said sweetly, "but tere are some battles you just can´t win."
Corvus gave a hoot of disgust and made a snap at his fingers, though not in an entirely hostile way. Oliver ruffled the feathers on its head and barely looked up as he heard his father´s booming voice across the parking lot.
"Oliver! Stop playing with that ruddy bird, and get over here! The train leaves in nine minutes!"
Oliver looked at the owl. "What did you do to annoy him, this time? Lef droppings all over his desk again, I imagine." Corvus flapped his wings agitatedly. "We really should be going," he said with a glance at his watch. "Come along."
As the owl left his knee and circled the parking lot a last time, Oliver stood up and followed his parents and the driver into the station. The hall of King´s Cross was filled with people trying to catch their trains, and the noises they made. As he looked around him, hesaw a couple of other groupls making their way to Platform 9, most of them pushing enormous trolleys in front of them, loaded with trunks and birdcages, just like his own. Other Wizards, on their way to Hogwarts. There were a lot of First Years there – nervous-looking 11 year olds, who would be on teir first trip to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, looking uncertainly at each other. Oliver couldn´t help thinking that they would probably be a lot less nervous, if their parents would stop making such a fuss about it.
Oliver´s parents had also made a fuss off him going to Hogwarts, though for completely other reasons. They didn´t like Hogwarts very much. They like Albus Dumbledore, its Headmaster, even less. They had had some unpleasant busines with him in the past, and if there was one thing his parents were good at, it was holding on to old grudges. Oliver was surprised they had let him sign on to Hogwarts at all. They had had a bit of a discussion about it, but in the end he had made it clear that he wanted to go, and his parents had no choice but to accept this. Still, he was surprised they had not put up more of a fight over it. They could´t be comfortable with the thought of him going to a mixed-school, that was attended not only by real Wizards, but also Muggle-Borns. They did not approve of this – trust Dumbledore, they said, to let that kind of people in – and they clearly would not approve of him associating himself with them. His parents usually took a lively interest in what crowd their only son frequented. They would almost certainly frown on most of his soon to be found new friends.
They had frowned on most of his old friends, too, come to think of it, and had insisted that he spent more time with people of their choosing. Mostly these people were off old and respected (though in some instances also notorious and feared) Wizarding families, and quite a lot of them seemed to be girls his parents wanted to set him up wit. Of course, he was nearly 18 now, and in their time, people were long married by then.
Strangely enough, though, neither of his parents seemed to actually talk to one of these would-be fiancees before introducing them to him. Oliver found most of them icredibly dull, and occasionally also incredibly daft. That was of course to be expected – they were all purebloods, after all, from very distinguished families, that had, over the years, watched over their bloodlines and lineage like so many dog-breeders. He didn´t quite get it: how could anyone seriously talk about pureblooded Wizards anymore? If there had been no intermarriage between Wizards and Muggles, they would have had died out, long ago.
Certainly, there were some exceptions. The Malfoys for instance, or his own family for that matter, had only ever married people from an ever diminishing pool of other families. The result was obvious: Oliver constantly found himself facing some new cousin he was supposed to marry and spawn inbred little dolts with.
Of course, he could never voice these thoughts to his parents. His mother only communicated through levels of disappointment anyway, ever since that one time they actually had had a row about this. Back then, Oliver had said something about the family gene pool needing a bit of chlorine, and provoked a half-hour bout of costant screaming. He smiled at the memory of it. Then he noticed his parents had gone. Not that this would have deeply troubled him in itself, but they did have his trunk with them, after all. He helf himself up to his full height to find them in the mass of people, and gave an inward sigh of relief when he discovered his mother´s ridiculous flower-garnered hat in the crowd and hurried after them. Corvus came to a fluttering rest on his shoulder, just as he had caught up and fallen in step behind them.
As they got to Platform 9 ¾ , his parents stopped; Claudius Rapace motioned for one of the Hogwarts Express staff to come forward and take care of his son´s luggage. A middle-aged Wizard came hurrying over and levitated the trunk off the trolley and into the train wagon. Then he turned back and pointed at Oliver´s owl.
"You´ll have to put her in her cage, young man. Owls aren´t allowed in the compartments," he said in a stern voice.
They´re the same everywhere, Oliver thought. So very zealous when it comes to rules. And so very daft to it when it comes to common sense.
He didn´t usually hold to abusing his family influence. He rather prefered to manage things on his own, thank you very much. This however – this was one of the few opportunities where he valued his parents, and their disdain for anyone below Order or Merlin, First Class. He very much doubted if his parents actually cared about his owl. Probably they just get a kick out of ordering people around. But he wasn´t going to argue. Already, he could see his father straightening up and filling his lungs with enough air for what he knew was going to be one of those sermons people wished never to have experienced.
"Who are you, man?" Claudius Rapace asked.
"My name is Simmons, sir," the Hogwarts employee said nervously.
"Very well, Simmos. If my son wishes to take his ruddy bird on the train with him, then my son will very well do so."
"I´m afraid, sir, I can´t allow that. It´s against regulations."
Oliver´s father went red in the face. "Against regulations?" he bellowed. "What are your petty rules to me, man? Do you know who I am?"
The man shook his head.
"I am Claudius Rapace, Member of the Order of Mithrandir, Order of Merlin, First Class, Head of House Rapace, First Warlock of…"
Oliver turned away. He had witnessed this often enough. Father would shout at the unfortunate Wizard for as long as time permitted, the poor man would allow Oliver to take his owl with him and then mount the train himself, looking somewhat dejected. Father had a knack for making people uncomfortable with their lives.
"My great-grandfather personally helped in the defeat of…"
Something else caught Oliver´s eye. Further down the platform, he saw two boys and a slightly smaller girl saying goodbye to a rather short, plump-looking woman. The girl and one of the boys had flaming red hair and freckles. The other had black, dishevelled hair and wore glasses. He could not make it out from the distance, but he knew that the boy also had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"I myself have contributed to the glory of my house while you petty, little, unimportant…"
Well, this was as good an excuse as any.
"…were still hanging on your mother´s…"
He interrupted his father midway through his recapitulation of the various feats House Rapace had ever accomplished (and a rather crude remark, thankfully) and said his goodbyes. Then he turned to his mother and give her a slight peck on the cheek. When he was certain enough that none of his parents would notice, he sympathetically patted Simmons´ back. As he turned to walk away, he heard his father pick up his line of thought again.
"And now you, you, you…self-important son of a squib…"
Oliver smiled ruefully. As he boarded the train, he looked back at his family one last time. Simmons looked like he was on the verge of tears. Poor sod, he thought to himself. He turned his head to Corvus, who was still perched on his shoulder. "And all because of you," he whispered. The owl lookd at him quizzically. "Don´t worry. You really shouldn´t be locked up in a cage. Not when you could do something much more useful," he added, as he looked down the corridor. He had stpotted three students in Slytherin robes, closing in on a very frightened First Year. One of the Slytherins – what looked like the leader – had a long, blonde hair, carefully combed back over his head. The other two were the sort of people you found at every school: big, wide, imposing. The way they stooped over the other one´s shoulders, it was clear who was the muscle, and who was, for lack of a better word, the brain.
Oliver gave his shoulder a jerk. "Slytherins. Off ou go."
Corvus had tensed at the mention of the name, flexed his wings angrily and was off like a shot, manging in the process to sink his talons in Oliver´s shoulder. He winced automatically and slid one hand under his shirt to inspect the damage. Sure enough, when he brought it back up to look at it, there was blood on his fingers. He grunted somewhat disgustedly and turned around to find an empty compartment, as far away from the Slytherins as possible. As he turned, he bumped into a tall girl with bushy hair. A lot of bushy hair. They started apologising almost simultaneously.
"Ouch! Sorry, I…"
"Whoa, sorry! I didn´t see you…"
Both their voices trailed off. The girl frowned at him.
"Sorry," Oliver said sheepishly. "I didn´t see you standing there."
"Don´t worry, I…" She glanced at his bloodied fingers and frowned again. The way her forehead settled readily into a pattern of wrinkles made Oliver suppose that she did this quite a lot. "I´m sure I´m not that skinny…"
"What? Oh, no. No, no, that was just my owl. He gets a bit jumpy sometimes," he explained, as he wiped his hands clean on his trousers. "Got me on the shoulder just now."
"I know what you mean. Crookshanks – that´s my cat – he always gets angry when I put him in the baggage wagon. That´s why I have these here." She held up a pair of leather gloves for inspection. Suddenly the train gave a shudder as it started to move. Both of them gave a small jerk as they tried to keep their balance, waiting for the train to steady itself and pick up speed. Through one of the windows, Oliver could see his parents making their way back to the Muggle world, his father still gesticulating wildly. It´s so hard for him to stop, once he´s gotten all worked up.
"Actually, he´s not with the baggage. He´s just over there-" Oliver said, pointing over his shoulder. He grinned widely when he heard a yelp of pain from one of the Slytherins behind him. "Making himself useful."
The girl looked over his shoulders and frowned. Again.
"That´s against regulations, though, isn´t it? Owls are not allowed in the passenger compartment, you know. I should…"
As she moved slightly to get another good look at Corvus, her robes parted to reveal a golden "P" embroidered in the silky material, just below the golden Lion of the Gryffindor House crest.
A Prefect. Great.
Oliver stepped in front of her when she started to move. "Listen," he said quickly. "You can just leave him there. He´s not huring anyone." There was another yelp at that point, as, obviously, the owl did hurt someone. Oliver cast a quick look over his shoulder at the Slytherins. They were waving their arms frantically, trying to fight off the apparently homicidal bird. "Much."
The girl straightened up. "I´m a Prefect, thank you very much. I really should…"
There was a loud grunt, when one of the Slytherins accidentally kicked the other two in the stomach, in an effort to get back at Corvus. Oliver had to supress a wide grin.
Suddenly, a head covered in flaiming red hair shot out off one of the compartmens behind them. The boy Oliver had seen on the Platform earlier looked at them questioningly.
"Hermione? What´s going on? What´s that bird doing to Malfoy?" he added in a happy tone.
Oliver raised his arms soothingly. "Nothing. He´s just having a bit of fun."
"I´ll say." Ron looked at Oliver slyly. "Well, seeing as Draco is all right…Coming, Hermione?"
The girl called Hermione turned around. "Ron, we´re Prefects," she said excitedly. "It´s our job to put that owl away. Even if it´s just picking on…" She hesitated and looked at the Slytherins. "…Malfoy."
"Oh, come on, Hermione. Don´t be such a goody-goody. Draco can handle himself."
"Listen," Oliver said. "I don´t want any trouble with you, but there´s no way Corvus will spend the journey in a cage. I´ll make you a deal. I´ll get him off those guys and see to it that he behaves well. Assuming that a self-imposed invite is all right with you, we´ll join you in your compartment and you can keep an eye on him. That way, I´ll get a decent seat and you get to do your duty. Everyone wins, see?" He had a hard time keeping a straight face: his sentence was punctuated by the groaning and yelping of the Slytherins as they pulled on each other´s hair, flaying helplessly, to fend of their assailant.
"Deal," Ron said. "Hermione?"
"Well," she answered sceptically. "I suppose so…no more tricks, allright?" she added for Oliver´s benefit.
He grinned openly. "The thought hadn´t even crossed my mind."
Again, the girl frowned. She seemed to do this very often. "No? In that case, if I were you, I´d sue my face for slander. Go on then, call him. See if he does what you say."
Oliver turned his head sideways and gave a low whistle. With a last, sharp jap at Malfoy´s head, Corvus flapped his wings a few times and came soaring back to Oliver. He settled down on his shoulder with a last, balancing flap. When Oliver stroked his feathers appreciatively, it made a contend sound, somewhere between a hoot and a purr.
"Impressive bird, mate," Ron said, looking at Corvus admiringly, then he held out his hand. "I´m Ron. Ron Weasly." They shook hands and Ron motioned for him to come inside. "Make yourself at home."
"Thanks." He politely held out his hand, and waited for Hermione to shake it. "I´m Oliver Rapace.""
She looked at him sternly and shook his hand slowly. "Hermione Granger."
"Pleasure to meet you. Now, Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to watch over my owl for a couple of minutes, while I go and change? I don´t feel too comfortable in those," he added, pointing at his Muggle clothes. When he heard her muttered "Sure, whatever", he turned his head back to Corvus and whispered something in his ear. The owl hooted a couple of times, nibbled his ear in what it probably mistook for an affectionate way, then took off and landed on Hermione´s shoulder. As soon as it had settled down it had started to pick on Hermione´s hair.
"Hey, stop that! I said stop...that tickles!"
Corvus darted his head to and fro on her head, though careful not to hurt her.
"Thanks," Oliver smiled and turned around, making his way to the baggage compartment. As he passed the First Year Malfoy had been bullying, he ruffled his hair and told him to go sit somewhere. He was very careful not to smile as he passed the Slytherins.
Ron and Hermione watched him curiously (or, in Hermione´s case, still sceptically) as he slid open a door and disappeared through it.
"Interesting fellow," Ron said. "Never seen him before. D´you know what House he´s in?" Hermione shook her head. "And what was he doing with that bird? Looked like he was talking to it."
"Yeah…" Hermione hesitated. She had just been thinking the same. What had he been doing with that bird? She absent-mindedly tried to get Corvus off her head to stop him from nesting there. "Shoo. Shoo! Get off!" The owl made no sign of moving.
"But that´s not possible, is it?" Ron continued. "I mean it can´t be done, can it?" He eyed Hermione. "Can it?"
Just then, another boy had appeared behind them. "Can what be done?" he asked.
Ron looked at him. "Long story, mate. We just met someone interesting. Come on, I´ll tell you about it inside. Harry – have you ever heard the phrase The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"
Harry looked at him curiously as he entered the compartment.
"Ever heard of the phrase The enemy of my enemy is just some other guy?" Hermione muttered under her breath as she followed them inside.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1 – On Platform 9 ¾
Wizards were essentially large egos with pointed hats. They were proud people: proud not only of their arcane knowledge and powers, but also very proud of their billowing robes and flashy wands. It was therefore only logical, that wizards (or, rather, Wizards. Capitals were of large importance in the Wizarding World) did not mix well with other people. They did not want to mix well with other people. Wizards weren´t other people. Oh, they understood the concept of camouflage – or at least they had nodded vigourously when it had been explained to them – but then somehow always got it all wrong. This was expecially true for his parents, Oliver thought, as their car drew up outside King´s Cross Station, London.
As his driver opened to the door for him to get out, he straightened himself and glanced over to the second car, where his parents already stood, giving directions to their own driver. Oliver took in the faces of the people around him. Most of them didn´t even notice the small group of strangely attired people that stood next to the entrance hall. Some of them, though, stood there aghast, and gazed openly at them. He couldn´t say he blamed them. Oliver let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his slightly too long hair.
It´s not that they don´t try to blend in, he told himself. It´s just that whenever they try, they more or less blend out, instead.
Claudius Rapace, his father, stood there, dressed in his usual wizarding robes. Unfortunately, he had opted to wear a Muggle shirt and jacket too, their house crest emblazened on all three of them. On the minimal research he had done, he probably thought he looked nicely inconspicuous. Likewise, his mother, Messalina, wore her robes and pointy witches´ hat, but had conceeded to Muggle customs, insofar as she had stuck a flower in it, and carried three handbags.
Obviously enough, this attracted rather more attention than Oliver felt was necessary. They looked like someone who had overslept severely, or just gotten back from a stag night, respectively. He didn´t bother to comment, though. He had long since stopped trying to talk sense into his parents, as far as Muggles went. Instead, he just trudged over to the trunk of the car and watched impassively as the driver pulled at his baggage until it finally tore free. Muttering under his breatch, the old man heaved it onto a trolley and turned back to get the rest of Oliver´s possessions.
"Silly Muggles!" he muttered under his breath. "´d be so much easier for a bit o´magic. Damn and blast them, little…" He stopped himself abruptly when he noticed Oliver watching him, and drew himself up to full height. "I´m sorry, young master," he said hurriedly, bowing his head. "I was just commenting on…"
Oliver dismissively waved a hand to shut him up and the driver went back to the remaining piece of luggage. He glanced over at his parents and saw his mother waving imperiously at an elderly lady who had just dropped her groceries and gaped at her open-mouthed.
Bored, Oliver went to sit in the open car, and rummaged around in his Muggle clothes, fishing for his cigarettes. Smoking was, of course, known in the Wizarding World, though usually more in the form of long, artfully carved Rosewood-pipies. Cigarettes were commonly frowned upon, especially at Hogwarts, where, apparently, it set a bad example for the younger students to be smoking them. But, as in all schools, this did not necessarily keep the older ones from doing it. No one ever went to Moaning Myrtle´s bathroom anyway to notice the smell.
Besides, Oliver reasoned to himself, if I am to blend in in a Muggle crowd, it´s something of an imperative. They all seem do to it. Shame, though, that they can´t just ´magic away´ the more nefastuous side-effects. As it were.
When he had lighted it, he heard the flutter of wings, and turned to see a large, jet-black owl perched on the car door. It gave him a greeting hoot, then looked, with a surprising amount of disdain (for an owl), at the burning cigarette in his hands.
"Don´t judge me," Oliver said. "I´ve wondered where you´d gotten to. Wouldn´t want to miss Hogwarts, now would you? Not that I doubt for a second your ability to find your way there on your own," he added hastily as he caught her eye. "Still, I´d rather have you on the train with me."
At that, the owl swooped off the door, caught Oliver´s cigarette in its beak and threw it away, angrily stamping on it with its talons. When it had been reduced to sufficiently small shreds, the bird settled down on his knee, apparently satisfied. Owls didn´t like cigarettes. Or pipes, for that matter. Oliver stroked its feathers soothingly and smiled. He fished out his cigarette packet again and dangled it in front of the owl´s eyes.
"I know you don´t like it, Covus, my dear," he said sweetly, "but tere are some battles you just can´t win."
Corvus gave a hoot of disgust and made a snap at his fingers, though not in an entirely hostile way. Oliver ruffled the feathers on its head and barely looked up as he heard his father´s booming voice across the parking lot.
"Oliver! Stop playing with that ruddy bird, and get over here! The train leaves in nine minutes!"
Oliver looked at the owl. "What did you do to annoy him, this time? Lef droppings all over his desk again, I imagine." Corvus flapped his wings agitatedly. "We really should be going," he said with a glance at his watch. "Come along."
As the owl left his knee and circled the parking lot a last time, Oliver stood up and followed his parents and the driver into the station. The hall of King´s Cross was filled with people trying to catch their trains, and the noises they made. As he looked around him, hesaw a couple of other groupls making their way to Platform 9, most of them pushing enormous trolleys in front of them, loaded with trunks and birdcages, just like his own. Other Wizards, on their way to Hogwarts. There were a lot of First Years there – nervous-looking 11 year olds, who would be on teir first trip to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, looking uncertainly at each other. Oliver couldn´t help thinking that they would probably be a lot less nervous, if their parents would stop making such a fuss about it.
Oliver´s parents had also made a fuss off him going to Hogwarts, though for completely other reasons. They didn´t like Hogwarts very much. They like Albus Dumbledore, its Headmaster, even less. They had had some unpleasant busines with him in the past, and if there was one thing his parents were good at, it was holding on to old grudges. Oliver was surprised they had let him sign on to Hogwarts at all. They had had a bit of a discussion about it, but in the end he had made it clear that he wanted to go, and his parents had no choice but to accept this. Still, he was surprised they had not put up more of a fight over it. They could´t be comfortable with the thought of him going to a mixed-school, that was attended not only by real Wizards, but also Muggle-Borns. They did not approve of this – trust Dumbledore, they said, to let that kind of people in – and they clearly would not approve of him associating himself with them. His parents usually took a lively interest in what crowd their only son frequented. They would almost certainly frown on most of his soon to be found new friends.
They had frowned on most of his old friends, too, come to think of it, and had insisted that he spent more time with people of their choosing. Mostly these people were off old and respected (though in some instances also notorious and feared) Wizarding families, and quite a lot of them seemed to be girls his parents wanted to set him up wit. Of course, he was nearly 18 now, and in their time, people were long married by then.
Strangely enough, though, neither of his parents seemed to actually talk to one of these would-be fiancees before introducing them to him. Oliver found most of them icredibly dull, and occasionally also incredibly daft. That was of course to be expected – they were all purebloods, after all, from very distinguished families, that had, over the years, watched over their bloodlines and lineage like so many dog-breeders. He didn´t quite get it: how could anyone seriously talk about pureblooded Wizards anymore? If there had been no intermarriage between Wizards and Muggles, they would have had died out, long ago.
Certainly, there were some exceptions. The Malfoys for instance, or his own family for that matter, had only ever married people from an ever diminishing pool of other families. The result was obvious: Oliver constantly found himself facing some new cousin he was supposed to marry and spawn inbred little dolts with.
Of course, he could never voice these thoughts to his parents. His mother only communicated through levels of disappointment anyway, ever since that one time they actually had had a row about this. Back then, Oliver had said something about the family gene pool needing a bit of chlorine, and provoked a half-hour bout of costant screaming. He smiled at the memory of it. Then he noticed his parents had gone. Not that this would have deeply troubled him in itself, but they did have his trunk with them, after all. He helf himself up to his full height to find them in the mass of people, and gave an inward sigh of relief when he discovered his mother´s ridiculous flower-garnered hat in the crowd and hurried after them. Corvus came to a fluttering rest on his shoulder, just as he had caught up and fallen in step behind them.
As they got to Platform 9 ¾ , his parents stopped; Claudius Rapace motioned for one of the Hogwarts Express staff to come forward and take care of his son´s luggage. A middle-aged Wizard came hurrying over and levitated the trunk off the trolley and into the train wagon. Then he turned back and pointed at Oliver´s owl.
"You´ll have to put her in her cage, young man. Owls aren´t allowed in the compartments," he said in a stern voice.
They´re the same everywhere, Oliver thought. So very zealous when it comes to rules. And so very daft to it when it comes to common sense.
He didn´t usually hold to abusing his family influence. He rather prefered to manage things on his own, thank you very much. This however – this was one of the few opportunities where he valued his parents, and their disdain for anyone below Order or Merlin, First Class. He very much doubted if his parents actually cared about his owl. Probably they just get a kick out of ordering people around. But he wasn´t going to argue. Already, he could see his father straightening up and filling his lungs with enough air for what he knew was going to be one of those sermons people wished never to have experienced.
"Who are you, man?" Claudius Rapace asked.
"My name is Simmons, sir," the Hogwarts employee said nervously.
"Very well, Simmos. If my son wishes to take his ruddy bird on the train with him, then my son will very well do so."
"I´m afraid, sir, I can´t allow that. It´s against regulations."
Oliver´s father went red in the face. "Against regulations?" he bellowed. "What are your petty rules to me, man? Do you know who I am?"
The man shook his head.
"I am Claudius Rapace, Member of the Order of Mithrandir, Order of Merlin, First Class, Head of House Rapace, First Warlock of…"
Oliver turned away. He had witnessed this often enough. Father would shout at the unfortunate Wizard for as long as time permitted, the poor man would allow Oliver to take his owl with him and then mount the train himself, looking somewhat dejected. Father had a knack for making people uncomfortable with their lives.
"My great-grandfather personally helped in the defeat of…"
Something else caught Oliver´s eye. Further down the platform, he saw two boys and a slightly smaller girl saying goodbye to a rather short, plump-looking woman. The girl and one of the boys had flaming red hair and freckles. The other had black, dishevelled hair and wore glasses. He could not make it out from the distance, but he knew that the boy also had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"I myself have contributed to the glory of my house while you petty, little, unimportant…"
Well, this was as good an excuse as any.
"…were still hanging on your mother´s…"
He interrupted his father midway through his recapitulation of the various feats House Rapace had ever accomplished (and a rather crude remark, thankfully) and said his goodbyes. Then he turned to his mother and give her a slight peck on the cheek. When he was certain enough that none of his parents would notice, he sympathetically patted Simmons´ back. As he turned to walk away, he heard his father pick up his line of thought again.
"And now you, you, you…self-important son of a squib…"
Oliver smiled ruefully. As he boarded the train, he looked back at his family one last time. Simmons looked like he was on the verge of tears. Poor sod, he thought to himself. He turned his head to Corvus, who was still perched on his shoulder. "And all because of you," he whispered. The owl lookd at him quizzically. "Don´t worry. You really shouldn´t be locked up in a cage. Not when you could do something much more useful," he added, as he looked down the corridor. He had stpotted three students in Slytherin robes, closing in on a very frightened First Year. One of the Slytherins – what looked like the leader – had a long, blonde hair, carefully combed back over his head. The other two were the sort of people you found at every school: big, wide, imposing. The way they stooped over the other one´s shoulders, it was clear who was the muscle, and who was, for lack of a better word, the brain.
Oliver gave his shoulder a jerk. "Slytherins. Off ou go."
Corvus had tensed at the mention of the name, flexed his wings angrily and was off like a shot, manging in the process to sink his talons in Oliver´s shoulder. He winced automatically and slid one hand under his shirt to inspect the damage. Sure enough, when he brought it back up to look at it, there was blood on his fingers. He grunted somewhat disgustedly and turned around to find an empty compartment, as far away from the Slytherins as possible. As he turned, he bumped into a tall girl with bushy hair. A lot of bushy hair. They started apologising almost simultaneously.
"Ouch! Sorry, I…"
"Whoa, sorry! I didn´t see you…"
Both their voices trailed off. The girl frowned at him.
"Sorry," Oliver said sheepishly. "I didn´t see you standing there."
"Don´t worry, I…" She glanced at his bloodied fingers and frowned again. The way her forehead settled readily into a pattern of wrinkles made Oliver suppose that she did this quite a lot. "I´m sure I´m not that skinny…"
"What? Oh, no. No, no, that was just my owl. He gets a bit jumpy sometimes," he explained, as he wiped his hands clean on his trousers. "Got me on the shoulder just now."
"I know what you mean. Crookshanks – that´s my cat – he always gets angry when I put him in the baggage wagon. That´s why I have these here." She held up a pair of leather gloves for inspection. Suddenly the train gave a shudder as it started to move. Both of them gave a small jerk as they tried to keep their balance, waiting for the train to steady itself and pick up speed. Through one of the windows, Oliver could see his parents making their way back to the Muggle world, his father still gesticulating wildly. It´s so hard for him to stop, once he´s gotten all worked up.
"Actually, he´s not with the baggage. He´s just over there-" Oliver said, pointing over his shoulder. He grinned widely when he heard a yelp of pain from one of the Slytherins behind him. "Making himself useful."
The girl looked over his shoulders and frowned. Again.
"That´s against regulations, though, isn´t it? Owls are not allowed in the passenger compartment, you know. I should…"
As she moved slightly to get another good look at Corvus, her robes parted to reveal a golden "P" embroidered in the silky material, just below the golden Lion of the Gryffindor House crest.
A Prefect. Great.
Oliver stepped in front of her when she started to move. "Listen," he said quickly. "You can just leave him there. He´s not huring anyone." There was another yelp at that point, as, obviously, the owl did hurt someone. Oliver cast a quick look over his shoulder at the Slytherins. They were waving their arms frantically, trying to fight off the apparently homicidal bird. "Much."
The girl straightened up. "I´m a Prefect, thank you very much. I really should…"
There was a loud grunt, when one of the Slytherins accidentally kicked the other two in the stomach, in an effort to get back at Corvus. Oliver had to supress a wide grin.
Suddenly, a head covered in flaiming red hair shot out off one of the compartmens behind them. The boy Oliver had seen on the Platform earlier looked at them questioningly.
"Hermione? What´s going on? What´s that bird doing to Malfoy?" he added in a happy tone.
Oliver raised his arms soothingly. "Nothing. He´s just having a bit of fun."
"I´ll say." Ron looked at Oliver slyly. "Well, seeing as Draco is all right…Coming, Hermione?"
The girl called Hermione turned around. "Ron, we´re Prefects," she said excitedly. "It´s our job to put that owl away. Even if it´s just picking on…" She hesitated and looked at the Slytherins. "…Malfoy."
"Oh, come on, Hermione. Don´t be such a goody-goody. Draco can handle himself."
"Listen," Oliver said. "I don´t want any trouble with you, but there´s no way Corvus will spend the journey in a cage. I´ll make you a deal. I´ll get him off those guys and see to it that he behaves well. Assuming that a self-imposed invite is all right with you, we´ll join you in your compartment and you can keep an eye on him. That way, I´ll get a decent seat and you get to do your duty. Everyone wins, see?" He had a hard time keeping a straight face: his sentence was punctuated by the groaning and yelping of the Slytherins as they pulled on each other´s hair, flaying helplessly, to fend of their assailant.
"Deal," Ron said. "Hermione?"
"Well," she answered sceptically. "I suppose so…no more tricks, allright?" she added for Oliver´s benefit.
He grinned openly. "The thought hadn´t even crossed my mind."
Again, the girl frowned. She seemed to do this very often. "No? In that case, if I were you, I´d sue my face for slander. Go on then, call him. See if he does what you say."
Oliver turned his head sideways and gave a low whistle. With a last, sharp jap at Malfoy´s head, Corvus flapped his wings a few times and came soaring back to Oliver. He settled down on his shoulder with a last, balancing flap. When Oliver stroked his feathers appreciatively, it made a contend sound, somewhere between a hoot and a purr.
"Impressive bird, mate," Ron said, looking at Corvus admiringly, then he held out his hand. "I´m Ron. Ron Weasly." They shook hands and Ron motioned for him to come inside. "Make yourself at home."
"Thanks." He politely held out his hand, and waited for Hermione to shake it. "I´m Oliver Rapace.""
She looked at him sternly and shook his hand slowly. "Hermione Granger."
"Pleasure to meet you. Now, Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to watch over my owl for a couple of minutes, while I go and change? I don´t feel too comfortable in those," he added, pointing at his Muggle clothes. When he heard her muttered "Sure, whatever", he turned his head back to Corvus and whispered something in his ear. The owl hooted a couple of times, nibbled his ear in what it probably mistook for an affectionate way, then took off and landed on Hermione´s shoulder. As soon as it had settled down it had started to pick on Hermione´s hair.
"Hey, stop that! I said stop...that tickles!"
Corvus darted his head to and fro on her head, though careful not to hurt her.
"Thanks," Oliver smiled and turned around, making his way to the baggage compartment. As he passed the First Year Malfoy had been bullying, he ruffled his hair and told him to go sit somewhere. He was very careful not to smile as he passed the Slytherins.
Ron and Hermione watched him curiously (or, in Hermione´s case, still sceptically) as he slid open a door and disappeared through it.
"Interesting fellow," Ron said. "Never seen him before. D´you know what House he´s in?" Hermione shook her head. "And what was he doing with that bird? Looked like he was talking to it."
"Yeah…" Hermione hesitated. She had just been thinking the same. What had he been doing with that bird? She absent-mindedly tried to get Corvus off her head to stop him from nesting there. "Shoo. Shoo! Get off!" The owl made no sign of moving.
"But that´s not possible, is it?" Ron continued. "I mean it can´t be done, can it?" He eyed Hermione. "Can it?"
Just then, another boy had appeared behind them. "Can what be done?" he asked.
Ron looked at him. "Long story, mate. We just met someone interesting. Come on, I´ll tell you about it inside. Harry – have you ever heard the phrase The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"
Harry looked at him curiously as he entered the compartment.
"Ever heard of the phrase The enemy of my enemy is just some other guy?" Hermione muttered under her breath as she followed them inside.