Hermione Granger was a very smart girl. Maybe even approaching genius level. Everyone said so. Her parents, her teachers, her doctor. Even the postman said so (although he tended to say it with a big goofy smile on his face, before patting her on the head and giving her the day's post.)
So when she said something, she was not accustomed to being brushed off as though she was your average dumb five-year-old.
"Mummy, why are those people all carrying brooms?" she asked, tugging at her mother's hand.
"Don't be silly, darling, no-one's got a broom," Mrs Granger replied absently, more concerned with getting through the post-Christmas rush.
"But Mummy, look, there's a whole crowd of them over there!" Hermione jabbed an index finger at the group of strangely dressed people in front of them. For such a big group – and all carrying long brooms – they were having a much easier time getting through this crowd than the Grangers were.
"Don't point, Hermione, it's rude," her mother said, and pulled her to the left around a woman with several children – all with blazing red hair – who were standing in the middle of the pavement, apparently gaping at the cars going past in the street.
When Hermione caught sight of the strange group again, they were laughing. One of them was pretending to sweep people out of their way, before slinging the broom over his shoulder again.
Now, they say that curiosity killed the cat – and no doubt Hermione could give ten reasons both proving and denying that argument – but Hermione soaked up knowledge like a sponge. So seeing a strange group like that . . . Hermione had to KNOW everything about them. Who were they? Why were they dressed like that? Where were they going? Why had her mother seemingly not seen them right in front of her?
As another surge of the crowd pushed towards Hermione and her mother, Hermione took the opportunity and slipped from her mother's grasp, heading in the opposite direction and ignoring her mother's cry of "Hermione!"
She caught up with them just as they casually sauntered into what looked like a fairly abandoned part of Kings Cross Station.
They seemed to be discussing a sport of some kind, although the terms they used weren't familiar to her. Granted, Hermione wasn't sporty in the slightest, but knowledge was knowledge, whatever it was about.
They were also complaining about having to take the train.
"Don't see why we can't fly," grumbled one, who was shorter than the others and skinny.
"Because Dumbles says so," retorted another. "And what Dumbles wants, old Dumbles gets."
"Old is right," a third, stocky one said with a snort. "Old enough to be seeing shadows where there are none. You-Know-Who is gone, but to hear Dumbledore tell it, he's just waiting to come out of hiding any day now."
"Still, least he hired us for a paid show for the kids," another one piped up. "Here's the entrance."
And, to Hermione's astonishment, the seven players walked straight through what appeared to be a thick metal door.
Her jaw dropped. That . . . that just wasn't possible! It had to be a curtain or something that just looked like a door.
She approached it hesitantly and gingerly held out a finger. She touched nothing but air, yet her eyes insisted her finger was half buried in the door.
Alarmed, Hermione drew back. She wasn't sure her curiosity was strong enough for this.
"Are you going through or not?" an imperious voice suddenly demanded from behind her.
A boy no older than herself stood there, his arms crossed. He was immaculately dressed, and if it hadn't been for his grey eyes, Hermione would have classed him as an albino, his hair and skin were that pale. He frowned at her when she didn't respond quickly enough for him, his eyes darting up to her curly brown hair and away again.
"Some of us want to go through," he said, haughtily. "You're in the way."
"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Hermione stammered, and turned to look at the gate again. She caught movement from the corner of her eye, and before she could say anything, the little blonde boy had shoved her straight through the barrier!
Hermione opened her mouth to scream then caught sight of all the activity, and her breath caught in her lungs.
People . . . people everywhere! And dressed in the same strange clothes as the group she'd been following. Maybe it was some kind of costume party, she mused. A loud, ear-splitting whistle sounded from her left, and drew her attention to a large steam train.
It appeared to be ready to move off . . . except it wasn't sitting on any tracks.
Confused, Hermione glanced over to where the blonde boy was standing. He was obviously scanning the crowd for someone, stretching as tall as he could without actually standing on tiptoe.
"Can you see where the Arrows went?" he asked.
"I'm guessing over there." Hermione pointed to where the crowd was quickly drawing together and the noise level was fast approaching unbearable. Even from where they stood, it was easy to see people pushing and shoving. Every so often there'd be a brief flash of light, and someone would reel out of the mob.
"I'm not going through that rabble," the boy stated, sticking his nose in the air. "Where's my father? He'll get me to see them."
"I've got a better way," Hermione said. "They're obviously making for the train." She pointed to where the engine was emitting regular clouds of purple smoke. "No-one's watching that end. We could climb on board and wait for them inside."
"Hmmm." The boy made a humming sound of agreement. "Not a bad idea. For a girl."
"Hey!" Hermione protested, outraged. The boy just gave a grin that was no doubt called charming by old ladies, and dashed away towards the engine.
Hermione followed, rather more cautiously. The engine kept changing colours. It had been steel grey when she'd first seen it, and now it was a sky blue. Even as she watched, it slowly shimmered and a dark green swept across it. At least the clouds of billowing smoke – multi-coloured as it was – kept the clamouring mob from seeing the two children as they reached the engine and scrambled into the first carriage.
At least the inside was normal, Hermione thought.
Apart from the kelpie-like waving seatbelts, of course.
Ducking beneath the windows, she followed the boy up the train, close to where the mob outside was loudest. She could hear someone trying to call for order, insisting the Arrows had a previous appointment and had to leave now. Wouldn't want to disappoint the kiddies, now, would they?
"Now what?" the boy – she really had to ask his name – whispered at her.
"We pick a carriage and hide," she whispered back. Tiptoeing to the only open compartment, they both wriggled their way up onto the luggage racks and pressed back into the shadows close to the wall.
Barely two minutes later, they heard people boarding the train. The group Hermione had been following – the Arrows apparently, whoever they were – piled into the compartment, laughing and joking loudly.
They were so loud that Hermione felt quite safe talking to her companion, as the Arrows wouldn't have heard anything less than a cannon blast. How they managed to hear themselves, Hermione couldn't fathom.
She poked him in the leg to get his attention. "What's your name?" she hissed.
"Why do you need to know?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Because I can't call you 'Hey, You'," Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes.
"Draco Malfoy," the boy said eventually, with a slight huff. He looked at her, obviously expecting Hermione to recognise the name. As she didn't, Hermione ignored the look.
"Hermione Granger," she whispered.
Draco frowned. "What family are you from?" he asked.
"The Grangers?" Hermione repeated, confused. Hadn't she just told him her full name?
Now Draco rolled his eyes. "You aren't very clever, are you?" he said. Hermione bristled indignantly. "I meant what Pureblood family are you a part of?"
While Hermione puzzled over the 'Pureblood' remark, the train, with a last ear-piercing screech, gently rose half a foot in the air and began to move forward.
"What's a pureblood?" Hermione finally had to ask.
"Oh." Draco looked vaguely disgusted. "You're a half-blood."
"Um . . ." Hermione chewed her lower lip. "What's that?"
"Means one of your parents, or a set of grandparents, are Muggles." Draco pronounced the last word as though it left a very foul taste in his mouth. Hermione's expression must have asked her question for her. Draco looked horrified. "A Muggle has no magic. But you saw the barrier . . . you're a mudblood!"
And at that second, all hell broke loose.
There was an almighty bang, a bright flash of light, a chorus of surprised yells from the Arrows, and the train – which had been gaining height and speed – suddenly came to a grinding halt and dropped like a stone.
Hermione and Draco both screamed, as did most of the other people in the compartment. The train bounced twice then came to rest on its side. Slowly, the dust settled, and a chorus of moans and groans started.
Hermione clung to the luggage rack webbing and whimpered at the pain in her arm. Draco's eyes fluttered, and he groaned, a trickle of blood starting to slide down his temple.
Several sharp cracks sounded outside, and Hermione heard voices.
"Accidental magic . . . Arrows on board . . . Malfoy's son . . . Reversal Squad's here."
Two men appeared in the doorway. It took them ten minutes and a particularly loud whimper from Hermione to find the two children.
"Okay, kids, parents are on their way," one said, as they were carried out of the wreckage.
Half an hour later, Hermione was being passed through the barrier and swept up into her mum's arms.
A tall man was waiting for Draco. Since he was pretty much an older version of Draco, Hermione assumed it was his father.
"No need for panic, folks, they're fine," said Hermione's rescuer. "Now, if you could all just watch my colleague over there . . ."
"Obliviate!"