Chapter 2: The Passenger

Afternoon crawled into evening. Despite having the television and kitchen all to himself, Harry was too nervous to watch or to eat. Each time a car passed the house, he jumped - hoping for the Knight Bus and dreading the possibility that the Dursleys might have decided to return. Twice, then a third time, he checked the empty space under the floorboards of his bedroom, and looked in on Hedwig, drowsing on the porch railing. The sun set, twilight fell, and still there was no sign of the bus. Harry paced back and forth in the front room, unable to keep his eyes off the clock. Finally it struck ten. The match had been over for an hour and the Dursleys were surely on their way home. Harry plopped into a chair, in despair of ever seeing Hogwarts again.

At last he saw the flash of headlights and heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. He bounded to the window. An unfamiliar car backed out again and drove off the way it had come. Harry dropped the curtain and shook his head. Suddenly, headlights stabbed into his eyes again. There in the driveway stood an enormous purple bus. The front door opened wide and a familiar voice bawled out, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency…"

Harry wrenched open the front door. "Stan! Over here!" The gawky conductor jumped out of the bus and looked about.

"'Ere, 'oo said that?" he called suspiciously. He caught sight of Harry in the doorway and bounded over. "Blimey, it's you again! Neville, I mean 'Arry Potter, ain'tcha?"

"Right," said Harry. He pumped Stan's hand. "You've no idea how glad I am to see you."

"'Oo, me?" said Stan, surprised. "Right. Well. Glad to see you too, Neville."

"Can you give me a hand with my trunk? My Muggle relatives locked it up in here, and they're coming back any minute." He gestured to the nailed-up closet. Stan shook his head. "Can't do nuffink about that. Left me wand in me other coat, y'see. Woss the matter wiv yours?"

"It's locked in there." Harry pointed. "What about Ernie's? Can we use his?"

"Dincha know 'e retired?" Stan asked, scratching his neck. "Marnie's driving tonight. You could ask 'er, I reckon."

Another car passed the house. Harry's heart rose in his throat as he fought the temptation to check the clock again. He raced outside and peered into the bus. The largest woman he had ever seen looked back at him with calm dignity. Her ample sides spilled over the armchair that was the driver's seat. Behind her stretched the room he remembered from his last ride, with bedsteads lined up along the walls, and candles flickering in wall brackets between the curtained windows. The driver leaned forward and smiled at him serenely. "Now there, lad. How can I help you?"

Stan came up behind him. "Marn, this 'ere's 'Arry Potter and 'e wants t'borrow your wand for a mo'."

"In the compartment, lad." She raised a massive arm and pointed to an ornate wooden cabinet with claw feet and beveled glass doors. Harry spotted the wand resting on a crocheted doily. Shoving it into Stan's hands, he pushed him back into the house.

"'Choo want me to do wiv this?" demanded Stan. "Doncha know 'ow to work one yet?"

"Please, Stan," urged Harry, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "I'm underage; I'm not allowed. Can you open this cupboard for me?"

Stan pointed the wand at the door below the stairs. "'Ello'omora!" he intoned. The door rattled crazily on its hinges. Dust sprang from the keyhole and skittered across the floor. Agonized squeaks rang from every nail.

"Belay that!" yelled Stan, ducking behind a couch. The noise stopped instantly. He grinned at Harry's surprised expression. "Dint know that 'un, didja? Quicker'n that 'Fini-tay' business, ain't it, 'Arry?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks. I didn't want to tear the house apart. Let's try another one."

Stan looked puzzled. "You call it, then, I don't know another."

Harry thought for a moment. "Just say 'apertum crescendum' and bob the tip up and down a bit."

"Apertum woss?"

"Crescendum," repeated Harry. "Now, move it up and down like you're prying something open."

Stan did as he was told, and the crack at the bottom of the door began to yawn open like an enormous mouth. Stan's jaw dropped. "Coo!" he exclaimed. "Jus' like a ruddy screwdriver!"

"Hold it there," advised Harry, scrambling through the opening. He emerged a moment later dragging his trunk, with Hedwig's cage and his schoolbag looped over his broomstick. "Belay that!" grinned Stan, and the door snapped down again with a sharp crack. Together they wrestled the trunk onto the bus, followed by Hedwig who settled on a bedpost.

"Where to, lad?" asked Marnie calmly.

"London, please, the Leaky Cauldron."

"On our way, then, lad." Remembering Ernie Prang's driving, Harry braced himself, but the bus moved off gently and circled once about the house before heading back up Privet Drive. Looking out the window, Harry saw the Dursleys' car weaving toward them. Aunt Petunia looked up, and as their eyes met, he could almost hear her scream.

" 'Ere you go, 'Arry," said Stan, waving to one of the beds lined up against the walls. He nudged the trunk into place with his knee and swung into the armchair next to Marnie. " 'Ave a good ride."

Harry glanced around the room. On the next bed, a young woman sat crosslegged. She was wearing earphones and tapping her fingers in time to music. Blue and silver streaks were dyed into her long black hair and around her neck hung a strange necklace of wooden, leather and crystal charms on a silken braid. Stacked at the foot of the bed were several trunks labeled H. M. Takushiki. She looked over at Harry and slid her earphones down. "Hello," she said cheerily. "That's a lovely broomstick you have there."

Harry grinned. "It's a Firebolt. Have a look if you like." She took it from him, sighted along the polished handle and ran her hand over the twigs. Dust swirled into the air.

"You haven't used it in a while," she observed.

"Right," said Harry ruefully. "I've been working for my Muggle aunt and uncle this summer and they won't let me ride it at their house." It felt wonderful to talk to someone about broomsticks again. "I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts and back into the air."

"Hogwarts?" She looked at him with interest. "That's where I'm going too. I wish I could have gotten there earlier, but I just finished up my job this morning." She yawned. "It's been a looong trip from East Timor."

"Is that where you're from?" asked Harry. "You don't have an accent."

"No, just working there." She levitated the Firebolt over one finger, tossing it up several inches and watching it glide as it settled back. Finally she plucked it out of the air and handed it back to Harry. "Do you, ah, ever let other people ride this?" There was a note of envy in her voice.

"Sure. Ask me any time. " Harry grinned again. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite think whom. "Would you mind if I asked you a question?" he continued, feeling awkward. "What kind of work did you do? I grew up with Muggles, you see, and I don't know much about wizarding jobs."

"Well, you know about the civil war in East Timor," she began. Harry nodded uncertainly, watching her face turn serious. "War zones tend to attract all kinds of evil, including evil magic. I worked with local wizards and witches to cast out Dark enchantments that had come in with the war. We also tried to bring back any magical folk who had been lured over to the Dark Way."

"Do they ever really come back?" he asked. "I mean, can you ever trust them again?" He thought of Peter Pettigrew, who had been his father's friend and Secret-Keeper.

"Sometimes they do," she said thoughtfully, and frowned. "But it can be hard on them, very hard. Anyway," she continued, "two came back in Dili, and we found and broke a few hundred curses and calmed down masses of ghosts and, guess what, we even discovered an oni that had been lost since the 1940s."

Harry searched his brain. What had Prof. Lupin said about oni? "What did you do with it?" he asked.

"Sent it back to an oni reserve in Japan, of course. No one really wanted to kill it."

"What happens now?" Harry asked.

"With the big problems out of the way, the local wizards can go back to doing their thing, you know, gathering potion herbs, taking in apprentices and so on."

Harry was curious. "How did you get started? Did you have to learn to speak, ah, Indonesian?"

She pointed upward. On a burnt-out candle stub perched a large parrot. "Petcock's my translator for everything except sign language and Japanese." The bird opened one eye.

"Hullo, Petcock," said Harry.

"Young man, kindly refrain from disturbing me," squawked the bird, blinking at him. "I am presently engaged in meditation." It shut its eye again.

"Oh, rubbish," said the young woman, "When he's not meditating, there's no shutting him up. By the way, I'm Hecate."

"I'm Harry," said Harry, feeling slightly uneasy about not adding his surname. He glanced out the window into the darkness. The bus seemed to be floating along about forty feet above a highway. The sky-glow off to his right told him that they were nearing London. All of a sudden they were over suburban houses, and just after that he looked down upon a city centre park. The bus had not even twitched.

"We 'ere already?" Stan asked the driver. Marnie nodded.

"Just touching down now, lad." She set the brake unhurriedly and leaned back in her chair as Stan hopped up.

"'Ere we go, everybody out!"

Harry stepped down from the bus onto the pavement in front of the Leaky Cauldron. The street was deserted, but lights burned brightly inside the tiny pub. Harry rummaged in his trunk and counted out eleven Sickles into Stan's hand. With a wave, Hecate slipped past him, her trunks wobbling along behind her like ducklings. On the last one perched Petcock, his eyes still closed. When Harry hoisted his own trunk, he found that she had charmed it, for it was as light as a feather. Quickly he hurried through the door into the world he had missed for so long.

"Well, if it ain't 'Arry again!" Tom, the elderly barman, grinned at Harry, exposing a double expanse of pink gums. "You're lucky to 'ave reservations tonight – we're right busy this week and an old building like this 'un can only stretch so far." He looked around for the clerk. "Nigel'll take yer stuff up t'yer old room."

Harry felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Hecate. "Come on", she urged, "let's get a bite to eat. I'll bet you haven't had a butterbeer all summer." The prospect sounded so good that Harry accepted instantly. Ever nosy, the barman sidled up and asked Harry loudly who his friend was.

"Tom, this is Hecate," said Harry. "We're both going up to Hogwarts tomorrow."

" Pleased to meetcher," said Tom, wiping his hand before offering it for a handshake. "And what'll ye be doin' up there, miss?"

"Some advanced subjects in Muggle Studies and Defense against the Dark Arts," she replied, "and also teaching the Defense classes."

Harry blushed. "Then I should be calling you Professor Takushiki," he stammered. "Sorry about that."

Hecate chuckled. "If you do, I'll have to call you Mr. Potter. But why stand on ceremony?" It was indeed hard to stand on ceremony with someone so friendly and considerate. Soon they were chatting away about Quidditch.

Harry was awakened the next morning by the touch of soft feathers on his face. Ron's tiny owl stood on his pillow, clutching a note in his claws.

Meet us at the bookshop at nine – Ron

Harry dressed quickly and hurried to finish his banking and to arrange for delivery of his trunk to the station. The clock was just striking nine as he caught up with the Weasleys in front of Flourish and Blotts. Soon he had been hugged in turn by Molly Weasley, a furiously blushing Ginny, Hermione, and last Ron. Arthur pumped his hand enthusiastically, and Fred and George slapped him on the back.

"How did it go, Harry?" The twins were eager to hear about his escape. Harry started to explain, then caught a penetrating glance from Molly Weasley.

"Er, later," he promised.

The bookshop was only beginning to be busy, and before long everyone had picked up their books and equipment. "Fascinating," murmured Hermione. "What wonderful books for this year." Harry ran his finger down the list.

Analysis of Enchantments, Alberic Grunnion

Prefects who Gained Power, Reynardo Fox

Prefects who Kept Power, Astucia Fox

Means, Ends, and Loyalties, Ignatius Abbott.

Gewaltig Grindelwald: A Biography, Olimprius Dienstmann.

Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Theory and Practice of Potions, Vol. 2, Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim

Worry clouded Molly Weasley's face. "So many books, again?"

"Don't worry, Mum," Ron assured her. "We have most of these at home, and Percy has the two on prefects. I'll send a school owl to fetch them."

"But why is Shakespeare a set book?" she continued. "Wonderful plays, surely, but we used to do them in Muggle Studies. I can't imagine it for Defense against the Dark Arts. And Grindelwald?" She shuddered. "Dienstmann was his second in command. He wrote that book during his trial, before they sent him to Azkaban. A terrible man. I should like a word with Prof. Lupin, or whoever they've found to fill his post."

"Wasn't Dienstmann the one who used to breed…" began Hermione.

"Hush!" said Mrs. Weasley. "The less said about that, the better. Thank goodness for Albus Dumbledore."

Mr. Weasley led the group, now laden with packages, out of the bookstore. "What shall we do now?" he asked. "It's over an hour before the train leaves. Would anyone like a snack?" Suddenly he spied a familiar red-headed figure appearing around a corner. "Percy!" he exclaimed.

George and Fred broke into laughter. "If it isn't the Ministry's own Head Boy!"

"Top of the morning to you, sir!"

"Percy, have they got you delivering parcels these days?"

Percy gave the twins a brief look of disdain, but greeted the rest of the family warmly.

"What are you doing over here, Percy?" asked Molly Weasley. "The ministry's on the other end of Diagon Alley."

As Percy launched into a long description, Ron turned to Harry. "He and Dad have been working together," he explained quietly, "tracking down some Muggle items that belonged to a dead witch. They seem to be haunted."

A long minute later Percy finished up. "…and now I'm on my way back to the Ministry to have them checked over."

Arthur looked at his son proudly. "Can you spare a moment to join us for a bite?" Percy nodded. "How about the Rabbit-Hole Bakery?" he suggested, pointing to a large round window across the street. As they queued up at the door, Harry caught sight of Hecate ahead of them in line.

"Professor," he called. Ron and Hermione looked at him strangely.

"You mean that girl with the earphones?" asked Hermione. "Who is she?"

"The new Defense mistress," explained Harry. He called again. "Professor Takushiki?"

Fred nudged George. "Oooh, defend me," he sighed.

George nudged back. "Oooh, with your lips, babe…Ouch!"

Hopping on one foot, he turned a wounded look at his mother, who stared back reprovingly.

"Behave yourself, George, or I'll step on the other one."

Harry took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. "Hecate?" he called, as Ron chuckled. Instantly her head bobbed up and she smiled broadly. "I'd like you to meet some of my friends."

Harry felt very grown-up as he introduced Prof. Takushiki to Hermione and the Weasleys. How confident she is, he thought, how quickly she makes new friends. One by one she shook hands with everyone, putting even Molly Weasley at ease. As she took Percy's hand, though, the boxes under his arm slid out and tumbled to the floor. Prof. Takushiki bent down to retrieve one that had landed by her feet. As she stood up, her face turned very grave. "Oh, my," she exclaimed. "Do you know where this came from?" She handed it gingerly back to Percy.

Percy nodded proudly. "Yes, very sad," he said solemnly. "A suicide, I'm afraid."

"No," said Hecate thoughtfully, "no, she didn't look like one at all. I think instead she…" She looked up to see everyone watching her. "Er, would you excuse us for a moment?" She took Percy's arm firmly and steered him outside. Through the racks of cakes, Harry watched her look up and down the street, then begin to talk earnestly to Percy. By the time they returned, Arthur Weasley was passing around eclairs. Each pastry sent out brilliant flashes of light whenever it was moved or bitten, and the overall effect was like a fireworks display. Harry looked closely at Percy, whose veneer of self-importance had crumbled. He looked shaken, even near to tears.

"I must leave now, Father," explained Percy, with all the dignity he could muster. "I must get back to the Ministry right away."

"What about your eclair?" asked his father. Percy shook his head. "Is there anything I can do?" Percy nodded.

"Can we talk on the way back to the office? We need to contact Dumbledore immediately."

"Go ahead, dear," said Molly Weasley, "I'll see everyone off."

Percy managed a wan smile. "Good-bye, everyone, until the holidays."

George glanced across the wide table at his mother, then grinned. "Maybe Hecate would like Percy's eclair – wouldn't you, Hecate ?" He winced as Ron kicked him, hard, under the table. Prof. Takushiki stifled a chuckle. "I could never say no to chocolate, but these do hurt my eyes," she said. She pulled a pair of dark glasses from her pocket and put them on before accepting the sweet.

"Professor Takushiki?" asked Hermione, and this time the young Defense mistress looked up. "We were just discussing the books for this year. May I ask you a question about them?"

"And I have a few after you," said Molly Weasley. "On the way to the station, perhaps?" She looked around the table. "Is everyone ready? Off we go then, and don't forget your parcels. Next stop, Platform 9 3/4!"