Survival
IV
The Hogwarts Express
…
..
.
Finally, Harry thought with anticipation. Hogwarts. Although he'd never expected to have a do-over chance at his life and fix all the stupid things he'd done, nor did he expect to feel this nervous and excited - he'd lived this before, hadn't he, so why was he so jittery? Maybe it was because he was tired. Exhausted, more like. The Dursleys had not been impressed with his "freakishness", and his "freaky school". They'd been even less impressed that he hadn't cowered or flinched in the face of their anger and starvation, which, he could admit, was stupid of him, but he was practically grown (mentally) and they didn't scare him. Not anymore. That didn't change he being tired (chores from six in the morning until seven at night did that to a physically young boy) nor the pain on his back, which boasted dozens of bruises from dear Uncle Vernon's 'concerned discipline'. Funny, he thought, how doing absolutely nothing could so enrage the man. "Beat the freakishness out", indeed.
He gave a grunt as he tugged on his Hogwarts trunk. It was heavy, especially now with a scrawny eleven-year-old body. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be so small. Defenceless.
It was noisy on Platform 9 and 3/4 as witches, wizards and muggles bustled around, giving goodbye kisses or threatening warnings of expectations they ordered their children to complete. Harry kept his head down, pleased with the plain black hat that hid his scar, and the simple muggle clothes that declared him no-one of interest. He'd be more cautious, now. His hands were sweaty on the handle of the trunk, both from the exertion of tugging on it and sheer terror that he bullheadedly ignored.
He'd been through a war. His mind was screaming at him. His wand was heavy in its holster. He had to continually remind himself that he could draw it at a moment's notice. But I won't have a moment.
"'Ey, mate," he heard a mischievous chime, synchronised perfectly.
The twins, he thought, come to my rescue just as before. He looked up, breathless. There they were, grinning madly like fools with their faces still determinedly gripping onto baby fat. "Hello," he answered.
It was Fred that stepped towards him first. "Do you need a hand, ickle firstie? You look like you're struggling."
He gave a reserved smile and kept his body compact, displaying a loose body language to ward off any attention - he needed to be known, but in a way that made knowing him redundant. He had to be a someone who was a no-one. He needed people to underestimate him, so that when the time came, he could do something. He could save them. He could help. "Yes, please," he said in a soft voice, lowering his head shyly. He couldn't control his nervousness, his utter giddiness completely (both of them were here, alive! Whole!).
George gently ushered Harry out of the way and then he and Fred lifted the trunk onto the Hogwarts Express.
"Thank you," Harry said, and meant it. They had always been kind to him.
One of the twins - he couldn't see who as he was too busy eyeing a smirking Malfoy Senior - playfully draped an arm over his shoulders, thin from malnourishment. "No problem, mate. Anytime!"
They left then, Harry catching the words "Lee", "tarantula" and "bloody awesome!"
He sighed and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. Walking through the train, he felt almost nauseated by his classmates. They were all so young.
Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore, and besides, the train was due to leave soon, so he grabbed an empty compartment and sat down. Closing the door, he pulled out his wand and eyed it. Did it have the Trace? Deciding not to test his luck, he slid it up his sleeve and back into its holster. No point in trying - at least not now.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his injuries stinging him awake but his exhaustion pulling him to sleep.
.
.
.
A terrified screech. Hermione. Porcelain sinks flying like doves, soaring through the air. Water spurting up with the same splendour of fireworks.
And towering over it all, swaying and snorting, the troll. The girl screamed again, throwing herself to the side, away from the troll.
It was massive, its head inches from the ceiling. It swung its club idly, muttering. The stench of it made Harry's eyes water.
The boy next to him shuddered, pale hands clutching his wand in a death grip. "What do we do?" Ron cried.
But it was changing. The scene. The memory. Harry heard Hermione's terrified shrieking warble. Ron's white face distorted. The sink and the floor and the water and the troll - it was all warping. Rippling furiously like it was only a photograph, now submerged beneath water.
This memory was changing.
This memory was becoming something else.
.
.
.
Harry jerked awake, gasping. And the train lurched on.
Author's Note:
It didn't feel right to add more here, so I'm just posting this (sorry). I'll post another (longer) chapter soon. I'm going to gloss over scenes that don't interest me, or that I feel have been done before. If this bothers enough people, say so and I'll write them. Also, I need what House Harry should be in before I can update, as the next chapter will have the Sorting. Opinions, people?
"It is both a blessing
and a curse
to feel everything
so very deeply."
-dj
