07 - Journey to Hogwarts

The waiting was difficult.

The first days were easy to go through, what with me still coming to terms with the whole ordeal, but as the first week passed, I began to grow… uneasy.

Yes, that was the word. Uneasy. Worried.

Slightly hysterical.

There were mornings where I woke up thinking Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had been a dream; that Diagon Alley had been nothing but a rather ingenious creation of my mind. But then I would feel that thin piece of wood in my hand, warm and alive, beating in concordance to my own heartbeat and only then would I allow myself to breathe.

Meanwhile, as I prepared to leave this world, news had spread quickly after that trip to Diagon Alley: Freaky Anne had gotten herself a scholarship and wouldn't return until the next summer.

The responses varied in degrees of anger and relief. Anger, because I was not even thirteen, and relief because Freaky Anne would no longer be the cause of the 'accidents' at St. Louise's. I wasn't surprised by Carol Davis' flock of vultures' sudden spurt of cleverness with their pranks, but what did surprise me was the leader's obvious absence in them.

I recognized Carol's trademark, just as she did mine whenever I tried to take revenge but it was apparent she had nothing to do with her gang's recent plans. It made me wonder if she had anything under her sleeve; she usually would try to lower whoever's spirit when that person had something good happen to them.

But there was nothing. Not a glare, not a jab. It was as if I'd already left. It made life in St. Louise's easier, but something in my stomach twisted every time she passed me by the hall or when the silent treatment was pointed out by others.

I decided to ignore it. The stares – whether they were blatantly obvious, or through peepholes – weren't a discomfort anymore. I knew what they were thinking – I had grown with them, after all. She doesn't deserve it. Why her? As far as they knew, I'd done something impressive enough to get attention.

If only they knew it was because of my 'freakiness'.

The world grew duller as I prepared. The differences between Muggles and Wizards were glaringly obvious, but I didn't label either of them as superior. Both cultures had their pros and cons, and while magic was a huge advantage, they were very mind-closed in most subjects, even medicine and history.

Mrs. Darcy called later. As I stood in her office, she said my behaviour was erratic. Not working, not following the schedules, not continuing the formal classes – it was unacceptable. I accepted her words and crawled back to The Attic with my tail between my legs, once again feeling like I couldn't wait to get out of there quickly enough.

I stopped thinking about the differences. I began to dream about the future.


I put the alarm to ring around nine o'clock but a particularly dazed bird hit The Attic's window around six. Since then, I had been going up and about, glancing at the hand-made calendar on my nightstand periodically.

It was September 1st. The train to Hogwarts was supposed to leave at eleven o'clock. A trip to King Cross Station from Little Whinging took an hour but at half past nine, there was no hide of Natasha.

Naturally, I began to panic.

After triple checking the trunk, I paced back and forth at the foyer under the watchful eyes of my ex-roommates. Mrs. Darcy was there too, tapping her heel as we both waited for the familiar four-beat knock to happen.

At ten past twenty in the morning, it happened. Mrs. Darcy opened the door, managing to look more affronted than I felt.

"Well?" she snapped. "Weren't you supposed to be here fifty minutes ago, Ms. Rosenberg?"

Natasha's answer was smooth. "There was a change of schedule, Madam. The Hogwarts train won't leave until after noon."

"And you couldn't have called?" I snapped, dragging my trunk behind me. I stopped between her and Mrs. Darcy, shooting the former a deep look of resentment. Shaking my head, I turned to Mrs. Darcy. "I guess this is it," I told her.

"At least until next year, Miss Anya," said the woman I have known for my whole life. "I hope you keep your notes as high as they are now. And please, try to not get into fights."

I gazed at her. Mrs. Darcy was old, though not as old as to worry. But I did. What if something happened while I was gone? She had been a strong presence in my life and to lose her so suddenly…

What about the others? I looked behind me, up to the staircase, where most of the residents were currently standing. None of them had really meant something special to me, but the more I watched the more my chest tightened.

I would miss the routine. I would miss them.

Carol's eyes and mine met; there was no reaction from her.

I looked away first.

"I'll fail. Promise."

An idea crossed my mind. Without warning, I dropped my trunk unceremoniously; Mrs. Darcy's scolding was cut short when I wrapped my arms around her waist.

The smell of incense and high-quality wine hit my nose. I tried to memorize her scent, knowing that it would be a long time before I saw her.

There were gasps and whispers, but we didn't say anything. Mrs. Darcy patted me gently on the back, and I knew she understood. She had done this with many girls before me.

I backed away silently. Natasha and I left without a word.


We walked around the block until Natasha ordered me to stop. Looking around, making sure there were no bystanders, she pulled out a pale stick – her wand. The wood was short and less impressing than my own – the handle had been carved carelessly and curvy black lines started from the faded paint. However, after being stung by more than a hundred of those sticks, I decided to not underestimate it.

She raised the wand above her head, a move so careless I worried she would fling it away by accident. Instead, there was a BANG, and a purple triple-Decker bus appeared on Little Whinging. Gold lettering over the windshield spelled The Knight Bus. If I hadn't seen it appear with my own eyes out of nowhere, the shrunken-talking-head above the bus driver's head would've given it away.

Was it even legal?

A teen wearing a purple uniform and hat stepped out and began to talk to the air.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening. How many will there be?"

"Two," said Natasha, dropping a pouch on the teen's hand. His eyes bulged out as she stomped past him and into the bus. "King Cross Station, London. Keep the change."

"Yes, ma'am," said Stan Shunpike.

If my trunk was heavy when he tried to move it inside the Knight Bus, Stan didn't complain. In fact, he was rather cheery. I wanted to ask Natasha how much exactly did she pay, but the inside was distracting.

There were no seats. Horrified, I dropped down on one of the many brass beds on the first floor.

"Take 'er away, Ern!" said Stan.

"Yeah, take it away!" agreed the shrunken head above the driver with its Caribbean accent. I was almost halfway through my prayer when there was another BANG, and the Knight Busdrove away.


Stan Shunpike was snickering when I jumped out of the bus, legs shaking and voice tremulous as I said, "Never – ever – again –"

It was no better than Apparition, but it was the quickest way to go when you were an underage wizard. Or so said Natasha. I couldn't believe her when her eyes seemed to laugh at me.

We had to walk all around the station, as the Knight Bus had parked in a blind spot somewhere on the side. Natasha hastily claimed a cart to wheel my trunk. We still had half an hour until eleven, but she said wizards were never on time and when they started arriving, they usually fought for the carts.

My heart was hammering as we passed Platform One. Then two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...

Platform Nine came into view. And then there was Platform Ten. There was no sign of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. I looked around for a secret door, but there was nothing but bricks on one side and rails on the other. Even Indiana Jones would have trouble solving this one.

I jumped from my trunk and went around the pillar.

"You sure this is the right station?"

"It's the only one." Her eyes followed the people. "Come here." I went next to her and she turned the cart over. Natasha stepped away. "When I say now, run straight at the wall."

"What?!"

The wall between Platform Nine and Ten looked pretty solid. If I ran straight at it, there was no doubt I'd require medical assistance. But Natasha never joked. She was cynical and wry, yes, but she rarely joked, if ever.

Sending a silent prayer, I tightened my hold on the handgrip, shifting one foot back and leaning forward. People walked around us, sparing us brief glances.

"Now!"

Gritting my teeth, I pushed forward. Despite its weight being heavier than I'd expected, I still was able to keep pushing toward the barrier. I broke into a sprint as it grew closer. A meter of distance away, I closed my eyes.

I braced myself for the pain. Instead, I felt something like a curtain shifting over me; the faint smell of smoke drifted up my nostrils.

I dared to look.

A scarlet train was next to a platform full of people dressed in colorful robes. Kids of different ages pushed past others with their own trunks and owl cages. Overhead, a sign proclaimed Hogwarts Express. Eleven o'clock. Where the wall had been, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters beamed down from an iron archway.

Fascinated, I pushed my cart further into the crowd. There was so much laughing and crying over the noise. And like with Natasha and Professor Dumbledore, I felt that oddness that seemed to envelop them, but tenfold. I wondered if they felt it around me, too.

Reality hit. This was happening. I was going to Hogwarts.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder. Natasha's face was kind. "Let's find you a compartment."

The train was steadily filling in when we finally chose a compartment in the middle. For the second time, I saw Natasha do magic. Her wand once again came out of her sleeve and she waved it at the trunk. It shook a few times until it floated slowly up to the corner of the compartment.

A thought hit me. "How will I get it down?" I asked, worried.

Natasha shook her right arm, her wand sliding up her sleeve and out of sight. "Students aren't the ones to take care of that. The house-elves do; they make sure to bring everything into the castle."

"Elves?"

"Friendly advice: read Hogwarts: A History again."

We stood in front of each other in an awkward silence. Well, at least awkward for me; Natasha's face was unreadable again. Did she think I was angry with her for this morning? Now that I wasn't going to be at St. Louise's, what would she do in her spare time?

(Will you miss me?)

"I forgive you," I said abruptly. I avoided her gaze. "For not telling me any of this. I think I understand why, so… I guess I'm not angry anymore."

"That's nice," was her answer. "But don't go around doing that at Hogwarts. If they guess you have a weak spot, they'll take advantage of you. I doubt punching people will solve anything."

A whistle rang from somewhere.

"All aboard!"

"Owl me if you need anything." I nodded. With a last look, she disappeared into the crowd, her long scarlet hair lost between the heaps of people.

The train began to move. I sat next to the window, watching as families waved their son and daughters away, some crying and others cheering. Then the train rounded the corner and they faded away, replaced by the many buildings of London.

The compartment's door shook violently, and through its window, I saw a mane of bushy hair. For a wild moment, I believed it was a lion, but then I heard the quick jabber of a female voice.

I stood up, frowning, and opened the door. It slid violently, startling her.

It was a girl. I felt my face soften.

"Hey," I said. "Need any help? We can share" – I used my thumb to gesture behind me – "if you want."

She sagged in relief. "Yes, please!"

Her teeth stood out from her mouth. Her brown (Whiskey? Golden?) eyes were wide and rather energetic. She was wearing an entire set of the girls' uniform, including a black tie with the Hogwarts crest.

Unlike mine, the girl's trunk was new and heavier. It wasn't even halfway through the door when a shadow appeared next to us.

It was a boy. Well, not a boy, a teenager. A very tall one, with dark hair and gray eyes. His smile was charming and honest.

The girl and I found ourselves lost at words.

"Hello, do you need any help? I can Levitate that for you if you want."

I shook out of it, and started nodding. From the corner of my eye, I saw the girl do the same, her hair shaking.

The handsome boy pulled out his wand and pointed at the trunk. "Levioso."

The boy's spell was more efficient than Natasha's. Then again, she had made it float without a word.

When the trunk hit the compartment's wall, the girl said, "Oh, it's really a miracle you appeared! I was worried I would get stumped here on the corridor once the train started moving. You see, my parents and I arrived five minutes before eleven and we hadn't known Muggles couldn't pass the barrier. My name is Hermione Granger, and you are – ?"

She said all of this very fast.

The boy chuckled. "You definitely are going to Ravenclaw! I'm Cedric Diggory."

They both looked at me.

"Anya Barton."

I expected a gasp, but I remembered. I wasn't in St. Louise's. I could say my name as many times I wanted.

"Well, if you need any more help, I'm at the upper side of the train. Good luck."

He left. Hermione Granger and I looked after him.

Granger looked curiously at our trunks. "How did you get yours up there? As far as I know, the Levitation charm isn't taught until halfway through this year."

I was a tad offended she didn't think I could do it, but the girl had a point.

"My aunt helped me," I said, lying through my teeth about Natasha. "She's a witch."

"Really? Where are your parents? They didn't want to accompany you, or were they busy?"

I blinked. "Don't have them," I said bluntly.

Hermione practically stopped breathing, flushing brightly.

"I – um, I'm sorry. I didn't know, really –"

I held back a sigh. "The sky is blue, the grass is green. It's just a fact for me, don't worry. What about you? Your parents are Muggles, you said?"

Hermione Granger is a Muggle-born. Astonishing, considering she knew more about the Wizarding World than I did. To be fair, I'd only leafed the books so that I could focus on Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Her parents were dentists in London, and half of their house was their business. It paid well to live in a little suburb, apparently.

Hermione's experience about finding out she was witch was rather entertaining. Like me, she received the visit of a Hogwarts teacher, a tiny little man in a tuxedo that surprised Mr. And Mrs. Granger, just as the former had been about to put some braces on a classmate of Hermione's.

When Hermione admitted she had been bullied at her primary school (she didn't, but I didn't need to be a fortune teller to guess that), I reluctantly revealed Natasha wasn't my aunt but a woman who worked at the orphanage where I lived and who just happened to be a witch. Poor Hermione didn't know what to say in response, so I abruptly changed the subject.

Talking to Hermione was a challenge. The girl's mouth seemed to run by its own, going so fast I had trouble understanding most of her speeches. I talked very little, but she didn't seem to mind.

At ten past twelve, a smiling, dimpled woman poked her head in, and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

The cart, as she eloquently put it, was full of colourful packages: Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and other sweets whose names I couldn't see well under the piles.

In the end, I bought two of everything – except for the sugar quills. I bought a bag with ten of them. I thought they'd be like lollypops, but they were better. And even better – they didn't look much like candy when they were being eaten, and their tips were identical to a normal quill's. I convinced Hermione to have one, after a rousing speech of how a sweet could sweeten one's life.

The talk eventually turned to the Houses.

"Diggory said I would be good for Ravenclaw," said Hermione, "but so far, I've heard Gryffindor is the best of them."

"He's right, though: Ravenclaw is for the clever ones. You don't look any bit stupid if you ask me."

She frowned. After too many tactless statements from my part, Hermione didn't seem so surprised anymore.

"Language. What about you?"

"Gryffindor," I said confidently. But Hermione, whose future was dead set for Ravenclaw, raised a sceptical eyebrow.

I could be a Gryffindor. The cockiness would probably get me in. But there was something in me that believed Slytherin would be just as fitting... and more problematic. Slytherin's reputation wasn't unfounded – Voldemort and his little band of followers pretty much showed what their beliefs were. And an orphan in Slytherin? That really wouldn't go well.

Another less selfish part of me wanted to be in Gryffindor too, though. My parents had been. And if I was sorted there... maybe they would've been proud.

The compartment's door opened. It was a round boy with a mop of blond hair and shiny eyes. Then, as if he'd just realized, he knocked for permission.

"He – hello," he stuttered, "Have you seen a toad, by any chance?" We shook our heads. The boy looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"We can help you find him!" blurted out Hermione. For a beat, the words didn't process. Then, when I realized I'd somehow gotten roped into searching for some frog, I had to pick my jaw up.

The boy – Neville Longbottom – was thanking us profusely, already in tears. He bowed his head to us with each 'thank you' and drew the attention from other kids inside their compartments.

Normally, I would've ditched him for drawing attention toward us. But his big brown eyes made my chest tighten, and I sighed in defeat.

Trevor – that was the frog – was hard to find. I knew toads jumped high, but this was getting ridiculous. How further could he have gone?

After searching his compartment, Neville and Hermione went to the lower side of the train and I went up. First, I met two boys, one with an Irish accent and the other tall and dark skinned. Dean, as he presented himself, fell on his butt when I complimented his Star Wars t-shirt, and his friend, Seamus (and wasn't his name stereotypical?), asked what the hell was he doing supporting a war from the stars.

I met many kids: some were polite (an Asian girl with Ravenclaw robes) and others were mean (like that pug-faced girl whose meanness didn't hold a candle to Carol's royal arse). But none of them had seen Trevor.

I crouched at some point to massage my ankles, too tired to keep going. I silently apologized to Neville and decided to return to my compartment. I tried to lessen my guilt by calling half-heartedly down the rugged hallway: "Trevor, here froggy, froggy... come back before someone turns you into a meal..."

"Well well," a high-pitched voice said, "I didn't know Hogwarts was allowing barmy children now. Father mentioned Dumbledore was daft, but I didn't think he was just as mad as you appear." He chortled.

My fists were ready when I stood. Then it was my turn to snort.

I was unimpressed by the sight of him. Hair with a shade of blond that probably came from Hydrogen Peroxide and brushed back harshly so that it seemed he had wasted an entire jar of grease, he was almost the masculine version of Carol Davis.

Except he was shorter. And looked stupider.

"I should've known I was going to meet another snob," I muttered darkly.

Peroxide blond bristled like a cat.

"What was that?"

The two thick boys I'd just noticed on either side of him crackled their knuckles threateningly.

"I bet you're a Mudblood," the blond sneered, eyes raking up my form. "You look like one."

My hand flew forward, fisting the collar of his robes. His two mates were too slow to do anything as I said, "Excuse me, but these clothes are vintage. If anything, it's you who looks like a cat dragged you from the dark ages!"

I let go of him and he dropped unceremoniously, spluttering. With a huff, I turned and left him to his cronies' aid.

I returned to the compartment, fuming. I kicked the door and fell on my side of the compartment face down, sprawling all over the seat. I muffled a scream.

Half an hour later, Neville returned, looking crestfallen. When I shook my head, he seemed on the verge of panic.

"What I am going to tell my Gran? She's going to get so mad –"

The sound of muttering reached my ears, and sure enough, Hermione appeared behind him, scowling. I scooted close to the window and watched as she sat to my right, ranting under her breath. I had to lean closer to hear what she was saying.

"– that Ron Weasley had to spoil it! Ooh, he practically told me to nose out! I was just trying to make sure he and Harry Potter didn't get into trouble –"

The words Harry Potter did it. I snapped my fingers under her nose. Hermione jumped, looking from me to Neville as if realizing she hadn't been alone.

Then a funny expression came over her. "Anya, are boys normally thick-headed?"

I blinked. I wasn't expecting that.

"I don't know. I haven't interacted enough with them to have an idea. Why?"

The scowl returned tenfold.

"It's not important. But hey," she then brightened considerably, "do you know who is on the train?"

"No."

She rolled her eyes. "Harry Potter. Neville and I met him when we asked if they had seen Trevor."

"He was very polite," said Neville as an afterthought.

"I know Harry Potter," I said, trying to not let my voice quiver from curiosity. "I met him at Diagon Alley a month ago."

Hermione blinked. "Did you, really? Did he tell you if he remembered anything about You-Know-Who?"

Neville gasped. I frowned.

"We just bought wands at the same time. Hardly makes us friends. And why would he?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Anya, tell me you know who Harry Potter is."

"Well, I suppose he is himself. Imagine if he wasn't; he would have problems with the government for taking another person's name." I rolled my eyes. "I obviously don't, Hermione."

Even Neville had to say something.

"You don't know who Harry Potter is?"

"Should I?"

"Yes, you should," said Hermione impatiently. "He's in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

I hadn't bought other books aside from the ones the school had demanded.

"I still don't know why this is important. Who's Harry Potter then?"

A voice echoed through the train then: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

However, as I hugged my rucksack, I suddenly remembered one important detail.

"I haven't changed yet!"

I ran out of the compartment, my backpack bouncing by my side.

The fixation I had on the green-eyed boy's importance diminished; another thought bloomed, overshadowing every doubt I had since this morning.

Go through hell to the very end, Anya, I thought. To the very end.