I landed heavily on both feet, my knees buckling. The force of the landing drove me onto my hands and knees, whereupon the nausea from Apparition made itself known.
Moments later, I stood, resolutely looking away from the puddle of vomit.
"Scourgify," said McGonagall. "Well, I suppose I did warn you."
I nodded. I had been curious what she had met when she had said that the alternatives to Floo were much worse, and did a bit of asking about.
"That you did," I said, making a face. "I just thought–"
"That I was exaggerating?" asked McGonagall after a moment.
"Yeah," I nodded. "I guess so."
I looked around for some way to change the subject. The topic came quickly.
"So this is the famous Hogwarts Express," I said.
McGonagall nodded.
"That it is. It'll set off in a bit less than half an hour, so you'll have plenty of time to board."
I hummed in response.
"I will have to return soon, to finalise preparations for the rest of the students."
"Please," I said. "Don't let me keep you."
McGonagall nodded.
"I'll be fine," I added.
Her lips tightened, but she nodded and vanished with a loud crack. Looking around, I raised my hand to rub at a budding headache.
Then, I groaned and rubbed at my chest. My nervousness was getting to me, manifesting itself as a mild nausea.
Fifteen minutes later, I exited the magically-cleaned toilet, feeling much fresher. I walked to the train.
According to Hogwarts, a History, the Hogwarts Express were legally under the Hogwarts umbrella, and as such fall under the same Underage Magic exemption.
That was why I felt safe enspelling my trunk with Locomotor.
I boarded the train, holding my trunk behind me. Two tall redheads surrounded a scrawny boy.
Quietly, I lowered my trunk to the floor.
I stepped in.
"'Scuse me," I demanded, "Would you like to be stared at like an animal in a zoo?"
The two redheads – twins, I realised – turned in unison, saying in a single voice, "A what now?"
I sighed. Why did I bother?
"Wizards," I groaned.
The two stared at me for a moment, then their mouths twitched.
They burst out laughing just as someone else called them.
"Fred? George? Are you there?"
"Coming, Mum."
Obviously taking another glance at the boy, they left, leaving me alone with him.
I turned to the boy
"Hi," I said, nodding my head towards the compartment. "Do you mind?"
I waited for a few seconds. As the boy didn't protest, I stepped into the compartment.
Pulling my trunk with me, I lifted it (thank goodness for charms) onto the luggage rack, letting it settle next to an obviously battered trunk.
I took a seat, watching as a caring Mother fussed over her children. How long ago it seemed that I was in their position? Lost in my thoughts, my gaze began to drift.
Suddenly, the other boy spoke.
"Hi," he said, fidgeting.
My head twitched a bit to the left, but I continued watching the scene.
"Hi," I replied. "Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind."
"I can see that," said Harry. "What's your name?"
I tore my gaze away from what was outside. Noticing that the other boy had seated, I wondered when and how he did so without me noticing.
"William Anderson," I introduced myself. "Pleasure to meet you. You are?"
"Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter."
Then, he grumbled, "Not that you needed to ask."
I blinked. There was obviously some story behind that.
"I'm sorry," I said, "did I do something to offend you?"
There was something about his name. I thought for a moment, snapping my fingers.
"Now that I think of it," I said, "your name sounds sorta familiar."
Harry's expression turned stormy.
Immediately, I added, "Not that I'd press or anything if it's an uncomfortable subject!"
Harry sighed.
I waited for him to speak.
He looked out of the window.
I glanced awkwardly outside, then at him, then back outside.
The train began to move. Shocked, I compulsively glanced at a nearby clock to realise that yes, more time had lapsed than I had expected. It was already eleven o'clock.
I sat in a few more moments of awkward silence when the door to the compartment slid open.
"Anyone else sitting here?"
It was the youngest boy of that redheaded family I had been watching.
He explained, "Everywhere else is full."
Harry shook his head.
"Hey, Ron," called the one of the redhead twins. "Listen, we're going down to the middle of the train – Lee's got this giant tarantula."
Ron shivered.
"Right," he said.
"Harry," said the second twin. "Did we introduce ourselves? Sorry. Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother."
The two turned to me.
"Sorry," one said.
I stared at them for a short moment.
"I'm not the one to apologise to," I said.
They gave me a reading look, then turned back to Harry.
"Sorry," one said.
"We've been told that we have 'overwhelming personalities'," said the other.
A quick look at Harry showed that yes, he was overwhelmed.
"It's alright," said Harry, glancing at me.
"Right," I said. "That's enough; stop gawking at the boy."
"Okay, okay," said a twin.
"We're going, we're going," said the other.
A moment later, and it was only myself, Harry, and Ron. The door to the compartment slid shut.
There was a long moment of silence.
Ron leaned forwards.
"Are you really Harry Potter?" he blurted.
Harry sighed but nodded.
"Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "Have you really got – you know?"
He pointed at Harry's forehead.
Harry pulled his hair back, exposing a scar in the shape of the stereotypical lighting bolt.
"So that's where You-Know-Who–"
"Yes, but I can't remember it."
Though I was poised to cut in, I too was curious. How was this scrawny boy related to the bogeyman of Magical Britain?
"Nothing?" asked Ron eagerly.
"Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."
And then I remembered. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
"Enough of that," I ordered.
Ron turned to me.
"And who are you? His bodyguard?"
"I could be," I hedged.
Ron's eyes widened.
"Really?" he asked. "Do you know any of those Muggle martial arts?"
I stared at him. He stared at me.
My mouth twitched.
Then, in unison, we burst out laughing.
Once Ron had caught his breath, he asked, "So anyways, what's your name?"
"William," I introduced. "William Anderson."
I extended my hand, and a moment later, Ron shook it.
~~~Break~~~
In the following hours, the three of us – well, mostly myself and Ron, though I did make an effort to include Harry – held a long-winded conversation over wizarding treats.
The door opened.
"Sorry," said a chubby-faced boy, "but have you seen a toad at all?"
We shook our heads.
The boy wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"
"He'll turn up," said Harry in a manner that was not at all comforting.
"Actually," I said, "maybe you could ask a prefect or something? There must be some spell they could use to find it."
The boy's eyes widened with hope.
"Do you really think so?"
"Really," I affirmed.
The boy left, smiling widely. I smiled too as I slid the door shut once more.
"Y'know," said Ron, "If I had a toad, I'd try to lose it as soon as I could. Not that I should speak; I've got Scabbers."
I looked down at the rat.
"Yes," I mused. "I suppose it is pathetic. But wouldn't you be worried if you lost it? After all, you must have owned it for what– three, four years?"
Ron sighed.
"I got Scabbers a month ago, when Percy got his owl," he said. "But Scabbers has been in the family for as long as I can remember."
I raised my eyebrow. "So it must be a magic rat, then. Rats don't live very long, maybe five years if you're lucky. Or unlucky, as the case may be."
Harry snorted, while Ron made agreeing noises.
"He could have died and you wouldn't be able to tell," he said, disgusted. "I tried to turn him yellow, just 'cause it'd be interesting, but it didn't work."
Harry leaned forwards.
"Could you try again?" he asked, obviously eager to see magic.
"Sure," said Ron.
He stood, and I was suddenly struck by how much taller he was than the two of us. He reached up, to the luggage rack, and I stood to help him lower his trunk.
It took a few minutes of rummaging through the trunk before Ron finally emerged, holding a worn and battered wand.
"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out," he muttered as he checked the whitened tip of the wand. "Anyways–"
He cleared his throat and raised his wand.
"Sunsh–"
The door slid open, interrupting him.
A girl stood in the doorway, already wearing her Hogwarts robes. I found myself nodding approvingly at her diligence.
"Has anyone found a toad? Neville's lost one."
Her tone of voice was almost exactly like my sister's, though obviously with a British accent. I found myself opening my mouth to fondly correct her grammar, before I remembered that she was a stranger and not my sister.
"We gave him a bit of help– told him to ask a prefect," I said, but the girl was not listening.
"Oh," said the girl, "you're doing magic? Let's see it, then."
She sat.
Taken aback, Ron took a moment to clear his throat again.
"Ahem. Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,
Turn this stupid fat rat yellow!"
The sleeping rat was unimpressed.
"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it. I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all; it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft I've heard – I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger, by the way; who are you?"
My eyes grew bigger as she went through her speech with nary a breath taken, at twice the speed that I could have coherently done.
"I'm Ron Weasley," said Ron.
"William Anderson," I said, standing. "Pleased to meet you."
I extended a hand, and without pause, she stood and shook it.
"Harry Potter."
Hermione gasped.
"Are you really? I know all about you, of–"
I cut in.
"I hardly think it polite to say you know 'all about' someone. Especially to their face; how would you like being reminded of–"
I broke off, hoping that Hermione would be smart enough to put the pieces together.
"Anyways," I said frostily as she opened her mouth, "I think you've overstayed your welcome."
She stood there for a moment, jaw flapping, before she turned and fled the compartment.
I sighed, sliding the doors shut once more, before turning to sit back in my seat.
"Whatever house I'm in," said Ron, "I hope she doesn't join."
He tossed his wand back in the trunk, where it clattered against a cauldron before vanishing into its depths.
"Stupid spell – George gave it to me; bet he knew it was a dud."
"Which house are your brothers in?" wondered Harry.
"Gryffindor," replied Ron. "All of them. Mom and dad too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad – though with that girl in there, it might be. But just imagine if they put me in Slytherin."
Ron scoffed.
"That's the house Vol– sorry, You-Know-Who was in?"
"Yeah," said Ron.
He collapsed back into his seat in a manner resembling a long water balloon.
Looking to cheer Ron up, Harry said, "You know, I think the ends of Scabber's whiskers are a bit lighter. So what do your oldest brothers do now that they're left, anyway?"
"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Which reminds me, did you hear? It's been all over the Daily Prophet – but then Muggles don't get that, do they."
Harry nodded in agreement.
"Somebody tried to rob a high security vault at Gringotts."
I gasped.
"What– what did they do to them?" I wondered.
"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught yet. My dad says it must have taken a powerful Dark wizard to get 'round Gringotts, but they didn't take anything; that's what's so odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens. In case You-Know-Who's behind it, that's why."
I spent some time chewing on that tidbit.
"What's your Quidditch team?" asked Ron suddenly, utterly changing the mood of the room.
"Bless you," I said.
Ron blinked.
"What? I was asking– Oh, right. Muggles."
And he went on describing this utterly madcap game involving flying cannonballs made to knock players off their brooms, and a ball that when caught gave more than half the points usually earned in a game.
After a short while, he began going off on all sorts of tangents, about things like his favourite broomsticks and famous games and all sorts of things.
The door slipped open.
Three boys, two much bulkier than the third, stepped into the compartment.
The smallest, evidently the leader of the three, put on a sneer.
"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
He turned to me.
I frowned. Though Harry and I shared superficial similarities, like the color of our hair, I did look quite unlike him. I was taller, for one, and less scrawny. My hair was much better combed, too.
"Yes," said Harry.
"I wasn't talking to you," sneered the boy.
I looked at the two boys behind him. Being much bulkier, they seemed like bodyguards standing beside him.
"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy, noticing my look. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Ron gave a quiet cough, as if to hide a laugh. I wanted to laugh too – who did he think he was, "Bond, James Bond" – but hid it much better.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My Father told me all the Weasley's have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
He turned back to me.
"You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He held out his hand, and I couldn't help but notice that Malfoy, Draco Malfoy seemed to have rehearsed that speech.
I took his hand.
"Indeed," I said, taking on the role of Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Universe. "I wouldn't want to fall in with the sort of people who lost the last war, would I?"
I gave a smile barely large enough to show teeth.
That barb should hold him for a while.
"Of course you wouldn't," said Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.
Oh, well then.
"But you simply cannot paint men forced to serve under the Imperius with the same brush," he said.
"I'm glad to see that you're with me in standing against the ideals of the late Lord Voldemort," I said, grinning. "Permit me to introduce you to my client, Mr. Harry Potter. I'm Anderson, William Anderson, the bodyguard here to protect Mr. Potter."
Behind me, Ron and Harry were stifling their laughter. Barely.
Malfoy scowled.
"I haven't heard of–"
"That's because we don't want our name to be known. It can be better to carry a concealed knife than to bare a greatsword."
My grin widened as I patted Malfoy on the back, letting the tip of my wand in my sleeve tap against him.
He shivered.
"Please," I said. "Would you like to take a seat? Or do you have a prior commitment with your colle– friends?"
I gestured at an area next to Ron.
Malfoy recoiled.
"I really am sorry, Mr. Anderson, I am expected elsewhere."
He fled, followed by his two henchmen.
I slid the door closed, and turned.
"You may laugh now," I said, channeling Harry Potter, Saviour of the Universe.
Moments later, the façade collapsed, and I bent double with laughter.
"Did– did you see his – face?" I said between gasps.
Harry and Ron redoubled their laughter.
I drew upon William Anderson, Bodyguard of Mr. Harry Potter, and spoke again.
"I'm William Anderson, the bodyguard here to protect Mr. Potter."
Another round of laughter.
Then I drew upon Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Young Mob Boss.
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Anderson."
When at last the laughter had died town to occasional giggles, I straightened.
"We're getting really close to Hogwarts," I said. "I think you'd better put on your robes."
The two nodded. Ron and I helped Harry lower his trunk, and they changed.
I looked at Harry's trunk.
"Harry," I said, "why do you only have one other robe?"
"I only need two, that's why," he said.
The door opened behind me, and Harry slammed his trunk closed.
"What has been going on?" asked Hermione Granger.
Her gaze scanned over the ruffled robes, the trunks, and Scabbers.
Behind me, Harry and Ron were engaging in a quiet conversation.
"– heard of his family –" I heard. "– Malfoy didn't need an excuse to follow You-Know-Who."
Once again, I drew upon William Anderson, Bodyguard of Mr. Potter.
"Can we help you with something?"
"I see your friends have finally got their robes on," she said. "I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there, so good for you."
She looked around.
"You haven't been fighting, have you?" she asked disappointedly. "You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"
"We've only been engaging in a little verbal sparring," I said tiredly.
I could see that her brain had locked on the word "sparring", completely skipping over the "verbal."
"You really shouldn't be fighting, even with bullies and bigots."
I sighed. "Verbal sparring," I said. "As in with words. As in I talked it down before any fighting started, like a good boy."
Yes, I was being condescending. I was also annoyed, which may have contributed to it.
Hermione sniffed.
"All right. I only came in here because some people were racing up and down the corridors, and you were being rather rowdy," said Hermione, making a not very subtle hint.
She turned and exited the compartment. Before she slid close the door, she got one last sentence off.
"And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"
Ron glared at the closed door.
Every trace of humor fled me as I sat down. The constant reminders, of a home that I could never return to, wore on me. I felt drained in a way that left me trembling and weak upon the seat.
A voice echoed through the train.
"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."