Chapter 18 - To London by Way of Manchester

"They can call it a 'steam cloud' or they can call it a 'condensation vapor cloud'. The former is universally understood by muggles while the latter gets your child punched in the nose and their lunch money taken by thugs, on the playground."

~A quote taken from the book, "Teaching Your Non-Magic Child to Fit in with the Muggles"

Professor McGonagall arrived to accompany Peek to the Hogwarts Express, but not before Ivy gave him a great hug.

"Ivy...," said Peek when the hug went a little long.

Ivy released Peek and gave him a kiss on the forehead, at which Peek flushed a slight red in the cheeks.

"If you're done saying your goodbyes," said McGonagall, "we need to be on our way."

"But wait, Ivy," said Peek with a hurried voice, "I'm sorry about your brothers. I didn't know they died. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Ivy smiled affectionately. Peek had been frightened when she tried to help him. She often treated him like a little brother, and Peek had shouted that he was not one. Peek was unaware she had lost her brothers in a muggle accident and had long grieved for them.

"I never told you they died, did I?" said Ivy. It was more of a statement than a question.

Peek shook his head "I know you loved them. You talk about them all the time. I just assumed..."

"I still love them. Death doesn't change that. Never."

Peek nodded his understanding.

"And no need to be sorry. We're already beyond that, you and I, right?"

Peek smiled. "Right."

McGonagall cleared her throat, as a reminder of their need to depart. Ivy gave Peek another hug

"Ivy, stop," said Peek. "That's not what students do."

"Give hugs?" asked Ivy as she released Peek. "Sure they do. It's what I do to my favorites." Ivy reached out and gave Peek a final tussle of his hair.

Peek frowned.

"Go on then," said Ivy with a final smile.

McGonagall walked Peek out the main entrance and down to the front gate. There, she bid Peek hold tight to her arm and by disapparating, arrived in Hogsmeade to catch the Hogwarts Express on its journey south. It was Peek's first time traveling by way of disapparation. He was quite sure he didn't like it.

"You have only minutes to board, Mr. Ferris. Your bags are in one of these cars, somewhere."

Please call me Peek," said Peek.

McGonagall gave a slight smile. "Peek, this did not play out as we would have hoped," she said as she ushered Peek towards the nearest steps. The Hogwarts Express stretched out before them in either direction. The engine, upfront, belched out great plumes of smoke and steam as it readied for its journey. The platform was near empty. "I think the country is still wounded over his rise to power; of Voldemort's rise, that is. But if any single place could be the guiding way for healing, I would have liked it to be Hogwarts."

"I think that if healing was your intention, ma'am," replied Peek, "then someone other than me should have been recruited. I've never been known for fitting in, let alone healing whatever this is; trust, a rift, friendship, wounds?."

"No, you were the right choice. My name was on your Hogwarts invitation and I stand by it. But as I said, it did not play out as we hoped."

Peek shrugged and boarded the train, but turned at the top landing. His face was different. The moment his foot left the station platform and the space between foot and paver separated him from Hogwarts, a light emotion swept over him.

"Professor, I have no regrets and I am indebted, to be sure. All in all, I liked it here." But, Peek's voice dipped with a serious tone. "You should know, ma'am, nothing about my world is ever 'Play', not to me. I know it is just a word you chose, but really, it is not a word I would ever choose for myself. It's just not."

"Ferris…" McGonagall began but she paused and took a deep breath. "Peek, go back to London. Go back and fix what needs to be fixed, do the schoolwork you've been given, and avoid trouble. I will fix what needs to be fixed here at Hogwarts and when you return in the fall, this will work. The headmaster and I will make it work."

"Will I be a Gryffindor?" asked Peek.

"I will demand it," replied McGonagall.

Peek nodded but inside, he still wanted to be a Ravenclaw.

Katie Bell had bullied him for most of Peek's stay at Hogwarts and it was the final confrontation with her that ended with Peek's expulsion. He and Katie left on better terms, sealed with a hearty handshake. Peek felt that no other issue was so severe that it couldn't be remedied or at least survived when he returned. In truth, he looked forward to the start of his second year, in the fall. He was excellent at potion-making, better than any first year in living memory, and he hoped to continue his studies with Professor Snape.

He could not have known that when next he returned to Hogwarts, it would be six years later, it would be under the flag of war, and it would be deep within the realm of life and death peril.

The Hogwarts Express railed its way down from the north, through the English countryside, on its way to Manchester, which was the only stop before its London destination. The weather was fair and the late afternoon sky gave way to the evening dusk. Peek found his bags in the lead car behind the engine and took a seat there. There were no individual cabins on this car, just eight rows of open seats. It was no matter for Peek because he was alone - likely the only student on the train. He was curious about who or what the engineer might be but not enough to get up and find out. He watched as an endless number of fields, houses, and streets whipped by and receded into the darkness behind.

The car grew dark which caused Peek to stand and look to the lamps hanging in each of the corners. But before he took a step, however, a small creature pushed through the door and with the snap of his fingers lit the lamps. Peek had never met a house elf but knew this was one by the tattered clothes he wore, by his long elf-like ears, and the wandless use of magic. The house-elf stood an inch taller than Peek, which confirmed many students' assertions. Yes, house-elves were in fact, taller than he.

"Hello," said Peek with a smile.

The house-elf bowed while walking, but said nothing and did not stop, as he hurried off to light up the next car. Peek wasn't surprised. He had heard from somewhere that house-elves were not to mingle with the students. Peek shrugged and returned to his seat.

The next three hours droned along while Peek sat quietly. He looked through the homework he was given. He didn't care much for other studies and skipped right through to Potions. He was given three recipes; Magdinite - Liquid Flew Grease, Shoe Polish for Ghosts, and an all-purpose snake anti-venom. He received a list of ingredients that could be locally sourced, small pouches of ingredients that could not, and additional instructions that supported the recipes. He was given three potions books, none of which were official Hogwarts text, but all of which covered advanced potioning. A hand towel tied by a leather throng unrolled to reveal several knives, a tall eye-dropper device, a bone-handled scratch-awl, tweezers, pincers, and various spoons and ladles.

All of the items were old, but cleaned, sharpened as needed, polished, and were well cared for. The scratch awl had the letters S.S. carved with great precision, into the handle. These were Snape's old utensils - or at least one of the items was. The others, lacking any particular identifiers, might have been lost of left behind by previous students. All the same, Peek was thrilled.

The old potioning instruments reminded Peek of the old Donlevy cauldron he had brought to Hogwarts. It was dented and pitted and might have passed for scrap metal to some, but was in fact, an ancient relic designed by the legendary wizard, Merlin. It was an incredible marvel of antiquity, that drew great excitement from the older students. It was, however, an object of value, priceless in fact, of which people like Peek were not allowed to own. Professor Snape was required to confiscate it on behalf of the ministry.

"Mr. Millwater gave me that cauldron," said Peek to himself, "it was his best one, but none of us could have known what it was - not where I come from. Now, I'm returning without it."

Peek removed a bit of parchment, quill, and ink from his bag. He dipped the quill and drew out what he could remember of the cauldron - doodling to pass the time.

Just after midnight, the house-elf returned.

"My profound and sincere apologies, good sir…" said the elf with a deep bow.

Peek stood to address the elf. "No apologies needed. How can I help?"

The elf hesitated and bowed again. "No help is needed sir, but kind of you to ask. No, you should know that we are nearing Manchester and that you should make ready for a visitor."

"Who?" asked Peek, "Here, on the train?"

"Lord Westenbrooke sir," said the elf. "You are to meet him on the platform when we arrive, if you please."

Peek's mind snapped back to the Donlevy cauldron. The old relic had been taken from Peek, but Pontrice, Lord Westenbrooke's son, had told him that if Peek was willing to, his parents would arrange a sale between them. Peek did not recall ever agreeing, but Lord Westingbrooke would have no other reason to seek him out.

The house-elf produced a muggle suit and adjusted the fit with snaps of the fingers and winks of the eyes. He widened the shoulders and lengthened the sleeves and pant legs using practical house-elf magic.

"You are bigger than I was told, sir - taller," said the elf. "No matter." With a final snap of the fingers, the suit fell into place on Peek's frame, like a well-tailored and well-fitted suit, shirt, and tie. Shoes walked over on their own accord and turned themselves around in front of Peek. They laced themselves up as Peek stepped into them.

The elf stood back and asked Peek to turn in place. The fit was as good as any muggle tailor might provide.

"If I may, sir," said the elf, "You have only three minutes once we arrive. We need to be in London and gone before the muggle morning commute."

Peek didn't know what a "muggle morning commute" was, but nodded his understanding as if he did. Peek had no idea what to say to Lord Westingbrooke. He wondered if the meeting would last longer than thirty seconds.

The Hogwarts Express chugged into Manchester, bound for the Deansgate Railway Station. Peek loved the look of London at night, with all the lights like earthbound stars, thousands and thousands, in geometric order, shooting out in their ordered directions. Manchester was equally splendid from his view on the train, though Peek knew the two cities were far different in size. There was a great part of Peek that longed for a return to the city - any city.

Three minutes, sir," reminded the elf as Peek stepped down into a rolling cloud from the hissing steam engine.

Peek stood before two figures - Pontrice, the Ravenclaw from Peek's potions class, stood with his father.

"I don't know what to do," said Peek as he stepped up to the pair. "Am I supposed to bow?"

"That's not necessary," said Pontrice with a light smile, "but you do need to call this man Lord Westingbrooke. He's my father."

Lord Westingbrooke was tall, with squared shoulders, strong chin, and gray-peppered hair. He was a handsome, capable-looking man, in a handsome muggle suit.

"Hello Peek," said Westingbrooke as he sized up the former student. "I am pleased to meet you."

"And you too, Lord Westingbrooke," said Peek.

"My son has told me much about you." Westingbrooke smiled. "He says you are a young master of potions."

Peek reddened in the cheeks but did not reply. He didn't know if he had to say "Lord Westingbrooke" every time he spoke, or "My Lord", or if "Sir" sufficed.

"Well," said Westingbrooke after a short pause. "We've little time so I will be plain. I spoke to Master Millwater, your old potions master-"

"You met Mr. Millwater?" exclaimed Peek.

'I did. He is your new guardian, as I have been told. We had tea and we discussed the cauldron you brought to Hogwarts. Do you remember it?"

Peek nodded.

"And with your permission - Master Millwater was clear on this - I will purchase it-"

"But sir, it is no longer mine. It's not mine to sell."

Westingbrooke smiled as he continued, "It is an item which at the time in question, was merely an old pot - nothing more. It looks like a Donlevy according to my son, and may, in fact, be a Donlevy. Who can say? Professor Snape, charming fellow-," Westingbrooke made a face that indicated light sarcasm, "was 'delayed' in giving the cauldron over to the ministry - a favor he has done for me and is well appreciated.

Since the cauldron has not been officially authenticated, the cauldron is still merely an old pot - valueless until proven otherwise, if you take my meaning. The ministry acted without hard evidence, and you, my young friend, should have received that old pot back, upon your departure. Fortunately for you, I hope, I am willing to pay 250,000 galleons for it. I'll take ownership of it, here and now, and save you the trip back to Hogwarts, to collect it. How does that sound?"

"Peek," added Pontrice, "my dad's people will set up a fund to support the whole 'Ministry Managed' population - your people. You are not allowed to have wealth, we know this, but 250,000gl divided by six-hundred or so of your lot, spread out over time-"

"If you're willing," added Lord Westingbrooke.

"If you're willing," added Pontrice with a nod, "...can't be called 'wealth' and therefore beyond the ministry reach. If we do this right, your people will never go hungry again."

"What say ya, lad?" asked Westingbrooke with a cheering smile.

Peek searched for words. "I don't know what to say."

"Say 'yes'," said Pontrice.

Peek staggered. "But what if it's not a Donlevy?"

"Oh, it's a Donlevy," said Westingbrooke. "I had my man look at it, but the ministry doesn't need to know that." He smiled again and winked.

The Hogwarts Express engine belched out a great steam cloud and gave a deep hiss. The house-elf, back at the door, looked nervously at the timepiece he held on a chain.

"What about Mr. Millwater...?" said Peek. The offer was an impossible dream for a boy who spent a lifetime not dreaming.

"He has left the decision with you," said Westingbrooke. "Do we have a deal?"

Westingbrooke held out his hand. Peek shook it.

"Done," said Peek. "A thousand times - done."

Peek took Pontrice's hand and shook it with great vigor. "Thank you Pontrice or Lord Pontrice or whatever you are!"

Peek turned back to Westingbrooke. "Mr. West...I mean sir, lord…thank you!"

Westingbrooke laughed. "My pleasure, Peek. Now I think you need to hop back aboard or you'll miss your ride home."

"Home," Peek repeated. Suddenly the word had new meaning. He never had a home, save a nook, or a doorway, or flea-ridden bedding in the hollows of a broken building. He lived with Mr. Millwater often, but ministry raids or warnings of them sent him running or into hiding, always.

"Home".

End of Chapter 18

"Leave a comment - feed an Introvert"