I was in Professor McGonagall's office, dressed for travel, and confused. "So I floo to the station. Takes me moments. Then I ride a train for hours to get back here."
She shook her head, clearly distracted by everything else she had to do on her Sunday morning before students arrived and trying to get me out of her hair. "You're welcome to wait here, Mr. Dresden. The Hogwarts Express is a bonding experience for the students. You'll have a chance to meet everyone when they're all getting together, instead of them running into you here already in cliques."
"No, that makes sense, if everyone's doing it," I admitted, especially since I needed to meet my godmother on the train, anyway. "It's just… floos, apparitions, portkeys, brooms. Isn't there even supposed to be some space-bending magical bus? Why a train that moves at the speed of… a train?"
"Volume, Mr. Dresden. Over 250 students and all their luggage would be a substantial magical outlay to move, but trains are time-tested and efficient."
I moved to stand in front of her fireplace, still arguing, admittedly at this point just trying to get a rise out of my head of house, "But it's not like most of them live in London. They're already using magical transport to get to King's Cross…"
"Have a nice trip, Mr. Dresden. This floo will be closed soon for the school year, so this cannot be your way back. Stay out of trouble. King's Cross," she said, flinging in floo powder with one hand and shoving me into the fire with the other.
I staggered out onto a concrete platform, where a mostly cosmetic fireplace had been built into a stone wall behind me, likely in a way it could be hidden when the train wasn't traveling to this hidden platform. The big red train in question was so "efficient" it clearly hadn't been updated in at least a century, coal smoke already filling the bay. If it wasn't for magic, everyone here would probably die of carbon monoxide poisoning.
It was interesting to see more witches and wizards than I'd ever seen before in one place. A couple hundred students and their families made for a substantial crowd. Most were trying to pass as muggles, with varying levels of success, but those coming in through the floo like I had were an extremely eclectic bunch. And apparently familiars were allowed to just wander. Full early, I went and found a bench to sit on and people watch with the hope that I was going to get to pet so many cats.
I was also considering whether I ought to make a break for it. I'd had to leave my staff back at the castle, but I could manage a lot with just the foci I had hidden on me. This was the first time without some kind of adult watching my every move for a month, and possibly my last chance to escape until Christmas. I'd read up on the Trace, and as long as I didn't actually use any magic, they couldn't pinpoint me. Dawlish probably knew I'd used the floo, but I could disappear in the chaos out into muggle King's Cross, hop on another train, and take my chances that they just did spot checks on tickets. But even in a best-case scenario, I wasn't sure how I'd collect the belongings I'd stashed without magic, much less get out of the country. I needed to know how to get out from under the trace, and, for that, I'd need to speak to my godmother…
"You're considering running." I didn't know how she worked out her timing, but, as usual, it was uncanny. Think of the devil, and she appears. She'd plaited her dark hair up and hidden it under a blue witch's hat, except for a waterfall of bangs hanging across her face, and had on matching robes. If she'd been human, she'd have looked like an extremely attractive woman in her thirties. If she had the lifespan of a witch, she could be twice that. She could be using glamour charms and be any age. Or she could be immortal, as she'd implied on more than one occasion.
She could just be a lying madwoman with an unhealthy fascination with me and the dark arts.
"I don't think I'd get far," I admitted, trying not to look directly at her and do this spy-style. Just two unrelated people taking a load off on the bench.
"That auror is a problem," she smirked. "I could get rid of him. I assume you'll tell me no just like all my previous offers. But… after Justin, maybe you've changed your mind."
"I haven't. That was an accident. I think you may have left out some of the drawbacks of that curse."
"It burns such pretty colors," she tittered. "It burns and burns. If you did it right, you get a mascot. I bet yours was a kitty."
"I didn't get a good look at it. I was too busy fending off whatever it was Justin summoned." I was digging. She rarely gave up any information that was actually useful.
"Harry. I did warn you to get out. I never wanted you to have to see that. You could have come with me. You still can. I take my duties to your mother seriously."
When Justin was merely abusive, I wasn't willing to take that offer, and him proving to be homicidal didn't make it that much better. This was one of our more linear conversations: usually they were much more like trying to solve a puzzle out of insane, malevolent ramblings. The first puzzle I'd solved is that she considered mind control and torture to be perfectly loving ways of raising a child. "I think I'll let this play out for a while longer, but, as always, I do appreciate that the offer remains open." I'd also worked out that it paid to be polite to the madwoman that believed my mother had made me her responsibility.
"Very well. You can reach me by the usual methods if you change your mind or need more direct assistance. In the meantime, this is what I mentioned," she hissed, passing a rolled up parchment to me. "It goes without saying: you should not be caught with a ritual that allows you to slough off the Trace. Certain parties would be very upset."
"Understood. Thank you, godmother. I did manage to save several of the texts you wanted, and will get them to you as soon as I have the opportunity to retrieve my cache." I was hoping reminding her of our last deal would keep her from thinking about how much further this ritual put me in her debt. In many of our conversations, she'd been absolutely fixated on equitable deals.
"I knew you would, Harry. You're your mother's son. You don't let surprises distract you from your objectives."
The train horn sounded, noting that it was half an hour until it would leave. Of course, with that distraction, my godmother was gone.
"Ah, I see Crabbe and Goyle," I heard a blonde woman a few paces away say to her small son. "Go collect them and get a good compartment." The woman, her son, and a man with long, silver hair stood about nearby as if they owned the entire platform. From the material and embroidery on their robes, they might have. With such a posh trio nearby, no one had paid a moment's attention to my conversation. As the boy dragged his trunk off down the platform to meet his friends, the man turned and glanced my way, seemingly noting the empty seat next to me before politely looking away and whispering to his wife.
Well, maybe someone had paid attention. I hoped they hadn't overheard anything that would be a problem for me.
