Chapter 3 – Croak

The following week seemed to speed by for Scott, occupied as he was with the wealth of new books and his newly enchanted Walkman, and he suddenly found himself woefully unprepared to actually travel to Hogwarts itself. Notably, on the very last day before Scott was bound for Scotland he found his mother poking her head into his room, surveying the empty trunk beside his bed, and saying sternly: "I don't want to have to remind you again, young man. Get that trunk of yours packed, soon, or you'll be at school in nowt but your pants. I won't be sending your things through the post, either!"

Scott, of course, hadn't heard what she'd said through the headphones firmly lodged in his ears.

Later, at dinner, he sat down at the table to find a nice kebab prepared to his exact preferences. His mother was an excellent cook and specialised in all matter of foods from other countries, adopted in her long history of travel. Among Scott's favourites sat her rendition of the doner kebab.

"As you're heading off tomorrow, I thought you might like something nice. They don't normally have non-British foods at school, you see."

As Scott thanked her, he heard a small sniff from Lindsay's direction. She still looked sulky and red-eyed after the tantrum she'd thrown an hour ago. Scott had heard the whole thing despite his music.

"But I'm going to be all alone! I only start in two years, why can't I go, Mum?" she had cried loudly two rooms down from his own. She had spent the whole week sinking deeper and deeper into a sullen mood, not helped by the fact that the time Scott had spent with her had become far more infrequent. Now she was glaring at the walkman that was clipped to his trousers as though it had insulted her sundress.

"No music at the table, love," his mother said - not for the first time - as he raised his headphones to his ears. This was, perhaps, quite a wise decision, as Lindsay's face had darkened menacingly at the sight of the wires.

Dinner passed without incident after that, and even later, after Scott was discovered by his parents whilst most resolutely not packing his trunk, they bid him goodnight with one last warning as they left.

Deciding that it was now or never, Scott began throwing things that he thought he needed into his trunk. He treated his books with far more care, of course, and was halfway between the trunk and desk when he looked down at the Transfiguration textbook he was transporting. It was still open from when he'd been reading it earlier, and beckoned him to read on with its complex spell methodology and models.

He sat down on his bed to briefly skim the paragraph and diagram that had caught his eye. It was a detail about Inanimate Switching that he'd only barely understood before reaching this point, and it suddenly became several times clearer to him. He laid back, the book in hand, absently reaching for his headphones.

He'd just review the basics, and then finish his packing... He'd do it in five minutes... He'd pack when this chapter was over... When he was sure he understood... At midnight, he'd absolutely get back to packing his trunk... At one... When the song was finished...

The alarm screeched into action at six-fifteen in the morning, and the first thing Scott registered as he woke was panic. His headphones hung loose in his ears, still playing music at a lowered volume. He launched himself out of bed, ignoring the stiffness of his limbs, any fog of tiredness banished by the surge of adrenaline that was rushing through him. He threw his books, telescope, walkman, scales, underwear, and robes into the trunk and dashed out of the room, then downstairs. His mother passed him on his way to the kitchen, calling: "We're off in twenty minutes, you'd better be ready!"

After wolfing down some baked beans, toast, and eggs, he fled to the bathroom, where he furiously attacked his mouth with a toothbrush for a few minutes, before doing the same to his pits with antiperspirant, and his gold-brown hair with a comb ("Five minutes!") Taking up all of his toiletries in a small leather bag, he tossed them at his trunk as he rushed back into his bedroom. He slammed the case shut, the name 'Scott H Carter' emblazoned over its handle. Finally, he threw on some day wear; a pair of jeans, a shirt, and jacket.

He could hear loud beeping from the car horn outside as he dragged the trunk heavily down the stairs, trying not to think too much about how the slightly more fragile items inside would fare. Heaving his trunk into the boot of the car, he leapt into the back seat of the car.

"Sorry Mum, Dad!" he gasped, panting slightly. To his surprise, however, his father was not in the front seat where he had expected him to be. In fact, his father wasn't in the car at all. Only his sister and mother had decided to accompany him to King's Cross Station, it seemed.

"I thought Dad was coming?" Scott said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"Yes, he was, but he wanted to leave for work earlier today," his mum said, bringing the car down a country lane that led through the village of Upper Flagley.

"He doesn't normally work most Sundays though, does he?"

"No, but he had something he said needed his attention. He seemed pretty pleased." She looked in the rear-view mirror back at him, smiling sadly at his attempt to not look crestfallen. "He said to wish you his best and that he loves you. He also said," she continued, rolling her eyes, "to see if you can find Dormitory 12 after you get Sorted."

"Right."

"He wanted to be there, Scott."

"Yeah."

She sighed, evidently not knowing what to say. The rest of the trip was quiet, which was peculiar for the three who sat in the car. Scott wished fervently that he had his walkman with him, but it was sitting alone in his bedroom. He wondered whether it would gather dust between now and Christmas. Lindsay didn't look at him much during the trip, and he could tell she was stewing too.

They made it to London with some time to spare, so they were saved most of the stress that getting stuck in the traffic that had swelled over the last few hours might have brought had they been tardier. At ten to eleven they strode up Platform 9 at King's Cross Station to a barrier that separated the platform from Platform 10.

"Alright, would you like to go first, Scott?" his mother asked kindly.

Scott looked at the barrier uncertainly. "Er, just walk through it?"

"Yes, yes. No reason to be nervous, the platform's just on the other side."

He strode forward, dragging his trunk behind him. The moment that he would have collided with the barrier, he instead felt a very slight rushing sensation and he stepped onto a platform that resembled something from Victorian times, with a magical twist. Owls flew overhead, hooting merrily, and a crowd gathered around a fantastic steam locomotive, painted deep crimson. The sign overhead read: Platform 9 ¾.

His mother and sister stepped through behind him, their faces contrasting as they looked around. His mother smiled nostalgically, while his sister looked longingly at the train. Then she turned to face Scott properly, a sincerely miserable expression twisting her face.

"Please don't go," she whispered, the sound of which managed to carry despite the thronging crowd.

"Lindy, I swear I'll write."

"You don't even have an owl!" she cried.

"The school has owls, and you can send Merlin," he said bracingly. Merlin was the family's owl.

"Promise you'll be back for Christmas?" she asked, a few tears leaking down her face.

"Promise." And for good measure, he scooped her up and hugged her tightly. He put her back down after a few moments, and turned to his mum. She hugged him in turn and kissed him on the cheek.

"Have a good term, dear. See if you can find Ethan, you can share a compartment. Love you!"

"Love you, too. Bye Lindy."

He pulled his trunk onto the train and begun scanning the compartments for Ethan Croaker, his closest wizarding friend since nappies. He must have been somewhere on the other end of the train, however, as after several minutes he still hadn't managed to find him anywhere. The train had left the station before he decided that he couldn't keep searching if he didn't want to look like a clueless first-year. He found the first compartment with people who looked his own age, and slid the door open.

Inside, there sat a boy and a girl. They both looked up as he walked in; the boy somewhat guardedly, the girl haughtily.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?" Scott asked casually.

"Not at all," the girl said. She was slight in figure, undeniably diminutive, and her face had a certain calculating quality to it. As the small girl's eyes followed him as he sat down opposite her, Scott was distinctly reminded of the sphinx, Sanura, though without the gold headdress to complete the regal look. "I'm Scarlett. Scarlett Skeres," she said, sounding as though the name should mean something to him. "And you are?"

"Scott," he said easily.

"Scott who?"

This level of interest she was showing in his name made him feel more than a little edgy, and he wondered if she was one of the people that believed that people like his mother shouldn't be able to learn magic.

"Carter."

"Carter, huh?" she said, her demeanour changing slightly. "You father works in the –"

"Department of Mysteries, yeah."

"Do you know what goes on in there, then?" she asked eagerly.

Scott shook his head wistfully. "No clue. Not out of lack of trying, though. Sorry, I've completely ignored you, I'm Scott." He was proffering his hand to the boy who was sitting to his left, who too looked quite short in comparison to Scott. The boy looked up from the Potions textbook he was engrossed in to reveal messy dark hair and startlingly blue eyes.

The boy took his hand and shook it weakly. "Emile."

"Emile wh –"

"Emile Pellon," he said, cutting Skeres off before she could finish.

She surveyed him critically with her dark eyes. "Pellon. You know, that's not a name I recognise."

Scott was ready to jump to Emile's defence before the small boy spoke before he could.

"I don't suppose you would. I'm French."

Skeres continued to watch Emile unnervingly. "Really? I don't hear an accent."

Scott was watching the exchange uncomfortably, and was about to tell the rude girl to shut up and mind her own business when the boy responded with something he had not been expecting.

"I was raised in England because my parents are dead."

He made this declaration with the air of commenting on the weather, which made Scott's stomach twist with pity. He couldn't imagine being able to talk about something like that so casually, as though it was no big deal. Evidently even Skeres thought she may have overstepped, as she cringed and looked genuinely apologetic.

"Er, sorry. I don't know what I was –" she began awkwardly.

"It's fine."

"Right."

They each sat in silence for a minute, shifting about in their seats uncomfortably, occasionally making accidental eye contact, before quickly looking elsewhere. Finally, Scott decided he could hardly bear the awkwardness anymore. "So, anyone follow Quidditch?"

Skeres, as it turned out, was a Quidditch fanatic. Unfortunately, she was also a die-hard supporter of the Ballycastle Bats, who had publically humiliated the Wimbourne Wasps – the team Scott followed – in their last match. She seemed to delight in pointing this out to Scott.

"560 – 120! And when Howell smacked that Bludger at the referee!" She laughed – a high-pitched, grating sound, Scott thought. "Did you watch the World Cup?" she asked, grinning broadly.

He nodded, still looking slightly disgruntled.

"I thought Canada'd had it by the fourth day of the match, but they really pulled through in the end. And that catch by Leblanc?" Skeres stared off into space dreamily. "What an inspiration."

Eager to get the conversation as far away from the topic of Leblanc as possible, Scott hastily changed the topic. "So, anyone know what House they'll get?"

Emile shook his head.

"Well I suppose you wouldn't; your parents would've been at Beauxbatons," Skeres said to him. "I'll be in Slytherin, of course."

"Oh, definitely," Scott said.

She gave him a glowing look. "Thank-you," she said pleasantly, apparently missing the joke entirely. "Where will you be?"

"Well, Dad expects me in Ravenclaw, and I think Mum wants me in Gryffindor, though she won't say."

Skeres scoffed. "Gryffindor? That band of idiots? They're almost as bad as the Hufflepuffs."

Privately, from what he'd heard of Gryffindor House, Scott thought he shared some degree of her distaste. But his mother had enjoyed her time there, and so for her sake, he decided to defend it from attack.

"Gryffindor's fine. My Mum loved it. Besides, they get a really tall towe–"

"Yeah, Gryffindor's great," Skeres drawled sarcastically. "Great if you love hanging with blood-traitors and Mudbloods."

And there it was; a step too far. Scott leapt to his feet, shaking with uncomprehending rage. "What did you say?"

"Mudbloods, Carter. M-U-D-B-L –"

"Shut up!"

"Sorry," she said, feigning innocence. "I thought you asked what I said. I said Mud –"

"WELL I SAID SHUT UP!"

She was grinning now. "Oh, I forgot. Your father married one, didn't he?"

Scott's fingernails were digging into his palms. Every part of his body was shaking with fury. He could barely think, could barely stop himself from doing something stupid. He turned to Emile, who had remained remarkably quiet throughout the exchange. Distantly, the fact that he should have felt bad about dragging someone unwillingly into an argument occurred to him, but the thought was banished as soon as it formed.

"Emile, back me up. She can't say that word. She can't."

"Which word? Oh! You mean Mu –"

"I SAID SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" he roared, jabbing his finger threateningly at her.

He looked back to Emile, who looked back at him. A second passed, another, and then another. Emile looked into his eyes and said, "Mudbloods ought to be put in their place."

He was outnumbered now, but he didn't care. Every inch of his body was ready to spring at them. His wand seemed to burn from inside his jacket pocket, eager to bring about righteous justice on a pair of bigots. He didn't know any spells that would be particularly effective in a duel, but neither he nor his wand seemed to care. His hand twitched toward his wand at the exact moment Skeres did the same.

"Would anyone mind explaining what on Earth is going on here?" came a mild voice.

Scott and Skeres both had their wands trained on each other, but looked up at the sound of the voice. Whilst they were distracted, the door had slid open and a boy stood there. He was in his late teens, and by the blue badge emblazoned with a 'P', he seemed to be a school prefect.

"This boy tried to attack us," came Pellon's voice from behind him.

Scott didn't refute this. He wasn't sure he was capable of speech at the moment. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. He reached up and seized his trunk by the handle, pulling it from the rack roughly. He strode from the compartment, pushing past the prefect as he did so.

"Wait a moment, now!" the prefect called.

Scott spun on the spot. "Going to help the bigots as well, are you?" he said furiously.

He turned and started back up the corridor. He heard Skeres' high-pitched laughter emanating from the compartment. The prefect had evidently decided not to follow him, and so he set about trying to find a familiar face, fuming all the while. Eventually, in a compartment two down from the back of the train, he managed to spot the enormous pair of eyes he'd been so desperate to find. He sighed with relief and slid the door open.

"Scott! Where've you been, eh?" Ethan Croaker demanded.

Ethan was something of a scrawny boy, with curly reddish-brown hair, and a small smattering of freckles across his nose. But what was most apparent about Ethan Croaker were his glasses. His lens prescription was so extreme that it made his green eyes seem to bulge enormously.

"Sorry, Ethan. I got, er, held up."

"Ah well, I had Alex here to hang out with," he said, pointing at the other occupant of the compartment.

Scott did a double take when he saw the blond boy sitting opposite from Ethan. It had been a week since he'd since him, but he hadn't forgotten the odd encounter in the slightest. The boy, who was apparently called Alex, was presently looking nervous at Scott's curious gaze.

"Er, we've actually met before," Scott said, half joking.

"Really?" Ethan said curiously. "When?"

"Never mind," he said. Ordinarily, he would have launched about a million questions at this Alex, but the experience he'd just had further down the train had chased away any ambition of prying into a stranger's business too much. Alex shot a grateful look at him as he pushed his trunk onto the luggage rack and sat down for the second time that day.

He turned back to the boy. "We didn't really get properly introduced when we, er, met. I'm Scott Carter."

"Alex Wroxton."

"And I'm Ethan!"

"We know, you tosser," Scott said, kicking him lightly in the shin. "So what'd you get up to on the holidays? I didn't get to come over much."

Ethan grinned toothily. "I've been up in the Hebrides. Dad's close with the MacFusty Clan, so I've been watching dragons all summer."

He said this with more than a little bit of excitement in his voice. Scott knew from Ethan's bedroom that he was utterly obsessed with the creatures. From memory, Scott could recall just about every dragon type and their physical characteristics from the large diagrams of dragon anatomy that plastered his excitable friend's wall.

"There's actually been something I've been saving to tell you in person," Scott said. This was true, as he had considered writing to his friend following the eventful day a week prior, but had decided that the written word couldn't properly do it justice. Plus, he'd wanted to see Ethan's reaction when he told him.

"Well, don't hold me in suspense! What is it – you've discovered how to use your head to deflect Bludgers?"

Scott rolled his eyes. Ethan had never been particularly passionate about Quidditch, and never lost an opportunity to make fun of Scott's favourite position in the game – that of the Beater.

"No, you idiot. I went to my family's Gringotts vault last week when I got my stuff."

He proceeded to spend the next twenty minutes relaying the intense game of riddles he'd had with Sanura to a rapt Ethan. Alex seemed to be interested in the discussion, too, and clapped when Scott finished explaining how he'd solved the sphinx's mathematical puzzle.

"I just can't believe you got to meet an actual sphinx!" Ethan said, his over-magnified eyes shining with jealousy.

Alex chose this moment to – somewhat timidly – speak: "Er, when we talk about dragons and sphinxes, we are talking about... well, the things from mythology, right?"

Scott and Ethan blinked owlishly at him for a moment, before Scott broke the silence. "I'm so sorry, I had no idea! I just assumed because... well, goes to show, doesn't it? Doesn't matter if you're... anyway, don't worry, we can fill you in on everything."

Ethan nodded knowledgeably. "First off, yes, dragons are real dragons. Same with sphinxes. And they're incredible, really you should see –"

"Of course, you wouldn't know about Quidditch, would you? I'm sure you'll love it, everyone does. Or at least anyone with sense –"

"- And then there's manticores! They're practically un-killable, and they are vicious. But they do breed, very rarely, it's actually rather fascinating how –"

"- The Keeper stops the other team from scoring, like a goalkeeper in football –"

"- part eagle, part horse, all parts majestic. And Thestrals –"

"- in Queer Ditch Marsh in 1050. But you can trace its influences even further back through history, like in Creaothceann, which was played by –"

"Anything from the trolley dears?"

The three of them looked up at the witch who was standing with a cart full of sweets. Alex looked slightly dazed after having his ear talked off, and so didn't respond. Scott, however, jumped up at once.

"Excellent. If we're doing this, we ought to do it properly. We'll take some Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, three pumpkin pasties, and three chocolate frogs, please."

After he had paid (he had shaken off both boys offers to pay), they set about eating the food they had shared between them. Scott donated his Chocolate Frog card, a small portrait of Cliodna, to Alex ("I don't collect them, myself, you ought to start though"). They passed the Every Flavour Beans between them, each testing a bean. Alex was holding a bean between his forefinger and thumb, examining it nervously. It was a cloudy off-yellow colour, which conjured some fairly unpleasant connotations in their imaginations.

"Er, by every flavour... they mean...?"

"Every flavour," Scott said in a tone that he thought belied the severity of what he meant. "And it's all fun and games til you have to explain just why you recognise some of those flavours."

Ethan huffed. "It was a guess at most, Scott."

"You popped it in your mouth, rolled it around with your tongue, and then screamed, 'People! It's people!'"

"It could have been veal, they're similar!" Ethan said defensively.

"And then you – don't kick me, bugger off – you chewed it, then swallowed it!"

Ethan muttered something about being hungry, while Scott tossed another bean in his mouth. Lip gloss, and a very recognisable variety, at that. He snorted, but wisely kept his mouth shut, and glanced back at Alex, who was still examining the unfortunately-complexioned bean anxiously.

"Oh, go on then, it'll be over in seconds," Scott coaxed. "You can have Ethan's chocolate frog to wash it down after."

Ethan shook his head, his expression stern, holding the treat in question out of Scott's reach.

Alex closed his eyes tight and slipped the light-coloured legume into his mouth. After a moment's chew, his eyes opened suddenly, and a wide, contented smile spread across his face.

"If it really is piss, you've a lot of explaining to do, my friend," Scott said cheerily.

The blond quickly covered his mouth to avoid performing a spit take in their faces, opting instead for a loud series of guffaws. "It's a sort of butterscotch taste," he managed eventually, "but not as sweet. And... warm?"

Scott clicked his tongue. "Lucky! You've got yourself a Butterbeer bean. I'll have to remember what they look – "

He was stopped short when suddenly a piercing noise emanated from Ethan's direction. They each sat in silence for several seconds, as though afraid to speak. Finally, Scott broke the awkward moment.

"Er, Ethan... Did you just..."

"Croak?" finished Alex.

The bespectacled boy looked at the two of them as though contemplating what to reply with. "Chocolate Frog, maybe?" he said unconvincingly as he held up the edible amphibian.

Scott suddenly had the impression that Alex wasn't the only one hiding something. "You can admit it, you know. We won't laugh too much."

Before Ethan could respond, he was interrupted by yet another resounding croak. Suddenly, from inside the backpack that was leaning against Ethan, a creature emerged. It leapt out of the backpack and wrapped its long green tail around Ethan's throat, where it hung. Then, in large webbed hands, it scooped up the Chocolate Frog he was holding and examined it.

They all watched the monster curiously. Alex's mouth was hanging open, giving him a slight resemblance to the creature. It seemed to be a bizarre combination between a monkey and a frog. Its large gaping mouth was lined with countless needle-like teeth, and its head was crowned with two horns. Between the horns was an enormous red lump that made it look like somebody had come at the creature with a mallet. Its large eyes stared off in different directions. The confectionery it was holding seemed to either pass or fail some inspection, as the beast's long tongue suddenly lashed out at the Chocolate Frog, drawing it back as quick as lightning.

"Ethan?" Scott asked faintly, "What is that?"

The creature seemed to have noticed him and Alex now. It was watching them as curiously as they watched it back.

"It's my toad," Ethan said, entirely straight-faced.

Scott looked at it. Alex looked at it. It looked at them.

"Strangest toad I've ever seen," Alex murmured.

Suddenly its tongue flicked out again, landing squarely inside the open box of Every Flavour Beans. It brought back a clump of the sweets, chewing them noisily.

"Cyril!" Ethan scolded crossly. "That's not very hygienic, you know!"

Alex looked entirely flabbergasted. Scott smiled at him as if to say: "Welcome to the Wizarding World."

The hours crept by, and the sun sank past the horizon. When the boys changed into their Hogwarts uniforms as they neared the school, something peculiar was happening within Scott's trunk, unbeknownst to him. The walkman Scott had packed in his early-morning haste was sputtering and smoking, hidden at the very bottom of the case. No light but the sparks of the dying device permeated the trunk as the walkman finally gave a long fizzzz, and then came to a stop, no more sound emanating from the device. It was dead.

Meanwhile, Scott stood up in his compartment, along with the other two who shared it. They left, heading for the platform at Hogsmeade Station, Scott none the wiser as to the fate of his enchanted present.