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Chapter 5: British Airways Flight 439
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"I can't find my bag!" exclaimed Ron, tossing pillows around the room as he searched for his carry-on bag.
"Where did you have it last, Ron?" asked Hermione, calmly walking behind him, picking up all the things he was knocking over in his search.
"I don't know, Hermione!" he yelled exasperated, dropping for the fourth time to his hands and knees to search under the beds.
"What about the cupboard?" Harry asked as he stepped on a chair to check the upper shelf of the cupboard. "No, only spiders," he muttered.
"Someone stole it!" Ron angrily declared, falling backwards onto an unmade bed.
"No one stole your bag, Ron!" snapped Hermione, dropping all the recently picked-up pillows onto him, "You just misplaced it."
"I didn't misplace it, someone took it!" he exclaimed, throwing a pillow at Hermione, who with reflexes neither of the boys knew she had, ducked out of its way.
"Honestly, Ron, if I find it -" she began, pulling open a dresser drawer. She stood up slowly, a bundle of cloth in her hand that looked remarkably like...
"My bag!" Ron jumped up, grabbed the blue bag from Hermione, and rushed over to his bedside table to start shoving in what was left of his unpacked belongings. Harry shook his head and checked his bedside table one more time to make sure he hadn't left anything.
"Your parents are meeting us at King's Cross, right Ron?" asked Harry as he shut the final drawer.
"Yep, with our trunks," replied Ron, closing his bag.
Hermione sat down next to him. "I wonder what our books are this year? I still can't believe I didn't even get to see my letter. I didn't know Hedwig was going to intercept them from the school owls and bring them straight to Mrs. Weasley," Hermione muttered, disappointed.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I told her to do that - it was easier - what are you complaining about anyway? Hedwig brought you the part about you being made Prefect and your badge right away!"
"I just can't believe I was made a Prefect. Honestly," she said, shaking her head amazed.
In an instant Ron had swung a pillow at her with all his might, sending her flying off the bed with a yelp.
"I can't believe I was made a Prefect. Honestly!" mimicked Ron in a high voice. "Of course you were made a prefect, Hermione!"
Hermione stood up, the pillow in her hand, glaring at him. "I wasn't expecting it - what with all the rules we've broken," she said, her eyes glinting menacingly.
Ron smirked. "Come off it, there has to be some law somewhere that says all know-it-alls, teachers' pets, and none trouble-makers have to be made Prefects, no questions asked."
"None trouble-making, I'll give you none trouble-making," Hermione spat, and with that she had jumped onto the bed and started swinging her pillow at Ron with all her might.
Ron fell backwards, covering his face with one hand and swinging the nearest pillow up at her in defense. Harry laughed, grabbed a pillow, and joined the fight.
* * * * *
Adrienne walked nervously through the crowded airport. She felt very odd wearing Muggle clothing instead of her usual green robes. She wore black slacks and a purple button-down shirt. She stole a glance at Professor Glenn, who was wearing khakis and some god-awful olive-green shirt.
"You know what, Professor?" she said as she and Professors Glenn, Hartel, and Bell made there way to Gate 17, "You really have no fashion sense whatsoever."
Professor Glenn looked down at her, his mouth open in mock indignation. "I'm the one who bought you those stunning robes, Adrienne," he said, as if this proved his expert fashion knowledge.
Adrienne rolled her eyes. "They're black and in the normal style that schools require. That didn't take fashion sense but mere hand-eye coordination to make sure you grabbed the right size," Adrienne replied in exasperation.
Professor Hartel shot a smile at Adrienne and laughed, but quickly stopped when Joe glared at her.
"You're taking her side over your husband's?" he asked in astonishment.
"Well, dear, you do look like something else. That isn't your color."
Joe narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest, "I thought it was very becoming."
"Yeah, if you want to look like a giant pickle with legs," muttered Adrienne, running ahead to avoid the shove Joe had tried to give her.
* * * * *
"Gate 17, Hermione," said Mrs. Granger as the three teenagers and two adults stopped under the yellow and black terminal sign indicating their gate.
The five claimed plastic chairs by a window and watched silently as a group of men, clad in blue, prepped their plane. Harry stretched out in his chair: It was going to be a long night and they'd be arriving in London at eight in the morning.
"We're going to be a little rushed aren't we, Hermione?" he asked.
Hermione shrugged. "No, mum and Mrs. Weasley have it all planned out. We meet them at King's Cross at ten, we shove our suitcases and bags in our trunks, and then board the train."
Harry turned and looked at her. "What if the plane's late?" he asked, silently praying this wouldn't be a miss-the-train year like three years ago.
Hermione stole a quick glance at her father, who was deep in conversation with his wife. "It'll give my dad an excuse to speed; it's not like he ever waits for one though," she whispered disapprovingly.
Harry laughed. From knowing Hermione for four years he had assumed her parents would have been sticklers for rules like she was, but they weren't. Mr. Granger had to be the most easy-going guy he had ever met: letting them wander around the Gallows alone, only telling them to let him know when they returned, never giving them a curfew. And unlike Uncle Vernon, who always drove at least fifteen miles under the speed limit, Mr. Granger gave a new meaning to the phrase "pedal to the metal."
Harry smirked remembering their ride through London to the airport. They had passed one of those signs on the side of the road that tell you your speed and when the speed flashed up, Mrs. Granger said calmly, "Richard dear, you're going twice the speed limit."
"Am I?" was all Mr. Granger said, stepping on the accelerator more. Mrs. Granger leaned over to get a better view of the speedometer. "I didn't mean for you to speed up," she said quite patiently.
"I know; I meant to speed up, Liz dear."
Harry shook his head. Hermione's parents definitely had been a surprise. He looked at his watch, wondering when they were going to start boarding. He was just about to ask Ron if on the plane he'd want to play a game of travel chess when he heard it:
"I still don't get why I couldn't have used Floo powder. That thing out there doesn't look all that reliable," came a girl's voice Harry had never heard before. Harry turned around. Sitting behind him was a girl and three adults.
"Because, Adrienne, Floo powder doesn't work across such distances," remarked the man sitting next to her, "And you can't Apparate because you haven't passed your exam, so you have to take the plane."
The girl crossed her arms. "You think I'm an accident waiting to happen? That pile of junk out there is an accident waiting to happen!" she exclaimed. "I could have used a port-key you know!"
Hermione and Ron had turned around too to see who was speaking.
Now the younger of the two women spoke, "We didn't get the paperwork for an International port-key filled out in time, Adrienne."
Adrienne sighed and turned to get a better look at the plane. Harry's eyes widened in astonishment as he finally got a good look at her. He gasped and tuned around in his chair.
"What is it?" asked Ron.
Harry shook his head slowly. "That's the girl from my dream."
"No way," said Ron, turning around to look at Adrienne again, "It's got to be just a coincidence, Harry."
"No, that's her!" he hissed.
Hermione turned around too. "You know, she looks an awful lot like you, except for she doesn't have a scar or glasses," Hermione remarked thoughtfully.
"Yeah, and the fact that she's a girl, and a real pretty one at that," said Ron, smiling dumbly.
"Are you sure, Harry?" Hermione asked, but before Harry could answer, a tall blond in a blue uniform had called out: "We are ready to begin boarding for British Airways Flight 439 to London, England. At this time we ask that all first-class passengers . . ."
"That's us," said Mrs. Granger, standing up.
" . . . families with young children, and children traveling alone to begin boarding."
"That's you Adrienne," said Professor Bell, standing up and handing Adrienne her bag. Adrienne's smile faded, and she too stood up, very reluctantly though.
"Don't cry on us, Adri," said Joe, scooping her into a big hug, "Don't cry."
Adrienne sniffed and nodded.
"We'll apparate to the airport tomorrow in time to pick you up and take you to King's Cross, that way you don't have to navigate London alone," said Mia, kissing Adrienne on the cheek.
"It's only the night alone on the plane," said Professor Bell, holding her arms out to receive her hug.
"This is only a practice good-bye, Adri," added Joe, brushing away her tear.
"Here's your ticket."
Adrienne nodded and took the ticket from Professor Bell. "Tomorrow in London," Adrienne said meekly, more to reassure herself than anything else.
"Tomorrow in London," confirmed Professor Hartel quietly.
Adrienne took a deep breath and pursed her lips. "Good night then," Adrienne said rather bravely. She turned on her heel and strode over to the gate, glaring at the plane through the window.
"This had better work," she mumbled, casting one last very skeptical look at the plane as she handed the flight attendant her ticket.
"First class, seat 7B," said the blonde in what Adrienne thought was an altogether much too cheery tone of voice.