It was September 1st again, and Harry was glad, more less, to be back on the train. Summer with the Dursleys had been insufferably boring, with them ignoring him, he ignoring them, and Tonks popping up every so often to check on him. It was with a sense of sincere relief that he collapsed into a seat on the Hogwarts Express. He was there early, because Vernon had made him take the bus in from Surrey, and the train and platform were eerily empty, with just a few students here and there and a lone cat yowling from the opposite side of the tracks.
He looked out the window and saw Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin student, walk through the pillar that was the entrance. He looked dejected, his shoulders slumped as he pushed his trolley, and Harry noticed the stub of a bus ticket in his breast pocket. Or hers. To tell the truth, no one in Gryffindor, with the possible exception of Fred and George, knew if Blaise was a boy or a girl. Harry had always thought of the Slytherin as a boy, but that was mostly because he or she played rough Quidditch. But then, so did Angelina, and she was certainly no boy. Average height, chin-length hair, an easily forgotten face, and the general anonymity of Hogwarts robes all conspired to keep anything from being certain. Even now, seeing him in muggle clothing, Harry couldn't be sure.
Harry watched as Zabini dragged his chest, which, curiously enough, looked to be a battered RAF foot locker, onto the train, but was unprepared for Blaise and his luggage to appear at the door of his own compartment. Blaise looked just as startled.
"This is my compartment," he said. His voice was as androgynous as his face; ever so slightly high for a boy, just a little low for a girl, and smooth. He looked at Harry expectantly, waiting for the Gryffindor to leave.
Slightly defensive, Harry stretched his legs out across his seat. "I was here first. The whole train's empty; go find somewhere else to sit."
"No, it's alright," Blaise said surprisingly. He shrugged and wrestled his footlocker, for that's what it was, now that Harry saw it up close, into the overhead racks. He collapsed onto the empty bench, much like Harry had done a few minutes ago, and pulled a lump of wood and a small knife from one of the many pockets on his old-fashioned great coat and began to whittle. Harry could see the beginnings of what looked like a face.
Wishing he had thought to leave a book out of his trunk, Harry leaned against the window. The clock outside said 8:14. The train wouldn't leave until 11:00. Harry saw the conductor leave, probably to get breakfast. Eventually, boredom brought his attention back to the other figure in his compartment. The lump of wood was now clearly a head, and Blaise was carefully carving the mischeivious arch of an eyebrow. With a sudden start, Harry recognized George Weasley in the wooden features.
"That's George," he said softly, not wanting to startle the carver into a mistake. Blaise looked up and smiled.
"Yeah, it is," he said brightly. "I finished Fred this morning." Setting the head aside, he got up and stood on his bench to retrieve something from his trunk. At first glance, it seemed to be a tangle of smooth sticks and fine thread, but then Blaise untangled it into a dangling, gawky figure, about 8 inches tall.
"It's a marionette!" Harry said in surprise. The puppet-Fred nodded its bright red head, and Blaise smiled proudly.
"Watch," he said, and then twitches of his fingers set the puppet to sneaking on tiptoe around the room, peering under the seats in a pantomime of secrecy. "George," the puppet suddenly said in a passable imitation of Fred's voice. "I think we've outgrown full-time education." Harry laughed out loud, then looked into Blaise's face to see if he could see his lips moving.
"That's incredible," he said earnestly. "How did you learn to do that?"
Blaise picked up the puppet-Fred and fiddled with a joint on its leg. "My father taught me how to carve the summer after my first year. He said I needed a way to pull my own way." He frowned intently at whatever was wrong with the joint. "My family is kind of a circus act. We travel with a Renaissance Fair in the summers. My dad does ventriloquism, and my mom and sisters have a fire-breathing act. I do puppets."
"Wow," Harry said. "That sounds like a fun life."
Blaise shrugged. "It was, when I was a kid. You get tired of it. Leaving in a motor home all summer with 4 other people isn't really a picnic. Between that and Hogwarts, I haven't had my own room since I was 11."
"You're muggleborn?" Harry said with surprise. He had thought that all Slytherins were purebloods, from the way Malfoy acted."
Blaise nodded. "Yeah. And don't think I don't catch enough flak for that, being in Slytherin. It's not like it's my fault."
"Which, being a muggleborn, or being in Slytherin?" Harry asked.
"Both," said Blaise with a trace of a smile.
"Hey," Harry said suddenly. "Why'd you make Fred and George?"
Blaise picked up the George-head again and went to work on the other eye. "I really admired that prank they pulled on Umbridge last year, you know? I want to see if I can work it into my act. I've already made the Umbridge puppet, though she came out a little less toad-like than I'd intended. Hey, you want to see her?"
"How many did you bring?" Harry asked as Blaise climbed back up to his footlocker. This time, he dragged the whole thing down and flung it open. A brightly painted wooden box filled more than half of the interior space, with the legend "Zabini's Zany Zhow!" carved in relief atop it. He took this out, and opened it too. Inside were probably three dozen of the small marionettes.
"I brought my whole set. These are most of them, and my mom'll ship the rest sometime this week. I need the practice, and never leave them behind." He started pulling them out, untangling them, and laying them across his seat. Harry recognized Snape, Dumbledore, Quirrell with his turban, Draco, Umbridge, Professor Lockhart, Lupin, and Filch, Hagrid, larger by half than any of the others, along with a number of the students. Suddenly, Blaise shut the box, but Harry had seen one left in there.
"What's that one?" he asked, pointing at the closed box. Surprisingly, Blaise blushed. "Er," he said, opening the box and pulling out the black-haired puppet. "Don't be mad, okay?" He showed Harry the puppet. It was Harry. "After all, I can't tell the story of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone without Harry Potter, can I?"
