Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter Series, or the movie Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
Onboard the Knight Bus, Stan Shunpike and Ernie Prang have a serious discussion about the shrunken head.
I don't have anything against the shrunken head…really I don't. I just don't think he was a particularly good thing to add to the movie. They should've had Stan chat a bit with Ernie or something, for non-plot-developing dialogue in between the speeding bus shots. Sure, the head was kind of funny...but anyone can crack jokes and whoop and holler and all that jazz. It's not worth it.
So here is my solution…where Stan and Ernie take matters into their own hands.
"Manchester." Stan called, loud enough for everyone on the Knight Bus to hear him clearly. "Manchester!"
A dazed-looking wizard came down the stairs, swaying as he descended the rickety wooden steps. Stan grasped his upper arm, and helped him out the door of the bus.
"Thank you, young man." The wizard said, pressing two fingers down on the bridge of his nose, apparently trying to focus his vision.
"No trouble a' tall." Stan said, trying to appear cheerful despite the bags under his eyes. "Thank you fer ridin' the Knight Bus, 'ave a lov'ly mornin'—"
"It's morning?" The wizard asked, looking dubiously up at the pitch black sky.
"Aye." Stan said. "Though the sun's not due up fer a good 'andful of 'ours." The young conductor yawned, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.
"Well, thank you again." The wizard said, as he began walking down the street.
"Yer welcome." Stan said, wrapping his woolly uniform-issued scarf more securely around his neck. He would've tipped his hat at the wizard—a habit he'd developed the previous summer which he immensely enjoyed doing—but the man had already turned his back on the Bus. And Stan wasn't taking his hat off for anybody anyway, not in this weather. It was cold enough to freeze the privates off a polar bear, or Stan's Mum was a billy-goat.
Pondering the usage of animals in metaphors, Stan stepped back inside the bus and shut the door. "Cor, what a night!" He shivered.
"There's ice on the road, I can see it." Ernie said, putting in his two cents as he peered out the windshield.
"You better be watchin' dat ice, Ernie!" The shrunken head piped up, swinging to and fro from his position near Ernie's left shoulder. "Dis bus ain't got no skates on! Ah-ha-haaaa!"
Stan grimaced. He wasn't an intelligent fellow, he knew that...but he still had feelings. And nerves. And breaking points. And the shrunken head that acted as navigator for the Knight Bus was bringing him dangerously close to the last one.
"When do we get off t'night, Ern?" He asked.
"I dunno…'round four?" Was the dubious reply. The bus was picking up speed, and they were approaching a more populated area—there'd be cars to dodge, soon enough.
"'Ang on ladies an' gents and kiddles of all ages!" The head proclaimed. "It's gonna be a bumpy ride!"
Stan slumped down into the conductor's armchair. He'd finished reading his copy of The Daily Prophet half an hour ago, and there was nothing else to do in the interim between stops but watch the world go by, and listen to that blasted talking head.
"Ernie?" Stan called.
"Yeah, Stan?" Ernie said, squinting as he kept his eyes on the road before him.
"The shrunken 'ead." Stan said, picking at a cuticle on his right thumbnail. "When'd we get 'im?"
"What, you mean when did 'ee get installed?" Ernie asked.
"Yeah."
Ernie pondered this for a moment.
"Dunno...abou' eight months ago? Sometime in early June." Ernie shrugged.
"Who's idea was it to bring 'im in, anyways?" Stan asked.
"Management." Ernie said, matter of factly. "As I recall, they 'splained it to me...though I can't remember 'zactly what they said. Somethin' abou' havin' 'im be like a seein' eye head, to prevent crashes--"
"We never crash!" Stan protested. "No' badly, anyhow."
"—an' somethin' else abou' improvin' morale in th' workplace."
A car was headed straight at them. Ernie spun the wheel and the purple bus careened to the left, its right wheels lifting off the ground for several seconds before crashing back down onto the road.
"Morale?!" Stan said in disbelief. "That thing ain't improvin' morale! Leastways, not my morale. Ain't nothin' can improve my morale when it's past midnight on a bitter col' night in the dead o' winter, when me fingers freeze ever' time the door opens 'cause I can't work the ticket machine wi' mittens on, an' I get so tired I can barely stan' up! It takes every bit o' energy I got to be nice t'everyone that comes on, takes all I got t'say my piece an' do my job. That shrunken 'ead ain't 'elpin', not one bit. If anythin', 'e's drainin' me o' the will t'live, with 'is panicky traffic directions an' 'is bad, bad jokes."
Ernie frowned. "Passengers like 'im." He said doubtfully.
"Passengers don't like 'im." Stan said firmly. "You notice how ever' one goes up to the secon' an' thir' levels nowadays, and we're all alone on the first floor? The only passenger as stays down 'ere is Madam Marsh, and she's usually too busy fightin' motion sickness t' hear anythin' anyhow!"
"Watch out for de dog, Ernie!" The shrunken head cried out. Ernie jerked the bus sharply to the side, then back, to avoid oncoming cars in the opposite lane.
"Close call, Ern." The head said. "Any closer, and dey woulda had ta bring ol' Fido home in a doggy bag! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa!"
"The bloody thing's not even been listenin' to us!" Stan cried. "'E's impervious to our conversation, doesn't 'ave the sligh'est inklin' we're talkin' abou' 'im! 'E 'as no idea what we're sayin', e's jus' watchin' the road!"
"Well, it's 'is job." Ernie said. The old man grabbed the gear shift and twisted—
BANG
"Ott'ry St. Catchpole!" Stan called, climbing out of his armchair to position himself by the door. The bus thundered down a badly-lit paved street, tires screeching.
"Brakes Ernie, brakes!" Shouted the head.
"I know when t'stop the bus, y'ruddy overgrown prune!" Ernie cried out suddenly. He slammed his foot down and the bus skidded to a halt, beds slammed and the candle brackets on the walls rattled.
Several sleepy-looking witches (one clutching a blue toothbrush) trundled down the stairs from the second floor, and nodded to Stan as he opened the bus door for them.
"Thank you fer ridin' the Knight Bus, 'ave a lovely mornin'—" Stan shut the door, hissing through his teeth at the cold gust of air that hit him in the face.
Stan turned back to Ernie. "'E's 'anging by yer shoulder, right next t'yer ear…'e makes you crazy too, don't 'e?"
Silence. The bus was already rolling down the street, but Ernie took one hand off the wheel to remove his coke bottle glasses, and run the back of his wrinkled, gnarled hand across his watery eyes.
"T'ain't fair." He said. "Sixty years ago I 'ad eyes sharp as a groggy bear, an' I drove this bus ten times faster than I do t'day. I was a beast back then, so I was, and the Knight Bus flew down streets faster n' the devil hisself! Sure, we had accidents by the plenty...it's to be expected. But it was alrigh', 'cause I was alrigh', an' I didn't need no bloody shrunken 'ead to tell me what t'do—"
"INTERSECTION!!!" Bellowed the shrunken head.
Ernie slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the bus shot forward, narrowly missing being crushed between a blue lorry and a garbage van.
Stan grabbed hold of a pole, and steadied himself as he made his way to the driver's seat. He reached out and put a hand on Ernie's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. Ernie made a small sound of gratitude, blinked rapidly, then put his glasses back on.
"Someone's hailin' us." He said, observing the blinking light on the dashboard. "London, outside the Leaky Cauldron. Get back Stan, and brace y'self."
"YEE-HAH!" Shouted the shrunken head, right in Stan's ear. The Knight Bus conductor winced, and stumbled backwards.
BANG
The bus bumped down the street and lurched to a halt, right in front of the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. The wizard standing on the curb, an old silver-haired fellow, lowered his wand and climbed on board.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard." Stan said, attempting to sound pleasant. "My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be yer conductor this e—"
"Yes, yes, thank you." The wizard said hurriedly, wheezing as he spoke. "Normal fare, nothing extra." He dropped the necessary gold into Stan's palm. "To Surrey please, and make it quick."
Stan gritted his teeth, and handed the wizard his ticket. "Enjoy yer ride, sir."
"C'mon 'c'mon, we ain't got all night!" The shrunken head cried happily. "Let's get a move on!"
The silver-haired wizard eyed the shrunken head, then made a quick ascent up to the second floor.
Stan turned to look at Ernie. The old man had his hand on the brake, but he wasn't moving.
"We've go' to get rid of 'im, Ernie." Stan said desperately. "I can 'andle the weather. I can 'andle the long night. I can even 'andle the stuffy passengers. But I can't take that 'ead no more."
"Neither can I." Ernie said. He turned his head to look at Stan. "What d'you think we should do 'bout it?"
"Ey! Choppity, choppity, we's wastin' time, gents!" The head said, a hint of irritation showing in its voice.
Stan looked at the head. Then looked at Ernie.
Suddenly, Stan laughed. He grinned widely at Ernie, his eyes lit with a spark the old bus driver had never seen in Stan's eyes before.
It was the spark of a Good Idea.
Ten minutes later, the bus was zooming merrily along, dodging cars and stray animals and muggle pedestrians with ease. Ernie was whistling as he drove, and Stan was laughing at a funny story he'd remembered reading in yesterday's edition of the Prophet. And the shrunken head, wrapped tightly in Stan's scarf, was tied to the bumper of The Knight Bus, still spewing muffled directions and jokes even as it bounced against the street time and time again.
The End
P.S. The average bear has terrible eyesight, and a groggy, sleep-deprived bear's vision is even worse. Just in case anyone wanted to know.
Please review!