Chapter Two: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
There was something singularly loud about England, Clara thought as she stood at the edge of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, her eyes narrowed against the steam coming from the train. Located in the depths of Pyrenees, Beauxbaton was always near-silent with only the gentle click of shoes, the swish of silk and the murmur of voices to disturb the mountains. Now Clara couldn't seem to escape the noise.
"Now," her mother was saying breathlessly, rubbing a finger along the beak of a tawny, horned owl that sat importantly in it's cage. Hooting softly, it nipped at her nails with such affection that Mrs. Deschamp giggled. Although, both Clara's father and sister hadn't been able to come, her mother would have sooner flown back to France than stay at home waiting for her daughter's first owl. "Such a lovely creature - really should have gotten one sooner. Back to business - yes. Dear, you have to remember to take care of George-"
"Why must we name him George?" Clara inquired again for the millionth time it seemed, her exhaustion rising ever higher as her mother took up the usual stance of unflinching confidence.
"George is a splendid name, mon lapin ," she began sternly, latching the cage door shut once more. "Very English. We are not in France anymore. We must do as the English do. We must speak as they do. Act as they do-"
"Name air owls George as ze doo," Clara said tiredly, slipping to English as her mother gave her a reproving glance.
"Vairy funny, mon lapin ," Mrs. Deschamp seethed, before switching back to French. "It is funny to mock but I know that you barely have a trace of an accent - you're father worked too hard with you. If you are to speak, speak properly."
"Hello, wizards and witches of England," Clara said lamely in English, looking dully around at the bewildered glances of the passing people. "I have come to attend your funny, little school. I am very happy about it. Can you not tell?"
"Very good! Etonnant !" Clapping gleefully, Mrs. Deschamp moved forward with a wide smile, straightening errant hairs that had been swept into her daughter's face by the cruel breeze sweeping down the platform. Unsurprisingly to Clara, it seemed that it would storm before the day was out. "You make me so proud."
Clara said nothing, glancing around once more as the train gave a sharp whistle. A family down the way with striking red hair was scrambling about, hauling a rather impressive number of suitcases into the tight door of the train.
"It's all rather lively, isn't it?" Mrs. Deschamp suddenly said, her words breathless and her cheeks flushed with color as she stared curiously around. "They are all so very… So very… I do not entirely have a word…"
"They seem rather spoiled to me," Clara murmured, staring down the line as a boy in green robes snarled something fiercely up at a woman who appeared to be his mother.
"You cannot judge them all by one," Clara's mother muttered, looking disapprovingly down at the pair before quickly turning her daughter's attention back to her with a hand to her cheek. "Now, dear, you must be nice. You don't only represent yourself anymore but the whole of Beauxbaton. Be mindful of your manners and - and be careful."
There was a fear in her mother's eyes that Clara couldn't entirely shake - something that made all of the self-pity and anger slip away.
"I will write, mama," she whispered, giving her a soft smile before reaching forward to kiss her gently on the cheek.
"Oh please do - as often as you can but not often enough to interrupt your studies, mind you." Forcefully, she pulled her daughter into a hug, kissing both of her cheeks roughly.
"Arthur!" A red-headed woman bellowed frantically down the platform. "Arthur, what are you doing? It's about to go!"
"Oh dear," Mrs. Deschamp whispered, now frantically nudging Clara up the rickety train steps and into the train, hurriedly shoving luggage in after her as she yelled last minute advice. "Don't try and teach the teacher now, dear. Even if you've learned the lesson already at Beauxbaton. It'll just make it easier for you if you've already been taught it. And - and mind your food. I know you skip meals - now, don't try to deny it. You need your nourishment. Why, you're already skinny enough-"
"Mama, the train's starting up," Clara said gently as George was shoved into her hands, causing the owl to give a indignant hoot and spread it's wings in an obvious show of offense.
Glancing around frantically, her mother moved at a slow jog down the platform as the train jolted to life. "You must write, Clara-"
"I promise I will, mama-"
"And don't forget to feed George-"
"I read that they have an owlery, mama-"
"He needs love. He's of a very delicate temperament-"
"I love you, mama." Mrs. Deschamp had now broken into a full jog to keep up with the train.
"Oh, I love you too, dear - Don't forget to write!" She screamed, finally unable to keep up, her eyes wide with worry.
"You need to close that." Clara glanced up to see a boy in red robes with even redder hair stroll importantly toward her. Freckles shadowed his cheeks and - Clara blinked, staring hard at a rather shiny badge pinned to his robes. Bighead Boy , it read in wide, swooping letters. Apprehensive, she stared up at him until finally, with a great, long sigh he reached around her and shut the train door. "Are you a first year?"
"Um - oui ." Quickly, she stopped herself. "I mean to say yes. I suppose I am."
"Hm." His eyes narrowed on her for a second, his lips thinning her concentration. "Well, I am Percy Weasley. Head Boy." He pointed importantly at the badge that read Bighead Bo y before sweeping a hand at the train's hallway in a general way. "If you need anything - no matter what house you get sorted into - I should be the one that you see first. I should now all the answers - an questions, comments, critiques…"
He let the sentence wander off as he eyed her. Clara blinked rapidly. He was talking very fast. And although her English was well enough it was taking her a considerable amount of time to fully grasp what he was trying to say. Although in the end it didn't seem to really matter as he cared on.
"You should find a compartment. There will be compartments for everything." With that he swept around her and went off to handle - Well, whatever Bighead Boys needed to handle on trains filled with witches and wizards, Clara supposed.
George gave an unimpressed hoot, eying the redhead as he swept away with contempt.
"I second zat," Clara murmured, letting some of the restrained English slip as she glanced down into the hallways of the train.
Moving toward the nearest corridor, Clara watched as lights lining the hall flickered on, illuminating the burgundy carpets. Holding George closely to her chest, she peeked farther in to see that sliding doors closed off the compartments from the hallways, an expansive window showing the whole of England as it passed by opposite the locked doors. Nervously, Clara tugged her luggage along behind her to the nearest compartment and tapped on the door softly.
Silence. The soft rustling of clothing and then a hesitant voice: "Um… Come - come in?"
Softly, the door slid open to reveal a rather chubby boy with buck teeth and a mess of blonde hair with wide, almost fearful eyes in red robes. For a moment, neither of them said anything, both unsure of how to proceed.
"This compartment - I'm sorry. I'm rather new -" Clara started in awkwardly, inching forward. "May I - Is there perhaps an opening that I might-"
"Oh!" the boy exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Oh! You want to sit - sit here with me?"
Clara glanced around, a bit taken aback before meeting his gaze once more with a smile. "Very much so, if you wouldn't mind."
"Mind? Blimey!" Quickly, he reached forward, hoisting her backs into the half-filled luggage racks over a window before Clara could say anything. Grinning, he stuck out his hand. "Neville - Neville Longbottom." Pointing to his red robes, he shut the door to the compartment. "Gryffindor - you said you were new?"
Hesitantly, she sat on the plush seats across from him, still clutching George to her chest as he eyed the boy suspiciously. "Er, oui - I mean yes. My family just moved here from France and - What on Earth is that?"
From within the depths of his robes, Neville had pulled out a rather large toad which gave a hearty croak as it emerged. The boy blinked. His toad blinked. "Oh this? This is Trevor. My toad. Bit clumsy - get's lost a lot."
"Oh," Clara said lamely and there was an awkward moment of silence. Outside the wind had picked up, the combination of the chill air and the rain making the windows fog. Clara tried to desperately to think of something - anything to say.
"You're new," Neville finally started slowly and she felt a knot loosen in her chest at the resumed effort of conversation. "Does that mean you've no idea about the houses?"
"Oh well, my papa told me a bit - I had to learn quite a lot before I could come." Clara left out the part about having to learn it in only five days. Her brain still ached from all the books that she had had to read.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
The conversation spluttered to a halt once more. Outside the wind gave a low moan. Clara's brows furrowed. It felt almost as if-
"Is the train slowing?" she questioned, trying to see through the fogged window. "Have we reached it already?"
Neville looked just as confused. Shoving Trevor back into his robes, he got up and opened the sliding doors to peek about the corridor. "No. Not nearly. We shouldn't even be halfway there at this point."
Brows furrowed, he moved back into the compartment, rubbing his sleeve along the glass to clear it of fog before looking out, so close that his nose squashed to the window. "I think - I think I see something."
Clara's brows rose. "See something?"
"Dark…" Neville muttered, pulling back from the glass with a befuddled expression. "Odd - but I guess - no - Harry. Harry and Hermione and Ron would know." With a decisive nod, he moved swiftly to the door. "Be right back. I'll go ask some friends."
"Should I -?" She was already half out of her seat before she stopped, sinking back down at Neville's flippant wave of the hand.
"Only be a second." And then he was gone.
Clara gulped, watching the corridor lights flicker. In his cage, George shuffled uneasily.
"Oh yes, this seems very safe," Clara grumbled softly to George who gave a hoot of agreement, his eyes flicking watchfully along the bit of corridor that they could see.
The minutes seemed to tick by. Neville still wasn't back. A deep knot tightened in Clara's stomach, making her feel more and more anxious by the second. The wind howled. The train moaned. The lights flickered once more.
"I'll be right back," Clara whispered to George as he gave a distressed hoot as she set his cage to hang on a hook beneath the cargo.
Swiftly, she peered into the hallway. If Neville had found his friends then he would surely know what must be going on - and if not that then he would have some shred of guesswork. Besides, Clara consoled herself, sneaking glances into compartment after compartment, she would feel better in a group of people.
The lights flickered once more and Clara stumbled, hitting her shin on a trunk that had been left in the hall.
She staggered on just as the train came to sudden stop, sending her flying into the wall. Someone in one of the compartments gave a soft scream.
The lights went off. Fear coiled inside her, sending her heart into a mad dash as she fumbled with the nearest compartment handle, her fingers clumsy and clammy as she glanced frantically around. The halls had gone eerily quiet and a sudden, bone-numbing chill had seeped into the air. It was so dark that Clara could barely see her own hands as she futilely tugged at the latch.
"Blimey, just let them in already, George," a voice grumbled from the other side of the door and Clara was suddenly falling forward as the person - George - did just that.
"Oof!" Both of them went tumbling back, barely landing safely on one of the compartment seats in a tangle of limbs.
" Je suis desole! " Clara gasped, trying desperately to right herself but only succeeding in tumbling backwards again.
"Wha-?" Strong hands grasped her waist, barely catching her.
"Girl," a voice said from somewhere to her left as Clara took a breath, her hands going to someone's shoulders.
"Girl!" Another voice gasped gleefully.
"They come to us even in the dark," the first voice sighed as if he was asking: what can we do?
"Will you two shut it?" Clara blinked up at the deep voice, her eyes narrowing on the man that she was sitting on. Even in the dark she caught the flash of teeth as he grinned. "Didn't catch your name."
"Clara -" His hands squeezed her waist reassuringly. She was suddenly all too aware that her hands were still situated on his shoulders and that she was still on his lap. "You can let me go now."
"Ice cold~" two voices sang softly in the darkness.
"Yeah. Just a…" His words wandered off into silence and Clara had the sudden notion that she would much rather stay where she was. Her palms flattened against his shoulders as she leaned closer to him, her eyes pulled to the compartment door as if by threads. Her teeth chattered, her body shrinking down until she was pressed so tightly to the boy that she had fallen onto that she could feel the wild beat of his heart beneath his close.
Standing in the doorway was a figure so tall that it nearly reached the ceiling, it's robes fluttering about it's body as if they were three sizes too big. No one moved. No one even breathed. In that moment it was as if the very air in Clara's lunges was being sucked right out, her whole body numbing as she stared unblinkingly at the figure.
Every second was eternal and suddenly it felt as if Clara was falling down a very long, very dark well - the light seeping away from everything until she was suspended - stuck in that loop… Falling… Falling… Falling …
Clara blinked, drawing in a breath of air. The figure was gone.
"What the bloody hell was that?" the voice to her left whispered and Clara thought she heard a strain there, as if he was shaken to his very core.
The lanterns flickered back to life, at first a bit unsteady and then evening out as the Hogwarts Express rattled back to life. Clara finally caught a glimpse of the boy she had fallen into. His hair was a mess of red, freckles playing along his nose. His jaw was strong and there was a tip to his lips that held some mischief even as he drew a shaky breath, his honey eyes still on the half-open compartment door.
"I don't know but I don't want that git coming back anytime soon." The boy blinked, looking down at Clara as if he was seeing her for the first time. Briefly, his ears went scarlet.
"I know you don't have much experience with the opposite sex, George but this is starting to get embarrassing." Clara blinked glancing over to see a boy that looked exactly like the one that was apparently named George. Twins , a small voice in her head whispered and then an snider one chipped in . Oh very good. Next we'll learn the alphabet.
"I um - 'm vairy zarry," she fumbled, going scarlet as her words muddled together, an unwelcome accent drenching the English. Unsteadily, she leapt to her feet, straightening her clothes. "I mean - I'm very sorry. I was - my compartment friend - Neville - he just left. And then the train stop - stopped and the light… My name's Clara Deschamp."
They were staring at her like she was crazy. Her mouth slammed shut.
"You're very attractive," a boy sitting across from the twins with dreads and a warm, umber complexion suddenly said. He had a wide, open face - the kind that Clara thought would smile easily and laugh fully, his brows thick and expressive as he blinked as if suddenly realizing that he had said anything at all. " I mean - in a completely, er non-sexual way. Like intellectually attractive. You look like you could get down and dirty with some reading. Ha ha. Like you could do my homework. Not that I would ever-"
"Please stop," the other twin that wasn't the one that Clara had fallen into said, looking pained. "You're hurting more than yourself."
"Don't mind Lee," George said, giving her a wink that sent Clara blushing all over again. "We found him talking to himself in a corner one day and decided to be nice to him-"
"Can't get away from him since," his twin sighed, eying the disgruntled boy with disdain.
"We attract the loopy ones," George confided and Clara couldn't help but return his grin with a shy smile and his grin widened. "That's better."
Just then, the door jerked open, revealing a rather qeasily looking boy in green robes, his hair a whitish blond, panting. His face was gaunt, skin just this side of too pale as if he had been stuck underground for a few days too many.
"Oh joy," George's twin said, obviously feeling the exact opposite as he eyed the boy. "Malfoy's come to say hello."
"Or wet himself," Lee grumbled.
Looking simultaneously horrified and disgusted, Malfoy slammed the compartment door shut.
"Bye then," George said, his eyes still on the door before they flicked back to Clara. "Don't hang around that lot, if you can, Clara love. He smells like eggs and has a tendency to lie."
"Plus we read it in the stars that he's supposed to have a bad hair day sometimes this week," his twin threw in sagely, nodding. "Wouldn't want to be associated with that mess, would you?"
"You knew I was new?" Clara questioned, quirking a brow as the twins smirked knowingly.
"We never forget a pretty face," they said in unison.
"I-" Just then, a flash of blonde hair and red robes caught Clara's eyes, sending her rushing to peer around the corner and into the corridor. Sure enough, she watched as the boy ducked into the compartment that she was pretty sure was hers. Throwing an apologetic glance over her shoulder, she hurriedly said: "Thank you so much and I really am sorry. Must be going." and rushed off down the hall for Neville.
Gasping, Clara turned sharply into her compartment, greeted by a soft hoot from George - she blinked, thinking of the human George briefly - and a shocked stare from Neville.
"Blimey, where have you been?" He stared at her, drawing Trevor the Toad out from his robes. "And why do you look so red?"