"Welcome to the Knight Bus. I'm Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus. Oo are choo?", the pimply-faced man, who was probably eighteen asked.
"I'm, I'm Ael- Ail, Ail Dagger. Listen, how much would it be to get to London?"
"Eleven Sickles," said Stan, "but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen you get an
'otwater bottle an' a toofbrush in the color of your choice."
Harry rummaged once more in his trunk, extracted his money bag, and shoved some gold into
Stan's hand.
He and Stan then lifted his trunk, with Hedwig's cage balanced on top, up the steps of the bus.
There were no seats; instead, half a dozen brass bedsteads stood beside the curtained windows.
Candles were burning in brackets beside each bed, illuminating the wood-paneled walls.
A tiny wizard in a nightcap at the rear of the bus muttered,
"Not now, thanks, I'm pickling some slugs"
and rolled over in his sleep.
"You 'ave this one," Stan whispered, shoving Harry's trunk under the bed right behind the
driver, who was sitting in an armchair in front of the steering wheel.
"This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Ail Dagger, Ern."
Harry nodded to the driver, who nodded back absentmindedly.
Harry, after his first experience with the Knight Bus last year, had been wise enough to not order any hot chocolate.
Harry stared out of the window, watching as objects sprang aside to give berth to the bus, while said mode of transportation squeezing to fit in smaller ways.
He was slowly deep breathing, trying to squash down al horrible thoughts along with the nausea he felt because of the horrid bus.
A little while after some little old lady called Madam Marsh got off, Stan called out,
"'Ere we are, in Leaky Cauldron. Choo can get off now Ail!"