Harry had waited for a bit, crouched down with his face in the Agapanthus, hoping to hear the rustling sounds of Nio hus cherio kisa making his way toward him. With a sigh, he stood up and squared his shoulders.
I can do this, he told himself. Sure, I don't have any muggle money and… he stopped himself from naming his other fears. I can do this.
He started down the path to the street and at the staff's direction, turned left to walk in the street (there was no pedestrian walkway), and kept as close to the side of the road as he could by tapping the bordering stones on the curb. His footsteps on the gravel broke the quiet of the neighborhood and he imagined that people were starting to stir in their houses, making morning tea and getting the paper from their stoops. He was glad it was still pretty early and there wouldn't be many people on the road at this hour. The sun was just starting to get bright and Harry closed his eyes behind his glasses.
He listened to the birds filling the morning with their song and wished he heard Hedwig's low hoots among them.
Hedwig will be able to find me, she always knows where I am… How does she do that?
He could hear the traffic on the busier road ahead of him and took in a shaky breath. He knew his staff would help him avoid the cars, but they moved a lot faster than Dudley or Aunt Petunia and he'd have to respond quickly to the warnings.
What if I jump in the wrong direction.
The roundabout is coming up, Harry thought as he turned left again, this time onto a walkway. His staff warned him of a low-hanging tree branch and he ducked his head to avoid it. The staff told him to turn right and that he was at a pedestrian crossing. He listened to the traffic in the roundabout trying to figure out if he could cross and heard a car stop near him. His staff told him to cross… so he thrust his staff out in front of him, swinging it from side to side and started across. He heard another car approaching on the other side and then stop suddenly. It made his heart race and he felt like he was on display, his face flushing with heat. He drew in a deep breath and kept walking until the staff let him know that there was a curb in front of him. He could feel the different textures of the street and the pavement under his feet and was glad when he was safely on the other side. The cars moved on and he followed the curved pathway that went along the side of the roundabout to another street with a pedestrian crossing. He knew that he'd be walking along one of the busiest streets in Little Whinging soon, and then he'd have to cross it to get to the train station.
The distance to the next intersection was short because of the roundabout, and again Harry listened to hear if the cars had stopped before stepping out. It was nerve-wracking and it reminded him of being trapped by Devil's Snare in first year and having to trust Hermione that relaxing was the way to get through it.
Blind faith. This is what people mean by blind faith. Gah.
He made it around the roundabout to the next pedestrian crossing—this one would take him to the street that led to the train station.
Harry was starting to regret not eating breakfast while he was stealing food in the kitchen—he had been too nervous at the time.
I'll have time to eat one of my sandwiches once I get to the train station.
Another pedestrian joined Harry at this crossing and as Harry was listening to the traffic trying to gauge if it was safe to cross, the person grabbed his arm and started pulling him across the street.
"Here, let me help you get across," said a man's voice as his fingers dug into his arm, right on one his bruises.
The staff told him that the man was reaching for him, but not urgently like it did when the swing was about to hit his head or when he was going to run into Aunt Petunia or Dudley was about to trip him.
"Hey! Ow! Stop! Don't do that!" Harry yelled and planted his feet so that his torso was twisted and he was pulled forward, staggering to regain his balance.
"Geez! I was just trying to help!" the man grumbled and hurried off as if Harry was the one being rude.
"Next time ask!" Harry yelled after him, feeling righteous in his anger. His heart was hammering. He wasn't entirely sure where he was now. Was he out in the intersection still? He started swinging his staff from side to side and it helped reorient him—he had been turned so that if he had started walking straight ahead he would have been walking right into the middle of the traffic circle. A car tooted its horn impatiently, startling in its proximity.
Great. I'm about to be killed by traffic and you're worried about being late to work… It's probably Uncle Vernon! Who else would honk at a blind kid stranded in the middle of a roundabout?
Gulping in the air and swallowing his fear, he made it to the pedestrian crossing; the cars whizzed by him impatiently.
Reorienting himself, he knew that he had to walk along this busy street for a while. There were more pedestrians headed toward the train station for their morning commute—the staff was feeding him a lot of information and it was hard to filter it all. He realized that he must have accidentally changed the settings on his staff when the man was trying to haul him across the street, so he tapped it twice with one finger.
That's better, breathing a sigh of relief and continuing on, using the side of the pavement that bordered on a bit of grass as his guide for staying out of the way of the people rushing past him.
His staff clanged into a metal pole, startling him, and he knew he must be getting close to the train station, remembering a line of thick poles that lined the street at regular intervals. Also, he could hear the trains in the station more clearly—their whistles and the clanging, rattling tracks, the squealing of metal on metal.
His staff told him that the pavement was narrowing and that parked cars were along one side—their bumpers intruding on the walkway. A couple of people pushed by him—clearly in a hurry—as his staff struck a car on one side and an encroaching hedgerow on the other. It told him of low hanging branches, too, and he had to duck to miss them. This isn't much of a walkway. He heard other pedestrians walking out in the parking lot, but didn't want to venture out there. He made his way along the narrow pathway a little more slowly and he could hear some impatient people behind him muttering, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. There wasn't much he could do to hurry up. Finally, he'd made it past the parked cars and his staff told him that he was at another intersection. The people who were stuck behind him hurried past him as he stopped and listened before he crossed. He was getting more nervous as he approached the train station.
His staff told him he had arrived at the train station after crossing the street and walking a few paces straight ahead and he stood there for a moment before it dawned on him that he'd need to find the ticket window. He had a vague idea where it was, but the Dursleys didn't take the train much and definitely didn't take him with them hardly at all, so he hadn't visited the trainstation a lot even though it was pretty close to their house.
It felt like it was getting more and more busy around him as he stood there and he had to wait a bit before he felt like he could mutter, "Navigant ticket window."
The staff had him turn left and walk a few yards and he noticed that there seemed to be a line of people by the small noises they were making. The staff was taking him to the front of the line, to the window. He stopped and muttered, "Navigant back of line at the ticket window," and it had him turn around and guided him to the last person, where he stood hesitantly trying to gauge when the line was moving up without tapping the foot of the person in front of him with his staff (though he did a few times accidentally—muttering "sorry!" each time). Someone joined the line behind him and Harry soon figured out that they moved closer to him when the line was advancing and, awkward though it was, it did help him keep up with the moving line.
Finally, his cane came in contact with the brick wall of the station, where the ticket window was.
"Next," said a voice that seemed to be muffled behind a window and directed downward.
Harry moved closer and reached out to find a ledge. He slid his fingers forward until they found the glass, and leaned in. He had been rehearsing in his head what he'd ask at the window.
"Excuse me, what time does the train to the Waterloo station arrive?" Harry asked, his voice cracking a bit, trying to be heard over the noise of the train station.
"The next one is in 7 minutes, they arrive every 13 minutes," the person behind the glass answered mechanically and it sounded like they hadn't looked up yet.
"Um, I've heard that people with… disabilities… can travel on the train for free?" His statement turned into a question and he felt his embarrassment rise in his neck.
"No, it's one-third off the fare and you need to show your disabled persons railcard. . ." It sounded like the person had looked up, "Er—are your parents with you?"
"Oh, um. They are parking the car," Harry lied, feeling his face get hotter.
"How old are you?"
"Um, I'm twelve. I'll just wait for them. Thanks." Harry moved away from the line, tapping along the side of the wall until he felt like he was relatively alone.
Crap.
Harry wondered if there was a bench nearby where he could sit and think about what to do.
Maybe I should have waited at the house for Hedwig?
But he didn't know if Hermione had sent Hedwig back with his money.
Hedwig would have arrived by now.
"Navigant bench," he said quietly to his staff, and then amended, "Navigant empty seat on bench," as it started directing him about ten yards to his right.
The staff told him where to reach to find the back of the bench with his hand and he sat down on the end seat. There was someone else sitting on the bench, but farther down—he could feel them rocking the bench with their movement (maybe they're listening to a walkman?).
He heard a train enter the station and the garbled announcement over the loudspeaker. He leaned his staff close to his ear and muttered, "Tempus" to find out that it was 6:37 am. He knew it would take about an hour and a half to get to 56 Charing Cross Road from the conversation on the phone on Friday.
I have some time to figure this out, but not much.