Chapter 8. Tankards and Tables
AN: Thanks for the faves and follows, as usual I appreciate them a lot and they keep me motivated. Please also consider leaving a review from time to time, maybe you have some ideas or thoughts about the characters. I want to keep improving my story, so share with me your critiques.
If you haven't done so, please check out my other new fic 'Cursed Ring of Transfiguration' A second update of that fic is due this month (hopefully)!
Story so far: Harry responds to the Hogwarts letters by sending some of his Darklings. However, Hogwarts doesn't take no for an answer and sends Hagrid instead.
Harry was feeling slightly dazed as he was led out of the house by the giant man. Hagrid was talking animatedly, but it was all just a pleasant hum to his dazed senses as he struggled to reconcile this new truth about himself.
A sudden BANG! shocked him out of his far-away state, and his eyes immediately zeroed in in the source. He instantly regretted it, a riotous purple colour searing his eyeballs painfully. Before him was a very out-of-place wonky and asymmetrical triple decker bus. 'The Knight Bus' was emblazoned in gaudy gold lettering across the front and sides of the bus. The Dursleys would faint if they ever laid their eyes on the monstrous eyesore.
Harry wondered if following the man named Hagrid had been a smart idea. The whole situation was surreal and he wasn't one hundred percent certain that he wasn't just having a bizarre hallucination as result of excessive exposure to bleach fumes.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard." said a female voice, delivering the scripted greeting in a monotonous deadpan tone. The young woman standing on the platform of the bus looked bored and uncaring. She wore a large conductors hat and an old ratty purple uniform that was probably over a hundred years old judging by its style and moth-eaten trims.
Hagrid heaved himself up onto the bus, the vehicle groaning under his weight and leaning to the side. Harry could only assume that it was magic preventing the whole thing toppling over onto its side.
Harry tuned out whatever conversation Hagrid was having with the apathetic conductress, too busy focusing on the Darklings exploration of the magic surrounding the bus. Bright threads in a tight knitted pattern formed a perfectly round sphere that encased the bus in its entirety. The bubble was predominantly a yellow tessellated hexagonal pattern, with green and blues layered over the top like a plaid kilt . He had no idea what the purpose of the bubble was, but he supposed he would find out sooner rather than later.
"Come along now lad, best not ta keep ta' bus waitin'", Hagrid said jovially as he finished counting out small bronze coins, assumingly for the bus fare. The woman took them with nary a glance to check if the amount was correct.
Harry scrambled onto the unsafe looking bus, yelping as the doors were almost slammed on him when the conductress pulled the control lever. He sent glare toward her, and her lip quirked minutely in amusement. She had almost smushed him on purpose.
He sent a nervous glance toward the driver who was squinting out through the window at the road ahead of him. He was an owlish looking old man with thick rimmed glasses, and he elicited a strong sense of unease in Harry. The bus had no other passengers, and Hagrid had taken his seat close to the back of the bus on a squishy blue dining chair, complete with a small round table and tea set.
Harry had barely taken one step in the direction of Hagrid when the bus started off so violently that he was tossed clean across the lower deck of the bus. It was only by the quick intervention of the Darklings that he didn't end up spattered across the back windscreen or impaled on the chair leg. The little creatures had put all their energy into altering his trajectory, sending him careening into Hagrid instead of instant death.
"Best to take a seat 'arry, the Knight Bus can get a bit rough." Hagrid informed him cheerily. Harry thought that 'a bit rough' was 'a bit of an understatement'. He nodded his reply, not certain that he would be able the keep his meagre lunch in his stomach. The last thing this rollercoaster-of-certain-doom required was vomit sloshing around in the cabin.
Unfortunately for him, none of the furniture in the cabin was bolted to the floor. Harry was almost thrown to the other side of the bus when the driver, who he was now absolutely sure was legally blind, decided to take a sharp turn down a narrow alley. Hagrid kept a tight grip on his shoulder, but at the first moment he could Harry took hold of the curtains hanging in front of the windows.
For the rest of the utterly terrifying trip he gripped the fabric with white knuckles, praying for the ordeal to be over and for his lifeline not to rip under the strain of his hold. Despite his terror, the Darklings were utterly delighted by this new adventure, expanding to fill the cabin. Some of them were even burying themselves into Hagrid's beard and impressive mane of hair. They had taking a liking to the giant, although it was hard to tell for certain at first. If they were to find Hagrid lacking in character, the playful burying would quickly turn into unpleasant mischief.
At least now he knew what the bubbled did. It was creating a path for the bus, forcing vehicles, lamp posts, and oblivious people (muggles, his mind supplied) to jump out of its path. Of course, all the non-magical people didn't seem to notice a thing. Then again, Harry didn't know if it was the bus forcing other things to move, or if the bus was being somehow altered and it just looked like obstacles were jumping out of the way.
After what felt like an eternity, the bus finally arrived at its destination, stopping so abruptly that Harry lurched forward with such momentum that he feared his arms were dislocated. He was slightly awed by the integrity of the curtains which had barely a wrinkle despite his iron grip on them.
It was with shaky legs and great relief that he disembarked from the death-trap, promising to himself silently that he would rather walk all the way back to Surrey than risk permanent injury or death in that disastrous excuse for a bus.
Taking some deep breathes to calm down, he waited for his heartbeat to settle back to a normal rhythm before taking in the scenery around him. His return to his senses was expedited by the comforting presence of his Darklings swarming around him.
He found that he was at Charring Cross, where he had been only a handful of times with Aunt Petunia. She was forced to bring him along when no one had been available to babysit him when she came into town to do some shopping or errands.
His interest was immediately drawn to a dingy old pub with a rusty swinging sign in the shape of a cauldron. Hagrid was already merrily making his way to the establishment, and with a quick glance around him, Harry jogged to keep up with the longer strides of the large man.
Using his 'Darkling Vision', as he liked to call it in his own head, he could see that like the Knight Bus, the seedy pub also had rigid patterned magic wrapped around it. Compared to the wild, tangled magic of the rest of the street, it stuck out a like a sore thumb.
Entering the pub behind Hagrid, Harry looked around the room, taking in the bizarre dress of many of the patrons and the strange pipes and accessories many of them had. Over behind the worn bar, a jolly-looking balding barman flicked a stick around, sending cups filled with drink and dishes stacked with food flying around the room to customers who didn't seem to bat an eye at their food hurtling across the room willy-nilly.
Unfortunately, Hagrid was a large man and tended to attract significant attention wherever he went.
"Ah, Hagrid! The usual?" The barman called out with familiarity. Hagrid, it seemed, was a regular patron at the pub.
"Sorry, Tom. 'ogwarts business today. Takin' young Harry to get his school things." Replied Hagrid proudly. Harry got the impression that Hagrid was immensely pleased to have received the task of taking him to get his school equipment, although he couldn't understand why that would be.
He found out within seconds, though.
"By Merlin, it's Harry Potter." The barman gasped out after glancing Harry's distinctive scar.
Immediately, an unnatural hush fell upon the room. The previous conversations and atmospheric din smothered in a heavy expectation. Then all at once chaos erupted.
"Harry Potter! Pleasure to meet you!"
"Harry Potter! Please, shake my hand!"
"Are you really Harry Potter?"
"Look at his scar! He has the scar!"
It was as if the madness had gripped the men and women in the room, all of them clamouring toward him, shouting and reaching out to take his hands or touch his face, no, his scar.
Nerves, already frayed by his first exposure to magical transport, snapped as the crowd rushed to converge upon him.
Terror and anxiety rose within him swiftly and sharply. Reflexes, honed by years of dodging and ducking punches from Dudley and Uncle Vernon alike, kicked in and his adrenaline went into overdrive. He searched wildly for a place to hide, somewhere dark and enclosed where the grabbing hands could not reach. It was hard to breathe now, they were pressed around him, grasping at his clothes and clutching at him, tugging him in every direction.
He could see out the corner of his eye, a bench in the furthest, darkest corner of the room, and he wished desperately to be hidden beneath that table, anywhere that was away from that moment.
Within the space of a second, he vanished with a resounding crack, only to find himself sequestered safely beneath the table he had been focusing on moment before. There was a shocked silence in the room, followed by screaming and yelling that Harry couldn't even begin to decipher. His breaths were fast and shallow, a panic attack tingling beneath his skin on a hair trigger.
But the yelling and screaming never even came close to him. He curled up in the safe confines of the shadows, gripping his knees to his chest and trying desperately to remain quiet.
"All of yeh, SHUT UP!" boomed Hagrid's voice. Harry shivered in fear, there was a rough and threatening edge to the shout. The frenzied yelling of the crowd was silenced immediately
"You lot best be ashamed of yerselves, scarin' 'Arry like that." He growled angrily at the crowd, "now, yer going to be explainin' to Dumbledore that Harry Potter went missin' because you couldn't leave the poor lad well enough alone."
"We'll go find him! Right this moment!" a woman squeaked out with a trembling voice.
"Yes, don't you worry Hagrid, he couldn't have gone far. Can you believe it though? Harry Potter can disapparate!" a man said, voice tinged with awe.
Harry didn't know what it meant to disapparate, but he wasn't sure that he liked the way the man was talking about it, like he had just performed something overly freakish. An excited murmur rippled through the room.
"Well, if yer gonna go look for 'im then yeh best start now," Hagrid interrupted, disrupting the whispering assembly of witches and wizards.
"Well, GET!" he thundered, spurring them all into action when they remained unmoving.
Harry could hear the scuffling of feat and scraping of chair legs as men and women stood from the streets. Doors creaked open accompanied by several sharp cracks that echoed through the room. Each loud crack made Harry jump a little and curl tighter into himself.
After several brief seconds the room was finally silent, except for the pounding in his ears. A small shuffling noise and whisper of cloth made him tense. He hadn't noticed, but someone was seated at the table that he had found himself hidden beneath.
He stifled a whimper and held his breath, trying to keep his body as motionless as possible. However, it was too late. The stranger stood, the silky robes swishing and crinkling. Slowly, the shadowy body lowered itself, until finally the man to whom the body belonged to was looking Harry straight in the eyes.
Harry stared frozen like a dear in caught in the headlights of a car, eyes wide and frightened. An involuntary tremor shook through his body and his breathe caught in his throat.
The man had nervous air about him, and he gave Harry a nervous trembling smile. He had a huge a purple turban wrapped around his head.
The gentle smile and non-threatening demeanour calmed Harry a little, enough for his breathe to become unstuck and whoosh out of his mouth loudly. The stranger shifted uncertainly and cautiously, the smile starting to strain as Harry gulped down deep breaths. The Darklings wrapped themselves tightly and protectively around him. Some of them hissed and growled angrily at the turban-wearing wizard, while others cautiously creeped toward him to investigate.
"T-t-they've all g-gone now, Mr P-Potter. It's safe t-to come out." The man said softly with a slight stutter.
Harry hesitated. He knew the man was right, but the whole debacle from mere seconds ago had traumatised him, tainting his view of wizard-kind . Many things he had seen so far were amazing, but it was also insane, chaotic, and the reactions he had received from the pub patrons was extreme.
Feeling overwhelmed but emboldened by the peaceful nature of the man, Harry slowly untangled himself. His muscles protested, sore from being held so still and tense. He crawled out slowly from under the table, silently relieved when the stuttering wizard stood and shuffled backward to allow him more space.
Harry glanced around nervously. The pub had been mostly abandoned. Hagrid was seated at the bar, face buried in his huge hands. The bartender was pouring a frothy amber drink into a large tankard, which he handed to the clearly distraught giant.
"There, there Hagrid. Don't you worry, he'll turn up again soon." Tom, as Harry recalled, said comfortingly to Hagrid.
"I lost 'im, Tom! Poor 'Arry's out there all alone!" he wailed in response.
"N-no need to be upset H-Hagrid." The stranger interrupted, "Mr. Potter is s-safe and sound r-right here." He said, nervously placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, spasming and recoiling a moment later as if he'd been burned. Harry didn't say anything, and thought that maybe the man was unconscious reacting to the Darklings that reacted negatively to his intrusion in Harry's personal space. They were on high alert, light-hearted mischief evaporated to reveal their protective and aggressive inner-nature.
"HARRY!" Hagrid cried out, looking up in astonishment. Still feeling a little skittish, Harry flinched at the loud attention once more being directed toward him and shuffled back a few steps to duck behind the nervous man. This whole ordeal was giving him a pounding headache.
"I'm terribly sorry Mr. Potter. Had I know my words would have had such an effect, I would have never…" the bartender said, wringing a drying cloth between his hands.
Harry nodded jerkily but didn't say anything further. He was feeling wrung out and just as frayed as the cloth being abused by the bartenders restless fingers.
"W-well, I'd best be on my way," said the man with the turban, "I'll see you at beginning of term, Mr. P-Potter, Hagrid." He continues in farewell, anxiously skittering towards the door without giving a chance to respond.
Harry looked at Hagrid questioningly. Catching onto his train of thought, Hagrid answered the unspoken question.
"Professor Quirrell will teachin' Defence Against the Dark Arts this year at Hogwarts." He explained.
"Defence against the dark arts?" Harry asked, feeling a little calmer now that the room was quiet and mostly empty except for the apologetic bartender. Despite his size and booming voice, so far Hagrid had been friendly if not a little emotional. While Harry didn't trust Hagrid, finding the man a little out of touch and far too expressive and emotional, he did appreciate the gentle gleam in the man's eyes. The twisted tangle of magical threads that was Hagrid was far more comforting thena the ordered lines and perfect spheres of all the other witches and wizards he'd seen so far. There was something wild about Hagrid, and that made Harry feel that maybe he wasn't all bad, and could be trusted, to a degree.
"Defence against the dark arts is one of ta' classes you'll be in at Hogwarts." Hagrid began, "You'll learn 'bout defendin' yerself against nasty beasties and dark wizards."
Harry wasn't certain he believed Hagrid. Professor Quirrell had been jumpy and nervous, not exactly the paragon of bravery and strength he imagined when he thought about defending against evil.
"Well then Harry, why don't we get going? Got a lot'a things to do today, best not hang about ta' pub too long." Hagrid said eagerly, obviously keen to move away from the topic of Quirrell and be underway.
After the strong reaction he'd gotten from the pub patrons, Harry made a concerted effort to flatten his fringe over his scar. They had all been intent on it, scrambling to touch it and look at it, as if it were some prized artefact on show at the museum. He'd felt like a caged animal at a freakshow when they'd clamoured all around him, except there were not bars to protect him from their grabbing hands.
The Darklings, in all their intuitive wisdom, decided to help by perching on his glasses and holding his hair down for him. It disturbed his vision slightly, but anything was better than receiving that sort of attention again. Once was enough.
Following Hagrid out to a side alley, he watched in fascination as the gaint tapped the brick wall with a frilly pink umbrella that he'd pulled from somewhere in his coat.
The pattern tapped out was specific, like a musician strumming the strings a guitar, the clear chord rang through the little side alley. Enlivened by the clear note, the bricks came to life, shaking, shifting, clacking and clicking together in a neat ordered manner until they formed perfect arch.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley!" Hagrid stated heartily.
AN:
I'm still not feeling that dialogue is a strong point for me, so I struggled through this chapter. Not to worry, I have some ideas for the next chapter, I tend to work on chapters bit-by-bit over the week depending on RL commitments which is why they are so short (sorry!). Anything that people would like to see next chapter? Feel free to leave a review or send me a PM 😊