FERN FINEMEN MEADOWS
AND THE REIGN OF THE DARK LORD
"Many through the centuries may
Complain of cowards. But I complain of
People who judge such cowards, for a soul cold
Enough to denounce another for emotions as
Human as time, is much less worthy
Than those who fear."
—- Helga Hufflepuff
— PROLOGUE —
The Ticket Master's Confusion
It was a normal morning, like many before. The people at the train station today were as usual as they were the day preceding. Though, considering the earliness of the hour, there were not many people about, those who were either walked tiredly along the stooped, brick walls of the station, or ignored the ticket masters, and the train conductors, and their surroundings completely. No waves or smiles were shared throughout the crowd.
The marble floors sparkled under high morning light, shining through the brick pillars that marked each platform, rays of cold against a rather dusty building. It was one of the very few relatively sunny days this summer. The sounds of the ticket masters checking tickets or giving out new ones, opening the golden bars that were in front of the stands where the ticket masters stood to greet customers, and people rushing into line for those tickets. Trains eased into the station, steam billowing everywhere, surrounding the early crowds in smoke. Loud footsteps, the brushing of coats against others, and the low chatter that would only rise as the day wore on encompassed the place.
The morning-goers seemed mostly troubled this morning, however. Recently, the weather had shown rain, thick fog and cloudy days, even at this point in early September. This cold, sour weather had persisted since June, and many could say there was a dark, gloomy presence over the country. Birds did not twitter, flowers did not bloom, kids did not giggle, and people smiled much less as of late. It was an odd phenomenon, the sense of unsourceable sorrow that seemed to lay like a subtle blanket upon this London train station and all the rest of the nation. Even today, sunnier than the last, people still kept to themselves and frowned only at others, for they all expected the foul weather to return tomorrow.
One ticket master, an older man with a round belly and small, narrowed eyes, cast the warm sky a disdainful glance. He only looked down again when an older couple walked by, and he nodded courteously to them, but they blatantly refused his greeting and kept walking on. He did the same to the train station janitors as they cleaned behind him, and a depressed-looking family of five, but just as the elderly couple, they did even give him a glance. He'd been blaming this now-common activity on the weather, as he had been all summer, when he suddenly found the people that had smiled warmly at him each morning now couldn't even spare him a look. It perturbed him, much more than he cared to admit. As even this sunny day was showing a lack of niceties in his customers, he once again glowered up at the sky.
The ticket master's gaze stayed upwards until a large group of weirdly-dressed adults and children with oddly lumpy trolleys turned up. His attention was immediately, and regrettably, diverted. The other, average-looking people about began gazing at the newcomers curiously, many gazing with confusion and even concern. The people saw that the children had owls in cages, their parents wore long cloaks out of place for the season, and that the sheer number of them all stood around the barrier between platform nine and platform ten.
The ticket master had always been suspicious of these odd people. He knew a sunny day was far too good to be true - of course these people would turn up today, today of all days. This summer would not allow for a truly peaceful day, at least not for the ticket master.
He'd been working at this train station for nearly fifteen years, and every year on the same day, he'd noticed, a surge of preteens and teenagers with questionable luggage and their peculiar parents would turn up in the morning, then crowd around the barrier between platforms. He even, after many years, realised they gathered around the same barrier, every time. He thought that, though this took him many years to note, it was the same weird people coming each year. He recognized some of the parents from years previous, saw the same kids, though each was progressively older.
Was it an annual event that hundreds of families came for, each year? Was there one train that they all took to some mysterious destination? Did this event call for massive trunks of
luggage, and even pet owls and cats? The ticket master had even once glimpsed a plump, rosy-cheeked boy with a toad, which must've been six years ago now. And, later that very same day, an older boy with a tarantula in a container. As well as, on rare occasions, what looked to be some of the youngest children of this bunch, would come without parents, and go up to him and request a train that left at eleven from platform nine and three quarters. Of course, no such train existed then or exists now. And platform nine and three quarters, well now, that was just rubbish. Train stations did not have 'and three quarters'. You had platform nine, and platform ten, and this is of course what he told those children. His suspicions had really started to rise though, when he noticed all these questionable kids with questionable questions had the same type of luggage, seemed to be around the same age, and never seemed to truly believe him when he said platform nine and three quarters simply was not real. Why did so many young children think there was a train that left from eleven at platform nine and three quarters, and why did all these odd families father at the barrier between platform nine and ten, and, as he noticed, they all too were gone by eleven? Like they had, perhaps, gotten on a train and left by eleven. A train that left at eleven.
Ludicrous, the ticket master told himself, as he had found himself thinking every year when this odd bunch turned up, absolutely ludicrous. No such platform, nor train, exists, and you know it. Get on with your day.
Thus, the ticket master puzzled over these things, but had come no closer to solving them than he had fifteen years ago, when he first started this job.
The ticket master dredged from his pocket a folded-up newspaper and glanced superstitiously around, and to his surprise, the odd group had vanished. Had he, perhaps, been too distracted by his own ponderings of them he didn't notice where they went? They had just been skulking around the barrier between platform nine and ten. Where could they have gone? He had quite a decent view of London's train station here, and yet he couldn't even see them walking away, in the distance. Had they all started running? Shouldn't he have heard that?
Shrugging, again thinking it was best not to pointlessly dwell on things he may never have an answer to, he flipped open his newspaper and began to read - right before he was once again interrupted.
A pale young woman in grey sweats and a purple cardigan seemed to materialize in front of the ticket master, and he looked up from his paper. She had a narrow, pretty face, and brown hair to her mid-back in a braid. Her eyes were a dark blue, like the sea, and they landed on the ticket master's paper. She smiled welcomingly.
'Good day, sir,' said she, 'may I borrow that?'
'My newspaper?' The ticket master asked.
'Yes sir, I would just like to check the headline.'
'Well, alright,' he handed it over, and as she reached for it he noticed her arms were speckled with amber freckles, like the ones dotting her nose. Her eyes roved over the paper, becoming increasingly drawn.
'Thank you, sir.' She grinned, though less friendly than she had before.
'Did you find what you were looking for, Ms?'
'Unfortunately yes,' she seemed to tremble, 'good day, sir.' Then, like there was a heavy weight in her shoulders, she handed the paper back to the ticket master.
He stared back at the page she had read. On it, was a wide picture of the British Prime Minister on a stand, surrounded by desperate-looking people shoving microphones in his face. The title read;
UNEXPLAINED DISAPPEARANCE OF SMALL TOWN IN NORTHERN BRITAIN
The article under it followed;
On August 30th, witnesses reported that when they arrived in the small town of West Are in Northern Britain, they found most, if not all, buildings and homes on the south side of the village decimated beyond repair, and the civilian population either trapped under debris or missing. Authorities were on the scene immediately, and the remainder of West Are was evacuated as a precaution. Though no witnesses say seeing anyone suspicious, police say evidence shows that accident can be ruled out, leading the authorities to believe this was a cruel act of humankind. Investigation of the cause is still underway.
After the fact, the Prime Minister was questioned about the event, and in a public announcement today on September 1st, he stated;
'This situation is one of the most horrendous things I have seen headlining Britain in my time as Prime Minister, and to those who were directly or indirectly affected, my greatest sincerities go out to you. Especially for the families of those involved, I give you my greatest apology, and I swear on my office that I and my department shall do the best we can to find the root of this problem and bring those responsible to justice. In the manner of those still missing in West Are, we have everyone we can employ working tirelessly to locate them and return them to their families. The current death toll stands at two hundred and seventeen, though we expect to see it rise as we discover more of those missing. The amount injured is, at the moment, unknown. I assure the public that we will try to keep you updated.'
The Prime Minister refused any other questions, and the only information to be released since yesterday was that twenty-six more missing people of West Are were found, twenty-one of which were discovered dead. The Minister of Public Health in the region around West Are is concerned about how full West Are's limited hospitals and clinics are becoming, what with the recent disaster. The Minister of Public Health, Keith Wright, says (cont. Page 6).
Aghast, the ticket master urgently shuffled to page six, and continued to read.
Meanwhile, the brunette young woman in the cardigan had walked over to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Sitting next to the barrier was a trolley that carried a trunk, a rucksack, and a large cage with a glistening, gold-and-white Barn owl. She grabbed hold of the trolley, wheeled it around, then eased it towards the barrier. It seemed to start rolling alarmingly fast towards the brick wall, then a crowd of older men in white, golfer uniforms passed the barrier, blocking her from view. When the group had walked past the barrier, there was no longer anything behind them. No owl, no trolley, no girl. She was gone.
The ticket master, too intent on his paper, did not notice.