Chapter 12: Dark Stories and Haunted Rides
The morning of Harry's trip to King's Cross Station had finally arrived. He woke up bright and early, dressing as quickly as possible. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft light over the Flamel estate, but Harry paid no attention as he strolled through the grounds one last time, taking deep, calming breaths of the crisp morning air.
He had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning all night with excitement and nerves. Eventually, he decided to rise from bed and take one final walk around the beautiful land he had come to cherish. The memories of the past month flooded his mind, filling him with a bittersweet sense of farewell.
He had everything he needed for Hogwarts, had read or skimmed most of his schoolbooks, and felt as prepared as he could be for the adventure ahead. He chatted with Leafy, his Bowtruckle friend, for hours, sharing his thoughts and dreams, and talking about what he wanted from Hogwarts and what he hoped to accomplish. Mostly, he just talked, letting out his nervous energy and walking off the jitters.
After what felt like hours of walking and talking, Perenelle Flamel appeared suddenly in front of him, her red dress glowing with beauty. She looked more dazzling than he had ever seen her if that was even possible.
"Come, Harry, it is time to head to King's Cross Station," she said with a warm smile.
Thirty minutes later, Harry had packed everything into his suitcase, including Leafy and his small home. Nicolas had suggested that Harry keep Leafy in the suitcase as long as possible so he could make some human friends as well. Leafy had raised both hands in a "I don't mind" shrug, and Harry had nodded, agreeing as long as Leafy was comfortable. Leafy had been all too eager to go back into his man-cave in his little enchanted home in Harry's magically enlarged suitcase.
Harry felt the uncomfortable squeeze as Perenelle apparated them to a corner of the busy station, slightly out of sight.
King's Cross Station was bustling with people at this hour, busy commuters hurrying to work, and families saying their farewells. Harry felt a mixture of awe and apprehension as they approached Platform 9¾. To his surprise, there was just a solid wall with no markings, blending seamlessly with the rest of the station.
There didn't seem to be any magical people around, but plenty of muggles looked their way. Harry wondered if they stared because of Paranel's beauty.
'She does seem to have some kind of extra supernatural grace and...glowiness today,' he thought.
Perenelle grinned at Harry and, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, suddenly ran at the wall with more speed and strength than Harry expected from her. She seemed to almost fly into the wall and vanished behind it.
A minute later, Harry was still standing there, gaping in astonishment, when her head peeked out of the wall, a giant smile on her face.
"Come on, Harry, run right at the wall. Don't be afraid. Just run straight into it, and you'll appear at the correct platform," she called, her voice filled with encouragement.
Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself. This was the final step before he embarked on his journey to Hogwarts. With a determined nod, he ran at the wall.
Suddenly, Harry found himself in a completely new place. Behind the wall was the real train station, the one Harry had read about.
Harry dragged his light suitcase behind him and took an additional step forward.
Looking back at the barrier, he saw it was now a wrought-iron archway with the words "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters" emblazoned on it. Over the scarlet steam train's billowing smoke, there was a sign announcing that the Hogwarts Express would depart at eleven o'clock. The platform had a distinct smell, one that lifted the spirits of young wizards, just as Harry had read.
Indeed, the scent was similar to what he had smelled in Perenelle's garden, though much less intense and less alluring.
The train was beautiful to Harry, with its vibrant red paint and large steam apparatus on top. The train was long and sleek, clearly well cared for. Harry followed Perenelle, who had begun to walk towards the train, joining her as they moved towards the doors.
The platform was awash with activity, even though they were a bit early. Steam from the scarlet engine flooded the platform as cats wound their way around the legs of wizards and witches, and owls hooted to each other. Hordes of students and parents moved through the steam like dark ghosts, their voices carrying through the mist.
At Perenelle's beckoning, Harry gave her a big hug, surprising himself with his own willingness.
He held it for a minute longer than he anticipated, feeling the warmth of her embrace and suddenly craving the love that he felt in the hug. How long had it been since he had received this type of hug? Had he ever? Had his parents hugged him like this when they had lived, and he had been a baby?
Harry finally pulled away, and Perenelle gave him a kind smile. "I am here for you, Harry, if you need it. Make the most of Hogwarts, because big things are coming, and you will be an important person in the magical world."
Before Harry could ask her what she meant, she waved him goodbye and apparated away.
Harry wondered at Perenelle's words as he walked down the narrow corridor, looking for a place to sit. He chose an empty compartment about halfway down the train, settled in by the window, placed his suitcase by his feet, and stared outside.
Finally, at 11:00, a whistle sounded, announcing the train's departure. The hiss of the pistons filled the platform as the train began to move, creaking out of the station while family members stood on the platform and waved their children off to school.
Harry watched the parents and families, as a sense of sadness and loneliness crept deep into his heart. A dark cloud filled his mind, and he felt anger and jealousy, wishing he had a family to send him off on the most important trip of his life, a trip to the magical school where he would learn real magic.
Harry allowed the emotions to consume him for a moment, surprised at their intensity.
Eventually, he took a deep breath and looked away as the waving families vanished in the distance, the train picking up steam.
Harry sighed and looked up as he heard a knock on his compartment door.
Three weeks earlier:
Peter Pettigrew waited by his cage for a few extra hours before sneaking out that night. The Weasleys had purchased most of their supplies for school today, and the children were eager and excited about any new items they had gotten.
Most of their things would be hand-me-downs, but every year the Weasleys bought some new stuff, and their son Ron got more than usual this time since much of his hand-me-downs did not fit him well enough to use. The twins had burned a few "by accident" in a nasty prank the day before.
Peter did not want to risk getting caught, even though he felt very restless and eager to get back to work.
Despite losing a finger the other day, he had not given up his plans. Far from it.
And yet, it was clear to him that someone had tampered with the truth, in multiple books, and in multiple libraries.
The secrets he had found had been in dozens of books, but they had to be wrong. He had proven them wrong.
After careful consideration, he had concluded that there had indeed been some tampering, though he wasn't sure to what extent.
Peter had been forced to do his own calculations, and he had never been particularly strong at potions, but he was determined to go slowly, write everything down, and do it carefully. He would figure out what had been edited out of his books, and he would succeed in his mission.
Peter leaped down onto the floor and followed his usual path to the outside of the Weasley residence under the kitchen floor.
He looked around, confirmed that nobody was watching, and apparated to his special cave.
The air in the cave was damp and cold, sending a shiver down Peter's spine as he adjusted to the new temperature. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the walls, the stalagmites and stalactites appearing like grasping claws. The sound of dripping water echoed hauntingly, creating a chilling symphony that made the cave feel sinister.
Peter felt a sense of foreboding as he moved deeper into the cave, his footsteps echoing on the slick stone floor. The memory of his disintegrated finger flashed in his mind, a stark reminder of the dangers that lay ahead.
Determination surged within him. He would not let fear or pain deter him. He approached the bubbling cauldron in the center of the cave, its greenish glow casting deep shadows on his gaunt face. The ingredients he had painstakingly gathered were laid out before him, ready for his next attempt.
With a deep breath, Peter steadied his trembling hands and began his work.
A few minutes passed, and Peter remained intensely focused on his task.
Peter's concentration was so deep that he did not notice the figure hiding in the shadows, watching him from behind a hooded face. He was oblivious to the wand slowly being raised, aimed straight at his heart, and the spell silently cast, hurtling towards him with deadly intent.
It was pure luck that saved Peter. At the exact moment the spell was about to hit, he looked up from the glowing green potion, trying to think on one of his ideas. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a bright flash, a split second before the spell would have struck. The sight jolted him, his survival instincts kicking in instantly.
Peter was not known for his strength in magic or the brilliance of his spells. He was never the most clever, the strongest in a duel, or the fastest on a broom. But Peter was a cockroach at his core, and that survival instinct was embedded deeply within him. With a panicked reflex, he apparated away, his hand clasping the cauldron to bring it along, ensuring that none of his hard work would be left behind.
The spell missed him by a hair's breadth, sizzling through the space where he had been just a moment before. Peter reappeared in a dark, dense forest, hundreds of miles away. The transition was disorienting, but he placed the cauldron down carefully, its bubbling green contents barely disturbed thanks to the careful spellwork he had prepared in advance. The forest was silent, the air cold and the shadows long under the pale moonlight.
Peter's breath came in ragged gasps as he took in his surroundings, his mind racing. He thanked his lucky stars that he had been so well-prepared for this eventuality, yet anxiety gnawed at him. Had his attacker followed him? He glanced around nervously, the dark trees surrounding him like silent sentinels. He sniffed the air, trying to detect any sign of pursuit, but all he could hear was the rustle of leaves and the distant howl of a wolf.
After a moment to gather himself, Peter apparated back to the Weasley residence, bringing the potion with him. He planned to hide it under the floorboards for an hour or two, just until he could set up his backup location and ensure everything was secure. As he prepared to apparate again, he suddenly felt a presence nearby. A figure materialized in front of him, closer than before.
The figure was definitely a woman; the scent of her perfume was unmistakable, and he could faintly make out her form through the dim light. Panic surged through Peter. Who was she, and how had she traced him so effectively? His mind raced, but there was no time to ponder.
Desperation driving him, Peter fired the Killing Curse in her direction. The green light of the curse illuminated the night for a brief moment. He then dropped to his rat form, hoping to lure her into following him, thinking he might trap her. His tiny heart pounded in his chest, fear and adrenaline mixing into a potent cocktail of survival instinct as he ran for his life.
But the woman did not follow him. Instead, she fixed her wand on the cauldron, and Peter's heart stopped. Why would she target his potion and not him? Had she come specifically for his work? The thought was terrifying. Nobody should have known about his potion. Panic turned into sheer terror as he watched the bright orange spell leave her wand and collide with the cauldron.
The explosion was instantaneous and violent. The potion erupted in a fireball so massive that Peter's rat form was thrown a hundred feet away. The shockwave rattled his tiny bones, and he skidded across the ground, dazed. Regaining his senses, he watched in horror as the explosion engulfed the entire side of the Weasley home. The fire spread rapidly, the heat intense and searing. Windows shattered, beams cracked and fell, and the structure groaned under the force of the blast.
The woman vanished amidst the chaos, and Peter couldn't be sure if she had escaped in time. He thought he had heard the woman make a surprised grunt right before the spell hit, though he could easily have imagined it. His mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. All he could do was watch helplessly as the Weasleys' home burned, the flames licking hungrily at the wooden structure, spreading with frightening speed.
Then the screams began. They pierced the night, filled with fear and agony, cutting through the crackling of the flames. Peter felt a wave of guilt and horror wash over him. His actions, his desperation, had led to this catastrophe. As he lay there in his rat form, he knew that this night would haunt him forever. The cries of the Weasley family echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of the consequences of his dark deeds as he returned to his human form, and apparated away.
Ron Weasley stared blankly at the coffin, his brain numb and his mind refusing to work. The sky was overcast and dark, as if a storm were coming. It was befitting of the day. The last three days had been the most brutal torture of his life, and he was confident that life was over.
His siblings were still crying next to him. Little Ginny, in her too-big black robes, sobbed uncontrollably, her tears creating new streaks down her already tear-stained face. She had not stopped crying since the explosion, and it tore at Ron's heart to see his little sister so heartbroken and confused. He wanted to comfort her, but he felt paralyzed, trapped in his own grief.
His brothers stood beside him, a somber line of redheads, each lost in their own sorrow. Fred and George, the usually mischievous twins, were subdued, their faces pale and drawn. Percy, who always prided himself on his composure, now looked utterly shattered. Charlie stood still, his body shaking as he stared at the coffin, hands clenched. Bill, the eldest, tried to maintain a stoic facade, but his red-rimmed eyes betrayed him.
The burial was to take place today, in an hour or so, and hundreds of wizards and witches had come to bid Molly Weasley farewell. The sea of mourners, dressed in black, seemed to blur in Ron's vision. He couldn't bring himself to acknowledge their presence; their words of comfort felt hollow and distant.
Molly Weasley had been the only one killed in the blast, though Arthur Weasley was so badly burned that he was still in Saint Mungo's in a coma. He would not get to see his own wife buried, and Ron felt the weight of his father's absence acutely. The family felt incomplete, broken beyond repair.
Ron squinted with puffy eyes at the coffin where his Mum rested. His heart clenched painfully, each beat a reminder of the unbearable loss. His face ached, a deep, raw pain from all the crying over the last few days. He had no more tears to shed, but his heart continued to weep, a silent, relentless grief that refused to let go.
Ron heard sobs from his left and turned to see Fred and George holding Bill between them, gently rubbing his back. The twins, who had always been a source of laughter and light, were now shadows of themselves. Their faces were as white as chalk, and they moved like automatons, going from sibling to sibling, offering hollow words of comfort. It was clear they were just as lost as everyone else, struggling to process the enormity of their loss.
It seemed impossible for his Mum to truly be dead. Ron was certain that Dumbledore or Harry Potter would swoop down from the sky at any moment, riding a Hippogriff like in the stories, and save his Mum. He clung to that childish hope, even as reality crushed it under its relentless weight.
They did not come.
Nobody came...
The funeral was a heartbreaking affair, with the children crying harder and more deeply as it progressed. The mourners tried to offer solace, but their efforts felt futile against the tidal wave of grief that had engulfed the Weasley family. The pain was too fresh, too raw.
Nobody noticed the figure in the back, hooded and concealed with charms to prevent anyone from focusing on her. She watched silently, tears sliding down her cheeks. Her red eyes moved from one Weasley to the next, her heart breaking for the children she had orphaned. She stood in the shadows, consumed by guilt and sorrow.
After the ceremony, Ron found himself on his knees by his mother's grave, his face twisted in bitter agony, his hands clutching the cold, unyielding earth. His body shook with the force of his grief, his cries a desperate plea to the universe.
"Mum, please Mum, you must come back to us, you must!" he sobbed, his voice breaking. The words echoed in the still air, a heartbreaking testament to his despair.
But there was no response. The silence was deafening, a cruel reminder that Molly Weasley was gone, leaving a void that could never be filled.
The mourners began to leave, their faces etched with sorrow and sympathy. The Weasley children remained by the grave, a small, huddled group bound by shared grief. The figure in the shadows watched for a moment longer before turning away, her own tears falling silently. She had caused this pain, and it would haunt her forever.
Ron remained on his knees, staring at the grave, his heart heavy with an indescribable weight. The world felt emptier, darker, without his mother's love and warmth. He could not handle it, could not move.
The next few weeks were challenging and difficult for the Weasleys. Ron did not want to attend Hogwarts; the thought of leaving his family at such a vulnerable time was unbearable. Bill, despite his own grief, stepped up as the de facto head of household, with Charlie as his right hand, managing the family affairs and caring for his siblings while they waited for Mr. Weasley to recover.
A week before Ron was supposed to head off to Hogwarts, Mr. Weasley woke up.
Bill quickly apparated all of his siblings to St. Mungo's, feeling a mix of hope and dread at what they would find waiting for them. They gathered around Arthur's bed, the air thick with emotion as the news of Molly's passing was gently broken to him.
Arthur's face was marred with scars, and his hair was gone, but he did not look as bad as they had feared. His eyes, though filled with pain, were clear and aware. He listened in stunned silence as Bill recounted the events, his heart breaking at the loss of his beloved wife.
A fresh round of tears and sobbing filled the room as the siblings heard Bill break the news to their dad. A healer, required to be present full-time, ushered all of the children out of the room except for Charlie and Bill, so that Arthur could have a moment of privacy to grieve without his youngest children seeing him break down for the first time.
Before they left Saint Mungo's Hospital, Nicolas Flamel and his wife Perenelle Flamel showed up in their hospital room. The couple seemed to glow like angels, their presence bringing an unexpected warmth and comfort to the grieving family. They brought bags of food and offered their help, their kindness a balm to the Weasleys' wounded hearts.
Nicolas Flamel had donated potions and provided assistance as a gift to Arthur, giving them to the Saint Mungo's healers while Arthur was in a coma. These actions had saved Arthur's life. The Flamels' generosity did not stop there; they had also contributed significantly to the repair of the Weasley home. Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel had overseen the rebuilding, with the Hogwarts fund contributing to make the house even nicer than before for the sake of the children who were, or would soon be, attending Hogwarts.
The Flamels had also donated generously and directly to the Weasleys, promising to support and help them rebuild. They assured the family that they would investigate the explosion, seeking justice for the tragic event.
Arthur was pleasantly surprised by the Flamels' generosity. They were known to be reclusive, rarely appearing in public except for special events or occasionally hosting parties for causes they deemed important. Their involvement in the aftermath of the explosion was unexpected but deeply appreciated.
During the war against Voldemort, the Flamels had remained mostly in the background. There were rumors that they had supported the Order of the Phoenix with money, equipment, and logistics, but these were just rumors, never confirmed. Arthur couldn't help but wonder why the Flamels had chosen to help his family so much, but he was grateful nevertheless.
As the Weasleys prepared to leave Saint Mungo's, Arthur expressed his heartfelt thanks to the Flamels. Nicolas Flamel placed a reassuring hand on Arthur's shoulder. "You have a strong family, Mr. Weasley. We will do everything in our power to help you through this difficult time."
Perenelle smiled warmly, her eyes filled with empathy. "Your children are remarkable. We will ensure they have the support they need."
The Weasleys returned to their newly rebuilt home, the physical improvements a bittersweet reminder of Molly's absence. The house was brighter and more spacious, but it felt emptier without her warmth and presence. They clung to each other, finding solace in their shared grief and the knowledge that they were not alone in their suffering.
The days passed slowly, each one a struggle to find a new normal. Ron grappled with the idea of leaving for Hogwarts, torn between his desire to go to the magical school he had dreamed of for years as a student and his desire to stay with his family.
Arthur recovered more quickly than expected, even for a wizard. He supposed it had something to do with the Flamels, but he didn't complain. He needed every ounce of strength for his kids.
Arthur often found himself pondering the Flamels' motives. Their unexpected intervention had been a lifeline, and their promise to investigate the explosion gave him hope that justice would be served. In the quiet moments, as he sat by the window late at night and looked out over the fields, he wondered what had happened and tried to figure out what he could have done differently.
Harry Potter looked up as a soft knock came from the door to his train compartment. The steady clatter of the Hogwarts Express on the tracks had lulled him into a reflective state, but the knock drew him back to the present. He walked over to the compartment door and slid it open, curious about who it might be.
Standing in the doorway was a boy about Harry's age. He had a shock of bright red hair, deep blue eyes, and pale, freckled skin. An old suitcase trailed behind him, scuffed and worn from years of use. Dark circles under his eyes suggested a deep exhaustion, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what hardships had placed such a weary look on his young face.
"Can I join you in your compartment? Most of the others are full at the moment," the boy said, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness and fatigue. As he looked up at Harry, there was a fleeting glimpse of tear streaks that had been hastily rubbed away, leaving faint trails on his cheeks.
"Sure, have a seat," Harry said, beckoning the boy inside and closing the door behind him. The compartment felt warmer and more cramped with another person inside, but there was a strange comfort in the shared space.
"My name's Ron, Ron Weasley. What's yours?" the boy asked, his tone genuinely curious. Harry extended a hand to shake Ron's and replied, "Harry. Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you, Ron."
Ron's eyes widened in astonishment, and he blurted out, "Harry Potter?! THE Harry Potter?"
Harry felt a flicker of annoyance at the tone but managed to nod. He was getting used to this reaction by now, but it still grated on him.
Ron's face lit up with excitement, and the exhaustion that had weighed him down seemed to lift momentarily. "Wow, I can't believe it! I've read all about you. I can't believe I am sitting next to an actual hero!"
Harry and Ron sat in awkward silence after Ron's enthusiastic outburst.
Ron launched into a few more comments about how Harry was his childhood idol and how he had read all about Harry's adventures. But he soon noticed Harry's cold and uncomfortable expression and fell silent.
Harry sighed inwardly, feeling a mixture of irritation and empathy. "To be honest, I'm not sure what stories you're referring to. I didn't tell anyone my experiences, so it's unlikely you read about them, and even less likely that you enjoyed reading about them."
Ron nodded, his excitement fading as something else seemed to weigh heavily on his mind. He turned to stare out of the window, his expression growing silent and brooding. The fleeting joy had given way to a deeper sadness, and Harry could sense that Ron was grappling with something painful.
Every few minutes, Ron would glance back at Harry, his eyes drawn to the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. He looked as if he wanted to say something but then would retreat into silence.
Harry, for his part, turned his attention to the window, watching the beautiful countryside fly by. The Hogwarts Express drove through the most stunning countryside Harry had ever seen. The scenery was breathtaking, with rolling green hills and rocky landscapes, vibrant patches of wildflowers dotting passing fields and dense forests stretching into the distance.
He marveled at the beauty of the view, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. The rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks and the ever-changing vista outside the window allowed his mind to wander.
A thought drifted into Harry's mind. If magical people could apparate, why take a Muggle train to Hogwarts? Hogwarts was one of the largest magical schools in the world, if not by numbers then at least by wealth and reputation. Harry found it strange that students would take a Muggle steam train to Hogwarts. Why were they on the train? What was the true purpose of this slow and Muggle mode of transportation to a magical school? Sure, the train supposedly ran on magic, not steam, but it still didn't explain the reasoning behind it.
Harry remembered reading that the train was supposed to be a way for students to interact before officially reaching the castle and was also originally created to protect students from being spotted traveling to Hogwarts, addressing secrecy issues in the past. But the entire thing seemed odd to Harry.
It couldn't be the easiest way to get to Hogwarts, even with secrecy issues. Magic surely offered faster travel, and covering up an entire train from Muggles would be difficult to do long-term, as far as Harry knew at least. Muggles were not some prehistoric dummies. They would notice if a train was running that nobody knew about, if not for tax reasons, then for pure curiosity. If they didn't notice, it was because magic hid it. And if magic hid it, then they could surely hide faster modes of travel.
Harry rose suddenly from his seat. He felt restless, and he needed to think. It helped to move when you had a stuck thought.
"Ron, it was a pleasure meeting you. I need to go on a walk, clear my head. Do you mind if I leave my suitcase here? I will be back."
Ron nodded absentmindedly, and Harry smiled at him, then opened the compartment door and slid out into the train corridor.
Harry began walking towards the back of the train, his mind whirling with thoughts. He saw nothing that gave any hints about the train as he walked, and he wondered what was bothering him so much about the train or the ride. Something didn't feel right, but what? There had to be something else to the train; he felt it in his gut. He wondered if this was some kind of test before Hogwarts. Were other students wondering the same thing he was wondering? Was the train some kind of test to see who was bothered by something about it?
Harry found himself going through car after car until he eventually reached the very end of the train. A closed door barred his entry, and the single window on the door had a cloth blind covering the view. He wondered if this was where the stewardess and conductors stayed during the ride.
Harry tried the door, but it was locked.
As Harry let go of the doorknob, he felt a bump on the knob. He crouched down, looking at the underside.
The knob itself had a small symbol etched into the bottom, jutting out slightly. When Harry examined it more carefully, he realized it was some kind of logo. It depicted a dragon curled up on top of planet Earth, with Earth itself on fire.
Harry gazed at the intricate symbol, wondering what it could mean. Was this some kind of hint?
He looked around, hoping to find the symbol elsewhere, but was interrupted by the door opening. A friendly-looking middle-aged lady with a cart stepped out.
"Hello, deary, can I help you?" she asked, giving him a big sweet smile, her face glowing with joy as if nothing was better in the world than helping him.
"Uh, hello, Ms.- I was just taking a walk to clear my mind," Harry said, unsure if he should mention the symbol. He had been startled by her sudden exit from the closed compartment.
"No problem, sweety. I gotta get this trolley to all the hungry little boys and girls. Would you like to buy some while I have you here?"
Harry glanced at the assortment of strange, delicious, and moving candy on the trolley. There were dozens of types: Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Fizzing Whizzbees, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and Sugar Quills. Some looked particularly appealing, like the Chocolate Frogs and the gummy candies.
"Well... maybe on your way back. I'd like a few more minutes to think," Harry hesitated, then continued, "Have you ever noticed the symbol on the doorknob to this room? It has a protruding symbol of a dragon curled up on top of Earth, with Earth on fire. Is that the symbol of the company that made this train?" Harry asked.
The sweet trolley lady's eyes clouded over, and her face turned into a stern frown. She let go of the cart and pulled out a wand from the folds of her dress.
"Did someone show you that symbol, or did you find it yourself?" she asked, her tone losing all friendliness and growing stern. The endearing "sweety" term was notably absent.
"No, not at all," Harry said quickly, "I just saw it here when I was exploring."
"I thought you were taking a walk to clear your mind and think," the lady said, stepping closer to Harry and lifting her wand.
Something in Harry knew the danger he was in; he could feel it. His instincts for danger were strong now, and he knew he had to do something. He wasn't sure what this lady would do, or why she seemed so upset, but he was in danger, and that was all that mattered.
"Excuse me, miss, have you seen a toad?" a young, assertive female voice called out loudly behind the trolley lady.
Her demeanor instantly changed, though her eyes flashed as she looked at Harry. She turned away from him, and the friendly, sweet smile returned to her face as she addressed the newcomer.
"I'm afraid I haven't, sweety" she said warmly, her sternness melting away as she turned to face the young girl.
"I can help!" Harry offered eagerly, grateful for the opportunity to get out of what he felt was a dangerous situation.
The girl who had spoken had curly brown hair, brown eyes, and noticeable front buck teeth. She stood assertively, exuding confidence, almost hiding a smaller-looking boy behind her.
The boy appeared meek and nervous, almost as if he were trying to blend into the background. He had dirty blonde hair and brown eyes and looked completely out of place standing with the girl.
"Neville here lost his toad. I'm trying to help him find it. If you think you can help, that would be greatly appreciated," the girl said.
Harry nodded eagerly again, almost running past the trolley lady, who watched him carefully as he volunteered and headed off with the other two children.
Harry breathed deeply, trying to calm his nerves. "What color is the toad?" he asked. His two new companions looked at him with puzzled expressions. The girl spoke up, "What difference does the color make?"
Harry shrugged, trying to think of a way he could be helpful so he could stay with the two. He felt safer with other people, at least until he could go back to his compartment with Ron. He definitely didn't want to be alone, not with that trolley lady around.
"I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger. This is Neville," the girl said, sticking out her hand for Harry to shake. "Neville, you never said your last name. What is your last name?" she asked, turning to the meek boy before Harry could introduce himself.
"N-Neville Longbottom," the boy stammered, looking shy and turning red.
"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said matter-of-factly. He waited for the recognition, the reaction, but instead, he got a muted response from Hermione and a bigger blush and a stumble from Neville.
"Yes, yes, THE Harry Potter, blah blah blah," Harry said, feeling childish and annoyed, expecting the usual barrage of questions and admiration.
Instead, Hermione nodded, giving him a raised eyebrow at his sarcasm, and continued looking around for the toad.
They searched for a while, moving through the narrow corridors of the train. As Harry passed by the different compartments, he noticed students chatting and laughing behind closed doors. He wondered why nobody else felt uneasy or suspicious about the whole train affair. Being with Hermione and Neville offered him some relief, but the nagging feeling of unease still lingered.
It was a while before they finally found the toad. It was near the very front of the train, perched precariously on top of a railing. Neville's face lit up with relief and gratitude as he carefully picked up his wayward pet.
Harry felt a wave of relief too, but he also knew he didn't want to go back to wandering the train alone. "Why don't you both join me in my compartment? I'm with a boy named Ron Weasley. There's plenty of room!" he suggested a little too loudly.
Harry insisted pretty strongly, though neither of the other two seemed to mind.
Hermione and Neville both agreed, and they began moving their belongings to Harry's compartment. He felt that the more people there were, the safer he would be against the trolley lady and whatever else was weirding him out about the train.
As they settled into the compartment, Harry felt a bit more at ease. Ron looked up and smiled, welcoming them shyly. He seemed pleased that Harry had returned, and even more pleased to see more students were joining. The atmosphere in the compartment grew lighter with the new company, and Harry began to relax, hoping the rest of the journey would be less tense.
Harry spent the next few hours getting to know his three companions, making sure to be extra social so that they wouldn't want to leave. Yet despite his ulterior motives, he found that he genuinely enjoyed the conversation. Each of his new friends had their own quirks and habits that occasionally grated on his nerves, but this only added to the authenticity of their budding friendships.
Ron was prone to talking with his mouth full and definitely had some maturing to do. Hermione had a habit of correcting every little detail, often citing some book or another she had read, which was rarely as useful as she seemed to think. Neville was endearingly clumsy, knocking over nearly everything he touched, and dreadfully shy. Despite these minor annoyances, Harry found himself growing comfortable in their presence. It was refreshing to speak with children his age again, even though he felt like he had missed too much of this type of social interaction over the last few years to truly fit in.
When the trolley lady eventually knocked on their door, Harry avoided eye contact with her, sinking deeper into his seat, trying to avoid looking in her direction. Her earlier behavior still unsettled him, and he didn't want to draw any more attention to himself.
Ron, on the other hand, enthusiastically bought armfuls of candy, nearly buying out the entire trolley. The trolley lady joked that after Ron's purchases, she would need to go refill it, and Harry didn't think she was kidding.
Ron explained that he had received a nice amount of coin from a "family friend" and that candy was something too good to pass up. Besides, he would share it with his new friends, so it was worth spending a fortune on.
His generosity and enthusiasm were infectious, and soon the compartment was filled with laughter as they chased after chocolate frogs, munched on endless treats, read cards about famous wizards and witches, and listened to Ron chattering. Harry didn't even care what the topic was, usually led by Ron who spoke about chess, Quidditch, and his favorite team, the Chudley Cannons. He switched topics often, but the others were happy to listen and let him talk excitedly about one thing after another.
It was more sweets than Harry had ever eaten in his life, and by the end of it, he felt slightly sick. Yet, he had a giant grin on his multi-colored, sugar-coated face as he slid on his new robes and prepared for the train to grind to a halt. The camaraderie and joy shared with his new friends made the queasiness worth it.
As the train began to slow down, Harry couldn't help but reflect on the day's events. He knew he would need to carefully think about what he had experienced on the train, especially the unsettling encounter with the trolley lady. Maybe he would need to tell someone about her odd behavior. Whatever was happening, he was determined to find answers. If it was a test, he felt confident that he would be the only one to pass, from what he had seen.
Harry also wondered where he would be sorted in the end. Hermione and Neville did not have much of an opinion, though the other three had all said no to Slytherin. Ron had claimed that all dark lords and ladies had come from Slytherin and that it was a dark and evil house.
Harry wondered how the selection process would work. If he had no choice in the matter, did it matter what he wanted? And if he had a choice, did he know where he wanted to go? He didn't feel like he had been given enough information to make an informed decision. The books he had read under the care of his mysterious cloaked host had taught him to make rational, careful, and logical decisions. But how could he make a decision when he wasn't sure how he would be selected or what the differences really were between each house? Surely it couldn't be as simple as personality like the Hogwarts books seemed to imply. That would be a bad, stupid idea.
Putting everyone with a similar personality type in one place would lead to endless issues, both long-term and short-term. Not to mention how unhealthy it would be for children to be split up along such uncontrollable character traits.
Harry decided to wait and see, uncertain of what to expect. He figured he would simply be prepared for whatever came his way and deal with it as it happened.
With a sense of anticipation and a hint of nervousness, Harry prepared to step off the train and into the next chapter of his life: Hogwarts.
Nicolas Flamel flew through the upper atmosphere, his wizarding robes billowing behind him as he throttled through the heavens at breakneck speeds. The cold, thin air whipped past him, but he barely noticed, his mind focused on his mission. He used his magic to accelerate his body even faster, a shimmering shield enveloping him to protect against the immense friction and pressure of his flight.
Below him, the land looked like a patchwork quilt, small and puzzle-like, with green fields, reflecting blue ponds, and the vast ocean glistening in the distance. The view made the world seem peaceful from this height, but Nicolas knew that the world was hanging on by a thread.
Nicolas flew with purpose, his eyes locked on the general area where he knew his destination would be found. He was under the Disillusionment Charm, he had no need to hide himself further as he pointed downward, his body slicing through the air with precision. The ground rushed up to meet him, objects growing larger and more distinct as he descended at an alarming speed, the wind howling around him.
As he neared the earth, he decelerated, using his magic to cushion his landing. He touched down softly on the grass before a large, expensive-looking home. The mansion was grand, surrounded by lush gardens and meticulously maintained grounds. But Nicolas had no time to admire the scenery; he had a mission to complete.
The house was protected by powerful wards, invisible barriers designed to repel intruders. Nicolas began muttering incantations, his wand weaving complex patterns in the air, beautiful light trailing his wand as he moved. Colored sparks and bolts of electric energy crackled against the invisible shield. Within seconds, the barrier glowed a bright green and then dissipated, leaving the mansion vulnerable.
Nicolas moved towards the front door with confidence and purpose, each step bringing him closer to his target. The front door flung open just as he reached it, and a woman stepped out, her expression a mixture of fear and determination. She was dark-skinned with beautiful almond-shaped eyes, her heritage hinting at Egyptian roots, though Nicolas couldn't be certain.
"Please, please don't," the woman begged as he got closer. Her voice trembled with desperation. "Please don't kill him. I know why you are here. He will stop, I swear."
Nicolas felt a pang of regret but steeled himself. With a swift flick of his wand, he cast a red stunner at the woman. She crumpled and he moved forward with lightning speed to catch her before she hit the ground, unconscious before she could finish her plea. He lay her down gently on the grass, and stood over her for a moment, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his heart. He hated this part—hated when the warnings did not work, when the sabotage failed, and when he was forced to resort to violence.
But he had no choice. The world had to be protected. It would not be plunged into darkness again, not on his watch. When his warnings failed, violence was the only thing preventing the world from descending into chaos. He knew the terrible calculus of his duty: what was one life compared to billions?
A/N: I hope you are enjoying the story so far! I have the entire plot mapped out and planned, so don't worry if you don't understand where things are going just yet. I think you're going to love it!
Please leave a review and share your constructive criticism. It helps everyone enjoy a better story!
Just a quick note in response to a recent anonymous review about Harry not appearing as mature or curious in this chapter. Please keep in mind that Harry is only 11 years old. Even a very mature 11-year-old will experience ups and downs, moodiness, and moments of immaturity. As he gets older, his personality will stabilize, and he will grow into himself. Additionally, the reason this story is titled "Evil Harry Potter" is to highlight his internal battles with morality and the deep pain his childhood and actions have caused and will continue to cause him. Thank you for your understanding and continued support.
Onwards to sorting hat, what do you think is going to happen? ;)