Rizzoli and Isles and the Prisoner of Azkaban

'I feel sorry for Tommy,' Frankie sighed, taking a seat in the empty train compartment. 'He was awake all night cryin'.'

'Aw, Frankie, it ain't your fault,' Jane hurled the backpack containing the lunches Angela had made up into the luggage compartment.
She took a seat opposite Frankie and propped her feet up next to him. 'Besides, it ain't so bad just yet. He's still got a couple of years before he's gotta go to that Muggle school. He'll be with Ma until then.'

'I suppose so,' Frankie agreed, not looking terribly convinced, and turning his attention to the crowd of family members gathered on the platform outside the train's window.

Jane followed his gaze, scanning through the sea of faces, some familiar, most unfamiliar. She suddenly made eye contact with her mother, who was clutching Tommy with one hand, waving frantically with the other, and sobbing as though she was never going to see her two eldest children ever again. Tommy looked sullen. Their father looked bored.
'Aw, geez,' Jane rolled her eyes and plastered a fake smile on her face before waving back. 'Ma, you are so embarrassing,' she muttered through gritted teeth, breaking the eye contact and slumping down in her seat.

'You know she does this every year,' Frankie reminded her. 'I don't know why you're surprised.'

'I know, but we'll be back in a few months for Christmas. And then she'll do this all over again when we come back after the holidays. Ugghhh. Maybe I'll just stay at school.'

'What?' Frankie said, sounding panicked at the prospect of having to make the journey back alone. 'Jane, you can't! You'll break her heart, and she'll spend the holiday crying and going on about how ungrateful you are.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Jane remarked flippantly. 'It's nowhere near as bad for you, though, Frankie. She's always on my case! "Janie! Have you met any nice boys yet? I saw Gabriel Dean meeting his parents at Kings Cross earlier, and he's looking to be quite a handsome young man." Bleurgh,' she mimed a violent vomit, getting Frankie to laugh. 'I don't think she understands that I've been going to school with the same boys for two years now, and I'm not liking them any better than I did when we first met. The only new people we get at Hogwarts are first years. And I am sure as hell not dating one of those!'

Just as Frankie was about to look offended at the remark aimed at his year group, their compartment door opened with purpose, revealing a familiar face.

'Frost!' Jane grinned, initiating a fist bump.

'Hey Jane, hey Frankie,' he greeted, his grin matching Jane's. He took a seat next to Frankie. 'Man, it's good to see you guys. I've been bored out of my mind this last month. No magic outside of school… who decided that was a good idea? Had to look for other ways to amuse myself.'

'Something tells me you succeeded?' Jane guessed, recognising a mischievous glint in her friend's eye.

'Yeah, I uh, may have discovered cars… Specifically how to make them go faster. By playing around with the engine.'

Frankie looked confused. Jane was quite in the dark herself. The Rizzoli family was pure blood, and could be traced back hundreds of years. They knew what a car looked like, of course, and usually had a family friend, Mr Gilberti, drive them into London when they had to catch the Hogwarts Express. But the concept of an engine was way beyond either of their comprehensions. Frost was a half blood, though his magical father had taken off years ago, and when he wasn't at Hogwarts, he lived very much a Muggle life with his mum.

He seemed to sense that he had lost them. 'It's what makes the car go. Sort of… never mind. Thing is, I kind of overdid it with the modifications…'

'What happened?' Frankie asked eagerly.

'I kind of…' he winced. 'Blew it up.'

'What?!' Jane asked, her tone a mixture of excitement and incredulousness. 'Like, there was an explosion? How big?'

'Not too big,' Frost said hurriedly. 'Like, nobody got hurt. Except the car. It was out of order for a while. And I've been grounded since the end of July. I've been going crazy with boredom. I bet you guys had a great summer?'

'Oh, it was alright,' Jane shrugged. 'Frankie here's been freaking out since I got home about where he'll be sorted.'

A swift kick was delivered to her leg. 'Ow! Frankie! What, Frankie, you have!' She redirected her attention to Frost. 'He's been following me around like a lost little niffler asking what happens if he gets sorted into Slytherin. What happens if he gets sorted into Hufflepuff.'

'Then you make friends and wear a green tie or a yellow tie,' Frost shrugged. 'Your sorting doesn't change who you are, Frankie. Just because you get sorted into Slytherin doesn't mean you're a bad guy. And Hufflepuffs don't cop it too much inside the castle, people just like to tease them out here. I don't know why, because all the Hufflepuffs I know are really good people. Besides, there aren't any rules about intermingling.'

'Exactly! See, Frankie, this is what I've been telling you all summer. Frost's a Ravenclaw, and I'm a Gryffindor, and we hang out all the time. I eat breakfast at the Ravenclaw table at least twice a week.'

'Yeah, I know,' Frankie sighed. 'I just want to be a Gryffindor, like you Jane. We've also been practicing Quidditch,' he told Frost, trying to redirect the conversation.

'Yeah, he's not a bad Keeper,' Jane said approvingly, deciding to cut him some slack and take the bait. 'We've been playing with Tommy and our friend Giovanni. I get to practice my Beating skills, and it distracts Tommy enough to stop him crying for a couple of hours.'

'He's taking it pretty bad, huh?'

'Ugh,' Jane held her head in her hands. 'There's the understatement of the century. He's been going through this infuriating cycle of getting really mad, and then crying, and getting really mad, and then crying.'

'He was awake all night crying,' Frankie nodded.

'And now he's angry again,' Jane tilted her head towards the window. 'Did you see him before you got on?'

'Not really. I saw your mum though. She's kinda…'

'Acting like we just died?' Jane supplied. 'Yeah. I think some of it is secretly her being upset about having to deal with Tommy on her own. I get the feeling it might be worse now that we've gone.'

'Pretty sad hand he got dealt,' Frost acknowledged. 'But your family's ancient. A squib was bound to turn up eventually.'

'We had one about three generations ago,' Frankie said. 'Great Uncle Sergio, I think?'

'Naw, he wasn't a squib. He was just as magical as you and I, but decided to live as a Muggle. I think he… Oh, what was it? Ella-cutioned himself? Frost, help me out here?'

'Electrocuted?'

'That's the one! He died from it, though Ma said he'd been disowned for quite a while by then.'

This brought on a lull in their conversation, and they all gazed out the window, watching the hustle and bustle of Platform 93/4. Jane loved this time of year; she felt like she was finally back in her element. Seeing heavy trunks with Hogwarts crests stamped proudly on the lids being loaded into the train, owls in cages, broomsticks, cauldrons, armfuls of textbooks. Cheerful farewells, tearful farewells. The wizarding families who had poorly tried to disguise themselves as Muggles for their navigation of King's Cross. The over-eager first years who arrived on the platform wearing their robes. The anxious parents, the younger siblings left behind. The seventh years, who all seemed to have this air of wisdom and nostalgia about them, determined to make the most of their final year at this second home disguised as a boarding school.

Jane glanced up at the big clock on the platform. Ten minutes until they departed. She looked at Frankie, who was staring at their parents a little anxiously. She remembered her first time on the Hogwarts Express, which she'd had to make without the help of an older sibling. That was where she'd met Frost. He and his Muggle mother had had quite a job of getting onto the platform itself, before Frost could even start to worry about making the journey to Hogwarts on his own. Mrs Frost had been beside herself at the prospect of having to send her only baby off to a place she had barely heard of, and never been to, all because a letter delivered by an owl (in broad daylight) had said her son was magical. She hadn't even known his father was magical until after Frost's conception. But Jane had found him sitting in an empty compartment, found out he knew almost nothing about the magical world, and spent the entire journey bringing him up to speed on everything she knew about Hogwarts. She had been fascinated by a smartphone he had with him, but as they got closer and closer to the castle, it had started to malfunction, then there was a small pop, a hiss, and the screen went black.

'Damn. I read somewhere that dense magic will fry electronics,' Frost had said, looking more than a little miffed.

'Least you know the book's reliable,' Jane had said, biting her lip to stifle a laugh.

He was silent for several seconds before letting out a short chuckle. 'Yeah, I guess you're right. You're alright, Jane Rizzoli.'

They'd been friends ever since.

A sharp whistle pierced the silence, bringing her out of her reverie. The whistle signalled the final boarding call, and there was a flurry of last minute hugs as students hurried to get on the train. The looks on the faces of some of the parents on the platform was almost comical, as they waved goodbye to their children. Jane caught a final glimpse of her own family as the wheels started to turn beneath them. Her mother was crying. Again. Tommy was crying. Again. Her father had already turned to head back to the car, probably embarrassed by his present company. Jane felt a sudden wave of independence sweep over her. Yes, she was definitely glad to be going back to school.

In another part of the train, Maura Isles sat alone in a compartment, reading Hogwarts: A History for the second time that summer. She was not alone by choice, simply she had been one of the first people on the train, and nobody had joined her. From the corner of her eye she had seen a few people stop briefly to look in, but apparently she did not appear a good travelling companion. The door to her compartment had stayed closed, and so she had remained lost in the world of Hogwarts, a place she had yet to see in person.

It didn't happen very often, but Maura was a transfer student, entering Hogwarts at third year. Her aloof parents had recently decided to relocate to England from Boston. Her mother was an artist, her father a Healer. After her mother claimed the inspiration she had once drawn from Massachusetts had dried up, her father had applied for, and been offered, a high ranking position at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, on the Potions and Plant Poisoning ward. He had accepted, and the Isles had made the move to London during Maura's summer break.

Maura was not upset about leaving America. She hadn't had any friends at the Fort Acton Academy of Magic. She had had Ian when she was younger; a Muggle boy who lived down the street. Constance Isles seemed to draw a lot of inspiration from the "labour-filled" life the Muggles struggled with each day, and liked to live close to them for the sake of her art. Maura had excelled at Muggle Studies at Fort Acton, and could assimilate very neatly into Muggle society when the occasion called for it. She and Ian had spent many a day down by the creek, watching mother ducks teach their babies to swim, watching the incredible metamorphosis of tadpoles to frogs, watching the water weed ripple in the gentle current. Ian loved the natural world just as much as Maura did, and didn't even think to tease her about all the times he found her at the creek peering at some tiny insect or rock through the magnifying glass he had loaned her. She had very fond memories of jumping on Ian's trampoline in the summer, and watching cartoons in Ian's living room with hot chocolate in the winter. Ian's family had been very big on the outdoors, and they had invited Maura several times to come on four or five day long tramps with them. They had roasted marshmallows around a campfire each night, and Ian's dad had pointed out the constellations to her. She had squashed up in a tiny tent with Ian and his sister each night. She usually didn't like being touched; her family wasn't very affectionate, and she often felt uncomfortable when she was in such close proximity to other people. But she had smiled, being swaddled by sleeping bags and pillows and two warm bodies in that tent. They liked her, they had asked her to come especially. They had laughed at her jokes and listened to her stories. It was one of those rare times in her life when she really felt wanted.

But then a tawny owl had delivered her letter at ten o'clock in the morning, interrupting her weekend yoga routine. Dear Miss Isles, it read. We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Fort Acton Academy of Magic…
She intended to go, of course. But bound by the International Statute of Secrecy, she couldn't tell Ian what was happening. She could still remember Ian's crestfallen face when she told him she was going to be attending a private boarding school for her secondary education. She couldn't tell him where it was, she couldn't tell him what it was called. She couldn't tell him why. She was incapable of lying to him, lest she go vasovagal. He interpreted her lack of sharing as her wanting to break their friendship, and they spent less and less time together as that summer wore on. It was only made worse when she returned home for Christmas, and could give him even less answers than before. They hadn't spoken much after that, and Maura missed him often.

Fort Acton was concealed in the middle of an arboretum, just outside of Boston. It was quite literally an enormous fort, and accommodated most of the magical students from the East Coast. It was gorgeous in the autumn, and the golden browns, rusty oranges, bright yellows and fiery reds of the falling leaves served as a backdrop for her favourite memories of her solitary school days there. She had been happy enough at the Fort, though she hadn't expected her peers to be as cruel as they were. "Maura, the Bore-a!" was a common taunt in her daily school life, though she didn't understand them. The world around them was fascinating, and they were confined to a single location for most of the year. The best way to learn was by reading, which she did frequently. Books served her thirst for knowledge, and well as provided her with an escape. She had done a little reading about England, and the history she had learned enthralled her. She had been very eager to shed her forest green Fort Acton school robes and trade them for the custom black Hogwarts ones.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She put down her book to look at the scenery flashing past the window, and sighed. What would it be like in person? Maura had hoped that her involuntary social reclusion might have come to an end with this new start. But, judging by her silent compartment, this was not the case. She retrieved a worn piece of parchment from her satchel and skimmed back over the part she was most anxious about. Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl, or a cat, or a toad. Nothing about African spurred tortoises.

Bass, still quite small for his species, was safely stowed away somewhere on the train in his crate. Maura had been sure to supply him with plenty of British strawberries, which were much easier to find now that she didn't need to import them. She was worried that she might be ordered to send him home once she arrived at Hogwarts, seeing as he was not a preapproved pet. She hated to so blatantly break rules like this, but she knew her parents wouldn't take care of him. Her father would be busy at the hospital, her mother would get into one of her "zones" and elude reality for up to a week at a time while she got whatever creativity was brewing in her mind onto paper. Maura was convinced she'd come home to nothing but an empty shell after poor Bass had withered away from starvation.

The door of her compartment was suddenly heard to be opening, and she looked over in eager anticipation of company. But instead, there was just the kind face of an older woman, pushing along, it seemed, a food cart.

'Anything off the trolley, dear?' she smiled.

'No, thank- Oh! Actually, if you have any organic vegetables, I'd like very much to purchase some,' Maura said, thinking of Bass.

The lady chuckled. 'Sorry, dear. It's pumpkin pastilles or chocolate frogs. There's a few boxes of Bertie's left. And your acid pops and fizzing whizzbees, of course.'

'No thank you,' Maura said politely. 'I'm hoping there might be pistachios at the feast later. I'd like to increase my intake of Vitamin B6 in order to combat stress until I get settled in at Hogwarts.'

The trolley witch merely nodded and continued down the corridor.

Maura sat back in her seat, and all of a sudden, felt the urge to cry. Nobody wanted to be around her. Not even her parents had come with her to the station. Her father was already engrossed in his job, and her mother, having already filled a book with new artistic concepts, had cited that she didn't have any more of a clue of how to get onto the platform than Maura did as the reason for her absence. She had arranged for a chauffeur to get Maura safely to the train station and through the barrier. The chauffeur had made sure Maura's luggage made it on the train, and then he was gone. The trolley witch was the first person who had spoken to Maura since.

She let a single tear roll down her cheek, before steeling herself and wiping it away. She shouldn't be surprised. She should have expected this all along. Hogwarts wasn't going to be any different. She needed to put her head down and study, and not worry about such trivial things as being liked by her peers. She quashed the thought that being well liked and having friends weren't the same thing, but as she closed the blinds in her compartment under the guise of changing into her robes, a quote from one of her favourite authors crossed her mind. CS Lewis was a wizard who had written a series of books for an audience of Muggle children, hinting at how close by true magic really was to them. "Friendship is unnecessary" the quote went, "like philosophy, like art. It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."

Maura glanced at her watch, a gift from her parents for her thirteenth, and most recent, birthday. They still had at least five hours' travelling to do. Her bottom lip trembled as she knotted her necktie in a half-Windsor. There was nothing she could do but wait.