Chapter VIII : The Train to Hogwarts

When the day finally came for Oliver and Hugo to go to Hogwarts, the boys gathered all of their meager belongings and took them in rucksacks. Hugo also had his owl, Picc, in hand, while Oliver shouldered his violin and his own cat, who despised her cage. She vouched to follow along on her own four legs. Being a mild control freak, Oliver wasn't very lenient at first but Ulfa wouldn't have it any other way.

"Are you ready to go?" Hugo asked his grandparents, who were finishing up their breakfast. He and Oliver had finished theirs fifteen minutes earlier in anticipation. Mr. Hawkins grunted as he put his dishes in the sink, where the sponges and brushes in the sink scrubbed away without a whim.

"We're not going with you, as we have meetings to attend to."

"We're really very sorry, Hugo, Oliver," Mrs. Hawkins said, clasping her bony hands. "You know how it is, very important." Although the Hawkins's could not come with them to the train, they showed the boys how to get to King's Cross Station on a map of London. It seemed simple enough, but how they were supposed to get onto a platform somewhere between nine and ten baffled the boys, and neither of them remembered to ask their caretakers. Hugo thought the whole matter was rather silly, but he supposed meetings were important. More important than them? Probably.

"Go on, now, and write to us as soon as you can! Tell us what houses you were sorted into, dears!" Mrs. Hawkins said, her voice trailing after them as they headed down the drive to the road.

Before they were outside of ear reach, Oliver suddenly blurted out, "What houses were you sorted into?"

"Hufflepuff! And my husband was in Slytherin!" That was what they last said before their departure. Oliver and Hugo walked down to Mill Hill Avenue and trudged around roots and through the dirt track to the city. Frequently, while just at the estate, the boys would go either together or alone on walks through the woods surrounding the area, or just on this road, which was flanked by the most beautiful trees. The forest was alive, breathing green. It reminded them of perhaps a fantasy in which the forest was connected, all one, and there was no such thing as London. It was a marvelous place to live, and they hoped that nothing about it would change, not ever. It was perfect and should have been stuck in time.

Hugo looked up and watched the way the green canopy of late summer dazzled in the crisp morning air as he walked. The birds sang their tunes and filled the entire being of the forest with song. The earth breathed with the wind as it brushed its bare back of dirt, which yielded the forest, living and breathing as well with the earth and the breeze. The trees towered above the boys as they walked down the path that had been trodden on for generations upon generations of muggles and wizards alike, flattened out undergrowth marred by the boots of the great-granddaddies of a time before. It was as if the memories of those generations blew past them in the wind, stroking their hair, licking their cheeks, patting their shoulders and touching their souls. Hugo smelled the earth and the trees and the wind and the memories; it was bittersweet in his nose, but mostly mirthful in the new day. It was a nice, cool morning, and Hugo looked forward to being a part of it.

Hugo fingered the golden and burgundy train ticket in his pocket. He sighed and took it out, inspecting it again. Platform 9¾. By this time he had realized that he had no idea what that meant, and mentally kicked his rump for not asking his grandparents about it earlier. "Oliver," he asked, pointing to what was on the ticket. "Do you know what that means?"

Oliver looked it over, suddenly remembering the ticket. "Er- no, I don't. We'll have to ask someone when we get there," he said, out of any other ideas.

Hugo and Oliver walked for nearly three hours before they reached London. By this time in the morning, muggles were milling about, just as they had been when the boys previously visited the city. They had to occasionally push their way through a slow moving crowd. This time, as they did so, they entered into a venue where vendors shouted and advertised their wares. It was very much like Diagon Alley, but for muggles. With all of the people stomping about, Oliver clutched Ulfa in his arms so she wouldn't be trampled upon.

Hugo watched the stalls go by. Many were selling food: bread, vegetables, fruits, meats, fish. It smelled wonderful and was all well and good until a commotion started somewhere behind them at another food stall. The boys turned and saw what it was all about. A single boy had taken some rather nice loaves of bread and a basket of pastries from a baker's stall, and very soon there were men and even a policeman chasing the boy, who had a wild grin on his face and messy black hair which whipped back in the wind. The street urchin was heading straight for them.

He nearly barrelled into the foreigners. "Take these," he said, dumping bread into their hands. Ulfa climbed onto Oliver's shoulders and Picc screeched from inside his cage. The boys looked at each other and then at the other boy, so confounded that they couldn't use words. "Follow me!" he shouted.

Oliver looked on in dismay. "No, we can't-"

"No time!" the other boy said. "Let's go!" He ran off, and, completely on instinct, Hugo and Oliver followed at high speed.

A whistle blared behind them. Men yelled at them to halt, but they whipped and weaved around bystanders, clutching their unexpected bounty, their luggage, and their pets. Suddenly, losing sight of the thief-boy through the crowd, Hugo stopped, catching his breath. He had no reason to keep running down the lane. Oliver found him and stopped his chase as well, limping to meet his friend.

"What do we do with th-" he was cut off as he was grabbed around the middle by a red-faced policeman. Another man did the same to Hugo, but he wasn't in any authority. Others took the bread from their hands. The boys struggled and shouted at the top of their lungs that they were innocent, they didn't know what to do, that it wasn't their doing. Of course, the adults did not believe children, especially those seen running away with stolen food. Ulfa scratched and yowled at the man holding Oliver captive; she succeeded in making him let go but before Oliver could get away, he was caught again. They were about to drag them off when another voice chimed in,

"They're innocent, the first boy shoved the bread into their hands so they would get in trouble instead of him! They did nothing wrong!" Hugo had no idea who it was, but it wasn't a man's voice. Perhaps a woman or another young person. Much arguing still went on that they should still take in the thieves, but more voices chorused, saying words along the line of the first which started the counterclaim. Then the bread which had been collected turned into dirt in the men's hands. They were taken aback, and as they were stunned, Oliver and Hugo scrambled free from their captors and escaped down the road at an even faster rate than they had been previously doing. They didn't look back and only stopped when they couldn't possibly go on any further.

"They're- not following- right?" Hugo panted, barely able to push any words through his mouth. In the same shape, Oliver nodded.

"Did we go the right way?" the latter said once more, looking around the place where they were: a dingy courtyard with three cobblestone pathways other than their own, which they had come on.

"I thought we went in the way that the map said earlier," Hugo said. "Look- Barnet Street."

"We're on the right course," Oliver remarked. "Good." After that run, Oliver was rather expended, though, and clutched the place where his wound used to be.

"Let's take a break, you need it, don't you?" Hugo asked, sitting down against a wall. He patted the place next to him for the other to rest. He did so. Hugo poked his finger through Picc's cage and stroked his beak; the owl was rather puffed up and agitated, but he calmed. Ulfa climbed onto Oliver's lap and rubbed her face all about his hands, her wet nose and whiskers gliding across his skin. They were quiet for a long moment.

"Don't worry about it. We can't stay for long, though, the Hogwarts Express leaves at eleven. And it will soon be time. I don't have a watch, but being here for too long wouldn't be wise," he said, his sides becoming less restless.

"No, you stay here as long as you need to-"

"Then let's go. That's all I need." He started to get up, but still seemed pained. Ulfa hopped onto the ground with her white tail up like a plume.

"But are you sure?" Hugo pressed. He struggled to keep his rucksack on his shoulders.

Oliver stood straight up, defensive. "Yes. Let's go."

It seemed to him, at least, that he was very antagonistic about his newfound disability. Oliver was normally never like that to Hugo, and shouldn't have been, he thought, and felt a bit guilty. He couldn't help what came over him, though- shame, in all its fastness. He hated what had happened and it only made him hate himself all the more.

But quickly, whatever odd feelings between them remained after that dissolved and they were walking merrily down the street together again, excited for this haven called Hogwarts. Oliver had been exposed to plenty of magic, but never was able to learn any himself. Hugo had learned a bit but hadn't gone extensively into his studies. This would be a sort of gateway for them to see what they were capable of.

They arrived at King's Cross. Trains a mile long waited for muggles to climb into their bellies and zoom away on the tracks. Steam clouded the vast ceiling and made the lamps glow in a dim fog. Oliver and Hugo walked until they came to platforms nine and ten- no platform nine and three quarters could be found, even when they searched around the platforms and asked several people, who gave them very quizzical looks. The boys found themselves rather at a loss of what to do. Oliver glanced at the clock above them- it was fifteen minutes until the clock struck eleven, and then the Hogwarts Express would be off without them on board. What would happen then? Oh, their dream would be gone and they'd have to return back to the estate with their tails in between their legs. Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins would be very cross and probably never let them go to Hogwarts, ever.

Oliver sighed and picked up Ulfa, leaning against the pillar with the platform numbers and the clock on it; he pet her head and let her nose touch his. There, whenever she did that she made the most silly face. Her lips would part slightly and her eyes would narrow, but she looked so happy. She was a very cute animal; he couldn't have chosen a better companion that day at Diagon Alley.

Hugo pet her head absentmindedly. "It looks like she ate too much for breakfast," he said, giving a wide grin at her, which she only returned.

Suddenly, for no reason, Oliver looked up, and Hugo just after. A large, imposing man with a wild head of hair stood right before him. He was at least two feet taller than him and looked very mean at first. He made a sort of growling sound, to which Ulfa, in Oliver's hands, squirmed, though he kept a firm grip on the feline. Picc tried to flap away in his cage, but only succeeded in making Hugo hang onto him for dear life before he calmed down from his spook. Before he could say anything, the man let out a low gurgle:

"Yer standin' in front of the portal." It wasn't as menacing or as deep as Oliver anticipated. He gently let his nerves subside and he racked up the courage to reply.

"The portal to the Hogwarts Express is right here? I cannot see it," he said, disbelieving of the man. He clutched Ulfa; she seemed to calm down, some, but was still uneasy. The gruff man suddenly let out a string of loose, hearty laughter.

"O-o' course it's invisible," he howled. "Otherwise these muggles would've invaded our world long before our time."

"Rubeus? There you are, I was afraid I lost you- as if it'd be that easy!" a little man jabbered, jogging to keep up with the other, who had gone on ahead to talk to the boys. "Yer head bobs around like a great big mountain among hills."

"It's a'right, dad, I found where you said the platform oughtta be."

Oliver looked to Hugo as his eyes widened in realization. "This is his son? But he's so big, taller than his father. I thought he might eat us for half a moment," he murmured to his friend in his own mother tongue, giving a light but nervous chuckle.

"I thought so, too. He could help us get into platform nine and three quarters, though, since he obviously knows how."

Oliver nodded, turning back to face the man and his rather tall son; they gave them rather queer looks, but returned to their normal conversation. "Do you know how to get to the platform?" he asked, taking his shoulders off of the brick pillar.

The one called Rubeus nodded, "Yes, but you have to walk or run into it, right dad?"

"Tha's right. Come over here, boys," Rubeus's father said, bringing them away from the portal. "-you can call me Mr. Hagrid, by the way. Now, all you must do is go at a brisk pace, or a run if you prefer. Rubeus, would you care to demonstrate?"

"'Course," he said, bringing his trunk in front of him and rolling it as he walked. He was heading straight for the wall, and before he could crash into it and cause an unsightly disturbance, he vanished through it as if past a vale.

"How come we did not fall through?" Hugo asked suddenly. Mr. Hagrid shrugged, though amused.

"Dunno. Maybe it thought that foolin' you would be amusing, lad. Anyways, who's next?" Immediately Oliver asked to go through the portal after Rubeus. As he didn't have a trunk to push in front of him, he kept Ulfa in his hands, making sure she was secure.

"One, two," Mr. Hagrid said, making fun out of the boys' adventurous nature.

"-three!" Just as he said the last number, Oliver bolted towards the wall, Ulfa letting loose a long yowl along the way. He steadily got closer to the wall, racing past the muggles which were meandering around. A thought flashed through his mind- what if the portal didn't work and he crushed himself and Ulfa against the wall? Of course that thought would come to him. He doubted and questioned all. He would just have to try and trust; there was no stopping his descent upon the portal, now.

He hit the wall with no impact whatsoever. He stopped, then, and opened his eyes, having closed them before he hit the wall. He was in a different place, where a great red train sat on the tracks. People in odd robes and pointed hats milled about, towing their children and their luggage along. Owls flew overhead and past a sign which read: Platform 9¾, the Hogwarts Express. He had made it.

Just a moment after, Hugo emerged from the portal with a flustered Piccolo in his hands. Mr. Hagrid came not a moment after him. Oliver looked around for Rubeus, and quickly found him standing a ways away, seemingly waiting for the band to show themselves. He waved as they came to greet him again.

"Well, you did it, boys! What are your names, I don't think I caught them?" he asked, adjusting his own pointed hat.

"Oliver Faust-"

"And Hugo Corvo." They both stuck out their hands to shake. Chuckling, Mr. Hagrid crossed his own hands and shook them both at the same time. Oliver didn't know if it was some sort of English custom or just something he did. Either way, Mr. Hagrid seemed like an amusing man.

"Anyway, have fun at school. Rube," he addressed his son. "Write to me, tell me what house you get into and say what you like best." Rubeus nodded and gave his father a bear hug which certainly would have broken his spine if he hadn't been too careful.

When his father had left the scene, Rubeus turned to Oliver and Hugo. "You can call me Hagrid. I know my dad calls me by me first name, though I don't like it much. Hagrid's a much better way to call me," he said, rubbing the back of his meaty neck.

Oliver and Hugo nodded and proceeded into the crowd to find the entrance to the train.

Somehow, Hagrid had disappeared from the boys' view. Hugo scanned the crowd, but being shorter, he could not see much more than shoulders, even if he was looking for a certain head. Hagrid was about as tall as an adult, and there were many adults roaming about the station.

"I suppose we'll just find him on the train," Oliver shrugged, holding Ulfa in his hands like a baby. Hugo outstretched his hand and rubbed her belly; he was met with a soft growl and he chuckled nervously.

"Yes. Let's go, then," he said, starting for the frontmost car of the train. They soon found out, that, with fifteen minutes to spare before the train launched, there was very little room to accommodate them in a compartment without joining a handful of other children, which the boys did not fancy doing. Students ran about the cramped middle hallway of the car with candies and sticky things flying about them. Multiple times Hugo had to dodge a small, fluffy owl, who seemed to want to nest in his red mane- he and Oliver had gotten haircuts (a wonder!) some days before school started, but Hugo's hair was still rather messy, while Oliver's was combed back nicely and parted at the side. By this time, though, as Hugo was about to turn to make a remark to his friend, he realized that the little German boy wasn't by his side.

A moment of panic- and then just surprise. Where had he gone, Hugo wondered? He supposed if it was easy enough to lose a giant boy like Hagrid then it was possible to lose someone like Oliver. He had to find him, then. He was sure he got on the train, as well. Perhaps he had accidentally gone ahead of him, as Hugo had stopped for too long when the little bird started its roosting. It did cause a bit of a commotion, after all.

Hugo proceeded to explore the train. After coming to the third car, he passed a compartment where a boy quickly exited, sporting a large grin and messy black hair. He nearly crashed into Hugo as he swiftly exited the compartment. He looked a bit familiar, Hugo thought, and then it clicked.

"Sorry, didn't see you, there-"

"You are the boy who stole bread," Hugo said, eyes widening. "Aren't you?"

The boy's grin only grew larger, and he laughed. "Yeah, that was me. It was a fair bit of fun, wasn't it? Their faces when it all turned to soil- unbelievable!" The boy finished his merry-making and straightened himself out, but not without joviality in his speech and how he held himself. "My name's Monty Potter. The name's really Fleamont, but it's not so good to be called that. People laugh."

"Why should they laugh?" Hugo asked, clearly not understanding what was so funny about the name. Coming from Italy, he didn't know how odd it was to be called a surname- a very odd one, at that.

"It sounds like I'm a dog with a never ending itch! Phff, I'll duel anybody who says that, once I learn my spells. Say, what are you called? You never said. You talk a bit funny, don't you?"

"Oh, right- Hugo Corvo. Yes, that's my accent. My english isn't so good," he said sheepishly, absentmindedly squeezing himself against the wall of the hall for a group of loud older students to pass.

"No, I can understand you. But you might be made fun of for it. That's what always happens, anyway, if the bullies think you're different or weird. And there are definitely bullies here. They're always at institutes like this. When I went to primary school with the muggle children they were everywhere. Children can be so mean, I find. If they do, tell me and I'll take some swings at 'em." Monty held up his fists then in mockery and let loose another grin.

Hugo laughed, then. "Sure. Anyway, have you seen a blond boy around? He's my friend and I cannot find him." Monty shook his head.

"Just blond? There are lots of kids with light hair."

"Er- he has green eyes, walks strangely, has a cat and a violin. He might have gone ahead of me, I think. But I don't really know, I might turn around to look."

Monty thought for a quick moment. "No, I haven't seen him. We'll definitely see him at the feast, later, though, if you can't find him now."

"There's a feast?" Hugo asked, wonder in his voice.

"Yes, of course. It's hard to get that kind of food, now, though, but somehow the school does it and the house-elves prepare it. I can't wait, to be completely honest with you. We've just been rationing for a couple of years back at home and it's anything but exciting to eat meals."

Hugo's mouth started to water. They hadn't called dinner at his grandparents' house a feast, but it definitely seemed like one. That was the first real food he or Oliver had ever had in almost half of their lives. Whatever this feast consisted of, he could only guess. Probably the finest dishes this country had to offer, he reckoned, but he didn't really know what those were. "I can't wait, also."

Picc suddenly screeched lightly in his cage, rattling it around in his master's hands. Hugo gripped it and stroked the boreal owl's head to console him. "You know, he might be hungry. If you don't have something to feed him, we can go find the trolley lady and buy some food from her to feed your owl. Speaking of hungry, I could eat a whole centaur, hooves and all. We can get some food for ourselves while we're there. Come on," Monty said, starting to walk off in another direction. Hastily, Hugo followed him, his own stomach rumbling with anticipation. Another boy passed by as he walked, and he bumped Hugo's shoulder.

Oliver buzzed up the car, having lost his companion. He scanned the area as he walked, dodging the odd owl or student, but found nothing to suggest that Hugo was there. He was surely on the train, but he could not find him; he continued to look. He let Ulfa (who was small and in her kittenhood, yet) perch on his shoulders, with her body lounging behind his neck and her legs and plume-tail draped lazily on his front. He did not grab her feet, but otherwise he almost looked like a shepherd carrying a lamb.

He limped along the passageway and scanned as he did. Step, trip, step, trip, scan left, scan right, pet Ulfa's fur- a compulsion. He Would have continued this pattern except for a strange boy. Oliver passed him on the left, but after he did, he could see the other rise from his seat and felt his finger poking his arm to gain his attention.

Oliver turned; a pale boy, with dark hair and gray eyes. He had a rather cold expression, but his face held one of a regular boy, though something seemed… off. "I saw you earlier, at the market. They almost had you, but I led the crowd saying you should be let go." Oliver blinked.

"That was you?" he said, slightly confounded. He must have seen everything. "Er- thanks, it was fortunate you were there. We would have been late to the train, otherwise."

The boy nodded and stuck out his hand for Oliver to shake. "I'm Tom Riddle. I'm going into my second year."

Oliver took it and gave a strong grasp as their hands wagged through the air. "Oliver Faust. I'll be in my first year."

Tom squinted, and nodded again. "You're from Germany?"

"I am." He must have noticed; it took him long enough. Ulfa growled unexpectedly. The boy Tom did not say anything afterwards, nor did he make any kind of remark before taking leave from Oliver and going back to his seat, surrounded by a handful of other students who seemed to be around his age. Oliver hobbled away before he would seem strange, just standing there. It was at that time that he began to dislike Tom Riddle, and would try to avoid him at all costs, which proved futile.

He eventually reasoned to himself that it would be easier for he and Hugo to be reunited before their arrival at the school if one of them were to stay stagnant while the other searched. He vouched for himself to be the one which was to sit down, as he was growing very tired of walking with his luggage and his little cat, cute as she was. He ventured deep into the train, but found no places to rest, save for one compartment with a lonely girl in the middle of it.

He knocked on the cloudy glass of the door before gently opening the latch and pushing the door sideways to ask if it would be alright if he shared the compartment with her, since all of the others were full and there was nowhere else to sit down on the train. She obliged and he went in happily. He put his violin and his bag in the luggage compartment and kept Ulfa in his lap, who decided she wanted to doze off now that the noise from outside was quite muted.

The girl was of far origin, but spoke with a very fluid voice. Her voice was like velvet and her tongue was laced in satin. "My name's Henrietta Hockney, but you can call me Henry. It's quite a mouthful, that name." It was such a warm voice. Her face was warm, too, like dark clay with a hint of umber. The teeth in her mouth, neat in a row, sparkled like seashells which had been freshly polished. Her hair was puffy and soft, growing to form a halo around her head of thick jet curls. Her eyes were of the deepest black, sparkling with the mystery of the unknown. The strangest thing was, he hadn't seen anyone who looked like her ever before. There were no such people in Germany, those who had deep skin and midnight eyes- at least those who were alive, or just barely. He stared for what seemed like an eternity before he answered.

"Oliver Faust," he said, sitting there with curiosity. He couldn't just let this gem go unnoticed. He was a gentleman, after all, though he had no experience being one. "You're very beautiful to look at. Where do you come from? I've never seen anyone like you before." She visibly bloomed. She was confident when he had first met her, but Henry had had a shield on, up for any potential spitballs. But she finally relaxed her shoulders.

"I grew up here in England but my great-grandparents came from Africa, and our family's been here ever since. Where do you come from? You sound foreign," she asked.

"Germany. But I escaped," he said simply, or that was how he implicated it. "Why did your family leave their home?"

Henry didn't bat an eye at his answer. Whenever he said that to adults when they asked they either walked away like Tom Riddle or glared or made some snide remark. "They were taken away and used as slaves until the abolishment. Then they got their own general shop- it's in Westminster, if you're ever around."

"I see," he said, reminiscing on her words. "Where is Africa?"

Henry almost laughed, and showed a grand smile. "You mean you've never even seen a map before in muggle school?"

Oliver shook his head, also smiling, for he felt a bit embarrassed. "No, I haven't been to any kind of school before. I don't really know what the world looks like, or anything children learn when they're young."

She rifled through her bag, eventually bringing out a light green, rectangular book. "Your maths, science, history or writing? Why haven't you, were you not allowed?"

"No, I wasn't. But I do know how to read and write, I've done that as long as I can remember. Nothing else, though."

Henry was a bit confounded. Suddenly she blurted out, "What's nine times two?"

"Erm… eleven?" A little smirk of amusement plagued Henry's face before she quickly explained how multiplication worked. She said it was very, very easy, and that it's just like adding, only faster. Two nines, what is nine plus nine… bingo, that easy! Then Henry pulled out the map from the back of the book, which was a page of its own, but large and folded up. She pointed to a large shape below what she indicated was Europe.

"That's Africa. It looks much like an ear, doesn't it? And here," she pointed to a place on the land. "Is where my family came from."

Oliver nodded, not only looking where she pointed, but at the entire map. "Do you ever want to visit Africa some day?"

"I think so, yes, but when I'm older and when the war's over. If I save up enough money I can buy a broom and ride there on it. My parents said we have family there and we sometimes write to them." Then Henry showed Oliver all of the other continents and where England was. She pointed out where Germany was and Oliver was quite astounded that it was so close to England- Henry said it really wasn't that close, but it wasn't far away either. It just looked that way on the map because of how small they rendered it.

"What was it like in Germany? I heard it was bad but I've never met anyone from there. And if they're ever around, they're not here long," she suddenly asked.

Oliver started to clam up- his mouth didn't want to say, but he'd sugarcoat it for her. He'd do that for anyone, as they shouldn't know. But even though he had just met her, he wanted to tell her so badly.

"They put me in prison," was all he said. Henry grew a very curious look on her face but then stopped, as if holding herself back. She did not lose her luster, however.

"I'm sorry for asking, I didn't realize it was such a tender subject."

Oliver shook his head and smiled. "Alles klar, it's fine. It's natural to be curious." He quickly forgot about the awkwardness and was about to ask her another question, but was interrupted by the door to the compartment opening and a rather wild-looking boy with messy hair poking his head in. He looked very familiar, actually.

"Henry, I finally found the trolley! Do you want to go and get some food with me and a couple of mates I found just now? They're good guys," the boy said, seemingly already in acquaintance with the girl. She nodded, going through her bag again to find a small pouch of money.

"Oliver, do you want to get food, as well?"

He nodded, "Yes, I-"

"OLIVER!" All of a sudden, Hugo burst in and embraced the blond, saving him from breathing in precious air. He made a struggling noise out of humor and the redhead let go. They both ended up laughing before saying anything.

"Hey," Oliver said, poking Hugo. "Ich habe dich gefunden."

"No, no, no, no, no, Ich habe dich gefunden, du bist hier geblieben."

"Egal, lass uns mit ihnen gehen." The two turned to go with the messy boy and Henry, but were met with odd stares, and then laughter.

"You two are absurd!" Henry guffawed, and the other boy joined in.

"My name's Monty, and I suppose you're Oliver?"

"That is correct. I recognize you, where have I seen you before?" he asked. Monty shrugged.

"Well I only just gave you that bread and had a grand old laugh at the sidelines when they saw it turn into dirt. Sorry they grabbed you, I didn't know it would get that far."

Oliver shrugged, too, and got up. "It's alright. It was fun, now that I think of it."

After their little escapade, the quartet went to a nearby car, where an older woman and a trolley resided. She was surrounded by a small crowd of children wishing to buy sweets. The going was slow, so they expected to be standing around a while. From what they could hear from the clamor, she was selling sandwiches and bonbons and pumpkin juice.

While waiting around to get to the trolley, a big blundering bloke wandered about and accidentally bumped into Oliver with a "'Scuse me." He looked up and saw none other than the biggest boy he had seen with his own eyes.

"Hagrid, there you are!" Hugo said, his eyes suddenly bright.

"How did ya two lose me? I'm not tha' hard to miss," he mused, shrugging a hand through his curly mane.

"Not sure, maybe we got ahead." Hugo then got in a conversation with Hagrid about animals and magical creatures and what his father did while working at the zoo. This got the other very interested, and they checked out for a while.

Oliver fingered the money pouch in his left pocket as he waited in the mass of hungry children (it was supposed to be a line, but no one would listen). Large crowds were not comfortable for him and if he had his wish, he'd retreat back to the compartment as quickly as he could. But he was fairly peckish by this point and found no reason to have himself starve. During his musings, though, the mood turned sour. A boy with sable hair and striking eyes strutted up, seeming rather full of himself and a load of other things Oliver did not care to mention to the audience.

"A little birdie told me there was a Nazi on the train. Which one is it, I wonder?" the boy drawled, eyeing the quintet with the cunning glare of a seasoned bully. "Will it be the big fat one?" Hagrid was visibly shocked. "The thief? Or the greaseball, or the cripple, or the golliwog?" They were all taken aback. At this point Oliver was ready to throttle the bully, but didn't want to start anything. Only the surrounding people in the corridor showed any signs of noticing the tension, but it was otherwise a nonchalant situation. "I think it's rather obvious, don't you think, Antonin?" Another boy, who was rather quiet, nodded. He had a long, straight face with an intelligent look. It was a shame he was on the bad side of things.

"If you're looking for me you can leave them alone," Oliver said, not stepping away from the group, nor raising his voice. The other boy smirked lazily.

"Like I said, obvious. And I heard you've got a little Eyetie for a buddy. But I'm sure he's a wimp," he said.

Hugo opened his mouth and said, "I am not a- what, a wimp? Was is daß, Oliver-?"

"He's not a wimp," Oliver interjected, ignoring Hugo's question; he'd answer it later. In truth, he wasn't familiar with the word 'wimp' either, but it was surely some sort of insult. His father and english teacher never used it, so he was also unaware of its meaning. "What do you want?"

"I was going to ask you, are you going to score the entire train with bullets since most of us aren't as perfect as you, or are you going to take us down one by one until you're incarcerated?"

Oliver scoffed and shook his head. "No. Just go away-"

"I don't really want to go that hastily, you see. Why are you friends with blackie, there? She's the complete opposite of your Nazi ideals." Oliver's face crumpled in a grimace and he was met with yet another smirk from his opponent. Henry withered.

"She's more intelligent than me or you, and she's beautiful. And truthfully, you are my opposite," he said, taking a step forward. The two other boys howled. "I'm no Nazi."

"So you're not just a Nazi, you're stupid as well? Splendid!" The boy didn't listen. Oliver nearly swung a fist at them, but they left as soon as they came. Hagrid and Monty held him back as they left. As soon as they were gone they let go and Oliver dragged his hands through his hair in desperation.

"They need a beating," he huffed. He sounded much like his father when he talked about naughty boys. "I wish I had my belt instead of these suspenders, otherwise their Ärsche would be raw. Or maybe I could have found a way with my wand to cut off their thumbs, I don't know…"

"You couldn't do anything about it, they're only bullies," Monty reasoned. "Let them get their energy out and they'll eventually go away if they get bored."

"Yes I know, but they insulted all of you! I thought it was wise to stay as calm as possible but I wish I could have done something." Oliver stuffed his hands in his pockets as they trudged to where the trolley lady was; the crowd had thinned in their wait against the two bullies.

"Anything catch your fancy from the trolley, dears?" the old woman asked, bearing the cart with her knobby fingers. Although the confrontation with the two bullies had made him turn bitter, he did not lose his appetite- he had grown to love food but learned to not overeat. It did not feel as good as it did when one was eating the monstrous meal compared to when he was later suffering for it. Hagrid took two cauldron cakes, Monty got licorice, Henry bought some chocolate frogs and jelly beans, and Hugo got a small sandwich. Oliver bought a couple of pumpkin pasties and soon found out when they got back to the compartment that they were perhaps one of his favourite sweets. He had never had pumpkin before, and didn't know what it was (he had to ask Henry again) until then.

Throughout the train ride, his enragement dwindled and levity filled him again; the friends talked about their lives, what they planned to do, what house they thought they might get, what class might be their favorite. They all planned to explore the castle and grounds, though, that much was unanimous. They had heard the territory was vast, and all enjoyed the outside and playing in it since they were younger children. Oliver and Hugo did not discuss their lives very much, but only for Hugo's grandparents. It turned out both Henry and Monty had met before getting on the Hogwarts Express, and were already friends a year or two beforehand; they learned how to ride broomsticks together. Hagrid was half giant, and he could lift his own father off the ground; he also enjoyed poetry, and sometimes dabbled in it. Hugo talked about his love for magical creatures once more and books. Oliver mentioned his violin and book-reading, and was urged by his newfound group of friends to play for them on the train. He didn't have to deny, though (he probably would have played if they begged continuously), since Hagrid pulled out one of his few poems. It was short, but concise:

Tell me you listen,

Play and make glee,

But why do you

Upset and toil with me?

To all who are sour

And angry in heart,

The field and the forest

Were with me from the start.

It was beautiful, and everyone applauded him. Hagrid, bashful, gave a small bow with what room he had (for the compartment was quite full, now) and put his poem away. They had been socializing for hours, actually, when it didn't seem that long at all. Soon a prefect told them to hurry up and get their robes on because they would soon arrive at Hogsmeade. They did so (with privacy) and took only their wands and wits with them- they were told their pets and luggage would be safe on the train and were to be transported to their dorms while they were at the start-of-term feast. Oliver pet and kissed Ulfa's head for a goodbye- she was always so sweet. He put her into her cage and then left her on the bench with Piccolo and the owls which Monty and Henry had brought with them. Hagrid had none.

Oliver then took a glance out of the window of the train, which was foggy and cold as he wiped the condensation away. It was a beautiful night; the stars gleamed in the sky, which was rather a dark blue than black, as most nights are depicted. The houses in the village gleamed with candles winking in the windows, but the most magnificent sight was the castle. It was so tall that the topmost tower seemed to touch the very moon itself. All of the windows glowed with a rich, amber light, which illuminated them against the sky very nicely. It was probably the most awe-inspiring sight to be seen, other than perhaps a newborn baby wrapped in cloths or the sight of the hall and the audience all around when one looks away from the music on the stand and the conductor forward whilst playing, or there afterwards when the music has finished and the sound coming from their hands and mouths is enormous and tantalizing to the senses.

"Oliver, we're getting off, now!" Someone yelled. It was probably Hugo, but he wasn't listening. He finally ripped his gaze from the window and dashed down the corridor and onto the platform. The cool wind brushed through his hair and over his face. He felt alive. Even though his leg throbbed from all the raucous events of the day and running just then, he didn't care. It felt good to have the wind in his face and blood pumping through him. He wasn't in danger anymore, no. He was somewhere amazing, and he didn't know how he got there. It was a miracle, in his mind, and always was after that.