Anything in here that even remotely resembles a creation of JK Rowling is just that—all hers. I get no money from this, just jollies and good old fashioned procrastination.
Logicians have but ill defined
As rational the human mind.
Logic, they say, belongs to man,
But let them prove it if they can.
-Oliver Goldsmith
Chapter 1: Fancy Meeting You Here
"Miss? Miss? Are you okay!"
A quavering voice broke through the jumbled haze of color and pain wrapping itself around the young woman. She winced open an eye cautiously to find herself looking into the concerned face of a gangly teenage boy. While it was possible he might yet become a relatively attractive man, it was sadly evident that he hadn't quite grown into his body. He hunched over her on the floor of the station in such a way that suggested he was apologizing for his presence.
–It figures…— She thought, –Kids.— It skittered through her mind dismissively.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there! My toad, he was jumping, and—Trevor? Oh, no!" The boy backed away sharply, tossing his head around like a wild horse. A flash of green caught his eye. "THERE you are!" He lunged for the creature, catching it mid-leap—and promptly tripped and fell on his robes.
–Robes?— She wondered. –Strange…—
Turning around, he brushed himself off and placed his toad in a large pocket, which he carefully, firmly, buttoned. The boy walked back towards her, and sheepishly offered her a hand. "Name's Neville, Neville Longbottom, and really, I'm sorry about the cart. These things seem to find me on their own, really." He sighed, his face flushed, and shook his head. "Are you okay?" he asked again, nearly losing his grip on her as she steadied on her feet.
–Okay…?— Her vision was now focused, but her mind hadn't quite joined it. "What just happened?"
"Oh, umm. Well, Trevor, see, he was scared by the train going by and—"
The train. The mental fog was lifting, which cleared more room for the recognition of pain and nausea. Neither of these interrupted the memory of the train pulling into the terminal. Listening to the screech of brakes on metal, thinking that trains can only stop so fast, and—
"And I couldn't stop in time, and I'm so sorry I knocked you down. You won't hex me, will you?" Here the boy looked so genuinely nervous, and sad, and—oh, dear, ranging dangerously near pathetic. She couldn't help a soft chuckle, which was rewarded when his pained expression cleared into one of relief. "Oh, thank you, miss! I'll be more careful, really!" He made an off balance half bow and trotted off behind his cart. Possibly before she could change her mind. She noticed that other people were giving him a rather wide berth.
Rubbing her cheek, she brushed off some of the dirt she had collected in her fall and looked around for her bag. Ruefully glancing down at the ridiculously proper clothes she wore today, she began to dust them off. –All in black, and of course it'd be light coloured dirt I'd fall into. That's sort of an unwritten rule, isn't it?– She snorted in derision.
While initial confusion had kept her from noticing much more than the rather bumbling boy and his toad, his absence freed her to consider the surroundings. The platform looked different, cleaner, and while there were certainly many people, they didn't look quite the same. –Robes— she realized. –They're all in robes? Well, not all…but most of them.—
Adults and children were bustling around, talking excitedly and trailing rather elegant capes behind them. Some of them positively shimmered, casting a favourable glow about their owners. –Must be some sort of convention they're off to,— she decided, turning to look for the train that had been arriving just as her backside served for target practice. She wasn't known for her ability to suffer fools, and today she would have predicted a swift death for anyone who crossed her path, never mind one who sent her flying off of it. But she had a soft spot for children, even adolescent ones, and there had been a real sincerity about the boy that had caused her to sympathize with him. None of this made her head and ribs hurt any less, though, and her aching body was not doing much to improve her mood. Or help her figure out where the blast her train had gone. –Has it already left?—
Glancing down at her watch, she noticed with irritation that the watch face had cracked and its hands had stopped moving. –Damn, damn and damn again— she cursed. Not because she was particularly fond of the watch, or even because it was exceptionally valuable. Just that lately, this seemed to be the way of things, and her reserves were running low. It didn't take much to –no, I am not about to cry— she scolded herself, sharply. –Stupid, stupid stupid…it was here just a minute ago. And what you see one minute can't cease to exist the next. So where in damnation is it?—
Somehow, anger has a way of focusing the mind in a way that kindness and comfort cannot. It was anger that convinced her she had gotten herself terribly turned about following her tango with a rapidly moving object, and anger that convinced her that something was distinctly Not Right. That, dear reader, is when another train arrived.
A rumble shook upwards from the ground, filling the air. Roaring noise and spewing smoke, the polished machine rounded its turn into the station. She closed her eyes against the abruptness of iron wheels hammering rail-joints, listening as the rhythm slowed and a final, deliberate whoosh sighed out of the new arrival. A murmur went up from the people around her, and parents turned to children, some with brisk hugs and terse instructions, and some with longer, warmer embraces.
"Now, Ron, don't you get any ideas about any trouble under ANY circumstances," a red headed woman was scolding her equally red haired son. "I've had enough grief and mayhem for centuries thanks to your brothers, and if you get yourself kicked out of school you can count on a Howler a day for the next 30 years of your life—do I make myself PERFECTLY clear!" She glared at the skinny boy in front of her, who seemed to accept his mother's threats in good form.
"Yes, mum, of course mum," he nodded, as he struggled with his large trunk. Saira turned away as he muttered "Adlevatio trunk," and, when she looked back their way again, the trunk he had been carrying was nowhere in sight. –He must have gotten it onto the train, or someone else is carrying it— she dismissed, neglecting to notice the large container that was now hovering a generous 6 feet in the air.
–School. Well, that makes more sense. It explains all the kids, anyways. I wonder what academy they go to.— She thought about her own school days, of which there had been more than absolutely necessary. –And what good did it do me? I didn't need it to find work.— The gloom that had been dashed away by physical pain began to settle around her again, a nearly tangible weight to the darkness of it.
Strangely, there was a real shadow passing across her face at that moment, one that had nothing to do with her mood. Looking up, she watched the trunk the red headed boy had struggled with, as it passed over her to head onto the train. She was weary and confused to the point of needing to ignore what her eyes were telling her. It couldn't be happening, and so it must not be happening. It was just a simple mis-seeing of things, secondary to the trauma of her fall.
Desperation tinged her confusion as she stood on the platform. –I don't want to go home—, she realized. –There's nothing for me there, and I certainly don't want to face the frozen lasagnas and cards from people I don't much like. But what, then? I suppose I have enough saved to afford to not go back, not right away. I could live on credit for a bit. Pay off the bills online. Avoid phones. Hmm.—
And at that moment, a bedraggled, exhausted, and world weary Saira Hansen made her second completely ludicrous decision of the day. When the train pulled away, she was on it.
It had happened much in the way of a dream, and as she sat staring out the window, she was managing to convince herself it was just that. This past week, in fact, was nothing more than fantasy, which explained why things were so muddled right now. She sighed. –All right, no, I know that's not true. I know this week has happened, and made a notably crappy run of itself. But right now...I should be in a much worse state. Maybe I am. The last thing I saw was that train, and I was moving so fast…—
Saira, at the time Neville had careened into her, was in the process of making her first ludicrous decision of the day. Bag firmly in hand, she was greeting her train in a rather unconventional fashion: while it was still moving, and a bit further up the track than is commonly recommended. As she'd made her second, or was it third, running step towards it, a fast moving, heavy metal cart had caught her at an unexpected angle. Physics being what it is, she ended up being propelled by the cart. Directly towards a brick wall.
–I do remember—. Her eyes narrowed. –The boy yelled something…it might have been 'look out,' and there was the cart, and the wall. I hit the wall. Oh god. I'm unconscious.— Visions flashed through her head, of blood, ambulances, and hospitals. They were rather mundane visions that often graced the telly, where solemn faced detectives tacked up Crime Scene warnings with grim expressions.
–So that's why everything looks so strange. Is so strange. The robes, and floating trunks, and people and…I'm unconscious. It's a dream. Now...how do I wake up?—
Ironically, though she was wondering how she might wake up, it didn't take her long to fall asleep.