Discalimer: i do not own anything you may reconize. Nor do i own the first two chapters. I am continuing emzella's wonderfull story: A Bronze Duo. I have full permission from her, and in the first two chapters, i have only changed a few minor things.
Brett Stevens has downy grey hair, blue eyes and a snub nose. He wears a sky blue jacket, as is his uniform, and today is one of the days he looks forward to most in the year; September 1st. Not only did the 41 year old start working at Kings Cross Station 11 years ago this day, but this day in September always attracts curious looking passengers. Strange people in all ages, wearing oversized bathrobes wander around the station. Most of them are children and their parents, but every so often, there's a child alone. Brett wasn't quite sure where they were going, but they all seemed to be going to the same place. Occasionally, he could hear someone murmur something like 'muggle' or 'barrier' but these words made no sense to him whatsoever, so Brett chose to ignore them.
They always have the oddest luggage; big carts with trunks and animals on them. Even owls sometimes. The children carry sticks of wood, but always put them away hurriedly; their parents hissing something at them. There is also a crowd around Christmas and Easter, but they have much less people. Then there was the summer crowd, when everyone appeared again, looking sad and happy at the same time, chatting with their parents and other children, and sometimes wearing funny little pins.
Occasionally, someone would ask him nonsense questions. Brett supposed it was their idea of a practical joke, but it was quite old. Clueless parents or the children who were alone would ask "which way to platform 9 and ¾?" and "where is the train that leaves at 11 o'clock?" It drove him crazy. They were troublemakers; time wasters. There was no train that left at 11 o'clock and certainly no platform 9¾! They would turn away after hearing his reply, frowns on their faces.
Of course, then there were the ones who knew what they were doing. They were the one who didn't have the decency to wear normal clothing. They would walk up to a blank stretch of wall between platforms 9 and 10, and stare at it for a long time. If Brett looked away from them and looked back, they would be gone.
Rarest of all were the ones who walked straight up to that blank stretch of wall and started muttering at it, poking the wall with their sticks. Someone wearing the bathrobes would always end up helping them before 11. At 11:05 AM, the adults and smallest children would come back. A big crowd, just appearing out of nowhere. They always seemed to appear from thin air and disappear into thin air again; the parents holding the children. Some people would just walk out to their cars, but they were in the minority.
Brett would go home and tell his wife about the strange people, but she didn't know any more about it than he did. His children knew of a few friends of theirs who always left on September 1st, but they had lost contact with them.
So he was stuck watching the odd crowd on that day, sometimes answering questions, sometimes getting weird looks. It was a good opportunity for people-watching, but it made Brett feel uneasy somehow…as if these people were going to harm him in some way with their wooden twigs.
Today the most interesting thing was a small girl throwing a fit. She was one of the people who owned a twig, and was stabbing it fiercely against the blank stretch of wall, whilst muttering to herself. Her parents stood behind her, exchanging glances every so often, worried looks on their faces. The small girl's bushy brown hair was pulled out of her face, which was as red as his own daughter's hair. As Brett watched, the mother bent down to say something to her. The little girl seemed to say something back. Brett turn away as a young woman with black hair asked him for the way to platform seven.
Hermione Granger was having a fit at a blank stretch of wall. She had prodded it with her wand, spoken to it a bit, but to no prevail; it simply would not open. Perhaps the thing that angered her most was that no books had told about this. She had looked and looked, but all any book said about Kings Cross was that the Hogwarts Express left from there at 11 o'clock on September 1st to take students to Hogwarts from platform 9¾, which had to be the most annoying sentence Hermione had ever read.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was the school Hermione would be attending this year. It was said to be a large castle, with a forest, a lake, and grounds. You couldn't enter by disappearing and reappearing there (otherwise known as apparating) and there were protective wards, or shields, around it so no one could get it who wasn't supposed to be there. That left the train as the mode of transportation, as most students weren't very good on a broom. Then there were the classes themselves, which fascinated Hermione. Classes such as potions, charms, transfiguration and defense against the dark arts.
Hogwarts was even supposed to have ancient magic all around it.
Magic was the whole reason she was here in the first place. Almost a year ago, on Hermione's 11th birthday, she had received a letter from Hogwarts telling her there was such a thing as magic, and that she would be going to a school to learn it. Hermione had screamed, and rushed off to show her parents, who were a bit less excited then herself about the whole thing, the letter. The following week, the Granger family had gone out on a shopping expedition in an odd place called Diagon Alley, where she had bought all the supplies necessary for attending school. Hermione felt that her wand of vine wood with a dragon heartstring core was the best purchase, even after her family had bought all her text books.
And now she was here at Kings Cross Station, her brown eyes almost filling with tears because she couldn't open a passageway. Hermione was deeply disappointed in herself. She felt a little better when her mother knelt down beside her and told her that it was ok, that she wasn't expected to know anything, and that people her age probably had the same troubles she did. Hermione sniffed, nodding her head slightly.
She was slightly ashamed of her self for worrying her parents. How did they feel as they saw their only daughter, the one who sat on trees for hours and hours just reading, throwing a temper tantrum? Their brown-eyed girl, who always kept a leveled head? Hermione hoped she had not worried her parents too much; she knew they were already worried about her learning magic.
"I'm terribly sorry for worrying you," Hermione said miserably, hugging her mother.
"It's alright dear, I can imagine it must be frustrating," Mrs. Granger soothed, as Hermione took a couple of calming breaths, "let's wait for someone to come along, shall we?"
"I suppose so," Hermione said quietly, before her face brightened, "oh mum, that's brilliant! Why didn't I think of it?" Mrs. Granger only gave a small chuckle, shaking her head, as she saw a brown-haired boy come towards them.
Ginny Weasley was beyond nervous. The red head knew they were running late, but they had make it onto the train! Her father glanced at his watch and then at Mrs. Weasley.
"Molly, dear --"
Ginny groaned inwardly to herself. Mr. Weasley was always trying to get his wife to let him do wacky things; Ginny supposed it all had to do with his job. Arthur Weasley worked for the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. From her visits there, Ginny knew it was a small, cramped space. Her father was always bringing home muggle (non-magical) junk, such as batteries and plugs, and playing with them. When she was very small, Ginny could not understand why muggles were kept secret from the wizarding community. Her parents had explained to her that muggles were often scared of witches and wizards. Ginny had learned to accept this, though she was still miffed that she could not play quidditch (the wizarding sport) in the village.
So life had gone on, with her father tinkering with old muggle junk and turning it into something useful, much to Mrs. Weasley discontent. Sometimes his projects turned into something wonderful, like the car she was riding in. The car was light blue, and magically enhanced so that it was larger; and therefore able to fit in everyone and everyone's luggage comfortably. Sometimes, however, the projects ended up badly. Ginny would never forget the biting blender…
Mr. Weasley ran into the kitchen where his family was seated around the large dining table.
"I've done it! It is simply wonderful; simply marvelous! A muggle blender!"
Molly Weasley pried herself from cutting up her daughter's breakfast to look at what her husband was carrying.
"A blender?" she asked, her the confusion evident on her face, "What in Merlin's name is a blender Arthur?"
"It will chop up food and…well…well I don't know exactly," Mr. Weasley said, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, "I was...hoping we could maybe try it out."
"Well," Mrs.Weasley said, looking disdainfully at the blender, "its not dangerous is it?"
"No, no, its quite erm…tame," Arthur said, giving a weak smile.
Molly shrugged. "Alright" she said, "If you're sure it's not dangerous, I guess its ok."
Mr. Weasley gave a smile. What had happened after that was a blur to Ginny, she had been 4 at the time, and all she remembered now was that it had caused chaos, and Fred had to spend the night in St.Mungo's as a result. She supposed it was best that her mother had put her foot down this time.
Eventually, the car stopped at Kings Cross. With a flurry of excitement, Ginny exited the car, and took her cart out from her fathers grasp. Time flew by; she had 5 minutes to get onto the train.
"All right, Ginny you go first." Ginny barely heard her mother's voice telling her this; all she could do was stare at the barrier. She knew the trick as well as anyone else, just run straight though…Ginny took a steadying breath, and broke into a run, bracing for the crash that she knew would never come. She smiled as Platform 9¾ materialized in front of her.
Hermione sat down on her chair quietly. Her parents had just loaded her trunk into the otherwise empty compartment, and then had hurried off the train. It seemed to be an unwritten rule that parents should not be on the train. She took a peek at her watch.
10:59. Hermione could barely contain her excitement. In less than a minute, she would be on her way to Hogwarts, on her way to the rest of her life.
The noise from Platform 9¾ threatened to engulf Ginny, but she didn't let that bother her. Parents were already saying goodbye to their children; and the one's younger then 11 were already begging their parents to let them go too.
"Oh mum! Can't I go to?" Ginny hear a little girl whine. She smiled to herself, distinctly reminded of herself just last year.
"Oy! Gin! Hurry up!" Ginny spun around to see her brother Fred (Or was it George?) yelling at her.
"Carry my trunk Fred!" Ginny replied, batting her eyes sweetly.
"Fred? I'm George!"
"Like it matters!" Ginny fought back giggles as her brother helped her take her trunk onto the train, where she could carry it to a compartment. He ruffled her hair before setting off in the other direction, promising Ron would take care of her.
"Wait! George!" Ginny yelled after his back.
"Yes, m'lady?" George asked, spinning around.
"Where is Ron?"
"I don't know. It was Fred's problem!" Ginny rolled her eyes before setting off to find a compartment.
There was a knock on Hermione's compartment door. The train had just started moving, and already her parents were just ants who were left behind on the platform. Hermione stood, walking over to the door and opening it to find a red haired girl standing there.
"Hello," the girl said, giving a small smile. She heaved her trunk nearer to her body. "May I sit here?"
Hermione smiled back.
"Of course," she said, "come right on in." With their combined efforts, they got the girls trunk lifted and placed next to Hermione's.
"I'm Hermione Granger, by the way," Hermione stuck out her hand for the girl to shake, "and you are?"
"Ginny, Ginny Weasley," Ginny said, her hand moved about a little on the seat beside her, and her eyes opened wide.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.
"Oh, nothing," Ginny smiled as her hand came in contact with her wand, "I thought Fred or George had taken my wand."
"Who?"
"Just some of my brothers, I have six of them, but Fred and George are the real troublemakers." Ginny said, shrugging.
The rest of the morning was spent telling about their families, and what their everyday life was like. Eventually, the lunch trolley came and Ginny pulled out a sandwich instead of buying anything.
"What kind of sandwich is that?" Hermione asked, peering up over a box of Chocolate Frogs.
"Corned beef," Ginny said, pulling a face, "no one in my family really likes it though, Ron least of-" she stopped, looking horrified.
"What?" Hermione asked, "corned beef cannot be that bad."
"No, no, it's not that," Ginny was as white as a sheet. "I just have no idea where Harry and Ron are."
Hermione bit her lip. "Don't worry," she said consolingly, putting an arm around the red-haired girl, "I'll go ask people if they've seen them, you stay here. Read a book or something."
Ginny just nodded, mindlessly taking on of Hermione's books. Her eyes began moving roboticly, though the book was upside-down.
"Have you seen two boys named Harry and Ron? A girl named Ginny has lost them."