Post by potterknowitall on Jul 11, 2004 22:04:02 GMT -5
KoNeko – The Train
It was the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end- Karl couldn't be too sure, although he knew that it was the end of something- his education at Hogwarts. He was standing by himself at the end of the platform in Hogsmeade, the concrete beneath him feeling remarkably cool through the thin soles of his sneakers despite the sun beating down on his back. A breeze toyed with his hair, making one blond tuft poke out sideways. Karl rearranged it so that it was sticking upwards, as it was supposed to. All around him, engulfing him, was the incessant babble of excited voices, occasionally pierced by the screech of an owl.
Karl fidgeted with the hoop in his left ear. He had a habit of doing that when he was nervous. He knew it himself, but he couldn't figure out why every breath he took made that knot in his stomach tighten just a little more. Maybe it was because he was still in shock from passing (with honours) all his N.E.W.Ts, or because he missed Erica, who was his best friend, confidante and partner-in-crime all rolled into one grey-eyed, auburn-haired bundle. Erica, an excellent chaser, had departed from Hogwarts right after the Leaving Feast to join the Chudley Cannons for preseason training. She had told Karl to send her an owl when he knew what he would be doing after school, but he hadn't written because, frankly, he felt he didn't have many prospects. That was a week ago. Erica would probably be getting worried by now.
But no, that couldn't be it- that couldn't be the reason that he was so shaky. He only felt this nervous (or should that be nauseous?) today, not for the past week.
Perhaps he still half-expected Professor Snape to come storming onto the platform after discovering his and Erica's farewell present in the back of his potions supplies cupboard. That dungbomb must have stunk out his office by now! Not that Snape knew that they did it, of course, but still, the thought crossed Karl's mind. What would Snape do? He couldn't give Karl a detention, or even expel him, since Karl had already finished school, and Snape therefore was no longer his Potions teacher! Potions teacher. Karl couldn't help but grin. Sevrus Snape, for the seven long years Karl had been at Hogwarts, never did clinch that job as the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Serves him right for the endless hours forcing us to grind up boodlesniff eggs and chopping up newt toenails, Karl thought.
He let his mind wander to more pleasant times, like all the dinners, breakfasts and lunches he had had in the Great Hall. All the roast turkey and pumpkin juice and lamb casserole with potatoes on the side and scrambled eggs, bacon and toast he could eat. Every meal was indeed a feast. In his mind's eye he saw that hall again; the cavernous roof illuminated by thousands of candles; the four long tables- one for each house- laden with the golden platters and goblets on which their meals would magically appear; the duelling stage; the teacher's table with Dumbledore sitting in the centre. Thought after thought about the Great Hall came to him. He recalled the time the entire school ran, screaming hysterically, out of the hall at the sound of a troll being in the school, and how that same hall had beautifully transformed into the setting for the Yule Ball.
In the Great Hall, Karl had heard seven different versions of the Sorting Hat's song- not that he rememered the very first one, when he himself was sorted, as he was too nervous to really be paying attention to the lyrics. There had also been the occasional food fight, much to the teachers' distaste. Karl was halfway through reliving the time in his sixth year when the Fat Friar had caught his robe in the plum pudding during a tug-of-war with Peeves, the school poltergeist, when he was startled by the sound of the a high-pitched whistle…
It was his ride home, the Hogwarts Express, pulling into the station. The platform guard was already organising the heap of trunks, books and bags to go onto the train. The brass buttons on his bright red coat reflected the dazzle of the sun, making Karl's hazel eyes squint in the glare.
As the train slowed to a halt, steam gushing from its pistons, a final, exhausted hoot emanating from its whistle, the platform changed from the excited hubbub of the students to a frenzied race to get to the best compartments on the train first. Most of those leading the charge were fifth and sixth year students. Karl lingered on the platform, waiting until the steady rush of the students had been reduced to a trickle, before picking up his trunk and walking towards the middle of the train, where the luggage carriage sat. As he helped load his trunk into the already-crowded wagon, Karl noticed that his hands were shaking slightly, wanting to touch the hoop in his ear. He frowned. It must have been those nerves again. They seemed to be the worst when he was thinking about leaving the school.
***
He had found a compartment towards the back of the train. Each carriage on the Hogwarts Express (besides the luggage carriage, of course) comprised of six compartments; three on each side with the aisle in the middle. Karl's compartment was in the third-last carriage, in between two compartments full of Ravenclaw second-years, who were spilling out into the aisle, noisily organising a seating plan. Karl squeezed past the gaggle of students and into his compartment, sliding the heavy wooden door shut to muffle out their voices. He could still see them through the glass pane in the door, though; from what he could make out without lip reading, three of the girls and four of the boys were planning to cram themselves into one compartment, most likely resulting in a rather uncomfortable journey. One of the boys was pointing to a red-haired girl with pigtails and shaking his head vigorously. She seemed similarly unimpressed with the seating arrangement. Somewhere from the front of the train, the whistle sounded again and with a slight jolt, the train shunted out of the station.
The train gathered speed, and the view of the country began to blur. In the distance, the castle grew smaller and smaller, until the very top towers were barely recognisable. When the school disappeared altogether behind a mountain, Karl turned from the window and drew from his pocket his two pet mice, Boots and Digger. He placed them on the cushioned seat opposite him. Digger, true to his name, inspected the worn green velveteen and, on finding a small hole, immediately burrowed into the padding of the seat. The result was a small mouse-shaped lump under the fabric, occasionally bumping into old Boots, who had decided to snooze in a patch of sun. This awoke Boots, who sniffed the green lump, inspecting it curiously, before deciding it was not worth his attention and resuming his nap. Karl chuckled softly at the sight of this and sat down on his own seat, exploring the door next to him, the door that separated him from the rest of the world.
It was old, not as old as Hogwarts itself, but still old enough for the long, dark lines of the grain in the wood to have been worn down by many hands. There were a few dents in the door, probably from the occasional game of exploding snap being played too close, or perhaps even from someone who had kicked or thrown something at it. Karl ran his fingers down the side of the wood. It felt smooth and surprisingly warm to touch. Hundreds of hands must have touched this door.
He had casually traced some of the faded lines in the wood, even circling around some of the knots, before he touched a particularly deep scratch and noticed that someone had carved Mudbloods go home! into the door. He could feel his hand, the one that had touched those hateful words, start trembling. Karl knew, however, that it was shaking in a silent rage. Although the words weren't directed at him specifically, some irrational anger inside of him wanted to surge out and find the arrogant moron who carved those words. Karl wanted to physically hurt him, make him bleed his pure blood onto the pale green carpet of the train… make him see what a Mudblood could do…
He shook his head, clearing his mind of these loathsome thoughts. Erica wouldn't approve. He went to the window and opened it, the cool breeze streaming across his face and into his compartment. Karl glanced out at the countryside zooming past: there was a forest up ahead, an eerie, looming shape with leafless branches piercing the pale blue sky. Every now and then, a small dark blob on wings crossing the endless heavens and disappearing into the blackness of the trees told Karl that there was a colony of bats nesting in the wood. A colony of bats, like the ones that had swooped out of the pumpkins at the Halloween Feast-
There was a knock on the door behind him. Karl turned around in time to see the door glide shut again as the person who had knocked on his door entered. Next to the door, leaning on the wood, Karl saw a boy of his own age, slightly shorter than himself, with bright green eyes that reminded him of the kryptonite in his sister Sahra's Muggle Superman comic books. His visitor had an infuriatingly unmanageable mass of black hair, a pair of round-framed glasses and that all-too-famous lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Harry Potter was in his train compartment.
Karl grinned at him.
"Hi Harry," he said, gesturing to the seat opposite his own.
"Hey Karl," Harry replied, smiling back. "I was wondering where you had gotten to- oh!"
An indignant squeaking from the seat meant that Harry had almost sat on Boots, who was now cleaning his whiskers with a displeased look on his little furry face.
"Sorry 'bout that," Karl said, quickly scooping up Boots and depositing him in his pocket. He located a small Digger-shaped bump in the seat padding, and gently guided the younger mouse back to the hole he had burrowed in from.
It was the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end- Karl couldn't be too sure, although he knew that it was the end of something- his education at Hogwarts. He was standing by himself at the end of the platform in Hogsmeade, the concrete beneath him feeling remarkably cool through the thin soles of his sneakers despite the sun beating down on his back. A breeze toyed with his hair, making one blond tuft poke out sideways. Karl rearranged it so that it was sticking upwards, as it was supposed to. All around him, engulfing him, was the incessant babble of excited voices, occasionally pierced by the screech of an owl.
Karl fidgeted with the hoop in his left ear. He had a habit of doing that when he was nervous. He knew it himself, but he couldn't figure out why every breath he took made that knot in his stomach tighten just a little more. Maybe it was because he was still in shock from passing (with honours) all his N.E.W.Ts, or because he missed Erica, who was his best friend, confidante and partner-in-crime all rolled into one grey-eyed, auburn-haired bundle. Erica, an excellent chaser, had departed from Hogwarts right after the Leaving Feast to join the Chudley Cannons for preseason training. She had told Karl to send her an owl when he knew what he would be doing after school, but he hadn't written because, frankly, he felt he didn't have many prospects. That was a week ago. Erica would probably be getting worried by now.
But no, that couldn't be it- that couldn't be the reason that he was so shaky. He only felt this nervous (or should that be nauseous?) today, not for the past week.
Perhaps he still half-expected Professor Snape to come storming onto the platform after discovering his and Erica's farewell present in the back of his potions supplies cupboard. That dungbomb must have stunk out his office by now! Not that Snape knew that they did it, of course, but still, the thought crossed Karl's mind. What would Snape do? He couldn't give Karl a detention, or even expel him, since Karl had already finished school, and Snape therefore was no longer his Potions teacher! Potions teacher. Karl couldn't help but grin. Sevrus Snape, for the seven long years Karl had been at Hogwarts, never did clinch that job as the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Serves him right for the endless hours forcing us to grind up boodlesniff eggs and chopping up newt toenails, Karl thought.
He let his mind wander to more pleasant times, like all the dinners, breakfasts and lunches he had had in the Great Hall. All the roast turkey and pumpkin juice and lamb casserole with potatoes on the side and scrambled eggs, bacon and toast he could eat. Every meal was indeed a feast. In his mind's eye he saw that hall again; the cavernous roof illuminated by thousands of candles; the four long tables- one for each house- laden with the golden platters and goblets on which their meals would magically appear; the duelling stage; the teacher's table with Dumbledore sitting in the centre. Thought after thought about the Great Hall came to him. He recalled the time the entire school ran, screaming hysterically, out of the hall at the sound of a troll being in the school, and how that same hall had beautifully transformed into the setting for the Yule Ball.
In the Great Hall, Karl had heard seven different versions of the Sorting Hat's song- not that he rememered the very first one, when he himself was sorted, as he was too nervous to really be paying attention to the lyrics. There had also been the occasional food fight, much to the teachers' distaste. Karl was halfway through reliving the time in his sixth year when the Fat Friar had caught his robe in the plum pudding during a tug-of-war with Peeves, the school poltergeist, when he was startled by the sound of the a high-pitched whistle…
It was his ride home, the Hogwarts Express, pulling into the station. The platform guard was already organising the heap of trunks, books and bags to go onto the train. The brass buttons on his bright red coat reflected the dazzle of the sun, making Karl's hazel eyes squint in the glare.
As the train slowed to a halt, steam gushing from its pistons, a final, exhausted hoot emanating from its whistle, the platform changed from the excited hubbub of the students to a frenzied race to get to the best compartments on the train first. Most of those leading the charge were fifth and sixth year students. Karl lingered on the platform, waiting until the steady rush of the students had been reduced to a trickle, before picking up his trunk and walking towards the middle of the train, where the luggage carriage sat. As he helped load his trunk into the already-crowded wagon, Karl noticed that his hands were shaking slightly, wanting to touch the hoop in his ear. He frowned. It must have been those nerves again. They seemed to be the worst when he was thinking about leaving the school.
***
He had found a compartment towards the back of the train. Each carriage on the Hogwarts Express (besides the luggage carriage, of course) comprised of six compartments; three on each side with the aisle in the middle. Karl's compartment was in the third-last carriage, in between two compartments full of Ravenclaw second-years, who were spilling out into the aisle, noisily organising a seating plan. Karl squeezed past the gaggle of students and into his compartment, sliding the heavy wooden door shut to muffle out their voices. He could still see them through the glass pane in the door, though; from what he could make out without lip reading, three of the girls and four of the boys were planning to cram themselves into one compartment, most likely resulting in a rather uncomfortable journey. One of the boys was pointing to a red-haired girl with pigtails and shaking his head vigorously. She seemed similarly unimpressed with the seating arrangement. Somewhere from the front of the train, the whistle sounded again and with a slight jolt, the train shunted out of the station.
The train gathered speed, and the view of the country began to blur. In the distance, the castle grew smaller and smaller, until the very top towers were barely recognisable. When the school disappeared altogether behind a mountain, Karl turned from the window and drew from his pocket his two pet mice, Boots and Digger. He placed them on the cushioned seat opposite him. Digger, true to his name, inspected the worn green velveteen and, on finding a small hole, immediately burrowed into the padding of the seat. The result was a small mouse-shaped lump under the fabric, occasionally bumping into old Boots, who had decided to snooze in a patch of sun. This awoke Boots, who sniffed the green lump, inspecting it curiously, before deciding it was not worth his attention and resuming his nap. Karl chuckled softly at the sight of this and sat down on his own seat, exploring the door next to him, the door that separated him from the rest of the world.
It was old, not as old as Hogwarts itself, but still old enough for the long, dark lines of the grain in the wood to have been worn down by many hands. There were a few dents in the door, probably from the occasional game of exploding snap being played too close, or perhaps even from someone who had kicked or thrown something at it. Karl ran his fingers down the side of the wood. It felt smooth and surprisingly warm to touch. Hundreds of hands must have touched this door.
He had casually traced some of the faded lines in the wood, even circling around some of the knots, before he touched a particularly deep scratch and noticed that someone had carved Mudbloods go home! into the door. He could feel his hand, the one that had touched those hateful words, start trembling. Karl knew, however, that it was shaking in a silent rage. Although the words weren't directed at him specifically, some irrational anger inside of him wanted to surge out and find the arrogant moron who carved those words. Karl wanted to physically hurt him, make him bleed his pure blood onto the pale green carpet of the train… make him see what a Mudblood could do…
He shook his head, clearing his mind of these loathsome thoughts. Erica wouldn't approve. He went to the window and opened it, the cool breeze streaming across his face and into his compartment. Karl glanced out at the countryside zooming past: there was a forest up ahead, an eerie, looming shape with leafless branches piercing the pale blue sky. Every now and then, a small dark blob on wings crossing the endless heavens and disappearing into the blackness of the trees told Karl that there was a colony of bats nesting in the wood. A colony of bats, like the ones that had swooped out of the pumpkins at the Halloween Feast-
There was a knock on the door behind him. Karl turned around in time to see the door glide shut again as the person who had knocked on his door entered. Next to the door, leaning on the wood, Karl saw a boy of his own age, slightly shorter than himself, with bright green eyes that reminded him of the kryptonite in his sister Sahra's Muggle Superman comic books. His visitor had an infuriatingly unmanageable mass of black hair, a pair of round-framed glasses and that all-too-famous lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Harry Potter was in his train compartment.
Karl grinned at him.
"Hi Harry," he said, gesturing to the seat opposite his own.
"Hey Karl," Harry replied, smiling back. "I was wondering where you had gotten to- oh!"
An indignant squeaking from the seat meant that Harry had almost sat on Boots, who was now cleaning his whiskers with a displeased look on his little furry face.
"Sorry 'bout that," Karl said, quickly scooping up Boots and depositing him in his pocket. He located a small Digger-shaped bump in the seat padding, and gently guided the younger mouse back to the hole he had burrowed in from.