There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when I awoke next morning. Heavy rain was still splattering against the window as I got dressed in jeans and a Hoodie; I would change into my school robes on the Hogwarts Express.

Why am I bothering to think that? I already know I’m going to get changed on the train, so why am I verifying this in my mind?

I don’t know.

Hermione, Ginny and I had just reached the first-floor landing on our way down to breakfast, when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking harassed. 

“Arthur!” she called up the staircase. “Arthur! Urgent message from the Ministry!”  

Fish.

I flattened myself against the wall as Mr. Weasley came clattering past with his robes on back-to-front and hurtled out of sight. When we entered the kitchen, we saw Mrs. Weasley rummaging anxiously in the drawers – “I’ve got a quill here somewhere!” – And Mr. Weasley bending over the fire, talking to Amos Diggory. His head was sitting in the middle of the flames like a large, bearded egg.

Because it’s normal to shove your head into someone’s fireplace.

“… Muggle neighbors heard bangs and shouting, so they went and called those what-d’you-call-’ems - please-men. Arthur, you’ve got to get over there —” 

“Here!” said Mrs. Weasley breathlessly, pushing a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a crumpled quill into Mr. Weasley’s hands.

 “- it’s a real stroke of luck I heard about it,” said Mr. Diggory’s head. “I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off — if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur —” 

“What does Mad-Eye say happened?” asked Mr. Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up his quill, and preparing to take notes. 

I know we’re wizards and everything, but why don’t we use muggle pens? Do we need to be so different? We could use pens and be equally awesome.

Screw it; I’m using pens this year.

Mr. Diggory’s head rolled its eyes. “Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says he was creeping toward the house, but was ambushed by his dustbins.” 

“What did the dustbins do?” asked Mr. Weasley, scribbling frantically. 

“Made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,” said Mr. Diggory. “Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the pleasemen turned up -” Mr. Weasley groaned. 

“And what about the intruder?” 

“Arthur, you know Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Diggory’s head, rolling its eyes again. “Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there’s a very shell-shocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he’s had it — think of his record — we’ve got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department — what are exploding dustbins worth?” 

Llamas.

“Might be a caution,” said Mr. Weasley, still writing very fast, his brow furrowed. “Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone?”

“I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,” said Mr. Diggory, “but they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any casualties.” 

“All right, I’m off,” Mr. Weasley said, and he dashed out of the kitchen again.  Mr. Diggory’s head looked around at Mrs. Weasley. 

“Sorry about this, Molly,” it said, more calmly, “bothering you so early and everything… but Arthur’s the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and Mad-Eye’s supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night…” 

“Never mind, Amos,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sure you won’t have a bit of toast or anything before you go?” 

“Oh go on, then,” said Mr. Diggory.  Mrs. Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack on the kitchen table, put it into the fire tongs, and transferred it into Mr. Diggory’s mouth. “Fanks,” he said in a muffled voice, and then, with a small pop, vanished. 

I could hear Mr. Weasley calling hurried good-byes to Bill, Charlie, Percy and the boys. Within five minutes, he was back in the kitchen, his robes on the right way now, dragging a comb through his hair. 

I felt like imitating a bird.

“Caw! Caw!” I flapped my arms around.

“Eat.” Hermione ordered as she shoved toast into my mouth to shut me up.

“I’d better hurry - you have a good term, girls,” said Mr. Weasley to us, fastening a cloak over his shoulders and preparing to Disapparate.  “Molly, are you going to be all right taking the kids to King’s Cross?”

Whenever someone says Kings Cross, I think of strippers. What the hell.

“Of course I will,” she said. “You just look after Mad-Eye, we’ll be fine.”

 As Mr. Weasley vanished, Bill and Charlie entered the kitchen, along with the other boys.

“Did someone say Mad-Eye?” Bill asked. “What’s he been up to now?” 

“He says someone tried to break into his house last night,” said Mrs. Weasley. 

“Mad-Eye Moody?” said George thoughtfully, walking in and stealing my toast.”Isn’t he that nutter-“

“Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,” said Mrs. Weasley sternly. 

“Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn’t he?” said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. “Birds of a feather…” 

“Moody was a great wizard in his time,” said Bill. 

“He’s an old friend of Dumbledore’s, isn’t he?” said Charlie. 

“Dumbledore’s not what you’d call normal, though, is he?” said George. “I mean, I know he’s a genius and everything…” 

“llama.” I said as I finished my toast. “lla-“ Hermione seized her opportunity to shove more toast in my mouth.

“Who is Mad-Eye?” asked Harry.

Harry asked a question...I can feel anger brewing. I’m such a cow. I should have been shot at birth. I’m just gonna sit over here and eat my toast in silence.

Nom

Nom

Nom

Natural Overseas Migration.

Wait what?

NOM!

“He’s retired, used to work at the Ministry,” said Charlie. “I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror - one of the best… a Dark wizard catcher,” he added, seeing Harry’s blank look.  He stopped a question before Harry asked it. I should get him a medal.

A gold one.

With a llama on it.

“Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though… the families of people he caught, mainly… and I heard he’s been getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark wizards everywhere.”   Charlie finished and I think he said more but I was talking to myself and –

“SHUT UP!”

Thanks Lucy, really nice.

Treble clef

“Our life is a mystery.” I stated as we were double checking our trunks. “Every conversation we have seems to relate to something in the future.” I sounded drugged.

“So you mean to say-?” Ginny offered.

“Moody will be at Hogwarts, and there will probably be some evil dark magic.” I said dramatically.

“Ugh.” Hermione complained throwing her pillow at me. “You gave me a headache.”

What a sweetie.

*** *** ***

 Bill and Charlie decided to come and see us all off at King’s Cross station, but Percy said that he really needed to get to work. He was apologising and stuff which pissed me off and made me want to punch him.

“I just can’t justify taking more time off at the moment,” he told us. “Mr. Crouch is really starting to rely on me.”   

“Yeah, you know what, Percy?” said George seriously. “I reckon he’ll know your name soon.” 

Percy is such a lemon – no, downgraded. He is a tangerine.

Like a Willow.

Mrs. Weasley had used the telephone – better than Ron – at the village post office to order three ordinary Muggle taxis to take us into London.

“Arthur tried to borrow Ministry cars for us,” Mrs. Weasley whispered to Harry as they stood in the rain-washed yard, watching the taxi drivers heaving six heavy Hogwarts trunks into their cars. “But there weren’t any to spare… Oh dear, they don’t look happy, do they?” 

I didn’t like to tell Mrs. Weasley that Muggle taxi drivers rarely transported overexcited owls, and Pigwidgeon was making an earsplitting racket. Nor did it help that a number of Filibuster’s Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start Fireworks went off unexpectedly when Fred’s trunk sprang open, causing the driver carrying it to yell with fright and pain as Crookshanks clawed his way up the man’s leg. 

Fish sticks.

The journey was uncomfortable, owing to the fact that we were jammed in the back of the taxis with our trunks. We were very relieved to get out at King’s Cross – the strip club - even though the rain was coming down harder than ever, and we got soaked carrying our trunks across the busy road and into the station.

“George, I moustache you a question.” I said randomly. “But I’m shaving it for later.”

He smiled. He was really hot. Excuse me while I take my clothes off

I'm JOKING I SWEAR!

 I was used to getting onto platform nine and three-quarters by now. It was a simple matter of walking straight through the apparently solid barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. The only tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so as to avoid attracting Muggle attention. We did it in groups today; Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the most conspicuous, since they were accompanied by Pigwidgeon and Crookshanks) went first; they leaned casually against the barrier, chatting unconcernedly, and slid sideways through it…

Then George and I decided to dance our way into it....We’re really subtle. As we did so, platform nine and three-quarters materialized in front of us.  The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts.

I could hear Pigwidgeon from a mile away, so I snuck over to Harry, Ron and Hermione and we set off to find seats, and were soon stowing our luggage in a compartment halfway along the train. We then hopped back down onto the platform to say good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. 

“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye. 

“Why?” said Fred keenly. 

“You’ll see,” said Charlie. “Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it… it’s ‘classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,’ after all.” 

“Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year,” said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train. 

“Why?” said George impatiently. 

“You’re going to have an interesting year,” said Bill, his eyes twinkling. “I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it.”

“A bit of what?” said Ron.

“You’ll see.” Charlie said again.

“YEAH? WELL LLAMA’S DONT SMELL YOUR NOSE!” I shouted.

Charlie was about to reply, which I was certain would be amusing, but at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied us toward the train doors.

“Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley,” said Hermione and I as we climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her. 

“Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry. 

“Oh it was my pleasure, dears,” said Mrs. Weasley. “I’d invite you for Christmas, but… well, I expect you’re all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with… one thing and another.”

“Mum!” said Ron irritably. “What d’you three know that we don’t?” 

“You’ll find out this evening, I expect,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. “It’s going to be very exciting - mind you, I’m very glad they’ve changed the rules -” 

“What rules?” said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. 

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… Now, behave, won’t you? Won’t you, Fred? And you, George?”

llama

The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. 

“Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!” Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from us. “What rules are they changing?” 

But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated.

 Harry, Ron, ‘Mione and I went back to our compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon’s cage to muffle his hooting. 

“Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts,” he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. “At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won’t say. Wonder what —” 

“Shh!” Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to ours.

The four of us listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

“… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man’s such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do…” 

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy’s voice.  “So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?” she said angrily. “I wish he had gone, then we wouldn’t have to put up with him.” 

“What a shit.” I said in a very typical Willow voice.

What the hell is a typical Willow voice?

No one knows.

“Durmstrang’s another wizarding school?” said Harry.

“Yes,” said Hermione sniffily, “and it’s got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.” 

Llama

Llorse.

Hores?

You’re a whore.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” said Ron vaguely. “Where is it? What country?” 

“Well, nobody knows, do they?” said Hermione, raising her eyebrows. 

“Er - why not?” said Harry. 

“There’s traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets,” said Hermione matter-of-factly. 

“Come off it,” said Ron, starting to laugh. “Durmstrang’s got to be about the same size as Hogwarts — how are you going to hide a great big castle?”  

“But Hogwarts is hidden,” said Hermione, in surprise. “Everyone knows that… well, everyone who’s read Hogwarts, A History, anyway.” 

“Just you, then,” said Ron making me laugh. “So go on - how d’you hide a place like Hogwarts?” 

“It’s bewitched,” said Hermione. “If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.”

“So Durmstrang’ll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?” 

“Maybe,” said Hermione, shrugging, “or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they’ll have made it Unplottable -” 

“Come again?” 

I want to be a bird again.

“Well, you can enchant a building so it’s impossible to plot on a map, can’t you?” 

“Er… if you say so,” said Harry.

“But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “Somewhere very cold, because they’ve got fur capes as part of their uniforms.” 

“Ah, think of the possibilities,” said Ron dreamily. “It would’ve been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident… Shame his mother likes him…” 

“I know right! She always favoured him.” I said before laughing again. I was quite hysterical. I didn’t even say anything funny.

Awkward.

“Wil...” Hermione began. She then seemed to disregard the thought.

“Yeah?” I pushed

“Don’t worry, it’s not important.”

“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have thought about asking it.” I said flatly.

“Err...” Hermione said awkwardly. She looked at the boys, and suddenly I knew this must have been something they had discussed.

Oh no. They’re going to ask about the forest aren’t they?

“Willow, what really happened in the forest at the world cup?” Ron asked slowly.

I looked at the three faces. Hermione’s was worried, Harry’s was torn between worry and curiosity, and Ron...looked like Ron.

I sighed.

“Okay.” I began to tell them about the headache, the seeing Lucius Malfoy, the curse...but I changed the ending. I said he disappeared, not that I let him go. “And well, yeah.”

Hermione’s face looked horrified, Ron looked angry and Harry looked as though he already knew this was the case.

We sat in silence for a while.

“Why didn’t you report him?” Ron said quietly.

“I dunno...I just can’t.” I said in less than a whisper.

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for us to share.

Nom

Nom

Nom

Several of our friends looked in on us as the afternoon progressed, including Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland rosette. Some of its magic seemed to be wearing off now; it was still squeaking “Troy - Mullet - Moran!” but in a very feeble and exhausted sort of way.

After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm. Neville listened jealously to the others’ conversation as they relived the Cup match. 

“Gran didn’t want to go,” he said miserably. “Wouldn’t buy tickets. It sounded amazing though.” 

“It was,” said Ron. “Look at this, Neville…   He rummaged in his trunk up in the luggage rack and pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum. 

“Oh wow,” said Neville enviously as Ron tipped Krum onto his pudgy hand.

 “We saw him right up close, as well,” said Ron. “We were in the Top Box -” 

“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.”  Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar. 

“Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” said Harry coolly. 

“Weasley… what is that?” said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon’s cage. A sleeve of Ron’s dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the mouldy lace cuff very obvious.  Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

“Look at this!” said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron’s robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, “Weasley, you weren’t thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety… “

“Eighteen ninety six to be honest, it’s actually worth more than your whole house because it’s an antique.” I said smartly.

“I think-“Malfoy started

“Sorry Malfoy, I’m having trouble finding a shit to give.” I snapped.

“Filthy –blooded-“ Malfoy said looking at me in disgust.

“Eat dung, Malfoy!” said Ron, Snatching the robes from Malfoy’s grip. Malfoy howled with mocking laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly. 

“So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There’s money involved as well, you know… you’d be able to afford some decent robes if you won…” 

“What are you talking about?” snapped Ron. 

“Are you going to enter?” Malfoy repeated. “I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?” 

“Either explain what you’re on about or go away, Malfoy,” said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.  A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy’s pale face.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know?” he said delightedly. “You’ve got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don’t even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago… heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father’s always associated with the top people at the Ministry… Maybe your father’s too junior to know about it, Weasley… yes… they probably don’t talk about important stuff in front of him…” 

“You need to become one with nature.” I said to Malfoy. His face was priceless. “Become the bird!” I took a few deep breaths. “Caw! Caw! CRAAWW”

“No wonder.” Malfoy said. “Hanging around with riff raff like this.”

“I’M NOT RIFF RAFF YOU PRICK! I’M A BIRD!” I shouted.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered. 

 “Ron!” said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered “Reparo!” and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door. 

“Well… making it look like he knows everything and we don’t…” Ron snarled. “‘Father’s always associated with the top people at the Ministry’… Dad could’ve got a promotion any time… he just likes it where he is…” 

 “Of course he does,” said Hermione quietly. “Don’t let Malfoy get to you, Ron -” 

“Him! Get to me!? As if!” said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp. 

“He’s just a shit head because his father’s a cock.” I said.

“Willow, stop swearing.” Hermione said sternly.

I suddenly realised that a cock is a type of bird, and therefore I was acting like a relative of Malfoy’s dad which made me really confused. None the less, I stopped and started to pat Soxy instead.

Ron’s bad mood continued for the rest of the journey. He didn’t talk much as we changed into our school robes, and was still glowering when the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled up Crookshanks in her cloak, Soxy crawled into my shirt and Ron left his dress robes over Pigwidgeon as we left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour.

The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

“Hi, Hagrid!” Harry yelled, as we saw a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform. 

“All righ’, Harry?” Hagrid bellowed back, waving. “See yeh at the feast if we don’ drown!” 

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid. 

“Oooh, I wouldn’t fancy crossing the lake in this weather,” said Hermione fervently, shivering as we inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd.

A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for us outside the station. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and I climbed gratefully into one of them; the door shut with a snap, and a few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track toward Hogwarts Castle.

“I’m hungry.” I yawned. “and tired.”

Hermione.

Has.

A.

Name.

How weird.