Harry Potter: The Wandmaker

Fred and George were quickly called away by Lee Jordan, who seemed to have gotten his hands on something new—his bulging pockets were even moving.

Hermione and Ginny didn't return to their original compartment and instead sat here. Hermione was engrossed in listening to Ron describe the chaos at the station earlier.

She had arrived quite early and didn't know about the entrance to Platform 9 being sealed. Now, hearing it all, she gasped in shock.

She could hardly imagine how dreadful it would be to be late on the very first day of school.

"But why would the platform be sealed?" she asked.

"Good question. I'd like to know that too." Ron rubbed his forehead. Like Harry, he had smacked full-force into the barrier. If not for the trolley softening the blow, he might've had a new scar to match Harry's.

"That must've been the Ministry's fault. The school wouldn't expel you for that."

"Well, of course they wouldn't expel us—we made it onto the train."

"But what if you hadn't?" Hermione pressed.

That question piqued everyone's curiosity.

"I'd go home and wait to try again the next day," Ginny offered first, sneaking a quick glance at Harry.

If everyone went home, Harry would go back to the Burrow too—she thought, not daring to look up again.

"Dad could drive us," Ron added eagerly. "I've always wanted to try flying that car again."

Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia had been magically modified, with an expanded interior and flight capabilities. During the summer, Fred and George had flown it to Little Whinging to rescue Harry from the Dursleys' attic.

Ron had been dying to try it himself.

"Hmm… maybe the Knight Bus?" Harry suggested quietly, recalling what Harold had mentioned earlier.

"Oh, honestly—I'd rather be a whole day late than take that thing to school," Ron grimaced. "Harold, isn't there some other way?"

"There is," Harold said. "You can contact the Ministry and request a Portkey to Hogsmeade—or even use the Floo Network. If you explain the situation, they won't refuse."

"That's brilliant!" Ron said with a grin.

Definitely the most sensible option so far.

"Wait a minute—did none of you think to write to the professors?" Hermione looked around at them in disbelief, then glanced at Hedwig in her cage.

"Harry, you do have an owl."

"I—I forgot," Harry admitted awkwardly. He genuinely hadn't thought to ask the teachers for help.

The group soon dove into a lively discussion. If this sort of thing ever happened again, these ideas might actually be useful.

Around noon, the familiar witch with the snack trolley rolled by. Harry eagerly bought a huge stash of sweets—more than the year before—piling them high on the table.

He loved this stuff, and since it wasn't available at school, he always stocked up.

But that wasn't lunch. Mrs. Weasley had packed them ham sandwiches in advance, and even Harold got one—it tasted pretty good.

"Lucky you," Ron said. "Mum didn't pack pickled beef today."

He clearly wasn't a fan of pickled beef.

Harold pulled out the butterbeer he'd bought from the Leaky Cauldron. He'd originally planned to get a proper lunch there, but the thought of a whole carriage reeking of garlic had quickly changed his mind.

Butterbeer was a hit—far more popular than chilled pumpkin juice. The three bottles were quickly split among the five of them. Paired with ham sandwiches and cauldron cakes for dessert, it made for a decent lunch.

Afterward, they played a few rounds of wizard chess and Exploding Snap.

Harold hadn't been that interested at first, but after losing two matches in a row to Ron, he found himself hooked.

Outside, the sky grew darker, and the temperature in the carriage dropped noticeably.

Beyond the window, the dark outline of the Hogwarts castle appeared on a high cliff, its turrets and towers rising proudly into the night.

The lamps in the carriage flickered on with a warm yellow glow.

"We're almost there," Hermione said. She remembered that once the lights came on last year, it hadn't been much longer before they arrived.

"Please leave your luggage on the train," came the familiar voice from the train's speaker. "The train will be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes."

Everyone scrambled to tidy up, pull on their Hogwarts robes, and ready themselves.

The train came to a halt. They joined the stream of students piling out onto the platform.

"First-years! First-years over here!" a booming voice called.

Harry instinctively began following Ginny toward Hagrid—then paused as he noticed the wide-eyed stares of the first-years and Hagrid's confused look.

"Harry, wrong way," Harold grabbed his arm and tugged him back. "You're in second year now. No more boats."

"Oops. I forgot." Harry ducked his head and scurried back to Ron's side. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I didn't think you'd move so fast," Ron said. Harry had bolted the moment he stepped off the train—he hadn't stood a chance.

After parting with the first-years, they followed the crowd down a muddy, winding path. Ahead stood a hundred or so carriages—or rather, carriage cabins.

"Looks like we're riding those to the castle," Hermione observed as older students began climbing in.

Each carriage could hold four. Once they were all seated, the carriages began moving smoothly forward.

"That's amazing—they move on their own," Harry marveled.

"Must be magic," Hermione said. "Like the boats last year. Hardly any of us knew how to row, right?"

Harry nodded. That made sense.

The carriages passed through tall wrought-iron gates and traveled up a long winding path, growing steadily closer to the castle.

Eventually, they came to a halt. Harold was the first out and immediately spotted the Whomping Willow nearby.

Bathed in moonlight, the Whomping Willow looked unusually calm, its branches swaying lazily as if stretching.

Harold was suddenly struck by a thought.

If Harry and Ron hadn't made it onto the train that morning… wouldn't they have arrived in the flying car and smashed into the Whomping Willow by now?

How many branches would that have broken? Maybe even the trunk…

If Harold had been nearby and ready to collect the debris…

No. Stop. Don't go there.

He could feel his heart bleeding just thinking about it, standing motionless in the grass until Professor McGonagall's voice snapped him out of it, urging them all to head inside.

Reluctantly, Harold followed—glancing back at the Whomping Willow with every step.

(End of Chapter)