Chapter 218. The Anomaly on the Train
On the way to King's Cross Station, Fred and George happened to sit on either side of Harry.
"Did you bring it?" Fred whispered.
"What?" Harry didn't catch on at first.
"The broomstick," George said excitedly from the other side. "We heard you've switched to a Firebolt."
Harry realised. "Ron told you, didn't he?"
"Sorry—was that not okay?" Ron turned round from the front passenger seat.
"Of course it's fine," Harry said, shaking his head. "Everyone will find out sooner or later. I'm not going to hide it. It's in the boot right now."
"So it's true!"
Fred slung an arm around Harry's neck, beaming. "Best Seeker with the best broom—I'd say we've already booked this term's Quidditch Cup."
Harry smiled, a little embarrassed. "Who can say? It's only a broom."
"You're too modest," George said, just as delighted. "Can I touch your Firebolt?"
"We're here, children."
With Mr Weasley's announcement, everyone got out of the car.
Pushing their assorted luggage, they went into King's Cross Station.
Harry was puzzled to find the station unusually empty today.
Most of the Muggles were nowhere to be seen.
He soon learned why.
At the entrance, a notice board to one side read: Facilities under maintenance; most trains will be suspended on 1 September.
Probably because of Black.
Harry knew the Ministry of Magic had ties with the Muggle government. If the Ministry wanted to shut down a station, it would be easy.
As they went in through the gates, he also saw several oddly dressed people.
When Mr Weasley passed by, one of them even greeted him: "Hello, Arthur. How's it going?"
"Fairly smoothly," Arthur replied casually, without breaking stride.
Probably one of Mr Weasley's Ministry acquaintances, Harry thought to himself.
Once he had slipped through to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters again, Harry immediately felt much lighter.
As expected, the wizarding world suited him far better.
Because they were rather late, there were only a few people scattered about the platform.
"Hey! Harry, Ron! Hurry up!"
They looked up and saw Hermione had already secured a spot in the last carriage. She was leaning out of the window, waving at them.
At that, Harry and Ron hurriedly said goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley and dashed onto the train; the other Weasleys did the same—the train was due to depart in only ten minutes.
In the corridor, Harry noticed that all the compartment doors were shut tight.
Although the chatter of students drifted out from behind them, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
When they reached the compartment at the very end, the door suddenly opened a crack.
"Get in, quickly," Hermione's voice came from the gap.
Harry and Ron exchanged a look; both of them were puzzled.
As soon as they were inside and seated, Hermione shut the door tight again.
"What's going on, Hermione?" Ron asked, baffled. "Why is everyone keeping their doors closed?"
Before Hermione could answer, a burst of harsh static came from the corridor: "Ahem—Lupin, are you sure this old tannoy still works—oh, it's on—Attention, students, this is an emergency notice. While the train is in motion, do not enter the corridor at will, or something dreadful may happen. If you need to make any purchases, please do so in the ten minutes before departure."
"See?" Hermione sighed. "Professor Wesson just came himself as well and told us not to open the compartment door."
Harry nodded. No wonder the voice over the speaker had sounded familiar—it was Wesson.
But why were they doing this?
At the same time, in a carriage near the front of the train, Adrian Wesson was curiously fiddling with a dust-covered broadcast set in front of him.
Remus Lupin stood beside him, face grave; opposite them, the trolley witch also looked troubled.
"Looks like business will be especially poor this year," the trolley witch said, standing up with a sigh. "How dreadful."
Lupin gave her an apologetic smile.
With that, the trolley witch went out into the corridor; the next ten minutes were all the working time she had left.
The train began to move off, slowly.
A few minutes later, Harry picked a selection of sweets from the trolley witch, including a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.
"These make me feel sick," Ron said, pushing the Every Flavour Beans back with a look of revolt. "Fred tricked me into a whole handful yesterday—they were all bogey-flavoured."
"Oh, suit yourself." Harry shrugged, picked one up, and popped it into his mouth—ugh, a taste of rotten banana.
"I mean," Hermione said, brow knitted, "aren't you two the least bit worried?"
"Worried about what?" Ron said indistinctly around a Liquorice Wand.
"This, of course," Hermione said. "Why won't they let us leave our compartment? It's far too irregular."
"Ah—yes," Harry said, nodding. "Once we get to school, we'll ask Professor Wesson."
However, Harry already had his suspicions. If he was right, this couldn't be unrelated to Sirius Black.
They probably thought that as long as they stayed inside the compartments, they'd be safe.
To pass the time, Harry took out the set of Gobstones he'd just bought in Diagon Alley—Ron ended up sprayed all over with some unknown liquid.
A heavy stench instantly filled the compartment; they had to use who knew how many Scouring Charms to drive the smell away.
After that, Hermione flatly refused to let the two of them keep playing Gobstones.
There was still a long stretch of the journey left. Hermione opened a book—she always had the habit of preparing ahead for classes. This year she had chosen every single elective, so there was all the more to preview.
Harry and Ron started a game of wizard chess.
The corridor outside was very quiet, with no sound at all.
About halfway through the trip, Harry suddenly caught the faintest murmur of voices from outside.
"What is it?" Ron asked when he saw Harry freeze.
"Shh—keep it down."
Pressing his ear to the door, Harry finally managed to make out the voices in the corridor.
"I'll say it again, sir: keep the Dementors' behaviour under control. They are permitted to move only in the corridor—do not let the Dementors enter the students' compartments. If you insist on doing that, for the students' safety, I will have to take certain measures…"
Harry recognised that familiar cadence at once—it was his teacher, Professor Wesson.
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