Finally, Saturday arrived! After a busy week, not only were the students eagerly awaiting the practical activity, but Anthony himself felt an urgent need for a cup of hot chocolate. Early in the morning, he crawled out of bed, pushed the cat off his slippers, and mentally rehearsed the day's itinerary while washing up. The rain had finally stopped, and today was a good day… relatively speaking. Although light gray clouds still hung over everyone's heads, not a single drop of rain had fallen for the past twelve hours.
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As he led the students out of the main gate, Anthony faintly heard the sound of training whistles from the Quidditch pitch. "That must be Wood," said Ted Thomas. "Fred and George were called out by him before five o'clock." He was a fourth-year Gryffindor whose uncle worked at Gringotts. "They're training in the cold air, while we're about to visit a Muggle factory filled with the scent of chocolate…" another Gryffindor said with an unconcealed smile. Thomas eagerly asked, "When will we arrive, Professor Anthony?" "As we agreed at the beginning, we'll go to London first, then take the train from there," Anthony told them. "We'll probably arrive around noon. After visiting the chocolate factory in the afternoon, there will still be some time for you to explore freely." "Free time!" cheered a Hufflepuff. "I'm going to talk to Muggles!"
…
No one expected that Anthony's "go to London" meant taking the Knight Bus. When the purple triple-decker bus appeared before them, most students stared in confusion at its abruptly opened door, their hair blown into disarray by the gust of wind stirred up by the bus. "It will take us to London at its fastest speed," Anthony introduced. "This is Mr. Ernie Prang, the bus driver. And this is the conductor, the little owl." "Prang is related to the owner of the owl shop," a well-informed Hufflepuff girl whispered to her classmates. "Look at his glasses, look at his face—they both have that 'owl-like appearance.'"
The owl, hanging upside down from a horizontal bar like a bat, turned its head and scrutinized them with a serious gaze reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. The Hufflepuff immediately clamped her mouth shut and straightened her posture. "Seventeen people, from here to London Euston Station," Anthony said to the owl. The owl examined them, plucked seventeen Galleons from Anthony's outstretched palm, tossed them into a small cloth bag nearby, and then pecked his fingers. Anthony took out three more Galleons, and only then did the owl turn its head and hoot at Ernie. "Get on board," Anthony called to the students. "Find yourselves a safe, stable seat and hold onto the handrails."
During the holiday discussions about the Banshee Chicken experiment, he had traveled back and forth between London and Hogwarts several times, experiencing various magical and non-magical modes of transportation—multiple consecutive Apparitions, using the Floo Network via Honeydukes' fireplace, trying the Knight Bus on Tom's suggestion, taking the train to a nearby Muggle town and walking for over forty minutes to Hogsmeade Village, renting a car for a road trip, and so on. "So expensive," one student said. "I'll never ride this bus on my own in my lifetime."
The bus was almost empty, with only five or six tired-looking witches and wizards covered in dust, and no other passengers. The curtains were all drawn, and light filtered into the carriage through glass stained with watermarks and dust. Chairs of various kinds were scattered by the windows. Anthony found a cushioned armchair, only to realize after sitting down that its uneven legs were tapping against the carriage floor, as if warning him in advance of the potential embarrassment during the next stop. "There are seats upstairs too!" a student exclaimed as if discovering a new world.
Several passengers looked up expressionlessly at the group of cheerful teenagers ("Do you want a biscuit, Claire?"), their hands still tightly gripping whatever they could hold onto. Anthony instructed, "Those who can ride a broomstick can go upstairs. Those who can't should stay down here."
As soon as he finished speaking, several students rushed to climb the creaky wooden stairs. Worried, Anthony followed and peeked upstairs, finding the light brighter there. A few yellowed buckets rolled in the corner, labeled "For Vomiting" with golden tape. "Why do you need to know how to ride a broomstick?" someone questioned. "Because it's more bumpy upstairs," the girl who seemed very familiar with the Knight Bus explained. "If you can't ride a broomstick, it's harder to rescue you if you crash through the glass and fly out." She was Claire Tilley, a fifth-year Hufflepuff student. Anthony remembered that she had once earnestly told him on an exam paper last semester that a microwave was a stove with small wave patterns carved on its edge. "Sit down and hold on tight," Anthony raised his voice to remind them. "Unless someone wants to crush their crème brûlée in their bag!" "Is everyone seated?" Ernie asked in a low voice. Without waiting for an answer, with a deafening bang, the Knight Bus started moving. The cloth bag filled with heavy gold coins clanged against an iron bar and was then flung out during a violent jolt, nearly hitting a student.
The disheveled little owl rushed over at an astonishing speed, grabbed the heavy bag, and tossed it onto Ernie's lap. After that, it flew gracefully through the group of toppling teenagers and contentedly hung upside down at the very back of the carriage. "It's really—ouch—expensive!" a Ravenclaw said, the end of his sentence rising an octave as his chair nearly tipped over. "And—why—is it—so—bumpy!" "This is the Knight Bus," Anthony said calmly through gritted teeth, firmly gripping the nearby candlestick holder. "It's the fastest and most unreasonable bus I've ever seen. We'll experience a regular bus later—I believe you'll notice the contrast."
The Ravenclaw student turned pale, taking deep breaths. "Seventeen people need twenty Galleons… seventeen people need twenty Galleons… that's, uh…" "One Galleon and three Sickles per person," Anthony said. "The price has gone up. Last time, it only cost one Galleon from London to Hogsmeade Village."
Ernie turned around and asked, "Where did you board last time? Diagon Alley?" "Yes," Anthony replied, watching nervously as the bus headed straight toward a post office by the street. The post office jumped aside in a huff. "Diagon Alley and Euston are not the same stop," Ernie explained, finally turning his gaze back to the road and spotting a residential building that had dodged aside. A woman was leaning out of her window, elbow resting on the sill, holding a phone between her head and shoulder, watching the street—the direction from which the Knight Bus was charging—with boredom. Her house jumped away and back, but she remained completely unaware.
Without a word, Ernie sharply turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction. The bus swerved, charging toward the other side like a drunkard, with flower beds and street trees making way. Even though he had seen it before, Anthony couldn't help but find the scene astonishing. Behind him, a student gasped in surprise. Anthony turned around just in time to see him mumbling as he picked himself up from the floor. Pumpkin juice, like flowing gold, traced every unexpected turn of the bus. Nearby students were frantically picking up their bags from the floor or scrambling to retrieve themselves after being flung aside. "Scourgify," Anthony said, putting away his wand and reminding them again, "Be careful."
Before the echo of his words faded, the bus came to a sudden, screeching halt. Amidst the ear-piercing friction noise, at least half a dozen students were thrown forward. A wizard sitting in the corner also fell off his chair. After hitting something, the strange, eyeball-like objects in his arms suddenly exploded, one after another, crackling like firecrackers. Anthony clung to the luggage rack, barely managing not to fall.
Amidst the chaos, Ernie raised his voice and said, "Belfast, Ms. Marsh." Ms. Marsh, pale-faced, wobbled to her feet clutching her handbag and hurriedly left with unsteady steps. A few students tried to help her as she passed, but she refused them all. "I'm a regular customer, dear," she said to Claire.
The students watched as the regular customer got off the bus, listening to her vomiting violently outside. Before anyone could react, the door slammed shut with a clang. The next second, another bang echoed, and the seats that had slid to the front of the carriage now slid to the back. Thomas let out a yelp—he had been eating a doughnut and was crushed by the seat in front of him, causing condensed milk and chocolate sauce to splatter everywhere.
Ernie's voice drifted leisurely from the driver's seat: "Two extra Sickles for a towel." "Is everyone alright?" Anthony asked, holding onto the corner railing. One moment, they were beside a residential building in some neighborhood; the next, mountains were rapidly receding outside the bus windows.
Thomas licked his upper lip. "Not good, Professor." Anthony found tissues in his bag, tossed them to Thomas, and sat back down in his seat.
Immediately afterward, the bus took a sharp turn—or drifted, depending on whether one was willing to acknowledge reality—and Anthony heard strange noises from the upper deck, as if someone had suddenly stuffed a flea the size of a puppy into the bus. Something was hopping around tirelessly on the floor above.
Everyone looked up at the ceiling. As the Knight Bus jolted and swayed, one student advised another, "Look for heavier chairs—they're less likely to tip over." Someone nearby said, "Look for shorter ones—the short ones haven't tipped over." She was sitting on something resembling a garden bench, only shorter. Any shorter, and it would be practically on the floor. "Might as well lie on the floor then," the student receiving the advice grumbled unhappily. Her pumpkin juice had also spilled, and her apple pie had hit a classmate's face during one of the sudden stops.
With a beautiful, cheerful turn, the bus swung its carriage, and this time, only two or three students needed to pick themselves up from the floor. The thing hopping around above their heads finally bounced over to the small opening and rolled down the wooden stairs. It was a crystal ball.
With a creak, the bus stopped again. "Southampton," Ernie said.
No one paid him any attention. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the crystal ball, which was still bouncing gleefully on the floor. Ernie repeated, "Southampton, Mr. Leeson." The little owl flew over to the passenger clutching the eyeball-like objects and screeched piercingly. "Oh, right, yes, sorry…" Mr. Leeson said hurriedly, gathering his things and passing by the crystal ball. Then— "Ah!" he cried out in fright, squeezing the remaining objects in his hands until they exploded. "The Grim, the Grim! I knew it—but surely not today! No, it can't be today…" He stood there dumbfounded, his face pale, amidst the cheerful explosions.
Anthony asked in confusion, "What Grim?" "He must have seen the Grim in the crystal ball," a student who had taken Divination class told him. "The Grim is symbolized by a large black dog. It follows the person it has chosen relentlessly until it bites their throat. It means… death."
A student squatting beside the crystal ball looked up uneasily. "I saw the Grim too… much clearer than what I saw in class…" Anthony stood up and quickly walked over to pick up the crystal ball. Amidst the swirling silver-white mist, even his untrained, mortal eyes could vaguely make out the figure of a black dog. "I saw it too," he announced, causing several students to gasp. "So, two possibilities: we will all die from misfortune—by the way, that's impossible," because he had already died from misfortune, "or," he picked up the crystal ball, "this is just a crystal ball that makes people see a black dog." "It's the latter," a dreamy voice came from the wooden stairs. There stood a witch dressed like a diviner, holding a dirty, patchwork bag.
She smiled politely and mysteriously at those looking at her, maintaining the ethereal, airy voice of a diviner: "Everyone sees the Grim in it." "What? Why?" Mr. Leeson cried out. Cold sweat kept streaming down his forehead, already soaking his handkerchief. "Southampton!" Ernie said. The little owl was still screeching, pecking at Mr. Leeson's bald head and ears, but he ignored it.
Ernie muttered, "Alright, one day I'll hire a young lad as the conductor to kick off anyone who doesn't get off at their stop." Mr. Leeson insisted, "Why?"
The witch looked somewhat confused. "Because I stuffed a model of a black dog inside when I made the crystal ball," she said calmly. "Crystal balls of misfortune are quite popular in the market." Mr. Leeson said angrily, "This is outrageous! I almost thought I was going to die!" "Everyone will die," the witch said in her ethereal voice. "Your earlier thought was correct." "I meant today!" "That's still possible, you know."
Mr. Leeson glared at her, panting heavily for a moment, then suddenly gave up. "You're insane," he muttered, turning to Anthony. "Thank you, sir. I don't know how to express my gratitude…" He rummaged in his bag (almost his entire arm disappearing inside) and pulled out a bottle of dark purple liquid. "This is an extract of venom from seven types of snakes—extremely deadly. I don't dare carry it with me anymore. If you want it, it's yours."
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