The train ride from London to Hogwarts felt like it was dragging on for an absolute eternity. In the first few hours, Scott and Roger had plenty of energy, bouncing from one topic to the next. They debated upcoming Quidditch tactics, argued over which elective classes would be the biggest waste of time, and shared standard summer gossip. But after half a day cooped up in a single compartment, even their endless supply of conversation finally ran dry.
The rhythmic, hypnotic rocking of the Hogwarts Express paired with the steady hum of the iron tracks did the rest, lulling both boys into a deep, heavy sleep, their heads propped awkwardly against the cushioned seats.
When Scott finally blinked his eyes open, the world outside had completely transformed. The brilliant gold of the afternoon sun was long gone, replaced by a moody, deep indigo sky that was rapidly dissolving into pitch black. Inside the compartment, the dim overhead lights cast a warm glow, turning the windowpane into a dark mirror. Outside, the sweeping hills of the Scottish countryside rushed past as nothing more than massive, silent shadows against the night.
Then, a magically magnified voice echoed clearly through the corridors, cutting through the sleepy haze of the train.
"We will be arriving at Hogsmeade Station in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be collected and transported to the castle separately."
That single announcement acted like an electric shock, sparking life back into the quiet train. All down the corridor, you could hear the rustle of robes and the excited chatter of waking students. Scott let out a long, quiet yawn, stretching his stiff muscles before reaching into his pocket to check his watch. Right on cue, the train began to lose momentum. The heavy metal wheels let out a low, protesting screech against the tracks as the locomotive prepared to berth.
Beside him, Roger groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and violently stretching his arms toward the ceiling. He leaned closer to the glass, squinting out into the darkness. Just ahead, the tiny, warm lights of Hogsmeade village flickered into view, looking like a handful of stars that had tumbled out of the sky and scattered across the valley.
"Tell me we're finally here," Roger muttered, his voice still thick and raspy from sleep.
Scott slid his pocket watch back into place and stood up, offering his friend a wry smile. "Come on, lazy bones. Let's move."
Roger nodded, giving his crumpled school robes a quick, sharp tug to smooth out the wrinkles before stepping out after Scott. The corridor was already a bottleneck of teenagers. Everyone was talking at once, the nervous, electric energy of a new school year filling the tight space as they waited impatiently for the train to come to a full stop.
With one final, piercing blast of the steam whistle that shook the air, the Hogwarts Express rolled to a smooth, decisive halt.
The heavy compartment doors slid open in rapid succession, and a massive wave of students poured out onto the open-air platform, instantly greeted by a rush of crisp, biting evening air. Scott and Roger managed to navigate their way off with the very first wave, stepping onto the familiar stone platform and taking a quick breath of the fresh mountain air before pushing through the swelling crowd.
Instead of loitering around the platform like the others, the two boys knew the drill. They bypassed the main congestion entirely and headed straight for the exit, where a long line of old, weathered wooden carriages was waiting to ferry the older students to the school. Their trunks and owls would be taken care of by the school staff, just like every year before.
But while the older students were moving with practiced ease, the opposite side of the platform was pure, unadulterated chaos.
A truly massive figure stood near the edge of the dark tracks, completely dwarfing the crowd around him. Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, was an impossible sight to miss. Standing head and shoulders above the tallest adults, his giant frame loomed large in the darkness. He held a massive, magically enchanted brass lantern high over his head, its brilliant golden light cutting through the gloom like a lighthouse beacon for the terrified, freezing first-years.
His booming voice rolled across the entire station, loud enough to make the windowpanes vibrate.
"First-years! First-years, over here! Don't be shy, follow me!"
A sea of small, wide-eyed eleven-year-olds began to scramble toward him. They looked incredibly tiny, practically dragging heavy trunks that were half their size and clutching cages containing startled owls, agitated cats, and the occasional escaping toad. Most of them looked utterly terrified and completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of their new reality, their eyes darting wildly around the dark station as they tried desperately not to lose sight of the giant.
Watching the spectacle from a safe distance, Roger couldn't help but let out a sudden snort of laughter. "Just look at them."
Scott turned his attention toward the front of the station. Hagrid was already turning around, slowly leading the massive, disorganized pack of children away from the platform. The golden lantern swayed gently above his massive shoulders while the sea of first-years scrambled madly after him, trying their absolute best to keep up with his massive strides.
Roger grinned, shook his head, and gave a low chuckle. "I swear, Hagrid looks exactly like a stressed-out mother ostrich trying to herd a flock of confused ducklings."
The laughter hadn't even fully died down before Scott shot him a dry, unamused look.
"If my memory serves me right, you used to be one of those exact same ducklings, Roger."
Roger clicked his tongue, throwing his hands up in mock offense, but Scott couldn't quite keep the amused twitch off the corner of his lips. As ridiculous as the mental image was, Roger wasn't entirely wrong. A few older students walking nearby caught the tail end of the comment and burst into chuckles, which naturally caused Roger to puff out his chest like he had just delivered the absolute comedy set of the century.
Before Roger's ego could get any bigger, Scott's attention shifted to a familiar figure approaching them from the bustling crowd behind.
"Good evening, Penelope."
The young witch smiled warmly, picking up her pace to catch up with their stride.
Penelope Clearwater, a sixth-year Ravenclaw just like Scott and Roger, was widely known as one of the brightest minds in their entire year. She also happened to wear a shiny prefect badge on her robes, a role she fit perfectly thanks to her sharp intellect and notoriously calm, approachable vibe. Her thick, bouncing curls of brown hair framed a pretty face that almost always wore a gentle, welcoming expression.
"Good evening, Scott," Penelope greeted smoothly, before cutting her eyes over to Roger, unable to hide a soft, muffled laugh behind her hand. "And Roger... honestly, you really never miss an opportunity to show off, do you?"
Roger instantly slapped a hand over his heart, looking profoundly honored by the attention.
"Why, thank you for such high praise, Miss Clearwater," he drew out dramatically, following it up with a theatrical, low bow that belonged on a West End stage rather than a chaotic, muddy train platform.
Penelope broke into another fit of genuine giggles. "I swear, you are absolutely impossible."
Amused by the familiar banter, the three Ravenclaws climbed up the steps of one of the waiting carriages, settling onto the worn leather seats. The carriage mechanism groaned, just about to pull away, when the frantic sound of hurried, heavy footsteps echoed from the gravel path behind them.
"W-Wait! Hold the door!"
A tall, lanky boy with violently bright red hair practically lunged inside, breathing heavily as if he'd just sprinted a marathon from London. After hurriedly latching the carriage door behind him to secure his spot, he slid into the empty seat right next to Penelope, trying—and failing—to look nonchalant.
"G-Good evening, Penelope."
The greeting itself was polite, but the unmistakable crack and slight stammer in his voice made his sudden spike in nervousness hilariously obvious.
Penelope, ever the picture of textbook grace, offered him the exact same composed smile she gave everyone. "Good evening, Percy."
The flustered newcomer was Percy Weasley, a sixth-year Gryffindor who shared a notoriously heavy workload of advanced classes with Penelope.
The moment the name left Penelope's lips, Roger slowly, deliberately turned his head toward Scott. Without uttering a single syllable, he began vigorously wiggling his eyebrows up and down with all the subtlety of a rogue fireworks display.
'There is absolutely, one hundred percent something going on between those two.'
Scott didn't even need to be a master of Legilimency to read the blindingly obvious neon sign flashing in Roger's eyes. He simply rolled his own eyes, giving his best friend a completely blank, deadpan stare.
'Tell me something I don't already know, mate.'
Roger had to forcefully bite the inside of his cheek, his shoulders shaking as he fought to suppress a loud snort.
Only after settling his robes did Percy finally seem to register that Scott and Roger were actually sitting directly across from him. Instantly, his spine went rigidly straight. He lifted his chin high, his shoulders squaring as he slipped into the stiff, overly formal persona he wore like a shield.
"Good evening, Davies. Trollope."
His tone was perfectly courteous, though it carried that distinct, slightly pompous edge of someone trying way too hard to sound like a high-ranking Ministry official instead of a sixteen-year-old schoolboy.
"Good evening, Weasley," Scott and Roger chimed back in unison. Their voices were polite enough to pass inspection, but neither of them sounded particularly thrilled about the sudden company.
The awkward pleasantries ended just as quickly as they started. As the carriage gave a sudden, heavy lurch forward and began rolling away from the chaos of Hogsmeade Station, Percy subtly leaned in closer to Penelope. He began speaking to her in a low, hushed murmur, his strict posture melting away just a fraction.
With the two of them clearly locked into their own private world, Scott and Roger exchanged a highly amused, knowing glance before deliberately looking away to give them some space.
"So," Roger said, leaning back and stretching his legs out to break the silence on their side of the carriage. "Have you finally decided to change up your electives this term?"
Scott shook his head without a moment's hesitation. "Not a chance."
Ever since the start of his third year, Scott had been locked into the same trio: Study of Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. It was a brutal schedule for most, but he saw absolutely no reason to mess with a combination that suited his strengths perfectly.
Roger, on the other hand, let out a heavy sigh, looking thoroughly stressed. For the past week, he had been caught in a vicious cycle of overthinking, going back and forth on whether he should drop one of his heavier elective subjects before the term officially kicked off. But no matter how many times he weighed the pros and cons, he simply couldn't make up his mind.
"I regret every single life choice that brought me to this exact moment," Roger groaned dramatically, slumping so far down into his seat he looked like he might slide right onto the carriage floor. "I never should've picked Divination. Turns out Professor Trelawney was completely right about one thing, I don't possess even a microscopic speck of the Inner Eye."
He let out another heavily defeated sigh, staring blankly at the carriage ceiling.
"When I signed up for it, I thought it sounded cool. Mysterious, you know? Turns out it's just me staring into damp tea leaves that stubbornly refuse to tell me anything other than the fact that I'm terrible at making tea."
Scott couldn't help but chuckle at his best friend's misery. Roger had jumped into Divination purely out of curiosity, but the class had a legendary reputation for driving students completely up the wall. Unlike Charms or Transfiguration, where raw effort and endless practice actually paid off, Divination was brutal. Without a natural, innate talent for catching glimpses of the future, you could study the textbooks until your eyes bled and still make absolutely zero progress.
"You know," Scott pointed out, leaning forward slightly, "you don't actually have to suffer through it. You could always just drop the class."
Roger popped his head up, a sudden spark of hope finally returning to his eyes.
"Just go talk to Professor Flitwick first thing tomorrow," Scott continued. "He's our Head of House and always reasonable. I'm sure he'll sign off on the schedule change without a second thought."
Roger weighed the option for a brief moment before giving a firm, decisive nod. "Yeah... yeah, you're totally right. I think that's exactly what I'm going to do. Life is way too short to spend it deciphering soggy leaves."
"Oh? Are you boys discussing the merits of Divination?"
Percy's voice suddenly cut into their conversation like a sharp blade, completely uninvited. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, immediately adopting the strict, matter-of-fact tone he used for practically everything.
"Professor McGonagall has stated on several distinct occasions that Professor Trelawney is a complete and utter fraud," Percy declared, pausing a beat for dramatic effect to ensure he had their full attention. "That being said, if you are looking at it from a purely strategic standpoint, it is actually one of the easiest classes in the entire curriculum to secure top marks."
Roger blinked, entirely caught off guard. "It is?"
Percy nodded with supreme, absolute confidence.
"Extremely so. During your examinations, all you have to do is predict some sort of dreadful, horrific fate for yourself. The more spectacularly tragic your supposed demise is, the more thoroughly impressed Professor Trelawney seems to be. She absolutely eats it up."
He flashed a small, highly satisfied smile, looking thoroughly pleased with himself for bestowing what he clearly believed was invaluable academic wisdom upon the masses.
Scott and Roger exchanged a swift, telling glance across the carriage but wisely chose to keep their mouths shut. The awkward silence stretched on for a few painful seconds before Percy, apparently uncomfortable with the quiet, decided it was the perfect time to drop another conversational bomb.
"I achieved twelve O.W.L.s last term, you know."
There wasn't even a microscopic hint of modesty in his voice. It was a pure, unadulterated flex.
Penelope offered a polite, practiced smile, though Scott didn't miss the subtle tightening around her eyes, the universal sign of mild secondary embarrassment.
"Oh, I know you did wonderfully, Percy," Penelope said softly. Realizing the atmosphere in the carriage had suddenly plummeted into peak awkwardness, she smoothly steered the conversation in a completely different direction. "So... how was everyone's summer holiday?"
Without even waiting for a response, she immediately launched into a lighthearted, funny story about her own summer break, effortlessly pulling Percy's intense focus away from the two Ravenclaw boys.
Scott and Roger were more than happy to let her take the wheel. For the remainder of the journey, the carriage ride passed in relative tranquility. Neither boy said much else, content to look out the dark windows as the grand, familiar silhouette of Hogwarts Castle grew larger and more breathtaking against the starry night sky.
A few minutes later, the carriage finally ground to a halt right in front of the colossal oak doors leading into the castle's entrance hall. The very second the wheels stopped moving, Scott and Roger were out the door, moving with an urgency that bordered on a prison break.
They set off toward the Great Hall at a brisk, determined pace, putting a very healthy, comfortable distance between themselves and the carriage they had just successfully escaped.
Roger let out a massive, theatrical breath, running a hand through his hair. "The beautiful Miss Clearwater," he sighed, shaking his head in mock mourning. "The literal pride and joy of Ravenclaw house... and somehow, she possesses the most tragically horrific taste in men imaginable."
Scott let out a quiet, amused laugh.
"I mean, seriously!" Roger continued, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I know Weasley was genuinely trying to be helpful back there, and look, I appreciate the exam tip. I really do. But Merlin's beard... does the bloke have even a single shred of tact in his entire body?"
Scott simply smiled, choosing not to answer. Instead, his eyes instinctively drifted toward the dimly lit stone path behind them.
Someone was gaining on them.
A few seconds later, a short, stocky boy came jogging up from the gloom, slightly out of breath but sporting a massively eager grin. Without a single shred of hesitation or respect for personal space, he wedged himself right between Scott and Roger, hooking his arms through theirs as if he'd been part of the walk the entire time.
"Evening, lads!"
He turned his face toward Scott, his eyes shining with open, unbothered curiosity. "Seriously, Scott, how do you always manage to notice people before they're even close to you? You spotted me before I was anywhere near your radar."
Then, completely ignoring his own question and giving Scott zero time to formulate a reply, he swept right along to the next burning topic on his mind.
"Oh, and by the way..." He glanced back and forth between the two older Ravenclaws, his grin turning decidedly mischievous. "Were you two just gossiping about Penelope's boyfriend, Percy Weasley?"
Roger stared at the younger boy for a beat, completely stunned, before letting out a massive burst of laughter.
"Eddie, you are seriously unbelievable," he said, shaking his head in pure amusement. "You've always got your nose buried in someone else's business. Sometimes I honestly wonder if you've secretly got a dozen ears hidden under all that hair and only one mouth."
Instead of taking offense, Eddie looked like he had just been handed a prestigious award.
"Why, thank you, Roger!" He puffed his chest out proudly, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, before dropping his voice to a low, dramatic whisper. "And speaking of business... I've got something absolutely massive."
With a theatrical flourish that would have made a drama student proud, Eddie reached deep into the folds of his robes and whipped out a freshly printed newspaper. He snapped it open with a sharp, loud crack, making sure the bold print of the front page was right in Scott and Roger's faces.
"Have you heard the news yet?" Eddie asked, practically vibrating with excitement. "The Boy Who Lived and his sidekick, Weasley, completely missed the Hogwarts Express this morning!" He paused, milking the moment for maximum suspense. "The word going around... is that they flew a bloody car all the way to Hogwarts!"
"A flying car?"
Roger's eyebrows shot up. He wasted no time snatching the paper right out of Eddie's hands. It was a special late edition of the Evening Prophet. Scott leaned heavily over Roger's shoulder, his eyes immediately locking onto the massive, bold headline taking up the top half of the page:
FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES
As the three of them kept walking toward the castle doors, Roger started reading the lines aloud, his voice carrying over the chatter of the courtyard.
"'Two Muggles in London were convinced they saw an old saloon car flying over the Post Office Tower... At midday in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss, while hanging out her washing... Mr. Angus Fleet of Peebles reported to the police...'"
Hearing the words "flying car" and "Muggles," nearby students started slowing down. A few drifted closer, their ears perking up. Within seconds, a small, eager crowd had formed around the trio, moving like a pack, everyone desperate to catch the latest piece of scandalous news.
Roger skimmed through the rest of the text quickly before folding the paper shut and handing it back. "It never actually says Potter and Weasley were the ones driving it, though."
Eddie caught the paper, his confidence completely unshaken. He crossed his arms, sporting a massive, smug grin. "It doesn't need to. I'd bet my broomstick, hell, I'd bet my wand, it was them."
Right on cue, someone in the surrounding crowd spotted a familiar shock of red hair walking a few paces away.
"Oi, Weasley!" a loud voice rang out across the open courtyard. "Is it true? Did your little brother really fly a car to school?"
Instantly, every single head turned. A dozen pairs of eyes locked onto Percy. Caught completely off guard, the stiff Gryffindor froze dead in his tracks. His mouth opened slightly, his usual composed mask completely slipping, but no words came out.
But before Percy could even attempt a defensive reply, Scott suddenly stopped. His head snapped upward, his eyes locking onto the dark sky. The movement was so sharp and sudden that Roger noticed it immediately.
"Scott? What is it?"
Scott didn't say a word. He was staring intently into the heavy evening clouds. Curious, Eddie followed his gaze, squinting up into the darkness.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the quiet night air.
Then…
*Zoom!*
A bright flash of turquoise burst right through the cloud cover. An old, battered Ford Anglia came hurtling out of the night sky, diving toward the castle at a terrifying, breakneck speed. It shot directly over the grounds, its engine roaring and sputtering, barely clearing the ancient stone battlements as it streaked overhead.
For a second, the entire courtyard stood entirely frozen in pure, unadulterated disbelief.
Then, Eddie's jaw dropped. His eyes went as wide as saucers, and he pointed a shaking, frantic finger at the impossible machine tearing through the sky.
"LOOK!" his ecstatic shout echoed off the stone walls. "The flying car is actually here!"