Pages from the Turning Times Book I: The Cycle of the Serpent

CHAPTER 2. THE TRAIN RIDE. DESTINY´S CHILD. DESTINY´S CHOICE.

The train station was bustling with people the following day. Businessmen, families, lovers, friends... everyone seemed to be at the train station on Sundays. And Gryffindor Solomon found himself mixing it up with the crowd. Accompanied by his parents: a father who was pushing a cart filled with baggage and a mother who was trying so hard to keep her tears from falling, Gryffindor braved the mass of humanity on the way to Platforms 9 and 10. It seemed he was racing against an invisible foe, his excitement pumping his adrenaline and making him push forward against the crowd.

"Slow down son," his father finally said, "your mom and I can´t keep up with you."

"But dad, the train leaves in ten minutes," Gryffindor answered without looking back to his parents who were getting left behind.

His pace paid off. He reached Platform 9 a few seconds later, with his parents trudging at his wake. Whew, with relief he silently sighed, the day of reckoning has arrived! For many years in this very station, Gryffindor had envied those who were on their way to Hogwarts. Students who lined up to rush against a seemingly rock solid pillar between this Platform 9 and the next, only to disappear upon collision and re-emerge in a secret station known to the wizard world as Platform 9 ¾. This station has always been a source of pride for the magic community. A platform within a platform, a station within a station, a magical place right under the muggles´ nose, and yet, they have never had a clue of its existence.

Gryffindor was met by a long line of children his age who were waiting for their turn to run through the wall between Platform 9 and 10. They were a mixed lot, Gryffindor thought. Some looked normal. Others looked quite strange. A number of them were accompanied by their loved ones. They were exchanging farewells. Some with tears, and some with proud smiles. This made him seek his parents´ faces, all of a sudden curious on how they were taking his impending departure. He turned around and on the side of an iron bench stood his folks. His father was a picture of fulfillment. His son was going to Hogwarts to write his own history in the magic world. His mother has failed to contain her tears, as she wept with no shame, occasionally leaning her head on his father´s burly chest, looking for comfort and reassurance. It was then when Gryffindor realized that farewells weren´t all harbingers of new beginnings, for there were things so dear that certainly had to give way.

He smiled at them, a final smile until the next summer. And with his smile came a silent promise that he would do his best with his every endeavor and that he would soon come home to them, a better son and someone true to the name they have given. He turned to face the wall. It was his turn to step into the hidden station. He firmly held the handle of his cart and ran like he never ran before.

And out the other side he came with full speed, his dash broken by a boy who stood in awe at the other end. They both came crashing down to the floor, their things fell and scattered all over. They made quite a noise that the other students took notice. Realizing the amusing accident, the students shrugged off the incident with laughter, as they continued in boarding the train.

"What in a bludger´s thump are you doing standing around like that?" Gryffindor asked furiously, as he fixed his glasses.

"Oh, I´m very sorry, little sir," said the boy as he picked himself up. He was a tall and skinny lad, almost twice Gryffindor's height. His hair was so thin and scarcely spaced that he seemed to be bald. He offered Gryffindor a hand.

"Shivering snitches! We made quite a scene," said Gryffindor, as he picked himself up, refusing the gangly boy´s help, "you should be more careful next time."

"I´m so sorry, little sir, it was just that I was left amazed seeing the Hogwarts Express for the very first time," the tall boy said as he helped Gryffindor in picking up his things.

"I guess that´s understandable," answered Gryffindor, taking a peek at the marvelous sight of the legendary train. He understood why the other boy was paralyzed with fascination.

Hogwarts Express, a century and a half old, ferried students to Hogwarts on the first day of every September without fail. A century and a half old and not once did it need the minutest repair. That´s how sturdy the train was. It shined with the fieriness of polished black, and Gryffindor imagined how sleek and elegant it would look when it was running in full steam, breaking the wind like a speeding bullet of the blackest armor.

"By the way, my name is Ontario Wood, little sir," the tall boy interrupted, extending his big but slender hands.

Wood? What an appropriate name, Gryffindor thought. He´s like a bamboo to be exact, tall, skinny and pitiably fragile-looking. Such idea prompted him to repress an amused smile.

"Ahhh...errrrr....my name is Gryffindor, Gryffindor Solomon," he finally said.

Just before he could shake Ontario´s hand, Hogwarts Express sounded its loud whistle of released steam. It was preparing to depart! And they are the only ones who have yet to board the train! They moved with swiftest motion they could muster, Ontario a pathetic sight with his lanky frame. They never managed to arrange their things, as they used all their available limbs to carry them and rush for the door.

They made it just in time, for as soon as they boarded the Express, the doors closed and the train started to chug in an ascending motion that instantly made the duo feel sick, seemingly splattering their intestines all over the floor.

As soon as they recovered a little of their senses, they realized something they never thought was possible.

Hogwarts Express was flying.

ooo000ooo

Rebecca tried to contain her nervousness. It as the very first time her body left the ground for more than a second. Sure, she was fascinated with Quidditch and the trendiest broomsticks, but that didn´t have to mean that she was obliged to live the objects of her fancies. Truth is, she was afraid of heights. Not the fear that drives one´s mind away, but rather a discomforting fear that takes her out of her proper sensibilities. The fact that her cousins occupied another compartment complicated the matter. She was sitting by the window, as London shrank to the size of a map and the whitest clouds drowned the sky like a cotton blanket.

In front of her was a total stranger. A boy. His eyes were closed as if he was meditating. Or was he sleeping? Probably, he just kept his eyes closed because he was afraid of the flight just like her. Nevertheless, this gave Rebecca the chance to observe him. He looked very dignified, he must´ve come from a reputable family, she thought. His hair was neatly short. His eyes, though closed, looked very serious. He didn´t seem to be type who smiles a lot. He doesn´t look friendly as well.

A small turbulence disrupted the train´s aviation. Rebecca held the edge of her couch tightly, slipping a little from her desire not to show the slightest trace of fear. When the turbulence ceased, she noticed something fall from the boy´s bag, which was placed beside his seat. The boy still had his eyes closed, unmoved by the disruption.

Rebecca looked at the object that fell. It was a talisman of rusty gold. Was it magical, she wondered? Or was it merely a family crest, a memento so he would not forget? It was a strange talisman. It wasn´t adorned with the usual marking of Latin words. Rather, a simple symbol was embossed on it. A bolt of lightning.

She decided to put it back beside its owner. She stood and bent over to pick it up. The talisman was warm, which was quite unusual considering it was cold in the altitude they were in.

"Stealing is a crime," the boy suddenly said without opening his eyes, to Rebecca´s surprise.

"W-what? Ah, er, you´ve got it all wrong, I wasn´t trying to stea-," Rebecca started to reason, but was abruptly cut short when the boy finally opened his eyes devoid of warmth.

"And meddling with something that is not yours is far from noble," he coldly said.

Rebecca did not know whether she´ll feel embarrassed or angered by what just transpired. She grudgingly placed the talisman on top of the boy´s bag and returned to her seat. She eyed the boy with silent fury, as the boy gave him an intensely blank stare. His look felt more uncomfortable than her fear of heights, that Rebecca allowed her eyes to roam around, trying to convey her disgust over his accusations. She managed to see the nameplate on the chest pocket of the boy´s folded-up robe beside his bag. The boy´s name was Harry. Harry Timberfolk.

"Mr. Timberfolk," she finally said, "if I didn´t pick up your medallion, further atmospheric disturbances would have plodded it down the compartment beyond your knowing presence," she condescendingly continued.

"Ms. Weasley, it might be for your better information to know that the said medallion is magical, and it always, always, comes back to the person who owns it," Harry said.

Rebecca was aghast. How did he know her name? She almost smacked her head for her perceived stupidity when she realized that her own nameplate was displayed on her robe, which hung near the window.

"Are you always that haughty?" she asked, not knowing nor thinking what else to say.

"Only when called for," was his unfriendly reply.

This Harry Timberfolk was so irritating, Rebecca thought. Whatever name his family had made for themselves would surely be lost with his arrogant ways, she concluded for certain.

"You seem to be the honest type," she sarcastically said, thinking that perhaps his misguided sense of nobility would be his undoing. "What´s the insignia on your medallion supposed to mean?" she asked.

"It´s...." he said, pausing after the word. He broke his stare and started to look outside the window.

"It´s?" Rebecca asked, partly curious and partly satisfied believing that she had pushed the arrogant boy to a corner.

"It´s none of your business," he answered a strange mixture of indifference and annoyance.

Rebecca was fuming mad, and was trying her best to remain civil. Luckily, she consoled herself with the fact that since Hogwarts Express had taken to the skies, such would certainly make the trip much shorter. Every second with Harry Timberfolk was a century of exasperating uneasiness. She can´t stand him, and at that point, she had no fonder wish than to alight from the train.

But something played in Rebecca´s mind. That insignia. That lightning bolt. Surely, she had read or heard something about it before. Something legendary which she can´t seem to remember. Was it from a Daily Prophet article? Or a history book? Or from a tale told over and over to children and adults alike?

Or was it from an unwanted rumor that unreasonably festered into an ill-advised fact? If such were the case, then that fact was an ugly lad pitifully named Harry Timberfolk, she mischievously thought.

Rebecca tried to stifle a smile the rest of the journey.

ooo000ooo

The train landed shortly before noon. Busy young bodies alighted from the Express, excited about the wonders that awaited them. A jumble of students they were, from first year to seventh. The neophytes were the most anxious. It will be their first year at Hogwarts after all.

Polaris, Vega and Thubian Weasley met Rebecca near the door of the eighth compartment, giggling and exchanging smiles as well as stories about their first flying locomotive ride and the myriad characters they met. It seemed like they haven´t seen each other for ages, when in fact, they have been apart for but two hours.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my," Vega deliriously shouted. "Wasn´t it a wonderful treat! We were flying! We were so near the clouds! They looked like Cloud Factory´s cotton candies!"

"Stupid," Polaris said, almost as if on cue. "Cloud Factory cotton candies are really made out of clouds."

"If you say so, Miss Smarty Polly," Vega said with a sigh. "By the way Rebecca, have you heard of the gossip?"

"What gossip?" Rebecca asked.

"That Harry Porter´s grandson is attending Hogwarts with us!" Vega exclaimed.

"Harry POTTER!" Polaris corrected. "Don´t you know your history?"

"Oopsie, mistake is moi," Vega quipped.

"Uhm...who is Harry Potter?" Rebecca asked, a little lost while still recovering her bearings from the unpleasant trip.

"Reeeeebeeeeeeeecccccaaaaaaaaaaa!" Vega shouted, shocked about her cousin´s ignorance. "Harry Potter is like a hero! He slew dragons and ate Dark Eaters for breakfast! He had the strength of a thousand men and was so smart that he knew a million difficult spells by heart!"

"That´s right," Polaris added, one of the rare times she would agree with her sibling, "he´s so dashing and gorgeous, they say! What´s best, he was a good friend of our grandpa and grandma! They attended Hogwarts together!"

"And you know what that means right?" Vega gleefully asked.

"What?" Rebecca asked back, still a bit lost.

"That means young Mr. Potter and us could be good friends as well, just like how our grandparents were!" Vega answered, never losing her enthusiasm.

Harry Potter. Slowly, Rebecca was starting to remember. His name commanded respect and amazement from most parts of the magic world. She remembered a vintage broomstick that was actually named after him, The Harry Potter Edge 2000-2007. He was a legend, his exploits adorned many children´s books and conjured fantastic tales of bravery and discipline. He was mentioned many times in Under School, as being the Herald of the Age of Light.

"So..." Rebecca began to ask, "if he was a hero and he was our grandparents´ friend, then does that mean that he´s also partly responsible for the Triumph of the Order?"

"Actually," Thubian, who was silent all this time, started to speak before her sisters could utter a word, "He was PRIMARILY responsible for the Triumph of the Order. He was the one chosen by the Phoenix and he was the last bearer of Godric Gryffindor´s fabled sword."

"Baloney!" Polaris shouted. "That´s not what grandpa said! Grandpa said that he was the wielder of Gryffindor´s sword and it was by his hands that the dark lord was banished!"

"Grandpa also said that he had to ward off every girl at Hogwarts so that he could focus on his studies," Thubian replied, "which, upon a sincere perusal is remotely possible."

Polaris was about to respond, but she realized that she had nothing in mind to refute Thubian´s words.

"Anyway," Rebecca interrupted to break the building tension between the sisters, a role she was already accustomed to, "this Harry Potter, didn´t he have a distinguishing mark that made people aware of whom he was?"

"Yes," Thubian answered, "a scar on his forehead, the shape of lightning."

"So was that like a pass he bore to entitle him to discounts at Diagon Alley?" Rebecca humorously asked. "Does he go on saying `Hi, look at my scar, give me a loaf of pepper pretzels with that´ while protruding his forehead for everyone to see?" she added, mimicking a manly voice while demonstrating.

The girls giggled once more and laughed at Rebecca´s anecdote. They laughed and laughed and laughed, unmindful of the students who were slowly forming a mass of young humanity in the end station of Hogwarts Express´ trail. Amid their laughter, Rebecca caught a glimpse of someone who was alighting the train. It was the annoying boy who sat before her during the trip, who accused her of being a thief, and treated her like a disposable child who knew nothing at all. He was the one named Harry Timberfolk. The boy who had the medallion with a lightning bolt insignia.

Lightning bolt.

Harry.

Grandson.

Rebecca´s face turned pale as her mouth drooped while watching the boy, as dignified as she always perceived him to be, descending the steps of the eighth compartment, with a kind of class that belied his age. He looked regal with his robes on, yet remained as arrogant as he was during the ride. Her cousins ceased their laughter as they noticed her strange disposition. They worriedly asked her what´s wrong, but Rebecca could not hear them. She was still inundated with disbelief that she actually talked to Harry Potter´s grandson. She actually talked to Harry Potter´s grandson!

What her cousins failed to achieve, a stranger´s tap on her shoulder succeeded in claiming. She was awakened from her star-struck trance, and returned to reality. She turned her face to see the person who lightly rapped her from her daze.

And her face turned paler, albeit remaining in a conscious state of shock this time.

It was Henry, the queer boy from the broomstick store! He was smiling at her, not shyly this time, while carrying his bags.

"You´re such a poor liar," the boy gaily said.

And Rebecca could only answer with a distorted smile of her own.

ooo000ooo

Shortly upon descending from the train, Gryffindor and Ontario found themselves scurrying to fix their things disorganized by their accident-marred meeting and their race to catch the train. Words like "I think this is yours" and "give me that" dominated their discussion as they concerned themselves with checking if all their belongings were present. They were unmindful of the throng of students that gathered around them. They had suffered much humiliation today that they had no more pride to spare.

After they made themselves sure that everything was properly organized, they both heaved a sigh of relief. Now, nothing could stop them from attending their first day at Hogwarts, they mused.

An old man, who looked healthy for his age, approached the students. He was being led by a sickly dog who was guiding the way for him through a thin chain attached to its collar. The man wore a funny looking green hat, like that of a Leprechaun's, Gryffindor thought. Not that he has seen a Leprechaun, but he was familiar with them through the illustrations in the Children´s Compendium of Fantastic Fables. The old man had a crooked nose and was gamely smiling. As he got closer, Gryffindor, as well as most of the students, realized why the dog was faithfully leading him. He was blind.

"First Year Students, follow me laddies and lasses!" he commandingly shouted without losing his smile.

And so the first year students gathered in a makeshift line and started marching with the old man towards what looked like a pier.

"You see the waters now, eh?" the old man said. "I would too, if I could see," he added with a laugh, but no one laughed with him. "We will ride some boats. Ten students per boat. Don´t dare overload, least `ye be sunk in the waters and be swallowed by tiger squids and lake trolls."

There were exhaled breaths of horror from some of the students, but Gryffindor remained steadfast. Just follow the instructions, he reminded himself, and everything will turn out well.

As soon as the students rode them, the boats magically moved even when no one was rowing. The journey to Hogwarts was nearing its end. The murky waters still managed to reflect the clear blue sky. It was a funny thought for Gryffindor. Despite the blackish color of the lake, filled with foul creatures and the likes, it still captured upon its surface the beauty of something as pure as the noontime heavens. He could have spent the entire day musing on the paradox that was presented, but he tried to dismiss such thought with the prospect of finally stepping into the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

But as much as he tried, the thought clung to him the entire ride.