Geneticus

CHAPTER ONE: RED-EYES AND TRAIN RIDES

The man in row 20, seat F, was rather forlorn-looking. Of course, it wasn't too surprising. Travelers on this red-eye flight hardly ever looked pleased to be where they were. They wanted to be either where they were going, or where they'd been. This particular man wanted to be where he'd been just three hours ago. He'd just left his new family, his newborn son.

In his hands were ten Polaroid photos, and he kept flipping through them, staring at the images as though they were flashcards for an upcoming exam. Woman smiling, with tears in her eyes. Infant in woman's arms, eating his dinner. Infant in his own arms. Infant alone. Infant back in woman's arms. Again and again, these pictures repeated themselves. And as he looked at them, his eyes filled with tears.

The other passengers on the plane had no idea what sort of remarkable man was in their presence. In a few hours he was going to experience something that none of his flightmates had ever dreamed, something that they would think impossible and really quite silly to think about.

The man put down his pictures and picked up a piece of paper that he'd been keeping tucked under his thigh since he sat down. His eyes traced the green ink on the page a few times, as though he wasn't completely sure he could believe what he was reading.

But, since he was on the plane just as the letter directed, there was something in the wording that made it believable. There was something in that sparkly green ink that made the man, and the woman he'd left behind, trust the words it formed.

So he'd done what the letter had said. He'd left his family, gotten on this plane, and would meet his contact at Kings Cross six hours from now. Then, assuming it was all true...well, he'd undergo the experience of a lifetime.

He slipped off to sleep and dreamt of his baby boy. In his dream, the boy grew up quickly, and before he knew it, the child was asking where his daddy was, why didn't his daddy love him? The man stirred, upset by this prospect. He tried to get the boy's attention, but for some reason the man couldn't be seen by his son. He tried to explain that he'd left for the boy's own good, that he thought they would be together again one day...but to no avail...

He woke up with a start as a flight attendant touched his shoulder.

"We're just about to begin our descent, sir," she informed him.

"Right. Thanks." She moved on to the next sleeping traveler, and he rubbed his eyes to get rid of the sleep. He glanced out the window and looked at the skyline of London glittering in the morning sun.

The plane touched down thirty minutes later without incident, and the man got off the plane, bags in hand, and hurried to find his way to Kings Cross by eleven. He almost forgot to change some money into the proper currency, but a sign at the gate of the international terminal reminded him.

Outside at the curb, he hailed a taxi, telling the diver to get to Kings Cross the fastest way he knew. The man wished he'd had more time; the quickest way was through back alleys and not scenic whatsoever.

He arrived at the station with fifteen minutes to spare; he wished, again, that he had more time, since finding the proper platform was more difficult than he expected. He'd known that he couldn't just go up an ask someone -- they'd think he was an escapee from a sanitarium -- but there were still a lot of places to look. For a while he stood between platforms 9 and 10, hoping his contact would find him, but as the clock ticked closer to eleven, he realized that he'd have to make his own move.

He began studying one of the pillars between the platforms, wondering if one of them held a staircase that led to a lesser-known one below. He'd just about given up hope when all of a sudden a great beast of a man stepped out from...inside the pillar?

"Oy there!" the enormous, bearded man said. "You Mistah Muldah?" Mr. Mulder just nodded, speechless for perhaps the third time in his life. "Good. The name's Rubeus Hagrid, Professor and Gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Call me Hagrid. Dumbledore's sent me to fetch yeh. We'll be movin' along now, the Express is due to leave momentarily."

Neither man moved.

"Oh! Right, you'll be wantin' to know how to get on the platform," Hagrid said, his face lighting up in realization.

"Does it have anything to do with walking through this stone pillar?" Mulder asked, a little grin on his face.

"You're a quick one, you are," Hagrid laughed. "Yep, let's just lean up against here like so...that's right, look casual, fancy meetin' you here and all that...now, on the count of three, push against it and grab onto me coat, just in case."

"In case of what?"

"Well, yeh are a Muggle now, and I've no idea if it'll let you in since yer not a wizard. All right then, let's give it a go...one, two...three!"

No one on platforms 9 or 10 noticed the two men disappear through a solid brick pillar. Which was for the best, really.

* * *

"Why a train, Hagrid? Why not a magic carpet or some sort of disappearing/reappearing trick? You say you're wizards, but other than that pillar thing, which could be a simple optical illusion to make it look solid...where's all the magic?"

The aforementioned train was traveling northward into Scotland, carrying its two passengers away from the hustle and bustle of the Muggle-ridden London and to the Wizard-ruled Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Well," Hagrid explained, "magic carpets aren't allowed in Britain, actually. Carpets are a Muggle object, yeh see. There's summat in the law 'bout that. And only fully-trained Wizards can Apparate. Yeh have to pass a test." Hagrid paused for a moment as he thought. "There's other reasons, too, but I can't quite remember them at the moment..."

Mulder nodded. "That's all right, Hagrid. I'm just...I'm normally a very open person when it comes to paranormal activity. But I've left my newborn son to come visit with you and Mr. Dumbledore, and I don't want it to be in vain."

"Sorry to hear that, Mistah Muldah. I'm not sure exactly what Dumbledore has up his sleeve, but you can be sure that it'll be worth yer time. Wizards don't talk much to Muggles, so I reckon it must be summat special."

A few hours later, the train came to a stop. "This is Hogsmeade," Hagrid said. "Hogwarts is a couple miles to the west, across that lake."

Mulder followed Hagrid's line of vision, and found himself looking up at the dark shadow of a great castle, complete with towers straining towards the sky beyond the clouds.

"Yeh'll be staying at the Three Broomsticks for now. Madame Rosmerta's got a room all set fer yeh. Dumbledore will be 'round in the mornin' to meet with yeh." Hagrid led Mulder to a homey-looking building, which sported a sign which said "Three Broomsticks: Bedding and Spirits". A cloaked figure waited for them in the doorway.

"Hagrid! You're never around these days, promise me you'll stay for a drink once we get this one settled in?" The woman pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing a classically beautiful face that sported a warm smile. She held out her hand. "Hello there, sir. I'm Madame Rosmerta, welcome to the Broomsticks. Your room is all ready for you; I'm sure the journey has tired you."

Mulder nodded in thanks. "I appreciate your hospitality, ma'am."

Rosmerta smiled. "Listen to you, with your American accent! You'll have to be careful there, or you'll become a tourist attraction!"

With a grin, Mulder took on a slightly better-than-horrible British accent. "Well then, I best blend in with the crowd!" Rosmerta laughed, and Mulder turned back to Hagrid. "Thanks for helping me up here, Hagrid. I'll see you sometime soon again, I hope."

"Oh, I'm sure yeh will, Mistah Muldah. Night then!"

As Hagrid lumbered away from the inn, Rosmerta touched Mulder's arm. "Come on then, dear. Let's get you settled."

END CHAPTER ONE