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HP Chapter 72: Conversation on the Train
🕑 Added 2025-09-05 14:01:42 +0000 UTCThe next morning, Anne got out of bed and headed downstairs. The only one in the living room was Orbie, the house-elf, who was busily tidying up. As soon as he saw her, he scurried into the kitchen.
“Oh! Orbie will get breakfast ready right away, Miss Reeve!”
“No rush, I’m not hungry yet, Orbie…” Anne stopped him gently. “Did Uncle Aaron come back at all after leaving last night? What about Lekko?”
Aaron had taken Anne home the night before and, after making sure she went to bed, Disapparated back to the match venue to deal with work. Anne had introduced Lekko to Orbie and asked him to prepare a place for her to sleep.
“Oh!” Orbie froze mid-step and squeaked softly, “Master Aaron didn’t come back after going out last night. But Miss Roland did stop by briefly. She heard you were asleep, so she had Lekko floo home. Then she disappeared again…”
Probably back to work. With everything that happened at the World Cup, Anne wondered if the Ministry would hold anyone accountable.
Aaron and Diana only returned from the fireplace when Anne was finishing breakfast. Both looked absolutely exhausted. Anne quickly got up and walked over to them, while Orbie brought out the warm breakfast she’d asked him to keep ready.
She didn’t ask about the mess at the World Cup, just gently ushered them to the table and stood behind Diana, massaging her shoulders to help her relax.
“I read about this in a book on China over the summer. It’s supposed to relieve fatigue… You two should eat and try to rest afterwards. Hopefully, you’ll get a chance to nap.”
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“Anne, make sure you send Momo to write to me the moment you get to Hogwarts, okay?” Aaron said at the platform, rubbing her head.
Anne nodded seriously and helped adjust his robe. His clothes were covered in scorch marks, evidence of the many Howlers sent to the Ministry in the wake of the World Cup chaos. If not opened in time, they exploded.
“Got it, Uncle Aaron. But honestly, if there are more Howlers coming, I suggest you don’t bother changing. You don’t have that many outfits left in your wardrobe.”
“I know, I know…” Aaron chuckled. After Anne boarded the train, he waved at her one last time before hurrying off the platform. The Ministry was in complete disarray, and the crisis had severely impacted the event he was in charge of.
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Since it was still early, Anne found an empty compartment at the end of the last car and stored her luggage. She pulled out an old notebook with a worn parchment cover, something she'd found in the Roland family’s private library, and started reading.
Outside the train window, heavy rain fell in thick sheets, drumming loudly on the glass. But the sound didn’t bother Anne at all; in fact, the more she read, the more admiration she felt for the notebook’s owner, Croton Sharpe.
“Anne? Good morning!” came three familiar voices.
When Anne looked up, she saw three trunks, a cage with Pigwidgeon inside, and Crookshanks lounging beside it.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s voices echoed from just outside, they were still saying their goodbyes to the Weasleys.
Anne simply lowered her head again and returned to the notebook.
“Ugh! Why won’t they just tell us what’s going on?” Ron’s voice rang out as the compartment door slid open. “Bagman didn’t mind spilling secrets about Hogwarts at the Cup, remember? But my own mum won’t say a thing. I don’t get it…”
“Hey!” Anne protested, hugging the notebook to her chest as droplets from Ron’s soaked coat sprayed everywhere. “You three…”
She glanced up, each of them was drenched, with scratches along their hands, necks, and faces.
“Did you guys get into a fight in the rain or something?” she asked, puzzled.
Ron didn’t answer. He slammed his trunk into place and sat down opposite Anne, scowling. Hermione pulled a clean towel from her bag and began drying her hair, though it only made it frizzier.
“It was pouring when we left the Burrow,” Hermione explained, “and we had to take a taxi. It was a tight squeeze, and Crookshanks freaked out halfway from the horn blaring... The rain didn’t let up at all.”
Once she’d dried off enough to stop dripping, she sat down beside Anne.
Harry stashed his trunk on the rack and sat next to Ron. “Mrs. Weasley told us something, but not the whole thing. Said the rules would change... That’s why Ron’s mad.”
“Hmph. Bill, Charlie, even Percy know, but not us?” Ron grumbled.
“She did say Dumbledore would explain tonight, ” Hermione began, but Anne cut her off by pulling a small glass bottle filled with translucent ointment and a pack of cotton swabs from her bag.
“Don’t move. I’ll put some of this on for you,” she told Hermione.
Hermione instantly sat up ramrod straight, still as a statue. Anne dipped a swab into the ointment and gently applied it to the scratches on Hermione’s face and neck.
“If Dumbledore’s going to tell us tonight, why not just say it a few hours earlier?” Ron muttered.
“Charlie said, ” Harry started, but Ron interrupted, “Don’t mention this to Percy! You know how he is, ‘top-secret Ministry info, can't be shared until cleared!’ He wants us to ask him about it.”
Hermione had completely tuned out the conversation. She sat frozen, eyes locked on Anne’s, who was applying the ointment with quiet concentration. The cool salve soothed the stinging, but now her face was starting to burn for an entirely different reason.
“All done…” Anne said, sitting upright after treating the last scratch.
She handed Hermione a fresh swab. “Use this for your hands.”
Then she offered one to Harry as well. “You two should clean yourselves up too. Honestly, you all look like stray cats who lost a fight.”
Anne dug out a half-read magazine from her bag and began flipping through it.
Harry accepted the ointment and handed it to Ron so they could help each other.
“Anne, why do you carry ointment and cotton swabs around?” Hermione asked, concerned. Most people wouldn’t carry those unless they had a reason, and both had clearly been used recently.
Without looking up, Anne replied, “They were for Uncle Aaron. After the Cup disaster, the Ministry’s been bombarded with Howlers. They explode if you don’t open them quickly. He’s been getting burns and scrapes on his face and neck, so I picked some up from St. Mungo’s. The school infirmary has some too.”
“We saw the Ministry mess in the Daily Prophet,” Hermione said.
At that moment, a slow, drawling voice floated down the corridor.
“…My father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts. He knows the headmaster there, you know. Thinks Dumbledore’s too soft on Muggle-borns. Durmstrang doesn’t admit that kind of trash. Much more sensible about Dark Arts, actually teaches it. Not like the pathetic Defense classes we get…”
It was Draco Malfoy.
“So he thinks Durmstrang suits him better, huh?” Hermione huffed. “I wish he had gone there, we wouldn’t have to put up with him.”
“Durmstrang’s a magic school too?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Hermione replied. “It has a terrible reputation. According to The European Guide to Magical Education, they focus heavily on the Dark Arts.”
“I think I’ve heard of it,” Ron said vaguely. “Which country is it in?”
“Almost no one knows,” Hermione said.
“Why not?” Harry asked.
“There’s fierce competition between magical schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons both keep their locations secret, so no one can steal their secrets,” Hermione explained primly.
“Oh, come on,” Ron laughed. “You can’t just hide a huge castle!”
“Hogwarts is hidden, isn’t it?” Hermione replied. She glanced at Anne. “Anyone who’s read Hogwarts: A History knows that. Muggles just see a ruined building with danger signs posted.”
“Yeah, okay…” Ron muttered. “But people must know where it is. How else do they recruit students? I swear I’ve seen Durmstrang mentioned before…”
“You’ll probably hear its name again soon,” Anne said casually as she turned another page in her magazine.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“There were students from Durmstrang at the World Cup, did you know that?”
“Really?” Harry blinked.
Ron practically leapt up and pulled a small figurine from his pocket, Viktor Krum. “That’s right! Krum! He’s from Durmstrang, I read it in a magazine! He’s only eighteen!”
Harry and Ron started excitedly discussing the players and match highlights. Ron even took out the miniature Irish team Anne had given him for Christmas, the little figures zoomed around the compartment.
Hermione wasn’t interested in Quidditch chatter, but she was curious about the book Anne had just opened.
“What’s that? Why doesn’t it have a title?” she asked.
Anne removed the bookmark. “It’s about rare magical plants. I found it in the family library. A few of the entries contradict what Professor Sprout taught us. Look, this section is fascinating…”
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By noon, Anne’s stomach was growling. She waited and waited, but the snack trolley hadn’t arrived.
Eventually, she jumped to her feet. “I’m done waiting. I’m going to find her, I’m starving!” she said, and dashed out of the compartment before anyone could react.
The three of them stared after her, stunned.
“…I think Anne only really cares about food,” Ron muttered at last.
“But she’s so cute when she’s like that,” Hermione said, eyes sparkling.
“Cute?” Ron gaped as if she’d said something outrageous. Hermione glared at him.
“Anne is really cute, actually,” Harry said. “I’ve heard Seamus and Dean mention it more than once. A few older students from other Houses, too. Angelina said Anne reminds her of her little sister, polite, not annoying like most Slytherins…”
“What?!” Hermione perked up. She leaned forward, eyes locked on Harry. “What else did people say about Anne?”
“Uh… that’s it, really. I just overheard a few things. Honestly, people talk about Fanny more…”
Now Ron looked intrigued. “Who talked about Fanny?”
“Don’t ask me!” Harry protested. “It’s just locker room chatter before Quidditch games…”
“Hm… Maybe I’ll ask Ginny or Lavender. They must know something…” Hermione said thoughtfully.
“I have to talk to Seamus and Dean…” Ron added.
Anne returned just then, a pumpkin pasty in her mouth and both arms full of snacks. She paused, sensing the weird atmosphere in the room.
She dropped the snacks onto the seat and took a big bite. “Are you all hungry? The trolley’s two cars down. Want something to nibble on while you wait?”
Comments
Edward Ravenbear
Didn't the book come from Fanny?
