"Don't worry so much, Hermione. Take a deep breath. Harry is resilient, and those two are rarely without a plan, however reckless it might be. They have an owl, remember? They could easily send messages to Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, or even Mr. Weasley… There will always be some way for them to get help and find a path here."
Although Allen knew the true, utterly disastrous extent of Harry and his friend's decision to arrive at Hogwarts in a stolen, flying Ford Anglia, he still chose to gently comfort the little witch who was visibly trembling with worry for her friends. He had to maintain a facade of ignorance regarding the upcoming chaos.
Hermione looked at Allen, her eyes bright with sudden, intellectual clarity. "You're right, Allen! They are not helpless. Of course, they could have simply sent a letter by owl to the Headmaster! They certainly could have come up with a simpler, less dramatic method than whatever impulsive thing they've done!"
She pulled the spinning straw from the cup, which she had been nervously stirring into a small whirlpool of pumpkin juice, and took a large, desperate gulp of the cold drink.
Instantly, a cold, sharp, irritating sensation shot straight to the back of her head—an intense, painful brain freeze. Hermione gasped, clapping the glass down onto the table. She dropped her head immediately into her hands and pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand, letting out a muffled, anguished sound. "Oh! That's so cold! I did something so incredibly stupid!"
Hermione's elegant facial features were momentarily contorted into a rather comical expression of pure agony—a pained scowl mixed with the shock of the cold.
Allen found himself unable to suppress a genuine, hearty burst of laughter. It was a chaotic day, but Hermione's predictable, brilliant intensity and occasional moments of physical foolishness were a perfect, grounding contrast.
Just as Allen was wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, there was a series of sharp, authoritative knocks against the windowpane.
Allen and Hermione turned their heads simultaneously. Outside the window, struggling slightly against the fierce rush of air created by the fast-moving train, was Benny, Allen's owl.
Benny was flapping his wings furiously, following just behind the train, occasionally tapping a talon sharply on the glass to get Allen's undivided attention, clearly annoyed by the speed and the wind resistance.
Allen immediately jumped up, his laughter instantly gone, and quickly rolled down the car window, letting in a sudden, cold blast of rushing air.
Allen's owl, Benny, did not bother to land gracefully. He flew directly into the car, performed a quick, annoyed loop, threw a rolled-up object in front of Allen with a visible huff, and then dramatically landed on the back of the seat to preen his ruffled, wind-blown feathers, looking thoroughly put out by the inconvenience.
"What a haughty, dramatic fellow you are," Allen smiled, shaking his head gently at the owl, giving him a look that was helpless but entirely tolerant. He knew Benny had flown a long way to catch the express train. He took the roll of newspaper Benny had delivered, noting instantly the familiar, bold, magical lettering that spelled out: Daily Prophet.
Allen handed the newspaper directly to Hermione. "Perhaps you can read it first, Hermione. I'll go get Benny some proper food and fresh water; catching the Hogwarts Express is a serious effort for any bird, even one as opinionated as him."
Hermione looked down at the paper, then back up at Allen. "The train is due to arrive at Hogsmeade Station in less than fifteen minutes, Allen. Are you seriously going to leave the carriage now, with so little time left?" she asked, incredulous at his calmness.
"Don't worry, I'll be back in a flash, and I won't delay the packing!" Allen waved dismissively, already moving towards the door. He was giving her time to change into her robes—a gesture he didn't need, thanks to a few clever, subtle charms he'd placed on his own uniform, but which he knew she would require to maintain her sense of propriety.
A moment later, after the door slid shut behind him, a small, satisfied smile touched Hermione's lips. "He's so much more considerate than Harry and Ron ever are. He just wants to give me time to change into my robes without having to awkwardly look away!" Hermione understood Allen's true, thoughtful intentions perfectly well, and she appreciated the courtesy immensely.
Allen found the vendor on the train and, using a small, undetectable charm, bought a large variety of seed bread and corn, making sure to get a decent mix of ingredients. He then acquired a clean cup, filled it with fresh water from a discrete source, and took the provisions back to his carriage.
Knock, knock, knock, Allen rapped politely on the compartment door.
"Come in, Allen, it's fine," Hermione called out immediately.
Allen got into the car, and his eyes instantly confirmed his earlier assumption. Hermione was already wearing her impeccably ironed Gryffindor robe and the traditional, slightly tilted Hogwarts wizard's hat.
She had changed with the speed and efficiency of a highly trained professional. He placed the bowl of water and the food down near the seat, where Benny immediately hopped down and began to peck at the offerings with loud, satisfied clicks of his beak.
When Allen sat down, he noticed Hermione looked utterly pale and deeply frightened, clutching the Daily Prophet so tightly in both hands that the glossy paper was crinkling noisily. The sudden, drastic change in her demeanor was alarming.
"Hermione, what in the world happened? What did the paper say?" Allen asked, genuinely surprised. They'd only been separated for a very short time, yet Hermione looked like she'd been struck by a powerful Stinging Hex.
"Harry, Allen! It's Harry and Ron!" Hermione burst out, her voice high and tight with horrified anger. "They actually stole Mr. Weasley's car! And they had the unbelievable audacity to try and fly it all the way to Hogwarts!" The combination of outrage and sheer panic was glaringly obvious in her wide, brown eyes.
Allen felt a cool surge of satisfaction. The news is out. Perfect.
He glanced at the newspaper she was clutching, understanding everything instantly. He reached out a hand. "May I see that, Hermione?"
He took the paper and immediately saw the massive, attention-grabbing, bold black headline splashed across the top of the page: FORD ANGLIA CAN FLY, MUGGLES AMAZED BY AERIAL DISPLAY.
Allen's eyes quickly scanned the accompanying, breathless paragraphs detailing the events. "In London, two Muggles living near the post office believe they saw an old, turquoise car fly past their window just as they were preparing for work…
In Norfolk, Mrs. Hattie Bellis was hanging laundry in her garden when she reported seeing an antique car passing over her property, so close she could smell the exhaust fumes… Mr. Angus Fleet from Peebles reported the incident to the local police after seeing a large, dark shadow move against the moon…"
"Well, that's certainly efficient journalism," Allen muttered, shaking his head lightly. "They were able to gather intelligence, contact all the relevant departments, and release a detailed report so quickly after the incident. They definitely deserve a raise."
"Efficient? Allen, listen to me!" Hermione slammed her palm down on the seat in frustration. "Six or seven Muggles in total saw it! If they spread this story, I don't know how many teams the Ministry of Magic will have to dispatch and how many dozens of Forgetfulness Charms the poor Obliviators will have to cast to erase their memories!
Harry and Ron have gotten themselves into serious, serious trouble! To make matters worse, Ron's father, Mr. Arthur Weasley, works in the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts! The irony is just unbearable! His own son has been caught misusing a Muggle artifact in the most visible way possible, completely exposing the entire Wizarding World to the risk of exposure! He'll be ruined!"
Hermione couldn't finish her sentence; she truly sensed that Harry and Ron were in absolutely terrible, career-ending trouble.
"Hold on, Hermione," Allen said, trying to contain the satisfied smirk that threatened to break through his serious expression. "The article doesn't actually name the occupants of the car. It just describes an old flying car. So, how can you be completely certain it was Harry and Ron driving it? They could be wrong." He couldn't help but ask, genuinely impressed by the speed and accuracy of her deduction.
Hermione stared at him, her lips compressed into a thin, tight line. "Allen, think! The clues are all there, staring us in the face!" She began ticking off points on her fingers, her nervousness morphing into intellectual excitement.
"First, Ron told me during the holidays—when I spoke to him by Floo—that he would be driving to your house to pick up Harry, specifically mentioning his father's car. Second, I know they have a flying car—it's not exactly common knowledge, but it's a well-known secret among the Weasley children.
Not many families in Britain can afford or would even dare to own such a highly illegal, magically enhanced car! Third, if Mr. Weasley was driving, he would have taken extreme measures to be inconspicuous; he works for the Ministry! He wouldn't have allowed Muggles to notice them, let alone six or seven of them.
Even if the twins, George and Fred, were driving, they are experts at chaos, but they are also older and skilled enough to avoid being seen by the Muggle population. Finally, and most damningly, Harry and Ron missed the Hogwarts Express, which only happens if they were delayed or intercepted. Considering the car was seen flying the same day they went missing from the train, it's overwhelmingly obvious who's to blame!"
Hermione rattled off her reasoning with the rapid-fire precision of a trained barrister, and Allen inwardly applauded her. He looked at the little witch with a newfound respect, as he always did when she demonstrated her powerful, logical intellect. Her ability to synthesize disparate pieces of information and construct a cohesive, iron-clad argument was truly remarkable.
"You are absolutely correct, Hermione," Allen conceded, giving her a slow, thoughtful nod. "That is a brilliant piece of deduction. It looks like we'll have two very infamous Gryffindors joining us in the Great Hall tonight."
A voice, slightly tinny and echoing, suddenly boomed through the entire train, startling them both. "The train will arrive at Hogsmeade Station in precisely five minutes. Please leave your luggage on the train; we will ensure it is carried to the school for you."
Allen immediately asked Hermione to break the bread he'd bought into small, manageable crumbs, and together they fed Benny, who seemed slightly mollified by the attention and the generous offering. As for the water, the clever owl simply flew over, dipped his beak into the cup, and drank his fill before settling back on the seat to observe the students with haughty disdain. Allen quickly put away the remaining food and water.
"You should hurry and finish packing, Hermione," Allen urged, giving her a meaningful look.
Hermione understood immediately. Her packing consisted of grabbing the robe she'd just taken off and stuffing her wand back into her pocket. She took the empty plate and cup and walked toward the train corridor to return the items to the trolley. She soon heard Allen calling her back, but she didn't rush.
Of course, she would be right back. Allen only needed a few seconds; his own clothes automatically transformed into impeccable Ravenclaw robes beneath a subtly cast charm he'd mastered during the summer. He deliberately delayed a little, waiting for her return to appear more normal, to avoid giving away his instantaneous transformation ability.
When she returned, they gathered their things. The train slowed down, its rhythmic clacking gradually giving way to the grinding screech of the brakes, and finally stopped with a heavy shudder. Passengers jostled and pushed their way toward the doors, eager to disembark onto the small, dark, misty platform of Hogsmeade.
Hermione followed the crowd, still deeply preoccupied with the sheer scale of Harry and Ron's transgression. She was so absorbed that she absentmindedly boarded one of the self-moving carriages, which trundled silently up the winding road toward the unseen castle. The journey passed in a blur of nervous anticipation and ethical outrage.
It was only after stepping into the magnificent, echoing space of the Great Hall that she finally broke free of her worry. The sheer scale and beauty of the room demanded attention.
Countless candles, flickering magically without support, hung suspended in the air, illuminating four long House tables surrounded by students and causing the golden plates and goblets to gleam brilliantly. The enchanted ceiling, mirroring the stormy, star-dotted sky outside, presented a captivating, ever-changing spectacle.
Allen, having joined the throng of students, walked toward his table, breathing in the familiar, intoxicating scent of roasting meat and old magic. He only truly came back to the reality of the feast when the half-asleep, slightly disheveled Edward approached him from the Ravenclaw table and greeted him with a wide, lazy grin.
"Allen! You actually made it back! I thought you might have gotten lost in Lockhart's charisma!" Edward joked, pulling out a seat for him. "Good to see you, man. Ready for another round of crushing all the class averages?"