Hogsmeade Station
After the conversation with Daphne, and the subsequent hours of socialization and companionable candy-feasting, and magical experimentation and showing off spent among his new acquaintances, Harry's mental companion had grown unusually quiet and contemplative, staying almost completely silent except in a few places where Harry prodded him casually for advice, such as what kind of spell he should use to boast.
Even then, Geist only spoke in clipped sentences, as if barely caring to provide any input on the matter whatsoever; uncharacteristic and maybe a little concerning, for he usually loved to go on and on, in lengthy tirades regarding a variety of topics from the magical to as utterly mundane as it could get, like the structure of a phone booth. Not much, in terms of motivation or bribery, was needed to get him to speak out the contents of an entire essay on any subject.
It felt like Geist had sunk into some kind of emotional or philosophical pit; a lone hermit meditating on a new issue he hadn't considered before, or maybe staying vigilant for something that Harry wasn't completely on watch for - Daphne's confession had been concerning, but hardly to the point of suspecting her to murder them, or anything like that. Even the Death Eaters hadn't gone to such lengths, nor, as Harry understood, did they have any valid or logical reason to do so - not that people always acted out of logic, but if anyone was to have a modus operandi of that sort, it'd be people that Geist had commanded in the past.
It wasn't to say that Geist didn't make a few of his signature pithy comments along the way, particularly in the form of powerless yet scathing castigations against the character traits of Harry's new friends; especially Ron's gluttony as he ate and drank various food items, Hermione's broad-spectrum naivety, Daphne's apparent lack of social graces, and, uh, Neville's... Nevillishness. Although Harry still thought Geist was excessive on that front, or maybe even on all fronts.
Not much else of interest happened on the Express, except for two things.
Most of the spells Harry had shown off to his friends, even going so far as to cast them wandless to their shock, they'd already known - in theory, if not exactly in practice; and he, in turn, knew most of theirs. It was Hermione, surprisingly, who had the most to show in this department, having studied and attempted a few simple wandless magics of her own, and the girl engaged Harry in a competition to see who could shape a small flame into a perfect ball first, without it going out, popping, or collapsing. The competition was vivid and even temporarily managed to dig Geist out of his pit to provide advice on technique and intent, earning Hermione a few points of admiration.
Neither of them won in the end, because they were sadly interrupted by the second event of major curiosity.
A few children passing by their compartment recognized Harry from his scar and appearance, asked for autographs, and then spread around the news that Harry Potter was on the train - which resulted in more people coming in. A shock of greetings and congratulations followed; even a toast from a Seventh-Year student who summoned and then downed an entire glass of some kind of translucent liquid after saying, "To Harry Potter - the Boy Who Lived!" A general atmosphere of cheer and merriment seemed to fill the entire train as more people became aware that he'd be attending school. After less than half an hour, their compartment was swamped and surrounded by people who wanted to meet him in person, and Harry weathered their gratitude with grace, playing off compliments and remaining steadfastly patient.
All of this went on until a Ravenclaw prefect in the same train car was finally informed of the commotion and came up to make the crowd of unruly people disperse in an orderly manner. However, the Ravenclaw prefect's attempt was met with fierce resistance from multiple other people, and his attempts to make them disperse led to him warning them about official reprimand. At that point, a Slytherin boy in his third year used some kind of racial slur; one that made several people freeze in their tracks and go quiet, others to gasp, and which prompted a Hufflepuff to draw his wand from its holster, which prompted the rest of the Hufflepuffs present to draw their wands in a show of loyalty, which prompted several Slytherins and Gryffindors to react with a similar rise in aggression; and that proceeded in a chain until almost everyone, including Harry, was holding a wand - for self-defense against projectiles, if nothing else. Although the conflict started with insults and jeers, it soon escalated to fighting.
By the time the first spells were being thrown, the Ravenclaw prefect from earlier had come back with fire support, and the entrenched team of prefects took position at one end of the train's corridor. They used some kind of tear gas spell to make the crowd of belligerent students disperse and run the other way, then chased after them. A single prefect stopped near their compartment to make sure everyone inside was okay; he stunned a Slytherin who'd taken to hiding under the seats and dragged him out, then apologized to the people present, summarily congratulated Harry for being Harry Potter, and went on.
Most anomalously, the aftermath of the situation was so utterly casual - with everyone getting more or less a mere slap of the wrist, withering look, or in some cases, a handful of 'points' taken away - that Harry believed this must've been a common occurrence.
Wizards are stupid and I disfavor them, Geist chose to comment at that thought, with none of the usual zest.
"Now arriving… Hogsmeade Station."
As the Express whistled, a susurrus of steam like a shout from a nocturnal beast, they departed, trunks and baggage left on the train in accordance with prefect commands.
It was already starting to become dark outside as the Hogwarts Express arrived at its destination, with long and thick shadows stretching from every tall object and melting into a pool of twilight sheathing the entire world, as the sun's last rays desperately burned over the peaks and crowns of distant trees; maybe around fifteen minutes of luminescence and good visibility left. Around them, the forests and grasslands were partially obscured from sight by a fence of thick flagstone walls reaching up to the pelvis, and rows of verdant-leafed bushes; the landscape, even locked away in the train station, appeared to pulse with a sublime, throbbing vigor; an ancient and dreamless power.
At first, Harry sensed there was something off about this landscape. It took him a few seconds to realize.
The vision, he said, in his thoughts.
Hm? Geist reacted.
The vision - Merlin and Arthur. It's here where they found the… the hogs that had warts on them. Hogs and warts. Hogwarts?
"O'er here, First-Years!" A giant of a man stood ahead, waving a huge metal lantern to draw their attention. A number of children moved in his direction at the call, but some of them slowed down to observe him with fascination and wonder in their eyes when they noticed exactly how impressive his stature was.
"He's ruddy big," Ron whispered, eyes wide.
"Must you use such rural language?" Daphne scoffed, uncharacteristically miffed.
"Half-giant, isn't he?" Ron asked Neville, completely ignoring her.
"Yeah," Neville replied, offering Daphne an apologetic smile on Ron's behalf. She pouted and looked away, as the five of them marched in the direction of the giant man. Alongside them was an entire crowd of other First-Years; those still coming off the train were being directed towards Hagrid by several people with wands.
"Evenin' to ye all, me name's Rubeus Hagrid," the man introduced himself loudly, speaking in a West Country accent so thick that his words were almost indiscernible. "An' I 'ave the honor of bein' the Hogwarts Keeper of Keys an' Grounds, 's well as the Professor fer the Care of Magical Creatures. I'll likely be teachin' some of ye in a coupla years frum now, but fer now, my job's to lead you to the castle. It's a long Hogwarts tradition that First-Years 'ave to take a more scenic route to the castle. Come aft'r me, erryone!"
And so they went, down a short cobblestone path in between the leaves of countless bushes, away from the station at Hogsmeade. Hagrid then led them across a beaten trail that led down a meadow, and the first shadows of skepticism began to show; the scenic path that he'd proclaimed merely a way to bore and tire them out, or so the students around Harry began to whisper and conspire. At last, they descended calmly, in an orderly, staggered line; into a thin, shrub-covered bog, and went further on a wooden walkway until they finally arrived at the peak of the coastline.
A beach of soft, white-silver sand spread to the left and right of them, edged on one side by thickening foliage, and on yet another by the calm, dark waters. A saltine flavor lingered in the air, from the sea nearby; the winds of the oceans were pushed away by the mountains to the south.
As they arrived, the sun was already fully gone. The waning crescent moon was displayed in the sky, like a pendant of resplendent silver glory on the firmament, surrounded by crowns of stars and glittering constellations; greater and far more brilliant than anything Harry could've ever pictured. There was more of them here.
"Come now," Hagrid called, his voice a touch softer, "We aught not ter keep 'em all waitin'."
The First Years traversed the dark loch on a set of enchanted boats, alongside the Keeper of Grounds and Keys, its waters a calm and unperturbed gelatinous wave; reflections of pale moonlight caught some of it like painted crescents, twinkling and glittering sleepily in the night air.
As they sailed, Harry initially looked around, to see if he might recognize the landscape from his vision and remember where Excalibur had been tossed into the lake by Arthur. He frowned, attention pulled away, as the students around him started to gasp and stare up at something; he looked, and he was bewildered, stunned; all thoughts in his mind losing meaning at the sheer, transcendental beauty of the sight in front of him. A visage like a baroque painting based on a fantastical dream, too grand to be fitted in reality, yet one that adamantly stood in front of him; dispelling any notion of mundanity, any notion of the concept that the world was ordinary and meaningless.
The stunning vistas of Hogwarts loomed above them, the cradle of British magical lore shining like an amber-torched gem within the darkness of the Scottish landscape. Its countless walls seemed to merge in ways impossible to catch with the eye, constructions, buildings, and wings emerging like jagged growths from its proud central fundament. The castle's towers ranged from heavy stone cylinders with only black-spotted windows to rake-thin spires that only became narrower and slimmer towards the top, ending in majestic prongs. A number of magnificent walls and studded octagonal drums watchfully kept the wildlife at bay. A long bridge joined the castle to the other side of a ravine so deep that ascending it would be more difficult than doing the same to a skyscraper.
It was all constructed in a dizzyingly unreadable pattern; ancient glory laid over ancient glory, with no regard to logic or infrastructure. There was no reverence for the efficiency of space or foolish architectural stability, for those were the problems of men; the castle in front of Harry was constructed by the hands of gods, not men.
Make no reverence; I admit that it's pretty, but it was made by the same sort of idiots who used tear gas on a train full of children.
Harry ignored him, drawing in the air and staring, eyes wide. As he took in the castle, he became cognizant of his own heartbeat; its sheer intensity and the certainty of strength with which it pounded against his ribcage; a might in his own blood.
There was a certain, merry and wondrous atmosphere to the place; the very air was thick with the same kind of oddity and magic that Harry first sensed when he entered Diagon Alley, but with hundredfold munificence and unmistakable razor-blade sharpness, whereas back then it was merely a distant, subconscious feeling; sitting upon that boat and looking upon the looming structure, Harry felt almost as if he'd gone back a thousand years into the past with a time machine, breathing the same enchanted air as the castle's founders; the spark of original thaumaturgical genius once again within the grasp of his mind.
He could've lived forever in that moment, lost himself in the first exposure to Castle Hogwarts, and been happy.
But nothing lasts forever - in five minutes, they arrived on the shore. All of the First Years were visibly transformed by the experience, quiet and somber as they waited for Professor Hagrid to dismount his vessel.
Once he'd unloaded, Hagrid carried the boats into a small docking station - a kind of closed boathouse - to the side, with nothing but rope and his own muscles.
In the meantime, a wizened lady in a witch's hat approached them from up a long, cascading, and staggered set of stone stairs that ascended the cliff leading to the castle itself, radiating the very ideal of sternness. She wore a dark emerald robe, its flowing pattern revealing it to be silk with connective golden thread.
Minerva McGonagall. Transfiguration Professor. Don't be fooled by the strict harridan archetype; she's demanding and strict, but ruthlessly fair. Ruthlessly.
An emphasis on that last word; Geist wanted Harry to understand that.
"Good evening, First Years," she greeted them loudly, wand at her throat enhancing the volume of her voice to the point where it drowned out the murmurs and the conversations. It was enough to stop those same conversations, all inattentive heads turning to regard her. She offered a slight, sour smile at that. "I am Professor McGonagall, and I teach primarily Transfiguration here at Hogwarts. I will, no doubt, work alongside many of you in the coming seven years... For better or worse."
She muttered that last part, to the worry of some.
"In a minute, you will come along with me, and I shall lead you to the Great Hall, where the Sorting Ceremony takes place." All of a sudden, with a poof and a whoosh, a parchment scroll appeared, floating next to her. "However, this year, we are under a bit of a unique circumstance - may I ask one Neville Longbottom to please step forward?"
As soon as he was called out, Neville blinked in surprise, but stepped forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. McGonagall smiled at him.
"Magnificent," she said, glancing at the scroll, "And one Harry Potter?"
Already kind of expecting this, Harry stepped forward, although both he and Neville were somewhat confused for the fact they'd been picked out for something non-specific and 'unique' this early on, and together.
"I shall have you led to the Headmaster's office, prior to the ceremony - for a private and important affair," she explained. "Neither of you is in trouble, rest assured. Professor Hagrid, do you mind taking them?"
"Not at all," Hagrid replied, with a jaunty smile. "O'er here, boys." He walked up the stairs, past McGonagall.
Hold on.
Harry paused, which caused Neville to stop as well, from where he'd taken a step up; McGonagall frowned at them, a little perturbed. "Mr. Potter?"
Fake a condition - you're sick or have to go to the bathroom. Do it now.
Why?
No time to explain - fast, before they get suspicious.
"Actually, Professor, uhm," Harry stumbled over words, attempting to come up with something.
She quirked an eyebrow, slightly amused by his stammering. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Harry?" Neville asked, clearly a little bemused.
---
At the moment, you've got 9.9 Gnosis.
[ ] Bathroom Excuse - "I, uh, really need to visit the bathroom. Urgently."
[ ] Illness Excuse - "I'm not feeling that well; I think I underdressed for the night air."
[ ] Ignore Geist's Advice [+2 Gnosis] - No more putting up with him; not without valid explanations and reasoning. "Actually, I'm fine - I'm sorry. Let's go, Professor."
[ ] Write-in
