Disclaimer: I own nothing. I didn’t even think up Merples which I sort of stole from my brother’s friend.

Chapter Six

True to Katie’s words, Ron did eventually get over his Quidditch upset. It took a week or so, but soon Ron was back to his normal self, even if he did look pained every time Harry happened to mention Quidditch practices.

Cormac McLaggen hadn’t taken the news of his rejection well. Unlike Ron, he seemed unable to move past it and glared at Harry whenever he saw him. Harry personally thought this was unwarranted considering that it hadn’t just been him who had picked Robins instead.

But despite all the unpleasantness that had arisen from the Quidditch trials, one good thing had come from it all – Jason Robins. The easy-going seventh year had seamlessly slotted into the team without any difficulties and everything looked set for their first match against Slytherin.

What with the copious amount of work filling up his days and Quidditch practice and constant homework taking up his evenings, Harry was a bit surprised when he realised that it was nearly Halloween. It hadn’t seemed that long ago that he’d been stuck in St. Mungos longing to return to Hogwarts.

But the last two months hadn’t been without their highlights. Standing out the most was the news that Ministry blunders had led to the Triwizard Tournament being hosted at Durmstrang next year instead of at Hogwarts where it had originally been planned for that year.

“That must be what Charlie was on about when he kept saying how he wished he was back at Hogwarts this year!” Ron deduced as Hermione finished reading aloud Rita Skeeter’s scathing diatribe against the Ministry with particular emphasis on the weak leadership of Cornelius Fudge.

“And why we had to bring dress robes,” added Hermione. “According to this,” she said gesturing to the Daily Prophet, “the plans were only changed at the very end of summer – after our school lists were sent out.” Ron looked rather pleased at the news that he would avoid having to wear his set of dress robes.

Harry was rather torn on the subject of the Minister of Magic. While Fudge had been rather kind to him just before his third year, treating him much like a favoured nephew, he had also outright dismissed the story of Sirius’s innocence. Adding that onto the bungled security at the Quidditch World Cup, Harry felt that maybe someone new in power might be a good thing. It certainly seemed that that was the way things were heading.

With news about the Triwizard Tournament dominating the front page it was only sheer luck that Harry had stumbled onto an article he would usually overlook when Hermione offered him her copy of the Daily Prophet to peruse. The glimpse of the word Hogsmeade (which he originally mistook for Hogwarts) was the only thing that had stopped him from turning the page.

He had read the article with growing interest:

Investigation into Mysterious Death of Hogsmeade Train Conductor Continues

By Valerie Sharpe

Investigators looking into the death of Ernest Thompson (53) remain baffled even three weeks after fellow train conductor Duncan MacTavish (49) discovered the body tied to the control panel of the Hogwarts Express, the locomotive used to convey students from London to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The body was found shortly after the steam engine train pulled into Hogsmeade station for the start of the new school year on September 1st of this year.

The events surrounding the death remain shrouded in mystery. The train driver’s compartment showed no signs of magical tampering and there were no signs of a struggle. Despite this, investigators believe that foul play was involved and are treating it as a murder inquiry.

The body itself revealed no abnormal magical residue and no sign of an entry wound. Investigators have yet to release the cause of death. However, the Auror leading the case, Richard Morton, reassures the public that the tragedy occurred after the students had alighted from the train.

Harry had read that sentence with a furrowed brow. The timescale that the article was suggesting didn’t fit with what Harry had seen. The body would have had to arrive at the same time as the students for Harry to have seen its delivery to the hospital wing, which meant that Thompson would have been dead by the time the Hogwarts Express had arrived. Which meant...

“Whoever killed that man was on the train with us.”

It was the first outing to Hogsmeade and Harry, Ron and Hermione were currently huddled together in a corner of the Three Broomsticks. With a rowdy crowd of students and locals filling up the pub it was easy for the three of them to talk without being overheard.

It was the first time Harry had voiced the suspicion that had been floating in his head for the last several weeks. Much like the secrecy surrounding the Philosopher Stone, the mystery behind the man’s death gnawed away at him.

“But why would the Daily Prophet lie?” Ron couldn’t seem to get his head around that.

“Because it would only lead to panic and bad press,” Harry explained, having already thought about it.

Hermione was nodding along with what Harry was saying. “The Ministry is still being criticised about the lack of security at the World Cup, not to mention the loss of the Triwizard Tournament,” expounded Hermione. “They’d be foolish to let people know that a murderer was onboard the Hogwarts Express with a bunch of students. The Aurors are facing an independent inquiry as it is.”

“But why should it bother us?” asked Ron. “It’s not as though we knew him or anything.”

“Ron, he died while we were on that train. For all we know, the person who murdered him is at Hogwarts at this very moment.”

Hermione was looking at him strangely. “You don’t think Thompson was the main target, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted with a shrug. “But it makes no sense. Why kill a mere train driver? The Aurors can’t find any motive. And it’s not as though it was a normal, run-of-the-mill death.”

Neither Hermione nor Ron looked impressed.

“It’s just... call it a gut feeling, OK. Something’s not right with this. You didn’t see his face...”

Hermione sighed deeply. “Well what do you think we ought to do about it, then?” she asked pointedly.

“I want to look at the train station. That’s where it all began.”

Hermione still didn’t seem all together pleased by the idea, but she nodded along anyway. Ron appeared to be rather intrigued by Harry’s suspicions.

“It wouldn’t be Hogwarts if there wasn’t something strange going on,” he commented with a grin as they finished off their Butterbeers and left the bustling pub.

They decided to leave the station till last since that’s where the horseless carriages left from. Until then they whiled away their time exploring Hogsmeade properly. Harry hadn’t exactly had the chance to see everything last year when he’d snuck into the village through a secret passageway stretching from Hogwarts down to Honeydukes sweet shop. He was therefore keen to explore the only ‘non-Muggle settlement in Britain’ as Hermione put it.

Their first stop had been Zonko’s Joke Shop. The shop was an explosion of colour filled to the brim with joke toys and novelty knick-knacks. There were stacks of Dungbombs and wooden barrels that were almost overflowing with Hiccup Sweets and Sneezing Toffees.

Eventually the crowds got too much for them as more people tried to fit into the already bustling shop. They just about managed to squeeze their way through the hoards to the exit.

They started wandering up the cobblestone High Street to Honeydukes only to decide against entering when they realised how packed it was.

Hermione wanted to buy a new quill so they made a quick stopover at Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. Inside there were colourful arrays of quills from fancy ones made from peacock feathers to the plain black quills made with the feathers of a raven.

While Hermione deliberated on what quill to buy, Harry and Ron moseyed around the rest of the store. There were shelves displaying an assortment of different coloured parchment and odd-shaped envelopes. On part of one wall there was a collection of calendars for the both 1994 and 1995. They each had a different theme: one had different English Quidditch teams for every month of the year while another was filled with places of interest in the magical world. When Ron spotted a calendar for next year with different magical creatures for each month, Harry picked it up thinking that Hagrid might like it for a Christmas present in a few months time.

After Hermione finally decided on a black and gold pheasant feather quill they left the shop and strolled down to the end of the High Street to where Dervish and Banges was situated. Harry had never been in the magical equipment shop before.

It was probably the only shop in Hogsmeade that wasn’t overflowing with students. They were only a few third year boys laughing over a phallic shaped device.

“How immature,” Hermione commented snootily as they passed the group.

Ron and Harry both shared a grin as they followed the bushy-haired witch further into the store.

The whole shop had a distinct feeling of neglect from the higgledy-piggledy set up to the layer of dust that had settled on the shelves. A stale, musty air permeated the shop, growing stronger as they moved further from the door.

On the walls hung an assortment of clocks whose ticking filled the shop. Mirrors of all shapes and sizes lined the walls, enclosed in frames. Several of the mirrors bid them hello as they ventured deeper into the store. An elaborately woven rug complete with golden tassels draped one section of the wall, which twitched as they passed. On another section of wall was a framed collection of keys in different designs that kept altering in size.

Along the shelves were dust covered objects. A selection of glass crystal balls detailing the solar system, lunascopes to determine the phase of the moon’s cycle, enough cameras to make Colin Creevey wet himself in joy, a tightly wedged in gramophone, and several things Harry didn’t recognise at all.

He was surveying a collection of Sneakoscopes when he jumped at the gruff sound of a man’s voice.

“Shut that quick!” A thin, elderly man with thinning, grey hair and a glass monocle in one eye hobbled towards where Hermione stood. In her hand was a music box with the lid up. Only the first few notes escaped before, with a startled look, she closed it.

The old man was shaking his head at the Gryffindor witch, his long, thin face pulled into a frown. “And just what did you think you were doing?” he asked of Hermione, whose face was starting to turn bright red.

“I’m really sorry,” she apologised. “I didn’t realise I wasn’t supposed to open it,” she explained hurriedly.

The man let out a frustrated sigh. “Bloody students,” he muttered to himself.

“Couldn’t you see that it’s a sleep-easy music box, you silly girl?” he asked Hermione before shaking his head once again. “Oh, never mind,” he dismissed as Hermione fumbled for an answer.

He then seemed to notice Harry and Ron. “Oh, there’s more of you, is there. Well, what are you looking for, then?” He looked at them expectantly.

“Er – we were just looking around,” said Harry quickly.

The man harrumphed at that. “’Course you were – you students never buy anything. You only ever look and pick things up that you’re not supposed to.” He glared pointedly at the still flushing Hermione.

“I suppose I better give you the grand tour, then. Banges is always telling me I ought to be more accommodating to prospective customers.” This was said with great distain that left the three Gryffindors in no doubt as to how the crotchety old man felt about the advice.

The three students said nothing as the man led them around the shop, pointing out different knick-knacks and their purposes. Despite his cantankerous attitude, the man clearly knew his stuff.

“That there is a one of a kind,” he informed them, pointing to a small, square-shaped mirror hanging on one of the walls. “An expandable mirror,” he told them. “Takes any shape you want it to and stretches any distance without any sort of distortion.” He picked it off the wall and pulled on either end of it. At once the mirror began to grow large, stretching itself in whatever way it was directed.

Hermione peered at the mirror. “But can’t you just enlarge any mirror with an engorging charm?”

“Don’t they teach you anything at that school of yours? Haven’t you ever been taught the exceptions to Plath’s Principles of Engorgement?” He shook his head in exasperation. “Suffice to say, if you were to enlarge any other mirror then it would become distorted. Thus, as I said before, it’s one of a kind.”

“It’s an abomination!” declared a lofty, female voice that originated from a nearby mirror.

The irritable old man grunted. “Shut your trap or I’ll see to it that you end up in shards,” he told the mirror nastily.

“They don’t like it since it hasn’t got a personality. Good thing, in my opinion, but Banges has always been a fan of the talking mirrors. Merlin knows why, since he ain’t pretty to look at.”

“Does that mean that you’re Dervish?” asked Hermione.

The man sneered. “So there is a brain in there somewhere. I was beginning to lose all hope.”

Hermione looked outraged at the slight to her intelligence and made a small huffing sound as she folded her arms.

“So, will you be buying anything or are you just another bunch of miscreants who’ve wasted my time?”

The three Gryffindors looked at each other. None of them said anything.

Dervish grunted. “Just as I thought – none of you had any intention of buying anything. Just like the rest of those bloody students.

“Out with you, then!” He started ushering them to the door. “If you can’t be arsed to buy something then I can’t be arsed to keep you in my shop. Out you go, now!” He opened the door and forced them out. “And don’t return until you’re willing to buy something.” That said, he shut the door on their shocked faces.

“Well I never,” huffed Hermione.

Ron grinned at her. “You’re just annoyed that he didn’t recognise your brilliance.”

Seeing Hermione’s affronted expression, Harry quickly stepped in to prevent an argument. “Come on, Honeydukes should have emptied a bit by now,” he said.

True to Harry’s prediction, the sweet shop was less crowded this time and there was room to have a proper look around at all the scrumptious sweets available.

“I think my parents would have a fit if they could see this,” said Hermione, whose parents were both dentists. “Especially these,” she continued, picking up a long strand of the splintery Toothflossing Stringmints.

When they walked out the of the confectionary store twenty minutes later they each carried a paper bag filled with an assortment of sweets. Hermione looked slightly guilty for buying a block of Honeydukes-own chocolate.

“How ‘bout we go and visit the Shrieking Shack,” suggested Harry to Ron and Hermione as he nibbled at the end of a blue Every-Flavour Bean.

They both agreed and so they turned off the main High Street and climbed the slope leading to the supposedly most haunted dwelling in Britain. But the three of them knew the true story behind the howls and shrieks that had been heard from the Shack over a decade before. There had never been a group of rowdy ghosts; instead the sounds had emanated from a werewolf.

Despite knowing the real story and actually having ventured inside the dilapidated building, it still looked creepy from the outside. The windows had been boarded up and the overgrown garden at the front of the house looked distinctly uncared for. Even a stray grey dog was standing well away from the place.

It was a bit strange looking at it after all the secrets that had been revealed within the building at the end of last year. It was here where he learned the truth over his parents’ deaths, where he learnt of his godfather’s innocence and where he had foolishly spared the life of the traitorous Peter Pettigrew.

He uneasily thought back to his Divination exam last year and the strange, harsh voice of Professor Trelawney’s prediction. The servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master... And that’s what Pettigrew was doing now – seeking Voldemort. Harry shivered involuntary at the thought.

“Look, there’s that weird girl, again,” said Ron, spotting the lone, pale figure of Luna Lovegood coming up the hill towards the Shrieking Shack. Her straggly, dirty blond hair was loose and fell down to her waist. She was wearing only a short-sleeved polka-dot top despite the chilly weather and, as she drew closer, Harry noticed that her necklace was made of Butterbeer corks.

Her dazed expression gave Harry the feeling that she was off in her own world. Just as she passed them, though, she smiled dreamily and bid them good day.

“I’m searching for a Merple,” she told them. “Daddy says there might be a colony of them here so I thought I better look. You haven’t seen any, have you?” she asked, her head tilting slightly and her eyes protruding as she looked at them.

Hermione raised her eyes heavenwards, but didn’t say anything. Ron looked slightly wary.

“Sorry, Luna,” said Harry, feeling some pity for the odd Ravenclaw, “but I don’t even know what they look like.”

Luna looked a bit disheartened to hear that but her enthusiasm soon overcame that. “They’re purple. Well, more a faded purple, really. They’ve inbred so much that their colour has started to fade,” she told him quietly, as though this was some great secret. “Their king is the only real purple Merple left. So have you seen any?”

Harry shook his head. Next to him Hermione looked like she wanted to say something but was resisting the impulse.

Luna’s shoulders shrank marginally. “Oh, well. I’ll just have to keep looking. They’re mainly found in the white cliffs of Dover, but I had hoped...”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that so he kept smiling slightly.

Luna seemed more fixed on finding a Merple, however, and started to skip away. Harry did think he heard her say something like “Purple Merple likes to slurple”, but he couldn’t be sure.

“That girl is a nutcase,” announced Ron once Luna had skipped out of earshot. “Absolutely bonkers!”

Not wanting to expound on the eccentricities of Luna Lovegood, Harry told them that they should probably get going to the train station. It was getting on for four o’clock and dinner was served at five.

Hogsmeade station was actually located quite a distance from the village itself. Being on the far-side of the lake, it marked the boundary between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. On the weekend trips down to the village horseless carriages would convey students from the main entrance down to the train station and back again.

A chilly wind had picked up by the time they reached the station and dark storm clouds had started to loom up above. With the look of rain on the horizon many students had decided to head back to the castle. There was a bit of a queue for the horseless carriages with a group of fourth year Ravenclaws climbing into the carriage that had just drawn up.

Bypassing the queue entirely, the three Gryffindors made their way onto the tiny platform. It was empty except for a rather fat, orange tabby cat that was on the prowl.

They strolled along the platform looking to see if it had changed in any noticeable form since the previous school year since it had been far too foggy to make anything out at the beginning of term. The only thing of note was a collection of flowers and wreaths with notes tied on.

Harry bent down to read them: We will always miss you, Ernest, love Cathy and Mark; I’ll always remember you; I wish you hadn’t had to go, Granddad, but Mummy says you’re in a better place, love Emma. The last was written in wobbly script and on the back was a hand drawn picture of what Harry guessed was supposed to be a little girl and her grandfather.

“Harry, there’s not anything here,” Hermione eventually declared a few minutes later. “I’m not even sure what we’re supposed to be looking for!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he conceded, standing up from the memorial. “I just thought... I don’t know... it was so misty last time and...” he trailed off, unsure what exactly he’d been hoping to find.

“Should we get going, then?” asked Ron, checking his watch. “It’s just gone half past and it’s starting to spit.”

They all agreed and went back into the shelter of the station building where the queue had shortened by quite a bit. It seemed that most people had already gone back.

They were just about to join the queue when in the corner of his eye Harry noticed a rather distinctive mustard colour. Turning around to get a closer look, he recognised the fraying robes that dragged across the floor as the man wearing it walked out of a staff only area.

Harry nudged Hermione. “That’s the other man who was pushing the trolley,” he told her. “I think he may be the one who found the body – oh, what was his name...” he tapped his index finger against his temple as he tried to think. “Duncan! That was it – Duncan MacTavish!”

“Well,” said Hermione, “there’s only one way to make sure.” She then walked directly over to the man Harry had pointed out. Ron and Harry looked at each other before following along in her wake.

In her forthright manner, Hermione addressed the man. “Excuse me?” she said politely.

The man turned around. He was slightly thinner than Harry remembered, his face having taken on a rather gaunt look in the last two months that removed any hints of a second chin. There were also a few strands of grey hair in what had previously been a mass of light brown. Dark shadows clung to the area under his eyes.

“Can I help you, lassie?” he asked with a slight Scottish accent. He looked slightly surprised at being spoken to.

“Are you Duncan MacTavish?”

The man’s ruddy face showed even greater surprise as his prominent brows drew together slightly. “Aye, that’d be me.”

Duncan then seemed to realise that the girl in front of him was accompanied by two others. His eyes bulged slightly out of their sockets when he noticed Harry. “So it was you!” he cried. “I was telling the wife I’d seen Harry Potter, but she was having none of it. I said ‘Elsie, I’m sure it was him – he had the scar and everything’, but she wouldn’t believe me, the daft cow. She said that all that business with Ernest must have addled me brains”

“Er, actually, that’s sort of why we’re here,” Harry said quickly before the man could say anything more.

The Scotsman frowned at that, his eyes taking on a wary gleam. “You kids don’t want to be thinking about that. Nasty bit of business.” He was shaking his head while his eyes darted around the station.

“We would just like to know how he died,” said Harry. “That’s all we want to know.”

The man grew a bit harsher, then. “And I’m telling you to leave well alone. Nothing good can come from it.”

“But we just-” began Ron only to be cut off with a resounding “No”.

“Now if you don’t mind, I have a job to do,” he said firmly and strode off, his robes dragging along the dusty floor.

“Well, wasn’t that helpful,” commented Ron sarcastically as they made their way to join the dwindling queue for the carriages. The last carriage left at quarter to five and it was now twenty to.

“Didn’t you notice how afraid he was?” questioned Hermione, leaning in so only the two wizards could hear.

“Yeah, I did,” affirmed Harry. “His eyes kept looking around to see if anyone was listening.”

“Someone or something’s got him worried about talking about the death.”

Ron grinned lopsidedly. “Makes you wish for the times we pumped Hagrid for information.”

“Ron, you’re brilliant!” Hermione was grinning widely now.

“I am?”

“Hagrid’s always coming down to Hogsmeade; he’ll know what’s going on. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that earlier. We’ll just go down after dinner and see him.”

Hermione looked as though she was going to say more when they were interrupted by an out of breath Padma Patil, her blue and bronze scarf designating her as the Ravenclaw Patil twin. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion and she was panting in huge gasps while clasping one of her sides.

“Are you OK?” Harry asked in concern as the Indian girl struggled to catch her breath back.

She nodded. “Just about,” she said breathlessly, her upper body titled forward as she took in huge gulps of air. “Just ran all the way from the Three Broomsticks,” she explained between breaths.

She looked up at them. “You don’t mind sharing a carriage, do you? It’s just I don’t fancy walking back in this weather,” she said, gesturing to a nearby window which showed the downpour that had begun.

“Of course we don’t mind,” assured Hermione.

It was only then that Harry realised they were the only ones left at the train station. Luckily, there was one more horseless carriage coming down the road to pick them up. Harry didn’t fancy the prospect of walking back in the rain anymore than Padma did.

“So how come you were so late in getting back?” asked Hermione curiously once they were all settled in the well-sprung carriage.

“I was an idiot and left my bag at the Three Broomsticks,” the pretty Ravenclaw witch explained. “I didn’t realise until we were half way to the station so I had to quickly walk back. Thankfully, someone had handed it into Madame Rosmerta, but I then realised that I’d have to run if I wanted to get a lift back to school, thus the whole out of breathness thing. Thanks again for letting me join you.”

“No problem,” said Harry, who was sitting opposite her.

“So what did you three do in Hogsmeade?”

Hermione, who obviously seemed to know the Ravenclaw better than either Harry or Ron, was the one who answered. “We just wandered around a bit since it was so crowded. I swear it wasn’t this busy last year.”

“Gladrags was so bad that they started barring people from entering. Not that surprising, though, when you consider that the Weird Sisters are coming to play on Monday after the feast.”

“What?” exclaimed Ron. None of the three Gryffindors had heard this news and were understandably shocked – the Weird Sisters were probably the most popular band in the wizarding world.

“Didn’t you hear?” asked Padma, her almond shaped eyes flickering between the three Gryffindors who were all shaking their heads at her. “The rumour is that Professor Dumbledore booked them for the Triwizard Tournament and couldn’t cancel so just moved them to Halloween.”

“Like a ball?” asked Hermione. At those words Ron’s faced drained of colour and Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

But Padma’s next words allayed Harry’s fears somewhat. “Not really. They’re just going to remove the house tables and let the Weird Sisters play. That’s what the Head Girl told me, anyway.”

“Looks like you’ll get a chance to wear your dress robes, after all, Ron.” Harry grinned at his best friend.

Ron wasn’t amused. “Shut up, Harry,” he moaned.

Padma looked curiously at them. “Most people I know are going in their dress robes, so you won’t be alone. That’s why Gladrags was so full.”

“But didn’t you already have some dress robes?” Hermione questioned, remembering that they had been a requirement for the year.

“Yes, I do. I only really came down to Hogsmeade to get some Sugar Quills.” She grinned, “I like to think they motivate me to do some work. It doesn’t really work,” she admitted quickly. “I just like to pretend it does. The real reason is that I’m an addict.” She smiled sheepishly and Harry found himself smiling back.

They pulled into Hogwarts a few minutes later. The rain was coming down in cold torrents and just making the quick dash from the carriage to the shelter of the castle left the four students’ outer garments soaked.

Padma, after checking that her delicate Sugar Quills had survived the rush inside intact, blew out a sigh of relief before fumbling around in her bag to find her wand. “Aha!” she cried in triumph as she pulled out her willow wand. She pointed it at her sodden coat. “Aresco!” she said with a flourish. The coat then seemed to wring itself dry, leaving a small puddle of water on the floor that she quickly vanished.

Not to be outdone, Hermione repeated the same process only she evaporated the water instead of vanishing it. Harry could see Padma hiding a grin as she watched Hermione go through the more elaborate process.

The Ravenclaw witch then turned to face Harry. “Um, I don’t want to sound patronising or anything, but do you know the Drying Charm?” she asked him.

“Sorry; must have missed that lesson,” Harry answered with no embarrassment. After three years of being friends with Hermione, one had to get used to being confronted with their ignorance at every turn.

Unlike Hermione, who would have huffed and quickly cast the charm herself, Padma grinned. “Charms Club, actually,” she told him. “It’s really easy. The incantation’s ‘aresco’, though you’ve probably gathered that by now, and you just point the wand at yourself and making a rather dramatic sweep with your wand, like so.” She demonstrated. “Now you try it.”

Harry did so, highly conscious that the attractive Ravenclaw witch was watching his every movement. He was relieved when it worked and his coat became dry. He quickly vanished the water before Filch could appear out of nowhere to put him in detention.

“Thanks,” he said in appreciation.

“You’re welcome.” They shared a smile.

“C’mon, Harry,” said Ron, interrupting the moment. “Dinner will have been served by now.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry replied and allowed himself to be dragged into the Great Hall where Padma slipped off to the Ravenclaw table with yet another thank you for letting her join them on the journey back. The Gryffindor trio walked along to the table at the far end of the hall.

“She seemed nice,” commented Harry as the three of them sat down for dinner.

“She is,” said Hermione, depositing a heap of spaghetti on her plate. “She sits on the table behind me in Ancient Runes.”

Up above them the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling showed the splatter of raindrops pounding down of the centuries-old castle while they ate. By the end of the meal, however, it seemed like the rain had eased off quite a bit.

On the teachers’ table there were some empty spaces. Dumbledore was absent, as was Abravan and Hagrid. Trelawney, as usual, had not been advised to attend by her Inner Eye.

“Do you think Hagrid will be in his hut?” asked Ron as they got up from the Gryffindor table.

Harry shrugged. “Probably,” he muttered. “How ‘bout we drop off our bags and go and see if he’s in?”

They all agreed and ten minutes later they started to make their way across the grounds to Hagrid’s cabin. The large downpour of rain had left the ground saturated and as their feet tread through the mud, their footsteps made an unpleasant squelching sound.

Just after they left the warmth of the castle, Harry spotted the outline of a person dawdling listlessly towards the main entrance. As the figure came closer, he recognised the form of Luna Lovegood. She looked soaked to the bone with her polka-dot top clinging to her like a second skin. The strange Ravenclaw third year didn’t seem to be aware of her drowned rat appearance as she meandered, unfazed, towards Hogwarts.

Harry eyed her bedraggled form with confusion before deciding that he wouldn’t ever understand the thought pattern behind Luna’s actions. Shaking his head, he caught up with Ron and Hermione who had walked on ahead.

It turned out that Hagrid was in and he was very pleased to see them. It made Harry feel a bit guilty that they hadn’t come down to see him outside of their Care of Magical Creatures lessons. It made him feel even more guilty that the main reason for their visit was to obtain information. He didn’t, however, feel bad enough to stop going through with the plan.

After nearly an hour of general discussion and a good deal of reassuring that they really did find the Skrewts interesting, Harry brought up the subject of the recent death in Hogsmeade.

“Hagrid,” he began when there was a lull in the conversation, “do you know if someone died recently? It’s just we saw some flowers laid out in the train station when we were coming back from Hogsmeade.”

“Eh?” Realisation then dawned on Hagrid’s face. “Oh, yeh talkin’ abou’ Ernest. He died two months back. Bit o’ a myst’ry, ter tell yeh the truth.”

Harry painted a curious look of inquiry on his face. “Mystery? Why is it a mystery?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione rolling her eyes.

“Funny business, Harry. Nobody’s sure what killed him, yeh see. Aurors don’ know.” Hagrid was shaking his head as he added another log to the open fire. “Not that it ought to concern yeh, ‘course.”

“But why shouldn’t it concern us?” asked Ron.

“We heard someone at the station say he died on the Hogwarts Express, so we thought that maybe he died when we were onboard,” explained Hermione.

“Nuthin’ to worry abou’,” assured Hagrid, waving off their concerns. “Professor Abravan was onboard the whole time an’ he said he didn’ see anythin’ fishy. He’s the one who helped ter find the body, yeh see, along with Duncan – another train driver. An’ he knows his stuff, does Abravan.”

The topic was dropped after that and a small while later the three Gryffindors departed from Hagrid with the gift of several rock cakes a piece. It was nearly pitch black as they walked back to the castle, despite only being half eight.

“Well, that was informative,” said Hermione as they trudged through the still wet grass.

Harry looked pensive. He couldn’t help but remember his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. More importantly, he couldn’t help but remember Abravan’s mention of the mistress who withered from a cursed gift and how well that aligned with the slightly shrunken face of the corpse he had seen two months previous.

He said nothing to his two friends, though. He didn’t even know if a cursed object left a magical residue. It seemed a trip to the library was in order.