Hogwarts RP: The Express

[Green Ranger]

A History of Hogwarts:

The Word of Merlin



Chapter I: The Express​

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King's Cross Railway Station
London
September 1st, 1941

Platform Nine and Three Quarters was rarely such a somber place. The platform used specifically by parents of the Wizarding World to send their children off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was usually a chaotic, bubbling whirlwind of whimsy, excitement, nerves and joy. Sadly, the school year of 1941 began with a far more serious tone this year. The Ministry of Magic was out in force, badges flashing and gleaming against dark trenchcoats as they directed the huddles masses onto the platform in organised lines as all likes of magical detection devices flitted about throughout, under and over the crowds, keenly looking for any magical concealment, enchantment or misdirection that could put the parents, children, express or Hogwarts at risk.

Even the Express itself was different to usual years. The crimson carriages were now painted black, and an extra carriage had been attached this year, full of Aurors ready to confront any perceived threat if necessary., in a wild break of tradition. At the far end of the platform, haughty purebloods argued with Ministry representatives that the Express even had a different locomotive - the flamboyant red Hall class, fueled by magic and built in secrecy, was nowhere to be seen, instead replaced by one of the muggles' streamlined and supposedly faster A4 locomotives, spewing out smoke and ash and steam, darkening its already black wartime paint and raising the ire of all of the most pompous of families, much to the chagrin of the Ministry officials trying to maintain order.

"As I've explained, this is to ensure that the Express is not seen any differently to all the other trains entering and exiting King's Cross right now. The Ministry assures you all that-"

"Assures us? We're to trust our children's lives-"

"A muggle-built device-"

"Doesn't even use magic?!"

"Preposterous!"

"Hmph!"

"Your superior will be getting a very harshly worded letter from me, I can assure you of that!"

"Excuse me," grunted a dishevelled looking young man as he forced his way through the group, his voice a barely restrained growl through grated teeth as he pushed his way through the group of over-inflated egos, head bowed and shoulders hunched as he dragged an awkwardly large suitcase behind him. His clothes were rough-spun and held together by a number of clumsy, home-done stitches of various colours and quality, and despite the steam and soot of the locomotive, he looked particularly greasy and dirt-covered. Fingerless gloves clapped a staff against his thigh as he walked, and a small birdcage clanged as it bounced against the suitcase, the tiny elf owl within trying its hardest to chirp angrily at the young man hauling the luggage, though it was drowned out by the protests of the self-important men who had decided they had found something new to complain about.

"Watch it, young man!"

"-impertinent youth!"

"So unbecoming!"

"-what a brat of a child!"

"Where are your parents, boy?!"

Raising his head slightly, the young man turned his head slightly to look back at the men, one amber eye glaring at them collectively as his scarred face scowled at them.

"Sod off, you ponces. No-one gives a shit what you think," he growled, not even bothering to look back at the protesting men as he clambered on board the Hogwarts Express. Let's just get this year over with already.
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Underneath the platform, as the train sat waiting for the passengers to board, the heat attracted other guests. As the locomotive stood in waiting, steam heating the air beneath the train, a small, lizardlike creature pulled itself out from the warmth of the earth, forked tongue darting out of its mouth as it climbed up the spoked wheel, quickly yet carefully working its way into the warmth of the engine's cabin...
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[Aberforth]

Mrs Prewett had insisted to escort her daughter to King's Cross Station on the morning of the first of September. Ada had argued that her presence was likely to cause irreparable damage to her reputation, but, try as she might, Mrs Prewett had stood her ground. The Minister for Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon had ordered the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery be disregarded to allow students to be transported safely to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters via Side-Along Apparition.

Whenever Mrs Prewett left the family residence, she had to dress the part. Today was no different; she was clothed in long luxurious violet robes laced with threads of gold and silver. Ada, on the other hand, was already wearing her school uniform, her shiny prefect badge proudly pinned on her left.

"You, boys," Mrs Prewett commanded pointing at two Slytherin fourth years. "Take care of my daughter's luggage. The front carriage will do."

"Mother, is that really necessary?" Adabelle protested raising an eyebrow.

"Darling, you don't want to embarrass yourself in front of all these Muggles. Don't you?" she replied dismissing any other comment. After a quick embrace, Ada feigned that she had prefect duties to attend to and they parted ways.

For the first time, Adabelle would be attending Hogwarts without her older brother Valerian, who, having graduated the previous year, had found work at the Ministry of Magic. Even though the two siblings had grown apart in recent years, she would miss him. She was used to seing him everyday and, although they had not been eating at the same table or hanging in the same common room, his presence was reassuring especially in the current times.

Until May, Britain had been affected by heavy air raids orchestrated by the German army. The offensive had been concentrated and aimed at the direct bombing of industrial targets and civilian centres. Unbeknownst to Muggles, the wizarding community was also at war. The Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald and his followers with the intentions of enslaving the Muggle population were trying to conquer the magical world. Through the summer, Adabelle had barely seen her father who worked at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

As she approached the tracks, Ada heard the complaints of parents who doubted the safety of the Hogwarts Express. She was not concerned however. Attacking a train on its way to what was probably the safest place in the world would be foolish. The extra carriage full of Aurors that had been attached at the end of the train seemed excessive.

After having greeted several of her friends, she made her way to the first carriage where she hoped that she and her fellow prefects would be given more information regarding the new security measures that at been put in place to ensure the safety of the students. She would then have to patrol the corridors before she was allowed to join her friends in their compartment.

 

[Alhon]

"This is ridiculous..."

"We'll be the judge of that young man..."

"This is my sixth year!"

"Then your mum and dad should know their way to the platform by now..."

Kam scowled in reply. The Ministry men were wasting his time. He knew things were bad, but he didn't deserve an interrogation just for arriving without his parents. He was seventeen for heaven's sake. Besides, he didn't want them here anyway right now; he was just fine on his own.

"Here we are..." the second guard said, a fat finger halfway down his record book. "Morsi....lets see...Acacia, nine and a half...". He weighed Kam's light wood wand in his hand, before measuring it against a scale on the table. "Looks about right" he concluded "Best pocket it fast lad and get yourself on that train. No dawdling".

Kam took the wand back without a word and turned for the train, hunching himself against cold. They'd held him up long enough. He made his way through the people milling about the platform, head held high but trying not to make eye contact with any more Ministry types. After this summer, he was ready to get back to school; Hogwarts had always been his favourite place to be, outside Egpyt. He just hoped the castle was as they'd left it and not the drab grey that London seemed to have become.

He had his school uniform on already, hidden beneath his heavy black mac and orange woollen scarf. The latter seemed to be getting a few looks from the grey-clothed mob, but he didn't much care. The weather this end of the train never seemed to get any more predictable and he hated being cold.

He knew what was going on of course. Who didn't? The Muggles were at war, but when weren't they. No, the reason why everything had changed wasn't them, but Gellert Grindlewald. Kam had never met the man and he was a little old to be any kind of pin-up. But he still read the name somewhere almost every day. Grindlewald had ideas, ideas that were making waves...

Someone suddenly shouldered past Kam, rocking him from his thoughts. The uneven gait would have been unmistakeable, if nothing else.

James Rickard.

After five years, Rickard was the kind of guy you could spot from a distance, or should try to at least. Quiet, brutish and heavy-handed in every way that counted, he wasn't Kam's kind of guy in the slightest. Hell, he wasn't anyone's. Even the Slytherin 'ambition' seemed hard to spot beneath the dirt and the raging temper. The guy definitely had a disorder or two.

Kam let him go in any event, stopping short to climb into a different carriage. He'd probably struggle to find an empty one after the Ministry hold-up, but he'd take his chances with anyone but Rickard.

 

[Green Ranger]

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After organising for his luggage to be stowed, James clambered onboard the center train carriage -as far away from the additional Auror carriage - and the Prefects in the front student carriage - as possible. He wasn't particularly fond of either - the PRefects almsot inevitably had an overinflated sense of self-worth, and the Aurors...well, as far as James was concerned, they just weren't welcome. It brought unnecessary attention to the Express, and made them more of a target than they ever would have been before. The Ministry was knee-jerking to Grindelwald's vendetta, and if he was as cunning as reported, he would only twist that to his advantage.

Before long, the train quickly began to fill with eager students, and their bubbling eager energy filled the carriage compartments with altogether far more noise and merriment than James could stomach. Setting down his staff between his leg and the window facing out over the station, he unfolded a copy of the Daily Prophet, Burying his head in...well, it didn't matter. He barely bothered to read the words. The paper was, in all honesty, mostly there to stop other students from attempting smalltalk. Not that there was anyone in his compartment, of course. Anyone older than a first year had heard enough about him to give him a wide berth, considering the 'incident' in the dueling club last year. Not that James saw the big deal - after all, noone had any permanent injuries, so it couldn't have been that bad - but at least it meant people were usually smart enough to give him plenty of space. Well, most of the time, at least.

"Er, hey buddy, heh - um, can we, heh, can we sit in here?"

James lowered the paper slightly to look at the three seventh years guffawing and elbowing one another in the entrance to the compartment, the leader wearing a cocky grin on his pimpled face almost as obnoxious as the Gryffindor scarf and beanie he wore. What is this, some stupid bet? See who can provoke the psycho kid, right?

Sighing softly to himself, James folded down the newspaper and placed it on his lap. His hands grasped his staff, and with one single motion, he swung it around, letting the length of wood slide through his hands until the tip stopped, just barely in front of the student's nose. Funnily enough, all three of them had stopped laughing. In fact, they'd all gone rather pale.

"Sure. Come on in." James growled dangerously as he glared at the three, their eyes bulging out of their heads in surprise and alarm. For a moment, they stood there stunned, before finally bolting back down the hall, clambering over one another to get away.

Meanwhile, James allowed himself to indulge in a smile as he shook his head, returning to his newspaper. At least intimidating people to leave him alone would come slightly easier this year. Things were beginning to look up, after all.​

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[Phantom]

"Name, House, and Year please," said a rather bored looking ministry clerk.

"Anastasia Oswald, Gryffindor, Sixth-year." Anastasia said with a huff, she had arrived a few minutes ago, but was going to be late thanks to this god-awful man in front of her. She rolled her eyes as she handed her wand over and then again as he let her pass, this was going to be a wonderful day. She sheathed her wand and pushed her cart through the crowd, making her way to the train with ease. As she got her luggage situation figured out, she walked to the back of the train, and up to the Auror's carriage.

Most students, it seemed had stayed away from the train car, but the only reason she was there was to make sure that her father wasn't assigned here. She was relieved when she found out that he had been allowed to return home and take care of Anastasia's mother, who was several months pregnant with the couple's second child. After her business with the auror's was finished, she made her way into the main part of the train, shouldering her knapsack. Near the middle of the train, she was pushed to the side of the hall by a trio of seventh-years. Normally she'd let this go, but she was rather ticked off from her encounter at the front of the station. So, with a flick of her finger, and the mumbling of, 'Accido' under her breath, all three boys 'tripped' on an invisible string.

Chuckling to her self, she moved on, stopping in front of a room with only one person in it, James Rickard. Walking up to the door, she slid it open and poked her head in, "Hey, Mind if I Join you? All of my friends already have full rooms."

 

[Vosrik]

"Mom, really! It's — it's fine, I can fix it on the train."

A chestnut-haired youth stood next to his parents, wheeling a cart heavily laden with a trunk, cauldron, and large bird cage. He'd experienced a growth spurt during the summer, and now Adam Chadwick stood nearly eye to eye with his dad. They had all passed through the barrier into platform 9 3/4, so there were no prying eyes and bewildered glances from the crowds of muggles outside. Adam's mother, a kind but short nurse at St. Mungo's, had just been rubbing a white patch on his Ravenclaw-blue jacket. At his admonition, she smiled meekly and pocketed her handkerchief.

"Oh, alright then. Just want my son looking his best going to school."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, patting Adam's arm proudly. His father was rather distracted, observing the jet black steam engine in replacement of its normal cherry red hue. "Interesting look, isn't it? I quite like it, actually." he murmured, mostly to himself. Adam gave them both a hug goodbye and kissed his mom on the cheek.

"I'll be writing! Don't worry, I'm sure all these precautions are for the best. We'll be fine," Adam assured them, trying to believe it himself. Of course, the student knew his mother and father would be tending to plenty of the wounded at St. Mungo's during the war. Hopefully, none of those would be from Hogwarts. The rumours of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons weighed heavily on everyone at the station, making the sendoff to Hogwarts not nearly as cheery an occasion as it always had been. Pushing his cart to the luggage carriage, Adam gave his parents a final wave before stepping inside and making his way towards the first carriage with the rest of the Prefects.

As he passed through the crowded corridors, Adam couldn't help but feel unusually optimistic about the year ahead of him. Clutched under one arm was a small, ornately carved box, and in the other he carried his Barn Owl, Cyra. The strange box was where the Ravenclaw kept most of his wandmaking projects, and he'd spent plenty of time during last summer break learning more about it and made exceptional progress. Perhaps his goal to become an apprentice at Ollivander's wasn't a fantasy after all. With this cheery thought, Adam entered the cabin to find a Slytherin Prefect, Ada Prewett (@Aberforth), awaiting the others. At once, his heart jumped to his throat as Adam was reminded of how awkward he was around girls — especially with the rumours of his "curse" floating about.

Giving her a quick nod and smile, he managed a meek "Hi," before taking a seat with his box and bird cage.

 

[Green Ranger]

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If you were to believe all the rumours, James would have bristled at the girl's innocent request to join him (and, depending on who you asked, James would probably be anticipated to throw one of several rather painful jinxes at the poor innocent girl for even speaking to him. Of course, the students' rumour mill hardly ever gave an accurate estimation of events, and it was no exception this time. The truth was James wasn't half as violent as they would have you believe (dueling club incidents notwithstanding, of course), but he was just simply rather...ill-mannered and gruff for the most part.

So while James didn't pretend not to look annoyed as he peered over the edge of the Prophet, his grunt of assent bid the poor Gryffindor girl welcome all the same. Besides, it was simple math - the Express only had enough space for the several hundred students on board thanks to some rather intricate spells that wove extra compartment space into the carriages, meaning that there was already far more students than the logical sitting room - at some point or another during the journey, James would have to share his space with others, as much as he disliked it.

At least the usual giddy banter was dulled this year. War seemed to have that effect on people. Talk about your silver linings, James mused to himself, turning the page of the Prophet to a double spread feature on Katrin Kohler, 'One of Gellert Grindelwald's chief agents, the criminal Kohler is known for her brusque manner, cavalier attitude towards extreme violence, and glowing hatred of so-called 'impure wizards and witches' - believing all muggles to be a disease, she has been responsible for numerous murders, and is believed to be Grindelwald's chief agent in the United Kingdom at this time, seeking to bolster Grindelwald's ranks of pure wizards and witches in order to overthrow the Ministry and the Muggle world. If seen, DO NOT APPROACH - notify the authorities immediately and/or seek somewhere to hide.' Matching the piece, an enchanted photograph of the witch was splayed across the page - Kohler, in Azkaban prison clothes, glaring through iron bars with a dignified glare, her mouth gagged. Despite the strict, measured look of the woman in the photo, her hair was a tangled mess of frizz and curls that stuck out sideways as much as it cascaded around her shoulders, giving the illusion that the woman almost had a mane around her neck that seemed to make her even more imposing. James stared at the page long and hard, memorizing her looks as best as he could, glaring intently at her, his eyes burning into the page. Screw Grindelwald. If I ever meet that murderous bitch...​

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[Aberforth]

Ada was among the first Prefects the make her way to the carriage. The Head Boy and the Head Girl, looking pompous and overly dignified, welcomed her aboard. She had not been surprised to learn, earlier this summer, that Professor Dippet, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, had once again passed on the opportunity to nominate someone from Ada's house to hold one of the prestigious positions. For all their false modesty, students of other houses, current and former, were extremely prejudiced toward Slytherin House: ambition was always frowned upon.

Ada passed by the cabin where a small golden "5" had been painted above the sliding doors. She peeked inside, trying to catch a glance to see who Professors Kettleburn, Beery and Dumbledore had chosen from their house to take on the extra authority and responsibilities being a Prefect entailed. Predictable, she thought slightly disappointed. When Professor Slughorn, had asked her opinion on the fourth years he had intended to select as Prefects at the end of the previous year, Ada had been candid: when all Prefects were know-it-alls, nobody respected them. While she herself was quite a gifted witch, never would she embarrass herself correcting a mistake a teacher had made on the black board, for instance. She had a social status to maintain.

Stopping at the second cabin, she took the seat closest to the windows. If conversations got boring, like they had last year, she would let her thoughts wander off the enchanting scenery. The cabin had been bewitched with an Undetectable Extension Charm to extend its internal dimensions without affecting its external dimensions and eight people could sit comfortably. It was a quite advanced piece of magic that Ada longed to perform.

Soon, she was joined by a Ravenclaw Prefect, Adam Chadwick (@Vosrik). A tall, lean man with short brown hair, Ada would have found him attractive if it wasn't for the fact that every time he was around her, or any other girl for that matter, he seemed to be struck by a Stuttering Jinx. Ada had heard rumors that he had been cursed a few years ago, but she hadn't given them much attention. After all, he was a sixth year now: if he had been cursed, he should have been able to lift it...

Nodding at her, he acknowledged her presence with a timorous "Hi." Looking directly at him, she smiled.

"Chadwick!" Ada replied vigorously inviting him to take a seat.

"How was your summer? Mine was quite uneventful. You would think with all the Prophet has been reporting that something interesting would have happened... An attack from a Runespoor or from a horde of Nundus, but no," she sighted.

 

[Alhon]

Kam drew up beside the central carriages, waiting impatiently for an overweight Hufflepuff to haul himself up the steps in front of him. It seemed that, despite rationing in both Muggle and Wizarding worlds alike, this one hadn't dropped a pound over the summer. He took the opportunity to unlatch Osiris' cage, letting the jet black feline slip out of his confinement and up onto the train, disappearing between the Hufflepuff's thighs. At least one of them would find a seat in time.

Glancing left, Kam spied Adam Chadwick boarding the train further down the platform. His fellow Ravenclaw looked like a poster-boy for the nuclear family, standing there with his two bright eyed, smiling parents in tow; they were hugging goodbye like they didn't do this every year. Kam looked away, trying not to let his own nature get the better of him. Chadwick was nice enough really, overly nice in fact, with a nerdy handsomeness that was almost enticing on occasion. They'd always rubbed along ok, particularly when House events brought them together and the guy was smart, which Kam always respected. His own family issues were precisely that; his own. No reason to lose perspective.

A meowing cry brought Kam back to reality; the Hufflepuff was gone and Osiris was back. The cat paced in the carriage doorway, beckoning him onboard. He knew better than to ignore the pet and climbed up the steps, dragging his trunk and belongings behind him. Storing them away and folding his coat and scarf on top, he made his way down the train, catching sight of his reflection in the window. The gold of his Ravenclaw tie flashed in the light of the lamps and he tried his best to suppress a grin. He really did look great in a tie.

Sidling into a compartment with two second-year Gryffindor girls, Kam took a seat by the window before subtly motioning to Osiris. The cat stared at him intently with its bright yellow eyes, still for several moments, before turning and bounding up onto the girls' laps. As anticipated, the girls screamed in surprise before fawning over the feline from head to tail, stroking his head and ears. Osiris almost seemed to smile, savouring the attention, before leaping down and out into the corridor, leading both girls on a merry chase.

Kam sat quietly as the door slid shut behind them. The simplest distractions were always the best.

Reaching into an inside pocket, he pulled out a small vial containing a murky orange liquid, swilling it about with slender fingers. Pulling out the stopper, he downed the contents in one, breathing deep through his nose as the concoction roared through his veins. It seemed to light a fire in his chest, spreading a warmth and an energy that flared through every fibre of his being.

Ra's Fury.

It was his own name for his own creation. A blend of Male Palm berries, fire seed, Aconite root and one or two special ingredients from a particular London nightclub, the potion acted as the ultimate tonic, particularly on a grey day like today. However, due to the head rush that followed, it was also quite possibly illegal.

But what was life without a little risk. Kam had no plans to wave it in front of the Potions Association. Instead, he folded his arms and relaxed into the corner of the compartment, smiling from ear in ear in contentment.

 

[Vosrik]

The energy and enthusiasm that Ada displayed in reply caught Adam quite off guard. Never having had many good experiences with Slytherin in general, this was rather a surprising turn for him. He knew he had to do better, and the Ravenclaw even said to himself before leaving home that this year was going to be one of his best. So he needed to try better, starting today.

Placing Cyra's cage on the shelf above the seats and sitting next to the prefect (but not too close), Chadwick listened attentively to her recount of the summer and mention of the dark times the Prophet spoke of nearly every day now. Adam nodded thoughtfully, clutching his embroidered box. "Well, my parents work at St. Mungo's — and, well, they get loads of blokes in all the time." See, he could do this. Keep talking.

"I mostly worked on homework and these," he stated simply, opening up the box to reveal some finished and half-carved wands inside. They were very intricate wands, though there were some broken ones inside as well as carving tools and other magical components.

@Aberforth​

 

[Con Carne]

Perceval Magnani was victory. Perceval Magnani was triumph. Perceval Magnani was legend. Perceval Magnani was deeply and terribly unhappy.

Games lasted but for a few moments. Long enough for the toothy-smiled, slight Uruguayan to kick off from his worn broom, whirl through the air for a moment or two and then find the snitch. Friend and foe alike would note the lethargic ease with which Magnani captured the small golden objects. It was as if his hand was charmed to find the snitch. There were no death defying leaps. No dizzying dives. Most opposing teams barely got off the ground before the match was over.

The Hungarian keeper Kelemen Dobi would sneer and punch the quaffle hoops in frustration. The legendary Bulgarian Dragomir Krum would nod, disappointed but content for his strange friend. Igbo Thalassa, the greying Nigerian chaser, sleek and fast as an agéd but not yet-past-his-prime courser would laugh and shake his head. The greatest airmen of the age and they had never been so acquainted with firm ground.

The victories came so quickly that Club Atlético de Quidditch Peñarol --Magnani's patron team-- spent more time gilding and placing elaborate coruscating charms on their star seeker's victory mementos than planning and scheduling matches. The Mirasoles had drank so deeply of their wins that even Magnani's fans wilted a little at too-familiar a taste.

He drank. Let his body go to fat. Took on increasingly baroque dares. He was blindfolded. Tied to his broom handle. Poisoned with a diluted stunning solution.

And still his hands found the snitch.

And the draught of victory thickened and thickened until Perceval could no more swallow it down than he could hemlock.

THE DEATH SNITCH.

Perhaps it was fate that the grotesque shrine to all of his triumphs would set Magnani on that fateful path. He'd stand there, eyes blank, and fingers --so calloused with the wood grain of so many brooms-- tracing the first snitch. The second. The third--

"--The Death Snitch?"

Katherine Rosier was squinting at Geraint's scribblings, her thin lips pursed in restrained amusement.

Geraint stood to his full height, the cold wind buffeting them both as they stood in queue. With exaggerated dignity he folded his notebook and tucked it inside his jacket's breastpocket.

"Hullo Rosier."

"Katie, darling. Katie."

She was a small, pureblood sort of witch: all raven curls, and slate-grey eyes. She was thin --but not unfashionably so-- and aside from the trademark square Rosier jaw, a very pretty sort of girl if you were interested in that thing. Like most highborn witches she didn't look threatening at all.

Geraint promptly fingered his wand.

"Waiting for your boyfriend, Rosier?"

"Cecil graduated last year, Gerry."

He did know. Vaguely. He hummed a reply to that effect.

"Don't call me Gerry, if you please." Mumbled Geraint.

"Yes, it is sort of lacking as a pen name, isn't it?" She pointedly glanced at the bulge in his breastpocket.

Geraint said nothing, waiting for the queue to move. He'd always liked queues. Every so often, he'd break out of his languorous about to about life and catch a few dewdrops of human flesh and sentiment. It was enough to add to the rubbish he wrote down, if not to quite fertilize it into something he was truly proud of. Mostly he liked the structure and anonymity queues provided.

Just one sod in a line.

Rosier waited --she was nothing if not a patient girl-- as a fleshy Ministry wizard waved them through. One at a time, and after a brief inquiry about their blood status, a scan of their wand, and a stamping of a ledger. At least, Geraint reckoned that was the standard process. Their fleshy wizard was flushed and his nose bright red. His questions were slightly slurred, and their queue was the slowest moving of the four or so set up by the Ministry.

Geraint forthrightly stared at the blooming capillaries in the rotund Ministry official's face. It painted a grotesque sort of picture and not for the first time did he wish Rosier would bugger off so he could scribble again.

Suppose that was what he did, really. Poems. Novellas. Rengas that year the Japanese purebloods had visited. Like most writers, Geraint didn't know if he was good (he was of the opinion he was somewhere between rubbish and pants) but he coloured in every bit of his life with writing. There'd even been a few charmed (and derangedly filthy) limericks he'd written and kept on his person. The look on Caretaker Apollyon's face when he'd found them had been well worth the punishment (Yates always had a bit of an anarchist streak.)

"Gerry? Geraint? YATES!"

They had been waved through.

"Yes, Rosier?"

Rosier was assessing him coolly. She hadn't quite mastered the imperious and sphinx-like "I have come to weigh your heart against a feather, you rotter" gaze that her Mum had so perfected because she was biting on her lipsticked lips.

"I sort of had a favour to ask you..."

She didn't get the chance to elaborate as a crush of third year Gryffindors washed over them.

Anthropologically speaking, third-years were the very worst. They knew enough to lord it over easily-awed second forms (and firsties, oh Merlin the firsties) but didn't have the teenage sense to at least pretend sophistication and detachment. Gryffindors, true to form, were a concentrate of pubescent brashness.

Still, Geraint couldn't have complained really. Rosier had been about to ask him for a favour, and if there was a more sinister line to come out of a pureblood's mouth, Yates could have hardly imagined one better than "I sort of had a favour to ask you" (though he imagined "What's this I hear about you associating with mudbloods?" and "You know, you really might find productive employment at the Ministry's Department of Regulation of Magical Weights and Measures; their work with converting Merfolk specie is fascinating" were close seconds.)

So he let himself be borne away by the Gryffies as though he were some kind of indolent sea king and they were spotty-faced and awkward crabs, rolling him off the beach and into the tide.

And even his meeting with Rosier one of his "friends" from Slytherin hadn't been all bad, he'd reasoned as he tapped his valise with his wand and shrunk it to a more manageable size. It couldn't help but remind him of this year's predicament. And Geraint, for all his penchant for the pen was still a very pragmatic sort of fellow.

I need a tutor, don't I? Or at the very least a hangman...

Fate, as it so often does, intervened dear reader when he espied the Prefects' cabin.

Adelberth! Aethelred! Adrian? No, no! That wasn't right! Aemelius? Aaron? Er... Larry? (@Vosrik)

Whatever his name was, the Ravenclaw Brain was known for being equal parts clever and solicitous and Geraint could easily imagine garnering his assistance. He couldn't approach him in the Prefects' cabin. Too much stuffiness for his well-developed sense of irony to handle without his head exploding but perhaps...

He ranged about the cabins until he found who he was looking for.

Yates had never particularly cared about the rumours swirling around Rickard. (@Boli)

He was funny in a "I'd eviscerate you and pickle your remains, but your fat head would take too long to butcher" sort of way and Geraint had never really been frightened of anyone. Other than Aunt Hildy of course, but who could blame him? He also admittedly found the mixture of adult intensity and flashes of adolescent petulance admixtured in Mssr. Rickard to be amusing.

Not that he'd ever tell the boy with the staff that. He wasn't frightened of him but he wasn't stupid either.

Some redhead bint had taken the seat next to him. Gryff by the look of it.

He opened the cabin door.

"Er... 'Lo," he said briskly.

"You lot mind if I sit here?"

 

[Jason Vaiken]

As Catherine made her way to the Prefect cart she couldn't help but smirk at faces of the underclassmen as they gazed out at the scenery, some of which is scarred and deformed as if someone continually set off blasting curses. Her father off-handedly mentioned how the Muggles have been massacring eachother for just over two years now. Judging from the amount of devastation and pent up moods of the Muggles she walked past, she can infer, that the war is not going as well as it should. But, the real shock came when her mum tearfully came in and told her that her cousins and uncle were in hiding after what she called, "The Fall of France" supposedly, the Germans conquered the whole country and the wizarding world is not doing much better. The French Aurors and Ministry are waging a war against Grindelwald and him and his followers are continuing to cause chaos. But, as everyone knows, Hogwarts is the safest place in the world and they should be fine. She flicked her wand and was surprised that she was able to non-verbally cast a Locomotive Charm. Well, I'm getting better she thought to herself as the trunk followed behind her.

The prefect cart is one of the perks of being the Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain. Whilst she cannot punish people, she can go and use their bathroom and is one of the most important members in the school, mostly because she is the decider of the team that will represent her house. Slytherin did well last year and she plans to build on that. She only needs to find a decent pair of beaters, the majority of the team are younger players who will last until she is gone from the school. Which only means that she needs to lead them to victory, which she doesn't find too difficult of a problem. She can see quite a few people making her eye, either admiring her amazing looks and humility. She gives a few smiles and nods at a few of her friends and mouths, "talk to you later" before entering the cart and taking in the people.

Well, if it isn't Prewett and Adam, the former is someone she grew up with being a pureblood family and all that and she believes she somehow shattered poor Adam's confidence when they were 14 with the 'Great Wand Incident.' With a smile she walked up to the two of them as she ended her charm and stored her trunk. She then turned to them and with a small smile began to speak.

"Prewett, Adam, it's been far too long since we've last spoken, it's a pleasure to see you again."

 

[Green Ranger]

​

With a deliberate sigh of irritation, James let his newspaper flop down again in order to see who was talking this time. At least he knew this one's name - Geraint....somethingorother. It didn't matter all that much, except for the fact that the young man was in the same year as him, and a fellow Slytherin, which made him just barely noteworthy - more than could be said for most other students, of course, at least according to James' rather skewed assessment of his peers, but still.

At least he had the common sense not to treat James like a leper. Not that he tolerated the boy any more than anyone else, but James found the reputation that preceded him to be...well, bullshit. He was a rude and surly young man, for sure, but particularly in his own year level, the way students more often than not kept at least five meters away from him at all times, like he was some violent, dangerous or unhinged person? On the other hand, as James' father used to say, 'Lesson one of life, James. People are stupid. Teenagers moreso.'

The truth was, most students at Hogwarts would, if they thought hard enough about it, realize that James hadn't always been the ogre the rumour mill would have you believe he was. In his early years, James was unremarkable as far as students went (aside from his staff, of course - slow to hit the growth spurts of puberty, James spent his first year at Hogwarts carrying his staff out of the history books, clacking the wooden shaft against the stone pavings between classes. Back then he was a joyous child - somewhat humourless even then, to be sure, but he had his fair share of friends, and would socialize and spend time with his fellow Slytherins. After an accident before his fifth year, however, he had returned to Hogwarts scarred both inside and out - the long, ugly scars along the side of his face were a topic of much speculation, though eventually even that was ignored as the students preferred to instead talk about what an insufferable, crotchety bastard of a young man he had become.Whatever sympathy anyone held towards him quickly evaporated as he successfully isolated himself from everyone and everything.

For most students, all that was left was the memory of a person that once was, replaced by who he was now, and a general, well-understood advisement that it was just better off for everyone if he was left alone as much as possible (for various reasons, depending on who you would ask). Of course, the Hogwarts Express kind of forced everyone into close quarters with one another, and it seemed the cabins were filling fast, what with the increasingly unusual group of people filling the current cabin.

"It's fine," James said, his voice somewhere between a mixture of a grunt and a bark in that oh-so-typical adolescent manner of monosyllabic communication, folding the newspaper slightly to pick his staff up from his seat, instead sliding it down between himself and the wall of the carriage. "Sit down if you want. Everywhere else is prob'ly full anyway."​

​

As the train made it way through the countryside of northern England, away from cities and towns and deep into the timeless countryside, it was easy to leave the concerns of both the muggle and wizarding worlds behind, and fear and nerves soon gave way to joyful banter and the anticipation of a new year at Hogwarts. Within the engine cabin, however, things were less carefree. For such an advanced locomotive, the replacement muggle engine seemed to be burning far hotter, and producing far less steam than anticipated, and progress was slowed than anyone would have liked it to be. Over the din of engine, the grinding and clanking of the locomotives countless moving parts, and the roar of the steam pumping through the boiler, the fireman and driver shouted arguments at one another, barely able to hear one another as they shouted questions. So busy were they fighting with one another as the fireman shovelled yet more coal into the firebox that neither spotted the small, glowing lizard nestled within the coals, scaled flesh glowing with heat.

At the back of the train, in the specially attached Auror carriage, a number of specially assigned wizards sat in moderate comfort monitoring any number of devices attuned to various charms and wards around the train. A number of other Aurors were out ahead of the train ,sweeping the countryside for potential threats - and in order to ensure peak alertness, teams were rotated out on the hour - the Ministry of Magic was sparing no expense and taking no risk with the next generation of witches and wizards, especially given the recent silence of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons in Europe.

Of course, this all was a little dull as far as 'Capes' Flannigan was concerned.And that was just the way he liked it. At a grizzled Hundred and fifty years of age, and with all of his limbs still remarkably intact, Capes was one of the most well-respected and senior Aurors at the Ministry's disposal. Whether it was through sheer skill, or simply because he was excessively cautious and never took risky assignments, was a matter for others to debate. As the old wizard sat in a wingback chair aboard the carriage, a small table at his side with a china cup of tea completely undistrubed by the rumblings of the locomotive due to the fact that cup, saucer, table, chair and Auror were all floating half an inch clear from the floor, he glanced out the carriage window, fingers rubbing a handkerchief over a pair of rounded spectacles. Opposite him in a matching chair, his companion and partner for this assignment, a girl of barely five feet in height with the mouth and demeanor of a miner, the fiery middle-aged girl known to all only as Whiskey. Wrinkling his nose, Capes scratched idly at the brush-like bristles on his lip before glancing again at the small-statured woman.

"Check the wards," he growled, not bothering to look at the woman.

"I jus' checked them, ye tit," the woman snorted, a finger digging into an ear to clear out only-God-knows-what from deep within. "Iffin' ye don't trust me, you can get up and check for yerself for once, aye?"

Capes grunted. "You didn't check them properly. Something's not right. My nose itches."

"This again? Ye nose itches on account've all the hair growin out of it, ye senile old twit." Whiskey snapped. "How many times has that thing itched an' nothing's been wrong, hey? Maybe instead of relyin on gut instinct ye should rely on all the magics we've woven to protect this here train ye old goat."

As Capes continued looking out the window, he slowly put the spectacles back on. "Whiskey. Forget the wards. Grab your broomstick."

"Broomstick? What in blazes for? It's not even our shift yet, you old...you....I mean...." the woman trailed off, getting up and stepping towards the window as she followed Capes' gaze upwards and into the sky and the great, shadowed silhouette that blocked out the sun as it roared overhead.

"Merlin's tits. I'll go get my broomstick."

​

As the beast roared overhead, the Auror carriage of the train suddenly exploded as a full dozen wizards blasted out of the carriage on broomsticks, racing skywards to intercept the creature before it could dive on the train. The winged creature was especially agitated, however - turning its focus to the incoming aurors, with a snap of its jaws it tore one clean from her broomstick immediately, while a bloom of flames incinerated another three - their broomsticks destroyed, they fell to their certain doom. Among the surviving Aurors, Whiskey looked around in alarm, trying to catch some glimpse of Capes. She'd lost him almost immediately after setting her sights on the beast, which she was about 90% sure was a dragon at this stage, but she had no time to look for the old man. Firing a glob of sticky goo from the tip of her wand at the creature, the substance bounced off the scaled skin harmlessly, and she was forced to juke her broomstick quickly to avoid a clawed wing flailing at her mid-flight. The creature's muscular tail ended in a thick club, which it used to great effect to dismount yet another Auror. Seemingly satisfied with having disposed of almsot half of the Aurors in a matter of barely a minute, the creature's head suddenly stared downwards - and within moments its body followed, enormous wings spread out like parachutes to slow and control its descent as it dove down on the train.

The sound of claws rending wood and metal was horrific as the beast didn't so much as swoop over, but crash straight into, the front of the locomotive. The beast roared in rage as it bissected the boiler of the engine, the opposing momentum of creature and train colliding causing the beast to tumble and tear through most of the locomotive before crashing into the front half of the prefect carriage, the roof collapsing on at least half of the carriage and the compartments contained in that end of the train utterly destroyed. The impact of the creature smashing into the engine with such force derailed the train, and the other carriages rolled and crashed into one another - mostly intact, but some of the carriages had fallen on their sides, while the entire, terrifying derailment meant that the students within would be injured anywhere from bumps and bruises to broken bones and...potentially even worse.

And as the steam and smoke and dust settled, the injured roar of the beast turned quiet and desperate - bruised and injured itself, the beast picked over the broken remains of the locomotive, overturning pieces of twisted metal and calling out as silence settled over the area in the aftermath of the crash. With a caw, the creature found what it was looking for - in the shredded remains of the firebox, amongst coal and ash, the beast lowered its head as it nudged the body of the the young wyrmling within, scales charcoal black and still glowing faintly at the edge.

The young lizard did not move.

The elder nudged at it again, pushing more forcefully this time.

And again, its young would not move. Nor would it move ever again.

As the mother took to the skies once more, hers was a call of indescribable fury, pain and sadness at the loss of her young. And as she circled the crash site below, it was clear she was not yet done with the wizards who she blamed for her child's death.

 

[Undine]

Unlike most Ciaran had showed up early, even managing to sneak past the guys checking for unauthorized magical items for fear they'd confiscate his scrying glass, the small onyx mirror being his main method of communication with his family, as he didn't have an owl of his own. Normally he'd have packed it with the rest of his stuff in his luggage but decided to keep it on him this year, just in case his eldest sister Caera attempted to contact him. No one had heard from her for months, having last been seen in France in late February, Ciaran hadn't spoken to her since his birthday. Even though the Ministry hasn't declared all out war against Grindelwald, it had been on the horizon for awhile now and with Caera's work as an Auror, she'd been tight lipped about what she was doing in French. Still, he held some small hope she'd contact him if only for his nephews' sakes, as Caera was unable to see her two sons off to their first year at Hogwarts.

Though he'd made sure to wake them up early and arrived to the train station more than an hour ago, it had taken more time to get the boys settled than he'd imagined, with them choosing to find company elsewhere amongst the other first years. Now on his own, standing in the corridor with the thick black mirror in one hand as he absentmindedly brushed his thumb across the silver backside of the glass. It didn't take long for him to put the small item back into his pocket and begin searching for somewhere to spend the rest of the trip. Eventually stumbling upon a lone Ravenclaw whom he recognized as Kam, though he couldn't remember his last name. While they'd never really been friends it wasn't as if they'd made it to their 6th year without meeting before. Without really asking, offering a simple nod in the egyptian's direction Ciaran sat opposite him, next to the window before pulling the scrying glass back out of his pocket without thinking.

He offered Kam a smile and a hello, but didn't really feel like making much smalltalk, too much was on his mind. With the threat of war coming to Britain, most of the Clearie family had traveled back home to Rook's End, and other than his two nephews, this would be the first year he wouldn't be attending Hogwarts with one of his sisters, the youngest of which had just graduated last year. It was odd, having to play the role of the oldest sibling for his nephews, having seen them more as brothers growing up than anything else. His entire life had been dominated by his family, and with all his sisters mostly off doing their own things, Ciaran gelt a sense of loneliness he hadn't expected. In fact, he'd mostly expected the opposite right up until the morning of. The idea of finally being able to do whatever he wanted without one of his sisters standing over him had been a real plus at the beginning of the summer when his family had celebrated her graduation. Turned out spending his entire life in a one room cottage with eleven other people tended to make one family oriented. The drab grey of London had never been appealing to any of the Clearie children, but this year in particularly it had left him feeling homesick.

Deciding to throw off his glumness, he put the black mirror back into his pocket and turned to Kam about to ask him how his summer had gone when the train stopped and the sound of metal tearing and the train screeching to a halt screamed all about them. The tram they were in overturned and fell off the tracks, what sounded like a horrendous roar could faintly be heard through the ringing in his ear as he sat up. His hand and arm bloody from broken glass, the window, he thought as he reached for his head to find more bleeding. The ringing in his ears faded as the pounding in his head took over. He instinctively reached for his wand, hidden inside his black jacket he wore over his pale green shirt. His next thought rampaged through his mind so loudly it burst right out his mouth. "The Twins!" Without knowing what he was really doing, Ciaran looked for Kam while beinging a small healing incantation to repair the damage done to his arm by the glass.

First he'd need to heal himself and make sure Kam was okay, then he'd go search for his nephews. Luckily the tattoo over his heart hadn't done anything, it was a sort of family tradition to get tattoos of celtic knots laced with the names of living relatives. Each name was enchanted to feel hot when one of them was in danger or seriously injured. It's the only reason the Clearie family hadn't shipped off to France in force to try and find Caera, they'd felt nothing and her name was still a pale blue color as it would have turned black if she'd been killed. Ciaran stopped to see if he sensed anything from the tattoo, just in case one of the twins had been hurt. Sensing nothing he once again turned his attention to the reality around him. "Kam, are you okay?" He asked, the lights having gone out or even burst due to the shear force of the derailment, and with the window now facing the earth with grass poking through, Ciaran wasn't able to see the other boy at first.​

 

[Alhon]

Kam's eyes fluttered open at the sound of the compartment door. Probably the Gryffindors...

But he was wrong. Little Ciar! The short Hufflepuff was well known and had always seemed pleasant enough, but their different Houses had kept them apart in previous years. People started to fall away by the sixth, however, and Kam hoped he might just get to spend a little more time with the brightest and best outside Ravenclaw.

He returned the hello, but Ciaran didn't seem in the mood to say much more. Kam knew the feeling; today was drab, drab, drab, though he felt a little better for the tonic rushing through his veins. Nonetheless, it was a shame to see the little guy's face twisted with worry and concern. Gods knew there was a million things he could be worried about after this summer, but they were off back to Hogwarts at least. That was enough to cheer Kam up. Wasn't it enough for the irish boy?

Then, two things happened at once. Ciaran opened his mouth as if to speak, but was stopped short by flashes of light and an almighty shudder that rocked the carriage. Neither of them had any time to react. Kam's world was wrenched sideways with tremendous force, slamming him against the carriage wall and down onto the floor. Wood and metal screamed in protest, while debris fell all around, hitting his left temple and knocking him into a world of black.

Kam woke slowly, unsure how much time had passed. His ears were ringing with shock while his arms and legs were slow to respond. Grass tickled his cheek, revealing that his world had been completely upturned. Slowly, he began to move, curling first into a ball and then rising onto his knees, coughing amidst the dust and smoke. He left temple was bloody and throbbed with pain, but a combination of adrenaline and Ra's Fury got him standing. What was going on?

Ciaran's honeyed voice sounded from nearby, his tone anxious. "I'm alive" Kam replied, "are you alright?". As if in answer, a primeval roar echoed through the carriage and Kam felt immediately for his wand, relieved to find it still intact in his coat's inside pocket. He drew it out, ignoring the gunk gathering from a number of cracked vials. He could worry about his mixtures later; right now, his mind was racing; the Hogwarts express had come off the rails; something that just didn't happen. From the sound of it, they were not alone out here in the countryside.

"We have to get out of here" he said, beginning to make out Ciaran's silhouette through the murk "We have to get clear and find out what's going on. You with me?!"

@Undine ​

 

[Phantom]

Anastasia sat down on the seat furthest from Rickard, deciding to give him some space. Once settled in, she dug through her bag and pulled out a book on wandless magic. She would then pull out a pair of spectacles and start reading. As more people started to pile into the cart, she would occasionally look up and smile at someone entering, or passing by the compartment.

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Her reading would be interrupted by a loud screech, and then the train turned upside down. It was all a blur to Anastasia, the next thing she knew, was that she was lying on her side, on the widow of the compartment she had been sitting in. Looking around, she saw that she had landed away from the other two people in the compartment; thank, God. She began to sit up, going over herself and making sure that nothing was broken.

She then stood up, figuring that the boys could handle themselves. She felt around her robes to make sure that her wand was safely intact. Then she heard the screech again, they needed to get outside. She looked up, taking note that they wouldn't be getting out the traditional way, and then looked to the ceiling in front of her. Deciding that it would be a waste of time to fumble with a wand, she stuck out her hand and said, "Reducto!"

Anastasia was expecting a show of power and destruction, what she got was a few sparks to fizzle out from her fingertips. Retracting her hand and looking at it in disappointment, and with a little heat rising to her cheeks after realizing that she just embarrassed herself in front of two people she barely knew. "Well, that could've gone worse, I could have set the entire room on fire."

 

[Con Carne]

Geraint watched as the landscape seemed to bloom with freshet after freshet of grass. Aside from a subtle repelling charm on the windows that kept away insects and dust, it was almost hypnotic to watch vast seas of nature untouched by magic. He was not, one must hasten to add, a sort of naturalist or idealist, but he was cursed with an imagination like a tab of freshest butter. Rich, indulgent and so prone to picking up off flavours that the oddest image could brand itself into his eyelids and churn and churn and churn.

At Green-On-Water, a few miles off of the Windrush River he could recall the always-present and tacky, sticky feel of recently laid charms. Evergreen trees stood at yule, never wilting in blowing snow, but delicately frosted, leaves glistening and forming a green-silver diadem around each branch. Roman Candles and Catherine Wheels that lit and relit themselves, ozone crackiling, fire smashing, Yule-gashing. Grass never bent in the wind there, not in the charmed Quidditch pitch, nor on the grounds where Uncle Gideon had taken to playing cricket (a Mugglish habit, admittedly, but one even their Black connections and relatives did not begrudge.)

They were... disquieting recollections. An odd set of things to be disturbed by, but then he was an odd duck, if it came right down to it. He sighed and pressed his forehead to the glass, slipping ever fitfully nto sleep. Rickard and the redheaded girl --Oswald... yes I saw her surname monogrammed on her valise-- had not exchanged many words besides a few strained pleasantries (in Rickard's case so strained they might as well have been wrung.)

For a moment he had the childish notion to smash his nose against the window and make rude faces. Why and to who he did not quite know.

Sleep took him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He never remembered what he dreamed. This time was no different. He was in a dark aether, filtered with lights. Every so often, a soft Surrey accent --the trolley girl-- would break in. He'd jolt on some sudden curve and then... nothing.

It all happened so quickly that he almost thought it was part of his unremembered dream. There was a horrible metallic groan, as if the train itself had been wounded and then a horrible jolt.

Geraint woke immediately and braced himself as the car went up and down.

He was hurled up onto the ceiling and only a hastily uttered cushioning charm saved him from broken limbs. He fell back down and could hear an odd ringing noise in his ear and --was that a roar?

And then he was on his side. The windows were cracked and they were wholly upside down. His vision was blurry. Geraint gingerly felt his sides (everything seemed to be in the right place) and then checked for his possessions. Notebook? Intact. Wand? He pulled it out and squinted at it. Warm in his hands. Seemed alright. He shrugged with a shoulder and dimly noted that it felt rather painful.

He could make out the flame-haired girl (and his vision must be really bollocksed because that seemed a rather literal description) and Rickard standing up.

"Alright?" He asked with a nod.

Alright.

Another roar. This time both of his companions tensed and he knew he wasn't just hearing things. To her credit, Oswald was the first to act. With a practiced flourish, she drew out her wands and enunciated a blasting spell.

Nothing happened. Oswald was mortified. A hazy part of Geraint's brain registered that this ought to have been funny, but his senses were torn between his innate sensibility and a plasticine stupidity, like he had been dunked in elf-made wine... and then made to drink said elf-made wine... with a lot of very stupid elves.

Geraint blinked and then pointed to a small metal handle on near his side-window.

"Emergency hatch, loves."

He drawled with the confidence of the half-asleep (and possibly entirely concussed) and swung the handle down then pushed the door open and stepped out into the grass. The train had overturned right by an enormous wheat field, grown so tall that the tallest stalks towered over him. The Express itself was a gloriously ruined thing and he could make out oddly fuzzy segments of it wrapped and warped off its original axis. A few unfortunate cars seemed to have been gouged open. Some were flattened to nothing. The train looked like a half-crushed worm, snuffed out by some demented child (about those Black relatives...)

His imagination didn't have much time to clarify, as it were, and make an egg sauce of the whole thing before--

Roar. Again.

He nervously tugged at one of his ears and winced. It was so... irritating. So much so that Yates almost mulishly refused to look up, but a feel of heat and wind passing... just... over bade him to.

Oh.

It was a dragon. Wheeling overhead.

Well...

Bloody buggering Hollandaise.

 

[Green Ranger]

​

James had heard all sorts of stories about near death experiences. How time would seem to slow down to a crawl, how one's life would flash before their eyes, how the person seemingly had an infinite moment to contemplate the righteousness of the actions of their life, weigh their souls, and surmise whether it had all been worth it, or if one had any regrets. For James, however, it was somewhat more mundane than that. One moment he was reading yet another of the Prophet's hysterical and fearmongering anti-muggle editorial pieces of propoganda, ("Muggle-Born Wizards are Diluting the Potency of Magic; Why The Likes of Merlin Will Never Be Seen Again" by Helga Skelter) sneering at the antagonistic drivel. The next, sky and ground turned on each other, and James found himself somersaulted across the cabin as it shook and turned, and with a great heave crashed sideways to the earth. Within moment the carriage had settled on its side, and as the thudding in James' head subsided he shakily got to his feet, ears still ringing, head pounding and a dull ache in his left leg that caused his vision to swim and blur everytime he tried to place pressure on that foot..

Kicking aside luggage, he managed to find his staff easily enough - being a solid piece of wood, it was far less prone to breaking than the small, flimsy wands, and for once the wizard was rather relieved to see the usually cumbersome device in one piece and working condition. Placign the staff on the ground to help steady himself - and take some of the weight off his injured leg - he looked around to see his two companions were relatively unscathed by the incident, save a few cuts and bruises. In fact, it seemed like the fiery haired Gryffindor was ready to spring into action headfirst as she tried to disintegrate the poor, unoffending ceiling of the carriage that now stood in front of them. A few impotent sparks shot out of her fingertips and scattered across the ground, and that was that, leaving her demonstration of wandless magic rather...wanting. Despite her sheepish joke about thankfully not setting the carriage on fire, James remained unamused, instead throwing a cold glare at the girl before following Geraint as he opened the emergency hatch, wincing as he clambered through into the air outside. Smoke, ash, steam and dust stung his eyes as he stepped out - the ruins of the train's engines had belched out its innards as it came to a crashing halt, and the carriages had kicked up the stone ballast in every whichway, leaving the whole wreck in something of a dusty haze as children from every carriage limped their way out into the open, sobbing or whimpering in the wreckage as the students looked around in a daze. High above the wreckage, the silhouette of a massive beast soared over the crash site, circling around as it wailed and screeched, and James vision blurred again as he strained to look up at the creature.

That was the exact moment that the beast dove towards them.
​

​

With a shrieking roar, the Dragon dove over the wrecked carriages close enough to the ground so that the wind beating down from its wings whisked up the student's hair as it passed by. Most of the students froze in fear or cowered, while others scattered away from the carnage, screaming in fear as they ran away from the train and out into the grasses surrounding the wreckage. This proved to be the wiser course of action - as the dragon passed over a second time, a hail of shots like cannon fire rained down from above into the wreckage, the projectiles bursting into flames with almost explosive force as they impacted with the ground. With the wall of claming carriages behind them, the dragon then swept down onto the ground in front o the fleeing students as the first of them ran forward, cutting off their escape as it herded the students in.

Walking on hind legs, wings folded forward on its forelegs and easily the size of the locomotive it had demolished, the beast was clad in dull, soot coloured gray scales from head to tail while red eyes glared at the students as it stepped forward, lips peeing back to bare rows of daggerlike teeth. From within its closed maw, a foul-smelling reek caused the nearest students to gag. Without warning, the beast reared back its heads, as if something were caught in its throat, then flung its head forward violently, opening it's jaws to expel its deadly flames-

-And with a series of loud pops!, the several surviving aurors suddenly apparated into a wall between the students and the beast, and crying Stupefy! in unison, red bolts of light sparked out from each of their wands and striking the beast, causing it to halt dead in its tracks...for all of half a second. Shaking off the magic, but still nonetheless surprised, the beast coiled around in retreat, clawed wings scrabbling at the air as it took off again, screeching overhead. The students had a brief reprieve for now, but unless they moved quickly, the beast would be back soon.​

​

​

​

 

[Undine]

As Ciaran's eyesight began to adjust to the darker atmosphere he could see the blood coming from Kam's head, though the egyptian boy didn't seem to be to injured. Ciar would have to remember to offer to heal the cut for him later, making a mental note of it as Kam stood and spoke to him. Ciar was a little confused at Kam's words, of course he was with him it wasn't like either of them had many options at the moment. As long as the tattoo on her his didn't start to hurt he knew the twins were safe, and for now he and Kam really just needed to get clear of the train. "Let's just get clear of the train, that sounded like a dragon to me and I'd rather not be stuck in here when it comes looking for lunch." With that, Ciaran stood up and reached for the latch to the escape hatch, the handle seemed to be jammed.

A thin line of light could be seen where it had warped outward on impact. Standing back, holding one arm up across Kam's path as if to shield him, Ciar raised his wand towards the hatch and whispered, Bombarda, causing the hatch to tear itself from the cabin and fly outward with a loud explosive force. Ciaran made no hesitation to move forward, stepping out of the cabin only to see the dragon being fought off by a group of Aurors. He'd seen and met many forms of magical creatures in Rook's End, but he'd never seen a dragon before. For a brief moment Ciar froze, no small amount of awe and fear stopped him dead in his tracks. It wasn't until Kam stepped out next to him that Ciar came back to his senses, following the Ravenclaw as he made a run for it.

Ciar had no idea where they were going to hide, an open field wasn't the ideal place to be when attacked by a dragon, but his thoughts were focused elsewhere. As he ran, Ciaran looked everywhere for his nephews, spotting them a few dozen yards away with a small herd of first years and one of the teachers leading them, Ciar was able to calm his nerves. It was doubtful even a dragon could match a Hogwarts professor, or so Ciaran told himself.​

 

[Jason Vaiken]

To say that Catherine was not prepared for the world to suddenly devolve into the scream of metal crashing into metal and the involuntary sense of flying would be an understatement. That was, until she went through a window and got her skin shredded by glass fragments, followed up by the sensation of her arms breaking on impact as she rolled clear, followed up with a crack and a white flash as her head struck the ground giving her a major concussion. The Gryffindor Prefect didn't even know what hit them, her brain and body in shock as she could barely process the sheer amount of pain she is now in as she passes out.

//Sorry for the wait and short post, I was on vacation. But, I feel that the injuries are decent enough considering I got thrown out of a train.