Chapter 162. The Weasley Twins' Gift
The Hogwarts Express let out a toot-toot as coiling white steam billowed from its chimney.
In the dim yellow glow of the platform lamps, it looked like a sinuous dragon rising into the air.
"Wake up, wake up, Duncan, the train has stopped," Pro shouted, tugging hard at Duncan's hair from atop his head.
"Got it…" Duncan stretched lazily, then suddenly dipped his head towards the floor.
Pro's flailing paws missed his hair and, with a squawk, it dropped like a bomb towards the floor.
"Don't be scared, I've got you!" Duncan clapped his hands together and caught Pro precisely, smiling as he spoke.
Pro lay limp on Duncan's hands, panted a few rough breaths, then stood and stamped its paws angrily on them.
"Wretched Duncan, always bullying Niffler!" Pro grumbled as it climbed towards Duncan's shoulder.
Wearing a smile that said "I was wrong, but I'd do it again," Duncan nudged Neville, who was sprawled spread-eagled beside him.
He then bent over and tapped lightly on the fold-down table at the side. "Hermione, the train's arrived—wake up."
Hermione, a thick book on her knees and her head nodding down now and then, opened her eyes drowsily, her gaze vacant.
"Are we at school?" Hermione's cheeks were flushed from sleep as her eyes drifted to the window.
"Yes, that's right," Duncan said, standing to take their trunks down from the rack. "What were you busy with over the holiday? You look rather tired; didn't you rest well?"
Hermione yawned. "Mm. I had Harry and Ron help me borrow a few books from the library about Nicolas Flamel. I went through them all over the holiday to see whether I could find more clues."
"Tsk tsk, so diligent," Duncan sighed to himself. But with Quirrell dead, would anyone still try to steal the Philosopher's Stone?
"All right, most people have gone. We should get back to school." Duncan lifted the trunks, pushed open the compartment door, and stepped out.
The platform at Hogsmeade Station was, as ever, small and dark—exactly like the opening scene of a horror game.
Hagrid wasn't there, either, so after a glance around they followed the surrounding crowd along a muddy lane.
Not far off stood rows of quiet carriages. Hermione looked about curiously for a while, then turned back in delight.
"Duncan, do you see those carriages? They're all suspended in mid-air!" she said, as if she had discovered a new continent.
"There are animals pulling them," Duncan replied, for what he saw was completely different from what Hermione saw.
In front of each carriage stood a strange-looking creature, its form somewhat like a reptile, yet with the great body of a black horse.
There was no flesh on them at all; the black hide clung tight to the bones, every rib plain to see.
Their low-hung heads were like a dragon's, their pale eyes had no pupils, and they trailed long black tails.
At the rise between their shoulder blades was a pair of wings, which they flicked now and then to shoo away the chattering little insects nearby.
"Oh?" Hermione narrowed her eyes to look closely, puzzled. "Then why can't I see them?"
"It's a good thing not to see them," Duncan said with a smile, "because the animals drawing the carriages are called Thestrals."
"Thestrals?" Hermione murmured, and her face immediately showed sudden understanding.
It was as if she had swallowed all the notes Duncan had given her; without thinking, she rattled off everything about Thestrals.
"Miss Granger, your answer is absolutely correct—ten points to Gryffindor!" Duncan smiled and nodded, stepped forward, and gently stroked the Thestral's bony back with his palm.
The Thestral snorted and blew a warm breath. Feeling goodwill from him, it turned its head and nuzzled against him.
Hearing Duncan's teasing, Hermione's face turned scarlet with embarrassment.
"Duncan, it seems to like you a lot!" Neville said in amazement, for every animal he had seen seemed to like Duncan.
"Neville, you can see them too?" Realising she alone could not see the Thestrals, Hermione spoke with a feeling that was neither quite dejection nor relief.
"I once witnessed my granddad's death…" Neville said softly.
"Oh—sorry!" Hermione said at once, contrite, and hurried to apologise to Neville.
"It's all right," Neville said with a forced smile. "I can hardly remember what my granddad looked like any more…"
"Friends, we should be off as well. You can sit down in the castle and then go on discussing these old matters."
Duncan climbed into a carriage, bent and stretched out his arms, and hauled both Hermione and Neville up.
The carriage rumbled on. Ahead was a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates, with many stone pillars on either side, and winged boars perched upon the plinths.
"By the way, I've finished the notebooks you gave me before. I'll return them to you tomorrow—could you give me some new ones then?" Hermione said.
Newt's notebooks were fascinating and contained many brilliant spells; much of the knowledge was hard to learn in class.
She had no resistance to books of this kind and wished she could cram them all into her head and digest them.
"No problem—tomorrow at noon," Duncan replied with a smile. "I got loads more from Grandad this time."
"Wonderful!" Hermione said happily, her face almost glowing.
The carriage swayed through the gates, then sped along the long sloping drive and came to a stop before the castle.
Duncan pushed the door open and got down, and at once two voices—so excited they were almost in tears—rang in his ears.
"Duncan, our dearest friend, you're finally back! If we hadn't seen you again, we'd have drowned in the tears of longing!"
At these words, Duncan gave a full-body start, a bad feeling rising in his heart, and instinctively turned to bolt.
But he wasn't quicker than those two wretched gits. They hemmed him in from both sides and stroked their hands over his face.
Duncan struggled hard a few times, shoved Fred and George aside in annoyance, felt his face, and shouted angrily, "Fred, George, you pair of punch-worthy blighters—what on earth did you smear on my face?"
"It's our gift to you—absolutely hilarious!" Fred and George chorused, laughing so hard they were doubled over.
Duncan was about to go on scolding them when he suddenly noticed Hermione and Neville staring at him with odd looks.
Both of them were holding back laughter—especially Hermione, whose cheeks were puffed out and as red as apples.
"What are you—" Duncan began in surprise, then fell silent at once.
He understood why they were laughing.
Fred and George had turned his voice into that of a slightly high-pitched girl—and it even sounded a little sultry…
"You two had better hurry and write to Mrs Weasley to have her prepare your coffins—otherwise there won't be time!"
Duncan shrieked, then roared and sprang at Fred and George, determined to fight them to the death!
Pro slipped out of Duncan's pocket, scrambled onto Neville, and waved its paws wildly to cheer Duncan on.
It was so worked up it wished it could rush in itself and land a couple of punches on Fred and George!
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