Chapter 78: Preparing to Set Off
Stan Shunpike and Russell were already quite familiar with each other. He reached out to take the fare and gave Russell a cheeky wink.
"So—this your girlfriend?"
"Uh…" Russell shot a headache-inducing glance at Wednesday, unsure how to answer. If he said yes, wouldn't that make him sound like some kind of creep? He genuinely didn't like little girls—especially gothic ones.
Really. He didn't.
"You may think of it that way," Wednesday said calmly, lifting her chin. The faint curve at the corner of her mouth suggested she was in an excellent mood.
"Exactly what she said," Russell echoed. Since Wednesday had put it that way, he wasn't about to contradict her.
"Then consider this my gift to you two," Stan said, turning around to fetch two steaming cups of cocoa and placing them into their hands.
"Thanks, Stan," Russell said, taking both cups and handing one to Wednesday.
She took a sip—and frowned.
She didn't like hot drinks.
Russell noticed the subtle change in her expression and asked quickly, "What's wrong?"
"You drink it. I don't really like this," Wednesday said, passing the cocoa back to him.
"Alright then." Russell didn't stand on ceremony. He quickly downed both cups, feeling warmth spread through his body.
"Honestly," Stan added, "why didn't you just use Floo Powder? Not many people choose the Knight Bus for trips this long."
There were only a handful of passengers on the bus. Seeing this, Stan Shunpike simply sat down across from Russell and struck up a conversation.
Most of the time, it was Stan talking, with Russell playing the role of a patient listener.
"Life's always full of surprises," Russell said, tossing out a line that sounded more philosophical than he intended—even he wasn't sure why he'd said it.
Stan nodded vigorously, clearly agreeing.
"By the way," Russell added on a whim, "if I wanted to go to Hogwarts, could you take me there?"
"That's a good question," Stan said thoughtfully. "Never tried it, but I don't see why not."
"Oi, don't even think about it!" the driver shouted from the front. "I'm not keen on a one-way ticket to Azkaban!"
It might have sounded exaggerated, but the concern was real. If just anyone hopped aboard and asked to be taken to Hogwarts, and something went wrong, the Knight Bus crew would be in serious trouble.
"Oh, right—this year's a big one," Stan leaned in conspiratorially. "Bet you don't know what's coming."
"You mean the boy who lived, Harry Potter, starting at Hogwarts?" Russell replied with an amused look.
"Well… yeah. Guess most people can figure that out," Stan said, a little deflated at the lack of shock.
He perked up again almost immediately. "So—which House do you think that boy would be sorted into?"
"Gryffindor. No question," Russell said without hesitation.
"Thought so too. His parents were Gryffindors, after all."
That wasn't the real reason, Russell thought. What mattered most was Harry's courage.
"Is Gryffindor the best House at Hogwarts?" Wednesday suddenly asked.
"All four Houses are equal," Russell answered calmly. "It's just a matter of which one suits you best."
"That sounds exactly like something Professor Dumbledore would say," Stan muttered, shaking his head.
"I want to be in the same House as you," Wednesday said, staring straight at Russell.
"No problem," Russell replied with a smile. "With your intelligence, Ravenclaw would be happy to have you. But if more than one House wants you, stick to your choice—the Sorting Hat listens."
"What did the Hat say to you?" she asked.
"Anywhere but Hufflepuff," Russell said lightly. "The other three were all options."
He understood now why Slytherin had shown interest as well—his bloodline was unusually pure. There was nothing wrong with Muggle-borns or half-bloods, of course, but pure-blood heritage did open certain doors.
Especially when it came to Avalon.
Russell had quietly made inheriting Avalon his ultimate goal. Everyone needed a dream, after all.
He glanced at Wednesday. She had grown sleepy, her head resting against his shoulder, already fast asleep.
Once she learned more about Slytherin, he suspected she might change her mind. Its common room, after all, overlooked the Black Lake—dark, deep, and beautifully gloomy. Exactly her aesthetic.
Seeing that Wednesday was asleep, Stan stopped talking and began humming softly to himself.
"We're here," Russell said gently, tapping Wednesday on the head.
She blinked awake, then promptly closed her eyes again.
"Didn't sleep much last night, I guess," Russell said with a smile as he lifted her onto his back.
"See you, Stan."
By now, he was completely used to the Knight Bus's wild jolting. No dizziness at all.
What surprised him was that Wednesday hadn't felt dizzy even once. Some people were just built differently.
The moment they got off, Wednesday woke fully and hopped down, instinctively taking Russell's hand.
Her palm was cool and soft against his. He wasn't being weird about it—it just felt… nice.
"Let's check the map," Russell said. "Ottery St Catchpole, near Devon. Still a bit to walk."
The Knight Bus hadn't dropped them directly at Cedric's house—privacy reasons, according to Stan.
Knock, knock. Knock, knock.
Cedric was sitting on his bed, flipping through a Puddlemere United magazine. Founded in 1163, the team was one of the oldest and most successful in British Quidditch history, competing under the British and Irish Quidditch League.
Dressed in navy blue with crossed golden cattails as their emblem, Puddlemere United had won the League Cup twenty-two times and the European Cup twice.
They were Cedric's favorite team.
What he admired most was this: the proceeds from their team anthem—"Boys, Beat Back Those Bludgers, Throw On That Quaffle"—were donated to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.