CHAPTER 63
Approaching the indicated column, I went to place my hand on it, but it passed right through. So, this is where I go. Just as I was about to step forward, I felt a small, childishly spiteful clump of magic hit me. With an effort of will I localized it, detached it, and sent it back to the sender. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw no possible attacker. Shrugging, I stepped through the immaterial barrier and found myself standing in the middle of a rather gray station. King's Cross, judging by the sign on the wall. Ordinary people in winter clothing bustled around, and I headed for the exit, following the signs.
Leaving the station building and stepping onto a well-lit parking lot, I spotted our car parked in a prominent place. Even though it had long since grown dark outside, the city, and especially the capital of England, was quite bright thanks to the abundance of street lighting. Father got out of the driver's seat and waved to me. I did not make him wait and quickly approached.
"Hi," I smiled.
"Oh, you have grown!" Father clapped me on the shoulders. "And it has not even been half a year."
"Good nutrition, healthy sleep, and physical exercise," I shrugged.
"Come on, get in."
"And Hermione?" I opened the back door of the SUV, tossed my backpack inside, and got in myself.
"She came too?" Father was surprised as he sat behind the wheel.
"Was she not supposed to?"
"You would know better. You study at the same school."
"We are in different Houses and both very busy. We do not talk much."
"Hm… That is a shame. Let us wait then. We arranged your visits back in the summer, and Hermione usually writes herself whether she is coming or not."
"Alright."
We had barely begun our conversation when we both noticed a flustered Hermione running out of the station under the streetlights, quickly looking around.
"And here is your little sister," Father smiled, glancing in the rearview mirror.
"She could have said she was coming too. Though… I could have said something myself."
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and hurried toward the car. Father got out to meet her. A joyful reunion, hugs, Hermione immediately started talking about something, and within moments she was already sitting next to me in the back seat.
"Hector, why did you not say you were coming home too?" she looked at me with mild reproach as Father pulled out of the parking lot.
"You did not say it either, Mione. I thought you would decide to stay with friends."
She looked at me like I was an idiot.
"You had better tell us," Father interrupted our aborted dialogue. "How is Hogwarts? How is the magic?"
"Oh, everything is just wonderful…" Hermione burst into enthusiastic chatter, and I decided to remove myself from the conversation, looking out the window at the colorful lights of the evening city preparing for the holiday.
Soon we left London behind, and halfway to Crawley Hermione's enthusiasm ran out and she grew quiet.
"And what will you tell us?" Father glanced at me in the rearview mirror.
"I would prefer to tell you and Mom together, so I do not have to repeat myself."
"Hm. Smart."
We arrived home fairly quickly. Hogwarts really lacks this… normality, I suppose. An ordinary good private house, ordinary Christmas decorations, ordinary snow, and I am sure there will be ordinary bustle at home, English warm and cozy. A funny word, by the way.
Mom met us at home, busy in the kitchen. After receiving my share of hugs and joy at my having grown up, I was sent to my room, as was Hermione. Christmas was still almost a week away, but the preparations were already evident: soft yellow lights of garlands, the aromas of herbs and fruits. On the way to my room, I could not help noticing the living room, where white and red decorations were scattered about, a dressed Christmas tree stood proudly, and classic Christmas stockings hung on the fireplace.
Entering my room, I looked it over. A rather modest dwelling. Boards covered in incomprehensible symbols were still there, as was everything else. Opening the wardrobe to change, I saw the same clothes that had been bought for me to grow into. Now they fit just right, though I still feel a bit too thin. I think it is like anorexia, only the opposite. I wonder how long I will keep seeing myself as skinny.
Changing into home clothes, I went down to dinner. After satisfying our initial hunger, we all settled into the measured poking at plates, slow eating, and conversation.
"So, tell us what is new and interesting," Mom asked curiously.
Hermione started talking again, but in fairly general terms, and more about friends than studies, about how great it is to learn new things, and the like. About new subjects this year, about how interesting it is to study them.
"And why are you quiet?" Mom smiled at me.
"Well, Hermione is doing a fine job describing school life. There is a slight difference, of course."
"Then tell us," Mom lifted her teacup.
"Well, what to tell…" I leaned back in my chair. "Our House is close-knit, I fit into the group easily. Everyone treats each other in a friendly and tolerant way, but without intrusiveness. We train in magic, play games. Studies are not difficult, everything is clear and accessible, though sometimes there is too much filler in textbooks and other literature."
"And what about Quidditch?" Father asked, and Mom nodded in agreement.
"A very dangerous sport," Hermione shook her head.
"Books are dangerous too, little sister," I smiled, earning smiles from our parents and indignation from Hermione. "You read about some very complex magic, the book has no warnings, you make a tiny mistake, and you can end up bedridden for a month with consequences. Or get an irreversible injury. Or kill someone."
"No way! Everything will be written clearly in a book, what to do and how."
"Oh really? And you have never made a mistake?"
Hermione blushed slightly and looked away. Did I guess right?
"Oh, and in what?" I leaned toward my sister. "Come on, tell us."
"Indeed," Mom encouraged her. "You did not tell us about any failures."
"There were no failures!" Hermione puffed up, but quickly pulled herself together. "I just imagined the consequences of some mistakes."
"Oh?" I voiced my doubt again, and the same doubt was visible on our parents' faces, but they decided to drop the topic.
"So what about Quidditch?" the previously asked question came again.
"Hm… Handball on flying brooms, with two bludger balls flying all over the place. At a relatively low altitude and with the possibility of breaking something."
"That sounds awful," Mom protested quietly, and Hermione nodded vigorously.
"You both have medical backgrounds and perceive everything within the medical norms for an ordinary person," I shrugged.
"And are wizards different?" Father asked reasonably.
"Hermione," I turned to my sister. "Have you ever… I do not know, cut your finger?"
"It happened."
"Did it heal quickly?"
"Well… Hard to say," she thought, brushing aside a lock of unruly chestnut hair. "I have nothing to compare it to."
"Roughly?"
"The wound closed very fast, and the cut… A couple of days."
"That is fast," Father summed up. "Of course, it depends on the depth of the cut."
"It was pretty deep. I almost cut off the pad of my finger."
"And you did not say anything," Mom shook her head reproachfully.
"So," I drawled, lifting my teacup and taking a sip. "If you really want to, you can independently, with magic and will alone, heal a very wide range of injuries overnight. And there is also medicine. They regrow bones overnight there. Even an entire arm, under certain conditions."
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