Eunoia | Sirius Black

|7|

King's Cross Station, London, 1977
September 1st, Pleasantly Windy

Fenwort!

I am almost toppling over my own feet as I run to remove 12 ounces of marshwort or cranberries as Ella calls them, mixing those delicacies with water, sugar, a tiny bit of salt and boiling it.

I am definitely not leaving for this strange school without my cranberry sauce. Nope.

"You have all your belongings packed?"

I turn around and nod. Grandfather pauses at the genuine joy on my face, his own lights up, too.

This day feels so light, so unlike my other days at the mansion. For all the claiming I did of not caring about going to Hogwarts or not, I was definitely red in the face from excitement.

My red hair wasn't helping much. They were long locks, resting on my shoulders from the middle partition, giving a paler and redder look to my face. I did not like it, obviously.

My nearly teal eyes glowed with warmth as I poured the sauce into a container and dashed towards my room upstairs.

It was motherfudging ten o'clock. The train left at eleven if I remembered it right from my Hogwarts invitation letter. Oh no, no, no, no, no –

I hurry to dump all my bright and dark clothes in the trunk, along with my uniform, backup uniform, backup-backup uniform, and backup-backup-backup uniform.

It takes precisely fifteen minutes before I'm running towards the hall with a little mascara smudged. I curse and gallop back upstairs, fixing it in another fifteen minutes before finally, finally, stepping down and grinning at my grandfather.

He looks like he wants to laugh, but he won't. I know he won't. He never laughs in front of me, but I can bet every coin I own that the moment I'm dropped off at the station, he'd be rolling back home from all the mirth he's discreetly locking away in his eyes.

I scowl and pick my trunk and owl cage up. I'd forgotten to feed the thing, grandfather had been doing it for me. Or hiring someone to do it, is more likely. We had a few house pixies and a few servants but I did not like when they did work like this – which they weren't paid for, so it must've been the pixies. Or grandfather had likely paid the maids for it.

Whatever it was, I was glad the bird was in shape and also mad that it was so goddamn heavy.

Grandfather did me a favour and quickly apparated to King's Cross Station. The owl – whom I'd named well, owl, squeaked loudly for minutes after we'd landed.

I could relate. Apparating had never been my forte, but I'd grown used to it by now, so feeling bile rise up my throat happened rarely if at all.

"Isn't this the muggle area?"

"We go in through that wall."

I shoot my brows up and follow his gaze towards a brick wall. "We what?" I fake a laugh.

"Go through that wall." Grandfather chuckled. "Just – run through it. It's enchanted, won't hurt you."

Well, if I was dreaming, I could very well use some waking up by slamming into a brick if it didn't work.

With a shrug, I pushed my trolley, which I'd borrowed from the station towards the wall with apprehension. He started to walk toward it. People jostled me on their way to platforms nine and ten.

Leaning forward on my cart, I broke into a heavy run — the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — and just when the brick should've slammed into me, should've knocked me out – It didn't come . . . and I opened one eye in fear.