My heart skipped a beat as the photo came to life. There we were, Jacob and I, jumping up and down and grinning at Mom. She must have thought it was because we were excited. Mischievous, giggling, and making silly faces at each other. Little did she...
"A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds f a s c i n a t i n g..."
"Go away," Percy snapped.
— Joan Ketlin Rowling, "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets"
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"Push a little harder!" Rowan urged from somewhere behind me as I grappled with the stubborn door. It seemed determined to resist my efforts.
We watched the platform flooding with cloaks and pointed hats, and observed others chatting and laughing — everyone but us. Amidst the commotion, nobody seemed to notice Rowan frantically pounding on the window.
"If this is a joke, then it's a bad one. Whoever locked us in here will regret it when I report it to the Headmaster!" She furiously flung her scarf over her shoulder and continue drumming on the glass with renewed vigor.
I stepped back from the door, taking a moment to catch my breath. Then leaned in again and unleashed a series of mighty shoves, desperate tugs, and well-placed kicks with the toe of my boot. The door stood there, unyielding and unimpressed.
"There must be some sort of spell for this! Let me think..."
Rowan moved away from the window, and a sense of relief washed over it as the pounding ceased. However, the tension shifted to me as she reached for her wand. The fear was intensified by the fact that Ro had been frantically flipping through her charms textbook throughout the entire train journey.
Her glasses glinted with a hint of desperation. I bit my lip and threw myself at the door once more, summoning a renewed burst of strength. I'd rather break my arm than die from a mispronounced spell.
"Was it Bombarda? Oh, no, it's Aloho..."
Crack! Crunch! And then, a short, almost surprised cry — it was us, the door and I. We clung to each other for a fleeting moment, before crashing to the ground in defeat. I chuckled at the absurdity of the situation: instead of becoming a Hogwarts student, I ended up being a pioneer of door wrestling. Not exactly the title I was hoping for.
Rowan cautiously peeked out of the compartment, her eyes scanning the deserted corridor.
"Don't know if I should cheer up or not," she mused thoughtfully, helping me up. "We didn't make it out with everyone else. We'll hardly make it to Hogwarts on time, won't be able to attend the sorting ceremony, won't start classes, and will go home. Right on this very train."
The prospect of not starting classes scared her the most. I looked around, rubbing my bruised shoulder. It wouldn't be surprising if there was a sizable bruise forming — a mark as blue as the flag of the house where my brother belonged. And the house I, of course, hoped to be sorted into as well.
We started making our way to the platform exit.
"This is Hogsmeade station," Rowan hummed, bounding onto the cobblestones. The sound of her jump echoed far across the station. "Not far from the village the seniors get to visit."
The chilly air instantly made me shiver, and instinctively, we huddled together for warmth. Rowan lovingly adjusted her scarf — the one I had recommended — and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in my fashion counsel. It turned out I can advise something worthwhile at times.
