Harrry Rotter: chapter sevenA children's story

I wrote this story, this skit, for a bit of fun, that's all, but so many of you emailed me. saying

how much you liked it, i just HAD to publish it. Happy reading. from the crazy-mad writer.

Arrrgh!!!

Chapter Seven

A Train to Catch

Box didn’t like the idea of leaving his parents, but he knew that if they were to have any hope of

ever returning to something resembling their previous, quietly lived lives, he had to. Thankfully,

Harry had already dispatched the bearded men to a place where she said they would be safely

contained, until everything was sorted. Box wondered what that actually entailed. Then casting it

to the back of his mind, for his own sanity as much as for concern for the men, he went along with

his cousin’s instructions…

High above the clouds, travelling fast on the moth-eaten magical old carpet, Box looked over his

shoulder and watched as his home disappeared into the distance, and he felt a tang of regret that

Harry, his troublesome cousin, had ever escaped from that special boarding school.

During the following hour neither of the carpet’s two occupants said anything, preferring, instead,

to catch up with their thoughts on all that had happened – and so quickly, and on everything that

might soon happen in their quest to secure the item Harry had left at school.

When the carpet began slowing, Box tapped Harry on the shoulder, asking, “What’s happening?”

Harry made no reply; she just continued to sit cross-legged, steely eyed in her determination to

carry out and succeed in her objective.

As the carpet began to lose height, everything below them began to grow bigger and bigger.

Enthralled, Box imagined he might reach out and touch the trees, the houses – everything.

“Careful,” Harry warned, “or you might fall off.”

“Are we landing?” he asked, hoping for a reply this time round.

Harry nodded.

Then it hit him; with a start Box suddenly realised that they were flying over the very heart of the

city, smack bang over the centre of London, and he asked, “Why here, in the thick of it all?”

Without saying a word Harry pointed to a sprawling timeworn old building below.

“Is that a railway station, Box asked, screwing up his eyes, trying to get a better look.

“It’s Euston,” she replied. “We have a train to catch…” Losing height, the carpet flew through a

discreet opening in the station’s roof, before landing safely on the concourse where no even one

person paid them the slightest bit of attention.

Folding the carpet, as her shocked cousin marvelled at the bustling station and their most unusual

means of entry to it, Harry carefully returned it to the safety of her bag.

“Why have we stopped here? Why didn’t we travel all the way by carpet? Box asked. “And

where are you going now?”

Without answering (Box felt a growing unease with this treatment), Harry began walking along the

concourse with a confidence that said she knew exactly where she was going.

“Well?”

Stopping, turning to face Box, she said, “Do I always have to explain ever last detail – everything

– that I do?”

Having been put firmly in his place, Box said no more on the subject, leaving the matter of

transport and its associated arrangements to his troublesome cousin.

Harry began walking again, and didn’t stop for a good one hundred yards, until she was directly

beneath the huge clock at the station’s centre. Then turning a sharp right (again in complete

silence) she made her way across to one of the tickets counters. Opening her bag, Harry took out

her purse and produced another golden coin, which she duly pushed across the counter. “Two

platform tickets, please, and you can keep the change,” she said.

Inspecting the coin with incredulity, the woman slid it into her pocket, before opening her own bag

and buying the ticket with her money. “There you are,” she said, handing Harry the two tickets.

“And have a nice day.”

Harry led the way back, retracing her steps across the concourse, towards the ticket barrier at

platform thirteen.

The woman behind the counter, taking another look at the golden coin, bit it, to prove to herself

that it was actually real.

“I know you don’t like me asking questions all the time,” said Box, as he faithfully followed his

troublesome cousin, “but I mightn’t have to ask you so many, if you were more forthcoming in

offering me information.” Ignoring him, Harry continued walking on ahead of him. “Well?” said

Box, flapping his arms against his sides, in utter frustration.

Harry stopped walking, and pointing to a sign, she said, “Read that.”

“Platform thirteen, it says platform thirteen,” said Box.

“Then that’s where we’re going,” she said, making her way up to the ticket barrier, where a kindly

looking old man of African origin was standing.

“What have we got here?” he asked as they approached him. “Two train spotters, I presume?”

“Yea, something like that,” Harry replied.

“Come on,” the man called out to Box, “or she’ll see all the best engines before you do.” Clipping

their tickets, he welcomed them onto the platform.

“The sign, back there, said this train is going to Argyle,” said Box, “and we have only got platform

tickets?”

Harry, however, ignoring him yet again, beat a path down the platform like her life depended on it.

“Harry!” Box anxiously called out, but she never heard him; she was simply too far ahead.

Running after her, Box tried to catch up, he really did. He ran fast, hard, trying to catch up with his

cousin, Harry. By the time he was approaching the end of the platform Box had almost done it.

But then he stopped, shocked by what he then saw. Despite being so perilously close to the end

of the platform, Harry was still marching along at full pelt. Puffing and panting, Box called out to

her, “Harry, what on earth are you doing?” But she never stopped, as she slipped off the end of

the platform and disappeared from sight.

Reaching the end of the platform, Box searched desperately to find Harry, but she was nowhere

to be seen – not anywhere. “Did you see her?” Box asked an old man, a porter who was shuffling

past a few yards from the end of the platform.

“See who?” the man replied.

“Harry – a girl,” Box shouted at him in sheer in desperation.

“It’s a funny name for a girl,” the porter replied, as cool as a cucumber, before walking away.

“But, but did you see her?”

“I saw nuthin’,” he said. “I keeps to m’self, I dus. Don’t get into any trouble that way.” After

saying that, he wandered further along the platform without uttering another word.

Box was stumped; how could Harry have disappeared, vanished without a trace? Scratching his

head in frustration, he racked his brains, trying to work out what could have happened to his

troublesome and increasingly annoying cousin.

It took him a while, walking up and down that platform like a boy demented, trying to solve the

puzzle of his missing cousin. In the end and it was the only thing he was able to come up with, he

decided to emulate what Harry had done, to simply walk off the end of the platform – and to see

what might happen to him.

It was scary, those last few seconds, before walking off the end of the platform. But without

anything better to do, without anything more concrete to follow, to find her, Box gritted his teeth,

and he went for it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” shouted the man; the same old man Box had been speaking to. “I

said, hey!” the porter shouted again, as he watched Box march defiantly off the end of the

platform. Then his jaw dropped, it dropped in sheer disbelief by what he saw…

You see, as Box walked off the end of the platform, he didn’t fall helplessly to the ground. No.

What happened was something far different, something incredibly amazing happened to Box; he

simply continued walking, his whole body tuning like the hand on a clock, swivelled round until he

was standing upside down on a another platform directly beneath the one he had just left. And

once he was there he had no feelings of being upside down, none at all, and because everything

else was on that same plane he forgot all about this ‘encumbrance’.

Meanwhile, up above, the old man, the porter, mumbled to himself, “I saw nuthin’ No. Nothin’ at

all… I won’t be getting m’self into any trouble that way…”

“You took you time in getting here,” said Harry, her hands resting on her hips showing her

displeasure at Box’s late arrival.

“But–” said Box, trying to explain what had happened.

“No ifs or buts,” said Harry. “Come on, we have a train to catch.”

Only then did Box notice the gleaming blue locomotive standing in full glorious steam alongside the

platform.

Although Harry had soon advanced several paces ahead of him, Box never saw this, and walking

along slowly he continued to talk to her as if she were still by his side. He said, “That’s the

Mallard, the fastest steam Locomotive – ever!” Then he stopped as he admired the quality of fine

workmanship of the engine, running his hand carefully along the smooth flowing lines of his all-time

favourite steam locomotive.

“Are you going to stay there all day?” Harry shouted from the door of the second carriage.

Looking up, seeing her, Box replied, “No, sorry, I was just admiring her.”

“Who?”

“Oh, never mind,” he said, embarrassed, knowing full well that girls don’t feel the same way over

such things. “Are we getting on?” he asked.

“That was the general idea,” she replied, disappearing through the doorway as she spoke. Box

stepped up into the black painted carriage.

Inside, the train was absolutely fabulous. It was like walking onto the set of the movie ‘Murder on

the Orient Express’, like returning to the heyday of the Victorian era. There was so much to see,

Box didn’t know which way to look first. “Wow,” he said, spotting the beautiful stained glass

panels dividing the carriage into comfortable, useable sections. Tracing a hand along an exquisitely

etched mirror, Box marvelled at the craftsmanship.

Spotting a beautiful Queen Anne chair, Box was just about to sit down, to try it for comfort, when

Harry called out, “What are you doing?”

Forgetting about the chair, Box followed Harry to the far end of the carriage, where, pointing to

some seats half hidden by a stained glass topped panel, she said, “We sit here.”

Taking a seat, a comfortable well upholstered armchair, Box let out a long sigh, and he said, “If

someone had told me a few weeks ago, that I would be sitting here, on a train headed up by the

famous Mallard, in – where are we anyhow? – I would have told them they were stark raving

mad. But look at me, I am here, and I’m not mad, am I?”

Ignoring his references to madness, Harry said, “We are in England, of course.”

Raising an eyebrow, Box replied, “Yes, it’s England all right, but not the England that I know, the

England that I grew up in.”

Having no intention of being drawn any further than she was comfortable with, Harry said rather

cryptically, “We all live in a world, the view of which can so often be clouded, by eyes that see it

so differently. This,” she said waving her arm in front of her, “is how we see it.”

“We?”

“Yes, we mystics and magicians…”

“Oh, I had forgotten about all that – and us, me, being – what was that word you used?”

“Muddle.”

That’s it, Muddle. What does it mean, anyhow?”

This time it was Harry who raised an eyebrow, and in her characteristically blunt manner, she said,

“We call you lot Muddles, because that is what you are so good at – getting in a muddle.

Box felt quite hurt by this cruel observation and he gave her a most disapproving look. Harry,

however, never even noticed it.

The train shuddered, lurching backwards and forewords. “Right on time,” said Harry, eying the

platform clock through the carriage window. The train lurched once again, and excited talking

could be heard amongst the occupants of the carriage. Peeping out, above the screen, Box

wondered again why everyone was wearing a Victorian style of clothing.

“Are you hungry, Box?” Harry asked, when the train finally began moving.

“Am I hungry? I could eat a horse,” he enthused, spotting a horse walking past the carriage

window.

“Be careful of what you wish for while you are here,” Harry warned, “or you might just get it.”

Then standing up, she said, “Follow me.”

Following his cousin, Box made his way through the connecting door leading to the next carriage,

and once he was through it he was astonished to see an entirely different set of furnishings and

décor therein – a fabulous art deco style. And even more surprisingly than that, he saw everyone

within it dressed in the corresponding style of clothing.

Despite their clothing being so different, no one paid Harry or Box the slightest bit of attention. In

silence, Harry continued through to the end of the carriage where she opened the door and exited

it. Box dutifully followed. And when he entered the next carriage, and saw all the tables and chairs

before him, he said, “Now this is more like it – the buffet carriage.”

Quite a few people were already there, seated at tables, being waited upon by men in black

trousers, black ties and snowy white shirts. One of them, an extraordinary man with two noses,

approached Harry, and asked, “A table for two, Madam?”

“Yes, “ Harry replied, “And by the window, if that’s possible.”

Hearing this, Box was astonished at Harry’s good manners, and especially to a man with two

noses.

After they were seated at their table, and the waiter had gone to allow them time to study the

menu, Box said, “Did you see that? Two noses, no less!”

Giving him an icy cold stare, she replied, “He’s a waiter, all waiters here have two noses.”

“All the better to smell the food with?” Box suggested, laughing.

“Yes, as it so happens, that’s right,” Harry explained. “There’s never a piece of bad food passes

one of their noses.”

Box laughed again; he couldn’t help it he just had to laugh.

For the first time in her life, Harry saw the funny side of being endowed with two noses, and she

discretely giggled at it.

When the waiter returned, he asked Harry if she had decided what to order. “Madam, have you

made your selection?” he asked, his pen and notepad at the ready, his two noses twitching as he

spoke. With that Box burst out laughing again. The waiter gave Box a most bewildered look.

Ignoring her cousin’s bad manners, Harry gave the waiter her order, and without as much as a ‘by

your leave’, she said, “My friend, here, will have the same as me.” The man bowed and made his

way to the kitchen in the next carriage.

“That’s not fair,” Box groaned, “I don’t even know what you’ve ordered.”

“Just pray that it isn’t lizard,” she replied dryly.

While he was waiting for his meal to arrive (whatever it might be), Box looked out the carriage

window, to the rolling countryside that he so loved. Every time that he saw it, each and every time

without fail, he made a promise to himself, that one day, when he was older he would buy a little

house in the country and settle down in a rural idyll.

Pushing a small trolley ahead of him, the two-nosed man eventually returned with their meal. After

smiling peculiarly at Box he began unloading its contents onto their table. Box watched in growing

amazement as dish after dish was spread out before them.

“Is all of this for us?” he asked in wonderment at what he was seeing.

Harry nodded.

When he had finished transferring the food from his trolley to their table, the waiter leaned over the

table, his two noses twitching like mad.

“What’s he doing?” Box whispered, trying his best not to laugh again.

“Smelling it, of course,” explained Harry.

“But I was only joking…when I said that…”

“I told you to be careful of what you wished for – remember?”

When he had finished eating (and it was most definitely not lizard) Box pushed his plate to one

side. Then raising his cut crystal glass, he swigged back the last of the ice-cold water the obliging

waiter had so thoughtfully provided.

Seeing this the waiter returned, and he asked, “Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

“Everything was perfect, just perfect” said Box. “In fact I’d go so far as to say that it was the best

meal that I’ve ever had.”

Hearing this, the waiter smiled at Box in the same peculiar way as before, but this time and he kept

on smiling.

Becoming increasingly unnerved by this behaviour, Box whispered to Harry, “What’s he waiting

for?

Harry, however, said nothing.

Guessing that he was waiting for a tip, Box searched through his trouser pockets for some money.

“Ah, have some,” he said triumphantly, withdrawing a handful of loose change.

“Here you are, my man,” he said, dropping a variety of coins onto the silver coloured trolley.

Leaning over the trolley, the waiter’s two noses began twitching, inspecting the money with

interest. Then he began shouting and roaring, saying, “I have never been so insulted in all my life!

Never!”

“What’s the matter?” Box asked the man, shocked that his kind gesture had been so

misconstrued.

Giving him a look that would curdle butter, the waiter tentatively picked up one of the coins like it

was contaminated or, worse still, radioactive. “This,” he said, and so disdainfully, “this ‘Muddle

money’ – you insult me with it…”

Having no other kind of money, Box felt so very small.

“Give him this,” Harry whispered, handing Box a couple of gold coins. Box cautiously offered the

coins.

Although readily accepting them, the waiter bit each coin in turn, before giving Box another one of

his odd smiles as he finally departed.

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Harry said, “Let that be a lesson to you.”

Box said nothing; he was simply too shocked by what he had witnessed, to speak.

“Come on, let’s get back to our seat,” said Harry, chuckling away to herself.

Upon their return to their seats, the two cousins found drinks awaiting them on the small table

between their seats. Picking up one of the glasses, and smelling the cloudy white coloured liquid,

Box asked, “What’s this?”

“Complimentary drinks,” said Harry.

“Hmm, okay, I’ll go along with that, but what actually is it?”

Grinning again, Harry said, “Taste it.”

Box stared into the glass, afraid.

“Go on,” she insisted, “You won’t be disappointed.”

“You go first.”

“All right, if you’re that paranoid I will,” she said, taking hold of her glass and knocking back its

contents all in the one go.

Feeling rather stupid, at being afraid of a complimentary drink, Box, following her example and

also knocked his back in the one go. And when he had done this he was absolutely amazed at the

taste, a wonderful flavour exploding on his tongue, like a million bursting bubbles, tasting of

mango, chocolate and vanilla.

“Wow, that’s fantastic,” he said. “What is it?”

“Fizzing Fruit juice drink,” Harry explained. “It’s a local specialty.”

An attendant who, thankfully, had only the one nose appeared, asking, “Was the drink to your

satisfaction?”

This time an altogether more cautious Box left Harry to do the talking, to thank him. After the

attendant was gone, he asked, “How long until we get there, to Hagswords?”

Eighteen hours” she replied, her eyes glued to the carriage window, distracted.

Eighteen hours?” Box exclaimed in surprise, “Where are we going – to Timbuktu?”

Harry made no reply; she just continued to stare out through the window.

“What are you looking at, anyhow?”

Turning to face him, Harry whispered, “Owls…”

“Owls? What owls?”

Pointing a finger, she said. “Those owls.”

Then he saw them, Box saw hundreds of owls winging their way towards the train. “Crikey,” he

said in fright. “What do they want?”

“Me,” Harry replied darkly. “They want me…”

Well, that's it, for now, but if you liked the story, thus far, you can read it all, by visiting my

online shopm by buying the book!!!

Happy reading, from the crazy-mad writer.

Harry Potter? No, silly, it's Harry ROTTER

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008