Lennon shifted from foot to foot on Platform 3¾, her knuckles white around the handle of her trunk. The morning sun filtered through the magically disguised platform, casting a warm glow over the excited hustle of students and parents alike. The Hogwarts Express puffed rhythmically in the background, scarlet and gleaming, its engine humming like a promise.
She glanced around. Hermione was already there—early as always—standing beside Oliver, who was passionately mid-rant about Quidditch schedules to anyone within earshot. She wasn't particularly interested, but she stood there politely, trying to sneak glances at her book between his breaths.
"I mean, if we don't start training by next week, we're handing Slytherin the Cup," Oliver was saying, arms crossed and pacing like he was already on the pitch. "No offense to the first years, but we need a Keeper who doesn't drop the Quaffle in the first five minutes—"
"Oliver," Hermione said, slipping a bookmark into Hogwarts: A History, "perhaps save the tactics for the team meeting? Some of us are trying to read."
Lennon approached, tugging her trunk behind her. "Morning," she said, suppressing a smile. "Already with the Quidditch? It's not even breakfast yet."
"Tell him," Hermione said, jerking her thumb at Wood.
Oliver gave a half-hearted nod of acknowledgment, already turning to scan the platform for potential recruits.
Still no sign of the Weasleys. Or Harry.
A loud crash of laughter sounded from the barrier, and sure enough, the Weasley clan poured through in a cascade of red hair, trunks, and owls. Fred and George immediately began surveying the crowd for potential mischief. Percy looked annoyed just being near them. Molly bustled about like a general issuing orders—until she realized two people were missing.
"Ron? Harry?" she asked, spinning around. "They were just behind us!"
They weren't. The barrier was still. Solid.
Everyone tried—Fred even ran at it, half-convinced it might've glitched—but the wall between Platforms 9 and 10 refused to budge. The whistle of the Hogwarts Express pierced the air.
"They've missed it," George said, though he didn't sound terribly upset.
And just like that, the train pulled away. Lennon leaned slightly out the window, scanning the platform for any last-minute dashes.
But Ron and Harry were nowhere to be seen.
⸻
The train ride to Hogwarts was uneventful, if a bit quieter than usual. With Ron and Harry missing, the Gryffindor carriage felt incomplete. Ginny sat nervously by the window, twisting her fingers in her lap.
"They'll find a way," Lennon offered gently, sitting across from her. "They always do."
Ginny gave a weak smile. "They better. Mum'll go mental."
⸻
It was nearly midnight when the doors to the Great Hall creaked open. Everyone was long asleep—except Filch.
The caretaker's lantern cast long, menacing shadows as he stalked down the corridor, dragging behind him two thoroughly disheveled second-years. Ron looked like he'd been through a wind tunnel. Harry's glasses were crooked, and his hair was somehow worse than usual.
They were brought before Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore.
"I'd almost believe you were proud," Snape sneered, arms crossed as he looked the two boys up and down. "Flying a car to school. Visible to Muggles. How very… Gryffindor of you."
McGonagall's lips were thin as needles. Dumbledore, while calm, had that certain quiet disappointment that somehow made it all worse.
"You will both serve detention," he said, his voice grave. "And I will be informing your families."
Harry glanced at Ron. Ron just groaned.
⸻
The next morning, the owl post arrived like thunder.
A scarlet envelope zoomed directly at Ron, plopping onto his plate. The moment he opened it, it screamed.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
Every head in the Great Hall turned. The Slytherins looked delighted.
"How dare you steal that car! Your father is facing an inquiry at work—and it's entirely your fault! If you ever do anything like that again—"
Ron turned beet red.
Harry tried to disappear into his toast.
"—AND GINNY, DEAR, CONGRATULATIONS ON GETTING INTO GRYFFINDOR! I'M SO PROUD OF YOU, SWEETHEART!"
Ginny, also red-faced, gave a small wave across the table. A few people clapped politely. Most just laughed.
The envelope burst into flames and vanished in a puff of smoke. For a second, the entire hall was silent—then even the Slytherins burst out laughing.
"That," said Fred, wiping tears from his eyes, "was art."
⸻
Later that evening, Lennon caught up with Ron and Harry near the staircase to the tower. The two looked like they'd barely survived an explosion—which, all things considered, wasn't far from the truth.
"You really flew a car?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Ron groaned. "It wasn't supposed to go like that."
"I told him we should just wait," Harry muttered.
"You also said, and I quote, 'Let's floor it.'"
Lennon laughed despite herself. "You're both lucky you didn't die. Or get expelled."
"We might still," Ron said. "Mum's Howler was only step one."
Lennon's expression softened. "You're both idiots," she said fondly. "But… you made it. And that's something."
She paused, glancing between them.
"Next time," she added dryly, "try using the front door."