At King's Cross Station, a young wizard was once again reminded of the trauma of riding the Knight Bus and nearly fainted on the spot.
But aside from him, the rest of the group grew noticeably calmer after Harold's words.
Thank goodness—so long as they had a way to get back to Hogwarts on time, that was all that mattered.
"The Knight Bus—what's that?" Harry asked from the front of the crowd, clearly confused.
"It's a triple-decker bus," Ron replied, his face paling slightly as if recalling something unpleasant. "Trust me, it's not something you ever want to ride."
"It's just a bus," Harry said, clearly not taking Ron's words seriously.
"Hurry up, you bunch of scatterbrains!" barked a familiar voice. Madam Longbottom was stomping over, her vulture-adorned hat trembling with every step as if it were about to come to life. Mr. Weasley followed behind, speaking with two men in cloaks.
"You lot didn't get the time wrong, did you? Molly and Percy entered the platform just before it got sealed off—there were still twenty minutes until departure!"
"We didn't get the time wrong, Arthur. The platform only seals after the Hogwarts Express departs," one of the wizards said sternly. "Maybe you went to the wrong barrier?"
"Wilson, you really think I don't know where Platform Nine is?" Mr. Weasley's voice rose slightly. "I could find the right wall with my eyes shut."
Anyone else saying that might've sounded like boasting, but not Arthur Weasley. Between his school days and sending off Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and now Ron and Ginny, he'd been coming to this station for over a decade without fail.
If anyone in the wizarding world had visited King's Cross the most, the Weasleys were top contenders.
There was no way he'd gotten the platform wrong. Thıs content belongs to 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅✦𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾✦𝗇𝖾𝗍
Soon the group arrived, and after a quick inspection, the younger of the two Hit Wizards went pale. The platform entrance was sealed—solid to the touch, like a real wall. And worse, they hadn't even noticed.
If the group of students outside missed the train and were all late for school, the Ministry would definitely have something to say about it.
Fortunately, the older Hit Wizard—probably in his fifties—was much calmer. He tapped the wall gently with his wand, then turned to the group and said, "Move fast—three minutes to departure. There's still time."
Harry, still rattled from his earlier collision with the wall, hesitated. He didn't immediately rush forward.
Seamus was the first to run through. Only when he vanished through the barrier did the others begin to relax.
Harold followed second. Then Ginny.
Two minutes left. Just as Ginny passed through the barrier, the Hogwarts Express let out a long whistle that echoed all the way outside. Mr. Weasley didn't waste time arguing anymore. He waved his arm urgently. "Harry, Ron—go! You too, everyone—move!"
By now, Harold had boarded the train. Toward the rear, he found an empty compartment. Just as he stowed his trunk, he heard Mrs. Weasley's familiar voice from outside.
"Arthur, thank goodness! What happened out there? You didn't come back, and then the barrier shut. I was about to go looking for you!"
"We got blocked too," Mr. Weasley replied in a rush. "Not the time to talk—let's get the kids on board!"
"Yes, yes—Ginny, Ron, hurry!"
Amid a chaotic flurry of voices and footsteps, everyone managed to board the train just in time.
Another whistle—then the huge red engine pulled away from the platform, gradually picking up speed.
Harold glanced out the window, inwardly relieved. Thank Merlin he didn't have to take the Knight Bus to school after all. Compared to that death trap, the Hogwarts Express was the epitome of comfort.
But what exactly had happened? Why had the Weasleys left early?
That seemed to be the only logical explanation. Because they left ahead of schedule, they hadn't needed to rush. And since other students had arrived early too, the adults had ample time to resolve the issue—even with the barrier sealed.
"Why did the platform suddenly shut down?"
"No idea. That's never happened before."
The compartment door slid open.
"Harold?" Harry beamed. "Can we sit here? Everywhere else is full."
"Of course," Harold replied. "Though… didn't Hermione save you three a seat? You were always together before the holidays."
"She did," Ron said, shoving his trunk into the luggage rack. "Ginny's in there now—with her, Parvati Patil, and Lavender Brown. All girls. It felt… awkward."
"Fair enough," Harold said. "You guys got here early."
"Could've been earlier," Ron yawned. "We were up at the crack of dawn—literally when the rooster crowed."
"But it didn't go smoothly," Harry added. "George forgot his Whizbangs, Fred didn't pack his broom. We had to double back twice."
"Good thing we hadn't gotten on the motorway yet," Ron muttered. "We never would've made it back in time."
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
At that moment, the compartment door opened again. Fred and George stepped in.
"Hey, I thought I heard our names."
"Dearest Ronald, do you have something to say about us?" Fred teased, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders. George did the same from the other side, like a pair of eight-eyed spiders closing in on prey.
Ron clamped his mouth shut, face flushed red.
"I think Ron's got a point," said Hermione as she entered behind them, followed by Ginny.
The once-empty compartment was now quite packed.
Ginny glanced at Harry as soon as she stepped in, then quickly looked away.
"Actually, I forgot something too—on the motorway," she said, voice suddenly shy. "I realized I left my diary behind."
Harold's head snapped up at the word "diary."
"You started writing a diary?" Ron and the twins turned to look at her in unison.
"No, I don't write in it. Hermione gave it to me," Ginny said. "It's the prettiest notebook I've ever seen. There's a picture of a witch and seven goblins on the cover. So pretty—but none of them move, which is kind of strange.
"And since I don't like keeping diaries, I didn't bother going back for it."
"A witch… and seven goblins?" Harry's mind conjured a vivid image—Mrs. Weasley chasing gnomes out of the garden.
He couldn't for the life of him understand what was so "pretty" about goblins. They looked like lumpy potatoes with sticks for arms.
"It's Snow White," Hermione whispered to him.
Ah. That made more sense. Though personally, Harry thought house-elves seemed closer—but goblins worked too.
"You bought her a Muggle notebook?"
"Yeah, I saw it in a shop and thought Ginny would like it. Mr. Weasley is really into Muggle stuff," Hermione said, scooting closer to Harry and lowering her voice. "But it was expensive. Can you believe it? Eight pounds—for a diary!"
Harry didn't respond. Before Hogwarts, the most money he'd ever handled was a five-pence coin. "Pounds" might as well have been Galleons to him.
Meanwhile, Harold had lost all interest in the conversation.
Not just because of Ginny's answer—he'd also received a black diary from Hermione. It was thick, sturdy, and plain. When Mr. Granger mistakenly thought Harold had lost a diary at Flourish and Blotts, he had one bought and sent via Hermione to the wand shop.
So, no. Ginny definitely didn't have that diary.