This all required one of the largest warding projects of all time, because while it's relatively easy to ward a four square kilometre circle, it's a lot harder to ward a four square kilometre strip that's five metres wide and eight-hundred kilometres long. Thirty-two thousand miniature ward stones were needed.
Two every five metres. These stones were housed below the Hogwarts Express line, in an eight-hundred kilometre subterranean passageway called a ward tunnel. Because the failure of even a single stone could endanger the whole line, regular checks were required to ensure the stones were all in order.
Not many people knew this. Also, not many people knew that platform Nine and 3/4 was sealed off anytime there wasn't a train in service. More people knew that Hogsmeade station was not sealed off when there wasn't a train, but few considered it of any huge import. This only goes to show that while the wizarding world may not be as silly as many people would like to believe, it does still tend to overlook small details.
Harry James Potter, current Lord Slytherin, future Consort Lovegood, time-traveller, former Azkaban resident, and most definitely the Boy-Who-Lived, sped down the ward tunnel on his trusty nimbus 1700 broomstick. The walls held no lights. This didn't worry him. In the hand not gripping the broomstick he held his newest toy, a back-mirrored hand of glory. The shrivelled appendage cast a bright light in front of him, illuminating some sixty metres of tunnel. At one-hundred kilometres per hour that gave him about two seconds to react should something block his way.
This also didn't worry him. He'd always been amazing on a broomstick. In fact, he suspected that if the whole parents-dumping-him-at-the-Dursleys thing hadn't happened, he'd probably have been a quidditch player. Yes he could fly without one, but it just wasn't the same.
He passed yet another maintenance floo and checked the time. One o'clock in the morning. He'd been flying for nearly eight hours now. He should be nearly… ah. He slowed down and stopped as the tunnel opened out into a much wider space. The ward stones here were larger, more powerful, and more numerous. He could feel the thrum of magic seeping off them.
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out his shrunk trunk. A quick rummage produced the Potter invisibility cloak, which he donned. He re-pocketed his trunk, padded over to the stairs, and examined the door at the top of them. The door was warded, just like it had been for Tommy-Boy when he'd explored down here. The underground room was also warded against apparition, but, and this was the important bit, the platform above wasn't.
He looked up to the roof, some four metres overhead and slowly floated up to meet it. It also seemed that the warders working on this stretch of the project hadn't been as thorough as they should have been. You couldn't apparate into the platform when it was sealed, but once you were inside…. He reached the very top and pressed himself flat against the ceiling. He smirked.
Destination, determination, deliberation. There was a faint crack and he found himself less than one metre from where he'd started, but this time on the platform.
There sat the Hogwarts Express in all her scarlet metallic glory. He'd ridden her thrice in his life, and seen her ridden fourteen times before that. The platform was empty. Dead. He shivered and apparated straight into the first public compartment.
Unshrinking his trunk again, he withdrew a standard warding kit and a small tuft of burnt-brown human hair. He had an hour. Today was a big day, and he couldn't afford to play on anything less than a full eight hours of sleep. He took off his shoes and socks, gripped his hand of glory between his bigger and smaller toes, picked up the kit's paintbrush, unscrewed a jar of invisible ink, and, resisting the urge to whistle, got down to work.
....
Hermione Granger stood with her parents in Kings Cross Station. Her heart raced. Her eyes took in every detail of the 19th century building, all red-brick, black-steel, and glass.
People bustled all around them, oblivious to the wonders that lay just beyond the nearby gate. They stared at Hedwig as they dashed by, sitting as she was in her cage on her trunk. Occasionally, a child would point and exclaim.
This was it. This was the day. This was—
She stopped suddenly. She'd been thinking that quite a lot recently. Every day seemed to be the day. She shook her head.
"You ready, Sweetie?"
She took a deep breath. "Yes, Mum."
"Now you are going to owl us aren't you?"
"Yes, Mum."
Hedwig gave an affirmative bark.
"And you're going to ask Harry for help if you need it?"
"Yes, Mum."
"And if a really big problem comes up, what do you do?"
"Owl Lord Slytherin, Mum."
"Very good." The older female Granger had tears in her eyes. "Don't worry dear, we'll all see each other at Christmas."
She nodded. Tears threatened her eyes too.
Her Dad spoke. "You do us proud in there, Hermione. I know his lordship has given you some special tasks. Keep one eye on them, and one eye on your studies, yes?"
She sniffed and blew her nose with a quickly produced handkerchief. "Yes, Dad."
"Right, go for it then." He hugged her.
....
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