Chapter 10: The Hogwarts Express and the Anti-Gravity Skirt part-1
"We fell," Harry panted, standing up and brushing himself off aggressively. "The rail... it just snapped."
"Terrible workmanship," I shook my head, looking up at the broken bracket. "You really should get that checked, Madam Malkin. It could have been dangerous."
Madam Malkin looked horrified. "I am so sorry! I don't know how that happened! It was reinforced with sticking charms just last week!"
Hermione didn't say a word. she simply stood there, breathing heavily, refusing to make eye contact with Harry, Madam Malkin, me, or the mirror.
"I think," Hermione said, her voice trembling, "I will just buy the robes without fitting them. I will adjust them myself with magic."
"Probably for the best," I agreed solemnly. "Harry, you too?"
"Yes," Harry said quickly. "Definitely. Just... give me three in black. Large. I don't care if they are sacks."
We paid for the robes in record time. As we walked out of the shop, the fresh air hit us, but it did little to cool the heat radiating off my two companions.
"I need ice cream," Hermione stated flatly. "I need a large, cold ice cream and I am not speaking to anyone until I have finished it."
"Sounds like a plan," I said.
As we walked toward Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, I checked my status again.
System Points: 210New Skill: Telekinesis (Intermediate)New Goal: Trigger an incident on the Hogwarts Express.
I looked at the back of Hermione's head. She was walking fast, putting distance between herself and the scene of the crime. Harry was trailing behind her, looking at his feet.
The "Flash Your Wife System" was proving to be the most entertaining magic I had ever encountered. And with Telekinesis now in my arsenal, the possibilities were endless. I could untie shoelaces, unzip bags and manipulate objects from a distance without even using a wand.
The Hogwarts Express ride tomorrow was going to be legendary.
The steam engine of the Hogwarts Express belched a massive cloud of white smoke into the crowded air of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. It was a sensory overload of owls hooting, cats hissing and parents shouting last-minute instructions about socks and hygiene.
I stood near the rear carriage, watching the chaos with the calm detachment of a man who had already read the script. Beside me, Molly Weasley was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief that was large enough to double as a tablecloth.
"Now, you behave yourselves!" she shouted over the noise of the engine. "Ron, look after Ginny! Harry, dear, do take care! Hermione, try not to work too hard!"
"We will be fine, Mum," I said, dodging a hug that threatened to crush my ribs. "We are technically adults now. Well, eighteen. That counts."
"You will always be my baby!" she wailed, planting a wet kiss on my cheek.
I wiped it off discreetly as we boarded the train. Harry and Hermione were already dragging their trunks down the narrow corridor, looking for an empty compartment.
(Target environment acquired,) I thought, observing the narrow space. (The corridor is tight. Lots of passing traffic. Excellent potential for collision-based incidents. But the real prize is the compartment.)
"Here is one," Harry called out, sliding a door open near the end of the carriage.
We piled in. The compartment was standard: two plush bench seats facing each other, a large window and overhead luggage racks that looked suspiciously high for someone of Hermione's stature.
"Right," Hermione said, puffing a stray lock of brown hair out of her face. She was wearing her school uniform already—a pleated grey skirt, a white button-down shirt and a Gryffindor tie. She had seemingly abandoned the layers of wool and denim from yesterday, likely thinking that the train was a safe zone.
(Oh, Hermione,) I mused, taking a seat by the window and stretching my legs. (Comfort is the enemy of vigilance.)
"I just need to put Crookshanks and my trunk up," Hermione stated. She looked at her massive trunk. It was bulging at the seams, likely filled with the entire library's restricted section.
"Let me help," Harry said immediately, stepping forward. He was such a gentleman. It was almost tragic.
"I can manage, Harry," Hermione insisted, her independent streak flaring up. "I am perfectly capable of lifting a trunk."
She grabbed the handle on one end. Harry, not wanting to argue, grabbed the other end.
"On three," Harry said. "One, two, three!"
They hefted the heavy trunk into the air. Hermione stepped up onto the seat to get better leverage to push it onto the high rack.
This was the moment. The geometry was perfect. Hermione was standing on the soft, unstable cushion of the seat. Harry was standing on the floor directly behind and below her, pushing the trunk up. Her skirt was at eye level for him.
(System, activate Telekinesis,) I commanded silently.
"Telekinesis active," the voice replied instantly. "Ready for input."
I watched them struggle. The trunk was halfway onto the rack.
"Push it back a bit further!" Hermione grunted, straining. She was leaning forward, her arms extended high.
I waited for the train to give its customary lurch as it began to move. A whistle blew outside. The pistons hissed. The train jolted forward.
"Whoa!" Harry stumbled slightly but held his ground.
Hermione, however, was on the squishy seat. As the train jerked, she wobbled.
(Now.)
I used a precise burst of telekinetic force. I didn't push Hermione; that would be rude. Instead, I gave the trunk a sharp tug downward just as she was pushing it upward.
The sudden resistance threw her off balance. Her hands slipped from the trunk handle. She fell backward.
But I wasn't done.
As she fell, I used a tiny flick of my mind to snag the hem of her pleated skirt on the sharp, metallic corner of the luggage rack.
It was a classic, defied-physics move straight out of a questionable manga.
"Ahhh!" Hermione screamed.
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