Of Monsters, Of Men

Chapter 13

September 16, 1940

Harry and Tom left the orphanage early that morning, trunks heavy in their hands. As they took to the streets, they noticed that they weren't alone―citizens carried trunks with gas masks hanging around their necks, workers heaved crates and boxes to barely standing shops and battered stands, firefighters put out the remaining fires and left the acrid smell of smoke behind, the Pioneer Corps cleared the rubble and debris with their picks and shovels.

Yet, there was still so much destruction remaining in the streets. They walked gingerly around the ruins of bombed-out buildings, taking care to avoid the worst of the assorted sizes of wood splinters, sharp and jagged pieces of plaster and concrete, fallen beams of rusty iron and steel, strewn bricks, and the ripped and torn bits of fabric.

Harry averted his eyes at the sight of bedsheets laying atop a pile of bricks, something uneasy spiking within him for a brief moment.

At last, they reached the train station. The wide expanse of King's Cross greeted them, gloriously pristine and seemingly untouched by the bombing. The trains were coming and going on the tracks, the platforms and side shops and footbridges still intact, still filled to the brim with people coming and going as they pleased.

It felt surreal.

Boarding the train, Harry wondered if he was in a fever dream. The Hogwarts Express' cheery red painted exterior, smiling conductor, and children laughing among themselves in their little cliques in the quaint compartments; all of it seemed to wave brightly at Harry, as if there wasn't a war.

A total disconnect from reality, Harry thought.

But the closer he inspected, Harry realized he was wrong. The paint was chipping at the edges, a sign of the neglected state of affairs. The conductor looked blank. No child would have such strained smiles without feeling the tension of the war.

"I think I'll nap," Harry decided. Raising his gaze to Tom, he said, "Don't wake me up until we're there."

Tom inclined his head slightly, not lifting his eyes from the textbook he was currently halfway through. Harry relaxed into the soft velvet seat, letting his neck go limp. Immediately, he could feel just how tense he had been for the past week, what with his aching neck and stiff spine.

He fell asleep to the rolling landscapes that all blurred together into an unrecognizable mess.

A light tap landed on his shoulder. Harry awoke instantly. The drowsiness evaporating from him like water on hot pavement, he jumped up with wild eyes.

"What—" He faltered as Tom's neutral gaze meeted his.

"Change," Tom ordered. His lips were slightly thinned. "We've got another half hour before the train arrives."

Harry did as he was told, automatically reaching for his spare set of robes. He followed the movements; taking off his jacket and neatly folding it, putting it away into his trunk, reaching for his robes and putting one arm in after the other.

Why do I feel like this?

He should have felt happy, excited, joyous, impatient to finally arrive at the castle, but he felt so detached. Numb. An all-encompassing emptiness.

Disembarking from the train and rushed by the caretaker to the massive throng of students, Harry waited for the carriages to arrive. Usually, they talked and planned and read together while riding in the carriage, but this time, it was silent. It wasn't bad, it was just... eerie.

Harry stared blankly at Tom as he ushered them across the Main Entrance Gates. They trudged into the Great Hall, finding their spots at the Slytherin table. He waved weakly at Lawrence, unable to muster up a smile, and he nodded as he saw Alphard.