KING'S CROSS
It is a cold morning at a bustling Muggle train station — King's Cross. The roof is high, with a framework of cast iron brackets that stretch to meet a curving, barrel-vaulted ceiling of many yellow skylights. A man in a high collared black jacket looms near the barrier between platforms nine and ten, his back to the audience.
A train car arrives. It takes up much of the stage. The doors open and travelers exit. The tracks are separated from the platform by bricked archways, upon each column is a wreath and a holiday poster. It is Christmastime once again. Hogwarts students are coming home and a few parents on stage are eager to use the entry point at King's Cross to greet their children at a secret platform reserved for wizarding families.
One such couple walks the length of the stage. The wife is reading RITA SKEETER's new book, whispering details to her husband who looks both shocked and amused. This interaction comes to an immediate halt when they notice the man in the high collared jacket. It is HARRY POTTER. He glares at them as they lower their gaze and sneak through the barrier to platform nine and three-quarters.
HARRY faces the audience. He looks paler and more fatigued than ever, yet hyper-aware of his surroundings. There is a feverish craving in his eyes that is unfamiliar to us. HARRY is inspecting everything on the platform. He is waiting for someone. And when DRACO MALFOY enters at an even pace, impeccably dressed, with that signature long black glove on his left hand, HARRY's eyes widen and he moves forward, concealing himself masterfully in the architecture of the station, predator stalking prey.
HARRY swoops in behind DRACO and jabs his wand into DRACO's back, who is taken by surprise and comes to a stop.
HARRY (without emotion): Walk.
Together, they move to a quieter corner of the station. DRACO is trying not to panic.
DRACO: What's this about? Whatever you're planning, I can be of assistance. I am very influential in certain circles and — if given the chance — How can I help?
HARRY: Did I say you could talk?
A look of recollection comes to DRACO.
DRACO (with a sickly smile): Potter? Is that you? How funny. I admire your confidence. But what on earth do you think you can do to me in front of all these Muggles?
HARRY: End this charade, Malfoy. I know you're involved.
DRACO: Dear, oh dear. You're making quite the fuss. Skeeter wanted a quote because of our history. I knew you'd be offended by the comparison, but this — you're being ridiculous. And however important your reputation may be to some — it doesn't give you an excuse to —
HARRY jabs the wand harder. DRACO winces.
Tell ya what...
HARRY (his voice strained): I don't give a toss about the ruddy book!
DRACO: My mistake. To what "charade" are you referring?
HARRY pulls DRACO behind a column.
HARRY: How'd yeh do it? How'd you trick the Red Caps?
DRACO: Red what-nows? (beat) Potter, I think you need a good sleep. In fact, I know just the elixir that can —
HARRY spins him round. He pressed the tip of his wand into DRACO's chin.
HARRY: Red — Caps. They're like goblins, with a nose for detecting blood. All sorts. I dispatched three of them to follow your son during the inquiry, using me as the standard. They claimed there was no sign of my blood in him. So — tell me — how did you outsmart them?
YOU ARE READING
Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (The M. Clifford MOD)
Fanfiction"It was always difficult being Harry Potter and it isn't much easier now that he is an overworked employee of the Ministry of Magic, a husband, and the father of three school-age children. While Harry grapples with a past that refuses to stay where...
