The Scamander ✧ Harry Potter Year 1

Chapter 4

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The wrappers were disproportionally empty as they littered the crowd and chairs around us, both my own lunch and Ron's mushed sandwiches were left discarded amongst the lot. There was a distinct feeling usually left only for festive holidays of a full stomach and rising heart rate. But, the only sensible thing any young child seeks to do is to ignore the symptoms of a trip to St Mungo's Hospital and continue to line our throats with another coating of sour sugar and chocolate.

What once had been pleasant first meetings that had turned into present excitement over a children's dream of chocolate and sweets.

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans?" I turned my gaze towards Harry, who held up to Ron and Myself of a box of British Witches and Wizards' dreams and nightmares.

"They mean every flavour!" Ron chimed, not waiting for his mouth to be empty of his own food as I was. My mouth working overtime to try and rid it of its chewy strawberry laces. "There's chocolate and peppermint, and there's also spinach, liver and tripe. George swears he got a bogey-flavoured one once!"

"Eww," I interjected with a laugh, "I've always stayed away from those," I turned to Harry with an advisatory eye, "more hassle than they're worth."

"What flavour did you get?" Ron asked with an air of knowing. The memory can upon me like a vicious floodgate.

"Who in Merlin makes a slug-flavoured bean."

"How the do you know what a slug tastes like?" Harry asked, amused. Now, the memory was in full display in my mind as my lips twisted into disgust and my stomach once again recoiled.

"I don't want to talk about it." My grimace grew stronger, and Harry and Ron let out small sniggers. Harry then reached over and picked up another notorious package, which was hexagon-shaped with royal purple and gold colouring.

"These aren't real chocolate frogs, are they?" Harry asked.

"It's only a spell." Ron felt quite obliged to answer Harry's questions as quickly as possible, and I felt quite fine to let him. Wizarding culture seemed more his forté, and I got the distinct feeling he enjoyed being able to impart such knowledge. "Besides, it's the cards you want. Each pack's got a famous witch or wizard. I got about 500 myself."

"About the same for me. My dad loved to collect those, left them all to me when I was young," I explained, trying my best to exclude any air of dejection. And I think I do so well, I had long since recovered from the emotional distress of losing the chance at having parents would give a child. However, I was able to do so because of the upbringing I had in the suitcase. Harry's eyes connected with mine, and there was a small silence of understanding before he looked back down at his card. The package was slowly peeled open, and the unsuspecting Harry jumped as a solid chocolate frog leapt from the inside and quickly onto the train window.

"Oh, that's rotten luck." Ron complained, "They've only got one good jump in them, to begin with."

I jumped from my seat to see the card that Harry held in his hands. Dumbledore's white-beared and crinkled eyes greeted me on the other side of the white and purple card.

"Hey! You got Dumbledore!"

"I've got about six of him," Ron says, smugness clear in his voice. I smiled over the card at the boy's clear attempt at boasting.