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HRA# CHAPTER 116
🕑 Added 2025-05-02 18:25:31 +0000 UTC“Flying? Discounts?” Stan Shunpike burst into laughter. “Dear me, you lot are a hoot. Sorry, kids, but even though I had the same thought when I first started this job—why can’t wizard cars just fly?—the Ministry of Magic doesn’t allow it. A real shame, if you ask me. Wizard cars ought to have more flair.”
Dudley let out a deep sigh, feeling Stan’s words hit home. Wizard cars should look the part—maybe like a gigantic broomstick, with rows of people perched on it.
“As for discounts…” Stan shrugged. “The Knight Bus doesn’t do discounts. Same price for years.” He leaned in. “To Godric’s Hollow, it’s fourteen Sickles each. Add three more Sickles for a hot chocolate, and two extra gets you a hot water bottle and a toothbrush. So, you coming aboard?”
“…I don’t like this guy,” Vernon Dursley muttered under his breath, barely audible.
Stan wore a purple uniform, his lanky frame dotted with acne. Gold earrings glinted in his ears, and his face carried a careless smirk, like nothing in the world mattered. From his appearance alone, he radiated the kind of flippant vibe Vernon was sure to despise.
“Of course we’re getting on. We’re in a hurry,” Harry said, then shivered instinctively, a chill of foreboding making him pause for a second. What was that? Was something wrong with being in a hurry?
But there was no time to dwell. Stan was already ushering them aboard with enthusiasm.
Dudley was the first to charge up the steps, yelling for Harry to order him a hot chocolate.
“Come on, pick any seat you like!” Stan called from the door, grinning. “Godric’s Hollow’s not too far. If you sip slowly, you might not even finish your drinks by the time we get there.”
The bus was empty of other passengers.
“Not too far?” Vernon grumbled as he climbed aboard. “The map begs to differ…”
Number 4 Privet Drive was in Surrey, in southeast England. Godric’s Hollow, on the other hand, lay in the southwest, up in the Scottish Highlands. Despite both being in the “southeast” in a broad sense, the distance was hardly trivial.
Vernon had initially planned to drive, but after Harry estimated the journey from Privet Drive to Godric’s Hollow, he’d abandoned the idea. Spending a night in a wizard village was unthinkable for Vernon—it felt like some monstrous thing might burst through the door and devour his brain.
Vernon muttered something else, but Stan wasn’t listening anymore. As Harry passed by, Stan grabbed his arm—Harry nearly reacted on instinct.
“Blimey! That scar!” Stan’s eyes widened, his voice dropping as if a louder tone might startle Harry. “You’re Harry Potter! Oi, Ern! We’ve got Harry Potter on the bus! The boy! The celebrity!”
“I didn’t expect to run into you here, Harry—I mean, can I call you that?” Stan’s enthusiasm doubled in an instant. “Fudge is a right git, eh, Ern?”
“Too right,” Ern, the driver, called back. “The Ministry’s lot have gone too far. Don’t worry, Harry. Me and Stan sent Howlers to Fudge. Hope they blew his ears off.”
“Er, thanks for the support,” Harry said, surprised to find fans here of all places. He shrugged and decided to share some good news he’d heard from Tonks. “Blowing his ears off might be a stretch, but your owls helped drown Fudge’s office in dung. I heard the Howlers didn’t stop all day.”
Petunia shuddered, the mere thought of owl droppings flooding a house filling her with primal dread.
“Thanks to you lot, the Ministry’s returned the deed to the Potter family home,” Harry said sincerely. “So, thank you.”
“No problem, Harry,” Stan said with a grin. “Should be us thanking you. If it weren’t for you, You-Know-Who might still… ahem, never mind that. This hot chocolate’s on me.”
“Get one for my uncle and the others too. I’ll pay,” Harry said, nodding toward Dudley, who was eagerly waving.
“Ah, so they’re…” Stan’s expression turned curious. “Not quite what the papers say, eh?”
The British wizarding world knew Harry Potter’s childhood hadn’t been rosy. At his Muggle relatives’ home, he’d lived like a house-elf—or worse, since house-elves could at least use magic to do their chores. Most wizards had nothing kind to say about Harry’s Muggle relatives, itching to hex the foolish Muggles. Yet, from what Stan could see, Harry’s relationship with his family didn’t seem as bad as the papers claimed.
They looked… close, almost.
“Papers don’t always get the full story, do they?” Harry said with a smile.
Stan nodded, understanding.
The Dursleys had picked a bed and settled in. As Harry sat, Vernon winked at him. “Quite popular, aren’t you?”
“Told you, I’m kind of a big deal in the wizarding world,” Harry whispered back.
“Hold tight, we’re off!” Stan called, grabbing a railing and letting out a gleeful shout after handing out hot chocolates.
The next moment, all four passengers lurched backward, collapsing onto the beds. The hot chocolates met a tragic end—Dudley’s fate was the worst. As the bus jolted forward, he’d just pressed his lips to the cup, and the contents spilled all over him, even dribbling down his neck. Thankfully, the hot chocolate was warm, not scalding, or it could’ve been disastrous.
Well, maybe not that disastrous.
Glancing toward the front, Harry saw Stan chatting animatedly with Ern. Their discussion was heated, and as the bus roared to life, deafening music blasted through the cabin—some wizard band’s song with a catchy beat. No one noticed the chaos in the back.
Harry snapped his fingers.
Scourgify.
In an instant, the warm, sticky hot chocolate vanished from Dudley’s clothes, along with the spills from Vernon and Petunia’s cups.
Stan hadn’t lied—arriving at Godric’s Hollow with unfinished drinks was entirely possible. They’d spilled everything.
For Vernon and Petunia, there was no chance to discuss the ride. The bus surged forward at breakneck speed—faster than Vernon had ever dreamed of driving. A quick glance out the window left him gobsmacked: the triple-decker bus was barreling down the pavement.
Was this even legal?!
Vernon wanted to roar, but every attempt to sit up was thwarted by the crushing inertia, slamming his heavy frame back onto the bed. After two tries, he gave up. He was starting to see why the bus had beds instead of seats. Beds were a blessing.
Petunia had her eyes squeezed shut, lips pressed into a thin line, as if relaxing for a second would make her scream. But Harry noticed something odd. Despite her terrified expression, she occasionally peeked out the window, and those peeks were growing more frequent.
Even speeding along the pavement, the bus miraculously hit nothing. Everything made way for it—streetlamps, mailboxes, bins—all leapt aside the moment the bus approached, clearing a straight path.
The driver’s only job seemed to be flooring the accelerator.
“This is your idea of safe and cautious?!” Vernon finally bellowed, twisting to glare at Harry. “Underage? Frail?!”
He couldn’t muster more words, looking ready to be sick.
“Clearly, the author of that book lied to everyone!” Harry shouted over the music. “And those reviews—they just want to trick people onto this thing!”
It was like pretending a sour fruit was delicious to fool a friend into trying it.
Dark. Too dark.
Dudley yelped as the bus charged straight toward a row of houses, looking like it would crash and kill them all. But the houses jumped aside too.
Honestly, Dudley thought the bus could probably drive itself. Just point it forward, slam the gas, and done—no turning required.
They’d left the city behind, the scenery whipping past—forests, docks, telephone booths. Nothing could stop them.
The Dursleys were speechless, lying rigid on their beds, their best strategy to simply not move.
Maybe Harry’s shouting caught Stan’s attention, because he started chatting with him, strolling through the cabin as if the jolting speed didn’t faze him. He moved like he was on solid ground.
Was it an hour? Five minutes? A year? When the Knight Bus screeched to a halt, the passengers, previously pinned to the back of their beds, were flung forward like limp rags.
“Godric’s Hollow, folks!” Stan called cheerfully. “Grab your stuff and mind your step.”
The Dursleys barely knew how they stumbled off the bus. Even Dudley was dazed, knocked out by the second half of the ride.
“See you, Harry!” Stan’s head popped out a window, waving. “Good luck with your business. Ern and I’ll be rooting for you. Need us? Raise your wand, and we’ll be there in a flash!”
“Thanks!” Harry waved back. “Safe travels!”
Whether “safe travels” was the right blessing for a recklessly driven magical bus was anyone’s guess.
With two cheerful honks, the Knight Bus accelerated and vanished. By the time anyone looked again, it was gone—coming and going like the wind.
Or maybe “crazed” was the better word.
“I am never—never—riding that blasted bus again!” Vernon gasped after a dry heave, his face pale. He barely had the strength to curse, only managing a weak declaration.
Petunia had collapsed onto the ground, one hand clutching her chest, gasping for air.
“My fault,” Harry said, his face relatively normal.
The Knight Bus’s insanity reminded him of Azeroth’s goblin contraptions—goblin racecars, specifically. The thought made his tauren hide crawl. Thankfully, wizards weren’t goblins.
The Knight Bus wouldn’t explode, sending driver, conductor, and passengers skyward, nor would it sputter, belch black smoke, and demand a few kicks to restart. It was just insanely fast and unsteady.
“I just wanted your first wizarding world trip to have a memorable, exciting start… like how Arthas made you feel yesterday,” Harry sighed. “Didn’t expect…”
“Promise me, Harry,” Dudley said, pale and wiping vomit from his chin as he clapped Harry’s shoulder. “Never make me ride that cursed bus again. Why can’t we just… pop from one place to another like Arthas?”
“Because Apparition feels just as bad as the Knight Bus,” Harry sighed harder. “The only upside is it’s quicker.”
He’d chosen the bus for his aunt’s family to avoid the discomfort of Apparition, thinking it’d be a kinder introduction. What a mistake.
“I’d take that Apparition thing any day,” Vernon said firmly. “Kill me if you must, but I’m never stepping foot on that blasted bus again—lunatic freaks!”
He now regretted not driving. Compared to that maniacal bus, even spending a night in a wizard village seemed pleasant.
Petunia and Dudley nodded vigorously, clearly traumatized.
Harry shrugged. He’d be hearing their complaints for a while.
Godric’s Hollow was a mixed wizarding settlement. In Britain, the only purely wizarding village was Hogsmeade, near Hogwarts. A mixed settlement meant Godric’s Hollow housed a fair number of Muggles too.
Among mixed settlements, Godric’s Hollow was the most famous, being the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, founder of Gryffindor House, and the place where Bowman Wright, a wizarding goldsmith, crafted the first Golden Snitch. Many ancient wizarding families had lived here, producing countless renowned witches and wizards.
“Honestly, this place is… better than I expected,” Vernon muttered, eyeing the surroundings critically. “I thought it’d be more primitive, backward… maybe weirder.”
It wasn’t as modern as London, but electricity existed. Stone-paved streets were lined with electric lamps, and the villagers’ attire wasn’t much different from any rural English town.
The houses, some wooden, some stone, had red-tiled roofs covered in vines, exuding a peaceful, serene charm.
“Plenty of regular folk who don’t know about magic live here too, Uncle,” Harry whispered. “Be careful not to let anything slip.”
Vernon clamped his mouth shut, warily watching every passerby—though he wasn’t sure what he was afraid of revealing. He didn’t know any magic, after all.
At the village’s heart was a small, finely built square. White doves pecked at breadcrumbs, unbothered by Harry and the others’ approach. They were used to humans.
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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
