Ralph slumped. "I'm not sure I can do either."

        "This bloke's a real barrel o' laughs, isn't he?" Ted asked James.

        "So if Muggles can't get in," James replied, "how'd that Muggle get onto the school grounds?"

        "Oh yeah," Ted said, leaning back again. "The mysterious Quidditch intruder. Is that what people are saying now? That he was a Muggle?"

        James had forgotten that not everything he knew about the intruder was common knowledge. He recalled now what Neville Longbottom had said about the wild rumors surrounding the mysterious man on the Quidditch pitch. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "I heard he may have been a Muggle. I was just wondering how a Muggle could get in, what with all this stuff about, you know, quantum."

"Actually," Ted said, squinting out the window at the brightening day, "I guess even a Muggle could get in if they were accompanied by a wizard or led in somehow. It's not that they can't get in, exactly. It's just that, as far as their senses are concerned, the spaces don't even exist. If a magical person led them in, though, and the Muggle pushed through what their senses were telling them… sure, it'd be possible, I guess. But who'd be stupid enough to do such a thing?"

        James shrugged, and looked at Ralph. The look on Ralph's face mirrored what James was thinking. Stupid or not, somebody had indeed led a Muggle onto the Hogwarts grounds. How or why that had been arranged was still a mystery, but James intended to do his best to find out.

        The four of them lunched on sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, taken from the Hogwarts kitchens that morning, then settled into companionable silence. The day became hard and bright, with the sun shining like a diamond over the marching fields and woods. The frost had burned away, leaving the ground raw and grey. The skeletal trees scoured at the sky, standing on carpets of dead leaves. Ralph read and napped. Victoire flipped through a pile of magazines, then wandered off in search of a few friends she suspected were somewhere on board. Ted taught James to play a game called 'Winkles and Augers', which involved using wands to levitate a piece of parchment folded into the shape of a fat triangle. According to Ted, both players used their wands--the winkles--to simultaneously levitate the folded parchment--the auger-each one trying to guide the paper into their designated goal area, usually a circle drawn on a piece of parchment and placed near their opponent. James had gotten marginally better at levitation, but he was no match for Ted, who knew just how to undercut James' wandwork, bobbing the auger out of range and swooping it onto his goal with a resounding smack.

        "It's all about practice, James," Ted said. "I've been playing this since my first year. We've had as many as four people on a team sometimes, and used augers as big as the bust of Godric Gryffindor in the common room. I'm personally responsible for the fact that his left ear's been glued back on. Didn't know the Reparo charm back then, and now we've come to rather prefer him that way."

        By the time the train pulled into Platform Nine and Three Quarters, dusk had begun to turn the sky a dreamy lilac color. James, Ted, and Ralph waited for the lurch as the train came to a full stop, then stood, stretched, and made their way out to the platform.

        The porter took their tickets, then produced their trunks with an Accio spell, sucking each trunk rather roughly out of the baggage compartment and plunking it at its owner's feet. Victoire caught up with them as they piled their trunks onto a large cart.

        "I'm to escort you all to the old headquarters," Ted said importantly, drawing himself to his full height. "It's close enough, and your parents are pretty busy tonight, James, what with everyone else arriving, and Lily and Albus just getting out of school today as well."

        They filed through the hidden portal that separated Platform Nine and Three Quarters from the Muggle platforms of King's Cross station.

        "You don't drive, Ted," Victoire said reproachfully. "And you'll hardly fit the four of us on your broom. What do you expect to do?"

"I suppose you're right, Victoire," Ted said, stopping in the center of the concourse and looking around. Muggle travelers moved around them, hurrying here and there, most bundled into heavy coats and hats. The huge concourse echoed with the sound of train announcements and the tinkly din of recorded Christmas carols.

        "Looks like we're stuck," Ted said mildly. "I'd say this is an emergency of sorts, wouldn't you?"

        "Ted, no!" Victoire scolded as Ted raised his right hand, his wand sticking up out of it.

        There was a loud crack that echoed all around the concourse, apparently unheard by the milling Muggles. A huge, purple shape shot through the doors framed in the gigantic glassed arch at the head of the concourse. It was, of course, the Knight Bus. James had known to expect it when Ted had made the signal, but he'd never known it could travel off-road. The enormous triple-decker bus dodged and squeezed through the oblivious crowd, never losing speed until it squeaked violently to a halt directly in front of Ted. The doors shuttled open and a man in a natty, purple uniform leaned out.

        "Welcome to the Knight Bus," the man said, a bit huffily. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. You know this is the middle of effing King's Cross station, don't you? Seems like you could've at least made it to the front step."

        "Evening, Frank," Ted said airily, hoisting Victoire's trunk up to the conductor. "It's this bad leg of mine again. Old Quidditch injury. Acts up at the worst of times."

        "Old Quidditch injury my topmost granny's last molar," Frank muttered, stacking the trunks on a shelf just inside the door. "You try pulling that gaf one more time and I'm going to charge you a Galleon just for being a nuisance."

        Ralph was reluctant to get onto the bus. "You say it's close? This headquarters place? Maybe we could, you know, walk?"

        "In this cold?" Ted replied heartily.

        "And with his bad leg?" Frank added sourly.

        Ralph climbed on and had no sooner crossed the threshold when the doors slammed shut.

        "Corner of Pancras and St. Chad's, Ernie," Ted called, grabbing a nearby brass handle.

        The driver nodded, set his face grimly, gripped the steering wheel as if he meant to wrestle it, then punched the accelerator. Ralph, despite James' advice, had forgotten to grab onto something. The Knight Bus rocketed forward, throwing him backwards onto one of the brass beds that, strangely enough, seemed to occupy the lowest level of the bus instead of seats.