~~A/N:- It was a little late but I was busy editing it and making it more readable with my top notch (read average) English writing skills. Hope you like it.
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Chapter 30 — The Homecoming
The moment the Hogwarts Express slowed down and the lights of King's Cross came into view, I felt a small knot tighten in my chest. It wasn't fear or sadness. It was more like a sudden realisation that I hadn't seen my family for months. Seems like I have grown attached to them even after remembering my last life.
The train finally stopped with a long hiss. Students hurried out, hauling trunks and owls and chattering loudly about holiday plans. I followed the flow, stepped onto the platform, and took a deep breath. It smelled like smoke, warm clothes, and Christmas.
I pushed my trolley toward the barrier that would take me back to the normal, Muggle world. Passing through it again felt strange, like walking through a thin sheet of warm water. On the other side, everything looked brighter and louder, with people rushing about, carrying bags and arguing with ticket inspectors.
Mum, Dad, Dudley, and Harry stood a little ahead, scanning the crowd with anxious faces. Dudley and Harry spotted me first. They didn't even wait. They just sprinted like two excited puppies who hadn't seen their owner for years.
"Arthur!" Dudley shouted.
"Arthur!" Harry echoed.
They crashed into me with such speed that I almost toppled backward with the trolley. I hugged them both, ruffling their hair. Harry's glasses got squashed against my jumper, and Dudley squeezed me like he was trying to wring out all the Hogwarts from my clothes.
Mum came next. Her eyes were already teary, and she looked like she might burst into crying or laughing, or both.
"Oh, my boy… my big boy…" she said, cupping my face as if checking whether I was really there. Then she pulled me into one of her warmest hugs. It was the kind of hug that makes everything else fade for a moment.
Dad wasn't the hugging type usually, but today he looked different. A little relieved and proud. He stepped forward and patted my shoulder before giving me a proper, short but firm hug.
"Good to have you back, son," he said, nodding as though confirming to himself that I was in one piece.
We left the station and loaded my trunk into the car. The ride home felt shorter this time. Maybe because we kept talking, or maybe because I finally realised how much I missed being around them all.
Mum made us tea and biscuits even though it was already late. After dinner I told them about Hogwarts and it's light and funny bits.
"So the Charms professor," I said, "is half-goblin."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Half?"
"Yes," I said. "He is short, very energetic and talks too fast. He's brilliant though. You spell one syllable wrong in a Spell and he hears it from across the room."
Dudley giggled. "Does he squeak?"
"No," I said. "But sometimes he hops."
Mum covered her mouth to hide a laugh. Dad looked uncertain whether it was racist or if he was allowed to find it funny, but even he eventually smirked.
Then I told them about Professor McGonagall who they had already met. Strict, sharp, very polite, and very capable of turning into a cat whenever she felt like it.
"That's not possible, Arthur," Dad said, eyes wide.
"But it's true," I said. "She's amazing though and means business. You'd like her too if she wasn't magic."
Dad grunted, which I took as a sign of approval.
When I talked about Professor Sprout, our Head of House, Mum immediately brightened.
"She sounds lovely," she said.
"She is," I replied. "Warm, patient, and smells like soil after a rain."
They all accepted that easily.
I didn't tell them much about Snape as they all already know him and his way of doing things.
And then came the History of Magic part.
"Our History professor is a ghost," I said casually, sipping my tea."
Harry spat out his juice. Dudley stared at me as if I had turned into a dragon. Dad blinked rapidly.
"A g–ghost? They are real? And even as a professor?" Dad spluttered.
"Yes," I said. "He's been teaching for hundreds of years and is very dedicated. It is said that one day he forgot to take his body with him to class and just carried on. It happens, apparently."
Mum gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh dear that's dreadful."
"It's only dreadful because the class is so boring," I said. "He drones on and on. It's too tiring to be attentive in his class and not just nap away."
That eased them a little, though Dad still looked doubtful.
I talked about flying next and the sport related to it. Harry and Dudley sat up straight like two eager birds.
"It feels like being unhooked from the ground," I said. "You're light, you're fast, and the air feels different up there. It feels like freedom. But I'm not joining Quidditch. Too much competition. Flying freely is enough."
They nodded, though I knew they both secretly wanted to try it.
Mum made me promise not to fly at home.
Dad made me promise not to bring any brooms inside the house. And have proper protections for safety.
We kept talking for a long time, about the castle, the feasts, the corridors, my friends, and the busy days. I made sure to tell only the good parts, not like I had bad parts. After all I was not my brother, the protagonist Harry Potter, who would have a brush with death every year and some minor issues every month.
Finally, we went to bed very late. Harry and Dudley looked sleepy but happy. They kept asking me questions. I answered some and then cajoled them to sleep saying, "Soon, in a few more years, you will get your letters for Hogwarts. Sleep now."
They grinned at that and drifted off quickly.
I woke up early the next morning. My wand lay in my bed beside my pillow, and even without touching it I could feel the trace on it, soft but firm, sitting there like an invisible GPS, if it was even invented yet. My soul and mind could sense it easily, but I didn't want to disturb it. I'd wait until I learned to do it properly and when I need to use it.
At breakfast, I told Mum and Dad, "I need to go to Diagon Alley for some supplies."
Dad folded his newspaper. "Do you want a lift, son?"
"No, Dad," I said. "I can go alone. It's easy now."
He hesitated but nodded.
Once outside, I walked to a quiet alley near our house. When no one was watching, I raised my wand arm slightly and waited.
The street lamp flickered, the air folded, and with a loud bang the Knight Bus appeared out of nowhere. It was purple, huge, and the staff was very proud of its terribly adventurous driving.
The doors swung open and the conductor poked his head out.
"Welcome to the Knight Bus," he said, reciting the familiar line. "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Where to?"
"Leaky Cauldron, please," I said.
He led me in. The bus looked the same as last time, beds on wheels, lamps swinging like they were seasick, and the faint scent of something burnt.
The driver shouted, "Hold on!" and suddenly we were off.
The bus jumped, twisted, squeezed between impossible gaps, and practically flew down the streets. My stomach swayed like a loose teacup. Once or twice we almost hit a lamppost, but the bus shrank itself to the size of a wardrobe and slipped through.
When it finally screeched to a halt outside the Leaky Cauldron, I felt like my bones needed a moment to settle back into place.
"Thanks," I said, wobbling out.
The doors closed and the bus vanished with another bang.
I took a deep breath, straightened my clothes, and stepped inside the pub. Tom the barkeep looked up and gave me a small nod.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning, lad," he replied.
I walked through the back door, tapped the bricks in the right order, and watched the wall slide open into the familiar bustling street of Diagon Alley.
Shops glowed with warm lights. Witches and wizards wrapped in winter cloaks hurried about. And there, right at the centre, stood Gringotts, tall, white, and a bit crooked as always.
Two goblin guards at the entrance nodded at me. Their expressions were unreadable, but something in their look told me they remembered me or recognised me as a friend of Goblins. I nodded back, politely.
Inside, the hall was busy with quills scratching, coins clinking, and goblins talking in low, sharp voices. I approached one of the tellers.
"Good morning," I said. "May I meet Ragnok, my manager, please?"
The goblin looked at me, blinked once, and nodded as he too identified me. "Sure, he will be attending you in a short time."
I followed an attendant through a side corridor into a small, stone-walled chamber. A moment later, Ragnok entered. His expression was calm but curious, as though he had not been expecting me to be here.
"Arthur Dursley," he said with a slight bow of the head. "A pleasure. What brings you to Gringotts during the holidays?"
I sat down opposite him.
"I had a question," I said. "Something I need to understand."
He leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Ask."
I took a breath and said clearly:
"What can you tell me about ancient traditions and festivals? And their true meaning?"
End of Chapter 30 — The Homecoming