Harry Potter Hogwarts Train Novels & Stories

Her husband nodded. Moments later, the lights dimmed once more. But they didn’t see anyone walk to the middle of the floor. When suddenly, the familiar tune of Hedwig’s Theme came on. The students, especially the ones who have watched and loved the Harry Potter movies, recognized the music. “This! Isn’t this in the soundtrack of the Harry Potter movie?” “Yes! It is! My gosh! This is my ringtone!” “And their dress.. The color reminds me of the Beauxbatons.”

"Malakai doesn't trust living wolves to guard his supply lines; he relies entirely on the liquid-crystal network to verify the cargo. Every container on that train is fitted with an electronic seal that checks the air pressure every ten seconds. If you open a door before the train clears the mountain vault, the server will trigger an automatic derailment sequence." "Then we don't open a door," Kaden said through the link, his body shifting slightly as he prepared to move, his alpha aura condensed into a heavy, silent pressure that kept the local stray dogs from barking within a mile of their position. "We ride the roof." A low, rhythmic vibration through the steel tracks signaled the arrival

Felt the train moving. Going home.

Two jeeps were parked beside it. Ariana was shoved into the back seat of one of the jeeps. Only then did fear appear on her face. Through the window, I saw that her face had turned pale. Her eye makeup was ruined, and the tape on her mouth was soaked with tears. I followed them onto the helicopter. The Major General boarded last and closed the cabin door. The rotors accelerated, and the helicopter lifted off. I looked down at the express train station as it grew smaller. Less than two hours earlier, I had anxiously gone through security, clutching a temperature‑controlled container. Now, everything was ruined.

Hogwarts Castle, Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands November 22nd, 1992, 10:30 PM "Wizards really have some very strange ways of transportation." Leona's comment got a chuckle from Erik and a small giggle from Susan and Joan. The wizard in the room looked at Leona like she had grown a second head. She just shrugged. "The fireplace is closed again." Erik said after closing the floo connection. "Erik, dear, that black mark in the rat's arm, It was a slave brand, wasn't it?"

At least the few passengers waiting for the train didn't seem to care who we were, just as happy to mind their own business, though I figured the way I was dressed wasn't helping my reputation on the lower planes any. I shrugged out of my jacket, stuffing it into a waste receptacle, hearing the hiss of magic as it was destroyed. The spiked collar went with it, though I salvaged the blades from my hair, sliding them into my boots just as the train hummed to a halt, wards dropping to allow us to enter. Not that I'd need a knife or anything, but I wasn't taking any chances.

“They will never even realize they turned by the time they’re away from the island.” “Huh, that’s cool.” I look at the castle off in the distance. As it gets closer, I realize just how big it is. Of course it’s big. It’s a castle. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” I mumble to myself. “Hog what?” Puma asks. “Hogwarts,” I repeat. “What?” “You know,” I say. “The school from Harry Potter.” “Who’s Harry Potter?” I narrow my eyes as I look at him.

When I gave them the okay, we followed Nia back up the stairs and through the now empty building. The guy and girl both held one of Nia's hands. As they walked in front of me, I could see how the three of them would have looked years ago. Two little kids holding onto the only safety they had. But my girl...she would have been standing up straight, walking with her head held high as it was right now. We made it outside. Loaded up into the last van. Eden was sitting behind the steering wheel. "All aboard. Last train back to Hogwarts."

My gaze dropped to the screen of Griff’s phone, where our electronic ticket indicated that the Phileas Express was running five minutes later. An announcement over the loudspeaker confirmed that this was our ride back to London, and I gave Griff a nudge, indicating for him to hurry. The train doors opened, letting out a slew of passengers, each wheeling or carrying luggage. We jogged past a row of vendors selling snacks, coffee, and souvenirs from stalls shaped like telephone boxes and waited for them to disembark. “Which carriage?” asked Griff. I glanced down at the ticket. “Forty-three.” He gestured further down the platform. “The middle.”