Trainwreck
Panicking, the boy was. Ticket in hand with an owl in caged and his trunk, looking up at a large clock. Above the arrivals board, he starred. Ten minutes left. Only ten until the train left and he’d have no idea where to go. He couldn’t find what he was looking for. The train to Hogwarts, it was. Supposedly, on platform nine and three quarters. He had tried to ask a passing guard, though he thought the boy was toying with him.
They hadn’t heard of such place called Hogwarts and believed him much less when he couldn’t tell them where it was located. There was no train that left at eleven o’clock. He hadn’t had the slightest clue of how that was, much less how to get there. No one was going to be of help, seeing as though the guard grumbled away. The boy was stranded, if he couldn’t find it, there was no where he could go.
The boy was starting to think the giant friend of his, a big hairy man named Hagrid had forgotten to tell him what to do, much like a tap of the third brick. The same trick used to get into Diagon Alley, where previously the man had taken him to fetch his needed school possessions. He was left there, alone. He had all but a trunk he could barely carry on his own, a pocketing pouch of peculiar money and his large owl to keep him company in his time of stress. Starting to wonder if he should take out his protecting stick in public.
At least that was before a group of people brushed passed him, using the word ‘muggle’ in a sentence. If he were normal, he wouldn’t have paid no mind, but he wasn’t normal. In fact, the boy was a wizard. It had all started when he had gotten a letter in the mail. He never got letter’s and that one was addressed to him and to his cupboard. The boy spent his whole life in isolation, being kept in a locked cupboard for eleven years. Except for the times when his cousin would be cruel to him and his aunt and uncle, ordering a task from him.
More of them kept coming until they overflooded the house. Later, he met Hagrid, since his uncle was refusing him from his letters, so much so he led them to a creaking rusted old shed in the middle of the ocean on a storm filled night. The same stormy night he was told to be a wizard, learning that he wasn’t orphaned by a drunk driver but of a dark gruelling wizard who had murdered his parents. Learning, that also humans without magic were called muggles.
His head has never snapped around so quickly, he swung it like it was the ends of his life’s means. A sea of redheads flooded his view, and the speaker was a woman, a little on the plump side, talking to four boys, all with the same bold red hair this woman had sprouting. Each with a trunk like his that was much to heavy to carry and in front of him, they had an owl. His own heart was hammering into his ears louder than a drum by now. Quickening his pace, he pushed his cart of possessions after the group of gingers, dodging a couple of feet on his way not to lose his only hope of a trail. Eventually they all stopped, so he did so too. He could hear all they were saying.
“So now, what’s the platform number?” Said, what he could only assume d to be the four boy’s mother.
“Nine and three quarters!” A small girl spoke up, a red head like the rest, holding the mother’s hand. He guessed that he must have not noticed her earlier in the crowds.
In a whine of a small voice the girly ginger piped up again. “Mom, can’t I go…” She looked up at the woman, he could sure be a mother now, with a slight pout.
“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet.” The Mother turned her head to the assumed oldest of boys. “All right, Percy, you may go through first.”
Whatever the older boy, who he found to be named Percy, was going through, was going weird and he had no doubt about it. The boy stiffly marched over to the two platforms nine and ten. He carefully watched, more likely starred as he didn’t want to miss to see what was happening. Although as soon as the boy, Percy, reached the barriers dividing both platforms, a large packing crowd of nearby tourists, swarmed in front of him, blocking his view almost pulling him away like a rip in the sea. Once back in view he realised that the boy was now gone. Vanished into seeming what was thin air.
He choked down a groan, he really did not want to be left here. Knowing he’d have no idea what to do if he would be.
The plump woman let her voice be heard again. “Fred, you’re next.”
“I’m not Fred, I’m George.” He said, the boy sounding offended continued with a huff. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?” He wasn’t sure if he liked the tone George used on the word woman.
“Can’t you tell I’m George?” George spoke to the mother once more.
She had an apologetic look on her face as she replied in a softened tone. “Sorry, George, dear.”
“Only joking, I am Fred.” ‘Not George’ turned with a grin on his face as his twin, the actual boy named George hurriedly sped after and called after him.
The next second the two of them, both were gone but he couldn’t just see how it was done. Something was amiss and he quite knew it. Time was running out and if he didn’t find out soon enough, he’d have been completely lost for who knows how long. He couldn’t fathom what would happen, though he might’ve been finally able to get away from his aunt and uncle and cousin. Three of the brothers were now gone. It was now, or never.