Platform Nine And Three Quarters
The evening Harry had returned from Diagon Alley, Uncle Vernon squeezed his way into Harry’s cupboard, sitting on the bed near Harry's feet. It was awfully cramped with Uncle Vernon also inside, but Harry didn’t dare say anything about the sharp edge of wood digging against his body, or how uncomfortably Uncle Vernon’s hand was against his waist for lack of space.
Harry stayed silent as Uncle Vernon took a few deep breaths, and forced his face into a smile that looked quite painful.
“So, Harry, about your cupboard. Me and Petunia have been thinking, and perhaps you’re getting a bit too big for this cupboard now. We think you should take Dudley’s second bedroom.”
“Why?”
“Why? You ungrateful brat!” Uncle Vernon snapped. Harry flinched but nothing happened. Instead, Uncle Vernon took shaky deep breaths and left the cupboard.
“Get your stuff packed and moved, now.” His voice was cold. Harry obeyed. He had his own theories anyways, heavily suspecting fear was the main reason for this sudden bedroom change.
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon’s sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that didn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry two trips to get everything he owned upstairs. The second trip was only necessary due to his school supplies and owl cage – which took up a solid 90% of his belongings now. His owl – Hedwig he decided on – seemed to dislike the Dursleys greatly.
Harry looked around the room amazed. He knew it was the smallest bedroom in the house, not including his cupboard, but now he had an actual bedroom. All of Dudley’s toys had been removed – considering most in here were broken, they were probably finally thrown away. The only thing left, aside from a bed, wardrobe and drawers, was a small wooden bookshelf that looked like it hadn’t been touched the entire time it’s been in here. There’s only a few books on it, childrens alphabet and low-grade books that Harry had never seen in his life. But that meant it left plenty of space to unpack his own new books onto it.
A creak from the hallway drew Harry’s attention to the open door. Dudley stood there, looking around the bedroom with a relieved expression that left Harry baffled. It wasn’t until a few hours later that the thought seemed to finally catch up to Dudley. While waiting for dinner, Dudley complained loudly—though not as much as Harry had expected—and was quickly shut down by Uncle Vernon, who assured him that all his toys had been moved to his own bedroom and were not, in fact, now in Harry’s possession. Harry didn’t say a word about the books left behind.
Harry had curiously read over the children’s books left from Dudley before moving on to his own books for Hogwarts. It was weird to see the way the children and parents interacted in the more advanced stories. The parents were nowhere near as affectionate and loving as the Dursleys were to Dudley, but also way nicer than they were to Harry. The stories were written simply, but after years of not really reading anything, Harry was grateful for the refresher. Especially when he first started reading his new textbooks; the jump from simple language to this was significant to say the least. But Harry got into the groove of it.
Every morning, before having to get up he would read, and before bed, he would stay up reading for at least an hour. It helped that the Dursley’s seemed to have zero interest in Harry anymore, outside of a list of daily chores to complete slid through the cat flap on his bedroom door – a new addition thanks to Uncle Vernon’s desire to never have to eat at the same table as him again.
For the most part, this new way of living was incredible. Harry had never felt so free. Another benefit of them barely wanting Harry in the same house as them, was that during the day, Harry was no longer in the house. After completing all of his chores, he’d be sent to Mr Lawrence, who had asked Aunt Petunia if Harry could help with some chores of his own. Aunt Petunia had rushed at the chance, smirking at Harry. Little did she know that Mr Lawrence made Harry do no such thing. He would instead let Harry sit in the livingroom and read, and feed him proper meals and plenty of chocolate.
Today was another one of those days. September 1st was approaching soon, and Harry hated to admit how nervous he was about it. But sat on Mr Lawrence’s rug on the floor, Magical Drafts and Potions open in front of him, pen scratching in his notebook noting down all the fascinating ingredients that could be grown and produced into impossible – and yet apparently possible – potions. He had to admit this was one of his favourite books to learn from, aside from A History of Magic that, while boring, gave him all the information he so desperately wanted to know about his world. His world. Harry smiled to himself.
“What’s got you smiling?”
Harry’s smile widened as Mr Lawrence came into the room, two mugs in hand.
“I’m just so excited about school.” A boarding school, as he’d told Mr Lawrence.
Mr Lawrence smiled back and placed a hot chocolate in front of him. “It’ll be a fresh start for you. I can see why you’re excited.”
There was silence for a little while. Mr Lawrence opened his book and Harry thought about the upcoming school year while blowing on his drink. He knew what the school looked like, having seen an image of it in A History of Magic (which had scared Harry into dropping his book on the floor late into the night when he saw it move like it was a video), but actually going there was still intimidating. He’d be travelling alone; he’d be completely alone throughout the entire school year if he failed to make friends.
“Anything else on your mind?” Mr Lawrence gave him a soft, knowing look over the top of his book, one that he’d given him a few times and yet Harry still wasn’t used to it. A look that made Harry feel warm and feel as though someone cared.
“I’m scared…” Harry whispered, sipping the drink long before it had cooled enough to swallow down the thickness rising in his throat. “What if I get there and I don’t belong?”
“Oh, Harry,” Mr Lawrence sighed and placed his mug on the coffee table, kneeling on the rug. “Of course you’ll fit in. You’ll make friends. You can’t tell me you won’t at least enjoy the classes. You're sitting here every day devouring whatever's in those books, filling your notebook.”
Mr. Lawrence was right; Harry was thrilled to be learning all about his new world—though, of course, Mr. Lawrence had no idea what was actually in these books. Harry was so engrossed that he’d nearly filled up the little notebook Dudley had given him.
“That reminds me! One second.” Mr Lawrence left shortly before returning with something in his hands. “A present.”
Harry's eyes widened in shock and shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Yes,” Mr Lawrence dragged, returning to his knees and placing a satchel bag in front of Harry, “you can.”
The bag felt heavier than he expected when he lifted it up. Harry’s hands shook as he opened the bag, admiring it completely before looking inside. Notebooks, a pencil case filled with pencils, pens, and highlighters, a smaller journal-looking notebook and – making Harry tear up considerably – a letter writing set.
“My address is in the little address book, for you to write to me, but only if you want to of course. I’ll write back, send you birthday and Christmas cards. I know that– I know your Aunt and Uncle probably won’t. And I’m so very sorry for what they’ve been like, p–Harry.” He started tearing up, voice thicker. “How I never noticed… I– I called for a welfare check once but they told me everything was fine–”
“Oh, I remember that. The police knew who my Aunt and Uncle were. They seemed like old friends, and brushed it off.”
Harry was crying and Mr Lawrence looked close to tears. He didn’t look sure of himself, hands fluttering around like he wanted to touch Harry comfortingly but didn’t know if he was okay with it. Harry laughed weakly and wrapped his arms around his waist, thanking him over and over again. Harry hadn’t ever been hugged before, and while he was out of practice, Harry felt too relieved to care.
“Mr Lawrence,” Harry mumbled into his shirt. “You’re the only person I trust. Are we friends?”
He laughed. “Yes, of course.” Mr Lawrence pulled back and looked over his face for a moment, finger trailing along his scar. “Look at you, you look like a kicked puppy, and I’m sure I look like a mess. Let’s brighten the mood a bit. How would you like to play chess?”
Harry nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. Without a word, Mr. Lawrence handed him a packet of tissues. Harry blinked, momentarily confused about where it had come from and laughed. Harry had a renewed hope for Hogwarts and what it would entail.
On September 1st, Harry woke up feeling more excited than nervous. He made breakfast, ate it, packed all of his stuff up, and packed the car by himself. Mr Lawrence came out to say goodbye to him, sneaking him a chocolate bar for the train journey. He looked at him with a proud smile. He whispered to Harry about one of the notebooks being there for all of his thoughts if he ever feels lonely. Harry’s heart was warmed and he looked at Mr Lawrence, as though seeing him for the first time, and thought it would be nice to have a father like him.
“Come on, boy, get in. No dilly-dallying. I want this whole silly ordeal over with.”
“Bye, Mr Lawrence!”
“See you in the summer, pup!”
Once they’d arrived at the station, the Dursleys dropped Harry off in a hurry, instructing him to find the train on his own. Dudley was the only one to pause and wave goodbye before they went off to enjoy their day.
As Harry made his way through King's Cross Station, a mixture of nerves and excitement churned in his stomach. He had no clue how to find Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and his attempts at asking strangers hadn’t helped, instead earning him nasty looks as they saw his trolley of belongings. He glanced around at the bustling crowd, looking for any hint of something magical that might point him in the right direction.
Then he spotted a mother and son that looked very different from everyone else. A tall, elegant woman with pale blonde hair, her gaze sweeping over the platform, walked alongside her son. The boy, who looked about Harry's age, wore an expensive-looking coat over his black clothes, and his hair was just as fair as the woman’s. Something about the way he carried himself, chin up, exuding confidence, made him seem unlike any of the other children in the station. As his gaze dropped lower, Harry noticed the boy pushed a cart similar to his own!
Harry, despite his nerves, approached them, hoping they might be able to help. “Um, excuse me,” he said, his voice uncertain as he approached the woman. “Do you know how to get to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?”
The boy turned to him with wide eyes, and his mother’s gaze softened as she looked Harry over. “Ah,” she said in a lilting voice, smiling politely. “It’s always a bit of a surprise the first time, isn’t it?”
Harry blinked, relieved to have found someone who might understand his situation. The woman seemed to pick up on his confusion and exchanged a glance with her son.
“Are your parents–?” she asked gently.
“Um, no, they’re dead. My aunt and uncle don’t know about this stuff,” Harry replied uncertainly. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to these new people, but he didn’t want to leave it unanswered and seem rude.
The boy smirked slightly, his gaze appraising Harry as though he were something interesting on display. “They’re muggles then, I suppose?”
“Yes,” Harry admitted, feeling a bit intimidated by the boy’s confidence.
The boy’s mother seemed to notice Harry’s discomfort, and she smiled reassuringly. “No matter, dear. It can be quite confusing at first. My name is Narcissa Malfoy,” she introduced herself with a gracious nod. “And this is my son, Draco. We’d be happy to show you the way.”
“Thank you, I’m Harry,” Harry replied, feeling his nerves start to settle.
Draco eyed him with an expression that was difficult to read. “I take it you’re new to all of this, then?” he asked, as they started walking together through the crowd.
“Yes, actually,” Harry said, feeling a little awkward. “I only found out I was a wizard a month ago.”
Draco’s brows raised slightly in interest. “Really? My parents have been teaching me all about magic since I was little,” he replied, his voice tinged with pride. “They say it’s important to know your history, your heritage. Some of the older wizarding families—”
“Draco,” Narcissa interrupted gently, casting a warning look at her son. She turned back to Harry, her expression warm. “It must be very exciting, learning all of this at once. Don’t worry about the platform; it’s quite simple. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. But don’t stop—just keep walking with confidence.”
Harry blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. “Walk through the barrier?”
“Yes,” Narcissa said with a smile, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. “And you’ll see the train waiting on the other side.”
They had reached the barrier, which was actually a solid brick wall, and Harry looked at it, half expecting to see some kind of magical doorway appear. “Go on,” Draco said, motioning toward it with a faint smirk. “Just… don’t run too fast, or you might actually crash.”
“Draco,” Narcissa scolded softly, though there was a trace of amusement in her eyes. “He’s only joking, Mr. Potter. Just keep walking, and you’ll be fine.”
Harry took a deep breath and nodded, steeling himself as he approached the barrier. But just before he walked through, he realised what she’d said. “Wait—how did you know my name?”
The question made Draco pause, glancing at his mother, who simply smiled. “You’re quite famous in our world, Mr. Potter,” she said softly. “I expect many people will recognize you once you’re at Hogwarts.”
Harry felt his cheeks warm, not entirely sure how to respond to that. He was used to people looking at him strangely because of his scar, but he didn't know if he’d ever get used to the fame. “Oh,” was all he managed, his mind reeling with this piece of information.
“Perhaps I’ll see you on the train,” Draco said with a slight nod. “Good luck, Potter.”
Harry nodded, offering a small smile to them both. With a final deep breath, he strode forward and braced himself as he approached the barrier. To his surprise, the moment he reached it, he felt a strange, rippling sensation, and then he was through.
He found himself on the other side, staring in awe at the black and red Hogwarts Express, billowing steam as students and families bustled around it. The platform was alive with laughter, chatter, and the sounds of owls hooting from their cages. He couldn’t believe his eyes—he was really here, at the entrance to his new life.
Turning back, he saw Narcissa and Draco step through the barrier behind him, moving gracefully through the crowd. Draco gave him a small nod of acknowledgment, and Narcissa smiled kindly at him once more. He watched as they walked away, Draco already greeting other students he seemed to know.
With a surge of excitement—and a hint of nerves—Harry clutched his trolley and took a deep breath, feeling a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced before. He was no longer just the boy under the stairs; he was Harry Potter, a wizard on his way to Hogwarts.
As he handed over his belongings, he couldn’t help but glance back once more, catching sight of Draco laughing with a group of students as they boarded the train. Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about meeting Draco and his mother had left him feeling as though he’d just gotten a glimpse into a part of this world that was still a mystery to him.
Harry finally climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express, his excitement tempered by nervousness. The platform had been bustling with so many unfamiliar faces, and he wasn’t entirely sure where he was supposed to sit. Glancing down the corridor of compartments, he noticed the familiar blond hair of Draco Malfoy through the window of an empty compartment. Harry took a deep breath and opened the door.
Draco looked up, a little surprised, but then he smirked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him. “Well, Potter,” he drawled, “decided to join me, have you?”
Harry returned the smirk with a shy smile, sliding into the seat opposite Draco. “Thought I might as well sit with someone I’ve already met,” he replied, trying to hide his nerves.
Draco leaned back, watching him with sharp, assessing eyes. “Wise choice. Some of the people on this train can be a bit… well, less interesting, I suppose.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s not every day you get to sit with the famous Harry Potter.”
Harry’s cheeks flushed. “I still don’t quite understand why I’m so famous.”
“Really?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’re the Boy Who Lived. Defeated You-Know-Who when you were just a baby. Everyone knows about you.” He tilted his head, a touch of curiosity in his gaze. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you?”
“No,” Harry admitted, frowning slightly. “My aunt and uncle… they didn’t exactly tell me anything about magic or, well, anything to do with this world. I only found out about this world on my birthday. Apparently they had known all along though.”
Draco’s eyes widened a bit, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he smoothed it away. He scoffed. “Typical Muggles. They don’t understand anything about magic and tend to think hiding it is the best option.”
Harry nodded, somewhat relieved that Draco seemed to understand. “So… you grew up in a wizarding family?” he asked.
Draco’s smirk returned, tinged with pride. “Of course. My family has been a part of the wizarding world for generations. We’re what you’d call a pure-blood family—no Muggle blood in the family tree.” He paused, watching Harry’s reaction carefully.
“Oh.” Harry wasn’t entirely sure what “pure-blood” meant, but he nodded anyway. “So, you must know a lot about magic, then.”
Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose. My parents made sure I was well-prepared for Hogwarts. I’ve learned a lot already. You’ll probably be behind, but I can help you catch up—if you want.” He leaned forward slightly, his tone a bit more serious. “It’s important to know who you can trust in the wizarding world, Potter. Some people might want to get close to you for the wrong reasons.”
Harry wasn’t sure how to respond. There was something sincere in Draco’s words, even if he sounded a bit smug. “That’s… actually very kind of you. Thanks.”
Draco waved off the gratitude as if it were nothing. “I’m only looking out for you. After all, we’re both starting out here. Might as well help each other out.” He glanced out the window, watching the countryside fly by. “So, tell me, what was it like living with Muggles?”
Harry hesitated, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal. “Well, it wasn’t… great,” he admitted, looking down. “They weren’t exactly happy about me being… different. I spent all of my life in a cupboard under the stairs.”
Draco’s eyes widened in shock. “A cupboard? You’re joking.”
“No,” Harry replied, smiling a little at Draco’s reaction. “I guess they didn’t like having a wizard around.”
Draco shook his head, clearly appalled. “That’s ridiculous. If you’d been raised in a proper wizarding family, you’d already know so much. But no matter. Now that you’re at Hogwarts, you’ll finally get to learn about who you are and what you can do.” He paused, looking at Harry with a hint of sympathy. “Just forget about them. You’re part of our world now.”
Harry was grateful for Draco’s words, and a bit surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. Draco might be proud and confident, but he was also someone who understood what Harry had been missing. It felt like he was finally connecting with someone who could guide him through this strange new world.
The trolley lady soon arrived, interrupting their conversation with a cart full of sweets and snacks. Draco eyed the cart with a raised eyebrow, then looked at Harry. “Ever had any of these?” he asked, gesturing at the various chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes.
Harry shook his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I’ve never seen most of these before.”
“Right, you wouldn’t have,” Draco murmured, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of coins. He bought a stack of sweets and handed a few over to Harry. “Here, try these.”
“Oh wait, here, I have some coins,” Harry started searching his pockets.
“Nonsense, consider it a welcoming gift.”
Harry took a chocolate frog with a smile and heated cheeks. He looked at it uncertainly as it seemed to thump around slightly in its box. “Thanks. It’s not a real frog is it?”
“Of course not, it’s just magic. It fades away quickly, if you’d rather eat it then.”
As he opened the box, it leaped out of his hands, and both boys laughed as it hopped onto Draco’s shoulder. Harry’s grin widened, feeling at ease for the first time in a long while.
He looked inside the box, noticing a card inside. He pulled it out to see a picture of a very old man with half-moon glasses, a long crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore. A face to the familiar name Hagrid mentioned. Harry turned over the card and read:
Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern
times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his
Defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945,
for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s
blood and his work on alchemy with his partner,
Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys
chamber music and tenpin bowling.
Harry turned his card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore’s face had disappeared.
“He’s gone! The– Dumbledore’s gone!” He turned the card to show Draco and pointed to where the man once stood.
“Hmm, can’t expect him to hang around all day,” said Draco. “But he’ll be back.”
Harry stared, and true to word Dumbledore sidled back into the picture and gave him a small smile. How weird.
“So, Potter,” Draco said, using a dark green handkerchief to wipe chocolate from his fingers. “What are you most excited about at Hogwarts? Besides not living with Muggles anymore, obviously.”
Harry thought about it for a moment. “I guess… just being able to do magic, really. I never even knew I could do things until recently. And maybe… making friends.”
Draco smirked slightly. “Well, you’ll have me, if nothing else. And I’m sure you’ll make other friends.” He paused, adding, “Though, fair warning, not everyone here will have your best interests at heart.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, wrangling his own chocolate frog, this time getting the card for Merlin.
Draco’s face turned serious. “Just that some people—like those who aren’t from wizarding families—might not understand how things work. It’s best to stick with people who know what they’re doing.”
Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that, but he nodded. It seemed that Draco was genuinely trying to look out for him, even if he did speak a bit strangely sometimes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts as the train rattled on. Eventually, Draco broke the silence. “Potter, you should know… our world isn’t as simple as it looks. People care a lot about family and tradition. Some people believe those things matter more than others.”
“Does it matter to you?” Harry asked, curious.
Draco hesitated before answering. “My family’s… always believed that pure-bloods are stronger wizards. But I think it’s more important what someone does with their magic, not just where they come from.” He looked at Harry, as if assessing him. “You’re probably a powerful wizard, even if you didn’t grow up in our world.”
Harry felt a strange warmth at Draco’s words, and he nodded. “Thanks. I guess we’ll just have to see.”
Draco smirked. “Exactly. And maybe we’ll both have something to prove.” He offered Harry his hand, a rare look of earnestness crossing his face. “Let’s make a deal, Potter. We’ll watch each other’s backs. Hogwarts can be a lot to take in, but if we stick together, we’ll be just fine.”
Harry shook Draco’s hand, feeling a rush of excitement. “Deal.”
As the two boys shook hands, sealing their newfound friendship, the compartment door slid open. A round-faced boy with flaming red hair stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking hesitant.
“Er—sorry to interrupt,” he said, glancing between them, “but all the other compartments are completely full, it's getting pretty stuffy. Do you mind if I sit here?”
Harry noticed the flash of recognition in the boy’s face as he looked at him. “Blimey! You’re Harry Potter!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise and excitement. Then his gaze shifted to Draco, and the excitement faded, replaced by something a bit cooler.
Harry nodded with a polite smile, feeling a twinge of uncertainty. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, then gestured to an empty seat. “Of course, come on in. This is Draco Malfoy.”
Ron hesitated, glancing back at Draco. He seemed unsure, a slight frown creasing his brow. “Right. Well… I’m Ron. Ron Weasley,” he said, with a bit of emphasis on his surname as if testing the reaction it might bring.
Draco’s face tightened almost imperceptibly. The Malfoys and Weasleys had a history, Harry gathered, one that seemed to be built on family tensions rather than the two personally. But rather than letting it show, Draco maintained his composure. With a nod that was perhaps a touch colder than before, he said, “Pleasure, Weasley.”
The air was thick for a moment, an awkward silence hanging between the three of them. Sensing the tension, Harry cleared his throat, thinking quickly. “Well,” he began, “you know, I’ve been learning a bit about this world, but one thing I think I do know is that it doesn’t seem fair to judge people by who their families are. After all, I don’t really know anything about mine, and certainly don’t want to be judged because of my Aunt and Uncle.” He smiled, trying to ease the tension. “It’d be much more fun if we all got along, don’t you think?”
Draco glanced at Harry, his expression softening a little. “I suppose you’re right, Potter,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “It’s not fair to hold grudges for things that, well… aren’t really ours.”
Ron looked at Draco, a mixture of surprise and curiosity in his expression. “I can agree with that,” he said slowly, as if he were still processing the idea. “Maybe it’s better to start fresh.”
Harry grinned, relieved that both boys seemed willing to at least be civil. “Great!” he said. “We’re all in this together, after all. It’s all a bit new to me, and I could use all the friends I can get.”
The awkwardness dissolved as the conversation picked up.
“Are you really Harry Potter?” Ron blurted out.
Harry nodded.
Ron pointed and stared at Harry’s forehead. “So that’s where You-Know-Who–?”
“Honestly, Weasley, you have no manners whatsoever,” Draco bit out hurriedly, eyes wide in shock.
“No it’s okay, I don’t mind talking about it. I can’t remember it after all.”
“Nothing?” Ron said eagerly now that he’d been given permission.
“Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else.”
Draco seemed to get impossibly paler but stayed quiet.
“Wow,” said Ron. He sat and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he suddenly realised what he was doing, he looked quickly away to his bag. Ron pulled out a few homemade sandwiches wrapped in parchment paper. “Want one?” he offered, passing one to Harry, who accepted gratefully, then surprisingly extended the offer to Draco.
Draco hesitated, looking at the sandwich for a moment before finally taking it. “Thanks,” he said, sounding surprised by his own response. Ron gave a nod, and, for a moment, it felt like the compartment was the start of something promising—a new friendship born from unexpected places.
“Are all your family wizards?” asked Harry, wondering if Draco and Ron’s family life was the average experience for wizards.
“Er – yes, I think so,” said Ron. “I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”
“So you must know lots of magic already.”
The Weasleys were clearly one of those old pure-blood families like the Malfoys.
“I heard you went to live with Muggles,” said Ron. “What are they like?”
“Horrible – not all Muggles, but the ones I lived with. Wish I had a wizard family.”
“Five brothers and a sister,” said Ron. For some reason he was looking gloomy. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left – Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch.”
“Quidditch?” Harry asked, trying to follow along with what he was saying.
“Blimey, it’s a great game. Flying around on brooms chasing after the Snitch and Quaffle. I’ll have to introduce you to it.
Anyways, now Percy’s a Prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first.”
Ron sighed and looked at Draco.
“Only child.” Draco smiled, if a little tightly, and stayed quiet.
Ron mumbled something before continuing. “You never get anything new either, well almost… No, not even my little sister did in the end. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old rat.” Ron reached inside of his jacket and pulled out a fat grey rat, which was asleep.
“His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff– i mean, I got Scabbers instead.”
Ron’s ears went pink. He seemed to think he’d said too much, because he went back to staring out the window. Clearly not being able to input himself, Draco did the same.
Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. After all, he’d never had any money in his life until a month ago, and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley’s old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer Ron up. Draco looked conflicted, as though he’d never considered some people would be without anything.
“... until Hagrid – he works at Hogwarts – told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort–”
Both Draco and Ron gasped.
“What?”
“You said You-Know-Who’s name!” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. Draco was looking around as though someone was about to catch them doing something they shouldn't be. “I’d have thought you, of all people–”
“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” said Harry, “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn… I bet I’m the worst in the class.”
“You won’t be. There’s other students who are raised by Muggles,” Draco said.
“Yeah, and they all learn quick enough.”
Harry decided, in the silence that followed, to eat the lunch Mr Lawrence had given him. He shared his chocolate bar with the others and ate the Cornish Pasties himself.
Ron sighed down at the rat still asleep in his lap. “I tried to turn Scabbers yellow yesterday to make him seem more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look…”
He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered looking wand. Harry and Draco looked at each other with the same look of concern etched on their faces. It was chipped and something white was glinting at the end.
“Unicorn hair’s nearing poking out. Anyway–”
He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open.
The girl Harry met at Diagon Alley – Hermione, he thinks – with bushy brown hair and skin darker than Harry’s – and a sniffling blonde boy, poked their heads in. He hadn't seen many people with the same or darker skin as him, and he felt embarrassed to see how warm her skin was compared to Harry’s own ashy, dull tone from a lifetime of neglect. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes. Her eyes immediately brightened as she recognized Harry.
“Oh! Harry Potter! We met at the bookshop in Diagon Alley, remember?” she said, stepping in with a wide smile. “I’m Hermione Granger.”
“Hi Hermione!” Harry replied, smiling back. “Good to see you again.”
“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” she said, addressing the whole compartment.
“We haven’t seen it,” said Ron, but Hermione wasn’t listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.
“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”
She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.
“Er – all right.”
He cleared his throat, lowering his tone slightly to an almost uncomfortable croak.
“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow – turn this stupid fat rat yellow.”
He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.
“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said the girl. Draco and Harry stifled their laughs before they could come out. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean – it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all our set school books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – oh I introduced myself already, who are you?”
She said all this very fast.
Harry looked at Ron. As much as Harry had tried to familiarise himself with the content of the set books as much as he could, he definitely couldn’t recall the information by heart – he was impressed. Ron seemed to be more stunned than impressed. Perhaps he hadn’t read the books at all.
“I’m Ron Weasley,” he muttered.
“And you?” Hermione asked, facing towards Draco, who thus far had been curiously watching the whole interaction. He seemed surprised to be addressed.
“The name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of you both in one of the extra books I’ve read. Pureblood wizarding families – quite prominent ones. And of course I read up on you Harry. You were in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”
“Am I?” said Harry, pulling out his new journal from Mr Lawrence, a smaller but thicker one than the others intended for his subject notes. He opened it to a fresh new page and started to write what he could remember of the titles. Hermione repeated them slower, for him to write them down accurately. Draco and Ron seemed to be staring blankly at his pen.
“Goodness, didn’t you know,” she added once he’d put the book away, “I’d have found out everything I could if it was me. Do any of you know what house you’ll be in?”
Draco spoke up eagerly now, interest piqued. “Slytherin. My family expects nothing less from me.” Harry watched on confused.
“I heard You-Know-Who was in Slytherin.”
“Yes, Weasley, everyone has heard that, because it's true. Well,” he added after a glance at Harry, “not everyone but the point still remains.”
“I heard Dumbledore was a Gryffindor.” Hermione interjected.
“My family’s going to expect me to be in Gryffindor like them. The whole bloody lot were.”
“What’s a house?” Harry finally asked.
“There’s four houses in Hogwarts; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. They’re based on the four founders of Hogwarts. Everyone gets sorted into a house.” Hermione supplies.
“Well, I don’t suppose I have a preference then.”
‘Anyway, we’d best go and look for Neville’s toad.” Her gaze shifted quickly to his glasses, a concerned frown appearing on her face. “Those look like they’re hanging on by a thread.” Without waiting for him to respond, she pulled out her wand. “Here, I can fix that.”
She gave her wand a flick and muttered, “Oculus Reparo.” Instantly, the lenses mended themselves, and the cracked frame was restored to perfection.
Harry blinked, reaching up to touch the smooth frames in awe. “Wow! Thanks, Hermione. That’s much better.”
Hermione gave a pleased nod, her attention turning to Ron. She raised an eyebrow and pointed. “Oh, and you’ve got a bit of chocolate or… something on your cheek. Right there.”
Ron’s ears went red as he rubbed at the spot with his sleeve. “Oh—er, thanks,” he muttered, trying to brush it away.
Draco smirked slightly. “I noticed it too, actually,” he admitted with a shrug, “but it seemed rude to point it out.”
Ron glanced at Draco, his face still pink. “Well, I wouldn’t have minded if it meant it’d be less embarrassing in the long run.”
Harry chuckled. “Thank you, Hermione.”
“Anytime. You three had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon,” she replied with a satisfied smile. With a wave, Hermione backed out of the compartment, glancing down the corridor.
Harry peered out the window. It was getting dark. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky. The train did seem to be slowing down. Harry, Ron, and Draco exchanged glances, and none of them could contain their excitement.
They all took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron’s were a bit short for him, you could see his trainers underneath them. Draco’s looked as new as Harry’s own.
A voice echoed through the train: “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”
Harry’s stomach lurched with nerves, and Ron looked pale under his freckles. Draco’s face was neutral in a way that Harry knew he was masking his nerves.
The train slowed right down and finally stopped. Before they joined the crowd thronging the corridor, Draco mentioned finding family friends of his – Crabbe and Goyle. “I’ll see you at the sorting.”
Ron and Harry left the compartment first. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a dark, exposed platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there, Harry?”
Hagrid’s big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.
“C’mon follow me – any more firs’ years? Mind yer step!” Hagrid called out, leading them around a bend in the path. And suddenly, with a collective gasp from those at the front, they saw it—a vast, black lake, glassy and still under the evening sky, stretching out before them.
Across the lake, perched on a cliff and towering above like a dream, was Hogwarts Castle. Its spires and towers gleamed in the starlight, beckoning them forward. It was exactly like the pictures but somehow they didn’t capture the wonder of seeing it in person.
“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid’s voice broke through the awe as he pointed down at the small fleet of wooden boats, each bobbing gently against the rocky shore, a lamp attached to the front.
Harry clambered into one of the boats alongside Ron, Hermione, and Neville. The boat rocked slightly as they settled in. Everyone gripped the wooden edges for balance. Then, one by one, the boats began to move, gliding silently across the surface of the lake. There was no oar, no rower—just the steady, enchanted drift of magic pulling them toward the castle.
The cold air nipped at Harry’s cheeks as he gazed out over the lake, Hogwarts growing larger with each smooth glide of the boats. A soft, eerie mist curled along the water’s edge, drifting lazily across their path, and the distant lights of the castle glimmered, casting faint reflections in the dark water.
“Look at that!” Ron whispered, pointing up at the towering turrets that seemed to stretch endlessly into the night sky. The whole scene felt too wondrous, too surreal to be true.
As they neared the cliffside, the boats turned smoothly, guiding them toward a hidden tunnel in the rock, its entrance wide and dark, like a secret passage into another world. They drifted into the shadowy tunnel, the water lapping softly against the sides of the boats as they entered a cavernous, torch-lit underground harbour.
Hagrid’s voice echoed once more. “Everyone out now! Oy, is this someone’s toad?”
Harry scrambled out of the boat, helping Neville keep his balance, and joined the others as Neville ran to collect ‘Trevor’. They filed onto the wide stone steps leading up and out of the harbour. They climbed in silence, hearts pounding in anticipation. And finally, they emerged into the cool night air again, standing in the shadow of Hogwarts itself, every stone of the castle seeming to pulse with mystery and promise.
Ahead, the grand oak doors of Hogwarts swung open, and Harry felt a surge of thrill as he realised he was about to step inside his new world.
“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”
Hagrid raised his gigantic fist – somehow seeming small on the large castle door – and knocked three times.