The Hogwarts Express
“Marlene,” a voice spoke, muffled, far away. “Marlene—!”
Marlene awoke with a start to her mother’s hands grasping her shoulders, trying to gently shake her awake.
“It’s almost time to go.”
Hogwarts. She had been waiting for this day since she could understand what Hogwarts was. Before, it had felt like a fantasy, hazy and lustreless, a tale her brother and mother would tell her as if fictional, and now it was so chimeric that she began to doubt it was tangible at all.
Rubbing her eyes, she stretched and walked over to the chair in the far corner of the room. There it was: her cloak, ready to be adorned with whichever house she would end up in, and her trunk, packed and sealed tightly for the year ahead.
“Have you got everything?” Danny asked, patting down his own pockets to check everything was where it was supposed to be.
“I think so,” Marlene said, shrugging on her cloak. “Mama put a charm on it before we left… I’m sure it will be fine.” Although now that her heart was pounding so fast she feared it would be able to fly out of her chest—from nerves or excitement, it was difficult to tell—she wasn’t quite so sure of herself.
“We can always give it to Skops; he’ll fly anything up to you.” Danny grinned at her reassuringly.
It was true: there was Skops, the hoary and doddering McKinnon household owl, who—in more blunt terms—probably wouldn’t be able to successfully carry anything heavier than a roll of parchment from the south coast of England to the Scottish Highlands.
Marlene smiled back at Danny, and they closed their motheaten, nonetheless charming, room of the Leaky Cauldron. Clambering down the stairs to meet their mother and step-father in the pub, Danny carried her trunk, and she returned the key.
***
“Are you ready?” Mr McKinnon asked, taking Marlene’s shaking hand.
Since leaving the Leaky Cauldron, and now that a hundred people a minute passed them between platform nine and ten, Marlene’s mouth was becoming increasingly dry, and her heart was no less calm. Unable to even croak a word, she met her step-father’s eye and nodded, as they hurried head-first into the wall.
Her mother and brother followed straight behind them, fighting to maintain control of the trolley, and just as they caught up with Marlene and her father, the glistening Hogwarts Express sounded a resonant, echoing blare. For an instant, the entire crowd on platform nine-and-three-quarters went silent.
Parents fussed over their children, adjusting their clothes, brushing dirt off their sleeves. Various renditions of “goodbye!” and “see you at Christmastime!” could be heard. Marlene couldn’t identify anyone she might know. But then, she supposed, why would she?
Then, the swarming crowd shifted, and over her father’s shoulder there was a face she recognised straight away as a Black. The group of Blacks swaggered onto the platform, heels echoing on the concrete. And although Marlene had never seen a picture of a Black before, she registered them so straight away. Her father’s voice rung in her head when he had told her about them: “marble white skin and jet-black hair”. The crowd manoeuvred around them and resumed their urgent chatter.
The train hooted again and the heavy realisation hit Marlene. This is not a dream. This is real.
“Five minutes,” Danny nudged her, checking his watch.
She swallowed hard, and stepped forward to hug her parents. Her mother kissed her on the cheek with a motherly peck and handed her the trunk, which threatened to slip onto the ground, for her hands were slick with sweat.
“We’ll wave to you from your carriage,” her step-father instructed.
Marlene advanced towards the striking red steam engine and stepped into it, making a beeline down the narrow corridor for a compartment. The first empty one that caught her eye she fell into, and immediately fought to open its little window.
On the platform, her family promptly spotted her, and began waving and smiling supportively.
“Have you got your wand?” her mother called, now bearing a concerned expression.
“I don’t know—I thought you locked my trunk for me!” Tears were beginning to form behind her eyes and she blinked hard to try and rid them.
“You’re right, I did,” her mother said. “If not, Skops’ll run it up to you!”
“It’s okay,” Marlene called, head out of the window. The train hooted several times in a row, and the steady chugging of the wheels hitting the tracks made the carriage begin to vibrate. A single, fat tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it away before anyone might see and get worried.
“Write lots!” Danny shouted through the din of the rest of the families.
“Miss you already!” her mother exclaimed.
The train started to move: at first, a gentle clicking and then a rumbling. Within moments, the brick walls of platform nine-and-three-quarters had fallen, and the grey offices and shops raced outside.
Marlene sunk into her seat, observing the compartment. People passed the glass door, the occasional group of raucously laughing friends peering in, making eye contact with her. Exhaling shakily, she stared at the threadbare carpet and almost nodded off, when there was a harsh rapping at the glass of the compartment door.
Whipping her head around to see what was happening, Marlene met the warm gaze of a girl, about her own height, wearing a white blouse and a striking pink skirt. She beamed and pointed animatedly to the handle of the door.
Marlene nodded and leaned forward to slide it open. The girl on the other side continued to grin, and as soon as Marlene so much as turned the handle, said “are you a first-year?”
Still shaken, Marlene nodded.
The girl tumbled into the carriage, dragging in a leather trunk half her size and sat on the bench opposite to Marlene.
“Thank God,” she said, placing a hand over her heart. “Everyone already seems to know each other, I was getting quite worried; do you know anyone else—I suppose not—are your parents wizards?” She said all this very fast without taking a breath, and looked at Marlene expectantly.
“I’m a half-blood. My mother’s a wizard, but my dad was a Muggle,” she said unsurely.
“Did she go to Hogwarts, then?” The girl seemed almost to twinkle in the dappled light of the trees outside.
“Yes, and my brother did, too.”
“I’m a Muggle-born,” the girl continued. “When my letter first arrived—by owl!–we thought it was a joke. Luckily, when we went to see Diagon Alley for ourselves, we knew it was real. It was a bit of a nasty shock for my mum though, sending me off to a boarding school!”
As the girl prattled on alongside the roaring of the steam engine, Marlene couldn’t help but notice her accent. It was like hers, but when she said words like “the” it somehow sounded more plosive.
“Where are you from?” Marlene said suddenly, whilst the girl was talking through each of her siblings.
“South of London,” she said, without hesitation. “You?”
“Exeter.”
“We’re from the same region then.”
“Sort of,” Marlene said, trying to be agreeable.
There was a fraught pause between them. The girl’s smile remained plastered on her face; to outsiders, it may have appeared forced. But to Marlene, there was something charming, sort of mesmerising about it. Her eyes, which creased with her unwavering amiability, seemed almost bronze, like late-summer sunlight.
“What’s your name?” she asked, just when Marlene’s thoughts were starting to run away with her.
“Marlene McKinnon.”
“We have the same initials!” the girl responded. “My name’s Mary McDonald. Look!”
Mary got out of her seat and reached for her trunk which lay on the bench next to her. She placed it, albeit rather inelegantly, onto the floor and pointed to a brown tag attached to the handle. “MM,” she said, as though sealing the matter.
As Mary was shoving the case onto the ledge above the benches with the help of Marlene, who was unsure how to help at all, a thin figure passed their compartment. He looked at the girls through his black hair which shone, slick with oil, and sneered, his mouth turned up at an odd angle.
“What time is it?” Mary said, collapsing back into her seat, chest heaving.
The trunk above rattled on the shelf unsteadily, and Marlene winced when the train turned a sharp corner, dislodging it completely and threatening to crash down onto the ground.
“Two o’clock,” Marlene said, turning her wrist to read her watch.
“I’m starving,” Mary said, placing a hand on her forehead, feigning distress.
They both giggled, and a prefect, marked out so by his glossy red badge with a golden “P”, mouthed “get changed” and tapped his wrist miming a watch. The girls nodded, and he gave them thumbs up before moving onto the next compartment.