Reparo-ish
Harry was bored.
And not just bored, but BORED.
He hadn’t known this level of boredom existed and wished he had stayed ignorant, because this was torture.
The moment they had returned to Privet Drive, Harry had been ushered into Dudley’s second bedroom and his trunk, full of all his school equipment, was locked in his cupboard under the stairs. That had been disappointing, but not that surprising in retrospect – he should have expected it, but the excitement of the journey had let him hope. He won’t make that mistake again.
Anyway, he had been disappointed, but he hadn’t thought it would get this bad. He had spent many days locked in his cupboard, in a completely empty house, while the Dursleys went out for family celebrations and general family outings. But that had usually only been for one day at a time (there had been one Christmas where they spent the night over at Aunt Marge’s, but that had been a spur of the moment thing and Harry was sure they had genuinely forgotten about him when they agreed to stay longer than planned, if only because of how displeased they had been to come home to the mess Harry couldn’t stop himself making). Spending multiple days locked up, alone, was different.
Sure, he could hear the Dursleys living their lives downstairs, which was better than the utter silence of an empty house, but he was really starting to miss his spiders. He had given each their own name and it had been fun trying to make up stories for why they’d acted certain ways and done certain things.
The only positive was that he at least could stretch out in this room, and the broken toys did offer some form of stimulation (the books were all old schoolbooks, though, and Harry already knew those back to front). If he had been locked up in his dark, cramped, and empty cupboard instead of Dudley’s second bedroom, he would surely have gone mad by now.
And it’s only been five days! He knew this because one of the first things he’d done when he got over his disappointment at his missing supplies, was to make a calendar out of some scrap paper to count down until September 1st. It’s lucky he had because it was only the 31st of July and the days were already blurring together.
This was, by far, the worst birthday he’d ever had.
He sighed and rolled over on the bed, staring blankly at the piles of broken stuff he’d already finished sorting out of boredom. He needed to find something to do. He really needed to find something to do. He could re-sort it all. Again.
His eyes stopped their wandering as they caught on a bright beam of reflected sunlight emitting from in front of the wardrobe. At some point, Dudley must have broken the mirror that was attached to the inside of the door of his own wardrobe and actually tried to hide it from his mother. Harry had found the shards inside the wardrobe of Dudley’s second bedroom and couldn’t resist taking the largest piece out and placing in against the front of the wardrobe.
It was, by far, the best thing he’d found in the room.
Harry was not ashamed to admit that the first night back from magical shopping, he spent almost his entire allotted ten minutes of bathroom time just staring into the mirror. He thought that, if he stared into his eyes hard enough, for long enough, then maybe he could trick himself into believing his mother was staring back…
He had spent quite a bit of time since then staring into his own mirror shard, imagining what other features he could possibly share with his parents, but it wasn’t that large and it couldn’t compare to a mirror that let him see his entire face at once. Maybe he could use the glue sticks in the ‘old school stuff’ pile to try and stick it back together? Oh, or maybe he could stick the pieces to the wall?
Perking up with energy, now that he had a new task, Harry hopped off the bed and bounced to the wardrobe.
Dejected, Harry slurped down his small bowl of soup as slowly as he could. He had spent the entire morning puzzling the broken mirror together and managed it just before getting his lunch. Unfortunately, that was also the time he’d decided to check the condition of the glue sticks for the first time.
They were all unusable.
Those that hadn’t dried out, were covered in dirt and the coloured dust found in pencil cases.
That had been his only chance to fix the mirror! Now his entire morning had been wasted… Harry sighed as he licked up the last drops of soup and placed it just outside the cat-flap in the door.
He felt the aching loss of his belongings growing again. If he had his wand and schoolbooks, he would’ve had a chance of fixing it. He even knew the spell he’d use: Reparo, the repairing charm!
During the two hours he’d spent waiting for the Dursley’s outside the Leaky Cauldron, he’d skimmed through most of his books, but The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) had been the most fun and had consumed most of his time. One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them had come close seconds, but the others were either heavily theory-based or just dull. Those three books had taken over his imagination during his lockup, making his half-awake, half-asleep, hazy, aware-but-not, state of mind that he usually defaulted to when locked up for a long time take on a new life.
The first chapter of The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) had been filled with dire warnings about incorrect pronunciation and the necessity of exact wand movements… it had made him cautious enough that he hadn’t been planning on practicing any of the spells while at the Dursleys (he had been content with the knowledge it existed and that he would get a chance to learn it come September), but he’d had a lot of time to think since then – nothing but time to think, actually.
He'd done magic before, and he had done it without any spells and with no wand… so were they really that important?
Maybe he could try some magic? Just as a birthday present to himself. If it doesn’t work, then that’s fine, but maybe, for today, for his eleventh birthday, he could try.
Maybe not Reparo or any other spell, but just… magic. Like he had before.
(Even if he had his wand, he hadn’t understood the instructions to pronounce the spells and the diagrams of the wand movements had made even less sense, full of numbers and symbols he couldn’t comprehend… even if he had his wand, spells were beyond him)
Harry moved to sit on the bed and get comfortable to think.
The strongest memory of magic he had was still fresh: getting his wand at Ollivanders. The surge of warmth that sparked up his arm and the energy he could practically taste in the air. Maybe he can try to recreate that feeling?
When else had he used magic? What had he felt during those times?
Scared or angry, mostly.
When Dudley and his gang had been chasing him around the school with the intent of beating him to a bloody pulp, after Harry accidently spilled his water over Dudley’s lunch, Harry had been scared. Dudley had been really angry that time. Usually, he was only bored or showing off, but that time he had really wanted to hurt him.
The time with the shrinking ugly jumper and the fast-growing hair had been similar. Harry had been dreading being forced to go outside or to school, looking like that. He was already made fun of for his baggy clothing, how much worse would it be with something eye-catching like those? Everyone would have stared at him, judging him and snickering. His stomach twisted just thinking back to it.
Concentrating, he focused on the recalled fear, letting it wash through him. It was opposite of what he usually did, trying to minimise and mask it, but all that practice seemed to make it easier.
There’s a rolling feeling of restless energy alongside his curling stomach, mixing with it and making the nausea worse. There it was! The same energy he felt up his arm when he found his wand! In his excitement, he lost his fear, and the energy immediately settled back down to a level where he couldn’t feel it anymore. Okay, this was going to take time.
That was okay though.
He had plenty of time.
It was hard.
And he found himself in the annoying position of actually being thankful to the Dursley’s for locking him up so much. His default aware-but-not state had made it infinitely easier to learn how to sense his magic, and he was sure he wouldn’t have made anywhere near as much progress if he hadn’t accidently slipped into that state that first day of trying and realised that by focusing on nothing, he could focus inside himself.
Now that he knew what his magic felt like, and he had practice trying to find it, he could feel it even when his magic was in standby and his mind wasn’t aware-but-not. With that knowledge and even more practice, he could even call it up without needing to rely on his emotions, making the energy buzz through his entire body! But he hadn’t managed to do anything with it yet… except blowing out his light…
It was really hard.
Using emotions made it much easier to call up the magic and made it much less exhausting to try and use it, but they left him drained in other ways. He didn’t like forcing himself to feel scared all day, every day, so even though it was much harder to do it without the emotion and it left him feeling tired, he thought it was worth the extra effort. But it was hard. He’d spent most of the summer asleep and/or wishing for more food (he’s pretty sure he woke up once trying to chew through the edge of his mattress).
His birthday was long gone and September was fast approaching, but he really wanted to do some magic before then. He wanted all this effort to be worth it (it already was – summer was almost over and he was still sane; it was worth it). He wanted to do magic. On his own. With no help from anybody else. Just to prove to himself that he could.
By now, every memory of his past magic had been thoroughly examined. He remembered every detail of each one, from the extremes like his transporting to the school roof, to the minor incidents like that time an apple on the counter rolled off and into his hands after he’d gone a few days banned from food. And each of these memories had one major similarity:
Intent.
He was scared of being beaten up? He was suddenly out of reach. He was scared of starving to death? Food dropped into his hand. He was angry at a teacher for humiliating him in front of the class? The teacher’s meticulously maintained hair turned bright blue.
Without that intent, without that goal, how would his magic know how he wanted to use it? What he needed it to do?
And there was only one thing he really wanted his magic to do. Anything else would just be proof of magic and that wasn’t enough (he didn’t care enough what his magic did as long as it did something, and that wasn’t getting him anywhere except blowing up more electronics). No, he had to focus on what he needed. And what he needed right now, was the mirror to be fixed (and food, water, space, fresh air, sunlight, proof he could do magic…)
NO.
He needed the mirror fixed. Nothing else.
The mirror was still pieced together in the corner of the room, and Harry nudged the shards closer to each other so there was no space between them. He sat down, closed his eyes, and brought his magic up to warmly buzz through his body.
Brows furrowed, Harry focused all his attention on the mirror. The mirror, whole, unbroken, in one piece…
Eyes still closed, he lightly placed his hands on the glass in front of him and gently pushed his magic out through them, keeping his focus on the image in his mind. The mirror, whole, unbroken, in one piece…
He swayed as his magic drained away, but excitement gave him the energy to blearily open his eyes. That had felt different to the other times he’d tried to fix something. Usually, his magic would leave him, before immediately dissipating into the air, lost and without direction, not doing anything except leave him exhausted. This time there was still quite a bit of directionless magic left scattering into nothingness, but he had put in more magic than was being lost.
Harry grinned and rubbed his eyes as they burned with threatening tears. The mirror sat in front of him, whole, unbroken, and in one piece…
Once again, the car ride into London was almost completely silent. This was quickly becoming a tradition. As was the Dursleys making it a family day out whenever they were forced to acknowledge Harry’s existence and drive him to something magic-related. At least it was a Saturday this time and Uncle Vernon hadn’t needed to take a day off from work (Harry was aware of the favouritism, but he didn’t like having it rubbed in his face).
The oppressive silence lasted through the whole drive, with the only sound being Dudley furiously pressing the buttons on his brand-new handheld game console, right up until Uncle Vernon stopped outside King’s Cross. Harry was quickly kicked out and he struggled to get his school trunk out of the car’s trunk alone. The moment he slammed it closed again, the car tore away with a small screech of tires.
Harry was aware he should feel annoyed (it was only 8am, three hours early) or scared (he’d never been to King’s Cross before, and he was here alone) or excited (it was finally September 1st and the start of Hogwarts), but he felt nothing but relief. He was out of Dudley’s second bedroom. He was leaving the Dursley’s for the year (he wasn’t sure what would happen next summer yet, but he hoped there was a way to stay at Hogwarts while school was out). He was going to learn how to cast spells. He was going to meet other kids (wizards - freaks) just like him. People won’t hate him for having magic, for being the son of his aunt’s freak sister, for not fitting into a normal family…
Harry shook his head, grabbed his trunk, straightened his back, and marched into the imposing building, dragging his trunk behind him. Now, he had three hours to find Platform 9 ¾, which was enough time that he wasn’t feeling nervous yet (though his nerves had made sleep the night before impossible). He quickly found a trolley to dump his really heavy trunk onto and relieved himself of the burden. That will make things much easier.
Maps were easy to find and the platforms were labelled well… but he couldn’t see any platform 9 ¾. Nine and ten were obvious, but there was nothing between them. Maybe he was missing something obvious? He’d have to ask someone.
He went up to a guard standing off to the side and asked after platform nine and three quarters. The amused chuckle he received in response did not bode well. Asking after Hogwarts got the same reaction, as did asking after the train that left at 11am.
“Sorry kid,” the amused guard replied, apparently oblivious to Harry’s growing apprehension, “I’m not part of whatever game you’re playing. Go ask your parents where platform nine and three quarters is, they should know!”
Harry thanked him, apologised for taking up his time, and walked away, the guard smiling and waving after him. Okay, so normal people (Muggles?) don’t know about the platform. It’s definitely here somewhere (the ticket said King’s Cross station), so maybe it’s hidden somewhere, like the entrance to the shopping alley? But how was he supposed to know who to ask how to get there? He’d already tried asking one of the employees (he had been just as friendly as the barman too!), but that had led to a dead end…
Well, The Leaky Cauldron was the only gateway into the magical world he’d seen before, and there had been signs that things weren’t quite all normal there. When the people (the Muggles?) walked past, their eyes had skittered over the building like they couldn’t see it or like it didn’t exist. Maybe there was something like that here. He went to stand by the wall where he could keep both platforms nine and ten in sight, and watched the crowd for any signs of magic.
There weren’t many people, since both platforms were apparently between trains at that time, but Harry had plenty of time to wait and watch. His patience was rewarded as, at some point quite a bit later, the crowd thickened as two trains arrived at once.
And then the area that everyone avoided walking through became obvious.
Nearly vibrating with excitement, Harry waited for the crowd to disperse before pushing his trolley to the barrier between platforms nine and ten with a bounce in his step. Now he knew where the archway/gateway/whatever was… he just needed to find the way to open it.
(He could wait for another magical person to come through, but it was still over two hours until the train was scheduled to leave, and Harry wanted to see the platform now.)
He left his trolley just inside the circle-of-ignorance and went up to the barrier, looking around and trying to sense any magic. Without realising it or meaning to, he habitually ended up partially slipping into his aware-but-not state… but it let him feel a slight buzz in the air and so he didn’t shake himself out of it just yet.
The buzz of magic seemed to emanate from across almost the entire barrier, stopping just short of the circle-of-ignorance. Harry reached out to touch the ticket box right in the centre and see if physical contact would give him more information, only for his hand to go right through the metal without him feeling anything.
No, wait, he did feel something, but it didn’t feel physical. It was like touching a bubble. Something was there, but it gave out at even the slightest pressure, leaving nothing but scattered droplets in the air. The barrier was a buzzing case of energy, that broke away into sparkles at the slightest touch, and reformed the moment it was no longer touched.
His aware-but-not state shattered as the delight of his victory washed through him, but that was fine. It served its purpose. And now he knew what he needed to do.
Grabbing his trolley, he walked backwards through the barrier (just in case he was wrong and it wouldn’t let his luggage through without him opening the way first), and fixed his eyes open so he could watch as the illusion popped out of existence, getting replaced with a wrought iron archway proclaiming Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It also revealed an entire train platform, right in between platforms nine and ten, with an overhead sign reading Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.
The platform was empty (not surprising, considering it wasn’t even 9am yet), so Harry decided to park his trolley next to one of the benches and go back to the archway to see if he could sense anything else from the newly revealed archway.
The novelty of feeling magic outside of his own kept him entertained for over an hour, at which time a scarlet steam engine pulled up and Harry eagerly rushed to get inside it. Yes, there was no reason to rush (he was still the only one here), but he was excited! He chose to go to the last compartment, hoping the back of the train wouldn’t get as busy as the front once the other students arrived.
Getting his trunk up the stairs and onto the train was a bit difficult, but he finally managed it by throwing a little magic at the problem. He basked in his pride at successfully managing it the first try. All the practice over the summer really paid off!
Once he’d had his first success with fixing the mirror and he knew what success felt like, he’d found it much easier to bring out and use his magic. Of course, he failed more times than not, and most of the successes were… not full successes. It was hard to be completely focused and even if he was, his subconscious sometimes had its own desires and affected it as well. A cracked Frisbee had turned into a dinner plate and an unwanted tennis ball had turned into an apple, which had turned back into a tennis ball the moment his teeth broke its skin (he had been – and still was – very hungry. He hadn’t even been thinking about food or aiming at the tennis ball and it still happened!). Still, practice made better! Not perfect yet, not even close, but definitely better.
Harry ended up tucking his trunk in the back corner of his chosen compartment, and immediately changed into his school robes. Just as fast, Harry decided to put his pants back on underneath them (feeling his bare legs rubbing against each other was weird and not at all comfortable). He also dug out his wand (magic once again jolting up his arm, albeit not nearly as strong as the first time) to pocket it, and took out The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) to kill some time.
The door to his compartment slammed open, making Harry jolt and hug his book to his chest, ready to jump out of the way.
“Hello! Are you a first year as well? Oh, you are, that’s The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), so of course you are. I’m ever so glad I’m not the only one to study ahead, I’ve learnt all our set books by heart, of course, plus a few extra I brought for background reading since I’m a muggleborn, but there’s still so much I don’t know, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”
The intruder said this all very fast, in a rather bossy sounding voice. Like everyone else his age, she was bigger than he was, and her uniform fit her much better than his did. She also had the bushiest brown hair he’d ever seen, quite large front teeth, and pretty honey-brown eyes.
“I’m Harry Potter,” he answered, relaxing just enough to put his book back onto his lap (though he kept his hands clenched around it).
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry! Have you tried any of the spells yet? I’ve only tried a few simple ones, just for practise, but it’s all worked for me so far, watch!”
Before Harry could begin to comprehend the new rush of words, she had her wand pointed at his face and cast “Reparo!” as a short, sharp order, with a jabbing motion towards his face that he flinched away from.
Her Reparo felt different than his not-Reparo. They were similar – definitely similar – but also definitely different. Hers was cleaner… more controlled, with barely any waste. Harry always had to use so much magic to fix the simplest things, and then all the leftover magic just dissipated into the air afterwards. Hopefully that was just because he hadn’t been using a wand and not because there was something wrong with him.
“Uh, thanks,” he said, taking his glasses off so he could examine them properly. Sure enough, peeling away the sticky tape revealed the glasses whole once again (and probably in better condition than they’d been in since they’d been bought for him). He was very grateful that he wouldn’t be arriving at Hogwarts with such an obvious sign of his impoverishment, even if it’ll probably come out at some point later.
“You’re very welcome,” as she spoke, she dragged her trunk into the compartment and the corner across from Harry’s and dumped a bookbag on the seat above it, before sitting down next to it. “I do hope they start lessons right away, there’s so much to learn, I’m particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it’s supposed to be very difficult, but Professor McGonagall made it look ever so useful, and she was ever so helpful in answering our questions. Are you a muggleborn as well? Did she give you your letter as well?”
Remembering his magical ‘accidents’ in creating a plate and an apple, Harry had to agree (even if the tennis ball hadn’t stayed an apple for very long… maybe there was a way to change that?). Thankfully, Hermione had paused for breath at this point (and maybe to wait for his answer, but that was questionable), so Harry quickly took the opportunity to interject something that’d been bothering him since her introduction.
“What’s a muggleborn?”
“Oh, muggleborn means my parents are muggles – non-magic people. 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 take it that means you are one, too. Didn’t Professor McGonagall tell you?”
“My parents had magic, but I grew up with my aunt and uncle who are muggles,” Harry answered, glad he got the jargon right. He also really enjoyed the opportunity to tell someone else even this small thing about his parents (two months ago, he didn’t know anything).
“That makes sense, they probably won’t know the correct terminology, even if they did know about magic. Are they here? My parents are, they wanted me to find a compartment before it got too busy, that reminds me, I should return to them and let them know I’ve gotten settled, it’s still some time until we leave, I’ll be back by then.”
With that, she hopped up and left the compartment, opening and closing the door just as aggressively as she had upon entering. Harry let out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding during her speech. Hermione seemed nice enough, but she was a lot to handle all at once.
He shuffled closer to the window, just in time to see Hermione exit the train and walk over to a smart-looking couple. The mother had the same hair colour as Hermione, but she clearly got her curls from her father, who only managed to make them appear neat by keeping his hair short. Envy burned like acid in his chest, but he fought it down. He was happy that Hermione’s family was there for her – that they didn’t mind that their perfectly normal lives were destroyed by the freakishness of magic.
The platform was starting to get quite busy now, with only half an hour until the train departed, and Harry was honestly unsure how he’d missed it. The people weren’t making any attempt to stay quiet, and neither were the caged owls and cats, protesting their confinement. Now that real witches and wizards were here, Harry decided to people-watch.
Hermione bid farewell to her parents and returned to their compartment with five minutes to go, just in time for the crowd outside to suddenly liven up and start swarming the entrance to the platform. A stuffed vulture glided over the heads in the middle of the swarm… no, it was stuck on top of a hat, but he couldn’t see anything of the person underneath it.
“Oh, that must be Neville Longbottom. I know all about him, of course – he’s in Modern Magical History and the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.”
And that was all Hermione needed to start a speech about every book she bought in Flourish and Blotts, all the books she wished she had been able to buy (if her parents hadn’t – wisely - given her a budget), all the spells she’s already tried from the various books (giving him page number references for each of them), all the spells she’s looking most forward to performing herself, all the spells she’s seen other magicals do so far, and which finally devolved into her talking about her entire trip to Diagon Alley (which was the name of the shopping alley he’d gone to, holding the wizarding bank, Gringotts, which was run by goblins).
Harry tried to listen, really he did, but she said a lot in not a lot of time… it was very overwhelming. Still, he managed to pay enough attention to get the gist of what she said, even getting a bit more jargon out of it, and to hum at appropriate spots so she knew he was at least trying to pay attention.
What eventually broke her out of her one-sided conversation was a clattering from the corridor outside, and a smiling, older woman smoothly sliding the door open. A glance at his (Dudley’s old, his now) watch told him that the train had already been on the move for an hour and a half (it had been a smooth take-off and he would’ve missed it entirely if Hermione hadn’t paused briefly to wave out the window to her parents).
“Anything off the trolley, dears?” the woman asked, flashing some dimples as her smile widened.
Harry’s stomach whined plaintively, but he shook his head. It was about the time he’d usually get his second small bowl of soup for the day, and his stomach was not happy at the lack. But it’s not like he had the money to pay for anything.
“No, thank you,” Hermione said, “my parents made sure I brought lunch, since we had no idea if food would be made available.”
The woman closed the door as smoothly as she had opened it and clattered off. While she did, Hermione dug through the bookbag she had set down beside herself. Guessing her food was in there, Harry decided it was time to open the book that was still waiting in his lap and use it as a distraction. He really didn’t want to watch someone else eating while he had nothing.
Hermione’s recital of everything she had already learned, despite having the same muggle background as him, had made him incredibly worried and paranoid that he was even less prepared than he had feared he would be. He had hoped his ignorance of magic before the arrival of his letter would give him some leeway, but Hermione had killed that hoped off entirely. Now, Harry was determined to read and remember more from his books.
(during this time, he was viscerally aware of Hermione’s incredibly healthy-(and delicious-)looking sandwich, full of crunchy salads and giving off the aroma of chicken)
Finally, Hermione finished her meal and took out a book from the bag beside her, copying him with a happy hum. A companionable silence filled the compartment.
A heavy thud broke the silence as Hermione closed the book she’d been reading.
“We should be arriving soon, I’m going up to the front of the train to inquire about our expected time of arrival, there should be staff there, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Harry blinked as he slowly processed that, brain still swimming with various potions’ ingredients and their uses, and she was already gone by the time his eyes opened. Ok, then. He went back to his book, his train of thought stuttered, but still on track.
Hermione was lightly panting when she re-entered (again, Harry was left blinking out of his thoughts).
“The people outside were behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors,” she complained, dropping down in front of him. “Oh, and it was Neville Longbottom we saw earlier – I went into his compartment to escape them. He seemed nice, which is somewhat unexpected for a celebrity, but fits in with everything the books say about him.”
Harry glanced out the window and was surprised to see that it was getting dark. Mountains and forests could still be seen and the train did seem to be slowing down, now that he was feeling for it.
As if scheduled, a calm, cool voice echoed through the train, announcing, “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 more than excitement (Hermione’s excessive readiness was still making him nervous – despite doing his best on the ride over, it didn’t feel like enough, and he still felt he’ll be very much behind everyone else).
“Oh, do you think bookbags count as luggage? They probably do, since nobody else seems to be taking theirs, but maybe I should put it away inside my trunk, just in case,” Hermione muttered to herself, before doing just that, practically vibrating with excess energy. She then hopped up and joined the crowd now cramming the corridor.
But Harry refuse to join her. Just the thought of being pressed up close to that many people, trapped and unable to get away, made the uncomfortable twisting in his stomach graduate to full-on nausea, so he decided to wait at least until the train stopped and the crowd hopefully thinned.
The train smoothly slowed down until it finally came to a soft stop, and the crowd of students immediately started surging towards the door. Or, they tried to… the horde was thick enough that they got jammed quite often. Harry could see people pushing their way through to get there faster and was glad he decided to hold back.
The crowd finally thinned enough for him to brave it, and he made his way to the tiny, dark platform, reluctantly leaving his trunk behind (he had only just got it back…). He shivered in the cold night air as he looked around.
Off to the side, a lamp was bobbing over the heads of students and a voice was bellowing “Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” There was a small gaggle of small kids around the giant man holding up the lamp, making him looked even more giant that he probably was (though he was giant – the tallest of the first years didn’t even reach his waist). He had a long, shaggy mane of hair which melded seamlessly with his equally bushy beard, leaving his shining eyes the only visible feature of his shadowy face, reflecting off the flickering lamplight. He was wearing a worn, well-loved and very practical-looking black overcoat that could probably be made into a tent, given its size (and Harry was not jealous of how warm it looked).
Harry joined the gaggle of kids around the giant man, and he must have been the last one because once he joined, the man’s eyes swept over the group and he nodded.
“C’mon, follow me! Mind yer step now, now! Firs’ years follow me!”
They did, slipping and stumbling as they followed him down a very dark, steep, and narrow path, bordered by what looked like trees on either side. He recognised Hermione’s distinctive bushy hair right at the giant’s heels, but he was at the back and wasn’t about to push his way passed the other kids to get to her.
“You’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” the man called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”
There was a loud “Oooooooh!” from the front of the crowd and Harry felt anticipation starting to bubble up. That reaction was a lot stronger than it would be if Hogwarts was like any other school.
Truthfully, Harry hadn’t been expecting that much. If you ignored the magic, the Leaky Cauldron looked like any other shabby pub, Diagon Alley looked like any other narrow shopping alley, platform nine and three quarters looked like all the other station platforms… Really, he had been expecting an entirely muggle structure, with magical people and things inside it like they were added as an afterthought.
But his fellow first years sounded impressed and awed.
Harry paused before the final bend, mentally braced himself to (hopefully) be amazed, and took his final steps around the trees to see if it really was worth the fuss.