Herbert MacLauchlan had been a guard at Kings Cross Station for over thirty years. Out of thousands of nights spent looking across platforms, there was one which he would never forget. It was a frosty September night, Herbert looked across the platform bored. His eyes opened wide in curiosity. It was rare to see such a finely dressed woman in Kings Cross Station so late in the night. He was used to the spectacle of drunken dames parading, or rather tripping down the platforms. Unlike those women, scantily clad in sequined low cut tops and lace- revealing miniskirts this woman was covered up. Wrapped in a full length black coat, she was prepared for the chill that hung over the station at midnight. She exuded a kind of unconscious elegance, but her hair threw the guard off. Unlike her classic attire, it was an unruly birds nest. Her hair, untamed seemed to fly out at all directions. Wild, it frizzed in thick brown curls, seemingly growing horizontally rather than vertically. This unexpected woman stood still, in from of a pillar between platform nine and ten.
The woman stood before the pillar, contemplating the hidden world beyond. A world that was to be drawn back into in the morning. The guard saw the woman shiver, presuming it to be the cold. She, however, shook out of fear. She was contemplating her return to the Hogwarts castle. Though it had been her home for six years, her happy childhood memories were entwined with a past fit for nightmares. She was unsure of how she would cope with her unwanted return. Would it be an opportunity to put all of the horror of the last six years to rest, or would the castle only dredge up the memories she would prefer to forget. She was unsure which of these possibilities would become true. She was compelled to remember her last time in the castle, that fateful night on which Lord Voldemort had died.
The elderly guard, a muggle, could not have possibly guessed that these were the thoughts which raced through the woman's mind. He had imagined the woman thinking of a lover, or family member. Yet it was images of magic, spells flying from wands in flashes of colour and cold blue eyes hat filled her mind. It was these eyes, steely blue, that continued to resurface. Stuck in her mind was the sickly pale skin, slicked-backed blonde hair and the steely eyes that had been the torment of her adolescence. She was the brightest witch of her age, a survivor of the great battle of Hogwarts and of torture, but it was a fellow student, a boy, who caused her the greatest pain.
As she stood there, at the threshold of platform nine and three quarters, memories of pain associated with the boy overwhelmed her. The tears he had brought to her eyes in first year on calling her a mudblood and the way he seemed to smirk and gloat at her pain. She could not bring herself to forgive him, unlike the many others she had pardoned for the wrongs against her in the war. He was different, it was his words, and not his spells, that had broken her. She pulled up the sleeve of her coat. Her eyes began to water as she read the word inscribed there. Throwing her arm back down, she stepped onto platform nine and three quarters. Herbert could not believe his eyes. He looked around the platform the woman had disappeared. He took off his glasses, wiping them against his jumper. Putting them back on her turned away, believing he had imagined the wild-haired woman.
Hermione leaned her head against the wall through which she had just entered through. The noise of footsteps behind her caused her to lift her head up. She could make out a figure, but hair obscured her vision. The figure spoke, breaking the silence "Fancy seeing you here, Granger".