Breathe in, breathe out, she coached herself, ok time to do this. She opened her eyes to look at the offending brick wall. Technically it wasn't even a wall, just an apparition. You'll slide right through, she repeated the words of Professor Longbottom, the man (wizard) who had come to explain that she was, in fact, a witch and should be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He'd seemed slightly mad at first, but it had been explained.

And now she was standing a couple of paces in front of the wall between platforms 9 and 10, her family of seven (not including her) behind her with her things. She took a deep breath. Was she going to stand here and let a wall stop her from learning how to use the 10 inch maple and dragon-heartstring wand that had chosen her? No, she was not! She squared her shoulders, tossed her strawberry-blonde ringlets over her shoulders and strode towards the barrier, family in tow.

Her skull didn't crack on the impact, because there was no impact. Professor Longbottom was right. She gasped at the view on the platform. It was buzzing, filled with the chatter of wizard fathers lifting trunks onto the scarlet train, witch mothers kissing cheeks and berating her fellow classmates.

She couldn't help it; she felt a huge, idiotic grin spreading across her face.

"P'raps we should get your stuff on the train, no one else seems to be standing around gaping." Her father shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking very out of place in his faded jeans when most of the adults were in robes.

"Leave her alone Dad, she's taking everything in." Her fourth-oldest sister whacked her dad's arm, her fiery orange hair swinging. She felt a pang as she watched her three other sisters start in on her dad. She had never really been away from them! And now she wouldn't be seeing them until Christmas! She threw herself into the middle of the hubbub, exclaiming;

"I love you guys!" she looked up at them and laughed "we're colour-coded." And so they were. Abbey, the oldest, laughed, her white-blonde bob practically glowing, Celia was next, her honey blonde hair in a braid. Then Bridget, her blonde hair only hinting at strawberry, then herself, Ella, and, lastly, Deena, who was the only one to have inherited their fathers orange hair.

She turned to her parents.

"Have fun, pumpkin." her dad tossled her hair. She nodded.

"Write to us at least once a week." Her mother walked her to the train and hugged her swiftly. She hopped on and tried to gulp down the lump in her throat. Unsucceeding, she still waved as cheerily as she could, smiling, before turning away and going to find a carriage. the whistles blew and doors were slammed. She wasn't expecting the train to jerk so suddenly, which could explain why she found herself launched into a carriage straight smack into another person. she felt the blush spreading over her neck and cheeks like wildfire as she looked up.

He was her age, and also blushing, though perhaps not as scarlet. She cursed her father and his horrid hair. He was a couple inches taller (though she was a bit of a midget, it wasn't surprising), pale like her, but his hair was short, black and stuck out in a million different directions, giving the odd impression, him being so thin, of a que-tip. His eyes, though, were beautiful. They were so green behind his glasses.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, realising they'd just been silent for the last twenty seconds and there was someone else in the carriage and leaped away from him "The train- it was all so sudden and- I'm so sorry!" she finished lamely, feeling like her face was on fire.

"It's alright," the girl, who had bushy orange hair (reminding her of Deena), smiled kindly. "whats your name?" she asked

"It's Ella," she half-smiled back, still embarassed "Ella Jones."