The air was crisp and cool on the first morning of September that year. For many, it was just an ordinary day; another day of work, another day of school. That it was, in fact, for most people in London. Most, but not all. Not the young Hogwarts students, waking at the crack of dawn, giddy with anticipation of their next exciting year at school. Yes, they looked forward to school. Immensely. But these children weren't weird. Just different. You see, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry didn't accept just anyone. They didn't teach any of the material found in the other schools around town. They taught young witches and wizards how to preform magic. Real magic.
On this morning, a very prominent figure was visible strolling briskly toward the bricks bordering Platforms Nine and Ten in a train station known as Kings Cross. He walked next to his wife, whose smile was as big and genuine as his. They were following their son and daughter, twins age thirteen, who carried themselves with an air of great confidence. The contented family neared the wall, but didn't break step. Instead they continued walking, straight into it. There was no crash, as might've been expected, given the many packages carried by the two children. They passed through it as though it was nothing more than air. Emerging on the other side of the border, they didn't see Platform Ten, but Platform Nine and Three Quarters. A grand red engine was distinguishable on this foggy day-the Hogwarts Express.
"Longbottom!" someone exclaimed, almost immediately.
The father lifted his hand and nodded at the person, and the family moved on, weaving through the thick crowd. They seemed to be searching for something. Hardly a moment later, they were approached by another figure.
"Neville, it'd been a while! How've you been?" he grinned widely, extending his hand.
"Seamus Finnigan, nice to see you, mate! I've been great, thanks. How about yourself?" the man replied, halting.
"Amazing," Seamus gestured behind him to a girl who looked about sixteen years old. "It's Carla's sixth year."
Neville looked at the girl. She was engaged in a conversation with a woman whom she resembled greatly, presumably her mother. Although she wasn't dressed for school, she was wearing a red t-shirt picturing a roaring gold lion.
"Well we better get going. We're meeting some people further down," Neville said regretfully.
"See you Neville. Hannah," Seamus nodded at Neville's wife, who smiled warmly back.
And they continued on, smiling and talking amongst themselves, occasionally waving and saying hello to friends as they made their way down the platform. They appeared to be the perfect family. That was, until you noticed the smaller boy trailing slightly behind them. He was only eleven years of age. He carried packages similar to the other two children, but unlike them, he didn't look bright, bubbly and happy. Quite the opposite, actually. He frowned with annoyance as he glumly followed his family to their destination.