Today was going to be the best day of my life. I was going on a train ride!

We drove to Platform Three and Three-Quarters. My IKEA wardrobe was folded away in the back, containing all my clothes.

It contained:

Eight pairs of boxer shorts, seven pairs of socks, two shoes, two slippers, and eight brand new robes, a brand new coat-robe, a rose-coloured leather jacket, three warm vests, a jumper, and a pair of glasses. I'm short-sighted.

I also have a scar across my forehead, given to me by the midwife that did my mum's caesarean operation after the helicopter crashed.

The scalpel sliced through her womb and cut me on the forehead. The scar today looks like a wavy zigzag line.

I was wearing my very best make-up. To match my favourite gold nail polish, I was wearing the family locket round my neck, and another necklace with red rubies (that we found in the Potter's Gringotts vault), and a ruby ring, and a tiara, and gold earrings, and a nose stud, and a lip piercing that I got last week, and a false tattoo on my upper right arm. It looked like a lion.

And I was wearing a short little tee with a V-neck in my nude flesh colour. And I had a black string vest that matched my eyelashes on top. I wore a tight skirt, belted with more little teeny-weeny rubies.

I looked the bomb, like a little sexy bomb.

I wanted to meet Draco harder than I ever wanted before in my life. He was so handsome, that when I met him again I wanted to faint at his feet.

And on my feet I was wearing teeny-weeny red kitten heels with black fishnet tights.

Best of all, I was wearing my contacts. I was born with horrible green eyes like a witch's cat, and I had my best ruby-red contact lenses in, so everything in my outfit matched my hair and skin colour the best. I couldn't look any better or dreamier.

When I staggered out of the car under the weight of my IKEA wardrobe, which I reassembled in the station's car park, I had forgotten something.

My sixth sense kicked in, and I asked Dudley, "What have I forgotten now? I'd forget my own head with you."

Dudley opened the window and handed out my make-up bag and wash-bag. He blew me a goodbye kiss and told me he'd miss me very much.

I thanked him, and thanked my Aunt and Uncle for all the good times.

We all cried together in the car park, but I was twelve and grown-up now and I had to leave to purge the school of all evil magic because that was my destiny.

*/*/*

I ran through the barrier at Platform Three and Three-Quarters, pushing my IKEA wardrobe ahead of me. My school owl Prince William flew down from the sky and alighted on my head. His claws raked my scalp.

"That's a nice owl," said a bushy-haired girl. She was fair-skinned with brown hair and brown eyes. She wore an old hoodie and jeans and boots.

"It flew down the chimney one day," I lied. "My cousin Dudley tamed it 'cos he thought it belonged to Father Christmas."

"Oh," she said. "My name's Hermione. What's yours?"

"My name's Harriet, but everyone calls me Harry."

"I wouldn't call you Harry," she said.

Boy, she must be old-fashioned. I pushed my IKEA wardrobe ahead, looking for someone more modern and with it.

Hermione followed me, pulling her lousy old trunk, which looked a bit like World War Two. Bloody hell, it was ancient.

I next ran into all these red-heads. They were called Ron and Ginny and Percy and Charlie and Mrs Weasley. They looked OK.

"What the hell is that?" said Mrs Weasley, staring past me in horror.

"That's Hermione," I said. "She's evacuating from the second World War."

"Poor girl," she said. "She must be time-travelling."

"I'm not," snapped Hermione. "But I'm following a fashion victim. I'm looking for witches, not bitches."

"I'm going to be a witch one day," chirruped Ginny. She looked young.

"Everyone on the train!" ordered Mrs Weasley. "Ron, where's your jumper?"

"It's in my trunk, mum!" he yelled. He had a lovely voice.

"Who are you?" asked Charlie to me.

"I'm sometimes called Harriet," I said.

"What's your last name?" he asked. "Everyone at Hogwarts is called by their last name by the teachers."

"I'm called Harry Dursley," I said. Charlie was so pleased, he helped me onto the train.

*/*/*

By the way, the Potters are famous. Uncle and Aunt never told me mum married a millionaire. I almost fainted when I saw the bank account balance. It was a one followed by seven zeros! The Potters were rolling in it, and raking it in by the tens of thousands every second from the magical world's stock market.

That's why I'm wearing a tiara and a ruby necklace and the family locket, and the picture inside moves like a digital picture frame, not like a phone. It won't zoom, and only seven seconds loop.

My gold earrings come from America. We bought them in Boutique Avenue.

My tiara and belt are both made from gold-plated platinum.

Uncle and Aunt exchanged some of the Potter's vault treasures into cash at an antique auction. They're really rich now and they deserve it. They're no longer tight with money. Dudley can go to a rich kid's school, but I still am destined to rid Hogwarts of all evil.

I'm really famous, because of my dad. He could fly, not just a helicopter, but on a pegasus and a broomstick. His best friend was a werewolf and a black dog. He must have been lonely before he met my mum. She made good luck charms, which she must have been wearing when she worked as an air hostess after she left school.

I told Ron and Hermione everything. Draco Malfoy walked past our seats and I went into a dizzy-tizzy spell.

Ron gaped at me. "It didn't happen like that," he cried. "You-Know-Who –"

My mum, I think.

"– tried to kill you as a baby –"

Not my mum. Someone else who must be evil.

"– but his killing spell deflected and hit himself. He died, and you killed him."

"That sounds like my mum talking," I said. "Aunt recorded her on the phone. My mum tried to kill people next door once by blowing them up with her cooking skills."

"I blew up the car once," said Hermione. "Then the TV exploded, but I'm not evil. It was all an accident."

"You're a mudblood," called Draco. He stood near our seats.

All of us took up the entire train length. The posh seats were contained within first class compartments, but my IKEA wardrobe wouldn't fit in the overhanging wire baskets, so we were all in third class. I couldn't even buy my way into second class as the sweet trolley lady couldn't exchange my rubies or gold. She only had five knuts as change.

"You're dirty, impure mudbloods," he said again, waiting for us to reply.

"I love it when you talk dirty, Draco," I said, blushing.

When Draco had gone, I whispered to the others, "I want to kiss him one day. He's so hot."

"It's his silver hair," said Hermione. "I think he's descended from pixies."

Ron stared at us. "Why's it gone so girly, Harry Potter?"

"'Cos I'm a girl, really," I said to Ron. "They had to disguise me as a boy when I was a baby. That's why I've got nothing there," I said, pointing at my crutch.

Ron rapped us on the knuckles with his wand. "You must never let anyone call you a mudblood," he demanded. "That's an insult to your families and their honour."

Ron called his brother via his mobile phone. It didn't have chat or text. It had hands on it like a clock, and he tapped it at two o' clock. Charlie's head and shoulder grew out of the face.

"Hello, Ron," he said, waving at him. "Why aren't you in a first class compartment?"

"I'm stuck in here with two girls, and one's dressed up as Harry Potter and drawn a scar on her face."

"I'm not dressed as Harry Potter," I said to the Weasleys. "My name's Harry, and I have a tattoo of a lion. He hasn't even seen it yet. I won't be friends with you, and your You-Know-Who."

What I wanted to say was: Don't talk about the scar! That wasn't part of my decisions. I decided to get this tattoo and my lip piecing and my nose stud and my fishnets and gold nail polish. I never had anything in my life like this because my family were so poor, I had to live in a room under the stairs, and my cousin Dudley had to sleep in bunk beds with his parents in a double mattress below. Our kitchen before we discovered the Potter's bank account was tiny. Me and Aunt had to cook with only a microwave and a kettle. We survived on take-aways. Aunt had to hire me out as a gardener to the neighbours so we had food. My cousin Dudley has special needs – he was disfigured by my birth mum. Uncle once had his own business, and people thought he'd gone mad when he first saw his first demon. We were ruined by demons when I was younger. We've always wanted to leave, but we were cursed by this witch called Mrs Figg to always live in this tiny, tiny house, and work for these evil neighbours. Sometimes I went overnight without food like Aunt, so we could feed Uncle and Dudley. Their needs came first. I've always wanted to wear a leather jacket, but we couldn't afford it. Mr Ollivander was the first adult friend who gave me a present. It's my rose-coloured jacket, but Ron, you would never understand being poor!

What I really said was: "Hermione, let's leave these boys alone, and go off and do our hair in the toilets. I've got some highlights in my pocket. Do you want purple or pink?"

"Pink," she said. "Where did you get your gold nail polish from?"

*/*/*

Me and Hermione are best friends now. She even helped me push my IKEA wardrobe into a toilet stall, so we could swap robes, and try on bras.

She admired my boxer shorts. I may be girly, but I've still got a boyish side.

At the hospital, they checked up on me now and then. Apparently, I haven't got enough to get married with, as it all got mangled down there in an accident when I was four.

It's really embarrassing, but I have to pee into a plastic bag, and it hangs off my hipbone under my clothes.

Hermione was really sympathetic. She wasn't embarrassed at all when I had to empty the bag. Both her parents are doctors and dentists. She must've grown up with nursing instincts.

Hermione and me painted our toenails ruby red and I redid her hair in French plait. We chased each other out the bathroom and into Ron. I'm also a very good pickpocket, so I stole two knuts from him, and a key. It was the key to his clothes trunk. I snuck back to his seat, and opened it without anyone noticing. I stole a bright mauve jumper, which I shoved under my robe, and some more potion ingredients in jars that did not smell.

When I got back to the bathroom, Hermione was waiting for me. I shoved the stolen jumper into my IKEA wardrobe, and resorted the shelves. Some piles had knocked into each other due to the sway of the train. My magical tights had unravelled and almost choked Hermione when she looked in.

"What a horrible colour," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I've always wanted to cut it up."

"Let's use my hairdressing scissors," suggested Hermione.

"Yes," I said. "We can flush it down the toilet so no one knows."

"I've got a better idea," said Hermione, tearing into the mauve jumper with her hair scissors. "Let's throw it out the window onto a sheep."