Chapter 2: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
Harry Potter couldn't decide whether he should be nervous or excited for his first day of school.
On one hand, he finally was going to learn real magic. He was going to use a real wand and brew real potions and wrestle with real magical creatures. The thought made Harry giddy every time he thought about it.
On the other hand, every single person at to Hogwarts would know that Harry Potter was starting his first year. The thought made him sick every time he thought about it, which was a rather unpleasant feeling to have after being giddy. Harry hated being the center of attention. Especially when the reason he was the center of attention was that his dad died on his first birthday and had protected him from Lord Voldemort.
Harry hadn't done anything. He frankly didn't understand why everyone made a fuss about him.
Harry stepped out of the family car and strolled into King's Cross Station, his mother right beside him. Pushing a cart that was nearly as heavy as he was, he fought his way through the bustling crowds until he was standing before the brick barrier that separated platforms nine and ten. It was the same barrier he would drag his mother to every single time they went to King's Cross, just so he could sit there and imagine what it would be like to board the Hogwarts Express and to learn magic like any normal child.
It was Harry Potter's greatest wish: to be a normal magical child. He wanted to be able to eat an ice cream in Diagon Alley without worrying about getting swarmed by an army of adoring fans. He wanted to be able stop himself from flinching every time he saw a camera bulb flash.
Sometimes, he even wished he were one of the muggle boys at the elementary school he attended—they had no idea who he was, though they loved making jokes about his scar.
But these moments of weakness passed quickly. Harry, though he was only eleven, had already made up his mind that Magic was Awesome. He loved the feeling of flying off a swing set and landing gently on the ground ten seconds later. He loved the look on the muggle children's faces when he showed them butterflies that seemed to dance, or kicked footballs that seemed to zig-zag between defenders.
For though Harry didn't quite realize it yet, he didn't really hate being the center of attention at all; as the only child of a loving mother, he couldn't imagine it any other way. What he really, truly hated was being the center of attention for the wrong reason.
He looked up at the familiar barrier that separated the ordinary world from the magical world, the world where he was nobody from the world where he was the savior of the world. He took a deep breath, and was about to step through, when he heard an exasperated cry a few meters down the wall.
"No, that can't possibly be right," complained a short girl about Harry's age. She had brown eyes to go with her head of bushy brown hair, and parked next to her was a cart that looked nearly identical to Harry's.
"Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" asked Harry, trying to be helpful. "All you have to do is—"
"No, don't tell me," cried the girl, spinning to face him. "Professor McGonagall said it would be an interesting challenge for me to figure out how to get there. You'll spoil the answer!"
Harry blinked. Must be a Ravenclaw, he thought.
Meanwhile, the girl continued muttering to herself. "I shouldn't have to take out my wand, that'd be dangerous. So it can't be like Diagon Alley. I wonder if it's like the Leaky Cauldron—is there a door here that other people don't notice? Is that—no, that's the bathroom…"
Giddiness began to overtake Harry. It was an amazing feeling to be anonymous, to just stand there while this girl talked about all the magical places she'd visited. He looked up and saw his mother deep in conversation with two people, presumably the girl's parents.
No one was watching him.
He could step into the wizarding world without anyone noticing. His first acts as a real wizard could be those of a normal boy wizard pushing a normal trunk with a normal lack-of-a-scar on his forehead. He just wanted a taste…
"Good luck with your puzzle," he shouted to the girl, as he pushed his trunk through the barrier and crossed over to the other side.
The other side was heaven. Harry's eyes opened wide at the sight of the gleaming red Hogwarts Express, a long trail of clean white steam billowing out its smokestack. He scanned the platform, watching students laughing, hugging, and fighting over Chocolate Frog cards.
Not a single person stopped to stare at him. Life was beautiful.
But all too quickly, a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Harry James Potter," his mother said in a terrifying whisper. "You will not disappear on me while I am not watching and you will not cause me to leave a very pleasant conversation I was having, and I will wait here for that girl's parents to come through the barrier and you will wait with me!"
Harry sighed. Back to abnormalcy.
Hermione Granger didn't believe it. She rapped her fist against the wall for the fifth time. It was still solid. She prodded it with her cart. The cart bounced back.
"What is going on?" she asked herself out loud. Why was the barrier solid for her, but that rather annoying boy was able to walk right through it? For heaven's sake, even her parents had taken it in stride and vanished through the wall. The whole idea of a wall only some people could just walk through…it made no sense. She refused to believe it.
And that's when she realized it. No, she thought, that's terrible. It went against everything she stood for, everything that made the human experience reasonable.
But when she thought about it, it was the only thing that made sense on any level. And so she announced silently to herself, with great imagined conviction, I believe that I will walk through this wall. She pushed her cart forward, believing with all her might, forcing herself to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that shouted beliefs aren't modifiable by volition! She was about to crash into the wall, but she didn't flinch…
One second later, Hermione Granger was face-to-face with the boy she had first met on the other side of the barrier. She looked as if she had just been gravely insulted.
"That's soooo wrong!" she screamed at the boy, whose expression had taken on a smugness that somehow managed to increase how annoying he was. "You shouldn't be allowed to change reality by changing your mind about it. That's like the first rule of science! It makes the very pursuit of knowledge a complete sham and I reject it!" The words came out very quickly, even for her.
The boy's smugness turned to confusion. "Wait, what?"
"The barrier is solid until you believe that it's not solid. Then you can walk through it."
"Huh," he said thoughtfully. "So you had to be told about it by someone before you could walk through?"
"Yes, and it's completely ridiculous! I mean, if I want to learn calculus it doesn't become true just because I've learnt it. It's always been true, I just didn't know it, and if I had enough time I could figure everything out without needing to be told anything. That's how we can discover anything new in the world. But if you have to believe something is true before it can actually be true, well then we ought to just give up!"
The boy's annoying grin had returned. "Well, maybe Professor McGonagall was trying to show you that you don't have to discover everything yourself, if someone else has already discovered it."
Hermione stared at the boy for a while, trying to figure him out. He was definitely annoying, but he seemed to be annoying because he knew things and was using his brain, which was odd because she was observant enough to know that usually people complained about her doing that.
"Hermione Granger," she said, sticking out her hand suddenly.
"Er," said the boy, as if he'd forgotten his name or something—Hermione considered taking back her statement about his use of a brain—, "Harry."
"Well. Nice to meet you, Harry." What kind of person doesn't give his last name?
"Harry" raised his eyebrows. "Nice to meet you too, Hermione Granger."
Hermione was so thoroughly vexed right now that she wanted to turn on her heel and never look at the boy again, but a morbid curiosity glued her feet to the floor. There was only one sure-fire way to find out if the boy was actually smart.
"What did you think of our textbooks? I found Hogwarts, a History fascinating; there's so many protective enchantments it's no wonder You-Know-Who could never touch Dumbledore. Charms looks fun, though I thought the potions book overdid the descriptions of sheep's eyes and toad disembowelments."
Harry chuckled. "Potions isn't that bad. Once in a while you'll even brew something that smells good for—"
But Hermione didn't get to hear the rest of Harry's opinions on potioning, because at that moment an enormous trunk that came hurtling straight at the pair of first-years. Harry saw it just in time and jumped back, but it caught Hermione square in the hip, sending her flying backwards. She skidded on the ground for a meter before coming to rest.
"Oh! Er…sorry," cried a nervous boy who was completely hidden behind the tall trunk, except for a mound of fiery red hair.
Hermione was beyond amazed. "You thought it was a good idea," she asked, her voice reaching a frightening level of bossiness, "to run at an opaque barrier pushing an out-of-control cart that you can't see over?"
The boy's cheeks flushed to match the color of his hair.
"I—it was—my mum said it would be less scary if I ran at it," he admitted sheepishly.
"Well next time," exclaimed Hermione, rubbing her sore hip, "maybe you should consider solutions that don't include running people over."
A pair of identical-looking boys with flaming red hair of their own strode through the barrier and immediately began tearing up with laughter.
"What's this," said the first one mockingly. "Has our Ron gotten himself into a fight before classes even start?"
"No, don't you see," the second replied, eyeing Hermione. "He's already gone and gotten himself a girlfriend. We're out of our league here." The pair laughed heartily.
"Oh Fred, if that's the case then we really should introduce ourselves," said the first. "George Weasley. Pleased to meet you." He shook Hermione's hand vigorously, then Harry's.
"Fred," said the second one in an accusatory tone. "I told you not to do my introductions for me. I'm George Weasley. He's a flobberworm. Sorry for the confusion!"
"And of course you've already met the family ghoul, Ron," said the first George, ruffling his little brother's hair. Ron looked utterly mortified.
At that moment, the party was joined by a fourth red-headed Weasley, who appeared to be the mother of all the others. "Oh Ron," she said, noticing the scarlet patches on his cheeks. "What happened?"
"It wasn't his fault," said Harry, feeling bad for the boy. "Hermione and I were standing too close to the barrier, and he ran into her when he crossed it."
Hermione was too busy processing all the different juvenile, hurtful things the twins had said to kick Harry in the shins for being a traitor.
Mrs. Weasley smiled at Harry. "Oh, yes, well it's mighty dangerous to stand right next to the barrier, you know. People can't see you. Are you a first year like Ron?"
"Er, yeah."
"How wonderful! What's your name, sweetie?"
Hermione suddenly couldn't stop smiling. "Harry," said Harry, and when it was obvious that Mrs. Weasley was expecting to hear his full name, he added with the slightest hint of dejection, "Harry Potter."
The effect was immediate. Hermione's jaw dropped, the two Georges exchanged identical looks of shock mixed with triumph, and Ron let out a loud "No!" Even Mrs. Weasley let a look of surprise cross her face, but she recovered quickly.
"It's very nice to meet you, Harry," she said with a smile. "And you must be Hermione," she said, turning to face the girl. "I'm sorry about Ron's cart."
Ron, in the meantime, had walked around to Harry and was ushering him towards the back of the station. "It's not safe for you here," he whispered. Harry followed mechanically, though without fearing very much for his safety, considering Ron had previously been afraid of a brick wall.
"What's this about?" Harry asked finally, after they had walked all the way past the coffee shop where his mum and Hermione's parents were still chatting, seemingly too interested in the differences between the muggle and wizarding education systems to have noticed the recent commotion.
"My sister," said Ron darkly. "She's crazy about you. If she ever got her hands on you, she'd never let go. Seriously," he added, when Harry raised his eyebrows, "Fred and George even found her a pair of Permanent Sticking gloves; they think it's hilarious."
Harry was suddenly incredibly grateful to Ron. "Thanks. I hate it when my 'fans' try to maul me to death."
"Don't worry about it, mate," said Ron.
But Ron had to know at least one thing, now that he'd met the most famous eleven-year-old in the history of magical Britain. "What's it like? You know, being famous?"
"Honestly? It's really annoying. My mum sent me to school with muggles because she couldn't say my name in Diagon Alley without drawing a crowd. And after Terence Trundinger ripped out a chunk of my hair so he could add it to Polyjuice Potion and 'become me,' she stopped letting me hang out with any wizarding children at all."
Ron nodded as if he knew what Polyjuice Potion was, and as if he knew what it was like to draw a crowd. "Blimey. I thought I had it bad, with five older brothers who've all managed to become Hogwarts legends one way or another. Though I don't suppose mum is too happy with Fred and George's claim to fame…"
Harry listened with great satisfaction as Ron described his brothers' exploits from the previous year, which included bewitching quills to explode when someone wrote the word "Slytherin" and smuggling Dungbombs into the school through a secret passage. Everything his mum had told him seemed to be true. Hogwarts was amazing.
In no time, Harry heard the warning squeals of the train's whistle, and Ron hurried back to his mum to tell her he was getting on the train. Harry's own mum found him and gave him a hug.
"Stay safe at Hogwarts," she told him with a smile. "If there's any trouble, send me an owl. And don't forget about Professor Snape."
"Okay, mum," said Harry, quickly scanning the platform to see if anyone else's mothers were also giving them hugs. He was relieved to note that this was not an uncommon occurrence. "Love you."
On the train, Harry and Ron managed to grab a compartment all to themselves and soon found themselves in a heated argument over Quidditch teams. Or, more precisely, Ron found himself in a heated argument over Quidditch teams. Harry didn't care too much about the game, and he actually admired Ron for his unswerving devotion to the Chudley Cannons, but he couldn't help but point out that Ron must be one of three-dozen fans still loyal to the ailing franchise. Besides, Harry at that moment was quite content to talk about anything that a) was magical and b) was not him.
All the while, Ron had done a splendid job of deflecting the throngs of onlookers who kept knocking on the door to the compartment, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived. In fact, Ron appeared to be quite enjoying all the exposure he was receiving for being Harry's bodyguard; after a while he began alternating his story between "the compartment's full" and "there's no one here" just to vex the passersby. But Ron's backbone gave way when Hermione Granger knocked on the door.
"There's no one—oh. It's you," Ron said as he opened the door. "Look, er, I'm really sorry about running you over with the cart. That was my fault."
"Oh. Well it was a pretty silly thing for you to do," she said flatly. "But I take it you won't go running around blindly pushing your trunk next time?"
Before Ron could even nod his head, Hermione walked in and sat in Ron's former seat, which was directly across from Harry.
"Harry, what have you heard about potions? I just talked to fifteen different students and they've all said that potions with Professor Snape is the most unfairly run class at Hogwarts. Well, everyone except the Slytherins, anyways."
Harry's curiosity was piqued. He knew his mother used to be friends with Snape, but he'd seen enough to know that something had rocked their relationship, and he was dying to know what it was.
Ron just nodded vigorously. "Yeah, if you're not in Slytherin, Snape is supposed to be brutal. Even Percy says Snape is harsh, and he's the prat who gets offended every time Fred and George open their mouths."
"Well that's a shame, isn't it," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "I hope I won't miss out on my potions education because I'm not sorted into Slytherin."
"Are you kidding, Hermione?" asked Harry playfully, leaning back in his seat. "Surely you don't need a teacher to teach you potions."
Suddenly, an ear-piercing squeal filled the room. Harry had inadvertently kicked the cage containing Ron's pet rat, which woke with start from its nap. The rat took one look at Harry and immediately bound out of its cage and scurried through the door, which Hermione had left ajar.
"Scabbers!" cried Ron, running out the door. "Come back here!"
And before Harry could even get up and close the door, it swung wide open again, and in strode an arrogant-looking boy, his blonde hair slicked back with what even Harry could tell was way too much hair gel.
"Ah, so this is the famous Harry Potter," said the boy grandiosely. "I was just passing by and thought I recognized you."
Harry didn't believe this for one second. Luckily for him, Hermione interjected before he could come up with a sufficiently acerbic reply.
"And who are you?"
"Oh, of course, of course, how rude of me," said the boy. "Draco Malfoy. It's an honor."
He shook their hands with an oily warmth.
"I hear you've been hiding from everyone, Harry," said Draco, as he closed the door, making Harry suddenly feel like a caged animal at a zoo. "Hiding when the entire wizarding world is so grateful to you. They adore you. Fame is a bully pulpit, you know."
Hermione would spend the next minute trying to estimate the probability that Draco Malfoy knew who Teddy Roosevelt was.
Harry just shook his head. Why couldn't these people see what a cursed life he led? "Fame is only as good as what you're famous for. I'm currently famous for having my dad die on my first birthday."
Draco tried to frown thoughtfully, but it came out more like a pout. "No, I suppose you're right," he said after a while, though deep down he thought Harry's comment made absolutely no sense.
He turned to Hermione, "I haven't heard of the Grangers before. Are your parents—do they do magic?"
"My parents are muggles," said Hermione, fully expecting to see the boy's face contort with disgust. She'd read more than enough textbooks to know that only a blood purist would ask that question. But to Hermione's surprise, Draco's eyes seemed to light up, and he seemed eager to say something. He opened his mouth, closed it, thought for a while, opened it again, then closed it again.
"Oh," he said finally, his expression returning to normal. "Well you must find a lot of things strange here, don't you?"
"Oh, I suppose," replied Hermione. She'd prepared a whole spiel for when she finally ran into a blood purist, but Draco really seemed quite harmless. "It was a shock when I got the letter, of course, but once you know that magic exists then nothing seems too strange anymore."
Draco gave a grin that was intended to be warm, but just looked devious on his pale face. "Well, I know both of you didn't exactly grow up in the wizarding world, so if you need any help, just find me. I know all the people you need to know if you want to be anyone."
The door flung open and in stepped Ron, clutching his rat and staring at Draco with a look of deep-seated loathing on his face. The Malfoy boy glared back.
"Weasley," said Draco coldly, keeping his voice steady.
"Malfoy," growled Ron, not managing to do the same.
"Well, I really should be going," announced Draco. "I wouldn't want to intrude on the happy reunion party for Weasley and his"—Draco paused for a second, eying the pitiful gray creature—" rat." He walked out with his nose upturned and shut the door loudly behind him.
Ron looked like he'd just seen a ghost, or a scary wall or something. "You were talking to Draco Malfoy? I step out for one second and you—you fraternize with the enemy? With your enemy?"
"Oh, don't be so silly," said Hermione. "Until you came along he wasn't that bad."
"Wha—of course he's that bad, don't you know who his father is? Lucius Malfoy? The most obvious Death Eater in the world? The one who throws galleons at the Ministry until he gets everything he wants?"
"Well," said Hermione matter-of-factly, "all I can say is that his son didn't strike me as the type who would torture muggles to insanity for fun, right Harry?"
"I've seen worse," said Harry. "And if we're judging everyone by their parents, then my godfather is a lunatic blood purist."
Ron just shook his head. "I can't believe your mum didn't prepare you for this, Harry. Everyone says they're your biggest fan, but not everyone is. There's still people in high places who wish You-Know-Who never fell. And muggle hating, blood purity, these things didn't just die ten years ago. You can ask my dad, he'll tell you all about the things wizards are doing to terrorize muggles."
For the rest of the trip, Hermione sat attentively as Ron described the wizarding world in more detail—though with admittedly more inaccuracies—than Hermione could find in any book, while Harry stayed mostly quiet. He was deep in thought, wondering if it was worse to be universally adored because of something he didn't do when he was one year old, or to be reviled by handful of people because of something he didn't do when he was one year old.