Disclaimer: Zoe belongs to me; everything else belongs, of course, to the marvelous J.K. Rowling!
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Zoe glanced at her watch for the eighteenth time since arriving at the station. The train was late. She checked her ticket (for the eighteenth time). Yes, the 10:45 at platform 10, it clearly stated. She had been waiting since shortly after 10:30, and it was now nearly eleven o'clock.
Sighing, Zoe shifted her heavy backpack from her right shoulder to her left. The backpack, which contained everything she owned, was exceedingly battered and the right strap was broken. She loved it. The backpack was the only thing that had survived the moves between the nine foster homes Zoe had gone through in the past seven years. That and her mother's silver necklace.
Unconsciously fingering the star-shaped pendant, Zoe sought out a place to sit. Not seeing any benches nearby, she opted instead to lean against a pillar between platforms nine and ten…and fell through.
At first, she thought she had somehow missed the pillar, although it was quite a large pillar, and she hadn't thought she was *that* distracted. Soon enough, however, she realized the truth: she was no longer in King's Cross.
Looking around amazedly, Zoe took in the most incredible sight she'd ever seen. Hundreds of people swarmed about on a huge platform where a red train was blowing its whistle, announcing its intent to depart shortly. But this wasn't the shocking part. No, the thing that had Zoe gaping like a lack-wit was not the sheer mass of people, though that was impressive enough, nor even the fact that she had just fallen straight through a perfectly solid brick pillar. The thing that Zoe was staring at was the way the people were *dressed*! The vast majority of them wore long, flowing robes in every imaginable color, and most had matching hats. Not only that, but the hats were tall and pointy, like the hats worn by people dressing up as witches on Halloween.
Staring stupidly at the crowd, Zoe noticed that not everyone was dressed in such a manner. She caught flashes of normal clothes here and there, although some of the outfits reminded her forcibly of a two-year-old's first attempt at dressing himself. She saw one man wearing galoshes and a rain slicker, which wouldn't have been odd except for the red polka-dotted boxer shorts and black silk top hat that completed the ensemble.
Mouth still hanging open like an imbecile, Zoe turned around, already suspecting that she wouldn't see platform 10 behind her. She was right. In front of her rose an enormous wrought-iron gate boldly displaying the words "Platform 9 ¾" across the top.
There was nothing on the other side of the gate, and as Zoe puzzled this out, a great crowd of people came bursting through it, nearly bowling her over as they ran for the train, dragging trolleys along with them.
The last person in the group, a skinny, black-haired boy wearing glasses put out an arm to steady her as the rest of the group hurtled on. "Sorry 'bout that," he said with a lopsided grin. Then, removing his hand from her arm and sticking it out in front of her, "I'm Harry."
"Zoe," she said faintly, grasping his hand.
"Well Zoe," he said, grinning again, "it's nice to meet you, but we'd better hurry up or we'll miss the train."
As if in response, a voice called out from the door to one of the cars. "Oy, Harry! Come on, the train's about to leave!" Harry turned and ran for the train, dragging Zoe behind him, not having relinquished her hand after the introductions.
Collapsing in a seat across from Harry as the train began to move, Zoe's muddled brain finally formed a thought: Wherever this train was taking her, it had to be better than just the next foster home.
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Zoe glanced at her watch for the eighteenth time since arriving at the station. The train was late. She checked her ticket (for the eighteenth time). Yes, the 10:45 at platform 10, it clearly stated. She had been waiting since shortly after 10:30, and it was now nearly eleven o'clock.
Sighing, Zoe shifted her heavy backpack from her right shoulder to her left. The backpack, which contained everything she owned, was exceedingly battered and the right strap was broken. She loved it. The backpack was the only thing that had survived the moves between the nine foster homes Zoe had gone through in the past seven years. That and her mother's silver necklace.
Unconsciously fingering the star-shaped pendant, Zoe sought out a place to sit. Not seeing any benches nearby, she opted instead to lean against a pillar between platforms nine and ten…and fell through.
At first, she thought she had somehow missed the pillar, although it was quite a large pillar, and she hadn't thought she was *that* distracted. Soon enough, however, she realized the truth: she was no longer in King's Cross.
Looking around amazedly, Zoe took in the most incredible sight she'd ever seen. Hundreds of people swarmed about on a huge platform where a red train was blowing its whistle, announcing its intent to depart shortly. But this wasn't the shocking part. No, the thing that had Zoe gaping like a lack-wit was not the sheer mass of people, though that was impressive enough, nor even the fact that she had just fallen straight through a perfectly solid brick pillar. The thing that Zoe was staring at was the way the people were *dressed*! The vast majority of them wore long, flowing robes in every imaginable color, and most had matching hats. Not only that, but the hats were tall and pointy, like the hats worn by people dressing up as witches on Halloween.
Staring stupidly at the crowd, Zoe noticed that not everyone was dressed in such a manner. She caught flashes of normal clothes here and there, although some of the outfits reminded her forcibly of a two-year-old's first attempt at dressing himself. She saw one man wearing galoshes and a rain slicker, which wouldn't have been odd except for the red polka-dotted boxer shorts and black silk top hat that completed the ensemble.
Mouth still hanging open like an imbecile, Zoe turned around, already suspecting that she wouldn't see platform 10 behind her. She was right. In front of her rose an enormous wrought-iron gate boldly displaying the words "Platform 9 ¾" across the top.
There was nothing on the other side of the gate, and as Zoe puzzled this out, a great crowd of people came bursting through it, nearly bowling her over as they ran for the train, dragging trolleys along with them.
The last person in the group, a skinny, black-haired boy wearing glasses put out an arm to steady her as the rest of the group hurtled on. "Sorry 'bout that," he said with a lopsided grin. Then, removing his hand from her arm and sticking it out in front of her, "I'm Harry."
"Zoe," she said faintly, grasping his hand.
"Well Zoe," he said, grinning again, "it's nice to meet you, but we'd better hurry up or we'll miss the train."
As if in response, a voice called out from the door to one of the cars. "Oy, Harry! Come on, the train's about to leave!" Harry turned and ran for the train, dragging Zoe behind him, not having relinquished her hand after the introductions.
Collapsing in a seat across from Harry as the train began to move, Zoe's muddled brain finally formed a thought: Wherever this train was taking her, it had to be better than just the next foster home.
