o0o0o0o

The Missing Platform

They arrived back at Privet Drive later that day.

Once Harry had bought his wand at Ollivander's, Hagrid had taken him to buy a trunk to keep everything in. After that, they had eaten at the Leaky Cauldron, then they'd caught a train back to Surrey. Both of them had been quite surprised to find that the Dursleys had already returned. Petunia must not have wanted to draw attention from the neighbours by staying away for too long.

Harry remembered the stricken look on his Uncle's face when Hagrid had opened the door. For a man who prided himself on appearing one-hundred percent normal, it must have been quite jarring to see a giant of a man and a boy carrying a snowy white owl on his doorstep, in plain view for everyone to see. Vernon had quickly tried to make Hagrid leave, but the big man had already ducked through the doorway, forcing him to back off. From behind Vernon, Aunt Petunia had stepped out of the kitchen and nearly fainted at the sight.

Hagrid had more or less ordered the two of them into the living room, telling Harry he just needed to have a little chat alone with them. Harry could figure from the dark look on his face that it would be far more than just a simple chat, so he left the three adults to take his things upstairs.

The first thing he had done upon returning was throw most of Dudley's broken toys and tattered books into the bin in the corner. He then began to do something he had never thought he would have to do in his life. He began to tidy his room.

Most of Dudley's old things got pushed into the corners or on top of his wardrobe, but he kept a few of the books that were still in good condition on his bookshelf. Next to those, Harry carefully placed his new school books, not wanting to damage anything that he had bought. He hung up his robes in the wardrobe on the cleanest coat-hangers he could find, and put his quills, scales, phials and ink bottles into his cauldron at the foot of his bed. He did all of this while wearing his new cloak, boots, gloves and pointy wizard's hat, though he removed them afterwards and put them away. His new owl watched him with curious eyes as he moved through his room, bouncing on his heels as he walked.

Lastly, he placed the fragile box from Ollivander's, almost reverently, on his bedside table. This was the thing that was most precious of all to Harry, his magic wand. On the way back from London, it had finally sunk in that this was all real. He was a wizard. He could do magic. He was going to learn how to make potions, and turn people into toads, and give his cousin a pig's tail. He had barely been able to keep his excitement contained on the train.

As carefully as he could, he removed his wand from the box and rolled it through his fingers. It was heavier than he had expected, and beautifully crafted. He fell back onto his bed and waved the wand around in the air above him. He gave it a sharp flick to finish and several golden sparks shot from the end of it. He smiled widely and hugged his wand to his chest.

'I'm a wizard,' he repeated in his mind. That simple fact meant so much more to him than anything about legends or greatness.

He had gone downstairs soon after that, finding a pair of ashen-faced Dursleys stood next to Hagrid, who didn't seem to notice the condition he'd left Harry's relatives in.

"Harry," he said cheerily, "I need to be off, but I reckon yeh can deal with this lot fer a few more weeks." He pointed with his thumb at the Dursleys, who flinched and scurried off towards the safety of the kitchen.

"What did you do to them?" asked Harry, a little uneasy at seeing them so frightened.

"Nothin'," Hagrid assured him, "I can't do magic remember. No, I jus'- uh, reminded 'em o' who it is they're dealin' with."

They were interrupted by the a loud squeak from further up the stairs, and the sound of a door slamming.

"Wha' was that?" asked Hagrid.

"Dudley," smirked Harry, who had caught a glimpse of his cousin's retreating behind. Apparently, his tail hadn't disappeared yet.

"Oh- oh, righ'," said Hagrid, shuffling nervously. It seemed that he was still feeling guilty about losing his temper. "I could try an' fix it fer him."

"Probably not a good idea," laughed Harry, "I think he might die of fright if he sees another umbrella."

Hagrid chuckled at that, "Yeh've got a poin' there." He grabbed his coat from where it hung on the hat stand nearby and opened the door. Harry followed Hagrid outside and to the edge of the street.

"Righ' then," said Hagrid, "S'pose this is goodbye fer now. Yeh remember yer money?"

"Twenty-nine knuts to a sickle. Seventeen sickles to a galleon." Harry had been trying to drill the numbers into his head since Gringotts.

"All righ', an' when do yeh need to be at King's Cross?"

"First of September, eleven o'clock," recited Harry, remembering the ticket he had found with his letter.

"Good lad," smiled Hagrid, patting Harry on the shoulder, "When yeh get off the train, keep an eye out fer me. I'll be leadin' yeh up to Hogwarts with the rest o' the firs' years."

Harry looked up into Hagrid's eyes and was suddenly hit by a wave of affection for the big man, as if he had only now realised everything Hagrid had done for him in the past day. Quite abruptly, he threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around Hagrid's middle, pulling him into a hug.

"Thank you," said Harry, shakily. He wanted to say more, to say how much he appreciated all of this, to let him know just how much he had changed his life. He wanted him to understand how important this all was, but he couldn't find the words. How do you tell somebody that?

"S' nothin'," sniffed Hagrid, "S' jus'- s' nothin'. Yer parents deserved better, but I- I can take care o' you at least." He brought one massive hand around and patted the tiny boy on the back.

Eventually, Harry had to pull back and say goodbye. Hagrid wiped a few tears away and set off down the road, while Harry went back inside and walked, almost mechanically, back to his room. Once there, he sat on his bed and stared into the mirror on his wardrobe door. Once again, a boy with messy black hair and wide green eyes stared back at him, but there was something different about him. Did he sit a little straighter? Did his hair lie a bit more flat?

He lifted his fringe from his forehead and stared at his scar. So strange, so unexplainable, even to wizards. He realised that this was the only thing Hagrid hadn't been able to explain to him. He'd told him about his parents. He'd told him why strange things happened to him. He'd told him why the Dursleys despised him. He'd told him who he was- what he was.

It was then that Harry noticed he was crying. He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes. He had never really been one to cry about his life, but he knew what had caused this, he knew what this was.

'This is what it is to have a friend.'

o0o0o0o

The next month at Privet Drive was one of the strangest in Harry's life.

To begin with, Vernon and Petunia studiously ignored him, not sparing him a single word or glance the entire time, but Harry couldn't help but notice how the lines on Vernon's face tightened when he was around, or how his Aunt stiffened and looked straight ahead to avoid his gaze. Harry had no idea what Hagrid had told them, but it seemed to have them thoroughly spooked. At the opposite end of this, there was Dudley, who couldn't have made it more glaringly obvious that things had changed. He outright refused to stay in the same room as Harry, immediately clapping his hands to his backside and running for the nearest exit whenever Harry appeared.

Thankfully for everyone, Harry very rarely saw the Dursleys, preferring to spend most of his time reading, either in his room or outside, beneath the window. He read when he woke up, he read while he ate his breakfast, he read for most of the day and well into the night. His entire life seemed to have been absorbed by the pages. Not that he minded, a few pages into Modern Magical History and he'd known that there was a lot he'd need to learn before September.

The first thing he had read up on was the war which Hagrid had mentioned, although he soon realised that it was a much bigger topic than he'd expected. It seemed that he wasn't the only great mystery of that time, as Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events of The Twentieth Century and Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts tended to offer wildly different viewpoints on many events.

The most he could piece together was akin to what Hagrid had told him already. About twenty-five years ago, a small village in Germany had gone completely silent, not a word from anyone came out of it. The German Ministry of Magic had investigated and found the entire muggle population dead in their homes, with not a mark upon them. The only thing which seemed to be wrong with them was that they all wore a look of terror on their faces, like they had all died of fright. As if this was not strange enough, the wizarding community of that village had all disappeared without a trace.

Among those missing was Tom Riddle, the man Ollivander had mentioned, who had been travelling Europe at the time. It was Riddle's disappearance which drew the attention of Albus Dumbledore, his former professor at Hogwarts. According to Modern Magical History, this had caused Professor Dumbledore to immediately contact the British Ministry with his concerns, however he was turned away every time he tried gain support.

Across the continent, several more wizards began to disappear, while more and more muggles were found dead in their homes. It was during this time that the tales began of a shadowy figure which wandered the countryside, descending upon unwary travellers and small villages. These rumours prompted many to go and seek this figure out. Several went to try and end the shadow's march of terror and were never heard from again. However, others searched out of their curiosity, or even admiration, of this creature's power.

Then, out of nowhere, wizards and witches began to reappear from all over Europe. Many of them claimed a lack of memory after their capture, while others described nightmarish prisons, filled with horrific tortures, and a living shadow which stalked the halls and brought fear to all. Both Great Wizarding Events and Modern Magical History claimed that they were welcomed back with open arms by all who knew them, and that things seemed to have returned to the way they once were. However, Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts disagreed, describing instead a time of horrible uncertainty, in which many debates were had on whether or not to trust such a fortuitous event. Despite their differences, all three books referred to this as the first victory for the side of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The books then went on to talk about what they called The Night of A Thousand Curses. On the 1st of January 1970, an order was sent by unknown means to many of those who had returned. The action was simultaneous, with each person having been positioned perfectly for their role, almost every important wizard or witch that might oppose You-Know-Who was assassinated in one night, including five different Ministers for Magic, their opponents in office, the headmasters of two wizarding schools, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and many high ranking members of the International Confederation of Wizards.

The British Ministry was the only one to survive the coup, thanks entirely to the foresight of Albus Dumbledore, who had orchestrated his own counter plan by assigning watchers to each of the refugees, who managed to subdue the attackers before any damage could be done.

In the continent, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named finally revealed himself. He appeared, uncloaked and surrounded by his masked followers, and spoke his name to the entire wizarding world. The texts all described the mysterious and terrible power the name possessed, causing everyone who heard it to cower in fear. Many bowed before the man out of pure terror from that one word. The name became taboo, and he was thereafter referred to as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who. Even those who followed him, his Death Eaters, only ever called him the Dark Lord, believing only he was worthy to speak his own name.

The accounts then became very wishy-washy. One book claimed that all of Europe bowed before their new Dark Lord, while another said that large areas of resistance rose up and fell continually until the end of the war. The third book wrote that there was no definite answer to what had happened in the continent, since the heavy use of bewitchment and memory charms by both sides made any sources dubious at best.

The writings began to talk a lot about things Harry didn't understand, such as Floo Networks, Aurors and Inferi. He eventually gave up trying to piece any of it together, instead moving on to his school textbooks, although these turned out to be just as complicated. Apparently, there was a lot more to magic than just waving your wand and saying a few words. It was in one of those books, A History of Magic to be exact,that he found the name for his owl, Hedwig.

He soon found that Hagrid had been right about owls, there wasn't really anything he needed to do for her, apart from let her out at night and give her the occasional owl treat. Other than that, she could hunt her own food and keep herself clean, although he was responsible for keeping her cage clean. Unfortunately, Harry got the feeling that she wanted to be out delivering letters for him. He had tried to explain that he didn't have anyone for her to take them to, but she would just hoot indignantly and ruffle her feathers in annoyance.

In what seemed like no time at all, a month had passed and the 31st of August had arrived. Harry had packed his trunk well in advance, but he still hadn't spoken with Uncle Vernon about getting to King's Cross the following day.

He found his Uncle in the living room, while his Aunt was cooking breakfast and Dudley was still asleep upstairs. Vernon was sat by the window, reading his newspaper and completely glossing over Harry's existence.

"Er- Uncle Vernon?" said Harry.

Vernon continued reading, making no effort to show he had heard his nephew.

"Um- well, I need to be at King's Cross Station tomorrow," continued Harry, after a pause, "And I was- er- wondering if, maybe, you could drop me off?"

His Uncle gave a grunt, which Harry hoped was of approval.

"All right then, I'll- um- I'll be just-" he gestured to somewhere behind him, then decided to leave before the conversation, if you could call it that, became even more awkward.

"Just where is this school of yours anyway?"

Harry looked back, shocked that his Uncle had responded, or even noticed Harry talking to him. He hadn't looked up from his paper, but Harry could tell he was waiting for an answer.

"Um- I'm not sure," replied Harry honestly, "Up north somewhere, I think."

"Strange way for wizards to travel," remarked Vernon off-handedly, "Why a train? Have all the flying carpets got leaks?"

"Er-" said Harry. It was a fair question, in fact he'd asked Hagrid a similar one about a boat last month, "I think its supposed to blend in. Mugg- I mean, non-magical people aren't supposed to know we exist."

"Yes, your people do like their secrets don't they," Vernon still spoke with such a nonchalant tone, as if secret magical societies were common dinner-time conversation.

"Well- well, I imagine you know a thing or two about secrets yourself," said Harry hotly, even as warning bells went off in his head.

Vernon's eye twitched, the only visible sign that he could hear Harry and wasn't just talking to himself. "And what is that supposed to mean, boy?" he asked.

"Ten years," snapped Harry, changing tone immediately, "I've been here for ten years, and not a thing you've ever told me is true. You- you could've told me my parents were killed, you didn't have to call my dad a drunk. You could have given me a proper room and proper clothes." Harry had no idea where these words were coming from, but now that they'd started, he couldn't seem to stop them. He felt a prickling feeling in the corners of his eyes, but he forced himself not to wipe the wetness away, "Why did you do it? Why do you hate me so much? Why do you hate us so much?"

Vernon was quiet for a moment, then he looked up at Harry, his face unreadable. He calmly folded his paper and stood up to his full height.

"You think you're better off now?" he asked down at Harry, "If you think that you'll find a better life as one of these people, then you go off and do it, I won't stop you."

Harry stared back up at Vernon defiantly.

"But first," continued his Uncle, "That mark on your forehead came from Lord What's-His-Face, yes? But why would he try to kill you? Was he that scared of a one-year-old boy?"

Harry frowned, the question catching him off-guard. "I don't know," he said.

"What about after, where did he go then? Why did he go? Did he die? If not, will he be back?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted reluctantly.

"Why were you left on our doorstep? If you're such an important person to these- these wizards, then why were we, muggles as you call us, forced to take you in?"

"I don't know," he repeated.

"No, you don't. You know nothing about these people. You only know that they can use magic tricks, and that's all you're ever going to see. You'll never look past those flashy lights and see who's holding the wand. Your mother was just as blind. She was so wrapped up in how- how bloody magical everything was, that she couldn't see what she was becoming. Mark my words, she was doomed from the start. From the moment she stepped on that train, she threw herself into a pit full of rabid dogs, ready to tear her apart!"

Harry gulped as his Uncle stepped up close to him. He was definitely aware of his nephew at this point.

"So," he spat, venom dripping from his voice now, "If you want to go and jump into the pit after her, then you go right ahead, but I'll be damned if I let my family be dragged in along with you!"

Harry gritted his teeth and tried not to break under his Uncle's gaze. Ten years of this life were telling him to flee, to run for the cupboard and hide until his Uncle calmed down.

But he wasn't just Harry any more. He was a wizard now, like the leader of his army. He wasn't allowed to be a coward.

As he thought this, something strange happened. At that point, he wasn't stood in the Dursleys' living room and it wasn't his Uncle in front of him. For one short moment, he was in the blurry chamber he had dreamed about so many weeks ago, and it was the man in gold who stood before him again. With great effort, Harry looked up into the man's face. He had enough time to register that the face was smiling at him, before it was replaced by the angry purple face of his Uncle.

"Just drop me off tomorrow at eleven o'clock," said Harry, "I'll be out of the way soon enough."

Harry turned away from his Uncle and returned to his room in silence. 'What just happened?' he thought, massaging his forehead. He hadn't the faintest idea where that room was or why he kept seeing it, but he couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity it gave him.

However at the moment, he was more worried about what Uncle Vernon had said. Sitting down on his bedside, he took his wand from its box and examined it closely. 'Why does he keep insisting these people are dangerous?' Harry asked himself, 'Does he really think I'd be better off here? What if he's right about that? My life's already terrible, what if I end up finding something worse?'

Harry noticed his breaths were coming shorter and more ragged, and he forced himself to calm down. He couldn't panic, he wasn't allowed to be scared any more. He was a wizard, he had to take care of himself. Harry took a deep breath and stood up, his wand held tightly in one hand.

Maybe Vernon was right about these people, maybe they really were dangerous, but they were Harry's people, he was sure of that now. No matter what his Uncle said about it, Harry needed to go to Hogwarts, he needed to learn who he was. For ten years he had lived in a cupboard, not knowing anything about himself other than his name. Now, for better or worse, he knew where to find his answers, and if he had to leave the Dursleys behind to get them, then that was fine by him.

o0o0o0o

The 1st of September dawned cool and cloudy. To most residents of Privet Drive, it was no more important than any other day. To Harry Potter however, it may have been the most important day of his life.

Harry had gotten to bed very early the night before, and he woke up at close to five o'clock in the morning. Even with this early start, the morning seemed to fly by and, in no time at all, he was in the back of Uncle Vernon's car, on the way to King's Cross Station.

The drive to London was quiet and tense. Yesterday's conversation hung heavily between Harry and his Uncle. Vernon was even stonier than before, while Harry was a silent ball of nerves and excitement.

Then, quite out of nowhere, Vernon said, "There'll be rain later today."

Harry looked up at the sudden break in the silence. "Um- what?" he said stupidly.

"The weather, boy," said Vernon impatiently, "It's going to rain, but it should clear up by nightfall."

Harry blinked. He'd never expected them to have this exchange ever again. Actually, after the last time they'd spoken, he'd never expected to get a single word out of his Uncle again.

"That's- uh- good, I suppose," Harry responded, "Is there anything I should know."

"I doubt it," said Vernon darkly, "I'm sure your kind won't care about anything from our papers."

The rest of the journey passed in complete silence, with Harry staring at the back of his Uncle's seat. He recalled his suspicions, from a month ago, that Vernon was still hiding something from him. Although he didn't have the first idea what it could be, he did know that it had something to do with magic. Then again, pretty much everything seemed to have something to do with magic recently.

His Uncle dropped him off right outside and then immediately set off again, all without a word. Suddenly, Harry found himself alone in front of the grand station. He had always been small, but right now he felt absolutely tiny. Beyond those doors, his whole life would change. He would be joining an entirely new world. The prospect was incredibly daunting.

He found himself a trolley for his luggage and made his way to the platforms, trying to ignore the strange looks which Hedwig drew from the people around them. He reached Platforms Nine and Ten, and nearly walked straight past the barrier. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it at all.

He moved his trolley to the side, out of the way of the crowds, and opened his trunk, finding his letter from inside. He unfolded the map and re-read the section on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters:

-those entering the station by muggle means may gain access to the platform via the barrier between Platform Nine and Platform Ten.

He looked to his right. There was Platform Nine, and to his left was Platform Ten. The barrier between them looked like plain old bricks, how exactly was he supposed to use it.

'Maybe it's like the wall outside the Leaky Cauldron,' he wondered, 'Should I start tapping the bricks with my wand?'

Nervously, he glanced around. Nobody seemed to be paying much attention to him and even Hedwig had stopped attracting looks from people. As inconspicuously as possible, he took his wand from his trunk and moved closer to the wall. He tapped the brick closest to him once and, unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He repeated this with every brick along the width of the wall before deciding it was probably a waste of time. He couldn't possibly be expected to try every brick and he was paranoid that everyone was staring at him, even though no-one was whenever he turned around.

He looked up at the clock nearby. It was close to ten o'clock, meaning that he was very early at this point. He found a bench nearby with a good view of the barrier and sat himself down.

'Okay,' he thought, trying not to panic, 'It's all fine- maybe the platform's not open yet. I am early after all, and I can't be the only one entering the muggle way. Someone will come along soon- yes, I'll wait for someone to come and I'll watch what they do.'

He waited for ten minutes and no one showed. Another ten and he was starting to get twitchy. After half an hour, still nobody had shown up, yet Harry was weirdly not getting any strange looks from people around him. He scanned the crowds carefully, straining himself for any sign of a cloak or a wand.

That was when he heard the owl, hooting loudly over the voices and footfalls of the people surrounding him. He quickly zoned in on the sound, and overheard someone talking.

"-always packed with muggles isn't it. Really, why your Father insists that we-".

Harry followed the voice and his eyes were drawn to a group of people not twenty feet away.

'How could I have missed them?' Harry wondered, as he stood up and collected his trolley.

Even if they hadn't been carrying a cage with an owl in it and talking about muggles, Harry should have immediately recognised that something was off about them. All six of them had flaming red hair and wore red t-shirts, and four of them were pushing trolleys, which carried ancient looking trunks similar to Harry's, though theirs were in much worse condition. He also noticed that, just like Hedwig, their owl wasn't drawing any attention at all. Three of the redheads were teenage boys and there was another boy who looked around Harry's age. The other two were a plump woman with curly hair and a young girl who was even smaller than Harry. Judging from the distinctive hair they shared and the way the girl held on to the woman's hand, Harry guessed that they were probably a family group.

Harry approached them slowly. He was still trying to figure out how he hadn't seen them earlier, when he noticed that one of them was gone. He blinked. Yes, there were definitely only five now. He started to wonder if he'd miscounted, but then he saw one of them move off into the crowd, hunched over his trolley as if he were about to run. Harry tried to watch where he went, but somehow the crowds seemed to move to block his view. He blinked again and the boy was gone.

'They must be using the barrier, like my letter said,' he realised, 'But how are they doing it?'

He saw another of the teenagers getting ready to follow the other two, and picked up his pace. "Excuse me!" he called out to them.

The woman turned sharply, looking very defensive. Her eyes flicked quickly to Hedwig in her cage, and her face softened into a smile. "Hello there, dear," she greeted him warmly, "Hogwarts too, are you?"

"Um- yes, hello," Harry stammered. He still wasn't used to talking to strangers, especially witches, "Er- I- I just wanted to ask- it's just I was wondering how to- um-" he pointed feebly at the barrier and felt his face going red at his appalling speech skills.

The witch looked confused, but she followed his gesture and her eyes brightened with understanding. "Oh, you were wondering how to get onto the platform," she said, "This is your first year then, I suppose."

Harry just nodded, afraid of embarrassing himself further.

"Not to worry, dear," she continued with a comforting smile, "Ron's just starting as well." She gestured to the youngest of the boys. "Now, all you need to do is walk straight at the barrier between the two platforms. Try not to hesitate too much though. In fact, it's probably best to get a bit of a run up for your first go."

"Y-you want me to just run into it?" asked Harry, eyeing the wall apprehensively, "But- but it's solid brick, isn't it."

"Here Mother," said the older boy, stepping forward, "Let me show him what to do. Now watch closely, and try not to get distracted."

Harry wasn't sure how he could get distracted, but before he could say anything more, the boy started moving towards the barrier. Immediately after the first step, Harry began to find it hard to focus on him. Everything around him seemed far more interesting than a moment ago, but Harry forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on that flaming red hair. As the boy got closer to the barrier, Harry found it harder and harder not to look away. He refused to blink or turn his head, and he watched as the red-haired boy was swallowed up by the bricks, disappearing through the barrier.

Harry blinked rapidly, his eyes watering. 'So it really is that simple,' he realised, 'Well now I feel like an idiot.'

"There you go," said the woman, "It's just as easy as it looks. Be careful not to break your run and you'll be perfectly fine."

"But what about everyone else," asked Harry looking around, "What about the- the muggles? Won't they notice that?"

The other boy snorted. "Nah," he said dismissively, "They're muggles. They don't notice anything, do they."

"Didn't you notice how hard it was to watch Percy go through," explained the woman, "There's an enchantment in this spot that makes it difficult to focus on anything magical."

'Oh!' Harry thought, 'So, that's why nobody was looking at Hedwig, and why I didn't notice these red-heads straight away.' Harry frowned as another thought came to him, 'But, hang on. If that's true, then how many people have I missed going through the barrier?' Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

Now that he felt like the biggest idiot in the world, Harry decided to get a move on before he made it any worse. "Thanks very much," he said to the witch who'd helped him, and turned towards the barrier. Despite what they'd told him, it still looked very solid, and Dudley had taught him a long time ago how painful running into a brick wall could be.

Steeling himself, he took a step forward. Then another, and another, and soon he was moving swiftly towards the wall. The crowds seemed to part around him, although nobody noticed his charge. He clenched his eyes shut and picked up more speed, losing control of the trolley. If he hit the wall now, it was going to hurt terribly, it would probably feel like-

'Like syrup?' Harry thought, flabbergasted.

He had just collided with the barrier and that was the best way he could describe it, as if he was trying to run through syrup. His movements became sluggish and silent, and he couldn't seem to draw breath. He opened his eyes and saw a myriad of different colours floating lazily past him, each one glowing dimly. The strange sensation lasted for only a few seconds, before his senses were suddenly assaulted by a wave of light and noise. He cringed and backed away, but his retreat was halted by something hard behind him. Looking back, he saw a grey stone wall which extended out a long way to either side of him. He turned to face forward again and gasped in amazement, as he saw Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters for the very first time.

He was stood on a floor made of huge white paving stones, surrounded on three sides by long, stone walls. The ceiling was domed and made of glass, and beams of sunlight shone through it. To Harry's left was the edge of the platform, and beyond that sat the Hogwarts Express. The enormous steam engine was painted scarlet and gold, and it was polished until it gleamed in the sun. Great clouds of smoke spewed from the engine, though strangely they did not block out the sunlight. Directly in front of Harry, filling the wide open space of the platform, was a large crowd of witches and wizards. Most of them were older children and teenagers, but Harry spotted a few that were his age as well, and he was relieved to see that they looked as awed and frightened as he was. Many of them were being seen off by parents or guided through the throngs of people by older siblings. To Harry's right, he saw someone step out of the wall opposite the platform edge and join the crowd, without even looking up.

Harry drank up the atmosphere and smiled to himself. The air was filled with the hooting of owls, as they soared overhead, and the croaking of toads from their owners' arms, while assorted cats prowled around underfoot. He noticed that many people were wearing one of four colours; red, green, yellow and blue. Older students had these colours in the lining of their school robes, or wore coloured jumpers beneath them. The adult wizards and witches who accompanied them had robes, cloaks or hats in these colours as well. Some were more obvious with the colour than others, but Harry noted that people wearing the same colour seemed to move in groups together, so it was easy to spot the pattern. He remembered that these were the same colours from the crest on his letters.

He had no idea what this colour-coding could possibly mean, but looking down at his blue jeans and green jacket, he began to wonder if he should have been more careful when picking his clothes that morning. Before he could get very far with his thoughts, he was interrupted by a squelching sound behind him. This sound was directly followed by something colliding with his behind, causing him to yelp in surprise and pain, as the floor rushed up to meet him.