Chapter 2
The limo ride seemed to take forever. It was as if the world was willing against me, so that I would never return home. Well, I thought smirking, I dont have to be home to look at the photo. I asked Dawlish to raise the partition, separating him from me. When I knew it was fully raised, I took the picture from my pocket.
The steam engine was shinning in a way that was so inviting, that it made me desperately want to be part of the image. I was suprised at myself, whimsical thinking was not something I usually did. I thought myself too intelligent for that kind of thing.
As I contemplated where this fantastic train could be, one station
kept popping into my head. The King's Cross Station, surely a train so grand would stop in London. Sadly, I noticed no train station I knew resembled the one in the photograph. Giving up on finding out the train's location, I tried to focus on the finer details in picture. That's when I saw the sign. The sign that told me the platform's number. My eyes widened as I read what the tiny sign had to say. Platform nine and three quarters, those words ran through my head, trying to reach a conculsion. My train of thought was interupted by Dawlish pulling into the driveway and taking the keys out of the ignition. The door was abruptly opened and Dawlish smiled at me.
"Sir, we're here," he said strangely cheerful as if he wasn't really.
"Thank you" I said, distant.
I rushed inside and was immediatly ambushed by my mother, who was frantic over which shoes go with her lipstick. To me she could have worn sneakers for all I cared, I had more pressing matters to deal with. Telling my mother that her dark Channel heels would be smashing, I did something else that was very childish. I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and locked the door.
My room is quite large and it is tastefully decorated. Sitting at a desk that most teachers would kill for, I took the picture out of my pocket. I realized that I was still wearing my coat, what is happening, I thought, I am not myself today. To me the photograph was like a treasure chest of mysteries just waiting for me to find the key and open it, if I could solve one of the small mysteries the rest would be answered. I was about to put the image down, when something caught my eye. A boy with jet black hair was dragging his large trunk across the platform with difficulty, while carrying a cage with a snowy owl in it. I watched him for a moment, trying to find a way to identify this strange boy. Then I saw it, Harry Potter, was written on the boy's trunk.