'We can't have your big, dirty nose stuck to our backs all the time,' Fred grinned at him, flicking his nose lightly. Ron rubbed it, the skin there still warm in the aftermath of what he considered his mother's attempt to peel his skin off with her handkerchief.
'Fred's right,' George, his other brother, promptly agreed. 'Now stop harping and go.'
They both nudged his shoulders, but Ron wouldn't move. Instead, he stared back at his twin brothers, and scowled deeply.
'You're just trying to take the piss, you are. That's not Harry Potter - how could it be?'
'Prejudiced little prick, aren't you, Ronnie?' Fred snorted. 'You heard us, we saw his lightning shaped scar,' he followed, tapping his own freckled forehead.
Ron wanted to say 'so what', but ultimately didn't. He took one last glance at the wrought-iron archway disappearing into the billowing steam, frowning as he raised his hand to wave at his Mum and sister through the narrow glass of the carriage door.
'Oh, come on. Mum said we should look after you,' George grinned, and rumpled Ron's hair. 'Would we really try to trick you?'
Ron wanted to say 'yes', but settled for raising his eyebrows instead.
Although eleven, he was almost as tall as his brothers already and could have easily put up a fight, if he really wanted to. But the truth was that Ron was rather torn between embracing the slimmest, wildest chance of being in Harry Potter's presence, of possibly becoming his friend, and practising caution against following Fred and George's advice. He was, all in all, in no hurry to forget the trouble doing what his brothers said had landed him in on multiple occasions.
Briefly, he saw himself surrounded by hoards of admiring people, all cheering as Ron passed by, pointing their fingers at him and whispering 'He's Harry Potter's friend.' Ginny would be ecstatic and Mum would say she'd never been quite as proud as he had made her feel.
But then the vision vanished and he was once again just him, just Ron, a boy whose life had never been as interesting, as thrilling as his brothers'.
'What if he says he's not him and I'm just sat there like a prat?' Ron made one last try.
'Well, that's just a chance you'll have to take then, isn't it?' Fred rolled his eyes and patted him on the back. 'And, anyway, you're already a prat.'
'Thanks, Fred,' Ron pouted, turning his back to the carriage door. Mum and Ginny had disappeared in the distance, red brick houses shrinking as the train caught speed.
'Or would you much rather come see Lee's tarantula with us,' George joined in, grinning evilly.
Ron instantly shuddered. Spiders, he'd learned the hard way, were not top of any of his lists and he most certainly cowered away at the idea of being in the vicinity of one - a fact which his brothers knew fairly well.
'Alright, fine,' Ron snapped.
'That's a good boy,' Fred clapped him on the back of the neck, making him briefly trip over his feet.
'We'll check up on you,' George waved, but Ron ignored him.
As he walked towards the compartment where the scrawny boy was stood alone, Ron expected loud, boisterous laughter to erupt behind him, Fred and George to run inside and tell him what an idiot he was for believing them. The boy would also laugh - perhaps he'd been let in on the charade.
But oddly none of this happened.
Still, Ron pushed open the compartment door open with as much enthusiasm as he had when Mum made him peel a large sack of potatoes; he felt extremely sour.
Instantly, the boy's green eyes were on him, bright behind the cracked, round glasses, and Ron couldn't help but think that Harry Potter couldn't possibly look like this - he was supposed to be a hero, was he not?
Suspending his disbelief, Ron drew in a breath, and finally stepped in.