The following is the testimony of the Hogwarts Express steam engine.

Thick, swirling steam erupts in coughs from the stack, filling the top of the arched platform with a white fog. All around me, children run around, pushing carts and dragging trunks and holding onto their parents' hands. I dislike the children. They litter my fine carpeting with the wrappers of their sweets. They abuse my interior with their rough-housing. They throw their luggage up above their seats without a care as to how it collides with the walls, scuffing them and bruising the pretty wallpaper. They don't even care. I stand proud, though, as the filthy creatures wriggle around me. I can feel some of them already inside me, laughing and running up and down the corridors in search of a cabin.

I watch them in distaste. Three or four boys are gathered on the platform, surrounding a large furry beast of some sort, though a parent seems to be making their way toward them with the intention of breaking them up and sending them on their way. Further down, several girls squeal and embrace each other, their lips moving dizzily fast. There are many boys and girls greeting one another with enthusiastic, inexperienced kisses. Nearby, a girl with Asian eyes and long, shining black hair leaps into the arms of her handsome boyfriend, skipping the "hello" and diving right into a long, wet kiss. Disgusting creatures.

Three children stand together, and I recognize one of them as the famous Harry Potter. I've heard much talk within my halls and around my platforms over the past fourteen years about this boy, and I know him to be of much importance, though not to a train. Trains don't bother idolizing figures for their deeds; we are more of the "thank you" and move on types.

Harry Potter converses with his friends, a redheaded boy and bushy-haired girl, but his green eyes seem to wander. I see that he's watching the oriental girl as she (still) passionately kisses her boyfriend. No, I notice that his eyes are gliding past her and lingering on the one she embraces. The handsome boy finally removes the girl from his lips, laughing, and happens to look up over her shoulder. His eyes meet those of Harry Potter, and for a few moments, they remain there. Then Harry Potter's friends grab him by the arm and drag him inside, and the oriental girl does the same with her boyfriend. The platform becomes vacant of children and only holds occupancy to waving parents. My whistle sounds, smothering their shouts and final goodbyes, and as I begin to roll out of the station, I briefly consider the scene I just bore witness to.

Love is something we trains have never been able to understand.