It was the day before Walter was due to leave for Hogwarts, the end of a blistering hot August day which had now cooled into a cool clear evening. Walt was packing away the room he had stayed in for a little over a week at the Leaky Cauldron into a large battered suitcase. He cleared out the dusty old wardrobe, folding his crisp, crease-free shirts into an obsessively neat pile. His room was poky and damp and shook every time a nearby train went by. The wizard world was not as glamorous as one might have imagined. He breathed a deep sigh as he looked introspectively into the wardrobe mirror as he mulled on just how far he'd fallen.
Not even two years ago he had just been ordinary Walter White, a harmless chemistry teacher in Albuquerque. His life had been ordinary and safe, and he had never once strayed on the wrong side of the law, not even for a parking ticket. Since then he had crafted the purest methamphetamine in the world, becoming legendary for it and created the largest meth empire South-Western America had ever seen. He had had so much money it was obscene. He rode the crest of a huge wave that made him the most renowned drug lord, and wanted villain, in the whole of the United States. Heisenberg – how bitter that alias tasted now. It was tainted and stained with the blood of all the innocent people that had suffered and died thanks to his cruelty and ignorance. His path of destruction was contrast to the life of secrecy and the mask he painted while in front of his beloved family. Skyler and Walt Jr – the lights of his life – that had saved him in more ways than one on many different occasions. And Hank … Walt felt an enormous surge of remorse and self-loathing. He could not bear the thought of his former brother-in-law, lying in that ditch in a cold desert. It destroyed him what happened that day. The day his empire fell to ruin…
Walt seemed to age rapidly as he stood staring at his reflection. His face reflected untold misery. But this was a new start, this was good for him. He was as far away from his past as he could possibly get. But it was still incredibly odd adjusting to everything. He was recently told that witches and wizards lived in hiding from everybody else, rejecting modern society and technology, practising witchcraft. Obviously Walt had been sketchy to the whole thing at first but when the landlord of the pub had transformed his tables and chairs into a marching band he began to open his mind that the whole thing could be real. His interview at Hogwarts had gone very well, where he had impressed Minerva McGonagall with his potion-making skills, despite never having set a fire in a cauldron. Maybe a little taste of magic was exactly what he needed in life.
He had spent the last 10 days in this room, visiting Diagon Alley – which was the local shopping street. It expressed vestiges of every classic English stereotype you could imagine: quaint cobbles and quirky shops. Walt spent hours examining every shop with great interest. The Headmistress had provided him with a roll of parchment detailing every thing he might need for his first year as potions master. It all sounded very archaic – newts eyes and dragon scales and that sort of thing but nevertheless he had bought everything on the list, having cashed in his one non-stolen barrel of ordinary American money into fat gold wizard coins at the bank, Gringotts. He may have overspent slightly on a beautifully ornate set of weighing scales and a large pewter cauldron.
He also enjoyed exploring Flourish & Blotts which was the bookshop of The Alley and contained many interesting pieces on magical history and theory. He bought the core texts that were suggested to him for potion-making, as well as a few others that gave him a background on the world he was now a part of. Purchasing Hogwarts: A History he learned about the school at which he would now be working, and it was unlike any school he had ever worked at or heard of. The school was comprised of four houses where, at the start of each school year, new students were sorted into depending on their own skills and talents matching the mottoes and traits of each house, I.e, ambition, bravery, chivalry and determination.
Walt had been shopping for so long the sun had begun to set on Diagon Alley. He concluded his adventure around the small street and made his way back to his room in the Leaky Cauldron, hoping for an early night. Since the tragedy at Tohajilee, Walt had not lived a single day that wasn't in total exhaustion. A fresh start was exactly what he was looking for. After a small evening supper, Walt turned in for the night. His bed was threadbare yet not uncomfortable. When he awoke the following morning he felt like he had slept for days, as though his bed had physically mended his body.
After breakfast, Walt had packed together the rest of his belongings and was ready to leave. Hogwarts had arranged some form of transport that would take him to King's Cross Station where he would board his train. Many times he had examined his ticket and understood it no better. Platform 9 ¾ was what was printed in stark, bold lettering yet Walt could not fathom the need for ¾ of a platform. However since he had witnessed a man in a loincloth riding a broomstick and a store assistant have to physically wrestle a set of books into a cage, Walt was ready to accept anything as normal in this world.
Waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron, his transport pulled up, in the form of a bright purple London taxi. Upon stopping, the boot sprung open, as did the doors once Walt had placed his suitcase inside.
"King's Cross, is it?" came the booming voice of the faceless driver in front.
"Certainly", replied Walt "To Platform 9 ¾ if you can find me that" he continued with a small hint of a nervous laugh.
"That be no problem, Sir. I takes people there every year. It your first time going to Hogwarts?", enquired the driver
"Not as such, but I'm the new potions master. So this Platform 9 ¾ isn't a joke?" said Walt with a sense of relief swimming through his head.
"Oh no no no, not at all. It's hidden. So them there muggles can't get to it you see. It's hard to hide an entire platform so it has to sound ridiculous to these here normal folk who just laugh it off. You go telling a muggle your train leaves from Platform 9 ¾ they're gonna think you're mental aint they?"
Deep down this is exactly what Walt was thinking. All this absurdity that had taken place in the last few weeks had eroded his sense of perspective. All of the logic, reasoning and sensible deductions he had prized so much in his career and throughout his life now suddenly made less sense than a using newts eyes in any kind of recipe.
"Yes", said Walt with a thin smile, "It certainly is a bit mad"
The taxi set off into the distance at a breakneck speed. Before Walt could blink or catch his fast exhaling breath they had arrived outside the doors of London's King Cross station.
"There you go, Sir, and have a good year! Remember not to go sniffing the cauldrons after use", came the sage advice of the still faceless driver.
Walt breezed through the ticket barriers at Kings Cross and found himself on Platforms 9 and 10. He had hiked all of his belongings, including his king-size cauldron and potions affects onto one large trolley which was overflowing. It also had an annoyingly squeaky wheel which, coupled with his inability to control the load, was attracting him a lot of unwanted attention. He steered his dangerous cargo down the platform, weaving in an out of passers-by who were swerving in alarm to make way for him. He still had found no trace that a Platform 9 ¾ even existed, but he deduced that this was precisely the point of a hidden platform. He had no idea what exactly he was meant to be doing. Departure time for the train was 11:00am and it was already 10:45. A slight sense of unease began to creep into Walt's mind. A thought even crossed his mind that this was all an elaborate hoax. Had he even traveled to Hogwarts for his interview? For that journey he had simply stepped into a green fire and arrived at his destination. It was perfectly plausible that had been a dream…
He calmed his nerves. He just spotted a large party of adults with their children with trolleys stacked with items like his; trunks, books, owl cages. They were also very peculiarly dressed for a London train station – adorned in cloaks of varying lengths and colours with large pointed hats. These people had to be witches and wizards. Walt watched them from a distance and observed them stopping before one of the walls separating the two platforms. The children formed a line in single file and the one at the front, no older than 11, had his trolley in front of him. Then, in front of Walt's eyes he began to run at the partition. He was now almost up to a sprint. Walt felt sick waiting for a large crash which would surely send the boy flying backwards but none came. He just seemed to melt through the solid brick. This process was repeated for each child until only the adults remained. They each walked forward together in pairs and purposefully strode through this apparently invisible walkway. None of the commuters either side had even batted an eyelid.
Walt was sure this was the answer. He walked forward and examined the wall. There was nothing to suggest it was made of anything other than brick. He placed a hand on it and felt the cold surface, as solid as any brick he had ever touched before. There must be something he was missing. He attempted to push his hand through the wall, to no avail.
"Open Sesame!", he called, foolishly, at the inanimate wall. He was starting to get frustrated. The answer was under his nose and he could not work it out. He pulled out his newly acquired wand – 9 ½ inches, elm and unicorn hair, quite sturdy – and gave each brick a quick tap, but for all the good he did he might as well have used a heron. Walt had finally lost patience with his foe and aimed a kick right at it. Instead of making contact and experiencing the shooting pain he expected, his foot went right through the wall and made contact with a leg beyond the barrier. Curbing his own embarrassment he deduced that swift motion was the key. He paced out a few steps and braced himself with his trolley. He strode forwards with purpose and fear as the red wall came closer and closer until blackness engulfed him. Instead of walking straight into the wall, which all laws of physics and logic dictate should have happened, he had emerged onto a pristine platform with a huge, red steam engine sitting in front of him. It puffed pillowing smoke into the air and had the words The Hogwarts Express ornately decorating it's flank.
Walt walked towards the past the train, passing a man who was massaging his shin with a grimace of pain on his face, and found himself among a gaggle of parents wishing their kids goodbye, ushering them onto the train. All were dressed as ludicrously as the family he saw on the platforms before.
"Have a good year and behave yourself!", cried one of the mothers to her boy who had just popped his head through one of the carriage windows. As Walt turned to look at the boy his stomach plummeted with an almighty pang. The child was an almost exact copy of his own son, Walter Jr, in miniature. Walt felt a sickening surge of guilt for his son who now despised him and wished him dead.
This was it though, Walt thought, this was his first step into a completely different world. A clean and total break from his horrific past awaited him alongside the wizards and scholars of Hogwarts. All of the pain, the suffering, the deaths would now have to be forgotten. He could no longer dwell on his dark dreams and his painful reflections. He had to get back to his true home: The lab.
And with his self-satisfied smile, Walt stepped up onto the train and closed the door behind him.