After quickly returning the rental car—a task Owen completed with a discreet wave of his wand that momentarily blurred the vision of the Muggle attendant—the Harris family group gathered in a secluded, dusty alleyway. Owen and Albert each took one of the boys' arms, securing a firm grip, and with a familiar, sharp crack, the group began to Apparate.
Harry experienced the sensation for the first time—an intensely unpleasant, yet strangely alluring feeling of being squeezed through a tight rubber tube. The sensation lasted only a moment. Soon, a small, charming villa with warm red bricks and cheerful white windows swam into view, sitting in the middle of a sprawling, vibrant lawn.
The garden was generously shaded by several lush, ancient trees. Scattered across the grounds were several large, horizontal logs that had been split and laid out as casual seating. They were clearly charmed—likely spelled to repel moisture, rot, and insects—and looked perfectly natural in the rustic setting.
Between two exceptionally large trees, a simple swing set had been installed, surrounded by thick, vibrant green vines and beautiful, multicolored flowers.
The entire garden felt simple, natural, and bursting with life. Harry instantly fell in love with the place. There was an overriding sense of freedom and release here, a striking contrast to the suffocating order of Privet Drive. He did, however, notice a small, inexplicable patch of stinging nettles neatly contained near the back fence. Harry shuddered; he vividly remembered the burning, agonizing pain they could inflict after Dudley had once pushed him headfirst into a patch.
Morgan LeFay Harris rushed out of the house, immediately moving to greet Harry privately.
Her youngest daughter, Emily, peered out from behind her mother's robes. Allen was relieved to see his little sister was merely curious about the famous Boy-Who-Lived, not exhibiting the embarrassing gushing adoration that the Weasleys were often prone to.
When Mrs. Harris saw Harry's painfully thin frame, she couldn't help herself. She embraced him tightly, pulling him into a secure, warm hug.
"Harry, welcome to our home!" Lenn, Allen's older brother, greeted him solemnly, extending his hand with equal formality. Harry shook it firmly.
The warm welcome continued without pause. Daisy, the eldest sister, bustled forward to offer him a strong, creamy cup of black tea, while Mrs. Harris quickly whisked Harry away to ensure he received a massive plate of the Sunday roast that had been prepared for his arrival.
After a hearty, thoroughly satisfying meal, Harry followed Allen up to the guest room. The bed was a unique sight: it looked as if it had been fashioned from twisted tree trunks and branches while the wood was still alive, yet the overall effect was strangely comforting and fitting for a magical home. The thick mattress and blankets piled upon it promised incredible softness without even needing to be touched.
Harry recalled watching a snippet of a television show at his aunt's house that warned excessively soft beds were bad for the spine, but he dismissed the thought instantly. He was completely satisfied; this was the first time in his life he could truthfully call a room entirely his own.
Directly opposite the large window, a spacious desk was laid out, complete with books, ink, and a stack of clean parchment.
Allen meticulously helped Harry unpack and arrange his few possessions. That night, lying in the impossibly soft bed, Harry felt wide awake, staring happily at the ceiling. "Is this truly what a normal family is supposed to be like? What a wonderfully happy family."
The following days flew by, blissfully uneventful in terms of magical incident, but for Harry, every single day was filled with unprecedented joy and discovery.
He loved waking up early to watch Allen's mother make various magically charmed kitchen gadgets fly around the room, autonomously preparing delicious, exotic meals.
Compared to the cold, sterile environment of the Dursleys, Harry absolutely adored the Harris family: kind, reserved Mr. Owen; fiercely caring Mrs. Morgan LeFay; beautiful, nurturing older sister Daisy; friendly, composed Lenn; Emily, who loved sharing silly Muggle stories; and, of course, Allen, his respected and knowledgeable mentor.
Happy times, however, have a habit of accelerating. No matter how reluctant Harry was to leave what had become the happiest period of his short life, the start of the school term arrived exactly as scheduled.
On a slightly somber, misty morning, the entire family prepared the luggage destined for Hogwarts.
Owen Harris, utilizing his connections and influence within the Ministry of Magic, had secured the temporary loan of one of the Ministry's remaining magically expanded cars.
Harry watched in astonishment as Mr. Harris began piling the luggage onto the floor of the vehicle, piece after piece, yet the interior swallowed the cases without appearing to shrink in the slightest.
Even though the car looked small from the outside, the interior was vastly more spacious than Harry could have imagined.
They arrived at King's Cross Station at precisely 10:30 a.m. While Mr. Harris and Lenn began efficiently unloading the mountains of luggage, Harry scanned the station, searching intently for Platform 9.
Harry searched and searched. Just as he recalled from his conversation with Hagrid, he saw a massive, plastic sign bearing the number 9 over one track, and a massive, plastic sign bearing the number 10 over the next. In between the two tracks, there was absolutely nothing but the brick wall connecting them.
"Looking for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters?" Allen asked, walking up to Harry. He was carrying two large suitcases and a massive backpack that dwarfed his small frame.
Though Allen possessed strength far exceeding his peers, his small stature severely limited his ability to maneuver the baggage. His backpack alone towered nearly two heads taller than him. "As soon as I can legally use my wand, I am absolutely studying the Unseen Extension Charm," Allen vowed internally, mortified by the ridiculous amount of luggage he was forced to carry.
Harry shook his head, frustration clear on his face. "I can't find Platform 9?"
"Don't worry about it," Allen reassured him, smiling slightly. "Just walk straight ahead toward the massive brick pillar between Platforms 9 and 10. You must not stop. Don't be afraid, just keep moving straight. That's the most important part. If you're nervous, run straight at it. Come on. I'll go first, you follow right behind me."
Allen had heard the explanation of how to access the platform numerous times from Lenn and his father. Now, seeing Harry Potter standing there, he thought back to Harry's parents, James and Lily, killed by Voldemort on October 31st, 1981. Most of the current first-years received their acceptance letters on July 31st, 1991—a difference of exactly 117 months. When divided by 12, this totaled 9.75 years—the exact fraction in the platform's number, 9 and 3/4.
Lost in this thought, Allen pushed his heavily laden trolley directly toward the brick pillar. He had no intention of sharing this obscure piece of numerical trivia with Harry yet, but to Harry, Allen looked completely suicidal.
But the collision Harry expected never materialized. In the blink of an eye, Allen, trolley and all, simply vanished.
Harry nervously adjusted his spectacles, took a deep breath, made his decision, and began running directly toward the brick wall where Allen had disappeared.
As Allen passed through the wall, he emerged onto a bustling, crowded platform, dominated by a magnificent, dark red steam locomotive.
A sign hanging prominently on the engine read: The Hogwarts Express, 11:00.
When Allen looked back over his shoulder, the ticket barrier had been magically replaced by a magnificent wrought-iron arch bearing the words: Platform 9.
A moment later, Harry burst through the wall, looking entirely shocked and breathless.