September first finally arrived.
The Dursleys drove Harry to King's Cross Station, and all the way there the three of them squawked like quails that had just swallowed hot chili sauce.
They had heard from Harry that the train to Hogwarts left from platform nine. Vernon, struck by a sudden attack of kindness, helped Harry get his luggage onto a trolley and walked with him into the station. He grinned. "Right, here you are, boy. Platform nine—platform ten. Your platform ought to be somewhere between the two, shouldn't it? Only it doesn't look like they've had time to build it yet, does it?"
Indeed, Harry couldn't find anything called platform nine-and-three-quarters. Between platforms nine and ten there was only a solid pillar. Fat Uncle Vernon let out a stupid little snigger. His dull, shifty face hung over Harry's thoughts like a cloud, and yet, even so, Harry felt he needed him. It was hard for a child to make sense of things alone in such an unfamiliar place. The station guard had never heard of Hogwarts; Harry couldn't even say which county it was in. The guard grew annoyed, convinced this brat was having him on.
As for Vernon, he had already gone, leaving Harry alone in the station. People streamed past, trains on either side taking passengers on and off, but the indifferent Muggles were all wrapped up in their own business. No one reached out a hand to help Harry.
Just when he was at his wits' end, a boy of sixteen or seventeen walked toward him. Harry gripped the handle of his trolley. In the cage, the owl stared out with round eyes. They both caught sight of the young man: he was dressed like a wizard, in robes and a cloak, holding a long umbrella like a gentleman's walking stick, with an owl perched on his shoulder. He looked so out of place that it was impossible not to stare—yet none of the Muggles around them seemed able to see him.
"A new first-year for Hogwarts. You're Harry Potter, right?" The young man's features were unusual, but his manner was mild and reassuring.
Harry knew he was a famous figure in the wizarding world. In this past month he had received more praise and recognition than in the previous eleven years put together, and by a long way.
"Yes, sir. Are you a student at Hogwarts as well?" Harry noticed that he wasn't carrying any luggage. Perhaps he was an older student—or maybe a member of staff.
The young man led Harry toward the wall between platforms nine and ten. "No, I'm the gatekeeper of platform nine," he said. "You can only board the train to Hogwarts if you pass my test." He stopped and his tone grew serious. "Harry, even though you're regarded as the saviour of the wizarding world, Hogwarts won't make any exceptions for you. You have to show your own talent, or this gateway will not open."
He pointed at the wall. "It's simple, Harry. Platform Nine is just on the other side of this wall. What you need to do is break through this wall. For a real wizard, that's no trouble at all."
Harry hadn't known there would be such a test. His toes curled inside his shoes with nerves. If he couldn't pass, if he had to slink back to the Dursleys, that life would be worse than a nightmare—far worse. At least the monsters in nightmares usually let you die quickly.
"B-but I don't know any magic…"
"That's all right. For a little wizard, what matters most isn't learning, it's a healthy body. All true mages are like that. Learn a simple wand-lighting charm, grab yourself a two-handed greatsword, and you can happily go have a proper wizard's duel with someone."
Harry was a smart boy. He could hear the joking note tucked between the young man's words. He knew it was a joke—but he still had no idea how to get onto the platform.
"Don't just stand there. Use that astonishing brain of yours and think of something, Harry," the young man urged.
Breathing hard with anxiety, Harry pulled out his wand and tried to copy what Hagrid had done to get into Diagon Alley, tapping bricks as if this were another hidden doorway. But when he stretched his wand toward the wall, he felt at once that it was like the surface of water; he could pass straight through.
"Oh!" Harry shivered.
The young man was already laughing. "All right, all right. Nicely done. Let's go in, Harry." He gave a little flick of his hand and Harry's trolley rolled forward by itself. Together they passed through the magical concealment, and the view opened up: a deep-scarlet steam train stood waiting by a crowded platform.
Harry blinked at the press of people. Who would have thought that in the middle of a crowded station there was a special train line hidden away, leading straight into the magical world? Wizards had always been right beside ordinary people, like two parallel lines sharing the same space and time, but never meeting.
On the platform, lots of children were saying goodbye to their parents, and some of the younger ones were already playing together.
Harry found an empty compartment. He hurriedly shoved the owl's cage in through the window, then dragged his heavy trunk toward the carriage door. It was so heavy. He tried several times and still couldn't heave it up onto the steps.
"Need a hand?" A red-haired boy stepped forward.
"Yes, please, thanks."
The red-haired boy turned and yelled to his twin, "Hey, Fred, come give us a hand!"
They were the Weasley twins, George and Fred. Besides them, there were two other red-haired Weasleys at Hogwarts this year: their older brother Percy Weasley, and their younger brother Ronald Weasley. There were seven children in the Weasley family altogether—six boys and one girl, the youngest.
After thanking the twins, Harry went to look for the young man from earlier. He found him not far away on the platform, talking to Percy Weasley.
"…So you're the fifth-year transfer student? Welcome to Hogwarts."
The young man's voice was polite and warm. "Then you must be Percy Weasley, Gryffindor prefect."
Harry walked up to them. The twins had followed Percy and now began introducing people all around.
"Percy, guess who he is."
"You'll definitely guess it."
"Because you're so clever—"
"—you know the heavens above—"
"—and the earth below…"
"All right, that's enough," Percy said.
Harry stared at the young man in silence, saying nothing, but his resentment scratched at him like a cat's claws.
The young man winked at him. "Ah, if it isn't our saviour, Harry Potter. Found yourself a seat yet? I don't have anywhere to sit. Mind sharing a compartment with me?"
"You're not any sort of gatekeeper, are you? You're the transfer student."
"Ahem. Harry, where I come from, testing first-years is a very important tradition. Do you know what that little story just taught us? Other people can point out the road for you, but the obstacles and brick walls along the way have to be smashed through by your own courage. Well? Don't you feel enlightened?"
Harry rolled his eyes.
The Weasley boys said goodbye to their mother and little sister. At eleven o'clock, the train pulled out of the station.
Harry and the young man shared a compartment. There was quite an age gap between them. Strictly speaking, the young man ought to be sitting with the other fifth-years, but as a transfer student he would be sitting in on first-year classes for a while after term started, so getting to know his younger schoolmates early wasn't such a bad idea.
The compartment door slid open and a redheaded Weasley poked his head in—the youngest boy. "Is anyone sitting here? Everywhere else is full."
There was plenty of room; at least four more people could have fit. Harry offered him the seat next to him.
The twins dropped by to say hello and introduced everyone in the compartment to one another.
"This is Ron—that's his nickname—our little brother. We're going to the middle carriage to see the tarantulas. See you later."
As soon as the door closed, Ron could no longer hold back his curiosity. He greeted Harry eagerly; the fame of the Boy Who Lived really was huge. Harry, in turn, was warm to any child his own age who didn't bully him. He even showed Ron the scar on his forehead—the mark left by Voldemort's Killing Curse.
The two boys chatted about this and that. The young man kept his head turned, gazing out at the view beyond the window. Once they left London behind, the scenery became the English countryside: plains and low hills covered in yellowing grass like a threadbare old carpet, cattle and sheep roaming the fields and pastures, ponds and lakes reflecting a dull, greyish light, flocks of wintering geese skimming across a clouded sky at the edge of the world.
Around half past twelve, the trolley witch pushed her cart past the compartments, calling out, and Harry sprang to his feet at once. He'd been starving for ages. When he came back, his arms were full of sweets and snacks. Ron Weasley stared, wide-eyed with envy, but with his family's tight finances all he could do was take out the sandwiches his mother had packed. As for the young man, he was still lost in thought at the window.
Harry was a generous child, even though the family that raised him had never once been generous to him, not for a single second. He loved to share, even though no one had ever shared anything with him before.
"Have a pie," Harry said to Ron. The red-haired boy's shyness was quickly overwhelmed by delight. He abandoned the sandwiches his mother had made (Mrs Weasley could never remember what Ron liked; she hadn't got it right this time either), and the two boys began picking through the sweets. Harry lifted a box of Chocolate Frogs toward the young man. "Sir, would you like one?"
The young man smiled, turned away from the window, and took it.
With his mouth full of cake, Ron mumbled, "What are you looking at? The scenery? Where did you go to school before this?"
The young man sighed. "Ah, you kids really don't know how lucky you are. You've no idea how hard it was when I was studying. It took me twenty-six days just to travel to my school. On the way we had to fight wild beasts and bandits, and the land itself was deadly. You could lose your life at any moment. And all you have to do is sit in a nice comfy train compartment and you're there in an afternoon."
"Sir, tell us about when you were at school," the two boys said, eyes shining.
"Well, all right—might as well use it to pass the time. The story starts in the Month of Midyear—that's what our calendar calls it; it's basically June—when Kliman, Faendal, Sven and I formed an adventuring party of four and officially set out on our long journey to school…"