They were standing in the middle of magic.
Platform 9¾ stretched around them like a fever dream made manifest, bathed in golden sunlight that filtered through billowing clouds of pearl-white steam. The scarlet Hogwarts Express gleamed like something pulled from a storybook—all polished brass fittings and rich burgundy paint that seemed to glow from within. Steam hissed from the engine in rhythmic puffs, creating shifting curtains of vapor that made everything shimmer like a mirage.
Owls hooted in wicker cages stacked on trolleys. Tabby cats darted between trunks and around legs with the kind of supernatural agility that suggested they knew exactly how important they were. Voices rose and fell in a symphony of a hundred different accents—children calling out hurried goodbyes, parents dispensing last-minute wisdom that would probably be forgotten by dinner, older students shouting about Quidditch tryouts and which electives were actually worth taking.
Harry Potter stood frozen in the middle of it all, his emerald eyes gone wide as saucers, reflecting steam and shimmer and the kind of wonder that only came from seeing something impossible made real. His breath caught somewhere in his chest and stayed there.
"Oh," he whispered, voice hushed with reverence, "it's perfect. It's absolutely perfect."
Peter Parker, for perhaps the first time in his chattering life, was struck completely speechless. His brown eyes darted frantically from the gleaming locomotive to the floating banners overhead (Gryffindor red and gold, Slytherin green and silver, all rippling in a breeze that didn't seem to exist anywhere else) to a levitating trunk that was currently on a collision course with a very distracted second-year.
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Whoa," he finally managed, which was possibly the most articulate Peter Parker had been since learning magic was real. "Just... whoa. This is—it's like—I mean, the engineering alone must be—"
"Peter," MJ interrupted without looking up from her sketchbook, which she'd already whipped out and was attacking with the kind of focused intensity usually reserved for final exams, "if you start calculating the physics of floating luggage right now, I'm shoving you onto the train myself."
Her copper-red hair caught the sunlight like fire as she scribbled furiously, trying to capture the impossible interplay of steam and light and motion. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, her pencil flying across the page. "Steam, light, movement—it's like the whole place is posing for a painting. Look at that framing! Look at how the architecture just—ugh, I need more pages."
"Pretty sure that's not how architecture works," Felicia Hardy said dryly, tilting her head with the kind of calculated grace that made it look like she was in her own personal photoshoot. Her platinum-blonde waves caught the steam like spun silver. "But I'll admit, Hogwarts knows how to make an entrance. Points for dramatic presentation."
"It's like a Norman Rockwell painting," Ned Leeds said, bouncing on his toes with excitement while Felix—his chameleon—squeaked from his shoulder and cycled through colors so rapidly he looked like a tiny disco ball. "But like, Norman Rockwell if he had a special effects budget and also magic was real."
"Better than Rockwell," Felicia shot back, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. "These kids aren't posing for some idealized American fantasy. They're about to live the real thing."
"Okay, but can we take a moment to appreciate the logistics here?" Gwen Stacy chimed in, already jotting notes in the margins of her ever-present journal. "Hundreds of students, their luggage, magical pets, and probably a few contraband items that would make customs agents cry—all loaded onto a single train in under an hour. No delays, no meltdowns, no lost children. The organizational efficiency is genuinely incredible."
Peter's eyes lit up like someone had just handed him a new puzzle to solve. "Wait, wait—do you think they use crowd-flow enchantments? Or is it charm-based time management? Because the variables involved—passenger volume, luggage weight distribution, the behavioral patterns of teenage wizards under stress—"
"Peter," MJ said without lifting her eyes from her sketchbook, her tone flat enough to level mountains, "don't you dare ruin this moment with science."
"Excuse me," Peter protested, his voice cracking with indignation, "science doesn't ruin moments. Science enhances moments. If anything, I'm improving this train station with knowledge and analytical thinking and—"
"You're enhancing it to death," Felicia interrupted sweetly, her smile all sharp edges and fake innocence.
"I am not enhancing anything to—"
"Yes, you are," the entire group said in unison.
"See?" Ned said cheerfully, Felix flashing agreement in bright green. "Democracy in action."
"That's not—that's not how democracy works," Peter sputtered.
"It is now," MJ said, still sketching. "I hereby declare this train station a Peter-science-free zone."
"You can't just declare—"
"I second the motion," Gwen said.
"Thirded," Felicia added.
"Motion carried," Ned announced solemnly.
Felix squeaked what sounded suspiciously like a tiny gavel bang.
Peter threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Fine, I'll just... I'll just stand here and appreciate the magic without thinking about how it works or why it's physically impossible or what kind of charms they must be using to—" He caught himself and pressed his lips together firmly.
"Good boy," MJ said approvingly.
Before Peter could launch into another protest, Aurora Sinclair swept forward through the crowd like she owned the very concept of drama. Her midnight-blue robes moved as though the steam itself parted respectfully to let her pass, and her silver-tipped cane tapped against the platform stones with the precise rhythm of a conductor preparing to cue an orchestra.
"Ah," she said, her voice carrying both warmth and the kind of ceremony that made even mundane moments feel historic, "another successful crossing. Welcome, my darlings, to the true beginning."
She spread her arms toward the scarlet locomotive as though she was unveiling it for the very first time, as though it hadn't been running this route for over a century.
"The Hogwarts Express."
Every single one of the kids went silent. Even Peter, miracle of miracles, managed to keep his mouth shut.
The train seemed to preen under the attention, steam puffing more enthusiastically, brass fittings gleaming brighter in the diffused sunlight. Somewhere in the distance, a whistle gave a preliminary toot, as if testing its voice before the real performance.
Harry's eyes were still wide, but now they held something deeper than wonder—they held longing, sharp and sweet and just a little painful. His friends were about to board that train. His friends were about to disappear into a world of magic and adventure and learning, and he would be left behind for two more years.
But he was proud of them. Desperately, fiercely proud.
Behind the group of teenagers, their parents had formed a protective semicircle, every single one of them caught between awe, bone-deep nerves, and the kind of pride that made chests tight and eyes bright.
Ben Parker adjusted his glasses—a nervous habit he'd passed down to his nephew—and stepped forward with the steady presence that had anchored the Parker family through everything life had thrown at them.
"You're ready for this," he said, his voice quiet but carrying enough certainty to convince even the doubters. "All of you. Six weeks of intensive magical training, months of theoretical study, and most importantly—" He gestured to the group of friends. "—you've got each other."
"Stick together," May Parker added, pointing a finger at the assembled teenagers with the kind of practiced maternal authority that could make grown men confess to crimes they hadn't committed. "Help each other. No unnecessary risks. And please—write home. Owls exist for a reason, and I refuse to believe that magical mail is somehow less reliable than the post office."
She paused, her expression growing more serious. "If I go three weeks without hearing from you, I will figure out how to get to that school, and nobody wants to deal with that level of embarrassment."
"Especially Peter," MJ muttered, not bothering to hide her smirk.
"Especially me," Peter admitted, his face already turning red at the mere thought. "Please, please write regularly. My reputation can't handle my aunt showing up to interrogate my teachers about my study habits."
"Your reputation assumes you had one to begin with," Felicia said innocently.
"I have a reputation!"
"Yeah," Ned said cheerfully, "for talking too much and nearly blowing up the chemistry lab that one time."
"That was one time! And it wasn't even that much smoke!"
"The fire department disagreed," Gwen pointed out.
"The fire department was being dramatic."
"Peter," Harry said gently, but with enough authority in his voice that everyone turned to look at him, "you're not going to blow anything up at Hogwarts."
"How can you be so sure?"
Harry's smile was soft but absolutely certain. "Because you're too excited to learn everything properly to risk getting expelled. You'll be the most careful student they've ever had."
Peter blinked, considered this, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay. That's... actually probably true."
"Definitely true," May said, reaching over to smooth down a stubborn cowlick in Peter's hair. "My nephew is many things, but careless with opportunities isn't one of them."
Meanwhile, Walter Hardy had stepped closer to his daughter, resting a firm hand on Felicia's shoulder. His expression held that particular mixture of pride and protectiveness that every parent wore when sending their child off into the unknown.
"Remember what we talked about," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a man who'd learned some hard lessons about talent and effort. "Skill is a gift, but it's not enough. Don't coast on natural ability. Work harder than you think you have to—that's what separates good from great, and great from legendary."
Felicia's usual smirk softened around the edges, though she tried to hide it. "Talent plus work ethic equals unstoppable force of nature. Yeah, Dad, I've got it memorized."
"I know you do," Walter said, and the pride in his voice could have lit up the entire platform. "Now go show them what a Hardy can do when she actually applies herself."
"Oh, I plan to," Felicia said, her grin sharpening back to its usual dangerous edge. "Hogwarts won't know what hit it."
A few feet away, Phillip Watson had already pulled out his ever-present notebook and was gesturing wildly at the Victorian architecture of the hidden platform.
"Look at this structural integration!" he said, his academic excitement making him practically vibrate with energy. "This isn't just a concealed platform—it's a living fusion of magical and mundane engineering principles! The load-bearing enchantments alone must be incredibly sophisticated, not to mention the crowd management systems, the temporal stability matrices—"
"Phillip," Madelyn Watson interrupted smoothly, reaching over to pluck the notebook from her husband's hands with the practiced ease of someone who'd been married to an academic for over a decade, "goodbyes now. Professional fascination later."
"But the implications for magical-mundane cooperation throughout history—"
"Later, honey."
"The potential research applications—"
"Later."
"But—"
Madelyn fixed him with a look that had ended many faculty meetings.
Phillip deflated slightly. "Later," he agreed meekly.
"Thank you." She turned to MJ, her expression warming considerably. "Sweetheart, I know you're going to do amazingly. Just remember—sketching is wonderful, but don't spend so much time documenting your experiences that you forget to actually live them."
MJ looked up from her sketchbook long enough to roll her eyes affectionately. "Mom, I've been living and documenting simultaneously for years. I'm basically a professional at this point."
"I know you are. That's what worries me."
George Stacy checked his watch with the kind of unconscious precision that came from decades of police work, his cop pragmatism kicking into high gear as he surveyed the controlled chaos of the platform.
"Right then," he said briskly. "Kids on the train, parents trying not to cry, magical creatures not escaping their cages. Let's keep this orderly and efficient."
"Or at least entertaining to watch," George Leeds muttered, his engineering brain still clearly buzzing with technical questions about steam engines that somehow incorporated built-in concealment charms. "I mean, seriously—scarlet locomotives with magical stealth capabilities? That's not just genius, that's art."
"Sweetheart," Helen Leeds said patiently, tugging on her husband's arm with the gentle firmness of someone redirecting an overly excited golden retriever, "our son is about to go to magic school. You can geek out about impossible trains later."
She turned to Ned, her expression melting into pure maternal warmth. "You're ready for this, honey. You've been preparing for months, you've got wonderful friends, and you're smart enough to handle whatever they throw at you."
She paused, giving Felix a stern look. "And Felix is not an excuse to skip homework or avoid studying. I don't care how helpful he is with color-coding your notes."
"Actually," Ned said with complete seriousness, "Felix prefers to be called an 'academic consultant' now. He thinks it sounds more professional."
Felix squeaked approvingly and flashed a dignified shade of navy blue.
"Academic consultant," Helen repeated slowly. "Right. Well, Mr. Academic Consultant, please make sure your human remembers to eat regular meals and get enough sleep."
Felix cycled through what looked suspiciously like a salute.
Aurora Sinclair clapped her hands once, the sound cutting cleanly through the ambient noise of the platform like a conductor's baton calling an orchestra to attention.
"Time, my lovelies," she announced, her voice carrying just the right mixture of warmth and authority. "Gather your courage, hug your parents, and step aboard. History is waiting, and it's terribly impatient."
The whistle blew—long and low and somehow warm, like the train itself was excited to be going home after a summer away. Steam billowed upward in shimmering curtains that caught the light and transformed the entire platform into something that belonged in a dream.
"All aboard!" the conductor barked from somewhere near the engine, his voice cutting through the chaos with the precision of someone who'd been herding magical teenagers onto trains for the better part of three decades. "All aboard the Hogwarts Express!"
The platform immediately erupted into organized pandemonium. Trunks rattled on trolleys as students grabbed handles and started pushing toward the scarlet carriages. Owls hooted indignantly at being jostled. Cats wove between legs like furry ninjas on some sort of covert mission. Parents pulled their children into fierce last-minute hugs while students bounced with the kind of manic energy that came from a summer of anticipation finally reaching its crescendo.
Peter Parker was practically vibrating with excitement.
"This is it!" he said, clutching his trunk handle like it might spontaneously develop a mind of its own and roll away. "We're actually doing this! We're actually going to Hogwarts! An actual castle! With moving staircases and talking portraits and ghosts and—oh my god, there are going to be ghosts! What do you even say to a ghost? 'Hey, how's the afterlife treating you?' That seems rude. Maybe—"
"Peter," MJ interrupted, already flipping her sketchbook back open because apparently the chaos of departure was too artistically compelling to ignore, "if you don't stop monologuing, you're going to hyperventilate before we even get on the train."
Her pencil was already moving across the page again, trying to capture the swirl of steam and color and motion. "This is better than the Met," she muttered. "Steam, architecture, emotional chaos—it's basically the Sistine Chapel of transportation hubs."
"Did you just compare a train station to the Sistine Chapel?" Gwen asked, looking up from her own notebook where she was frantically double-checking her pre-departure checklist.
"I compared a magical train station to the Sistine Chapel," MJ corrected. "There's a difference. Michelangelo never had to work with moving steam and floating luggage."
"Fair point."
Ned adjusted his glasses and beamed at the world in general, Felix cycling through what appeared to be celebratory rainbow patterns on his shoulder.
"We're going to learn everything!" Ned announced to anyone within hearing distance. "Spells and potions and defense against the dark arts and probably how to not get eaten by trolls or cursed by ancient artifacts or turned into something embarrassing by vindictive upperclassmen!"
He paused, his enthusiasm growing even brighter. "And then we come home for Christmas and teach Harry everything we've learned, so when it's his turn to go, he'll be way ahead of the curve! It's going to be brilliant!"
"That's the plan," Gwen said, ever the organized one, her neat handwriting already mapping out systematic knowledge transfer protocols in the margins of her checklist. "If we execute this properly, we'll be able to provide comprehensive educational preparation before Harry's third year even starts."
"Best plan ever," Felicia said, tossing her silver-blonde hair back with the kind of effortless grace that probably violated several laws of physics. "You get the full Hogwarts experience without any of the actual homework pressure. Tell me that's not the absolute dream scenario, Harry."
Harry Potter stood just behind the group with his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets, but his posture was alert and his smile was warm and magnetic in that way that made him seem both older and more grounded than his friends.
His emerald eyes moved from one of them to the other, taking in Peter's manic excitement, MJ's artistic focus, Ned's cheerful confidence, Gwen's methodical preparation, and Felicia's sharp-edged anticipation. Pride and longing wove together in his expression like two melodies in harmony.
"Sounds like I'm going to have the best unofficial tutoring staff in magical education history," he said, his voice carrying that particular blend of calm authority and genuine warmth that made everyone around him want to live up to his expectations. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little jealous. You guys get to see it all first."
"Dude," Peter said, suddenly spinning around to point at Harry with the kind of intense sincerity that made his friends both love him and worry about his blood pressure, "we are absolutely going to write to you about everything. Like, every single class, every teacher, every weird magical thing that happens, every secret passage we find—"
"Daily reports," Ned added solemnly, Felix flashing agreement in bright emerald green. "Possibly hourly if Felix figures out how to train an owl for high-frequency mail delivery."
"Yeah," MJ said without looking up from her latest sketch, her tone deliberately casual, "prepare yourself for so many pages of Hogwarts gossip and magical documentation that you won't even have time to miss us."
"Speak for yourself," Gwen said with a teasing smile. "Harry's definitely going to miss us. He's just better at hiding it than Peter is."
"I don't hide my feelings!" Peter protested. "I'm very emotionally available and expressive!"
"You cried when we finished the last Star Wars movie," Felicia pointed out.
"That was a very emotional moment! The redemption arc alone—"
"You cried during the opening credits," MJ said dryly.
"The music is very moving!"
Harry chuckled, shaking his head with fond exasperation. "Maybe I'll miss you guys a little," he admitted. "But mostly, I'm proud of you. You're going to absolutely crush this. And by the time it's my turn, I'll be ready because you'll have blazed the trail."
"Crush it?" Felicia repeated, her tone mock-offended as she placed a hand dramatically over her heart. "Please. We're not going to crush anything. We're going to dominate. By Christmas break, Hogwarts won't even know what hit it."
"Just..." Harry's voice took on that gentle warning tone that somehow carried more authority than most adults managed with shouting, "don't dominate your way into getting expelled before then, okay? I'd hate to have to visit you guys in whatever the magical equivalent of detention center is."
"Expelled?" Peter squeaked, his eyes going wide with horror. "Us? No way! I mean... probably no way. Right, guys?" He looked around at his friends with sudden uncertainty. "Right?"
"Define 'probably,'" MJ muttered, adding shading to what appeared to be a sketch of the train's ornate door handles.
"That's not reassuring!"
"It's not supposed to be reassuring," Gwen said reasonably. "It's supposed to be realistic. We're about to attend a school where the staircases move, the paintings talk back, and there's apparently an entire forest full of things that would like to eat us. Some level of chaos is statistically inevitable."
"Chaos is not the same as expulsion!" Peter said desperately.
"No," Felicia agreed with a wicked grin, "chaos is much more fun."
"That's even less reassuring!"
"Look," Ned said patiently, "we've been preparing for this for months. We know the basic rules, we understand the importance of not antagonizing the faculty, and Felix has been practicing his 'I'm just a normal chameleon, definitely not recording any rule violations' face."
Felix immediately demonstrated said face, which mostly involved looking innocent while very slowly turning the exact color of Ned's shoulder.
"See? Perfectly law-abiding academic consultant."
The final whistle blew, louder and more insistent this time, cutting through their banter like a sword through silk. All around them, the platform surged into motion as parents squeezed in final hugs and students began the great migration toward the gleaming red carriages.
"Time to go," Gwen said, closing her notebook with a decisive snap and hoisting her trunk with the kind of efficient movement that spoke of careful planning and possibly obsessive list-making.
"Time to make history," Felicia corrected, her grin sharp enough to cut diamonds as she grabbed her own luggage with one hand and flipped her hair with the other.
"Time to try not to embarrass ourselves on the very first day," Ned added pragmatically, though Felix was cycling through what were definitely celebratory colors.
"Time to stop talking and actually get on the train before it leaves without us," MJ said, tucking her sketchbook under her arm and giving the group a look that suggested she was fully prepared to physically drag them all aboard if necessary.
"Right!" Peter said, snapping into motion with the kind of manic energy that suggested he'd been wound up like a spring and finally released. "Train! Hogwarts! Adventure! Let's go!"
But before the group could surge toward the scarlet carriages, each of them turned back to Harry for one final moment.
Peter reached him first, throwing his arms around his friend in the kind of fierce, unself-conscious hug that spoke louder than any words. It lasted just long enough to be meaningful without becoming awkward, and when they broke apart, Peter's eyes were bright with excitement and just a hint of tears he'd never admit to.
"Two years," Peter said firmly. "Two years, and then you'll be right there with us."
"Two years," Harry agreed, his smile warm and certain. "I'll be ready."
MJ stepped forward next, closing her sketchbook and fixing Harry with a look that was equal parts affection and artistic assessment.
"Try not to have too many adventures while we're gone," she said dryly. "I need to be there to document your heroic moments properly. The composition alone—"
"I'll try to keep the heroics to a minimum," Harry promised solemnly.
"Liar," MJ said, but she was smiling as she said it.
Gwen gave him a quick, efficient hug that was somehow both brief and deeply warm. "We'll write," she said simply. "A lot. Probably too much."
"I'm counting on it."
Ned bounced forward, Felix flashing farewell colors from his shoulder. "This is going to be so cool," he said earnestly. "I mean, we're all going to learn magic together, just... not at exactly the same time. But still together! Temporally displaced togetherness!"
"Temporally displaced togetherness," Harry repeated, grinning. "I like that."
Felicia was last, and she approached with that particular brand of casual elegance that made everything look like a carefully choreographed dance.
"Don't do anything too interesting without us," she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. "Save some of the good adventures for when we get back."
"Deal," Harry said. "Though I can't promise the adventures will wait that long."
"They never do," Felicia agreed. "That's what makes them adventures."
With final waves and shouted promises to write daily (or hourly, if Felix's mail-delivery experiments proved successful), the group turned and joined the stream of students heading toward the train.
Harry stayed rooted on the platform, surrounded by the parents and Aurora Sinclair, watching as his friends climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express. He could see them through the windows—Peter gesturing wildly at something inside their compartment, MJ already sketching again, Ned and Felix examining what appeared to be some sort of magical creature care pamphlet, Gwen organizing their luggage with military precision, and Felicia lounging with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she'd been riding magical trains her entire life.
The whistle blew one final time, long and melodious and somehow bittersweet. Steam billowed up in great white clouds as the scarlet engine began to move, slowly at first, then with gathering momentum.
Harry raised his hand in a wave as the train pulled away, carrying his friends toward adventure and magic and the kind of education he could only dream about. His smile never wavered, but his eyes held that complicated mixture of pride and longing that came from watching the people you cared about step into a world where you couldn't follow.
Not yet.
But someday—someday soon—that would be his train. His adventure. His turn to step into the impossible and make it real.
For now, though, he was content to watch the Hogwarts Express disappear into the distance, carrying his friends toward the future they'd all been dreaming of.
The future where magic was real, where friendship meant everything, and where the impossible was just another word for Tuesday.
*Two years, Harry thought as the last wisp of steam faded into the afternoon sky. Just two more years.*
He could wait that long.
Probably.
—
The Hogwarts Express was already picking up speed, its scarlet form cutting through the billowing steam like something out of a fairy tale, when Harry spotted them—a chaotic cluster of red hair and frantic energy racing across Platform 9¾ like their lives depended on catching that train.
"Move, move, MOVE!" bellowed the oldest boy, who looked to be around seventeen with the kind of broad shoulders and confident stride that screamed Quidditch captain. His Prefect badge caught the light as he sprinted, one hand gripping his trunk handle, the other gesturing frantically at his younger brothers to keep up.
Behind him, three boys who could only be described as varying degrees of controlled panic were doing their best impression of an organized retreat from a burning building. The middle one—maybe thirteen or fourteen—was struggling with a trunk that seemed determined to tip sideways every few steps, his glasses sliding down his nose as he tried to maintain both speed and dignity. The two bringing up the rear were clearly twins, maybe eleven or twelve, and despite the urgency of the situation, they were grinning like this was the best entertainment they'd had all summer.
"Charlie!" one of the twins called out, not sounding remotely concerned about missing the train. "D'you reckon we could make it if we launched ourselves off the platform edge? I bet with the right trajectory—"
"Fred, this is not the time for experimental aerodynamics!" the middle boy shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with stress and what sounded like genuine terror at the thought of being left behind.
"Actually, Percy," the other twin chimed in cheerfully, "if we consider the velocity of the train versus our current running speed, plus account for magical momentum enhancement—"
"George, I swear on Merlin's beard, if you two turn this into one of your projects—"
"Less talking, more running!" Charlie barked over his shoulder, but Harry could hear the laughter threaded through his voice. This was clearly not the first time the family had cut it close with departure times.
The train whistle gave another long, warning toot, as if the Hogwarts Express itself was saying *hurry up, Weasleys, we've got a schedule to keep.*
Harry found himself stepping forward without quite meaning to, his natural instinct to help overriding the fact that he was supposed to be a civilian observer. Aurora Sinclair noticed his movement and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"They'll make it," she said quietly, her voice warm with the kind of fond exasperation that suggested she'd watched this exact scene play out multiple times before. "The Weasleys always make it. Molly would have their heads if they missed the train after all the rushing around she put them through this morning."
"Are they always like this?" Harry asked, fascinated despite himself by the organized chaos unfolding in front of them.
"Every year," Aurora confirmed with a smile. "Arthur gets distracted by some fascinating piece of Muggle technology, Molly spends twenty minutes making sure everyone has packed enough socks and proper winter cloaks, the twins inevitably 'test' something that requires emergency cleaning charms, and they arrive with approximately thirty seconds to spare. It's tradition at this point."
The red-haired family had reached the train now, and Charlie—that had to be Charlie—was hauling open the nearest compartment door with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this dance before.
"Percy, up!" he commanded, practically lifting his younger brother and his stubborn trunk into the carriage in one smooth motion.
"Charlie, this is completely undignified," Percy protested even as he scrambled aboard. "We look like absolute—"
"We look like Weasleys," Charlie interrupted with a grin, tossing Percy's trunk up after him. "Which means we look like people who know how to make an entrance. Fred, George—you're next!"
The twins exchanged one of their patented looks—the kind of wordless communication that had probably been striking terror into the hearts of authority figures for eleven years—then grabbed the sides of the open door and hauled themselves aboard with the kind of acrobatic grace that suggested they'd been practicing dramatic train boardings for fun.
"Showoffs," Charlie muttered, but he was still smiling as he tossed their trunks up after them. The train was moving faster now, steam billowing in great white clouds, and he had to jog alongside the compartment to keep pace.
"Charlie!" Percy's face appeared in the window, looking genuinely panicked now. "Charlie, hurry up!"
For just a moment, Harry thought the older boy might not make it. The train was picking up speed, the platform was running out, and Charlie was having to sprint full-out just to keep up with the open door.
Then—in a move that would have made his Quidditch teammates proud—Charlie leaped.
He caught the doorframe with both hands, his feet swinging clear of the platform for one heart-stopping second, before his brothers hauled him bodily into the compartment. The door slammed shut just as the Hogwarts Express rounded the curve and began to disappear into the distance.
A cheer went up from the remaining families on the platform—apparently the Weasley Last-Minute Train Catch was a beloved annual tradition that everyone looked forward to witnessing.
"Every single year," Aurora said again, shaking her head with fond amusement. "Molly's going to have gray hair before Ron and Ginny are old enough for school."
Harry watched the last wisp of steam fade into the afternoon sky, his mind still processing what he'd just witnessed. There had been something about that family—the easy way they'd worked together despite the chaos, the laughter threaded through the panic, the absolute certainty that they'd look out for each other no matter what—that made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn't quite name.
"They seem..." Harry paused, searching for the right word. "Close."
"The Weasleys?" Aurora's smile softened. "Oh, they're more than close, dear one. They're each other's anchors. Arthur and Molly raised those children to believe that family isn't just about blood—it's about choosing to stand together, choosing to catch each other when someone's falling, choosing to make sure nobody gets left behind."
She glanced down at Harry with eyes that seemed to see more than they should. "Rather like what you and your friends have built together, wouldn't you say?"
Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he didn't look away. "Maybe."
"Definitely," Aurora corrected gently. "The way you stood there watching them leave, the way you stepped forward when you thought that family might need help—that's what people do when they've learned what love really means. When they've learned that sometimes the most important thing you can do is be the steady presence that others can rely on."
The platform was beginning to empty now as families started making their way back toward the barrier and the regular world beyond. Parents walked with the slightly shell-shocked expressions of people who'd just sent their children off into the unknown. Students who hadn't quite made it onto the train stood around looking lost and slightly panicked.
But Harry just stood there, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, watching the place where the Hogwarts Express had disappeared into the distance.
Two years suddenly felt like both an eternity and no time at all.
"Professor Sinclair?" he said quietly.
"Yes, dear one?"
"Do you think..." Harry hesitated, then pushed forward with the kind of quiet determination that had been his trademark since childhood. "Do you think I'll be ready? When it's my turn?"
Aurora studied him for a long moment—this boy who'd spent his morning watching his friends step into adventure without him, who'd instinctively moved to help strangers, who carried himself with the kind of quiet strength that most people took years to develop.
"Harry Potter," she said finally, her voice warm with certainty, "I think Hogwarts is going to be very lucky to have you. And I think your friends are going to come home at Christmas with stories that will make you want to be there even more than you already do."
She paused, then added with a mischievous smile, "Though if I were you, I'd start preparing for some very interesting letters. Something tells me your friends are going to give you quite the education in magical chaos before you ever set foot in the castle."
Harry grinned, his earlier melancholy lifting like morning fog. "I'm counting on it."
---
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