Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1: Hog—WHAT!

I exhaled slowly, blowing a loose piece of clinging, wet, brown hair away from my lips. The rain pounded my back mercilessly, soaking my scant belongings (not to mention myself) to the core. My thin plastic poncho beat my arms and face in the wind, leaving my skin stinging and burning. The weather did nothing to ease my nerves. I'll admit I was scared—no, _terrified_. It was bad enough that I was alone. It was bad enough that no one believed me; that everyone thought that I was caught up in some hoax. My parents called me immature, my friends called me crazy. It was four years ago that I received the first letter. It had been an invitation of sorts—a letter in the mail. The fact that it was from a place that no one had ever heard of in far-off Europe made it even stranger. My family had laughed. My father commented on how poorly of a job the pranksters had done at pretending that this place was a real school.

"_Hogwarts_?" He had chortled, "I'm definitely convinced to come now! The school must be named after a local pork dish." He then studied the letter carefully, turning it over in his hands. "Hmm, what I don't understand is why someone would go to all the trouble just for a prank. This is handwritten! Haha! They really put a lot of work into this." He chuckled. "_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore. I'm sure you'll find that one at the local Border's."

"It says I've been accepted…" I mumbled. My mother stared at me sympathetically. By the look her face you could have guessed that she was explaining to a four-year-old kid that Santa Claus wasn't real.

"Uh, you do know that this place isn't real, don't you? I mean, come on honey, you know that this is just a joke, right? _It's not real_."

I was eleven years old then. I've heard those same words almost every day for the last three years. _It's not real_. I have become deaf to them. I don't know how or why, but ever since I can remember, I've always felt that there's something more out there. Something other than what everyone else is content to see every day. I needed something more. I still have that first letter—I've kept it hidden. The words have been stamped into my brain; I can recite them perfectly. It was that fateful day, when the letter was found on my doorstep, that changed my life forever. I was more alert from then on, always looking for signs of something…**_else_**. I didn't know what I was looking for. Neither did anyone else. My parents grew worried that this letter had put bad ideas into my head, or that I was unstable because I was at what they deemed to be a "rebellious age." I think the whole time I was just looking for a sign; something to say, "It's there. You're not crazy, and you're not too gullible; there's something out there." So I saved my money for a ticket to London. Every year, in about July, an almost exact copy of the letter from this "Hogwarts" came. Sometimes more than one letter would come, right up until September first. The only difference between each years' letter was the supplies list. The letters were a bit strange though, at least in the way that they appeared (other than the fact that they talked about magical schools on separate continents). The letters would never appear in our mailbox or any other place you would expect to find a letter. They would always be slipped under the front door, or on the doorstep—sometimes even wedged in or underneath windows! The fourth letter had arrived a couple weeks ago. My father shook his head when he found it on the doorstep.

"This Minerva McGonagall is a very determined woman! Those pranksters obviously don't know when to stop—it's pathetic really, that they take the time to send a letter each year, changing the stupid list…" I heard him mutter through my open window.

I had been waiting for the letter to come this year. I've always waited in past years, but this year was different. It was the final confirmation for me. I had more than enough money for a plane ticket to London, and I guessed that there would be enough left over to buy my supplies for this year. This letter was the final push for me to go for it—I was going to go see what this "Hogwarts" place was all about. If it were real, I only hoped it wouldn't be a problem if I were missing the supplies and education from the past four years. If it really was 'magical' they would probably be able to put some kind of hat on my head that would teach me everything, right? Of course, if and when I did get to London, I had absolutely no idea whatsoever _where_ I would end up buying these magical items—even the Internet (where I had always assumed you could buy anything you ever wanted) had no hints where to buy a wand or witches' robes. The closest I'd come to was Hilda's Horrible Halloween costume stores. Still, no matter what, I felt that it was time to sort all of this out. Something in the back of my mind told me it was the right thing to do.

Another blast of wind pelted me with icy daggers of rain. The thin poncho I wore caused me more pain than protection; the rain had found its way through a long time ago. As I slowly walked inside the train station, the shelter from the rain bathed me in warmth like a wool blanket. I felt the stares of many and heard murmurs from all around. I caught bits and pieces.

"All by herself, and so young!"

"Soaked to the skin, poor dear…"

"Such 'orrible weather outside, eh? She looks freezing."

I had never been on a train before and was at a loss for what to do. It was pure luck that I had gotten this far. After watching me circle the airport inside and out several times, a kind man had asked me if I needed a ride. He generously drove me all the way to King's Cross Station in the dreadful weather. Unfortunately, he had dropped me off in the parking lot of the station, and I had to not only walk through the stinging rain, but I also had to figure out for myself how to find the train I was supposed to be on.

I pulled out the now damp and runny ticket that had been enclosed in the most recent Hogwarts letter. "King's Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, 11 o'clock, September the first…" I muttered to myself. Glancing around the station nervously, I noticed a clock on the wall. It was already 10:45! Quickening my pace, I hurried towards some numbered signs I saw in the distance. Each one stood by an odd structure, which I assumed was a platform. _Hmm_, I thought to myself, _there's eight, nine, ten_…_Wait! Where's nine and three-quarters_!

I heard a small cough behind me. Turning around, I saw a uniformed man who looked to be in his twenties standing behind me. Still terrified and wondering what on earth I was doing in England at all, I barely managed to squeak.

"Y-y-yes?" I stuttered.

"Can I assist you at all?" He asked, smiling a little.

"I-I-if you don't mind," I said, my teeth still chattering from the cold, "I'm looking for a platform nine and three-quarters. You see, I've never been on a train before—actually I've never even been to England, I mean—"

"Wait, stop!" he interrupted, "_What_ platform did you say you were looking for?"

"Um…" I pulled out my ticket again and squinted at the running ink. "Nine and three-quarters." The man cleared his throat loudly and sighed in exasperation.

"Miss, I am terribly sorry that you are soaking and freezing, and it is perfectly understandable for you to seek shelter from the cold in here, but I am afraid that making a fake ticket and searching for nonexistent platforms and trains, not to mention asking for my help, **that **is going a little bit too far." His voice was now cold and lacked the kindness it had been full of seconds earlier.

"But, sir," I protested, "I didn't make this up! I'm serious, I have to be on the Hogwarts Express by eleven, or I'll be left behind! _Please_, I need your help…" I was panicking now. If I didn't find the train, I would be stuck here. I had realized on the plane that I had only a one-way ticket to London. If Hogwarts did fail to exist, not only would I face eternal wrath from my parents, humiliation from my siblings and friends, but I would also be stuck here—where! the train station? the **streets**!—for days until I found a way to contact my parents.

He responded coldly again, this time not even bothering to hide his impatience. "Look, I don't have time for this. Now either go find the right train, or I'm going to have to ask you to leave. If your train is delayed, you can stay here until it shows up, but if you are here just to mess around, you're going to have to find somewhere else."

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped in surprise, almost knocking over my only rolling suitcase. "She's with me, I'm sorry for the trouble. She's really tired and jet-lagged. Thank you," A female voice not much older than my own said.

"All right then! Good day to you both," responded the man, "I suppose I'll be off now."

"Um…Th-thank you," I said, turning around. My eyes met the face of a kind-looking girl who appeared to be about 16 years of age. She was taller than me and had a British accent. Her hair was frizzy and brown, not much unlike my own, except that hers was several shades lighter. Behind her, she had a large trunk and a cage with an orange cat inside. She looked me over and smiled.

"It was no problem. Actually, I've been waiting for you! I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner; I didn't see you at first in the crowd."

"It's all right," I responded, still a little shaken and very confused as to what was happening. "But, how did you know I was coming? Who are you? **Why** were you waiting for me? Do you know how to get onto platform—"

"Wait, slow down!" She laughed, "We'll get there. Let's start with the basics. My name is Hermione Granger, I'm 16 years old, and I'm a—" She lowered her voice. "I'm a witch too. Professor Dumbledore has sent me here—he's the Headmaster at Hogwarts, of course—**_what's wrong_**!"

My eyes had grown unhealthily wide. My mouth was open. My face was drained of all blood and color. My breath was ragged; my whole body was shaking. Hermione's eyebrows drew together and a look of worry washed over her face.

"Hey! What's wrong? HEY! Are you all right!" Hermione was panicky now. "Hey! SAY SOMETHING!"

"H…Hog…Hogwarts…is…real?" I breathed after a few minutes. There is no word in the English language to describe my utter relief and astonishment. Stunned wouldn't cover it; neither would abashed, aghast, alarmed, astonished, any of the above, _or_ below. I felt tears well up. My eyes burned. _Why the heck am I crying about this?_ I asked myself, _I don't even know what it is. I don't know what I'm doing here, or even where I'm going. I don't know this girl, and already I feel more attached to her than the closest sibling I could ever have. Why does this feel so, so…**right**? What's happening to me?_

Hermione slowly smiled and put an arm around my shoulders. "Yes," she whispered, "It's real. It's all there." She choked up a little bit. "It's the most amazing place you could ever go to in your life. I know that you're going to love it there. Just right on the other side of that wall," she pointed in between platforms nine and ten, "Lies the Hogwarts Express. You'll soon find it to be the place where you feel more at home than in your own bed, and you'll find it better than anything you could ever had possibly dreamed of."

"Right on the other side of that wall…" I whispered. I felt behind me for the handle of my suitcase, felt beside me for Hermione's hand, and took the first step towards a simple train ride that would change my life forever.


	2. Chapter 2: On the Way to Hogwarts

Hermione clasped my hand tightly and led me to the wall right in between platforms 9 and 10. "Now then," she whispered to me, "Getting on to Platform 9 and three-quarters isn't as tricky as it might sound. All we do is wait for a crowd of people coming by that will cover us from view. There! You see them?" She gestured towards to a large group of oncoming tourists. "When they pass behind us, I want you to start walking as fast as you can _right _in between the platforms."

I was still shaking as it dawned on me that I would **really **be going to. . .to _Hogwarts_. "Right into the WALL!" I blurted. Hermione was taken aback at the sudden loud outburst.

"Well…yes. If you're really nervous, just do it at a bit of a run," she advised.

I objected immediately, already imagining a smarting head after running head-on into a brick wall. "Are you joking? I'll crash!" Hermione sighed, slightly exasperated.

"If you want to progress in the wizarding world, you're going to have to get used to some things that are going to cause your every being to scream out in rejection. Running straight into a brick wall is the least of it. You're going to have to trust me!" Hermione said, sounding irritated.

"But—" I bit my tongue. _I'm going to have to get used to this_,_ and the earlier the better. I trust Hermione, and I'm going to have to learn to believe whatever she tells me. I can do this! _ "All right. I'll do it," I said, my voice sounding so doubtful that I wouldn't have been able to convince the wall itself that I was about to run as fast as I was able right into it. Hermione smiled.

"Don't worry about it, you're going to be just fine." She let go of my hand suddenly and pointed to the quickly approaching group of tourists. "Ready?" she asked, not nervous at all, "I'll count to three and then we'll go for it! All right. One, two, THREE! GO!"

My legs took off before I realized what I was doing—_fast_. Too fast! The wall was approaching much more quickly than I would have liked; it became a red blur as my eyes began to water from wind, fear, and a storm of built-up emotions all trying to get out at once. I squinted my eyes shut, preparing for a terrible crash. Hermione's hand tightened in mine. I screwed my face up, wondering whether train stations kept first aid kits or not, and if there would be a medically able person to nurse the wounds the rough bricks would inflict on my poor, wind-chafed skin. I saw headlines flash in my mind of "The Girl Who Died." I'd never imagined myself murdered, especially not by a brick wall. I wondered just how stupid I was to be doing this— the buzz of the crowd of tourists behind me filled my ears. I tensed up and held my breath. It was here! My eyes throbbed from being squeezed so tightly. I felt it! I felt the bricks—-! I felt the bricks pass…_through _my skin. My eyelids shot back up. Hermione was slowing down now, we were——where _**were** _we? I turned my head back and saw the horrible brick wall I had so feared seconds ago…_behind _me. The noisy crowd was gone. I stopped so suddenly that my rolling suitcase kept going without me. Hermione turned around and shot me a questioning glance. She stopped and smiled again. "I forgot for a second that you've never done this before! So, what do you think of the Hogwarts Express?"

I gaped. I gasped. As I brought my eyes back into focus, I realized I was staring at a magnificent bright red train, _Hogwarts Express _painted in gold lettering across the side. About 30 feet away, children from what I guessed to be ages 10 to 18 or 19 were piling on. My mouth fell open, literally. Hermione started giggling, not unkindly. "Wow, I've seen quite a few Muggle-born first timers, but I can't say I've seen a reaction like this before," she laughed. I realized that many of the students passing me by were staring at me skeptically. My cheeks burned scarlet with humiliation. Some of the students snickered, others murmured to their friends, all the while keeping their eyes on **me**. I looked down and stood next to Hermione. "It's all right, don't worry," she murmured so only I could hear. "They'll forget about it the minute they take their eyes off you. Now then, let's see about getting actually _on _the train, how does that sound?"

I nodded mutely, still embarrassed beyond words. Bending over to pick up my fallen suitcase, I spotted some people approaching. Hoping they were no more than passers-by and trying to be inconspicuous, I took much longer than necessary to pick up the handle. Glancing upward, I saw that there were three students approaching. There were two boys and one girl; the boys looked to be Hermione's age, the girl only slightly younger. The taller boy and the girl both had flaming red hair and freckles—-they had to be brother and sister. The other boy had shaggy jet-black hair and glasses. On his forehead was some sort of mark that was too far away to make out; it was also partially obscured by his dark bangs. I suddenly realized that Hermione had stopped preparing to leave and, to my great dismay, I realized that the trio was coming our way. I felt a tight knot form in my stomach and my hands trembled with nervousness. I tried to fix my hair quickly with my fingers and straightened my back.

"'Ello Hermione, who's this?" the red-haired boy asked. The other girl and boy smiled at me kindly. I blushed and immediately lowered my eyes. I fixed my gaze on a pebble near my feet and stood rigid.

"Ron! Harry! Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, "I was hoping you'd get here soon! This is the girl I was telling you about that Professor Dumbledore assigned me to guide." Hermione turned to me expectantly. "Go on, introduce yourself!" I looked at her and paled. "It's all right, they don't bite!"

"Normally, that is," the red-haired boy remarked. I twitched.

"Ron, be nice! Can't you see how nervous she is already!" Hermione scolded.

"Blimey, you're grumpy, it was just a joke!" Ron retorted. Hermione sighed, clearly exasperated, then turned to me again. "Go on, then."

"Um…" I mumbled, my voice barely audible. "I-I'm—" I turned to Hermione for help. I was too nervous. I couldn't do it! "I'm too scared!" I squeaked, hoping only she would hear me. Harry, Ron, and Ginny laughed, not unkindly.

"Well, Too Scared, I must say it's quite a pleasure to meet you!" Harry said good-naturedly. "Unfortunately, we don't have as much time as I know **I'd **like to introduce ourselves, because I believe if we want to go to Hogwarts this year, we're going to have to get on the train right now!"

Hermione gasped and threw her wrist up underneath her nose, squinting at her watch in horror. "Oh my—!" She started, "You're right, Harry! This is terrible! I've never been so behind before. Come on, we have to go NOW!" Hermione grabbed my shoulder and ushered me towards the train door. She steered me inside and I got my first glimpse of a train. The long hallway had doors on either side. From an open sliding door I saw seats were inside the little rooms. Hermione whispered in my ear. "Let's look for an empty compartment so we can all sit together."

"C-compartment?" I stuttered. "What's that?"

"Oh! I'd forgotten you've never been on a train! The little rooms are called compartments." She explained.

"Oh." I replied, feeling stupid. "Um… I think I see one back there!" I started off towards it and collapsed into a seat as soon as I got there, audibly sighing in utter relief. The first part was over. I hoped this would be the hardest, because if it got any tougher, my nerves might have **burst **from stress and tension. Hermione sat down next to me and Harry and Ron sat across from us, Harry on my side and Ron across from Hermione.

"Ginny went to go sit with Dean," Harry mumbled, sounding slightly disappointed. "But," he said, brightening up, "We still have your friend, Hermione!" He turned to me and I felt my face flush slightly. His next words were directly to me. "So, now that we have time for proper introductions, let's get to know each other! I'll start. My name is—" Suddenly, the compartment door was thrown back explosively. In the doorway stood a boy who looked to be about Ginny's age.

"HARRY POTTER!" he yelled. It took all of my will to keep myself from clapping my hands to my ears.

"Who's Harry Potter?" I asked, confused. I realized he was talking about Hermione's friend Harry the minute I said it. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to correct myself.

"**_WHO—IS—HARRY—POTTER?_**" The boy boomed at me, his face inches from my own. His astonishment and anger were evident. I felt the compartment doors shake. His eyes went sickeningly wide. His jaw was hanging open in utter astonishment. Then his red face swayed slightly, and his eyes rolled back into his head. His knees began to give way, and he fell to the ground in a dead faint. At least, we all _thought _it had been a dead faint. Just as Hermione gasped and lunged over him, yanking her wand out on the way, the boy's eyes shot open and he was suddenly back on his feet again, as if he had risen from the dead. His faced was so deathly pale he really _could _have passed off as a zombie…

"**WHO IS HARRY POTTER!**" He screamed at my face, spraying me with smelly spit, and ran out of the compartment, sprinting up and down the halls. He wailed like a dying banshee at midnight. Ron and Hermione ran after him. I was dumbfounded and barely registering what was happening. He was running much faster than you would have guessed he ever could, judging by his size, up and down and up and down, causing such a racket that the windows rattled dangerously. Every single compartment door on the train opened; both very confused and very annoyed Hogwarts students shooting looks from the strange boy and back to those in my compartment. I immediately shrank back from the doorway, mortified. I supposed by now that knowing who Harry Potter was, was, well, a pretty big thing. It was as if I had just asked the boy what color the sky was today.

"**_WHO _**is Harry Potter!" He ranted. "Who **_IS _**Harry Potter?" He yelled, growing progressively louder with each exclamation. "Who is **_HARRY _**Potter!" He was screeching now in between each sentence. "WHO IS HARRY **_POTTER_**!"

Harry (by now I had figured out this was his name) brushed his fingertips across his bangs, revealing the jagged edge of his scar. "That's a good question," he muttered, "Who _is _Harry Potter?"


End file.

Harry Potter