Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfood and Prongs present...

Chapter 1: The Hogwarts Express

Heavy raindrops splattered on the pavement, leaving deep puddles that reflected the cloudy sky. James Potter stared at the pedestrians, hurrying down the street, in fascination, while his parents tried to heave a heavy trunk out of their old Ford's boot. They all looked rather grumpy, he thought, chewing his neon pink bubble gum. Then again, their sour expressions could be due to the rain that had poured down day and night and slowly turned the streets of London into small streams.

Coats wrapped tightly around their bodies, they hurried past the little group of three, impervious to their oddness. Had they taken a closer look, they would have noticed that the rain drops seemed to change their course whenever they got close to the Potters. But they did not look, and so they did not wonder about the huge trunk, the large, tawny owl that slept inside its cage or the Potters' completely dry robes. These cloaks, too, were very peculiar, indeed. Mr Fleamont Potter, a tall, slender man with pitch black hair that was already interspersed with grey streaks, was clad in a long bottle-green cloak that floated around his body in a cheerful breeze. His wife, Euphemia, bore a brand-new pointed hat that muttered silent complaints about the weather and had the odd habit of shifting slightly whenever a rain drop threatened to penetrate the bubble surrounding them.

Only James, eleven years of age, could have passed as a normal boy had it not been for his unruly, ink-black hair. No matter how hard Mrs Potter tried to tame her son's hair, it resisted her, standing off James's head in wild chaos. Truthfully, he didn't mind looking slightly rebellious even though he was careful not to tell his mother.

"James, dear. Please help your father with your trunk," Euphemia called. Grinning, he walked over to where his father stood. Together they heaved the trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station. It was James who spotted the barrier between platforms nine and ten first.
"Mum, dad. Look! There it is!" he said excitedly, pointing at the large plastic numbers nine and ten. His father put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.
"Together?"

James nodded and waited until a group of Muggles had passed before starting to push the trolley towards the apparently solid brick wall. After a few steps, they broke into a run. They drew nearer and nearer, quickening their steps until their feet moved on their own accord. James closed his eyes, holding his breath, and when he opened them again, he faced a scarlet red steam engine.

"Welcome to Platform 9¾," said Euphemia who had appeared directly behind them. Beaming, James let his gaze wander over the platform that was crammed with wizards and witches of all ages. The air was filled with laughter, the voices of cheerfully chatting people and the loud hooting noises of owls that were flapping their wings in large iron cages. Cats hissed with bustled fur, baring their slender, sharp fangs at each other and James spotted a small girl who tried to catch the smoke that was drifting over the platform with her bare hands. She shrieked and clapped her hands enthusiastically when her mother flicked her wand and the smoke turned bright yellow.

"Come on. Let's go find you a compartment," his mother said, jerking her head at the waiting Hogwarts Express. After having stowed away his trunk, cage and rucksack, James climbed out of the train again to say goodbye.

"And you're sure that you have everything, darling?" his mother asked, trying to smooth his messy hair with her hands. He rolled his eyes.
"Of course I am."
"What about your books?" she asked. "I think I saw an edition of "A thousand Charms and Spells: The beginner's guide" lying at the kitchen table this morning. Did you think of..."
"Euphemia," his father interrupted her with quiet urgency. "If something is missing we can send it to him with Eukles. Now, if you don't want him to miss the train, I suggest you kiss him goodbye and let him go."

"Right," she said, swallowing thickly. James smiled in an attempt to look cheerful, ignoring the jolt of panic that rushed through his body. With a silent sob Mrs Potter flung her arms around James who stiffened like a cat that was squeezed by a toddler. After a few seconds, however, he relaxed and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck.
"It's okay, mum," he muttered. "I will come home for Christmas. It's only four months. No time at all."
"And we will write to you," his father promised. "As often as you wish."

Carefully, James freed himself out of his mother's embrace and hugged his father who tousled James's hair and then shoved him toward the train door.
"Be careful, son. And try not to blow up the castle until one week is up!"
James winked at him.
"Can't promise anything, dad." And before one of them could protest, he jumped into the train and disappeared.

I apologise for any grammar or spelling mistakes you might find. I'm currently learning English in school and am trying to improve my language skills. If you find anything that I should correct, just write it in the comments.