Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor

Chapter 2

Harry stood uncertainly on the platform of King's Cross station, one hand resting on the handle of his trolley and the other stuffed deeply into the pockets of his jeans. Behind him on the trolley, he could hear Hedwig hooting her indignation at being caged and subjected to the hubbub in King's Cross but he ignored her. Dim crowds of people jostled Harry as he stood frowning, wondering if he could find his destination or if he should ask for help and if so, where to ask.

This was the third time Harry headed for Platform 9 ¾ but the previous two years he'd been able to read the signs. He felt much as he did his first year when Uncle Vernon left him stranded here in the same spot and driven gleefully away. This time, knowing full well Harry could hardly see, Uncle Vernon had done the exact same thing, muttering something about "being late for Dudley's fitting."

Harry looked around. The trains looked like long, grey shadows, looming fearfully near him and smelling rankly of diesel. Instead of individuals, the people around him now became a dizzying mass of movement and noise. The whole place echoed terrifyingly loudly in Harry's ears, as if the less his eyes took in the more his ears heard until the screech of wheels, the shuffle of feet, the shouts and clamour and clashing doors all blended into a cacophony of indistinct sounds like the pounding of surf. Overhead lights and the sunlight coming in the ends of the building ripped through Harry's head with slashes of pain. He wanted to crouch, to claw at his face, to run, to hide.

The people pushing past him finally thinned, fewer doors crashed shut and the nearest train pulled out from the station with a clank and a groan. Harry drew a breath as if the train was a monster he had only just escaped.

"Oy! Harry!" A familiar voice came out of the haze close to Harry and he jumped, his left hand gripping the trolley handle harder.

"Ron," he said eagerly, relief dripping through him. He focused on the blur quickly approaching in front of him, hoping desperately he had picked the right person and that he wasn't staring at some random stranger.

"You ok, Mate?" Ron's voice held concern. "You look like you swallowed a Bertie Botts earwax."

"Err, yeah, let's just get on the train. We can talk there," Harry replied, realising he hadn't thought of what to tell his friends.

"Right. Mum! Ginny, over here. Harry's here!" Ron's voice called across the echoing room and Harry flinched.

Mrs. Weasley bustled up to them, engulfing Harry in her warm hug and shooing them along the platform. Harry hung back until Ron took the lead and Harry followed Ron's trolley, partly by the dark shape and partly by the squeaking wheel. Ron trotted down the platform until he chose one of the large, shadowy brick pillars. He took a run at it, Harry close behind.

As Harry emerged onto the sunlit Platform 9 ¾ his eyes involuntarily closed against the brilliant pain. As soon as he did so, his shins struck something solid and he staggered onto his knees, falling forward onto Ron's trolley and draping himself awkwardly across Ron's trunk. His breath left him in a whoosh and for a moment he felt tempted to stay there, on his face on Ron's trunk. Snickers and guffaws bloomed around him on all sides as Harry's face reddened. He pushed himself backwards onto his feet again, squinting, habitually scooting his glasses back up his nose. He'd debated whether to wear the glasses or not, but decided that wearing them might give him an ounce better vision as well as attracting less attention.

They did nothing to block the light that seemed a thousand times too bright. Even the train and the people looked washed out in the white glare. He wondered why his eyes weren't adjusting and closed them again for a moment, taking a long, steadying breath.

"You might want to walk around with your eyes open, you know," Hermione said at his elbow.

"Hi Hermione," Ron said, a touch too enthusiastically.