The Potter Twins and the Philosopher's Stone

4. The Hogwarts' Express *

"Things are shaping to be pretty odd"~That Green Gentleman, Panic! At The Disco

Hagrid leads Harry and me through the London streets, towards Kings Cross Station.

Today is the day we're finally going to Hogwarts, so we're pushing our large trolleys, filled with our school equipment. Sitting on top of Harry's things is the snowy barn owl Hagrid got us for our birthday, now named Hedwig.

"Blimey, is that the time?" Hagrid exclaims as we walk over a bridge overlooking Kings Cross Station.

"I'm sorry, Haylee and Harry, I'm gonna have to leave you. Dumbledore will be wanting his..." He trails off, patting his pocket that the mysterious package is in. "Well, he'll be wanting to see me. Your train leaves in ten minutes. Here are your tickets. Stick to your tickets, that's very important. Stick to your ticket." He tells us as he hands the both us our train tickets.

I look down and read the details; The Hogwarts' Express apparently leaves from platform nine and three-quarters...but surely there's no such thing, right?

"Hagrid, I think there's a mistake," Harry says, beating me to it. "This says platform nine and three-quarters, there's so such thing-"

"He's gone." I cut him off, looking up from my ticket. I looked around for the tall man; he's huge, we'd be able to see him if he was around.

"We'll that's just brilliant." Harry mutters.

"Come on, we can just ask someone."

We begin to walk down to the train station together. We've never been to Kings Cross Station before, for all I know, there could be a platform nine and three-quarters.

We stop as we reach the brick wall that marks platforms nine and ten - if platform nine and three-quarters is real, it's bound to be around here somewhere.

"Excuse me. Excuse me," I say, as Harry and I walk over to a man who works for the station. "Excuse me, sir. Can you tell us where we might find platform nine and three-quarters?"

"Nine and three-quarters? Think you're being funny, so you?" The man questions, before walking away angrily.

"Well, what so you suppose we do now?" I ask Harry. He opens his mouth to answer, but he stops as a women's complaint meets our ears;

"It's the same every year, packed with Muggles, of course." The women is leading a large group of red-headed children, with trolleys like ours.

"Muggles?" Harry and I say in unison.

"Platform nine and three-quarters, this way." The women then says.

Harry nods at me, and we take off after her. She has four ginger sons, all with trolleys, and a young daughter, who's hand she's gripping tightly.

"Alright, Percy, you first," she says, as we all stop at a brick wall, marked with the numbers nine and ten on either side. The boy, Percy, walks over to the wall, so he's facing it and runs at it with his trolley.

This is madness. Pure and utter madness.

Much to my surprise, he runs straight through the solid brick wall, as if it's not even there.

Oh, dear god.

I look to Harry, and he seems to be thinking the same thing as me.

"Fred, you next," the lady says, pointing to one of her twin sons.

"He's not Fred, I am." One of the boys corrects.

"Honestly women, you call yourself our mother?" The other adds.