The Marauders and the Hollow Hill

2. Of Catherine Wheels and Cauldron Cakes

An unfamiliar, tickly sort of rush ran through James as he dashed forwards. He was nervous, true. Who wouldn't be? He was sprinting full-speed towards a very solid-looking brick barrier. But his parents were behind him; he could hear their heavy footfalls, jogging at a slower pace. If he was going to crash violently into the barrier, at least he wouldn't be heading to the hospital alone.

Magic was an odd thing. It was truly a wonder, such a thing practically dangling on the edge of non-existence. Not everyone had magic. It wasn't exactly common, but seemed common enough...

James frowned. All this thinking made his head hurt.

The important thing was: he had magic. His parents had magic. His future friends and professors would have magic.

I love magic! James thought delightedly. Just seconds before he reached the barrier, he let out an exhilarated whoop and picked up speed. He knew deep down that the magic would kick in.

And he was right. Passing through the barrier was easy; it was as if he had simply stepped through a porthole into another world.

Indeed he could have. Platform nine and three-quarters seemed like an entirely different universe. The drab Muggle train station was so... well, boring compared to the pure excitement and bustle in this magical place. Everywhere, there were people, all witches and wizards, all crowded together on the platform, some trying to board the train, some attempting to leave it, some forced the crowd to part so they could walk through (there weren't many of these), while others simply wandered around aimlessly in circles, quite lost and unsure of what they were doing there.

James resisted the urge to laugh. It reminded him vaguely of a large school of fish, all trying the head different ways, but giving up eventually and just going along with the tide.

Something small and warty hopped near his foot, and he drew back quickly. A toad. Now that he thought about it, James realized that animals occupied at least half the platform. Rats scuttled by, the hairless tails whipping around in the air behind them. Bandy-legged cats, of all shapes and sizes, howled and meowed in their cages, scratching the metal bars with their claws, their bright eyes following the skitter rats hungrily. And the owls. Great-horned, moon-faced, snowy, speckled... absolutely everywhere. Nestled in cages, beaks under their wings; resting comfortably, perched on their owner's shoulder, or soaring overhead, hooting and screeching and shedding feathers and droppings. There was quite a racket.

James felt himself grin. He thought it was brilliant. He wondered if he could get away with dropping dung on someone's head.

His thoughts were interrupted by a very loud, very long whistle that obviously emitted from the giant red and gold steam engine that rested impatiently by the platform, almost like a restless cat, ready to spring and pouch on its prey. A middle-aged, portly man with dark hair and a darker cap (who James guessed was the conductor) patrolled the station, pointing at his watch and shouting something James couldn't hear. His father, however, could. James felt him squeeze his shoulder.

"It's leaving." James could barely hear him murmur. "Come on, you'd better get on."

Gently, he guided James towards the train, towing his belted trunk behind him. In it contained everything James would need: extra clothes, socks, shoes, underwear, snacks, his schoolbooks, extra parchment and ink, photos of his parents if he got lonely...

"I still don't see why I can't have an owl," James complained as they neared the train's boarding doors. His father grinned slightly.