Dursley's Daughter (A Harry Potter Next Generation Fan Fic)

2. September First

I hugged my normal, ordinary parents like every other normal, ordinary teenage girl at Kings Cross Station in London was doing that morning.

"We'll see you for Christmas break, sweetheart," said Mum, kissing me for about the thousandth time in the past hour. It wasn't even the first time I had left, which was the annoying part. I was almost of age now and was perfectly capable of getting to school by myself, thank you very much.

"Yes, Mum. I'll write to you whenever I get the time," I said, pushing my luck. "I can send you chocolate frogs all year long instead of just bringing them home with me at Christmas!"

"Oh, no you will not," said Dad. "You know how the neighbors react when they see those owls flying all over the place. We will send letters to you."

"But, Dad -"

My father shook his head. "What if your grandfather is over for supper again like the last time one of those damn owls flew through the window? He and your grandmother are already suspicious of this boarding school we send you to."

"Would it be so bad if they knew I was like Harry? They do love me and care for me. Why wouldn't they still do so knowing I'm magical?"

Mum took my hand and squeezed it. "It's not that they wouldn't love you, Esther, it's that they would find it a hard fact to accept. We accept you and that's just enough."

I sighed and Dad handed me my animal crate. Though my kitten, Duchess, had been my companion to Hogwarts for the first two years, I had since talked my parents into investing in an owl. Out of my two parents, my mother had grown to accept me the most, and had been instrumental in convincing my dad that getting me Pavo was a good idea. "Have a good term, Esther. No letters, remember."

I put Pavo's cage on top of my trunk and wheeled my cart a few feet away before turning around again. "Are you not going to come on to the platform? You haven't even met Sawyer or Holly yet and they're dying to meet you, Dad! And I'm just about the only student who doesn't get to lean out of the train windows and wave goodbye."

Each of my parents gave me one last hug. "Have a good term, sweetheart," said Mum. Then she and Dad waved a final time and turned to go back into their normal car, in which they would drive back to their normal lives, pretending their daughter was a normal girl on the way to a normal boarding school.

Fine. I didn't need them. Esther Marge Dursley could cope by herself, thank you very much. I was a mature, independent witch. I could deal without contacting my parents for several months.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt, though. My parents were tough cookies sometimes, but I loved them all the same. Of course I did. They were my parents, and all they wanted was the best for me, even if they didn't know what the best for me was. 

I grabbed ahold of my trolley, Pavo's crate balancing precariously on top of my trunk along with my broomstick. Besides for that part, I should have looked just like every other girl heading off to boarding school. Angrily, I pushed it across the station, spotting a few others with owls and broomsticks heading the same way. Instead of sitting around reading magazines or texting friends while waiting for my train to arrive, like normal girls were doing, I made sure nobody was looking and walked straight through the column between platforms nine and ten.

Emerging on the other side, I opened my eyes again. Even though I'd done it many times since discovering I was a witch, I had never gotten used to getting on to Platform 9 3/4. The big, red train sat to my left, student's heads poking out of the windows even though there was ten minutes until departure.

Something exploded to my right, jolting me out of my thoughts. A kid soared by on a broomstick, coughing as he flew through the smoke from the miniature explosion and pulling the hair of his friends as he passed them. His parents rushed around, trying to get him down to find a spot on the train. Everyone around me wore brightly colored robes with sometimes eccentric accessories. A woman nearby wore a pointy hat that changed patterns and colors. Now it was an ugly checker pattern, a moment before it had been stripy. Meowing and hooting was interspersed in the conversation. Someone's owl got loose and screeched, flying up towards the clouds.