The railway station of Kings Cross seemed quite crowded to Richard Smith on that special day, but he tried to look indifferent. Maybe it was always that way, he would not know, since it was his first time there. He had taken an early train and lingered now, looking around the station carefully. He felt small somehow, vulnerable, and he did not like that feeling at all. He should be happy, ecstatic, that he finally left behind the shabby life in the poorest parts of London, the old school, the old bullies, but he was not. He was afraid. This was his first time to leave London, and he had no idea where he was going, although he had spent a lot of time since his visit in Diagon Alley reading a book named “Hogwarts: A History”.

Richard squared his shoulders and moved on, towards the platforms nine and ten, as he had been told by the professor with the tight bun. Professor McGonagall, he reminded himself. He had to remember the name. She was headmistress, after all.

There was the barrier between the two platforms. Walk quickly towards it, he remembered. He had even written down the words, everything he had been told, when he had been alone in his tiny room. There would be no mistakes.

He checked the façade of his face in the reflection of a window and was satisfied with what he saw. Nobody who did not know him well would have guessed how anxious he was, and he had never met anybody who had taken the time to get to know him. He quite liked the air of disregard that surrounded him. He had spent hours in front of the old bathroom mirror practicing exactly that expression of cool indifference, until it was perfect. He would practice magic the same way.

When he noticed that he was drawing out the moment before he had to cross the barrier to Platform nine and three-quarters, he pulled himself up, and resolutely stepped forward. While he looked around to make sure no Muggle was watching him – as he had been told by Professor McGonagall – he noticed a family of five, approaching the same platform. At least he was quite sure they were headed for platform nine and three-quarters, since the father was pushing a luggage cart, with an owl on top of a huge trunk. The two boys who followed him looked very much like him, only that the older one had brown eyes instead of green. The same similarity applied to the mother and their only daughter: both had red hair and blue eyes.

Richard decided that it couldn’t hurt to watch these wizards before he passed the barrier himself. The girl, youngest of the group, suddenly escaped he mother’s hand, looked quickly right and left, ran towards the barrier – and was gone. Just as the professor had said.

“I’ll get her!” the oldest boy called out, and followed his sister just as quickly, laughing excitedly.

Richard felt a sting of envy. At least, this should not be hard, if even the little girl could do it. She looked just the kind of wealthy girlie he would have screwed money from, back at the old school. He watched the remaining three of the family. The father shook his head, muttering: “If a Muggle had seen that…”, and checked before he started moving the large trunk on the cart. At the same moment, the red-haired mother turned towards Richard, and caught him staring.

“May I help you?” she asked in a friendly voice.

Richard eyed her, and considered acting as if he had not heard her, but then he shook his head. “I’m just off to Hogwarts,” he replied, as if it was no big deal.

“Well, why don’t we go together then?” she asked. “We’ll be quicker and less noticeable for the Muggles.”

Richard hesitated, but then he said: “All right.”

It did make sense what she’d said, kind of, he supposed. At least Richard could see why secrecy was so important for wizards. He wouldn’t even want his own parents to know about magic. They had never seen how special he really was.

Richard did feel quite awkward when he walked along with the red-haired woman. But at least he would not be the only one looking foolish if they crashed into that barrier between the platforms nine and ten.

We’re not going to crash, he told himself. We’re not going to, we are…

Through. Just like that.

Richard stopped and stared. There was a huge steam engine like from another century, scarlet red, waiting next to a platform crowded with people. Some of them looked just as confused as Richard felt – only that he never lost his composure like that – others were dressed rather strange, as if they were not used to normal clothing – Muggle clothing, Richard corrected himself. Many had owls or cats with them, and once again Richard hated being poor. It would have been so great to have his own owl sitting on top of his trunk! Of course, he would have taken a cat as well, or a toad, but he had nothing.

Richard moved forward towards the train before the woman he had accompanied through the gate to the Wizarding World could say anything. He could not see the boy and the girl who had passed before him, but he really did not care. If he hurried he might be able to catch a compartment at the train all by himself.

And there it finally was, the wave of excitement he had been waiting for all morning. He had made it. He was there, right where he belonged: at station nine and three-quarters, about to board the train that would carry him away from the Muggle world. Who cared whether he was poor now? He might not have fancy clothes, but he would show them, show them all! No matter where he was going to, it had to be better than what he had left behind.

Finding an empty compartment was easy, but getting his trunk onto the train turned out to be quite hard.

“Here, let me lend you a hand.”

Richard stared. An older boy was standing in front of him, a boy with neon green hair that stood off into every direction. With his quite handsome face he looked like a character from some Japanese Manga. He wore a badge saying “head boy” pinned to his robes, and when he noticed Richard staring, he asked: “Don’t like the color?”

At these words his hair grew a little longer and changed into scarlet red.

Richard only caught himself when the boy heaved his trunk up and onto the train. “Now, which compartment?” he asked.

“That one,” Richard pointed out quickly, regaining his self control. He watched as the head boy stored the trunk in a corner of the compartment, and just in time realized that this boy might be somebody he ought to be polite to. Being on good terms with the head boy might come in handy later.

“Thank you very much,” he said sincerely.

“Anytime,” the head boy gave back. “I’m Theodore Lupin.”

“Richard Smith. Thanks again,” Richard said, shaking the hand Lupin had offered. It felt good, shaking hands with a boy years older than himself as if they were equals. He watched the head boy leave, his hair changing from red to blue, shortening again. Curious, Richard peeked through the window to watch.

Outside on the platform more than a dozen red-heads had gathered into a group, swallowing the family Richard had followed through the barrier, and taking in the head boy as well. The group was getting a great deal of attention from the other people on the platform, which didn’t surprise Richard. They were laughing together, hugging each other, shaking hands, and in the case of two young boys, argued. Apparently, they were all related.

Richard’s forehead furrowed. Were there cameras flashing?

He eyed the crowd watching the red-headed group, trying to judge from their expressions, and to his surprise he noticed that the man with the three children was getting by far the most attention. A woman was staring at him, a very old-fashioned Muggles camera in hand. That seemed odd to Richard, for the man stood quite calmly in the middle of the group, one arm around his wife’s waist, on the other hand the younger one of his sons. There was nothing special about him. Richard watched the group closer. The most flashy of them was probably the head boy with the color-changing hair – it was pink now – or the beautiful blonde girl at his side, who even outshined her mother at the side of a tall man with long red hair and horrible scars all over his face.

Richard shook his head in confusion. Basically everybody within that group was more eye-catching than the calm man with the black hair. Or was that why everybody was staring at him, even that woman, who looked like she might be press? Was being normal so strange in the Wizarding World?

But now that Richard looked closer, the stranger did not exactly look normal anymore. Even relaxed as he stood now, there was something alert about the manner he carried himself.

The man laughed about something a very tall red-head with freckles had just said, and then the huge scarlet engine whistled loudly. For a moment the whole group vanished in a cloud of smoke. When Richard could see clearly again, the gathering had thinned. Of the eight red-headed children a boy and two girls were just boarding the train, followed by the gorgeous blonde, Theodore Lupin, who helped her up the steps, and the black haired boy after whom Richard had crossed the barrier. Last was a boy with darker skin on which his freckles were just barely visible.

Richard moved away from the window before the red-haired mother could catch him staring again, as she now turned to wave good-bye to her oldest son on the train. The whistle blew again and the train started moving, slowly first, then faster and faster. Soon the platform was far behind them.

Grinning happily to himself, Richard pulled out one of his school books from the trunk, together with his wand, by far his most valuable possession. Getting a new wand had used up most of the money he had been given from the Hogwarts Funds for students who otherwise did not have the money to attend, but Richard had calculated carefully. By getting everything else he needed second or third hand he had been able to afford a new one, for it had been clear to him that a good wand was the key to becoming a powerful wizard. His was made of beech, unyielding and 12 inches long, with a core made of a griffin’s feather, and he was very proud of it.

With a feeling of relief and new-gained freedom he opened his book and reread a passage he wasn’t sure he’d understood correctly. He had read all of his school books during the summer, for more than one reason. First, there had not been anything else for him to do; second he wanted to be prepared as best as possible; and third some of the books had actually been quite interesting.

He had only read a few pages of “A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration” when the door opened. The boy with the unruly black hair he had watched earlier entered, followed by the mixed-race boy with the freckles. They were both grinning.

“This looks free, isn’t it?” the boy with the unruly hair said, and without waiting for Richard’s reply, he heaved his trunk in. “I’m James,” he introduced himself. “James Potter.”

The way he said the last words indicated that he was waiting for some kind of reaction from Richard, who shrugged and coolly replied: “Pleasant. Richard Smith.”

To get it over with he looked at the second boy, the darker one with the freckles, who grinned even wider and said: “Fred Weasley, the Second.”

The boys seated themselves, bustling about, while Richard returned to his book. Now that he had left the Muggle World, surely he was allowed to use magic? He had a box of matches with himself and was quite eager to try whether he had understood all the instructions correctly.

“Wanna play exploding snap, Richard?” Fred Weasley the second suddenly asked.

“No, thank you,” Richard gave back, annoyed. He had no clue what “exploding snap” was supposed to be, but since it appeared to be a game it could not be that important. He pulled out his wand, picked a match from his box, and began to practice his first spell.