Harry potter and the stone

September 1st dawned gray and drizzly, the kind of morning that seemed to weigh heavily on everything, including Harry's nerves. He had barely slept the night before, plagued by dreams of shadowy corridors and flashes of green light. Now, standing awkwardly in the Dursleys' pristine kitchen, he found himself clutching Hedwig's cage and his school trunk while Vernon glared at him over the top of his morning newspaper.

"You've got everything, boy?" Vernon grunted, his tone making it clear he couldn't care less.

"Yes," Harry replied curtly.

"Good. We're leaving now. Don't expect us to wait around, and don't even think about coming back if they kick you out of that freak school."

Harry didn't bother responding. He followed the Dursleys to the car in silence, his belongings stowed carelessly in the trunk. As the car pulled out of Privet Drive, Harry stared out of the window, his stomach twisting.

The trip to King's Cross was short but tense, the only sounds coming from Dudley's incessant whining about not being allowed to bring his television to the backseat. When they arrived, Vernon stopped the car abruptly, causing Harry to lurch forward.

"Well, this is it," Vernon said, smirking. "Platform nine and three-quarters, was it? Good luck finding that one, boy."

Dudley snorted with laughter from the backseat as Vernon climbed out to unload Harry's trunk. He shoved it onto the curb with as little care as possible.

"Good riddance," Vernon muttered before getting back in the car. Without so much as a goodbye, the Dursleys drove off, leaving Harry standing alone in front of King's Cross Station.

Harry adjusted Hedwig's cage under his arm, his eyes scanning the station's large, echoing hall. His nerves were frayed. Platform nine and three-quarters… What was Hagrid thinking, not explaining how to find it? He frowned, his gaze darting toward the massive clock ticking above the platforms.

"Right," he muttered to himself, pushing his trolley forward. "Nine and three-quarters. That's… somewhere between nine and ten, I guess?"

He wandered the length of the station, growing more frustrated with each passing minute. None of the signs helped, and he was starting to feel the weight of curious stares from passersby. Just as panic began to creep in, Harry's ears caught something—a soft, cheerful voice.

"—packed with Muggle rubbish as usual, Percy?"

Harry turned toward the sound and spotted a family with flaming red hair moving through the crowd. They stood out starkly against the gray of the station, and their animated conversation drew Harry closer almost without him realizing it.

"Platform nine and three-quarters," the mother was saying briskly. "Now, how to get there…"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. They're talking about it too? His mind raced as he cautiously pushed his trolley closer, keeping a deliberate distance. He wasn't ready to trust anyone just yet—not after years of being sneered at and mistreated.

The mother glanced at her children. "Fred, George, off you go."

Two identical boys grinned at her before sprinting toward the wall between platforms nine and ten. Harry froze, expecting them to crash into it, but they didn't. Instead, they disappeared completely.

His mouth went dry. Magic. That's got to be it.

"Excuse me," Harry said hesitantly, stepping closer.

The mother turned toward him with a kind smile. "Yes, dear?"

"Um… How do I—" He glanced at the wall, feeling foolish. "How do I get onto the platform?"

"Oh, first year, are you?" she asked warmly. "Not to worry, it's Ron's first year too. Just walk straight at the barrier between nine and ten. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."

Her tone was kind, but Harry couldn't help the flicker of suspicion. She was awfully quick to help a complete stranger. And why had she assumed he was a first year? He glanced at her children again. Was this a setup?

The youngest boy, Ron, was watching him curiously. "Go on, it's easy," he said, his ears pink.

"Right," Harry muttered, gripping the handle of his trolley. He didn't fully trust them, but he didn't have much choice either. Taking a deep breath, he jogged toward the barrier.

To Harry's amazement, the wall didn't stop him—it melted away like mist. He emerged on the other side into a bustling platform filled with witches and wizards of all ages. The Hogwarts Express stood gleaming on the tracks, steam curling into the air.

He barely had time to take it all in before the red-haired family appeared behind him. The mother was beaming as she herded her children toward the train.

"Ron, you'd better find a seat quickly," she said. "And be nice to the other first years."

Harry edged away, still wary. He couldn't shake the feeling that their friendliness was too convenient. Why had they been so willing to help him, a complete stranger? And why had Hagrid been so vague about the platform?

Pushing his trolley down the platform, Harry resolved to keep his guard up. Trust was something he couldn't afford—not until he understood the rules of this new world.