Chapter Text
Harry woke at five o'clock the next morning and was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep. He got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn't want to walk into the station in his wizard's robes -- he'd change on the train. He checked his Hogwarts list yet again to make sure he had everything he needed, saw that Hedwig was shut safely in her cage, and then paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, Harry's huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to Harry, and they had set off.
They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him. Harry thought this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face.
"Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine -- platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"
He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all.
"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. Harry's mouth went rather dry. What on earth was he going to do? He was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig. He'd have to ask someone.
Harry took a few steps back and took a moment to think. As he looked around the bustling station, he tried to single out another wizard, or someone else who was having the same trouble. As he listened to conversations, he thought he heard a few of the wizarding words he had heard in Diagon Alley, but nothing pointed to the true destination of Platform 9 and ¾.
Just then a large man pushed his way past Harry, toppling his cart. As Harry’s school supplies scattered across the ground and Hedwig’s cage rattled as it rolled alone the floor of the station, Harry panicked. He was worried he might be late for the train, or that someone non-magical would see all his wizarding books. He tried to pick them all up as quickly as he could, but a few errant feet ended up knocking some of his books across the terminal floor, and nobody seemed to pay him any mind. Once he finally collected all of his supplies again, he turned his attention back towards the wall between platforms 9 and 10, where he saw a boy his own age barrel through the wall, trolley and all, until he had disappeared altogether.
Harry suppressed a gasp and looked around, but the patrons of the station didn’t seem to notice. He watched carefully to see if anyone else passed through the wall, but he saw nobody else. When he turned to check the clock on the station wall, his heart sunk. He had five minutes until the Hogwarts Express left, and no idea how to pass through the wall.
Moving as inconspicuously as he could manage, Harry approached the wall between Platforms 9 and 10 and gave it a little knock. It felt hard and solid, same as any other brick. Was there a code or a secret knock, like in Diagon Alley? Perhaps he had to wave his Hogwarts letter at the wall? Why hadn’t anyone told him how to pass through the wall?
His eyes darted to the clock again. He had only two minutes before the train left. Acting in desperation, he decided to do exactly what he had seen the boy before him do and run directly at the wall, as quickly as he could. Maybe that was all there was to it.
Harry pushed his cart a few feet back and steeled himself. It was all or nothing at this point, he had no time to waste. Pushing forward, he ran at the wall as quickly as he could manage, Hedwig hooting nervously as he rushed towards the wall. Harry clenched his eyes tightly in anticipation of the crash, but it never happened. As he slammed into the wall, he felt the wall turn into a bit of jelly, and he continued to push on against the viscous force of the wall, which seemed to be getting more solid at every moment.
Just as he was reaching the end of the wall, he felt the force of another person collide against his shoulder, knocking him back. Pushing onwards, he found himself on the other side of the wall, on Platform 9 and ¾. It seemed like any other platform in the station, except that it seemed to be walled in on all sides by a brilliant red brick wall, save for the side opposite where Harry had arrived, which stretched out into an impossibly open and green countryside. In the distance, Harry saw a brilliant red locomotive, steaming away. He turned hurriedly to the clock on the wall of the station, which read 11:02. He had missed the train, and somehow the station had emptied already.
What was he to do now? Harry began to panic. If he could somehow get through the wall again, he could get back to King’s Cross, but he wasn’t sure that would be much better than his current situation. He wasn’t about to give up on learning magic just yet. Harry wasn’t quite sure just how far Hogwarts was from King’s Cross, and the idyllic English countryside that stretched out before him only further served to confuse him. Was there simply an area of London which was hidden from non-magical eyes, just like Diagon Alley, but which was never developed, leaving open countryside for the Hogwarts Express?
Harry supposed so.
Calming himself down, Harry took stock of his situation. He had missed the train to take him to a magical school which he knew very little about. On his person, he had the clothes on his back, as well as a year’s worth of magical books, a set of dragon hide gloves, three sets of robes, a cloak, some potion making supplies (which he had no idea how to use), his wand (which save for the incident at Ollivander’s was indistinguishable from any other well-crafted stick), a loyal owl in a cage, and a trolley.
And before him was a long and winding track which apparently led to his destination: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Looking around, Harry found nothing else in the Platform of interest and jumped down onto the track itself, looking once again towards the empty land before him.
In that moment, Harry Potter could have done many things. He could have sent Hedwig ahead to ask for help, or he could have passed back through the wall into King’s Cross and asked for help there. He could have attempted some sort of messaging spell, or waited for the train to return.
But he did none of those things.
Hoisting his trolley down off of the Platform, the Boy Who Lived began the long journey to Hogwarts.
Harry Potter walked.