Do you think Harry would be friends with Ron if his parents were alive, or if Ron had more confidence in himself do you think he would've offered a seat to Harry?
The steam from the scarlet engine filled the platform, swirling around in thick clouds as children ran to find friends, hugging each other and chattering excitedly.
"Now, remember, Harry." His dad placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. "You’re going to have a fantastic time at Hogwarts."
"Of course," Harry said, craning his neck over the crowd in search of Neville.
"And remember, you can call Mum and me on the mirror anytime—"
"Yeah, yeah, you’ve told me," Harry said, smiling but still scanning the platform.
"And—"
"James," Mum interrupted, "just hug him goodbye. He’s not listening to a thing you’re saying."
Dad sighed but grinned, pulling Harry in close. "Alright, come on. Have the best time, Harry. I love you."
Harry hugged his dad tightly before his mum pulled him in, brushing a kiss on his cheek and ruffling his hair. "Write to us after the feast tonight, alright, love?"
"I will! I’ll write from my new bed in Gryffindor." Harry beamed, thrilled to be joining his parents' and family's house.
"Whatever house you’re sorted into, we’ll be proud," Mum said, smiling. "We love you so much."
"Thanks, Mum! Bye, Dad!" Harry called as he dashed away, pushing his trolley and waving back one last time.
Harry hurried off across the platform, weaving through clusters of excited families and dodging younger children as he pushed his trolley. His trunk wobbled slightly with each bump on the ground, and Hedwig, his new snowy owl, hooted softly in her cage atop the stack. He couldn’t help grinning. This was it—the start of everything he’d heard about for as long as he could remember.
He scanned the bustling platform, searching for a familiar face. Neville had been his best friend for as long as he could remember, practically family. Their parents had worked together during the war against Voldemort, and Harry and Neville, born only a day apart, had been in each other’s lives ever since. The two of them shared almost everything: the same birthday celebrations, countless sleepovers, and even a healthy collection of scrapes and bruises from their childhood adventures.
“Neville!” Harry shouted, finally spotting him near a pillar, his round face and sandy hair a welcome sight in the crowd. “Come on, let’s get on the train!”
Neville turned, his face breaking into a smile as he raised a hand in greeting. “Yeah, alright—I guess it’s time,” he replied, glancing quickly over his shoulder. His grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, stood nearby, her sharp gaze tracking her grandson’s every movement.
Harry suppressed a smile. Neville always seemed a bit more anxious when his Gran was around, and today was no different. Augusta Longbottom’s vulture hat loomed high above the rest of the crowd, her posture straight and stern as she watched Neville with her usual piercing look of appraisal. Harry knew Neville loved his Gran, but he could also tell he was relieved to be heading off on his own at last.
The two boys lugged their trunks onto the train, sidestepping older students and chattering as they made their way through the narrow aisle. Most of the compartments were already filled, students laughing and waving through the windows or hanging out of the compartments to say final goodbyes. At last, they reached the very end of the train and found a nearly empty compartment with only one boy sitting inside.
The boy looked about their age, with a lanky build and bright red hair, freckles standing out on his pale face. A small, twitchy rat sat on his shoulder, sniffing the air nervously as the boys entered.
“Hi,” Harry said, sliding the door open. “Do you mind if we sit here?”
The red-haired boy looked up, his eyes widening as he took them in. “Yeah—I mean, no, yeah, you can sit here,” he stammered, smiling in relief.
“Great!” Harry said, hoisting his trunk into the compartment with Neville following close behind. “I’m Harry, and this is Neville.”
“I’m Ron.” The boy gave a small, shy smile as he pushed his rat gently back onto his lap, where it curled up sleepily.
“You a first year too?” Harry asked, settling into the seat.
Ron nodded. “Yeah. All my brothers have gone to Hogwarts."
"What house are they in?" Harry asked
"Gryffindor’s the best house, if you’re wondering.”
"My whole family has been in Gryffindor."
“Same with my family!” Harry said excitedly. “And Neville’s too! Well, his parents were in Gryffindor, anyway.”
Ron’s eyes lit up. “Really? Maybe we’ll all get in the same house!”
Neville smiled hesitantly, looking between the two of them as if considering the possibility. “Gryffindor sounds alright, I think.”
The three boys quickly fell into an eager conversation, sharing bits of family lore and snippets they’d overheard from older siblings or family members about Hogwarts. Ron’s older brothers had apparently told him all sorts of wild stories about the Sorting Ceremony, and he was more than happy to share.
“My brother Fred says they make you fight a troll if they’re not sure where to put you,” Ron said, his voice hushed as though it were a dark secret.
Neville paled instantly. “Fight a troll?”
Harry shook his head, laughing. “That can’t be right. My godfather said something about tea leaves.”
“Gran says Divination is rubbish,” Neville muttered, looking slightly more at ease.
But before they could get much further, the compartment door slid open again. This time, a blond boy with a sharp face and cold gray eyes stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over each of them with a look of mild disdain.
“And what do we have here?” he sneered, his eyes settling on Ron’s worn robes and secondhand trunk. “Red hair and hand-me-down robes? You must be a Weasley.”
Ron’s face turned red, and he looked down at his lap, clearly stung. Harry felt his stomach tighten with irritation.
“Can we help you?” he asked, his voice sharp.
The boy shrugged, giving a thin smile. “I was just told there was some famous kid on the train, but it’s clear that’s not true. Just thought I’d give you a bit of advice—if you want to be with the right sort of people at Hogwarts, you’d best stay away from Weasleys.”
Harry’s temper flared. He knew his dad would probably tell him to stay calm, but he couldn’t resist. “I don’t know who raised you,” he said evenly, “but where I come from, the right sort of people are the ones who don’t go around embarrassing and bullying others just because they can.”
He drew his wand, the brand-new holly wand his dad had given him that morning, and pointed it firmly at the boy. Recalling one of the only spells his dad had actually let him try, he flicked his wand, and the boy’s smug expression quickly twisted into shock as angry red boils began to sprout across his face. With a howl of indignation, he clapped his hands to his cheeks and stumbled backward out of the compartment, disappearing down the hall.
Neville let out a peal of laughter, clutching his sides, and even Ron managed a small grin, looking at Harry with awe.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Ron muttered, though he looked secretly pleased.
“Nonsense. He was rude and deserved it.” Harry grinned, already reaching into his trunk. “You hungry, mate? My mum packed enough for ten people.”
Ron’s face brightened, and soon the three boys were sharing sandwiches, laughing, and dreaming of their years ahead at Hogwarts. As the train carried them closer, they talked of the magic they hoped to learn, the hexes they'd master, and the friends they’d surely make.
