Bloodline | Harry Potter x Reader [DISCONTINUED]

First Year~Chapter Two

Harry's POV

I woke early in the morning, got up, and pulled on my jeans because I didn't want to walk into the station in my wizard's robes – I'd change on the train. I paced the room, waiting for the Dursleys to get up. Two hours later, my huge, heavy trunk had been loaded into the Dursleys' car, Aunt Petunia had talked Dudley into sitting next to me, and we had set off.

We reached King's Cross at half past ten. Uncle Vernon dumped my trunk on to a trolley and wheeled it into the station for me. I 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. I turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing. My mouth went rather dry. What on earth was I going to do?

I was now trying hard not to panic. According to the large clock over the arrivals board, I had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and I had no idea how to do it; I was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk I could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money and a large owl.

At that moment a group of people passed just behind me and I caught a few words of what they were saying.

'– packed with Muggles, of course –'

I swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like mine – and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, I pushed my trolley after them. They stopped and so did I, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

'Now, what's the platform number?' said the boys' mother.

'Nine and three-quarters!' piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. 'Mum, can't I go ...'

'You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.'

What looked like the oldest boy marched towards platforms nine and ten. I watched, careful not to blink in case I missed it – but just as the boy reached the divide between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him, and by the time the last rucksack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

'Fred, you next,' the plump woman said.

'I'm not Fred, I'm George,' said the boy. 'Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?'

'Sorry, George, dear.'

'Only joking, I am Fred,' said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

'Excuse me,' I said to the plump woman.

'Hullo, dear,' she said. 'First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too.'

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose.

'Yes,' I said. 'The thing is – the thing is, I don't know how to –'