The American Badger and Her Lion

Train Rides and New Friends

Waking up the following day was awful. The sun shone brightly on my face, and my bed was uncomfortably warm with my jeans and t-shirt. Peeling myself from the bed, I looked at the nightstand clock. It read 7:27. My shoulders dropped, and I looked up at the ceiling.

Today was important. Why is today important? My gaze shifted from the ceiling to the calendar hanging on my wall. It was still showing August, but August was over. I needed to flip it over. September 1st. My eyes widened as I remembered. I was heading to Hogwarts today.

I managed to untangle my legs from the blankets and about fell to the floor. From downstairs, I could hear my mom call out, "Are you alright up there?"

"I'm fine, mom!" I quickly changed into the clothes I'd set out on the dresser. Just simple loose jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and a patterned tank on top.

Okay, look. It was the nineties, and we wore weird clothes. At least they won't be able to say our clothes were dull.

Hurrying down the stairs, I entered the kitchen and sat at the table. My mom took one look at me and chuckled. Nervously, I flattened my hair to my head. With all my sleepiness, my hair was sticking out in every direction possible. It looked like a lion's mane, minus the majestic part.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty." She teased with a smile. "I made pancakes." Not even a moment after she had placed the pancakes in front of me, I already had a fork-full halfway in my mouth. "Thanks, Mom," I said, my mouth stuffed with golden, fluffy goodness. What I would give for some of those right now.

"Now, you need to hurry it up if you want to get the train early. Otherwise, all of the good seats will be taken," Mom insisted in her best "mom" voice. I nodded while chugging the last of my orange juice. Once done, I stashed my dishes in the sink and rushed upstairs to finish getting ready and tame my hair.

After finally getting my hair to look somewhat presentable, I slipped on a pair of sneakers, picked up the wand we had bought days before and tried to haul my suitcase and bag down the stairs.

My mom momentarily watched me struggle with the suitcase before motioning for me to step back. I did so and watched as she pulled her long wand from her sleeve. Yeah, my mom was pretty cool like that.

"Accio trunk!" she ordered clearly and with purpose. I rarely got to watch magic directly in front of me. My 11-year-old brain was amazed when my trunk landed softly on the wood floor at our feet. Silently, she placed a weightless charm on the suitcase, and I scooped it into my arms.

After the short apparition and a moment to regain my footing, we stood at King's Cross Station. We walked around, her hand holding tightly onto mine. I watched her glance down at the ticket in her hand, a puzzled expression on her face. Looking around, I searched for someone dressed like the other witches and wizards I saw in Diagon Alley.

I spotted a boy around my age and his family. There was a mom, a dad, a young boy, of course, and a younger girl of about 7 years old. My mom noticed them, too, because I was soon dragged in their direction.

"Sir, ma'am," my mom began, never scared to start a conversation with strangers. I swear she could start a conversation with anyone. Terrifying. "Do you know how we can get to platform 9 and 3-"

The father quickly interrupted her. "You do realize there are muggles all around us?" he whisper-yelled.

"Muggles?" I recognized the wrinkle crease on her forehead. "What in Merlin's name is a muggle?"

It was the mother's turn to glare at us as if we had grown an extra head mid-conversation. Her accent was different than the man's; it wasn't British, I knew that much. "The people not like us. Regular, boring people."