Harry Riddle || Harry potter

Chapter 5: Platform Nine and Three Quarters

September 1

Harry had never seen so many muggles in his life, and truthfully, he was rather repulsed. They all seemed to lack grace, scurrying around like filthy little sewer rats. They dressed in the most inane, functionless garments Harry had ever seen in his life, all of which were too tight and didn't seem to fit correctly. Some of them hauled suitcases behind them, some walked in groups, some talked on clunky pieces of black and silver machinery that they held up to their ears, and others paced back on forth on the platforms waiting for trains. Some of them even shamelessly flung themselves at them asking for money for one charity organization or another. The pathetic creatures even had the audacity to stare at them. Did they look that strange in robes?

His father seemed just as disgusted as he was, a permanent scowl marring his features, one even nastier-looking than usual. Harry decided that he wouldn't mind it if he snapped and started murdering them; in fact, it might prove to be entertaining.

"Where's the bloody platform?" he finally demanded. "I'm so sick of these disgusting muggles."

"Don't mind them," he said, glowering venomously a second later at a woman who thrust a collection box in his face and asked for a pound. She backed off when she caught sight of his red eyes and looked more than a little frightened even when they walked away.

"Just know that you are superior to them in every way possible," he continued with some difficulty.

"I already know that," he muttered disgustedly, only to pause and try to take a piece of hard candy out of a jar in the hands of another charity volunteer.

Tom grabbed his arm at the last minute, just as the volunteer shouted something about 'having to donate first', and led him off in the opposite direction. After a few yards, he stopped abruptly and let go, gesturing to the blank wall in front of them. "Here."

Harry followed Tom's gaze to the barrier between platforms Nine and Ten and found himself wondering for his father's sanity, which was, of course, questionable even under the best of circumstances. "There's nothing there," he said needlessly. "It's a wall."

Tom shook his head and motioned for him to watch a pack of redheads that were standing a few feet in front of them. The mother, a pudgy woman wearing cheap-looking clothes, was busily trying to line up her sons in front of the barrier. Finally, what looked like the oldest boy took off at a brisk walk towards the wall, only for a herd of muggle tourists to scuttle past, blocking him completely from view. When they had gotten out of the way, he was gone.

Harry turned his head towards his father, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Come on." Tom grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the barrier.

"Now, just run through it."

"You run through it," Harry shot back indignantly.

"I've already run through it before, during my own school days. Nothing's changed since then."

"And when was that? 1924?"

"I'm not that old. Now run through the barrier."

"First time?" the mother of the redheads asked kindly, looking them up and down.

"Yes," Tom replied shortly, just barely polite.

"I'm not running into a wall. I'll look like an idiot."

"Just because you were sucked into that Gringott's vault doesn't mean that the same thing-"

"It has nothing to do with that!"

"Fine then. Go through the barrier."

"It helps if you close your eyes," the redheaded woman chimed in.

Harry kept hesitating.

"Harry, if you do not run through that barrier, I will push you through it, and then you will look like an idiot. It's like a normal entrance; it's simply charmed so that these muggles cannot see it."

"Fine," Harry snapped. He steadied himself, tightened his hold on his luggage, and closed his eyes. He began to walk, slowly at first, before breaking into a quick sprint. His muscles tensed as he sensed himself coming close to the wall but he never collided with the hard surface. Instead, he skidded to a halt on his own. He cautiously cracked open one eye. He was standing on a platform, a red steam engine before him. Witches and wizards crowded into the space, parents hugging their children and waving goodbye while animals ran around underfoot. A sign proclaiming the platform to be 'Nine and Three Quarters' hung from the ceiling.

"Told you that you wouldn't hit the wall," his father's smug voice announced from behind him.

Harry glanced up at Tom, scowling.

"Now, do you have everything? Your robes? Your books? Your potions ingredients?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I'm ready." He patted his pocket, where some of his more personal items were kept, then gestured down at his bags.

"And make sure to remember everything I told you. No quidditch, do not associate with Gryffindors or mudbloods, and above all, do not-"

"Do not trust or in any way underestimate the great and almighty Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He's apparently a genius, a psychic, a tactician, a scholar, and everything else anyone could possibly be all rolled into one. I know."

"He's a-"

"Wolf in sheep's clothing. I know."

"As soon as he hears-"

"My name, he'll question me. I know. And I can see Draco getting on the train already. Can I go now, or is this little talk not over yet?"

Voldemort scrutinized his son for a few seconds before reaching down to smooth his robes and neaten his hair.

"Dad!"

"Your hair's a mess and your robes are wrinkled. You were neat when we left the manor."

"Quit!"

Tom ran his hand through his son's hair one last time before stepping back a few feet. After a moment of staring at each other awkwardly, Tom broke the silence. "Come here." Tom knelt down and pulled Harry to him in a loose hug, his hands uncomfortably settling on his back. Harry stiffened in shock, his back ramrod straight and his arms thrown out to the sides.

"Try not to get yourself killed, okay?" said Tom slowly. "Remember to be cautious and make sure to watch your back. Hogwarts isn't as friendly as everyone believes it to be. And if anything bad happens, owl me. I might send Nagini to check up on you in a few weeks. She can get past the wards."

"Dad," he began, his voice shaking only slightly, "I can take care of myself."

"Not yet. Now go and find Draco."

Tom released Harry from the hug and stood back up. After a minute, Harry grabbed his luggage and headed towards the train. "Bye," he hesitantly called out over his shoulder.

"Bye! See you over Christmas, I suppose. And I do want you home whenever you are allowed. No staying behind when everyone else is gone."

With a last look at his father, during which he was hard pressed not to role his eyes, Harry climbed onto the train.