2 Kids Who Are Not Harry Potter And The Sorcerer's Stone

September First

"Young Master is having all of Young Master's things?"

"For the hundredth time, yes."

"Young Master is being quite sure?"

"Yes." The Elf nodded and surveyed Draco with wide, perfectly round eyes. His batlike ears drooped slightly.

"Dobby will miss Young Master while Young Master is away," he squeaked. As he watched the Elf's retreating back up the stairs, it struck Draco that he wouldn't see Dobby again until Christmas. He'd never been away from Dobby for more than a night in his life. Impulsively he nudged the clasp of his trunk until it popped open.

"Dobby!" he called. "You haven't shut this properly." The House-Elf turned at once and bounded back down the stairs. Draco was sure it was obvious he'd opened the clasp himself, but Dobby didn't comment. He simply snapped his long, spindly fingers and the clasp snapped shut.

"Thank you," he blurted out, before he could think twice. Most unfortunately, at that moment his father swept into the room.

"We do not thank our servants simply for performing their duties," he admonished.

"I know," Draco admitted, glancing down at the floor.

"Good. Now hurry up, your mother and I have important business in London after we take you to the station."

Draco waited until his father had turned his back, then raised a hand and gave Dobby a single wave. Dobby returned it, and unless Draco was imagining things, tears glistened in his large, orb-like eyes. He followed his father out onto the front walk, a bit of melancholy now mixed in with the day's nerves and excitement.

                                                                                              ~~~

King's Cross Station was bustling and chaotic as usual, filled with families on holidays and irritable-looking commuters walking briskly through the crowd, barking into mobile phones and dodging sprinting children. All one had to do to get onto the famous Platform 9 ¾, according to Albus Dumbledore, was locate the barrier between Platforms nine and ten and walk straight into it, taking care to avoid being watched by too many passersby. The barrier, which appeared solid, would in fact give way and they would find themselves standing before the Hogwarts Express.

It had all sounded reasonable enough sitting around the kitchen table last month, but today, Hermione felt that the brick barrier between Platforms nine and ten looked awfully solid, and she did not fancy the crash she was sure would come if she followed these instructions.

"Ready, darling?" asked her father, seeming to sense her trepidation. She gave a short nod, but for some reason, her feet wouldn't move.

"We'll go together," said her mother decisively. She reached down to take Hermione's hand. Her grip was gentle, but just firm enough to provide the reassurance Hermione needed. Together, they walked confidently at the barrier, watching as it loomed closer and closer. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for a crash, but it didn't come. They simply kept walking, and Hermione opened her eyes again when she heard her mother gasp beside her. They were, in fact, standing on a hidden platform next to a huge, scarlet steam engine, the words "Hogwarts Express" printed at the top. Turning around, she saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, marked "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."

"Oh, now this is lovely," said her father's voice, and he appeared out of thin air in the middle of the archway. Hermione grinned. They'd done it.

Smoke from the steam engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.