by
Catherine King
After buying all his school supplies in Diagon Alley, Harry wondered how he could get to the King’s Cross station.
Fly on his Firebolt? No, too risky.
Floo Powder? He did have some. No, he hated that.
Walk? Ha!
Then Harry remembered something. The Knight Bus! Just stick out your wand hand, like Muggles (non-magic people) use to call a taxi in America. Perfect.
After a bumpy ride, a walk through a wall, and a lot of pain from lifting and carrying a heavy trunk (Ow, chihuahua), Harry was now getting comfortable in his empty compartment, which was near the head of the train, for once.
The compartment door slid open and a tall, freckled, red-haired boy stood there. "Ron! Ron Weasley!" "Hiya, Harry!" The two friends hugged each other and sat down. "How are you?" "Fine. How are you?" "Fine."
They talked about Quidditch, the wizard sport. Four balls and seven people on a team. Three people deal with the Quaffle, a big red ball, and two people battle with Bludgers, identical jet-black balls. One person flies around three hoops and tries to prevent the Quaffle from going through any of them. Finally, the Seeker, which was Harry’s position on the Gryffindor team, tries to catch the Snitch, a small golden ball with silver wings.
The door slid open and Hermione Granger stood there. "Hello, Ron, Harry." "What’re you doing here, Hermione? I thought you went into a different compartment, since you’re Head Girl." "Well," she replied, grinning, "apparently, not." Then they all laughed. They talked about what they did over the summer. New York, Mt. Everest in Tibet, the bank, Scotland ("Nice national anthem, really"), Botswana in Africa, China, Maui in Hawaii, the bank, Bulgaria, Ireland, Portugal, Italy, France, the bank… "Why did you go to the bank so much this summer, Ron?" "Our books, Harry. Our books! We made at least 64 Sickles and 23 Galleons every week, all summer!" "Wow! I wonder what Malfoy will say now." Besides being a good example of someone incredibly easy to hate, Malfoy also took the pleasure in poking fun of the fact that Ron’s family was really poor.
Speaking of Malfoy, who should come out but Draco Malfoy himself. That pale, pointed face, that blondish-white hair, as if Harry had any trouble recognizing that face, especially flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy’s minions (who were a good 12 inches taller than him).
"Well, well, if it isn’t the famous Potty-Head and the really poor Weasel-Brain. Oh, and how’s Pain-ger?"
"Is it just me, or did you get even uglier over holiday?" asked Harry. "Go and play in a dragon’s den, will ya? It’d be an improvement."
Malfoy ran his hand through his hair. "Hmph," he said. "Well, come on, you pair. Any slower would justify as backward for you two."
After the train ride was finished, everyone clambered into a dark, cold station. It was foggy here, but Harry could still make out the countless towers and turrets of the lone, dark, and beautiful castle. Then a deep, booming voice called out, "Firs’ years over here! C’mon now, don’ be ’fraid! Any more firs’ years? All right there, Harry?" You’d think that that voice would belong to a very big man, with a beard and a lot of hair, and very rough and fearsome. Well, you got the first part right. The owner of the voice was a gentle, kind man called Hagrid. He was gamekeeper, the teacher of Care of Magical Creatures class, and Harry’s good friend.
It was Hagrid who told Harry that he was a wizard in the first place. And Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindor seventh years liked Hagrid, and were probably his favorite band of students. Hagrid himself had lived a hard life. One disadvantage of his personality was that he loved monsters. He had shown great care towards a giant spider, which lived in the forest, had raised an illegal dragon and had to send it away (remember Charlie’s dragon?), and how many people would name a monstrous, three-headed dog ‘Fluffy’?
But, of course, this qualified him for teaching the Care of Magical Creatures lessons, which is exactly what it sounds like. Need I say more?
Harry and the others climbed into carriages pulled by invisible horses. "I think that, if we’re lucky, we’ll be one of the few to drive right into the lake." Then a small voice called out, "Open the door! Open the door!" They opened the door and Neville Longbottom was pulled inside. "Hey, Neville, how’d you get there?" "Well, I couldn’t find a carriage, and then they left me to run after them." He sniffed a bit. "I’ve been so unlucky, I don’t think I’ll make it after Hogwarts."
"Oh, come on, Neville, you’ll survive," assured Harry. "Hey, look, we’re here!" called Hermione brightly. "Oh, no," Ron groaned, "I was just getting comfortable."
After the Sorting (a ceremony in which first years try on a hat which sorts them into the 4 school Houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, in which the students will spend their years) Harry, Ron, and Hermione grabbed their forks, spoons, and knives. "What’re you doing that for?" a first year asked. "The food isn’t served yet." "Aha," said Harry, "but you’re new here, right?" "Well, yes…" "So you don’t know what’s going to happen." Next to Harry, "Well, I’m Ron Weasley," said Ron. "Hermione Granger," said Hermione. "Harry Potter," said Harry. "I’ve heard your name before. Somewhere, but see, I’m two-thirds Muggle, see?" "Yes." "So I’ve heard your name before. See you!" And she ran off.
Later that night, Harry had a dream. Now have you ever had a dream in which a dragon bit off your head? That happened to Harry.
