The compartment door slid open with perfect timing, revealing a young man who could only be described as what Fred and George would look like in six years if you added about forty pounds of muscle, a Quidditch tan, and the kind of easy authority that came from actually knowing what you were doing at Hogwarts.
"Oi, you two," Charlie Weasley said with affectionate exasperation, his Prefect badge catching the afternoon light as he leaned against the doorframe. His red hair was shorter than his younger brothers', practical rather than stylish, and he had the broad shoulders of someone who spent a lot of time either flying or wrestling large magical creatures. "Mum made me promise I'd check on you every hour to make sure you haven't accidentally set anything on fire or organized an uprising against the established order."
"We haven't set anything on fire," Fred said with wounded dignity.
"Yet," George added helpfully.
"That 'yet' is exactly what worries everyone," Charlie replied, though he was grinning as he said it. His eyes swept over the compartment, taking in the Americans with obvious curiosity and the general atmosphere of new friendships being formed over chocolate frog cards and magical candy. "And you must be the famous American exchange students. Fred and George have been talking about meeting you since Dad told them about the program."
"Charlie Weasley," Fred announced with obvious pride in his older brother, "Gryffindor Prefect, Quidditch Captain, and future dragon wrangler. He's basically the successful Weasley brother who makes the rest of us look bad by comparison."
"Don't let him fool you," Charlie said with warm humor. "These two are going to be legends at Hogwarts. I'm just trying to make sure they survive long enough to achieve legendary status without getting expelled first."
He straightened up, shifting into official Prefect mode with practiced ease. "Right then, I'm supposed to inform you that we'll be arriving at Hogsmeade Station in approximately one hour. All students need to be changed into their Hogwarts uniforms before disembarking—Professor McGonagall is very particular about proper presentation."
Peter looked down at his regular clothes—jeans and a t-shirt that had seemed perfectly appropriate for a train journey but now felt woefully inadequate for arriving at an ancient magical castle. "Uniforms. Right. We should... we should probably do that."
"Your trunks should have everything you need," Charlie continued with the efficient delivery of someone who'd given this speech to nervous first-years multiple times before. "Black robes, white shirts, house ties will be distributed after Sorting. Make sure everything's properly adjusted—McGonagall has been known to send students back to change if they show up looking like they got dressed in the dark."
"Has she actually done that?" Gwen asked with concern about potential delays to the carefully planned schedule she'd been mentally constructing.
"To my knowledge? Three times in the past five years," Charlie replied with complete seriousness. "One of them was Percy, actually. He showed up with his shirt buttons done up wrong and she made him fix it before entering the Great Hall. He was mortified for weeks."
"Percy got dress-coded by McGonagall," Fred said with obvious delight at this embarrassing family history. "Best moment of his Hogwarts career and he doesn't even appreciate it."
"It was character building," George added solemnly.
Charlie shook his head with fond exasperation at his younger brothers. "Right, I need to finish my rounds and make sure everyone else is prepared. Fred, George—behave yourselves. Americans—welcome to Hogwarts, and good luck with the Sorting."
As he turned to leave, Peter suddenly had one of those flashes of practical insight that occasionally interrupted his tendency toward overthinking. "Hey, uh, Charlie? Since we need to change and this compartment has both boys and girls..." He gestured vaguely at the group, his face going slightly pink with the awkwardness of addressing logistics that involved changing clothes with people he'd met approximately two hours ago.
Charlie paused, recognizing the social navigation challenge that Peter was attempting to solve without making anyone uncomfortable. "Smart thinking. Boys can step out for a bit while the girls change, then switch. Plenty of space in the corridors or other compartments if you need somewhere to wait."
"Perfect," Peter said with obvious relief that someone else had validated his suggested solution. "So, uh, boys? Maybe we could explore the train a bit while the girls change? Give them some privacy, check out what else is happening on this magical locomotive, maybe see if there are any other interesting compartments or features we haven't discovered yet?"
"Exploration," Ned said with immediate enthusiasm, Felix perking up on the luggage rack and cycling through adventurous shades of orange and yellow. "I'm absolutely in favor of exploration. Felix agrees that train reconnaissance is an excellent use of our time."
Felix squeaked what sounded like confirmation, possibly just because he'd heard his name and wanted to participate in the conversation.
"Give us fifteen minutes?" MJ suggested, already beginning to organize her belongings in that efficient way that suggested she'd done quick costume changes in theater dressing rooms and knew exactly how to optimize the process. "That should be plenty of time for us to get changed and sorted out."
"Fifteen minutes," Peter agreed with the kind of precision that suggested he was mentally setting a timer. "We'll be back right on schedule, and then you can have your turn exploring while we handle the uniform situation."
"You're very organized about this," Felicia observed with amusement, though her tone suggested approval for the systematic approach to what could have been an awkward social situation.
"I'm organized about everything," Peter replied with the slightly defensive tone of someone whose organizational tendencies had been mocked by less systematically-minded people. "It's one of my more endearing qualities, according to Aunt May. Also according to nobody else, but she counts for a lot."
"It's actually pretty practical," Gwen said, already pulling out her own uniform components from her carefully packed trunk. "Clear timeline, defined expectations, efficient use of limited space and time. This is good planning."
"Thank you," Peter said with obvious gratitude for someone appreciating his systematic approach.
"Though you could probably manage it without the verbal processing of every logistical detail," Gwen added with gentle teasing.
"I could," Peter admitted, "but where's the fun in that?"
Fred and George were already heading toward the door, clearly comfortable with the whole changing-clothes-on-a-train situation from previous years of Hogwarts experience. "Come on then," Fred said with characteristic energy. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can find in fifteen minutes."
"Or avoid, ideally," Lee added, though his grin suggested he wasn't particularly committed to the trouble-avoidance option.
"Trouble-adjacent activity," George proposed as a compromise. "We'll observe trouble from a safe distance without directly participating."
"That's the most responsible thing you've said all day," Gwen observed.
"Don't worry, we'll make up for it later," Fred assured her.
Peter grabbed his bag and headed for the door, pausing to look back at the girls with that particular combination of nervous energy and genuine consideration that characterized most of his social interactions. "Fifteen minutes. We'll knock before coming back in, just to make sure everyone's decent and nobody's caught mid-wardrobe-adjustment."
"Such a gentleman," MJ said dryly, though her smile suggested genuine appreciation for his thoughtfulness.
"I try," Peter replied with a slightly awkward half-bow that was either charmingly dorky or dorkily charming, depending on your perspective.
As the four boys—Peter, Ned, Fred, and George—headed out into the corridor with Lee leading the way, the compartment door slid shut behind them with a soft click, leaving the girls to their uniform preparations.
---
The train corridor was considerably more crowded than their compartment had been, filled with students of all ages moving between compartments, chatting with friends, and generally creating the kind of organized chaos that seemed to characterize any large group of teenagers in transition. Upper years moved with the confident ease of people who'd done this journey multiple times, while younger students—mostly other first years, based on their expressions of nervous excitement—navigated the corridors with less certainty.
"So," Lee said as they began making their way down the corridor, stepping aside to let a group of older girls pass while trying not to get knocked over by someone's overeager owl, "how are you lot feeling about the whole Hogwarts experience now that we're actually almost there?"
"Terrified and excited in approximately equal measure," Peter replied with characteristic honesty, his eyes darting around to take in every detail of the train's interior architecture. "Also fascinated by the engineering—did you notice how stable this train is despite the speed? There must be some kind of magical suspension system that's compensating for—"
"Parker," Fred interrupted with fond exasperation that suggested he'd already figured out Peter's tendency toward technical analysis, "you're doing the thing where you turn ordinary experiences into engineering dissertations again."
"It's not ordinary!" Peter protested. "It's a magically enhanced Victorian locomotive that's been in continuous operation for over a century while maintaining safety standards that would make modern transit authorities weep with envy!"
"He's got a point," Ned said loyally, Felix bobbing on his shoulder and cycling through colors that matched his enthusiasm. "This train is legitimately impressive from basically any analytical framework."
"Everything's impressive if you analyze it long enough," George observed.
"Exactly!" Peter said, completely missing that this wasn't necessarily a compliment. "That's what makes the world fascinating—there are infinite layers of complexity to discover in even the most mundane-seeming objects or systems."
"Mundane-seeming," Fred repeated with amusement. "Yeah, nothing mundane about a magical train to wizard school."
They passed another compartment where several older students were engaged in what appeared to be a very animated discussion about Quidditch strategies, their voices carrying through the partially open door with the passionate intensity of people who took their sports very seriously.
"—absolute rubbish, that is! The Chudley Cannons haven't had a decent Seeker in three years, and their Keeper couldn't stop a Bludger if it was moving in slow motion—"
"You take that back! The Cannons have heart, they've got spirit, they're going to turn it around this season—"
"They say that every season, and every season they finish dead last—"
"Is Quidditch really that big a deal?" Ned asked with genuine curiosity as they moved past the passionate sports debate. "Like, I know it's the wizarding world's main sport, but is it actually as culturally significant as people make it sound?"
"Bigger," Lee said with complete seriousness. "Quidditch isn't just a sport—it's basically the primary social bonding activity, the main source of house competition beyond academics, and the thing that most students care about more than their actual classes."
"Charlie practically lives for Quidditch," Fred added with obvious pride in his brother's athletic achievements. "He's been training since he was about six years old, and he's probably going to play professionally after graduation."
"Professional Quidditch player," Peter repeated with fascination. "There's an entire professional sports industry built around flying on broomsticks and chasing magical balls through the air while trying not to get knocked off by other players or sentient projectiles designed to cause injury."
"When you put it like that, it sounds completely insane," George observed.
"It is completely insane," Lee confirmed cheerfully. "That's part of what makes it brilliant."
They'd reached a section of the train that was slightly less crowded, and found themselves near a window that offered a particularly good view of the passing Scottish landscape. The mountains had grown more dramatic as they traveled north, and the late afternoon sun was casting everything in golden light that made even the most ordinary hillside look like something from a romantic painting.
"That's going to be our home for the next seven years," Ned said quietly, looking out at the landscape with an expression that combined wonder and slight disbelief. "An ancient castle in the Scottish Highlands, surrounded by mountains and forests and magic."
"Sounds like something from a fantasy novel," Peter agreed, his usual analytical energy momentarily subdued by genuine awe at the beauty of their surroundings.
"It basically is something from a fantasy novel," Fred said with satisfaction. "Except it's real, and we get to live there, and learn magic in the same classrooms where witches and wizards have been studying for over a thousand years."
"When you think about it like that," George added thoughtfully, "we're part of an unbroken chain of magical education that goes back to the Middle Ages. We're walking in the same halls as Merlin's contemporaries, learning from traditions that pre-date most modern countries."
"That's..." Peter paused, clearly working through the historical implications. "That's actually incredibly profound. We're not just attending school—we're participating in the continuation of magical knowledge that's been passed down through centuries of students and teachers."
"And occasionally getting into trouble while doing it," Fred added with a grin that suggested he viewed this as an equally important part of the tradition.
"Particularly the trouble part," George agreed. "Every generation of students has left their mark on Hogwarts through creative mischief and unauthorized exploration. We're just continuing a proud tradition."
"Unauthorized exploration," Ned repeated with the tone of someone carefully filing away this information for future reference. "Does that mean what I think it means?"
"Depends on what you think it means," Lee said with diplomatic vagueness. "But yes, probably."
They'd been walking for about seven minutes now—Peter was definitely keeping track of the timeline—and had made their way through several train cars, observing the incredible diversity of Hogwarts students. There were serious-looking older students reviewing textbooks in preparation for what appeared to be advanced courses, groups of friends playing magical games that involved cards that moved and occasionally exploded, and even one compartment where someone appeared to be practicing wand movements while their companions offered commentary and suggestions.
"How much longer do you think we should explore?" Ned asked, checking with the group about timing rather than just following Peter's internal schedule.
Peter glanced at his watch—a gift from Uncle Ben that he wore religiously despite often pulling out his phone to check the time anyway. "We've got about five more minutes before we should head back. Maybe see if there's anything interesting in the next car?"
"Food trolley might come through again," Fred suggested hopefully. "Could stock up on snacks for later."
"You literally just ate an entire selection of magical candy," George pointed out.
"That was ages ago," Fred protested. "I've been very active since then. Walking around, making new friends, participating in educational discussions about the historical significance of magical schooling—that kind of thing burns calories."
"Everything burns calories if you're creative enough about categorizing your activities as exercise," Peter said with the voice of experience.
"Exactly!" Fred said with approval. "You understand me, Parker."
They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a group of older students who were moving in the opposite direction with the kind of purposeful stride that suggested they were on some kind of official prefect business. The leader—a tall girl with sleek dark hair and a Slytherin prefect badge—gave them a look that managed to convey both "watch where you're going" and "first years are adorable" in a single expression.
"Sorry," Peter said immediately, his natural inclination toward apologizing for basically anything kicking in. "We didn't see you coming around the corner, and we were just exploring the train before we have to change into our uniforms, and we probably should have been paying more attention to where we were walking—"
"You're fine," the prefect said with amusement at his rambling apology. "Just try not to run over any professors if you encounter them in the corridors. They're less forgiving than I am."
"Noted," Peter said with genuine gratitude for the advice. "Thank you for the heads up about professor-collision protocols."
"Professor-collision protocols," the prefect repeated with a slight smile. "You're going to fit in just fine at Hogwarts. Probably Ravenclaw, if I had to guess."
"Why Ravenclaw?" Ned asked with curiosity about how she'd reached that conclusion so quickly.
"Anyone who naturally speaks in formal subclauses and treats social interactions like they're documenting procedures for a research paper usually ends up in Ravenclaw," she replied with the confidence of someone who'd been observing sorting patterns for several years. "Though you might surprise me. The Hat has a way of seeing things we don't."
With that cryptic comment, she and her group continued past them, leaving the boys standing in the corridor processing this encounter.
"Did she just predict my Sorting based on a thirty-second interaction?" Peter asked with a mixture of concern and fascination.
"She's been a prefect for two years," Lee explained. "You develop pattern recognition for personality types and their likely House placements. She's probably right about seventy percent of the time."
"Seventy percent," Peter repeated, his analytical mind immediately recognizing that this meant thirty percent of the time her predictions were wrong. "So there's still significant uncertainty in the sorting process despite observable personality indicators."
"Which means," Fred said with satisfaction, "that the Sorting Hat actually looks deeper than surface traits and verbal habits. It's reading something more fundamental about who you are."
"Or who you could become," George added thoughtfully. "Which is even more interesting from a psychological perspective."
They'd reached what appeared to be the end of the passenger cars—beyond this point was probably just the engine and maybe some cargo storage. Time to head back.
"Right," Peter announced, checking his watch again. "We've been gone almost exactly fourteen minutes. Should probably start heading back to give ourselves a minute of buffer before the fifteen-minute mark."
"You really do have an internal timer, don't you?" Ned asked with fond amusement.
"Aunt May says I was born with a clock in my brain and a need to optimize every schedule," Peter replied with the comfortable self-awareness of someone who'd long ago accepted his own quirks. "She's not wrong."
They began making their way back through the train cars, retracing their route with slightly more confidence now that they'd established the basic geography. The conversations they passed were similar to what they'd heard before—Quidditch debates, academic discussions, social planning for the upcoming term—but now it all felt more real, more immediate. In less than an hour, they wouldn't be observers anymore. They'd be participants in this magical educational community, sorted into houses and beginning their own journey through seven years of Hogwarts.
"You know what?" Ned said as they approached their compartment, Felix cycling through thoughtful blues and purples, "I think we're going to be okay. Whatever houses we end up in, whatever challenges we face, whatever weird magical stuff happens—we're going to figure it out."
"That's very optimistic," Fred observed.
"I'm an optimistic person," Ned replied with simple honesty. "Plus, Felix agrees with me, and his emotional intelligence is actually pretty reliable."
Felix squeaked what sounded like confirmation, or possibly just commentary on the aesthetic qualities of the corridor lighting. With Pygmy Puffs, it was often hard to tell.
They reached their compartment door, and Peter knocked—three quick raps that were probably louder than strictly necessary but definitely communicated "we're about to enter, please be decent."
"Come in!" MJ's voice called from inside. "We're all presentable and properly uniformed."
Peter slid the door open to find the three girls had indeed transformed from casual train travelers into proper Hogwarts students. The black robes looked surprisingly good on all of them—MJ's draped with artistic elegance, Gwen's adjusted with geometric precision, and Felicia's somehow managing to look both regulation-compliant and effortlessly stylish.
"Wow," Ned said with genuine admiration. "You all look like you've been going to Hogwarts for years instead of, you know, putting those robes on for the first time fifteen minutes ago."
"Thank you," Felicia said with the satisfaction of someone who'd known she would look good in magical school uniforms and had been proved correct. "Though I have to say, these robes are actually really well-designed from a fashion perspective. Good fabric, flattering cut, practical pockets—someone put actual thought into the aesthetic functionality."
"The pockets are surprisingly deep," Gwen confirmed, demonstrating by pulling out her wand, a small notebook, and what appeared to be an emergency quill from various hidden compartments in her robes. "Very practical for carrying academic supplies without needing a bag constantly."
"Your turn," MJ said, gesturing to the boys with her artistic flair. "Go forth and transform into proper wizarding students. We'll explore the train for a bit while you handle the wardrobe situation."
The boys grabbed their uniform components from their trunks with varying degrees of organization—Peter's carefully folded and labeled, Ned's enthusiastically retrieved but slightly wrinkled, Fred and George's handled with the efficient casualness of people who'd done this before.
"Fifteen minutes?" Peter suggested, maintaining the established timeline.
"Fifteen minutes," the girls agreed in unison, already heading for the door.
As they left, Fred turned to his fellow male students with characteristic energy. "Right then, let's make ourselves presentable for Professor McGonagall's exacting standards. Last thing we want is to show up at the Sorting looking like we got dressed in a hurricane."
"Speak for yourself," George said with a grin. "Some of us have natural style that transcends mere clothing choices."
"You're both going to look exactly the same once the robes are on," Lee pointed out.
"Exactly!" the twins said in unison. "Perfect symmetry. Very dramatic."
Peter had already begun the process of changing, his natural efficiency making the whole thing go faster than expected. The white shirt was straightforward enough, though he spent a moment making sure the collar was properly aligned and the buttons were evenly distributed. The robes themselves were heavier than he'd anticipated—good quality fabric that would probably keep them warm during Scottish winters.
"These are actually really well made," he observed, running his hand over the material with unconscious evaluation of craftsmanship. "Durable weave, reinforced seams, weather-resistant treatment that's subtle enough you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it."
"Parker," Ned said with affectionate exasperation while struggling with his own collar buttons, "are you analyzing your school robes for construction quality?"
"Everything's worth analyzing," Peter replied without apology. "Understanding how things are made helps you appreciate the thought and skill that went into creating them."
"That's actually kind of nice," Ned admitted. "Though maybe save the detailed construction analysis for after we're not racing against a fifteen-minute timeline?"
"Fair point."
Fred and George had changed with the synchronized efficiency of people who could probably get dressed in their sleep, and were now helping Lee with some complicated adjustment to his robes that apparently involved making sure the hem length was exactly right for his height.
"There's actually an art to wearing Hogwarts robes properly," Fred explained while making minute adjustments. "Too long and you trip on staircases, too short and you look like you're expecting a flood."
"Plus," George added, "proper robe drape makes a statement about your attention to detail and respect for academic tradition. McGonagall notices these things."
"You two have spent a lot of time thinking about the cultural significance of robe adjustment," Peter observed.
"We've spent a lot of time watching other students get points deducted for sloppy presentation," Fred corrected. "Learning from others' mistakes is way more efficient than making all the same mistakes yourself."
"Though we'll definitely make plenty of our own unique mistakes," George assured them. "Just not the clothing-related ones."
They were finished with approximately three minutes to spare—Peter's internal timer had been remarkably accurate. The four of them stood in front of the compartment's small mirror, examining their transformed appearances with varying degrees of satisfaction.
"We look like proper wizarding students," Ned said with wonder, Felix cycling through impressed shades of green and gold from his perch on the luggage rack. "Like, actually legitimate magical people who belong at Hogwarts."
"We are actually legitimate magical people who belong at Hogwarts," Peter pointed out, but his voice carried the same sense of amazement at their transformed appearances.
"Yeah, but now we look like it," Ned insisted.
There was a knock at the door—the girls, exactly on schedule.
"Come in!" Peter called. "We're decent and properly uniformed!"
The door slid open to reveal the three girls, all of them looking slightly windswept and very satisfied with whatever adventure they'd had during their fifteen-minute exploration period.
"Find anything interesting?" Fred asked with obvious curiosity about what kind of trouble or discovery they might have stumbled into.
"Prefect car has much better snacks than the regular trolley," Felicia reported with satisfaction. "Also, there's apparently a dedicated games compartment where older students are playing something involving floating chess pieces and what appeared to be complex betting systems."
"Wizard's Chess," Lee said with recognition. "It's like regular chess, except the pieces move on their own and provide tactical commentary. Also they're somewhat violent when capturing each other."
"Violent?" Ned asked with concern.
"They basically smash each other to pieces," George explained cheerfully. "It's very dramatic. Great for learning strategic thinking under pressure."
"Why is everything at this school either educational or violent?" MJ asked with artistic exasperation. "Can't we just have normal games that don't involve property destruction or physical combat?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Fred asked with genuine confusion, as though the idea of non-violent entertainment was completely foreign to him.
"Regular people have fun without things exploding or getting destroyed," Gwen pointed out.
"Regular people are missing out," George replied with absolute conviction.
The train whistle blew—a long, melodious note that seemed to carry both warning and welcome. Through the window, they could see the landscape changing again, the mountains growing closer and more dramatic, the light shifting from afternoon gold to evening amber.
"That's the thirty-minute warning," Lee said with the voice of experience. "We'll be pulling into Hogsmeade Station soon."
They all crowded toward the window again—eight students in proper Hogwarts robes now, looking every inch the part of magical students about to begin their educational adventure. And there, visible through the evening mist that was beginning to rise from the valleys, growing larger and more impossible with each passing moment, was Hogwarts.
The castle rose from the lakeshore like someone had taken every architectural fantasy about magical schools and made them real through sheer determination and possibly excessive amounts of magic. Towers that shouldn't have been structurally sound spiraled toward the sky, bridges that appeared to span impossible distances connected different sections with elegant arcs, windows glowed with warm light that suggested countless rooms full of students and teachers and magic.
"There it is," Fred said with quiet satisfaction. "Home."
And somehow, despite never having been there before, despite everything being new and unknown and slightly terrifying, the word felt right.
Home.
The adventure was about to begin.
—
The train began to slow with a low groan of enchanted brakes, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against track gradually fading into a steady rumble that vibrated up through the floor. Students who had been lounging in compartments now scrambled for trunks, owls hooted indignantly at the sudden burst of activity, and the general volume of chatter rose several notches as excitement overtook nerves.
"Right, this is it," Lee said, standing up with the air of a seasoned veteran about to lead a squad into battle. "Trunks closed, wands secured, and keep your scarves handy—it's usually freezing when we first get off the train."
The whistle blew again, long and final this time, and the train gave one last shudder before coming to a complete stop. Outside the windows, lanterns bobbed along the platform at Hogsmeade Station, carried by porters and prefects alike. Steam hissed from the sides of the engine, wrapping everything in drifting clouds that made the night look even more magical than it already was.
"Everybody remember the plan?" Peter asked, automatically sliding into logistics mode. "Stay together, don't lose anyone, follow the flow of students until we find the staff member who's supposed to—"
"Wrangle the first-years," Fred interrupted with a grin. "That'll be Hagrid. You'll know him when you see him."
"Trust me," George added, hefting his trunk with practiced ease. "There's no mistaking Hagrid. He's sort of… the size of a small cottage."
"Like, metaphorically?" Ned asked hopefully.
"Like, literally," Lee confirmed cheerfully. "But don't worry, he's brilliant. Gentle as anything unless you're a dangerous magical creature, in which case he's either trying to hug it or keep it as a pet."
The corridor outside their compartment had dissolved into a barely controlled stampede of students dragging trunks, carrying cages, and shouting last-minute reminders to their friends. Peter grabbed his bag and wedged himself into the flow, the others close behind as the train doors slid open with a rush of cold night air.
The platform was chaos in the best possible way—steam from the train mingled with the glow of lantern light, owls hooted in protest at the chill, and hundreds of voices overlapped into a wall of sound. Somewhere near the middle of it all, a booming voice rose above the noise:
"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! This way, c'mon now—don' be shy!"
"That," Fred said, pointing through the shifting clouds of steam, "would be Hagrid."
Through the mist, a massive silhouette emerged: a man who was indeed roughly the size of a small cottage, with a wild mane of hair and beard that caught the lantern light like tangled ropes of dark copper. He was waving one enormous hand over the heads of the crowd, his voice carrying effortlessly across the station.
"Firs'-years! Over here, this way now!"
"That's… that's a person," Ned whispered, staring in wide-eyed disbelief.
"Yep," George said cheerfully. "And he's the nicest person you'll ever meet—unless you happen to be his least favorite thing in the world, which is people hurting magical creatures. Then you might want to run."
Felix let out a squeak that was equal parts awe and alarm, his fur flashing between amazed gold and nervous purple.
"Come on," Gwen said, adjusting her grip on her trunk with determination. "If we're going to start this adventure properly, I think following the giant man calling for first-years is the way to go."
They joined the stream of nervous but excited students making their way toward Hagrid, the mist thickening around them, the lantern light flickering like something out of a storybook. Somewhere in the distance, over the hiss of steam and the shuffle of hundreds of feet, the faint outline of the castle loomed, glowing against the night sky like a promise.
"Firs'-years, follow me!" Hagrid called again, turning to lead them off the platform and down a winding path. "No need ter worry—we're goin' ter the boats. Hogwarts'll be waitin' fer ye."
Peter's heart gave a nervous, excited lurch at the words. This was it. No more train rides, no more speculation. The Sorting, the Houses, the classes, the whole impossible adventure—
It was all about to begin.
---
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