a group of misfits with complicated relationships
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September 1st. King’s Cross Station, Platform 9¾.
The air was thick with smoke and the chatter of hundreds of families saying their goodbyes.
A scarlet steam engine waited patiently, its whistle echoing off the arched glass roof.
A tall boy with messy dark hair and round glasses jogged past, a caged owl swinging wildly in one hand.
James Potter
—absolutely not, Wormtail, I’d rather shove my own head in the owl cage than ask her.
Sirius Black
strolling after him, hands in his pockets, grinning You’d look good behind bars, Prongs. Very dramatic.
Remus Lupin
shouldering an overstuffed rucksack, voice dry Please don’t give him ideas.
