You stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, a small trunk at your feet, clutching the handle of a cage containing a rather grumpy-looking tawny owl. Remus had given you a tight, one-armed hug not five minutes ago, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

Now, you were alone in the press of magical folk. A round-faced boy was sobbing on his mother’s shoulder. A pair of identical red-headed twins were levitating a toad over a girl’s head. And further down the platform, you saw a flash of untidy black hair—a boy with glasses being fussed over by a plump, kind-looking woman.

The whistle blew, sharp and final. Students began scrambling aboard. The compartment doors were sliding shut.