Harry Potter 01 - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

a few words of what they were saying.
    ‘– packed with Muggles, of course –’
    Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry’s in front of him – and they had an owl.
    Heart hammering, Harry pushed his trolley after them. They stopped and so did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying.
    ‘Now, what’s the platform number?’ said the boys’ mother.
    ‘Nine and three-quarters!’ piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. ‘Mum, can’t I go …’
    ‘You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first.’
    What looked like the oldest boy marched towards platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it – but just as the boy reached the divide between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him, and by the time the last rucksack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.
    ‘Fred, you next,’ the plump woman said.
    ‘I’m not Fred, I’m George,’ said the boy. ‘Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?’
    ‘Sorry, George, dear.’
    ‘Only joking, I am Fred,’ said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done, because a second later, he had gone – but how had he done it?
    Now the third brother was walking briskly towards the ticket barrier – he was almost there – and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere.
    There was nothing else for it.
    ‘Excuse me,’ Harry said to the plump woman.
    ‘Hullo, dear,’ she said. ‘First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.’
    She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose.
    ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘The thing is – the thing is, I don’t know how to –’
    ‘How to get on to the platform?’ she said kindly, and Harry nodded.
    ‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron.’
    ‘Er – OK,’ said Harry.
    He pushed his trolley round and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.
    He started to walk towards it. People jostled him on their way to platforms nine and ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that ticket box and then he’d be in trouble – leaning forward on his trolley he broke into a heavy run – the barrier was coming nearer and nearer – he wouldn’t be able to stop – the trolley was out of control – he was a foot away – he closed his eyes ready for the crash –
    It didn’t come … he kept on running … he opened his eyes.
    A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the ticket box had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it.
    Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to each other in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.
    The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his trolley off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, ‘Gran, I’ve lost my toad again.’
    ‘Oh, Neville, ’ he heard the old woman sigh.
    A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.
    ‘Give us a look, Lee, go on.’
    The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.
    Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk towards the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.
    ‘Want a hand?’ It was one of the red-haired twins he’d followed through the ticket box.
    ‘Yes, please,’ Harry panted.
    ‘Oy, Fred! C’mere and help!’
    With the