Harry Potter had been through a lot in the last two weeks.
He'd discovered he was a wizard. He'd watched a goblin casually insult capitalism. He'd destroyed a wand store like a toddler with a sugar high. And now, as he stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, staring at a literal red steam engine parked like it was no big deal in the middle of a magical train station that shouldn't exist, Harry had just one question.
"Does no one in this world do anything normally?"
"C'mon then," Hagrid said, giving him a gentle shove toward the barrier. "Off yeh go, Harry. Try not to get turned into a frog before the term starts."
"Wait—what?"
But the half-giant had already vanished into the crowd, leaving Harry alone with a cart, an owl who judged everyone silently, and an overstuffed suitcase full of wizard robes and trauma.
"Right," Harry muttered. "Just casually walk into a solid wall. No big deal."
He ran at the barrier.
And passed through like mist.
And promptly tripped over a cat that wasn't there five seconds ago.
"GOD DAMN IT"
Inside the Hogwarts Express
The train smelled like old wood, magic, and someone nearby eating too many tuna sandwiches.
Harry dragged his luggage down the corridor, past students chatting, kids saying goodbye to nervous-looking parents, and one first-year trying to talk to his toad in French.
Most compartments were full. He finally found one with a broken door handle and a sign that read:
"Do Not Lick the Walls. Previous Incidents Pending Investigation."
"…Great."
He slid the door shut, dropped onto the bench, and stared out the window at the bustling platform.
And for a moment… everything was peaceful.
No explosions. No flaming wands. No ducks with murder in their eyes.
Just a train ride to wizard school.
Naturally, that was when the ferret showed up.
Winston
The ferret was wearing a tiny velvet waistcoat.
It stared at Harry with the calm, assessing eyes of a man who's been through three divorces and a minor tax scandal.
Harry stared back.
"Are… you real?"
The ferret nodded solemnly.
It then reached into its vest pocket (yes, really), pulled out a tiny business card, and flicked it at Harry's face with the precision of a trained assassin.
Winston T. Ferret, Esq.Chaos Consultant. Emotional Support Mammal. Debt Collector.
Harry blinked.
"...Are you my familiar?"
The ferret gave a short, meaningful shrug, then curled up on the opposite bench and immediately fell asleep. He would not explain himself further.
Snack Trolley Chaos
Not long after, the snack trolley rolled by, pushed by an elderly witch with half-moon glasses and the kind of no-nonsense energy you usually find in airport security agents and hardened mercenaries.
"Anything off the cart, dears?"
Harry opened his mouth to ask for one Chocolate Frog.
He did not get that far.
A low, metallic chime echoed from the cart.
The trolley shuddered.
Every single item on the shelves — cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a jar labeled "Mystery Tentacles (Pickled)" — began to float.
The cart exploded. Gently.
And in the next three seconds, Harry was buried in a deluge of snacks.
Like, actual avalanche. He was completely buried under six treacle tarts, three boxes of Sugar Quills, and one packet of something called "Exploding Marzipan."
The rest of the train cheered.
"IT'S HIM!" someone yelled. "THE BOY WHO LIVED MADE THE SNACK CART ASCEND!"
The trolley witch nodded. "'Bout time. Been cursed since '98."
Harry stuck his head out from the pile of chocolate frogs.
"I didn't do anything!"
Winston gave him a look that said: You literally radiate main character energy. Accept your fate.
A red-haired boy poked his head into the compartment, holding a half-squashed sandwich and looking both awed and slightly jealous.
"Blimey," he said. "Are you Harry Potter?"
"Last time I checked."
Ron pointed at the snack pile. "Did you mug the cart?"
"It mugged me, actually."
Ron grinned and plopped onto the seat. "Nice. I'm Ron."
The two exchanged that sort of immediate, chaotic understanding only eleven-year-old boys with no adult supervision can manage.
They were soon joined by Hermione Granger, who entered the compartment with the air of someone prepared to file a noise complaint.
"Excuse me," she said, eyeing the exploded snack scene like it was a war crime. "Is this the designated eating zone or a magical food-based incident report in progress?"
"I think yes," Harry offered.
She frowned. "I read five Hogwarts orientation guides and none of them covered edible avalanches."
Winston gave her a polite little wave.
"Is that… is that a ferret in a waistcoat?"
"Yes," Ron said solemnly. "He's the team leader now."
Later, as the train neared Hogwarts…
The trio had shared snacks, near-death sugar highs, and deeply troubling Bertie Bott's flavors, including:
"Cactus with Abandonment Issues"
"Disappointed Father"
and "Socks That Were Definitely Alive Once."
Harry leaned back, arms folded behind his head, thinking about how fast everything was moving.
He'd escaped a cupboard, exploded a wand shop, gained a mysterious ferret, and now sat between two people he'd known for maybe two hours but trusted more than anyone else in his life so far.
A thought flickered through his head, unbidden.
Maybe this year won't be so bad.
From overhead, something creaked ominously.
A shelf gave way.
A full cauldron fell from the luggage rack and landed with a clunk inches from his head — the exact spot Harry had been sitting ten seconds earlier.
"…Never mind," he muttered. "Still cursed."
Winston, without lifting his head, flipped a small sign in his vest that now read:
"Current Danger Level: Moderate (Falling Objects Imminent)."
The Hogwarts Express whistled as it neared its destination.
The real story was about to begin.
And Harry Potter — eleven years old, amnesiac reincarnated luck god, chocolate-smeared and emotionally half-feral — was ready.
Well.
Mostly.
...
As usual, gib all stones and votes.:)