Early that morning, Mrs. Weasley's furious voice echoed endlessly through the Burrow.
"Percy! Percy, where are your robes and your cauldron? And what is this—an entire bag of letters? Clean it up at once!"
"Fred! George! How many times must I tell you? You are not taking those ridiculous sweets to school! Put them back—all of them!"
"RON! Do you know what time it is? Get up this instant! Check your things again! If you're not downstairs in five minutes, I swear I'll throw you in the pond, lock you in the cellar, and you can forget about going to Hogwarts!"
"Merlin's beard… I'll be dead from you lot one of these days!"
Her tirade paused only long enough for her to dab at her eyes.
"You children should really learn from Vaughn. He packed two days ago—two days! And he's bringing not only school supplies but an entire trunk of potions and ingredients… so hardworking…"
The sentiment lasted exactly one second.
Her expression hardened. She raised her wand.
"Scabbers, come!"
A fat brown rat squealed as it shot in through the open door, limbs flailing, only to be caught mid-air by Mrs. Weasley's formidable grip.
"Ronald Weasley! How can you lose your own rat? Thank goodness Guoguo Tea, sweetheart, was chasing him—or he'd be gone! Come here, darling, Mummy has fish treats for you~"
"Meow~"
The chaos lasted more than two hours.
After triple-checking every trunk, cage, and pocket, Mrs. Weasley finally nodded in satisfaction—just as a car horn blared outside.
She led the way out, carrying Vaughn's box of potion ingredients herself, the boys trailing behind.
Parked in front of the house sat a battered old car. Arthur Weasley patted its roof proudly.
"Hop in, kids! Today, your dad's taking you to the station the Muggle way!"
A normal car could never hold this many people—but Arthur worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, and rules had never troubled him.
Beside the Burrow stood a ramshackle shed where he'd kept the car all summer, "improving" it. Occasionally, Vaughn and the twins had helped him tinker.
Both the cabin and the boot had been enhanced with the Undetectable Extension Charm. Arthur had even tried to make it fly—though that part was, thankfully, unfinished.
With luggage piled into the cavernous boot, the family squeezed inside amid nonstop shouting:
Fred and George wrestling until letters flew everywhere.
Percy sulking after his post was confiscated.
Ron clinging desperately to Scabbers while shrieking for Guoguo Tea to stay away.
Every so often, Mrs. Weasley twisted an ear.
Arthur ignored everything.
He cheerfully twisted the keys while reading both the Muggle instruction manual and a road map.
Vaughn stared at him.
"Dad… do you actually know how to drive?"
"Of course! I practiced for three whole days! Oh—Vaughn, what's this mean? 'Clutch'? And what's a 'gear'? Extraordinary—Muggle magic!"
Ten minutes later, the car had advanced perhaps fifty metres.
Vaughn finally evicted Arthur from the driver's seat.
After casting a Muggle-Repelling Charm, he drove the rest of the way himself.
Arthur wasn't offended in the slightest.
"That's my boy! The Weasley genius! I knew you'd love Muggle inventions. Don't worry—by Christmas, your dad will definitely know how to drive. I'll take you for a—what do they call it? Ah! A joyride!"
Vaughn rolled his eyes.
They reached King's Cross Station at 10:30—dangerously close.
The family spilled out of the car and hurried inside, weaving through crowds in search of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Percy muttered darkly, "There are too many Muggles."
"Silly boy," Molly replied. "This is a Muggle station."
"THERE! The third pillar!"
Perched on Arthur's shoulders, Ginny spotted it first.
"Percy, you go—good. Fred, your turn!"
"I'm George, Mum!"
"Oh—sorry, dear."
The twins exchanged identical grins.
"Actually, I'm Fred."
He pressed his face close to hers and barreled through the pillar, laughing.
As Vaughn followed, he scanned the station.
It was… underwhelming.
Time had worn it down; only the great arched roof retained any real grandeur.
Then he noticed someone trailing behind them.
A small, scrawny boy pushing a trolley stacked with luggage and a caged owl.
Messy black hair. Crooked glasses. Utterly lost.
Compared to him, Ron—perpetually bullied Ron—looked positively confident.
The boy froze when Vaughn glanced his way, clearly torn between asking for help and running away. He wiped sweat from his forehead—
Revealing a faint, lightning-shaped scar.
Vaughn knew instantly.
Harry Potter.
The Boy Who Lived.
"Come on, Vaughn! You go before Ron—oh?"
Molly turned—and noticed the boy at last.
She didn't recognise him, but a lonely child was enough.
"Hello, dear," she said warmly. "Starting school this year?"
"Y-yes, ma'am," Harry stammered. "I—I can't find Platform Nine and Three-Quarters."
"That's all right. Look between Platforms Nine and Ten—see the third pillar? Just walk straight toward it with your trolley. Don't stop."
Harry nodded, pale.
He squeezed his eyes shut, charged—and vanished.
Vaughn followed.
There was no sensation at all.
Just a blink of dimness.
Then the world opened up again.
A deep red steam engine stood beside a bustling platform, steam hissing softly.
Above it hung a gleaming sign:
HOGWARTS EXPRESS
(End of Chapter )