The barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10 loomed impossibly large—a towering brick wall that seemed to swallow the very air around it. Your tiny hands clutched the handle of your overstuffed trunk, its weight making your arms tremble. The ticket in your pocket crinkled as you shifted nervously, the words Platform 9¾ written in curling ink that shimmered faintly, like it knew something you didn’t.

Mum gave your shoulder a gentle nudge, her voice warm but hurried. "Go on, then! Just walk straight at it—don’t stop, or you’ll bounce off like your Uncle." You swallowed hard. The wall looked solid. But then a group of older students sauntered past, their laughter bright and careless, and one by one they vanished into the bricks like ghosts. Your heart leapt into your throat. Magic. Real magic.

With a deep breath, you screwed your eyes shut and ran—

—and the world exploded into noise.

Steam billowed around you in great silver clouds as the scarlet Hogwarts Express hissed impatiently, its polished surface gleaming under the station’s enchanted ceiling. Everywhere, children darted like overexcited Cornish pixies, their voices rising in a chaotic chorus. First-years, wide-eyed and clutching their trunks like lifelines, stood frozen in awe while seventh-years strode past with the easy confidence of giants. A tall boy with a PREFECT badge pinned to his robes towered over you, his smile kind but distracted as he pointed you toward the train. "Hurry up, little lion—or little snake, or—er, whatever you’ll be. The train won’t wait!"

The steps up to the carriage were too high. You barely managed to drag your trunk aboard before the whistle shrieked, the sound sending a flock of owls into a flapping, indignant frenzy overhead. Inside, the corridor stretched endlessly, compartment doors sliding open and shut as students called to friends. You were a minnow in a sea of robes—some so long they dragged on the floor, others trimmed with elaborate embroidery that shimmered when they moved.

Where do I sit? Your stomach fluttered. The compartments were a blur of faces—some already packed with laughing groups, others housing lone students who glared when you peeked in. Did they all know each other already? Were there rules you didn’t understand?

The train lurched forward. Somewhere ahead, a prefect shouted about luggage safety. Your trunk slid an inch, and you grabbed it desperately, your cheeks burning. You were here. Really, truly here. And somehow, you had to find a place to belong. Luckily, there were a lot of girls around. Some were sitting in pairs, some in threes... some even alone. Who should you sit with?