THE JOURNEY FROM PLATFORM
NINE AND THREE-QUARTERS
“Thanks,” said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
“What’s that?” said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at
Harry’s lightning scar.
“Blimey,” said the other twin. “Are you — ?”
“He is,” said the first twin. “Aren’t you?” he added to Harry.
“What?” said Harry.
“Harry Potter,” chorused the twins.
“Oh, him,” said Harry. “I mean, yes, I am.”
The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning
red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train’s
open door.
“Fred? George? Are you there?”
“Coming, Mom.”
With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.
Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he
could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what
they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handker-
chief.
“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.”
The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed
him and began rubbing the end of his nose.
“Mom — geroff.” He wriggled free.
“Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?” said one of
the twins.
“Shut up,” said Ron.
“Where’s Percy?” said their mother.
“He’s coming now.”
The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed
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