Chapter Text
Ron POV:
How utterly idiotic.
I follow my family through the crowded platform, making sure my trolley doesn’t veer off into the muggles, or worse, my siblings. My mother continues talking loudly about Platform 9 ¾, I pretend I don't know why; she'd gotten an owl last night, and it wasn't hard to slip downstairs after she'd gone to bed.
Dumbledore had sent her an owl, explaining that Harry Potter would be coming alone, and the old Headmaster wanted me to befriend him. She spoke loudly of wizardry, hoping to draw in the famous child, to sink him into her grasp. Of course, if the opportunity is bestowed upon me, I will most definitely befriend the Boy-Who-Lived; he'd be a good person in my pocket.
With a sigh, I follow my family through the barrier, last as always. It's chaos on the platform, students and parents running around to catch the train and send their problems off to Hogwarts till they would have to deal with them once more in 10 months. I slip away from my family, pulling my trunk off my trolley and boarding the train. They wouldn't miss me regardless, and I don't want to suffer through their presence any longer.
The train is just as chaotic, with students clogging up the halls, making it nearly impossible to get to a compartment. Finally, I push open a compartment to see a dark-haired boy sitting and reading a book. "Is this seat taken?" I ask dully, pointing to the seat across from him. He looks me up and down slowly before shaking his head silently and returning to his book.
I push my trunk onto the storage rack above my head and sit across from him, also gazing out the window. We sit in silence, neither uncomfortable nor awkward, just silent. It's a pleasant contrast to my usually explosive house that causes more headaches than healthy for an 11-year-old. I don't even know this boy's name, and yet I feel calmed in his presence; either way, this boy is someone I want to keep around.
Neither of us feels inclined in the least to speak to each other, the boy content to read his book. The train crawls out of the station as I stand, reaching to grab a book of my own, well, as mine as it can be, being everything I own is a hand-me-down. I crack open the worn book on Quidditch, reading through it as if I haven't basically memorized the book. After a while, the compartment door opens to reveal a boy and a girl standing in the doorway. The girl's eyes roam over us before she speaks, "Have either of you seen a toad?"
I take the liberty of studying her in return, she had the kind of look that told me she knew more then should be allowed