Ned, short for Edward, was very nervous. Although the clothes he had put on were his favourite, they were still third- or fourth-hand. In fact, he thought he had seen black and white photos of a different boy from the same orphanage who was wearing them; so old! His pickets were re-sewn multiple times and the seams of the pants’ legs had been renewed so many times that the sleeve itself looked almost crimped.
‘Miss Montomerty! Aren’t we leaving? it’s half-past-ten!’ he shouted from the bottom of the stairs towards the room where the headmistress was arranging her own looks.

‘SILENCE!’ was heard from behind the thick wooden door and he felt embarrassed; the whole orphanage was staring at him anyway. He didn’t need more attention.

‘Oh, look who’s here!’ said Mitch, the local bully. ‘Sicky Neddie is going to school? I wonder… isn’t it a bit late, eh guys?’ he exclaimed and from behind the crowd came our the three bullies who always walked alongside Mitch. They created a tight enclosure around Ned. 

The skin prickled, the eyes darted from one to the other and so forth; Ned didn’t know what was going to happen, but he had seen what they were capable of. He used to watch them beat-up one or two kids every day in the gardens; the view from his hospital bed was the most suitable for this.

‘Leave him be, Mitchell!’ the stern voice of the headmistress was heard and the bullies scattered.
Her dress was of the finest velvet, the fascinator on her head had a few lovely flowers; Ned smiled involuntarily at their gentleness. The flowers looked like a bow on a pig.

‘Let’s go, young man,’ she ordered and the two of them, he dragging a rather small but heavy trunk, and she in her lovely blood-red dress.
The car was stuffy and Ned felt like he would be sick a couple of times before actually using the paper bag she had left on the backseat for him. 

‘Off we go, you have ten minutes to find the Hogwarts crowd and this platform… what was it again? 9 ¾. Wonder where that might be.’ 
Ned’s nerves were as tight as they could have got. Ten minutes were less than impossible. He had never been at King’s Cross, let alone know the location of this platform whatsoever. Just when he was going to give way to desperation, of never finding out what this Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry might be, his eyes met a couple of girls who miraculously disappeared in the column between platforms 9 and 10. 

‘That must be it!’ he said and was about to point there, but then recalled that pointing was not permitted. Instead, he ran, as fast as his semi-atrophied limbs would permit him. The train was already steaming and the engine was running. His heart beat very fast; the adrenaline rush was the only thing that allowed him to run, with the trunk in hand, over the small metal steps and into the wagon. He was out of breath. His eyes stung and there was an odd wheezing sound coming out of his lungs. 

He hoped that there was nothing wrong with him, but the efforts put into climbing onto this red steam-powered train were immense for someone who had just got up from a year-long stay in bed. He sat on his trunk, forgetful of the fact that he might be obstructing someone’s path in the corridors, and attempted to stabilise his breathing and the trembling of his limbs.