The Burrow rang with chaos from the moment the sun rose.
"Percy! Percy! Where are your robes and your cauldron? And what in Merlin's name are all these letters stuffed into your bag? Clean them out immediately!"
"Fred! George! How many times do I have to say it? No joke sweets at school! Take them all out, now!"
"Ron! Still in bed at this hour? Get up and check your trunk again! If you're not downstairs in five minutes, I'll toss you in the pond and lock the cellar! And don't think you're going to Hogwarts like that!"
"Oh for the love of Merlin's beard, one of these days you lot will be the end of me!"
"You should all take a leaf out of Vaughn's book," she added, wiping at her eyes and calming just a little. "He packed two days ago. Not just his school things, either, he's even bringing extra potion ingredients and supplies. So dedicated…"
Her eyes suddenly narrowed.
"Scabbers! Come here!" she shouted, wand raised.
A chubby, shrieking rat zoomed through the air and landed with a squirm in her firm grasp. The poor thing froze, its limbs sticking out stiff as sticks.
"Ronald Weasley!" she barked. "Where were your eyes, young man? You can't even keep track of your own rat! If Fruity hadn't chased it down, we might've lost it completely! Come here, my darling, Mummy's got a nice fish treat for you~"
"Meow~" purred the smug kitten as she twirled around Molly's ankles.
The morning mayhem raged on for nearly two hours. After Molly ran a final headcount and double-checked all the luggage, a loud honk sounded from outside.
"Right then! We're off!" she declared, hoisting a trunk full of potion ingredients for Vaughn as she marched out the door.
The others trailed behind, lugging their trunks and pets.
Parked just beyond the crooked garden fence was a very ordinary-looking car. Arthur Weasley stood beside it proudly, patting the roof like he'd invented the thing himself.
"Hop in, kids! Today, your dear old dad is taking you to King's Cross the Muggle way!"
Now, of course, an ordinary car couldn't possibly fit this many Weasleys and all their luggage. But Arthur Weasley didn't work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office for nothing and he certainly didn't play by the rules.
The rickety old shed beside the house had been transformed into his workshop over the summer. The car had spent most of the holiday inside, being magically altered, charmed, and "improved" with the occasional help of Vaughn, Fred, and George.
The passenger cabin and boot had been hit with an Undetectable Extension Charm, expanding the interior massively. Arthur had even tried to make it fly… though that part wasn't quite finished yet.
They shoved in the luggage and piled into the car, with Molly barking orders every few seconds. Fred and George were wrestling in the back, Percy was sulking because she'd thrown out some of his letters, and Ron was clinging desperately to Scabbers, kicking and yelling at Fruity to stay away from his rat.
More than once, someone yelped in pain as Molly grabbed them by the ear for misbehaving.
Arthur, naturally, was unfazed. With the glee of a child, he twisted the ignition key and consulted both a Muggle instruction manual and a map spread out across the steering wheel.
Vaughn sat in the front seat, looking increasingly skeptical.
"Dad… do you even know how to drive?"
"Of course! I've practiced for three whole days! Well, mostly steering. Say, Vaughn, can you read what this says? 'Clutch'? Do I let go of it? What's this gear business? Honestly, Muggles are fascinating…"
Ten minutes later, they had made it approximately fifty meters.
Vaughn sighed, shoved his father aside, and wordlessly took the wheel. After casting a quick Muggle-Repelling Charm on the car, he started it himself.
Arthur didn't mind in the slightest.
"That's my boy! The genius of the Weasley family! I knew you'd appreciate Muggle ingenuity! Don't worry, son, I'll learn properly by the time you come home for the holidays. Then we'll go for a proper… what do Muggles call it? Ah yes 'joyride'!"
Vaughn rolled his eyes but drove steadily.
Thanks to the charm, they weren't stopped by any Muggle authorities. But they still arrived at King's Cross well after ten-thirty. The moment they parked, the family exploded from the car and hurried through the station, weaving between thick crowds of commuters in search of the elusive Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
"Too many Muggles," Percy muttered bitterly, still sulking.
"Well, this is a Muggle station," Molly snapped, hustling them along. "What did you expect?"
"There! The third pillar!" Ginny called from her perch on Arthur's shoulders, pointing eagerly.
They rushed forward.
"Percy, you first, go on. Good. Now Fred-'"
"I'm George, Mum," he said with a grin.
"Oh sorry, dear."
The twins exchanged mischievous glances.
"Actually, I am Fred," the grinning boy added, planting a kiss on Molly's cheek before running full-speed into the pillar and vanishing through it.
Vaughn, bringing up the rear, took in the sight of King's Cross for the first time.
Frankly, he was unimpressed.
It was probably beautiful a hundred years ago, but now the place looked old and tired. Cracked walls, worn signs, and grimy benches. Only the arched roof retained a hint of its former grandeur.
As he turned to follow the others, his eye caught on a small, scruffy boy trailing behind them.
The boy was stick-thin, wearing oversized clothing and thick glasses that looked like they'd been stepped on at least twice. He was pushing a cart piled high with a battered trunk and a cage containing a snowy owl.
Compared to this scrawny kid, even Ron looked tall, healthy, and vaguely competent.
The boy noticed Vaughn watching him and froze in place, unsure whether to approach. He fidgeted nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead and in doing so, revealed a jagged lightning-shaped scar.
Vaughn stared.
There was no doubt about it.
That awkward little boy was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
"Vaughn, dear, it's your turn," Molly called, glancing over her shoulder. "Oh, hello there!"
She had spotted Harry as well, though his scar was now hidden again. She didn't recognize him. Still, the sight of a lone child clearly lost and uncertain tugged at her motherly instincts.
"Are you a first-year too, sweetheart?" she asked kindly.
"Y-yes, ma'am," Harry said, wringing his hands on his trousers. "I… I don't know how to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters…"
"Not to worry, dear," Molly said warmly. "Look just ahead, between Platforms Nine and Ten, the third pillar. There's a ticket booth nearby. All you have to do is walk straight at it. Best to run, actually. And don't stop."
Harry blinked, nodded nervously, and shutting his eyes, ran at the barrier like a man walking to his doom.
With a soft whoosh, he vanished.
Vaughn, far more calmly, followed a moment later. He felt a brief whoosh of air, a flicker of darkness, and then--
He stepped into bright morning light and the roar of steam.
Before him stood a gleaming red steam engine, billowing smoke into the air. Children and parents swarmed the platform, voices loud with excitement and farewell.
A shiny brass sign swung above the first carriage, which read:
Hogwarts Express.