Stepping onto the Hogwarts Express platform was an assault on the senses. Allen had only one immediate thought: It is incredibly loud!
The air was a chaotic symphony of noise: the final, emotional goodbyes to parents, the high-pitched screams of friends reuniting, the boisterous laughter of students at play, and the constant, jarring scrape of heavy suitcases being dragged and hurriedly crammed into compartments.
"Allen! Harry!"
A familiar voice called out from behind them, startling and delighting both boys. It added another layer to the cacophony, yet it was a welcome noise.
It was Fogg Brown.
"Fogg!" Harry waved enthusiastically, his excitement palpable.
"Excuse me, please make way… thank you very much," Fogg muttered politely, dragging his immense trunk through the congested crowd, his face flushed with the effort.
"I seriously never thought we'd all get Hogwarts letters. When my family and I were vacationing in France, we honestly thought the first one was some evil prank," Fogg chattered breathlessly, finally reaching them. "My parents wouldn't believe it until Miss Rolanda Hooch came to our house and told us in person… Oh, you probably don't know her, but Miss Hooch is the flying instructor at Hogwarts; she's totally cool!" Fogg was just as talkative and vibrant as Allen remembered.
"That's brilliant! I didn't know you were a wizard, too! Uncle Vernon tried everything to stop me getting the letter, but luckily Hagrid came and fetched me," Harry exclaimed, clearly overjoyed. Being reunited with his Muggle-school friend instantly eased the lingering nervousness he felt about entering this wholly foreign world.
"How about we try to find an empty compartment first and settle in?" Allen suggested, nodding towards the absurdly large suitcase he was still carrying. "If we wait around here much longer, we'll be forced to sit separately."
The three boys navigated the crowded carriages, eventually walking toward the very back of the train where they finally found an unoccupied compartment.
After they had managed to hoist their various trunks and bags into the overhead racks—a task made surprisingly easy by Allen's enhanced strength—Fogg couldn't contain his curiosity. "When did you guys figure out you were wizards?"
Fogg immediately jumped into his own story: "When my parents first met Miss Hooch, they were completely convinced she was a fraud, until she effortlessly lifted Mum straight up into the air on a broomstick and sent her flying around our garden… When she landed, her perfect French hairstyle was ruined… Dad literally checked the entire property for wires before he believed me. Once he accepted it, though, they were shocked and thrilled to have a wizard in the family. My sister is ridiculously jealous; she thinks being a wizard is way cooler than being a lawyer."
"I found out I was a wizard over the summer holidays," Harry explained, then smiled at Allen. "But Allen grew up in a wizarding family, so he's what they call a pure-blood." Harry then happily relayed the details of his stay at the Harris home, sharing the pleasant experience with Fogg.
"Wow, Allen, that is so cool! Can I totally come visit your house next summer?" Fogg asked, openly envious that Harry got to experience a real wizarding family. He then lowered his voice dramatically. "Miss Hooch said we'd be breaking some kind of secret wizarding law if we told anyone, so let's keep this between us, okay?"
"Sure, no problem at all," Allen agreed easily, though a little superficially. He knew that the dynamics of their friendship might struggle if they ended up in different houses; this wasn't like Muggle school, where they shared classes and the common enemy of Dudley Dursley.
Fogg then launched into a detailed description of his experiences in France: "My absolute favorite thing was mussels flambé. They arrange the fresh mussels in concentric circles around four nails on a wooden tray, like dominoes. Then they cover the whole thing with pine needles. The pine needles burn, and the smoke gives the mussels this amazing pine aroma and a distinct smoky flavor. After the fire dies down, you just brush the ash off and eat the cooked mussels with a bit of butter…"
Allen found himself hanging on Fogg's every word. He privately believed Fogg's true talent lay in culinary description. After nearly a year suffering the repetitive culinary torture of English food, occasionally mixed with bland German fare, he yearned desperately for these complex recipes.
Harry's desire for food was palpable, too. He had spent his life surviving on leftovers at his aunt's house, and only during his time with Allen had he truly been able to satisfy his constant, growing appetite.
The more Fogg talked about food, the hungrier the three of them became.
It was well past noon, and the three boys looked at each other, the delicious conversation having become too much of a torment.
"I'm starving," Fogg declared frankly, the first to break the tension.
"Me too," Harry admitted, clutching his stomach pitifully. Even with the three extra-large meals Mrs. Harris had insisted he eat that morning, he felt an emptiness only a teenage boy on the verge of puberty could understand.
"I'll go check; they must be selling snacks on the train," Allen said, ever the man of action, rising quickly to his feet.
As Allen opened the compartment door, he was immediately greeted by a crash. A tall, thin, red-haired boy tumbled awkwardly into the compartment.
"Ron?" Allen quickly helped the boy regain his balance.
Ron, blushing fiercely, stammered out his reason for crashing before even standing up straight. "Allen, great! I've been looking for you. My dad mentioned Harry Potter might be on this train. I really, really hoped I'd get to see him."
"Get in first," Allen instructed, stepping aside and pointedly positioning Ron directly next to Fogg. He instinctively felt the two boys, both talkative, one short, one tall, and both with fiery red hair, might click immediately.
The sight of the two grinning at each other was instantly comical to Allen.
"Ron, next to you is Fogg Brown. I think you two are going to be great friends. And this," Allen gestured dramatically, "is Harry Potter, the very person you were looking for."
"Hello, Fogg. I'm Ron Weasley," Ron managed, his face turning bright red from embarrassment over his clumsy entrance, yet he recovered quickly, offering his hand and introducing himself in a formal, mock-adult tone.
The two acted like instant old friends; perhaps their shared hair color was a deep, underlying connection? Allen wasn't sure.
"Are you really Harry Potter? Then… then you actually have the… you know…" Ron pointed a nervous finger toward Harry's forehead.
Harry, already expert at this gesture, pushed back a lock of his dark hair, revealing the distinctive lightning-shaped scar.
Ron's eyes widened to saucers. "The man—You-Know-Who—did that to you?"
"Yeah," Harry confirmed easily, "but I don't actually remember it."
"You don't remember anything?" Ron asked, leaning forward eagerly.
"Hmm—I just remember the flash of green light, nothing else."
Allen shrugged casually. "It's amazing you remember the green light at all. I don't remember anything from when I was a baby, either."
Ron paused, staring at Harry for a moment, then quickly turned to stare out the window, seemingly realizing how rude his intense curiosity had been.
"What are you guys talking about? What happened to Harry's scar?" Fogg's curiosity had been fully piqued, but having not read his textbooks beforehand, he was unaware of the history of the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Aren't we all incredibly hungry?" Allen interjected smoothly, keen to steer the conversation away from Harry's traumatic past.
"When I came in just now, I saw the food witch pushing her cart from carriage to carriage; she should be here any minute," Ron reported honestly.
"Brilliant." Just then, a loud, cheerful clattering sound echoed from the hallway.
A smiling, dimpled woman pushed open the compartment door. "Anything off the trolley, dears?"
Allen quickly stood up, while Ron's ears turned red again. He muttered that he had brought sandwiches.
Seeing Ron's embarrassment, Harry leaped to his feet, catching Allen's hand just as he was reaching for his money pouch.
"Allen, I've had plenty of food from you and Fogg lately. Let me treat you this time, okay?" Harry insisted, afraid Allen wouldn't believe him. He quickly added, "My parents left me a massive amount of gold at Gringotts."
Harry triumphantly pulled a handful of gold Galleons and silver Sickles from his pocket. He had never had enough money for even cheap sweets at the Dursleys.
"Thanks, then," Allen said, blinking in surprise and withdrawing his hand. Although the Harris family was wealthy by Muggle standards and considered pure-bloods, they were certainly not as rich as the half-blood Potter family. Saving a few Galleons was always a good thing, even if he couldn't currently shop in Hogsmeade.
The cart was overflowing with brightly colored sweets: Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Liquorice Wands, and dozens of other weird and wonderful treats Harry had never seen. He took a little of everything he could physically carry, paying the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.
Harry, Ron, and Allen carried the bags of groceries back into the cabin and piled into the seats.
"This is all your fault, Fogg. You made me utterly ravenous," Harry said, already tearing into a large Pumpkin Pasty.
"I brought sandwiches," Ron mumbled again, the blush spreading down his neck. He pulled open a bulging cardboard box, revealing four sandwiches. He took one out, grimacing. "She never remembers I don't like corned beef."
Harry, sensing Ron's deep embarrassment over the meager offering, walked over, picked up one of the sandwiches, and took a huge, appreciative bite. "I actually quite like corned beef."
"Try these; my sister says these Cauldron Cakes are her favorite train snack," Allen said casually, tossing a piece of the chocolate-covered cake to both Fogg and Ron.