After returning the rented car, the group moved toward a secluded alleyway near the edge of Diagon Alley. Irving Blackwood and Albert Harris each took the arm of a child—Adrian Blackwood and Harry Potter—and with a crack of displaced air, cast Apparition spells.
Harry experienced the disorienting pull of side-along Apparition for the first time. The sensation of being squeezed through a tight rubber tube vanished as they reappeared in front of a charming red-bricked villa with white-trimmed windows nestled in a quiet countryside.
The front yard was shaded with tall trees, their branches casting a patchwork of dappled sunlight across the grass. Large wooden beams, moss-streaked and weather-worn, had been sawn into rough benches and arranged around the garden like casual perches, humming faintly with old magic. Adrian knew they'd been treated with anti-decay charms by his mother years ago and often served as makeshift seats during family gatherings.
A simple wooden swing hung between two sturdy ash trees, twined with climbing ivy and star-shaped violet blooms. Its quiet creaking was almost musical. The garden radiated a wild, natural charm—freedom and liveliness in every corner. Harry immediately fell in love with the place, except for one part: a patch of nettles. Memories flashed of being shoved by Dudley into the same stinging plants. The momentary itch on his leg reminded him this was a place where things grew—unlike the sterile pavement of Privet Drive.
Morgan le Fay Blackwood had taken special leave from St. Mungo's to greet Harry. Her youngest daughter, Emily, peeked shyly out from behind her mother's robes. Adrian was relieved to see that his sister's curiosity about the famous "Boy Who Lived" didn't blossom into the kind of nervous blushing he'd seen from Ginny Weasley at Madam Malkin's. She was curious, but not awestruck.
Mrs. Blackwood swept Harry into a warm embrace. "Harry, dear, we're so glad you're here," she said with maternal affection.
Ron Weasley, who had tagged along after getting permission from Arthur and Molly, gave Harry a solemn handshake, his freckles standing out against his serious expression.
The hospitality didn't stop there. Daisy Blackwood, Adrian's older sister, brought out steaming cups of milk-infused black tea, fragrant with honey and cinnamon. Mrs. Blackwood charmed a silver platter of Sunday roast—perfectly sliced beef, Yorkshire pudding, and roasted carrots—to float over to Harry's seat.
Once dinner was finished, Adrian led Harry up to the guest room. The furniture in the room was carved from living wood, enchanted to grow and twist into shape. The bed looked like it had been grown rather than built, its frame shaped from thick branches twisted into an elegant arch. Though Harry recalled his aunt's television warning about soft beds being bad for the spine, he couldn't care less—this bed looked like heaven.
Across from the bed was a wide desk with books arranged neatly, bottles of ink, and a tidy stack of fresh parchment. Adrian helped Harry sort his trunk and arrange his things. That night, as Harry lay under the soft quilt, sleep wouldn't come. His thoughts were loud.
Is this what a real home feels like? Is this what a happy family is supposed to be?
The following day passed in quiet joy. Every morning felt new and exciting. Harry loved waking early to see Mrs. Blackwood directing a kitchen full of enchanted cookware—knives chopping, kettles boiling, spoons stirring all on their own.
Compared to the silent, loveless breakfasts at Privet Drive, the Blackwood household felt like a fairytale come to life. He adored Mr. Owen's dry wit, Mrs. Morgan le Fay's no-nonsense warmth, Daisy's elegant presence, the bookish but kind Renn, and Emily's eager curiosity. And, of course, there was Albert, Adrian's mentor figure, whose skill with spells Harry already admired deeply.
Even if he didn't fully understand everything about the wizarding world yet, Harry knew one thing with certainty: in the Blackwood home, he felt seen, safe, and wanted.
Happy times always seem to slip away too quickly. Although Harry was reluctant to part with what had undoubtedly been the happiest period of his life, the start of the Hogwarts school term arrived on schedule, like the ticking of a clock he couldn't stop.
On the morning of September 1st, a day tinged with both excitement and melancholy, the Blackwood household was up early. Everyone helped pack the students' luggage with quiet efficiency. Trunks were double-checked, cauldrons polished, and owl cages secured.
Owen Blackwood, ever resourceful thanks to his position in the Department of Magical Transportation, had borrowed one of the two remaining Ministry-owned enchanted Ford Anglias. Unlike Arthur Weasley's illegally modified version, this Ministry vehicle was officially charmed and safe—equipped with an Undetectable Extension Charm and Invisibility Booster.
Harry watched in awe as Mr. Blackwood loaded an entire mountain of luggage into the boot. What appeared to be a small, ordinary car on the outside was deceptively cavernous within—it could easily have held half a Quidditch team's worth of gear.
By the time they arrived at King's Cross Station, it was exactly ten thirty. Mr. Blackwood stepped out briskly, scanning the station's bustling platforms before unloading the trunks. Harry helped with Hedwig's cage while darting glances at the signs overhead. Despite searching carefully, he couldn't find any mention of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
He saw a large plastic "9" marking one side of the station, and a clearly labeled "10" on the opposite end—but between them was nothing but a solid brick pillar. He frowned, confused.
"Looking for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, aren't you?" Adrian Blackwood asked, hefting two large suitcases while balancing a bulging backpack strapped high on his back. Although Adrian was stronger than most boys his age—thanks in part to physical training enforced by his grandfather—he still looked nearly swallowed by the load. The pack loomed over his head like a stuffed tower.
The moment he picked it up again, Adrian vowed that once they were officially permitted to use wands at school, he'd master the Undetectable Extension Charm. Carrying all this himself was exhausting—and, he thought, made him look slightly ridiculous.
Harry nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. I've looked everywhere. There's no nine and three-quarters."
"No worries," Adrian said, adjusting the weight of his bag. "You've just got to walk straight at that pillar between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop, don't hesitate, and definitely don't panic. Confidence is key. A light jog helps, too. I'll go first—you follow me, yeah?"
Adrian had heard his older cousin Renn describe the technique dozens of times, and had read about the charmwork in Magical Travel Regulations for Underage Wizards. As he glanced at Harry, he was struck once again by the boy's resemblance to James Potter—only more solemn. It stirred a strange sense of responsibility in him.
It occurred to Adrian that the date of the Potters' death—October 31, 1981—and the date many first-years received their Hogwarts letters—July 31, 1991—were separated by exactly 117 months. Dividing that by 12 resulted in 9.75. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. A grim coincidence, he thought. But now wasn't the time to explain.
Pushing his trolley, Adrian turned his mind away from the dark thoughts and picked up speed. To anyone watching, it might have looked like he was about to slam into the barrier—but in the blink of an eye, he vanished, as though the brick wall had swallowed him whole.
Harry blinked, his heart thudding, and adjusted his glasses. "Okay," he whispered to himself. "Nothing to it." Summoning all his courage, he began to run straight at the pillar. His cart wobbled dangerously, but just as he braced for impact—he, too, vanished.
On the other side, the bustling platform was revealed in full. A gleaming scarlet steam engine waited beside the crowd: the Hogwarts Express, its polished brass sign reading "Hogwarts Express, 11:00 A.M." Plumes of smoke curled into the blue sky above, and owls hooted as trunks were loaded aboard.
Adrian stepped aside, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow as he looked back. The stone ticket gate was gone, replaced by a grand wrought-iron archway. Overhead, ornate lettering announced: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Moments later, Harry emerged beside him, eyes wide, jaw slightly slack.
"That," Harry breathed, "was… incredible."
Adrian chuckled. "Welcome to the wizarding world's version of public transport."