I wake up at five o'clock in the morning, too excited and nervous to go back to sleep.
The owl - which Hagrid had insisted on buying me after sinking twenty pints - starts hooting in her cage and I hiss at her to shut up. I do not want to give Uncle Vernon any reason not to drive me to Kings Cross Station.
Although, I'm pretty sure my aunt and uncle cannot wait to get rid of me, why else would he have agreed?
Dudley comes with us so that Uncle Vernon can take him to see the surgeon about his tail. I am grateful to have him there at the station whilst I search in vain for platform nine and three-quarters.
"Well, there you are, girl," my uncle says with a nasty grin on his face. "Platform nine - platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"
My face flames as I stand there with my owl cage and huge heavy trunk. This is humiliating.
"Have a good term," Uncle Vernon says with an even nastier smile. And, without another word, he drags Dudley away, leaving me standing alone as Dudley offers me a sympathetic wave goodbye.
I mouth to him that I'll write, but from where, I no longer know.
Sighing, I sit down on my trunk, not even bothering to ask the passing station guard for help. What is the point? There is clearly no such platform as the one shown on my ticket.
But then again, there must be some way to get to this Hogwarts. I recall the white-blond haired boy in Madam Malkin's. I look up and down the platform, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of him.
At that moment a group of people pass just behind me and I catch a few words of what they are saying.
"-packed with Muggles, of course-"
I swing round. The speaker is a plump woman who is talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them are pulling along a trunk like mine - and they have an owl.
My heart hammering, I jump up and follow after them, laden down with my own luggage. I watch in awe as one by one, they run through a wall. When it is just the mother and the youngest looking of the sons left, I make my move.
"Excuse me," I say to the woman.
"Hullo, dear," she says. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."
I glance at the boy standing next to her. He is tall, thin and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet and a long nose.
"Yes," I say hurriedly, looking back to the woman. "The thing is, I don't know how to-"
"How to get on the platform?" She finishes for me kindly, and I nod.
She makes Ron go next, showing me how it's done. Looks simple enough.
I follow suit, and find myself gasping - for instead of crashing painfully into a solid brick wall - I find myself standing on a bustling platform where a scarlet steam engine is waiting.
The boy, Ron, is nowhere to be seen, already swallowed up in the vast crowd before me. But I'm okay, I think - it's pretty clear what I have to do now.
I somehow manage to maneuver myself through the throng of people, the sound of excited chatter quite deafening. Families are tearfully hugging one another, loving parents reeling off last minute instructions to their children. Seeing as I have no one there to hug me goodbye and remind me to brush my teeth every night, I decide to hop onto the train and get myself settled.
Finding an empty compartment near the end of the train, I take a seat next to the window where I can observe the shenagans going on down across the platform.
I see a round-faced boy crying his eyes out and wailing about a toad. Behind him, a boy with dreadlocks is lifting a lid of a box, causing the small crowd around him to shriek and yell. I see a girl with bushy hair, seemingly alone like myself, and I spy the red haired family again as they all bicker with one another.
I wonder if any of these people will become my friends.
Eventually, after everyone has boarded, the train begins to move. The crowd left on the platform wave tearfully, some race along side, eager to prolong their goodbyes.
I wish Dudley could have waved me off.
The door of the compartment slides open and I am alarmed to see the boy from earlier, Ron, poking his head inside.
"Anyone sitting there?" He asks, pointing at the seat opposite me. "Everywhere else is full."
My head fills with panic as I tentatively shake my head. Will he be expecting conversation? What will we even talk about?
"Nice owl," Ron says, nodding towards the cage beside me. "He got a name?"
I shrug. "She. And no, I haven't even considered giving her a name. Is that normal?"
Ron looks at me as though I've just grown an extra head. "Of course it is. I have a rat called Scabbers. Although I didn't get to give him that name - hand me down, see."
I shrink back in horror when he pulls from his pocket a real life disgusting fat rat. "Lovely." I lie, hoping he won't ask me to pet it.
"Well, let's give your owl a name then. Although... Hey - I don't even know your name yet! I'm Ron by the way, Ron Weasley."
"Uh- I'm Harri." I say, wondering if I should be shaking his hand or something. I wasn't used to making friends.
Ron frowns at me, and I wonder if I have a spot on my face or something.
"Hey! It's you, isn't it?" He breathes, his gaze now fixing on the scar on my forehead. "You're Harriet Potter!"
I nod, not knowing how to respond to this. It had been the same in Diagon Alley when Hagrid introduced me to people. It's like my name is famous in the wizarding world.
As though sensing my discomfort, Ron quickly moves the conversation on. "So, what names do you like? I think she looks like a Snowy to me."
I wrinkle my nose at this unoriginal suggestion. Over my dead body am I going to have an owl named Snowy.
"Nah," I say, looking around instead for inspiration.
In the end, I pull out one of my school text books - A History Of Magic, and flick through the pages for a name.
Ron does the same, keen to help me. Only he gets out Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
"How about Newt?" Ron suggests. The owl makes a baleful noise suggesting she doesn't like it.
"Bathilda?" I say, and then instantly giggle at its awfulness.
"Albino?"
"Ooo, I like this one," I say, running my finger along the text. "Salazar."
Ron begins to cough, choking on a gasp. "Are you kidding me?"
"What?" I ask, confused by his reaction. "What's wrong with that name? It's beautiful and it suits her."
At that point, we are interrupted by a lady sliding open our door and asking if we want anything from the trolley.
I pull out a fistful of coins from my pocket and ask what that will get me. Turns out, quite a lot.
Ten Chocolate Frogs, three Cauldron Cakes and six Pumkin Pasties later, I feel as though I am going to throw up.
"Hungry, were you?" Ron asks as he chews dolefully on the corner of his barely touched corned beef sandwich. I do not understand why he never bought anything from the trolley if he hates his lunch so much.
Oh, well.
Our next visitors I recognise from earlier on the platform: the bushy haired girl and the round-faced boy.
"Ooo, nice owl," the girl says, peering into the cage. "Does he have a name?"
"She, and no." I say. "I can't decide what to call her."
"Hmmm," the girl says thoughtfully, as the boy hovers behind her quietly sobbing. "Well my name is Hermione and this here is Neville, he's lost his toad, Trevor. Have you seen it?" She straightens up, looking at me closer. "Holy cricket! You're Harriet Potter!"
"Yeah, I get that a lot." I shrug, already sick to death of this.
"Amazing," Hermione says, gazing at my scar in wonderment. "I'm a Muggle-born, but I've read all about you, of course. You're famous."
"Oh, I'm Ron by the way," Ron scoffs loudly in the corner. "Not that anyone bothered to ask."
Hermione glances sideways at him, barely hiding her disgust. "You've got dirt on your nose, did you know?"
And with that, she turns and leaves, taking toadless Neville with her.
Feeling sorry for my companion, I offer him a jelly bean, but he declines. "Knowing my luck, I'll probably get a bogey flavoured one," Ron grumbles as he glares moodily out of the window.
We sit in silence after that, our quest in naming my owl all forgotten about.
I feel quite down. I had been hoping that this could have been the start of a beautiful friendship, but Ron is so moody and does not seem to enjoy my company very much.
Relief sweeps over me when the compartment door slides open yet again.
Three boys enter and I recognise the middle one at once: it is the boy from Madam Malkin's. He looks at me with interest.
"Is it true?" He asks. "They're saying all down the train that Harriet Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
"Yes," I say. My eyes fall on the other boys. Both of them are thickset and look extremely mean. Standing either side of the pale boy they look like bodyguards.
I can suddenly hear Dudley's voice in my head: Find the strongest to survive.
"Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," the boy says carelessly, noticing where I was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
Ron gives a slight cough, which may have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looks at him.
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford."
He turns back to me.
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
He holds out his hand.
I glance at Ron but he refuses to look at me. He has sunk down low in his seat, looking moodier than ever. I think about Dudley's advice: forget the weak.
I look back up at Draco and smile. "Sure."
And then I shake his hand.
*****