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Chapter 38 — The Brothers Who Almost Met
"Hello," Darren said with a warm smile. "I'm a Hogwarts student. Are you, too?"
Harry froze, startled by the boy's sudden friendliness.
The boy in front of him looked… well, perfect. His posture was poised, his clothes neat, and there was something noble about the way he spoke — like the young gentlemen Harry had once seen on television.
But what caught Harry's attention most were the boy's eyes — bright green, just like his own.
Hagrid had said he had his mother's eyes.
So did this boy have them too?
His hair, however, wasn't black. It was a deep reddish-brown, more like the family of redheads standing not far away.
And on top of his head was a single stubborn strand of hair sticking straight up, clearly combed down a dozen times but refusing to yield.
Harry almost smiled. That was exactly the sort of trouble he had with his own hair.
The boy tilted his head, noticing Harry's stare.
"You're not laughing at my hair, are you?"
"I didn't!" Harry blurted quickly, flushing. "I'm just— it's the same for me! Look!"
He pointed at his messy black hair. "My uncle makes me shave it every week, but it always grows back this way. It never stays flat!"
Darren couldn't help grinning.
Looking at Harry's hopelessly ruffled hair made him feel strangely… relieved.
If he'd inherited James Potter's bird's-nest hairstyle, he might've shaved his head too.
Ahem. But this wasn't the time for that.
"Thank you for not laughing," Darren said sheepishly. Then he brightened. "Come on! I'll show you how to get to the platform. We're cutting it close!"
He grabbed Harry's trolley before the boy could respond. "Follow me — and don't stop, or you'll really be late!"
Harry stumbled after him. "W-wait! How do we get in there?"
"Simple," Darren said, grinning over his shoulder. "Just run straight at the barrier. Hard."
And with that, he sprinted toward the brick wall between Platforms Nine and Ten.
Harry gasped — but before he could stop himself, he ran right after him.
The wall loomed closer — and then vanished.
They burst out onto a bustling platform filled with laughter, chatter, and steam.
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[Ding! Congratulations, host. You have obtained the Title: "Voice of Heaven."]
Voice of Heaven: Your voice becomes more pleasant and persuasive in conversation.
---
"Wow," Darren breathed, gazing at the scarlet steam engine before them. The golden letters gleamed on its side: Hogwarts Express — 11 o'clock sharp.
Even though the magical world was still rough around the edges in terms of technology, this old-fashioned train had a certain grandeur.
Harry looked at him curiously. "You've never been here before?"
He assumed Darren was just marveling at the magic, but something in the boy's tone made him hesitate.
Darren hesitated too — then smiled sadly. "No. I've always wanted to see it with my brother. But… I guess today it's just me."
He laughed softly, pretending it didn't hurt.
Harry's chest tightened.
He knew exactly what that felt like.
He had wanted to come here with his brother too — the one he'd never met.
Maybe next year, they'd be able to ride together.
---
"Alright," Darren said, pushing Harry's trolley toward the nearest carriage. "You'd better get on board now. The train's about to leave."
Harry blinked. "What about you?"
"I'm going to wait for my brother," Darren said quickly, backing away. "He might not know how to get through the barrier."
And before Harry could reply, Darren turned and ran back toward the wall.
Harry stared after him. "Wait— you'll miss the train!"
But the boy was already gone.
---
Inside the train, the platform grew louder — parents shouting goodbyes, owls hooting, trunks thudding.
Harry finally climbed aboard, dragging his luggage through the corridor.
Every compartment seemed full, until he found one near the back.
Two identical red-haired twins helped him hoist his trunk onto the rack.
When they asked his name and he told them, both froze.
"Blimey. Harry Potter?"
Harry winced. That reaction again. He gave a small smile and quickly took a seat, glad he hadn't told the boy outside who he was.
He didn't like being stared at. Didn't like the way people said his name as though it meant something more than him.
He was just Harry.
A scrawny boy who didn't even know what made him "special."
He sighed and looked out the window, hoping to spot that boy again — the one who had helped him. Maybe if he came through with his brother, Harry could wave him over.
---
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"
Harry looked up to see another red-haired boy, about his age, pointing to the seat opposite.
Harry shook his head. "No, go ahead."
He recognized him — the younger brother of the twins who'd helped with his trunk. Ron, wasn't it?
The boy tried not to stare at his scar as he sat down. Harry pretended not to notice.
For some reason, though, he found himself thinking again about the polite, smiling boy at the platform.
He and Ron couldn't have looked more different.
Ron was lanky, a bit shabby, and had a smudge of soot on his nose. His red hair was dull compared to that boy's brighter shade.
And there was none of that soft, kind look in his eyes — that quiet light that made Harry feel safe.
Harry sighed.
What was he thinking?
Maybe he'd see the boy again someday.
He turned back to the window. The whistle was about to blow, steam curling across the glass.
The boy still hadn't returned.
Had he missed the train after all?
Harry leaned forward, wiping at the window anxiously — just in time to see a flash of red hair and green eyes.
Darren — being dragged through the barrier by a girl with a stern face and impatient stride.
"Sister Becky, wait! I'm supposed to wait for my brother—!" Darren protested.
"Don't be ridiculous," Becky snapped. "No wizard who hasn't arrived by now is coming at all. Do you plan to stay in the Muggle world forever?"
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