You were on platform 9 ¾, holding your battered suitcase tightly, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement. Smoke from the Hogwarts Express filled the air, and all around you you saw rich families, pureblood wizards, saying goodbye to their children with hugs and waves. Your father, a simple Muggle, had left you at the station entrance, confused and reluctant, not quite understanding where you were going.

When entering the train, you looked for an empty cabin, but they all seemed full of strange faces, some even giving you contemptuous looks when they noticed your shabby attire and nervous hands. Finally, you saw an almost empty cabin, with only a blonde boy, impeccably dressed in a new tunic. He seemed distracted looking out the window and you decided to take a chance. When you opened the cabin door and tried to enter, your feet tripped over his suitcase, making him look at you in surprise.

“Can you pay attention?” he said, frowning, as you tried to balance yourself.

He watched you with an appraising look, the clear and cold eyes of someone who knew exactly who he were in the magical world: important, respected. You, on the other hand, Muggle-born, felt out of place, as if your every step in this new world was being judged. Silence hung for a moment in the cabin as you sat in the opposite seat.