At half past ten, Flins stood right on time in front of the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 at King’s Cross Station.
His hands were empty.
He wore the new clothes made at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, carrying only his wand and the Two-way Mirror in his pockets.
As for everything else, he had stowed it away inside his lamp.
Muggles hurried past him in every direction, and not a single one gave him a second glance—clearly, the disguise charm Lumine provided worked very well.
Before long, he spotted Harry.
The thin, black-haired boy was trailing behind Uncle Vernon, hauling an old trunk and holding a cage with a snowy owl in his arms.
He walked stiffly, as if afraid of tripping over something.
Vernon looked as though he had just swallowed a fly, his round, fat face twisted with impatience and disgust.
Noticing Flins, Harry clearly breathed a sigh of relief.
Vernon followed Harry’s line of sight, and when his eyes landed on Flins, open revulsion surfaced immediately:
“Boy, is this…
that…
classmate of yours from your trick school?!”
Flins paid him no mind.
He merely nodded toward Harry and spoke in a calm voice:
“Harry, it is time for us to head to Platform 9¾.
Do you recall what I explained to you?”
Uncle Vernon had probably never been ignored like this before.
His purple face darkened another shade as he grumbled and muttered angrily:
“Platform 9¾?
They haven’t even built such a platform!
Absolutely mad…”
As he spoke, he dragged Aunt Petunia and Dudley toward the exit, letting out a loud laugh that implied every one of these people was out of their mind.
Harry watched them walk off.
His lips were a little dry, and he pulled a rather awkward smile:
“Kyryll, I remember.
Run right into the barrier in the middle, right?”
Even as he said it, his green eyes darkened with nerves, scanning that remarkably solid iron railing back and forth several times.
Flins looked at Harry’s fingers, which were turning white from gripping the handle of the trunk so hard, and his tone remained flat:
“Are you worried?
I will follow right behind you.”
He stood very close to Harry.
While no extra emotion showed in his bright yellow eyes, that close distance was enough to ease Harry’s mind considerably.
The boy drew in a deep breath and nodded: “This really is a magical beginning.”
“Fascinating, indeed,” Flins agreed with a slight nod, his voice even.
“The entrance to the magical world sits right in the middle of humanity.”
Harry glanced at him, probably thinking the comment sounded a bit strange, but he did not dwell on it.
Tightening his grip on the handle, he charged straight at the barrier.
Just as Flins was about to pick up his pace and follow, a voice rang out beside his ear:
“You could—”
“—move a little faster, little wizard?”
Two voices overlapped, one right after the other.
Flins turned his head and saw two identical red-haired boys standing beside him, both wearing the same mischievous grin.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Flins greeted them with a slight bow, polite and well-mannered.
“Thank you for the reminder.”
“Blimey, Merlin—”
“—now that is one polite little wizard.”
The twins exchanged a look as if seeing a rare treasure.
One patted Flins on the shoulder: “I’m George, and he’s Fred!”
“No, I’m George, and you’re Fred,” the other shot back at once.
“Alright, alright, it’s all the same—” The two laughed together, their bright red hair catching the platform lights.
“Hello, Fred and George,” Flins said.
He did not bother trying to tell which was which, simply offering a courteous reply: “You may just call me Flins.”
As they spoke, a sharp, exasperated woman’s voice came from behind: “Fred!
George!”
The twins froze instantly, like two cats picked up by the scruff of the neck.
A short, plump red-haired woman marched over, wearing a look that said, I knew what you two were up to all along.
But when she saw Flins standing between her sons, her irritation softened.
“Oh, hello, dear,” she bent down, her tone much gentler.
“I hope my two boys haven’t been giving you trouble.”
“Mum!” the twins protested together.
“That’s unfair bias!”
“Not at all, Madam,” Flins replied politely.
“Mr.
Fred and Mr.
George were helping me.
They were very kind.”
Mrs.
Weasley’s face softened completely, fine lines smiling around her eyes:
“Oh, what a lovely child.”
She turned to glare at the twins, though her voice sounded much lighter: “Fred, George, take this young boy through with you.”
Flins did not refuse.
After nodding his thanks to Mrs.
Weasley, he rushed toward the railing alongside the twins.
The instant they passed through the barrier, the view opened up wide.
A deep red steam locomotive was parked beside the platform, billows of white steam puffing from the engine, and the platform was packed with people saying goodbye.
The sign on the train read: Hogwarts Express, 11 o’clock.
The barrier from before was gone.
In its place stood a wrought-iron archway, with the words clearly engraved across the top in gold: Platform 9¾.
“A rather curious experience,” Flins remarked in a flat tone as he spotted Harry and walked up behind him.
Harry was already being carried along by the moving crowd.
His thin frame looked tiny in the throng as he dragged his old trunk along, peering everywhere to spot an empty compartment.
The train was packed, and several carriages in a row were already completely full.
Flins trailed steadily behind him at an easy distance, lending a hand to help lift the luggage down the corridor, until they finally found an empty compartment toward the very end of the train.
Harry shoved the trunk and the owl cage under the seat, straightened up out of breath, and turned to Flins: “Where’s your—”
Halfway through the sentence, he stopped short.
Flins was standing empty-handed at the compartment door.
Aside from the wand tucked into his pocket, he had brought no luggage whatsoever.
Harry’s eyes went wide, his voice rising: “You didn’t bring any luggage?!”
Before Flins could answer, two red-haired figures squeezed through the corridor, sliding into place on either side of Flins.
It was the red-haired twins from earlier, who had somehow tracked Flins down again.
“What’s that?!” Fred pointed at the lightning-shaped scar on Harry’s forehead, his eyes round and wide.
“Oh, by Merlin’s lace socks—” George marveled, clapping Flins on the shoulder.
“Could you be…”
“He is—” the first piped up again, “Are you—”
The two boys finished each other’s sentences, their eyes sparkling as they stared at Harry.
Harry was thoroughly bewildered by all this, casting an appealing glance toward Flins, who had remained quiet the entire time.
“Harry Potter!” the twins blurted out almost at the exact same moment, their faces full of excitement.
“Oh.
Yes, I am.”