Chapter Text
Kings Cross Station: Platform 9 ¾.
Chaos.
There is no other way to see it, really. Families group in clusters, packed tightly around trolleys, crossing off and double-checking lists of items scrawled in dark ink onto yellowed parchment paper in a too-late rush; giving out crushing hugs and crying, cooing at cats and frogs and owls that only added to the confusing din of noise. Whistles blow, and steam rolls onto the platform.
The Hogwarts Express, only minutes from departing, and outside it, many linger to say their last goodbyes until the winter break.
Doors shut, the horn bellows, and the churning and chugging of the steam powered engine begins to roar to life. The inside of the train is very hot; packed tight with children eleven to eighteen in traffic jams in the thin aisles, fighting for compartments and sorting themselves out in an instinctive, primal way only children have mastered.
Not everyone vied to be with their already established groups or kids they knew before the year started—some tried their best to find a quiet compartment at the very back, where they could be alone. Or, at least, where their privacy might be invaded only at the very end.
Tweek Tweak, eleven years old, had chosen the chair closest to the window, facing down the hallway so he could see if someone were approaching to join him. He was very worried, and highly agitated by the thoughts bounding through his head, and the crowd on platform 9 ¾ had worked his easily frayed nerves into a frenzy. There were so many sights and sounds, so many voices catching his attention for split seconds, only to get lost. His mother's soothing words had been overridden by his father's metaphors.
“Son, school is like the gateway to Diagon alley: a blank wall that opens up to a magical world full of colors--colors, like the sparks given off your first wand, or the ingredients of a particularly potent potion mixing together.”
Tweek shivers, pressed against the glass window. They've only just left the station, and it feels to him like he'd left his stomach there as well—all cold, empty, yet somehow nauseous too. Surely he forgot something, forgot everything—suddenly Tweek recalls every quill still in his desk at home, that stuffed bunny he knocked between his bed and the wall three years ago—all so horrifying, terribly necessary that very minute and distressingly not there—
“Oh God!” He yelps, snapping his hands up into the wild disarray of his bright yellow hair. “Oh Merlin, I'm okay! I—I—aagh!” He twitches, head jerking, hair tugging painfully.
“Uh, are you okay?”
“Wah!” Tweek's eyes fly open, dilating, startled. His advantage had been lost to his hysteria. Looking up to the door, seeing three boys standing there: a somewhat chubby brunette in the entryway wearing a red coat, the other two in the hall just behind him—a boy wearing a dark blue chullo with a yellow poof on top, and a dark skinned boy in a purple shirt.
Th brunette shrugs his shoulders high at the other two, a gesture of 'I don't know what to do' if Tweek ever saw one.
“Oh, God, what do you want?” He asks in a rush.
The boy in the blue hat rolls his eyes and shoves the brunette into the compartment.
“Hey!”
He flashes his friend a middle finger. “There's nowhere else to sit.” Blue hat explains to Tweek in a slow, nasally, flat voice. “Everywhere else is full.” He sits down at the window, while the brunette sorts himself out to drop down next to Tweek, who swallows a yelp of fear. His whole body trembles, and the dark skinned boy enters, taking the last available seat.
Tweek looks between the three of them like they're going to gang up and murder him any moment.
“I n-need my potion!” He cries, before covering his face with his hands. The potion in question, a drought for focus and energy brewed specifically for him, is in a special bottle charmed to refill every two hours. Unfortunately, it is in one of his bags, and to get to this bag he'd have to stand up, exposing his stomach for stabbing, and then turn his back—leaving his spine free for severing—to retrieve it from a shelf over their seats.
“...Right,” The dark skinned boy agrees calmly, eyeing Tweek. He assumes it's a tonic for his nerves, a medication of some sort. “Where is it? Did you forget it?”
Tweek looks up again, shuddering; they're all staring at him. His shoulders arch towards his ears, but the blond manages to point up at the bag over his head.
“N-ng, it's in there!”
“So why don't you get it?” The brunette beside him asks curiously. His voice is almost as nasal as the boy with the blue hat's, but there's a friendlier lean to it. Tweek twitches again, gripping his hair, and then his poorly buttoned green shirt.
He can't just tell them he thinks they're going to eviscerate him if he stands up. Another excuse rushes into his head and out of his mouth just as fast.
“Nng—what if I stand up and the train crashes and I go flying and break my head open?”
The brunette chuckles. It's a pleasant sound, warm and well-meaning. “That's not gunna happen. Do you want me to get it?”
Tweek bites his lip. What if he steals from him? Takes all his quills and jabs them into his eyes?
Quaking, Tweek decides that is still a smaller risk than standing up and having blue hat blast through his solar plexus with a spell. Never mind that they can't use magic outside school—surely the dull expression the other wears is just a mask for a horrible and terrible dark wizard!
“U-um, if you don't mind?” He agrees-slash-asks. “It should be in the front pocket!”
The brunette stands up and steps in front of Tweek. He has to lift onto his tip-toes to reach the bag, but thankfully it doesn't come crashing down to break Tweek's face and nothing weird spontaneously appears inside to fall out and embarrass him. The potion bottle is successfully retrieved. It's dark green and heavy, cast iron with Tweak Family Potions embossed in gold on the front with a flourish.
“Your family owns a potion shop?” The brunette asks, reading the name. “Tweak?”
The blond nods, brown eyes wide, and reaches for the bottle. He unscrews the cap quickly and takes a deep gulp. It's warm—it's always warm—and tastes of cashews and cacao. A surge of energy strings through his veins almost immediately. “Y-yeah,”
“That's cool.” Is the reply while the other sits down. “My name's Clyde.” A hand is offered for Tweek to shake.
Tweek looks apprehensively at the hand suddenly jutting out towards him expectantly. What if it's sweaty? What if Clyde holds his hand and never lets go again ever? What if there's an invisible tack taped to his palm that will stab him and prevent him from writing for the whole year?
“Agh,” He strains, and manages to grab Clyde's hand for a quick moment. “T-Tweek!”
Clyde blinks at him. The other two boys are staring at Tweek. To them he sounded like a bird, chirping shrilly in a tree.
“Your last name is Tweak, right? What's your first name? I'm Token Black.” Token asks-then-offers from the seat across from Clyde. “This is Craig Tucker.” He gestures the boy in the blue hat, who did not plan on introducing himself. “What's your first name?”
“Merlin, this is too much p-pressure!” Tweek squeaks. “My name is Tweek! My last name is Tweak!”
There's a moment of silence, and then:
“That's stupid.” Says Craig.
--
Two cars down from the engine, four boys have commandeered their own cabin. Another blond covered completely by an orange parka, the hood tied tight over his face, a boy with black hair hidden under a red poofball hat, a red head desperately keeping his massive curls of hair beneath a green ushanka, and a heavy set brunette in a pale blue hat.
They've known each other for years, having grown up in the same province, a small town where Muggleborns and Pure blooded witches and wizards came together to avoid bigger living. The McCormick's were already there, the only muggles to have set up in the small town long before it attracted magical attention.
“I think I'm going to be in Ravenclaw,” Says the redhead in the green hat. “My mom was in Ravenclaw.” He's said this at least five times since sitting down.
Beside him the black haired boy in the red poofball hat sighs, rolling his eyes. “Kyle, if you're in Ravenclaw and I'm in Gryffindor we won't get to hang out as much.”
“Maybe you'll be in Ravenclaw too, Stan.” Kyle suggests. There's a book in his lap, thick and heavy, titled: 101 Properties of Toadstools. “It could happen.”
“Maybe you'll be in Gryffindor,” Stan retorts, his voice taking on a bit of a pout.
“As if Jew boy would dare disappoint his parents.” The heavy boy laughs. “Bring dishonor on the whole family!”
“Shut up Cartman, there's nothing wrong with Gryffindor!” Stan fires back.
“It's better than Hufflepuff,” Cartman sneers. “But it's no Slytherin.” Stan rolls his eyes, slumping in his seat.
“What about you, Kenny? What house do you want to be in?” Stan asks the quiet blond covered in orange.
Kenny shrugs, mumbling, "I don't know, maybe Slytherin too," into his parka. He's got a house in mind, but can't imagine actually getting in at the moment; hell, a few months ago he didn't even think he'd be going to school. Even though he'd heard so much about the schools for magic growing up, his family was completely cut off from the culture of the magical community. His friend's talked to him about wizard things, but it never really affected him or gave him any hope before.
“Yeah right. Poor people aren't allowed in Slytherin.” Cartman scoffs, digging a chocolate bar out of his pocket. Kenny eyes it hungrily. “It's against the rules.”
“Fuck you!”
“'Ay! Just cuz--”
“Oh my God, shut up Cartman.” Stan groans. Kyle snorts, turning the page on his book. Kenny falls quiet again, as if Stan had been talking to him, too. Cartman had taken the widow seat, pushing Kenny out of it when he'd gotten to it first, so he has to look past the brunette to see outside. Nothing but the English countryside.
“Can't believe I have to go to school in fucking Britain.” Cartman grouses when he realizes what Kenny's so focused on. “Bunch'a pussies.”
“Shut up Cartman,” Kyle repeats irately, closing the book finally. “You'll get kicked out of Hogwarts if the wrong teacher hears you say shit like that. Besides, the school is in Scotland.”
Cartman glares. “Whatever, Jew! It's not like we don't all know this already, Kyle. You just don't want to admit that American wizards are just stronger than these British fags!”
“Where do you think all the best American wizards went to school, dumbass? Besides, aren't you the one who begged your mom to send you to Hogwarts when we all got letters from the different schools?” Kyle snaps back loudly. Stan is thankful that he closed the door to their cabin behind him when he entered. Cartman crosses his arms, shoving the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth and refusing to answer.
“Oh my God.” Stan repeats, closing his eyes.
–-
It's quiet for another few hours. The trolley of amazing and diverse snacks has come and gone. Stan bought Kenny a chocolate frog that he'd delighted in letting crawl over his fingers once the one good bounce it had was used before eating it, and two gummy wands before Cartman managed to scare the attendant away with his insults towards all things British.
Happy with something in his stomach, Kenny watches the portrait of Renley Wenlock, the Headmaster at the school they're all going to be at soon, smile and wink, and disappear from the card he pulled from the chocolate frog's container. It's fascinating to Kenny; there was no magic in his family before him, at least that his drink enthusiastic parents, estranged from their own parents (aside from Kenny's grandfather, whom had no magic at all) and siblings could remember. Thankfully South Park had been accepting towards having a muggle family remain living there.
When an owl landed on top of a beat up piece of shit car in the front lawn with a letter for Kenny (the only letter he got--) --he was finally brought into the fold. It happened in such a rush, too. Before he knew it mother, father and middle child were in the presence of a Hogwarts employee, and off to make Kenny a proper wizard.
What an adventure it had been—two very out of place, white trash parents from the sticks with absolutely zero dollars to spend and less magic between them, suddenly taken to Diagon Alley with their scruffy child in a flurry of green fire.
It had been terrifying and exhilarating and wonderful... Until the price tags started to become overwhelming.
But apparently the Ministry for Magic and Hogwarts had room for charity cases as well. Dedication of financial aid aimed to bring in magic users from low-income households and give them an education by providing tuition, books, and supplies in a work study program.
When the representative Ministry employee from the branch of Economical Outreach and Blood Inclusion had met the McCormicks: Carol, Stuart and Kenny in their humble home, leaving Kenny's older brother Kevin, and his younger sister Karen in the care of a family friend, to whisk the three of them off to London and Diagon Alley, Kenny'd felt so much joy he thought himself fit to burst.
Neither mother, father, nor son knew what to expect, passing all the glittering stores stuffed with soon-to-be students and returning clans, but a small building in poor repair with one angry associate working the counter hadn't been it.
They'd reluctantly set him up with a highly used pair of robes, sweater vest and white shirt gray at the sleeves with age and grime, all probably a full seven years old; shoes a size too big, worn through enough to have holes along the heel, and supplies (cauldron, trunk, cage for his rat brought from home, books and more) that were obviously second or fifth hand. The only thing he was provided with that was new was a wand (Unicorn Tail hair, ten and a half inches, Alder wood), and parchment rolls.
Even second, third, or seventh hand, it was obvious the items cost a lot of money. Though the system of it was something Kenny didn't understand yet.
He's sure he's going to leave school with a huge amount of student loans, all in the kind of money muggles don't earn, but that concern takes a back seat to simply hoping that in a couple years his sister will be joining him at the school and he can watch out for her here. It weighs on Kenny's mind, knowing she's in that cold, barren house with no one to protect her from school bullies and hunger.
Thankfully Kevin promised to watch over her for him—as reliable as he is to be shaky in his reliableness, it is better than nothing. He has other, darker worries to focus on.