“Aah!” He was falling from a cliff — a high, steep cliff — below which was nothing but darkness, until his feet stopped as if he were standing on something.
Slowly and carefully, Basim opened his eyes; his hands rested on a trolley, atop which sat a trunk and a backpack. Gradually, his eyes darted to his outfit: dark blue denim jeans, an ash grey T-shirt, a black overcoat and dusty sneakers. Oh, what a combo!
Basim was certain that none of this combination was his doing; whoever had dressed him must have had some grudge against him. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. After a while, Basim looked around, taking a deep breath as if trying to absorb the unfamiliar environment. Suddenly, his gaze landed on a signboard dangling from a pole; the letters at the top made him think.
“King’s Cross Station, London,” Basim whispered to himself. He turned around, now facing the platforms, trying to find the right one. Ah, there it was: “Platform Nine and Three-Quarters”!
Basim walked towards the platform slowly. Upon reaching his destination, Basim stopped, scanned the surroundings — no one was looking — and then glanced at his wristwatch: it was 10:40 am. After a moment or two, Basim raised his hand and placed it on the wall facing him; it vanished!
Without thinking for another moment, Basim stepped back, closed his eyes and rushed through the barrier, landing on something hard: the cemented pavement. There, in front of him, was the “Hogwarts Express.”
Basim turned around. There were kids his age, some even older, dressed in their robes, saying their last goodbyes to their loved ones. His eyes landed on a kid — a red-haired boy boarding the train with his mother, a middle-aged housewife, and a red-haired girl assisting him. Who was he? Who was he? His mind couldn’t recall.
“Everybody hurry up! The train is going to leave in ten minutes!” yelled a prefect from the door.
“Come on, boy, get up or you’ll be left behind.” Basim lifted his head to see another red-haired boy offering him a hand.
“You can sit here, everywhere else is full. By the way, my name is Fred,” he said, guiding Basim through the compartment where two people were already seated.
“Thank you,” Basim replied, moving inside and closing the compartment door behind him.
“Hi,” Basim said, looking at the two boys.
“Hi,” smiled the boy on the left, whose blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses.
“Hello, I’m Ron. Ron Weasley,” said the boy on the right — the same red-haired boy he had seen earlier.
“I’m Basim Khan,” he replied, shaking Ron’s hand.
“And I’m Harry Potter,” announced the blue-eyed boy.
“Yeah, I know who you are! I’m a huge fan. I always wanted to meet you, but my mum wouldn’t allow it. Can you give me an autograph?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?” replied Harry.
Basim reached into his backpack and pulled out an emerald green notepad. Before he could hand it to Harry, the compartment door slid open, and in came a girl asking about a toad that a boy named Neville had lost. After a minute or two, she introduced herself as Hermione Granger and waited for others to share their names — until she approached him, eyeing him closely.
She shook Basim’s shoulder with considerable force, mumbling something he couldn’t quite catch. “What’s your name?” or perhaps “Wake, Basim.” It was one of the two.
Basim opened his eyes and nodded his head sideways, trying to ward off her hands — until he realised where he was. Basim was on his bed, in his bedroom, his sister standing by his right side, ready to shake him again if needed.
“I’m awake. Thank you for your services.” It all ended the same as always, but today Basim Khan met Harry Potter; maybe tomorrow he’ll see Hogwarts.
Basim stood up and marched off to freshen up for the prayers (the candle of hope still lighting in his mind). It was the most thrilling dream he had ever had.
Published in Dawn, Young World, July 26th, 2025
