King's Cross Station, 1 September 1987
David Hill stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, his trunk at his feet and Umber's cage balanced precariously atop it. The scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express loomed before him, puffing clouds of steam that mingled with the chatter of students and parents. The platform buzzed with nervous excitement, but David felt a strange calm. Tony Foreman's memories had painted this scene vividly—yet living it was something else entirely.
Adam and Jane flanked him, their faces a mix of pride and worry. Jane adjusted David's scarf, her journalist's eyes scanning the platform as if searching for hidden truths. Adam, clutching the Statutes of Secrecy like a shield, kept muttering about "magical jurisdiction."
"You'll write every week, won't you?" Jane asked, her voice tight.
"Promise," David said, grinning. "Umber's already got a job delivering letters."
The blackstone's fish owl hooted softly, as if in agreement.
Adam cleared his throat. "And stay out of trouble, David. Magic or no magic, rules are rules."
David nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. The wizarding world in 1987 was still healing from Voldemort's first reign of terror, which had ended just six years ago with his mysterious defeat. The air carried a cautious optimism, but David knew better. The seeds of future conflicts—prejudice, corruption, and secrets—were already sown.
Bearer of the English Oak…The prophecy's words pulsed in his mind, urging him to pay attention.
A whistle blew, and students began boarding the train. David hugged his parents tightly, then hoisted his trunk and stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. The compartments were filling fast, and he wove through the crowded corridor, searching for an empty seat.
"Oi, you! Looking for a spot?"
A cheerful voice cut through the noise. A girl with wild auburn curls and a smattering of freckles waved from a compartment door. She wore a slightly oversized robe, and her grin was infectious.
"Uh, yeah," David said, adjusting his glasses. "Is it free?"
"Free as a snidget! Come on in."
She stepped aside, revealing two other occupants: a lanky boy with ink-stained fingers and a girl with neatly braided hair, both engrossed in a game of Exploding Snap.
"I'm Eliza Warrington," the curly-haired girl said, plopping onto a seat. "First year, Hufflepuff hopeful. This is Marcus Flint—no relation to that Flint family, he swears—and Beatrice Haywood. They're first years too."
Marcus, the lanky boy, looked up from the card game and nodded. "Don't mind Eliza. She talks faster than a Firebolt."
Beatrice, the girl with braids, smiled shyly. "Nice to meet you. What's your name?"
"David Hill," he replied, settling onto a seat and setting Umber's cage beside him. "Also, a first year. Muggle-born."
Eliza's eyes lit up. "Muggle-born? Wicked! My dad's a Muggle—runs a bakery in Leeds. What do your parents do?"
"My dad's a lawyer, and my mum's a journalist," David said, relaxing. Their friendliness was a relief, though Tony's memories warned him to be cautious. The wizarding world wasn't always kind to Muggle-borns, especially in these tense post-war years.
"Journalist? Like for The Daily Prophet?" Marcus asked, his cards forgotten.
"No, The Times. Muggle newspaper," David clarified.
Beatrice tilted her head. "What's it like, growing up without magic? Did you know you were a wizard before the letter?"
David hesitated, Tony's foresight guiding his answer. "I had… hints. Things happened around me—lights flickering, books falling off shelves. I didn't know what it was until Professor Sinistra showed up."
"Same here!" Eliza said, leaning forward. "I made my cat's fur turn blue once. Mum thought it was dye, but Dad nearly fainted."
The compartment erupted in laughter, easing David's nerves.
As the train rumbled out of London, the four first-years swapped stories. Marcus, from a half-blood family, was obsessed with Quidditch and dreamed of playing for the Chudley Cannons. Beatrice, a pure-blood, was quieter but shared her love for Herbology, inspired by her aunt, a renowned magical botanist. Eliza, meanwhile, seemed determined to befriend everyone on the train before they reached Hogwarts.
As the conversation lulled, David gazed out the window at the rolling countryside. Tony's knowledge gave him an edge—he knew the Sorting Hat awaited, and he'd soon face the houses, professors, and a world on the brink of change. But the prophecy lingered, its meaning unclear.
Unshackle the Qilin of Time… let the truth rise.What truth? And why him?
"Hey, David, you alright?" Eliza's voice snapped him back. "You look like you're solving a Niffler's treasure map."
He chuckled. "Just thinking about Hogwarts. What do you reckon the Sorting's like?"
"Terrifying," Marcus said, grimacing. "My cousin said the hat reads your mind. Hope it doesn't find out I nicked his Chocolate Frogs last summer."
"It's not that bad," Beatrice said softly. "My aunt told me it's more like… a conversation. It sees who you are, deep down."
David nodded, his thoughts drifting to the Sorting Hat's role in the books. He wondered which house he'd end up in. Gryffindor, for courage? Ravenclaw, for his curiosity? Hufflepuff, for loyalty? Or Slytherin, for cunning? Tony's memories suggested he could fit anywhere, but the English oak wand hinted at something greater—a destiny tied to all houses, perhaps.
The train journey passed in a blur of laughter, sweets from the trolley (David bought a stack of Cauldron Cakes), and Marcus's animated Quidditch commentary. As the sky darkened and the train slowed, Eliza leapt up.
"We're here! Hogwarts, here we come!"
David grabbed Umber's cage and followed his new friends off the train. The platform at Hogsmeade Station was alive with students, and a booming voice echoed over the crowd.
First years! First years, over here!"
A towering figure emerged from the mist—Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper, his beetle-black eyes glinting under a moleskine coat. David's heart raced. Hagrid, younger than in Tony's memories, was already a giant of a man, his beard wild but his smile kind.
"Blimey, you lot look eager," Hagrid said, herding the first-years toward the lake. "C'mon, into the boats!"
David climbed into a small boat with Eliza, Marcus, and Beatrice, the black water of the lake reflecting the starry sky. As they glided toward Hogwarts, the castle came into view—towers piercing the night, windows glowing like beacons. Gasps rippled through the group, and even David, who'd imagined this moment a thousand times, felt his breath catch.
"It's real," he whispered, gripping his wand.
The English oak felt warm in his hand, as if humming with purpose.
Eliza nudged him. "Ready to be a wizard, David Hill?"
He grinned, the prophecy's words echoing faintly.
"More than you know."
As the boats reached the shore and the first-years filed into the castle, David felt the weight of his new life settle around him. The wizarding world was vast, beautiful, and flawed—and he, the Bearer of the English Oak, was here to uncover its truths.