Skyl walked into the station and spotted crowds of tourists between Platforms 9 and 10.
They weren't wizards, but Muggles. Ever since reading Lockhart's biography, the whole world now knew that London's King's Cross Station supposedly hid a miraculous magical platform. Every day, people came in an endless stream to "check in" on-site. The crowds were disrupting public order so badly that the authorities had no choice but to cordon off the space between the two platforms with警戒线 and suspend its use.
Plenty of Muggles were studying that wall. They patted it, pressed it, prodded it—yet found nothing unusual. When Skyl arrived, he even saw a skinny man dressed like a worker tapping the surface with a small hammer, checking for hollow spots, while a fat man tried to pry a brick loose from the wall.
If it weren't for the patrol officers standing guard, with the famous British civic standards on display, Platforms 9 and 10 would've been merged into one by the afternoon.
Today was the back-to-school day. Lots of Muggles deliberately camped out in the station to stake out students. The moment they caught someone in odd-looking clothes, they had to go over and interrogate them.
In this situation, the wizarding world's usual Confundus Charm for shooing away Muggles didn't work very well. The spell's effect was to plant a subtle suggestion, not forcibly rewrite cognition. And these people were here specifically for Platform 9—they had a strong subjective intent, strong enough to crush stray thoughts.
Fortunately, Hogwarts had prepared for this. Owl post had delivered letters in advance, notifying students to detour through an underground passage. Some students from well-off families simply stopped taking the train altogether this year and returned by other means.
Inside the station, there were several rows of signboards pointing to the underground passage. There were even three right beside Platform 9. Muggles came and went, yet couldn't see what was written on them.
Right beside you, yet unseen—that was the magical world of the Harry Potter universe. Mystery was its base coat, and fantasy its root. Muggles could hunt wizards like it was the Middle Ages, but mystery and fantasy could not be killed. The earliest wizards came from Muggles themselves.
Skyl took the underground passage and reached the platform. This year, there were far fewer students here. There was still a long time before departure. Everyone stowed their luggage in the carriages, then—finding it stuffy inside—ran back out to chat in little clusters of two and three.
The younger kids still wore worry-free faces. The older students liked to gather and talk about current events. Faced with the Lockhart era, the four Houses each had their own attitudes.
Ravenclaw and Slytherin students were arguing. Both sides were desperate to distance themselves from Lockhart. One side insisted Lockhart was a Ravenclaw problem; the other snapped back that the rotten piece of work had nearly been Sorted into Slytherin!
Gryffindor students, meanwhile, puffed out their chests and bellies, all posing like generals and politicians. They were talking about a possible war in the future, arguing until their faces were red and the air was scorching.
Hufflepuff's older students stayed with the younger ones. What they talked about was the most practical: what they'd be eating at the start-of-term feast, what new changes the school might have this year, and how much they were looking forward to meeting the new professor.
The Hogwarts Express departed on time. Harry and Ron also showed up on time—so they didn't fall to the level of taking a flying car. Taking a flying car was not a particularly pleasant experience.
"A house-elf tried to stop us," Harry said. "I knocked it out. It's in my trunk."
Ron added from the side, "We did it clean. No one saw."
Honestly, the way they said it made them sound less like students and more like two kidnappers.
Skyl was deeply gratified. As a former educator, being able to cultivate such little man-eating plants for Britain's magical community could be considered a contribution to the realm. He reminded them, "House-elves are excellent stewards and helpers. If you treat them sincerely, you can gain their friendship."
"This one belongs to someone," Harry said regretfully. "Even if I gained its friendship, it wouldn't help me. The moment it mentions its master, it starts hurting itself."
"That's how house-elves are—very servile," Skyl said with a nostalgic smile. "Choosing a master is, to them, choosing a fate. They're willing to submit to that fate, and it makes them feel safe. My Gally was bought from someone else. Sometimes I feel like I'm keeping a little pet—except he's far more obedient than any cat or dog. If you get to play the role of fate, be gentler."
Hermione cupped her cheeks. "Mr. Skyl, you're so kind. I want to save house-elves too."
"It isn't simple, but I believe you'll do it well."
Harry said thoughtfully, "Maybe I can find a way to set this house-elf free."
For a while after that, the four kids chattered nonstop. Of course, it was mostly Hermione—the know-it-all—doing the talking. She spoke about Lady Moonshadow's time staying with the Grangers.
The lady often did shocking things. For instance, she preferred drifting through the air instead of walking. She didn't care about clothes and simply forgot to wear them all the time. She had no concept of money and didn't care about traffic rules either, so Hermione needed to accompany her whenever she went out. Moonshadow was satisfied with every aspect of this other world, but she complained more than once about the British currency conversion system—one pound to twenty shillings, one shilling to twelve pence. It was unbelievably inconvenient.
Besides that, she also used magic with zero restraint. Once, because she liked a certain breakfast cereal, she made the Grangers' neighborhood experience an entire morning of cereal rain—sealed packages dropping bag by bag, clogging the streets. And on one Sunday, when everyone went to church, she turned the Jesus on the cross into her own likeness. A neighbor's little son drowned while swimming; when Lady Moonshadow went with Mr. and Mrs. Granger to the funeral, she casually brought the kid back to life. Things like that—during the period when Moonshadow was exposed in this wizarding world—gave Muggles countless surprises.
All in all, living with Moonshadow was like having a stunningly beautiful fairy godmother in your house.
The other three listened with relish.
Hermione's story drew in even more listeners. About this magical new professor, everyone's curiosity was thoroughly teased. The boys cared most about what she looked like. Ron smugly announced his "authoritative" info: "A total knockout. Seriously gorgeous."
"How gorgeous?"
"Like three or four stories tall."
"Yeah, right. Got a photo?" Everyone was skeptical. "It's not that we don't believe you—we just want to, you know, broaden our horizons."
Ron clicked his tongue and shot Hermione a look. The girl pretended not to notice. Ron hurriedly begged, and the surrounding classmates chimed in with sweet talk, coaxing Miss Know-It-All until her cheeks flushed—only then did she pick a photo of Moonshadow under Big Ben and show it.
"Let me see!" "Don't shove—let me look!"
The noisy carriage fell silent. Then the excited shouting exploded.
George threw both hands high. "All eyes on me! I hereby declare I am the student who loves Defence Against the Dark Arts the most in the entire school!"
Fred, for once, sang the opposite tune. "I declare your declaration invalid!"
More young people, emotions running high, howled like banshees. "Bloody hell, why is this train so slow?! I can't wait even one more second!"
They held on through sunset, and the train finally stopped at Hogsmeade Station.
The moment they jumped onto the platform, the older students all noticed the changes. Huge construction crews had moved into Hogsmeade Village, and the streets were packed with noise and people. Under the night sky, carts hauling stone formed a gray line linking the village, the processing yard, and the distant Hogwarts castle. Wizard craftsmen from all over the world worked busily and in perfect order, like a cheerful swarm of ants.
First-years crossed the Black Lake by boat. Older students took Thestral-drawn carriages up to the school. The Quidditch pitch had turned into a construction site. The open space before the castle gates was piled with building materials, all covered in thick waterproof tarps, and the air smelled of paint and timber.
Hogwarts at night was still grand and bright, weathered by wind and frost.
Now, in the hands of the ever-enterprising Headmaster Dumbledore, this thousand-year-old castle had begun to expand.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 20 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810